 
#

Destiny Will Out

The Experiences of a Multicultural Malayan

In White Australia

By Raja Arasa Ratnam

Copyright © 2018 by Raja Arasa Ratnam

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

First published in 1997

_Dedicated to Lesley and Pearl  
-for making it possible_

### Table of Contents

Part One Origins

Chapter One The Bardo of Becoming a Nation

Chapter Two The Birth of Sorrow?

Chapter Three Blessed be Childhood

Chapter Four The Transgressor

Chapter Five The False Dawn

Chapter Six The Blue Yonder

Part Two Shocks

Chapter Seven Culture Shock

Chapter Eight Death of a Dream

Chapter Nine Reverse Culture Impacts

Part Three Settlement

Chapter Ten Integration – Background

Chapter Eleven Integration – The Launching

Chapter Twelve Integration – The Economic Scene

Chapter Thirteen Integration – The Ethnic Scene

Chapter Fourteen Integration – More of the Ethnic Scene

Chapter Fifteen Integration – The Community Scene

Part Four Towards the Light

Chapter Sixteen Lost on a Straight Path

Chapter Seventeen Myths of Multiculturalism

Chapter Eighteen Falling Leaves Return to the Root

Chapter Nineteen Equality in Unity

Postscript

#  Part One  
Origins

###  _Chapter One_

The Bardo of Becoming a Nation

At the end of the Second World War, Australia remained very tightly, and in a most inhumane way, in the grip of its White Australia policy. This policy reflected the unrealistic and indefensible hope of a white nation remaining an outpost of far-away Europe, whilst occupying land stolen from its black owners, even though it is set in a world of predominantly coloured people.

In reality, the land of Australia was seen by its occupants for thousands of years (long before European man became the principal despoilers of planet Earth) as owning them, the people. In reality, too, there are people in White Australia who (apparently) have blood from coloured ancestors they would rather not recognize, as it has become fashionable to regard 'coloured' blood as inferior. But it is quite acceptable, and indeed quite desirable, to have coloured, and therefore inferior, people fight and die in wars to protect the white man's interests.

A parallel exists, in modern times, in what was referred to by an Australian wit (perhaps a half-wit) as "the greatest gang-bang in history". This was when a white-controlled nation sent its predominantly black and Christian armed forces to protect its own interests, and that of a predominantly white and Jewish people, against a brown and Muslim nation (sure, Satanic Saddie had to be controlled before he swallowed his democratic oil-filled neighbour, none of whose troops seemed to have been involved in this 'war').

So, Australians in office quietly forget that the Australian war effort had been supported or aided by coloured people from a variety of countries. Some of these, like the Papua New Guineans, had helped to save Australians from the Japanese. However, the policy makers in Australia were not touched by Shakespeare's, "For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother". Perhaps they had not heard of Shakespeare.

In this post-war period of peace and renewal, Australia expanded its immigration intake substantially. Whilst it took large numbers of white refugees (it really is quite a humanitarian nation) and other white immigrants (mainly as factory fodder), it fastidiously kept out anyone with the slightest tinge of colour. If one child in a large family was coloured, which means darker than (say) the southern European, the whole family was rejected. When, in the post-colonial era, the Anglo-Indians, the Anglo-Burmese, and the Burghers (from Ceylon) sought to move to a country more to their liking, only the very, very lightly coloured were allowed to enter. Thus, Australia wanted even its factory fodder to remain white and, presumably, genetically pure.

This was the country into which arrived a number of young, privately-financed Malayans. I was one of them. We came to obtain tertiary qualifications for our future back home, and we represented the vanguard of the massive inflow of later years. Most, if not all, of us had no idea of the kind of people we were to deal with, or their prejudices; few of our countrymen had previously chosen Australia for tertiary studies. In fact, racial prejudice was not something we had expected; nor had we experienced any in our country of birth, except from our colonial conquerors. But this was rare because most of us had little personal contact with them.

Some of us were also inadequately prepared for Australia's high standards of education and therefore had difficulties with our studies initially. Without a network of Malayans already in the country, many of us were also terribly lonely. We felt isolated in every way, and were very homesick in those early years.

I am a third generation Malayan of Ceylonese ancestry, with a Hindu cultural background. I was sent to Australia in that first wave, carrying a British passport. I was not successful initially in my studies, much to the continued amazement of my people, and became the black sheep of the family. I settled down later, after a short and painful stint back home, where I was very much an outcast to my people. I married an Anglo-Saxon Australian lass (in fact, she returned to Singapore with me for that painful period), and I subsequently completed my studies in Australia the hard way (I completed a four-year course within four years while earning an income by day and studying by night).

Accepted for citizenship while Australia was still officially white, I worked for the Australian government in such interesting fields as ethnic affairs (looking after the settlement needs of migrants); in the screening of foreign investment in Australia (to ensure that it was not against the national interest); the provision of assistance to secondary industry by government (ensuring the continued inability of Australian industry to be competitive globally); and the artistic (but very reasonable) creation of balance of payments statistics. I also made a small contribution to the education system in the national capital (in part by being the foundation chairman of a school board); to career protection in the Australian public service (by leading, for seven years, a trade union sub-committee working on career protection, i.e. improving the equity and efficiency of selection procedures); and involved myself in a couple of other community concerns (including overseas aid and public speaking for school children). Twice a year, the local press is likely to refer to two on-going matters which I initiated. That is, I believe that I integrated into the Australian nation quite successfully and productively, but without losing my cultural identity or without losing sight of myself.

Proud to be an Australian (as this is the country where the ordinary man, woman and child has great personal dignity), I still find myself defending my choice of home with many of my relatives (I believe that they see me as the idiot of the clan). Most of my relatives have chosen to remain in our country of birth, even those who have spent years studying in other countries, and are living very well.

After the first few years in Australia, the lives of Asian students became far more tolerable. After all, it is quite disconcerting to be attacked in public simply because of one's colour. The terrible prejudice which I and my fellow students had encountered diminished substantially over the years, and life became far more comfortable than it used to be. There is no evil without its advantages, is solace offered by some Indian sage. However, discreet discrimination against one's ethnicity, including religion and colour, continue – but not discernibly so. And even a former senior politician recently conceded that Australia remains a racist nation.

Indeed, many Australians still respond to skin colour (it's their first perception of us, as my narrative will bring out), and it's not always favourable. Regretfully, the Aussie (in the main) remains unable to discard his perception of a coloured person as not only different, but inferior, and therefore not to be liked over-much. This, in my view, reflects his antipathy to the Aborigines, his prejudice increasing with the darkness of the skin. This attitude, I suspect, colours government policy too, especially immigration policy.

In any event, today's students from Malaysia and Singapore would not feel threatened (as we did at times) by the whims of immigration officials (who thought they were our guardians), security agents and their on-campus professorial spies, and others, particularly the landladies. These students, and those settling in as immigrants, would also now hold more realistic expectations about their career prospects in Australian bureaucratic structures, in both the public and private sectors. That is, we now know how far to reach. And there is a Chinese proverb which says it well: only he that has travelled the road knows where the holes are deep.

It is against this background that I tell my story. It is neither an autobiography (at times it may read like one), nor an attempted history. It is a record of the early, traumatic cultural impacts of White Australia on an impressionable young Malayan in the immediate post-war period. It might, hopefully, lend support to the Malay adage that it is the fate of the coconut to float and for the stone to sink (after centuries of colonial domination, have we not established our destiny as akin to that of the coconut?)

This record is offered for the elucidation of my younger relatives who have sought to understand my early days in Australia, especially my failure, and my reasons for breaking the mould by making Australia my home. It therefore contains, reluctantly, some personal details which may not be of direct relevance to the multicultural and integration aspects of my narrative. Such details do, however, touch upon the question of destiny – was I pushed or did I fall? Were the decisions by others reasonably well-based but used as vehicles by the stars to achieve their own objectives? Were the objectives karmic objectives, so that my mother, my sisters and I were merely paying a debt (or penalty)? Or was the whole experience one of learning? If so, had we chosen that lesson, as today's New Agers claim, _before_ being born? What a horrible thought!

My record might hopefully be of some interest too to the thousands of youths from Malaysia and a host of other nations who are studying in Australia, and also to the increasing number of Asians who are now settling into the country. It is offered, again in the spirit of a Malay proverb, which says that a piece of incense may be as large as the knee but unless burnt emits no fragrance. These students and settlers might be surprised at our initial reception by Australians, and pleased by the changes that our cultural impacts have wrought. It is my claim that the early arrivals from Asia brought Australia some way into the real world (with the support of civilised Australians). Even an ant hole may collapse an embankment, as some perceptive Japanese remarked. This narrative might also have some relevance against recent pressure by some Australians to push Australia into Asia by claiming that Australia is part of Asia geopolitically and economically. One can only hope that Asian nations will allow this country to participate in the region's development (and in its own). These politicians also hope that the increasing numbers of East Asian businessmen with residence status in Australia will aid the nation's acceptance in Asia.

I have therefore included my own settlement and work experiences in parts of the economic sector (together with some observations) as well as in the area of assistance to migrants. My position as an Asian migrant in these bureaucratic structures was unusual, if not unique, and (at least) part of my experiences there reflect the response of white Australians to that situation.

I have also attempted to compare, both directly and indirectly, the multicultural scenes in Malaya and Australia, as they were in those early days, and subsequently to see what changes have taken place over my forty-five or more years of integrating into Australian society. I have also optimistically attempted to foreshadow the future of multiculturalism in my countries of origin and of settlement.

I have done this because recent policies by the Australian government on multiculturalism appear to represent contradictory directions to many. To an apparently homogeneous people, the concept of multiculturalism can be threatening. Multicultural policies, by empowering migrant communities in their host nation, can also divide the nation. They can, in addition, generate a mendicant attitude in the new arrivals who, both by definition and by intent, are thrusting and self-sufficient survivors. Ethnic vote-buying by governments, with no planning other than to stay in power, will (in all probability) result in plural service-delivery structures, thereby taking multiculturalism onto the wrong tracks. Current multicultural policies also involve governments in an arena which is best left to the forces of evolution.

In this context, the experiences of an early arrival from Asia, quietly observing, and yet involved in a substantial manner in the mainstream community and in ethnic affairs matters (especially in his employment) can also be interesting to non-Asians. Hopefully, my observations that this country of three or more nations can become truly integrated into one nation someday, through the effects of unplanned multiculturalism, will make a small contribution to unification-with-equality. That will, of course, require the re-education of some politicians, including the professional ethnic ones.

More importantly, at least for the benefit of future generations, the contribution that I and other non-Christian Asian migrants have made to Australia's spiritual growth will enable or assist people of diverse origins and ethnicity (including mainstream host peoples) to merge one with the other, again as equals, at the spiritual level. This will not be easy, with some die-hard members of the priestly class holding their arms firmly across their narrow doors to God. But I do believe that future generations will increasingly pay less attention to any power-hungry priests and, instead, apply their inherited spirituality in recognition of that bond between humans which will not, eventually, be denied.

Underlying my story is my preoccupation with the question of destiny. As a Hindu, I know that I have free will within the constraints of my past actions and the limiting influences of natural and human forces, including the cosmological. Yet I have felt my hands more tied than I had expected in the things I have tried to do. To my knowledge, my feet (and modern transport) brought me to Australia, which delivered a sharp lesson to my ego; after all, there is no greater chasm than that vast gulf between great expectations and small achievements. I cannot accept (for metaphysical reasons) that I myself chose this life which, initially, was most painful, psychologically and spiritually. A Turkish saying seems to support this view: a man does not seek his luck; luck seeks its man. Yet a mediumistic clairvoyant channelled a message from an uncle (dead years ago) that a great effort had gone into getting me to Australia. (By whom, when, and why, are the obvious questions to which I would like answers.)

So, what forces are at work upon us? In this context, I find comfort in my belief that modern cosmological theories are becoming congruent with my philosophical heritage. Can we expect therefore some further insights into my question from the philosopher-scientists, with perhaps increasing support for the metaphysics of my spiritual ancestors? Their explanatory system of belief (and belief does have its own logic) lays the responsibility for our lives, not on some external power on earth or elsewhere, but on our individual selves. Our freedom to act is of course subject to the constraints that we had set up previously, together with the impacts of natural and cosmological forces (which are normally beyond our control).

My story is thus one of hope, if not ambition, about human freedom and spirituality. But, will the stars give us reasonable rein? That depends, in part (I guess), upon whether human actions influence the stars, i.e. cosmological forces. Some modern physicists seem to think that they might. If so, is that part of our destiny which influences the stars also predicated by our earlier actions and thoughts?

I look to the Upanishads (of the Hindu faith and philosophy), as have some great Western philosophers and scientists, for guidance. We are told that in each of us the Self is the innermost essence; that the Self is "not someone other than you." We are also told that the Self is not different from the Ultimate Reality called God or the Creator, and that all of life is one. This means that, whether white, black or brindle, whether Christian, Hindu or whatever, we are bonded one to the other; that our salvation has to come from within ourselves, and that we look inwards in our search for experiencing our Creator. Does that mean that I cannot blame something or someone out there for my mishaps and sins? How unfair!

###  _Chapter Two_

The Birth of Sorrow?

"The birth of a man is the birth of his sorrow," said a great Chinese philosopher of yesteryear. The Hindu, however, says that birth provides yet another opportunity to shorten the cycle of rebirth. His Western offshoot, the New Ager, would have us believe, on the other hand, that we are born to achieve a self-chosen learning. I cannot agree with the pessimism of the ancient Chinese philosopher. I reject the attempted empowering of the modern individual by the re-interpreters of my faith from the world of the industrialised, capitalistic West; "you can get, or be, anything you want, man!" is not a credible approach.

However, I cannot deny that I was born, like everyone else, subject to the whims of the stars. If only I had known then, or even a little later, that I would be exiled by my stars to the last outpost of white supremacy, and be subjected to the travails of a social outcast!

My given name is Arasa, meaning ruler or king. What hope was shown by my parents in naming me thus! Consistent with practice amongst my people, I had a second name attached to the first. I was lucky. I could have had a three-part name. The second half meant (so I was told) precious stones. In effect, for my ancestral stock, this would, I believe, equate to diamonds.

So, there I was – the diamond king or prince of diamonds (or something like that). But what a name for someone destined to be a black public servant in White Australia. But then, my ancestors have always been both ambitious and migratory, and time has proven this approach to be generally sound.

The double-barrelled single name bestowed on me reflected a very viable cultural heritage. Each member of our tribal culture is an individual, with a single name. There are no surnames or clan names amongst my lot to ease or hinder our passage through life. "Who was your father?" would enable the enquirer to place the individual into his context familially, geographically, occupationally and financially. There are some who can place every Ceylon Tamil ever born in Malaya (now Singapore and Malaysia) in his family tree, thicket, and forest, simply by this method.

When my birth in Malaya was placed on the official register, my name was transmogrified into something more Western. This reflected my family's adoption of much of the white man's ways. The first half of my modified name was helpful when I left my country of birth; the second continues to cause difficulties. Why should this be so? Is it because the white man generally cannot be bothered to spell or say correctly any name which is outside his experience? In fact, he prefers to give a foreign name a sound which is familiar – that is, he actually changes foreign words to suit himself. Just listen to sports commentators, art critics, music critics, and news readers. Occasionally they try to get it right – then they fall into the trap by not being consistent.

When I left for Australia to commence my tertiary studies, I had one of my rare bright ideas. I asked the British passport officer in Singapore to split my name in two. When she asked me why, I said, "How would you like to travel the world with a double-barrelled name like mine, and without a surname?" She said she understood. My British passport then showed the second half of my name as my surname. Since there are many in the universe with the same name ending, she took the precaution of identifying me as the son of my father.

Even then, I was to have problems in Australia. There were institutions, like universities, which required a surname as well as the father's name. As a result, I found myself recorded officially either with my father's name as my surname, or as my first name. There was simply no use in trying to correct these records. If you did not fit the mould naturally, you would be made to fit into it any way the official liked. Would my early records in Australia show that I had somehow evolved into three different persons?

When it came to 'Christian' name on official forms, some of us crossed out 'Christian' on the form and wrote in 'Other'. Lo and behold, in about three years, more and more forms dealing with us heathens replaced 'Christian' with 'Other'. We soon realised that change was a two-edged sword – we too could be agents for change, whilst being changed.

One's name is a very important component of one's self image and one's identity. It was therefore with some interest that I found myself addressed as Reg, Roger, Raji or Rajiv as often as Raja, the officially sanctioned modified name. Do people ever listen when faced with a word from another language? Thus, I was addressed as Raya by a Latvian friend. (But she was very cuddly.)

One of my more odd experiences with my name involved an Australian fellow who, after being introduced, asked, "Do you mind if I call you Roger?" I did not like the idea much but said, "No, but why?"

His reply was, "Because I am more comfortable with Roger. You've got a strange name."

To which I said, "Okay, but on reflection, Fred, may I call you Ching?"

He said, "Bloody hell, why?"

"Because I am more comfortable with names like Chan, Mohammad, Ching, Siva or Viji," said I. Strangely, Fred was meticulous in addressing me as Raja thereafter. What was wrong with Ching, I wondered.

Grandiose as was my name, in my youth I was addressed by senior family members and relatives simply as "thamby" or "son". With two or more sons around, the person addressed usually got the blast of his whole name. It could have proved difficult in the event of a fire or an earthquake roll-call. So it was primarily as "son" that I grew up in British Malaya, which then included Singapore.

Actually the name of the place was more complicated – the British had, with their commercial cunning, connived to con the local chieftains to hand over power (or else, the "or else" would no doubt have applied). The result was Federated States, Unfederated States, and Straits Settlements. But, when bible-toting, gun-wielding, trading thugs overrun you forcibly, what do you care for their legalistic distinctions? Look at what the greedy land-grubbers from the UK did to the Australian Aborigines with their flim-flam about _terra nullius_ – a little pig Latin can cover a lot of mayhem, especially when done to some foreigner in his own home. It's not unlike the Christian men of God promising opposing armies of Christian heritage and affiliations that God was on their side, exclusively.

Since I had a happy boyhood, Malaya (the country which formed me) holds strong and pleasing memories for me. I am not like the monk in that Italian adage who never praises his monastery. Naturally, these memories can only go back to the time when I was about four. I remember vividly being sent to a vernacular school at that age. I do not think that it was my idea. The school was about three blocks away from home – a very long way for a little boy. Anyway, on my first day there, the teacher said something that gave me offence – yes, I was offended. So I got up and left. The teacher could not leave the class. Somehow, I knew how to get home. And I refused to go back to the school. You see, I come from generations of proud people (perhaps a little stubborn too). That was my last day at that vernacular school.

At five I was sent to another vernacular school, about four miles away. I went by car. It was owned by the family – a very strange occurrence. Traditionally, Ceylon Tamil migrants are hard-working and hard-saving. Money is put aside for the furtherance of the family's future by further study (at least by the first-born), in the furthest place, if need be. What on earth was my father doing, buying a car and employing a driver (on a lowly clerk's wages)?

The driver was a Malayalee, from South India. He lived and ate with us. He spoke Tamil. He was a Hindu, and he meditated each afternoon. Our family members were too busy to do that – there was work for the adults, and study, study, and more study for the children. But we did pray each day before the evening meal, in a corner of a room set aside for that purpose, adorned with religious pictures and oil lamps. We were prepared to work for whatever we begged of God, though we half believed that more things are wrought by prayer than the world dreams of. (I am not sure who said that.) Before prayer and the evening meal, of course, we bathed and changed into fresh clothes.

For a while, we had a succession of young servants. The most memorable was a South Indian Tamil boy, who was a Christian. He too lived on the premises. Francis, at sixteen, was a story-teller. He was particularly good with ghost stories, frightening my younger sister and me into quietude quite successfully whenever our parents left us in his custody. Yes, while we were not afraid of God, we were easily frightened by the thought of ghosts, apparitions, or souls wandering about. One never knew what they might do. Years later I suspected that Francis made up all of his stories. He might have become a story-teller in later years. And years later I was visited by a departed soul.

Each teenage Indian servant that we had lasted a year or so. Our home seemed, in retrospect, a transit station – from the rubber estates where the parents eked a hard living. We socialised the servants in preparation for whatever urban work was available, helped to raise their ambitions, and instilled a respect, if not a liking, for study. I do not know what happened to any of them. The girls, of course, would have been married off as soon as practicable, reflecting the triumph of hope over responsibility. 'Marry your son when you will, you daughter when you can,' says an English proverb of the seventeenth century.

All that I can remember about that vernacular school I attended for two years was the discipline – as if we did not already have enough. Our life was one whole discipline. For some reason, travelling in my family's car, with the driver employed by the family, I would be late for school periodically.

Whenever I was late for school, I was caned – two cuts on the palm of the hand. The driver knew this, my father knew this, and the other parents whose children we picked up knew this. And I kept getting caned. I should have walked out of that school too.

In my second year at that school, my sister joined us. One morning there was a terrible commotion from the children in the back. As number one son, I naturally sat in the front. The driver was told that the right rear door had become open and a child had fallen out. In an obvious panic, the driver stopped, reversed, and came upon his employer's number one daughter sitting on the road crying, otherwise unhurt. As the driver was treated as a friend, he was allowed to live.

This tolerance was really surprising to me. In my father's day, servants were likely to be slapped and often thrown out for simple misdemeanours and errors. A hair on a plate of food would be a sufficient trigger. Thickening a curry by using flour would be another – these were major crimes. It was indeed amazing that one generation away from tilling the soil could lead to such high culinary standards and such arrogant behaviour. House servants, on the whole, ate well, although (at times) they lived on a precipice if they worked for a group of men. On the other hand, life out there, in the world of independent living, was far more threatening or involved greater hardship – as many can testify today in some of these countries.

Slapping and beating were, on the other hand, for many the normal means then to control their wives, children and even other dependent relatives. (Many years later I found this to apply to a number of European migrant communities). Many an adult son amongst my people can testify to this practice. At seventeen I was beaten with a stick for being tardy in delivering a message. We were, as children, brought up to be seen and not heard; no questions, no comment, no looks (of any kind) were permitted.

In fact, I do not recall being hugged or cuddled. But I must have been hugged and cuddled as a baby. No baby was or is ever denied affection by us. There is always someone around to hold young children. However, boys were not allowed to cry (or show affection). What a hard heritage to live by and to migrate with.

My ancestral lot can indeed claim to be migratory. My maternal grandfather migrated to Malaya from Jaffna, the home of the Tamils in north Ceylon. My father, a distant relative, followed him later, halfway through high school. I believe that I am a third-generation Malayan – but no gongs are awarded for that.

Historically, the Hindu Tamils are said to have migrated in a major wave from South India about nine hundred years or so ago, with some military incursions earlier and some later. Some historians claim, however, that an earlier wave of Tamils into Ceylon occurred more than two thousand years ago. Singhalese immigration into Ceylon apparently took place in the fifth century BC, with Buddhism arriving in the third century. Presumably, these migrants were either Vedic Hindu (or godless) before being converted to Buddhism; as well, they may have included the earlier inhabitants of India with whom the Singhalese (who claim to be of Aryan origin) no doubt intermarried on their slow way down the subcontinent. It was therefore a surprise to hear of xenophobic claims that Aryan Singhalese Buddhists were the original inhabitants of Ceylon, and that Tamil-speaking Hindus are encroaching johnny-come-latelies.

To my family, this claim ignored the indigenous people of the island, who are still there. It also pretends that all the Tamils are dark-skinned South Indians called Dravidians (the term actually refers to a group of languages of great antiquity, whose origins have apparently not been published). As highly civilised people speaking Dravidian languages were apparently around Mohenjo-Daro in the north of India before the advent of the Aryans, what conclusions can one draw about the origins?

A chain of racial purity seems both silly and irrelevant, in the light of evidence of vast movements of peoples over thousands of years across vast territories. A claim of religious or cultural purity seems equally silly – for example, the worship for Shiva may have been part of the pre-Aryan faith of north India. For what it is worth, I and more than half of my immediate clan were born as light-skinned as any deemed descendent of the Aryans (including the Brahmin). Indeed, a young Singhalese I met in Australia and I looked at each other with some curiosity – we could have been brothers. Yet, our mothers claimed purity of the stock!

It was therefore ironic for me to arrive in Australia and to be called a black fellow. It is a shock "...to find that, in a world of Gary Coopers, you are the Indian," said James Baldwin, the Afro-American author. To the average Australian, any shade of brown is black, and not beautiful either. Like the white South African Government which once apparently classified Japanese as honorary whites, the Australian Government clearly prefers the lighter-skinned East Asians. Many Australians now seem happy to accept Asians in their midst, especially if they are willing to display their teeth at all times, with gratitude for being allowed into the white man's bastion.

Gratitude is something that my migratory kin are always willing to display. But we do this by committing ourselves to the nations which accept us. I now have relatives who have productively integrated into the middle class of the USA, Canada, Britain, New Zealand, Malaysia, Singapore, and Australia, mainly in the professions; others are in business or academia.

When I asked my father why he had migrated, he explained that the Jaffna Peninsula, our homeland, was barren and that life was hard there. Like the Scots, Ceylon Tamils had to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Being a large minority people also creates difficulties in obtaining equal opportunities in education and employment, unless there is adequate political clout. This is the Ceylon Tamils lacked. (So much for the tolerance taught by the Buddha.)

However, opportunity beckoned from overseas. The British in Malaya needed administrators. Offering a degree of fluency in English, my grandfather and others had little difficulty in finding clerical and other administrative work in Malaya. To get there, they travelled as deck passengers. As children, we could readily imagine the hardship this must have entailed. Fancy sleeping and cooking on the deck while steaming for days across the sea in a cargo vessel.

Hardship, however, was something my people were used to. As my father put it, we migrate to overcome deprivation and denial, whether economic or political; whether or not we are desperate, we seek optimistically a better life, and we are prepared to work very hard for it; for the sake of our children, we will suffer a chosen level of deprivation and denial. My own scrutiny of immigration at close quarters, and my own participation in the process in both Malaya and Australia, confirms what my father so succinctly said.

Within a short time, migrant Ceylon Tamils dominated government employment in Malaya and Singapore in such areas as education, health, police, postal services, and the railways. In the Eighties, a Malay Minister of State, arriving by helicopter at a small hospital in Malaysia, apparently said that the sea of "Indian" faces below made him wonder if he was arriving in India. But it was these "Indians" who had provided excellent medical, pharmaceutical and nursing services, as well as a whole range of other services in the country's developmental phase. They continued to do so for another generation; two first cousins of mine held top positions in government service until retirement, and they were replaced by Malays. The second generation of Ceylon Tamils also produced top armed service chiefs. Hence, no matter what drives us to migrate, we make a substantial contribution to our new home. The Minister mentioned above may have forgotten that Malaya's culture had been historically shaped and dominated by two great civilisations, India and China; and that many a Malay tradition owes its origin to India. Indeed even Vasco da Gama was said to have been guided around the southern tip of Africa by an Indian sailor.

I grew up surrounded by fellow Ceylon Tamils who were schoolteachers (including principals), railway clerks, postal officials, a hospital pharmacist, the odd doctor and dentist, police inspectors and so on. None of them had menial jobs. None became tradesmen or went into trading. They all spoke English reasonably well. Many had relatively large families – four children was a small family; six or more seemed to be the average. But some really had a busy time – I recall one family of sixteen, another of twenty. Yet the next generation produced at least one professionally-qualified person in many families, with the rest almost uniformly tertiary-trained.

My father, like the others, sent money home to maintain relatives. I can remember one relative who visited us. He was elderly – about eighty. He sat on a chair outside the house in the shade all day, smoking. He had brought tobacco leaves, which he had grown and cured, and he would roll a small cheroot from time to time. It was pungent. And he must have been very durable. Indeed, contrary to Western opinions, my ancestral lot seem to be very hardy. I also remember that this relative, like other visitors, slept on a concrete floor in the sitting-room on a straw mat. Having slept like that, both as a visitor and as a member of the family hosting a large number of visitors, I know how it feels. There were no soft pillows either.

Unlike most, my father made only one visit back to the ancestral villages after commencing a family. I was five then. I remember little of the details of the journey, except that I almost fell into Colombo Harbour when transferring from the ship to the launch which took us to land. On land, I remember the crows which stole food when my sister and I, inexperienced in such matters, took our breakfast outside in our hands when we were at the family home. I also have vague memories of dry, dusty roads. I have not been back, and feel no affinity for the country of my ancestors, or for my distant relatives. I suspect that this attitude is reciprocated.

In Malaya, the Ceylon Tamils worked at retaining their cultural heritage, while adapting to the needs or opportunities of the future. Vernacular schools were established to ensure the continuity of language and the traditions conveyed by the language. Tamil books and newspapers and Tamil films were an inherent part of our lives. Readings and lessons on Hindu philosophy and faith were a normal ingredient of life in the homes of the educated. Plays were put on regularly by the community. However, in religious and cultural matters, the Ceylonese were supported by a very large number of South Indian Tamils. Whilst there were substantial educational, occupational, and therefore income differences between the bulk of the two groups, they shared religious and cultural festivals without any barrier between them. In this, they were also joined by a substantial population of Hindu Indians from other parts of India.

Community sporting organisations were also formed, with people vying to be leaders. A few members of my clan have been sports administrators. A migrant Ceylon Tamil in Sydney once said that, in any group of (say) four of our people, there would be at least four leaders present. But our people are not alone in possessing this propensity for public leadership, for the Japanese have a saying: ten men, ten minds.

The faithful observance of cultural practices was fostered, if not enforced, by certain community elders. They somehow acquired these rights in a tribeless migratory population, i.e. with a diminished extended family, and with people from different villages living together in the one township or hamlet in their new country. Current occupational status had no bearing on this role of elder; often, the least occupationally-skilled seemed to be the more knowledgeable in cultural practices. This suggests that these men had dedicated themselves to helping their people to retain their traditions, observances and practices. To be acceptable to the various village groups, they must have had the authority of accuracy, and the traditions must have been uniformly applied throughout the diverse villages back home. Right to the present, there are such experts from pre-war Ceylon in Malaysia and Singapore, who migrated to these countries when they were very young. Such is their commitment to tradition, and their competence. I met such a leader at my mother's funeral in the early Eighties, in a small country town. He masterminded the whole ceremony, taking the priest in tow. All the traditional practices were faithfully followed, although few of us understood the significance of much that took place.

According to my father, the Tamils in Malaya generally regarded themselves as guest workers initially. They therefore planned to save enough to retire back home. Hence, little effort was made by most to upgrade their homes, with government-provided homes for public servants forming the bulk of the housing for our community. Many also had dowry property in Jaffna. However, some did not ignore the likely impact of their children growing up in a multi-ethnic developing country. This held the promise of better opportunities for their children than were available to them in their ancestral territory. Some also had difficulties with their relatives over dowry property when the Japanese occupation of Malaya isolated them, one from another, for nearly four years.

Thus, their children's future turned most of the Tamils increasingly towards Malaya. And my father's sad statement, "better one friend than six relatives," also reflected his turning away from his ancestral home to the home of his children. My father, who was full of proverbs, may have read that Latin adage: one loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives. I think that my father was fairer than the ancient Romans. As Bertrand Russell put it, "a proverb is one man's wit and all men's wisdom." And my father's guidance to us included apt proverbs.

In preparing us for life in our new country, my father extolled the virtues of self-sufficiency and independence, especially intellectual independence. He pointed out that the eagle, flying alone, flew highest. Yet he also stressed the integrity of family; the closeness of my mother's family was testimony to this. His emphasis on the centrifugal impact of cross-cultural contacts prepared us for life in our new home, whilst my mother's emphasis on the centripetal influence of traditional culture held us within our community. We were all taught to be proud of our heritage, knowing that each of us is a caravan on which our ancestors ride. Whilst we do not worship our ancestors, we do call upon them as witnesses in some of our rituals.

Hence, our life in the emerging nation, already successfully multicultural, promised not sorrow, but the dawn of a more secure future, with enhanced equal opportunities.

###  _Chapter Three_

Blessed be Childhood

Growing up in Malaya in the Thirties was a joyful and interesting experience for me. I liked the weather, which was hot and therefore enjoyable. We did not expose ourselves to the sun, to which we paid homage as part of our faith in some of our rituals. When we went out in the heat of the day, we covered our heads. My headgear was a pith (cork) helmet, a heritage from our colonial rulers. I preferred a straw hat, which I would wear at the jaunty angle favoured by the Malays; but this style was frowned upon by the family – so, no straw hat. Actually, I thought that the Ceylon Tamils were a very conservative lot – and their speech and general conduct reflected that.

Because we protected our skin, my mother, at sixty-five, had skin comparable to that of an Australian woman half her age. Anyhow, she already had a nice tan. The family also had a practice of a weekly oil-bath. Warm oil was rubbed into the scalp and all over the body. After twenty minutes or so, it was washed off with the aid of a vegetable seed which was boiled to provide a soap-like cleanser. Hair was also dressed each day with a very light touch of oil, but no water was permitted (presumably because one might catch a cold). Gingelly oil imported from Ceylon was the only oil for us – the poorer people had to do with coconut oil. I am not sure what the other communities did to cleanse their scalps. I guess most would have used soap – the attractiveness of a new commodity would soon have overridden traditional practices.

Those men in our community who were able to keep their hair into old age proudly credited the tradition of daily oiling and weekly oil baths. Thus, nurture overrode nature for them; the rest of us kept pretending that our destiny was not deep-rooted hair but deep-rooted relationships enabled by the extra testosterone causing the hair loss (subject to consent, of course).

When the sun lost its fire, we children went out to play in safety. In the warm evenings, (after our study, of course), we walked in the balmy air, counted the millions of stars above us, especially the spectacular shooting stars, or bought freshly-roasted nuts from noisy vendors. The vendors had charcoal fires, and acetylene lamps for lights, on their bicycles or carts. The nuts were roasted, sometimes in hot sand, and we clutched our good fortune in little paper cones. It was a great life. Any lesson to be learnt about the meaning of life was to come later.

When it rained, it poured. Four inches in an hour would be followed by dry roads an hour later. (The British were good at drainage.) Thunderstorms were spectacular. Palm trees would be bent to forty-five degrees, tin roofs would fly, bolts and cracks of lightning would frighten the life out of everybody, especially if a fireball went past one's nose (as happened to my father once, as I watched), and the thunder would roll and roll. For me, the grandeur of it all overcame the realisation of how puny we were against the might of nature. However, this metaphysical stance was not shared by a team of cricketers on our local padang (sports ground) when, one afternoon, a fireball shot across both wickets just above head height.

One day, I was in the sea, on my holidays. The rain came (it seemed) from nowhere in large painful drops. My cousins and I found it best to get as low in the water as possible. Even then, our heads hurt. Our oiled, thick mops of hair did not help. Being out in the rain was not normally permitted; we could fall ill. Why only the middle class would fall ill when exposed to the rain was never explained to us. I mean, we _did_ ask. But the answer was always predictable – "concentrate on your studies, and do not ask stupid questions." Perhaps, as in the Easter Islands (or some other equally strange place), they feared the consequent loss of virginity! (The risk of taking of the findings of social anthropologists too readily or literally is now well known.)

In the nineteen eighties, a sixty-year-old relative of mine was seen to cover his head with a handkerchief when the slightest of rain fell, consistent with the taboo on moistening one's hair to comb it. Yet, I remember him at eighteen, attending class with a deep and open wound in the palm of his hand, with no dressing to cover it.

One of the joys of the tropics is the colour of the sky. Fancy being able to see a _green_ sky. Years later, my senior officer (a pillar of his church), seeing the green tropical sky on a poster next to my desk, denied that the sky could turn green (I presume that his God promised an invariant world). On the other hand, sunsets are so often spoilt by low clouds which suddenly appear – I have spent days and days, on many occasions, waiting for a sunset to photograph. Sunrise is more glorious. I remember, at eighteen, when I went to complete the cremation ceremony for my father on the west coast of Malaya, that the whole sky seemed to be lit up by lightning, producing inspiring patterns of purple lights against a black sky, without break, until the sun rose. It was simply fantastic – and balm to my soul. I remember too, decades later, the sun rising over the sea on the east coast of the peninsula, and giving me peace, in the days following my mother's funeral.

Another beautiful sight is the sun shower. The light shining ever so brightly through the rain produces jewel-like drops. Is there anything nicer than the warmth of the sun and its light married to soft, quenching, enriching rain? One rejoices in the display of the forces of rejuvenation. Yet, some ancient Greek apparently claimed that, if the sun shines when it rains, the devil is beating his mother. And some Western scholars like to claim the Greeks as their cultural ancestors!

My family lived in government quarters – a small two-bedroom house, one of a row of such houses, built of brick, with concrete floors. Every house in the row was joined to the other, every two separated by an open common drain. The bedroom and living-room were separated by a roofed but open veranda from the work areas. At the nearer end of the veranda was the food store-room. In the middle of the veranda was our dining setting. Yes, we did sit at the table on chairs – much to the surprise of an Australian medical student, son of a surgeon in Melbourne.

He did assure me that his enquiry was serious. All that I can guess is that he had been brought up on the usual imperialist bull and thus believed that all Indians were coolies who lived on the smell of an oil rag, but were smart enough and mean enough to think up the Black Hole of Calcutta, and who sat, like the cat, on a mat. And I am not even an Indian, as he well knew.

The other end of the veranda was used for pounding rice into flour, the grinding of grains, and as a wet-weather play area for the children. The veranda led to a kitchen with a primitive wood stove, which then led to a bathroom on one side and a concrete slab with tap on the other. Beyond the bathroom was the toilet, adjacent to which ran a lane. This facilitated the collection of toilet buckets and the delivery of firewood. The bathroom contained a tub from which water would be taken in a pitcher and poured on the person taking a bath. This arrangement is still found in some private houses in Malaysia today. The idea is to soap oneself (using modern soap) and wash it all off before the soap dried on the body. The floor of our bathroom was used for urinating too.

Wet bathroom floors were a hazard at night. There could be scorpions, centipedes and millipedes walking about. One had to be very careful. Indeed, at anytime, anywhere, you shook your clothes and your shoes before you put them on; you even shook out the pockets. There were all kinds of beasties falling out of clothes and shoes. We slept under mosquito nets at night – that shows how soft we were all becoming.

The concrete slab outside was for the washing of pots and plates, or clothing. All the water from bathing and washing was conveyed by the open drain, past the dining area, to the main drain at the front of the homes.

Surprisingly, there was also a tiny room for a servant. It contained a wooden platform, about three feet above the ground, covering half the room; that was all. A servant had to manage with mats. This is how our driver lived. When we had a servant boy at the same time, he slept in the kitchen. (Where did he keep his spare clothes?)

Essentially, the houses were an up-market version of the homes of peasants in the kampongs and in market gardens. After all, the houses were only for your obedient government servants. In the late Forties, working class Australians lived in better-quality and bigger homes; and in the Eighties, welfare recipients in Australia (including the unskilled Asian and other ethnic refugees) would have rejected such accommodation. On the other hand, wealthier Malayans (in business or in the professions) lived in bigger and better homes, but with security doors and fences – as they do today.

The two bedrooms in our houses meant a form of communal living, with privacy being achieved by the judicious use of sarongs. To my knowledge, babies continued to be produced without the other children becoming aware of the commencement and nature of the process. We were also not aware of the health risks of open drains or their stench. On the other hand, decades later, the people of Sydney were still swimming in sea water soiled by sewage. The authorities apparently pooh-poohed the idea of any substantial risk to the health of swimmers.

Outside each house, there was a little pocket handkerchief space for a lawn, a garden or just a play area. My father had a small lawn, a few colourful shrubs and a bed of orchids. He was the only one to try orchids, as they were said to be difficult to grow. Well, he grew them successfully. He also had pots and pots of ferns – set up in three tiers on the space between the drain and the house. He never seemed to spend much time with them, as watering was left to nature, and was totally unnecessary by hand. And there were people one employed to clear the drains, to sweep the limited grounds and to do any dirty work – that is, until the Japanese arrived and reminded us of the need to be self-sufficient (but not to the extent of disposing of the night soil).

The toilet buckets in our homes were collected both officially and unofficially. Chinese market gardeners, with large tubs hanging from their bicycles, would empty our buckets without warning, trying to beat the official collection. It was difficult to be nonchalant while waiting for the bucket to be replaced. The squatting position was described in health journals I found in an uncle's home as the most efficient position for evacuation. This mode was reflected, again decades later, in a modern Singapore hospital's toilets, except that one squatted over a modern flush system. The market gardeners would then cycle vast distances through the town back to their plots, and pour the fertiliser on top of the crops. Their growth must have been prodigious.

The growers would take their produce to market each day. Some walked miles to the official markets with baskets so heavy that they had permanent indentations on their shoulders. On the way to market, they were willing to stop and sell to those of us who wanted to buy, thus establishing a friendly relationship over the years. Thus, each day, my family had the freshest vegetables possible, in contrast to my purchases years later in Australia, when I knew that the vegetables were at least three to six days old. I do not believe that we got a discount in the purchase price for our contribution of fertiliser.

Daily, the Chinese fishmonger brought the previous day's catch to the house. My family, like our neighbours and friends, could afford only a small amount. Meat, usually goat, was bought at the markets from Indians, until cold storage facilities, selling Australian mutton, were established years later. Pork was taboo for us for hygiene reasons, although the Chinese ate it all the time; beef was taboo for religious reasons. Our intake of animal protein was slight; resulting in very lean children. The adults were rarely well-filled in appearance either, even in the higher income groups, because of the need to save and save for the education of the children. Daily, the itinerant barber, ringing his bicycle bell, arrived to shave my father. He, like others, believed in giving work to the less viable in the community.

Our neighbours were other government servants, with many Ceylonese, Indians and Chinese, and some Eurasians and Malays. We children played together, speaking in market Malay and attempted English, as did our parents with the other ethnic communities. I walked to school with others most of the time, using the bus only to see our Japanese dentist in town. (He also made house visits, if necessary.) One of our bus conductors was a large, cheerful, deep-voiced black American (we did not know about Afro-Americans or soul brothers then). One of the joys of travelling by bus was the purely aesthetic view of Malay women, who somehow seemed to project a more rounded perspective of the female figure than the other ethnic ladies. A boy did not have to be precocious to notice the obvious, especially their low-cut blouses. Many a Westerner has also said that the smaller Asian women seemed to have disproportionately larger breasts. Perhaps what's different becomes exotic!

Since the family car did not last long, social transport was by rickshaw. It was little wonder to us that the Chinese rickshaw-pullers would sojourn at the local opium shop for a breather on their off days. Pulling a rickshaw up the slopes of the town was obviously a terrible task; I found the knotted muscles on legs and arms and the strained breathing discomforting. I did not like travelling by rickshaw. Whilst opium might have brought some relief to their lives, I doubted very much if the poor Chinese would ever forgive the British for forcing China to enter the opium trade, and for introducing this dreadful drug to innocent Chinese and other people. Perhaps today's drug epidemic in Western nations is only karma at work.

Later, when I had a bicycle, I often rode to the nearby kampongs to buy fruit from the Malay farmers, and to the market for some daily shopping. I also used to carry my sister to her Anglican school from time to time. Years later, I was to carry my father to work when he was unwell.

At school, one of my friends included an Indian, the son of our postman. When he visited our home, he would not enter the house (neither would the postman). Was he sensitive to apparent caste differences? Or was he responding to the implicit class difference because my father was a postal clerk? Was it for hygiene reasons or because of caste or class that servants, and those with whom we did not mix socially, were given plates, cups and glasses which were kept separate from those the family used? In fact, coconut shells (left over after scraping the flesh to produce milk for curry) were used to offer food and drink to beggars, to workers who did odd jobs around the house, and to the (Indian) road workers who looked desiccated by their labour.

Generally, itinerant workers indicated that they would stay outside and sit on the steps. Those who were deemed to be equals, however, entered one another's home freely, and talked in any combination of languages possible. These included those dressed as yogis.

So while we related to other ethnic communities of the same occupational or social status as equals, did we, as Hindus, display caste prejudices? It is difficult to say. In the temples, everyone occupied the same space and worshipped together. In our homes, the workers stayed outside. What created the barrier? It seemed to me to be a reflection of perceived cleanliness, in the main, but producing the effect of class distinctions. Yet, there was also the intangible stench of caste in some transactions. However, it has to be said that cleanliness was indeed next to godliness in our families. After a haircut, one could not enter living space in homes without a bath and a change of clothes. Animals were not allowed into a home, as they brought in dirt. We had footwear for use outside the house, which were left at the door.

In my family, there was no overt indoctrination about caste, class or racial discrimination. In the community, the older generation, exposed to traditional prejudices in their youth, would have reflected in their behaviour some of this indoctrination. And my generation would have been sensitised, to a degree. However, in a multi-communal society, the scope for exhibiting inherited prejudices, even unconsciously, is severely limited. One can discriminate only within one's own community. It seemed to me that the educational level of the Ceylonese community did not offer much scope for caste or class prejudice. However, there were enough Indian Hindus around to practise on. In one clear case, I saw a Ceylon Tamil Christian doctor require his Indian servant boy to squat on the floor of his car. He was not allowed to use the seat even when there was enough seating capacity. To be fair, within my own observations, instances of prejudice, whether ethnic, caste or class, were few and far between.

This is not to deny the normal run of disparaging, throwaway comments about another community's practices, e.g. the liking for strong-smelling duck by the Chinese or, for that matter, about the occupational origins, e.g. fishing, tobacco-growing, etc., of the Ceylonese, which related to the villages they came from.

I was taught to treat other ethnic communities as equals. My closest friends included Eurasians, Indians and Chinese, as well as Ceylonese. My family's closest friends included many Christians, a Singhalese family (there were not many Singhalese around), some Chinese, as well as Ceylon Tamils (there were not many Malays living close to us). My father and a Chinese friend celebrated Chinese New Year and Deepavali (a Hindu festival) with a brandy each (they were otherwise teetotal). I had to play the violin for friends who liked to sing carols at Christmas. In one very close family, one offspring remained Hindu, the other became a Christian, whilst a third supported both religions. Their freedom of choice was uneventful. On festival days, visiting children of other ethnic communities oohed and ahed at the new clothes of the celebrants and enjoyed their hospitality.

My memories of growing up in this community of diverse origins are very warm. From the time I started in the English-language school, with its UK-based educational framework, I received a soccer ball from uncle number one at the end of each year (to earn it, I had to top my class). Each year, the ball was bigger. From time to time during the year, we boys changed our sport. A traveller reported years later that children in a wide range of countries in the Indo-Pacific region seemed to change to a different but identical sport, almost at the same time. Perhaps the monsoonal changes had something to do with it.

So, for reasons unknown to us, we would change to, say, hockey. Some months later, we would change to cricket perhaps, then to badminton, and so on. For soccer, the lads in my district were okay – I provided the ball. There might be twenty per side on some days – every boy who turned up played, irrespective of age or size. For cricket and other games, we had to beg, cajole or go fund-raising; we were successful. When we wanted competition, somehow we found an opposing team. This could mean a three-mile walk each way. We played soccer and other sports without shoes; we would spend some time each evening pulling out thorns from our feet.

For variety, some of us would practise pole-vaulting, using a flexible bamboo pole; or the high jump, using a bamboo stave, which inevitably curved downwards, thus aiding our efforts. Our landings were invariably of the painful kind, although we did not really attempt any great heights. In the right season, we would fly kites, using powdered glass on the string. This enabled aerial fights with kids far, far away – we would not even know where they were or who they were. Somehow, we would successfully cut the string of the other fellow's kite (or vice versa), and the watchers would tear off into the distance to capture it. Kite making was quite an art, very time-consuming. A captured kite was thus pure joy.

I made a few bows and arrows in my time but was not allowed to go hunting. However, one day, I learnt a useful lesson. For some time, some of us had been harassed by a bunch of kids near the school. Lo and behold, there was one of them cycling past my home when I was practicing my archery. I rushed into the street and said (just as I had learnt at the pictures), "Put your hands up." To my great surprise, he did, in a great hurry, and fell off his bike. I must have looked quite ferocious to frighten a mini-thug. I was never harassed after that. A most useful lesson that. I applied that approach, i.e. prompt and not-so-subtle retaliation, on the hockey field in Australia. There, even in the top grade, some of the bigger Aussies tried to steamroll us smaller Asians – but never more than once. Somehow, they fell down on their second effort (i.e. we Asians were rarely found guilty of foul or rough play).

As part of my development, I was enlisted with the Wolf Cub pack at school. After each regular meeting, two of us would steal fruit from a fenced yard on the way home. We thought that we had been successfully sneaky, until the Chinese ladies of the house came out one evening and asked us to take some more. They had been watching us each evening and had seen that we ran away when we heard a sound at the house. Well, that spoilt it. We did not bother them again. This happened in other places too – people were too nice to us would-be fruit thieves.

In 1941, as a Boy Scout, I volunteered as a messenger with the ARP – the Air-Raid Precaution people. This involved riding a bike in pitch darkness, and taking messages from one post to another, in case the limited telephone system was down. I was then deemed, at thirteen and still in primary school, as too young for the job, and was retired. The scheme did not ever come into play, to my knowledge. But it was an interesting experience, because in the dark on a moonless night, all the familiar landmarks simply disappeared – and, strangely, there were people walking the streets. They obviously did not take the simulated air-raid seriously, but these raids represented a health hazard to someone on a bicycle.

Another sporting activity which came to represent a hazard was the spinning of tops. We made our own tops. But the game became quite unprofitable when some of the stronger and bigger boys insisted on their version. This was to crack open the other tops, using the sharp nails within their own.

Whilst the boys had their sports – all self-generated and self-sustained – the girls played hopscotch and other simple games. They were not to be rumbustious.

The parents usually went walking in the evenings. My father was often seen in front of my mother, indicating to some observers of the Western kind that this was the traditional male-dominated relationship. My view was that, as my mother seemed to have equal rights in any major decisions by the family, this reflected her shorter legs, and had nothing to do with power relationships.

Life for many women was not secure. There were often sounds of beating, with women and children crying. As children, we were beaten for minor misdemeanours. I suppose this violence reflected the fear of the future and uncertainty which sat heavily on most of the adults. However, in one case, we discovered no beating, in spite of the sound of thrashing and screams. It transpired that, every now and then, our near neighbour would complain to his wife about an admirer of hers, whom we had observed visiting from time to time. This upset her, and she would beat a straw broom against the wall and scream at each blow, thereby receiving our silent sympathy. It was only when she ran off with the boyfriend that the truth came out. Before that, the family was too embarrassed to tell us the truth.

The uncertainty of normal adult life included the ever-present risk of theft. Nothing was safe. All windows were barred, yet we could lose clothing, hooked out through the bars. At night, we could hear footsteps and the sounds of someone testing the windows. We therefore slept in the heat with all windows and doors firmly shut and locked. This was quite fearsome. Pickpockets were endemic. In some areas, someone would kindly offer to sell back to you your possession of a few minutes ago. To add to the tensions of life, Malay folklore seemed to be full of 'hantus' or ghosts. And the odd Malay would run amok (but never any of the other ethnic communities). Why was this so? We never found out.

We children learnt much about reality whenever my uncles visited – which was regularly. They were full of stories about the world of politics, work and community matters, uttered with cynicism and humour. They were well balanced – until you crossed them. Few did, as they were known to be tough guys, who stuck together and struck out together; but they had style in the way they dealt with people of diverse backgrounds and they taught us not to "take shit" from anyone. And they took to change comfortably. For me, they were a most useful formative influence. Other useful formative influences were student friends of the family, who dropped in for a meal as often as possible. One could also learn from the goods sold by Chinese traders For example, I recall a pillowcase with an embroidered homily: NO PAIN, NO GAIN.

But life was not totally serious. We enjoyed our holidays at the seaside each year. We children often were able to go during the year as well. Although the sea was flat and murky (protection was provided against the crocodiles which shared the sea with us), the surroundings were beautiful. There were squirrels everywhere, and the sound of wind in the casuarina trees was as balm. And we knew not to sit under the coconut trees.

If we did want more exposure to reality, all that we had to do was to see an Indian film. Within three to four hours, we could experience the gamut of human existence – natural disasters, human violence, treachery, love and kindness, spirituality, fluctuating fortunes – you name it and you got it.

Thus I grew up comfortable with the idea of diversity and change. I realised that the older generation, because of language, were coexisting communities, but with tremendous mutual respect and tolerance. Unlike the Australian tradition, we actually talked to our neighbours. Chinese would pray at our preferred temple. My mother would attend a Catholic church occasionally in later years. My generation paid no attention to differences in ethnicity, language, culture, religion, foods, traditions or clothing – why should we? We were a nation in the making, adopting some clothing styles, some foods, some words, and some practices from other communities. Yet, we remained integral members of our respective communities.

Remaining a practising Hindu Ceylon Tamil meant going to the temple each week, and every day of school exams. I learnt to break coconuts in the temple, to prostrate myself, and to lose myself in prayer. I was taught to read and write Tamil. I memorised pages and pages of religious material (none of which I now remember). I was taught the essentials of Hindu philosophy. After all, Hinduism is a religion which one lives, not talks about or preaches.

My mother, who was well read in Tamil, read to the family parts of the traditional literature. My eldest cousin and I were told parables by his mother, as lessons in ethics and justice. His father, my number one uncle, on the other hand, counselled against over-reliance on priests, while remaining as spiritual as the rest.

However, our priests, the Brahmins, were only guardians of religious material. They were not our spiritual guides telling us what to do and whom to do it with. They did not proclaim the superiority of our faith over others. They did not enter our homes to control our thoughts, or to insist on financial contributions. They came, in humility, by invitation, and were honoured and recognised in a voluntary material fashion for their skills and services. They also lived and dressed simply, with no hierarchy or pomp, and could not therefore claim to be socially equal to princes and diplomats. This left the individual free to find his own way to God. He had control of his own life and his destiny, subject to the laws of karma, i.e. of cause and effect, over many lifetimes. Or, in other words, we are necessarily mortgaged to yesterday in living a life of choice.

The priest is not required for all rituals. Some rituals involved only the family. On a number of occasions, I remember geometric patterns being laid out with flour on the concrete veranda or the sandy ground beside it. Complex arrangements and presentations were then made to the gods. It was clearly understood that, always, these gods were merely manifestations of the one and only God of mankind and everything else. There was always someone who seemed to know about these rituals, the content and placement of the various offerings, and the purpose of it all.

Guidance for living was based not only on the traditions derived from the teachings of the Hindu faith; there were also village-based traditions. There was considerable reliance on the reading of horoscopes, both by experts in Ceylon and India, and by locals, in planning for the future. Indian astrology, apparently derived from the Chaldean, and therefore with a well-established tradition of observation, permitted some prediction (based on probability). Originally, it was indeed astronomy. There was also a manual for interpreting the sounds contributed by house lizards when any important matter was being discussed (another warning system). In the main, however, personal horoscopes were accepted as warnings of trends or forces, not as predictions.

On health practices, there was always someone knowledgeable about herbal treatments. Our family was assisted by a wise elderly Indian lady, whose treatments were generally effective; from time to time, I was sent out to pick this or that leaf from some fence or open ground in the neighbourhood. Everyone seemed to know where these plants grew, and what their medicinal properties were, but they needed an expert to prescribe. Another health treatment was not so traditional. It was the monthly castor oil treatment for children. It was a revolting practice, learnt from the marketing men of British industry. And I do not believe that it did any good. In any event, there was, for us, no risk of secondary absorption of nutrients (from the lower bowel) because of the amount of chili we ingested each day.

Weddings and funerals, which brought together not only relatives but representatives of the whole community from the length and breadth of the Malayan peninsula, were the social focus of these migrants.

The ritualistic practices were followed faithfully for generations, notwithstanding some slight differences of opinion as to this or that particular presentation, placement or procedure. To me, it seemed incongruous that banana palm stems could be tied to house entrances or gate posts and mango leaves tied across the doorways, presumably in order to simulate the village environs, even in the Nineties.

In 1941, one wedding took a whole weekend. I remember sitting through hours of ceremony, the significance of which escaped most of us, including the adults. But I guess that is the nature of religious ceremonies in any faith.

Every one of these ceremonies cost a small fortune. There was the goldsmith to be brought to the house for weddings and a small ceremony enacted long before the wedding took place. Much gold changed hands before being garlanded around the neck of the bride. Her wedding sari had enough gold thread to finance the overseas education of at least one offspring. But there was considerable meaning attached to the ceremony.

A funeral ceremony was as long as (and perhaps more meaningful than) a wedding ceremony. Prayers were offered again and again, and the soul ultimately despatched, with the sun as witness, and eighteen past generations revered in the process (how many of these had been recycled in the meantime?). After cremation (only men were allowed to be present), another duplicate but truncated ceremony was conducted at the seaside, and the ashes cast into the waters with due reverence and solemnity. There is great beauty in the intent of the ceremonies. There is also a lot to be said about the means of disposal of an unwanted vehicle for the soul, and with the merging of the residue of our human selves with the flowing cosmos.

And custom is not always a hindrance to human advancement, as has been claimed by some in the Western world of haste and change.

There is a very strong case for retaining the core of customary rituals and practices. A people without respect for their heritage stand on swampy land with little to hold onto.

However, traditional ceremonies are, in my view, far too long, with few of us understanding the various features of the proceedings. With more understanding of _what_ is done and _why_ it is done, a shortened ceremony might well hold succeeding generations to rituals which have stood the test of time over centuries but which may not counter the onslaught of material progress.

The hope of material progress was what had brought all the various ethnic communities to Malaya. The occupations they held reflected the relative opportunities offered to them. Exposure to sustained poverty, caste and class distinctions, denial of equal opportunity, and disparities in wealth drove the migrants to seek security and success. As individuals became successful, they pulled up family members, reflecting the influence of the clan. The sense of community was thereby retained, unlike the nuclear families of the West. A corollary of this is, as I see it, that charity is not societal or institutional, but familial or individual.

However, it was strange to find firm ethnic patterns in employment in my youth. For example, tin mine workers were Chinese, as were building workers (including many, many women) climbing rickety bamboo scaffolding. Road repair gangs were South Indian Tamils. Goldsmiths were South Indians, jewellers were Singhalese, jagas (guards, often armed) were Sikhs, fabric traders included a variety of Indian language groups (I did not have enough knowledge of the diverse Chinese language groups to identify their origins), rickshaw-pullers and opium shop-owners (and users) were always Chinese. Most other occupations, from public service to prostitution, were shared; the exceptions were top positions reserved for the whites. The Eurasians, unlike the Anglo-Indians (of India), did not seem to receive privileged treatment.

Indeed, in government employment, the British were apparently fair in their selection and promotion processes; many of the migrants progressed to positions of importance and relative power, irrespective of ethnic origin, thus aiding the integration of the many communities.

Looking back, multiculturalism was already sent on a concrete foundation in Malaya.

Because of the breadth of their religions, the followers of each faith showed no intolerance towards the faiths of others, except, regrettably, for some Christians, who claimed to have access to a very narrow doorway to God through which others (including other Christians) could not pass. I was to discover later that Christians in Malaya were far more tolerant of other religions and sects than the Christians I met initially in Australia.

It was simply accepted in my youth that people had different religious beliefs, that they were searching for the same goal in different ways, that they were sustained in their beliefs by different practices – and that was all there was to it. As language barriers came down through the education system, there was increasing social contact. Religious festivals also provided the opportunity for us to visit one another across cultural boundaries.

Another bonding influence was the white man's insistence that government servants wear suits and ties. My poor father would come home tired each day, attired in his suit, with a detachable collar on his striped shirt, and a tie to match, as well as socks and shoes. Since there was no air conditioning anywhere, one can imagine the discomfort he and his fellow workers experienced. But they were all dressed alike (as they are today – there and elsewhere in the world at large). School children also dressed alike, especially in "Bombay bloomers" (knee-length shorts).

Fortunately, at home and socially, we all wore traditional clothes with all their colour and styles. There was some cross-ethnic borrowing of style. A style not borrowed was that of Chinese shopkeepers, who sat at their shop fronts in sleeveless singlets rolled up to expose their midriffs, which they would fan while they sipped hot tea. I believe that it was an effective way of cooling oneself. However, it was much later before Western styles were to destroy the most traditional styles, notwithstanding their unsuitability in the heat of the tropics.

Multiculturalism, whilst it embraced the major communities, did not seem to me to include our white brothers.

I felt that Malayans were ambivalent about white people. Whether British or not, they were all described as whites, and generally described as smelly, presumably because of their tendency to perspire profusely in the heat. On one occasion in class, a student said that the white man smelt. He was promptly corrected by the English-language teacher who said, "No, you smell; he _stinks_!" Presumably, the teacher was trying to be grammatically correct!

There was always the question as to why the English would choose to be in an uncomfortable alien land. Initially, they were clearly adventurers, many of whom apparently became very rich by exploiting the natives. After the establishment of colonial structures, what kind of Englishman preferred life in these strange countries? One would expect the power-hungry commoner to lead the field. Then there would also be the usual soul-gatherers, the opportunists, and the traders (hopefully, mutually exclusive categories). An English migrant, who had been a senior policeman in Malaya, told me that he identified three categories of Englishman in government: social rejects from the upper class; the power-hungry opportunists; and Mr Average, seeking a speedy rise to comfort and security. The question is, how competent were they, while they claimed to civilise us and teach us how to govern ourselves. (Ye gods! What arrogance!)

Necessarily, schooling under the British included their efforts to denigrate and destroy our cultural heritage, and identify and extol the virtues of the white man's imperialism, piracy, brigandage, and the saving of souls. I cannot think of anything more offensive than this, educationally speaking. As was said pithily by some writer, "Impiety – your irreverence towards my deity." We were taught no local history; so that, without vernacular schools, we would not have been aware of the great and beneficial influence of the Chinese and Indian civilisations on South-East Asia (and elsewhere).

Nevertheless, we were smart enough to appreciate that an apparent acceptance of colonial crap (for the time being) would equip us to work within the exploiter's system. In dealing with the British, the objective of the Malayans was thus to learn as much as possible from the whites in order to succeed. We knew that eventually they would leave, and we would govern ourselves.

Some Malayans (especially in the middle class) had another objective in their dealings with the British. This was to adapt as much as possible to the British way of life in order to become more viable in Western society. Some even had ambitions to live in England. As was discovered later in life, some of these people who lived under the British became more British than the British themselves about the Crown and English ways of living (including the consumption of alcohol), English modes of dress, English modes of speech, and eating English food.

I was inclined to define some of these families as "Horlicks" families. These people were quite prepared to drink Horlicks each night (for strength, of course), cod-liver oil (for health) and drinks such as Bovril (for status), all of which were far more expensive than the meat they could not apparently afford to eat and which they seemed to need (judging by their physique). It seemed to me that money saved by a lean diet for the purposes of future education of the children was not being effectively spent when directed towards imitating the expensive food and drink of the white man.

My people were not the only community to ape the white man. It seemed that every ambitious family went ape in relation to matters British. Some did well by doing this. The trouble was that the majority of their people did not offer the respect that the ambitious ones thought they had thus earned. The term "black Englishmen" was often directed at members of my community who had forgotten to keep at least one foot on the community path.

One community that did not need to ape the white man was the Eurasians. Our Eurasian neighbours, reflecting their part-European heritage, would hold dance parties to celebrate birthdays and the like. The idea of couples dancing, touching and holding one another was contrary to the traditions of the other communities. But then, the Eurasians were not part of any of the other ethnic communities, at least culturally. Their festivals were European, their traditions and social practices derived from their often distant European ancestors, perhaps a sole grandfather.

Years later, in Australia, I met a dark brown Mauritian who claimed to be French because of his French grandfather, the only white infusion to an otherwise black or brown people. He was proud of his French inheritance, and he had every right to be so. That was how our Eurasian friends and neighbours viewed their heritage, and we supported them in that perception. When the Eurasians celebrated socially, they had Western music either on records or even with live musicians. The other communities had their popular (often film) music. When it came to religious occasions, tradition (at least for the Hindus) asserted itself. I do not recall being aware of the distinction between traditional and popular music for the other communities.

When it came to literature and the arts, one cannot expect those of an immediate peasant, and therefore relatively illiterate, background to have brought with them in their migration much of the heritage of their people back home. As I found in Australia much later, there was limited awareness of the literature and the arts of their heritage by those who had migrated to lift themselves from the bottom of the social stratum in their own society. But, like these, the poor Chinese and Indians in Malaya could be found reading ethnic newspapers and to be well informed about matters relevant to them, including international politics.

The Ceylon Tamils seemed to have had better educational opportunities than many other ethnic groups, and were both literate in their language and had been exposed to their own literature before migration. They were thus able to remain in touch with their heritage while struggling to settle into their new home (especially as many of them saw themselves initially as guest workers).

But the traditions were not passed on to many in my generation. My sister and I were introduced to the harmonium and to singing, but few of our Ceylonese friends were. We read in Tamil, but, in time, less and less of the community did. Why? Because we were too busy studying in the English language, with the objective of success in a multicultural nation. How were the traditions to be conveyed to future generations? No one seemed to be aware of the need for that. Was this the beginning of de-tribalisation?

The transmission of some traditions is not easy, especially if the parents do not know their claimed bases. In our temples, we worshipped the bull (in passing). Did we stop to speculate that this practice might reflect a pre-monotheistic religion based on the impacts of our neighbouring planets, perhaps Mars? Respect for the cow – sanctioned by the Vedas – was defended on economic terms. In which case, why was our culture the only one to do so? Did the practices reflect the "rivers of milk" and "manna" mentioned in both Jewish and Hindu scriptures, and associated with the mid-second millennium catastrophe referred to in folklore, myths and sacred writings of almost all peoples throughout the world?

So, each community retained what it could of its traditions, passing some onto the next generation, while focusing on material progress in a diverse society. This bred tolerance.

The multi-ethnic scene was, however, not harmonious. There were some real problems when love reared its head. Amongst my people, arranged marriages were the norm. The reasons included keeping property within the extended clan, a custom shared by ethnic communities in other parts of the world (but how genetically dangerous, I thought); it also helped to avoid inheriting diseases and derangements when the family one is marrying into is thoroughly known; and, of course, consulting the stars was believed to enhance the durability of the marriage through assessed compatibilities, as well as likely impacts of the planets on the couple in their joint future.

When an uncle married a Chinese lady before the war, I noticed that he was isolated from the rest of the community by that marriage. The marriage was a successful one and my cousins and I were good friends. I noticed that while my uncle visited my home, I was the only member of the clan to visit him; yet other uncles and their families visited us, and were visited in return. Another uncle subsequently married a Malay and he too was isolated then. Whilst there was another reason for some distance between this uncle and his relatives, I again felt very strongly about the isolation that followed. This marriage too was successful.

I felt that, whilst the divergent communities coexisted successfully (that is, peacefully and harmoniously), and whilst individuals related to one another as equals, when marriage across ethno-cultural borders occurred, prejudice raised its ugly head. In later years, I was to experience this isolation itself – and thereby hangs another tale. Such tensions aside, my childhood was happy, peaceful, productive, interesting, challenging – and richer by virtue of such a variety of cultures surrounding me.

And social change can be exhilarating.

###  _Chapter Four_

The Transgressor

Our peaceful life was brutally brought short by the Japanese. Whilst we had been aware of the war, since it was elsewhere, it did not seem to bother our parents. Perhaps they were calm in the atmosphere generated by our masters – that they ruled the seas, and that they could and would defeat any aggressor. Based upon their experience in China, the Japanese obviously did not pay too much attention to this claim.

When the Japanese bombed my home town, I was in the throes of making terribly scratchy noises on a violin. My Goanese music teacher and I did not hear the bombs falling, about three miles away, until my mother rushed into the room in panic. Since there was nowhere to hide, we all stayed at the window and watched while the bombs fell. The Japanese were flying so high that no British plane could get near them.

The next time the Japanese arrived, I was in the middle of town, cycling to the market. When the planes started to bomb the township, I ducked into a large drainpipe, only to find another person there before me. For some reason, the Japanese were not particularly accurate. After all, there was no threat from the British, and they could have done anything they liked. We watched the bombs falling, and they seemed to be falling towards us. My neighbour, a Chinese, promptly pulled out a string of beads and started to pray. Since he spoke in a Chinese language, I had no idea which God he was addressing. Even then, I had severe reservations about God taking time off to come in and change gravitational forces or the direction of the wind. The bombing was ineffective. The Japanese missed all the worthwhile targets. My bead-counting friend and I were safe.

However, the Japanese were successful in panicking an uncle who had come to visit. He promptly gathered his sister, a sister-in-law, and all their children and took us all to his home, about forty odd miles away, for safety. The two fathers were left to go to work and to guard their respective houses, which were about eighty yards apart.

A few weeks later, the Japanese planes arrived over my uncle's home. His house was just behind the local railway station, which the Japanese successfully bombed. In the process, the house was rocked, and slightly damaged. The three frightened families were soaked while hiding in a great big drainpipe used as an air-raid shelter, and which was now knee-deep in water. My uncle, having assumed full responsibility for the families of his brother and his brother-in-law, decided to seek further protection from any bombing or fighting. He took us all into a rubber estate, hopefully for complete safety. Living conditions there were absolutely awful. The three families occupied the quarters of the rubber tappers who had fled earlier but we had only one room per family. That was all the tappers had. There was no one to look after the rubber trees or to produce any rubber, and there was the all-pervasive stench of smoked rubber to remind us of our plight. The British were on the run, shopping was hazardous, and the supply of food uncertain. Security against robbers was non-existent. All that the families were saved from at that stage was the bombs. Washing was done in the river quite a distance away from our living quarters, as the water was restricted. Each day, the older children carried the clothes to be washed to the river and helped the three women to wash them. We were thirteen, twelve, and eleven, respectively. We helped with the grinding of the curry-paste and the jobs around our quarters. All this was a new experience for us. The younger children lived their normal lives. However, our studies continued, but without books. Somehow we managed, until we felt it safe to go home, to live under the Japanese.

In the meantime, the British retreat took the uncle whose family was with us in the rubber estate, and who was a volunteer in the army, all the way to Singapore. His wartime experience was purely one of retreat, without ever shooting at anyone. My father was left to guard the two houses, which contained food for the next few months for the two families. We were to learn, after the Japanese occupation had begun, that there were no jobs, no income, and little food to purchase for many months.

We were very fortunate when my youngest sister and her cousin of the same age fell seriously ill. My mother was convinced that the latter was on the verge of death. Since there was no one to turn to, she fed the two-year-old some medication she had saved. What a miracle; the child survived and is now a most charming mother of two sons, one married to an English lass. Two years later, another sister was equally fortunate. Without any anaesthetic or antiseptic, a large boil at the back of her head was lanced and packed by a non-medical friend. We do not know how she survived – she is now a proud grandmother.

One day, while we were hiding in the rubber plantation, we children noticed not the usual flow of British trucks going south, but trucks containing Japanese soldiers. We were terrified. The Japanese, seeing us, waved with gusto as they went past. This was their first line of troops. Reportedly, they treated the people they met in their rush to occupy the country with courtesy – in the main. If they took a car or bicycle, they gave the owner a receipt. In many cases, that receipt would save the lives of the owners and their friends in later years. Eventually, we went back to our respective homes. The volunteer uncle somehow managed to get back safely, just before we left the plantation. For some reason, he brought his revolver and holster which, naturally enough, had to be hidden from the Japanese. No one had any doubt as to what would have happened to him had the revolver been discovered. In the plantation, the revolver was hidden between two pieces of wood holding up the grinding stone used for grinding the curry paste, prepared each morning. Since the grinding stone was not easily lifted and was washed each morning, my eldest cousin and I (the only children to know about the revolver) wondered whether the revolver was worth the trouble. I doubted that it could ever be fired again with all the moisture surrounding it. It might have been useful for pointing at robbers.

Strangely enough, we Malayans seemed to be more closely bonded because of the Japanese occupation, except for those who rather stupidly saw our new masters as liberators. My relatives could not understand why the Japanese would ever hand back Malaya to the locals at any time, since it contained the scarce resources that Japan needed. It is interesting to see, today, how what they could not obtain and hold by force, they have acquired by purchase – throughout the whole of Asia, as well as Australia. And, like all imperialists, they live in enclaves wherever they dominate economically.

Life was naturally hazardous during the Japanese occupation. Initially, in our towns, the Japanese rounded up prominent locals, none of whom would have expressed openly any anti-Japanese sentiments, and kept them in the sun within the walls of the local jail. At the end of the day, there was no doubt that no community leader would be other than respectful to the new overlords. Next followed house-to-house searches. One of the families in my neighbourhood had a picture of the king of England; they were very loyal subjects, in spite of their ancestors having been subjugated for two centuries by various breeds of Europeans. The picture was quickly burnt. It was not surprising to us that no one reported a neighbour for pro-British or anti-Japanese sentiment. During the search, when the Japs reached a house two doors away, the widowed lady of the house met them with a receipt for a bicycle that the front-line troops had taken from her son. Upon sighting the receipt, the two members of the search party immediately clicked their heels and bowed deeply, smiling at the lady. Somehow, she managed to get the message across that her good friends included my family. When the search party reached our house, we were naturally terrified. When we opened our door to them, they merely bowed to my father, smiled, said something apparently friendly, and went.

My family and I lived in peace and hunger for the rest of the Japanese occupation, except for one occasion when two relatives and I were listening to a short-wave radio. We heard a sound outside the front window at three o'clock in the afternoon. To our horror, there was the incredible sight of a Japanese soldier looking in. Normally, if he had known what we were doing, that would have led to some drastic and disastrous outcome, like a very effective beating. Fortunately for us, he was a foot soldier who had simply lost his way on his day off. So, we lived to tell our story, but we were not inclined to use the short-wave radio much after that.

After the war, we heard some terrible stories about people who had been caught by the Japanese using a short-wave radio, especially to assist the anti-Japanese Underground. One was hung by his legs for days. In the end, he could not use his legs at all. Reportedly, he had to survive until the end of his days without any compensation from anyone.

Life in Japanese-occupied Malaya was harsh. For those with jobs, there was regular income, supplemented by selling the cigarettes which were part pay. Others survived as best they could. My memory of that period is one of hunger – being always hungry. For most of the time, I also remember only one meal per day. I remember, in the early years of the occupation, waiting in a queue for one and a half hours once a month for about half a pound of meat for a family of six. That stopped after a while. People became thinner and thinner, almost daily. On one occasion, I found in the kitchen storage a tinful of dry, salted fish, fifty-percent occupied by very fat maggots. Without informing my mother, I killed the maggots by placing the lot on a hot plate, saving the fish. I then cooked the fish and served my family. For years later, I wondered why I had not wanted to eat the cooked maggots. I suspected that I was not hungry enough to beat my prejudice that maggots represented filth. So, there went another adage that we had hung on to: better a mouse in the pot than no flesh at all. Ah, the problems of being a Hindu, with all that emphasis on cleanliness and hygiene.

What was really terrible during the period of hunger was seeing the beggars slowly dying where they lay. No one had spare food or money. Worse still was the sight of some of the dying men masturbating and some of the women producing babies. As the Russian saying goes: when you live next to a cemetery, you cannot weep for everyone.

Against this background, I could not believe my ears when (years later) Australians talked about how they suffered from food rationing. Even the British, with their harsh food rationing, seemed to have been better off than we Malayans, who lived mainly on tapioca and a few vegetables. We had tapioca boiled, tapioca sliced and fried (if oil was available), tapioca scraped and steamed. What else could you do with tapioca? We grew tapioca in every available space. The vegetables available were limited in variety, quality and quantity. Occasionally, we obtained corn (maize); if we were lucky, we could buy maize bread – one could use a small loaf for the shot-put.

However, we supplemented our diet by keeping geese (noisy, but good watchdogs), ducks (how filthy), and chicken (they were fun). Roosters could be used to make nice curries. No bird died of sickness; if one looked sick, it became instant curry. One day, a rooster walked in front of a truck (it had never seen one before) – more instant curry. Fishermen bringing their catch up the river illegally also helped, as did the odd consortium which bought a young goat and killed it. We also traded bags of padi, which we husked to obtain rice, for usable discarded clothing.

While my family and I lived quietly and were not under physical threat by the Japs, I took a risk in passing through the town each day. I had to pass by the military camp, stationed at the high school. At the entrance to the camp was a sentry outside a guard box. Barbed wire across the road forced everyone to stop and pay homage to the Emperor's representative on duty. The idea was, if one were on a bicycle, to get off the bicycle a short distance away from the sentry and walk towards him. I always looked at him for any signs that he might have been offended by my manner or appearance. In the meantime, the sentry pretended not to look at those approaching him and bowed deeply from the waist, over the bicycle if need be. If the sentry were to take a dislike to the person bowing to him, or to be ill-tempered at that moment, he would simply walk up and hit the person with the butt of his rifle and shout at him, kick him, or hold him back for any length of time that he wished. The rest of us had to wait until that ceremony was over. I saw this happen on a number of occasions. For a peaceful, law-abiding person, it was probably the most frightening experience that one could be subject to such treatment for no reason.

On the other hand, at any intersection, Japanese soldiers could stop all able-bodied men and boys, and take them away in their trucks to seal off roads or to do any other work that was required. Near the end of the occupation, I myself was taken, by prior arrangement with the college I was attending, to extend the runway at the local airport. This meant that a number of us would dig the soil loose from an embankment, and others would carry the soil in cane baskets to the site to be extended, about four hundred yards away. On my normal diet, I was able to lose weight even more quickly than the diet warranted. Fortunately, the war ended not long after my great contribution to Japan's intention to defend the Malayan Peninsula against counter-attacks by the Allied forces.

The first time these forces appeared over the skies in Malaya, the people were inclined to stand back and cheer. Some of the people who did this were sighted and not seen again. In my college, when a couple of Allied planes flew over, very low in the sky, in the morning, all the students were in air-raid shelters. The Japanese principal, who normally behaved in the most humane fashion towards us, was not there that day. Without thinking, we stupidly rushed out of the shelters and cheered, waving our arms about. Unfortunately, while those in the planes might not have seen us, the Japanese military police did. They occupied a tall building not far from the college, and which had a high tower overlooking the township. We were naturally reported, but no action was taken at that stage, because the principal was said to be the second highest ranking officer in that State. How lucky we were! The next morning the principal addressed us. He said that he understood our sentiment but could not agree with it. He added that we were good students and should not be stupid enough to do it again; he would not be able to protect us the next time. We were very aware, of course, that it would have been very easy for the military police to have dealt harshly and simultaneously with all the students. My fellow students and I should have known better.

From the same military police headquarters, we had seen emaciated and beaten bodies carted out in wheelbarrows, from time to time. We had heard terrible beatings and piteous cries from those beaten, as we rushed past in fear and agony. We had been told that water treatment was common in that complex. This treatment involved a suspect's digestive system being filled with water, using a hose, and the interrogators jumping (boots and all) on the midriff of those who had been well filled this way. So, the deaths continued in that complex, but no student was, to my knowledge, taken in.

But for me, the hazards of living with the Japs were much less than the hazards of living with the anti-Japanese underground as the years went by. One day, I cycled to a little village outside the town, accompanying a relative who had some business to conduct there. I was warned not to look at anyone or appear to be listening to anyone in that area, while the business transaction was being conducted. The reason given was that this area housed anti-Jap fighters, who were also communists. The general community had also been aware that British planes had dropped arms in the nearby jungles, that the Japs would go into the jungle in search of the arms, never to come out again. I had no reason to doubt the veracity of such stories, although much may have been useful propaganda.

By this time, my family had moved to a hamlet a fair distance away from the township. One day, I followed my monthly practice of catching a bus to a town about halfway and then cycling the rest of the distance. The cycling, in midday heat, took more than one hour; the whole journey took half a day. Travelling by bus could mean hanging on the rail outside the bus for most of the distance. We travelled like sardines, providing the oil in the form of perspiration.

I arrived at the family home one day to be told that the family had received a friendly little note from the local branch of The People's Anti-Japanese forces. (To this day my hackles rise when I hear of a group whose title contains the words "the people's...") My family was required to make a small contribution of three thousand dollars (a fortune for us) by a specified date. That was early in 1945. I noticed, when I walked into town with my father for our regular shopping, that no one stopped to talk to anyone else. There was an unearthly silence about the place. Everyone seemed to be watching everyone else without appearing to look. One could smell the fear of the people.

Yet, there was traffic passing through the hamlet, and guarded life continued as usual. Before the nominated date, guided by my father, I was able to find an Indian trader in the capital to provide the money we needed. He bought from us a very expensive sari that my mother had kept hidden. While a lot of used clothing had been traded for bags of padi, goat meat, and other foods, the valuable garments represented the only assets we had. I was to discover later that our transaction had been carried out under the very noses of the Japanese military police. They had an office above the shop where the sari changed hands.

I received about four thousand dollars from the transaction. I kept the money in my hip pocket in bundles of one thousand dollars each (in small notes), together with a piece of folded paper recording how the sale figure had been arrived at, less certain expenses for the middleman (there is always a middleman in such transactions). When I reached home after the usual bus and cycle trips, I proudly dipped into my pocket for the money. But I found only three thousand dollars. I was mortified, but my parents said nothing (which made it worse). Someone on the bus had very carefully taken a bundle of one thousand and (fortunately) the folded piece of paper. The extortion money was then paid in due time by due process. The family was left in peace, but still lived in fear (like the rest of the small community). Not everyone was left in peace.

A month or so after our payments to the local communist thugs, four naked bodies were found a milestone apart along the highway. They had had their throats cut. One was a relative of ours. He had sold his bullock cart and bullocks in order to pay the extortion money. It was not known generally what the sale price was. But my father knew that only half of it was needed for payment to these so-called fighters for our independence. He presumed that our relative had been killed for the rest of the money. He knew, however that one of the others killed had been heard to speak out against these terrorists. Years later, I read that some Underground fighters in Europe behaved in a similar fashion, i.e. they were a greater threat than the occupying forces.

After that experience, the whole area lived in complete terror until the Allied troops arrived. Understandably, as soon as the news that Japan had surrendered became available, a number of collaborators of the Japanese disappeared. A number of Japanese apparently also disappeared. It was also expected that a number of private grudges were settled in that period under the guise of anti-Japanese activities.

It was therefore not surprising that my family and I, and all our relatives, remain strongly anti-communist. Of course, the sense of individuality and freedom engendered by our cultural heritage also helps. For many years I remained anti-Japanese as well until, as an Australian government official, I had to treat the Japanese as fairly as I treated anyone else (and that was not easy initially). However, I remain strongly anti-communist, as communism denies the personal freedom which is man's heritage (no matter how much profit may be made through commercial transactions with communists).

News of Japan's surrender had a strange impact upon many of us. A modicum of law and order was maintained, fortunately for the population. We lost our fear of the Japanese. We detected too a change in their behaviour towards us – it was not their usual autocratic manner. It took us a little while to become used to this. And life went on, but with a sense of expectation.

There was a quiet sense of joy at the prospect of the return of the British, the lesser of two evils (as my father said). The British had been almost forgiven for the damage they had caused to civilian property when they missed their military targets. On one occasion, the British planes flew so low without any opposition from the Japanese, and yet kept missing a key target – the railway yards. (Years later someone suggested that the pilots must have been Americans – that represented the average Australian's assessment of the competence of their favourite allies.)

In any event, on that useless bombing raid, one of my fellow students jumped off his bike when the first bombs fell and ran into the local museum for safety. The building was not far from the yards but was hit. Miraculously, he survived, ran out and hid in another building nearby and that was hit. Again he survived. He ran out of that building towards another, thought better of it, and jumped into a nearby ditch.

That was a good decision, as he later said to me, because that building too was hit. Thankfully, the railway station remains an architectural wonder in its own right.

The first British troops I sighted arriving at our town were Indians. Astoundingly, they were carrying not rifles, but shovels. That was not exactly inspiring. In the days that followed, it was reported that some of the local Chinese had been expecting the anti-Japanese communist fighters to receive some recognition for their part in damaging the Japanese; and for some peculiar reason, some also apparently believed that the British would gratefully hand over some control of Malaya to the locals. There was a general fear that the communists were prepared to take over the nation by force. I also heard that, in the following weeks, some of the Indian troops walking through the market place were set upon by some Chinese. In retaliation, the troops had returned in large trucks and caused enough destruction to discourage any further silliness.

Peace having thereby been imposed, life in the country went back to normal, except for the activities of the communist terrorists. These continued to be a threat to us for many years. But they were instrumental unintentionally in bonding the diverse communities.

I was also to have adult responsibilities thrust upon me somewhat brutally. Near the end of the war, an aunt died, leaving five children, aged one to eight. My mother left immediately to look after her brother and his children. Two months later, my father recalled her. My sister, who had learnt to cook for the family from the age of twelve, because of my mother's illness, had looked after her two younger sisters and her father for far too long, he said. (She did not know it then – it was a preparation for the unexpected responsibilities which were to be thrust upon her through my unintended abdication.)

So I was sent to replace my mother. I travelled for hours in an open-bed railway truck carrying road metal (imagine the heat). When I arrived, I found the male cook and general dogsbody ill (he was to remain in bed for the two months I looked after the family), the baby with diarrhoea, and the other four children most unhappy. As my uncle went to work, I ran the household by myself. I was sixteen. After two months, my family temporarily adopted the only daughter in the family as well as the baby, and brought them up as ours for a few years. Thus was family support demonstrated. Thus was I prepared for more than self-sufficiency – but I was not so much eagle as mother hen.

Cultural life under the Japanese occupation was necessarily restricted. Religious life continued, much as before, but with greater intensity. Surprisingly (to me), marriages occurred. I was too young to realise that, perhaps, getting a daughter launched was very important to most people. I guess that most human instincts remained, even under hardships, but I was too hungry to notice. As the Greeks say, "you cannot reason with a hungry belly, since it has no ears." I retain a quaint collection of memories from that nasty period. I recall my whole class singing the Japanese anthem (it was not that different from singing the British anthem). A teacher heard me sing and liked my boy soprano voice. I was selected to sing in some hall but, fortunately, was beaten by a classmate with a more mellifluous sound. I have never sung since my voice broke (actually it cracked beyond repair).

Hunger led me to steal a stick of tapioca grown by us at my college. I was caught, slapped, and allowed to go home. It is not a nice memory, but it is good to know that the Malay lecturer understood. I tried to get into the black-market business, as so many others seemed to be involved; for the baby of the college, it was a stupid ambition. A relative put a stop to this silliness.

Learning Japanese was something I felt was a waste of time. That too was stupid. A current brother-in-law (then a fellow student) did well through his fluency in the language – he became an interpreter for the Japanese. My father, on the other hand, in his mid-forties, had great difficulty with the language (in the same way that older immigrants to Australia have a difficulty learning English).

In my spare time (there was lots of it), I read the English classics. Teacher friends of the family had an excellent library. Through reading, but without a dictionary (there wasn't one), I learnt correct usage and spelling. This was most useful in Australia when I wrote analytical reports for sundry government-advisory boards.

Life for my family, surrounded by kampong dwellers, was peaceful. The rural Malays are a very clean, courteous, friendly, religious and civilised people. Inside their simple homes, there is always a touch of style and colour in the form of cushion covers, curtains and so on. The ground surrounding their homes is always well swept and tidy – a practice that so many other societies might follow.

We also learnt something by watching the behaviour of the Japanese. Their officers treated them like dirt. The officers seemed to be well provided for, especially with 'comfort women.' Occasionally, we would see a truck full of these women go past – their occupation was never in doubt. One thing about the Japs we absolutely hated was their singing. They seemed to sing tuneless dirges. Given their role and their low status, perhaps that's all that one could expect. "To sing is human, to forgive divine."

Near the end of the war, the followers of Subhas Chandra Bose were very active. There was a lot of local support for the movement to free India from the British under his leadership. I do not know how these supporters felt about freeing ourselves from the Japanese. We certainly needed the British to come back to save us from the Emperor's hordes before they themselves were kicked out of Asia. They had no right to be there and, like the Japs, had overstayed. We were fortunate, as a nation, that the Allies had not found it necessary to recover Malaya by force; the country could have been flattened, as was the Philippines. The family had, however, a major casualty because of the war. A young relative, a cheerful sportsman, contracted TB and died very painfully and slowly. I used to visit him regularly and it was pitiful near the end. He could not afford to have anyone even touch his bed – any movement caused severe pain. There was nothing and no one to help him. (In the years to come, I was to view with dismay Australia's intake of refugees whose TB condition was not fully cured.)

###  _Chapter Five_

The False Dawn

When the British returned, there was an atmosphere of rejuvenation. There was rejoicing, And hope. The food we had been denied, such as potatoes and tomatoes, were now again part of our diet. We were then introduced to desiccated eggs, cabbage, and such like, presumably war surplus. While someone was making a "buck," we were prepared to experiment. It was part of our continuing adaptation to things Western. It also reflected our rise up the socio-economic ladder, however gradual that might have been. We were also sold on tinned processed meat. I do not believe that many of us stopped to ask if there was any pork or beef in those tins. We were learning to put aside some traditional taboos in the interest of better nutrition, or even better living – at least, the men did. In any event, many of the men were already in the habit of eating whatever was put on the table outside their own home.

An uncle one day showed me some Australian eggs; these had travelled by boat (a slow boat, we later suspected). A half of three separate containers of the eggs was rotten. So much for Australia's chances of an export market for food if they treated us as idiots. Our forays into Australian frozen mutton (or was it lamb?) were not that successful either. And the quality of Australian sweets and biscuits was simply not as good as that from the UK. Why on earth not? Were not Australian companies predominantly foreign owned, especially those making the same products as in the UK? Were Aussies used to lower-quality processed foods compared to their own people back home? Strange thought.

However, our respect for Australians was very high. They had come to defend us, and they had suffered severely for that. Because of the good impressions individual Australians had created, there was an abiding interest in things Australian. We were not to know then that Malaya and Australia would develop strong links within the next half century.

For me, the immediate post-war years, which should have brought peace and progress, involved personal tragedy, while attempting to make up for the damage caused by the interruption to my studies by the war. Before the war, I had completed only primary school. During the occupation, I was too old to go to school and too young to go to work. By force-feeding me with mathematical equations, my parents managed to enrol me in a technical college, with students three years older on average, and with that much more schooling and maturity. However, I learnt a lot during my time at that college, complemented by vast reading of books in English from that remarkable library in the home of family friends. My reading covered mysteries, stories of the American Wild West, Marie Stopes and others, adventures, and the English classics.

When schools were reopened in late 1945 under the British educational system, I was placed in the second last year of school. The following year I was placed in a class preparing for the Cambridge School Leaving Certificate examination. Thus I had jumped almost three-quarters of high school, simply because my knowledge of English had been enhanced by my reading, and I had acquired some knowledge of maths, physics and chemistry from the technical college. I learnt enough Latin in six months of cramming. The ageing Indian who taught me Latin privately was one of the many incredibly learned immigrants who were under-utilised and underpaid – the destiny of many a migrant.

That year, I completed school and obtained an exemption from the Matriculation of London University. It was all too ridiculous, educationally, and misled my parents. This proved to be the first of my academic tragedies.

I and some others had been allowed, by a special concession from the British education authorities, to achieve passes in physics and chemistry without ever having been in a laboratory. I had not had the education that the others had achieved. I was also younger and less mature than those who had completed school with me. It should not have been a surprise to my family that I was rejected for entry to the medical college in Singapore, while others much lower down the pass list but older were accepted. Some were sons of doctors. In the meantime, my father had died very suddenly, his physical condition having been exacerbated by life under the Japs.

It was then that the decision was taken to send me to Australia to study. Having been brought up in the tradition of being seen but not heard (this applied to the previous generations too), I knew not why I was not being sent to Hong Kong, India or the UK. In these three countries there were many Malayan students, together with a supportive network. However, the academic year commenced in the second half of the calendar year in all these places, whereas it opened in the first half of the year in Australia. Perhaps, time was money, a perspective that was reflected in my family's repeated attempts to obtain a double promotion for me in primary school, and the urge to have me complete my schooling faster. I do not believe that they gave any consideration to the likely effects of skipping a proper educational and societal maturity foundation. I and my family were to pay a hefty price for this foolhardy approach to the passing of time.

The father of a namesake of mine was a much more sensible man. His son repeated his last year of school, topped the Malayan list, became a Queen's Scholar (so I was informed), and subsequently became an eminent research scientist and academic. Such a difference in destiny arising from simple decisions.

When I left for Australia, I left a mother and three sisters, for whom (as the only son) I would be held responsible in future years. In the meantime, I had suffered a bout of malaria of one kind, followed a little later by four months of malaria of another kind (so I was told), followed later still by a bout of dengue fever. I was underweight, terribly unhappy because of the loss of my father and my rejection for study in Singapore, and uncertain about the choice of country for study. This was my heritage when I embarked for Australia. On the other hand, my heritage was enhanced in part by my introduction to (and immediate love for) Western music. This introduction was a most exceptional occurrence in a community striving to retain traditional culture – while seeking material progress – in an alien environment. My heritage was further enhanced by my reasonably sound exposure to the core of Hindu philosophy. This not only enabled me to sail unruffled in divisive religious waters in Australia, but also to turn Australian eyes to the unlimited width of my door.

Little did I know then that my chances of success were negligible. How could I or my family think that? I had been described as likely to top the school graduation list for Malaya. But my stars said otherwise, and used a family decision to implement my downfall.

Indeed, we should all have remembered that itinerant Yogi who told my mother that her son would travel south to study (since no one we knew had gone in that direction before, it was not particularly credible); that the son would return in four years (the Yogi would not say whether the son would obtain any qualifications then or later); that he would be overseas for most of his life (this seemed plausible, but was interpreted as periodic study); and that he would never stop studying (this did not make sense, as the purpose of higher studies was to make lots and lots of money soon and to be seen to be successful). Even if we had remembered the Yogi's words, is it the nature of destiny to permit us to avoid what was foretold? Do we have to go down the path chartered somewhere, and reach the end laid out for us?

At the community level, we seemed to be going down some new paths too. It was becoming clear that community attitudes towards some traditions were changing. Neither my sisters nor some of my cousins received any formal vernacular schooling after the war; that means that our language was being ignored in the formal education process. More and more English was spoken at home. The Tamil spoken was also a colloquial form. Classical Tamil writing would become a foreign language soon for us. But not all members of the community were so foolish. They studied their own language too. In the early Nineties, I heard a few professionally-qualified second-generation Tamil Malaysians speak classical Tamil; I was told, however, that few in the audience understood fully what was said. Many who understood could not repeat what was said – they did not have the vocabulary.

Without language, how does one retain one's culture? There was little reading of literature in the mother tongue amongst my generation after the war. However, people went to the pictures to watch Indian films in the Tamil language. Much of the Tamil spoken day to day was with relatively uneducated Indian labourers and traders. Consequently, colloquial Tamil spoken by Ceylon Tamil Malayans, even as early as the end of World War Two, was becoming bastardised, reflecting the intrusion of English and adulteration by south Indian colloquial Tamil. Judging by my relatives, there was also a fall-off in education in our faith, notwithstanding the continuation of ritualistic practices and prayer. We were fast becoming modern, progressive, clever, skilled, Westernised, fluent in English and de-cultured linguistically. What price progress?

From my limited observation, the Chinese were going to vernacular schools, partly because of limited places in government schools (where the teaching was in English); many of the Chinese, having learnt their own language and other relevant subjects, enrolled in "afternoon" schools run by private organisations or individuals, in order to learn English. The Malays also learnt their own language.

I had some interesting experiences as an untrained schoolteacher immediately after I left school. I taught a mixed group in one of the afternoon schools. There were many older Chinese students from the vernacular schools in the lower classes. There were also some Indians in this category. Both groups must have been bored out of their minds. So, I would be asked questions in order to create a degree of interest for them. I found myself asked the meaning of words such as 'rut', with its sexual implications. Some of the questioners were about my age. They also had English-Chinese dictionaries in front of them.

These older students also had something to teach the rest of us. The Chinese talked about China as a maritime power 2,000 years ago. The Indians spoke about the expansion of the three major faiths from India, through its traders and settlers; and about India's influence on countries such as Malaya, especially its cultural and court practices. The Indians also denied the story about the so-called "black hole of Calcutta." It was useful learning for all, as we were not taught about our region in the English-language schools.

When I left Malaya, I realised that only some of the family and community traditions would be relevant or useful in the future. Irrelevant practices would include the heavy emphasis on matters of hygiene. I would be free, after a haircut, to walk into any room without having a bath first, just like any other community. I could forget the art of eating using my right hand. So much time had been spent on ensuring that the food never touched the palm of the hand or went beyond the back of the knuckles. I would not need to worry about scooping up runny food such as a dessert made from sago without lowering this standard. I could wear my shoes in and out of the houses. There were a few practices which I later found to be superfluous. Washing one's hands before a meal or rinsing out one's mouth after a meal did not concern my fellow students in Australia.

One tradition worth keeping was the love of learning. This was reflected in a respect for books. We did not step on a book or touch a book with our feet – it showed disrespect for learning. However, I do not remember having to kiss a book defiled by one's foot, as described by an Indian-English author of note. Similarly, respect for the individual dictated that one never stepped over a person or part of a person. One did not walk under an extended arm. I am not sure _why_ , but one waited until the arm was removed. When seated, one did not point one's feet at another person or sit with a foot over the other leg. These traditions would do no harm elsewhere.

Personal respect was also manifest in addressing all adult male friends as "Uncle", and adult female friends as "Aunt." Years later in Australia, two South African white boys in a playground addressed me as uncle – that apparently was their tradition too. But not for Aussies, as I found; first names applied from the cradle to the grave. In our tradition, older persons received priority in entering a room or in seating. Overt expressions of disagreement were also to be avoided; one could indicate a reservation ("I cannot agree") by body language or some softer words. This tradition could cause difficulties with the blunt Westerner, I was advised.

There were a few traditions one could ponder over. Would I ever need to use a sarong? Or would the Aussies ridicule this practice? I certainly would not miss the veshti, used for going to temple or for religio-ceremonial functions. Washing one's feet before entering a house of worship – that would start a new fashion in Australia. I would miss the jazz-like drumming and trumpet playing in the temples and the Malay wayangs; but I would not miss the drumming by the Chinese drum-societies (they beat their drums for hours without music), nor the unmusical singing by the Japanese (I would not miss anything Japanese). I would also not miss (but never forget) the kahvedi (men in a religious trance carrying heavy structures, with their flesh pierced), or the elderly family friend who would go into a trance during a temple ceremony, "speak in tongues", and hop (with both feet placed together) around the temple floor. It was obviously a form of ecstasy in both cases. Inexplicable and impressive, these phenomena left the rest of us in wonderment.

The most important tradition I took with me (I was told) was one which said that, within one's destiny as determined by karmic laws, one was free to strive for betterment, materially as well as spiritually; and that family responsibility meant that, while one was not free to run off into the wild yonder, one was also not alone on this earth.

Before I took ship, I was also made aware that there abounded in the community thoughts of independence. The Malayans were obviously gearing for a future without whites. But my family wondered how the Malays viewed the newer arrivals in the country dominating trade and commerce, as well as senior positions in government. We wondered if the Eurasians felt apprehensive about the departure of the English. We wondered too if the Ceylonese were planning to participate in politics.

Decades later, in a small town in Malaysia, I asked some senior Ceylonese why their community remained on the fringe of political activity. Was there not a need to safeguard the interests of their community, as was happening in Australia with the migrant ethnic communities? The oldest men present (the women, as usual, were in a separate clutch, talking about food and its preparation), agreed with me. The others, each a success in his own professional field, shouted me down.

I tried to explain that in most underdeveloped (and in some developed) countries, power struggles reflected ethnic origins or tribal links. Sometimes, it was a matter of survival as a people. If the Hindu Tamils of Ceylonese descent did not work together with other Hindus in Malaysia, or with the descendants of migrants from the Indian subcontinent (because of shared traditions), would they not risk being diminished in terms of political rights?

Thinking about my own future as well as that of my country, I took to sea.

###  _Chapter Six_

The Blue Yonder

When I left home, all the ambitions and hopes of the family were contained in a heavy tin trunk, a cabin-bag and a small leather satchel for my papers. The trunk contained holy pictures (framed in glass), my violin, my father's tropical-weight suits (altered to fit my skinny frame), fourteen shirts (most belonging to my father) in various shades of blue, and other necessities. The send-off party was small. There were no hugs or kisses (I do not think that we knew how to); just a discreet wave of the hand. No tears were visible, although we all cried inside (I am sure), as my train pulled out into the night. My poor sisters had lost not only a father (permanently), but also their only brother (temporarily, as we all thought in our ignorance); my sorrow at parting was deep and it would remain deep for decades.

In Singapore, I found my way to the home of a relative, and two days later took ship. No one came to send me off; none were needed. At least, I was not going to travel as a deck passenger. I would enjoy the luxury of a shared second-class cabin.

Huge steel trunks seemed to be in fashion. The Indian workers loading the ship had a hard time of it, carrying ridiculously heavy baggage on their heads. Their unending chant of "Ram, Ram, Ram", the name of their personification of God, may have sustained them, as there was little evidence of any other sustenance on the bodies.

In second class, I shared a cabin with an Indian doctor. This made adaptation to life on board easier, as it was strange for me to have white men serve us in the cabin or elsewhere. There was also a number of Chinese Malayans on board, sharing my hopes of gaining Australian tertiary qualifications. The journey was uneventful, consistent with the peace of steaming quietly through the seas. The sunrises and sunsets were absolutely fabulous. We had seen nothing like that in our lives, not that we had lived that long. A strange sight at sea was a square block of rainbow, apparently resting on the surface of the water in the middle of the sea; it was very beautiful. We, in the second class part of the ship, were effectively separated from the first-class, even though the ship was small (about eight thousand tonnes). And we became quite a cohesive community in time. After all, it was a slow boat to a new home for many on board.

The most difficult adjustment on board was in the dining-room.

Confronted by an array of cutlery and glassware, how was a fellow used to eating with his right hand and not allowed to drink anything with a meal, to know what to do? Fortunately for me, there was a tall and lean Dutchman, of middle age, sitting across the table from me. By watching him, I learnt about Western table manners e.g. how to tip the soup bowl, and the use of all that cutlery and glassware. Since he ate his way through every alternative on the menu, I learnt what the terms on the menu meant and the appearance and likely taste of the food.

This poor man had been imprisoned by the Japanese occupation forces in Indonesia and later, by the Indonesians in their fight for independence. So, in early 1948, he ate his way to good health on this little ship, which took a few weeks to reach Sydney. By that time, I too had put on seven pounds in weight, thereby starting to make my father's suits redundant. My hungry friend also told me how Australia had supported the Indonesians against the Dutch. I was to remember this later when many in Australia, including the media, turned against Indonesia.

I did meet a few Australians on board, but can remember only one young fellow. He was a horse-handler who had helped to deliver some horses to Singapore. He did not say much to the Chinese lads, but sought my company – although we Malayans were always together; I presumed that he had spent some time with young Aborigines. He insisted, daily, on a form of shadow-boxing with me. Since he was taller and heavier, I seemed to spend my time retreating.

Fortune favoured me one morning when a young white chap stepped onto my place and countered the Aussie. He identified himself as Anglo-Burman, ex-army, an amateur boxer, and migrating to Australia. He kept the Aussie happy for the rest of the trip.

Watching all this no-contact sparring intently was a lean, tall, ascetic-looking young Englishman, who wore glasses and was usually reading Spanish poetry. We discovered soon that he was ex-British army, ex-commando, ex-Malaya, also migrating to Australia. When he found out about the commando background, the Anglo-Burman challenged the Englishman one morning into adopting a martial arts style of defence, just for fun (he said). He then found himself hanging over the side of the ship without much warning. It was quite a sight for us.

This brought into the open a mysterious Chinese, tall and well-built, from Shanghai. He had been in our company continuously, and we were under the impression that he too was a student. He now admitted that he had some experience of the martial arts, and showed great interest in the Englishman's skills, which the latter demonstrated, only with great reluctance.

A few days later, the combined urgings of the puny and immature Malayans, and the boisterous Aussie and Anglo-Burman led to the Chinese and the Englishman giving us a joint demonstration. It was beautiful to see their moves. After a while, both suddenly stopped, bowed to each other, and moved away. On being questioned, they explained that each recognised the other's expertise; any further exploration, and one or both could be hurt. It seems that both had been trained to immobilise or kill. And they were the nicest people one could ever want to meet! I enjoyed my extended talks with them, as they were men of the world.

Equally nice was a middle-aged couple, English ex-colonials, retiring to start a chicken farm in Australia. They put on no airs or strange accents, and mixed freely with us. Another nice experience was winning the fancy-dress title – for being myself. Pyjama slacks (mine) turned into pantaloons by a motherly English lady, borrowed ladies' bedroom slippers (very jazzy), my shawl applied as a turban, and a couple of large, gaudy brooches lent by an American lady completed the outfit. Apparently, I looked quite grand.

And so, in such harmonious company, we Malayans learnt to treat whites as ordinary people. Obviously, we had little difficulty in understanding one another's accents. We were fattened, relaxed, and ready to embark upon our chosen enterprises. But we had really no idea of the kind of society we would be thrown into; most of us had had no contact with Aussies or other whites until we took ship.

My contact with Aussies commenced with an army captain, sent out in 1941 to help the British defend Malaya. An uncle had brought him to my home, and my mother (with traditional hospitality) offered them a curry dinner. A banker by profession, the captain was a charming and educated man, who shared with my uncle a love of cricket and Australian beer. We prayed that he would survive the war. The next contact was with soldiers standing guard outside their quarters in a school opposite an uncle's home. At sunset, after dinner, a cousin and I would go for a walk and stop to talk to the soldiers on duty. We had initial difficulty in understanding their accent, and it would have been very surprising if the Aussies had understood us readily. But they seemed happy to talk to us. Another early contact came after the war. He was the principal of the school. He had been a prisoner of war in Changi for the duration of the war. His pre-war reputation was that of a harsh colonial type. This was surprising for an Aussie, as they were not seen as part of the colonial structure. However, I found him courteous and co-operative, especially as I had protested to him about the conduct of the head prefect and his gang.

Just before departing for Australia, I was introduced to an Australian, presumably sent on the thankless task of saving the heathen. He told me that Melbourne and Sydney were the largest cities in the southern hemisphere; that the major shopping centre in Melbourne was the largest in that hemisphere, and generally that everything in Australia was bigger than anything else in the hemisphere. He promised me that I would find Australians very friendly (presumably more friendly than anyone else in the southern hemisphere); in the long run, he was not wrong.

The preacher intrigued me, as we were not used to people of one faith attempting to change the faith of another person. Were not all faiths equal? What were missionaries after? What came to mind was a Malay saying: a crow does not louse the buffalo to clean him but to feed itself. Were we unfair? What right did the missionaries have to try and convince us that we were on the wrong road? As it was, we were very much aware that the gun, the bible and the trader's haversack went together, and never to the benefit of the recipient of the gifts of beads and baubles. In any event, the Buddha apparently said, "Our theories of the eternal are as valuable as are those which a chick, which has not broken its way through its shell, might form of the outside world."

One of my Malayan shipmates, however, claimed an intangible contact with an Aussie. He claimed to be the illegitimate son of an Aussie. He had traced his father, and was planning to confront him. He expected his father, who had commenced a family in Australia, to help him obtain tertiary qualifications and to remain in the country. We all wished him well, not knowing about the country's harsh stance on skin colour; but I felt a little sorry for the father! Yet, I wondered if the man had given at least financial support to his son and to the mother of his son during all these years of absence. Life would have been most difficult for the mother, whose position with her family and community would have been parlous, to say the least.

The next Aussie to make an impact on me (and on the non-Aussie passengers) was a wharfie at work. He was sighted leaning against a shed on the wharf at Cairns (a small town on the north coast of Australia), smoking a cigarette, and supported by some sort of tool leaning against the shed with him. He was terribly well-padded, unlike any other labourer we had ever seen. We did not realise then that this sighting was not an atypical presentation of many Aussie workers.

The journey south from Cairns was absolutely glorious, the ship cruising slowly between the beautiful Great Barrier Reef and the coast. The colours in the water were simply spectacular. The entry to Sydney, through the heads, presented an inspiring view of the skyline. Overall, the Australian coast is simply fantastic compared with the coast of Malaya; beautiful beaches and rolling waves everywhere – and white sand galore. But we did not realise then that there was yet more beauty in the country to assault one's senses.

In time, I came to appreciate the harsh splendour of the lonely desert; the tranquil seasides everywhere; the strong southerlies whipping up tremendous waves against the rocky southern coast; the frightening power of an apparently quiet sea on beaches frequented by the holiday-maker; an unrelenting sand storm – which displayed its own beauty – that lasted for days and left sand on and within us and our accommodation (the sand flow constituted a wall many, many feet high as it rolled over, and covered – where it could – everything in its way); the unexpected oases of rain-forests within a generally uninspiring countryside; lovely, cold snow on some mountain slopes with their all-embracing icy-cold atmosphere; and also, for a few nights, the unbelievable Aurora Australis. It was even more enchanting than the sight of the reef that we had steamed through.

#  Part Two  
Shocks

###  _Chapter Seven_

Culture Shock

On arrival in Sydney, my first personal contact with a resident Australian was with a fourth-generation Chinese Australian. He had come to meet one of the Malayan students and, very kindly, took a number of us to dinner in a Chinese restaurant. The food was not of quite the same standard as comparable dishes served in Malaya. Presumably, changes had been made to accommodate the taste buds of white Australians.

Dining with our Chinese host, we received our first lesson in race relations in Australia. We learnt that, even after four generations in the country, there were then no Chinese in politics or government, i.e. federal, state, and local government, in senior administrative posts, or even in academia. Some years later, I found that one Chinese-Aussie public servant had moved to middle management level in the Federal public service, but had made no further progress.

We were also told that the Chinese, not expecting full equal opportunities in Australia, had stayed not only in the private sector but also outside any bureaucratic structures. Professionally qualified Chinese worked in sole enterprises or in small groups, while others went into trade. Thus, they had found a place for themselves outside the mainstream of white Australia. Considering the virulence of the ongoing racism published by the media and expressed overtly by many a politician, the Chinese felt that they had done remarkably well. We Malayan students, however, felt that the Chinese would have done better, and been more respected, in Malaya.

After dinner our host introduced us to an amusement park called Luna Park. The name seemed appropriate when we saw the Big Dipper. We had never seen anything like this. The ride looked horrendous to us 'backwoods Malayans'. However, challenged, two of us took off, leaving the others to try out the safer attractions of the park – which included some very nice-looking birds of the human variety. My dippy friend and I must have had cast-iron guts to try the ride straight after dinner; but we did enjoy the ride immensely. If this was the start, Australia promised interesting experiences.

Saying farewell to my friends, old and new, I took the train to Melbourne and arrived with all my trepidations renewed. This was a strange country. The countryside lacked that intense green coloration of the Malayan countryside. It was not dense. In places, it looked barren. And the colour of the sky was different. It looked more blue and yet colder. Later, as winter covered the city, I was horrified at the bleak atmosphere, the barrenness of the streets and countryside, and the cold. Would not the attitudes of people living in such terrain reflect their environment? I did not have to wait long to find out.

When I took a taxi, I found that the driver did not help with the luggage. I was to learn that this was common practice; it seemed to be beneath their dignity to move luggage. Over the next forty-five years, I was to learn that some schoolteachers would not wipe their blackboards or dispense medication to children in their classes because their job was only to teach (this was from the Sixties to the Nineties). There were nurses in a major women's hospital who refused to help my wife obtain a cup of tea when she could not walk after surgery; they too were professionals. They could bring her a pill and a glass of water but not the tea available right next door to the nurses' station; if she wanted tea, she could get out of bed and get it herself or await the mealtime catering service. This was in the late Eighties. Through the whole period of my observation of this nation, arrogant job demarcation, especially that enforced by the trade unions, resulted not only in a waste of human resources and unnecessary costs, but also denied necessary care or service to some of the old, the weak or the lost. It also encouraged sloth and arrogance. I have always felt that if you are paid to do a job (and your conscience can tell you what the job is), you should do it properly.

I found Melbourne well laid out, clean, and with no smells. My initial accommodation was at the YMCA hostel. I struggled with my luggage (including that ridiculously large and heavy tin trunk) into the place and booked in. There I experienced my first personal culture shock. Although I had lived away from my family for a time, I was unprepared for shared accommodation, which included undressing in front of a total stranger. Sharing communal showers made me feel a little more uncomfortable – all the others seemed to be a great deal better hung than I was; there is nothing more deflating than that kind of feeling.

I also found myself a little lost in the process of buying food in the canteen. With guidance from others, however, some of whom spoke in such a gruff manner that I felt chastised, I was able to obtain food. Eating it was another matter. Vegetables, boiled without salt, or without any other flavouring, accompanying some kind of cooked meat (equally tasteless) was something I could not cope with for years to come. However, I managed to obtain sufficient sustenance each day.

This was not always so. Later on in the year, at the off-city campus, I noticed maggots on my sliced roast beef at lunch. They had been deposited by the many blowflies (found aplenty in sheep country) that seemed to have taken over the dining room. As I collected a replacement plate of freshly cut beef, I noticed that one of the cooks simply scooped the maggots off, and reissued the plate to another student. There was no way that I could stomach my lunch that day – or on any other day when blowflies are around.

Walking around Melbourne, I had my first experiences with Australians _en masse_. The streets were pulsating with life, not unlike Singapore (but you would not want to try to cross a city street as you could in Singapore). I noted that there was not a brown, black, or "yellow" face anywhere. Everyone was white, a colour that was not particularly pleasing at that stage. All the men seemed to be wearing hats, which further helped to make one indistinguishable from another. This problem was to bother me for a number of years. Strangely, this difficulty did not apply to women. I thought that the younger women, especially, were pointedly different one from another.

I soon found a break from the tedious Anglo-Saxon colour when I went into milk bars, fruiterers', and vegetable shops. There I met the more dusky white, of Mediterranean origin. In fact, in a few instances, I met Greeks whose facial structure and hair were strikingly similar to some of my former classmates of Ceylonese and Indian descent back home (common Central Asian Indo-Aryan stock?). The Mediterraneans had strong accents, reflecting their language, but their command of English was not strong. Chinatown, of course, looked the way one expects it to look. Many of the Chinese there were not too strong in English either. Years later, I was to deal officially with the problems of ageing Chinese Australians with no kin or care in Australia.

The Greeks and other Mediterranean people were different from the Anglo-Celt or "old" Aussie. Their older women invariably wore black, somewhat like some of the Chinese in Malaya (had the Greeks learnt from them too?). When their daughters went out, there was the ubiquitous chaperone (I wonder if the modern Greek lasses know what they are missing). And many of the Greek men were young, single, and lacked female compatriots to go out with (if Mama consented) or marry. No wonder the chaperone was always evident.

As in Singapore, people in Melbourne seemed to be in a hurry. Yet they were generally courteous and helpful when asked for directions, or for assistance with tram destinations and train timetables. In spite of some difficulty with our respective accents, we concluded our brief transactions amicably, in the main. But there was a look in many eyes, which said: what sort of fellow is this?

With services available to the general public, e.g. in banks, post offices, railway booking offices, shops, cafés, buses and trams, fellow Asians and I were never denied a service. Did we expect denial? Not at all; we had no prior experience for such an expectation.

However, we did notice that some shop assistants, clerks, and waitresses had difficulty in seeing us, even when there was no one else in the place. If there was no queue, and people were trying to catch the eye of the server, at times, even later arrivals were served first.

In the late Seventies, I watched a similar occurrence. My little son was at the front of a counter selling fireworks in a major department store. I stood back and watched the children (all white, except mine – and he is as light as a light-skinned Greek) placing their orders. The young salesgirl served those to the left and to the right of my son and those behind him, while he politely kept his hand up. I finally walked up to the counter and said to the girl, "Excuse me, can you not see the little fellow in front of you?" She had the decency to blush before she served him. Who said that colour prejudice was dying? Most recently (in the Nineties) a well-known Aboriginal leader reported that, in his own home town, certain shopkeepers still experienced difficulty in seeing him.

Why does the old Aussie behave like this? Sometimes, especially in those early days, there was a roughness in manner and language that seemed to be directed to us Asians specifically. Sometimes we perceived a wordless dislike. We felt confident in our perceptions; we were not wet behind the ears, or naïve in dealing with others.

On the other hand, we were not expecting to be treated differently because of our foreign origins, accents, or skin colour. I do not see myself as coloured unless I am told so. Why is it relevant? I am not aware of my accent (or that it is in any way inferior) unless I experience difficulty in being understood (and that may be because the other person is not literate enough). My origins are not relevant even at the immigration control point, which only seeks to know whether you belong to this or the other side of the barrier for residence purposes.

It was therefore interesting for me to note that the 'foreigner' serving in the various shops or businesses did not ever react adversely to our skin colour or accent. In fact, I have often exchanged recipes with some of these continental Europeans, and talked with them about life back home compared with Australia. The conclusion I reached then (and have had it confirmed ever since) is that the foreigner is very comfortable with other foreigners. Travelling in taxis driven by migrants confirms not only this but also the interest that one foreigner has for another.

Walking the streets and in public transport, I saw large numbers of new arrivals from Europe. Many came in as refugees of one kind or other. Others represented the new focus on an expanded white Australia, to counter the threat of the "yellow hordes" (did policy advisors envisage Genghis Khan's descendants riding in to ravage this barren land?). There was, of course, also a need for skilled and unskilled labour to build the nation's infrastructure and to man the factories. It was interesting to hear the migrants from different countries talking to one another. With little English, they spoke (so I was told) in any combination of languages that made sense. And they had a great time doing it, as most of the early arrivals had experienced terrible things during the war. The only risk the migrants took in speaking in a medley of languages was to have some ignorant old Aussie stop and say, "Why don't you speak English, you bastards?" This raises the question – what business of his was it? What right did this type of Aussie have to address a stranger in the street like this?

The arrogant buffoon who thinks that the street belongs to him should remember that, when a country accepts a foreigner as an immigrant, he belongs, and should be treated equally with those who happened to be born in that country. But this rudeness, although unexpected, was of no real significance. Most people can be rude some of the time. Some people can be rude most of the time. And if they were more rude to the foreigner, then it was time to remember what we had been taught: be tolerant. As the Turks say: the courteous one learns from the discourteous. This was not always easy. For example, one day, one of the Malayans was waiting for a train. A middle-aged woman spoke to him, saying that her family was interested in getting to know some of the students they had seen at the station. That was very nice. He accepted an invitation to supper, which he identified as after dinner, i.e. after eight o'clock in the evening, when tea and cakes were served. He reported to us that he had a pleasant evening. He had been invited to bring his brother and some of his friends soon. So, four of us went visiting. Our hostess had a lady friend with her. Very soon, she took the palm of her initial guest, turned it over and said, "Look, Gladys, how pink it is, not brown like the back of his hand." As this sort of thing had happened occasionally in other places, we were not too discomfited.

However, she then asked her guest to put out his tongue, which he did. The ladies exclaimed on its colour. Then she turned back his lip and commented on the colour of his gums and the inside of his cheek. And he stood there like a prize animal being examined for the market. Was this woman a descendant of slave traders or was she simply ignorant?

The three of us looked at one another, while all this was going on, in disgust. I wondered if she would proceed to have him remove his pants and peel back his foreskin (we are normally untrimmed). Without further ado, the three of us rose to our feet, said that we had another engagement that evening, and left. To hell with supper! I do not believe that my friend kept up his contact with that family. We realised too that a spacious home, well presented outside and inside, did not necessarily house people with basic human sensitivities.

When I rented a room for a while with a private family, I was somewhat horrified to find that they had weekly baths. Since they had only a chip heater burning kindling, I learnt to chop wood for my daily showers. Later, in another home, although there was an electric hot-water system, the elderly owner continued with his Saturday night bath. This reflected his early years, when the kettle was boiled on a Saturday night and the family cleansed themselves in the kitchen in a little tin tub. I wonder now if government policies on multiculturalism should have attempted to retain such quaint practices of the old Aussie.

Some of the Malayans and other Asians accepted board in private homes. One very good-looking Indian, with a pukka accent, received (we believe) a full service from a not-so-young attractive landlady. Another Indian tried to bed his genuinely elderly landlady, but without success (he did not realise that the option to bed rested with the landlady). A Malayan, unsuccessful with girls, did better with his middle-aged landlady, to the point that he rang me late one night. He said that his sheath had become torn because of a _corkscrew_ thrust – I am still trying to work out the logistics of that exercise!

Obviously, some Aussies had no problems about accent, colour, or whatever, apart from that corkscrewed guy. Perhaps it was the darkness. Indeed, one Indian complained that he had never seen the female body nude, although he had bedded a few; they preferred to perform in full darkness.

That, I have read, was a working-class attitude. And his poor middle-class mum – would she have complained about her pride and joy bedding a working-class girl, perhaps one of a lower caste?

Those of us who did not want to be involved with families, frisky landladies, strange ablution practices, tasteless meals, or sundry house rules (such as no heaters in rooms) sought accommodation in guest houses and private hotels. However, some of us had a stronger reason for looking to public places.

One day, I telephoned and found that a room was available in a private home. I was invited to call immediately. Within ten minutes I was there knocking at the door. When the door opened, the landlady looked at me with some surprise, then commenced to shuffle her feet, looking everywhere but at me, and started to mumble about how her sister had just let the room. This experience was often repeated during other efforts to find private accommodation. So, those of us who had experienced comparable difficulties found suitable accommodation in guest houses and private hotels. In these places, students generally found the people friendly but the food awful. The main advantages were easy acceptance and immediate company, some of it potentially interesting.

The first guest house I was in was owned and run by a couple who said they came from Sweden, but were in fact Austrian Jews. The landlady was friendly but tough. We found out from the cake shop across the road that she bought slightly stale cakes for the Sunday evening meal. My Malayan friends and I, being hungry late at night, use to break into the kitchen for some necessary sustenance. 'Break' is too strong a word; we knew how to 'work' the lock. The landlady never caught us; I am sure, however, that she was certain of the culprits.

She tried hard to meet the dietary needs of two new arrivals who, as Hindus, would not eat beef or pork. Two weeks later, they broke their taboos; they could not stomach the thought of more eggs. And the sausages were attractive, although not particularly nutritious, and the steak and chops were very tasty – if topped up with some Chinese chilli sauce (which we took into the dining-room with us).

Living in guest houses enabled us to meet a variety of Aussies in a near-homely environment. The residents of guest houses were mostly ordinary workers who, presumably, did not like cooking their own food. Perhaps the need for instant but casual company was strong. These people were friendly and chatty; they included some unattached women. Mutual understanding and respect grew, especially over a beer and card-playing, provided that one did not make the mistake of chatting up someone's 'bird'. One therefore learned to look first before leaping, as the men were inevitably bigger and apparently stronger than we were. But our juices were flowing and some of the birds looked most appetising.

There were also some European migrants there. This allowed us an insight into the issues of migration and settlement. The European women projected a more feminine image, which we Asians found closer to our concept of womanhood, than did the Aussie women we met. The latter were, on the other hand, more outspoken, more tomboyish, and less given to girlish wiles. One of the European women and I developed a friendship, which led her to introduce me to Italian opera.

We left by separate trains and met at the theatre. We sat together as she tried to explain to me each plot and development. Well, I had problems. First, there was this little fat guy with platform shoes shouting forever his everlasting love for this giant of a lady, from whose bosom you could launch a few war planes. Then this lady hit was referred to as a head-note. Ye gods and little fishes – as one of the Malayans used to say. If God had meant the female head to produce such sounds, her head would (I am sure) be shaped differently and appropriately. Perhaps not all female heads – that would be a terrible tragedy – only those destined to become (if society really had to have them) Italian-opera singers.

What was worse was the dying. Well, she took a long time dying, becoming weaker and weaker in the process, but becoming noisier and noisier at the same time. Unreal! So, what is Italian opera all about? Music? Some of it was actually very musical, like the introductions and interval music. If one could only turn off the voices and still enjoy the music, some of those other parts might be worth saving too.

I think I did myself in when I said that the best part of the whole season – by a visiting European company – was when the elephants took the stage (they must have been locally employed). I also said that some ancient Italians must be laughing their heads off in whatever dimension their astral selves are cavorting in to think that they have sold a pup, not only to their own people but also to all the Western world. What they sold seems to me, in places, to be cries of some particularly noisy females in the throes of orgasm (half their luck) as high art. My friend from the guest-house was an educated and cultured lady; she tolerated my low-brow posture, and we remained friends.

In subsequent years, another female tried to educate me about the beauty of opera. During our friendship, one day she asked me to buy her The Magic Flute. Not knowing what it was I was supposed to buy, I went to the instrument counter of a music store. That was nearly the end of the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

To be fair, I had already learnt that I had an affinity for Western music – serious classical music as well as the light classics. This was far superior to the traditional Chinese music of my youth or much of the Indian vocal music. In the latter, I thought that the females screeched, and the males were not particularly mellifluous. I had little time for country and western music in Australia, with their dogs and horses (couldn't these men love women?). But the pops in the Fifties, with lyrics which made some sense, and a melody line, and all forms of jazz, were great. I even like chamber music, much to the disgust of most of the Aussie I have ever known (that's over forty-five years). I must have been a European in a previous life. This might explain a couple of related matters: I have always liked the teachings of Christ, and I was never inclined to envy the white man, believing that being white is no big thing. (I do not think he is better equipped either.)

Yet I do not share the love of Italian opera claimed by so many; and I am not sure if it is not a socially-required pose. German opera is more acceptable to me, as it offers deeper voices, less screeching, less exercises to display the human voice, and (I believe) more substance musically. On the other hand, Greek and French female vocalising is genuinely attractive – perhaps it is because the sounds come from the throat. In my view, the greatest contribution Europe has made to mankind is its music. In this context, I remember an author writing of the "agony of ecstasy" brought on by vibrant music produced on tow mandolins.

Returning to the lady who was unfortunate enough to introduce me to opera, why did we go on separate trains? In those early years, few women wanted to be seen going out with us Asians. They would meet us at the pictures and leave us at the pictures. Well, not always. Sometimes one would spend a little time in a convenient doorway before departing. (So, we were all normal people.) We could not blame the girls for their precautions, as the ordinary Aussie had enough trouble with us being in his country without his womenfolk showing a fondness for us.

One way for an Aussie to show his antipathy towards us was to try and make us feel that our command of the English language was inadequate, our accents unclear, our pronunciation of common words incorrect; yet, on some occasions, we would be asked why we used so many big words (which apparently were clear to the listener).

Initially, I found two levels of Australian accents. The products of the British-influenced grammar schools, where presumably the students copied or reflected the speech of their teachers – often well-educated Englishmen, and news readers on the national radio station had good speech, sometimes exaggerated to a ridiculously nasal level. The rest of the Australian community spoke in a flat inimitable voice which marks one as a colonial subject, in the antipodes. There were some exceptions. These were the products of 'good' Catholic schools. They too affected a nasal accent, but in a half-hearted manner. In a dry climate, the affected nasal accent was quite weird. But then, the old Aussie was said to suffer from a cultural cringe. He was also known to be a good copycat. And he does that well even today, especially with Americanisms. Quite a few years later, the pseudo-English sounds went by the wayside (perhaps the grammar schools ran out of teachers from Britain). Employees of the foreign service agency, academics, and radio announcers led the way down to cruder sounds (reflecting perhaps their origins), followed by the products of good schools. As the nation grew in size, I suspect that more working class Aussies rose to replace the English. As the nation matured, the urge to copy the British was diminished (Britain was not the nation to emulate anymore – too many Pakis and blacks there? We are now more American).

Later still, radio and TV announcers tried hard to say foreign names correctly, except once when there was a glorious disaster. The Indian epic, _The Mahabharatha_ , was offered, as entertainment, to Australia in the late Eighties on TV. The announcers, however, continually told us about the maha-brata instead – initially, I thought that it was a play about the great loaf (perhaps about the Australian work ethic) or a giant roti. Surely, it would have been so easy to check with the Indian High Commission or an appropriate university. And such mishaps continue, especially with Asian names (even on ethnic TV). Is it arrogance or stupidity?

There was also the Aussie, with his quaint accent, putting on what I call a Peter Sellers accent. It sounds Welsh, but is clearly meant to make fun of the accents displayed by Indians and other brownskins. It has always seemed to me to be rather pathetic for someone of British origins to make fun of someone's speech sounds when there is so much variety among his own peoples. This pathetic Aussie is still around. Some educated Englishmen (including Shakespearean actors) also seem to swallow parts of some words and phrases. Pronunciation does not match the spelling in some cases, e.g., Edinburgh. Scholars have their own traditions, e.g. Der-eye-us for Darius (of Persian fame), or Vitchilupuchti for Huitzilopochtli (how does one obtain the 'correct' pronunciation for what is only written or inscribed?).

Returning to the reactions of the old Aussie to the Asian intruders, after a while, we realised that not all of them were trying to put us down. Often, both sides had genuine difficulties in understanding the other. The man in the street, for instance, had then a habit of sounding an _a_ as an _i_. For example, face sounded like fice (as in ice). Basin sounded like bison. And there was a news report of a migrant woman who thought that she had been sent home 'to die', when in fact the hospital told her to go home 'today'. The ubiquity of such speech sounds is well documented. With goodwill, however, such difficulties were not long-lasting, and did not diminish the mutual warmth that gradually developed between us and those who were equally determined to be friendly.

The Australian also has an unusual sense of humour, as we found. There seemed to be nothing sacred or sensitive to him. His comments were also inclined to be personally more intrusive than we had ever experienced. In fact, our own cultural tradition was courtesy; deeply personal comments were not what we were used to. For example, I was flummoxed when a fellow student asked, without warning, whether I was getting my end in. What sort of question was this? How was I to answer?

However, when we became accustomed to the Aussie's banter, we found him a likeable fellow. He had a clever use of words, which I think is most unusual for any relatively uneducated and unskilled or semi-skilled worker. He also had a disconcerting habit of using the word 'bastard' as a gesture of friendship. That took a lot of understanding, as the word was a very strong insult when used by an Asian. Some Aussies also had a bantering way of referring to Chinese individuals they were dealing with as "Who Flung Dung" or "One Bung Lung." I realised that this reflected a harmless joke. But when they said "Chink," it was not banter. "Bastard" could be okay, depending on how it is spoken, but "black bastard" was clearly not meant to be even neutral.

However, there were some Aussies who made it very clear to us that we were not wanted in the country. We wondered, why not? For example, one Saturday morning, neatly dressed as usual (my mother would have been proud to see me like this), I heard someone shouting as I walked through one of the great arcades of Collins Street, Melbourne. There were many people in the arcade. Naturally, almost everyone turned to see what the shouting was about. Not far from me, a large well-dressed lady with the ubiquitous gabardine overcoat and a string-bag was shouting something to someone in my direction. Seeing no one behind me, I turned to the lady, who was still shouting. Incredibly, it became clear that she was shouting at me. What she kept saying was, "Why don't you go back home, you black bastard?" By this time, almost everyone seemed to have become aware of what was happening. I observed that some moved off very quickly, perhaps to avoid the outbreak of a racial war, or through embarrassment. Others stood around. I thought that some looked a little surprised, perhaps because I was then very lightly coloured. When the self-appointed guardian of the land would not stop shouting, I strolled away as nonchalantly as I could. And no one else said a word; the resulting silence was deafening. For the first time in my life I realised that a human being could have so much prejudice about another human being who was just passing by, based purely on that person's skin colour. I wondered how such a feeling could be generated, and why it should be generated in an ordinary person whose life was untouched by the presence of that coloured person. Was it to do with the white man's burden, or was it fear? If the latter, fear of what? Would coloured people outbreed the whites, rape all the women, drink all the beer? What other dreadful things would we do to the ordinary Australian?

Unfortunately for me and my fellow Asians, this overt expression of dislike was repeated in many places, many times. "Why don't you go back where you came from, you (black or yellow) bastard?" was not an uncommon comment directed at us in those years. We generally ignored such rudeness. However, in some places, such as pubs, we learnt to be careful. We kept an eye on the exits in order to beat a hasty but dignified retreat when other patrons voiced disapproval at our presence. This disapproval reflected, I believe, the practice of not serving Aborigines in bars.

Retreat was obviously the wisest thing to do. It was equally wise not to give any indication that one had experienced a slight or, for that matter, any discrimination. Anyway, we thought – why also not spoil their fun by pretending that nothing untoward had happened. This seems to be exactly what competent Aboriginal football players are doing in the Nineties when racist remarks are thrown at them, not only by barrackers for the opposing side, but also by opposing players who do not like being bested by an 'inferior species'. Visiting coloured sportsmen, particularly cricketers, are also reportedly exposed to such treatment, referred to as 'sledging', especially if the Aussies are losing. It is strange that the ugly Aussie in sport does not seem to surface when beaten by white teams. On a one-to-one basis, occasionally, we could get away with a question like, "Haven't you got a mother either?" While the other party was trying to work out what the question was, we would smile and move away gracefully (we hoped).

But it is not an easy matter to keep away from an inebriated person who pesters you because you are coloured. When walking with a group, a brown Asian would be the one targeted, either for abuse or for a touch (for money). Reject the touch, and you will be abused. Whites in the group are ignored. In these situations, an intoxicated person can be persistent. In those early years, we were targeted in this fashion so often that we used to cross the street when walking past a pub. In the mid-Nineties, I was targeted in Melbourne's Chinatown – again. I was in the middle of a group of five, including three women, when it happened. I was the only non-white. My friends looked in disbelief when the drunk followed us, abusing me. He desisted only when my friend threatened to hit him. So, what's new?

I was not aware then of any people overtly abused for being different in appearance and origin. I have since become aware that the Jews in Europe had worse experiences from fellow-European Christians; worse still, I became aware that Christian white Aussies treated Christian Aboriginal Aussies as less than human, waiting for those who had survived the earlier genocide to die off.

To place our situation in proper context, we need to accept that Australians were unprepared for the influx of Asian students. Their previous contacts were with Iascars (Indian sailors), Chinese shopkeepers, and some Afghan traders. They had developed a strong antipathy towards Aborigines (no matter how light-skinned some of them were; most – including the working class – almost seemed to have adopted colonial attitudes – the white man's burden and saving the heathen). Many were plain ignorant, and thereby prejudiced; and some were simply fearful of change (and yet these were the descendants of intrepid migrants of not that many generations before!). It was also very interesting to listen to old Aussies talk about those Aborigines with mixed blood, i.e. most (if not all) of the urbanised ones. They were referred to as half-caste, quarter-caste, 1/64-caste, and so on, disparagingly. A fellow worker referred to Anglo-Indians and others of mixed Asian and European backgrounds in a similarly insulting manner. Yet he and so many other old Aussies will tell you, often with great pride, how they have French or Scandinavian or German ancestors (the preferred ones), or English, Welsh, Irish or Scottish ancestors (the acceptable ones causing no fuss). But they were not half- or quarter-castes. No, no, on the contrary, they were pure.

To this, I used to take delight in referring to a UNESCO study of population movements across Europe since the eleventh century. This shows how mixed is the population of so much of Europe. As well, since Britain had been the refuge of Jewish and other persecuted peoples, I suggested that those of British origin (i.e. most Australians) might want to be more careful about any comments of a negative nature in relation to the admixture of blood, or even of skin colour. One cannot be too sure of what one might find in some long-forgotten woodpiles. It was all good fun, to my mind.

On the other hand, my fellow students and I had no reason to expect, when we left for Australia, that we would have to experience the painful culture shock of being treated as inferior persons because of our colour and origins, and to be told that we were not wanted in the country. It was totally unexpected, terribly hurtful, and potentially damaging. Some Asian students in those early years became anti-white, while others lost their confidence in dealing with whites.

Prejudice by Australians was not restricted to Aborigines and Asians. It encompassed the non-Anglo Saxon, but to a lesser degree. Possession of a Mediterranean accent or colour invited references to "I-ties" (pronounced as in 'tie'), "Dagoes," "Wogs," "Wops." These terms were used by all classes of old Aussie. Presumably, they were not to know how much damage they caused. In the early Fifties, I met a student born of Mediterranean migrants in Australia. While serving in the Royal Australian Air Force, he could not take this treatment and became somewhat deranged. After a while, it became clear to me that a whole generation of old Aussies had to die before life in Australia became easier for Asians. They did, and it did. That is, the old Aussie did die, consistent with normal practice; and life for the Asians and all the other 'wogs' became easier. But the real question remains: who the hell were these people who felt that they could so freely abuse strangers the way they did?

Could it be that the descendants of those who killed or drove away from their tribal lands the traditional occupants of those lands (and then did everything they could to destroy their culture) are instinctually fearful of the prospect of some superior species dishing out the same treatment to _them_? In the mid-Fifties, I believe that some judge or Royal Commissioner declared that, as the Aborigines had lost their land to a superior culture, there was nothing more to be said. I thought then that this gave the Chinese and Indian nations a good excuse for overrunning Australia.

To be fair, my experience (and that of my fellow Asians) was not all prejudice and discrimination. When it happened, it was sharp and somewhat brutal. But we also got our own back occasionally. One busy Saturday, three of us brown fellows were walking down a main street when we sighted three of our friends, all brown, on the other side. We stopped and began to shout very loudly, "Look, black fellows. Over there," again and again, pointed to our friends. The expressions on the faces of those walking past were worth recording for posterity. But one or two actually smiled – they understood.

By and large, the Aussie man-in-the-street was (and is) a fair person. Indeed, it soon became clear to me that Australia was egalitarian. There was none of the nasty expressions of class or the smells of caste I had felt back home; if anything, the Aussie worker tended to sneer at the more affluent (because his belly was as full as theirs) for their pretensions to status. The Aussie's attitude was to lop off either the heads or the feet of the tall poppies. I found that the ordinary Aussie believed very strongly in equality and fair treatment (of white men, that is). There is still talk about how someone respected is a "white man" (sometimes said to me!). The ordinary Aussie was tolerant (in the main) of other people, provided that there were not too many of them around; of course, women were expected to know their place (some men are still talking about pregnant and barefooted women, but they are generally past it, functionally speaking).

In fact, I have been told quite often that I was acceptable as a fellow resident but that the country did not need any more people like myself. In the Eighties, an immigration policy officer aged about thirty-five said, in my presence at our preferred end-of-week drinking hole, that there were too many black people entering the country. Remembering me, he added, "Not like you, but really black ones." Then, it was very clear that Australia had to be kept white, Christian, and everybody at the same level. Today, it is more near-white, almost Christian, and to hell with egalitarianism and equity. Interestingly, many a statement of racial prejudice (about others) is spoken in my presence – even on a one-to-one basis – suggesting that, at least, _I_ might be an honorary white.

The most striking feature of Australia that I observed then was that of the equality of white men. At least that was what was intended. Minimum wages ensured that every worker and his family had a reasonable standard of living. (Whereas, up to forty-five years later, workers in most Asian countries remained not as well fed or housed as their Australian counterparts.) I found that there was limited financial advantage then in being more skilled, more qualified, or more successful in one's career. The margins for skill in Australia, I found, were not as great as those in Malaya.

This emphasis on equality was also reflected, I noticed, in that there was never any reference to peasants in Australia. Newspapers carried stories of peasants in Asia and everywhere else, but there were apparently no peasants in Australia. Obviously, no Aussie did anything that could be described as peasant work; or he had so much personal dignity granted to him both by intent and by income that he could not possibly be described as a peasant. In this context, I read of an Aussie grazier who was being questioned by an immigration official at Rangoon Airport. The official did not understand the term 'grazier'. When the tourist explained what he did, the immigration official exclaimed, "Now I understand," cancelled the word 'grazier', and replaced it with the word 'peasant'. The tourist thought this so funny (given his social status in Australia) that, on his return home, he told the press.

The Australia that I came into was obviously a great place, if one were white, male, and relatively unskilled or uneducated. The poor Aborigine was not counted in the population census, and he had no citizenship. The few Aussies of Asian origin kept their place and did not embarrass anyone. And we came and "buggered it all up," as an Aussie friend said to me. And I replied that I had only come to lend a little colour to the place!

Anyway, culture shock ought to be a two-way process. For many of us, the important thing was that we remained untouched by ignorance, prejudice and discrimination. Our cultural heritage sustained most of us admirably. We were unimpregnable. "A man who prides himself on his ancestry is like the potato plant, the best part of which is underground," says a Spanish proverb. Sadly, a few of the Asians were affected, in different ways – some were a little bitter, some a little angry, and some did lose their confidence. I suspected that the last group were those who had already been undermined by the colonisers' claimed superiority.

We believed, too, not unreasonably, that being unimpregnable should also be a two-way thing; we were therefore equally successful in ensuring that our lady friends remained unimpregnated. For our families, nothing was feared more than their offspring marrying a foreigner, especially a white one. Was this racist prejudice? Yes and no. If my mother cannot speak with my wife because of a language barrier, the marriage cannot succeed – certainly in eastern societies. If, in addition, there are vast cultural differences, there will always be, at minimum, the potential for conflict. Yet, such chasms have been bridged by foreign spouses (both male and female) learning the mother-in-law's (and the host country's) language and adapting to their ways. But, as many Asian men have learned, it was a rare white woman (with her colonial heritage) who was willing and able to accept and adapt to Asian mores; it is indeed a big step to get off one's pedestal. And there are quite a few Asians who can testify to how a white wife and her mum tried to remove all vestiges of Asian thinking, values and practices (these being obviously inferior) from his psyche.

On the positive side, there were pleasant, if not some curious, interchanges between the Asians and the Aussies. For example, walking through a park one fine afternoon, we passed a man raking leaves. He stopped, smiled at us, and, with an inclined head movement, _winked_. We were flummoxed; what did that gesture mean? We felt intuitively that it was an attempted pick-up. But in the middle of the afternoon? In the middle of the park and while he was at work? Why did we think this? Well, we had seen how men back home, trying to pick up women, would wink at them and turn their heads at the same time.

Our initial reaction was to smile vaguely and move on with a little more speed. How naïve we were. We soon learnt that this was a traditional greeting. And it also showed how relaxed, comfortable, and friendly the lowest worker was. "I am okay, Jack," was what he was saying, "and how are you?" In reverse, applying an Asian (and continental European) tradition almost caused trouble for a Malayan friend of mine. He used the "thumbs up" sign as a greeting, often at some distance and hence visible to other people. But he used to move his forearm up and down too at the same time – and that meant something nasty to the Aussie. My friend learnt to desist.

When we came to know the locals better, some of the ladies would greet us with a kiss. Yuk, and how embarrassing. We had never been kissed in our lives – not since babyhood. (Kissing a girl with unspecified ambitions was a different matter.) And then there were those ladies who rushed up and shook hands. How unladylike! And all that touching!

Another interesting cultural interchange occurred in a school preparing post-secondary students for university, with emphasis upon upgrading the standard of written English. A Chinese Malayan friend of mine prepared an essay, as did everyone else in his class, on "My cultural heritage." The objective was also to offer the students some cross-cultural sensitisation. His effort included the gem that he was very proud of his ancestral culture. This went back five thousand years or more, long before European man had "descended from the trees." That must have gone down well when he read it aloud to his class. At the end of the session, the kindly teacher explained that, while my friend's claim might have been correct, it would be more courteous to phrase it differently. Confident of his place in the universe, my friend agreed.

Who was my friend? A second generation Malayan, whose parents were shopkeepers. But they had tremendous pride in their cultural heritage – and quite correctly so.

Another Malayan, at his guest house, put his shoes outside his door, expecting them to be polished overnight. We did not know where he learnt that, but he certainly had to buy another pair the next day – someone had stolen his shoes. As the landlady said, you clean your backside, you polish your own shoes. We could not argue with that.

When it came to food, Sunday night dinner was the one to avoid with Aussies. Cold roast meat and raw, cold vegetables – all tasteless. The mouth-watering sweets which followed did not compensate. And the way they ate scones – first butter, then jam, then a lot of cream on top. Then open the mouth like a hippo, and push it all in. Only the rich in Asia could eat like that.

In contrast, I vividly remember the scene one night back home, just before I left. A wealthy Chinese businessman had taken out to dinner some of the members of a newly-formed orchestra, which was led by our Goanese music teacher. Beyond the wire fence of the outdoors restaurant were a number of half-starved children looking at us eating in style. I knew how those children felt then. The apparent gluttony of the Aussie was therefore difficult for me to adapt to, until I too learnt to eat like a hippo.

The old Aussie, reflecting his tradition of tasteless food, did not like spices. The European, the new Aussie, did. I was introduced to Italian food by a Pole, and taught how to fork spaghetti. Now we knew where to find almost-proper food. A Greek immigration clerk introduced me to Greek food – better and better. A Yugoslav introduced me to other European eating places. Gastronomically, our life was improving rapidly. And, in time, the foreigner introduced tasty bread, tasty sausages, and other improvements to the marketplace and, gradually, to many Aussie homes.

Eventually, some of us got together and rented accommodation where we could cook our own food, and where we could invite foreigners to cook their foods. Often, these places were owned by migrants – this meant that there were no complaints about the smell of the spices. Of course, none of us could cook to start with. We had not been allowed into the family kitchens. We therefore started to cook the way we vaguely remembered the women cooking back home. If they had seen us, we would have been a source of great amusement. But we experimented and we improved. And who was there to tell us that what we did was not the correct way?

Regretfully, many years later, my mother arrived and said just that – and I had not even asked her (quite cleverly, I thought) for an opinion! She refused to eat a particular dish that I had cooked because I had omitted one step in the process. In fact, my ancestral lot are quite weird when it comes to cooking. All the relatives I have eaten with cook individual dishes in an identical fashion – no variation whatsoever, whether they live in Australia, Singapore, or sundry parts of Malaysia.

We invited many Aussies to eat with us. They did, and said they enjoyed our cooking. They would like to come again. And they did. But, irrespective of their wealth, reciprocity was rare. So, the old Aussie and his offspring turned out to be spongers. After forty-five years in the country, and still offering Asian hospitality generously, I find reciprocity rare. European migrants agree with my conclusion. And this finding very clearly applies to the better educated, with their higher incomes. The question is why is it so?

'Eaten food is soon forgotten' is an old Hungarian saying. Is that why? Is it Anglo-Celt tradition to treat one's home as a closed castle, with entertaining done only in the backyard (the ubiquitous but enjoyable barbecue) or to go out to eat (Dutch treat – pay your own)? To be fair, only the middle class behaves like this.

The old Aussie worker was the one (I thought) who made Australia unique. He had dignity but not pretence, and offered no bull about his importance. His door was open once he accepted you. I have been to many barbecues and drunk a lot of beer with many ordinary Aussie folk. And he did not accept that Yiddish adage (which cannot surely be true): the constant friend is never welcome.

What is so special about the middle-class home? Apparently, it is based on the ancestral home in Britain. And even the Irish and the descendants of the convicts all uniformly aspired, according to a recent writer, to the visible architectural and living styles of the very people who had caused the original exodus. So, I wondered if it was an English tradition to treat the home as a closed castle? My English friends deny this. In fact, they too complain about the non-reciprocity of the well-off Aussie. This makes the kindest excuse I could find irrelevant. My explanation is that the self-conscious middle-class wife cannot hope to offer culinary skills comparable to that offered by foreigners. And behind this kind thought lies the niggling guess that the newly-rich are simply house-proud and want to preserve their new carpet. By contrast, our standard of hospitality is that friends are expected to drop in, no appointments necessary, as is the practice in Australia. A visitor is not kept standing at the door, but invited in and offered light refreshments. It is courtesy to accept and to partake of at least a token amount. When we say "drop in," we mean it. In the early Nineties, my dinner in Malaysia was delayed one night for three hours because of a valued visitor. He had dropped in but refused dinner (he had already eaten). To visit in Australia, without a prior appointment one to three weeks away, would be unthinkable – so I found. What is the value of friendship then? Does wealth and well-being also drive out traditional courtesy?

Did that explain the alienation of parents and children, of siblings from another, and the isolation of the old, leaving the State to look after members of one's own family? Was the country as societally, and therefore as culturally, primitive as it looked?

Right until the Nineties, I have had the disconcerting experience of a so-called friend, or a boss (a very senior public servant), or the president of a club for retired professional and business men, as well as others, open their front door when I knocked, greet me, step outside, and shut the door behind them! In the worst cases, I had done them a favour by delivering papers that they had needed urgently. I was clean, neatly dressed, and had not been drinking. It was not after-lunch nap time for their wives. There were no guests in the house. And I had called in by agreement. Were they afraid that I might not leave soon if I were admitted? Did they feel that they might have to offer some hospitality (and that their spouses might have objected)? Frankly, I thought that they were weird and very bloody rude. Perhaps, these people had just been dragged up (not brought up), as some of my neighbours used to say.

On the subject of houses, some young Aussies in our early contact years also behaved strangely. One asked if I lived in a house. I discovered that he was serious. Where on earth did he think we put our heads down? Another asked if we used furniture. He too was serious.

The most disconcerting experience for me was Aussie football. When my neighbour asked me if I played "footie," I said yes. I presumed he meant soccer. After all, Aussies said "chrissy" for Christmas and they used similar abbreviations all the time. He lent me a pair of boots which did look a little strange, but I did not stop to think about it. Arriving at the football ground, I saw a rugby ball in use. Then I saw the most curious thing – the players passed the ball by hand. They also kicked it but not along the ground. The players bounced off one another, climbed on others to reach a high ball, and were generally very rough.

It was just too strange. Having regard for my relative size, and my lack of experience in being bounced around the field, I decided to retire before I started. I think that I was wise. In subsequent years I have seen good players whose noses were broken by intent in order to reduce their concentration and their competence. It seemed to be a game for thugs (my mother-in-law was to refer to the game as one for butcher boys). To say this in the State of Victoria (of which Melbourne is capital) is to risk being lynched; Aussie football is a way of life for Victorians, no matter where they live.

I am not quite sure why, but I did try rugby union for a season. I think they needed a light but fast player. As scrum-half, I used to get the ball out quite successfully. I seemed to reach the horizontal as I did this only to find my opponent lying across my ankles. My ankles did not agree with that after a while, so I quit while I was ahead at the end of that season. Hockey seemed to be my game. I soon adapted to the more robust Australian style of play. Strangely, whilst I had no status as a hockey player at school, I found myself an A-grade player in Melbourne. This reflected, in part, my metamorphosis from the strangling cocoon of family life in Malaya and a substantially improved diet, resulting in a very fit and aggressive player, with a die-in-the-ditch attitude to winning (a not very Asian approach to sport). I had also been taught a practice which I have not given up yet – concluding a hot shower with a cold one. It does something for the soul.

Adaptation of another kind was by a number of Chinese Malayans. They voluntarily adopted Christian names – which surprised the rest of us. But they did not take up the faith. I was not sure of the advantages of this form of adaptation. It may not have posed any difficulty without any significant cultural tradition to give away.

In our attempted adaptation to things Australian, we found something strange. Some Aussies seemed to suffer from an inferiority complex. Whether it was in reference to us or to their own community, I could not be sure. For example, so many men with black fingernails claimed to be engineers. Was this akin to those Indians who claimed to be BA (Failed) as evidence of having been to university? It took me a while to realise that they worked with engines and were not always accredited as tradesmen. And Australia was supposed to be a classless society.

It should have been. The trade unions successfully obtained from the arbitral authorities loadings to a generous primary wage for overtime, holidays or dirty work, or anything else they could think of. The primary wage was to cover the cost of living for a couple with two children. Years later, they even got a "dim sum" allowance, to apparently compensate workers for the agony of being surrounded by the aroma of Chinese food while building in Chinatown. (Surely, there is room for outsiders to wonder about the decision makers in such exercises).

Australian workers have done exceedingly well through the efforts of their unions, strange arbitral authorities working in a vacuum, and major employers whose activities were cocooned by the coastline and very generous tariffs. There was an archaic and inefficient apprenticeship scheme for industry. There was no scope for multi-skilling, thereby requiring a small army of men with a wide range of skill classifications for every simple job. Margins for skill were kept low. And everybody lived comfortably, without anyone having too much cream on their cake.

In this environment of enforced equality, migrant workers had little attention paid to them by the unions, until the government thought up some ethnic policies.

Inequality of a social kind was influenced by the control exercised by the churches. No pubs were open on a Sunday (the godly were not to be tempted). But, if you travelled twenty miles from home, you could get a drink. And as Sunday was the day for family outings, the family went out for the day anyway, and had a few beers out there somewhere. Pubs closed at six o'clock in the evening (family men should be home by dinner time). So, until closing time, the men filled up as fast as they could, and usually reached home affected by alcohol. Prostitution was banned, but the wares were openly displayed by independents on street corners and often delivered in public parks and elsewhere. Retribution by venereal disease for immorality? Abortions were banned, partly because babies were needed for adoption, which might swell the faithful. Mixed marriages were frowned upon, as "them" and "us" must always remain apart. Tight censorship applied in reading and viewing (the terrible things people might get up to if allowed to read and view freely).

Yet, the wealthy were free to drink, read, see, feel, or fornicate as they saw fit – as we all knew. For example, when I visited a fellow student's home, his father, a wealthy man, and as high as a kite, was boasting, in front of his wife, about "feeling up" a local charity queen earlier in the evening. (One of the advantages of being a foreigner is the scope for cutting across the class boundaries.)

At the initial stages of my stay in Australia, what happened in the community was only of casual interest to me. One observed the good with the bad. Amongst the bad was the presence of children in pubs (even in prams), at any time of the day, and visible from the street. Another strange feature of this nation was that every group seemed to be subsidised by the government – support for this, support for that, tax concession for the other, and so on. The question was, who paid for all this? Were Australians a government-dependant people? Had taxpayer-funded faceless or impersonal community agencies taken over from the family, and welfare counsellors taken over from the priests? Still, I had not arrived to do an anthropological study, however much I was interested in cross-cultural matters, and in what made the human mind tick. I had to study, study, study.

###  _Chapter Eight_

Death of a Dream

I was standing at a workbench in the chemistry laboratory, with an open book in front of me conveying instructions for the first session of the practical work, and contemplating the array of equipment which was to use. As I had no idea how to begin, I asked my neighbour, an American. I do not know what he was doing in Australia. He might have been an ex-serviceman benefiting from the government's rehabilitation and training programmes.

The American stared at me and said, "Don't you know?" I replied in the negative.

"How did you get into the course?" I explained, pointing out that the concession regarding lab work was only for 1946. It would have expected that those covered by the concession had been in a chemistry lab during their early years of high school. I had never been in a lab because I had hurdled the first three years (out of four) of high school. As the youngest in that batch of 1946, I was probably the only one who lacked any exposure to a chemistry lab.

So, my kind and tolerant neighbour guided me for the first few practical sessions quite graciously and successfully. Of course, we all "cooked" our results (the tutors expected that, as they had done the same in their day).

The other lab work posed no problems for me, as "cooking" was carried out whenever appropriate. Since there was no assessment of the learning achieved by the student until the end of the year, and since "cooking" obtained necessary passes for lab work, a student could attend lectures (or not), continue to study (or not), and then sit the end-of-year exams, when he/she passed (or not). No one in the institution paid any attention to one's presence (or absence). Life must have been very comfortable for the lecturers in those years.

On one occasion, a professor said in the most authoritative manner permitted by his status that the lines on the palm of one's hand "signified nothing more" than the connections between the surface skin and the tissues below. He stared at an Aussie lass in the front row as he said this. We knew that she believed in palmistry. Some of the others accepted the possibility of the palm having some indicative, if not predictive value. Naturally, God having spoken, we would not say anything.

However, a few years later, some medical researcher at a children's hospital discovered that the lines on a new baby's foot could be relied upon as an indicator of certain ailments in the child. Reportedly, this finding was used henceforth throughout the country. This finding did not, of course, negate the utterance of the professor, who was talking only about the hand. But it did raise the question – how could _any_ scientist take a firm position on something that had not been thoroughly investigated? How could he deny categorically the possibility of a suggested or apparent relationship simply because the mechanism for the link was not known? Does not the scientific method only reject the negative, i.e. that a relationship or connection could not occur by chance? The method does not prove conclusively the positive, that _b_ is caused by _a_.

As I understand it, if a relationship could not have occurred by chance, then a causal connection is claimed on the basis of probability. But then, such a finding or conclusion could conceptually fit more than one hypothesis or explanation. So, the causal link claimed by the hypothesis tested is not proven beyond question. It certainly allows further investigation, especially to see if yet another hypothesis might be relevant. After all, how many hypotheses reflect the researcher's beliefs (including the metaphysical)? Should not that professor have admitted that, in our present state of knowledge, we have no evidence to accept the causal link claimed by palmistry? Those of us who wanted to could still accept it as a hypothesis.

In relation to a baby's footprint, I find it surprising that a medical researcher could even be given approval to investigate what might be seen as an improbable link. As far as the palm is involved, we Hindus have been told that the brain and the lines on each hand _are_ linked. And that, as we develop, the brain reflects the changes, and thence the palm changes. What of the original lines on one's hand? Are there imprints in the brain reflecting inheritance potential and karmic path? I soon began to realise how little mankind actually knew, against the theories shoved at us by academics as fact, e.g. the general theory of evolution (as against the specific theory for which there seems to be some evidence).

When attending lectures, I found that Aussie students were effectively revising, during Term One (out of three terms), their years of high school work. I, on the other hand, found everything new. As some of us studied as a group, testing our knowledge as we progressed through the year, I felt that I was keeping up with the others. I worked as hard as the others. It was therefore a horrible shock to find, at the end of the year, that I had somehow failed a subject. Me fail anything? Impossible. Well, I did. And I had no experience of asking someone in authority why or how I had failed (one simply did not question those above us). By the end of the summer vacation I had remedied the pass situation. Yet another shock followed. I was one of about fifty deferred from the next year of the course for a year, as ex-servicemen had priority. The real shock was finding myself not at the head of the queue, but near the bottom of it. It was like standing, after an earthquake, beside the bricks that were once my home. I lost my confidence thereafter. My capacity to learn and to think through a problem was obviously no use to me.

The next year was a wasted, and it was all my fault. I played hockey at top grade level, learnt to drink alcohol ("Wine is the best broom for troubles"), and to dance and socialise in the company of wealthy students, mainly from Malaya. I worked in a gym and built up both my strength and my physique. I trained vigorously to build up speed and stamina. It was a year of finding myself (there were the usual painful lessons in the process), of gaining confidence socially, and thereby compensating to a degree for the destruction of my belief in my academic competence.

I returned to the course the following year, but found that I did not care a damn where the ulnar nerve or any other nerve went. The stench of the cadaver did not help. The real problem was that I was never interested in the practice of medicine, for a number of reasons – but who was listening?

I did not like dirty people, infections, or smells. I did not even like walking on a dirty floor barefoot, or touching anything slimy. I felt sorry for the frogs we cut into. And this was the person anointed to bring the family fame and fortune. In my community, every family has to have a doctor, even if they have to buy one, by dowry. But it was ever thus. To this day, youths with top academic passes (i.e. with blotting-paper memories) are automatically pushed into medical courses. The next line of academic passes are sent to the next highest potential-income courses like engineering, which really requires a problem-solving capacity. One wonders how many clever people are in the wrong profession. Then there are others who are spoon-fed to qualify as doctors, to satisfy family ambitions. Is it any different in the other ethnic communities?

While I had lost interest in the course, I did attempt to study. After hours of effort, I found that I had absorbed little. I sat in the music room at the university and listened to glorious classical music – "he who hears music feels his solitude," it is said. While I was striving to learn, I found myself grieving over the loss of my father; I worried about the plight of my mother and sisters surviving on a clerk's pension; I drowned in guilt at the terrible waste of scarce capital I had caused; I feared for my ability to pass exams (this was reflected in my nightmares, and these nightmares pursued me for decades). I waited in fearful apprehension of failure and its clear consequences. This is how a rabbit must sit frozen and in fascination staring at the jaws of the python about to have a snack. The cosmos was about to devour yet another bit of debris.

I do not know if this provides an explanation. Early in the academic year, I was resting one afternoon, when I suddenly felt a hard slap on my forehead. Half-awake as I had been, I thought that someone had come in and playfully hit me with a book. That is how it felt. I thought I was going batty when I found myself alone. Forty-five years later, I read that a stroke can happen at any age, and that a mini-stroke often feels like a slap on the head. How strange. The result is loss of memory, and an inability to concentrate. Is this what happened to me? I wonder. It would certainly explain my predicament. However, it looks too much like an expedient rationalisation, attached to a pre-expiry confession. On the other hand, someone did say that truth sits on the lips of dying men.

Continued efforts to concentrate were fruitless. Eventually, recognising that there was no hope for me, I withdrew from the course formally, and told my mother. She promptly and correctly cut me off financially. I was left with six pence in my pocket. Since I had sold the violin and my father's suits, there was nothing to sell. I found some part-time casual work and I had to live frugally. One weekend I did not eat at all. At times I walked miles because I did not have the fare. No one knew of my plight. To whom could I turn? Strangely, without money or hope, I had no fear of anything.

Thus ended my family's dream. I would be derided by the clan and other members of the community for decades. Heaven knows what was said to or about my mother about her ambitions or about her fool of a son.

It was a terrible time. My mind must have shut off completely for a while. The transition from an empty mind which took in nothing to one which felt nothing was fluid. It was like a slippery slide, where only the emotion of failure, desperate failure and the futility of life raged. My feeling was that I had got myself into this hole. How on earth did I do that? I did not know or understand. How do I get out of it? I had no idea. Where do I go from here? How would I know? It was all absolutely, absolutely hopeless. Where the hell was my god? Had I not broken enough coconuts in my time? No other student that I knew had attended the temple as I had. To what avail? I was in no mood to speculate about destiny. So, I decided – to hell with everything. I was now shipwrecked. I had no one and nothing. God could go to hell too. Was that the way to talk to God? Who cared anyway? Destruction is destruction. Nobody could save me. So, I did nothing, except to find money to live. Join the real world, man! It was about time. And the nightmares rode on and on.

The so-called overseas student counsellor, whom I had never met previously in that capacity, told me, as I departed from the course, that I was unsuited for study, but that I had the personality to do well in business. (How would he know that? He had never been out of school.) Obviously, the shy and inarticulate boy had grown to an overt and acceptable personality. How had this happened?

Living away from the stultifying discipline of the kind of family that we had, one could express oneself. I discovered very soon something about myself. References to my apparently inferior status as a coloured person or to my allegedly heathen faith were like water on a duck's back. They say that every cask smells of the wine it contained. I found that I was sustained by my cultural heritage, to the point that I was debating the issues of religious, ethnic or colour-based superiority. Politically, I was called a right-winger because I attacked the many who claimed sympathy for communism or socialism. Ironically, the extreme right-wingers claimed that I was "left" because I attacked their control systems and brainwashing. I denied either side their right to control the individual.

At a hockey training camp in a country town, the press arrived to see the city lads. Being the only foreigner, I was interviewed on the field. Next morning I was quoted in the local paper; among the few matters mentioned was the Malayans' rejection of communism. I was later interviewed by the local radio station. I guess I must have matured and gained personal confidence somewhat rapidly.

One lunch-time, before my destruction, I found myself sitting next to a man in black with a white collar. I assumed that he was some kind of priest. We talked casually for a while. Then he asked if I had considered joining the faith. This surprised me. I had no personal experience of anyone recruiting for God. Anyway, I asked, "Which faith?" He said, "The Church."

I did not know which Church he had in mind, but that did not matter to me. I thought about his question for a while and said to him with some curiosity, "Why would I consider joining your Church?"

"For your salvation," he replied.

I thought about this for a while and then said, "Pardon me, why do you say that _your_ soul will be saved and not _mine_ , when you already know that I am a Hindu?" There was a silence and then, without a word, he left. What was I to make of that? I hoped that I had not offended him.

A little later, a tutor friend (who was going out with a Malayan), asked me if I would consider joining her Church. To which, I said, "You know that I am a practising Hindu. What is it about the way I live which will be changed by me becoming a Christian? What will I do differently, apart from the way you and I pray?"

"That's a fair question," she replied. "Can I think about it for a week and talk to you at our usual gathering?"

I agreed.

The next week, the group met for coffee as usual. My friend said, "The answer is that you will not have to change your behaviour in any way."

"What's the point of changing faiths, especially as I believe that all religions are equal, in that they seek the one God, but in diverse ways?" I asked. She agreed that I might as well stay on my path. The others at the table thought that made good sense – one should not change horses in midstream, as we had been taught.

On another occasion, I had a little too much to drink and went to sleep in the university common room at about seven o'clock in the evening. At about eight-thirty I woke up and found myself at the back of a meeting of the workers' party, which seemed to me to be a clutch of communists and communist-sympathisers. Those at the meeting who had had strong arguments with me must have been amused. I sneaked off as quietly as I could into the night, looking for more substantial sustenance than pinko-principles.

The commitment by these young believers in the rights of the working class was shown at the local pub. The students would normally drink at the front bar, where the beer was cheaper. As soon as smelly workers in their blue singlets joined us after work in that public bar, our theoretical socialists quickly adjourned to the more expensive lounge bar. So much for solidarity. Years later, I found that some of these socialists had held on to their beliefs, while others had decided to clutch capitalism to their hearts. One, who had espoused communism as a student, (by his forties) owned four racehorses and travelled everywhere by plane. His law practice was obviously very profitable.

It became clear that most of those who tried to change our religious or political beliefs were working-class characters. Those from the middle and other classes rode around in natty little sports cars or had large family cars at their disposal. They enjoyed life, before turning to the practice of making money for themselves.

Of these, some identified themselves as Jewish. These reached out to the Asians early on our arrival. Many firm friendships were formed. A migrant Jewish girl, who had survived a concentration camp, befriended me. I heard her tell some people that she had been raped in the camp. She took me in my first month of arrival to buy casual clothes; we both finished up wearing yellow sweat-tops and mission-brown slacks. Yuk! We must have looked like a pair of colour-blind twins. I know better now. Hopefully, she does too.

To get on with the wealthy, I felt that one had to wear suede "desert boots" or "brothel brogues," corduroy slacks and, perhaps, a scarf. A lot of money also helped.

The overseas students generally gathered together, to share experiences as well to talk about the families we all missed and the countries and cultures we had left behind. At an early stage, a number of us formed the Australia-Overseas Students Club at the university. In the first year, we held a weekend conference, at which there were twenty-one different nationalities out of the eighty-five people present, including a Mexican and a French lass. What a fabulous experience that was – a great part of the world represented by young people, with hope and ambition driving our studies, and building international understanding in the process. When numbers of each nationality or ethnic group are small, people tend to mix more widely than when numbers are large enough to sustain a particular national or ethnic community. So it was with us.

Many years later, when I was guest speaker at a dinner hosted by the Indian Association of Victoria, the president asked me to suggest to his members that they should stay together as Indian Australians rather than break up into the language or regional groups of India. In the early post-war years, the Indian students of Melbourne formed their own association. I had a number of close friends among these Indian students. One day, I was invited to a dinner hosted by that Association to meet the Indian High Commissioner. I accepted. A week later I was told that I could not go, as the dinner was restricted to students from India. Over the years, it was quite hilarious to meet a fellow brown-skinned chap and have him ask me if I was from India (that was the key phrase). When I said no, whoosh, there went my new-found friend. This happened all over Australia, and to many others.

More recently, I mentioned this ritual to a group of Hindus celebrating Deepavali at Hyde Park in Sydney. It was a family gathering, with migrants from India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore, and New Zealand. One of the Indians added to my story to the effect that, when he answers the usual question in the affirmative – yes, he _is_ from India – he is asked another question. And that is, "Are you a doctor?" when he says no, whoosh, there goes his enquirer, obviously a doctor (unless he was looking for free medical advice).

Enquiries from Sri Lanka were different. Most of the students from this country were Tamils. Their first question, after identifying me as of Ceylon-Tamil origin, was about the village my people came from. There we go, I used to think – he is less interested in me than in identifying my ancestors. How would that enhance our possible friendship? Anyway, we are (in all likelihood) related by marriage, if not by blood.

The Malayans were a different pot of pickle. They would mix with anyone, and they were comfortable to be with. Very early, we formed the Malayan Students Society in Melbourne, covering all the institutions in the State. Gradually, a support network was being formed all over Australia, with increasing involvement by Malayan diplomatic officials, and Australian authorities backed off from their intrusive role as guardians and policemen.

We knew that there was surveillance over us. Immigration authorities had to know where we lived; I recall annual visits to report progress to some low-level clerk. His job presumably was to ensure that we were making progress in acquiring qualifications; that we were not taking jobs from the Aussies (even vacation work was denied to us); that we would behave better than Aussie youth; and that we would not run off with any national jewels. Landladies and immigration officials were obviously in close touch. Who initiated the contact? One can guess. These officials were not nasty; they just had a nasty job to do, keeping Australia safe from coloured herds.

There was political surveillance too. Immigration officials often told us the nature and source areas of their information. It was only natural justice to be allowed to know of any material adverse to our stay. At the university, we had in mind a particular professor as the informant. He was believed to have contacts with British security. This did not bother us, until we found a grave mistake. An Aussie friend of the Asians came across a report from a security reporter that labelled a well-known anti-communist as a communist sympathiser. This lie would be the end of that student's chances in his own country. When the Aussie protested to his own chief, saying that the report was patently wrong, he was transferred to another job.

The professorial spy was subsequently believed by the Asians to be in a faculty in which only one Asian was enrolled at that time. This student had little contact with the others. So, what was the basis of that security assessment? Presumably, gossip based on the company kept in pubs or in student organisations. Thanks to the integrity of one Aussie, at least one Asian was not damaged by sloppy security surveillance. How many others were? Yet, in my later dealings, as an Australian public servant, with Australia's security people, I found only professional competence. By then, Australian paranoia about "reds under beds" was history. The pity of it all was that, while we Malayans were doing our best to get rid of real communists, the spy hunters in Australia seemed to be chasing shadows (perhaps of their own making).

Asian students were not the only ones at risk with this McCarthy line. Apparently, many Aussies suffered from guilt-by-association. The public, however, did not seem to care a damn, as the communists in trade unions had apparently won very substantial improvements in working conditions for the working man. I knew well a veteran of the First World War who detested communism, but gave credit to communist union leaders for the substantial improvement in his standard of living. He was in a position to look at his nation impartially, near the end of his life. He was also one of many who had suffered in a very real way during the Great Depression. As he said, his condition at work had progressed from poor wages and total insecurity to fair treatment and good wages.

Like most Aussies, he now had his own little house, with all the 'mod cons' (i.e. carpet, stove, hot water system, fridge, radio, and a 'copper' in the laundry). This was the equivalent of middle class homes in Malaya. By the time of our arrival, the Aussie had achieved a high standard of living and job security. (The Aborigines were, of course, excluded from this Shangri-La.) It seemed to me that the Aussie was not going to accept readily a ride on the Red Menace train which was apparently intended to keep certain politicians in power beyond their 'use by' date.

Dealing with Aussies was becoming easier and easier. Interestingly, in the first two years, the only homes I was invited into were those of migrant Hungarian, Czech, Italian, and English, but not old Aussie. Why not? I knew more Aussies than migrants. It was subsequently explained to me that my Aussie friends assumed that I had come from a wealthy family. I would have lived in a large house. I might therefore not be comfortable in what they considered to be small houses. An inferiority complex?

Well, I had news for them. Their small homes were better than those I had ever been in. But they could not believe that such low-income families could finance overseas study. After all, while Aussie incomes were high enough to support a substantial style of living, there was little scope for saving. In fact, Australia had developed, and Aussies had become comfortable, on the savings of overseas-based foreigners (who therefore owned so much of the country's productive base, and who controlled its destiny).

Then the Colombo Plan came in. Under the Plan, a limited number of students from Commonwealth countries were nominated by their governments for funded study in Australia. When the Plan became well known to the public, the reaction of the man in the street to the young Asians around them changed. In my first year in Melbourne, I was often asked, "Which ship are you off, mate?" I used to give the name of the ship in which I had arrived. Then there were references to how well I was dressed – was I well paid? Then the penny dropped – my enquirer thought that _I_ was a lascar. They were often seen on the western side of the city, where the port is, generally carrying a string bag (carried by most shoppers), almost inevitably with a trussed live chicken in it.

"If you are not off a ship, what are you doing in Australia?"

"Ah, you are a student. You must be rich then...You are not...Come on, mate. You couldn't afford to be here if you didn't have a few quid." This perception often led to an attempt, usually by the slightly inebriated, to touch us for the price of a coffee or a drink. Many "drunks", as we saw them, loved to sit with us on public transport.

On the other hand, many Aussies refused to sit next to us and would rather strap-hang for long distances. Contradictorily, our apparent wealth also seemed to draw disparaging remarks – but that may have applied to anyone better dressed than the ordinary. Given the clear prejudice we had already seen against Aborigines, who, naturally enough, were generally not well dressed, it was (and still is) wiser for the brown-skinned Asian to be well dressed; anyway, our mothers would have expected us to be well dressed (but not to sit next to drunks).

When the drunks and others were told by the media that the Aussie taxpayer was financing the foreigners in the country, there was a sea-change in community attitudes. People took their charity to us with great pride – it obviously made them all glow, many with condescension. There were no more rich foreign boys and girls taking up valuable space in their country; we were all guests of the nation.

A friend of mine who helped to administer the Plan told me that all kinds of lurks started to appear. For example, a middle-aged man claimed the cost of tennis shoes and racquets for his large family, as well as skis and ski clothing as refundable expenses, over and above his family's living allowance. As this man had a relative who was powerful politician back home, no claim, however ineligible, was rejected. This was an early lesson for Aussie bureaucrats about Asian corruption.

A fellow student told me, with great glee, how this politician uncle had successfully organised his Colombo Plan nomination – Australia (apparently) had to accept all nominations within quotas. He was doing an undergraduate course, already available in his own country, and he had plenty of money (for suede desert boots and corduroy slacks as well); he should have been ineligible.

Then there were Mickey Mouse courses conducted in Australia for Asians and other near neighbours. A large team of twenty-four mature, experienced, and some senior professional public servants from a wide range of countries attended a natural disaster administration course of about six weeks. Australia had experienced no major disasters. So, the group was shown how a local drainage blockage in the national capital (with a population under a quarter of a million) had cut off traffic, inundated a few houses, and drowned two children. As one of the course members said to me, "They call this a major natural disaster; it's a joke and an insult." Another said that the course provided a bit of a holiday – his wife was flying out privately to join him at the end of the course. A half-fare holiday was worth the boredom and irrelevance of the course.

Other courses seemed to me to be more relevant. For example, junior diplomats in neighbouring countries attended courses in Australia, which were well received. An advantage of being an Asian in Australia at that stage of Asian-Australian relations was that I was the recipient of candid comments about what Australia was offering; Asians speak more freely to other Asians, especially in a social situation. At least these courses offered one advantage: the cross-fertilisation between the representatives of nations of significance to Australia, especially the smaller Pacific nations, which would result in a useful network of potential value.

All this helped our acceptance in the community at large. We were invited to barbecues in private homes. Our hosts were mostly working class people, who had no affectations; they called a spade a spade. It was therefore easy to relate to them. There was a slight "cock-up" (as my host described it) on one occasion. I was invited to a party and asked to bring a plate. One could perhaps guess what happened – I took an empty plate. (I could not understand why they could not afford enough crockery.) Anyway, we all had a laugh, as there was enough to eat and drink. (I had already become accustomed to the Aussie practice of guests taking drinks to a dinner or a party.) I also liked the way some of our hosts had a musical session, with everyone singing around a pianola.

But acceptance was not total. Women expressed an unwillingness to be seen with us in public places. On the other hand, many of us had some difficulty in relating to women as did our Australian counterparts. We tended to treat girls with respect. Once we got to like them, they achieved the status of sisters (not necessarily satisfying to the libido on either side). Hence, many of us had friends with whom we could sit and talk and joke. We could go to the pictures, occasionally to dances. On these occasions, some of the local lasses might be overheard saying, "Couldn't she get one of our own boys?" To this, a few of the more cocky Asian boys might respond along the thrust of the black man's superior swing.

I had been very friendly with another very nice Jewish girl, who retained her Nazi concentration camp number on her arm. We used to talk together often. We also went to the pictures at night, by train, and I always returned her to her home (no matter how long it took me to get home myself). But she would not attend any public concert in open places with me because, as she said, "They wouldn't like it." Who were they? The Jewish community. Could that be true? At the other extreme, a young English girl and I went everywhere together. She became my blood-sister by us joining our blood at our wrists. She had been a sister to me in my loneliness, and I had given her support when she lost her only brother in the Korean War. She remains my blood-sister after more than forty years.

In between these two was another platonic friendship of depth. She was Polish and we went out together. When she took me to meet her family more than once, and then to a church ceremony of some kind, I panicked and took off. I may have done her an injustice. For it took a lot of guts for a girl to be seen in public with a foreigner, especially a "black" one, in those days.

An Aussie lass I came to know was really efficient in using the male, even a coloured one. She had me help her perm her mother's hair and to make ice-cream. Of course, I had to learn to wash up dishes and dry them. I learnt to dry two plates or a fistful of cutlery at a time. It was all useful training for a self-sufficient life in Australia (but I did not know that then).

Among the Asians, an ethnic Chinese would go out with an ethnic Indian or Ceylonese freely (I went to the pictures with a Chinese Malayan from time to time). The arrival of a large number of whites escaping from the Nasser regime in Egypt improved our social life considerably. Here were young people of a range of ethnic origins, who spoke so many languages, and who were multicultural (like the Malayans) before they arrived in Australia.

All the socialising in the world could not camouflage my academic and financial plight. I had wrecked all prospects of study. I had no money. I knew not where I could go. Feeling guilty and strongly suicidal, I knew that I could not face my people. Yet I could not stay in Australia; neither did I want to, as I could not see equal opportunity being available to coloured people. I also wanted to return to redeem myself. But how was I going to get there?

Before I reached this stage of numbness and futility, I had many interesting, pleasing or challenging experiences. For example, an academic corrected a friend of mine in a social situation when the latter credited the British with the development of Malaya. The academic was politically neutral and well balanced in his assessments. So we took note when he suggested that Britain and other colonial powers had no right to exploit the resources of other peoples; and that the subject nations of the imperial powers may have achieved material progress in different directions; and without the political and social stresses being sown by the imperialists. This gave us food for considered contemplation, especially as some Malayans were in favour of an expedited withdrawal of the British from Malaya. In this context, it was amusing to see one Malayan's face when, in reply to his off-the-cuff statement that we should be prepared to fight for independence, I asked how he would feel if his mother and home were in the firing line.

Yet we were legitimately proud of the institutions we had inherited from the British. We had law and order; and justice and education systems that would withstand the test of time. We had sound administrative processes, and were on the way to a democratic form of government. We were too immature, however, to notice that the adversarial system of law displaced the long-term community rights represented by older forms of communal justice, and that individual rights would override community interests and rights. Jawaharlal Nehru quotes a Sanskrit scholar: "For the family, sacrifice the individual; for the community, the family; for the country, the community; and for the soul, the whole world." Individual rights would also diminish, in the longer term, the inheritance of planet earth by future generations. We were becoming indoctrinated by the "me too" and "my rights are supreme" philosophies.

There were no such rights in the Jewish ghetto of a town in Poland, for a man I met at the university. At sixteen, he came home to find the ghetto destroyed and his family killed. He told me that he found his mother's body on the street. He fled and became a resistance fighter. His story opened my eyes to some political realities. This man told me, over many nights of talk, how he fought the Nazis, how he had been captured and jailed, and how he had subsequently escaped. I saw the documentation he had used in his movements across a number of national borders. Yet, he sounded sane. He looked like a man built out of granite. He had the strength of steel, and yet was gentle, with a great sense of humour. He became a successful professional man, helping many a migrant (he could converse in a large number of languages), as well as people of his own faith. He was most definitely a substantial asset to Australia. He also demonstrated (although I was not aware of it then) that a migrant can help other migrants in a very substantial manner without being a professional ethno-politician.

Other foreigners also added interest or colour to Australia. There was frequently a central European self-titled impresario amongst us – we were not sure what he did apart from attempting to seduce the girls with us. A Singhalese student, a bit of a philosopher, very slightly built, went fruit picking. At the end of the first day, it was clear that he would not earn much. But he played cards and drank whisky. At the end of his contract, he came home with quite a swag, because he remained sober (while drinking steadily) during card play, whereas his fellow fruit pickers became increasingly inebriated. A Malayan held on to his girlfriend by promising marriage – he even had her wearing a sari on social occasions. On graduation, he left her. Another learnt to suck at the right teats and joined the international student jet-set.

A Singapore Chinese and an Aussie lass went to buy wine for a party. Neither had any experience of wines. The proprietor of the shop, overhearing them expressing their ignorance and uncertainty, came out to offer them guidance. He took them on a private tasting, from whites to reds to fortifieds – every mouthful being swallowed. They learnt quickly (they said) and had a great time of it. In about thirty minutes, they were quite high, and were seen walking off with two bottles each. It was quite a party too.

A flamboyant Asian, studying for his pilot's licence, had so many married women winging around him, especially in the afternoons, that his aerial time was reduced.

In a short period, I came to know well some beer-drinking Indians who never seemed to become inebriated; a Czech couple whose goulash was like a curry and who made their own alcoholic liquors; and a Ceylonese student of architecture whose Yugoslav girlfriend did all his drawings for him, plus everything else. This fellow's architectural skills were good too. Early in his final year, he received some accolade from some UK authority which put him on par with his lecturer. After that, the lecturer would not offer comment on my friend's work. He therefore did not bother to complete his degree, and soon reached a senior position back home. Denied further promotion, he went to work at expatriate remuneration, in an African country. It was an interesting thought – a black expatriate in a black African country.

I also knew a Ukrainian who had spent two years cutting cane in tropical Australia as a condition of his entry to the country. He subsequently became a lawyer. There was a Hungarian lawyer who was delighted to have escaped Soviet control, although he was only a lowly clerk in his new country.

Many of these migrants met at a coffee house in the city called "Raffles." It was a great meeting place. There were Aussie-born ethnics amongst us, who were characters in their own right. There was a Greek Aussie who did not believe in wasting time. Periodically, he went to a public dance and asked each girl he danced with if she wanted a fuck. He said that he never had to ask more than twenty. The search did not take up much time, because he left his partner as soon as she said no. Now, that was an efficient fellow. An Austrian was more of a philosopher, with a steady girlfriend. At one of our parties, she came to me for a cuddle. Later, he objected. I remember that at two o'clock in the morning I threatened to hit him. To do it properly, I would have had to climb onto a fruit box, as he was a good deal taller and bigger than me. Since he was already a friend, and a peaceable man to boot, we got tired of threatening one another. The next morning he took some money from me to buy more grog – for that evening's celebration. This was true friendship.

I thus gained confidence in dealing with all manner of people, at all levels. This was useful one day in a country town. A tall Chinese and three of us brown blokes were at the bar, when we realised that we were being examined and talked about by the only other group there. We Asians did not spend all our spare time in pubs. However, it is only in such places that some of the more interesting cross-cultural contacts took place. Then a large fellow broke away from the group and approached us. Without a smile or any greeting, he said, "Where are you boys from?" I thought that was rude, and decided on a gamble. I said, in typical Aussie style, "What's it to you, mate?"

Thank heavens, he received the message in full; he understood that we were his kind. He grinned, stuck his huge hand out, introduced himself, and bought us a beer. We got along famously with his group. It took me a while to realise that we were in "boong" (Aboriginal) territory, and that the big man was probably the local sergeant of police (hence the greeting). That experience confirmed our practice of never being subservient or overawed.

Another useful experience for me was learning to buy and wear the right clothes. A landlady referred me to a particular store. There I met a senior salesman (some years later I was to work with him), who guided me in my selection. At the counter was the mother (obviously well-to-do) of a fellow student. Between them I was decked out in style (how could one ignore a Harris tweed jacket, grey flannels, and the rest of it?). In later years I was to fascinate the conservative chaps in the public sector with my clothing styles, which were perhaps more suitable for the private sector.

My most intriguing experience at that time, and the most challenging intellectually, took place one warm summer night at the seaside. A friend and I were lying on the sand, watching the sky, and talking casually. Both of us saw the shooting star at the same time. It shot across the sky, not down. Then it stopped. We had expected it to disappear (as we discussed later), but there it remained for about a second (who was counting?). Then it changed direction, at an acute angle. Shortly, it stopped, turned again at another acute angle, shot across the sky, and disappeared.

That was no shooting star. There was nothing man-made in the skies (this was long before Sputnik). Nothing made by nature or by man then could do what we had seen. What could we say? I said nothing for forty years.

In a way, it was not that different from a similarly confusing experience that I had as a youth. I saw from the edge of a field a man lying on a sort of mattress on the grass. The showman erected a rectangular screen, using bamboo stakes and cloth. There was a lot of drumming and chanting, and, lo and behold, when the screen was removed, there was the mattress suspended in the air. The man was still lying on it. There were ropes dangling from each corner of the mattress and swaying freely in the breeze. Mass hypnotism? With me at the edge of the field?

Until a few years ago I was not prepared to admit that I actually saw what I saw. In all these years I knew that I had seen it. I also knew that I could not have – science says that it cannot happen. What happens when what cannot happen happens? And that was the question I was left with regarding myself.

###  _Chapter Nine_

Reverse Culture Impacts

I went to work in order to live and to pay my debts. I assembled tricycles in a part-time job. My fellow workers included an airline pilot (he needed money because his departing wife had cleaned him out), a former ship's cook (who knew every segment of every Italian opera ever produced), and the balding proprietor whose nymphomaniac (his word) lady friend would dry him up (his phrase) each weekend. When I could not raise the rent money one month, my landlord became put out and I was put out. He was a jaga (guard) at a factory. But he was very well dressed, with polished shoes, wore tinted glasses, and used a cigarette holder; he was a very dapper man indeed.

At my next abode, a lady friend gave me the balance required to meet my rent one month. She considered it a small price for having her frozen furnace fixed; I considered it a bonus, having been introduced to the heady vintage sixty-nine mode of flying.

Then the immigration chief invited me to go home. I said, "Gladly, but I would need to be deported, as I have no money." He refused, on the grounds that I could become someone important in Malaya. Once deported, I would not be allowed, ever, to visit Australia.

I thanked him for his courtesy and flattery, and told him where to find me when he found my fare. This he did. He got my mother to send the fare. Clever fellow. Like most senior immigration officials in that era, he was a civilised man administering an uncivilised policy. (By the time I retired from the workforce, I concluded that civilised immigration and settlement policies were being managed by many an ignorant idiot.)

Some time before my fare arrived, I was hospitalised. A few days later, my latest platonic girlfriend found me bleeding. I had bled for the duration of my stay out of hospital but had thought nothing of it. She rushed me home, gave me her room, moved into the spare room and, together with her mother, looked after me. She was kind and the family was generous. I got better, but I was always with them. Then the girl talked of marriage, and her father asked the immigration chief to have me deported. I explained to the father that I had no plans to marry his daughter, as I was just surviving financially; but I did care for his daughter. Strangely enough, Immigration left me alone.

Some time later the girl proposed marriage. I agreed. I also had no one else in the world offering succour, and the girl and I cared very much for the other; there were no family taboos for me except for the anger of my father-in-law to be. We eloped, married in the State Registry, and stayed with friends. It was a good feeling to be with someone who cared, and to be supported by friends. Life was good again. Then, disaster struck. As the Chinese say, "Misfortune is not that which can be avoided, but that which cannot."

So, the fare was there and I had a deadline for departure. In fact, it was a movable feast, as the authorities would not deport me but expected me to honour my promise. I had every intention of doing so, as I felt that I had a future of some kind back home. But my peaceful interlude was destroyed.

My wife went back to her parents (all was forgiven), and I flew to Perth and boarded a tiny three-thousand-tonne boat at Fremantle. The countryside I flew over to join the ship was just incredible. The flight path followed the coastline, for some inexplicable reason. It doesn't have to – it does not do it now. Once we were over the desert, we saw evil-looking black soil at the sea's edge and red soil leading to the desert. What a contrast that was. We also had a terrific experience. The plane hit an air-pocket and fell suddenly, a long way (or so it felt). Then it flew on as before. We waited for more, but nothing happened.

On board the ship were two other student failures – a dark Indian and a European-looking Eurasian from Malaya. While the trip was interesting, because we sailed close to the glorious coast and called in to so many interesting ports to pick up ferocious-looking cattle with red eyes, as well as fruit and vegetable, we were not looking forward to meeting our families. My anguish was reflected in dreams of being lost, of being unable to find my way back to my starting place, or to reach my destination. These dreams harassed me for four decades.

At one of the ports we had a strange experience. At mid-afternoon, we entered an empty bar and the lady bartender asked, "Are you boys Abos?" We looked at one another in surprise, said, "No!" and asked why she had raised the question. She said that she was not allowed to serve "the darkies" and then served us.

The trip was uneventful except when we hit the open sea and learned to rock and roll. The ship rocked and rolled at the same time, and the soup bowls (with soup) would slide from one end of the table to the other and then return safely. It was exciting standing at the bow of the small ship when it was pointing skyward and the ship was seemingly standing on its hind legs, and then to have the front of the vessel drop so deep into the water that the sea rushed in through the holes for the anchor and flooded the little foredeck. The idea was not to get wet when this happened.

There were a couple of friendly middle-aged women on board travelling alone. They liked sitting on the laps of young men. The one who had tried to plant herself on my lap took off "in a bloody great hurry" (as the other said) when I said that I believed in going all the way once I cuddled a lady. It was a rare experience of married matronly marauders at work. Apparently, there were more of them in first class, having a break from matrimony and motherhood.

The reception back home was as warm as an Eskimo Pie (an ice confection sold in Malaya). There were no recriminations and no comment. That was the worst of it. There were no questions asked, no discussions; it was all so laid back. I think that my mother was just numb. She was out of her depth, too. She obviously had no plans for me. What could she do anyway? Most of the available capital was gone. Since she had consulted no one in sending me to Australia, she could hardly consult anyone at this stage. What could anyone do, anyway? I presumed that I had complicated the whole issue and pre-empted any possible alternatives by acquiring myself a wife. So her stars had struck again. And we were all in limbo.

Is this how destiny works? To chuck us into limbo, leaving it to us to sort ourselves out from there? The agony of uncertainty was like that, I supposed, of someone treading water in dangerous seas wondering whether a saviour or a shark would surface. A few weeks later, my wife insisted on joining me; she was an insistent person. She was as horrified as I had been to find that my mother and two sisters lived in a wooden house with an atap (thatched) roof and concrete floor, in a kampong-like housing arrangement at the edge of town. There were no fences, no privacy or grass outside, and personal and property security were minimal. The house closest to us was semi-detached and occupied by two young women. They were visited, in turn, on the same afternoon, by a middle-aged man, apparently their husband. When he was in one abode, the music in the other abode was loud. We wondered what he had for lunch, as he always walked off with gusto.

No one spoke about our predicament. No relative or friend came to visit. It was quite weird, as if we were on holiday. It was actually peaceful. But my mother must have thought to herself, 'I take some twenty years to mould my son in my own image, just to see some other woman make a fool of him in as many minutes.' (I'm sure that some smart alec had already said that somewhere else.)

The exception to this peaceful life was a stranger who greeted me thus, "Son, I expected to see you here this month." I couldn't believe it! It was like the time a few days before my wife arrived, when my mother took a sister and me to a rubber estate where a man had set up a statue of one of the Hindu gods in rubber tappers' quarters and was healing people through his ritual. I am not sure whether he was a Brahmin. We prayed while he carried out his ritual and gave my sister a sip of milk which had been poured over the statue. That was all. The priest could see that I was sceptical. Yet her stomach pains never returned.

Now, this stranger explained that my mother had consulted him because, sometimes, he could see the future. On this occasion, many, many months before the dialogues between me, the immigration chief, my future father-in-law or my mother, this man had seen me in that house in that month! And there I was! As for the future, he said that I would have great difficulties for a very long time! What's new, but how true, I thought. Bad luck is fertile, as the Russians hold.

I should not have been surprised. My father's written horoscope, which had been accurate, petered out after he reached forty-five. He died when he reached forty-seven. The yogi who had held my hand and looked into my eyes was now correct on two counts. And years before, a clairvoyant had told the family where to find an expensive gold bracelet which had been lost. And my mother had also been advised by a horoscope reader in India that my stars had a very strong indication of marriage long before that event. Of course, I also remembered seeing my father dead a week before his death. I saw him laid out exactly the way he was, after his expiry. It was therefore not surprising that I did not want to see where my stars were taking me.

If free will is indeed as limited as it seems to be, let destiny roll on. I intended to live, find myself, and have fun in the meantime. I preferred to adopt another Russian saying: "In the kingdom of hope there is no winter." So I set out to live, aided by my wife, who had fallen out with one of my sisters, and we departed from the family home. We had no future, no idea where to go or what to do. But the universe was before us.

We arrived in Singapore and booked into an inexpensive, small, Chinese hotel. There my wife suddenly became very upset. She was quite hysterical, something I had never seen before. I knew how terribly disappointed she was. She had always wanted to live in Malaya as her best friend was now living there, as an expatriate, in great style. She probably realised that she should have listened to me in Melbourne when I pointed out the facts about my family and my prospective future.

I believe that it was the total cultural package which upset my wife. She could not understand why my mother wanted me home and why I stayed with the family. She also could not stand the diet (she wanted a steak after a while – in a Hindu home!), the head (no air-conditioning), the lack of transport, the isolation, the poverty, and the lack of plans for the future. She could not understand that, buffeted by life's waves, we were treading water. She wanted action, change; hence the fight with the family, which left only one avenue. My family too would have had difficulty in understanding the way this Western woman behaved. She made her own decisions, she acted on them, she spoke her mind, and there seemed to be no understanding of the conventions binding us. The cultural gulf was vast.

The strength of the bonds within a clan or family always surprises Westerners, with their focus on the nuclear family and its needs. Within a clan, one can have a falling out with another member; but they continue to be operative members of the clan. Prudence and tolerance become essential in all relationships. One therefore does not expect a clan member to disown another readily.

There are also sensitivities, related to cultural traditions and customs. For example, the wife does not ask her husband to get up and go to the kitchen and fetch her a drink in his mother's house. He does not pull out a chair for her, seat her, and then find his own seat. She does not tell him, certainly not in front of his mother, what he or they will or should do. One also exercises discretion in opening up a topic of any sensitivity. One does not go, like a bull at a gate, into an issue to be explored before seeking, hopefully, a consensus.

All this was well documented in books about Asians returning home with English or other European wives. The men were inevitably accused of turning "native" again, because they were expected to live according to Western traditions in an Eastern home, simply because they had a Western wife. The need for the wife to adapt to her husband's milieu is rarely conceded. There were also so many intangibles for the Western wife to be sensitive to, like the use of the right hand and not the left, for giving and receiving: the taking off of shoes at the door, and so on. My wife was not unaware of all of these, but it was easy to stumble (we trip not on mountains but on molehills).

The obverse also applied – Asians seem to pussyfoot around some issues. They seem to prevaricate – when they mean "No", they do not say it. They appear to agree when they do not (but it is not a rejection, either). I was caught between two traditions – and neither side listened, because (I suspect) both saw me as weak or a fool; and I did not want to know which.

I also suddenly remembered all the palmists who had told me and my family that I would be married twice. It was irresponsible for them to tell me their reading. And I trembled at the thought of any marriage coming to an end, presumably through mishap. What kind of mishap? Where? How? How many more tragedies was I to face so early in my life? That knowledge was not the sort of baggage anyone should carry with them on a voyage to the unknown from the uncertain.

In any event, we found acceptable accommodation in the home of a charming Chinese lady. An English sergeant (or whatever) in the RAF with his nursing sister wife, had an upstairs room, my wife and I had the other upstairs room, and we shared the upstairs bathroom. We all shared the kitchen and lounge downstairs with my landlady, her little daughter, and her casual suitor who played cards and drank tea with her, always with the door open.

The Englishman came from Jamaica and was delightful company. His wife, from a fishing village in the UK, was inclined to be a trifle snooty with the natives, including me and the landlady, although she was charming. Her husband explained that his wife and most of his peer group would not socialise with the lower ranks, and certainly not with the Singaporeans she worked with. Ranks above him would not socialise with those below, either, and not with the locals. The very top service ranks, however, socialised with Asians, presumably at pukka level. The lower ranks apparently disliked their chiefs being on equal terms with their colonial subjects.

The airforceman thought it all very funny, as he had grown up in a sugar plantation under an egalitarian father. He was worth knowing. He told us that his wife was head of a clinic, where some of the junior staff (all Singaporeans) had equal to or higher qualifications, obtained in the UK. Being English, she had to head the roost. His wife was paid as much as a locally born UK-trained doctor and he himself was paid twice that. I knew that school principals were paid half the salary of a young local doctor and I was to earn half of that again. Night after night we used to talk, but his wife would be busy upstairs most of the time, while the landlady played cards with her platonic suitor.

Looking for work was frightening. There was nothing. As the Russians say, "When we sigh, nobody hears us." I finally found a very low-paid job teaching English at a commercial school, and was ripped off; only part of my salary was paid. This happened at another school, where the owner and I traded blows – again I did not get my money.

Hunger is the teacher of many (I read), and my wife and I looked like increasing our learning. I rang the USIS (the US Information Service) office and received courtesy and relevant information. On the other hand, ringing the appropriate head (an Englishman) in the Education Authority, I was told rudely that there were no vacancies. "If I peddled salt, it rains; if I peddled flour, the wind blows," as some long-suffering Japanese said. That was my story too.

I then rang a Singaporean teacher friend who pointed me in the right direction and I was asked to start teaching the following day. There was a shortage of teachers. I wondered what the Englishman was doing in his job. My income was enough for the rent and transport, but we needed food too. My wife, having some training in singing, found work in a major Chinese hotel frequented by wealthy Asians, and our lifestyle shot to great heights. My wife had almost reached Nirvana. But our financial basis was inadequate and the future unpromising.

While the Ceylon Tamils ignored us, except for one supportive couple (the teachers), the other Asians, as well as a few continental male Europeans, expressed great interest in us. We could not blame the latter. Here was a young, attractive, white girl, obviously poor enough to need the job, and her Asian husband was a nobody.

Fresh meat – that was clearly how some saw her. For example, a Dutchman invited us to his place after her work one night (I always picked her up) and plied us with lots and lots of drink. My training in Melbourne came in useful, and I remained sober while he became inebriated and made his intentions clear. So we left, chuckling. We had other Europeans who also took us to their rooms and plied us with grog, and we would leave chuckling. It was all done with style. And she, to her credit, would not accept an invitation without my inclusion. And she did not have to – "Twice on Sunday" and the rest of it was the name of the song.

I did not have money or a future but I believed that I was ahead, palpably, on all other counts, including a good physique and superb confidence. What an attitude for someone on the rocks. The Asians we met were, however, a very pleasant experience. They were very wealthy, totally courteous, and included their women in the gatherings to which we were invited. There was a lot of steady drinking at the hotel where my wife sang (and elsewhere), but no one was ever seen drunk.

The predominantly Chinese clientele at the hotel would empty their brandy glasses at a rapid rate, toasting anyone and anything, but no one was ever heard or seen to misbehave. They would insist on buying drinks for the singer and, at the end of her performance, when I arrived, for me too. We accepted one drink each, and they were satisfied with that. There was clearly no effort to copy the Europeans we had met.

Early in my wife's new career, we were befriended by some very nice Indians. They were the leading members of the Indian business community. One couple in particular almost adopted us. So, in addition to cocktail parties thrown by the Indian Chamber of Commerce, we went to private dinners and lunches. In between, our dear friend would ring and say, "Come to dinner, Raj. I will pick you up in...minutes," and so he did. We felt so much at home with his wife and son. Years later I was to name my first son after that boy. Other members of that community also took us out regularly, in pure friendship – there was never any doubt about that. Apparently, we were seen as an interesting couple, partly because we would talk freely, irrespective of status.

One day, we were invited to spend the day with a visiting maharajah from India. This we did. He was a charming unassuming man, with whom I talked at length, without having to utter "Your Highness" every five seconds. He was a very busy man, on his way to Sydney. A few weeks later, he flew to his country estate in England. Following that, the Singapore Indians received, entertained, and rerouted to the Maharajah an attractive lady (described as a socialite) from Sydney. Three months later, the same lady was repackaged on her way home, all with great style and décor. How the wealthy lived.

One Indian we came to know was not so nice. She told my wife, when she learned that we had been married in a civil ceremony, that we were not married in the eyes of God; and that we had to be married in a church (what about me?). Now, here was something; a descendant of someone escaping the discrimination of caste by taking up Christianity was now propagating prejudice of her own. But then, we could excuse her by accepting that she had been typically brainwashed.

We were also befriended by a most attractive and charming member of a leading Arab family, partly because (he said) he and I looked somewhat alike. There the resemblance stopped – I was a poor mouse treading water and he was a wealthy dynamo. We were introduced to his family, but he also saw us alone. One night, he took us to the flying club, and it was interesting to see how the wealthy Asians were mobbed ingratiatingly by the expatriates, all of whom seemed to be living in wealth. Yet few put their hands in their pockets in reciprocity. At two o'clock in the morning we were about to move off when our friend saw a car behind us (a fair distance from the clubhouse) with two men sitting in it. Believing it to belong to a friend, he went to investigate and out came a young Englishman and a Chinese. The latter wore the clothes favoured by police detectives (it seems silly for detectives to be so readily identified). There were raised voices; the Englishman shouted that he was a superintendent of police. I said, "No, you are not," and pushed him through the hedge. The Chinese pulled out a gun, my friend intervened, apologised, handed over his card, and peace returned. Both the Englishman and the policeman had obviously recognised the family name, and there was no reference to the hedge.

As I had recently been interviewed for selection as an inspector of police, my intuition told me that the Englishman was far too young to be other than an assistant superintendent, and a brand new one at that. An Englishman could not be lower than that rank, being recruited straight out of school at that level. I could start at no higher level than inspector, even with the same qualifications. Anyway, what was he doing at that hour of the morning in that car, with the detective? We did not follow up that question – we thought we knew.

My family and other relatives apparently knew where I was, although I had made no effort to contact them. A pariah (outcast) was a pariah and that was that. Hence, I was very surprised one afternoon when an uncle turned up at the door with my step-grandmother from Ceylon. I had seen her once when I was five. How nice for us all to meet, especially as my face had been scratched that afternoon. It was my wife practising her now-found art form. In spite of our good friends and the high life we led, she had begun to get angry at our financial plight.

As a Yiddish adage puts it: "Love is sweet but tastes better with bread." Who would not be upset? But it was despair or anger only for those unwilling to work themselves out of a difficult position. Perhaps, too, as my father used to say, "True love does not run smooth." My relatives made no comment at my Maori-like facial decoration. Neither did our Indian friends that night. Over the next few months, the sudden attacks continued and I would need to restrain her physically. Her screams could be heard houses away, so I thought. How terribly embarrassing.

It was at this time that I was invited to the office of a senior Ceylon Tamil diplomat. After exchanging pleasantries, we talked about my past and my present plight. I hoped he might offer me a job, perhaps his daughter's hand in marriage. The custom in our community was for a father with a spare daughter to offer a bright young man an overseas education, in exchange for marriage. Usually, the marriage ceremony took place, the bride returned to Mama (hence no consummation or coupling), and the bridegroom was packed off to his studies.

Some years later, he would return to fulfil his obligation to his financier and to his own wife, work and save, and start on the circuit as financier or dowry-giver himself.

Well, I hoped in vain. Anyway, what would I have done with my present wife? A pragmatist crosses only one bridge at a time. My host then counselled me about familial and community standards and obligations and we parted. I did not know what it was all about. It was like advising a man about adequate house insurance, after the uninsured house was in flames. Sometime later, I learned that he was married to an Englishwoman who was now in England, and that this guru was living with an Indian lady. I guess he meant well, but on whose instigation had he put himself into such a silly situation? On the other hand, "there is no better surgeon than one with many scars," as the Spanish saying goes.

Another interesting experience for us was when we joined the East-West Society. There were many nice and educated people amongst them. Especially interesting was an Englishman in the education system, with a Chinese wife. We were told that he was a social outcast with his people, and that his promotion prospects had been curtailed. As he wasn't old, I feared for him; they were well matched.

Another interesting and very friendly couple was an Indian philologist who was married to a Chinese woman. He could not obtain work with the government or with the local tertiary colleges, because (so I was told by others) of his marriage. That did not make sense. The English should not have cared if an Asian married outside his own ethnic community. Perhaps his MA degree was not recognised by the authorities. He was certainly wasted as a private tutor, when he could have been teaching and challenging students. I found him a most erudite man, equally well matched with his wife. The Society seemed to be a meeting place for the unwanted. We felt quite at home and were grateful for their friendship and support.

Finally, a breakthrough – I was selected for the police force. My wife left for Australia as I would be in camp for six months. While I was waiting to commence training, I moved to the YMCA, and there I was introduced to a young Aussie lass. She had been the short-term mistress of a senior, ageing English official (her description) while his wife had gone home for an extended visit. Her description of the life of a colonial made both of us disgusted. The lass claimed that the people she had mixed with were very ordinary people, "jumped up" into positions of power, and quite egomanic in their professed superiority over the natives. She looked forward to returning home to an unpretentious life. A week before I joined the police, my wife informed me that, by ministerial discretion, I had been granted entry to Australia as her spouse. Reluctantly, I withdrew from the training programme and the prospects of a good career, as my wife wanted me with her. I remembered the advice of the immigration chief who had said that Aussie girls tended to miss their mothers and would rarely live overseas permanently.

I therefore booked a passage on another small vessel, a two-thousand-tonne boat going to Fremantle. Then the Aussie lass took me to meet a couple of young Aussie men who were drinking at the bar on a boat in the harbour. They said that they were in business. They had an Aussie drinking companion, a major (with the appropriate accent), who said he was travelling to Europe. My friend suspected that he was Intelligence, as he avoided saying what he did when she asked.

The next day, one of the Aussie men rang me and asked if I could take a small parcel on board and drop it off at a designated point just outside a harbour to be specified. I declined. Was that a test or a business deal?

The YMCA was managed rigorously by (I presumed) a Scot, judging by his accent. The rules of the Methodist faith applied – no drinking and no impression of having imbibed incautiously. From the YMCA on a Sunday morning, I could see worshippers leaving a church. I did not know or care about its denomination. Europeans left first and together, Asians next. They all walked on one side of the road, while beggars stayed on the other side – there was no communication between them.

The trip to Fremantle was fascinating. On board in second class were: an English ex-national serviceman from Malaya, two French ex-national servicemen from Algeria, and a former Australian military policeman returning to Australia without his Japanese wife. The military policeman, after leaving the service, lived on his wife's farm in Japan. These four had some stories to tell.

The Englishman, with official approval, had had a Malay mistress – his nightly skips over the camp fence were not noted officially as he was in a stable relationship without risk of the usual infections. Naturally, he left the girl behind when he migrated to Australia. He swore that white girls had nothing when compared with Malay women – at least until we reached Fremantle after two weeks. Then he was prepared to concede that Aussie girls might have something to offer; he did not elaborate on their possible favourable points. The Frenchmen had had a terrible time in Algeria, unlike the Englishman. The latter must have been very fortunate because the Malayan Emergency was at its height at that stage.

I recall travelling north by train from Singapore that year. There was a lead vehicle which would test if the track was damaged or been blown up. There were British soldiers on board to shoot back into the darkness if the terrorists mounted an attack. I was warned that, shortly before my trip, a train had been attacked and blown up. Such were the joys of train travel in those days. The trouble was that by about ten o'clock in the evening some of the troops were drunk and staggering around, others obviously under the influence. One soldier nearly fell out of the train, as I watched. Some protection they would have been to us.

I do not suppose that these young Englishmen enjoyed putting their lives at risk for people who were their colonial subjects. It would have been fine for the subjects to die for their masters, but surely not the reverse.

Behind it all, presumably, was Britain's plan to take another half a century or more to prepare us for "a civilised life" and to be able to govern ourselves (meaning that the exploitation of our resources was not going to be curtailed in a hurry). The Frenchmen were in a comparable situation except that they felt that the Algerians hated the French, but who wouldn't? The French had a terrible reputation for brutality and for behaving in an uncivilised manner. The French ex-national servicemen on my ship had had a very traumatic time, and were glad to get away from France's ineptitude.

The three ex-national servicemen exchanged experiences without realising that the large Aussie fellow passenger was also an ex-serviceman. The Aussie then talked of his life as a military policeman among the post-war occupation troops in Japan. He had found the Japanese friendly, the way the Englishmen found the Malayans friendly. Indeed, the latter were then grateful for the English presence. The Frenchmen, however, were not surrounded by people who wanted to be nice to them.

I had read that some of the Australian occupation troops in Japan had not seen any active service. But many had lost close relatives. So, reportedly, they took their revenge on unsuspecting and innocent Japanese civilians. That was a terrible story. But the ex-military policeman could not confirm the accuracy of that report. It if was true, what does one say about Australian soldiers in relation to the brutality of the Japanese? Some said that the Koreans in the Japanese army were even more brutal than the Japanese.

When the Aussie was still in uniform, he was allowed to cohabit with the Japanese girl of his choice, but he was not allowed to marry her. When he was demobbed, he married the girl, but she was not allowed to enter Australia. So he returned to Japan and worked with the girl's family on their farm. In warm weather he used to be shirtless, and passing Japanese friends would ask if they could touch the curly hair on his chest. It was such a novelty for them. So there he was – still trying to bring out his wife. It was a nasty policy, keeping the country pure white while some of the Aussie men were busy within the country producing coloured offspring illegitimately.

Recently, in a country town, when asked why the white women in the town hated the Aborigines so much, a wife (as reported in the press) said that half of the part-Aboriginals in the town had been sired by their husbands.

I was a neighbour to the O'Keefe family just after the authorities failed to remove them from Australian soil. The widow of an Ambonese (Indonesian) serviceman (he had died fighting the Japanese), with ten children, subsequently married an Aussie and produced an eleventh. They were charming, attractive and nice people. Mrs. O'Keefe used to do the Charleston (a dance the oldies will remember) with style. The family all spoke excellent English too (except the baby, he was too little). While the authorities wanted this family out of the country, there were swarthy Sicilians and Anglo-Indians, as dark as the O'Keefe children, coming into the country, whose standard of English was either negligible or not as good as that of the O'Keefes'.

The bloody-minded politicians (to whose tune were they dancing?) also tried to remove other worthy people (including ex-servicemen) in the country, because of their colour. They also happened to be Asian; some were Christian. Were coloured people that frightening?

It was at this time that the poor Aussie was vainly attempting to bring his Japanese wife into the country. It was also the time that my wife's family successfully lobbied for ministerial authority for my entry as a permanent resident. Obviously, the Aussie ex-serviceman had not sought help at the highest level, where justice and a lot of common sense could be found.

The journey south passed quickly due to our dialogue about politics, sex, and war. The boat called into a number of small ports, and an indication of life in the coastal townships was the way in which passengers rushed into the hotel, often the only one, and placed a bet on the horses. It seemed to be a matter of some urgency at each port.

On one occasion, a smartly dressed lady walked the mile between the boat and the township (it was a high tidal area with the ship berthing way out). She rushed into the pub and shouted out her bet to the barman. A large man standing at the bar near the barman, turned away delicately to read the wallpaper patterns until she had left with her drink and the ticket for her bet. We found, to our amusement, that this sensitive chap was a part-owner of the bookie business, which was illegal. He was also the local policeman.

At another township, at ten o'clock in the evening the pub closed and we were standing on the veranda with bottles of beer to take back to our cabins. The young local cop, displaying his Irish accent, told us most rudely to get off the premises immediately or he would lock us all up. We could barely fit into the jeep belonging to a resident, while he frantically rushed around, frothing at the mouth, waving his truncheon, again threatening to lock us up because some of us had our bums sticking out the back and sides of the vehicle. The poor local Aboriginals must have had a hard time with this professional thug, who seemed to be itching to get stuck into us. In fact, it was noteworthy that there were no Aborigines (of any shade of black or brown) in the pubs in these coastal ports. The only ones visible were clearly either stockmen or prostitutes, judging by their clothes and stances. There were a few European migrants, judging by their accents. These seemed to be prospectors, en route somewhere. They seemed to be acceptable to the locals due, I suspect, to their confident demeanour.

Arriving at Fremantle, less than a year after I had departed, I took the train to Melbourne, travelling for days across the desert from west to east. There was a strange beauty about the desert. And it was ever so peaceful.

When the train stopped at Port Augusta, another passenger and I saw a crate marked WHY-ALLA (the name of a township) with a space for the upright of the crate splitting the name. We wondered how the authorities reacted when, next day, they would have read below that in white chalk (I do not know where we found the chalk), TRY-BUDDA (we did not have space for the 'H' in Buddha).

Delighted to rejoin my wife, I reached my wife's family home. I rushed out of the taxi, only to be told by her at the front gate that she did not want me. And I had just given up what promised to be a successful career – and shut the door on life amongst my own people (whom I much preferred to be with). How can I describe how I felt then? Stuck in a racist nation, with no future and no wife. How was I to react? Words would be totally inadequate. It's a wonder that I did not commit murder or suicide that day. I was also to discover later that my expensive medical books, instead of being sold, had been donated to some Indonesian university, through the carelessness of my so-called friends (paving the way for my personal foreign aid contributions of later years).

So there I was, back at the old YMCA in Melbourne. It was starting to look like home.

My wife had decided that, having taken me out of the country, she would return me to it and then have me move on. What about my planned career in Singapore? Well, she had not thought of that. My stars were at it again, weren't they? (I was learning not to shoot the messenger.) But why on earth had my wife really changed her mind about the marriage? We had survived all the financial difficulties, the tensions arising from cultural differences, and the isolation from my family. We had parted temporarily, in anticipation of a stable life with excellent career prospects. Perhaps the future looked a little bleak. Or was it the stars attempting to push forward the charted end of my marriage?

As for the YMCA, I now had a lot less luggage to cart into the place. I arrived with only one medium-sized suitcase, as I did not own much. I also remembered the attitude of Australian railway staff, taxi drivers and bus drivers. This was a self-service country. In fact, in hotels and pubs, Aussie waiters often looked as if it was below their dignity to serve anyone; but they received full weekly wages and did not rely on tips. Fortunately, the situation changed when migrant workers were employed – they gave service cheerfully and often with style. In the YMCA, I felt totally stranded and abandoned.

I wondered if anything else could go wrong with my life. Was it only my weaknesses that had brought me to this perilous and parlous position? What was my legal position; could I now remain in the country? I did not want to anyway. Here was further proof for my family that I was a much bigger fool than they had thought. I decided that I would look for a job in the morning. I would survive. I had previously worked as a tram conductor, mail sorter, packed sulphur into hessian bags, and filled ice-cream into large cans and pushed them into the freezer. But I had had so much trauma over the past few years that I was simply numb again. I felt nothing, absolutely bloody nothing.

Well, lo and behold, look at the further mischief that the stars were up to. Late that first evening, my wife arrived seeking a reconciliation. To cut a long story short, we went back to the family home. We sorted out our feelings for each other and settled down to working for our future.

In the next four and a half years or so, we had a rich social life, while I went to university. We lived in the family home where my wife's father refused to talk to me. I'm not sure where he kept his Masonic principles. My mother-in-law, who had always been totally supportive, mothered me, packing my lunch for work, cooking family meals and doing our laundry. She was a fine woman. Life was peaceful and harmonious in spite of Papa's silence.

I obtained a special dispensation from the university each year to undertake a full-time course on a part-time basis. I went to work, then went to lectures, ate a light dinner (I was usually too tired by eight or nine o'clock in the evening to eat), then sat up half the night to complete my studies.

Because I worked at a major clothing store on Saturday mornings, my sleep pattern was about two hours on Friday night, no more than four hours on five other nights, and a make-up nine to ten hours once a week. Yet we went out twice a week, as life would have been totally boring otherwise for my wife. We had intellectually stimulating talk on one of the two social nights, with lots of food, drinks, and good friends. I used to pick these friends up at the university.

At the end of four years, I had completed a degree and a postgraduate year, with honours in some subjects. And yet, for decades thereafter, the nightmares about being unable to pass exams hounded me.

Selling men's clothes in the major departmental store was a pleasant change of work, and a challenge. I would have been the first Asian salesman in a major store in Melbourne. At the end of my first morning, I found every salesman looking at me. Why? Because I had been equal top salesman for the morning (what a surprise for me). The other guy, apparently, always topped each Saturday morning's sales. He was also the guy who had helped me to choose appropriate clothing a few years back. He was likeable and helpful. So, for the fun of it, I decided that I would give him a run for his money. But he was a difficult man to beat. He was very good. He also sold the more expensive lines, whereas the casuals were required to ensure that those wanting lower-cost purchases were assisted. This also took more time. But it was fun challenging 'el supremo' – and he enjoyed it too, I suspect.

My studies were exciting. I read, I thought, I researched much more widely and deeply than was necessary, had great discussions with some members of staff. My reading (seeking to understand) continued unabated. I thought that I had found my niche in life.

But the university seemed at times more dedicated to bureaucratic processes than to imparting learning. Difficulties arose when I asked to complete a full-time year as a part-time student, and then to join psychology with economics, for a particular projected postgraduate course. A professor would pass a question to another if it was outside his specialisation, even in the same faculty. A senior lecturer said that I was not considered for an Honours pass by him because I was only a part-time student. And there was a Jewish German anthropologist who was outside the mainstream of university work because (as he said) he was not qualified in Aboriginal anthropology. What a terrible waste! I spent an hour each week for a year with him. He was a most insightful scholar, and was obviously being wasted. He guided me in my interest in the origins and development of religious beliefs, myths, and the like. One intriguing statement he made was that I would fit in on any side of the Mediterranean, purely on the basis of my appearance.

I regret to say, however, that a student had to conform to the prevailing theology in each subject, in order to pass exams. When I answered a question in a tutorial on economics with a statement challenging the behavioural assumptions underlying the theory being studied (not examined), I was told by the senior lecturer that there was no place for psychology in economics. Now we knew why economists are so irrelevant. When London University accepted me for work in an area on the boundary between economics and psychology, I wrote to this academic, now a professor in England. He said that what he had meant to say was that, at that time, we had inadequate knowledge to enter that borderland. So, what was scholarship all about? But there were educated academics as well. One, a senior lecturer in economic history, used to ask me to comment on some issue or other that we were discussing. I did not have that much time to read on that subject. I used to apply what I understood about human psychology or sociology and offer explanations of my own. Apparently he liked that – and used me as a sort of intellectual punching bag. In the process, I too benefited – I learnt about matters that I had no time to read about. Another lecturer in that subject, of European accent, was also responsive to fresh thinking – thank heavens for that, because all my reading on that subject was done on the trams!

Sometime later, I asked to write a thesis on the sociological variables (value systems, etc.) underlying theories of economic development. Three Australian universities said that they had no one to supervise such a thesis. It was only in the mid-Eighties that two US-trained academics became available in Australia – both non-Anglo-Celt. On one occasion, when I raised the matter with a professor of sociology, he expressed interest, saying, "Yes, there would be great benefit in studying the economic variable underlying theories of social change." When I said that I was interested in the obverse issue, he lost interest in me. Widening my interest, in my mid-thirties, I enrolled for a history of philosophy course. In mid-year, I asked the head of the faculty how three British eighteenth-century philosophers could give us an understanding of the history of philosophy – where were the issues of philosophy delineated and discussed? Where were the Eastern philosophies with such a rich heritage? The answer was, "We don't have anyone to teach these subjects." Why the hell not? And why describe the course erroneously as history of philosophy?

When (at the age of forty) I tried to enrol for a course on philosophy of religion, I was told that I had to complete a whole undergraduate course on philosophy before I could be admitted. A broad-based degree and the rest of my learning were irrelevant. What was the concern; was one to be sufficiently conditioned, especially semantically, like a theology student working to become a priest? An amusing interlude, when Sputnik went up. Our socialite professor of economics asked his postgraduate class what this signified. After a few minutes of silence, I ventured, "Something to do with the theory that what goes up must come down?" I may have confused the question with the Chinese philosophy of change in the heavens, but the dear old prof. simply gave me a filthy look for my pains. We never did find out what Sputnik did to Western economists.

One interesting thing I found was that many Western academics in subjects such as art, religion, philosophy seemed to believe that Asian – that is, east of the Mediterranean – achievements were, in the main, derived from the Greek (when no self-respecting Anglo-Saxon would be seen cohabiting with a Greek). To these writers, Egyptian cultures too could not possibly have made any contribution to civilising mankind. Obviously, too, Chinese and Indian civilisations older than those in Europe could not possibly have made any worthwhile contribution to Europe. Arab and Moor musicians could not possibly have contributed to the development of music in Europe. Art forms in Tibet, for example, and even in India, were obviously from the Greeks. And the Greeks were the first civilised people in the world. Alexander, the Macedonian, takes over the empire established by Darius, the Persian. Alexander becomes a Greek and the greatest general in history (say some experts); what about Genghis Khan?

The West, owing all to the Greeks, can be proud that its heritage was not touched by coloured people, no? One must not concede, as these writers made clear, anything to the non-whites. I presume that Jesus changed colour during the many transmutations of his alleged utterances – maybe he was really a Greek in disguise. I bet that there will be a book out soon saying just that. I also find it strange that systematic observations by the ancient Hindus, Chinese, Assyro-Babylonians, Persians and Egyptians, e.g. on the movements of the planets and their effects on mankind, can be rejected by prominent Western scholars of recent time as incorrect. Why? Because those observations are not supported by a belief of order in the cosmos (reflecting God or Nature). Yet, mankind allegedly has unfettered free will (so we are told).

A Euro-centric bias seemed to be fine for those Asians continuing to outdo the British in being British, but there was developing a groundswell of pride in cultural heritage and ancestry among the Asians I knew. There was also an increasing number of Westerners taking up Eastern philosophies, and were therefore on the same wavelength as we were. The younger Aussies and we were getting closer.

Having read Nehru's _Glimpses of World History_ (letters to his daughter from jail) when I was fourteen, I had great difficulties with the myopic, self-centred theories being purveyed in the universities, e.g. the domino theory of geo-politics for South-East Asia. One academic in the Sixties advised his students that, if they denied the domino theory, they could not expect to pass. So, even regional politics affects academic disciplines. As the French say, a learned fool is sillier than an ignorant one.

Having made some progress in my studies, I could not ignore the need for a career for long. When I looked for work as a new graduate, I was told (this was in the mid-Fifties) by major firms in the private sector that they could not take a risk with a foreign 'executive'. They did not know whether the Australians below me would accept me in a superior role. In the process of trying to place me in the private sector, the head of the university's graduate office and I became firm friends. We used to drink together regularly, as we both enjoyed good wine, and were a little partial to the accoutrements accompanying good imbibing. I tried all manner of small businesses not listed by the graduate employment offices in the university or the public sector. All that I could find were clerical, marketing, or other kinds of unskilled work, provided I understood that I could not progress to management level.

Eventually, the new head of the graduate employment office suggested that I return to Malaya. I did casually give thought to working in Malaya, but then I was married to an Aussie whose ties to her family were as strong as I had been warned by my immigration contact. I also liked the Australian and his environment. There was a sense of dignity to every Aussie (blacks excepted for the time being) and a sense of freedom in the country.

After two years of searching in vain, I looked to the public sector. I was then told by the head of the government psychology unit that I was too black. He explained that I was acceptable as a student counsellor but, after three years, I would be transferred into the general field. He felt that his Australian clients would not accept a "black fellow" (as they would see him). He would not accept that in Britain, coloured psychologists had been reported as being in demand by white clients. This conversation was later confirmed by a former employee of his.

So there I was, thinking that with my studies completed, I would be about halfway to a career of some sort. In reality, however, halfway is twelve miles when you have fourteen miles to go (I cannot remember who said that!). I was becoming desperate about starting a career. I did not know whether my marriage would weather another economic shock. I had to take off soon. And there was an opening in Canberra. I would take anything offering a career of some sort. Eventually I joined the public service of Canberra. To do that, I became a citizen (the government's policy permitted that). I moved to Canberra. However, my wife then refused to join me there. I could not blame her; the place was a dump; a village of less than fifty thousand people, with government employees forcibly transferred from Melbourne and other cities. Many a marriage broke up as wives either refused to move to a physical or cultural desert, or went back to Mum after a short while.

My wife and I subsequently obtained a divorce in peace and harmony. She had had a terrible life too, I realised; she had not deserved the financial and residential uncertainties that marriage to a foreigner, especially a poor one, had brought. It is also possible that, just as love makes time pass, so time can make love pass.

But I felt let down again, but not as deeply as previously. The palmists were proving to be correct, at my expense as usual. In the end I could only hope that my wife found the peace and happiness that was also her entitlement.

#  Part Three  
Settlement

###  _Chapter Ten_

Integration – Background

I had previously worked in parts of the public sector. During one university vacation of nearly three months, an Indian student (a close friend) and I were employed by the defence authorities to help process the payment of war gratuities to former defence personnel. We were to transfer personal details and amounts of money due from appropriate pieces of paper to the processing form, to be approved by the audit officers for payment. Week by week, more and more students were employed in this summer vacation job, as it was obvious that this was the way to get the job done quickly. Soon my friend and I were now checking work done by the newer, temporary employees. It was gratifying for us to be so treated. In reality, we had not expected that, in view of what happened with the office sweep for the Melbourne Cup, which was run shortly after we commenced work. The Cup is a race conducted early in November. It is one of a number of races held that day. It has been described as the longest race held in Australia, with the most able horses so handicapped by weights as to give the least able an even chance. However that may be, when that race is run, Melbourne comes to a halt. In my experience, the public service everywhere else also comes to a halt.

The week we started work with this office, my friend and I were invited to buy tickets in the sweep – which was quite large. We bought three tickets – including one for my friend's Aussie wife. Guess who walked off with the three prizes! Some of the staff would not talk to us for days. At the end of our period of employment, my friend and I were processing four to five hundred payments per day.

Looking back, I realise that we must have been ridiculously efficient. I doubt if full-time government servants would ever achieve that level of output. They would be preoccupied with process and not necessarily on outcomes. They had no incentive to increase productivity, whereas my friend and I were bored. Indeed, I learnt many years later how some (backed by their union) worked to a "darg", i.e. a specified number of tasks per week, a target set by each individual. The managers had no say.

Later, when I was studying, I worked in another office with many part-time students. Most of us worked a full day, as we had to support ourselves. Within a short time, I was made a supervisor. The laziest workers I supervised were two priests, working in-between theology courses. I caught both cheating in the first week; they were reading books hidden under a pile of papers. Some role models they were going to be. My fellow workers were studying a range of courses – from anthropology to theology; we solved legal problems, analysed theories in psychology, economics and ancient history, for their plausibility and relevance. We talked about the usefulness of the structure and content of medical education. One of my colleagues, a very loquacious fellow, subsequently became an eminent politician; another, a successful lawyer. I befriended and corresponded with one of the priests for a couple of years. Another worker, a lay preacher and schoolteacher, had trouble with my Hindu philosophy being combined with the need to analyse everything, including his theology.

A student of anthropology and history was learning to be a full-time military officer – he was sufficiently a thug (but an educated one) to succeed in his chosen profession. Another student studied art and philosophy, buying art books each pay-day; we perused these before he could take them home. These fellow workers offered a tremendous insight into the workings of Australian society. After all, this was not the usual workplace.

The law student, for example, came from a residential grammar school; his home was in the country. He was normally rough and rumpled ('rough as bags', as he described himself). On his final day for a job interview with a legal firm, however, he was different. Clad in a dark suit, with polished shoes and white shirt, he wore a school tie. His speech was unusually polished and he presented a previously unsighted personality – the suave man. When I joked with him about his tie and his new personality, his response was most informative.

The tie would inform his prospective employer that the applicant had not only been taught to behave in a proper manner, but that he would be a team man, offering loyalty and due care. His speech would inspire confidence among the preferred clientele that he had come from good stock, and been properly educated. Why good stock? Well, good stock were established people (not immigrants) and also successful (fees were very high). Who could fault that kind of thinking?

Decades later I was told a similar story by a close colleague educated at a Catholic Church school. Products of that college, my colleague said, would prefer to employ other products of that or similar colleges: for reliability, teamship, and acceptance of authority.

The politician-to-be was a truly clever man. He was well read and knew a million or so facts. He could give you the history of any event and its causes. He told me how he had written to all the great men and women in the world and obtained their signatures for his collection. In every case, he wrote of his admiration for their achievements, which he cited. He was worth knowing. The schoolteacher, with his two degrees, was a good example of a degree collector. He objected to spices in food, arguing that, if God had meant for us to eat spicy food, he would have included the spicy taste in nature. I hope that he was pulling our legs, or else I would fear for the future of some of our children.

The more mature of the Catholic fellows and I exchanged letters for two years while he was undertaking the higher degree. With his consent, I asked him to explain the basis of his Church's teachings. We discussed the Church's arguments for the existence of God, the nature of God, the nature, objectives and consequences of prayer, and so on. I would offer, in a purely intellectual manner, possible counters to his arguments. I was, however, not to know that my questions had been discussed with his lecturers and that I was seen as a prospective convert. Finally, my apparent challenges must have been too much, especially when I referred to his Church's anthropomorphic concept of God; I received some personal comment which I considered unchristian, and that was the end of what had been, for me, a fruitful exchange.

The student of the arts had a true love of art of all ages. His very expensive books would not normally have come our way. We compared styles over the various civilisations, noting how early man in all societies had comparable forms and styles of art. How impressed we were with the artistic output of early civilisations throughout the world! Yet another student had a comparable educational impact on us. Having studied design, he was now completing a course in architecture. We were exposed to styles integrating man's structures into natural forms and to styles which challenged nature as well as (sometimes) universal aesthetics. A student of history took us into the distinction between those theories based on great men of history influencing society, and the theories that great trends, thrusts, and developments of history threw up great leaders. We also learnt about the assumptions and bias underpinning so much of what is presented as factual history.

Another colleague in that office was the son of a head of the Customs department in one of the state capitals. He told us how, as soon as his father had moved into the top job, their priest had come visiting and told his father that he would now expect "our boys" to be promoted ahead of the others. Apparently, his father, having obtained his promotion on merit, did not relish the idea of discrimination in selection, but was always under pressure from those of his faith. The father explained to his son that if he promoted a Catholic, the others say that it's what they expected; if he promoted a Protestant, the Catholics claimed that he was against them.

Decades later, in Canberra, my observation was that only boys, never the girls, were in top jobs. Second, all the top jobs in Customs (and later in many other government agencies) were occupied solely by Catholics, judging by their names and their propensity to talk about going to Mass and the various Catholic charities. They did not need secret handshakes. When I was transferred into the Immigration department in the Eighties, a former colleague asked what I was doing in a Catholic department – had I converted?

I was told in my early years in government employment that large agencies, such as Taxation and Customs, offered more opportunities for the many boys produced in the large families of the Catholic faith. It was therefore not surprising to see in later years many top jobs taken up by the same people. Yet it is difficult to ignore what is now said: that certain agencies deny non-Catholics equal opportunity in senior positions.

A related insight into the sectarian scene was made available to me in that very useful office in my part-time student days by a Scot, who was a Freemason. He told us how all members of Masonry were equal in the eyes of God and fellow Masons, but that outside the Temple the prosperous ones drove off in their cars while the poorer walked to public transport. I think that he was trying to tell us something. Many a colleague in my early years in the public service accused the Masons of discriminating against the Catholics. But how much _actual_ discrimination was there then? Sitting at the end of our workroom was a little old typist lady (probably all of fifty at that stage). When the discussion at official breaks for tea and at lunchtime grew strident, she would break in by saying, "You boys are always so interesting." That had the nasty effect of dampening many an enjoyable debate (no concessions can be made in a debate).

It was a good office to be in. But I noticed that there were no women, apart from the typist, and no migrant apart from myself, and no Aborigines. Obviously, all religious divisions were present but not manifest in any damaging fashion.

In my employment with a large private firm, there was a similar distribution pattern. The girls were typists and there were no migrants or Aborigines. There did not seem to be any religious divide in that office either. When I was not offered a cadetship in the company, while other employees were, when we all qualified, I raised the issue of equal opportunity. I was told that, in one factory, they did have a European migrant as a foreman. Obviously that established equal opportunity principles in the whole enterprise.

It was against this background of a male-dominated Anglo-Celt controlled and staffed workforce that I joined, reluctantly and with considerable misgivings, the Federal government's workforce in the national capital. I did not want to be a public servant. However, I was about to be deemed over the hill at twenty-nine. I was also broke, on the way to a divorce, and isolated. The only way left was up. And I was free to make it or stuff it, as succinctly said by a friend.

###  _Chapter Eleven_

Integration – The Launching

At twenty-nine, with no graduate career prospects in the private sector, I had no alternative but to accept a job in Canberra. The job offer was well packaged. I was to work in the Statisticians' Branch of the Treasury, and I was to reside in Reid House, which I visualised as a red-brick guest house. I arrived to find myself working for the Bureau of Statistics and living in a retired army camp. My room was a poky eight foot by ten cubicle in a hut, the whole establishment of huts being set in a dry, sandy environment with no grass and a few distant trees. The food was, predictably, the boiled and par-boiled kind, with the once-a-week steak apparently coming from the soles of old army boots. I felt that it was very much like being offered a job in the home science division of a major boutique and finding oneself in the cookhouse of an army camp, with bed and board in commensurate quarters.

On the first day, I found that I was a Base Grade Clerk – there was no one at a lower level. Above me were many employees without any qualifications, only some clerical experience. My previous work experience seemed irrelevant. The pompous personnel head of division, who managed fifteen hundred or so employees throughout the country, told me somewhat abruptly that I could hope for promotion after about a year.

My incredibly boring job covered extracting and adding up figures, using the copying machine, and running errands. Within two weeks, I showed that the office had made an error the previous year in its published balance of payments statistics. No one wanted to accept that. However, that established that I was a statistician. I was transferred to another area where I helped to create (just like cooking) balance of payment figures for publication. It was not cooking, like the way one cooks the results of chemistry experiments, working backwards from the expected results. Balance of payment figures were a compilation of detailed statistical measures as well as estimates. It is in the latter that the art came in, as well as the judgement. We merely produced the estimates. We let the Treasury handle the political interpretation and presentation of our figures.

I did everything I could to get excited about everything I did (boredom was killing). I apparently became valued, and stayed there nearly five years, receiving four promotions in all. Each promotion also reflected some other agency wanting me, e.g. the Prime Minister's department wanted me because I was well read on the developing European Economic Community (EEC). I did this while I cut out bits and pieces from economic newspapers; I read as I cut. I quite enjoyed meeting deadlines and the networking required to obtain the raw material for our "cooking".

I was able to enjoy my work because I was working with civilised people. I was then the only Asian immigrant in the public service in Canberra (to my knowledge). Yet, at no stage did I feel that anyone was sensitive about my colour, my apparent accent, my ethnicity or my country of origin. There were many European migrants in the agency; all were promoted, it seemed to me, according to relative merit. One could not be fairer. A secretary of the department's social club for two years, I came to know many of those of migrant origin; there were the usual gripes, but no evidence of denial of equal opportunity.

Another contributing factor was that my chiefs were not that much older than I was. By treating them as my social and intellectual equals, I found myself debating with them all manner of topics without being made aware of my lowly status, and drinking at the preferred watering hole with very senior officers from the three agencies located in that block. Occasionally, I met some very interesting men at the watering hole (there were not women yet) from other agencies. There were no migrants or Aborigines drinking there either.

One day I overheard an extended argument about intelligence tests between my branch head and his deputy. The latter had been in the air force during the war and he had been exposed to IQ tests. The chief's background was unknown to me, but we knew him to be a brilliant man. After a while, the base grade clerk started to twitch; how could these two rave on the way they did? Without thinking, I suddenly said, "Bull" to something they were apparently agreed upon.

Whereupon the chief said, "What would you know about a subject like that?" I realised then that he had assumed that, like most economics graduates, I knew nothing else. When I explained why they were both on the wrong track, the discussion suddenly ended. I was not to know until later that my boss was married to a child psychologist.

That I was dealing with mature people was in evidence when I joined a hockey team. I found that I had replaced a very senior officer whom my head socialised with, and who had a working relationship with us. I was always treated with courtesy by him and his people. Years later his son worked with me and we had a good relationship too.

In my first week in the office, I was befriended by a colleague. He came to my desk one day and asked me to join the staff union, in his capacity as Branch Councillor (shop steward). My previous dealings with unions had been one of compulsion. In every casual job, I had been required to join the union. I do not like compulsion.

I also did not like the practice of being on the field with an umpire or referee to control the game, and then have the employee and his union walk off the field in the middle of the game. Why have a centralised wages and conditions award system, with an agreed legally-constituted arbitration and/or conciliation authority, and still allow the union or any group of employees to go on strike before, during, or after the arbitral process? My logic is simple: if you go to arbitration, abide by the rules of the process and the decisions. As the process is an agreed one, no strikes prior to, during, or after a decision should be acceptable; and that should be enforceable by the community, which is always the party to be screwed.

My colleague advised that it was like taking up insurance by joining the union. So I signed the two forms which he held. Then, smugly, he welcomed me as a member of the union and as a fellow councillor. Bloody hell, I thought, what had he done? I was now a non-elected representative of the office of about three hundred and fifty staff, entitled to sit in union management deliberations at the state level. My so-called friend recommended it as a good learning experience. And what an experience that turned out to be!

However, notwithstanding my friend's triumphant grin (normally it is virtually impossible to find anyone to accept the job of councillor), I consulted my chief. He thought that it would be of interest to me to accept my new responsibility for a while. The next day, the office's administrative sub-chief sardonically congratulated me on my elevation. I explained how I had been conned. His advice was to stay with it but keep out of their politics. There would be all manner of politicking. Time proved that to be excellent counsel.

My cunning colleague turned out to be a nice man. His wife and he befriended me. We had long sessions of talk and argument some Saturday nights, when a three o'clock in the morning closing was deemed early. This man was a painter in his spare time. He was a good painter. His work had been hung in some famous gallery in London when he was only a pup. (I now have it.)

His wife was a half-Sicilian; she looked the part. She talked about the prejudice she had been exposed to, even though she came from a wealthy family. She was a collector of interesting people, gravitating to the foreigner. She understood the feelings of those of us who had been rubbished by whites; her sympathy was palpable. Together, they made my life warmer than it might have been. There was many a male marauder drawn to the very presentable Sicilian, but the husband usually charmed them into becoming family friends. As a painter he became very versatile; he painted in Papua New Guinea, Spain, and sundry other places. I understand that the Australian National Gallery acquired some of his work.

Another colleague, a relic of the British army, as he called himself, claimed that he loved a hot curry, explaining that he had lived in India. When I presented him with my normal curry, the poor man nearly died. No amount of beer, sugar, bananas or iced water helped. It turned out that he had been in the North-West Frontier area and really had no idea what a hot curry was. A number of other people displayed the same lack of knowledge, with equally disastrous effects. The explanation was quite simple – they had known a Pakistani or some other north Indian, and had enjoyed a curry meal in a public eating place. "Hot" in such a place was meant to flatter the unsuspecting white. Yet there were others who took to chillies like a duck takes to water, e.g. my fourth-generation Chinese-Aussie doctor, my Austrian builder friend, a Czech, a Hungarian and an Anglo-Saxon South Australian girl. One could not predict who could eat a hot curry and who would go to water.

My colleagues and I agreed that the agency's management was well regarded, particularly its recruitment policy. The agency head, titled Commonwealth Statistician, argued that recruiting top starters was good value for both sides – the agency benefited from good quality staff for a couple of years. And the rapid risers gained from exposure to the nature of statistics. This was proven, again and again. After I had been in the office for a few weeks, the head called me down and said that I seemed to be in a hurry for a promotion. I explained about my age, the substantial drop in salary I had taken to start with his agency, that I would need two promotions to catch up with my private sector salary, and what his personnel chief had said. I also explained that I was happy with the area I was in but that I was working well below capacity and was very bored.

We talked for a while, as he was interested in my background. He was aware that I had applied for a research job in agricultural economics, and that the head of that agency was going to promote me (that was news to me). He asked if I would stay. Gladly, I said, since he had the power to block the promotion, but I hoped he would match any job offer I received from elsewhere. He said he would try. He turned out to be a friend and proved it over the years.

However, it was known that he and his deputy played "Nice cop, tough cop." He presented the nice face and his deputy the harsh one. If the deputy called you down, you were in trouble. But they were remarkably fair men, managing a very large establishment with an emphasis on timeliness and accuracy of output. There were no sectarian divides evident in that office, either.

But it cannot be denied that, on occasions, they displayed a tactical flexibility. A couple of years down the line, to keep me and compensate me for denying me a promotion elsewhere, my position was upgraded. This took time and I had to convince the appropriate regulatory agency that my work value was higher than my current classification. Then the chief asked me to wait for a while, so that the office could use my position to transfer a highly regarded employee from interstate. The preferred pea took my job and promptly transferred to a sister agency and, from there, to a politician's office. That was a waste of tactics for the office and a loss of income for me. It also said something about the ethics of the highly regarded.

On a later occasion, I went on leave for a few weeks, dropped into the office halfway through, and found that a colleague, a European ethnic, ranked below me, had been jumped two positions higher. I rang the "tough cop" who had recently told me that I was on top of the waiting list. His reply was that he had to do it. When I came back from leave, I was summoned by the deputy. He noted that I had lodged an appeal based on relative efficiency, before going back to my holidays. I said that he had broken a promise and asked whether his action should not have given me cause for concern. Nothing more was said. I then talked a friend at the intermediate classification to appeal too – and he naturally won. Because another agency wanted me at that stage, I got my friend's job. The guy who had been jumped up two steps got nothing. The air between the deputy and me was a bit chilly for a while, but I would not let him bear a grudge. He was a civilised man with a job to do. He may also have been tactically clever – he could now say that he had done his best to promote the other man but, "you know, the tide was against us...etc."

He was also a man of guts. He wore a steel brace for lower back pain and walked with difficulty, using a walking stick. Years later, when I too suffered severely, periodically, from a similar problem, I modelled my behaviour on his determination.

In my first few months, I was sent to a regional office to assist in completing a statistical survey. Working at three levels above base – that is, at two above mine – I learned how statistics in some areas were compiled. My job was to talk on the telephone to people who had refused to respond to a survey. The objective was to get them to talk and to infer from what they said the information we needed. It was yet another learning exercise.

Actually, that was not unlike the space selling I took up for a few weeks during my studies. At weekends, I and a couple of others would ring up all the tradesmen in a designated neighbourhood and tell them how their names had been brought to our notice by their satisfied customers; actually, we took them out of the phone book. Some guessed that, and others seemed to believe our spiel. For a small fee, we would include them in a trade directory to be issued free to the public in that neighbourhood. It was surprising to see how many were prepared to consider the proposal seriously and how many actually paid – to a firm they had never heard of and for a directory that was not in existence.

To my pleasant surprise, in both of these coming jobs, no one asked where I came from. Perhaps they said to themselves, "There are so many wogs about now that it would not be surprising if some of them managed to slip into a comfy office job." Most of the wogs, being unskilled, relatively uneducated or lacking fluency in English, could not aspire to comfy jobs anywhere; but they worked like hell in other jobs and probably made more money.

The main difference between my public service job and all the previous ones was that, in the latter, I was either filling time or treading water, waiting to move on. Now, I was a permanent member of a large workforce with opportunities everywhere, with only the problem of a very late start to overcome. Here, I was treated seriously as an integral member of a team, with equal opportunities and prospects for progress. It was a nice feeling. But, there would be queries in later years as to whether junior staff would accept me as a manager – this happened more than once.

In an interview with the Department of Immigration in the mid-Sixties, I was asked how foreign governments might view me, were I to be posted as an immigration selection officer overseas. In the early Sixties, in an interview for a position with the Department of Overseas Trade, I was asked how I would feel if I were in an Australian trade negotiating team in discussions with the Malayans. There were some silly buggers in senior positions in the Service.

To the question of being posted overseas, I said that I would be the living refutation of the unloved and disrespected White Australia policy. That seemed to be well received. The other question was obviously quite insulting, especially as it was acceptable to include Englishmen without Australian citizenship in Australian teams negotiating with the British government. Nevertheless, I was curious as to the relevance of these questions in the selection process.

It was while I was settling into my career that I met and married the woman who mothered my children. To our knowledge, this upset no one in Australia and I was too much an outcast for anyone in Malaya to care. However, sometime later, my mother was to write to say that it was now acceptable for me to come back with a foreign wife. A number of other Malayans had already returned with white wives. That may have been so, but in the Nineties a female relative blamed white women for the loss of my career. I wasn't quite sure how to interpret that accusation; was I seen as a successful seducer (racist white Aussies wouldn't like that)?

Some Ceylonese Malayans solved the problem of sons wanting to bring home a white, and therefore alien, wife. In one case the father reportedly flew out to the girl's home and convinced her and her family that the marriage could not succeed. In another case, I heard that a divorce was obtained, at the price of a financial settlement. The girls were obviously realistic in the face of forecast difficulties arising from family opposition. Where the Ceylonese family spoke English at home (as many did), and the girl was willing to adapt to Asian customs, opposition by the Asian family would clearly indicate reverse racism. And that has indeed happened.

At about this time, I came to realise that my anguish at letting down my family had been transformed into terrible guilt. I missed the weddings of my three sisters. Much later when I was invited to visit, I refused, as I could not face my people. I could not handle the shame. I therefore kept out of the way for more than twenty-five years in all.

In the early Eighties, I ventured back for the first time because my mother was clearly dying. Her recovery was attributed to my arrival, and I made peace with her and my sisters. But some close relatives made their pent-up feelings known. My wife and I made a social visit later, but it was full of tension with some people. Again, in the Nineties, when I thought that all was forgotten and I was enjoying a strong relationship with my nephews and nieces (of whom I'm proud), an elderly distant relative said, at an extended family gathering, "Yes, you are the boy who went away and did not come back." That's all she said to me that night. The implication of an abdication of duty was clear.

I do not believe that Australians can possibly understand the patterns of responsibility, expectations and support that the extended clan represents. To this day, responsibility for one's own remains strong; we can call one another for help. There is a reciprocal expectation that help will be found. There may be fights, tensions, even harsh words at times, but the tribal support system has survived; in spite of the colonial man's efforts to destroy our culture, religion and way of life; and in spite of our temptation to copy the white man's social values which diminish traditional support but offered little in return.

After embarking upon a career in Australia, I received an employment offer from Malaya – but only after I had become an Australian citizen. A Malayan diplomat invited me to join the diplomatic service. The new government was recruiting suitable people from everywhere. I subsequently met a few of these when they were sent for training to Australia; in one case, one was posted back to the national capital.

I was flattered, but after due consideration, I turned down the offer. I foresaw the Malay people claiming their share of the sunlight in their own country. After all, the Chinese already dominated business; Chinese and Indians dominated trade, and Ceylonese (mainly), Indians and others dominated government service. I foresaw that a Malay-dominated government would exercise positive discrimination policies in order to make more of their people viable in administration, business and academia. I foresaw that, following the success of such a programme, Malays would control the public sector, dominating all top positions. Malays would see the country as theirs, initially. Would I expect to reach the top (or near it) in an independent Malaya? I did not think so. But I could have joined the private sector where one would not see affirmative action intrude as much.

On the other hand, I did not expect to be permitted to get near the top in the public sector in Australia either. I had already been denied entry to responsibility in the private sector. It would be too much to expect. Yes, the White Australia policy would go, but first-generation Asian migrants were not likely to be granted equal opportunities, no matter how competent they were, how fluent they were in English, how integrated into Australian society they were. On the other hand, I believed that, if the observer shut his eyes, I would be equal to those English migrants who had achieved very senior positions; after all, they too had un-Australian accents, some of which were quite strong.

So I decided that I would rather be a one-man or small community minority in Australia than be a member of a larger community minority in Malaya. My ancestral community's experience in Ceylon was instructive. I did not believe that, even if the Ceylonese in Malaya joined the Indians (if the latter accepted them), they could have the political clout exercised by the Chinese and to share, with any strength, in government. That situation would then be reflected in relative opportunities for entry to universities and for promotion in academia and the public sector. And this proved to be true.

So I stayed where I was and worked to better myself, even though I would be poorer in the long run. The savings potential of middle-class incomes in Malaya far outweighs that in Australia. I hoped, however, to have a lot of intangible advantages, especially those affecting my children.

Australia is also a country offering freedom of thought, speech and action, where human dignity is at its highest, and this was a paramount consideration for me. Equal opportunities for economic and social mobility are also available (at present mainly to the white population). With understanding, tolerance and persuasion from the educated coloured people, better opportunities might be achieved for (initially) the second generation of coloured migrants. In time, even the first generation of coloured migrants, like myself, might be treated as true equals. I decided to integrate into the community. "Trumpet in a herd of elephants, crow in the company of cocks, bleat in a flock of goats," a Malay saying, is a useful guideline. I also hoped to educate and persuade successive generations of Aussies into a more equitable nation. Hopefully, time will bring all things to pass.

Socially, life in the national capital at that time was interesting, with a population of about fifty thousand and small shopping centres. On a Saturday morning, one could meet almost everyone that one worked with or played sport with.

Initially, my wife and were involved with part of the diplomatic circuit. It was amusing to have everyone assume that I was a foreign diplomat and then to see them suddenly lose interest in me when I said that I was an Australian public service clerk. It was a good line which I used for years, to separate the ambitious, insincere ones from the nice people. The more mature ones usually stayed to talk, in spite of my lowly status. It was in one of these talks that a British diplomat said to me, proudly, that he lived well through official entertainment – what he said was, "When I feed you, I too eat well." Most diplomats were interesting people and, until the babies arrived, we had some firm friendships (babies and cocktail parties are mutually exclusive satisfactions).

Later, my wife and I found ourselves in an academic social circuit for a while. There were many nice people there too, some becoming firm friends. As both groups had a floating population, it was difficult to have enduring friendships. Both groups offered a much-needed break from the intellectually barren and the many socially immature public service people. These were inclined to either talk shop (to highlight their importance?) or about babies and gardens (to avoid giving anything away about their work?). We found this sort of behaviour even with those senior public servants who were not overly conscious of the pecking order. "For a man by nothing is so well betrayed as by his manners" (Spencer).

We also socialised with a very wide range of European migrants, some of whom (the Germans and Austrians) claimed to have built the city. There were also Latvians, Swiss, Poles, Dutch, and others worth knowing. Then there was a Czech lady who greeted her fellow European male friend on a bitterly cold morning with, "And how's every little thing?" There were Hungarians who, at parties, gathered together and seemingly rode their horses across the steppes. And there was my Chinese GP who ate with us regularly (he was single), and told us about the afflictions which had befallen the local medical and nursing professions since his previous visit, and with great glee. He knew that we did not gossip. There were many interesting people about to meet and to know, but rarely within the public service.

Without the foreigners and the academics, Canberra, which was becoming a well-planned, clean and aesthetically pleasing city, was a dreadful place to live in. There were far too many working-class public servants, most of whom were careful not to mix with anyone below their official classifications. Many wives were then seemingly guided by their priests as to whom they could socialise with. It was (and still is) an artificial city, alienated from the real world, imbued with self-love, with ambition clouding sincerity, and bureaucratic power destroying the human Spirit. But that's where the bread was, so I stayed.

Seeing that I was now an Aussie, I watched the media to see how my countries of origin (Malaysia and Singapore) were depicted. As Napoleon said, "I feared three newspapers more than a hundred thousand bayonets." Singapore progressed from a colonial outpost, the fulcrum of the West's sphere of influence in the East, to a nation whose loyalty to the Western powers was initially in doubt. It was clear that there was little respect for Asians and their governments. The media seemed to me to range from ignorant to ill-informed (on the one hand) to well-informed but substantially biased (on the other).

When President Sukarno preferred to be addressed by his people as "Bung," many Aussie journalists had a field-day. There were joyful references to "boong," a derogatory word applied to Aborigines. A dependent people, substantially owned and therefore controlled by foreign powers, were ever so superior to the oriental hordes. There was continual reference to the yellow hordes who were always getting ready to ravish Australia. Thus, when the PAP took office in Singapore, they were officially labelled communist or (later) communist-sympathetic. When it became clear that Singapore was viewed favourably by the USA, the new nation began to be presented as 'one of us'.

Malaysia, on the other hand, prevented a clear classification. Under the domino theory, it had to be saved from a communist take-over. However, with the assistance of the British, the communist threat had already been eliminated. The increasing number of Malaysians of diverse ethnic origins in Australia did not prevent Malaysia being presented as having racial problems. Once, I read of a claim of journalistic and artistic licence when a lie damaging to the Malaysian people, to their race relations, and to Australia's links with Malaysia, was perpetrated to the press, in a book, and in a film on the book.

Often alleged racial conflict in Malaysia came up (it still does) as a counter to our allegations of Australian racism, especially the treatment of Aborigines. The counter was (and is) interracial riots in Malaysia and Singapore as a common feature of life. The Third World status of Australian Aborigines, the implicit human rights violations against these people, and the denial of their dignity might thus be defensible. "By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, it keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community," as Oscar Wilde so wisely said.

So, while I proudly admitted to be of Malayan origin, I had to be cautious about how I spoke about my country of birth. I was, in any event, too busy in my integration programme and my contribution to the community to be fussed by on-going national prejudice.

###  _Chapter Twelve_

Integration – The Economic Scene

As soon as you look at Australia's economic situation, you know that the country's industrial base is substantially owned, and therefore controlled, by foreigners. There are not many major industries not under the control or influence of overseas shareholders. You find out, too, that the people are either indifferent to this situation or think that it is all right, or they simply deny it.

Economic development in a country normally goes through the sequence of the marshalling (sometimes through the government enabling or inducing the accumulation) of capital for productive investment. Policy then generally sets the stage for encouraging such investment. Policy also encourages the saving needed for the continued expansion of the productive base. This base has to be wider than the agricultural base which normally underpins the nation, as agriculture is subject to natural forces beyond man's control and his capacity to predict changes. The productive base also includes the capacity to bring in a steady flow of foreign currency, which is needed to pay for necessary imports; the principal necessary imports enable production, whether farm machinery or industrial production equipment. Foreign currency generated by farm exports is axiomatically uneven and unreliable.

The necessary emphasis is on expanding production. Without expansion, the economy stagnates, affecting employment, income flows, and all the rest of it. To expand, you need customers, i.e. markets. Sensibly, you look overseas; after all, how much purchasing power can one hope to generate within one's economy? And how is this growth – industrial growth, not population growth – to be achieved? (Although there was once a senior public servant and his politician master who supposedly coined the rallying cry, "Root for Australia" as a solution to Australia's population needs.) Expanding growth needs continuing investment, which means savings continually garnered from output and profit.

Now, you can believe in market forces. Most of our protected species in the business of managing – or is it minding – the economy today believe in market forces; but many of these public servants would not recognise a market force if they fell over one, as suggested by an industrial leader. If market forces represent your idea of an economic god, then your policies will encourage savings by the profitable entrepreneurs. You will need to assume that profitable equates to relative efficiency – that's like assuming that all men of the cloth always have their eyes above others' navels. If you thought that market forces need a nudge or a bit of competition from the government, then government might invest in an appropriate public enterprise or enable the entry of a competitor.

If anyone is to save, you do not allow or encourage the profits to reach the hands of those who would rather eat their share of the national cake today. Successful, i.e. viable, industrial nations expand and diversify their productive base and expand their overseas markets, before the development of a high consumption society is permitted, as in the "tiger" nations of Asia today. The spread of profits to consumers is generally achieved through the taxation and welfare systems.

A few decades ago, it was reported that Australia is unique among relatively developed nations. In a very short time after entering the industrial development phase, the country skipped the normal phase of widening and deepening its industrial foundations and became a high consumption nation through redistribution of incomes policies. This was done for socially desirable motives, but it ignored, and continues to ignore, the need for national savings to fuel future growth.

So, who provides this fuel? Why, foreigners of course. They are encouraged to do so by governments offering high rates of interest, or protection from competition, as well as substantial subservience. When you look at Australia's balance of payments data, you will find that it is the continued inflow of foreign capital which upholds the Australian economy. This is known to the media commentators, policy advisers and politicians, the union leaders, and the welfare propagandists. The media commentators comment, often sensibly; the advisers have their hands and minds tied by their masters and their own ethos; the politicians generally seek only re-election (there are no long-term plans for the Australian economy – remember market forces?); the unions want their cut before profits are struck; and the welfare merchants (wearing their hearts on their sleeves and facsimiles engraved on their wallets) want their cut after the profits have been struck, but before the investor can get his hands on any surplus.

The cake and the icing are distributed quickly and well. Not quite; taxation policies enable a little icing to be hived off into the pockets of entrepreneurs at an appropriate stage. This also assists high income earners like politicians and senior public servants, as well as skilled professional people and those others who know how to make a buck in private enterprise and want to keep most of it. The result has been, until recently, a reasonably fair spread of wealth, especially to the less skilled. As the foreigner has faith in Australia and can influence politicians, all is well. If his needs occasionally squeeze the man in the street but the latter is too busy enjoying the sun, what's the problem?

It's against this background that I joined an agency whose role was to assess the protection Australian manufacturing industry needed through duties or tariffs imposed on competing imports. The agency examined matters referred to it by the appropriate minister who was, in turn, briefed by his public service department. The referral might cover a single product, or parts or even the whole of an industry.

The executive staff of this small agency were very courageous in appointing a migrant, especially a coloured one, to deal with senior representatives of industry in the early Sixties. Most of the latter would be old Aussies, employed, to a large extent, by foreign owned enterprises. I would have been the first foreigner in their dealings with government. It was fascinating to watch the expressions on some faces when they came to realise that I was the initial and main filter of their sworn public and confidential information on their productive viability. One of the three agency executives would examine my work, which would then go to the Board. I would be required to defend and explain my report and recommendations to the Board. If accepted, the report would be forwarded by the Board to the Minister and subsequently released to the public. The process was open and seen to be open. Only evidence under oath could be used. The trick was for us worker bees to suggest to members of the Board the questions they might ask to obtain the information we needed.

Naturally, we had to satisfy the Board that the information sought was relevant.

There were times when intuition, or some casual remark by someone in the industry, suggested a line of enquiry; at other times, the opposition might hint at information which we should seek in order to obtain a balanced picture.

My first report was on a single product. I apparently introduced, without any such intention, two major changes in the operation of that agency. I wrote an eleven page report, when apparently others had produced much longer ones in a comparable context. I had also recommended removal of tariff protection for that product. I therefore became the first "free trader" in that office; in the prevailing atmosphere of protection that was not a great reputation.

Hence I was privileged to have my first report examined by the CEO (Chief Executive Officer) line by line; every fact was checked, and every statement was examined for accuracy, fairness, grammar, and style. I passed. The Board and the Minister accepted my recommendation. I recall that the chairman was a former academic, with gracious style – they do not make any more like that. The CEO had three degrees and was no one's fool. A third-generation Aussie of Scottish descent, he seemed to know the history of every Scot who had ever climbed the surrounding hills, smitten his enemies and returned. He also knew a lot of other history. He certainly ruined the holidays of one of my colleagues by pointing out all the places of biblical or military interest in Palestine that she had missed in her month's travel there. In our frequent discussions about work and other matters, I was able to silence him only once – I talked about the time the Turks dominated Islam; and that had him. I suspect that he liked me thereafter.

He had to. He approved my inspection of production facilities. He knew what I was really after; to get behind the smooth witnesses and their beautifully packaged data. I thus managed to talk to production engineers, research staff and marketing peoples, formed my impressions, and asked the Board to seek the information which would either confirm or deny my suspicions. I also obtained approval to visit the applicants' opposition who spoke freely outside the ambience of court-like hearings.

The other innovation I sought was to use the telephone, instead of writing long letters. These cost time. I needed to find out quickly what problems people in industry had in dealing with us and what information they needed from us. Notes for file of such dialogues were circulated to the executive and, if necessary, to the chairman of that enquiry.

I got to know the deputy chairman of the Board well, early in my career, when he summonsed me. Quite gently, he pointed out that I had no right to ask a witness for any information even if it was standard information which had been omitted. I was to give him my questions and my reasons. Once he understood how I operated, reasons were not necessary. Industry representatives were supposed to believe that members of the Board, in their infinite wisdom, knew what questions to ask, including the ones some witnesses might wish had not been asked. The old industry hands, of course, knew better.

It was therefore a surprise for me (and for everyone else) when, in a difficult case, the deputy chairman asked a really curly question and literally forced the witness to deal with it. He then looked over at me sitting at the next level, which was above that of the audience, and gave me a broad wink. That was the best way to tell the whole industry whose question it really was. But he was a great man, seconded from industry. It was a pleasure to work with him, provided no mistakes were made; otherwise one could come out looking like the proverbial pancake.

Members of the Board from the industrial sector were very useful because they brought to their work a necessary understanding of the ways of private enterprise and, frequently, knowledge of some of the people. Others brought other relevant backgrounds, still sought a career serving governments on various boards. It is difficult to see what they brought to the job, since there were usually competent senior bureaucrats overlooking the groundwork. But these were obviously "comfy" jobs.

I enjoyed working in that office. The staff were obviously selected for their personal and communication skills, apart from necessary skills in analysis and report-writing. The members of the Board were generally courteous and competent, even though the odd senior public service appointee could be preoccupied with his relative status. At one stage, when our staff team came back with our recommendation unaltered, after being asked twice to take into consideration this or the other apparently relevant approach (which, as we had demonstrated, we had examined and discarded for defensible reasons), a senior ex-public servant said something to the effect that the staff, having made up their minds, were doing their damnedest to defend it. This was uncalled for, and introduced the rough political style of his former department. But many senior public servants do seem to have their own egocentric hidden agendas, as some ministers have no doubt learnt to their cost.

Of all the members of the Board I had worked with, one was a particularly charming man. He was often seen dining or even travelling with attractive, polished ladies, all of whom seemed to be his nieces. He had a lot of them. He had no airs and was always willing to ask for explanations. One day, he claimed to have difficulty with the idea of the high cost of final products resulting from the tariff applicable to the materials in the intermediate chain of production. I offered a reasonable analogy of the process whereby DDT accumulated in meat. "Aha!" he said, "I now understand!" He represented the rural sector. Unfortunately the humourless chairman of that enquiry apparently felt that my 'bizarre' sense of humour would one day get me into trouble – but he was a stuffed suit. "No bird soars too high if it soars with its own wings."

During the eight happy years I spent in that office, I was promoted twice, rising to be the first operational team leader, or sectional head. On each occasion, the question was raised: how would the Aussie staff accept me? However, did anyone ask how I would manage a team of Aussies? Apparently there was no doubt about that. I had learned to call a spade a spade and, occasionally, a bloody shovel or, for that matter, an f***ing shovel. That is, I spoke the language of the masses and had the approach of an Aussie manager to staff. I also worked ridiculous hours, rewrote pages of the report, and took full responsibility for anything I put on the line, i.e. I gave my team total protection and loyalty.

My colleagues were a mixture of Masons, Catholics, golfers, other Christians and "calathumpians" (a term used by my mother-in-law to refer to religious people with no readily identifiable label). The Masons complained that they had to be twice as good as the others, as the CEO (another Mason) leant over backwards to prove that he did not favour the Masons. The Catholics were never heard to complain. The golfers, being a species apart, were happy to be promoted when opportunities arose, as long as they were free to stop and tell anyone who was not smart enough to avoid them, about their weekend golf – hole by hole, stroke by stroke. The other Christians and calathumpians were normal people with no special distinguishing features. Irrespective of faith, affiliations, or interest, we all drank together every Friday evening. The only risk was that a third-generation Irish-Aussie would bring out his ancestral accent by seven o'clock in the evening and, on Monday morning, would want to tell you the joke that you had told him on Friday – with one variation; he told you the punch line first. It was a cohesive office. However, since our rooms faced the main road, some of the middle-aged staff became aware of the many relatively young public servants who were being taken to the cemetery in their last conveyance on earth. This they found discouraging – we were not too sure why. Strangely enough, the ones who were worried most died relatively early.

Relating to industry was interesting. I found co-operation and courtesy at every level in every case of mine, except once. In a plant in a country town, my colleague and I (I always took someone with me on sensitive forays) were taken to an early lunch and told about the executive's friend Bob (it was clear that this was a former Prime Minister) who had a great interest in the success of that company (which was of vital importance to the district). After lunch, at a meeting with senior company staff, the executive told them that we, the public servants, were going to close the company. I had to correct him by outlining the process which applied, and making it clear that it was only the Minister, aided by an army of industry-supporting public servants, who would make any decision to vary the high tariff protection they enjoyed. His attitude reflected the grace-and-favour mode of traditional Australian government.

After more than two hours of discussion, we had got nowhere. I then said that, in the absence of necessary company data and explanations, we would base our report on the other company in the industry; and the Board's report would state that his company had not provided information which the Board needed. My colleague and I got up to leave and the executive's tune changed. He would not let us leave until he had given us all sorts of data, much of it unnecessary.

He was unusual in trying to avoid giving us relevant data. Often the data we received was dressed up so beautifully that it took us a great deal of effort to unravel it. Total internal consistency only meant a high-powered team network in the company. One company came for increased protection for almost every product; yet the company as a whole usually made a great profit. The difficulty for us was that the piecemeal approach to a company's tariff needs did not enable the agency to examine the company as a whole.

In my last year in that agency, I let an accountant loose on that company (when many of its products came under examination). He came to the conclusion that the company had a profit centre from which all supplies, including furniture, needed anywhere in the company's operations, were marked-up heavily before being sent out to operational centres. How clever and how profitable.

Some members of industry apparently played rough. The proprietor of a small company was taken out for lunch by the major supplier he had complained about in his public evidence. He reported to us that he had been told, quite bluntly, that his company would be broken by them, no matter what the government did. Another, who complained about discriminatory pricing policies, found his company taken over and he was left out in the cold. An (European) entrepreneur, he started another business immediately. He said that all he knew was how to set up and operate a business successfully.

It became clear to me that big firms were very close to government. This made many executives sloppy. As one said to me, "I'll go back to government for more help if necessary." And he _expected_ to receive help. That was the problem with tariff-protected industry. And it did not do the country any good, no matter how many Aussies were well fed, and how happy overseas shareholders were. The government also encouraged import replacement, but behind the tariff wall.

I had an interesting experience with a small company that commenced production of an industrial and food chemical from seaweed, gathered off the island state of Tasmania. Members of the Board and I went on board a vessel to gather the seaweed and then inspected the plant.

Later, two of my team helped the company dissect its accounting data in its case for tariff protection. This was granted by the government. However, it was to no avail. The seaweed apparently died some years later, reportedly because of a change in water temperature. The overseas competitor, the previous supplier to the Australian market of the chemical, allegedly disclaimed liability for the sea-change.

I learned after a while that it was traditional for a bureaucracy to look after its industry clientele. Media reports confirmed my observation that, at least in my day, secondary industry had its needs protected by the appropriate part of the bureaucracy whose responsibilities included the maintenance of a viable industry. Primary industry, aviation, and other industries were reportedly looked after by appropriate sectors of the public service. If the public service did not provide apposite service, representations were made by the industry to the Minister. Ministerial policies necessarily reflected the political objectives of his party.

Hence, when the tariff agency examined an industry as an entity (some of my colleagues examined the same industry more than once in their careers), any recommendations to take the industry into the real world of global markets and trade, by becoming more efficient, both technically and economically, were fairly futile. However, by the end of my term in the agency, there had been another sea-change. The office began to recommend reduced effective protection to inspire increased competitiveness in global markets.

When this began to happen, the industry department's social club threw out those of us who worked for the agency (although we still worked for the same Minister). We were the free traders, and thus operating against the received wisdom of government. So we formed our own social club, which I led for a year. Yet parts of that department were busy extolling the virtues of increased exports and export promotion by Australian manufacturing industry.

Export promotion was not, however, relevant for much of Australian industry without taxpayer subsidies or the marginal cost pricing of goods. Both were recommended by those who could sit on their hands in safety. If a foreign country sold goods to Australia on a marginally costed basis, i.e. below prices prevailing at home or in other export markets, it is called dumping. Yet our producers were invited officially to dump overseas.

Some of the advice offered to their masters by protection-oriented advisers was quite weird. Recommending dumping, which was illegal in international trade, but calling it marginal cost pricing, would fool none of Australia's trade competitors. In another area of policy, the setting of a floor price for an Australian export product was claimed to ensure that traded prices would never fall below the floor price, even without any intervention by the government or the centralised marketing agency. The economic media had a fun time writing about the Australian government's hovercraft theory of floor prices in international trade.

For a while, I worked for a former senior public servant who was an excellent administrator, whose understanding of economics was no better than ours, but who had as simplistic a view of policy as the proponents of the hovercraft policy. All that he wanted was to simplify the tariff. This meant putting a variety of goods under fewer tariff categories. This could not be an end in itself, but he could not see that. One had to take into account the patterns of production and output prevailing in efficient industries overseas, i.e. what sorts of goods came out together and in what proportions. It could also result in offering tariff protection for goods not produced in Australia. This could cause difficulties for importers of such goods. Traditionally, the Customs department was seen as protecting Australian producers. By-law (i.e. concessional rate or no tariff) entry was said to be difficult to achieve because Customs looked to see if the imported good was a substitute for a good produced locally. Preventing substitution to avoid customs duties could lead to unnecessary high costs for Australian industry, which was over-costly for a global market. The issue of possible substitution is not easily decided. For example, is a tent a substitute for a caravan? Is a caravan a substitute for a factory-produced holiday cottage? Customs could be difficult, as revenue was their main aim.

In seeking to simplify tariffs, this former administrator should have taken the advice of another senior officer I worked with elsewhere. The latter had lived very comfortably in that part of the centralised staff regulatory agency which responded to the claims of operational and policy agencies for more staff positions. Reportedly, there was often a trade-off for extra positions; the applicant agency would take one or two of the surplus staff of the regulatory agency, for their management skills of course (I never did find out what they had previously managed). This chap was heard to say when he moved into an operating agency, that he always avoided policy work. One could easily run into trouble in a policy job through no fault of one's own.

Anyway, the problem with exports was the higher costs of Australian production. We had inbuilt inefficiency in those sectors set up by invitation by the government, particularly post-war. The foreign companies which would set up plant were offered tariff protection. To save transport costs, they set up local plants which, so often, were both technically and economically (in cost terms) inefficient relative to those overseas. A smaller plant might have older technology. A newer plant could be expected to be larger with improved technology. Modern plant could thus be expected to offer lower unit costs. Australia could not easily compete in overseas markets, not only because of these higher costs but because labour costs were also very high. A centralised wage agency which paid inadequate attention to the economy, underpinned by social distribution and social equity policies, would keep much of Australia's industrial output out of foreign markets for a long time. A former peak union leader has also been quoted, when asked how his claims would affect the economy, as saying, "F*** the economy."

Another barrier to export expansion was that the foreign company which operated in its home territory on a global basis, or which had global output-based operations in some other country, had no reason to use its Australian subsidiary as an export base. In any event, it is a very comfortable situation being in Australia with its tariff wall. One US company even today claims that its practice is to produce only for the local market wherever it has a subsidiary. Now, that must result in an uneconomic operation in international terms. Of course, were tariffs to be removed completely, there will be pressure on governments for a financial subsidy, accompanied by the hint that, otherwise, local operations might cease. (I'll take my ball home if I cannot have another cookie or rice cake!) The tariff wall is usually maintained by manufacturers claiming higher costs, although these may have been only book entries. For example, if a plant brought into Australia was second hand (perhaps amortised after its use in some other country), but billed at full cost, how would we know? An agency board member once claimed that he could tell simply by looking at the plant! In reality, the company took its profits up front, while it came wringing its hands in poverty to the government. But this was the nature of Australian governments, being ever so grateful to the foreigner for investing in the country.

I then left, looking for different work. Strangely enough, many of the economics-oriented people also left at about the same time. Since that time, the office embarked upon econometric model building. An econometric model, like a theory in economics (as in science), is intended to explain what has happened and to predict what will or can happen. However, it requires assumptions normally beyond the competence of bureaucratic economists with no experience of the real world of human or market behaviour. It is therefore difficult to say whether econometric models have helped industry become more efficient. But they were good for promotion prospects in an expanding agency.

In terms of taking Australian industry into the real world, a barrier was the primarily piecemeal approach that we were forced to take. It generally ignored any assessment of a whole industry. However, when a whole industry was assessed, political and short-term considerations reigned. There were no transitional arrangements considered with the lowering of tariffs. There were no national economic policies such as in developing countries like Singapore, with its ten-year plans. There are no procedures to assist industry to relocate, as in Canada in the Sixties, or to become more efficient – except by lowering the tariff barrier. "When schemes are laid in advance, it is surprising how often the circumstances fit in with them" is a thought worth pursuing.

In any event, I left with happy memories of that office, although there were still, in 1970, few ethnics and no Aborigines around. I do not recall, among the senior positions in the industries I examined (two were major industries forming our industrial base), being noticeably ethnic or coloured.

The next three years were disastrous to my career and a waste. I moved into an area of economic policy which displayed the appearance of swans sojourning in limpid waters. Languidly preening, watching their own reflections in a leisurely fashion, they projected an air of calm superiority. These were the mandarins of market-force fine-tuning (so a cygnet described them). It took me a year to find out that I was in trouble with my chief, another year to find out why, and a third year to escape into another area! _Beware a silent dog or still waters_ is a saying I should have remembered. But I was in the core economic division of the market forces adjustment department. My responsibility was in what was referred to as the arse-end of this division; it did not make much of a contribution to policy and it was not required to. I was stupid to move there, especially as I had rejected two offers: a long awaited opportunity to join the private sector, and a move into another economics department. The idea of working at the heart of economic policy entranced me – until I got there.

What I found there could have been fascinating to a disinterested observer. There were of course no ethnics or Aborigines there before I and another ethnic arrived together. But there was a fellow who demonstrated the art of pulling wings off flies while they were still alive; playing squash with a good friend of his, he apparently used to hit him behind the knees with his racquet to clear space – that's how the friend, my colleague, described him. Years later, he was intimated to have sat on his hands in another agency while the ship was sinking. His difficulty was alleged to be that he was too much of a gentleman to act decisively!

Occasionally, I found that, for the first time in my working life, I had made my chief emotionally upset; yet no sound ever escaped his lips. He did not tell me for a whole year that he wasn't happy with my work (or why). And at no stage was I given targets for my work. There were no objectives stated, no targets of output, the timing of any exercise or anything else that I considered relevant (and I had been a proven manager for a few years). It was quite a shock to suddenly find myself in such a weird area, and without any of the hierarchy asking why there was such a delay in output. In that establishment, there was also an interesting chap who seemed to think that he was God; sometimes I think that he _knew_ he was God. Yet, all the other people seemed quite ordinary and easy to deal with. Nevertheless, I and the other ethnic felt that we were somehow outsiders.

My fellow workers all had first-class economics degrees. But human behaviour seemed to confound most of them. But that was no problem, as market forces would drive the machine; all they had to do was to fine tune the pace from time to time (so I was told by them).

As soon as some institutional (sociological) change occurred, however, things went awry. For example, when savings bank accounts rose one year, consistent with theory (based on a finding some time previously), inflation was said to be around the corner. Why? These savings bank accounts were held by ordinary folk and they spent most of their money. A rise in these savings meant that increased consumption expenditure would subsequently follow. So, batten the hatches. However, no attempt to run down these savings and to increase consumption expenditure was made. So, in the press, there was the claim that the Australian people had been irrational – they had not behaved ordinarily. It is never the fault of the bureaucrat.

The most likely explanation of a rise in family savings was an increase in the number of married women going to work, encouraged by the government then, and bringing home money which was surplus to their normal needs. There would have been some leak into consumption expenditure, but savings would accumulate.

However, the fine-tuning team continued their comfortable lives, helping one another to fill influential positions elsewhere and proselytising policy advisers and policy makers to their market forces theology and to its economic and rationalist offspring. Preaching also paid well (the missionary position was a proven and popular means of propagating the faith, was it not?). Economic rationalism was fine, as other Western nations had the same platform. Unfortunately, the Australian market-force preachers could not touch wages and industrial relations policies (effectively controlled by the unions), or, for that matter, welfare policies (controlled by the intermediaries in the service chain).

When personnel management finally came to know of my difficulties with my boss, I was assisted in finding a job where I could see results for my work, and where I dealt again with the real world: the private sector. "To run away is not glorious, but very healthy," say the Russians. I was to spend six satisfying and interesting years in this new area.

Much to the surprise of believers in free enterprise, a conservative (i.e. non-socialist) government, introduced legislation to control foreign investment in Australian enterprises. In a nation where oligopoly thrived, and true competition in the market place applied only to small entrepreneurial enterprises, take-overs and mergers normally caused little concern. However, in the late Sixties, the participation by foreign enterprises in such forms of expansion excited both sides of Parliament and a bipartisan policy was introduced. Just as the legislation came into effect, a change of government took place.

A handful of us started up the core unit to screen foreign investment. Naturally, the agency which opposed the policy, because that could reduce the flow of foreign capital and thereby require that agency and the government to work to manage the economy, successfully took over the screening responsibility. Those in the know in Australian industry could now sleep in peace. When we started, we had little background in interpreting legislation. I was the only one to offer substantial experience in dealing with the private sector, either face to face or with its problems. This allowed me to re-establish my credentials. Like McArthur, I felt that I had returned.

To backtrack a little – what had upset my chief in the previous job? I had taken to my bosom the exhortations of the deputy head of the agency during my selection interview, which were that we needed reform of taxation urgently. I therefore pushed for immediate changes, whereas my chief wanted three years to study the problems; so he told me after a year. I noted that his predecessor had left in disgust as his well-worked over proposals gathered dust in the files; change was only talked about but apparently never properly proposed to the politicians. Was there someone in high places who had his own agenda?

I had also upset someone by suggesting that we redefine "capacity to pay" in income tax policies. I argued as follows: why not accept that income earners had a social responsibility to sustain dependants, and allow them to put aside a non-taxable amount, varying with their degree of responsibility? For example, if a wage earner had to sustain his parents, while another did not, or if the wage earner had five children and another had none, or even no wife, could not the income tax base be varied to accept that additional community responsibility? Thus, while both had equal incomes, the tax paid would vary. Surely this would be a socially-defined capacity to pay; and it would not require so-called 'concessional' rebates, which normally behave like a yo-yo.

I had expected that those brought up in a family-oriented social system might be willing to examine such an approach, without saying that it wouldn't work. There were precedents. Wages had earlier in the century been set on the needs of a worker, with a wife and 2.2 children (one wonders how a 0.2 child could be produced). With no wife or children, but on the same level of skill, a worker received the same wage. I argued that he had a greater capacity to pay tax. Furthermore, a man supporting a family on one wage was not as well off as a man and his working wife supporting a family of the same size. Since the family unit is the basis of all human societies, and the mainstay of Australian society, why not allow for family income in assessing capacity to pay; i.e. base the tax on the family unit? Of course, all new thinking and all change is fraught with difficulties, a phrase popular with public servants. I was also told that the feminists and those without children or other family responsibility would not like my proposals. Indeed, even where my taxation proposals were based on what the US and some developed European country were doing, my colleagues saw difficulties.

In any event, in view of the rejection of my proposals, I was surprised one evening when a fellow section head sidled up to me at our end-of-week drinking hole and, in a most confidential manner, asked me to tell him about my "revolutionary" tax proposals. I knew that he was on the "think tank" of the local Labor Party branch working for a change of government. When he realised the implications of my proposal, i.e. that he and his wife would pay more tax under what I had in mind, he lost interest (perhaps his concept of social responsibility excluded his own wallet), and so the then government handed the issue of tax reform to a non-public service committee. We continued to file all five typed copies of every draft policy discussion paper produced, presumably for security reasons. It was the most inefficient office I have ever worked in.

An issue which my wife raised is whether my chief and his superiors would have reacted the way they did if one of their kind had come up with unacceptable ideas. Their reaction to me and to a Greek who had been appointed at the same time as I had, both as proven managers of economic tasks, was harsh. Indeed, it was more harsh than their reaction to the other two who had been appointed also at the same time. All four of us had come from outside the agency, in an unprecedented move. Usually the agency preferred home-grown staff for senior positions, often paying them more than their worth (to avoid losing them). All four of us had been deemed "not up to expectations," as we had all offered unacceptably independent advice in our respective areas. Of the four, the senior one was permitted to start afresh elsewhere in the agency and redeem himself.

The other, like the Greek, left the agency. I found myself stagnating (except when the fly-catcher tried to put me down), until the personnel chief's intervention. What was indicative of the ethos of the place was the clear message to the Greek and to me that we were outsiders. It is difficult to have any respect for people who lack the basic requirements of communication or management; or worse still, to combine that with (apparent) ethno-religious prejudice. It was my first experience of any of these deficiencies, and it hurt.

Neither the Greek nor I received the benefit of a dialogue on our ideas. We were not counselled on other directions we might take. What we felt, on the other hand, was isolation of the kind one might find in a school playground. The personnel chief confirmed that this division had a record of authoritarian management.

What concerned me was that there were inequities in the tax system which needed attention. My concern was not shared by anyone else. In addition, because politicians dug big holes in the revenue bucket, tax administrators tried to close the little ones, while the policy boys looked for new revenue taps to turn on. This approach continues – even in the Nineties. The latest brainwave by highly-paid bureaucrats is to increase the Medicare levy (attached to the personal income tax), in spite of the levy being inequitable – it subsidises the high-income earners. "The art of taxation consists in so plucking the goose as to obtain the largest amount of feathers with the least amount of hissing." Taxation principles were (and are) not a priority.

With the extensive legal scope for reducing one's income tax base, the tax burden was placed (and still is) upon low- and middle-income earners. Then (and now) top earners can pay little or no tax, because of various concessions granted by the government. With Medicare, the universal health scheme, the tax subsidy for high-income recipients results from the Medicare levy being based on taxable, not gross, income. Get your income tax base down, and you can avoid the levy too. Thus, low- and middle-income earners bear the brunt of not only the personal income tax (and therefore the whole taxation system), but also the cost of Medicare. One does not hear any squawks about this from the media, the academics, or even those being screwed.

It is also interesting to find yet another tax arrangement whereby high-income earners are further subsided. The recently-introduced US-based practice of taxing a flow of income earned by corporations replaced the long-standing practice of taxing the income of legal persons. The tax law now reduces the tax liabilities of recipients of dividends. Previously, shareholders had a tax liability on income received through dividends, unadulterated by any credit for company tax paid. Dividend imputation joined a host of concessions mainly for the big earners. The freedom to insert any number of legal persons (in the form of companies) between shareholders and their operational enterprise or between a service provider (e.g. a medical specialist or a tradesman) and his service also favours the big earners. Why is this so? To minimise tax, of course. Then, as now, we were not too fussed about equity – or about efficiency.

Another interesting observation during my three wasted years was the sight of a highly-paid fellow officer laboriously writing in longhand letters for the Treasurer to sign, in reply to suggestions for changes in tax policy. Many of the replies ignored the merits of any proposed changes, distorted the thrust of the writer's proposals, or merely highlighted the difficulties of a (guess what?) legislative, philosophical, financial, or administrative nature that the proposal was "fraught with." Anyone remember the TV programme, _Yes, Minister_?

Anyone who has received a reply from a Minister or a bureaucrat after lodging a complaint or suggesting a policy change will be familiar with this approach. Yet, the people involved in this disgraceful disregard of a citizen's intelligence are normally nice people. Why then do they behave like that? Mainly because they want the security of stability of policy and their employment. Most lack the guts to go into the real world of the private sector where they could be fired for incompetence or be found surplus to requirements.

Where they are relatively competent, they would rather avoid career positions in the private sector, where they are judged by their contribution to profitability or growth – that's why many of the public servants who move into private enterprise (when they feel their career paths are blocked) go into lobbying, "research", or administrative jobs. That is, they avoid decision-making jobs. There are, of course, many, many notable exceptions, but these would already have demonstrated their "get results" approach and decision-making capacity in their public sector jobs as well, and left the service early. I knew a few of these.

Of course, there is the social reformer who wants to change society with safety. Then there is the fellow who is a manipulator of people, especially politicians. By being helpful (doing favours) he moves up the ladder (because he's got a good reputation by then in the Minister's office). There's also the chap who, in every job, wants to restructure the office. This enables him to manoeuvre his own people into key positions. By the end of two years he moves on – even if it is only a transfer at the same level – and avoids the judgement as to whether he has achieved any efficiencies through that restructuring. That is, if his chiefs are interested in such a question. They probably took the same path to promotion and power themselves. Eventually they come to rest and often retire in the job. If, after a while, they are seen to block someone else, they can always be posted to a new committee, or a board of inquiry. The view might be different, but the flow of victuals is as timely as ever and just as rich.

However, not all senior men were as pathetic, or as ineffective, or as expensive as these categories of public servants. There were, in my day, many superb administrators and policy advisers. Many were cultured, even if few possessed degrees.

The screening of foreign investment was fascinating and satisfying. It meant participating, even from the outside, in a facet of the real world. We met some of the movers and shakers of this world. We also met some of the legal people who ate well as intermediaries between that real world and the cushy world of government policy.

The Australian concept of screening foreign investment was questionable from the very start. First, it originated as a bipartisan policy and our office naturally ensured that it remained so. However, when both sides of Parliament agree on a policy, the people can be screwed – and could have no protection politically. Second, the screening was to ensure that a take-over or a new investment was not against the national interest. What did that mean, asked everyone who came to us? We, too, asked the same question. Indeed, a foreign take-over would have to be demonstrated by us to be very damaging before it could be stopped. Could a new foreign investment be damaging? That would be the day! Third, we were working for the Treasury, the non-interventionists whose credo had been that all foreign capital is good capital.

So, on the first day, just as a new government came into power, our new office started to apply the new legislation. A handful of us read and reread the policy files and the legislation and agreed on how we would operate. My chief, a bright young man of Lebanese descent, focused on policy issues and I led the casework team.

My first case involved a man I had come to know well in my days on tariff matters. His foreign-owned company wanted to buy a small Australian-owned manufacturer. The owner of the Australian enterprise opened the batting: what right did the government have to stop him selling his business to anyone?

Seeking inspiration, while a senior colleague looked at me quizzically, I looked at my friend and said with a grin, "What right would an Australian manufacturer have it if allowed government to place one foot into its door – by accepting tariff protection – to say to government that it cannot _now_ place the other foot in the door to screen an intended foreign take-over?" That broke the ice that had been evident from the moment of their arrival. On the other hand, I could have said, "If a camel's head gets in the tent, his body will follow," but that would not have been proper.

I then explained that our job was not to defend government policy, which was a political decision, but merely to explain it. We could also explain our developing procedures. The government's objectives were set out in _Hansard_ (the record of Parliament's deliberations) mainly in the Second Reading Speech. Decisions would be taken only at the political level, i.e. by the Minister. And both the decision and our processes, including our interpretation of legislation, could be tested in the courts.

That approach seemed to satisfy them and others whose proposals came to us. Later, I was to brief lawyers and industrialists not only on a case-by-case basis but occasionally in small groups. It was satisfying to have the lawyers agree with the way we interpreted legislation (with the help of lawyers in the Attorney General's department) and, later, additional non-legislative policies. No one took us to court. That could also mean that the decisions taken were either acceptable or not worth contesting. Most proposals were approved.

It was rather a surprise for us when, in later years, the government passed legislation setting out how to interpret legislation. We presumed that this was for the benefit of certain judges and lawyers who apparently took a literal or semantic interpretation of specific words in legislation. Creative accounting was burgeoning into a major art form and some lawyers apparently became skilled in the deconstructionist analysis of the written word. Our interpretation of our legislation was validated.

The difficulties of creative accounting confronted me in one major case. I went to the national accounting body and to two professors of accountancy to resolve the issue. We received the pros and cons from the academics but no firm view as to whether what was proposed was fair to the shareholders, and appropriate for comparing companies. The professional body's answer was in terms of the benefit to the proponents of the approach – the directors of the company. In the light of this vast assistance, we made our own decision, informed the proponents, and they did not object.

Initially, I examined proposals in every sector of the economy, from mining to manufacturing, real estate and the service industries, e.g. hospitals and casino operations. These early proposals often included very aggressive business people, who were understandably asking why the government was delaying implementation of their proposals. The concept of the national interest may not have concerned them, or they may have been aware that the government would not block many of these foreign take-overs and mergers. In time, the office was expanded to cover six sectors, and I specialised in the service industries. This gave me variety in the nature of the problems I examined.

One of the funniest experiences I had was when a European entrepreneur received an offer for his Australian company from a foreign corporation. The European was an Australian citizen, as I was, and so was the CEO of the Australian subsidiary of the foreign corporation. The CEO went through the usual argument that he and his management were true-blue Aussies and that his company was surely Australian too. The European and I agreed, adding that we were Aussies too, although obviously not local born. I was explaining the nature of our policy when, all of a sudden, the three of us saw the humour of the situation simultaneously and we started to laugh. The true-blue Aussie had to satisfy a migrant Aussie that his company would not damage the national interest by buying the other migrant Aussie's business. The CEO then kindly agreed that, when the appropriate foreign person snapped his fingers, only he would have to salute.

The European Aussie did well out of that deal, as the take-over was really the acquisition of his skills. He was an ebullient but suave man, with a flashy sports car and a very presentable, younger second wife. He had learned and experimented until he had achieved the right product and was doing well. Naturally, the foreign corporation could see his value.

In a similar case, a foreign corporation acquired a very successful advertising enterprise. They were very creative people. Again, what was being purchased were the owners and their ideas. How does a government intervene in such cases, and _why_ should it? Men with ideas were a movable feast, unlike those with static production facilities or a comparable static service capacity such as a hospital or a tourist resort.

Many proposals were difficult to unravel. Body language of vendor and buyer, however, sometimes told us a lot. Sometimes, a management's eagerness to work for a foreign enterprise might not be entirely congruent with the interests of shareholders, and subtle probing might give us a lead to follow. By visiting the target businesses and talking to people in the industry, I often obtained an adequate understanding of what the transaction was all about. I was not restricted by the need to obtain sworn evidence.

State government involvement, either directly or indirectly, (because of constitutional powers) raises sensitive issues of demarcation, requiring consultation and joint decision-making. Community sensitivity, and tensions between the foreign-controlled and Australian-controlled enterprises in a particular sector, also raised problems of approach. For me, it was a fun place to be in.

An example of body language giving the game away was the situation when a well-built Aussie, with all the hallmarks of a man from the country, i.e. leading a rural life, came to see me about a proposal to take on a Japanese partner. He was followed by his legal adviser and the Japanese representative of a major conglomerate. With superb confidence, he told me that he was going to allow the Japanese corporation to acquire forty-nine per cent of the equity in his grazing property. It was in a prize location. With fifty-one per cent ownership he would control the joint venture. The Japanese partner would put in a very substantial sum of money to expand the property's operations.

We had already been exposed to Japanese purchasers of cattle feed-lots in Australia. If the operator did not violate any of the health, hygiene, or environmental controls applicable, the government could not have any objections. We were also aware that the Japanese buyers were waiting for the barriers in Japan against beef imports to fall. In the event, Japanese ownership of cattle properties might benefit Australia's exports; at minimum, Japanese participation in the industry should develop the industry.

Consequently, the government approved the forty-nine per cent acquisition of the grazier's property by this major Japanese corporation.

About eighteen months later, the local representative of that corporation sought an interview with our office. He had a proposal to put before us. The Japanese man strode in first and took up a seat a little further back than the one facing my desk. He was followed by the Australian, shoulders and head down, hat in hand, who took the nearer seat. The Japanese commenced the over. He said that the parent company in Japan was foreclosing on the joint venture in Australia because the loan owing by the venture was now double the original plan, and the venture wasn't able to pay.

In answer to my questions, it became clear that the local representative in Australia of the overseas corporation had participated equally in decisions to expand and to borrow capital beyond the initial agreement. All of a sudden, the parent company wanted payment. As that was not possible, it wanted to purchase the remainder of the equity to protect its loans.

It was all so simple. To me, it looked like a carefully calculated move to take over full control of a desirable and viable property by two steps, without risking the violation of any government rules. What had the local representative of the conglomerate been doing, agreeing to the injection of extra capital without regard for repayment? He should have known and should have been responsible, equally, for the venture's inability to repay in the short term.

At least one other major Australian entrepreneur had entered into a fifty-one/forty-nine per cent partnership, not long before, with a Japanese corporation, claiming that the two-per-cent edge gave him control. Subsequently, it would be argued that the debt incurred by the joint venture was too great for the Australian partner and he would seek government permission to sell his fifty-one per cent to the foreign interest. Thus, the Japanese investor took over full ownership and control of viable real estate in Australia with a viable business prospect attached. The government would feel that nothing could be done to prevent that take-over, notwithstanding any unhappiness at the community, regional, or political level. If the same Aussie entrepreneur did it again and again, the government's hands would still remain tied. It was certainly an effective way for foreign enterprises to acquire valuable Australian operations, especially the large tracts of land attached to them. There were many in the community who felt that acquisition of land was the primary motive, and that such purchases were for the very long term for the enterprises from a country with limited land.

Our office had also been made aware, in a number of cases, of instances where the Aussie agent of a Japanese exporter would suddenly lose his right to distribute or to sell the overseas company's goods. In each case, the local enterprise had in fact created the market for the foreign product. All of a sudden, the exporting company would dispense with its Australian outlet and open a branch of its own. No goodwill was paid in the cases brought to our notice.

Returning to the cattle property acquisition, it also seemed to me that the vendor did not want to sell but that he had no alternative. So, I suggested to the Japanese that his parent's company's approach was a little like a man transferring his money from one pocket to another and then back again – and making a gain from that move. At that, the eyelids of the Japanese came down like blinds being drawn to stop the passer-by from looking in. He then stood, nodded to me casually, as he said, "Thank you," and walked out. He was followed by the Aussie who seemed surprised by his departure. Obviously, my antennae had received the correct picture. Equally obviously, I had displayed my prejudice against the tactics employed. Privately, I also knew that I had reacted openly because it was the Japanese who were using these tactics.

There was nothing anyone could do to hinder a normal commercial transaction without national interest implications. Careless behaviour by the Australian partner, or a contrived "I couldn't help it" pose by him, were beyond the interventionist capacity of the government, even if the Treasury guard-dogs would permit that. When I realised that I had to treat the Japanese in the same neutral (even if sceptical) manner that I treated the others, my wartime-induced prejudices had to go.

Sometime later, when I was working on a major Japanese tourist proposal, I heard that a senior Japanese embassy official in Canberra had described me as a "hard but fair" official. That also confirmed that we were all carefully scrutinised by lobbyists advising foreign companies, by diplomatic staff with a watching brief over their people investing in Australia, and by the press. We also operated in a goldfish-bowl environment, because we were required to consult any agency at any of the three levels of government in the country whose responsibilities were affected, or likely to be affected, by a foreign investment proposal. On one occasion, the representative of a foreign corporation let me know that he had had me thoroughly investigated; he knew what positions I had held in my community activities, the number of children I had, and such like. I thought this was good; it kept us all honest.

Another example of a case difficult to fathom involved the manager of a small enterprise who had found a foreign buyer. In interview and through the submission, we felt that something was amiss but could not put a finger on it. An older colleague of mine found the missing link, simply by closing the file, walking the manager to the door, and casually dropping a small, attractive bait in his way. The visitor took the bait and we knew the truth; the transaction was not necessarily beneficial to the owners of the enterprise. Faulty due process? Justice for the owners of the business? Most certainly!

Perhaps there is an increasing need to place justice ahead of the technicalities of law. "Much law but little justice" is an old English proverb. After all, are not the law and all the trimmings about due process, as well as privacy principles, human rights, the right not to incriminate oneself, the right to maintain silence, and so on, intended to enhance the interests of society, rather than the interests of the individual at the expense of society?

A proposal to build a new hospital impinges upon State government responsibility. The State might want a new hospital for electoral reasons but it is the national government which has to find the money to run it. As the usual process of consultation between two governments takes a long time, and we worked to a twenty-eight day case deadline initially, I was given approval to ring the appropriate under-secretary (the head) in the State government on any urgent matter. I found these people very busy, very much on the ball, courteous, and responsive.

Indeed, on rare occasions, our office would agree to receive a proposal at eight o'clock in the morning and fax the ministerial decision by six o'clock in the evening of the same day. That covered all necessary consultations. We were an unusual public service agency in our efficiency. Our staff had ordinary degrees but we were the outgoing "get the right results now" people. As a consequence, we did not fit the Treasury mould. Eventually, the Treasury types infiltrated the area and we then began to increasingly simulate the screening of foreign investment openly. That is what was said to me by a former deputy head of Treasury when he retired. He has now joined his ancestors.

Simulating or not, the work was interesting. One morning, our office was informed that the Minister's office wanted someone to assist the Board of a major local company in one of the capital cities. The official was to sit with them and with a powerful foreign buyer, to shape an acceptable proposal for the foreigner to buy a substantial minority interest. I left that morning, had lunch with this group of heavyweights, and was home very late that night. On another occasion, a senior lawyer asked to talk to my chief while I was acting in his position. He did not want to tell me his problem, explaining that my boss had displayed some "understanding" on a previous case. This was nonsense. Our process of screening was highly visible. I assured my enquirer there was absolutely no scope for personal understandings. I noticed at a function held by the British Trade Association that he had the grace to avoid me.

Another solicitor threatened to complain to the Prime Minister if our office did not approve a major take-over proposal within the twenty-eight-day deadline. When I replied that I concurred with the idea of an individual exercising his constitutional right to make representations to Ministers on any issue, he fell silent. When I then said that I would be advising the Minister's office that he had threatened our office, he changed his tune. These intermediaries were doing well, financially, out of these take-over proposals, especially as our guidance to a proponent or his agent was free. We kept and circulated notes for our file of every dealing with a member of the public or anyone outside the office. On one occasion I was asked, eighteen months after I had left the office, if I could remember a particular meeting. I did, and referred my enquirer to the files, advising him where he could find a note for file.

The case which attracted a lot of public interest involved the second largest Australian company, in an industry which was already dominated by foreign enterprises. There were two industry associations, with the Australian one threatening to arouse public opposition to the proposed take-over. After our official meeting with the intending foreign buyer and the majority Australian shareholder, the latter invited me to visit him in his home State. This was odd, but I then realised that he had said little at the meeting. Since we had a really hot potato in our hands, I was authorised to visit him. He stood to make a handsome profit by selling his shareholding to the foreign buyer, who already had a minority holding. But he did not want to, as the company was expected to lose its character. The problem, he said, was management and he was unable, in spite of his holding, to influence policy adequately. The reason was that he was not part of the establishment of that State. This was a strange development. He then sent me to see his lawyer, who gave me some interesting interpersonal background. The manager of the business too had his own vision of where to take the company.

I made a point of dropping in to pay my respects to a former colleague who was now an important cog in the State bureaucracy. He expressed concern at the take-over, which was a public matter, and sent me to see a few people for information. My friend and I subsequently agreed that the company needed reorganising, wasteful assets and practices discarded, and additional capital injected. He said that he intended to ask the State government to intervene in order to keep the company viable and in Australian hands.

When I returned to my desk, it was with the knowledge that I had enough information to safely recommend rejection of the proposed take-over on factual grounds. I knew that the State government would step into the vacuum and provide the necessary additional capital and support, in view of the company's importance in that State. This was done, and the company remained the icon it was seen to be, and viable.

At his invitation, I met the major shareholder in that company for drinks when I was next in that city. He thanked me for my contribution in keeping the company in Australian hands, although he had lost some money as a result.

All this was an unusual role for a public servant from Canberra, especially one at my level of responsibility, but I did bring home the bacon; the expected public furore did not occur. I expected that my high-profile role did not meet the traditional stance of faceless, colourless servants. But I was already coloured, wasn't I?

A very interesting case was the entry into Australia of a US company which sought to build and/or acquire about twenty hospitals. The Australian representative had managed a network of about nineteen hospitals back home simultaneously, and had built or was building hospitals in other countries while he was negotiating with me. He was not a medical graduate. This foreign investment proposal raised all sorts of policy issues at two levels of government. Federal policy was non-existent on the issue of foreign ownership of hospital beds. State governments were responsible for administering hospitals and could have their own agendas on the issue of foreign ownership of hospitals. Into this thicket of uncertainty came the Americans, and they settled in comfortably. Their management style must have frightened those doctors who claimed that only medicos are able to manage hospitals. I found the Americans dynamic, far-sighted and very knowledgeable; their attitudes to managing hospitals were extremely business-like and yet not lacking in care for the patients.

I make a practice of not looking back at any area of work once I left it. However, I recently discovered that, initially, other US hospital management enterprises also sought to operate in Australia, but they had now all left. I wonder why.

Another difficult case of mine involved a Japanese tourist resort developer. His proposal floated around a number of Federal departments and, subsequently, the Treasury. No one wanted to deal with it, as the government of the northern state of Queensland had legislated to give the developer the coastal land he wanted. Eventually, it was deemed to be a service industry proposal under foreign investment policy. I was given the chance to put my head on the block. I worked on this proposal for two and a half years because it kept being changed. What was promised was a tourist resort, but it was alleged by some to involve longer term plans relating to cattle production. There was also very vociferous opposition from fishermen and all kinds of other people, with claims about Aussies purchasing land on behalf of Japanese interests. I flew to Brisbane and drove to the proposed resort site. Then I hung on for dear life while I was bounced along various tracks in a four-wheel drive. My instructions were that I was not to be identified as a Canberra public servant, but I could have a quiet chat with my counterpart in the Queensland government, with the lawyers for the foreign investor, and with the Japanese employees on site.

It was certainly a choice site. And it had been available to the Japanese by State legislation. We could not overrun such legislation. So I worked to have the developer meet all our requirements. It was quite legitimate for our office to point to gateways available to the foreign investor in the policy. We might even help to shape the beast to fit through the available gateways. It was a positive role. It took meetings galore, consultations, cajoling, threats of further delay if necessary plans and documentation were not available. The trouble was that the employees based in Australia could make no decisions. They had to wait for the boss to arrive from Japan. And he always arrived with an interpreter, who seemed to be the mayor of a prefecture back home. They were always accompanied by a bagman, who brought out gifts for all of us. Our gifts were promptly lodged in the Treasury basement, as no gifts were acceptable. However, to honour Japanese custom, we received them in apparent delight and gratitude. The entrepreneur was a charming man but obviously a hard master (are not all Japanese chiefs like that, judging by their voices when they addressed their underlings?).

We suspected too that the entrepreneur knew more English than he displayed. At the last formal meeting with the company, which I chaired, there were fourteen Federal departments represented and the Japanese company brought a pretty interpreter. We placed our collective concerns to the developer who responded to them through the interpreter to our collective satisfaction. At the end of that meeting I pointed out to the Japanese investor that many of us might have missed a lot of the discussion. That brought looks of dismay, as well as surprise. I guess he wondered if this was some kind of ploy on my part. After all, we had reached agreement on the final form of an acceptable proposal. I then broke the tension by explaining that we had been far too busy watching the beautiful and charming Japanese interpreter (she was), and that she looked so much better than their normal interpreter. That clinched it. He roared his head off. That might have even led him to abide fully and promptly with the agreed position in his final submission.

The translation and the discussion amongst the developer's people were accurate and fair. The developer was not to know (but I am sure that he expected it) that I had a Japanese-speaking officer present. Eventually, I drew up fourteen conditions, which I cleared with the Treasurer by telephone on a Saturday afternoon while he was minding his young offspring. This was unusual procedure, going to the Minister first, but my chiefs accepted that the Board was only a formality. It is very tempting for some members of government boards to take themselves too seriously. As Montaigne said: "No one is exempt from talking nonsense; the misfortune is to do it solemnly." In any event, our reports generally reached the Minister's desk largely untouched. I recall that I once actually created a word for the English language and had it passed; I argued that "unclarity" of our legislation, was the simplest way of saying just that, and got away with it.

Finding the right people to lead advisory boards was always interesting. I understand that the thought processes of the mandarins who advised the Minister went something like this: who is acceptable to the private sector and will be seen to be able to make a sufficient contribution; but who amongst these could we harness? Any rejection would be couched in terms of an inadequate appreciation of the role of government, its relationship with that sector or the exigencies surrounding ministerial decision-making. Sound reasonable? Ah, but those mandarins were always reasonable men.

Whilst we were reasonable and efficient in our work, and were seen to be so, as in the tariff agency in my day, there was no overview of what we were doing. There was no assessment of the effect of our policy on the levels of foreign ownership and control, especially using the concept of the foreign interest being "in a position to exercise control." There was then no mechanism for the follow-up of conditions attached to proposals. There is a Malay proverb: "Where does the ant die except in sugar," which applies to Australians living well on foreign ownership of so much of their industries. I believe that this is apt:

Weep not for little Leonie,

Abducted by a French marquis!

Though loss of honour was a wrench,

Just think how it's improved her French!

(Harry Graham)

It was into this interesting arena that my second public service oddball appeared. He played games, favouring one officer over another. A self-titled womaniser, he made a show of attempted seduction of every female he met; but he did come to us with a reputation for rewarding certain services. He specialised in networking and engineering meals hosted by foreign investors. In my presence, he said to some intending foreign investors that their plans could raise complex policy questions; that his staff would look at the proposed investment, and he could advise them when he was in town the following week. Naturally, there followed an invitation to dinner. He was so helpful. But, so often, they did not need any help. Even his typist could have advised them that many of these plans fell outside the scope of our policy.

For a while, when he felt that I was going to compete with a protégé of his, he used to ring me at about one fifteen in the afternoon (our official lunch-break was twelve thirty to one thirty) with some simple question. But I was always there, as I did not trust him. Neither did the other Asian on the staff. Some of our colleagues had also noted this man's antipathy to us. One day he told me that the head of a major company had expressed concerns at delays in our processing. That was real news to me. This man and I had a strong and mutually respectful business relationship. Every one of that company's proposals had been processed expeditiously. It helped that he and his people consulted us in shaping their proposals to fit the government's policy gateways. So I rang the man immediately, who said that he had said no such thing. He was delighted with our approach and competence. When I rang back at one thirty to pass on the good news, all that this oddball had to say was, "You haven't left me with a feather to fly by" (I do not believe that his grammar was correct, but I understood what he meant). He stopped playing his childish games with me after that. I did not challenge his protégé either, as that might have been fatal.

A more serious matter arose later in that office. There seemed to be a leak from our case files. The whole office was required to spend all weekend, including the evenings, to identify the source of the leak. My fellow section heads and I finally sat together and asked ourselves: how would examining the files establish the name of the person responsible? Would he leave a file note? Why have us carry out this wasteful exercise? More importantly, who in the office would have the guts to do such a stupid thing as to leak confidential information to a political party? Was it someone other than case officers? Who stood to gain most? Apparently, African witch doctors used to ask their client, "Who stands to gain by your illness?" It's a useful approach in analysing rumours or actions of the kind we were sometimes afflicted by. When there was a change of government, we looked to see if anyone had been rewarded.

Such petty little exercises were rare and did not damage the reputation of the policy or the office. The Minister seemed happy with us, as I found out more than once. In one very simple case, the take-over offered intangible benefits but involved the loss of a significant Australian-owned enterprise. I was invited to drinks by the Embassy and told how important the funds from that country to Australia were. At the end, I sat with a senior officer and the Minister, discussing my recommendation. To his credit, the Minister (who knew me from the famous Japanese case) allowed me to expand on my views orally, and a decision was then made.

Working with a Minister was very interesting. It was rare for a head of section to meet him. However, some of my cases were not only complex, but sensitive, and the office thought it best for the expert to be available to the Minister; and those Ministers liked that. I remember with amusement one Minister leaving me in his office while he went to a Cabinet meeting. The irony was that the foreign investor had hoped that the Minister might override the bureaucrat (me) with whom he had met unsuccessfully on three occasions. That was to no avail, as the Minister (who knew about the earlier meetings) told the investor that I would explain why the policy could not permit the intended take-over.

I also remember with some pleasure a staff Christmas party which the then Minister (now the PM) had spoken at. I was near the door when the Minister was escorted out. Seeing me, he crossed the foyer to shake hands with me. Even that did not help me obtain the promotion I sought, after many, many months in the chair on higher duties. I had the highest security clearance available and I had been involved with Australia's security people in cases involving (or likely to involve) Communist governments or their agencies. I had worked closely with deputy heads of a few policy departments as with a few State government heads of agency. Furthermore, one night, when I was on higher duties, a colleague and I rushed to Parliament House at nine o'clock in the evening after consulting my boss. We were there until two o'clock in the morning and I dictated briefings for the Minister. By eight o'clock in the morning, notes for the file were on the desk of the head and deputy head of the department and of my chief. All to no avail.

This was still the Treasury. The hierarchy promoted one of their own and I helped to settle him into the job. When he left, a former Treasury man was then promoted into the job. No, there was nothing wrong with my work, they said; otherwise, I would not have been left on higher duties. The others were better. How? They had been backroom boys all their lives. Some of my peer group were not convinced of their claims.

However, it was not yet realistic for a migrant to seek to enter the Senior Executive Service (SES). Selection into it is only possible if one has the correct school background or proven support for correct theology. Rejected twice, with favourable comments on my work at the level I aspired to hold permanently, I looked for work elsewhere. I did note that migrant Asians, fluent in English, with economic and financial backgrounds and management experience gained overseas, had, in recent times, been placed at the sub-section head level (as had been a number of English ex-colonial officers). They had then made no progress. I was therefore lucky to have worked for fair men and to have got into the next level of responsibility. However, if merit ruled, why were we not allowed to reach our level of competence? In my case, some of the more able white people I had beaten into middle-management jobs had then moved into other agencies, where they had subsequently been promoted into the SES as branch and, later, division heads (below the ranks of deputy head and head of agency). Women claim that a glass ceiling applies to their progress. We Asians had a very visible metal ceiling, which was painful to the cranium, the pocket, and the ego.

I then found myself invited to transfer to the Immigration Department – how ironic! As I was interested in ethnic affairs, I quickly accepted the offer, which was made by the head of that department. It promised a change from fiddling with economic issues to dealing with the needs of real people.

In my day, economic policy seemed to be on a piecemeal basis. There did not appear to be a pro-active approach. If foreign companies threatened to pull out of their search for, say, oil unless the government offered them more tax concessions, then a policy response would occur. Before the creation of OPEC, to my knowledge there was no plan in the event of such a development occurring. I forecast OPEC by a number of years, but the learned chaps in my agency were not interested.

In contrast, Canada had studied the tax system and examined its principles years before Australia even contemplated a tax review. Canada also achieved a major study of foreign investment issues years before Australia contemplated the need to scrutinise foreign investment. Singapore had economic planning like so many other developing countries. And it had staff trained for this.

I met one of Singapore's planners. He was an engineer by qualification, as the government knew that engineers were the problem solvers, not PhDs in economics alone. This man had obtained postgraduate qualifications in one overseas country and relevant work experience in two others, including Japan. In contrast, in my day, the head of the Auditor-General's office had no academic or work background in audit matters (but taxation chiefs were home grown, i.e. well-grounded in tax policy and administration). Systems planners in Immigration were then migrant selection generalists. In trade practices monitoring, it was only in later years that lawyers with private sector background became involved. Population planning increasingly involved generalists of the infallible school (there would be natural experts, wouldn't there?). Fisheries or trade policies were then dealt with by generalists who had a capacity to cope with Ministers representing the rural sector. A generalist with a basic pass degree in geography, some economics, anthropology or literature, could aspire to any position in any agency. No management training was necessary to manage large enterprises. Sometime after my day, managers did have one requirement thrust upon them: they had to love their staff. Given the normal human propensity to promote people like one's self, what quality of management competence and advice to Ministers could one expect?

More importantly, where is the country going in terms of economic development? "If you would enjoy the fruit, pluck not the flowers" is a saying that might be relevant when one sees Australia's minerals being exploited as fast as possible and its forests being depleted assiduously. Land degradation, especially through salination, continues. There is inadequate water but high levels of immigration continue. The resulting urban spread, high infrastructure costs, communities lacking transport and social amenities are ignored, as are increasing unemployment of migrants and rising crime. The scope of welfare policies is widened, but the plight of those relying on the land for a living, and whose output feeds the nation, is relatively ignored, for political reasons. Infrastructure reform is subjugated to prospects for re-election. More and more of the nation is foreign owned and controlled, while the national debt rises, and so much of future foreign capital inflow will need to be dedicated to paying the interest on this debt. God will provide, may well be the swansong of economic policy.

My attempt at integration into Australia's economic scene, via the public sector, led me to conclude that the country bumbles along in a fortuitous manner (perhaps there are more people praying than I thought possible). In the public sector, there are still jobs that need to be done, as in the collection of statistics, customs duties and taxes, and perhaps in managing the economy, whilst there are model builders, so-called researchers, empire builders, and alleged policy advisers who seem to me to be an unnecessary burden on the taxpayer. When I recommended to a former senior chap in Treasury in the late Seventies that some parts of the agency could be privatised, he expressed no interest. Fifteen years later, he is in favour of a leaner bureaucracy, as he now works in a non-decision making capacity outside the system. However, he still supports large immigration intakes. This shows great faith in a fortuitous inflow of water and foreign capital, does it not?

I looked forward to testing the waters in the 'people minding business' funded by the taxpayer. I had enjoyed myself in the economic sector, except for the three wasted years on tax policy. I did like working with the private sector, but I would rather have been working for that sector. I had also been accepted, and had learnt a great deal and made (I believe) a sufficient contribution.

###  _Chapter Thirteen_

Integration – The Ethnic Scene

My first contact with a European ethnic person in Australia was as a student. She was the Jewish girl who had helped me to choose that yellow and brown outfit. She had a foreign accent but spoke English fluently. Having survived a concentration camp, it was not surprising that she tended to refer to that terrible life in her conversations. Yet it was a subject most people avoided. Was it to save us embarrassment, because we had not suffered to the same extent, or to avoid involving ourselves in matters of sensitivity to others? By and large, those who had suffered rarely spoke about their pain. What then does the public preoccupation with the Holocaust by some, especially those who had escaped it, indicate?

My next ethnic was the Polish Jew who had been in the underground fighting the Nazis. His story was much worse. Through him I realised how the Jewish people had been persecuted. Subsequent reading confirmed the Christian Church's responsibility for the ill-treatment of the Jews historically; the Nazis were merely the most recent of the major players. Strangely enough, Jewish people seem to have done better under Moslem rulers historically. My friend was a joker. Soon after we met, I ran into him on the street. I put out my hand to shake his, and found myself somehow tucked under his arm, with one leg of his holding me down. I do not know how it happened. Obviously, he was another one of those people trained to discommode his enemies. It was he who introduced me to Italian food and showed me how to fork spaghetti. I also learned from him how not to be overawed by snooty waiters attired in their fancy garb.

The next Jews I met were Aussies. They were wealthy but friendly to us poor Asians. We were grateful for that, for the Anglo-Saxon or Celt was initially a little stand-offish. There were some clever dicks amongst these Aussie Jews, who just loved a debate; this was good for us, with our over disciplined heritage.

One night, at a student gathering, I met a very attractive lass. We hit it off immediately. She wore a concentration camp number on her arm. I met her relatives and found them very hospitable. The girl and I used to talk together a lot and go to the films, but she would not accompany me in the daytime to public places because, as she said, "They wouldn't like it." ( _They_ being her community.) I do not blame her. Obviously, if she was correct in her judgement of her own people, they were, at minimum, excessively ethno-centric. After all, we were not planning to dilute Jewish blood. In later years, I read that coloured Jews in Israel were not treated equally with the white Jews who ran the country. So, what's new? Would their brown-skinned patriarchs turn over in their graves at this development? Why shouldn't the Israelis be racist? – everyone else seems to be. Yet countries which actively seek migrants should surely not discriminate on the basis of colour.

I do make a clear distinction between those who do not want the foreigner's blood in their grandchildren, and those who deny equal opportunity and treatment: politically, educationally, in housing and in employment, because of colour. The Jewish people in Israel are reportedly racist in the latter sense. Sometime later I met a Soviet Jew lady with her gentile Soviet husband. They had gone to Israel and, as she told me, they had received less favourable treatment than those couples who were both Jews. So they left and subsequently migrated to Australia. They were hard working and competent. She worked for me and I was able to assist her in obtaining a career in the public service. It is not true, therefore, to say that trees transplanted often seldom prosper.

In my ethnic affairs work I had the privilege of working with a Jewish girl, who was new to the public service. I showed her the ropes, and I had the most loyal colleague I had ever had. She was superb. She had migrated from Europe at the age of fifteen, spoke English fluently, and was politically active. She was of great value in the ethnic affairs area; this, of course, attracted the Anglo-Celt crabs, who, subsequently, so successfully nobbled her that she went back to the private sector.

Through her, I met the Jewish community leaders in her city, and learned how they had adapted so successfully that they wielded political power far beyond that to be expected from a small population. I was told that, in their early years, decades ago, they experienced discrimination, especially in eligibility to join elite clubs and such like. But I do wonder whether the only discrimination they experienced was social? If so, are all Jews socially equal? Since they seem to veer to private enterprise and to acquire professional skills, how much were they denied educationally and occupationally? I suspect that their experience was akin to that of first generation Asians. Entry is open, but the attitude reflected in the statement, "You will not aspire to a partnership" (as was said to a Malayan accountant) would represent the metal ceiling to which I often refer.

The community mentioned above has thrown up top men in the military, in business and in academia, and has also produced two governors-general. What else can they want? What is impressive about their community is the way they support new arrivals. The community, through its welfare structure, supports new arrivals, not only in settlement terms, but also to commence in business. Assurances of support were given to the government as evidence of good faith. With one notable exception, these assurances (i.e. that the new arrivals would not seek welfare) were upheld. The exception was interesting. A group of Soviet Jews arrived on a Friday and on the Monday queued up outside the welfare office. They were merely exercising their rights, as told to them by some gentile welfare person. That misunderstanding was soon sorted out.

For a year, I was head of the policy section in Immigration, dealing with the humanitarian entry of Soviet Jews and I exercised Ministerial delegation to approve cases on the margin of, but within, policy. When the Israeli government obtained agreement from Australia to help stop the substantial deflection to other countries of Soviet Jews approved for entry to Israel, however, a member of the Australian Jewish community became very angry. He could not see that the government of Israel had a point – the Soviet government was releasing those of its citizens who wished to join close family in Israel, and yet up to 85% were seeking 'El Dorado' elsewhere. This man was so used to getting everything he wanted from us that we, and not the government of Israel, were blamed for the change of policy.

Those Soviet Jews who wanted to migrate directly to Australia continued to have no problem entering the country under humanitarian policy, which was applied generously and with sensitivity. They would not be a burden on the Australian taxpayer because of their community's support, but we were not to permit the deflection of those _en route_ to Israel.

What about those who joined Israel and subsequently claimed humanitarian entry to Australia? The same Jewish Australian applied to us to approve a number of such people. But how could they be deemed to be fleeing, in fear of discrimination, from Israel? Of course, they might qualify as migrants but _not_ under refugee or humanitarian policy, as they were already citizens of Israel. I did not know then of the discrimination allegedly experienced by mixed couples; the person making representation to the Australian government for humanitarian entry of Soviet Jews who had left Israel made no mention of any discrimination experienced by these people. In any event, they were not comparable (surely) to Baha'is in Iran, Chileans in neighbouring countries, supporters of Solidarity in Poland, and Tamils in Sri Lanka. However, at that time, the Minister and the head of his department could authorise immigrant entry to Australia for anyone, for any reason; it may be that the Jewish lobby was successful in obtaining such approval.

The Jewish lobby (some spokesmen deny its existence) has been successful in influencing Australia's Middle East foreign policy. Some Jewish Australian spokesmen try to present a faultless State of Israel to the Australian public. There has even been public criticism of the entry into Australia of increased numbers of Moslems.

These things are not conducive to the creation of a successful multicultural nation.

Relatively recently there was a discussion in the press as to whether the Jewish people in Australia are Jews in Australia, Israelis in Australia, or simply Jewish Australians. Some spokesmen wrote of Jews giving total loyalty to their "host nation". I asked a Jewish migrant friend about this. Her reply was that the history of discrimination against the Jews had taught her people not to expect fair treatment for all time, but that they would nevertheless offer total loyalty to the host nation. How sad. However, if that is how some Jewish Australians feel, i.e. that Australia is only a host nation, one would hope that they would respect their chosen role of guest in the house. What about those whose prime loyalty is to Israel? The claim that Israel can do no wrong is akin to the tribal or ethnic prejudices brought into Australia by some migrants.

The old Aussie, and most migrant Aussies, are entitled to ask: are you here to start a new peaceful life on equal terms with everyone else and leave your prejudices where they belong? We are also entitled to ask that no single ethnic community pre-empt the right to influence or determine the nation's foreign policies. We are all entitled to participate in Middle East (or Balkan or Central Asian) policy. And attempting to deny entry to Australia of someone who claims that the Holocaust did not occur, and thus to deny his right to express his view, however erroneous and prejudiced, is not conducive to a free society. Australia is progressing towards free expression; if your views are different, debate the issue, do not lock up or otherwise penalise those who disagree with you. Of course, it is difficult to know whether those who claim to represent the views of the community are only speaking for themselves. My friend suggests the latter, believing that most Jewish Aussies are fair-minded. Unfortunately, politicians will grease the squeaky wheel, and the political Jewish wheel is quite strident.

The ethnic wheel which squeaked least was the Chinese one. The majority of the visible Chinese were in restaurants or food shops, and their fluency in English was limited. Where were the educated ones we knew were out there somewhere? I knew no Chinese Aussie until I went to work in Canberra. Then I met a very clever man who became the family doctor. A fourth-generation Aussie, he had a great bedside manner. His first question was, "What's wrong with you?" We remained friends for more than two decades. But he was no ethnic.

I had to wait until I became the Federal Chief Ethnic Affairs Officer for the State of Victoria to meet the Chinese community in Melbourne. Early in my term there, three Chinese Australians called on my team, seeking assistance for their community. A scheme of financial grants to ethnic communities had been in operation for a while under which the recipient community employed a welfare worker to look after the settlement needs of their people; the Chinese were not benefiting from it. My team represented a new policy: to research and assess the settlement assistance needs of refugees and other migrants, particularly the non-English-speaking communities, and to form a bridge between these communities and those responsible for the delivery of government services to the population at large. The primary emphasis was access to services.

The Chinese representatives were successful men in their own right. As expected, they were in sole enterprises. They confirmed the picture presented to me by my first Chinese contact in Australia in those early days. They were a marginal community, even after four generations. Compared to this community, I wonder if the Jewish people and the Irish Catholics who bewailed their lot in earlier times really had any substantial cause to complain about; did they have _any_ idea what real prejudice is all about? In much less than four generations, the latter groups had clawed their way not only to equality, but to real power where it counted, in bureaucracy and in politics.

One of the three Chinese visitors who consulted us was the exception to the rule. He had actually been elected to serve on a local government council. He was also active in the ethnic affairs committee of a political party. But he was going nowhere. The Chinese were spread throughout the city, instead of forming the electoral block that he needed.

It appears that Australian-born Chinese (ABC as they call themselves) had indeed accepted assimilation. To that end, they had not only dispersed themselves into their host nation, "as water moulds itself into a pitcher," but, reportedly, had lost much of their traditional culture. I was told that few could read or write a Chinese language, like the ABC of the USA, and did not observe many of the traditions of their ancestors. Chinese New Year, however, was another matter, offering a rare combination of inherited and adopted traditions. Some of the ABC also married non-Chinese, with (from my own observations) full support from their families. Such marriages are successful, I have been told.

Our visitors highlighted a major problem in their community: there were many old workers living alone in the city, with no family support. They lacked an adequate command of English and were not benefiting from the government policies for assistance to the aged. As they seemed to have a _prima facie_ case, I arranged for someone in the office to assist the community to establish a welfare structure and to employ and oversee a social worker. I also arranged for the appropriate area of the department to assess, in conjunction with the community, the extent of service required by their aged. Yet another area would evaluate their claim against those of other communities. My unit remained at arm's length from this process. It was all successful and the Minister approved a grant in the next periodic allocation. A worker was subsequently employed and assistance began to flow to those in need. There were no complaints from any source and there were no obstructions from within the bureaucracy.

Not that we expected any. But time had taught us the extent of inbuilt prejudices in places where there should be none. As the Germans say: "He who hath burnt his mouth, always blows his soup."

The next wheel which had hardly squeaked was the Turkish one. A representation through a Turkish businessman highlighted the plight of the local Turkish community. They had congregated mainly in an inner-city area and were described by their spokesman as "the poorest people in the city" with limited fluency in English; they therefore experienced considerable difficulty in accessing community services. We were told that departmental officers had met with the community's representatives on a number of occasions, but nothing had happened. Had the community actually made a formal application? No, not yet. They were waiting for assistance in this regard.

Enquiries directed to our colleagues responsible for recommending grants showed that they had been investigating the needs of the Turks for a very long time indeed. What was the problem? The community did not have the organisational structure to administer a grant. Their needs for welfare access were also not established. And the committee might be communist!

Ye gods! And we thought that we had reached the end of the McCarthy period in Australia. Ah yes, there was also another problem. These people were allegedly receiving funds from the Middle East. So there they were: suspected communists, funded by Moslem fundamentalists, unorganised, as poor as church mice, with their settlement assistance needs uncertain. All on the say-so of some junior officers who kept visiting the Turks periodically, presumably to show that officialdom really cared. "There is nothing so bold as a blind mare" – is that a Turkish saying?

My team was authorised to investigate the plight of the Turks. I took my Jewish colleague with me – no one could accuse an anti-communist Hindu/Jewish team of collaborating with Moslem fundamentalist communists.

What we found was impressive. The Turks had arrived in the Sixties, apparently believing that they were guest-workers. Immigration policy continued to have, as one of its platforms, an on-going inflow of workers for the factories and for tramway, railway and road construction. The preferred blond Scandinavians and the Germans (the 'Balts' of yesteryear) had more suitable prospects in their own countries; their replacement, the European people of the Mediterranean and its northern surrounds, were also finding better prospects in Europe. Hence immigration officials went east of the Mediterranean, still looking for white skins. Unskilled immigrants were acceptable, for someone had to take up the dirty, hard work that Anglo-Celts were learning to avoid.

It is possible that some people responsible for encouraging the Turks to go to Australia were a little cute in not making clear to the new immigrants their status and where they were going. Some apparently thought that they were going to Austria. Later we were to hear scuttlebutt from within the bureaucracy claiming that the early Turkish immigrants were so ignorant that they allowed their children to empty their bladders against the backs of the seats of the planes they were transported in.

The picture we obtained through our investigation was that of a hard-working, religious people who looked after one another. They worked hard, sent money home, and eventually sought to acquire their own homes. They purchased, out of their own pockets, a house, which was used for prayer, as a community meeting place, and to hold classes for their children and wives on their language, religion, and on settling into Australia. They were marginalised in the community because of language difficulties, and therefore had inadequate access to community services. So they made do for themselves. When a member of the community became ill or died, they put their hands into their own pockets. They were not used to modern welfare systems and did not expect any government assistance.

They were not the first or the only ethnic communities to be in such a position. But they were certainly the poorest. Arrangements were made, as with the Chinese, for separate assistance to create an administrative structure and to prepare a submission for a grant. Their case was subsequently established and approved. However, regrettably, their needs were linked (by someone very cute) to the needs of the broader Islamic community in Melbourne. Our continued investigation identified that the Moslems in the city came from a wide range of countries including Yugoslavia, Egypt, turkey, India, Pakistan, and the countries of the Middle East. Most were poor, worked in menial jobs, were religious, and were endeavouring to adapt fully to Australia.

They had their own mosques. And they managed their own community concerns without much government support. We were informed that the government of Saudi Arabia had subsidised the building of the mosques but was not otherwise linked to the Moslem community in Australia. We also noted that these people were not politically active. Their emphasis was on welfare and education, through their faith. There was strong evidence that the women were being assisted to adapt to Australian standards and conditions, through classes held in the mosques. Those in need of increased access to community services were primarily European Moslems.

I met their community leaders, including their Imams. I had not met white Moslems before. Some were well educated and spoke good English. One Imam, in particular, was impressive. He had been in Australia for as long as I had. The leader indicated that my team represented the first official interest in assisting their people. How terrible. Was this the multicultural Australia of the early Eighties? Equal access to government services was the only objective, and an excellent one it was for the time being. Those participating in the debate on the policy had, of course, been European. But so were these Moslems. It reminded me of the plight of the Aborigines.

In time, the Minister agreed to two grants to the Moslem community, including the Turks, with special emphasis on meeting the needs of their women. Then the gremlins struck. Two years after I left that job, the Turks and the rest of the Moslem community had not received their grants. As the Irish say, "It is not fish until it is on the beach." The stated reason was that no suitable grant workers were available – junior departmental officers made such decisions. What happens to the unmet needs of these people? 'Well, you cannot provide a service without a suitably qualified person to deliver it, can you?' Were there any alternative approaches taken? Not to my knowledge. Why not? When the high profile Canberra team leader went home, there was a reversion to local perceptions, prejudices and practices, without intervention from head office. Presumably, there were other better-liked communities who could use the grant money more readily anyway.

Indeed, many years later, a leading ethnic community leader, and an eminent person in his own right, told me of his disappointment that, with my departure from that area, the implementation of that excellent government policy had lost steam. So it was just another job or two for the bureaucrats – achieving the government's stated objectives would be subjugated to infights for promotion for power – and everybody would be so busy that they could not really tell you what they had achieved. That is what I found, in area after area of policy, for I moved around the whole scene of migrant settlement assistance in the eight years I spent in it.

Returning to the plight of the Moslems, I knew that whistle blowers usually get screwed. I therefore chose not to enquire as to why a Ministerial decision based on sound investigation can be deflected. I was to discover a few years later that the Moslems in Sydney were at that time also having difficulties in obtaining the grants they needed. One reason offered to the Moslems was that the grant sought was seen (again by junior departmental officials) as funding religious activities rather than welfare. The Moslem community was thus required to separate welfare from religion. This guide to adaptation to the Australian welfare society was offered by people who seemed to be unaware of the role of their own Christian churches in welfare delivery. They must have been aware surely that many Catholic Church-linked groups were funded by ethnic grants-in-aid to provide settlement services (including spiritual services in one State) to non-English-speaking migrants. Could anyone be certain that these junior officers (or their chiefs) did not have a bias against other faiths, especially Islam? Perhaps they have not forgiven the Prophet Muhammad for exhorting Christians to return to God.

Consequently, the least able of the ethnic communities to adapt to Australian administrative structures were therefore experiencing, both in my day and later, the greatest difficulty in obtaining the assistance the government was offering. Yet they were not a complaining people, perhaps recalling that apt Persian adage: "A drowning man is not troubled by rain." The lack of government assistance would, of course, make the Moslem people even more self-sufficient but would do little to ease the path of multiculturalism. The irony of the situation was that the Moslems in greatest settlement-assistance need were white. The brown-skinned Moslems, who arrived later, were generally better educated, had higher incomes, and needed little or no assistance with settlement.

On the other hand, the non-white Vietnamese, most of whom were equally poor and equally disadvantaged in terms of settlement as the white Moslems, had no trouble in obtaining grants and in using them. How was this so?

My teams' initial contact with the Vietnamese community was inauspicious. A man claiming to be a representative of his people initially asked for money to rent premises for use as an office, and to buy equipment to produce a newsletter. However, policy did not provide for money for such an objective. The representative was advised to come back with a proposal for additional welfare assistance under the new policy; welfare was already being provided to the community by grants to an organisation led mainly by Anglo-Celts and which was established specifically to assist the Vietnamese refugees. For a nation which had feared the yellow hordes from the north for so long, it was a fantastic and humane response to the plight of these refugees.

A little later, the 'representative, came back to repeat his request. In the meantime, we had begun to have doubts about his position in the community. When we repeated our advice, he said that some of his friends were saying that I must be a communist because I would not help them. At that, I laughed and told him that he was barking up the wrong tree; threats would not work, and I would tell the Minister that I was being threatened. Not surprisingly, we did not see him again. Threats and bullying seemed to be in fashion at that stage. We were told publicly that there were, among these refugees, leaders who wished to organise an armed return to Vietnam. We were also told publicly of gangs from interstate inflicting personal and property damage to the local community, and vice versa. There was no explanation as to why this was happening. Since formal complaints from within that community are as rare as hens' teeth, all that was hearsay, but very reliable hearsay.

Indeed, some Vietnamese went even further. One morning, they rioted in a public place and a number of police were injured. Later in the day, there was to be a peaceful demonstration by those who had objected to Australia's participation in the Vietnam War. Our information was that the Vietnamese were planning to disrupt the demonstration with violence. That was great news; these were the people seeking a free life in a democratic country. Firearms were also found in migrant hostels. My team had two hours in which to prevent the Vietnamese from shooting themselves in the foot. We were directed to advise the community that if any Vietnamese were involved in a riot or were violent there would be no more Vietnamese entering the country. If a policeman was ever injured again, the Vietnamese could not expect any protection from the police, and we asked the Vietnamese leaders we had come to identify how it was that our information came from two independent non-Vietnamese sources? Could we expect prior information and co-operation from them in the future?

We then spoke to the police, advising them that the "good guys" would be coming to stand with them in order to counsel and contain their hot-head fellow countrymen. I am not sure that some of the police wanted that. In fact, we spread so much grease everywhere and in such a short time too, that it all worked. When a colleague and I drove past the site where the Vietnamese had gathered, we saw the tough-looking men with headbands, baseball bats and sticks, and they all looked very threatening. However, they were not stupid. By their intention and appearance, they were thugs. The ordinary Aussie, seeing them face to face or through the TV, was soon asking why the Communist government in Vietnam would bother with such people; had they really fled in fear of political persecution?

Anyway, it was all too late. The question was, how did we select them? Were we playing the numbers game? For whose benefit? For the comfort of the international bureaucrats? It is doubtful if the US government obtained any political advantage in seeing a continued exodus out of Vietnam, especially of unskilled people.

On the other hand, Australia did acquire many smart business people with that drive and determination that revitalises a tired, overfed nation. The host country also acquired a substantial addition to its industrial workforce. Regretfully, it also added substantially to its welfare burden, the proportion of Vietnamese on welfare remaining at up to 50% for more than two years after arrival. It is also difficult to pin down an essentially trading people in terms of their possession of 'jobs'.

After that near incident in the streets there was no more trouble. The community's leaders obviously asserted control and used the clear pathways available for seeking their objectives. Soon after, the apparently unstructured community in Melbourne impressed me with the quality and efficiency of their organisation and social cohesion when they held a weekend celebration of the Moon Festival. It was a very successful cultural event, and it was obvious that everyone attending had a great time. It was estimated that about 3,500 Vietnamese had attended the festival. I reported that it was a fantastic achievement. And they took in their stride the coloured representative of the white Australian government.

However, the community's main objective was migration. The day after his arrival in a migrant hostel, a refugee sponsored relatives and friends from refugee camps in South-East Asia. Selection from these refugee camps seemed to be very liberal, driven by 'international obligations'. This was a euphemism used by the bureaucracy to silence objectors, and it was based purely on Australia's voluntary offer regarding the size of its refugee intake. This offer would obviously have had regard to our promises to the first asylum countries that we would take as many as possible. On a _per capita_ of population basis, we took more than France, which caused the problem in the first place. And the US, which lost the war against all reasonable expectations, and which was the secondary cause of the exodus, would have been ever so grateful to Australia, for forever standing behind US foreign policy. (We do that in the hope that US citizens would again be willing to die for Australia.) Once an annual target for refugee intake was set, bureaucratic practice took over: the budget had to be spent, if need be, by increasing 'productivity' in the processing in refugee camps. Selection must therefore have been quite generous.

When Australia was permitted to open an embassy in communist Vietnam and immigration officers interviewed applicants under family reunion immigration policy, a female applicant was apparently told by the interviewing officer that it would take three years for her to get to Australia through the process. Allegedly the response was: "Too long. I'll take a boat." Well! Such boat departures were still illegal. And what happened, I wondered, to all those fears about piracy, pillage and rape? There is little doubt that these horrifying events did occur, but were they exaggerated? Were the almost weekly articles published somewhere in Australia at that time about the terrible experiences of refugees at sea intended to keep softening the Australian taxpayer years after the end of that war? And the lady did arrive by boat in a country of first asylum (so I was told); and we paid for her air fare from there to Australia.

The very powerful ethnic welfare, refugee support, and immigration advisory industries would "chuck a fit" (a phrase popular with cynical high school kids) at such questioning. But then, many of these are very substantial beneficiaries of an uncritical "let's do good" approach, especially if someone else was paying for it. "Gifts make beggars bold," according to the ancient Persians. Perhaps the adage can now be extended to cover the bearer of these gifts.

So who is paying? First, the taxpayer; the total package for refugee entry and support and the consequential immigration entry and support runs into hundreds of millions of scarce taxpayers dollars. Second, the bias in favour of Vietnamese is refugee intake, has flowed through into weighting family reunion immigration entry. Unintended bias, perhaps? Or is there a bias in entry policy in favour of the lighter coloured East Asians? The consequence is that, given an upper limit to the annual immigration intake, such bias keeps out or delays the entry of people from other source countries, even through family reunion (it is a matter of logistics). Third, the ethnic community balance is altered. That has serious implications. As the largest of these communities wield political power, community grants and jobs in the ethnic and multicultural industries (including ethnic TV and radio and parts of the public service) may possibly be skewed in their favour. Fourth, the old Aussie, as well as the new Aussie, becomes disenchanted (at minimum) when the unemployment and welfare figures are weighted so heavily by a few ethnic communities. The Aborigines are a sufficient economic underclass, without adding to the list because of vote enhancing or soul hunting.

The unusually generous approach to the Vietnamese refugees has led to some undesirable consequences. At an early stage some cynical fool of a bureaucrat came up with the idea of allowing the Vietnamese to change their "personal particulars". This right applied only to the Vietnamese. It meant that, at any time after their arrival in Australia, notwithstanding any documents they might have had at the point of selection, or any information which they had given to officials and which was now recorded on their personal files, they could ask for changes without challenge. They could change anything, except their sex. I'm not sure that anyone tried the latter – but the Vietnamese were credited with an ability to try anything once, particularly with a smile.

So, Jo Hoi became, say, Charlie Chan. How so? "I had to conceal my name to get out of Vietnam."

"Why did you not tell the selection officer your real name?"

"Because I did not know if I can trust him; we are not used to officials who are fair."

"Ah, so?" It all sounds reasonable. "So, she is not your wife?"

"No."

"But you lived in the migrant hostel as husband and wife for three months."

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

"My sister."

"Where is your wife?"

"In Malaysia, her name is XYZ."

It was indeed remarkable how the tom-toms worked; there was information flowing out of Vietnam and out of the refugee camps into Australia, and vice versa, that should have made Telecom and Australia Post reconsider their efficiencies. So another female is selected from the refugee camp for Australia. And entry into Australia expanded (through family reunion as well) as a consequence, as did the taxpayer burden. Some of the changes sought related to age, apparently depending on the differential in welfare and other benefits available. Other changes included: number of children, number of siblings, number of uncles and aunts – for obvious reasons. But why was this right available only for Vietnamese? Was there a guilt complex amongst the bureaucrats, compensating for the prejudices of their parents?

Or were they plain cynical in some cases, because the heart-on-sleeve welfare merchants wailed so much on behalf of their charges, and if unsuccessful they went political. Why not? – there was a buck for them too in being so caring. And, inexplicably, they cared for the Vietnamese far more than for any other refugee or immigrant group.

After a while, everyone who wanted anything, for themselves or for anyone else, went political. Some played rough; one refugee lady went to four senators accusing the Immigration Minister of killing her grandfather in Vietnam because the Vietnamese government would not let him out! Where other elderly migrants would not be eligible for the age pension without satisfying a qualifying period, aged relatives of refugees could apparently become our collective dependants on arrival. The name of the game was whinge, attack, whinge.

Australians had taught the 'ethnics' how to control officials or "frighten the shit out of us" as one of them said. The ethnics have now adapted, and with a vengeance. I do believe, however, that this country needs more of such go-getters. The trouble is that the ethnic communities on the gravy train are now rather clever at playing the role of mendicant. Like the sea, they await the water from any river. Every ethnic community now wants more and more from the taxpayer, even if they have been in Australia for more than one generation. But they ask in the name of their first generation members. Many of these have grown old in Australia and now apparently need assistance with English and accessing services. "Many who have gold in the house are looking for copper outside," say the Russians.

Eventually, the change in personal particulars policy was dismembered. I was the one who was ordered to do it; someone up there had eventually woken up to its dangers. No complaints resulted.

The other major generosity to the Vietnamese with undesirable consequences was the encouragement given to 'anchors'. These were the children placed on refugee boats by their parents with friends or relatives; when selected they would be instrumental in bringing out the whole clan. How wrong was Sophocles, who said that children are the enchantment that holds a mother to life. I do not know how such a folly in policy was commenced. It could have originated with a group of welfare workers focusing exclusively, and therefore myopically, on the Vietnamese youth and their right to a better life. It could also have arisen from, or been hacked by, some cynical officials. The poor politicians would not have been aware of all the issues involved or the implications of some changes in policy. In any event, each Immigration Minister holds office for only a few years – would he be interested to ask what came before, or care as to what followed?

Nations which talk about the importance of the family effectually encouraged, through refugee admission, the Vietnamese to risk the lives of their children in pirate-infested waters, in unsafe little boats, years after the end of the war. To listen to those Aussies who support the idea of anchors, one would think that the Vietnamese, in spite of their historical prowess, were the only people experiencing real economic hardship in the world. But what about the poor bloody kids? Are they always a means to the end of family prosperity?

In another context, I was able to convince some very well-meaning people in Australia (as usual Church-linked) that East Timorese children in Jakarta were, quite properly, better off with their parents in East Timor. There was, in any event, no policy means for their intended role as anchors. Two groups challenged this. First, those who do not believe in the family, but in the state. They hold sway in recent times in bureaucracies responsible for child welfare. They seem quite comfortable with children alienated from their parents under the flag of children's rights. They do not seem to understand the central role of the family in any society. The second group is not so ignorant – but they are more dangerous. They play politics with the lives of children.

The underlying problem in refugee policy was claimed to be an internationally accepted practice of not returning refugees to their country of origin. However, this was nonsense. It was a very selective practice – in various parts of the world, large numbers of refugees were sent back to their homes. Why not the Vietnamese youth? Why not also return all those found or known to be economic refugees or avoiding conscription, just like these youths?

Successive immigration ministers in Australia, in fact, defined the later arrivals both in refugee camps in countries of first asylum, and in Australia, as economic refugees; they also said that accepting them would be unfair to applicants in other countries seeking migrant entry to Australia; then they went to accept the same economic refugees under humanitarian entry. What happened to the claims of the other applicants? While the do-gooders do feel better, the question remains: why not follow the practice of the British in Hong Kong?

Does Australia's intake of refugee minors cause any problem? Apparently, yes. Putting together the available public information, it would seem that some sponsors, having achieved the entry of their young distant relatives or even close friends, lost interest in them (having fulfilled their obligations), or simply discarded them – for the welfare state to pick up. Australian welfare is, not surprisingly, said to be a dramatic attraction throughout many parts of the world; and a stretched family reunion entry policy is said to apply to these minors. Other sponsors are alleged to have recruited the minors for criminal activities. While heart-warming stories of the settlement success of some of these minors abound, it seems clear that many are not success stories. Since criminal activity by Vietnamese is reportedly focused upon their own community, and the community is silent publicly, it was for many years difficult to assess the extent of criminality in the community and the contribution to that by those who gained entry to Australia as sponsored refugee minors. Why focus on Vietnamese criminality? For the simple reason that no other community has attracted this kind of attention from the police and the media.

Not long ago, a Vietnamese researcher seemed convinced that the crime rate in that community was high, with a very substantial contribution by the refugee minors. The evidence, considered very reliable, was akin to that available and accepted by committees of inquiry into corruption in high places – that is, it was not sworn evidence backed by statistics. If, on the other hand, one looked at convictions, claimed those policy advisers busily covering their rear ends, there should be no concern on anyone's part. How comforting.

Well, not quite so. In the mid-Nineties I was told by former senior policy officers in the state with the most severe problems of alleged Vietnamese criminality that Vietnamese youth now in jail represented a greater proportion than mainstream youth or youth from other ethnic communities. Justice would thus appear to be done to the long-suffering, law-abiding, traditionally silent Vietnamese Aussies, who are surely entitled to live in peace in Australia. However, police and media reports continue to highlight the high levels of criminal activity, especially in the drug trade, in areas of ethnic (particularly Vietnamese) concentrations (thereby affecting the whole population in these areas), and the inability of law enforcers to contain it.

The problem of non-return of illegal immigrants claiming to be refugees has reached insurmountable heights, mainly because of the charity of well-meaning Ministers. All kinds of silly things have happened, and the poor Australian taxpayer seems to be getting ripped off. If legal representatives take months and months (reportedly up to eighteen months) to present a case on behalf of some boat people, the Minister gets blamed for the delay. If the Minister finds extra money to fund appeals against decisions which do not favour the applicants, he receives no credit for being unduly charitable. The cost to the taxpayers is not recognised. But what the man in the street, who is also the taxpayer, is presented with are allegations of inequitable treatment.

Strangely enough, it is all based on the claim that a person who is illegally in the country is entitled to full access to due process (which is reasonable); but he is also believed to be entitled to have all his legal and other expenses funded by the taxpayer. Such claims by the illegal immigrant may far exceed the recourse that ordinary Australians (his unwitting financiers) can afford. And, of course, for some reason, the illegal migrant has repeated access to the courts (at the taxpayers' expense). Finally, we pay to send back, to upkeep in their country for some time, and to return to Australia, some of these illegal entrants. Why? Others are eventually allowed to stay, apparently on some technical grounds. There follows the welfare bill, followed by family reunion, followed by a bigger welfare bill. What stupid policies and practices we have. This generous access to the Aussie gravy train also discriminates against the honest would-be migrant, who pays his application fee and waits and waits. And now the Cambodians and Chinese have joined the Vietnamese in trying to beat the queue.

A major issue is why the country needs lawyers to present a case on behalf of the illegal immigrant. Is it because the whole truth is not to be let out? Why not a committee of enquiry to establish all the relevant facts to ensure that a claim for asylum is well based? The current practice appears to be a very expensive farce.

It is all in a humanitarian cause, is it not? As I once said to a Minister who asked me what would happen if Australia opened its door without any barrier, why should we assume that Australia already has the best crooks and opportunists in the world? He said that he liked my answer. I think that he too might have been influenced by the Sufis. At minimum, we require some very determined 'cookies', who will provide drive to an ageing nation preoccupied with the wars of yesteryear or the stability of the good old days.

When the taxpaying community becomes tired of subsidising some of the rorts of humanitarian entry, the true spirit of adventure and self-reliance that were the hallmarks of migration will return. So say most of the old migrants and the old Aussie, but not the professional ethnic or his welfare cohorts. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime (or two) should be the basis of policy, instead of encouraging him to sit around waiting for a handout of a sardine pickle.

It is interesting to note the supporters of an unquestioning expanded 'refugee' or humanitarian intake. First, the peak trade union body with very highly paid chiefs: how does it benefit the trade unions to have more refugees? What business is it of theirs? Then, people appointed to advise the government on the settlement of refugees: what business is it of theirs to have increased numbers? Then there are the immigration lawyers: this makes sense – there is money in it, or one feels good if working for nothing. There are also the welfare service delivery people: this also makes sense because there is even a career structure coming out of all this. But who looks after the national interest or the long-suffering taxpayer? The politicians? When expediency is just, and the large retirement pension not that far off (only two terms in office required), why stress oneself?

Humanitarian policy is often misrepresented. My first experience of such misrepresentation was when the then Minister announced a one-off amnesty for people illegally in Australia. After a very clear exposition by the Minister, at which I was present, one of the ethnic representatives, who spoke excellent English, went back and wrote a biased and error-filled report in his ethnic language newspaper. An unexpected and genuine gesture was misrepresented. "They gave the naked man a shirt and he said it was too thick," as the Russians say. What did the newsman gain from such a misrepresentation? Did he see his role as attacking the government at every opportunity (while seeking privileges)? (Attack, whinge, attack – is the tactical ploy of some professional ethnics.)

When I was transferred to the position of head of the humanitarian entry policy of Immigration, I found that a new policy had just been approved but not implemented. In addition to refugee entry based on the formal definition relating to a well-founded fear of persecution, there would be humanitarian entry based on a well-founded fear of discrimination. The policy as drafted seemed to be an impossible one to administer. On my understanding of the policy, which (unstated) was aimed at the Middle East, every Copt in Egypt, Baha'i in Iran, and every Christian minority community in any Moslem nation, and every member of minorities such as the Kurds and the Armenians would be eligible for consideration under the policy. The Council of Churches (representing all the Churches, except the Catholic – the latter had its own private pathway to the immigration door) and representatives of all the minorities in the Middle East had sought concessional entry to Australia for their constituencies.

As ridiculous as it may seem, every senior official involved in obtaining ministerial approval for the new policy agreed with me that the policy should be revised to reflect a case-by-case approach, i.e. decisions would be made on one individual at a time. It suggested to me that these officials had not paid serious attention to the problem. Greasing the squeaky wheel was clearly the motive for the policy – was its formulation just cynical or plain sloppy?

I rewrote the policy, the Minister approved it, and it was implemented. A survey of the programme after six months showed not one Baha'i, the only people who, according to Amnesty International and other reports, were clearly in need of succour through that policy. Instead, 80% of the initial entrants were found to be Moslems from Iran, temporarily in Pakistan (someone suggested that many were wealthy carpet merchants). It was very similar to family reunion entry. For many years, Southern European migrants (mainly Greeks and Italians) in Australia had been seeking, somewhat stridently, concessional entry for their close relatives. One could see how strident, when, in a Parliamentary debate on taxation, a politician of Greek descent actually talked about family reunion (I was there). When entry policy was modified to allow the concessional entry of close family, most of the entrants in the first two years were Anglo-Celt from the UK, not the Mediterranean. It also did not help those who pushed for this policy that Western Europe was expanding so fast economically that few wanted to migrate from there, even from Greece or Italy.

Eventually, I finalised the support mechanisms with the leaders of the Baha'i faith to provide settlement assistance to those approved for humanitarian entry into Australia. And Baha'i applicants surfaced everywhere; in East Asia, Oceania, Africa. It seemed to me to be a worthwhile component of a desirable policy, having regard to their treatment in Iran.

With time, more and more people were approved under the humanitarian policy, always on a case-by-case basis. There had to be an apparent _prima facie_ basis for acceptance. And all manner of people from a range of countries were coming in. To my knowledge, that programme was successful, although there were many instances of abuse. Those who knew how to squawk the loudest were the most successful of the dubious cases. Some of the sponsors were not averse to personally abusing officials – I can vouch for that.

However, I am not sure if the Armenians and Kurds obtained any benefit from the policy. And an effort by an Indian Aussie to have some Bangladeshi benefit from the policy was not, to my knowledge, successful. In that case, the Minister did say to the proponent that his people would be too noticeable in Australia. Capacity to settle in Australia was obviously an essential ingredient in selection policy. Thus, non-urbanised people were not likely to succeed; yet we allowed rural immigrants from East Asia to stay. However, I had a gut feeling that the main ingredient of success in selection was the strength of the sponsor and his community in Australia; while entry decisions were made at overseas immigration offices, rejections were reviewed in Australia on request and subject to political intervention. But that is reality.

In time, the global non-discriminatory case-by-case humanitarian policy began to develop some clear patterns. It represented an additional door through which an array of people could be pulled when immigration entry was denied.

At that time, the Minister and, by delegation, the head of his agency, could grant entry to anyone, for any or no reason. For example, a doctor working in another country on contract claims that he fears discrimination were he to return home, that he would be unable to renew his work contract, that he had nowhere else to go; and that he cannot satisfy the selection criteria for Australia into the Australian medical profession (and such entry is effectively controlled by the medical profession). He therefore now seeks humanitarian entry. All the information from the immigration offices overseas, from foreign affairs officials and even academics who had studied these overseas countries suggest that medical contracts in that country are generally renewable, or that the applicant could not possibly have a genuine fear of discrimination, taking into account his ethnic origin, his political affiliations and activities, and so on. His application is denied.

However, he has an important sponsor in the country. Yet he doesn't qualify for entry under the gateways available. The sponsor becomes more insistent and persuasive. Under the discretion then available under the migration legislation to the head of the agency, entry could be approved without the Minister being involved. The medical profession's criteria are sidelined and the applicant enters the country. Abuse of power? Most of us would say yes. What harm was done? Compared to some of the unskilled, almost unemployable, economic refugees accepted in such large numbers, a sophisticated, urbanised, educated entrant should pose no burden to the nation. However, what would he do for work?

Thus, humanitarian entry became a useful gateway. It also made redundant a number of ethno-specific policies of yesteryear. For example, the White Russian programme, which came into operation to permit the entry of white Russians who had fled to China after Russia became 'Red', was, unbelievably, still operational in the Eighties. I understood that it had been closed down a few times before but it was on the books when I arrived in the area. When pressure to accept certain applicants becomes great, officials can recommend to the Minister that he simply reactivate an extinct policy – no Cabinet decision would be required, no debate in Parliament necessary. Not that either of these processes would have raised any difficulties, as immigration was a bipartisan policy.

When the refugee programme (which had resulted in a huge intake of Vietnamese, mainly of ethnic-Chinese ancestry, and with a substantial proportion of Catholics) was expanded to cover East Europeans, I understood from my political contacts that their party wanted some white refugees for a change. When the programme was subsequently expanded to cover Latin Americans, it was rumoured that the then Minister wanted some left-wing refugees, also for a change. Was it significant that the people in the geographical areas covered were predominantly of the same Church?

The bureaucrats too made their contribution to changes of policy. Their motives were mixed – to grease the squeaky wheel (for genuine humanitarian concerns or to ease the pressure on the Ministry); to big-note themselves (with an eye to promotion into the international agencies); or to do favours (with a possible career upgrade if politicians so decided). I do not believe that cost to the taxpayer, coherence in policy, or the consequential shifts in ethnic community balance or relations or tensions, were given adequate consideration. That would also require a certain intellectual competence and I saw little evidence of that in my day. Perhaps the "it will all work out" perspective operating in the economic policies sector also applied in this area of policy (except that I saw intellectual rigour of the highest calibre displayed in the Treasury, within the limits of their simplistic policy framework). A large intake of refugees, generous welfare, and a little quiet sensitivity to colour, seemed to underpin humanitarian entry policy in my day.

Anyway, I was ordered to shut down the White Russian programme as we had run out of eligible white Russians by then. I was also ordered to shut down the East Timorese programme. The latter programme was instrumental in bringing into Australia a large number of East Timorese. These became, in time, the focal point for a sustained anti-Indonesian thrust in the public arena, fed (according to a former senior diplomat) by "lies, propagated from the pulpit". The programme attracted all kinds of East Timorese, irrespective of when they had left their homes. Some, who had been in business in Macau or in other Portuguese territories long before East Timor's annexation, tried to use the programme. They were initially rejected, as they did not fit the criteria. Later, by a stretch of the policy, East Timorese in Portugal were admitted.

This was interesting. How could a person presumably entitled to a Portuguese passport, living in the country of his nationality, i.e. Portugal, claim entry to Australia _on the basis of a fear of discrimination and with nowhere to go_? It appears that many of these East Timorese were living in camps outside Lisbon in conditions which their sponsors claimed were not salubrious. But they had a right to reside in Portugal and its territories. What was the basis of Australia's acceptance of these people? Why should not Portugal look after its own people? Did that indicate how the Portuguese government viewed the East Timorese? However, Church politics prevailed. Family reunion entry policy then took over, and Australia now has a long-term problem of reconciling a past politico-humanitarian policy and on-going foreign affairs, defence and trade relationship policies with a very powerful and large neighbour, which also happens to be loved by the great USA. The lack of an intellectual rigour shows.

As I write this, I read of an Australian government official handing out visitor visas, within a short time, to a large number of East Timorese, including unaccompanied children; and that these 'visitors', on arrival, had sought humanitarian entry. Why, asked some politicians, are not the East Timorese looking to Portugal, which seeks to recover East Timor (at least its undersea petroleum resources)? My question is: what policy allowed these visas, or was it tongue-in-both-cheeks politics?

In any event, the politics relating to East Timor led to Australia developing a new foreign affairs policy relating to Indonesia in the mid-Nineties – "Repent, withdraw, apologize". We are certainly innovative – we will jump in different ways when required. The rejoinder to the new policy by Indonesia has only required us to withdraw (no repentance or apology required).

Another policy which was also ordered to shut down was the precursor to the global humanitarian policy. This had been initiated to assist the intake of people facing discrimination, mainly in the Middle East, allegedly the Christians in Moslem-controlled nations. It too had permitted the entry of Moslem Afghans from neighbouring countries.

Realism requires that refugee and other humanitarian entry policies have political aspects, both international and local; but these are rarely admitted publicly. Is it that the politicians are unaware and Ministers too busy to appreciate what is put to them by advisers who deal only with the problem being solved, rather than the issues arising from the policy? Perhaps governments should privatise policy development too.

When refugee policy was extended to include East Europeans, the policy covered all countries under the communist yoke, except Yugoslavia. The latter allowed its people to migrate. Any East European could walk across the border to Yugoslavia or Austria and claim to be a refugee. He would be accepted and flown to Australia, where he would be lodged in a migrant hostel, given clothing if necessary, and put on welfare immediately. It was effectively a migration programme, except the Australian taxpayer paid for travel costs.

It was amusing to know how the programmed worked. A colleague who had worked at the Vienna office told me about a Pole who had enquired about going to Australia. When he was told about the refugee programme, he promptly responded that he was a refugee. My friend asked, "Where is your wife?"

"In Poland."

"Why don't you go back and fetch her and I will arrange for you both to travel to Australia?" So, the Pole wandered back to his home town by public transport, fetched his wife, and Australia received two more 'refugees'. And that's how it worked.

It was very similar, according to this colleague, in certain Mediterranean cities. There were many unattached young women who enquired about migration. But they offered no skills. Coming from sundry villages, they could offer nothing more than onion picking or something like that. Knowing that there were many single Mediterranean men in Australia, the interviewing officials used to ask if the female applicant could sew. Inevitably, the answer was, "Yes." So Australia gained another seamstress, hopefully as marriage fodder.

These policies were very humane but no policies existed to help anyone in, say, Papua New Guinea, or Burma, or other regions of the brown-skinned who might have a greater claim to refugee entry than the East Europeans.

Unfortunately, too, this generous programme did not cover those within the countries of Eastern Europe who had difficulties with their own governments. For refugee entry, the applicant had to be outside his country and fearful of return because of persecution. When the Solidarity union movement was attacked in Poland, Australia widened its global humanitarian policy, which had hitherto required an applicant to be outside his country and fearful of return because of discrimination. The policy now allowed an applicant to be within his country of nationality. Presumably, the Polish government consented to the departure of those who sought entry to Australia under this expanded policy. Perhaps the other East European government were not so understanding, or the Pope was less influential. So those politicians who wished to see more white refugees and the Church were both satisfied. Many Polish people arrived under both the refugee policy and the special humanitarian policy. I have met many of these and they are grateful to Australia.

There were some interesting developments. Initially, when the East European refugee programme was introduced, there was talk of some of the new arrivals in the migrant hostels asking about the cars they thought they were to receive. Had someone been 'recruiting' these people with promises?

There were some interesting characters entering migrant hostels as refugees. One arrived late one afternoon with a group of fellow countrymen. He was outstanding, with his lovely tan-coloured suitcase, matching shoes, and a silver grey suit. The next morning he wore torn jeans and a T-shirt and was queuing up for welfare support. He must have been well briefed overnight. Another entrant took a dislike to the hostel food and was seen chasing the chef into the car park and brandishing a cleaver. Another was a traumatised person who used to punch out his hostel walls periodically. As his country of origin seemed to produce a disproportionate number of troubled people, some Aussie officials began to wonder if our intake had included former inmates of institutions in that country.

I once met a former senior scientist who had moved freely, and by air, between an Eastern European nation and other communist nations. His work had required this travel. He admitted that he had been happy in his job and that he had been well off. When I asked him why he had decided to become a refugee, he said, somewhat lamely I thought, that freedom was more important. A recruit or volunteer? He was going to learn a sharp lesson. Many of the professional Poles I met were unhappy because their qualifications and skills were not recognised in Australia. Driving taxis was no substitute for the job satisfaction they had relinquished. Freedom, which they did value, meant a relatively lower job satisfaction and status.

Later, I was to find that some had returned to Poland – long before Perestroika. They had written back to their friends in Australia to say that they were doing well again. Does the Russian adage: "A lizard on a cushion will still seek leaves" apply here?

The new generation of Poles was not well received by many of the previous post-war generation. To many in the latter group, the younger ones were borderline communists, who had been well educated and protected by the State; and they were now being spoilt by the Australian government, which had done nothing for the early arrivals. The earlier arrivals were conservative, good Catholics, had worked hard to achieve their comfort, and saw no reason for the welfare approach of modern-day refugee settlement services. They would not have been surprised at those who returned to Poland. This older group of Poles was typified, for example, by a co-worker in Melbourne. He had been in the Polish Army when World War Two started, been captured, had no idea what had happened to his wife and family, and was living a simple and relatively lonely life when I met him in the early Fifties. His English was adequate. Another Pole, on the other hand, had two doctorates from Poland and was also a skilled pianist. He was a clerk in the public sector when I met him, wasting all his skills. Another Pole was an unskilled worker who found work in the Snowy Mountains Scheme, a brilliant and massive scheme for the diversion of water. It is acknowledged by all that it was the immediate post-war migrants who built the Scheme, as well as much of Australia's transport infrastructure. This man offered an interesting insight into the sectarian scene. He said, incredibly, that only Catholics could obtain work in the Scheme in his day.

The older Poles were not that different from other nationalities who had arrived in post-war Australia as refugees and migrants. A former lawyer from Hungary and a former military man from Greece were also wasting their skills as clerks. The Pole with the doctorates, the Hungarian and the Greek were all very fluent in English, yet they had no careers to look forward to.

It was that generation and their offspring who were critical of Australia's welfare approach to the new arrivals. When I addressed a multicultural group in a country town one night and talked of the government funding ethnicity-based services to the new arrivals, old and young rejected the intrusion of the State into their lives. Independence and self-sufficiency made the nation, they said. "What about accessing services?" they were asked. They were not aware of any problems, they said. And many, many of the old migrants do sincerely hold this belief. They are not jealous in any way of the new arrivals. They saw the new policies as undermining their faith in the individual's ability to adapt without government interference, for they know what that can lead to.

So, did the welfare industry sell the taxpayer an expensive pup? The test is whether the newer arrivals, supported by an expensive network of settlement services, became better integrated than their predecessors. Judging by a tendency to whinge about needing more from government, an Australian tradition, yes.

The expanded humanitarian policy covering people within their country of nationality, having been accepted conceptually, should have enabled people in other countries, in situations similar to that of the supporters of Solidarity in Poland, to be assisted by Australia. But that did not turn out to be the case. One wonders why.

What of the Soviet Jews policy? That policy was not subsumed by the global humanitarian policy, although it was now similar – those sponsored for entry to Australia were within the USSR, their country of nationality. The Jewish community in Australia would not, however, have countenanced the closure of that specific programme, highlighting as it did the continued plight of the Jewish people.

What of the Tamils of Sri Lanka? Since the Minister, at the time of my appointment to the Melbourne position, had identified me in his press release as Malaysian-born of Sri Lankan origin, I kept well away from Sri Lankan matters. The Tamils had to fight to qualify for humanitarian entry. A special programme was eventually drawn up for them when it was obvious that they were at risk, and their sponsors were becoming vociferously political. Getting selected was, however, a problem. Sponsored applicants had to go to Colombo, where riots had taken place, travelling through territory that was being contested. Then they had to wait for processing. With only two Australian officials in Colombo, there were delays. "The horses of hope gallop, but the asses of experience go slowly," as the Russians say. These delays reflected what two of my colleagues had referred to as a discriminatory policy. In turn, each one had complained to the head of the agency that, having three officials to cover the whole of the Indian subcontinent (whereas there were much larger numbers in each of Hong Kong, Korea, and Japan), ensured that fewer people from that part of the world could enter Australia.

The head of the agency had, by that time, retired while he was still in the job. He would not budge – as he said to me in another context – he had to accept the advice of his senior staff. The question is, who decided to narrow the processing door for the Indian subcontinent? Both of my colleagues of middle rank had served in India and knew the extent of the problem. Why, they asked the head of the agency, were the staffing levels unbalanced? There was no adequate answer, according to them. Since they worked for me and I knew them well, I accepted their story. Perhaps the fact that they were not posted overseas again, and that they subsequently left the public service, says enough?

In any event, processing in Colombo was slow. Local sponsors wondered whether it was meant to be slow – many thought so. Some also complained of corruption. However, the programme was successful until it was closed down – more promptly than those other ethno-specific programmes, which had somehow survived for so long. Efficiency at last – or a carefully hidden agenda, asked a Sri Lankan working in the agency.

The answer may be obvious when one considers another fact or two. Another colleague of mine working on migrant hostels policy discovered by chance one day that two-thirds of the Tamils entering the hostels for on-arrival transit accommodation were Christians, when the majority of the Tamils are Hindu. A non-discriminatory policy at work? The critic was a non-Asian Christian. Yet another fact. In the Eighties, two researchers into the settlement record of Asian migrants in Australia found that the majority were Christians. How nice for the soul collectors! Was this a reflection of an unspoken policy by the department or the government? Or did this merely reflect the prejudices of the selectors in the field? And, in the meantime, the man in the street, egged on by sections of the media, is whining about the Asianisation of Australia – the whole country was going to be brown any minute! (And the very same people spent so much time trying to acquire a suntan.)

As well, prejudice seems to be reflected in academic 'studies'. For example, there was a 'finding' that the proportion of Asians in the country would rise to some ridiculously high figure in a short time. The explanation was not in our fecundity or in some extraordinary increase in the immigration intakes. On the contrary, if a person had an ancestor from Asia (yes, anywhere on that large continent) and even if all successive generations had married non-Asians (preferably whites), on the basis of the smallest fraction of that original Asian 'blood', he/she would be defined as Asian. This is exactly what white Aussies had done to the Aborigines; the slightest tinge of Aboriginal blood and you were black. What a way to frighten the xenophobic and racist whites. And what academic cleverness.

And did those politicians who were wailing about the Asian hordes reducing the traditional British standards of Australia realise that the majority of Asians in the country shared with their hosts the love of Christ? Even the Hindus accept Christ in his initial role. Indeed, the Hindus are taught to accept the great religious leaders of the world, whether Christ, his predecessors, the Buddha, Mohammed and others, as the great teachers of mankind. (But we are disinterested in post-mortem levitation.)

Did these Anglophile politicians also know that the majority of the non-refugee Asians in the country, irrespective of religion, are educated, speak good English, have a sound knowledge and respect for those institutions of society that are British in origin, viz., a bicameral parliamentary democracy, with law, order and justice of the kind prevailing in Australia? And that, on average, the brown-skinned self-funding Asian immigrant is better educated, speaks better English and understands better, and supports more easily these very same institutions than the previously preferred non-English-speaking European migrants or the non-English-speaking lighter-skinned East Asians? And is it not the educated Asian who would not need English language classes and other settlement services? "An ox is an ox even if driven to Vienna" is an apt adage from Hungary, when applied to the uneducated and unskilled immigration intakes.

Ah, but that is unfair, say my critics. It's family reunion which today brings those who take more from the country, in welfare and settlement service costs, than they are able to contribute to the country, perhaps for many years. Not all family reunion entrants can be so described, of course. Quite – but what is a migration programme for? The good of the nation or to suit the strategies of some hidden movers and shakers? In theory, family reunion, by providing psychic and social satisfactions to the sponsor, benefits the nation. However, it is too easy to transfer responsibility for one's non-nuclear family to the State in Australia. And the increasing emphasis on the nuclear family, even by the East Asians, casts doubt on the alleged bonds of the extended family. Upon arrival in Australia, the family bonds suddenly seem to disappear, for many.

The unknowing taxpayer pays without any real appreciation of the changes which he is funding. And when a majority of taxpayers say that they do not want much more immigration, so the newspaper polls say, they are ignored by their elected representatives. Why? Because policies on immigration and settlement services are now treated as the province of the ethnic communities, not all of whose members are immigrants. This reflects the bipartisan agreement politically on chasing the so-called ethnic vote. And it is not difficult to find 'learned' researchers to tell us that, "on balance", immigration is good for the nation, and thus back up the demands by the ethnic communities. In reality, no one is quite certain about the net gains to this nation from immigration. Thus, a wonderful humanitarian entry policy is sullied by some people in their chase for enhanced power. But what great harm results from this? Nothing that significant in the long run, except that successful corruption spreads pervasively.

###  _Chapter Fourteen_

Integration – More of the Ethnic Scene

When I accepted the invitation to transfer to the ethnic affairs are of the Department of Immigration, I had great hopes of making a sufficient contribution to policy through my own settlement experiences, my relatively extensive contact with migrants in my early years in Australia, and my work experience in policy, research and administration.

With great excitement and no trepidation at all I arrived at my new agency. I was given a temporarily vacant table and chair and some files to read, and that was that. A few days later I realised that the ethnic affairs area only wrote speeches and kept a sort of weather eye on developments of an ethnic affairs nature (whatever that was). There were no senior ethnics helping to shape policy. The question in my mind was who in the agency would have any idea of the settlement needs of immigrants and the basis upon which current policy might need to be revised?

I had previously met a few senior immigration officials and found them to be very civilised people. In the mid-Sixties, interested in a statistical research job in the department, I obtained an interview with the head of the area. Having established that I had the background for the job, I think I surprised him by asking if I could expect equal opportunity in selection and, later, promotion. Since the White Australia policy was still very much alive and I would be in charge of Australian staff, I wanted an honest answer as to whether I would be treated equitably. To which he said with good humour that he liked what he saw and, yes, I _would_ receive fair treatment. I applied, was ranked number two, appealed on the grounds of relative efficiency, and lost. It was during the appeal that the question was asked as to how I would be viewed by foreign governments were I to be posted as a selection officer overseas.

Soon after this, I was promoted where I was, and a little later was invited by the public service staff trade union to join its panel of interviewers serving on appeal committees. Starting at the bottom of the four categories operating, I soon advanced to the top bracket. As a member of the panel, I recommended certain training for those not only on the panel but also for those wishing to join it. I drew up criteria for determining the questions we ought to be asking, explaining why. I was also successful in breaking the practice whereby the union representative on a promotion appeals committee was ranked third (therefore last) in the right to examine the candidates. I successfully established, but only after quite an extended tussle between the union and the public service board (the staff regulatory agency), that the union rep was equal in every way to the other two, subject to the right of the chairman, (an employee of the Board) to administer the committee's work.

A little later, I sat on a committee to review a promotion to one of the most senior positions in Immigration. In a little while, I had covered appeals to a total of four senior positions in that agency and thereby got to know some of its top men. There were no women or ethnics in the higher atmosphere. These men were of the old school I had met when I joined the public sector, and I was comfortable with them and about their fairness in staffing matters. No one seemed to think it odd that someone with my history should have the right to decide senior positions in that agency. Now that I was within the department fifteen years later, I found a great change in the management. Worse still was the attitude I found towards policy.

About a month before my arrival the government had included in its budget for that year some new revenue charges. The department was to charge for the first time for a number of its services on a partial recovery of cost or user pays basis. The implementation date was two months or so away, and apparently no work had been done. I did not know anything about this when I arrived.

After about a week of boredom, which left me wondering what I would need to do to find interesting work, a senior officer came to see me. He had been delegated by the head of the agency to ask if I would like the responsibility for implementing the scheme of charging for services; since I came from Finance, I must know about money and machines. I replied that I came from Treasury, which knew nothing about money, machines, or anything else in the real world. But I would consider overnight whether I was competent to take on the job. The next day I said that I would, only to have him reply, "Don't be a bloody fool."

I asked why, and he said that the central policy area, which was responsible, had refused to implement an "immoral" policy, and so they had wasted nearly a whole month, leaving a little less than ten weeks or so to the crunch date. On that date, every Immigration office in the world, including Australia, was to collect money under the new regime. Most of the revenue would be paid in Australia, requiring new machines, additional staff, training for them, security at the collection posts, accountability arrangements and instructions on how to handle every type of application. Where had the department's hierarchy been for the past four weeks? Had someone on the executive been lying to the head of the agency about progress?

Anyway, on day two, I presented a tentative approach, with staffing and briefing requirements, a timetable, and consultations with regulatory agencies. The next day, I had an officer with experience on staffing matters and another with accounting and audit experience. Someone in that agency was clever; the three of us were alike in our approach – we wanted and obtained full autonomy under clear guidelines, and it became clear within a week that we would, if necessary, bend any rule, but without breaking it. We were some team – Irish-Aussie, Maltese-English, and me. We loved everybody – but please do not get in our way.

We were not going to fail, especially through some moralising incompetent receiving more money than we did. My detailed plan of action, which looked impossible, was approved by the Executive, subject to weekly reports on progress and approvals for the next bout of actions by my team. We were briefed on immigration procedures (none of us knew anything about the subject). We obtained approval from relevant agencies about purchasing (on a truncated tender basis) the necessary machines; we had them modified and installed with necessary security; staff were appointed and trained; and instructions were issued to all overseas posts. We even consulted the Audit Office, which normally examined departmental practices after a year of operation. When they demurred at a before-installation assessment, we told them that, were they to find fault later, our Minister would remind their Minister about their lack of co-operation in avoiding mistakes at the initial stage. It was wonderful how one could make most public servants jump, but not necessarily with joy, just by whispering the word 'Minister'. As happens so often, many who are not responsible are in positions of responsibility.

Then the gremlins took over. The legal people said that the Attorney-General would need many weeks to draft regulations. I was curious as to why this task had not been set in train earlier. My chief took me to the Minister to explain why the implementation date could not be met. The Minister (whom I had met elsewhere) stood up, looked down on his senior adviser and said, "I do not mind if public servants work all night and every night, but you will meet the implementation date. Am I clear?" It was beautiful. Three days later I was stopped outside his door by our acting chief of legal matters. His office's role was to refer legal questions to the A-G. He gave me the draft regulations for my approval. What a surprising show of efficiency. I then made an enemy for life by examining them on the spot, in his room, and, much to his surprise, initialling and approving them, saying, "Ask the A-G to implement immediately." This they did.

On crunch day, every office took money and there were no problems of an administrative nature. My team was flatteringly commended by the head of the agency. I suspect that he was quite aware of our crash-through approach. This led him to ask me if I could help by taking a job in Melbourne. I was to be there for a short while only, and I would be promoted on my return. His deputy was party to this promise. Whacko, I thought! I would at last be entering the senior executive service permanently. Dream on, Daddyo!

My team was of genuine migrant origin, both born overseas. They had arrived in their teens without any knowledge of the English language and were now fluent. They also had tertiary qualifications. One, a Greek, had work experience in the State government, the second tier of government in Australia; the other, a Polish-Jew, had private sector and political experience. Our job was to be a conduit between the Federal government and the migrant communities; the latter would be more adequately aware of the government's policies to help migrants settle more successfully into the community. On the other hand, the communities would be better able to inform the government of any unmet settlement assistance needs, especially in obtaining access to services, especially government services. These services would include immigration, welfare, legal, health, and so on. Improved access to services was the call.

To enhance this access, the Federal Government had already established a telephone interpreter service, a translation unit, (to translate documents of relevance to the immigrant's settlement), migrant resource centres (MRCs), and schemes of grants. MRCs were small shop fronts offering meeting rooms for the local ethnic communities, and information, counselling and advice in some of the languages predominating in the district. Essentially, they were advisory centres for migrants, with all the attendant benefits flowing from that. The grants-in-aid scheme or GIA enabled a community to employ a welfare worker to service those of its members who needed advice, in their own language, on what services were available and how to access them. Another grants scheme subsidised one-off projects relating to settlement issues, including research. Mainstream, i.e. Anglo-Celt, organisations were eligible. The project subsidy scheme was a sort of slush fund or grease to quieten or sweeten those who went public about some poor ethnic group or other being in need about something or other. There were lots of professionally caring people suddenly coming out of the woodwork. Some projects, on the other hand, were of genuine value and reasonably desirable, even if not necessary, reflecting the views of very genuine and sincere people about real needs.

When I arrived upon this scene, there had already been a substantial public debate about the provision of settlement services by ethnic communities through public funding. The predominant issue was whether taxpayer-funded plural service structures would result and, if so, whether this would be detrimental to a cohesive nation. The underlying question was, and still is, why service providers at any level of government, or even in the private sector should not ensure that their services are uniformly accessible to those in need of such services? If such access required the provision of interpreters and translators, and public relations and information campaigns to reach their non-English-speaking constituency, the service delivery agencies, whether public or private, had an obligation to do so. And many did move along that track. However, the Federal government decided to embark on the funding of ethnic-controlled access mechanisms (it was mindful of the ethnic vote); and, in the early Eighties, it decided to establish in Sydney and Melbourne small but high-powered, high-profile ethnic-staffed units to liaise with the leaders of the local ethnic communities. In the process, we would obviously come to know not only the hot spots of need, but also the hot spots of unrest. My team's focus initially was on communities we knew little about, and whose needs might be great but who did not know how to express these needs. But we did also pay our respects to the major communities through their power brokers.

Soon after we established ourselves, we were told by some of the migrant employees in the office that my team had higher job classifications than they had reached, in spite of their proficiency in English and their possession of degrees. If we were there to help the migrants, could we help them too?

Now that was an eye-opener. In the agency titled Ethnic Affairs, migrant staff remained at the lowest levels. In the not-too-distant future, the bureaucracy in general would become quite cute in presenting an improved picture of equal opportunity for migrants. The second generation of Aussies with the ethnic name would be supplemented by the nominal ethic, i.e. one born overseas but who had arrived in Australia at the age of, say, two. The conclusion to be drawn is that, as in Aboriginal affairs, ethnic affairs meant big jobs mainly for (white) Anglo-Celts.

When my team went out and introduced ourselves to the diverse ethnic leaders, we found ourselves talking, in the main, with second-or third-generation Aussies – but there were notable exceptions. After all, why should not Aussies work for new arrivals of the same ethnic, cultural or religious background? It became clear that their emphasis was on receiving government funding and not on increased access to services for their community through mainstream agencies becoming more sensitive and responsive. Government funding also gave legitimacy to their organisational structures as well as to the leadership. Government funding could make leaders out of aspirants.

In some instances, the newer ethnic community structures were competing with Anglo-Celt-led agencies which had initially fought the good battle on behalf of migrants. Amongst the latter were Church-based groups. It took these a little longer to step aside than did the non-Church groups. Indeed, in the late Eighties, Church-based groups were still doing rather well as recipients of taxpayers' funds. This raises the issue of paternalism versus self-sufficiency, using taxpayers' money in facilitating settlement. It also raises the issue of leeching on the taxpayer while ostensibly providing care for the apparently dispossessed.

In terms of self-sufficiency of ethnic communities, I asked at an early stage an eminent Aussie representative of a major ethnic community when the taxpayer might expect to be freed of the need to provide funds for access to services, especially as his community's intake of new arrivals had almost dried up. He did not sound particularly convincing when he claimed a decade. The decade is well and truly over; the community should, if need be, be self-funding by now, if access to services remains a need (which I doubt). When asked why a parallel structure for service delivery was needed, his reply was that the Anglo-Celts in the public sector were not sensitive enough. When asked why not educate these insensitive ones, he said that it would take too long. Reverse prejudice or realism? Or was it also ethnic empowering? If it was the last, would it make any difference to mainstream institutions?

Just as I found that few of the economists I dealt with in the public sector had an adequate understanding of human behaviour and motivations, so few settlement advisers had an adequate, if any, understanding of or interest in, economic issues. I had also discovered from my promotion appeals endeavours, that very few senior welfare advisors in other agencies had a sufficient interest in the economic issues involved, or in the community or national impacts of their approach. Meeting needs myopically may be good for one's soul or job but not necessarily for the good of the nation in the long run.

So, with the best of intentions but obviously not wearing rose-coloured glasses, my team worked to assist the Minister, who was being bombarded with 'needs'. A new gold mine had just been opened and everyone was in, making a bid. Our job was to sieve through the claims and to propagate the picture of a finite bucket of goodies available for distribution.

As soon as I arrived in Melbourne, I was invited by an experienced German-Aussie broadcaster to be interviewed, live, on ethnic radio. His programme was said to be the most popular English language programme being broadcast. Ethnic radio was government funded, and provided slots for as many ethnic communities as could be catered for, subject to competence, for transmission of programmes in their own languages. I was told that ethnic communities did listen to 3EA, and that certain segments of its programmes were rebroadcast on community stations in cities without an ethnic radio station. Indeed, ethnic radio was said to be the principal source of information for non-English-speaking migrants. It was therefore an excellent policy.

At fifty-two, I was not easily rattled, but this was a challenge. There were people out there who had wanted my job and knew that I had not even applied for it. I was also equal second-in-command in the office with all the implications of that. In simple terms, my jewels were about to be laid on a hot plate. Walter, my interviewer, believed in a spontaneous dialogue. While I knew the topic, he would not flag his intended questions.

His first question, however, had nothing to do with the new policy. What changes had I observed in Melbourne; had I noticed the extensive variety of ethnic restaurants? Well, that set me off. What I had noticed was not the trivia of ethnic eating places, but the large number and variety of ethnic faces standing about in the streets of the city, and the fact that they were all talking in foreign tongues without fear of attack. They were even free to speak in English if they wished to, I said. I could see from his face that he was delighted with my response, and we talked so freely that I forgot that I was on air. Later he told me that I had been the best interviewee he had had in thirty years of broadcasting. That was very encouraging. I did a few more interviews before I felt it politic to withdraw and put forward some of my colleagues, with me acting as chaperone, with the right to interfere if necessary.

One interview had more impact than I wanted and Walter could hope for. We were on the subject of homes for the ethnic aged. I told him that when I arrived in Australia, I was horrified to see the elderly isolated in impersonal institutions; what happened to the idea of family and family responsibility? I also told him that I had carried out a sample survey in my final year of study of psychology and confirmed a research finding from the UK that both the old and their descendants agreed that the former should not be a burden on the latter, especially through the effects of age. So I had to accept the practice of institutional homes caring for the elderly. Walter asked for my response to the idea of ethnic homes for the aged in Australia. While I did not mention it on air, I had already been approached by a community originating in the Mediterranean area which wanted a government subsidy for a projected home for its elderly. And I had expressed my curiosity at the community seeking immigration admission of all manner of relatives in the name of family cohesion and togetherness, and, at the same time, planning to separate the elderly from their family. In response to Walter, I said that while the subject was a complex one, I personally would not like the creation of "ethnic ghettos" for the aged.

When I said that, I had again forgotten that I was on air. Remembering, I said something like, "Let me withdraw my reference to ghettos. That was not what I meant to say. I do not believe that it would be proper to isolate the aged by ethnicity, when we are spending so much effort at integrating new arrivals into the community at large." Walter told me the next week that the station had received sixteen phone calls about that interview. All congratulated me on my skill in extricating myself from the hole I had dug for myself.

To avoid digging more holes for myself, I accepted the advice of my chief to try and get on-side with a crusty ethnic leader, who wore many hats on the ethnic stage and was potentially influential. Thus he was in a position to direct his darts at us from a number of placements. I invited him to lunch, and for an hour and a half he complained about the department (it was all ancient history), and paid no attention to my plea for co-operation and support for the new policy. Finally, I decided that I would not play his game, stood up, and said, "Okay, you can either work with me or fight me – it's your choice. I would value your help and so would the Minister. I will not let the Minister down in this job." (I did have direct access to the Minister.) Suddenly he agreed to work with me and I found that I had earned myself the title of "toe-cutter." It was not a nice title but it was useful to be known thus in some places.

Meeting the ethnic community leaders was insightful. Many had no personal ambitions to satisfy. They were making a contribution to their communities and thus to Australian society. Inevitably there were those who thought that we provided yet another conduit for receiving taxpayer funds, but that was easily remedied.

What impressed me was the networking. One morning, I set off by public transport to make official contact with the security agency, having previously had a drink with a senior member of the agency; we had collaborated on a job in Canberra (containing an alleged Soviet expansion) some years before. A week later, one of our ethnic leaders asked me how my visit to the unmarked door in such and such a building went. Not bad for his intelligence capabilities, but it was tit for tat, as he knew that one of my roles was also intelligence.

I was then thrown off the deep end into the pool of ethnic workers, who seemed to be very committed people funded by GIA grants. I was supposedly an observer at their meetings, but found myself on centre stage each time. This was the only opportunity they had to question and challenge the policy. And they made a feast of it. But it was ethnic talking to ethnic about the needs of ethnics; there was communication of a kind that they could not meaningfully have with Anglo-Celts, and I believe they appreciated that. I also believed in open dialogue, refusing to hide behind bureaucratic euphemisms. At the meetings I explained to them that the grant money bucket was finite. But before each of them could dip his cup into the bucket for a second or third grant, I was there to identify if there were others who needed a cup, and, if so, to give them one, and to have them dip into the bucket before the existing cup-holders moved. Would they disagree with that?

They said no. If a bigger bucket was needed, we would together ask the Minister. They agreed with that. They then asked if they could decide who would be the new recipients. My response to them brought a laugh, and I felt that we understood one another well enough to work together profitably. My response was – if I left a plate of sweets on the table, who would guarantee that those not at the table would receive any sweets on an equitable basis. Our interest in these workers was to ensure that they received on-going training (these meetings were one form), and that they were achieving the objectives of the policy. However, as I discovered later when I had carriage, it was difficult to monitor, and outcomes were never clearly known.

When I went back to work, my chief hit me with the question, "What are the policy imperatives of grant funding?" Well, I thought the policy was clear. But there were no operational guidelines for prioritisation and so the squeaky wheels got the grease. So I set to work and thereby upset the policy chief in Canberra (whom I later accused of being my first public service racist). With accepted guidelines, the flexibility available to deal with squeaks was reduced, was it not? Favours would not be so readily available.

I then moved into project funding, the so-called slush fund. Our many-hatted friend had a pet project. Obtaining funding for it would enhance his reputation with the other ethnic workers and shakers. The Minister accepted my recommendation that we buy him off (after due process was followed, of course), and now we had a true friend. Then the Minister asked me to look into some adverse publicity being skilfully generated by a mainstream community organisation, which was collectively beating at its breast with apparent anxiety over the plight of some Vietnamese in the district. The Vietnamese were being very well looked after, I pointed out. But these people really cared for the poor Viets and went to the press again. And the mainstream press did not seem to care a damn for truth, only headlines. So the Minister bought off this lot too (after due process was again followed, of course).

While the mainstream press paid no attention to our new policy, the ethnic press was helpful. One editor really wanted to help his people by having the department refer to him all immigration sponsorships by members of his community. Apart from the fact that he ran a travel agency, it was difficult to see how he could do better than departmental officers, who had all the language skills necessary.

The ethnic newspapers were well supported by their communities, I was told. The department employed journalists not only to spread the word to mainstream media (in case they cared) but also to ethnic newspapers (who did care). The latter watched the department like vultures watching a somnolescent rabbit. Following my belief that, in time, ethnic communities must be encouraged to be more aware of other ethnic communities, I spoke to the editors of the three major newspapers. I explained that I had grown up in a country where the ethnic communities coexisted initially and each had limited communication with the others. I had noticed a similar pattern in Australia. Whilst the ethnic media informed their readers about matters affecting their lives in the country, what would they know about the rest of Australia, especially if their knowledge of English was limited?

Since successful settlement was of major concern to everyone, was there scope for some cover to be provided to the settlement successes of other ethnic communities? Two of the three editors said that the idea was fraught with difficulties, e.g. space, time, cost had to be considered. No, they were not interested. The third editor was different. "Okay," he said. "What can you do for me? Can you also provide the material and meet any extra costs?" This was my kind of man. Then our head office said that the idea was fraught with difficulties, e.g. time, cost, capacity had to be considered. No, the proposal was fraught with difficulties and one would have to move with caution, if at all.

So, that was that. I had a feeling that, back at head office, nothing excited them. I drafted some guidelines for ethnic affairs officers (that was us); it took me a whole weekend. My draft was accepted by my regional chief and a year later, head office produced a little leaflet just when the thrust of the policy had been allowed to fade away.

In the meantime, my team researched funding sources available at three levels of government, the funding received by each ethnic community in the past, and set these against our assessment of needs. The Minister loved it all, whilst head office yawned. It was amazing how much of the taxpayers' money was being directed to ethnic communities. What had they achieved?

Since I was on my own in Melbourne, I used what spare time I had to visit migrant resource centres and ethnic communities of interest to us. I brought together in the office the Melbourne-based members of the Minister's appointed ethnic affairs advisers, believing that a little cross-fertilisation would be mutually beneficial. It was, as they were in contact with the higher echelons of the various ethnic communities, whilst we (worker bees) were close to the lower levels. I also brought together some of the ethnic community leaders, especially of the newer and smaller communities, so that they might benefit from the experience and knowledge of the older ones. And some of the longer established community groups did assist, in a material way, the newer arrivals. For example, the Jewish community set out to guiding those of the other communities who wanted to obtain registration to practice medicine.

And one never knew what subject could surface at some of these meetings. At one resource centre, one welfare worker asked how I had won my job over her. At another, there was talk of illegal immigrants. This resulted in me advising my chief about this discussion, much to the consternation of my informant, but I explained that we had no alternative. When the subject of illegal immigrants was raised at a community leaders' meeting, my chief looked as if he was going to faint. At any event, when an amnesty was later declared by the Minister, included in the illegal immigrants fronting up were ninety Sikhs. How on earth, I wondered, does one hide a Sikh wearing a turban?

In my wanderings, I heard of a Ceylonese lass in a city shop, with the owner and wife talking about the girl in German. As she left, the girl responded in excellent German to them. You should have seen their faces, said my informant. There were Malaysian students correcting an Aussie's use of Malay, only to find that the Aussie knew the language better than they did. The behaviour of Asians in shops was always worth noting. On one occasion a very well-fed and buys-looking young man rushed into a shop with about ten people present, put up his hand, and with superb confidence shouted his order. His accent said Singapore. Everyone ignored him. In another shop, I was next in line, waiting. Another busy fellow rushed in, ignored my presence, and called out his order. Another Asian yuppie. The salesgirl said, "Excuse me, he was first," and served me. How things have changed – if only the yuppie knew.

In the Chinese shops in Australia, there seemed to be more sales people than customers. As in the tourist areas of Singapore, the sales staff will follow you around the shop. Vietnamese shops were different – I am not the only one to feel unwanted and that the shops are only for the Vietnamese. And it was clear that, just as the Jewish people had a strong influence on politicians, so the Vietnamese had a very effective influence with the welfare deliverers. These workers said how grateful the Viets were. Did the other ethnic beneficiaries just accept these services and run? But one Vietnamese attending a course said to a friend of mine conducting the course: "You Aussies are f***ing stupid. You always give something for nothing." How insightful and realistic. In a similar vein, sometime later, an officer charged with cleansing the nation of illegals and illegal activity told me about a Thai prostitute.

She was required to report regularly to the police, pending a decision on prosecution of an illegal entry and prostitution ring. When she heard that no prosecution was intended and the participants were simply to be deported, she too said, "You Aussies are f***ing stupid." The senior sensitive soul advising on this matter probably rationalised his inaction by reference to avoiding damage to a sensitive policy (otherwise known as covering one's backside).

This same soul allowed (I believe) a public servant, suspected by many to be corrupt, to resign, saving embarrassment all round. When a person is alleged to have personally delivered (against the law) a newly-issued Australian passport to an applicant who was then overseas, what action would one expect? When I was discreetly making enquiries on this matter, I was told to keep out. Consequently, a colleague suggested that it might have been a political decision. The applicant was associated with some banking business of a dubious nature, and the letters _a_ , _c_ and _i_ had been bandied about publicly.

All this might lead one to the conclusion that ethnic affairs policies, while initiated with indubitable intentions, ranged from inept to inefficient (if not actually corrupt) in practice. Support for such a conclusion came in the mid-Nineties from eminent ethnic leaders who had been prominent in those years. Their criticisms are that any affirmative action was meant to be short term; that there is now no need to waste scarce funds on duplicate service structures; that chasing the ethnic vote was not only undesirable but that there is no such thing as the ethnic vote.

This becomes interesting. If these eminent advisers had held these views in their term of office, who decided to perpetuate such a policy? Why did not bureaucratic advisers counsel against policies in perpetuity? My experience suggests that their own career structures, apart from some limitations of an intellectual and moral nature, would have minimised any chances of changing these policies. Over the years, I had carriage of each settlement policy, except for English language classes, and those of us who tried to introduce any efficiencies were generally steam-rollered out of the way. When an Aussie senior bureaucrat (always Anglo-Celt) burbles about protecting a sensitive policy, one knows that a burial service is being conducted and that his backside is safe.

When I was the lowest ranking accountable officer (so described by my then boss when he was busily disowning some responsibility) on grants and MRCs, I set out to see what was being achieved. I found personal and psychic satisfaction; job satisfaction; busy-ness (always very busy); the need to write reports and attend conferences and training courses; settlement needs being met and 'unmet'. The latter was difficult to assess because, if one could not meet a need, how could one know how much of it was not met? Could I have a breakdown of service delivery, I said, split between the diverse ethnic categories (by language); the categories of problems (or needs) dealt with; and how much time was taken up on service delivery as against other work (what other work, they said); and the extent and number of casework. A cross-classification was not necessary, I explained kindly. No, said they uniformly across the nation (as I spoke to them face to face). We are too busy to keep statistical records. Since no one else had asked for them to date, why did I want them? What use had I in mind? Had the Minister been told? Had the ethnic communities been consulted? Ye Gods, I thought, I should be grateful that they did not ask if I brushed my teeth daily, if I remembered my dead mother each night, and whether I gave alms to charity!

At the coalface, there was obvious dedication and personal commitment. As for records, it was up to the policy people in head office and the administrative chiefs in regional office, and they had not hitherto asked what it was we were achieving! They themselves knew what they were doing. What were they doing? Grant workers assisted with immigration sponsorship forms, referred people to welfare agencies, advised on how to have the telephone hooked up, and so on. In MRCs, there was some casework; other work involved the allocation of meeting rooms, and so on. Since there was only one ethnic language generally offered, how did the other language speakers manage? In English, of course, as they were normally accompanied by relatives. Why weren't the relatives helping out? Their English wasn't good. How did these relatives manage in their day? With difficulty. Were these difficulties so great as to warrant the expenditure of millions of public money? Since 50% or more of the immigrants in recent times enter under the family reunion policy, why should not the sponsoring family guide the new arrival? Because everyone feels good having an ethnicity-focused service delivery, even if it is conducted substantially in English. In one centre, I found English-speaking Mauritians and Malaysians represented fifty per cent of casework in the previous year, speaking to an English-speaking MRC worker, who was Anglo-Celt and who knew no other language.

Just before I retired, I obtained agreement from regional office chiefs and the main MRCs to record data on a uniform basis. The plan was to identify the pattern of settlement needs manifest in the casework, with the intention of answering two evaluation questions: is this what we ought to be doing, and how well are we doing it? I did the same for grants. Five years later, I read that the department was planning to evaluate the effectiveness of MRCs and the grant systems. What happened to my evaluation mechanism? With grants, I also attempted to draw up prioritisation criteria, so as to withdraw grants from some established communities. These had been around for so long, without much infusion of new arrivals. Consequently, the number of grants issued could be reduced. I was then sidelined, by being tasked with a policy review of settlement issues in general. My then chief later tried to sell my ideas as his own, but was overruled by the decision makers (so I heard). The ethnic lobby rides on, determining not only a very substantial part of the annual immigration programme, but also the financial consequences of faulty settlement policies.

My attempt to set up structures to obtain relevant data to enable evaluation was opposed by the grant agencies, too. They were too busy providing a much needed service, and the rest of it. With more resources, perhaps some record keeping might be contemplated. My section did set up a structure for evaluation before I retired, but presumably with all the continuing restructuring of the whole agency and changes in responsibility patterns, proposed changes usually finish up being filed and forgotten. The new broom, of course, always wants to make his mark. The main thing was that everybody was busy, some ate very well, and many felt good doing good things. Many ethnics felt cared for, and other ethnics felt caring, indeed useful. What else could one ask for? And the bureaucrats kept on moving, restructuring and eating better. Often, they had to cope with new (enlarged) accommodation, new furniture, new telephone numbers and new views. It was all very tiring. The ethno-politicians, as one ethnic leader described them recently, and the welfare workers did not want mainstreaming, i.e. for each and every service deliverer (whether government or private) to find the means to communicate effectively with its clients. In my day, local and state government agencies dealing with migrants were wont to seek Federal funding to do their job 'properly', because (they claimed) the Federal government had allowed the migrants into the country. Private businesses (I suspect) followed the advice of the policeman who said, "To be understood by a migrant, you just raise your voice a little."

However, when they all heard of the government's telephone interpreter service (TIS) and the translation service, everyone wanted to use them, whereas they were intended to help only the non-English-speaking migrants (NES migrants). Private practitioners such as medical specialists and lawyers (the high income ones) made good use of TIS until we tightened up eligibility. TIS was an excellent service, available twenty-four hours a day, throughout the main cities, and in my day being extended to the main country centres with significant NES migrant populations. The staff were competent and committed, as with the translation service.

When I had policy responsibility for these services, we acquired a new head of agency. He required cuts in expenditure, in addition to our continuing efforts to reduce misuse, abuse, and waste. Then he discovered the 'user pays' principle. Here, at last, was a bureaucrat who wanted cost efficiencies. This we effected, in spite of a textbook manager in between the head and ourselves; the difficulty with such theoreticians is that all they can do is to ask academic-sounding questions.

Included in that area of policy was the national accreditation authority for translators and interpreters (NAATI). This was an excellent body doing something worthwhile and well. It was led by an eminent man. He had been a senior colonial official (he was such a gentleman that I forgave him his past – how kind I was) and a former vice chancellor of an Australian university. He led a team of academic and professional language experts, and they did a mighty job. As the public service secretary of NAATI was answerable to me, I sat in some of the meetings and made some small contribution from time to time. Progressively, NAATI worked on standards, training and accreditation, with acceptance by everyone involved.

It was interesting that when this body, in consultations with experts from Europe, decided that Serbo-Croatian was a term that the government could use in official government documentation, a local resident, with no professional status in this area, threatened to 'go political', i.e. to make a fuss through the press and to politicians. This was typical of the consequences of ethnic empowerment by government. A weak senior departmental official asked the agency whose document had offended this ethnic linguistic puritan to withdraw the document and to reissue it with 'Serbian' and 'Croatian' under separate columns. Where he found the funds to reimburse the other agency I do not know. What most of us feared was that we were dealing not with a linguistic issue, but with a religio-political prejudice; and that it was also inflicted upon us through the tendency of some senior officials to run to water on the simplest of threats. In this case, was NAATI competent or not? Australia does not need to inherit prejudices from Europe or to encourage ethnic thuggery.

Another area of policy I took over for a while was a programme called CRSS. Under this programme, members of the community at large – organisations or groups of individuals – could be accepted as responsible for guiding the settlement of refugees immediately after arrival. It was a wonderful idea, linking mainstream people or settled migrants directly to NES refugees. Another advantage was that the new arrival had a social back-up. This scheme enabled the resettlement of refugees in many a country town. Of course, there were a few hiccoughs. There were personality differences, sometimes the host felt rejected when the refugee wanted a little less guidance in his life.

An outstanding conflict of cultures occurred when some Chilean families, with their normal preoccupation with freedom, having fled a right-wing government, were put together with a conservative group of citizens in a small country town. Who was to attempt to deny the Chileans the expression of their major concern? Having attended a Chilean cultural evening in Canberra and having felt the almost religious emphasis by these people on liberation (and empathised with them), I could understand the anxieties of their kind host people, who were also of the same faith. But it was the latter who had to adapt. Australia was changing and for the better.

Unfortunately, no one knew whether the refugees actually benefited in a substantial way from the scheme. I set up an evaluation programme before I left the area. Yet, the volunteer sponsors were being sensitised to the new Australia, and that is important. However, as with the other facets of settlement policies, once a policy is set in train, bureaucrats keep busy running on the tracks.

One area where we knew what we were doing, in terms of outcomes, was migrant hostels policy. When a migrant (particularly one with a family) arrives in Australia, what is his first requirement? Somewhere to rest his head, and the rest of him. This we provided through the hostels. The new arrivals could use the hostels as transit accommodation or stay for up to six months until they were employed and ready to find private accommodation. We helped them with that, too. It was a good policy, but expensive for the taxpayer. While employed residents paid a cost-recovery based tariff for full board and lodging, plus amenities such as childcare and recreation, the unemployed paid part of their welfare benefit. The policy was to strike an equitable balance between paying for board and lodging and having enough to pay for incidental expenses, having regard for marital status and size of family. There were no complaints about this policy. We also offered temporary flats as intermediate accommodation, between the hostel and the more expensive private accommodation. It all worked well.

The catering company, a government agency initially, did a great job, meeting ethnic food preferences as much as possible. New community groups would be asked to suggest appropriate dishes from their culture, and to show the chefs how to prepare them. The cross-cultural benefits of living together, trying out one another's food, the children playing together, attending church together and sharing a recreation facility, I believe, helped substantially in the settlement process.

We administered a national network of thirteen hostels, ensuring efficient operation, while at the same time having regard to placement by ethnicity (including religio-diet constraints), to support groups in the neighbouring community, and to employment prospects. Fare-paying migrants obviously selected their own destinations, but around twenty thousand or more refugees per year had to be allocated to hostels. Statistically, we had to take account of expected arrivals: number, family configuration, welfare services required (by language), expected vacancies based on length-of-stay patterns. Data processing was expedited by the computer-based system my team introduced. We had a busy but interesting time.

And there were always new nuts to crack. When the Chileans arrived, where were they to be placed? We were told that they were miners. So we allocated them to Brisbane and Perth, the closest places to the mines in Australia. Fortunately, there were Spanish-speaking communities in these cities, who had been alerted to our need for their support. The first arrivals were, however, white-collar people who had worked in mining offices. When the mine workers finally arrived, however, the country received a bonus – they were multi-skilled tradesmen. When we were told that we were to receive some Baha'is, we sought support from Aussie Baha'is as there were no Iranian Baha'is in Australia then. By agreement, we allocated them to a hostel I will not name – the management rushed off and purchased (with the best of intentions) halal meat, and arranged for an Imam to greet them. The next day I received an embarrassed phone call – what were they to do with the meat? Eat it, I said, it's not contaminated. More cross-cultural sensitisation. What did they do with the Imam, I wondered.

And so it went on. New communities, new experiences for all. Australia was fast becoming multicultural. And we were all learning to be more tolerant. For example, in one hostel, families were able to cook their own food, while they had two bedrooms for their own use, and shared all other living space. In one unit in this hostel, nine mattresses were placed on the floor in one room and the whole family slept together, as they had done back home. Sensibly, the management did not object. Cooking smells did not bother anyone – both Europeans and Indo-Chinese used spices – except some of the management; and they had to put up with it. In one city hostel, many of the Europeans dressed for dinner in the communal dining-room.

The most wonderful aspect of migrant hostels was the sight of children of such a wide range of origins, colour, and language groups, playing together, and the loving care they received from untrained child-care workers. In the bigger hostels, there might be as many as four of the women, offering up to six languages. The children did not care about language or ethnicity.

The youngest children would be seen playing in little groups, communicating by eye contact, touch, and a few indecipherable sounds. Absolutely fantastic. The older ones talked to one another in a variety of languages which they all seemed to understand. Even better, their carers really cared for the children. Their love was palpable. Most were migrants. While some of my colleagues burbled about needing to employ professionally qualified workers, others of us preferred to judge competence by the love displayed. These children, to me, represented the future of Australia. I used to take people into the centres to see what I was raving about and they agreed with me.

Recreation facilities in the centres were reasonable. The playgrounds available attracted a multi-ethnic soccer playing group. There was table tennis, TV, books, sewing rooms, meeting rooms (especially for church services). However, I was saddened during one visit to a hostel to find that, while the World Cup soccer competition was on, the TV was locked up. As the office was open only at nine, and the key kept there, no soccer was available to this multi-ethnic group. Almost everyone in the hostel, including the workers, was soccer-mad except the senior management of Anglo-Celts. Typical, I thought. I arranged through the ethnic welfare workers for a committee of residents to be entrusted with the key to their recreation room. Some of our managers, who were most reasonable people, had a lot to learn. Without recreation facilities, with or without professional input, life in hostels would be dreary. In one centre, I was able to negotiate for a professional recreation service to be provided on contract.

Health screening and services was probably the most important service available in hostels. When I was in another area, I knew that TB cases were being sent to hostels and then into the community. Once the TB was stabilised, the refugee was despatched from the refugee camp in Asia to Australia. Selection and entry to Australia was based on having some association, however intangible, with Australia. It was an exceedingly generous policy, making it easy to fill the quotas agreed with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees. On arrival in Australia, the TB-stabilised patient was to report for treatment. Unfortunately, there was, to my knowledge, no follow-up to ensure an effective cure. There were rumours, in fact, that many patients posted medication prescribed for them to relatives in Vietnam. From time to time, some health official would protest and be reported in public, but he would not be heard again. It was another sensitive policy, was it not?

A colleague, who trenchantly saw no problem with this policy, was asked by me how she would feel about living next to a refugee family.

"No problem," she said.

"Good, and your baby boy plays well with the child next door?"

"No problem," she said.

"Then Grandpa arrives with his TB stabilised but not cured. Will your child continue to play with the old man's grandson?"

I have never seen anyone change their views about a policy so fast. The policy may since have been changed, but does it explain the resurgence of TB in Australia?

Another great benefit for residents at a hostel was the availability of classes in the English language. English language training for migrants then cost more than $120 million per year. It now offers permanent employment and a career structure for the teachers. Yet, over a period of eight years, I could not obtain any consolidated or national data on the number of migrants who have completed courses and the level of competence achieved. Of course, learning English involved learning to write letters of complaint, sponsoring relatives, and generally adapting to life in Australia. Whilst learned people drew up levels of competence and tests thereof, a combination of professional attitudes and genuine care seemed to interfere with the process of evaluating the effectiveness of programmes.

Taxpayer funds spent on migrants is not challenged. It is probably close to $1 billion a year by now. However, if a similar amount is directed to Aborigines, many start to froth at the mouth and everyone has a say about waste, lack of accountability, and whatever else comes to mind.

While we were all being busy managing a large network of hostels, the cost-cutting head of agency (he was still around) asked what the Poms (British) were doing in the hostels. He wanted them out (the first official thrust by the republicans?). I said that we would then have to exclude all migrants, irrespective of source. That's why, all of a sudden, migrants were denied the most essential assistance on arrival – transit accommodation. And family reunion entry was not, at that stage, as impactful as it is at present. Are not the needs of the independent migrant as great as those of the refugees? And is he not generally of more value to the nation, and almost immediately after arrival? So I revised the policy to restrict eligibility to those 'in greatest need' – the refugees. A benefit was the saving in cost. A dis-benefit was the laying off of surplus services and the mothballing of hostels, causing all manner of upheavals in certain communities. Some of these communities had, in effect, protested initially at our placement of refugees in their midst; now they wanted them to stay. Ah, the pull of multiculturalism, or was it the money they spent in the district?

When we were down to four hostels, the refugee numbers falling, and much increased family and community support available to the new arrivals, I recommended their closure, offering a saving of about $10 million per year. My senior chief had me moved and, together with his favourite section head, caused the spending of at least $85 million on new on-arrival flats. These were to replace the hostels, which were kept open until the flats were occupied. But the refugees did not want the flats, as most of them had relatives in the community with whom they could live, and more cheaply. What a waste of capital. Years later, this great planner said that it was all my fault; I had not sold my policy to him hard enough. This was a joke, because on that day he had said enough to establish that he was the racist I had believed him to be (judging by the things he had caused to be done to me).

For a few years I had felt that what had been running smoothly would suddenly get a little sticky. It bothered me only a little. The sudden onset of trivial barriers, e.g. denial of approval for travel, was perplexing. But the rearrangement of jobs to suit a friend of the chief was irritating and, to a lesser extent, unsettling. The onset of the stickiness, I discovered, was when this official and I had a working relationship, with him above me. It disappeared when we parted. The continual restructuring, as well as the movement of senior personnel which was a feature of this agency, brought us together more than once.

I therefore began to ask around if this fellow was a racist, knowing that it would get to him. As the Germans say, "Anger without power is folly." Knowing too, that without any evidence, I would get nowhere in any formal attempt to force the issue, I kept my peace. Sometime later, after a planning meeting involving my new boss, with whom I had a good personal relationship, our big chief said to me, "I understand that you are calling me a racist. Would you please desist." I took a few seconds and then said, "You know what you have done, but I do not wish to bring this department into disrepute. I will also not retaliate or cause you harm. But I do know that, one day, you will be judged." (I pointed a finger upwards at that point.) "I will leave it at that." My words must have been like "a camel's kick – soft but stunning", as the Turkish people say. As my boss said later, "He did not respond to you, did he?" From that day onward, there were no more petty actions against me. But he had had his fun for far too long. He was the only racist I found in the public service.

Of course, there are some silly people anywhere, even in senior positions. Some play favourites, and they are to be found everywhere. With the departure of the agency head who had promised me a promotion, I came to realise that those who now ran the shop would always favour their own. The hierarchy reflected fiefdoms, all vying with one another, yet together they genuflected towards Rome and kept out the heathen from sacred seats. I simply worked hard at the highest professional level, knowing that I could never be damaged. That turned out to be true in fact – as long as I did not aspire to promotion, my contribution was respected. I was invited to head the London office as Counsellor (Immigration), but I was already at that level and turned it down. Later, I was offered a comparable position in Pretoria, South Africa. I liked the challenge, but thought it wise to turn it down (as the bulk of applicants would be fleeing from a future coloured government). In the meantime, I had a ball, directing my abilities to the successful settlement of migrants, and making, I believe, a substantial contribution to policy review.

The area in which I made the greatest contribution was in citizenship. To many, especially those at the age of my offspring, citizenship can be seen as irrelevant, as they are global in their perspectives. All of Earth is one; national boundaries are barriers and a bore, and they know too that such boundaries are ignored or overcome by the clever; and that, increasingly, modern communication technology is making national limits superfluous. It is also equally obvious to all, that powerful people juggle with citizenship to relative advantage, while some governments make a mockery of the meaning of citizenship by offering or imposing dual citizenship. Worse still, many a nation conceals a multiplicity of tribes or ethnic communities; with varying degrees of intolerance, these tribes cohabit a given geographical region, seeking relative advantage, while, at the same time, mouthing superficially politically correct utterances about one nation. The reality is that the concept of one nation suits those in control, as long as those below continue to accept their place.

It was against this background that I was asked to produce a paper for the Minister's ethnic affairs advisers, on citizenship enhancement. About a million or so migrants had not taken up citizenship (by grant). The plan was to identify the recalcitrant and encourage them to apply for citizenship. At that time, it was believed that these people, when they took up their rights (which they had hitherto ignored) would vote for the government – why they would not vote for the opposition wasn't explained. As voting is compulsory, they would vote one way or the other. At one stage, just before an election, there was talk of a mass citizenship ceremony, for hundreds, to be held on a football ground.

The drivers behind this push were the same determined duo of politician and bureaucrat who are believed to have coined the slogan: "Root for Australia" as a suitable substitute for the long established policy of "Populate or perish" (translated by the younger generation to the environmentally sensitive: "Copulate and Perish"). "Populate or perish" was initiated to counter the threat of an invasion by the Yellow Hordes from the north. This then justified the substantial expansion of immigration of all shades of white, because the Aussie's sexual drive was allegedly affected by various forms of droop (presumably beer droop). That was not true. It was the lust for _en suites_ in family homes overriding the requirement to produce four or more children. Parity with the "prods" (the Protestants) led to emulation of the latter's search for an improved quality of life. In any event, people began to think as freely as they copulated (with the aid of prophylactics in the latter).

The objective of making citizenship attractive to the tardy led to the examination of all aspects of citizenship, which was timely. There were a number of issues: the rights of women, dual citizenship, loss of citizenship, recovery of citizenship, denial of citizenship, and the preferential treatment of British subjects. The latter were not required to take an oath of allegiance; they could become politicians and Ministers in the government, without taking up citizenship; they could hold top positions in the armed services without Australian citizenship. They could shape defence and every other Australian national policy without Australian citizenship. While Australia was Britain's backyard, such rights were no doubt appropriate.

And I was not aware of any challenge to these rights. It was only when I asked my chief why I, as a British subject, was simply allowed to register as a citizen, whereas non-British migrants were required to become naturalised, that the question became an issue. Naturalisation involved a citizenship ceremony, including an oath of affirmation or allegiance, at that time to the Queen (as Queen of Australia). As British subjects already owed allegiance to their Queen, it was taken that no further oath or affirmation was necessary.

While I was researching the paper on citizenship enhancement, I was offered the job of head of the Citizenship and Language Services Branch (i.e. including TIS, Translation and NAATI). Naturally, I took it. I managed the Branch while I wrote the enhancement paper and presented it progressively to the advisory council, reviewed the citizenship legislation, produced a revised legislative package, and had it approved by all relevant agencies (including the Attorney-General's) so that it was ready for consideration by the Minister. In that period of less than one year, I tightened up practices in the language services area and introduced cost efficiencies. The head of the agency gave broad instructions, especially in the area of cost and administrative efficiencies, and I carried them out. I recall neither help nor hindrance from the chaps in between; my papers piled up on their desks.

When I finished my tasks, my Branch was split so that I would not have a Branch to manage, and I reverted to my position in yet another new area. This was not unexpected, as I had already learned that, again, I was an outsider. This time, I was needed to get jobs done well and quickly. I believe that I became an Untouchable in two ways. Would I change my faith, asked a friend. Why should he stoop to the levels of mongrels above him, replied another. In truth, these were men of limited ability and unlimited prejudice, and there was little one could do about them. But only some of the hierarchy were like that. It was my misfortune to work below them.

My team's investigation of the non-citizens in the country identified about 1.3 million eligible, of whom nearly one million were British. These were all believed to be white, because non-whites (including the many professional Asians) would seek the sanctuary of citizenship as quickly as possible. These non-citizens from Britain could have taken up Australian citizenship and yet retained their British passport, because Britain offered dual citizenship. I suspect that many were not aware of this right. Others, like a good friend of mine, whose working life was predominantly in Australia, with an English wife and children born in Australia, refused Australian citizenship. He had done this because of an intangible but proud affinity with his country of birth. He does not mind paying for a re-entry visa whenever he attends conferences overseas (frequently). It was a matter of pride to him. Others have said that they have fought for and worked for Australia all their lives and so objected to being treated as immigrants – for them, moving to Australia was not emigration. I had some sympathy for this view – Australia had been an extension of home; and they had been allowed to reach top positions in Australia, without challenge.

Now, things were going to change. A coloured New Australian would recommend parity of treatment, of the sexes, and of all immigrants under citizenship legislation. He would recommend that anyone wishing to govern, administer, or fight for Australia, had to make a commitment to Australia; that citizenship was the vehicle for that commitment; and that this commitment be in the form of an oath of affirmation or allegiance to Australia, the nation. It was easy. No one disagreed.

Indeed, some action was premature and heavy handed. For example, before legislation was passed on the new citizenship rules, policy changes were introduced. Teachers and junior public servants were required to be citizens, but they were not eligible for citizenship (at that time) without three years of continuous residence. Why bring in such a rule for non-policy government employees? At the same time, those non-citizens holding top positions in the Parliament, in administration, and in the fighting forces, could remain in those positions – at least until re-election or renewal of contract (which meant that the administrators and some in the armed forces could remain non-citizens forever, if they wished). But the public service boards solved the problem they faced. They placed every entrant into the public sector on contract until they obtained citizenship. Later, I understood that armed service contracts were not renewed until citizenship was acquired and that this policy was not appreciated by some so treated. (Did they prefer to be 'mercenaries', asked a colleague of mine quite unfairly, I thought.)

It was ironic that at the time of recommending removal of the preferential treatment of British migrants, my right of entry into Britain was being removed. Britain was limiting the residence and citizenship rights of her colonial subjects. But I became aware of my loss only after I had completed my recommendations regarding Australian citizenship. I was also not interested in dual citizenship, which I consider anachronistic. I also recommended the elimination of Ministerial discretion in citizenship matters. This would deny delegated rights to senior officers. Discretion is too easily abused. The unavailability of discretion dissuades politicians wishing to garner electoral support by generous discretionary approvals.

My revised legislative package was then worked over for three years by a number of division heads, some allegedly attempting to reintroduce discretion (for good reasons, of course). A number of branch heads sought to put their footprints on the documentation, and a chain of section heads carried the burdens of the ambitions of their bosses. Finally, a no-nonsense Minister came upon the scene and said, "Let there be legislation covering all my decisions – no discretion," or something like that, and three years after I left the area the amended legislation was passed by Parliament. The day it occurred, the responsible section head, a man for whom I have the greatest respect, told me with some glee that "your package" got through today, "substantially as you had it." That was good, and I felt good.

As for the enhancement project, the multi-ethnic members of the advisory council professed to be mightily pleased with the paper, and a few years later, through an error in handling by the senior officer present, it was tabled in Parliament. It contained a proposal to enhance citizenship through the education system. I had borrowed the model for this from my earlier proposal to my local school (and thus to the local schools authority) for a religious education (not indoctrination) programme for primary schools. Some years later, I was gratified to hear the then Prime Minister tell his nation that citizenship meant a commitment to the nation.

In my pre-retirement years, when ethnic affairs and settlement policies had been honed to a fine pitch of purchasing political power from the professional ethnics, and bigger and more complex words came into fashion through the so-called policy on 'managing' multiculturalism, and ethnics were placed on the frontiers of contact with fellow ethnics in the name of access to mainstream services of every kind, I was asked to examine the whole ambit of settlement policy. In the meantime, the old ethnic community representatives, i.e. of predominantly Mediterranean origin were entrenched into advisory bodies of every kind, with a few representatives of the newer communities given a place at the table. Funnily enough, since the brown-skinned migrants (and some lighter ones too) came from former British colonial territories, and spoke good English, they really had no place on bodies dedicated to leading the NES and NESB migrants into pastures of equal opportunity, or did they? (B stands for background.) Fortunately for my sanity and the gods of logic and sincerity, I retired long before anyone could demonstrate their unwillingness and inability to confront the issues involved in settlement policy. Ethnic Affairs and settlement policies may have had a role once, but the honest evaluation of these policies is well overdue.

###  _Chapter Fifteen_

Integration – The Community Scene

It seems to be my destiny to be inveigled into community involvement. I do become involved quite a lot and I do it with my eyes open. But I sometimes wonder why I become involved. What I become involved in appears to be a matter of chance. I do not enter into an arena because I really want to or need to. When I enter into an arena, I have no agenda or plan. I help as best I can. I expect no outcomes, unless I subsequently choose a specific task which seems achievable. Then I pull out all the stops, and off I go. I do it as a source of fun, or just simple satisfaction. I can withdraw just as easily and without heartbreak or sense of loss. I am not sure if this is a good thing or not.

My casual and chance-driven engagements in community affairs did achieve two important effects. I integrated into the community to a greater extent than most migrants I have observed, whether Asian or not. More importantly, I believe that my involvement sensitised a vast number of old Aussies to the Asian presence – and to our capacity to contribute to the community, and to our ordinariness. There was yet another aspect to this involvement. It demonstrated that each of us should put something back into the community that sustains us.

I found a very high level of community involvement in Australia. Some of those involved also have an involvement with their church; most are simply humanistic. Regretfully, I did not come across many first generation non-English migrants, white or black. In this assessment, I exclude the ethnic community agencies which, while working to better their own people, have a financial and ethnic empowerment incentive to do so. In any event, the majority of workers in that area are second or third generation Aussies. Part of the explanation for that is that the majority of non-English migrants into Australia are not fluent enough in English to feel comfortable about participating in a community organisation; many of those who are reasonably fluent lack the necessary confidence; and yet others are too busy, either building up their capacity to sustain their family at a level of their choice or, where they possess financially rewarding skills, to get richer quicker. To me, integration is joining in and pitching in.

When I found myself tossed into the deep end of the pool by being tricked into being a union shop steward, I had no idea how meetings were conducted, or anything else. At my first Council meeting, I was overawed by the dark-grey suited, solid (i.e. well fed), impressive-looking fellow councillors. They were more senior (everyone was, as I was the only base grade clerk there), older, and wiser in the ways of the bureaucracy and the industrial scene. There were no women present and no other ethnic accent audible, although my accent was allegedly British. I was to learn soon that these men were (and are) representative of that mass of middle range administrators who were the mainstay of the service. These were the experts upon whose knowledge and competence the managers relied; yet most had no great future career prospects. They were, in the main, genuinely committed to their chosen task. The meetings were interminable with detailed debate on all manner of (to me) esoteric issues, and arguments about procedures; it was all deadly serious. I had great difficulty in maintaining an interest, especially as I understood little. There were clearly divisions in the group, but they did not seem sectoral (there were, I was told, Masons, Catholics, and every other faith and sect represented). However, I gathered soon that they all voted for the workers' party, the Labor Party.

Then one day someone asked whether it was fair for female public servants to officially lose their career prospects once they married. This was more than a decade before the government decided to encourage married women to re-enter the workforce, thereby contributing substantially to the breakdown of the quality of family life and stressing the fabric of community cohesion. It became clear that the prevailing view in Council was that the male's role as breadwinner of the family should not be undermined; any career satisfaction for a married woman had to be subjugated to this principle. Marriage or work were clear career choices for the female; the male had no such choice.

All of a sudden, I found myself elected to represent the union on the city's road safety council. The president, who had indicated his friendship for me, wanted the position; those who opposed his faction cleverly nominated the unaligned foreigner, who won. At my first meeting of the road safety council, I was again surrounded by even heavier weights; a local government heavy, the town planning agency's engineer, and sundry agency heavies (no women) all pondered seriously all manner of issues. These were, fortunately, easier to follow, although the procedures were beyond my competence. I tried to have something done once, but nothing happened because I did not know how to go about it. When I reported some months later at a union meeting that I was not impressed with the road safety council, there was a minor uproar. This was initiated by the supporters of that council's secretary, also a union councillor. I had not recognised him; all grey-suited heavies looked alike to me.

I survived. Presumably to enlighten me, the town planning agency's engineer invited me to his office and showed me the agency's transport plans for the next thirty years. I was suitably impressed. However, in the more than thirty years I lived in that city, none of these plans came to be implemented.

And I recall that, at a social function attended by some interstate pooh-bah of road safety in Australia, this powerful bureaucrat looked me up and down and then said, "Our safety record is better than...(another look at me)...Thailand." I told him I was an Australian. He did not look impressed; he was one, wasn't he? These people in their comfortable jobs don't like any hint that (perhaps) we should reconsider our policies in the light of an assessment of effectiveness. The tragedy of Australia's town (and therefore lifestyle) planning is that it is based on one quarter acre residential blocks and cars. The infrastructure costs arising from roads, lighting, kerbing and guttering, sewerage, water and transport services have been unnecessarily wasteful. Social costs are higher. For example, in the national capital, where the population is spread so thinly, one is lucky to see people in the suburbs. The planners have forgotten the sound advice from their Greek cultural ancestors: "It is the people who make a city."

There is no bus service on Christmas Day, because of the cost of wages. The needs of the young and the very old do not count.

At the end of the year, I withdrew as union councillor.

Some years later, a colleague and friend asked me to be his proxy as union councillor for that month's meeting. In the meantime, I had become reasonably competent as a public speaker and chairman. The meeting was a bit of a reunion for me as I had quite a few friends amongst them. Then something odd happened – the chairman refused to provide information about an event of great import and was supported in that decision by a vote of nineteen to thirteen. Some of us felt that the decision was wrong in principle. So we quietly conferred. Near the end of the meeting, with a former union secretary guiding us on the rules, and with me on meeting procedures, four of us moved a series of procedural and policy motions and succeeded in reversing the earlier decision. The right result was now nineteen to thirteen the other way – and the information was made available to the meeting. It was a nice feeling; I had progressed from being unable to initiate anything at a meeting to manipulating a meeting (with vast help from others).

Within the next few years, I was intrigued by invitations by opposing teams to stand for the position of president of the local branch of the union. It was all very flattering. Later, I was to conduct a few training sessions for new councillors on meeting procedures. No one would ever be as lost as I was. By this time, there were female councillors in the union, and women had gained equality in the promotion process, marriage being no barrier. By the Seventies, women were in powerful positions and, soon, women were being accused (by women, including a good friend of mine), of unduly favouring women.

By the Nineties, the unions, which had paid little attention to women (and to migrants) were overcompensating. Affirmative action by the unionists' partner in government in the Eighties (ostensibly covering all disadvantaged groups, including the migrant, Aborigines, and the physically handicapped) pushed women into the upper echelons of power at a rapid rate of knots. Then we found women mistreating women, especially the older ones, as happened to a friend of mine. Affirmative action not only overrides the merit principle but corrupts the selection process. Professional codes of conduct are also subjugated to feminist thuggery, especially by those referred to as one-balled.

The societal consequences of encouraging married women to re-enter the workforce and for the taxpayer to subsidise their child care arrangements have not even been adequately aired and debated in public in this country. Why, in a country which spends millions in attracting and servicing a large migrant intake, there is a need to reduce the quality of life for our children (and many of our womenfolk) is not clear. As the social costs of working wives becomes clearer, with the taxpayer paying for more and more of the financial and community costs of bringing up a family, there are political moves for the community to recognise, in a financial manner, the importance of family as the centrepiece of the community, and the importance of motherly love to children in their formative years.

Not everyone will agree about this. There are some politicians whose electoral durability is based upon enlarging the pool of beneficiaries of taxpayer concessions such as childcare. There are those feminists who complain about changing anything that is, or is claimed to be, their rights, without being able to think through clearly what they are complaining about. "Thought would destroy their paradise," said some old fellow somewhere. Attempting to treat the family as the basic tax unit, as I suggested once, upset some of the feminists. Since feminists are as divided as other theologians on social issues, in the long run, what's discernible is the usual "What's in it for me?"

I have little doubt that the central role of the family and family responsibility will be reinstated. The relevance of the extended family will also become evident – and it might be the Asians who will influence this change.

Career protection in the Federal public service involved a promotions appeals sytem, with the staff union association (ACOA) having the right to participate in a review of the initial selection. Appeals were based on relative efficiency, in the main, the criteria for which were set out in legislation. Applying the law was obviously a matter of judgement. There was no training provided in the Federal capital for this role. A member deemed to be competent to sit in judgement was normally invited by the ACOA to join the part-time panel of sixteen, which was intended to provide support for a full-time PAC (Promotions Appeal Committee) representative. He was himself untrained, as were departmental selectors and the chairman. PAC work was counted as official duty.

After establishing my credentials in this area, I offered and conducted successfully a trial training scheme. Then the PSB (Public Service Board), the staff regulatory agency, agreed that training for the various PAC people was desirable. For the next three years I conducted, on a part-time basis, two courses per year, bearing the title Course Director Joint PSB/ACOA Course on Promotions Appeal Procedures. Each course was shaped to suit those attending, calling on as much professional help as was needed. The courses, backed as they were by the commissioners of the PSB, received full support from all the agencies. Our objective was to so condition those who participated in the union's programme, while they were in the middle ranks, that when they entered management positions, they would be better selectors than some of their predecessors. We were aware that most appeals were, in effect, protests against poor management practices.

The union then invited me to join a PAC sub-committee of five, including the branch president and secretary; the other three were elected by the union's councillors. The sub-committee's role was to advise on all career protection matters. I served for ten years on this committee, chairing it for seven, while new presidents and secretaries came and went. In my time, some very significant changes to career protection were achieved. The processes of initial selection and review under appeal, including all documentation, became open. Every applicant had a right to be told what was said about him or even her, and about all the other applicants. Through the initiative of a couple of determined individuals, the courts finally confirmed that natural justice applies in the public sector. That was progress. Equity and efficiency, not the feeling in some senior officer's water, were to drive the promotion process.

If the risk of an appeal could be avoided, a selector could have his way. Even in an appeal, unless the union rep displayed the necessary ability and strength, the chairman was (in our experience) not likely to rock the boat. In one case (my own appeal), the chairman admitted to me later that he had been in breach of the requirement of natural justice. How many other cases were there? Regretfully, those former full-time union PAC reps who were appointed chairman also learned the art of not rocking the boat. And, occasionally, a few of the union's more senior reps were found to have their own agendas, i.e. they were inadequately committed to fair play or had their own views about who should move into senior positions (people like themselves?). The promoting agency's rep was expected to support the agency's selection; but this did not happen uniformly, much to our delight.

My assessment of the outcomes of our work in the late Seventies was that a very improved system was in place, but its effectiveness was being undermined by some of those charged with upholding justice. Then my committee began to work on staff assessment procedures. A number of agencies already had these. One in particular, Foreign Affairs, had an excellent scheme. This was useful when the PAC carried out a pre-embarkation assessment of an officer's claim to promotion while serving overseas. This assessment would be taken into account, together with the usual performance assessments, when a vacancy occurred and a selection was made back home.

When I joined Immigration and then moved to Melbourne, I had to give up this interesting work. I left with a Meritorious Service Award from the union (which creditably ignored the fact that I had always refused to join in strikes). Within a few years after the workers' political party took office, after twenty-three years in the wilderness, the thrust of career protection that we had established was effectively broken down. Management had an unfettered right to promote as it wished. With political appointments to top positions, and other promotions based on personal preferences, appeals were really a waste of effort, claimed those I spoke to.

But I had enjoyed my time in this arena, and I had made a substantial contribution. The head of Treasury said to me once that he had noted my work for the union and quite liked the way I had gone about it. This was in response to my question whether working for the union had jeopardised my career prospects. I had also participated in some very important promotions, such as the position of Government Printer, the policy heads of the tertiary education system, and the welfare system, among others. I looked into the policies and practices of so many agencies, including foreign affairs, defence, and Aboriginal affairs. I thus became a policy watcher too. For example, in Defence, the support for the questionable domino theory was axiomatic at that time. Since I had also been attending meetings of the Institute of International Affairs, I began to wonder if some Australian policy advisers would ever think for themselves, or, worse still, whether they would bother to understand the Asian mind, having regard for Asia's extensive and complex history and long memories. Our cock-up in relation to Vietnam is illustrative.

Before I retired from the work of the union, I had been involved with work-value matters and an inter-union rivalry arising from a multi-agency thrust to have economists classified as a professional category. In the industrial area there seemed to be innumerable classifications, representing the finest classifications of skill, and resulting in job demarcation disputes and union-inspired inefficiencies in the utilisation of labour. In spite of the rhetoric about multi-skilling in the late Eighties and Nineties, such inefficiencies are said to continue, especially in the building industry.

However, in the Federal public sector, apart from clear professional skills (e.g. medicine, engineering), the rest of us then had eleven classifications in the administrative division and three (excluding head of agency) in the executive division. We were not so much multi-skilled as uni-skilled. No university degrees or qualifications were required – except for some starting salaries.

A social consequence of this structuring was that the whole community could tell your income, aided by a "stud book" which listed every public servant and his date of commencement in the service. The latter was relevant in earlier years when seniority was used as a tie-breaker when two applicants were equal on other criteria. Later, we (the union) forced the PSB to renounce seniority, which was rarely applied by us anyway. There had also developed a practice in major policy agencies, by which one had to be promoted into the executive service by age forty, or not at all. Those so promoted rarely promoted anyone older than themselves, even into positions at the top of the administrative divisions. An explanation given was that having older and possibly more knowledgeable officers too close to one was a constraint on development of new policy directions. This was offered by an incumbent who, like the rest, sought the security and sanctuary of government employment. For a tie-breaker in selection, we preferred merit, which included loyalty, manifest over extended service.

The last time work-value had raised its ugly head in the public sector was when foreign affairs officials sought a separate classification. Perhaps they did not want us commoners to know how much each of them was paid; for example, if one told me how many overseas postings he had had, I could generally identify his classification and his income. This spoilt many a cocktail party for some Foreign Service wives. In a similar vein, when (later) a senior security officer came to see me about a reference I had given an applicant for a responsible position in defence policy, he told me what my status was by looking at my room and the size of the carpet. A foreign affairs officer identified my official status at a party by saying that I could not have a lower status than my host, another foreign affairs officer. Trying to be a public service clerk could not help me be anonymous on that occasion. The economists' work-value motion, seeking a separate professional classification, with higher wages, came to nought.

Work-value concerns highlighted some other interesting relationships. Although the centralised wage system made decisions periodically which attracted the total Australian workforce, each area of work (e.g. university teachers, defence officers, or the public service) was required, through its prospective union, to seek adjustment to its wages structure in relation to its specific skills and responsibilities. Each group would receive an adjustment, followed later by the others apparently on the basis of being able to prove their respective cases. Yet the parallels were clear – that a university senior lecturer's maximum salary was in effect (adjusting for the time lags of award determinations) on a par with that of a colonel in the army (whose parity with the other services was set), and of a director (section head) in the Federal public service. The latter's parity with Foreign Service officials was set at a level of counsellor.

This led to perennial whinges that a professor was paid no more than a public service division head (I'm not sure who was overpaid) or that a pass graduate could earn as much as a PhD-holding senior lecturer (section heads would love to have the working hours of the academics with their thirty-two weeks' per year workload). Schoolteachers successfully screwed themselves in the Sixties when they sought status rather than money, by obtaining aides to clean their boards and do other low level work. Their base wages were set on a par with the mid-range public servant, and then adjusted downwards to offset their extended holidays relative to the holidays of the public servant. However, somehow, school principals were treated fairly by being paid at the level of a public service section head (although I would have much preferred the workload and lifestyle of a school principal).

Principals, section heads, senior academics and defence officers came together in the national capital for a while in the mid-Seventies on school boards. These boards were an innovation. They replaced an inspectorial system controlled by an education agency. In addition to variations between the Australian states, in curricula and related matters, the education authority in the national capital would accept variations between schools if the school communities so decided. Each community would administer its own school, through school boards, whose CEO would be the principal. Boards could decide on curricula, standards and practices. This revolutionary approach was introduced just when the USA was having second thoughts about it all.

Community involvement in schools had hitherto been through Parents and Citizens Association (P&C). A few concerned parents met regularly to run the school canteens and to raise funds. They did a good job. Each P&C had a representative on a system-wide body looking at education policy, making representations to the education authority, but I noticed little interest at school level until the idea of parent involvement in school policy was bruited. Then grandiose ideas were floated and people who saw the opportunity to shape the future of the country sought to be heard. And those who could foresee a career in administering education could be seen manoeuvring for position. There were some excellent ideas – one was to have each school specialise in an appropriate foreign language, with the children bussed to the school of choice.

My involvement in the P&C commenced when my wife dragged me to a P&C meeting saying that fathers too should support their school. In addition, since our daughter was the only coloured child in the school, she felt that community knowledge of the father's interest in her life at school might prove to be useful. At the meeting, I was careless enough to ask a couple of questions, and finished up as vice-president of the P&C within a couple of months. Vice-presidents have no set tasks, so I wasn't that stupid. At the first meeting at the P&C I nearly fell out with the principal. He wanted our funds to buy curtains for his hall (the responsibility of the education authority), whereas the parents wanted to buy little carpet squares for the children to sit on. They were currently sitting on the concrete floor for some session or other. I wondered if some of these teachers had children of their own, because the national capital is the coldest of the capital cities of mainland Australia.

The principal then displayed his political viewpoint by asking the P&C to protest to the government about its proposed funding for something or other, as this would reduce the money available for schools. He was not alone – over the next many years we found politically motivated teachers whose social theories ignored economics, sound education principles, or even logic. Naturally, they all voted the same way as the public service union councillors I had worked with.

My wife spent ten years in all at the school repairing school library books, helping at the tuck shop, listening to children read, collecting clothing and funds for major disasters overseas as well as for some local welfare cases, and generally helping out. She remained a full-time mother. We were thereby poorer than many of our neighbours and colleagues. I attended the odd meeting, occasionally representing the school at the system-wide P&C policy meeting.

One day my wife brought a message from the current school principal: would I stand for the school board? I had not thought of it, but I liked the man. His wife and he had been dinner guests at our home in his first year. In about four hours of talk about schooling, we had not been able to disagree. I had invited him to dinner to discuss a small difference of opinion between me and one of my son's teachers. She would not allow him to bring his school books home over the holidays. She believed that he should not have to study during any holiday. When I sent her a courteous note asking for the books, she declined. I wrote again, saying that the books were ours, and what we did over the holidays was not of concern to the school. She complained to the principal – about what? I wondered. But teachers then were not used to parents disagreeing with them or talking back.

The community elected me to the board and I found myself the chairman within three minutes of the first meeting; my own nominee for the position lost. It was a superb board. The parents included a psychologist (a practising Quaker and feminist), an accountant and me. The teachers included the two assistant principals and the principal. The principle that the community as a whole decided what was to be done, with the professionals, the teachers, deciding how it would be done, actually worked. We laboured harmoniously and productively in that first year. One of our achievements was the rewriting of the school's policy objectives to cover the parents' needs and to have our contribution accepted by the school's teachers. Another achievement was to integrate the three primary schools with the high school, both at board and teacher level; our children thus went into high school on equal terms with students from the other feeder schools.

Near the end of one meeting, I was told by the principal that three children in the final year of primary school had signed a protest against a teacher and lodged it with the appropriate assistant principal.

The background was that the class as a whole felt that the teacher was discriminating against a particular student. And a couple of years earlier another teacher had taught them about their rights to protest, including the right to strike. When I asked what the school proposed to do, there was great laughter. One of the three signatories was my son; I had no idea. My wife told me later that, earlier in the day, she had passed my son in the school corridor. When she asked what he was looking so pleased about, he had merely said that he was going to see the assistant principal. Another signatory was the accountant's daughter who (later) said that she had signed "real small", as she was frightened, but wanted to protest anyway.

This was not a matter for the board. The three parents felt that the school administration should handle it. However, I did drop the thought that any mishaps befalling the three signatories would be over my dead body.

Early in the next year the representatives of the local churches who conducted religious classes during school hours for the children of their faith pulled out of the arrangement. The school board met with them and we reached agreement that what the school ought to be doing was to educate the children about what it was like to be religious and about religions, but not to indoctrinate them in any one faith. Any parent who wanted a Christian education might attend church with their children and then take them to religious classes. This was not generally happening.

We conducted a formal survey of parents and, in spite of the large non-English-speaking population, obtained a response from the majority. The response supported a broad-based educational programme. Over the Easter holiday I drafted an outline of a programme based on a three-fold categorisation of all religions. My parent colleagues on the board agreed with it, then the school board agreed with it in outline, and the school authority was reported to like it too. I then consulted the South Australian school system, the local Protestant and Catholic teachers, and a senior academic in the Graduate Research School of Social Sciences, before drawing up a detailed outline. The three parents worked on it and finally presented it to the board as a draft where it stayed without any conclusion, while the teachers ostensibly examined it.

All that year there had been tensions at board level. It seemed to me that the new principal, and those teachers who saw the parent role as more quiescent, were trying to contain us by using the catch-cry of education being the responsibility of the professionals. Unfortunately, they were picking on the wrong team; we were the "A team." The parallel was not too far off. Our programme was opposed ostensibly because the teachers were fully occupied and could not fit in any more work. They were, I was told, not willing to consider changing the current curricula covering the so-called Social Studies, which could include anything to everything, in order to provide an underpinning for the suggested new religious educated programme. Whether the teachers wished to talk to us, we would not know. The bottom line was that some of their top dogs were not willing to accept a parent initiative. I was personally accused of denying the presentation of Christian teachings to a Christian community because of my "foreign faith" (I know who started that story).

At the last board meeting I threatened to inform the community in my end of year address in the school hall that the parents' proposal for a broad-based religious education programme had been held up for half a year by the teachers for political reasons. The programme was accepted as board policy. It may have then remained in the files thereafter, because the three of us had no reason to stand again. I took the precaution of informing those attending the end of year community meeting (we usually filled the large hall) that the programme had been accepted by the board in principle; that, as a card-carrying Christian I had no reason to delay my own initiative; and that the education of their children now lay in their own hands.

Community involvement in administering education in the national capital was already becoming a farce. Initially, boards included experienced civil and defence administrators and established academic scholars and researchers. At meetings of chairmen of boards (all parents), one could feel the force of competence present. At meetings of associated boards, there was palpable commitment. Within a few years, the more able people had moved away. We agreed amongst ourselves that we were not needed. What had been intended was the devolution of authority from a central agency to the school principal. Parent participation was partly to form a cheer group. I saw this in operation later. Teachers employed at other schools also exercised their right to participate as parents at their children's schools.

Some years later I was foolish enough, and still committed to furthering education, to agree to be the School Authority's rep on a school board. Finding that I had no role to play (no role had been defined either), I withdrew from an expensive pastime. I doubt if those of us who could have continued to make a substantial contribution would be missed.

The mid-Seventies brought in some very significant changes in society, due to a change of government after twenty-three years. Schoolteachers were empowered but not enriched, and social engineering was in. In my schools, the teachers insisted that achievement should not be rewarded, only effort. Good students reflecting (say) educated homes could look after themselves. Teachers were not bound by discipline; progressively, their students were not either – and the teachers paid for that. Levels of competence dropped – confirmed by the teachers privately.

I saw evidence of all this at my son's high school. My son disliked drugs, yet he knew who the drug users and drug dealers were. Teachers were openly political and dressed as they wished; before an election, political badges were worn into class by teachers. The younger teachers were still talking about "actualising the child's potential," an objective of early primary school, whereas the older teachers and parents hoped that our offspring would not need to be supported by us forever. (It is interesting today that a large proportion of young people under twenty-four years of age are still living at home with their parents, unlike (say) two decades ago.) When I was president of the P&C at the high school (at the principal's request), we turned P&C meetings into education, not fund-raising, meetings; I wasn't interested in meat slicers and the price of sandwiches.

What we found was frightening. At the beginning of each year at high school, a student's ability was assessed by his teachers. There were no formal assessment procedures, offering the opportunity for verification of an assessment. At intervals, usually once a year, each student was evaluated against his assessed ability. That was how a neighbour's son got As for every subject, every year. Assessed at D-level ability, if his effort and achievement came to that D-level, he received an A assessment. My son was assessed as more competent, but he was lucky to get past a B. What was his initial assessed ability? I could never find out. I was told that this varied with each teacher, and it wasn't being formalised, you know. My friendship with the principal did not help at all.

My daughter was unfortunate enough to be in the first batch of students in the new college system, representing the last two years of secondary schooling (years 11 and 12). The focus of the new colleges was on acquiring qualifications for tertiary entrance, with a lifestyle based on universities; the non-tertiary-oriented could still matriculate (a requirement sought by some employers) apparently at a much lower level of competence. One of my fellow parents felt that bicycle riding and cartwheeling were also available subjects, but neither of us bothered to check. There are many students in the country who have matriculated but whose capacity to read or write or to think clearly suggests that their pass was based on non-tertiary subjects of the most interesting kind but of the least financial value to them in life.

To obtain the highest possible mark, a student was advised to take up popular subjects. If you were one of two students taking (say) Lithuanian or Latin, by the time the standardisation and scaling processes were completed, one could finish up with a low tertiary entrance score, in spite of a high initial pass; such were the consequences of attempts to produce a universal ranking system. Most parents could not understand it at all; those with reasonably competent students did not bother.

These changes reminded us of the introduction of Cuisenaire rods in the first year of primary school. We were told most emphatically that the child would not need to learn any tables or memorise any numerical relationships, ever. By year three, of course, they were relying on memory. Later, we were told that, because the children had calculators, they did not have to learn how to do sums by hand, or in their heads. How would they know when the calculator produced the wrong answer? We received no satisfactory answer from these teachers. The countryside is now full of young people who have no idea how much change they have left after making a few purchases, without actually adding up the change in their hands; this would then enable them to buy a few more goods, re-examine the change visually, and then make further decisions to purchase. Then we had the new maths; I remember sets and sub-sets; a change in terminology represented an improved form of learning.

No wonder so many public service chiefs are bent on restructuring and relabeling; they were obviously conditioned in State schools. A girl spent four years studying a foreign language at high school; she could not speak the language at all, in any form, much less understand it, at the end of that period. Neither could any of her classmates. Convert from 70 degrees F to Celsius? Two schoolteachers did not know how to start, even after I showed them the relationship. Some of the words my peer group uses had not been heard of by some of today's university graduates. Even if they had, they could not spell them. And they were not all the offspring of ethnics.

The problems bedevilling the national capital's public education system seemed to be little different from those elsewhere in Australia. The brilliant students produced by government schools may indeed reflect their genetic and social inheritance, including the will to be excellent. Claims by employers and others that current crops of school leavers and university graduates are progressively less competent is challenged by teachers and by some academic educationalists. These assert that, statistically, there is no basis for such a comparison. This is what I call a technical defence, as happens in the law.

When employability is the issue, the defence raised is the development of self-confidence through free expression. One would think that expression needs concepts; and that free communication, but only at the simplest level, would leave this country at a relative disadvantage in a global, competitive workplace. However, borrowing from our current crop of political leaders their ability to see light at the end of every tunnel they fall into, Australia is very likely to be saved by the children of our refugees and migrants, particularly the Asian; these are beginning to top the lists of school leavers.

Concerned that few school leavers are articulate orally, a friend of mine initiated a public speaking competition for secondary schools in the national capital. It was soon extended to include neighbouring townships. He and I, some years later, extended it to a national competition. Having established it securely, we passed the national competition into younger hands based in the heart of commercial Australia, Sydney, where sponsorships are more readily accessible.

We did all this in the name of Australian Rostrum, a nationwide public speaking organisation, which also taught chairmanship and, to a lesser extent, debating. It is a democratically conducted organisation with impetus generally rising from club level. My friend Tom was one of the few national presidents with a vision; and he believed in community service by Rostrum. So at the state level I raised the money for Tom's project, through training courses which I managed.

The training courses were initially for the public, through the Australian Institute of Management. I managed to extend our clientele to include Foreign Affairs (Foreign Service Trainees from up to twenty neighbouring countries), Trade and Industry (graduate intake), Trade Commissioner Service (Trainee Trade Commissioners), Public Service Board (graduate entrants), for a few years. These course entrants were top drawer material; but they still found that we had something new for them – we taught them to speak with impact, without notes and a lectern, and to understand the logic of meeting procedures. In some instances we had to undo some bad practices which they had got away with in student organisations in university and elsewhere. In my last year in this arena, three of us taught IDC (Interdepartmental Committee) role playing; it was fun for us, and course members learned about the pits they could fall into.

One group learnt a sharp lesson. As the departmental representative of the Prime Minister's department (in the role playing), I naturally chaired the meeting. In one and a half hours, I obtained agreement on a controversial proposal. The other study group, with normal caution, sought further details. In the reporting session, when asked how they could reach agreement to support the proposal, the spokesman for my syndicate said they had reached agreement but did not know how; they felt that they had been tricked by the chairman, but did not see how. That was a most useful lesson; they would never let their agency down, ever.

I then turned some of my profits to my own project. With help from a coup of committed colleagues, I established a public speaking programme for primary schools. Participating schools could do what they wished. Rostrum's trophy to each school could be awarded as the school saw fit. Ideally, a school would involve a wide range of students in this development effort; at minimum, the school would produce a representative to contest the state final. Schools in surrounding districts (i.e. outside the Federal territory) were eligible.

For the first three years, I introduced the five finalists on TV. Each finalist speech was televised on a week night at prime children's programme time. By the end of three years, about half of the local schools were in the programme. Twenty-five years later, two-thirds were participating. The private schools were our greatest supporters, although the winners came from the State schools too.

It's simply fantastic to see a ten- or twelve-year-old speak with so much confidence and style, standing all alone in a large auditorium. When the first secondary school's national final was held, in the junior section, there was a half-pint size boy of about thirteen, who was as powerful as the best senior. Here was our future, and it included the children of non-English-speaking migrants as well as some English-speaking Asian migrants.

Selling successfully the idea of a nationwide secondary schools public speaking competition was what made me a national president of Rostrum. My nominee, a very good friend, lost to me (which was a great pity, because he, too, was a man of ideas). The old hands had each made clear to me before the vote (where else, but in the washroom) that I was the preferred pea, as I had ideas for our future. That was all very well, but it involved hard work – and not all my ideas bore fruit in the two years that I was in the chair (and it was I who had moved that presidents remain in the chair for no more than two years). However, it was nice, years later, to see how my successors had run with the ball successfully.

What wasn't so nice, immediately after my election, was walking to our plane at Hobart Airport, in the middle of the group of fellow state presidents, to be singled out for a metal detection test. Imagine the brown-skinned terrorists sending one of their own with a bomb-loaded briefcase, to blow up a domestic flight and himself. One of my colleagues could see that night's security report: SUSPECTED TERRORIST SCREENED. That, of course, did not happen.

That's the price of being brown in a white environment. You never know when you are going to be picked upon. As a fourth generation Chinese Aussie said to a first generation Italian-Aussie friend of mine, "All that you have to do is to keep your trap shut and you'll pass for one of them. My children, no matter how Aussie they sound, will still face some discrimination." This was in the late Eighties, at the height of the government's hyperbole about ethnicity and equality.

Life in Rostrum proved to be very interesting. Being able to find the words to talk to anyone was fine, but the ability to package what one wanted to say into a succinct and yet impactful statement, especially one made at a meeting while seated, was very valuable. The ability to 'argue dirty', which one learned from debating, was useful in preparing Ministerial replies. Evaluating speeches was relevant for a public service manager, especially in preparing Cabinet submissions or editing draft analytical reports. In my day, many senior public servants either were, or had been, members of Rostrum. In the major capital cities, such as Sydney, eminent barristers are still members of Rostrum.

I once made a sad mistake when evaluating a speech by a senior public servant of considerable vintage. I suggested that he look at his speech sounds. He never came back. When it came to the use of English, I suspect that some did not like being corrected by a foreigner, a junior.

It was a bit like that occasionally at work. A junior member of my team would always argue about my correction of his spelling. In desperation, I would say, "Bet you a buck," before looking for a dictionary. I collected a few dollars that way. One day, one colleague said, "You think you are infallible, don't you?"

I said, "No, no, on the contrary – I'm not like our friend across the Mediterranean; but I am rarely wrong."

After that, all that I had to say was, "Bet you have a buck," and the opposition would collapse. That was silly. I could have been wrong.

When Rostrum was for men only, I and others worked for five years to include women. Eventually we succeeded. My reputation as a feminist for that and other reasons was vouched for by some senior public servants. Presumably, that was why I was interviewed for the position of Head of Women's Affairs in the Federal system. Not surprisingly, the job went to a woman; and women continue to hold that post in an allegedly non-discriminatory service.

It was not that different when vacancies arose in two states for the head of their ethnic advisory councils. I applied, with agreement from up to five ethnic communities in each state to work with me. And I had the support of eminent ethnic leaders in each state. Yet parochialism prevailed. I believe that the preferences of the ethnic power brokers overruled professional selection processes; the subsequent appointment of deputy chairmen might not have been insignificant.

I am sure that there is a lot more that these peak ethnic bodies can do than act as lobby groups for additional taxpayer resources. In contrast, there are community groups in the country which are very effective in providing aid to the genuinely needy overseas. While the Federal government does its best in this area, there is a great effort made by ordinary fold to raise funds. I joined one of these groups, having agreed to make a small financial contribution regularly (through a deduction at source from my wages). Somehow, I finished up on the local committee for a year, when it was dominated by the wives of senior defence officers and senior public servants. Our publicity efforts led not only to an expansion of membership but to responsibility for managing the organisation being passed to the younger generation, especially university students. So, instead of eating our way to raise funds, we soon starved to raise funds.

When our Indian representative was brought to Australia, my wife and I were asked to host him, as he was a vegetarian. As carnivores, we had little experience of a total vegetarian diet in Australia, but we managed to feed the man successfully. However, when he asked to meet some poor Australians, we were flummoxed. Many Australians are, of course, described as 'poor' by welfare researchers. But their measure of poverty is a very quaint one; one is below the 'poverty line' if one's income is below, not a minimum level of need or necessity, but below average weekly earnings (initially) or (latterly) a deemed after-tax disposable income.

That is, the current measure of poverty in Australia (as I believe it is in the UK) is the measure of relative wealth. In fact, poverty in Australia is, as someone stated, "the lack, not of much, but of more." After all, average weekly earnings include all the high income earners, as well as income from overtime. And a centralised wages system ensures a good minimum wage. A recent research report found that, after twenty years, the "poverty line" income brought twenty per cent more goods; that it does not take into account welfare payments or assets; and that, at the end of the Eighties, most Aussies were living decently, with the highest living standard ever. That would have upset the professional whinger, assuming that he is interested in reality.

Assessments of poverty rarely seem to be objective. I recall that an ethnic community's leaders in one capital city protested vigorously when a so-called research report claimed that _x_ per cent of that community were below the poverty line. It transpired that most members of that community had refused to answer any of the researcher's questions. It was reported to us that the researcher had looked into the open doorways through which he or she was not allowed to pass, and made a guess as to income levels. This was done on the basis of the furniture and fittings visible. The community was incensed because they considered themselves well off; they did not believe that the researchers were objective.

Not bothered by such claimed statistics, we took our Indian visitor to the poorest family we knew. They were neighbours. They lived in a rented government house, had carpet on the floor (vinyl in the kitchen and wet areas), fridge, stove, washing machine, TV, radio, some curtains and blinds, some light fittings, and an old car. He was builder's labourer. The wife stayed home with four children. They thus lived on a minimum award wage, i.e. the lowest legal wage payable. In our working class suburb, a few others earned as much (or as little); the three bus drivers in my street being the highest income earners (because of shift-related wages). When our guest and we came home, all that our visitor had to say was, "I wish to God that we could all be as poor as that family!" and we wept inside with him.

Australia's overseas aid organisations are doing a very worthwhile job. I can only hope that the Asian settlers are now pitching in to help. However, I note that in recent years, some aid agencies have involved themselves in international politics such as the East Timor issue (which is exacerbated by the reported involvement of the Vatican's people). Charity is genuine only in the absence of moralising or politicking.

Integration into a community is reflected not only by participation in community organisations but also in day-to-day living. Before I went to live in Canberra, I had been told that the fledgling city was residentially structured, primarily according to function, viz., diplomatic, military service, public service, academic (the small private sector did not rate a mention); secondarily, by class. But it was not so. Granted, the foreign diplomats were ensconced in the best suburb, with the missions located mainly in the best streets. But everyone else was spread out without regard to function or class.

Later, those with high expectations (e.g. the Australian Foreign Service employees) or high hopes (some of the public servants) or those who had indeed arrived, built large homes in the appropriate developing new suburbs. I know that many an aspiring resident was hocked up to his eyeballs in preparation for the expected powerful but relatively impecunious life – to the extent that he had to stoop to serve flagon wine camouflaged in carafes (he could not afford decanters either) at his dinner parties. This might also explain, in part, why so many of these were so willing to accept dinner invitations but so slow to reciprocate. Those who had attended the better schools were, in the early days, likely to wear suede shoes (and corduroy slacks in their leisure hours). Many had wives who had wealthy papas – it did not matter whether Papa was a shopkeeper or grazier. A young city-based colleague of mine used to wear elastic-sided boots and a leather hat, in the countryman's style, because his wife was a wealthy country girl. Since entertaining the right people (including the media) was seen as compulsory to progress, the wife's money was very important.

Newcomers, with the right attributes, who were able to get in touch with the right people on arrival, and to keep up with them, were promised intelligent and suave company. My wife and I had little trouble getting in, and staying part of, the diplomatic and academic circuits but it was patently difficult to maintain one's place at an elevated public service one. We preferred the more mature public servants for company, because they were more relaxed and knew how to conduct themselves. Such company was available generally at official functions, but private engagements tended to be restricted, in the main, to one's current official level. And, as some people moved up the promotion ladder, we were dropped socially. When I initially moved up faster than some of our new friends, they would not continue to eat with us. They explained that it was Canberra tradition. How ridiculous!

A great problem in socialising in that city at that time was that so many of the aspiring public servants lacked what my mother-in-law described as 'social graces'. When the wife of a low-grade public servant put out good quality fabric serviettes (napkins), or when his sideboard displayed expensive decanters for spirituous liquor, or when the dinner table was set with patently expensive tableware, one could also sense that we were seen as acting beyond our station. One buffoon actually turned over his dinner plate (before he'd filled it, of course) to confirm its quality and he commented on it.

The poor were not to emulate the wealthy, obviously; but for my wife, none of this was new, although she too was poor. "Better a fortune in a wife than with a wife," said some philosopher somewhere. Indeed, her grammar school accent was stated to be "strange" by some, especially those with their parochial school background. It was almost a class war in disguise. In the main, where the wife had been acculturated to some extent, we were fine; where she lacked confidence or was under the influence of her priest, there would be no communication even if the men were close colleagues and friendly. For example, in a new suburb, my wife invited our new neighbours to coffee. They accepted. Later in the day, the local priest visited some. None of these women was then free to visit. There was also no suggestion of a gathering another day. "A broad hat does not always cover a venerable head" is an old English saying. Either we were of the wrong faith, or I was of the wrong colour.

After thirty years in the national capital, it was my sad but fairly assessed conclusion that it was virtually impossible for us to achieve any real friendship with church-going Irish-Australian-Catholics; people of other faiths and other Catholics (mainly Europeans) accepted us. Prejudice planted on ignorance is a terrible contribution to a much desired multicultural society. The city also tends to debase humanity. There is so much patronage, backstabbing, character assassination, gossiping, politicking and petty skulduggery, especially in more recent times, that one has to make a point of being seen to be dissociated from all that and many of us did so successfully.

There were some very interesting experiences in our social life in higher atmospheres. At a foreign affairs party, on that election night when a change of government after twenty-three years occurred, my wife and I were the only uncommitted voters present; the rest were staunch supporters of the Labor Party. My host could not tell me what proportion of the staff in his department were of that persuasion. I had been told that, in the Treasury, the committed at that time were assessed at more than eighty-five per cent. This says a lot about the origins and values of these employees. But what about the enrolment and selection processes?

At another foreign affairs party, a local gynaecologist was berating the dishonesty of female patients from the public sector, who had sought and obtained sick leave from him on all matter of pretences. When someone pointed out that he was guilty of collusion, he was not amused. Then there was a psychiatrist lassie who was irritated by me because she found (through a casual conversation) that I was "too normal." (Should I have been insulted?) At a gathering of mixed academic and service people, some of the women were busily engaged in identifying the positions of the senior people present. My wife indicated her displeasure at this to one of the women, not knowing that she was the wife of the deputy secretary of an agency which had scheduled an interview for me in the following week. The interview was cancelled.

At the ethnic level of social intercourse, the ambassador of a European nation sought assiduously but unsuccessfully to have my wife, while his was busy with another diplomat. I noted that when we fed the Ambassador, I paid; when he fed us, his government paid – it was not equitable. Then there was the Australian army major who visited us with his family. The registration plate on his car was ABO (followed by three numbers). He was a Ceylonese Malayan-Aussie with a dangerous sense of humour; because he had been addressed as an Aboriginal so often (and in the usual manner) he had decided to challenge the prejudiced.

As time went by, we hosted some of the increasing number of the foreigners studying in Canberra. Initially, we fed the undergraduates (mainly private students). Later, we chose to entertain mature age postgraduate (usually scholarship) fellows or those nominated by their governments for short courses in Australia. We thus became aware of developments in such countries as Tanzania, the Philippines, Papua New Guinea, and so on. There were some particularly nice women from India and Sri Lanka, who, naturally enough, took to our children with great warmth. There were some young men from India who assuaged their homesickness by cooking meals of their choice in our kitchen.

Almost without exception, these people were excellent cross-cultural bridges between Australia and the nations surrounding us.

As more time went by, we acquired Asian settlers in the national capital and elsewhere. Initially, they were medical doctors, usually specialists. And they tended to stick together. When medical fraud began to be identified throughout Australia, regretfully there seemed to be a disproportionately high ratio of Asian-sounding names amongst them. As the Asian population increased, and teachers, academics, public servants, and accountants, settled in our city, there was more intercourse among the Asians. Those with Anglo-Saxon (i.e. white) wives tended, however, to be left on the margin, as were (so I was told) couples of divergent language backgrounds. For example, a Bengali married to a Malayali told me that they were on the outer edge of both communities; yet, by faith and other cultural traditions, they shared the same background. The wider the mix of people, by origin, the more fluid the movement available to mixed couples like this. Yet the bigger the particular ethnic or language group, the less contact they seemed to have with other groups, including the mainstream communities, i.e. they tended to turn more to intra-ethnic contacts. These people were very fluent in the English language and traditions and were therefore best equipped to integrate with the wider community.

When it became known that I worked in Immigration and Ethnic Affairs, my peace (and occasionally sleep) was destroyed by Asians ringing me, even from the other states, claiming to be good friends of my only relative in the country. Strangers would visit, accompanied by mutual friends living in my city. All sought my intervention with the immigration of a relative. When I pointed out that I specialised in ethnic affairs, that I was not allowed to intrude into immigration issues, and that I would not seek any assistance from anyone in the department, it was not well received. The wife of a prominent academic, having woken me up in the early hours of one Sunday morning, said, "You refuse to help me." I said, "No. I will not even help my own sister in this way."

I then explained to them all about due process and suggested that they follow these processes, which were clearly defined. If they had a case, the applicant would get in. There was no scope for corruption. There was scope for flexibility at the highest level (I did not tell them that). There may have been corruption at overseas posts (this was often alleged), but no evidence had been unearthed, in spite of thorough investigations. Some local staff may have altered the queue, for a price. To my knowledge, my advice was always followed (they really had no alternative) and successfully. I have yet to receive thanks from anyone for showing them the clear path of due process, especially the professor's wife, whose relative is now in Australia.

One can understand that it is possibly incredible for some people from some countries to accept that straight dealing is enough to obtain approval from the authorities. These are the people who had already experienced unnecessary difficulties or denials, whether in Sri Lanka, Chile, the Lebanon, or the Philippines (to name a few places drawn to my attention). Others simply lacked the confidence to deal with officials (because of a sense of awe or fear?), or to undertake a simple commercial transaction (because it is normally done through an intermediary who can get a good price or 'move things along'). For example, back in the late Sixties, my mother nearly missed a flight to Australia, paid for by me, because her intermediary (who had offered her a special price) had not delivered the ticket to her. Some practices die hard.

What was insulting was the assumption that _I_ would be willing to risk my career, especially for someone I did not even know, in a country which they considered offered them better opportunities. To my great regret, all of these contacts were Ceylon Tamils, whether from Malaysia, Singapore, or Sri Lanka. One outstanding character was a fellow public servant. He rang me on a number of occasions over many months for advice on due process. However, he was far too busy to join me for a drink, to invite me to his home, or to visit my home with his family. I was merely a useful source of information. His problem related to a close blood relative, brought up as an integral member of his family, but not legally adopted – a common enough practice with our people. I explained that Aussie immigration officers did consult Asian fellow officers in order to understand cultural traditions and dependencies, and were open to persuasion. They were reasonable people. I advised my enquirer therefore, to put all the facts down and appeal for understanding, but also to have regard for a very important consideration – would this person be a burden to the taxpayer? I heard no more. Had my father been on the ball after all with his assessment of our people?

At sixty, I decided to retire. I had come to distrust the politics of government administration; while my racist colleague had left, a smidgen of prejudice in certain quarters remained. Worse still, the sectarian profile of the upper echelons was palpably perceivable and some promotions were patently nepotistic.

Before I left, a number of ethnic officers, all white and very fluent in English, from countries from South America to Europe, asked me to join with them in protesting about discrimination in promotion. I declined, but spoke privately to the head of the agency whom I had known for twenty-five years; but he declined to act. So much for equal opportunity. The government's affirmative action policy for migrants did, however, look good on paper. None of us, on the other hand, was willing to put the spotlight on our employer. It was not fear, but loyalty. We also accepted what the Aboriginal people too had found: policies to assist, or to offer fair play, to the foreigner or the disadvantaged meant big bucks to the Anglo-Celt, mainly the Celt – and that situation continues.

After my retirement, I moved to the coast where I continued my involvement with community organisations. When I spent nearly three years as secretary of an organisation for retired professional and business men (it was a social club), I found quite a few migrants. They remained self-effacing, taking up no positions, although they were fluent in English. In a couple of years' work with a voluntary adult education committee, I found no migrants. It was only recently that the committee was successful in attracting the interest of a young Aborigine – whose contacts are expected to enrich the work of the committee in time. In another organisation dedicated to the protection of the environment, there is one migrant, but no Aborigine. One can understand the reticence of the Aboriginal people, but where are the migrants (who are normally visible and audible in the streets)?

A recent research report (in the mid-Nineties) claims that the offspring of migrants have done better in life than the offspring of the mainstream (or old) Aussies, and we know that their chances of being totally integrated are excellent, unless they are coloured or have a slight accent. The issue now is: are the migrants and their offspring putting back something, through voluntary work, into the communities that sustain them?

As part of our personal growth, we are all encouraged to perform Karma Yoga, i.e. to work for the betterment of our community, but without attachment to the outcomes of our contribution. Many, many Anglo-Celt Aussies do that. It is quite incredible the voluntary work undertaken by the ordinary person in Australia. Hopefully, the migrant will feel comfortable about joining the host nation. I believe that his offspring are already involved. Any Karma Yoga performed by the Asian migrants, who are the recent migrants, will indubitably enhance their integration in their new nation. The old Aussie's instinctive reaction to colour, especially in the mass (i.e. in large numbers) may thus be assuaged.

#  Part Four  
Towards the Light

###  _Chapter Sixteen_

Lost on a Straight Path

The Way Back

When I fell out of the boat taking me to a career and lost my family, my self-respect, and faith in my abilities, I gave away my god (and everybody else's). Struggling in rough and strange waters, I had time to think.

The first non-textbook I read when I settled down to academic study, strangely enough, was about Abraham (a nostalgic look at a past-life period?). Reading laterally, I covered the belief systems of some early societies. I read about the nature of religious belief, and about the major religions. I came across a simple and very useful framework for examining religions, which I used some years later when I was on a school board.

When I came to enjoy the bliss of my own family, I recovered my faith in a Creator – logic (yes, logic) took me to this position. Reflecting (perhaps) the experiences of my formative years (and what I was taught) and drawing upon my reading, I realised that all faiths are beneficial and equal; one would have to be brainwashed or an egomaniac to claim that one faith was somehow superior to the others. While I continue to hold this view, I prefer the Hindu philosophy because it is more comprehensive in its explanatory scope and yet, at its core, quite simple. It took me many years to reach this position.

All religions offer a devotional component. We all pray, in different ways, but for the same reasons. Some of us are a little bit more selfish at times than others. The forms of prayer vary, but their intent is the same. Is one form better, more effective, or better liked than God? If you do not like the way I pray, you probably do not like the way I look.

All religions guide us in our relationships with fellow humans. This ethical component draws upon a belief in a Creator (and this was not denied by the Buddha) and, as we are all bound to the Creator, we are bonded to one another. In intent, then, the ethical component of all religions of faiths is the same. Those religionists who argue to the contrary may well be placing themselves and their powers over us; I distrust the integrity of such people. This is not to deny the equivalence of the humanist perspective to the core ethics of the spiritually religious.

All religions have an explanatory component too – which offers us, with varying degrees of clarity, a story about man's relationship with his Creator, his place in the universe, and the way the universe is (and was and will be). It is in this area that wars between men usually commence. It is in this area that men who seek to rule as much of mankind as possible claim the superiority of their faith – by means contrary to the ethical teachings of their own faith. Expediency is just, killing in the name of Christ, butchery in the name of Buddha, massacre in the name of Mohammed, horror upon horror in the name of Hinduism, are also just, allegedly to gain favour with God. A God of Love supposedly condones, if he does not want, the slaughter of his Creation by self-chosen preachers of God's Love. I fear an anthropomorphic God.

We are a blood-thirsty, power-hungry species of animal left to find ourselves by a Creator who merely set up the mechanism and let the details evolve. We cannot blame God for what happens, or what we do. Neither can we justify our actions by blaming God in some way. I find it difficult to believe that what happens to mankind or to individual men is important to God, or even to involve God. For God must weep at the antics of His creation or some of the consequences of the actions of the created, especially of those who set themselves as religious leaders of their people, and who seek to expand their power in the way of the imperialists. That is, by brute force, or by applying the principle of divide and rule, or by sneakily breaking down another faith or religion; and offering conversion and salvation (generally to an inferior status in the converter's realm).

Yet, in relatively recent times, another path to material security and comfort has opened up for many. There is less reliance on prayer and ritual. Contraception, for many, brought a less harsh life, especially to those beasts of burden, the female of the human species. To many of those denied contraception by their religious masters, the attraction of the _en suite_ overrode the pronouncements from the pulpit, as said to me by a young colleague in the Fifties. My friend told me how he and his wife had no intention of producing the minimum of four children required of them. They also hoped to build the house they wanted _before_ they commenced a family. They were not going down the path of their parents, with all its hardships and sacrifice. In this, my friend felt that he and his wife were no different from their peer group, for they could see how those not constrained by the priesthood could aspire to a more comfortable and enjoyable lifestyle but without any reduction in their regard for fellow humans.

So my friend and his wife went to seek advice from their priest. This man was described to me as young, Australian born, and not preoccupied with the wars and the prejudices of the past, unlike the priests of their parents' generation. This priest sympathised with the young couple and referred them to a particular medical practitioner of the same faith. When they told the medico that their priest had recommended the consultation, he said (apparently), without any further ado, that he could help the young girl with her menstrual problem. She did not have one. He would prescribe "the pill" in order to settle the problem, which would take about two years. They could safely commence a family after that. This was exactly what they had hoped for. Although it is patently ridiculous for theology to so limit the freedom of a couple, the priest and medico showed an understanding of living in a multicultural society wherein the majority were freer to decide their lives. It is also patently pathetic for two young, intelligent and educated people to fear the power of their priesthood as they did then.

Christian priests, by and large, seemed to have an inordinately powerful position in Australia in my early days, intruding into all aspects of living, in an authoritarian way. My understanding of the priestly class was that of a group dedicated to serving God and assisting the rest of us in our efforts to reach God. The idea of a class of humans telling the man in the street what he can and cannot do, when, where and how – beyond the requirements of the law and any community-sanctioned rules about good conduct – were not only strange and unacceptably intrusive, but also anathema to me.

I grant that there were certain tradition practices that one must tolerate for a while. The Christians have a road to God like all the other faiths but claim that it is the _only_ road for mankind (how preposterous). Every Christian sect and cult has its own track on this road, and each claims that its rut is the only path to God for all mankind (even more ridiculous, but this claim helps to keep the faithful from straying on to other tracks and paths). Characteristically, cult leaders keep their members well away from others, decrying the impurities of these others, through persuasion and as much power as needs to be applied. This is conducive only to coexistence in a multicultural community, but not to cohesion.

However, some cult leaders do not want cohesion, especially if they intend to dominate the multicultural community. This domination might be sought by a combination of outbreeding the rest, conversion, and infiltration into positions of power. From such a position, the political mouthpieces of the controller may burble about one nation, while ensuring that the winner of the electoral tussle looks primarily after its own supporters; the rest of the so-called multicultural mass can take their allotted places – with some grease, perhaps in the form of financial grants applied here and there, an occasional medal pinned on this breast or that, and propaganda (in the form of educational public campaigns). The winners then congratulate the minority (both old and new citizens), on their ineffably elegant integration into the multicultural mould manufactured by their masters.

Mercifully, the control exercised by religious and cult leaders is waning. Australians are now free to read, see, hear and touch as they will, with some discretion in the last. Gay relationships and prostitution prevail publicly because the police politely and politically sensitively tend to apply a Nelsonian eye. What goes on in the privacy of the bedroom is no one's business. I have been told, however, that some Freemasons still do not accept _de facto_ relationships, blackballing (a racist phrase?) applicants in this relationship. Censorship of books, films and videos has gone by the wayside, in the main. However, the offspring of the blinkered are meant to be protected by a classification system that identifies depictions of sexuality and, to a lesser extent, of violence (as sex is seen as far more dangerous than violence). To little avail. I once watched the boys from a local church school using a lad of the right age to hire a video displaying very explicit sex, for a lunchtime viewing. Their mums were presumably at work, saving up for that _en suite_. And that is something I cannot understand: why would modern Western man want a toilet right next to his bed? The world at large places the toilet where it belongs.

The influence of the churches about alcohol drinking times and places is finished. This, too, took a while. But contraception and abortion are still taboo, the latter unlawful, as with voluntary euthanasia. Yet the community feels otherwise, according to public surveys. In addition, I am aware, from personal contact with many young people, that young and old Australians pay little or no attention to strictures against contraception and abortion. The definitive position taken by the churches to justify the illegitimate use (by some) of that emotive word 'killing' bothers not the free man in the street and his woman. And there are lots of these about, and they are on the increase. Ironically, it is the less educated who, contrary to earlier generations, are ignoring such strictures. Religion used to be for the poor, but not anymore.

When it comes to voluntary euthanasia, the blinkered really start frothing at the mouth. Since euthanasia is first defined by them as killing, the word voluntary makes no difference. An editorial in a major newspaper, generally considered to be of a reasonably high standard, was recently guilty of this semantic and logical fault. More evidence of brainwashing? However, a very, very large majority (more than seventy-five per cent) of Australians are reportedly in favour of voluntary euthanasia, according to recent surveys. Those of us who have sat by and watched someone close to us go through hell, without any hope whatsoever of surviving, and receiving inadequate relief from pain, and suffering the professional medical skills and high technology instrumentation being applied willy-nilly, will respond with compassion.

But not those willing to sit by the side of such sufferers, presumably chanting, "A life is a life, is a life, is a life" _ad nauseam_ , and "Only God gives life, therefore only God takes life" _ad nauseam_ , and then probably going home to a nice dinner. I cannot think of anything more offensive to God. It is also obscene. Has not the patient, in such a position, the right to decide that enough is enough; at minimum, why not let the patient die with dignity?

Ah, no, one cannot have that. Apparently, God gave some of these people the right to make vital decisions on our behalf, like the paramedic, who arrives twenty minutes after a man's death, thumps his heart into activity, drops the patient into a hospital, and goes home to his dinner. But now we have a brain-dead vegetable in a hospital bed forever! God's will? Did God authorise this paramedic to give life to a dead man? He had to try, said a friend to me. That's also what a surgeon said to my wife when explaining why he kept cutting up her sister for week after week, when she was clearly dying. How do we protect ourselves from such people and their priests?

Fortunately, a sense of humanity, compassion rather than rules, and justice and fairness rather than strict law, have crept into the soul of the community, partly through our offspring wishing to think and act for themselves, partly because so many of us encouraged, indeed insisted upon, independent and clear thought and action by them, and partly through a sea-change in the community's need for freedom from the chains of an illiberal, prejudiced, and fearful heritage. We do not need to fear, and therefore to reject, those who are different or who wish to act differently but without damage to others.

I have now come to know an increased number of people who have moved into the smaller Christian churches and are active in these churches. Some transferred an active participation in the faith of their birth, while others, in effect, discovered God. Many others have discovered God in the various yoga groups in Australia – and, again, are active participants.

One man asked me, after an enthusiastic worker for a yoga group had described his joy as having risen, with a rush, from the soles of his feet, after joining this group, whether this could be so. I pointed out that those who already believed in the Creator but had no particular vehicle to convey their worship of the Creator, might not feel the same level of joy experienced by the newly-risen in finding the vehicle they needed. The new arrival into yoga, on the other hand, had just discovered God, never having practised or believed in any faith before. Hence his joy.

I recently tested the waters in a yoga ashram in Australia. What I found was illuminating, both spiritually and societally. We were exposed to a disciplined way of life, focused upon the Creator. We were taught meditation practice, based on Hindu metaphysics, especially on the Hindu science or philosophy of consciousness. Yet there was no reference to Hinduism. The seeker could read about the philosophy, if he or she wished to. The yoga practices were suitable for, and acceptable to, all manner of believers and unbelievers – from atheists and agnostics to supporters of all faiths. I talked to a range of these. The teachers at the ashram were educated and relatively young (in the main), and committed to their non-materialistic life of poverty, service to the community and teaching (no mansions for these). Each ashram was financially self-sufficient, earning its income by conducting classes. Public demand seems to be high.

I was told by course members that there is a large number of yoga groups in the community. I was also told that there are many, many swamis (like the teachers in the ashrams) living in the community, leading ordinary lives, and also providing community services of a diverse nature (Karma Yoga). All the swamis I met were Anglo-Celt, except one with a European accent.

In New Zealand, I came across another form of yoga. It seemed to be as well supported there as in Australia – as I discovered when I attended a gathering of followers in Sydney recently. This form of yoga is claimed to have adherents in one hundred and eighty countries, including Russia (where the support sounds strongest). Again, the yoga practices were directed to, and suitable for, all kinds of faithful – and the faithless. The audience at the Sydney convention was given a demonstration of some of the psychic powers accessible to followers – a number of men seated on the ground cross-legged 'jumped' along the ground in that position, for fifteen feet or more, with no apparent effort.

Many Australians have also taken to Buddhism. There are now temples for them to attend. Many of the converts to that religion, however, simply prefer to apply the philosophy of Buddhism in their everyday life, which is surely what a religious life is all about. Recently, an Anglican Church leader claimed that that Buddhism is godless; he was therefore concerned (about nominal Christians jumping off his boat?). Hopefully, this concern will open up a dialogue. Some practising Christians (that is, they lead a life which they and I consider reflects the teaching of Christ) also accept reincarnation and the laws of karma as applying to them; some of these had gone further and joined those I refer to as the "New Agers".

These are the empowerers, whose belief system is wide. Based on reincarnation and karma, they accept the ethical teachings of all the faiths but none of their metaphysical or doctrinal differences. Many of these, however, are hooked on a variable super-structure including numbers of lower and higher selves, all manner of spirits – good, neutral (but a little intrusive and adhesive), and bad (one needs protection from these) – and all manner of etheric and exotic influences. It seems that the core of their belief is the core of Hinduism. I asked someone why they need the super-structure (see what the super-structures of Hindus and Buddhists have done to their lives!). Why not accept and live by the simpler core philosophy? It's cheaper too. In fact, in my recent dialogues with supporters of the various Churches, and comfortable in my belief in a core Hinduistic metaphysics attached to a universal code of ethics, I have asked why we should not all return to the core teachings of our faiths.

In the case of Christians, this would mean going back to Christ's message, without the bits added on by Church hierarchies, and without the doctrinal differences, arguments and wars between the sects. Since Christ, Mohammed, the Buddha, and the Jewish and Hindu prophets and teachers preached the same core message to all, could we avoid claiming superiority over one another or that each had the only path to God? I found that those committed to the various Churches generally had difficulty with my idea. Loss of superiority, power, or comfort? But the younger generation is different. Some do not care for religion; those who do care have not, in the main, denied my proposition. Therein lies the hope for a united Australia, not divided by priests or cult leaders.

Those who had become lost on a straight path might yet find their feet (as I did) on the right track. They might also learn that, while they are free to follow whatever path suits them, they have no right to tell the rest of us what path to follow or how to practise our faith. Those who already have a sincere belief in the teachings of their Church also have no right to inflict their value systems upon the rest of us. After all, in the early Nineties, the Pope asked that his flock be free to practise their faith in countries where they were in a minority. His flock is in a minority in Australia, and yet they would interfere with our lives. We do not interfere with theirs. Perhaps, if they were to experience more freedom themselves, they might appreciate our right to live by our beliefs. And, they are indeed free not to practise voluntary euthanasia, contraception, or abortion. One can only hope that enlightenment will reach them, whether they search for it or not.

It is quite possible that those who have made spiritual progress through their past lives are more tolerant of the faiths of others. If one has been, say, a Jewish street-sweeper, or a Christian foot-soldier in the Crusades, or an Arab Moslem camel-driver, or a Tibetan Buddhist yak-herder (for example) in past lives, would not one be more tolerant of those faiths in one's current life?

In the midst of my own search and my dialogues with like-minded people, I went in to other experiential paths – partly for illumination, partly in search of a community.

Psychic Illumination

Psychic experiences are incredible. Few people are willing to accept any experiences you present to them. But there is bound to be someone who professes willingness to accept your experience. Unfortunately, this willingness is very likely to rebound on you with a deeply held explanation as to what it is all about. The phraseology of explanation is very much of the school of the "New Age".

The pundits of the New Age persuasion are full of empowerment – at a price. "Put your money down at one of my courses – and I will introduce you to the mysteries of the universe. Put more money down at follow-up courses – and you will be enlightened." Having attended a few courses, the enlightened one goes off to empower others – for a price, of course. "What's your competence to do this?" you ask. "I have done a few courses," they say. "And where did your tutors obtain their knowledge?" They had done a few courses too. Obviously, there is a buck in this for anyone wishing to spread the word. Equally obviously, there are many seekers who are prepared to pay for guidance. But I do not claim that all New Age teachers are in just for a buck.

In the past decade, I have met a large number of New Agers. Most seemed to have belonged once to the Catholic church; the reasons given by them for their disengagement from their faith of birth are their need for both personal and spiritual growth, and without the rigidity of form imposed on them. Belief in a cycle of rebirth provides them with that sense of freedom which they feel permits them to take responsibility for themselves. They are obviously right in this. It is not all "God's will", as they had been led to believe. The search which led them away from the comfort of their original faith almost inevitably takes them through the jungle of psychic phenomena, the entrancement of which can be fogged by the spindrift created by a flotilla of witch-doctors and spin-doctors. In addition to the amateur but open-palmed guides who have 'done' courses, there are some very impressive performers. In between are many who seem able to capture, within the dross they purvey, a form of reality beyond the capacity of most of us. The Hindus are, however, advised by their gurus not to be side-tracked during their search for the Self by any psychic skills they might acquire _en route_.

Those who believe in psychic phenomena include educated but open-minded people, as well as those who will jump on to any form of cart as long as it appears exotic. The former realise only too vividly how limited man's knowledge is. Relying only on five senses, nothwithstanding the high technology paraphernalia attached to them through developments in scientific instrumentation, how could we be certain that we perceive all that there is in the universe? Even if we accept seven sense (or information-related) organs, including the brain, which helps to select relevant information input through the five senses and to store it, and the mind (seemingly located everywhere and nowhere), which rearranges the available information into meaning or understanding and possible action, what else is there that we are not able to perceive?

For example, scientists tell us that only ten per cent of the matter in the known universe is visible to us. They also talk of other universes that we cannot know – in a scientific sense. Then there are references to 'singularities', 'black holes', 'worm holes', 'strings', and 'order' and 'purpose' evolving with complexity; the universe, as we know it, is described as a three-dimensional projection (like a hologram) of a multi-dimensional reality. Each universe is a ripple, created, as a singularity, out of the ocean of consciousness, to be diffused later back into this ocean. No wonder the ancient philosophers, both in the East and in the West, talked about life, or reality as we know it, being an illusion. We certainly cannot perceive it all. Were a non-scientist to talk like this, he would be considered as barmy as the crackpots of pseudo-science. Yet, what is one to make of etheric and subtle bodies, life and vital forces, auras and chakras?

Yet I and many others have successfully applied a form of intuition (beyond the usual required to deal with those above us in authority) in our diverse dealings with the public. Body language, where and how they sit, their eyes, hands and fingers, often said something, but there was something else intangible to be reached by one's antenna to enable us to decide how to deal with another person.

I became interested in parapsychology and psychic phenomena when I was studying psychology. The annals of parapsychology were housed next to the annals of philosophy and the books I sought. So I read my way through a lot of what was there. I noticed that in the annals of philosophy there were contributions from Fellows of the Royal Society of the UK who had attained great competence in fields of science; yet in these contributions they had transcended their own areas of expertise. This was illuminating. My reading of parapsychology touched a chord from my limited experience and my cultural background.

People who could tell one's future (not always reliably), or see things which were lost (thus helping recovery, generally with great accuracy) were fairly commonplace in our background. The reading of horoscopes, based on the minute of one's birth, was taken for granted; since these readings referred to probabilities based on the strength of various planetary influences, precision was not expected. People who read the future were often wandering yogis, who seemed to have the greater credibility by virtue of their chosen path. There were palmists of varying accuracy. They and the seers could be anyone. Horoscope casting seemed to be the province of experts. Occasionally, a serious amateur might have a go, as did one of my early neighbours. Clairvoyants in suburbia, however, were not within our experience.

Yet, at eighteen, I saw my father dead, lying on a particular bed (which he never used) and covered with a sheet. A week later, that was exactly how he was, having died suddenly.

I did not like the experience and did not want any more like that. A few years earlier, I had seen what appeared to be levitation – a man on a mattress had together risen off the ground. I knew that it could not happen. I also knew that I had seen it. I therefore did not talk about it. In Melbourne, in the late Forties, two of us had seen something move in the sky in a manner that simply was not possible, unless it was a spaceship. Again, I did not speak of it. Who would believe it? In between my father's death and my observation of the object in the sky, I had experienced something very frightening – but I do not believe that it was clairvoyance. I was so ill with dengue fever that no one could touch my bed without causing me terrible pain. One day, I saw myself up above my bed, with my body laid out and covered by a sheet. As my father was in a similar presentation next to me, I remember becoming very fearful and breaking out in a sweat, which actually wet the bed. I recovered thereafter. That was probably a nightmare, by day.

Then there were those two men. The yogi subsequently turned out to be accurate. The other man, who saw me in my mother's house with him there, was obviously in tune with the future too. So the future seemed to be there waiting to be read, and had been read accurately. What price any individual effort to choose one's destiny?

More than thirty years later, I was seeking spiritual development, somewhat seriously, trying to know or understand, both by reading and by meditation. At the same time, I set out to understand the cosmology being purveyed by those men of science, the physicists. I was pleasantly surprised to see a convergence and (sometimes) congruence in the semantics involved; the scientists read like the mystics, and were becoming a little incomprehensible like the mystics, with the big difference that mathematical modelling had replaced mystical experiences.

Having recently read a compendium bringing together the developments in each of the areas of parapsychology, I sought direct experience, but on the basis of reports from reliable friends. For a small fee I consulted a clairvoyant. Before I could say anything she started to doodle and told me about me and my family. She told me about something that only I knew about. I was impressed. Then she told me as fact something that I had thought might be true but not highly probable. That suggested to me that she could read my mind. So I asked her about the future. Three of her predictions have now turned out to be true. But I was not surprised that someone could read the future.

I then consulted a mediumistic clairvoyant. I had no questions for him. I only wanted to see what he did. Before I could say anything, he said that he had a spirit present, and that the spirit claimed to be an uncle of mine who had passed over to the other side many years ago. I did not know what to say. I had no knowledge or experience of returning spirits or contact with them. In my understanding, our post-funeral ceremony was to despatch the departed soul to its destination (wherever or whatever that was) and to ask the sun to bear witness. What was I to do? I identified the spirit as my number one uncle, who had influenced me so much. The MC listened to the spirit and passed on the comments to me. Eventually, having accepted the spirit as my uncle, I was told certain things about my past and my present, by both my uncle and the MC's spiritual guide. They were accurate. The major matter my uncle referred to occurred after his death. Some commentary from the MC's guide was indeed not particularly flattering but it was part of a message about my future.

Actually, the MC could see events in my future and his guide provided the commentary. My uncle offered advice as to my future spiritual growth. At one stage, I said something to the MC, and my uncle responded through the MC. That was a jolt. It seemed that my uncle could hear me, while I could not see him. Philosophically and metaphysically, that experience left me high and dry. And the MC's vision, as regards my future, was consistent with that of the earlier clairvoyant.

Soon after, while I was visiting my clan in Malaysia and Singapore, I read every day for weeks, seeking answers to two questions: what is the Hindu view of reality, and is it possible to communicate with a spirit? Eventually, a guru told me that the answer to the second question was yes, but to exercise discretion in the way I used any information that I thought I had received. My aunt (who was alive then) agreed that I accept the spirit as my uncle. The answer to the first question, I guess, is not one which can be spoken of, for it is said that those who tell do not know, and those who know, cannot tell.

I have subsequently spoken, at a social level, with the mediumistic clairvoyant. It is clear that he is clairvoyant. In the middle of afternoon tea, he suddenly said, "What happened to the twin girls? I can sense them." He also told me that he now had the ability to obtain advice from all manner of spirits. How could I or anyone else refute that? In one instance a recently expired Australian medical specialist proffered advice to assist one of the MC's clients. I consider the clairvoyant a very fortunate man, well worth knowing. But I did wonder if spirits achieved some personal development while 'on the other side'.

Then I met a couple of healers. I only went to ask about their approach. At their invitation to try a healing, I accepted. First, they cleared my aura of spirits which had attached themselves to it; they spoke nicely to the spirits and asked them to move on to their normal destination. Then they aligned my chakras, using a crystal. Then the lady suddenly appeared to be communing with someone; a little later, she said that she had received a picture from one of my past lives.

Now, I was not sure about all these spirits attaching themselves to auras, but I had no trouble with chakras (which are apparently vortices of energy). However, normally, past life perceptions are experienced by the clients of psychiatrists, counsellors and healers, and are used to assist the process of healing. For the healer to see a past life of a client was most unusual. Anyway, my current healers (who did not take any money for their assistance) acted on the vision that one of them had, and my knees have not ached anymore. And I had not mentioned my knees at all. At the next session, another past life view, another treatment, and my legs stopped aching. And I had not mentioned my legs either. The next time, I asked for help with my spine – there were no past life pictures, but I was promised that a cure was in train, through the medium of 'past masters'. But I was counselled that my spinal problem might be a karmic one.

The evidence for past life experiences comes from the psychiatrist's couch, apparently from half a dozen practitioners covering more than twenty thousand cases. One writer even quoted a psychiatrist's report of life between incarnations on earth. That is, these psychiatrists reported their clients' memories under hypnosis. But I find curious that the imagery reported is uniformly of a Judeo-Christian kind. This is similar to the reports of out-of-body experiences and near-death cases. I also find strange references to Akashic records, self-improvement programmes and such like. These seem to have originated in the US. Whence did these writers obtain their insight? From the psychic experiences of others? How reliable are these? Did these people draw upon some basic Hindu/Buddhist framework and add on the empowerment bits for today's seekers? Or did the Egyptians and other early civilisations leave us this information? If so, where and in what form? Minimum requirements of verifiability do apply.

I also took my wife to see the healers who had improved my knees and legs. Early in the session she was asked, "What happened to the baby? I sense a baby here." Dear me, that was a shock! We had lost our first boy on the day he was born. A few minutes later the healer said, "I sense another two spirits – twins. All three need to be despatched." These were my wife's next pregnancy, with premature birth and again death. The "dear ones" were duly despatched, and my wife and I have not grieved as much since as we did for thirty years. How does one cope with such psychic experiences? We simply accepted them, now knowing that there is more to life and death than we ever knew or than is taught to us. "...when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," says a writer. These healers certainly were most helpful.

Curiosity again took me to see two Filipino healers. One 'massaged' me and said that better health would result from the application of my belief in the Creator's ability to work with me on the cure I sought. It was a form of faith healing but the faith was in the Creator working through the healer. That seemed reasonable. The other member of the team 'operates' by using his fingers. I have neither seen nor experienced this. But I have seen photos of his operation on someone I know, and she did benefit substantially from the treatment. Her friends, whom I also know, watched the whole process and took photographs for information. Similarly, my Chinese Aussie GP and a group of fellow medical practitioner sceptics came back from The Philippines with a video record of what they had seen; a thumbnail healer operating. They saw it and could not believe it. On the contrary, another Aussie GP watched his wife's 'operation', then had treatment himself. He accepts what he experienced, but he cannot explain it.

If we cannot explain the mechanism or the process underlying an event, then the event cannot occur, is what we are told repeatedly (even if the event did occur). Yet, strangely enough, we accept something called the mind, but cannot demonstrate what or where it is, nor the mechanism whereby my mind tells me to pick up a glass of drink successfully.

Psychic phenomena attract without regard to ethnicity or cultural background. They also bring the Westerner closer to the Easterner in adopting the less materialistic and the more freedom-oriented view of existence. The bottom line for me is that one of the gurus I consulted advised that those seeking spiritual enlightenment should not allow themselves to be deflected by psychic phenomena, however interesting that might be. Apart from which, there is a relevant question one needs to answer. If one can cope with the information acquired through psychic competence, how does one use it?

Those Christians I met who had fallen off the straight path of their faith and had relinquished the security of salvation they had been born into were looking for explanations for the nasty things in life which had afflicted them, without relying on the unsatisfying mantra, "It's God's will." Inevitably, they were drawn to reincarnation and its consequences. Some became Buddhist, others took up other forms of Christianity which seemingly permitted them also to believe in the laws of karma, and yet others took to the New Age platform. Many of these New Agers were influenced, in an extraordinary way, by US-based gurus who simply know what is, and therefore, what these seekers need to do. The authority of the vendors of these 'truths' is matched by the uncritical acceptance of the recipient who (so often) then authoritatively bludgeons anyone slow enough to be ear-holed. As Emerson said, "The faith that stands on authority is not faith."

For example, a good friend of mine told me recently, quite crossly, that, since I had not attended a course and therefore had not been given a personal mantra by a guru, I could not possibly be able to meditate properly. I agreed with him, saying, "How could I possibly know anything about my own faith and its practices?" He easily missed my point, as he himself is now a guru. It appears that not only had the seekers fallen off the straight path of their family faith, but now they were lost in the forest of fee-collecting faith healers, rapidly falling under the domination of the cheque-book gurus.

I am curious about the latter's need to tell us what to do, based on what they have acquired through psychic or mystic experiences knowing, surely, that the rest of us had to have comparable experiences before we too acquire such knowledge. Is this knowledge offered to us as healing? To be fair, if we are willing to accept the help of psychiatrists and psychologists, with their varying frameworks of analysis (whether painting, anal retention, repressed memories of violence, past life experiences, and so on), why not accept the equally unverifiable frameworks of the guidance offered by psychics and mystics? However, is there a cultural difference between those who want to tell us and those who leave it to us to seek for ourselves? Is it also true that those who tell do not really know? Having said all that, I have come to this conclusion: if we accept our psychic experiences as reflecting reality, then it follows that we have friends and helpers everywhere; that we have much to learn, and that we need to tap into some source of learning.

Into the Arms of the Anglicans

During my years of searching, I contacted the local bishop about joining the Anglican Church, provided that I was not required to disown any other faith. By that time, I had rediscovered God and had accepted once more that all faiths were equal (shock, horror! – might be the response of some of the arrogant ones with their closely guarded narrow doors). The bishop saw no problem and I became a card-carrying Christian. Why did I join? My wife was Anglican and my children were baptised in that Church. I needed an occasional place of worship. I also wished to have my family become more actively Christian.

Initially, I enjoyed the Anglican community. The minister was a jovial fellow, worth knowing. When I made a commitment to support the church financially, I asked if it could be accepted that I opposed any effort by the church to break down any other faith, especially in the so-called underdeveloped countries. I said that Christians had brought about the annihilation of far too many societies and cultures in their effort to collect souls for Christ. No offence was taken at that. However, with the change of bishop and minister, the sense of community diminished. One went to church on Sunday, smiled at one another, participated in paying homage to God, had one's hand shaken by the Minister, smiled at our fellow parishioners, and went home to Sunday lunch. Periodically, one paid some money into the church.

Was that all? Where was this Christian community I sought? Sometime later some Anglo-Indians told me that they had had a similar experience in their Catholic church – and I had pushed them into supporting that church, saying that they could expect to become an integral part of the local Catholic community. That did not happen, either. My family was equally disappointed. And we eased ourselves out, as my Anglo-Indian friends did from their church.

It was some time later that I admitted a difficulty I had with the form of prayer in the church. All that standing up, sitting, kneeling, standing up and so on, interrupted the communion one sought with one's Maker in his House. It was also some time later that my wife drew my attention to the fact that my mother, on one of her rare visits from Singapore, had been denied communion by the then minister because she had not been baptised. Yet, in another Anglican church in the national capital, her submission to God in a Christian way was accepted.

Did I meet any ethnics in a church environment? None. Weren't there any non-Catholic, non-English-speaking migrants entering the country? If there were, were they too busy working, even on a Sunday? Is the clear prospect of material success enough to disengage from the church? Or is joining the mainstream community too much to expect from new arrivals (for whatever reason)?

The new multicultural Australian society did not then seem to offer the Anglicans an expanding support base – but I could not be sure. In my suburb, there was a variety of Christian groups, with the smaller sects busily attempting the conversion of others. A small minority of the major church groups were seen to attend church. In the smaller sects, however, the majority appeared to be active in supporting services. Being a working class suburb with a large proportion of European migrants, most of whom were not fluent in English and apparently with a limited educational background, we were a highly fragmented population, coexisting but not relating to others. The nuclear family reigned supreme and prosperity overrode formal religiosity. The Anglicans did not seem unique in their lifestyle, which did not appear to require a frequent presentation of the individual in the house dedicated to his Creator.

In more recent times, the great influx of educated, English-speaking Asians, who are thus more confident in joining mainstream institutions and other structures, has reportedly expanded the Protestant base but not to the extent of the Catholic base. Interestingly, at least two research studies on the settlement of Asians state that the majority of the Asian intake is Christian. How interesting, since immigration selection criteria cannot allow for religious affiliation; application forms do not ask for religious affiliation. So, while the local population is becoming less church-centred, is there a hidden agenda about religious affiliation to be effected through immigration? Has this also anything to do with attempted control of the people through their faith?

Up the Masonic Path

I was a secretary of a craft (or blue) Masonic lodge for nearly three years and, contemporaneously, the secretary of a red lodge (which one can join only by invitation) for three full terms. With access to the most senior Masons in my district, I was able to see the power play from within – and power play there was.

Furthermore, within the walls of the lodge rooms, I heard more concentrated racist comment directed mainly at the Aborigines but, more recently, to the increasing number of unemployed East Asians. More surprisingly, for those who professed a commitment to the Great Architect of the Universe, there were serious displays of uncharitable conduct; these could not be explained in terms of any power or real status that might accrue. The comments about Aborigines and others were, of course, made in the surround-security of people of their own kind. Colour prejudice is also inherited; disliking those who are seen to take more from the community than they are willing to give is understandable. Competition in Masonic progress can also be unsettling. But none of this justifies the comments expressed in my company.

On the other hand, there was clear respect for all faiths; there were even Catholics in Masonry, in spite of the barriers put up by their religious leaders. Not surprisingly, there were very few ethnics present in the lodges in my district; neither did I meet many in my visits to surrounding districts. Masonry, obviously, was a playground for the mainstream population. Yet I was made more than welcome. I was made to feel respected for what I was and, later, for my contribution to Masonry.

Why, then, did not the non-English-speaking migrants or their sons join Masonry? The experience of two Germans I knew well might provide a partial explanation. They asked to join, were well received, and then ignored. They were not the only ones ignored. The officers of a lodge are always busy with their responsibilities; the past masters and other senior officers carrying Grand Lodge rank, as befitting their station, tend to form themselves into clutches, reflecting (I believe) the seating arrangements within the temple. This leaves the floor members, the ordinary master masons, to fend for themselves. As with those attending the Anglican church I supported for a few years, there was (and is) no sense of community or fraternity; one sits with those one knows for the duration of the ceremony (which is long) and the administrative session (which is of little interest to most members and utterly boring). Then, in the South, after a brief opportunity to mingle, we are seated. One sits with those one knows; hence the newer member might take years to get to know anyone, other than his sponsors, well. The time in the South is usually taken up by toasts and responses. Then one goes home. The two Germans never got to be known, after three years. So they left – and no one noticed, as attendance is variable and tends to be about a third of the membership.

So how did I get into the swim of it? In my first year, I visited every lodge within reach a few times; I also visited on 'fraternals' as a member of other lodges (a fraternal visit is formal support given by the members of a lodge towards another lodge, especially at the annual meeting to install a new master). At one such meeting, I was unexpectedly asked to respond to a toast to the visitors. I had been preceded by a visiting past master who was known as a raconteur and was expected to be entertaining. I did not like his speech, for he introduced a derogatory joke about 'coons' (it was obviously a prepared speech). By the community's definition, I would have been covered by the term (which refers to coloured people).

Since I had some training in public speaking, when my turn arrived, I decided to show up this insensitive 'brother', a leading member of the legal fraternity. Although it was an impromptu response, it was very well received, as I injected some humour which could not offend. In the next three months I made seventeen responses in all. I decided then that I could not afford any further exposure, as some of the old hands were apparently being put out by this novice's performances. But I made many friends everywhere, and was always welcome at any lodge. So, chance plus a little effort led me into total acceptance and thence to becoming secretary. I had a great time, the fellowship was warm, and the rituals most satisfying.

Indeed, when I expressed interest in joining Masonry, most of the people I had come to like and to respect in sport, at work, and my community activities, turned out to be Masons. That was an eye-opener. I should not have been surprised. I had been told that Masonry had good men, and that it sought the highest conduct, based on a belief in God. I guess too, that it needs self-confidence and an unbiased mind to become interested in the movement. Why unbiased? Because many of certain faiths are still being fed total rubbish about Masonry. Many who claim that Masons give preference in employment to other Masons today seem to be part of a push to give preferment to those of their own faith – a case of the pot calling the kettle black? In more than thirty years, I have seen no evidence of Masonic preferment; and I did spend many years in the promotions appeal business, when I covered key parts of the public service in the national capital, especially the more senior positions.

Masons themselves have not until recently set out to inform the public as to how innocuous we are and how spiritual we are, with no sectarian prejudice. The low-key presentation is changing, and institutionalised prejudice and ignorance by others will give way. Primarily, we are well-meaning ordinary folk, generally waffling about fellowship and fraternity; some of us would rather talk about fraternity than practise it. Others reflect what I think of as a Protestant ethos, based on a puritanical heritage that one should not get too close to the other fellow; one never knows what others might think. There are yet others who are preoccupied with marital morality rather than commercial morality, so that a good man with a _de facto_ (wife) can be blackballed.

However, we are genuinely spiritual. We are ordinary humans displaying the normal range of human foibles, but seeking a higher path (perhaps not necessarily when seeking higher office), but we do need to attract the migrants in order to be relevant in today's society. I myself find great satisfaction in the ritual and believe in the objectives of Masonry.

The Bottom Line

Census data show that most Australians claim a link with a religion. The majority are Christians, with the largest fraction (a little under thirty per cent) being Catholic. The next fraction lumps all the rest as Protestants (these lost the prime spot over the last decade or so, thanks to immigration, primarily). Then there are Moslems, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, followers of Yoga and Sai Baba (many of these are Christian too), and others. The bulk of the Buddhists may be white Aussies, as are most of the members of the Yoga and Sai Baba groups. Attendance at regular prayer meetings would appear to be in inverse order to the extent of community support – the smaller the group, sect or church, the larger the proportion of affiliates in regular attendance. That is not surprising, as most of those remaining in the faiths they were born into seem to be there by inertia.

Non-attendance at a prayer meeting is, of course, no measure of a person's spirituality. Spirituality can be reflected in acts of charity (or aid) through emphases on certain heritage, or through one's attitude towards fellow human beings. Contributions of money, time and effort to charity are very substantial – towards mainstream charities, to Aboriginal communities, and in the form of overseas aid. When my wife spearheaded collections for overseas disasters in our local schools the response was impressive. When I worked for an overseas aid organisation, I saw not only an increasing awareness of Australia's willingness to assist those in such terrible need overseas, but also an encouraging shift within the community support groups – the middle class gradually giving way to students and other lower income groups. An emphasis on certain heritage was seen in the ANZAC tradition, manifest, in part, in respect for the Turkish victors at Gallipoli.

The Aussies' very positive attitude towards fellow human beings is seen in the well-established social distribution policies of government, and in the 'fair go' stance. Everyone, especially the underdog, is entitled to fair treatment. While community attitudes towards some groups, e.g. the Aborigines, the Vietnamese, and others may be somewhat negative, individuals (by and large) are treated with consideration; essentially, the old Aussie treats these individuals as he finds them. And who can criticise that?

Spirituality is essentially a reverence for our Creator and respect for his creations. When articulated, formalised and institutionalised, it becomes religiosity and is reflected in religious observances. One can reject religious practices and overt conformity because the institution is seen as irrelevant (excessive emphasis on doctrinal and divisive issues or dogma), or not acceptable (an excess of domination and control, and practices which separate the adherents from fellow members of the community which sustains them). For example, when (reportedly) the head of the Australian Catholic Church refused to participate in a commemorative ANZAC ceremony recently because he was not granted precedence, how many supporters of the ANZAC tradition within that Church would have been proud of their leadership?

Of course, there were no headlines about this in the local press (there were in New Zealand), unlike the gossipy, opinion-forming ones associated with politics. When academics write learnedly of aspects of Australian culture, there is little or no reference to the culture of control (whether by priests or by foreigners); or the culture of containing free speech and free association. They would rather write on such important matters as festivals, changes in workplace cultures, the multiculturalism of soccer clubs, and such like. There is also little reference to the culture of conflict based on faith (and ethnic origins), and the consequent culture of division in the search by institutionalised religious cults for increased power.

An attempted defence of divisive practices by religious sects can itself implicate prejudice. For example, it was recently claimed that Protestants used to whisper the word "Mick" in relation to their Irish-Catholic fellow citizens; whereas I have been told over the half century or so that I have lived in this country that Catholics and Protestants (particularly school children) openly and loudly hurled verbal abuse at one another, but apparently with little harm. Then I read how the Masons were barely willing to treat Catholics as human (or words to that effect); this sounds like garbage to me. I heard nothing and was told nothing to this effect in more than twenty years as a Mason. But then, Catholics were forbidden to mix with the others in schooling and in community organisations, which were open to all citizens. Are they still so forbidden? If they are, they should pay attention to Jefferson's "Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God."

Giving away religious practices does not in the least indicate a diminution of spirituality. I doubt if the Dutch or the Aussies are less spiritual than they used to be because they attend church less or are less fecund. The Aussie young, including the children of the brainwashed, are already leading the way to spiritual independence. Geographical boundaries, differences in ethnic origins, skin colour, accents, and cultural (including religious) practices are relatively irrelevant to increasing numbers of young Aussies, who have grown up with an increasing cultural diversity in their immediate background – as in Malaysia and Singapore. The melting-pot is taking effect. And the intelligent ones can readily see any power play by religious leaders, and distrust and disown them. "Politics and the pulpit are terms that have little agreement" is part of the Christian heritage, isn't it?

One would expect, as the Upanishads say, that priests would offer a selfless service and not participate in petty power play. They might also recall Bishop Fulton Sheen's comment that hundreds of millions of the poor "would gladly take the vow of poverty if they could eat, dress, and have a home like myself and many of those who profess the vow of poverty." I would say, borrowing from Roosevelt, "beware of that small group of egoist men who would clip the wings of the Creator in order to feather their own nest."

In time, there should be a majority of independent spiritual people in Australia. Priestly divide-and-rule policies and practices will be challenged and changed. History has already shown how powerful leaders, empires and colonies have withered away. Vast areas of earth have been subject to changes in faith. No faith, no imperialistic nation, no leader, can claim a monopoly for long; ask the Indians, the Chinese, Persians, the Turkic peoples, the Mongols, and the European powers of yesteryear.

Freedom has a habit of resurgence. "Go, see on the Tablet how the Master of Fate has written what will be, before time began" (Khayyám).

###  _Chapter Seventeen_

Myths of Multiculturalism

**The Dreamtime –** _Quo Vadis?_

There is a Third World black nation, coexisting but only just, within white Australia. The White Australia immigration policy was finally heaved overboard with great fanfare, officially in the early 1970s. Yet its generic roots remain embedded in the roots of Australian attitudes and social policies. Indeed, it is the rooting by white men which is responsible for the plight of the Aboriginal population.

The heritage of these people is of being rooted and dispossessed, or is it the other way round? Despite the political rhetoric about compacts and reconciliation, this heritage includes being disowned socially and economically. From the very first contracts with British colonisers, the Aboriginal people were rooted out of their land, with which they had lived in harmony for thousands of years; their women were rooted, if not killed; resulting offspring were rooted out of their homes and communities, and offered assimilation in the role of slaves in white homes. The people who survived ethnic cleansing, which was carried out systematically (occasionally sneakily), became slaves on pastoral properties or were herded into reserves located on unwanted, unproductive land (following US practice with its 'Red' Indians).

The founders of this nation were like the founders of the USA; they had the gun and the Good Book in their hands, and greed and lust in their eyes and loins. They took what they wanted, chanting 'Terra Nullis' with each step they took. They destroyed what they could not use. And men of the cloth apparently blessed this physical and cultural genocide. Greed overcame the recorded objections to this practice from fair-minded and knowledgeable people in the UK, who asserted that the Aboriginals had indeed 'occupied' the land. The founding fathers of white Australia did not discriminate exclusively against the aboriginal people. They treated the Chinese and, later, Indians and Pacific Islanders, in the same way: "stand in my way and I'll kill you". Some say that this is why a highwayman is a national icon.

The successors to these founders continue to destroy everything in their way. Forests are chopped down, river systems degraded, and land cleared without regard to the survival of the planet; worse still, without regard to the needs of their own descendants. Perhaps these can all go into politics where they are not required to add to the gross national product or output. This might explain why Australia is willing to subsidise Japanese paper mills by denuding the nation's natural heritage.

Even in the early 1960s, an Aboriginal community was forcibly removed from land wanted by the mining industry. This industry, mainly foreign owned, has received (at least, to date) some credit for successfully preventing any form of justice to the Aborigines in relation to land rights and other forms of national reconciliation. "We will take your marbles away if you do not allow us to develop" (i.e. extract your minerals), is the perennial threat. The pastoral interests are closely behind the miners in their opposition to justice for blacks, claiming that a lease equals freehold (wouldn't that be lovely for the rest of us?). So Australian governments genuflect in the face of export dollars and the power of foreign investors, and justice can go to hell. What does one say about a woman who asks the man who repeatedly rapes her not to leave her, because she would then lose the replacement underwear he regularly provides her with; that she worries too much about the draught?

To be fair, in the mid-Nineties, there is some evidence that some compromise is being offered by miners and pastoralists. This may reflect a degree of pragmatism as well as a sense of fair play.

Historically, both pastoralists and miners were not alone in pretending that the Aboriginal was not human or was an inferior pre-human. Convicts from Britain (including many of Irish extraction), the priests and the politicians, all collaborated with the pastoralists and miners in their cultural imperialism and sexual exploitation. Shooting and poisoning were normal means of clearing the land. Yet the Aboriginal people did not disappear from the face of their land, which they had carefully fostered for far longer than the colonisers could claim to have been able to care for their own land in Europe. The first Australians had cleverly adapted to the Australian environment, and the European seems intent on destroying in a very few centuries the very basis of his existence. What then will be left for the foreign investor to put his money in? What will be left for our children and grandchildren?

Thus after two centuries of the white man's benevolence, the black people were, in the main, landless, almost cultureless, almost tribeless, nearly family-less, stateless (denied citizenship). They were also denied a vote, personal dignity, legal rights, pride, self-respect, education, a place they could safely call their own, freedom, gender equality, class equality, ethnic equality, a share of the largesse of multiculturalism policies, an opportunity to better themselves, hope and, in their marginalised places of living, limited to no health care, sanitation, water, and freedom from fear of further dispossession, harassment, or incarceration. Not a bad record for colonial people, Christian by definition, believing in equality of opportunity for themselves, and parading the classic crap of the colonial uplifting the poor bloody heathen whose culture he has successfully destroyed.

This was the Australia into which I was dropped in the late Forties. I knew nothing about the Aborigine. The first one I saw was being hit on the head with a truncheon by a well-fed policeman in Melbourne. The subject of this friendly persuasion was intoxicated. In those days anyone appearing to be drunk was thrown into a paddy-wagon with some force and taken away. (This may be happening in some country towns today.) I also saw Aborigines harassed by the police in Sydney and Brisbane in my first two years in Australia. It did not give me much confidence in my own safety.

In the next few years, I did not see one coloured person who looked as if he had Aboriginal blood, even when I went into a number of small country towns. There were Aboriginal names all over the country, but none of the people whose culture was being remembered in street names and townships was visible. It was like that in New Zealand some two years later. No person of Maori (or Pacific Islander) descent was visible in city centres, although Maori place-names were plentiful. Only on the edge of each town did one see the coloured citizens of Australia's sister nation, usually at work on menial tasks such as street sweeping. Yet, in Australia, the Aborigine was (and is) not seen in any occupation in 'public places'.

It was only when I took a boat from Fremantle, on the west coast of Australia, to Singapore that I saw Aborigines at work. These were stockmen driving fierce-looking cattle on board. Later, in one of the tiny townships, I saw a couple of Aborigines walking, at a distance; none were in town, even at a pub. Reportedly, Aboriginal stockmen were unpaid labour, living on reserves; it was many years later that they were awarded a wage. This may not have benefited them much – I read that their 'minders' received these wages and accounted for them.

It was in the late Fifties that I actually met an Aborigine. At a bar near my work, there was a pleasant-looking brown-skinned young man, looking quite European in features. After saying hello to each other (we brownskins have a tendency to greet other brownskins without any formal introductions), he asked me "what colour" I was. It took me a while to understand the question. I then explained that I was an immigrant. We chatted for a while. As he was in workman's overalls, I presumed that he worked nearby. I was not to meet or see another Aboriginal for a few more years.

When my public speaking organisation established a new club near the Aboriginal Affairs agency, I invited its all-white senior management to encourage their staff to join our new club. Our training would enhance their competence and confidence, I promised. Nothing came of it. So, I rang the most senior Aboriginal officer in the agency (in a junior position, naturally). He explained that his people lacked the confidence to join our club. I then offered to help his people establish a speaking club, for Aborigines only, within his agency. We would provide expert advisers at request; they would run the club themselves. No, they did not want that either. Were they all that good that a little effort and free training could be so turned down?

I then met the first Aboriginal university graduate. He was a guest speaker at a meeting of university graduates. He spoke eloquently and with feeling about his people being entitled and enabled to determine their own destiny; that they should be financially empowered to do so; and that, in time, they would overcome their expected initial difficulties, waste and any inefficiencies, and become adequately accountable. He received a standing ovation.

Years later, having jumped a few of the normal career steps, he was head of the Aboriginal Affairs agency. He was the only senior Aborigine there. I was interviewed by him, and I sensed early in the interview that he had changed and that my approach did not tally with his, and that was that.

My next contact was with another officer of the agency. He had been beaten for promotion by a white, and he appealed on the grounds of relative efficiency. He was an angry young man and he seemed to be expecting me to support him.

I found it interesting that one did not see Aboriginal faces in the streets and shops near the office in which they worked. A study in the mid-Eighties on the Aboriginal economy reported that Aborigines are not integrated into the mainstream economy, the labour force or the social life of the nation. Of the forty per cent of these people living in cities, unemployment was recently estimated to range from twenty-five per cent overall to seventy-five per cent for men in one state. It was ninety per cent for the youth in rural areas; twenty-two per cent never had a job. Most of the employed work for Aboriginal organisations or for government.

In my studies we were told that the brightest Aboriginal children would leave high school after a year or so, saying, "What's the use?" That is, if their teachers were prepared to dispense with the usual stereotypes about these people; some actually did. On TV, the channel funded by the taxpayer would portray, every so often, the drunkenness and the inarticulate, broken-toothed rural Aborigine, thus confirming the racially prejudiced stereotype. However, this unbalanced presentation has now improved, displaying some very competent and articulate people. But they are not generally in mainstream organisations.

Behind the over-arching denial and deprivation, we (especially our children) have been educated about the Aborigines' 'dream-time', their mythology, and their love and care for the land. There are beautiful books put out for the educated. There are books on Aboriginal culture, diet and art, including the works of Albert Namatjira, the desert painter. Namatjira is, however, not included in any compendium of great Australian artists, some of whose work does not seem to me to reflect Australian colours, and whose skill seems to be no greater than that of their black competitor. Amongst our young, there is a great sensitivity about Aboriginal mystic values. However, there is little mention of tribal or clan interdependencies, what these mean, and how they affect Australian society.

Recently, I met a young lass whose father is white. Her mother is Aborigine, i.e. part white, as most of the city ones are. She was brought up as a white and had little appreciation of the heritage of her mother's people (so she said). At twenty, she became aware of the realities of Australian society, accepted her place in her ancestral tradition, studied it assiduously, and now teaches a mainstream community about Aboriginal culture. She is a very effective bridge between the cultures. Another bridge of this kind was a police liaison officer. His story is typical of a black/white relationship. His father ran away with him into the desert when the police came to collect him. Presumably, he was to be assimilated – the policy which replaced genocide. He was intended to be 'civilised' by being taken into bondage. The father and the boy kept on the move to the extent that he missed out on an education. His role with the police was, I believe, a potentially useful one.

Yet some of the local police have told me that, because of current policy, their hands are tied in dealing with minor crime committed by Aboriginals (just as well!). Apparently, the technical rules which help to protect the white criminal are available to the black too. This is surprising, as one would expect that the rules come into play only with the presence of lawyers. And how are the dispossessed to obtain a lawyer? Through the Aboriginal agencies or through the State-funded legal aid agencies, if they have enough funds left after some of the white high-flyers (who suddenly become insolvent) have been helped out? Perhaps the courts are too busy, and the police are becoming aware of the risk of jailing some of the young Aborigines, especially those who had been torn away from their families. Indeed, the Royal Commission on Black Deaths in Custody apparently said that the destruction of Aboriginal families under the racist welfare policies of governments was tantamount to genocide. There have been suggestions in the press that police may have killed some blacks while in custody. It is certainly very probable in some rural areas that most blacks will end up in jail for the most trivial offences – like using language that everyone uses, in particular the arresting police.

It is very sad to hear the community at large talk about the Aborigines. There was an armed hold-up at the local service station and a very early question was: "Was the perpetrator black?" There was a break-in at the local shops and six youths were seen running away – four black and two white. Almost everyone, including the police, talked about the black kids. I asked what happened to the white ones. How was it they had become invisible? Both white and black youth in a seaside fishing village are unemployed; yet an educated retirement community will cluck to one another about the lazy blacks who do not want to work. White migrants and Anglo-Celts hold similar views. Why not see the problem as a class problem (with young whites unwilling to work), instead of a problem of race (meaning colour), I asked two welfare-oriented citizens, who retired after reaching great heights in the private and research sectors. They felt that it was a fact of culture, reminding me of my racist colleague. Ignorance is obviously safely seated at all levels of Australian society.

I walk through the small shopping area of this village and receive smiles and nods from those (Aboriginal and white) to whom I have served petrol and sold cigarettes and the like in recent times. Some of the Aborigines drive into the service station in new cars and are well dressed. But I never see them on foot anywhere. I presume they work for Aboriginal organisations. Others arrive in old cars and are obviously not well off; they, too, are invariably courteous. Yet, on some occasions, before I go out to serve them, I can hear some very rough language addressed to one another – but never in my presence. Infrequently, a very inebriated Aborigine has staggered into the shop and, on sighting me, immediately straightened his shoulders and spoke most courteously. On the street, if I am bumped by an Aborigine or if I have to slow or step aside, the words I hear are, "Sorry, bro" or "Excuse me, brother", and such like. I could not fault these people in their social conduct, but apparently some police can. And, in this State, social conduct is not a crime. Yet 'resisting arrest', for use of language which allegedly 'offends' a policeman, is. Most of the Aboriginals we see are unemployed. An Aboriginal welfare worker told me that there are competent, educated, and trained people in the community. They cannot obtain work in the region in any capacity because, as my contact said, employers are racially prejudiced. Merit has no place where ignorance rules. And I used to think that I had experienced discrimination – little did I know.

Official efforts at reconciliation are continuing, but in an inefficient manner. At the State government level, there was a recent initiative for the community (meaning the whites) to foregather and learn about Aboriginal values. At the first meeting of seventeen people, organised by the local adult education committee of volunteers, including me, there was an Aboriginal lady present. She had been our guest at a literary lunch, when she had read her poetry to us. It was both beautiful and touching; her slim book had, however, to be published privately.

All the whites attending this reconciliation meeting were joined in their sympathy for the Aboriginal people, i.e. it was only the supporters of reconciliation there. Guided by the poetess and the notes provided by the State bureaucracy, they would have become better informed about the values of the Aborigines. They were also introduced to some of the other members of the local Aboriginal community. In the discussions, we were told that it was the women who made community decisions; that any support for the reconciliation process would have to come initially from the women.

This first step in an attempted reconciliation process was very worthwhile. There are a number of issues, however, which need to be addressed before any real progress can be made in intercultural relations. After all, multiculturalism policies have stridently excluded the Aboriginal cultures. Indeed, a senior ethnic public servant, when ethnic affairs and access to service policies were becoming the rage, paranoically declared that Aboriginals should be excluded (they were). So, while large sums of public money and public service effort was directed at empowering some ethnic leaders, in order to keep their flocks quiescent and to vote for the party then doing the pork-barrelling, Aboriginals were marginalised. Money directed to Aboriginal problems is monitored by the media most assiduously (perhaps mischievously), especially in terms of accountability, but not money thrown at the ethnics.

Australian governments have been stumbling towards decisions about ensuring that Aboriginal people receive equitable treatment – in terms of the basic necessities of life in an advanced nation. Their commitment to achieving equitable outcomes is, however, questionable, partly because it is the nature of those in power to draw the public's attention to their 'initiatives'. These are measured in terms of money allocated; and much of the outlays could be spent on an expanding bureaucracy and in public relations campaigns.

The achievement of necessary outcomes has been deflected by the issue of alleged self-determination. It is difficult to see why self-management is relevant in the provision to Aborigines of those basic public services related to health, housing, and education, which are the right of all citizens in this country. Plural or parallel service structures for the most dispossessed and disadvantaged people in the country cannot surely be the means of ensuring equitable access to resources. As in the ethnic affairs of policy, mainstreaming of services should be more efficient; and Ministers and senior public servants, especially in State governments, who cannot deliver the services, should obviously be replaced. Basic services are the responsibility of State and local governments; their track record to date in relation to Aborigines, is abysmal.

It is also interesting that recently an eminent Aboriginal activist stated in a public forum that some of her people, having learnt the ways of white people, were now using these ways against their own (or words to that effect). Surely, that is to be expected. Humanity is the same anywhere. Some people are opportunists, and many politicians and other power seekers can be expected not to miss the main chances for self-aggrandisement, self-empowerment, or self-enrichment.

Self-management seems to be a way out for governments confronted with evil outcomes of an indifferent to dangerous paternalistic welfare policies of the past. One can now blame Aboriginal leaders for the lack of progress in improving the life chances of their people, irrespective of whether they are urban residents, 'fringe dwellers' in county areas or on 'outstations' in the outback.

Who is to know that Aboriginal self-determination is little more than the worst kind of guided democracy, with governments actually influencing the slow pace of betterment? Worse still, State and local governments, which cannot deny responsibility for the provision of basic services to all residents, can be derelict in this responsibility while asserting self-determination principles for the Aborigines. How convenient. Of course, there are few votes in Aboriginal policy. Faster progress will also upset the 'red-necks' who claim that the Aboriginal people should not receive any compensatory treatment of any kind. But it is okay to subsidise non-Aboriginals for all sorts of ventures or 'good causes'. And the conservative political parties will respond to their financiers by opposing anything that really empowers the Aborigines (but it is okay with the ethnics, apparently, because they do not have land-rights ambitions).

The appalling human rights record of all three levels of government continues. And we have the cheek to lecture other nations. A quarter of a century after being granted citizenship of a land stolen from them, the Aborigines have not achieved much improvement in their economic or social status. The infant mortality rate, the life expectancies of adults, the rate of incarceration in jails, the unemployment rate, the incidence of preventable diseases, the levels of education and housing, and the denial of access to basic services, must seem horrendous to governments of even the poorest Third World countries. The people are still marginalised societally. And all this in a country which is proudly proclaimed to the world at large as a successful multicultural nation. The ethnics whinge about Anglo-Celt domination of core institutions. The Irish-Aussie whinges about the discrimination allegedly experienced by his forefathers, while expanding his grip on these very same core institutions. So, how many nations do we have in this multicultural society or state? There is a minimum of three that I can see.

The Aboriginal nation, descended from many, many tribes, speaking many languages, today numbers about a quarter of a million people, or less than one and a half per cent of the total population of Australia. About two in every five Aborigines are urban residents, with seemingly good prospects of early integration into the mainstream, but only if they can get jobs and are not denied housing. Another two in every five are 'fringe dwellers' on the edge of small towns. These would seem to be genuinely dispossessed, living in dry river beds and such like. What's the appropriate policy for these? Should integration be the objective and, if so, how is that to be achieved? The remaining one in five are in 'Aboriginal towns' and in 'outstation' properties. Presumably, there should be separate policies for these; they may not want integration.

A well-meaning Minister handed responsibility to a representative body of Aborigines under the guise of self-determination, with limited funding (about $1 billion). The greater part apparently represents dole money for its constituents, which is invested in community or skill development programmes, leaving an inadequate amount to compensate for the state governments' deficiencies in the delivery of basic services. Instead of whites controlling a public service department employing some blacks, and making policy for the blacks, we now have this Aboriginal body, spending scarce taxpayer funds on predominantly white consultants, lawyers and advisers. Apart from the lack of funds, this body is now accused of inadequate accountability (no one is listening to attempted rebuttals). Perhaps the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on remedying the consequences of poor immigration procedures, including converting refugee policy into a sacred cow, might be better employed in providing justice to those resident Australians most in need. Isn't that what welfare policy is supposed to be? And the ethnic welfare industry does not (to my knowledge) have to account for the scarce taxpayer funds given to it.

Encouragingly, there is among the young and the educated middle class a lot of sympathy for the Aborigines' right to a share of the sunshine. However, they are either not organised enough to influence their elected representative (perhaps they do not realise that they can), or they are powerless against the purse-controllers of the major political parties and the formidable power of vested interests. Inherited prejudice, based on colour, might be diffused in time if there were visibly more educated, more successful brown people around. Brown may then not be equated with inferiority. This would mean opening the door more widely than hitherto to brown-skinned immigrants. It is sometimes difficult to separate, on appearance alone, an Aborigine from a similarly coloured Asian. So prejudice against the Aborigine runs onto the Asian. Yet another generation of white Aussies (both old and new) might need to join their Maker before the level of colour prejudice is reduced; many of these older people do not really like the sight of a self-confident, self-sufficient (nay, cocky) 'black'.

In fact, I have been told by so many of these 'oldies' that many of the Aboriginal leaders are not really black. That was news to me. My response to them was along the following lines: for generations, Aussies called these people black, no matter how light-skinned they were, or how European or Caucasian their features were, and treated them as blacks, i.e. with disdain and arrogance. Of course, there is white blood in them; many are mainly white genetically, but skin colour is dominant. They are also Christians. And it was the whites who created the people now being denigrated. By applying colonial standards, many Aussies betrayed their own heritage of a fair go. Now that 'black' is beautiful (thanks to Afro-Americans), the hope of "passing" into the mainstream community was reversed by many, to accepting their Aboriginal heritage. With an increased sense of psychic empowerment, many Aboriginal people are tempted to reject the existing xenophobic structures of the whites. Is it therefore not time for white Aussies to accept a fellow human and a fellow citizen as entitled to a fair share of the sunlight? What has colour to do with it?

This sort of counter-attack is usually received in stony silence. I counter-attack because they are so damned arrogantly ignorant. No wonder so many of them are afraid of dying; with the views they hold, they might be denied access to that door they covet.

The future is not all black for the Aboriginal people. In spite of the understandable "What's the use?" by many of the disadvantaged Aboriginals, strong role models are being presented to them by the few professionally-successful ones; the political activists; Afro-American artists, writers and politicians; and by their own youth. Young Aboriginal artists, dancers, singers and theatrical producers, all with competence and superb confidence, are also achieving broad public acclaim in Australia and overseas for the quality of their performances and productions, their pride in their Aboriginality, and their successful portrayal of the plight and culture of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders (the latter tend, as a form of short-hand, to be covered in any reference to Australian Aboriginals).

Progress from racial exclusion to social cohesion is, however, going to need a few more generations. What a record for a nation visibly attempting to rewrite history and to lecture its neighbours on good corporate conduct. Recovery of the Dreamtime still awaits the Aborigine.

Ethnicity – Another Dreamtime?

The situation for coloured ethnics is not as black as for Aborigines. White ethnics, however, have no problems of integration now. They, in spite of the earlier derogation of their dignity and status, moved to a degree of acceptance when the term 'New Australian' was coined. (The old Aussie soon modified it to 'Bloody New Aussie'.) Later they were not required to assimilate. You do not have to behave exactly the way we do, said the old Aussie – at least officially. The attacks in the streets for not speaking English fell away, as did the snide remarks about the accents and speech sounds of the new arrivals.

The government then constructed the concept of ethnic, which separated (rather than joined) the immigrants (then still all white) relative to their hosts. The concept and the separation were entrenched by the government claiming that the ethnic groups were suddenly in need. The older European migrants must have wondered at that. Newer arrivals were somehow less self-sufficient; they needed someone to take them by the hand to the immigration office, to the post office, to the doctors, and so on. By the time refugees were the 'in thing', even the European 'refugees' (mostly highly qualified professionals and tradesmen) were found to be yet more in need. Being in need, and attempting to satisfy that need, became growth industries. Today, many migrants, whose professional or technical qualifications are not acceptable in Australia, say that they want to study to become welfare workers to help their own people.

Behind the exposition of need stood articulate Europeans and their descendants. These said that people in high places in Australia needed to take heed of the deliverance of wisdom by spokespersons of each culture in Australia. The cultures were to become represented by community groups; the question was, what determined the boundaries of these groups? Ethnicity became definable by the groups which arose. Hence, ethnicity became a very unclear concept, argued for years within the bureaucracy at large and, in particular, the agency whose task was to ensure that the ethnic carts rolled along the fiscal highway without hitch. Once the carts started to roll, there descended upon the taxpayer a large number of structures offering services to the ethnics. A large number of these structures were non-ethnic, often church-related or church-based.

The concept of doing good at someone else's expense caught on. At one time, there was a church leader who asked the government to bring in more refugees because his service agency's business was falling off. At another time, certain ethnics created their own service structure and sought to replace the mainstream structure which had serviced them; the latter was reluctant to budge, on account of the ethnics not being able to look after themselves (so it was claimed). Years after this practice was established, there was a church-based group being funded to provide mainly spiritual services to ethnics as well as to others (the latter formed the bulk of those claimed to be in need), and without assistance from interpreters. What happened to accountability, and where was the media? The voluntary ethnic community welfare groups which had been established before the government thought of access and equity, ethnicity and multiculturalism were, of course, subsumed within the new superstructure of ethnic services.

Community development and education then became part of the service strategy. What was community development? The academics had big words for it, but the worker bees at the three levels of government had difficulty in articulating it for me in operational terms – or in terms of measurable outcomes of relevance to the taxpayer.

Education was a different matter. Reasonable proficiency in the English language was (and is) without question, a prime need, but education was not ethno-specific, i.e. language specific, as were the access and equity services (essentially referral and guidance). In time, a permanent education structure was established and normal industrial processes led to permanency. Were immigration in the future to be based on employable (i.e. needed) migrants, and therefore speaking English, there would be hell to pay industrially.

Were the settlement services now in place (the term 'settlement' is much safer than the earlier terms) to be found unnecessary, there will be further hell to pay. The quick solution, of course, is for those in the field to privatise themselves and to offer their services at market rates to those who seek them. Australia, the viable nation, coming up?

The further point which needs to be made is that no one has been asked to account for the scarce taxpayer funds spent on settlement services, including English language classes, with their emphasis on process, disregarding outcomes. Yes, there are people who need to be more fluent in English. Would not, however, outcomes of courses be more certain if course members were in control of what they learned? If so, should they attend private classes, operating in an efficiency-inducing competitive environment, with the taxpayer refunding fees according to successful outcomes? My suggestion is that we should pay for English language classes the way we pay our plumber – by results; not the way we pay our medical practitioner – for time spent. Outcomes, not process, should be the taxpayers' test if his money is to be spent on meeting someone else's alleged need. This reflects care by the government in using my money, not some right-wing philosophy. The latter claim will be made by some who are fed, whether directly or indirectly, by the taxpayer, especially those who are not yet accountable.

To me, accountability goes hand in hand with the government using my money. This is responsibility, not some dangerous, inhumane, lack of democracy. Of course, pigs will be thick in the sky, doing the loop gracefully, well before any government in Australia will dare buck the ethnics and those linked symbiotically in service to them. If there is a genuine need and it can be satisfied effectively and efficiently, let us meet it; and if this stand is good for the blacks in Australia, it should be good for the whites too.

About a decade after ethnicity came into fashion, a fourth generation Aussie criticised the policy of redefining Australia by ethnicity. He said that Australia had, from its beginning, been ethnic. Asked to explain, he said that the Irish had always been here. When I asked what language they spoke and what cultural practices they had brought with them which were different from that of the British or English, he became a little cross; he still ignores me.

Being a little sceptical about ethnicity in the nation's formative years, but willing to learn, I asked others who said they were ethnic Irish.

Most, naturally, knew little about the ancestor who came to Australia. So I asked today's generations whether they spoke their ancestral language at home, whether they read any books or saw any films in that language. I asked about their beliefs and religious practices; whether they supported any dances or arts representing their ancestral culture; the community or communities they related to; the schools they had attended; the schools attended by their children; the clothes they wore; the food they ate; whether, since the first ancestors' arrival in Australia, there had been any marriage to non-Irish or to those of another faith; how many such marriages had there been; whether they had been to Ireland to visit relatives; how close they were to relatives in Ireland; whether they felt any ideational or other link with Ireland.

I also asked whether they and their antecedents had been denied equality of opportunity to acquire skills and jobs. At the end of my questioning, I asked about those aspects of behaviour which set them apart from those of fellow Australians. They were also invited to talk about others of similar ancestry. I then contrasted their statements with what I had observed of their conduct.

The only conclusion that I could reach was that most of the Irish were separated from most of the British (whether English, Scottish or Welsh) only by their religion and the religio-politics separating these people over the centuries. There was little difference behaviourally and in terms of ambitions, hopes and preferred lifestyles between the four tribes or national groups, apart from their forms and location of worship. There was an Australian way of life to which all subscribed. In their religious practices, they were no different from other Catholics in Australia, guided primarily by Irish priests. I was told, too, that a sense of injustice filled their relationship with the British, except that the priests from Ireland were less anti-British than those born in Australia. How strange!

The most interesting comment about this religio-political divide was made to me only recently (in the mid-Nineties). A professional man of my vintage, a self-titled Irish Catholic, said to me that, for me to understand the subterranean current between the Irish and the British, I had to accept that the Irish in Australia had felt, over two centuries, that the British had kept them down. Yet, in the case of his family, there had been no denial of equal opportunity or justice. He had been married in the church and been divorced, unlike some I knew who had obtained annulments of their marriages. (What was the resulting status of their children – were they now deemed to have been born out of wedlock?) My new friend had married again, but outside the Church. While not a regular church-goer, he supports his church – so he claimed. He accepted that the priests had tried rigorously to keep their flock away from the others, while all conformed to British politico-cultural institutions, and accepted English as both the language of the nation and their own. Since they had felt deprived and depressed, he said, they took great solace in their own leaders, the priesthood, living in the same manner as the rulers of the other people, i.e. with the same degree of style and comfort. The rulers of the Irish could then deal with the rulers of the British on equal terms.

I am not sure whether he was pulling my leg, but he seemed to be genuinely serious and an educated man. His explanation was the best defence I have ever heard for a priesthood playing at princes. He agreed that the only behavioural and ideational difference between the Irish Catholics and non-Catholic Australians was religion. Should the Churches ever agree, they would be the one people. What would they do with the princes, I wondered, but I did not dare ask.

So, are the Australian Irish-Catholics ethnics? They are now no different from Australian British Catholics. Are these people also ethnics but constituting another community? If they are, could ever other religious sect be termed ethnic too? Are not the Jewish community, made up of diverse language groups, treated as an ethnic community?

Following this, a few friends and I decided to examine the ordinary Aussie of today. We had in mind a claim that only when the British deemed themselves as an ethnic community in Australia, could we become a true republic. What an interesting claim. A socio-political construct becomes a defining term intended to rewrite history. The British, who founded the Australian nation, now realise that Australia is no more Britain's backyard for entry and residence purposes. Their share of Australia's population is also diminishing (not unlike the position of the Kanaks in French Caledonia). And now they are expected to think of themselves as ethnic in a nation whose core institutions are totally British?

This is the best argument I have heard for getting rid of the term 'ethnic' (and its derivatives). Is it not also time for anti-British Australians to accept that their inherited prejudices are a very substantial barrier to social cohesion in a nation which is maturing wonderfully? Evolution is a wonderful thing; it will allow us to make our own decisions.

How has the Australian evolved? Today, it is as difficult as it was when I arrived in this country to identify the national or tribal origins of an individual's parents. Then, the Aussie seemed to be a very satisfactory blend of Scot, Welsh, English, some Irish, French, Scandinavian, German, and others. He was proud of his ancestry. Today's Australia continues to remain predominantly British, with the mixture widened to include other Europeans, Asians, Latin Americans, and some Africans, as well as others. One would have difficulty in identifying the country of origin of these other parents, even where the parent was coloured. Their behaviour, attitudes and values are Australian. The prejudices of the past (that of their parents) have little sway.

The descendants of some of the migrants are, however, more readily identifiable as south European, North and East Asian, West Asian or other (meaning brown) Asian, i.e. in a generic way. But it would be near impossible to identify the country of origin of the parent or their mother tongues from their conduct or speech. And today's young are marrying across their parents' ethnic or language barriers, and even their religious barriers. It is a new Australia evolving into a cohesive people with little respect for yesterday's prejudices.

Yet, as soon as the politics of republicanism, ethnic empowerment, or multiculturalism are raised, there arise all the barriers to social cohesion raised by the older generation. The ethnic dreamtime, having flashed across our skies, has left far too many of us old folk with an after-image of divergence.

Those who love the concept of ethnicity may have in mind only culturally homogeneous communities, families, and marriages. That love may, in fact, display xenophobia or religious or colour prejudice. The Jewish girl, who would not be seen with me, an Asian, in a public place by day, because her community would not like it, had a message for us all. The Asian father who bought off his son's Australian wife had a similar message. Hopefully, these messages are now out of date.

There are also some discrepancies in the delineation of ethnic communities. Sometimes, they are based on language (e.g. Vietnamese), at other times on national or regional boundaries (e.g. Dutch or East Timorese) or religion (Sikhs). Self-delineation seemed to be the rule. Who decides – the power brokers? Or are there objective rules for exclusion? In the definition of individuals, the answer given by academics and adopted by the bureaucrats was self-identification. On what basis? For example, a Greek marries an Italian; what's the ethnicity of the child? An Indian Moslem marries an Anglo-Saxon Protestant and the child is neither baptised nor taken into the Moslem faith; what's the ethnicity? What if the child had been baptised as a Catholic; would Aussie-Catholic be an ethnic category? A friend of mine had an Italian father and a Greek mother. He married an Anglo-Saxon and has a daughter who travelled through Europe. Both father and daughter say they are Italian. "What happened to your mum?" I say to both father and daughter. "We feel a bond with Italy," each said. But neither has been there. They have no family or business connection there. They have never read Italian; the daughter does not even know the language. They have not been exposed to Italian culture, apart from some historical material to which we were all exposed. What do we have here – selective ancestral bonding? Why? For inexplicable psychological reasons. If Australia had no ethnic affairs policy emphasis, would these two be so Italian? Would the immigrant Italian community accept them?

In contrast, a young man whose German ancestor arrived in Australia four generations ago was a pathfinder in a British squadron bombing Germany. Like most in that business, he died – because he saw himself as an Aussie. He was actually part Italian too. That was my wife's brother.

Of course, many an Anglo-Celt Aussie, (like the Americans) showed his ignorance during that war by locking up or in some way penalising Aussies with foreign names (and therefore origins) of particular kinds. While my wife's brother was over German lines, his mother and sister had been taken away for questioning, purely on the basis of their family name. This story could be multiplied all over Australia a thousand times, without stretching the point. Perhaps it is the memory of such events that led to many of Australia's ethnics rushing to embrace the new ethnic affairs policies. For it did offer them a degree of protection which previously had not existed. Indeed, some of them are reverting to their own first family name. But will there be any protection for those of us small and new Australians from Asia were there to be a military threat (real or imagined) from this part of the world? Would ethnic affairs policies save us from the fearful ignorant or the prejudiced official thug?

A case for the perpetuation of ethnicity looks weak. Does the term apply only to minorities? In which case, it would be an excluding term. Where do we place the majority of the population in Australia, with its predominantly four-nation heritage? The ethnics have had the problem of finding a term for this group, for they and we are all Aussies. Initially, it was Anglo-Saxon, until the Scots and others said, "What about us?" and until the Irish accepted that they were mainstream too. A migrant friend of mine, whose father was born in Latvia and who was himself born in Germany, had British citizenship on arrival in Australia. He is now an Australian citizen. What is his ethnicity, since he denies that he's Latvian or German, having regard to his Anglo-Saxon mother and his Aussie citizenship? I am not Indian (though I share their culture), nor Sri Lankan (though my father and his antecedents were born there), nor Malaysian (though I was born there). Like my non-Latvian friend, will I be denied an ethnic category and therefore be unprotected and uncared for? The winds can be cold if you are not an ethnic today.

Another friend born in Australia, the offspring of migrant Greeks, says he is Greek; he cannot read Greek, barely speaks it, and has not been exposed to Greek culture: no dance, no music, no arts (this reflects his parents' humble origins). However, festivals are celebrated, mainly through food and hospitality. His way of life, his conduct are exactly the same as those of my non-Latvian friend or of mine. We eat similar foods, share Australian culture. In normal life, no ethnicity is visible (except for my colour) or audible; it is only there in someone else's mind. Is it any more than pride in one's ancestry? Is that not enough to sustain us through life, especially when there are so many different ancestries in this evolving nation?

Perhaps it is time to allow the ethnic dreamtime to dissolve itself. Whether we like it or not, our cultures are already in the melting-pot. Our personal identity can then be reflective of our current national (or state) identity, not our historical tribal identity. Pride in our origins (rarely unmixed – somewhere, sometime) can be expressed in a reverence for that ancestral identity which we feel sustains us.

Issues of Multiculturalism

In 1995, the United Nations International Year for Tolerance (and the twentieth anniversary of the enactment of Australia's Racial Discrimination Act), the then Prime Minister of Australia claimed that there is in Australia "no language not spoken, no culture not understood, no religion not practised". It must be true; it was in the news. In any event, this means that we must have the most culturally diverse nation in the world; or is it only linguistically diverse?

The Office of Multicultural Affairs also told us then that multiculturalism is a policy for managing the consequences of cultural diversity; that this policy confers upon us two rights and a responsibility. The rights are: to express and share our cultural heritage and to equality of treatment and opportunity; the responsibility is to utilise effectively the skills and talents of all Australians. The Office also identified certain limits to Australian multiculturalism: that we should have an overriding and unifying commitment to Australia; that we should accept the basic structures and principles of Australian society, viz. the Constitution and the rule of law; tolerance and equality; parliamentary democracy; freedom of speech and religion; English as the national language; and equality of the sexes; and that we have an obligation to accept the rights of others to express their views and values.

All this is eminently reasonable and sensible, except that bit about "managing". In addition, the chairman of the Australian Multicultural Foundation (Sir James Gobbo), an ethnic community leader of great competence and renown, said (also in 1995) that he looked forward to "the day in the not too distant future, when our cultural diversity and our policies of tolerance and respect in handling this diversity will be so much a part of the fabric of our society, that we shall no longer need to use such words as multiculturalism and ethnic." While commending Australia's multicultural philosophy as initially introduced, and its relative success, he pointed out that multiculturalism does not propose policies of affirmative action; and that there is a need for us all "to understand and insist on the shared spiritual values of our various cultures." This view parallels the mature view (expressed also in 1995) of the President of the Czech Republic that the best hope for a peaceful multicultural civilisation in the world is to understand and insist on "the shared spiritual values of all cultures."

Another outstanding ethnic community leader (Emeritus Professor Jerzy Zubrzycki) questioned (also in 1995) whether the term 'multiculturalism' is not now out of date. He pointed out that, to the opponents of a non-discriminatory immigration policy, the term has negative connotations and is associated with "incidents of political separatism" (which surfaced in the Gulf War). "Many cultures, one Australia" has greater attraction for him. While supporting the thrust of current multicultural policy, he raised two important issues: that "not all traditions, cultures and customs are necessarily equal," and that wooing the ethnic vote throws the policy "out of balance." Where "some minority values are totally inconsistent with fundamental values of the dominant Australian culture" (e.g. where "the family takes the law into its own hands to redress a wrong done to one of its members"), "it would be nonsense to say that every culture is equally valued and therefore legitimate."

On the second issue, he said that the policy of grants to ethnic groups pays disproportionate attention to one of the many dimensions of multicultural policy. It promotes "an ethnic approach to minority groups" by emphasising the things that divide us, instead of the things that bind us. The policy also extends the scope of equality of access (to the nation's resources) to the equality of outcomes. The need for some short-term affirmative action or positive discrimination "specifically targeted to refugees and other victims of oppression" is, however, not denied by the professor. He went on to say that wooing the ethnic vote "represents a grave distortion of multiculturalism for all Australians. It measures the success or otherwise of multicultural policies by the amount of special funds and programmes directed specifically to ethnics, irrespective of whether they lead to a cohesive or fragmented society." He also says that "multiculturalism is seen here as an instance of public policy developed for the benefit of minority groups and not as Australia's legitimate response to the demographic reality of our society."

This view is confirmed by Sir James when he says that the philosophy of multiculturalism "calls for respect for differences but not their perpetuation at public expense."

I am grateful to these two eminent leaders (with whom I once had a close and warm working relationship) for articulating my views so succinctly and in such a timely manner. But stacked against the three of us in our approach to funding for ethnic groups (and implicitly to the plural service structures so endowed) and the divisiveness of such an approach is a multitude of ethnic leaders. Of course, these claim to speak on behalf of their people and to express their needs.

However, it is difficult to know if their constituencies are consulted regularly and whether, in any such consultations, each community has considered how its grandchildren will relate to the grandchildren of other Australians, and to what kind of nation they will belong. Are there always going to be ethnics, with each group separate from the others, and to be in need of taxpayer subsidies? As an ethnic wit said recently (adapting Goering of Nazi fame), "When I hear of anyone talk of multiculturalism, I hide my purse."

One writer on this subject has already posited that, just as some post-colonial or indeed some European nations are splintering into tribes, based on ethnicity (reflecting in some cases, religious differences), so Australia will see subcultural separations, either through a celebration of their freedom of choice (e.g. gays) or because of a desire to be tribal. So, instead of globalisation and the homogenisation of cultures, the risk in Australia is the reverse; the demise of nationalism. The explanation for this drastic prognosis relies on the so-called 'information superhighway', which will allow "members of local tribes to communicate instantly and comprehensively with...members of the same tribe – all over the world."

In response, one could argue that the use-by date for this prognostication was passed some generations ago. For example, have not Catholics throughout the world been linked by the papal highway? Have they not, in Australia, also been kept apart from people of other faiths, in the same way that some of the smaller Churches keep their adherents apart from the rest of us? (This is not to deny that some people might, as individuals, choose to keep away from those who do not share their beliefs and interests.) Yet, tribal barriers are being progressively breached.

Another writer calls on history to warn us that multiculturalism can lead to serious social division. This is also not a new argument. It is like its sibling – the argument that mixed cultures cannot produce a cohesive nation. The examples frequently cited to support this latter argument are usually Malaysia and Fiji, which shows how little these critics know about these two countries and how inadequately they understand societal forces and impacts. (After all, history can be read in diverse, yet viable, ways.)

In contrast, we were taught in the olden days how Brazil and Hawaii were the exemplars of societies with a successful racial (ethnic?) integration; and how the USA was the very model of the melting-pot theory of cultures. We now know that, as long as the lower castes and 'coloureds' in each of these nations know and keep their place, there is successful integration (just like the Antarctic explorers and their huskies or Himalayan climbers and their porters and guides). So why is Australia at risk of social divisions, apart from the widening economic divisions of the past decade and the sectarian divide (hopefully fading) of past centuries? History shows us that "the Chinese and Aboriginal way of life were then far apart from those of the predominantly British culture" (what happened to the Irish?).

The lesson for us is apparently that, the more pronounced the diversity (of cultures), the higher the long-term danger. Can there be anything more divergent than religion-based cultures? In which case, history tells us that the Jewish people did not, in general, live well under Christian rulers; but under Moslem rulers, they not only lived well, but some of their people rose to substantial positions of power. And it was the Christians who were wont to teach the Moor his place. Could this also be a lesson from history for Australia now?

Could one say that the very large number of ill-educated, unskilled, non-English-speaking migrants from Europe represented a very divergent culture from the Australian? Possibly. But was there a problem? These migrants may have coexisted with fellow migrants and the mainstream Aussie (as did the early Chinese) but without stress to the fabric of the nation (ignoring the cries of "Dago", "Wop", "Wog", and the like). Their children integrated into mainstream traditions, not being denied equal opportunity, unlike the children of the Aboriginal people, even in urban areas. The children of the migrants are taking their place in the structures of Australian society, according to competence, but subject to the limitations of established power structures.

The other migrants with apparently divergent cultures are the Asians, from the Mediterranean to the Sea of Japan. They are Christians of various sects, Moslems of various sects, and Buddhists of various sects, in the main. There are also some Hindus (and they are possibly less diverse in terms of sects), Shintoists, Confucianists, capitalists, and others. The religious bonds do cross national and language boundaries. Irrespective of mother tongue, the Asians are likely to be reasonably fluent to very fluent in English, and Westernised, in the main. What cultural differences would they display? The exceptions would be refugees and any of the humanitarian entrants. They could be expected to have difficulties in integrating into the community because of a lack of English, and in many cases the unfamiliarity with Australia's institutions and ethos. What problems of integration would the non-refugee Asian migrant pose to Australia's cohesion? Indeed, what demands would he make on settlement resources? Many of us are very familiar with, and supportive of, Australia's core institutions and values.

Of course, the term 'Asian immigrants' is often used pejoratively, reflecting the discomfort of the user in the presence of large numbers of people from a continent considered to be inferior and, somehow, very different. Differences of class, education or Westernisation are quietly ignored – even by those who do know better. The only 'inferiority' we Asians have displayed in recent times was in allowing European adventurers and imperialists to bully, bluff, and buy their way into exploiting us.

A risk to social cohesion which has been identified by many writers, and visible on TV, is the practice of some migrants continuing to express the ethnic prejudices and politics of the countries they left behind. Very often, this seems to be quietly nipped in the bud, but no official statements are ever made when the secateurs are used (metaphorically speaking). I do not believe that there is any great problem, of a durable nature, in spite of the fact that some of the ethnic spokesmen are Aussie-born. Most Aussies would agree that if such people want to participate in 'wars' overseas, they should go there and do it. And since it is illegal to be a mercenary, we would appreciate the voluntary return of our citizenship papers – after all, our citizenship requires a commitment to Australia.

Some academic writers consider that the future of multiculturalism inn Australia is uncertain, although they do not advocate abandonment of the policy. I suspect that they expect too much of a simple policy. I fear, too, that they may be a little confused, believing in social engineering rather than in evolution, which also requires the leavening of education and therefore time. Yet others, I believe, project values and prejudices derived from their own ethnic and class background.

What is one to make of the following claim: "The more public assertion there is of the reality of multicultural society, the more debate and polemical writings about the nature of multiculturalism, the more the policies shift towards Anglo-Australian cultural homogeneity"? Is this an attack on the core values which have cemented (as the Prime Minister said) the diverse cultures making up today's Australia? From its earliest days, multiculturalism policy was based (as said by Sir James) on "the presence of core institutions and core values – indeed, a core culture." It also recognises that this core-culture is not fossilised and that it will continue to evolve.

Is the core problem seen by some that the core-culture is English (or British) in origin? Is the current political push for republicanism encouraging division? "In the sense that they (i.e. Australians) should seek Australian, not British, definitions of Australia, all multiculturalists in Australia should be, as it were, 'anti-British'," says a prominent proselytiser. Is this a rewriting of history? Australia's cultural heritage is British. Most Australians have British ancestors. What is there to redefine? After all, did not the non-British who came initially to Australia arrive speaking English? Were they not an integral part of the British traditions which were transplanted to Australia? Is it the case of a hare insulting a dead lion?

In any event, as our core-culture evolves, which of its features would we desire to see replaced, and with what? "An easy egalitarianism, a profound belief in democracy, tolerance, pragmatism, a deep commitment to Australia: these are the things we all hold in common..." said that Prime Minister. What is wrong in any of that? And the Emeritus Professor reminds us that "National loyalty can be built on ethnic loyalty", provided that every new settler faces the fact that our language, our judicial system, and our parliamentary institutions are critical to the functioning of our society. Perhaps we should now remind some second and third generation descendants of past immigrants, as well as some new arrivals, of the wisdom of this.

It would also seem that multiculturalism policy is expected, by some, to deal with the inequalities of ethnicity, class and gender. Is this realistic? Class and gender are global issues, nationwide in impact. They involve individual and collective attitudes and values; aspirations and applications; inherited and environmental impacts and constraints; and institutionalised barriers of habituation; all reflecting the prevailing balance of power. Yet a single strand in the totality of government policies is expected to come to grips with two global issues, whose durability simply reflects man's societal inheritance. After all, have religious institutions, which purvey the proletarian promise of equality of all human beings in the eyes of God, achieved gender and class equality? Have those parties pronouncing the primacy of the people done any better?

Multicultural policy is intended to manage the consequences of a culturally diverse society. The most important strand of the policy is social justice, i.e. the right to equality of treatment and opportunity. The main requirement for achieving this right is the removal of the barriers of race (derived from perceptions of skin colour) and of ethnicity (reflecting culture, including language and religion). Gender and class barriers are the province of other major policies, which are already in place. Multicultural policy supports these other policies, e.g. by grants to assist migrant women. It is, however, not desirable for multicultural policy to result in parallel service or educational structures, especially if they lead to expectations of permanence of such divisive practices. This is precisely what the two most eminent community leaders are concerned about.

It is wise to remember that what is at issue is the creation of one nation, without divisive policies and practices in the name of cultural diversity or, worse still, ethnic disadvantage. After all, affirmative action distorts. Of course, it is intended to distort, but for a short period, in order to redress an unwanted imbalance of opportunities. What we now have are permanent duplicate structures, with all the consequences of such inefficiency. Worse still are the derivative expectations, that multicultural policy will overcome deficiencies brought into the country in such necessary areas as fluency of spoken English, possession of employable skills, the educational competence to acquire language, knowledge or skills, as well as the willingness to apply oneself.

Years ago, the day after entry to Australia, a non-English-speaking (NES) migrant found work and he did not feel it necessary to study English in any formal manner after work. Years later, he retired. His ethnic community spokespersons now claim that, because of his lack of English, he needs ethno-specific support services, as distinct from ethno-specific access-and-referral services, provided by his community agency, funded by the government. How about mainstreaming all such services, supplemented (if need be) by voluntary ethnic community support?

A NES female migrant finds part-time work in an area where skill is not necessary, as she is unskilled. How is multicultural policy to improve her life chances? Give her the opportunity to attend English classes on arrival while we provide child-care? Well, we did that. She remains unskilled. Is her position on the bottom of the economic pile attributable to her ethnicity or her origins? Is she any different from an unskilled person in the community? How does the NES migrant warrant some kind of special migrant-specific life-chance or lifestyle-improving service not accessible to non-migrants?

As Sir James put it, immigrants were "given entry to this country on the basis of equal opportunity. It would have undermined this ethos to have postulated preferential treatment for migrants." What is offered under multicultural policy is "a fair go". Is that not enough? Is it not more than an immigrant would receive elsewhere?

The future for multicultural society is claimed to be uncertain also because: it "does not hold much attraction for the Anglo-Australian majority"; it "does not reflect power relationships in Australia with accuracy"; it "runs the danger of creating separate and inferior educations and social systems for different groups".

This claim is interesting in the light of separate educational systems, which operate for Jews, Catholics, adherents of the Hare Krishna philosophy and others. Are they inferior to the mainstream systems? Is it also possible that they do not contribute enough to national social cohesion? On the other hand, a recent study shows Australia to be "one of the most religiously plural countries". The researcher believes that multicultural policy provides "a context which fosters positive inter-faith relations". How about that? Another study shows that "tolerance is accorded non-Christian religions on a nationwide scale", notwithstanding some local intolerance and discriminations based on ignorance, misunderstanding and fear. Christian church leaders might want to focus on remedying the latter, supported by ethnic community leaders.

It is not surprising that power relations are cited as relatively intractable. Aboriginal affairs and ethnic affairs or multicultural areas have been the playground for Anglo-Celts. In recent times, non-British Celts seem to be the power-players, but it is difficult to be certain of this. In the mid-Eighties, I also found that, in the Office of Multicultural Affairs, there were four second-generation 'Greeks' in one section. Purely by chance? The sundry ethnic community agencies were, at that time, dominated by what my chief referred to as the "old" migrant groups, viz. those from the Mediterranean. Whereas, by then, the problem areas of settlement were elsewhere, i.e. new arrivals from other parts of the world. Is there not also some evidence of ethnic power play in agencies providing ethnic TV and radio, on advisory councils, in the appointment of Ministers and Shadow Ministers, and in the separation of ethnic affairs and Aboriginal affairs portfolios when it comes to multiculturalism?

That mainstream Anglos are not generally enamoured of policies empowering the ethnics and the blacks is understandable. The policy of multiculturalism, as a separate strand from ethnic empowering, was introduced (in my view) to force the Anglos to move over a little; these foreigners are now here to stay; and they would like a little more of the sunlight, we said. Having been asked to move over and share the sunlight with the Aborigines was bad enough for many Anglos; now they are asked to do the same for thrusting migrants who are visibly doing well and whose children are doing even better – so researchers say.

Ethnic empowering through funding is also something that the Anglos are not that aware of yet. Grants are not noticeable in the press. The taxpayer costs of ethnic services and the resultant empowering are not known or discussed in the media, unlike the grant to Aborigines and the ways these funds are used. The Anglos would have little idea of the cost of multicultural policies and the structures which abound. By and large, policies on multiculturalism and ethnic affairs will appear to the Anglos to be like so much of government 'initiatives', expensive motherhood statements. Would they realise how expensive it really is?

What the average Anglo in influential positions will ask is whether the mainstream structures and the way they operate deny equal access to resources or equal opportunity on merit to the children of migrants. He may conclude that, all other things being equal, skin colour may be a barrier at certain responsibility levels, and likely to affect more than one generation.

What about the immigrant, the first generation Aussie; what barriers to equal opportunity apply to those who are fluent in English and are white? The average Anglo would not expect any, in spite of what some of today's Irish-Aussies or Jewish-Aussies may claim. A large number of people I have spoken to testify, at the individual level, to the fair-go practices prevailing in Australia. I have not found anyone whose father and grandfather were denied equal opportunity, having regard for their competence and application, in acquiring skills or jobs. There has indeed been upward mobility amongst those of Irish, Jewish, or other European descent, as well as those of British descent, notwithstanding some alleged exclusivism in some quarters in earlier times.

Are there barriers applying to white NES migrants whose spoken English is not good? My observation is yes, where management responsibility, involving clear communication, is involved, (and this is understandable). A coloured migrant, fluent in English can, on the other hand, expect barriers at senior levels, or, where presentation to the public (as on TV) is involved, simply because of his colour. This is now changing. Amongst all the rhetoric, claims and counterclaims, it seems clear that only colour, accent, and certain cultural attitudes are the barriers to equal opportunity in mainstream structures. The relevance of the first two of these attributes in access to skill or jobs is, of course, challengeable.

Denying open entry or smooth progress to someone patently different is human and understandable. But this country seeks migrants and fosters cultural diversity. A policy is therefore necessary to combat racism and to force the mainstream power-players to move aside and share the sunlight with these other Aussies.

But what about the ethnics? Do they need sensitising about other ethnics and their rights? My Greek neighbour employs only Greeks, even to repair his plumbing. The Chinese employ only Chinese (so I have been told). Do the ethnic communities call on tradespeople and professional services, as is done in Malaysia and Singapore, from _other_ ethnic communities? Until they do, there is little purpose in the professional ethnics talking about multicultural policies, equal opportunity, and all the rest of it. Ethnic communities, to be a coherent part of this nation, need to accept that they have to relate to other ethnic communities on the same basis as they relate to the mainstream community. After all, they too pay the taxes which finance ethno-specific services.

Do they relate at the community level? As individuals, of course they do, especially if the other person is of the opposite sex and attractive. It is good to see the children of immigrants marrying across ethnic borders. If the two mums are reasonably comfortable with the English language, there should be no problem – except where there is a divergence of religion. Even that is not persuasive anymore – at least for our youth.

Why has not the government's multicultural policy emphasised more the inter-ethnic community aspects? What about a role in this direction for the ethnic newspapers? I have noted a great deal of antipathy between European and Asian refugees and migrants. Far too many Europeans have referred to East Asians as Wogs, a term that once was used to apply to them. What both say about the Aborigine is as bad as the terminology used by the Anglos. Therefore, it is not time for our ethnic communities to take a good look at themselves, instead of saying, "More, more! We are different." ?

As succinctly stated by an academic writer, ethnic empowering through grants and other forms of affirmative action lead to a "celebration and fossilisation of differences". The chances of national cohesion are reduced as long as government encourages an approach that says that "my people are different and we need taxpayer support to have our own services, controlled by us". According to many an old NES immigrant, who displayed his ability to migrate and to contribute to his new home, there is no need to provide ethno-specific services. This practice turns outward-looking migrants into mendicants. Access to services via ethnic-funding was therefore a glorious error of policy. Did the policy really garner the ethnic vote, its true motive? With bipartisan support for pork-barrelling ethnic communities, who gained? I, other independent ethnics, and most of the mainstream Anglos would say that we all lost; integration and national social cohesion were derailed.

Today, with those immigrants coming into the country under the family reunion category, where lies the need for expensive access services? On arrival transitory accommodation, associated with on-arrival referral services, for those without a connection in this country, is, however, beneficial. Are there many such migrants?

There is a far more crucial question relating to entry and support services, calling for intelligent debate. It is, however, difficult to have such a debate. Whenever it is suggested that we merely examine the issue, out come the ethnic spokespersons and their mates. They tell us that multiculturalism policy requires a large and varied intake, with preference for family reunion; they also tell us that those who ask for a reduction in immigration (a substantial majority of the population want immigration reduced), or who wish to set economic-viability criteria for entry, are really opposed to multicultural policy.

Really? When academics repeat this in their own right, what hope is there for the intelligent country? "Natural folly is bad enough, but learned folly is intolerable", an eighteenth-century proverb, is apt. Multicultural policy is a consequence of migration policy. What are the determinants of migration policy? Who should decide this policy? Does the nation have a population policy? Does it have long-term economic policy, with some targeting of both a numerical and qualitative nature, instead of motherhood statements about multicultural policy and family reunion immigration?

For some considerable time, however, Australian policy in the above areas has been simplistic. The belief system underpinning the policy can be set out equally simplistically thus. This belief system commences by saying that we need large numbers of people to develop the vast continent we occupy. If we do not develop it ourselves, someone else will want to do it. It does not matter that all our neighbours, near and far, are peaceful. It does not matter that they do not possess the intercontinental ballistic missiles, the navy, the armed forces, the logistics, and whatever else a conqueror needs. It does not matter that they are not likely to waste scarce resources on such militaristic appurtenances, nor consider war as superior to outright purchase as the means of take-over. It does not matter that, contradictorily, we also believe that our big brother (the USA) will save us (and that is why we suck up to that nation on every appendage it waves about).

Further underpinning to this approach is that one simply does not know what these orientals will do. So we had better get a lot of their people in place in the country – surely an aggressor will not bomb its own people? To be sure, we are a Christian nation. Let's keep it as Christian as possible, too. The people also need to be controlled (sorry, guided). Let's look for those with the appropriate proclivities for the receipt of guidance.

In the days when we had a manufacturing base, and our transport infrastructure needed upgrading, we took farm and fisher folk from Europe (actually, any unskilled, able-bodied worker would have done). What a lucky coincidence that they were white (well, almost in many instances). Now that trading has replaced manufacturing, we are fortunate in finding trading people to come in. Hallelujah! They are almost white, these traders from the far east and the far west of Asia. The brown ones from the middle might be too much of a problem; they have the same colouring as most of the Aborigines. Worse still, they are even more arrogant than the Brits, Viets, Chinese, or Lebanese.

Then came the well-fed international marketers of poorly-fed refugees, some of whom simply wanted a more comfy life. With a little push from our big brother (who had his own axe to grind), we accepted many refugees. What a gain! We lost our fear of the yellow hordes, because many of them suddenly turned into dependants. Many were good at trading too. They were also far more grateful for anything we did for them than the chaps who paid their way into the country and found their way about. So we learnt from this. Gratitude, then, came more easily from the others, once we started chucking money at them, saying that they needed help from us. These nice people have been grateful ever since. Sure, they keep asking, like Oliver Twist, but they do better than he did.

We then decided to expand our learning. We said, "We will let you bring all your relatives into Australia (not quite all) if you will keep us in office." Now everyone was happy, so we said. The other political parties started to learn quickly too, and now we are all really very happy.

We would have remained in this blissful state forever except for the economic depression that Australia had to have. People started to lose their jobs and houses. We had to ease up on the new arrivals we could afford to put on welfare. Be we are a caring nation. So we did our very best to put as many of our own people on welfare as we could. Of course, these people are so grateful that they insist we stay in office forever. (That was before the 1996 election.) Actually, we learnt a great deal from this humanitarian exchange – the "we keep you and you keep us" exchange. We started to put a lot of small business people on partial welfare, weaning them from the other lot in the big house.

We have got the country running so well that we can afford to ignore the increasing national debt, the increasing foreign ownership of this country, and the falling value of the dollar. A number of economic writers and journalists are standing behind us on this. What's debt among friends? We give them trees or whatever else they want and they are happy. We have always been owned by someone or other (in fact, so many of us receive our spiritual and social guidance from across the sea). And the falling value of the Australian dollar will keep savings in the country instead of being taken out of the country to pay to look at things which are not as wonderful as the things we have here. We have to get rid of our traditional cultural cringe!

Everything is fine. It must be fine if people still want to come here or to buy up the place. We will run it for them, as long as they tell us early enough what they want. And we will keep everyone happy – well, we will settle for (say) fifty-two per cent, that's all we need to run the ship.

We know that we do not need plans. Market forces have kept us ship-shape; we just adjust the rudders (or something) slightly from time to time. If the sea gets a little rough, we have enough diviners amongst us to see the light at the end of the tunnel; as long as we are able to see some light, the flock on board remains happy. They ought to be happy. More than fifty per cent of them are on our payroll in one form or another. The ethnics on board have their own little lifeboats to play in. And then we have what we call a multicultural policy. It's like the elephant pill they used to hand out during the second big war, in order to move the troops. This policy tells the non-ethnics (that's us) to move over on the bed and not to take up all the blankets.

This elephant pill policy does not really cover the black people, this nation's foundation members. We had hoped that they would go the way of all founders, but they are still here. However, they are getting lighter each generation and we will soon be able to be reconciled with them (perhaps like the way the Mafia reconciled itself with organised labour). It will all work out, according to God's will.

We will continue to fill the country, with the ethnics guiding us. They know how many more relatives they have back home. Since we are a God-fearing people, we will not want for water (although it's got too much salt at the moment, in some places). We can enrich the soil ourselves, by pumping back from the sea what we pump into it each day. The surfers will then really miss the brown-coloured waves, won't they? When the sun shines through the waves, it's like looking at a rainbow while wearing very dark sunglasses.

This is really a very fine ship. Below decks, increasingly, the no-meat on Friday folk are taking over the machines. They know how to take orders. They are quite ingenious too. Without fuss (and often without interrupting their brain patterns), they will find ways to keep us and our owners happy. We have learned to reward them well, as we reward some of our big shareholders, by taking as little dividend (called tax) from them. So, whether we are below or above decks, we are all well rewarded; we are able to use the same sails used by our shareholders to keep as much of the wind (our earnings) to ourselves as possible. When we need more firewood, we trim the forty-odd per cent that did not join us. We need them out there so that we can trim them. When we do that, we all sing, "Your lot lost, lie down and enjoy it, ha ha ha" (or something like that). It's actually sung to that wartime tune, "F***ing up the rigging."

To sum up, our policy can be cast into a pithy slogan, "Staying afloat." This policy, sometimes called "conster-nation" is held to resolutely, no matter how many tentacles it grows and how often it changes colour. Periodically, we haul it on to land, scrape off the barnacles and refloat. Every time we do this, we will tell the flock that it is a new policy. In between each policy refloat, every tentacular outpouring is poetically described as a new initiative.

Every initiative costs the flock a bit of wool, but they do not bleat too much. It is called habituation, which is not that different from the old ram which starts to get all worked up when it sights something familiar and then cannot remember what it is all about. That is the kind of flock we have in this most culturally diverse nation in the world, where everyone comes from everywhere else. We are trying to keep them thinking about where they came from, so that they do not get too aware of what is happening on board or where they are headed. (We are not too aware of that ourselves.)

We do sincerely believe that we have the best policy for the best flock in the world, consistent with our international obligations. We have not told the flock what these are, but we sincerely know that they do not really want to, or need to, know all the boring details. That is their, and our, destiny. (It is probably also God's will but we are not sure. Our guides have not spoken about that yet.)

This parodied presentation of our present policies does not, in essence, diminish the strength of the underlying thrust. There is a genuine belief in market forces. There is a genuine belief in God's will. There is also a genuine belief in holding on to power by any means, including deals with powerful mates, irrespective of nationality, and through manipulating the subject peoples' thoughts and actions. Rules for politically correct thoughts and actions are not unlike those prevailing in the times of the Empress Mao's rule in China.

It is against this policy background, whose simplicity must be envied throughout the imperialistic world, that an increasing number of well-credentialed leaders are asking for a review of immigration and social cohesion policies. A majority of Aussies want a reduction in, or a halt to, immigration. No matter how intellectually slight and factually slim the media presentation; and how opaque and morally bankrupt the official dissertation of the issues and facts of immigration and settlement; no matter how bleatingly pathetic the protestation by the welfare industry; how remuneratively caring the representation by the legal intermediaries; and how gratefully demanding the ethnic empowered are about the rights of illegal immigrants and would-be immigrants (and their Australian relatives), it is the Australian citizen who has the right to decide policy. A national referendum today should blow the politically bipartisan policy sky-high. There are not enough ethnics and other beneficiaries of a poor policy whose use-by date has long passed, to hold the line.

Statistics thrown around on the claimed benefits to the nation from immigration, the alleged importance to us of having more NES immigrants, and their plight in settling into the country, generally overstate the claims. Published government-funded research can be expected to support government policy – otherwise, why have it done? As a corollary, some research will never see the light of day. For example, an academic researcher friend said to me, "I came up with the wrong answer, didn't I?" Another said, "With the change of government, my government research jobs have dried up." What else did they expect? Recently, a government researcher resigned his position, saying that both the employment pattern and the research carried out in his agency were biased in favour of high immigration levels and the wondrous policies attached thereto.

Some years ago, a research project examined the funds brought into Australia by immigrants. There were about six source countries examined, including the UK. The _per capita_ figure, based on principal applicant, or head of household, was creditable – very encouraging. The fact was that most of the money came from Malaysia. For years afterwards, the official claim was that this _per capita_ amount of funds was brought into Australia on average by all migrant households. This was patently false.

Then there is the NES migrant who comes with fluent English from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore, Mauritius, Hong Kong, and other former British territories, or from countries where English is a major second language. The numbers involved are now not small, relative to the south European entrants of yesteryear. The total figures of NES migrants therefore overstates the apparent English language and associated settlement needs by a considerable amount. That's why the term NESB came in; B stands for background. It is an indirect admission that so many of us NESBs speak and write English. Our standard of English might also be higher than that of the average Australian, old or new. However, the successful interchange between NES and NESB permits the bell of ethnic deprivation to be tolled on a continuing basis.

An assessment of the benefits and costs of a large immigrant intake initially found that it was "on balance" beneficial. This was an economic assessment, before the explosion of family reunion entry. That was the best result that the government could hope for then. With the introduction of family reunion, the emphasis shifted from benefits to the nation, to the satisfactions of sponsors. The unions played a large part in this shift from economic benefits. They continued to opposed skilled immigrants being the focus of entry policy – the idea is to train the local boys and girls. However, unions do not create jobs. Many people believe that they actually reduce employment demand by pricing the worker out of the market. Many of the young are also disinclined to train for jobs which may not be there waiting for them. And employers are reportedly very careful, in the current constraints of industrial relations, about taking on workers; they take great risks in trying to get rid of the incompetent or lazy.

However, family reunion, irrespective of competence in the English language and the possession of needed skills, must go on, we are told (no, shouted at). The financial and social costs to the nation are apparently not relevant. As well, refugees, even economic refugees, and their families are now becoming sacred cows – they are to receive priority in entry into Australia.

There is a great lack of logic and coherence in all this. We would rather (sensibly) train our people than import (other than on a temporary basis) the skills we need. But what skills _do_ we need, and in what areas? How can we know, if we have no plans or forecasts for the future? In the Nineties, the growth in employment has been (we are told) in part-time casual work (mainly in the service sector), and primarily for women, "Just like the Third World countries where people take in one another's washing," said an academic recently.

Preferred lifestyles draw mothers into the workforce, competing with school leavers and other young adults for casual, part-time jobs. If we, as a nation, genuinely believe in the role of the family, should there not be new policies satisfying (to the extent possible) the preferred lifestyles of the mothers (without interfering with their right to seek work) and, more importantly, also improving the life chances of young people attempting to secure their first foothold on the steep employment embankment?

Is it not against this quandary that family reunion policy should be examined? It is of course possible that welfare is all that many of these entrants seek. Money for nothing is not a universal practice. If welfare is the motive for entry, we can make a separate decision – who should support or subsidise an economically non-viable family member? Why not the sponsor, aided by (say) taxation concessions – if the nation values the new arrival as much as the sponsor claims he does? But we have noticed how even the East Asian refugees suddenly lost interest in their relatives once they arrived in the country – the State can take over, they have indicated. If only viable family entrants are to be acceptable, they can surely receive priority over viable independent entrants.

The majority of individual Australians would support an immigration programme based on the nation's need for usable skills, with priority to immediate family of residents within that category. If clan, (or extended family) responsibilities are claimed to prevail, priority could be extended to them too, but subject to economic viability and the sponsor providing back-up support. The new arrival should not be a burden to the taxpayer and, therefore, should not be eligible for welfare for (say) ten years after arrival, relying on his sponsor in the interim for any assistance he might need. This is consistent with the concept of reciprocal responsibility applying within the clan system. Let the clan and not the State provide the necessary support.

The bottom line in this issue is that current policy is exploitative. We are being shorn a little too heavily.

When it comes to social cohesion, eminent ethnic leaders have identified publicly the super-abundance and superfluity of current ethnic community empowerment systems. Priority might be changed if the political parties have the courage to put the nation ahead of paternalistic parochialism, in a bipartisan way. The sun may also rise in the west one day. Since it has in the past (as described in not-so-ancient legends throughout the world), there is hope yet.

The value of multiculturalism policy is also questionable. What is needed is an educational policy to buttress racial discrimination legislation, not the expensive superstructures and services of multiculturalism. Diversity of cultures requires no management, nor an engorged bureaucracy. As well, there is a need for complete commitment by the political parties to ensure that coloured Aussies (old and new) do not remain subject to discrimination. The white community at large, both old and new, is damagingly disparaging of coloured people. The proportion of black people in jail for trivial so-called offences is horrendous. They seem to be at risk by just being alive (perhaps that's the problem). This prejudice tends to envelop the coloured migrant – just listen to what is said in the streets by policemen or peasants.

This is not, however, an argument in support of legislation against the use of words. In the mid-Nineties the Federal government introduced racial vilification legislation. The scope of the legislation was so wide that almost any description of a people or a faith might become the target of punishment by the State or through civil action. The government, so enamoured of such an approach, was already being claimed by many to be attempting to rewrite history in a number of areas and to impose politically correct standards of speech and action.

Western nations have already accepted that authors have freedom to write about religions and their followers in a free manner. Yet some of them would seemingly fall foul of the legislation in Australia. Restrictions of free speech in this country are justified in the name of social cohesion. Yet, when a mature, sensible and senior politician once asked whether the rate of Asian immigration might need to be slowed a little for a while in order to ensure social cohesion, he was ridiculed. Yet, he only asked what many of us were also asking. Years after a recantation, mischievous media members and egotistic empowered ethnics and pusillanimous politicians remain inadequately able to understand the imperatives of the multicultural policy they profess to protect. "Dear, oh dear," said a friend recently, "this nation is led by people who cannot see past their minuscule codpieces." So the politician had to again recant and apologize to certain ethnic communities. The behaviour of these communities is indicative of the folly of our multicultural policies. It also highlights the risk to the nation from stances on policy adopted by people who have had an inadequate exposure to, experience of, or even an understanding of, an open society.

The government denies that it is the main player in this rush to repress free speech. It claims that the tiny Jewish community is the mainspring. Strange! Are they claiming that verbal anti-Semitism is more damaging than overt acts of colour prejudice? Others who believe in suppressing an open exchange of views appear to include some newer arrivals from the Middle and Far East. Do these spokespersons really represent the views of their communities; do they really understand what it is they are doing to the fabric and mainspring of their new society? It is, of course, natural for products of restrictive educational and social systems to be heavy-handed in attempting to guide society to desired ends. But it is not wise. One would also have expected that the transition from an authoritarian ethos to a liberal one would have opened up the minds and souls of those previously controlled in their expression of the human spirit. One wonders about the society these people expect their children to grow up in.

Open speech and an open dialogue, with stringent debate, even vituperative debate, will help us to identify our collective blind spots. In time, and this is the essence of a just society, we educate our enemies and successors into behaving in a manner which is for the benefit of mankind. It was this philosophy that I unsuccessfully put to the selection committees for the position of head of the ethnic affairs advisory body to two State governments. I felt that we should take on the racists in public debate and show their followers how flimsy was their platform, and how illogical was their case. The criterion for any judgement on societal issues should be, is it good for mankind in the long term? It is the criterion which is leading today's generation to protect the environment, to learn to understand our culturally diverse neighbours, to understand ourselves better, and to work for a more just society.

To our Jewish fellow citizens and others joined in the strategy of restriction of free expression, one could remind them that a Jewish New Australian (i.e. an immigrant) Professor of the History of Ideas opposed his own community spokesmen in the name of free speech and an open society. It is also interesting to see that those who wish to restrict the rights of others (in speech, voluntary euthanasia, contraception and so on) are the very first to claim the right to express their totalitarian philosophy and to impose it on us. How would they react to legislation which would prohibit the expression of philosophies of oppression?

There is no heritage of free speech in Australia. There is no guarantee of free speech enshrined in Australia's Constitution or elsewhere. The highest court in the land recently granted us certain political rights; apparently it is limited in its scope. The State does not have the power to jail or punish punitively those whose utterances it does not like, except perhaps in relation to sedition. The government ousted in 1996 clearly wished to. In this regard, there arises the question: whose tune was the government dancing to? Surely not the whistling in the dark by a few ethnic spokesmen? The witch doctor's question, who stands to gain, might be a reasonable way of looking at the issue. On the other hand, Australia's defamation laws ensure that there is very little comment on a whole host of issues pertinent to good government. When a defamation judge is described as holding the view that a lift of one's eyebrow can be defamatory, what right to free speech can Australians claim?

Freedom of speech is the chariot of democracy. Let's not take off its wheels and destroy the whole vehicle, thereby stranding our future generations in the darkness of totalitarianism. "However big a whale may be, the tiny harpoon can rob him of his life" is wisdom from the Malays.

###  _Chapter Eighteen_

Falling Leaves Return to the Root

They were not sure what I looked like. So they looked for a balding man (a characteristic of the clan) wearing his usual blue, and accompanied by a white wife. It was easy. This was the welcoming party of my closest relatives. They had come from all over Malaysia to Singapore. They were there together, not for me, but because my mother was clearly at death's door. As the only son, my presence was seen by the clan as important – and no one had told my mother that I had been alerted. I recall that I was wakened at six in the morning; by midday we had left the national capital and, by ten at night arrived in Singapore. Not bad for a day's work, considering that I had to reschedule a planned flight for some weeks later. I was told later that sighting me was such a shock to my mother that she actually recovered! Her son had finally come home. As the Malay saying goes, "Although a tree grows ever so high, the falling leaves return to the root."

The reception we received elsewhere was not always that warm. My mother had despatched me to pay my respects to all our close relatives, at their respective homes, one home at a time. Talk about being swamped by tradition, the reciprocal obligations of the clan. My wife saw little of the country, but had a good feel for all my relatives, and that was useful to me; an absence equivalent to a generation's growth was a very long time. In fact, one cousin said, "I do not remember you." I liked that, because it was honest and because I felt sure that most had not recognised the boy who left in the man who returned.

Some close relatives helpfully examined the causes of my boat sinking and my subsequent absence. As the Ashanti say, "Only when you have crossed the river can you say a crocodile has a lump on his snout." Other relatives were not so sensitive. What rankled the few seemed to me to be my marriage to a foreigner (yes, the old racist attitude!) and my not seeking clan guidance in refloating myself; that was total abdication. I told them that this was my destiny and that I was paying not only for my past-life sins, but also my sins in this life. My mother recovered, and I went back to work on those citizenship issues. I was lucky to have had the time off.

A few years later, my wife and I went back and had an extended stay, looking closely at the country and its lifestyle, especially the intercommunity relationships. I had also looked at Australia closely over the years. A socially-marginal observer, active in the community in a range of interests, working in a variety of jobs and organisations, looking at policies and staffing practices in a reasonably wide range of public service agencies through career protection eyes, of no social status, unaligned and inactive politically, and a known swinging voter was, I felt, in an excellent position to see what was happening, and who was doing what to whom.

By being in the national capital and drinking at sundry watering places (including the Press Club), one talked to politically active people, advisers, journalists and lobbyists. One heard the next morning, for instance, when a senator was allegedly tabled late one night. One heard about a Federal Treasurer who wrote in a warm and personal manner to the Acting Prime Minister when he wore both hats; "Dear Charlie" (not his name), he began and ended, "With warm wishes" when he wrote as Treasurer. When he replied to himself as Acting PM, again he began and ended with the same words. We were told that he had a great time. We met some of the carpet-baggers of the Seventies with their social reform agenda. We watched faceless and colourless conniving men and manipulative women (many pointing sky-high, thereby defeating both gravity and nature) move to powerful places, far beyond their station. And there are matters that one cannot write or talk about, not because of the scope of the Crimes Act (which binds me to secrecy in sensitive matters), but because of defamation legislation and the way it has been exploited to provide swimming pools and billiard rooms for many a sensitive soul.

My initial comparisons were more finely focused by further extended visits and by examining again the developments in Australia. Observations of this kind are, nevertheless, both casual and limited in scope; they can only give an indicative value. Yet they upset quite a few of the Aussie retirees in my present environment.

My overview is that, economically, we are at a disadvantage as a nation against not only the "tigers" of South and East Asia but also against the "cubs." Yet, socially, the man at the bottom of the economic pile is far, far better off in Australia. Cross-culturally, we are as divided as any other multi-community nation, at one level, but are almost as integrated, in the sense of a melting-pot of origins, as in Singapore or Malaysia. In terms of policies for social cohesion under the banner of one nation, where the different communities look towards one another, Australia seems to be lagging behind my countries of origin. In terms of independence, i.e. freedom to make national policy decisions on external defence and regional pacts; in the control of foreign investment in industrial and other assets; and, to a certain degree, in internal security matters, we seem to be behind. We have chosen to deny ourselves certain flexibilities. In terms of lifestyles and the quality of life, the competent are far better off in Malaysia and Singapore than in Australia. Socio-economic mobility, on the other hand, is almost guaranteed in Australia for those who seek it.

There are obviously pluses and minuses, offering relative advantage, depending upon who and where one is, and upon one's values. The old Aussie, however, becomes defensive were one to challenge his value systems, especially in relation to national, political and economic independence. This includes many journalists and some politicians. The politician does not often open his mouth in case he puts his foot in it. Many old Aussies cannot see any problems in depending upon the foreigner to provide some of the foreign currency needed to fuel economic growth in Australia, or with a foreign power determining (one way or the other) our military and trade pacts.

Placing ourselves under the hegemony of the USA limits our freedom to make defence and trade pacts; this we do not like to talk about, especially after seeing how New Zealand was pummelled in economic and trade terms, for withdrawing from the ANZUS Pact, a defence arrangement that promised no defence. Our need for foreign capital flow limits our freedom to contain certain forms, and the extent of foreign investment in Australia; this too we do not want to talk about. One can find economists who will learnedly tell the nation how we need not worry; we will be given some spurious reason, like for example, foreign investment is only a small part of total investment in Australia. How on earth will we redeem our grandchildren's birth rights from the foreign money lender and property owner? That our security forces have been described as being more interested in a successful working relationship with their counterparts in the USA (or Britain in the previous era) than in accountability to their political masters in Australia is also something we do not really want to talk about.

That we have no plans for economic development (remember market forces?), whereas those countries which have plans are becoming industrially more efficient is countered by the argument that we, consistent with modern economic theology, will move out of production to service industries. What do we do then with our unskilled surplus labour? That our government may be less interested in the nation than in the party and people supporting it is not something the people want to see. They certainly do not want to hear about it from someone they will still see as a foreigner. I suspect that my Aussie-born children will also be seen as foreigners, at least for another generation, because they're not pure white (which is really not that nice a colour, unadorned).

I detect an ambivalence in Australia. The realities of living in a global village require that we join Asia. But the more vociferous a claim by politicians that we are part of Asia, the more recalcitrant the old Aussie. One can understand his stance. His predominantly British colonial heritage leads him to look down on others, particularly the coloured ones. His relationship with the Aborigines has influenced him further in this direction. He has had a high standard of living, knowing that he has been his boss's social equal and that his boss has not been that much better off financially (until recently). He has felt comfortable in recent times with Asians being in Australia to study – thousands of well-behaved students will go home feeling friendly and grateful to Australia. He also reads about Asians attending Australian defence courses and of Australia providing cast-off military vehicles to sundry neighbouring nations. He feels good.

Poor fellow! Now he is being told that he is not really in an outpost of a superior European civilisation. What about his ancestral, cultural, political and economic links with Europe? There is, however, little being said by the politicians about that because they are really speaking (they hope) to Australian entrepreneurs, especially those recently recruited from East and North Asia. What is confusing the ordinary old Aussie is that the island continent is somehow being dragged towards Asia. And does he take his cultural superiority with him into Asia? He thinks he is because his government keeps telling him about its lectures to sundry Asian leadership about human rights violations in their respective bailiwicks. So the old Aussie thinks that he is going to help the Asian, as befitting his destiny. He does not know about that Burmese saying, "Sparrows who emulate a peacock are likely to break a thigh." Yet, from time to time, he reads that if we miss the bus into Asia, we are going to be left by the roadside, all alone in the cold wind, for a long time. His is also told how fast these Asian economies are growing, how modern is their technology, and how close they are to our godfather, the USA.

What is the poor Aussie to think? Worse still, instead of many nice friendly students and a small number of highly visible unemployed refugees of the East Asian kind (upon whom he can continue to look down), he is now confronted by exceedingly wealthy Asians. A Rolls with a uniformed chauffeur conveying an Indian lady and children, another Indian beetling along in another rolls, medical specialists and businessmen buying up very expensive mansions in the top suburbs, knocking them down and building new palaces, spanning across two blocks, and other evidence and a lifestyle not generally seen in Australia, is very upsetting for many. A former colleague, who has carried out some political consultancy work, told me that he found two categories of Asians who upset the Aussie. The working class Aussie did not want (understandably) refugees and migrants on welfare; and the well-off Aussie did not want to be out-shone by Asians, especially if it is "old money from overseas". Thus, at that time, he expected (unspoken) bipartisan agreement politically on containing an Asian influx.

Today, however, it is all Asian entry, hopefully with money, money, money. The benefits of business migration entry are unknown and uncertain. New Zealand, too, has recently begun to attract wealthy East Asian businessmen. As there are few European migrants in that country, there are no expensive ethnic affairs or multiculturalism policies. The Asian migrants have been until recently, in the main, professional people. The shift to wealthy, East Asian businessmen (a copycat policy?) has led to rising concerns, particularly about access to reasonable-cost housing to the Kiwi (i.e. the New Zealander) in cities such as Auckland. The issues of community balance and community relations also concern the Kiwi (as they concern the Aussie in Australia). In the meantime, the plight of the Maoris (and Pacific Islanders) – who are better regarded in New Zealand than are the Aborigines in Australia – is little changed. They remain a dispossessed underclass, in the main (with notable exceptions).

I used to address immigration agents involved with (later responsible for) business migration entry. My job was to alert the agents, especially the non-Asian ones, about settlement issues and stresses. These include loss of social status, especially for the wives. When Asian entrepreneurs were first allowed entry, they could go out the day after arrival and take their money with them. We would not have known. Later, they were required to stay a minimum of one year, or risk denial of re-entry. However, if they claimed to have genuine business reasons for a temporary return home during the first year, off they went. But everyone carefully bought a house and set up their children for study in Australia before returning to carry on as usual back home. There were said to be at least thirty thousand such heads of household in Hong Kong in 1996.

To my knowledge, there was no effective follow-up as to whether these entrepreneurs did establish viable and continuing business in Australia, or that the funds brought in actually stayed. Bureaucrats thought deeply and meaningfully about it all and left it alone. Since market forces must prevail, how is the poor bureaucrat to harness such immigrants? Recently I read that the funds brought into Australia by such worthy migrants averaged $150,000 per person. This is 'chicken-feed' to them.

I suspect that, all along, all that we were interested in was in attracting as many of the East Asian businessmen as we could, hoping that their natural instincts would benefit Australia; otherwise, Canada and the USA would take them, and Australia would suffer relative disadvantage (so we kidded ourselves). Our sister nation across the sea must live in similar hope.

Why do we seek Asian entrepreneurs? So that they could take us into Asia, particularly the poorer, developing areas such as China and Vietnam. It may well work out. It is certainly a more beneficial policy than family reunion, which costs the taxpayer a great deal. Yet our lack of independence becomes audible when Australia squawks about wanting APEC. When Malaysia's PM was described as recalcitrant for not supporting APEC, I found myself almost taken to task; the reference was to "your PM", the recalcitrant one. It doesn't take long for the xenophobia to come out, I thought. When asked for an explanation, I gave my enquirers the following folk tale.

I said, "Let's assume that there is this American drover, with his Aussie sheepdog, which is renowned for its skill and obedience. At the drover's whistle, the dog rushes into the Asian paddock and tries to round up some very experienced and tough rams, each an emperor in his own paddock. Eventually, most of the emperors having been enticed by the drover offering an appropriate side inducement, the dog confronts the last one. There is no purpose in the dog badmouthing this ram who (like the proverbial Aussie 'digger' of yore), knows his rights and will not budge, and he is in his own terrain. Switching analogies, it is the drover and his dog who are outside their patch and, as Kipling said, 'A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East'." As I expected, my folk-tale went down like a lead balloon!

My challenge to my enquirers was, why on earth should not the Asian countries decide their own destiny, the configurations they wish to adopt and the timing of any changes? Is this a modified form of gunboat policy, such as the European nations' incursion onto China's coast of not that long ago? We say, "We want a part of your trade – make way not only for us but also our godfather." In the meantime, the godfather naturally is busy doing his own hustling. Are we afraid that we might be left out? What trade-off can we, and do we, offer? As Ali Baba must have discovered, shouting is not very effective in opening the door to riches.

As I asked my somewhat large audience at a Probus club meeting, what is it that Australia is offering for entry into South-East Asia? We obviously have much to offer, but is it enough? Is it wanted? Is it more than offered by other nations? We may be happy the way we are, but developing nations may not want the union control of so much of our economic policies, the emphasis on welfare rather than on creating wealth, and on savings and growth. The high infrastructure costs (e.g. shipping, stevedoring and inland transport, government charges and controls), an anaemic work ethic (aided by current industrial relations legislation), and the sanctimonious shibboleth about the supremacy of the white man's social systems, e.g. electoral, criminal justice, and law-and-order structures and family responsibility. Quoting Kipling again, "Asia is not going to be civilised after the methods of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old."

Sadly, I found in the early Nineties that many Singaporean and Malaysian professional people had returned after a short stint of work (under permanent resident status) in Australia. The reason was a better lifestyle back home. Even some medical specialists had returned. But they had left their children behind. Engineers complained about their relative loss of professional status, income and lifestyle in Australia. Teachers too are better off 'back home'. I therefore found myself defending Australia and its future on so many occasions against attacks from Malaysians and Singaporeans with permanent residence status in Australia.

What holds skilled Asian immigrants in Australia is the availability of tertiary courses for their offspring, and the low cost of it. The best combination for many of them is work in Singapore and Malaysia, study in Australia for their children, who retain their right of return to their countries of parental origin. For the less skilled and the unskilled, Australia is the place to be; even on the dole, they are far better off than ever before. But they do seek and do obtain work of any kind, because they want to educate their children – an ethos not generally found among the unskilled and semi-skilled Anglo-Celt. Jobs had been too easy to obtain in the past, offering a comfortable life, and the need for the young to study and to acquire skills is not ingrained.

The good news is that there are many skilled Asians happily working in Australia, although only the very high income businessmen (newly arrived) and the medical specialists (who have been around for a while) are comparatively well off. The rest are relatively income-poor and status-denied but hope-rich for their children. Regretfully, there is already evidence that some of these children are being seduced by the Aussie 'she'll be all right, mate' attitude to hard work, even to dropping out of university courses offering a high income career.

Rewards for skill in Malaysia/Singapore are high. But they have to earn these rewards. For example, relatives of mine (both teachers) can afford an overseas trip each year; they could not afford that if they worked in Australia. The offset is that, there, they need to produce desired results. In Australia they would not be judged on outcomes – not yet, anyway. On the other hand, accommodation in Singapore is exceedingly costly relative to Australia, whilst Malaysia is more reasonable (at least for the middle class). The Australian worker is able to acquire a good home much more cheaply. Labour costs in the two countries overseas are low, especially if one is looking for skilled trades people. That is, there is a very wide spread of income there that would not be tolerated in Australia. Those on the bottom of the economic pile there are paid so little, even with overfull employment. I saw Indonesians living in prefabricated huts, together with their families, on a building site in Kuala Lumpur. The living standards and quality of life, by Australian standards, were abysmally low.

I also saw two men selling plastic covers for passports on a sidewalk in Singapore. There were mature men, collecting cardboard cartons, carrying them on their bicycles. There were elderly women walking, and carrying cardboard cartons from a pole across their shoulders. While the last may have been trying to help their families, and the passport cover vendors were probably police on surveillance (who would want to buy those goods at such a site?), the cyclists seemed to me to be in a parlous financial position, and the presence of many employees in family businesses suggests a degree of under-employment there.

The white-collar skilled in Singapore and Malaysia, however, receive a relative fortune and their lifestyle reflects it. And the very skilled live like princes.

Australia, however, is learning fast. Directors and other chiefs of business enterprises are rewarding themselves in the US and Malaysian styles; their shareholders do not seem to have much say. Their success in raising their remuneration is based on what it would cost to attract a foreigner – a very clever argument. This argument was also used by Australian public servants to boost senior executive service wages, i.e. they could receive these high wages in the private sector (we were all too polite to ask how many of them would risk or survive the decision-making required in the private sector). Then, because of a previously-engineered link between the bottom rung of the executive ranks of the public service and the member of parliament, the latter now receives an executive-level wage too – and he does not need my qualifications for his job, or to produce anything either. A good job, if you can manipulate the pre-selection process in your electorate. This is democracy – one has to accept what bobs up to the surface from the mire of political processes to lead us into the future. Little wonder that the average Aussie has no respect for, or trust in, the political animals that he has to have. And these high public service wages are now the reward for a decade's service to many of those who have helped Ministers of State to keep their jobs, i.e. the public service now has political appointees and former ministerial staffers, who are well regarded and well rewarded for continuing to look after their party's interest.

In contrast, Singapore's Ministers are usually highly qualified people with successful private sector experience to offer the nation. The country's public sector is both efficient and professionally beyond politics. I have no public service contacts in Malaysia.

The smug Australian is coming to learn not to sneer at reported corruption overseas. He is reminded, almost daily, at the high levels of corruption in this country: by 'mates' being looked after by government, by 'mates' getting plum jobs, by open corruption at all levels, including the police. The worst kind of corruption is the industrial brigandage by unions, whose leaders are apparently paid at the same level as directors of major companies. A recent press report claimed that big Asian businessmen involved in property development in Australia were attempting to outmanoeuvre this union thuggery by subcontracting. I doubt if this will work.

In the national capital, independent subcontractors are required to join the building union; the government sanctions this abrogation of the usual divide between an employee and an independent service provider. There is talk of money paid to unions at different levels – some into the official 'kitty', some into pockets. Employers play ball, because government has done little to stamp out this corruption. We thus seem to have moved from 'grace and favour' government policies to outright bequests by government (but not necessarily for the public good), and the Aussie at the bottom of the pile is beginning to be treated like those in underdeveloped countries (but he is still eating rather well). In time, it may be that it is the white Aussie who will remain at the bottom of the socio-economic pile in this country, because the children of the Asian migrants will follow their forefathers in seeking betterment. Interestingly enough, a recent study concluded that there is no underclass in Australia. Another study reported that most Australians were living decently.

Whether those at the bottom of the pile will continue to enjoy a reasonable standard of living is becoming questionable. Today, the welfare system is so generous that those without any skills have no inducement to seek work; indeed, a couple with three or four children would receive less in cash were the father to have a full-time unskilled or semi-skilled job. A working wife as well would naturally tilt the balance. Hence, many unemployed couples with children have no desire to obtain full-time employment, and set up homes in low-employment areas such as the seaside. This comfortable situation may not remain, as many people have made it clear in my presence that they are literally sick of supporting their 'dole bludgers'.

A pharmacist friend told me recently that less than thirty-five per cent of the prescriptions he deals with are non-welfare scripts. Welfare patients, i.e. the aged, the incapacitated, the sick, the sole mothers, the separated wives (the State has taken over their support) with or without children, and the unemployed seeking work and those who do not want to work – usually account for a higher ratio of medical prescriptions _per capita_ than the non-welfare clients (because medical service is free for them). About fifty per cent of the community seems to be taxpayer-supported in welfare terms. If these welfare cases (usually the aged) use up fifty-two prescriptions per head within the year, the remaining prescriptions are free. By mid-year, many of these patients have reached their limit of fifty-two. This says a great deal about their doctors and the way they practise medicine. So often, they are little more than scrip writers or referral agents. Asian doctors, reportedly, have adapted well to this practice.

It is easy to learn to accept what is thrown at you and to learn from one's neighbour. One such neighbour is a divorcee whose sustenance was taken up by the State long before she reached retirement age. Then, by consulting a number of doctors at the same time, she became entitled to sickness benefits, a sticker on her car (which enables her to park her car in zones reserved for the handicapped), a low-rent government flat, and free medication for her claimed ills. She plays lawn bowls a few times a week, and satisfies her boyfriend sexually regularly. Now, that's a lifestyle anyone can aspire to.

That's why my relatives in Malaysia and Singapore sneer at Australia's pretensions. They know this country as well as their own. While they like the people and love the country's beauty, they are correctly critical of some features of Australian life which reflect poor policies by government. They can afford to sneer. They live well over there, far more luxuriously than those in comparable jobs in Australia can. They can also afford to ignore the jibes of Australian journalists about the media there being too supportive of government. For they know that we in this country have to ask: who owns the newspaper or journal; what is the relationship between the government and the owner; and what are the political and religious affiliations of named media persons; in order to interpret what is presented to us on matters important to us. Many journalists have worked for political parties, and others are obviously intimidated by certain government leaders, or are prepared to suck up to survive. Fortunately for the nation, there are some outstandingly independent media people around.

One can also count on some media members supporting, quite unthinkingly, the politicking by other nations, international agencies or ambitious individuals, e.g. the propaganda on East Timor and an inviolable Israel, the entry rights of Vietnamese (and now Chinese) economic refugees, or how some worthy local politician is about to lead the world in this or other arena. Some of our media will buy any story, especially if it aggrandises an Australian. Thus, we have had stories of Australian statesmen saving us from the Egyptians, saving East Asians (one tribe from another), saving the UN administration, saving the world's poor, and so on. It is amazing the pap and trivia that we are fed. As well, some of the media slaver at the mention of the death penalty in Singapore and Malaysia for drug dealing. One would have to blame the education system for the inability of these people to think through an issue, assuming that they would recognise one if it spat them in their eye.

Underlying all these slobbering lies, at least in part, is a sense of superiority, humanistically, over the Asians. The main underpinning for that is to be found in their belief in the absolute rights of the individual. Society's needs do not seem to matter at all. Learned QCs, not so learned politicians, and not so bright media people, continue to burble about allowing a hundred wrongdoers to remain free rather than penalise an innocent person. These burblers must be well protected from the criminals.

The Asian emphasis on family and a society based on this seems to be beyond the comprehension of many Aussies with their two centuries of geographical mobility in the search to better themselves, their acceptance of separation from kith and kin, and their consequent reliance on the collective (i.e. the State) to look after those in need in their family – (what family? They are all elsewhere). The Church, society and family gave way to the search for a full belly based on the nuclear family, where the individual is supreme. The large number of 'semi-detached' and single adults (some with dependent children) is testimony to this.

This is not to deny that there are some who look after their own. There are also many who work for society voluntarily on behalf of the collective. And then there are the users of these charitable people. For example, an elderly German lady is living in her own large home by herself, in the Australian tradition. Her married daughter, aged about fifty, lives in her own large home in a nearby suburb. The Red Cross sends a worker, part-volunteer, to help the old lady clean her house. The daughter stands around, supervising the worker, who might be of her vintage. Does the daughter do anything? No way! That's not the Australian way. The ethos is: the collective must provide – I'm not responsible.

This is not the Asian way, and we all do not have servants – only the few. In human terms, the Asian way is far superior culturally. While there may be some deficiency in some Asian families' care for their own, there is a far greater risk with an impersonal collective. There may be inadequate or indifferent care in delivery or, worse still, politicisation of the care system; the attendant risk is of an inadequate service because of a lack or shortfall of funding.

There are also many of us who do not want the government or its menials examining or coming into our bedrooms, our wallets, or our minds. How much further is it to the totalitarian state? What will be the difference between a communist state and a modern welfare state which tells us also what we can or cannot do or say? Now it is racial 'vilification', tomorrow it is political offence, the day after...?

On the one hand, we have this overemphasis on individual rights, and on the other, on government control, of varying degrees of influence over our lives.

The sooner Australia joins Asia (if the Asian nations accept us) and the larger the Asian component of Australia's population, the sooner the nation will learn to accept the extended family as the basic unit of society. Intra-familial responsibility should not involve the State, except in great need, not relative need. We need to accept that the stability and security of society override the individual's so-called rights. Actually, they already do in some areas – we put people in jail for crimes. Whence does the individual obtain his rights except from and through his society?

Then, possibly, we might get rid of the adversarial process in the law courts, where the search for truth in the interests of society will override the current concealment of relevant information (the truth) by judges and legal representatives, purely in the interest of the accused. This means that refugee applications to Australia will be speeded up. Overall, justice will be speedy and enhanced, and costs borne by the individual and the State should be reduced. The legal profession may become leaner in the process, but that should be good for their health.

Indeed, New Zealand has recently embarked upon a new and very desirable form of practice. Called 'restorative justice', it confronts the perpetrator of an offence, in a conference situation, with the victim, both supported by their families. The practice (and concept) are based upon 'notions of family, responsibility and tribal laws'. It is working exceedingly well with children and youth. (A lesson for Australia?) The process might be extended to adults, as the current system is described as 'severely punitive', and not effective in ensuring justice for the community. The new paradigm looks, not at the past of the offender but to the future of the victim, the perpetrator and their families, i.e. of society. The object is to have justice, seen by all affected by the crime, to apply; and for a community group to share responsibility with the offenders for their restoration to a proper and useful place in the community. This new approach will work sooner with people who have a sense of tribe or community (e.g. the Maoris and Pacific Islanders of New Zealand, the Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders of Australia, and some Asian or other immigrant communities). Hopefully, the whites of Australia, with their nuclear families, may learn to accept that restorative justice – reflecting the primacy of the community – is preferable to the current system of law – reflecting the primacy of legal technicality and the rights of the individual.

Cross-culturally, in Singapore and in Malaysia, as in Australia, the governments emphasise one nation. They are successful, to a degree. In Singapore, there was apparently some effort to keep the proportions of each community stable. Notwithstanding some confusion about Confucian principles building the island state (all the nationalities working together built the state, and Confucian ethics are common to all faiths, surely), the people in Singapore live and work well together, sharing in the annual celebration of one nation with resounding support. It is good to see the various people intermingled in the housing complexes. It is interesting to see three generations of Chinese dressed in three styles of clothing walking down the street: Grandma had her 'pyjama suit', not in black but in a floral pattern; Mother in a floral dress, and daughter in jeans and a T-shirt. Older Ceylonese women can be seen wearing Punjabi-style clothing or, like the daughters, in slacks or jeans. Daughters are wearing shorts, too. Cross-cultural styles of clothing, food and lifestyles are not new.

What is new is the uniformity of modern youth. They, as in Australia, are dressed alike. Hairstyles, clothing, manner of speech, speech accents, social affectations, ambitions, mixing with everyone in the same way in the same easy manner, are all common features. With light-skinned people, it is difficult to identify their national origins; with the darker-skinned people, it is only slightly easier (there is a little less choice). They come across as Singaporeans – these are the educated ones. In Melbourne, in a working class suburb, I once noticed four young boys dressed identically: _Adidas_ -imitation shoes (the then preferred style), jeans, T-shirt, and a short haircut. Their accents were identical and their speech modes uniform. Only their physiognomy suggested various origins: Slav, Greek, Turk, or Italian. The better off youth in Australia, too, are equally uniform in dress, behaviour, speech and even in appearance; ethnic origins are not easily discernible, except from guessing from shape of nose and so on. In Malaysia, the middle class is comparable to those in Singapore and Australia in their uniformity.

In both countries overseas, origins are more readily manifest with the less sophisticated being less Westernised. The differences notable are, in part, in their clothing styles. More commonly it is in their use of their own language – as in Australia with first generation migrants. Language is excluding. The use of a common knowledge is conducive to social cohesion across community barriers. Yet, even where a number of languages are audible, there was a clear sense of a people being in harmony; there was give and take, courtesy, friendliness in ordinary transactions, indicating that the other was accepted (more than ever). In a Chinese provision shop in Singapore, the owner touched his left hand to his right elbow as he gave me change with his right hand. In spite of my accent, he saw me as an Indian, and offered me a traditional courtesy – which actually is not seen as much between the Indians themselves. How much more could he be culturally sensitive? I was very impressed. Throughout the whole of Malaysia I found successful integration. As I drove west to east along the highway separating Malaysia from Thailand, and then down the east coast to where the turtles visit, I found the security most impressive. I was driving a local car when I was stopped at a security checkpoint and asked for my passport, not my identity card. How did they know that I was a foreigner? I liked that. My people were safe. Along the east coast of Malaysia, Malay businesses were proliferating. Yet I was told, with wealth coming into the area, especially through oil exploration, that the local Malay farmer was being squeezed. His purchases were rising in price faster than the price of his farm products. There were diesel-powered Benz cars everywhere, driven by Malays. It was good to see.

Overall, the ordinary Malay is finding his place in the sun. Affirmative action policy, to assist the Malays to catch up with the other communities and become more viable, is working. Sometimes, there is a token gesture, such as a Malay guard at a Chinese bank. The rest are Chinese. The question, of course, is why should a Chinese bank in multicultural Malaysia or Singapore employ only Chinese? When it is not a family business, how could the owners justify their exclusion policy? But how can Australia criticise any other country? The current deputy mayor of Sydney, a Chinese migrant, was denied a job with the city council some years ago. And the national taxpayer-funded TV channel kept Asian faces off our screens until recently – no coloured news reader or reporters were visible for decades – even if their accents were acceptable (e.g. educated English).

Australia does have racial discrimination legislation, but whether it helps a coloured person to break into senior positions in mainstream business is not known. I would think it doubtful, as law generally cannot punish where it cannot persuade. But we would certainly do with some affirmative action of the Malaysian kind to assist Aborigines, for at least a generation.

Beyond a generation, as in Malaysia, expectations arise and discrimination sets in. All top positions in government, all senior diplomatic positions, and apparently all top academic positions, are occupied by Malays. Did they _all_ get there on merit? Not long ago, a Ceylon Tamil lost his senior position in administration at a university (as I was told) because his juniors claimed that, if a Malay could do the job, he should automatically have it. What does that do to multiculturalism and one nation?

My impression is that the non-Malays have accepted that they cannot expect to get to the top in key policy areas again. But the private sector is wide open, abilities rewarded, and they have no real expectations about sharing power with the Malays except in the political arena. In the longer term, why should not those who have contributed very substantially to creating the Malaysian nation participate on an equitable basis in key policy areas and in top administration? The world at large will then see a multi-community or multicultural nation, rather than a Malay nation with a sub-stratum of non-Malays.

In Singapore, no community has a prior claim on power, and relative merit would seem to apply. In Australia, it is claimed by some academics that Anglo-Celts control the core institutions. But it is really too early to say whether the white non-Anglo-Celts have been denied a fair chance; we need another generation's experience to judge by. Yet it seems that top policy positions are becoming the playground of the Celts, with the Anglos increasingly marginalised. That may not last, once the prejudiced die off. Death does remove some barriers.

It would be ludicrous if this take-over by certain Celts were to reflect some attempted compensation for any discrimination suffered by their ancestors. One can only hope that it does not reflect the continuation of the sectarian wars; and that the take-over merchants can mature enough not to march to someone else's drumbeat.

Returning to Malaysia/Singapore after many years, I noticed some things by their absence. Reflecting perhaps a more secure life, there were no sounds of beatings of women and children, with accompanying cries of desperation and anguish. Thankfully, there is no more spitting in the streets; there is also no littering in Singapore. The chewing of betel leaf with areca nut and lime by the Indians and Ceylonese is rarely seen (perhaps it reflects a Western-oriented sophistication and the antipathy to spitting). The rickshaws have gone, again thankfully, as have the opium dens. However, a tri-shaw driver in Penang told us about the drug scene, although drugs are banned and the death penalty applies. There were no more centipedes, millipedes or scorpions to be avoided in wet areas, or in our pockets. There did not seem to be any need to shake out one's clothing or shoes before donning them. Malaria seemed to be under control in Malaysia although dengue fever was found in some areas of Singapore.

Batik shirts for men were definitely out, even for the tourists. At the airport in Penang one time, I was the only one wearing a traditional batik shirt (not that anyone cared). Modernisation brings monotony, it seems. The ubiquitous T-shirt covers everyone, even the girls. But what happened to hats and umbrellas? I missed the attractive patterned waxed paper umbrellas, which kept the rain off us in the olden days; there were only a few black nylon umbrellas visible. Colour has given way to drabness, to ubiquity through economy. When I searched all over Singapore for a hat, even in the tourist areas, all that I could find were a khaki pith helmet, of the hunting kind, and a cloth hat. Both seemed to be relics of a bygone era, exhibited in a major tourist store.

All the kampongs in Singapore had disappeared. More colour and diversity were thus lost in the interests of good housing and the building of a nation – a somewhat high price from a tourist and (perhaps) a lifestyle point of view. It is in this context that one can appreciate the French for refusing to so modernise their agriculture that centuries of lifestyle can be lost. The clean canals of Singapore are to be commended, unlike the reverse in Malaysia, which are like the urban rivers of Australia – choked with rubbish. I did not miss the steam trains which used to deposit soot in my eyes every so often.

In terms of lifestyles, oil baths seem to have been replaced by modern shampoos and conditioners; I have always thought it strange that modern people have accepted that oil on one's hair, however lightly applied, is not acceptable; that one has to remove all traces of natural oils as well and then make one's hair manageable by coating it with a chemical. It is little wonder that, after a lifetime of modern hair treatment, many scalps begin to look damaged. My relatives also seem to have adopted surnames, my generation's names becoming the future family or clan names.

From a tourist point of view, as well as from the perspective that attractive features of cultural divergence ought to be maintained, at least for aesthetic reasons, it is sad to see the areas formerly described as Arab or Indian being modernised in Singapore. What results is a bland mélange of modern architectural mediocrity. So much of that nation's architecture looks tawdry; the town houses are so uniform that one wonders why it has to be so. Since houses are already expensive, would it not be worthwhile, for a small additional cost, to change the appearance of neighbouring homes by relocating the front door and windows and by similar surface changes? Yet there is some refurbishing and renovation taking place to preserve the character of old Singapore. And the installation of Chinese goldsmiths in the middle of a row of Indian shops is surely unwarranted. Indian tourists can surely shop for cheap gold at the boundaries of the Indian shopping area. The policy of mixing the communities (an excellent objective) must surely be modified in the interests of presenting an attractive city to tourists; otherwise why should they bother to stop at Singapore? Fortunately, Malaysia retains its colour; the beautiful Malay costumes are still to be seen.

Other attractive features of my countries of origin which have been retained or are still there, include the vista of clean kampongs, exuding peace and colour. Granted that ceramic tiles now decorate the front of steps leading to the kampong houses and that the soft atap roofs have been replaced by unlovely rusty tin, the kampongs project the continuance of that tranquil past which most of us will remember with joy. It is noteworthy to the tourist that the clothes hung out to dry display whites whiter than white, and that the children look well kept, well fed and happy, and that the grounds surrounding the houses are well swept and absolutely tidy.

The way to see kampongs is to travel by train. These are ideal for the tourists in general. They are spacious, clean, and very comfortable and offer excellent and courteous service; provided that one is prepared for the cold in air-conditioned carriages. On my first trip back, I had to step out into the heat about every hour in order not to freeze. The food rushed into the train by kampong vendors at stops is as tasty and as safe as ever; the food served on the train is not bad either. For me, it was a change from my last wartime trip, when I sat on the hot stones in an open bed truck, and from my trip during the Emergency with those useless troops on board, when there was a fair prospect of being blown up or being shot at by the terrorists.

Architecturally, Malaysia presents very beautiful buildings. The splendour of the old colonial buildings is enhanced by modern structures, supplemented by very good statuary. I was pleased to see the old buildings being refurbished to retain their original character, especially in the smaller towns. The beach-side towns and villages, especially on the east coast of Malaysia, have not been spoilt, as yet. It was a strange experience for us, too, to walk into warm water even in late evening; I had forgotten what it is like. The modern tourist complexes, e.g. at Pangkor, are very modern but set out in an attractive fashion. This also applies to a seaside development in Singapore, where we watched with great interest the very committed people jogging well before the sun rose and, presumably different people, long after the normally late dinner-time. Some of these joggers were not young. In a small town in Malaysia, I joined my relatives in a very brisk walk around the well laid-out fitness park on a few occasions; it was very hot, even at six o'clock in the evening.

Traditional arts continue, but with some modern designs. I acquired a batik painting at the east coast, which was most modern in style; it was superbly impressionistic, better than the one I purchased in an art school in Jogjakarta. However, I felt that Singapore needed an improved public art gallery. The national art gallery in Malaysia's capital was an improvement.

Looking at lifestyles, it was good to experience again the courtesy of the people, including customs and immigration officers. At one railway station, an immigration officer and I exchanged notes on our respective work responsibilities; at one airport, a customs officer and I had a chat about life in Australia and why some Malaysians migrate. There are lovely, fat, and happy babies everywhere. It is my contention that brown babies, with their big eyes, are much more interesting and attractive than the pale ones (how is that for prejudice?). On festival days the traditional patterns of hospitality continue. One visits those who are celebrating, requiring the celebrants to remain at home and to entertain the others. On Deepavali Day in Malaysia I found it interesting to see a large number of Christian Ceylon Tamils visiting, together with the other ethnic groups, a Hindu Ceylon Tamil family.

Families remain close in spite of so many offspring obtaining professional qualifications overseas. They return home and pick up where they left off. The clan links remain strong. This is a great contrast with Australia, which has no tradition of clan linkages, especially with its post-war 'baby boomers'. These have had such a spoilt life that marriage and parenting have not been a great success for many. That generation in Australia is very self-centred and represents a goodly proportion of the semi-detached and singles group, many of whose families are sustained by the State through welfare.

Other retained aspects of lifestyles which I liked is that one is safe to walk anywhere in Singapore, even relatively late at night. Malaysia seems safe too. Whereas in Australia, ever since the common man became able to acquire a car, there has been no safety; one is likely to be set upon, when walking through the parks, at the seaside, or even in town. The drug scene has worsened the situation.

Like any tourist, I liked the eating places in the open air in Malaysia and Singapore. There is light, colour, taste, lovely aromas, and other people to watch. In almost each eating place, I ran into someone from Australia I knew. The 'banana leaf' curry shops remain superb. In some of these places I saw almost every nationality in the world represented.

Australia too has developed multi-ethnic food places, commencing in Sydney's Chinatown and spreading to the city's centre. Before the entry of large numbers of European people, ethnic eating places were expensive; catering for those who felt that they belonged to the higher levels of society. Then, the Europeans opened up cheap eateries for their own people, and the Aussie commoners invaded these places. Today, there is a large variety of food from all over the world at reasonable prices, in ordinary food shops. Yet the ubiquitous Chinese take-away rules the roost. However, it's been a long time since my friends and I were asked whether we wanted 'real chicken' in the dish ordered. Of course, that proprietor meant well; he was the one who used to serve us the beer we took into the kitchen in a teapot (we drank the beer in teacups) because of the then ridiculous licensing laws.

Looking for developments since my day, my most important discovery was the commitment to Malaysia and Singapore by the Ceylon Tamils. To be sure, some had migrated (and others would in order to access education for the children at an economic price), but these people were there to stay. This applied to the other communities too. This attitude was reflected in more spacious and comfortable homes than the ones in which they had grown up. Most had good jobs and were well fed. Many were two-income families with few children; "Comfort is not known if poverty does not come before it," as the Irish say.

Yet some traditions are still upheld. I saw a professional wife serve her husband in the traditional manner, although the food was cooked by a servant. If he wanted a glass of water, the wife went out and got it. She does not drink alcohol, but he will have only Black Label Scotch (or better). Any sensitivity to caste seems to have disappeared; the rubber tapper's son could be one's colleague in a legal firm or a fellow schoolteacher. Yet class does represent a barrier, as in the older days, reflected in the language used, the hospitality (or lack of it), and the wages. Other traditions seem to have fallen by the wayside; the successful prefer to work rather than pray for success. "Once on shore, we pray no more," an English saying, seems relevant. Speaking only English at home is also an increasing phenomenon, especially with the younger generation. I felt quite at home, without my guilt at having lost my mother tongue. In general, there do not seem to be much of the home-based religious ceremonies, as of yore. Perhaps most of them simply lost any significance they may have had. Yet, whilst the older generation remains, there will be some retention of village-based traditions, such as weddings. The young will participate to keep their elderly parents happy. Anachronistic practices will of course not last. Significance can be retained, in different, yet meaningful, forms. My sister's guru in Singapore is showing his followers how this can be done, whilst developing, contemporaneously, a community out of diverse origins.

The offspring of the Malaysians usually acquire professional or technical qualifications overseas. It was good to see the offspring of the jagas, shopkeepers, and others from the bottom of the socio-economic pile progress to achieve professional qualifications. By the time I met them, their success had already gone to their waists, in many instances. Their offspring were often fat and spoilt; everyone was happy, as in Australia. It was interesting to see a young boy (a sub-teen) in a shop in Singapore handle all the battery-operated toys (somewhat roughly), in turn, without interference by the staff. He was fat and rude. After half an hour, he picked up four very expensive items and paid in cash. Obviously, he was well known. How the new wealthy live.

Most of the families have cars, except in Singapore, where the cost of owning and maintaining a car is necessarily high. But public transport, accessed by low-cost taxis, is more than adequate in Singapore; it is also very efficient and cheap. For lifestyle, the city is excellently planned, as is its economic development. My relatives use public transport to a large extent in Singapore, but not in Malaysia, for convenience in the distances involved. A lot of their interstate travel, however, is by bus or train.

The locals have not learned to queue for buses yet. In fact, some of them do not believe in patience or respect for others. When my mother was in hospital, we noticed some people who ducked under the arms of the ambulance officers trying to take a patient into the lift for treatment. These people were merely visiting their relatives in hospital, but they had to get into the lift first (and out first too). The 'me first' approach observed on so many occasions in so many places may reflect generations of attempting to better one's self away from the ancestral homelands. This total indifference to the needs of others may, of course, lead to material success. And then, what?

Life, however, must be good for many. In the middle of town, I saw a man dressed inexpensively, talking into his hand-held telephone as he walked. The driver of a small utility truck delivering soil was talking into the telephone while driving. I know that such phones are very expensive. But the tourist business could not have been that good on each occasion I was there. Shop assistants in many tourist shops harass you, following at your elbow and talking. You are not allowed to look at their goods in peace. Are they afraid that you might somehow steal something secure behind the glass counters? In some ordinary shops the cashier does not usually bother to look at the customer, has no expression on her face, and never says 'thank you' at any time. Is business _that_ good? In Australia, however, courtesy is the name of the game in most shops and businesses. It is, of course, easier to offer courtesy when everyone sees himself as equal to everyone else.

Being well off means having a servant. These days, the servants are protected by the government. They are usually from Sri Lanka, Indonesia, and The Philippines. They may have a day off each week but are on call at any time on other days. Some families prefer part-time help. Against their background, servants consider themselves well off. Yet there have been reports of some agents doing better than the maids, their clients; of some employers who had conveniently forgotten their recent rise to wealth; and of some Tamil servants being arrested by Sri Lankan authorities on their return home.

Foreign maids are only some of the expatriates working in Singapore and Malaysia. I was told of Japanese enclaves and of many whites, from a range of countries, working in white-collar jobs. I met an Aussie who had no skills or qualifications, but he was marketing manager for a firm which had put him on a year's contract.

Both nations display national pride in dealing with foreign investors (I was told). These cannot come in and do whatever they want to (as in Australia). Government sets the terms for their operation in these two countries.

While I was looking around both of these countries, I came across some interesting phenomena. I was told that, in a Chinese home in Malaysia, ash formed on a holy picture. It was regularly scraped off. My informer was a teacher, who examined the picture and confirmed the story. The people did not take any money from those wishing to view the phenomenon or to take some of the accumulated ash. My contact also told me of a similar phenomenon elsewhere in Malaysia, but could not confirm it personally. He also told me of a news report of a 'ghostly image' of a Hindu deity appearing in a photograph of the Batu Caves. There are shrines in those caves. The way to them is by a very steep set of steps. My mother climbed to the top before the concrete steps were laid. My attempt recently to climb the steps steadily within five minutes led me to feel quite stressed, yet I was very fit from playing sport three times a week. My contact claims to have seen the photograph and to confirm that the image was the traditional representation of that deity.

Equally strange, in a city whose speech sounds are, according to a Chinese wit, Chinglish (i.e. English spoken not only with a Chinese accent, but also with the structure of colloquial Chinese) is the extent of British accents heard. These accents are heard both on TV and also in the shops, offices and bars. In fact, many Singaporeans are Westernised in this way. I noticed an English-accented Chinese buying Western music (as LP records) and books of an erudite nature. These people came across as detribalised (or deculturalised) as I am.

This is an interesting development. The overseas trained come home with a variety of accents. Many have not been exposed in their youth to their ancestral culture. By this, I refer to their writings (including poetry), their philosophy and their art. They would normally have been exposed to religious traditions, e.g. song and perhaps dance, as well as the practice and the mode of prayer. On return, many return to their religion's practices, some in a limited way; many do not renew their traditions. What do they have then? Nominal Ceylon Tamils, Southern Chinese, Indian Moslems, Sikhs, and so on, with no real understanding of, feel for, or support for, the cultural traditions of their forefathers?

Since they are already uniformly dressed and since their conduct is also uniform, what distinguishes one from another in the absence of an ethnic tag? By ethnic tag, I refer to name and physical appearance of descent. Do we then have a cultural melting-pot? It seems to me that this is little different from the melting-pot of whites in Australia and the USA; the difference is that we now have Westernised non-whites. And they would be difficult to distinguish, culturally, from Westernised Asians from neighbouring countries, would they not? Detribalised , culturally Westernised, denationalised Asians, rise!

Is it therefore only a matter of time that in Australia, Malaysia and Singapore, all three nations with a mix of cultures, with tribal cultural differences which coexist for a time, will eventually give way to a uniform set of traditions? Will these traditions evolve from the old, reflecting the times and the needs of each emerging generation? If so, should not governments keep the hard-won taxpayers' money secure, by avoiding any so-called ethnic affairs or multicultural affairs policies? Should we not keep the politicians and priests out of the lives of our youth unless they can contribute to the enhancement of one nation, one people, with no artificial barriers based on sectarian, religious, or ethnic power structures?

###  _Chapter Nineteen_

Equality in Unity

The multicultural Malayan in White Australia is now a multicultural Australian in an Asianising yet racist Australia, nearly half a century later. The racism is colour-directed, where black is not beautiful (except in the soulful eyes of a few) and brown is a birthmark blemish. Epidermal pigmentation-specific discrimination seems to have been bred into the white man's psyche, yet his leaders in Australia will, and must, take us into Asia.

Asians have long memories, by necessity and by history. Our civilisations and cultures go back a long way, a very long way, "...when the ancestors of the right honourable gentlemen were brutal savages in an unknown land, mine were priests in the temple of Solomon". In saying this, Disraeli spoke for many of us. We have absorbed conquerors and made them part of us. We did not need to be taught by European imperialists how to govern ourselves; brutality and treachery is innate in mankind. We do not need the commercial exploiters of today to preach to us about what they like to call 'human rights' as they attempt to sneak into our terrain in order to dominate our economies. To date, Australia has been and has come across to many observant Asians as the decaying outpost of an outdated European supremacy.

The examination of Australia's multicultural destiny, offering social cohesion and equality of treatment across the colour boundary must take place against a geopolitical background. We need to know where Australia is in a global context, and where it might be in the centuries to come, especially the powers and neighbours it might be living with. This examination will also need to identify the internal barriers, not only to social cohesion with equality, but also to acceptance in Asia.

The basal proposition of this examination is that the bulk of the world is coloured in appearance, not white. Those of us who are coloured are normally not aware of it, until some white person says so. Why is our colour relevant? In Singapore and Malaysia, we do not refer to colour (except when a mother seeks a daughter-in-law). To the white Australian whose knowledge of history is Euro-centric and therefore short term, the coloured peoples have always been subject peoples. It is worth looking briefly at this, whether there will be a shift in power to coloured nations, and how it is likely to affect Australia.

For a time now, white people from the western peninsula of the Asian continent have dominated the world. They had increased their normal trading capacity over a number of centuries to a substantial degree, by robbery, pillage and murder, and then claimed to be empire builders. "To plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire" (Tacitus of BC fame). The commercial capital thus stolen from the wealth of other civilisations and cultures fuelled a very substantial expansion in Europe's economic capacity and strength. The injected capital would have had a strong multiplier effect on the capacity of others in the trading chain to expand their activities.

Now the white man dominates the world from the North American continent; this dominance has peaked already. "At the height of summer, one knows the autumn is not far behind," said the old Chinese. The previous dominance was from continental Europe and lasted a few hundred years, with successive dominant nations trying to scupper the others, generally successfully. European man's dominance is well and truly over. For the limited future, a pseudo-capitalist Russia is being allowed to dominate its former territories to its south. This delays the thrust to the West from these emerging nations for a while, say a century or two, while allowing US and other Western capitalists to exploit Russia and, through Russia, its satellites. It is interesting that Russia had to give up its Christian satellites in full as part of this bargain, but not its Moslem ones.

A partnership between the US/Europe and Russia (the latter is not quite in Europe yet and may never be allowed in) is surely intended to contain the greatest threat to white men to date. China, the sleeping giant, is turning capitalist. Its form of capitalism may be unique, adapted from the Russian. The Chinese, like other Asians, have good reason to remember the imperialist nations of Western Europe. These and the Japanese played their profitable games on the Chinese mainland for far too long. China will no doubt also remember that the US blocked its efforts to relate to its neighbours in the recent past. It should also remember the opium forced onto its people. As the Irish say, "Your own deeds will long be baptised on you."

I can remember, in pre-war Malaya, the opium shop which was in our local shopping area. I can also remember the many Chinese with their hair queued at the back of their heads, as well as ladies with their bound feet.

When China comes to dominate world trade and the seas surrounding it, no other nation or gaggle of nations can be certain of containing it. It will be as civilised as the Western nations when they seek a trade and (as an adjunct) a military advantage. To the USA, defence and its secret services are merely means to a commercial advantage. That is normal human behaviour, and the US is agreeably quite open about it. The Chinese will, no doubt, do the same. The small nations surrounding China will no doubt pay tribute to China.

Where does that leave Australia? We are cunningly accumulating Chinese residents, as well as Koreans, Taiwanese, Hong Kong people and Japanese. It may not be useful camouflage. Perhaps we will pay tribute too. Why not? We have always paid tribute in one form or another, to someone.

In any event, in time, both the Western world and Russia will want China to help to contain the resurgence of a Moslem power, also coloured. For nearly forty years I have said that, one day the Moslem nations will join together politically, as Europe is still trying to do. If the warring tribes of Europe can ever work together as a polity, so might those laying their trust in Allah. It will then be their turn to dominate the world, perhaps after two centuries or more from now. What's time for those outside the West? One can only hope that, by then, the peoples of the West would have overcome their sense of superiority, perhaps with China's help. Hopefully, the Chinese will not display, when it is their turn to exercise a degree of influence over our lives, any superiority of their own. After all, most of us are mixtures of conqueror and conquered – taking our time from a few thousand years ago. Many Chinese and Indians have some Turkic (Central Asian) and some Mongol blood. Many South Asians have both Chinese and Indian genes.

It is in this arena that Australia has to seek accommodation, cognisant of both the history of the Asian peoples and their memories. Australia will have to change – it cannot pretend to be culturally superior.

To introduce another dimension to this perspective, when the Czech President of the Nineties recently spoke of the spirituality of mankind and civilisation (and left some of the media people present with their mouths open while their brains tried to get into gear – so we were told), he was light years ahead of Australia's politicians or, for that matter, Europe's. No matter which nation or nations rule the world, it is the shared spirituality of mankind which will make us civilised. There should, therefore, be no scope for any chosen people, or special people who have been selectively redeemed, or are about to be redeemed. No matter what religious path each of us chooses to follow, there needs to be acceptance of the universality of our nature, our bonds one to the other, and our shared spirituality. Can Australia adapt?

Tangentially, I sadly deplore European man's effort to remove a Moslem presence in his territory in the Balkans. Persistent inaction is indeed consent. Having moved the Jewish presence from Europe, he presumably hopes to keep Europe Christian. What price religious exclusivity? Genocide? Since karmic laws bind us all, I fear for those sanctioning ethnic cleansing in Europe and elsewhere. "Crime leaves a trail like a water beetle, and like a snail, it leaves its shine," as a Malay saying goes.

It is against this geopolitical and spiritual scenario that I set out to foresee the future for multiculturalism in my countries of origin and of settlement. They are similar in many ways. My focus is, necessarily, ultimately on Australia. My stars "led me like an old blind goat" (borrowing from Martin Luther) to a nation with which I claim a reciprocity of impact. There has been change on both sides. I can vouch for the benefit I gained, principally the insight into Australia through the eyes of the immigrant; secondarily, the insight into humanity through the experience of being viewed as an inferior person (another karmic lesson?).

It is my belief that Australia's destiny is to become a beacon for nations seeking a successful integration of diverse cultures, where (perhaps) class differences are minimised. For this to occur, claims of racial, cultural and religious superiority will obviously need to give way, through an acceptance that we can all share equally a common spirituality. This is a tall order for many. The white man an equal to a black one? A Christian of the institutional kind an equal to a Hare Krishna devotee or to an incense-clutching Korean Buddhist or a statue-worshipping Hindu? The Orthodox Jew an equal to a fundamentalist Moslem? What's the betting? And what will we do with those priests and politicians responsible for keeping us apart?

Contrary to expectations, I am inclined to say that we are on the way to that destiny. The basis of this belief is that we have already gathered together an extremely wide variety of people, notwithstanding the concealed official preference for certain faiths and certain colours. Such diversity is rare in the world. And the common man does have an innate propensity to seek and enjoy common features in divergent peoples. That is our strength. The emphasis on divergence is the predilection of only the misbegotten professional excluder, the power seeker.

How is it that we are on the way to that desired destiny? I was born and nurtured in a multicultural nation which was then at the stage of cross-cultural development that Australia is in today. That nation was then dominated by the British. Today, the imperialist has gone and there is in my countries of origin a blending of the third generation of settlers and those who were there a short while before them (after all, the modern Malay was also a settler once). Today, Australia is dominated by Anglo-Celts who were also settlers a short while ago. However, there is already evidence of a blending occurring in Australia; the second generation of recent arrivals beginning to merge with one another and with the third and fourth generations of earlier settlers, some of whose blood has mingled with that of the original occupants of this land. Who would have anticipated, until the 1980s, that the divergent tribes of Australia, might one day turn towards one another as equals?

It is time to see what barriers exist to the full flowering of this process of merging. Essentially, the tribal history of Australia displays two incontrovertible barriers: the sectarian divide between the Catholics (mainly of Irish descent) and the Protestants (mainly of British descent); and the colour bar, originating with and applying primarily to the indigenes of Australia and their descendants, but shading on to coloured people like myself and our descendants. The culprits of this colour prejudice are to be found in the Christian sects (God help their souls).

Historically, the Anglo-Celts have kept the Aboriginal people on the margin of opportunity and society, while propagating a small admixture of the two tribes. One is reminded of that eighteenth-century English saying, "Under the blanket, the black one is as good as the white." To which I can add my own observation: under the million eyes of the stars, lust sees no colour. Members of this admixture have foundered in the milieu of the dominant culture (in spite of being Christianised). Many of this admixture now seem intent upon a reversion to black ancestral values, and this is commendable. Spiritually, there seems to be no barrier to the conjoining of the two value systems, whilst institutionally, new tracks may need to be laid to encompass the dreamtime of the oppressed within the superstructure of salvation upheld by the oppressor.

As well, within the dominant culture, there has been a primary institutional religious divide. This, to the outsider, is so strong after two centuries of the tribes living together as to be both surprising and revolting. The sectarian divide is becoming overtly expressed as a power struggle, with a bitterness of class origins of the distant past camouflaged as an ethnic divide. While they are all Christians, it is obviously difficult for the principal players in both camps and some supporters to overcome centuries of prejudice, aided as it is by geopolitical matters, also going back many centuries. There is clear evidence that the minor tribe has been, and is being, kept apart by its leaders. They have, and continue to seek, separate schools and hospitals in the name of a divergent faith, but at the expense of the taxpayer.

Co-mixing is still discouraged. For example, a Freemason recently withdrew from a lodge reportedly because his local priest pointed out to him that it is not appropriate for a Catholic to be active in Masonry. Why on earth not? It is really disgraceful that anyone claiming to be an Australian should preach separation. Would cultural vilification be an area requiring legislation? Anyone claiming that a fellow Australian is inferior culturally, or proclaiming that another culture is deficient in spiritual terms, would then be guilty of a crime. Would this hog-tie the professional dividers and excluders? At a day-to-day level, these two tribes have coexisted spiritually, whilst working together in their ordinary lives.

There are also other minor Anglo-Celt tribes with their own versions of Christianity and what the Bible says. They are also kept separate spiritually, while working together with the others in day-to-day matters. But there does not seem to be, to the outsider, the bitterness expressed by some of the Irish Catholics. To the outsider, the initial barrier, in terms of spirituality and social cohesion, is the claim by each Christian faith to have the only door to God. The second, but most pervasive and persuasive barrier, is that arising from the contest for dominance between the major churches. The bulk of ordinary Aussies are not, however, touched by exclusionary attitudes and practices.

The active tribal leaders and members are, however, visibly and audibly seeking primacy in social and political matters. Would not such motivations be outside the purview of the spiritually religious? One could therefore easily reach the conclusion that religion, like political affiliation, represents merely a path to power for some; that we, the common people, are merely pawns in their power play, which has little to do with the search for God. The French do have a saying: "He who is near the church is often far from God." As well, Pascal did warn us that, "Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction."

It is of course normal for a minority to place some sort of barrier between themselves and others. This will protect the group, as well as exclude contamination by ideology. When clearly allied to a process of out-populating the rest, then the rest should take care. I remember reading somewhere how a minority/reaching majority/seizing authority/hates the minority. For Australia, the continuation of past practices aimed at supremacy bodes no good. Social cohesion, with equality of beliefs, would forever remain unachievable in Australia.

Into this mire of coexistence of three 'nations', peoples, or tribes came the very substantial post-war immigration intake, initially all white. The influx of the various nationalities merely increased the support base of the main Australian tribes (and a few of the others). Then, a quarter of a century later, came the coloured ones bringing new faiths, representing new tribes. The increasing numbers of the followers of Mohammed reportedly discommoded many Jews and Catholics, in the main, although some Protestants were apparently not that far behind. The bulk of the early intake of Moslems came from Lebanon, a new nation carved out by the imperialistic French from Syria. Australia's efforts to offer succour to the Christians of Lebanon benefited the Moslems of that State as well.

The relatively minuscule tribes of other new faiths, e.g. Hindu, Baha'i, Copt, Buddhist and others, posed no threat to the mainstream tribes. Interestingly, the bulk of the 'yellow horde' refugees of yesteryear and the recent rising tide of immigrants from North and East Asia are said to blend well, to a large extent, into mainstream faiths. However, racially, they too represent to many the unwanted Asians, meaning coloured people.

A mainstream population normally would have little difficulty in accommodating, if not absorbing, minority cultures or faiths over a period of time. The mainstream Aussie, of the ordinary kind, believing in a fair go (because he has indeed had a fair go over a few decades, perhaps for two generations) has, in fact, come to accept that those who sought a better life in his country, (which continues to seek migrants assiduously) have made a sufficient contribution to the nation, and are now part of the nation. The three tribe configuration of Australia may thus have continued for some time.

The introduction of access and equity policies and multiculturalism policies, however, brought another force into play. Allegations of community service inadequacy, resulting claims for plural ethnicity-specific service structures, intimations of cultural exclusivity, and vociferous claims about alleged welfare needs became fashionable. Divisions that would have normally disappeared were becoming permanent. My Greek friend, instead of being merely proud of his ancestry and enjoying an intangible feeling of affinity for his people, now asserts that he is Greek. In fact, he is a second or third generation Aussie. He is completely decultured in terms of his ancestral cultural attributes. All that he has left, apart from his parents' prejudices, is some traditional food and, on some festive occasions, some peasant costume that three generations of his people kept out of, and some folk dance that some of each generation's children learn for the celebration of festivals in their new homeland. My fourth generation Chinese Aussie friend is little different, except that he is told by whites that he is Chinese and must therefore be different. I met third generation Indian-Aussies in Melbourne, who were treated like the Chinese, i.e. as different.

The Chinese and the Indians have no peasant costumes or folk dances to display their ethnic origins and their separateness from other members of the Australian community. This is not to deny the symbolic value of peasant costumes for cultural cohesion of the social kind. The Chinese and Indian Aussies had indeed assimilated. The white ethnics, on the other hand, unlike their parents, who had also assimilated, now profess to be merely integrated, while their behaviour displays little or no deviant or divergent cultural inheritance. What is culture unless manifest in behaviour? It is timely to recall that sixteenth-century proverb: "Custom without reason is but ancient error."

It is the coloured migrant and his descendants who are permanently marked as different (thanks to the white man's continuing prejudice) and who will be at risk in terms of any discrimination flowing past. Until there is a sea change in ideology and attitudes in the mainstream communities, the coloured citizens of this nation are not likely to be treated the same way as are the descendants of white migrants. Without a strange looking name (and today that too does not seem to matter anymore), these young white Aussies are treated alike, and would appear to have no barriers based on ethnic origin.

This would suggest that they have dealt successfully with their inherited cultural diversity and any inter-ethnic prejudices and become assimilated. Yet they can still retain an ephemeral affinity for their origins, which is quite natural and not ethnicity related. As the Chinese say: "A young branch takes all the bends that one gives it."

On the other hand, modern multicultural policies have so entranced and empowered the elders of the white ethnics, and some coloured ethnics, that we will need another generation to overcome the ill effects of undue emphasis on ethnic cultural difference and diversity. The withdrawal symptoms, were governments to act in the national interest to remove the current emphasis on differences, will produce some of the most strident protests ever heard in this country.

With a display of political courage by government, all Aussies (not just the ethno-politicians) will be able to make decisions on immigration and settlement policies, based on what is good for the nation. There is little need, however, for another generation at least, for us common folk to duck at the sight of a squadron of pigs flying past.

In recent years, I have spoken at length to policemen, priests, Aborigines, the unemployed, the employed, professional and business people, shopkeepers, shop assistants, doctors, nurses, wardsmen, migrants and their offspring, and others. I have sought to identify their ethnic backgrounds and asked them how they view themselves in the new multicultural context, how they view other ethnic communities, their response to community welfare and ethnic support systems, the refugee and immigration intakes, the taxpayer costs of the latter, and what is generally happening to the nation.

It is quite clear that the man in the street is nowhere as silly or as unaware as imagined (or hoped for) by so many of his elected representatives. A good government might be a generation ahead of the people it purports to represent (that is a contradiction – how can one represent and yet be ahead?). Today, in the arena of multicultural Australia, the people seem to be far more realistic about what is good for their country. They are far more sensitive to our environment than are the politicians, their bureaucrats, and big businesses. They are also more aware of intercommunity relations; of the country's immigration needs; of the need for justice to Aborigines and refugees; and of refugee processing and migration stacking.

It is the beneficiaries of the latter processes who are strident about us taking more, more, more refugees and needing more, more, more taxpayer funds. The man in the street does not bleed profusely for those who land on our shores and try to force us to accept them, using our hard-earned savings in the process. He also knows that family reunion maintains the influence exercised on governments by the main ethnic communities. On the matter of Aboriginal justice, he has difficulty with the issues, as vested interests cloud these successfully; he would, however, like to see better opportunities for the black people, and more equitable outcomes.

In terms of the ethnic composition of the nations, if the British in Australia had to give way to certain European ethnics, why on earth should the latter too not give way to other ethnics, including the coloured ethnics? Against the hopes of their Australian relatives, immigration applicants from Britain, and later, from Europe, tended to fade away as life was better at home. In time, applicants from the rich East Asian nations will probably fade away too. If Australia were to need more entrants then, Africa and Central and West Asia might oblige.

Now, that would be the way to recolour the nation or to redefine ourselves, would it not? Family reunion as a means of retaining power is therefore also a vain hope; all that it does is to place on community welfare any non-viable relatives we might have. And that cannot go on. We have an expanding army of the elderly to feed in the future.

Where does that lead us? This depends on those community attitudes which have endured. These include: the disparagement of blacks; some discomfort in the presence of ageing European ethnics who still lack fluency in English; dislike of the Asians in any numbers, especially if they are obviously unemployable or exceedingly and ostentatiously wealthy; the European migrant referring to East Asians (mainly the Indo-Chinese) as wogs (yes! The old pot calling the new kettle black). These views are widely held by the older generation of Aussies. They are honestly held views, openly expressed, by people one would not describe as ill-educated.

Where lies the fault? With governments. This is not to assert that those on the receiving end are always victims. They too have a responsibility to improve their position and presentation. Under the rhetoric about vast progress, new initiatives, big sums of money allocated, and so on, the poor Aborigines are still waiting for a fair go. Mainstreaming of community services such as health, education, welfare, housing, the delivery of such services being equitable, and the installation of systems of accountability (including operational guidelines) before funds are allocated for community development would, one would have expected, have received priority in government policies.

More honest government policies might have included the payment of substantial funds to each Aboriginal tribe driven off its land. Putting all the Aborigines together, asking them to sort it all out, and giving them little to do it with, is quite cute, i.e. totally dishonest. The empowering of some Aborigines and fostering divisions over the allocation of two small a cake is just as dirty.

Sadly, what comes across is some very genuine effort, spoilt by sundry strategies directed to keeping an unsympathetic white audience on side.

In contrast, large amounts of taxpayer funds are spent on non-English-speaking migrants, without challenge from the same audience. The difference is that the mining industry, the pastoral interests, and (presumably) their captive State and Territory governments, are not affected by this display of touching care. And the racist amongst the Anglo-Celts seem to have been overrun by the 'do-gooders'. Accountability requirements are apparently satisfied simply by the processes of delivering the services to migrants (including the refugees).

What has been achieved b this expenditure? The two main management policy questions are rarely asked: is this what we _should_ be doing? If so, how well are we doing? If asked, the answer to the first question is certainly not to be found in the cheer squad of beneficiaries. A cynic would, however, say that if the money is available to be given away, so be it; but let us not divide the nation in the process. One can be certain, however, that the current fate of this country of three or more nations is for tribally oriented government to continue to divide the nation, through their largesse, for electoral advantage.

Other examples of unbalanced policies are the national TV and radio broadcaster (seen as an icon by its cargo-cultist supporters) generally ignoring the ethnic taxpayer, who also pays for the service through his taxes. Consequently, an ethnic TV service is provided. It, however, caters primarily for the English-speaking middle class – more deflection of taxpayer funds. It is ethnic radio which serves the non-English-speaking minorities.

What about the Aborigines? A recent news report claimed that a volunteer effort for Aborigines in the north of Australia to provide a TV service for their people was opposed persistently by vested interests. The community at large accepts (I believe) that the white man's greed controls the politician and his administration; and, inequitable treatment of the dispossessed is perpetuated. How does one get across the concept of karmic laws to those whose loss of their own faith allows them to behave in such an oppressive way?

Recently, a politician admitted that he had voted against a bill, in spite of a very substantial majority support by the public for the legislation. He will no doubt continue to claim to represent his electorate. In much the same way, ethno-politicians, many of whom are in office in organisations which survive only because of taxpayer funding, claim to speak for their people when proposing policies which may be contrary to the national interest. Are these spokesmen clairvoyant, or do they actually consult their people (if so, how?) and give them a choice of policies? My ethnic contacts suggest that the spokespersons (so defined by themselves) do not speak for their community (because they have no means of knowing), but only for a like-minded minority.

Where the public is aware of the issues, leading politicians often find opposition to their preferred policies. For example, in recent debates about Australia becoming a republic, the public has been sanguine about such an outcome. It will happen through the effects of many factors. An anti-monarchist thrust, shading into an anti-British sentiment, carries no weight, especially with the younger generation. They are not burdened by the baggage of inherited ignorance. Government spokesmen are also not credible in their efforts to have sole rights to decide who will head the republic and what his/her duties will be. The public, most wisely, insists on our right to elect the office holder; most of us want this position to hold reserve powers to protect us from the politicians in certain circumstances. The reason for this is clear. There is indubitable evidence that some politicians are not satisfied with the perks of office. They now want real power: to control our very thoughts and actions, in areas which should be sacrosanct.

This attitude reflects, in part, their ideological (i.e. religious) inheritance. Products of an authoritarian system tend to be authoritarian. If their inheritance is the claimed superiority of their cultural values, then the rest of us must bend our necks. Yet not long ago, the Pope asked that, where his flock was in a minority anywhere in the world, it should be allowed the freedom to practise its faith. His flock is in a minority in Australia, yet wants to impose its will and its cultural values on the rest of us. How about reciprocity of tolerance? Let God decide if we (the rest of us) are on the wrong track.

I sincerely practise my faith and do not interfere in your practice; do I not deserve reciprocity? For example, if I seek voluntary euthanasia, there is no requirement that you should also seek it; it is voluntary. Why then browbeat me with the illegitimate use of the word 'killing'? As an ordinary Aussie, I join the younger generation in this country, by saying, "Keep your faith to yourself, as I harm you not. Please do not interfere with my rights, as you are neither God nor one of his angels." Remember the Indian adage, "The sieve says to the needle, 'You have a hole in the head.'"

Perhaps this country should look at Malaysia and Singapore to learn about cultural and religious tolerance. One would, however, have to be both humble and fair-minded to think that one could learn something from people who were, not that long ago, subject peoples to Australia's European ancestors. Yet there is a lot to learn. Parts of the Australian media will, of course, have a great time with this thought. Yet, they too need some learning about tolerance, and the impossibility of an inherited and permanent superiority over others.

Australia has come a long way since I assembled tables in a Melbourne factory and stamped them 'MADE BY EUROPEAN LABOUR ONLY'. The nation has matured a great deal in the time I have been a part of it. The main causal factors are the belief in a fair go for all, held by the free-thinking ordinary Aussie, and the breakaway of the younger generation from ancient prejudices. My children's generation look towards people everywhere as their equals, interesting, and worth knowing. Ethnic origins, inherited religions and cultural traditions are all secondary to their shared humanitarian instincts. It is this spirituality which is beyond the hold of the professional dividers and excluders.

It is this shared spirituality which will lead Australia to its destiny, offering a united nation with equality of opportunity and treatment for all. But it will take a little time; and we have lots of that.

We also need to ensure that man-made values are not allowed to deflect or delay this destiny. For example, urban Aborigines are rarely seen in employment in offices and shops, or in public transport. I have been told in recent years by Aborigines that many of them are educated and have usable skills, but white employers will not give them jobs. Their poverty is endemic. "To fry poverty, you need no butter," is a very apt adage.

'Educated' whites openly utter statements of prejudice. Their basic premise is that the Aborigine is lazy and will not work. What a convenient stance. Any anti-social conduct by youths is a class problem for whites, but a racial problem for blacks. It may not be long before this underclass (visible because of its colour) stops being quiescent. They might feel that "revenge is profitable, gratitude expensive." In the event, Australia's violations of human rights will come out into the open internationally. This may force some of our superior folk to get off their high horses and to desist from arrogantly squawking about the conduct of other nations, usually of coloured people. "Everyone loves justice in the affairs of another," is a relevant Italian saying.

It is really no good, and quite pathetic, for the sob-sisters of this nation to continually attempt to force us to take more and more refugees, especially the economic refugees, from East Asia. How convenient? Do they bleed so profusely and so publicly for the plight of their own black people? There is little evidence of this. Is this colour prejudice by the 'do-gooders'? It smells like it!

It is also interesting to ask how it is that the racists are ordinary people who are kind to their children and who might in fact work for their community. Why would a quite ordinary public servant hate me enough to try and make my life difficult? If he disliked a foreigner competing with his fishing mates, it would be understandable. To then descend to hate would indicate a petty mind, and perhaps a lack of emotional balance. However, to translate hate into actions requires a little venom – what causes that? How is it that ordinarily nice, mature people (so they appear in public) can be as racist as they are? So often, there is hate in their voices. What is the cause – ignorance? Could there be such ignorance in people who are successful scientists, business managers, and so on? Or is it an inherited sense of superiority, allied to a rejection of new tribes on their own patch? What if your tribal ancestors stole the patch from the tribe you now reject?

I am beginning to think that it is subconscious guilt that fuels the white man's prejudice against the Aborigine; whereas, his dislike, initially, of European 'reffos' and latterly of the Asians, is more of an inter-tribal stance.

Unless Australia's treatment of its blacks is seen by observers in Asia to be just, no one will expect equitable treatment for those of coloured descent in Australia. This would be disastrous for the nation. The very wealthy East Asian businessmen whom we now court, and the ordinary people from that part of the world who are Christian, are soon going to be aware of the risk to their descendants of life in Australia. A few high-profile successes cannot hide the four generations of denial of equal opportunity (especially in their right to join in the government and administration of the nations) to the Chinese in Australia. The descendants of the professional and other skilled brown-coloured people in the country are, like their lighter-coloured fellow migrants, not going to be satisfied about being kept out of senior policy positions in government or in politics. We cannot follow the past practices of Britain, the USA and Canada which allow so much freedom to go into the professions, academia, or business, but no further. Equality of opportunity means right of entry into positions of power.

At present, the white ethnics are not quite certain that they actually have such rights. But they have already obtained a toe-hold; there are ethnic politicians at state and federal levels. At the political level, by not dispersing themselves into the community, they have reasonable prospects for stacking the branches of the political parties. That will be the beginning they need. Coloured ethnics are educated enough to follow the same path in time.

How is the Aborigine to obtain political power if he cannot obtain the basic right to work, except for an Aboriginal organisation or a government? The nation does not require any other parallel administrative service structures, especially for a quarter of a million people. Hence, the nation needs politicians who believe in justice.

Australia's chances of being respected in Asia do not look too good, in the light of current attitudes toward coloured people. Every time some pompous ass in Australia brays about human rights in Asia, say China, he risks losing some item of apparel. What is to happen about the sectarian war? More education? I would not offer any odds that the brainwashed will ever accept the light of equality for all. As Gibran asks, "What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the forest stray and vagrant things?" Would those who like living like princes be tempted by a humble lifestyle, whose followers are tolerant about the religious beliefs of others? Perhaps, if the majority were to pray for this to happen, hearts might be opened.

If the sectarian divide were to remain, how would Australia be seen by Asia where equal opportunity in government and politics is not generally based on religious affiliation? How would it affect the coloured people in Australia? Being Catholic or Protestant has not helped the Aborigine at all, has it? And what of the position of the coloured migrant and his descendants – would church affiliation assist in some job areas? Quite likely, since it has influenced immigration entry. It is thus likely that the sectarian divide will run its below-the-surface line for a time yet. Our hope is that no power anywhere in the world has yet endured.

Is the path to unity with equality in Australia through education? Not likely! After all, the Christian has ignored his Founder's teaching: "A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another." Does the Book of Common Prayer apply only to one sect when it says, "Behold how good and joyful a thing it is, brethren to dwell together in unity"?

Hope rises, however, through Disraeli, who said that, "Increased means and increased leisure are the two civilisers of man." The evidence for this lies in Australia's modern experience where the _en suite_ did beat the priest.

Long-term hope comes from Gandhi, who drew upon the Upanishads. Gandhi spoke of unity "...seated in the cave of the heart..." of conscious beings, in the midst of "...diversity flourishing on the surface of life...." He had in mind the diversity that is India. This "heart unity" he saw as "a spontaneous concern for the welfare of others." By fending off the excluding politician and priest, there may be scope for us to reach out to one another. Unfettered, undeflected, man's heritage may yet flower in us. The Buddhists' Dhammapada says, "The narrow-minded man thinks and says: this man is one of us; this one is not, he is a stranger. To the man of noble soul, the whole of mankind is but one family." The Muslims' Koran asks: "Does man forget that We created him out of the void?"

For the modern man who is not enamoured by old faiths, there is guidance from an international scientist-philosopher, whose intuition is that we are hologram-like projections from an ocean of consciousness. When added to the conclusion by an American Emeritus Professor of Anatomy, after a lifetime of research, that we and everything else in the universe are linked electromagnetically and therefore affect one another, there is a reasonable basis for modern man to feel that the bonds we have towards one another are greater than any false preachings by priest or politician.

In this regard, the most optimistic evidence that Australia may reach its destiny by offering equality for all, through unity in one nation, comes from our youth. Undeniably and increasingly, they are rejecting inherited barriers drawn from ethnic origins, religious affiliations or skin colour. Parental and other prejudices are going out of the window. This country's future is in safe hands. Our youth will grow to dwell by the code of Augustine: "In essentials unity, in non-essentials freedom, in all things charity."

Our youth increasingly take their identity, not from their tribal, 'national' or cultural antecedents, but from their nation-state, Australia. This overrides the geographical origins and religious affiliations (and prejudices) of their parents. Some of our youth go further and see themselves as global residents, without regard for artificial 'state' boundaries. Our youth, in committing themselves to the country which sustains them, are only reflecting that humanistic spirituality that is pervading us from our collective unconscious. Freed progressively from the fetters of institutionalised prejudices of the past, this spirituality is beginning to flower freely. As we enter the Age of Enlightenment, we can hope that full equal opportunity, reflecting this shared spirituality, will be available to those who are now denied it, thus allowing the realisation of Australia's destiny as one nation out of many.

###  Postscript

Overt anti-Asian racism has suddenly erupted in a big way in Australia. To date, it has been expressed as an irritant, perhaps an insult. However, to a small brown-skinned primary schoolgirl, alone on a suburban train, such abuse from a large white teenager, accompanied by his parents, would be very threatening, and humiliating. If she were Australian-born, it would be a terrible insult to be told to go back where she came from. This incident is just one of many reported. How many remain unreported?

Foreign governments have expressed concern about the personal security of their former residents, their students and their tourists. In response, the Australian government has assured these Asian governments that Australia's immigration policy remains non-discriminatory, and that Australia remains a multicultural nation. One must, however, wonder how such assurances can protect coloured people from attacks by white yobbos in Australian streets and other public places. Are foreign trade and tourism more important than official rebuttal stating that the Asian immigration intakes resulting from a necessarily non-discriminatory selection and entry policy do not represent any threat to the nation (and explain why); that the Asians (after twenty years of open entry) represent less than five per cent of the total population; and that intercommunity relations are stable and harmonious?

Official rebuttal has also to assure the Australian public that the financial grants and other assistance to Aborigines is their entitlement, in the interests of justice and a reconciliation between white Australians and the indigenes of the nation.

Such rebuttal has to go far beyond platitudinous public relations pronouncements by politicians, e.g. the recent reiteration of current policy by the Parliament. However, the community is aware that there seems to be a great reluctance by the major political parties to join with the public in an open debate on the issues raised. This reluctance reflects the unwillingness of the new government to have the new independent Member of Parliament set the agenda for a public review of sensitive policies. This MP wants government assistance to the Aboriginal people to be no different from any assistance to white Australians. She also wants a reduction in Asian immigration. In saying this, she asserts that she represents the views of a substantial part of the population at large.

My impression is that she does speak for a substantial part of the population. However, the perception by this minority of government policies and their bases is clouded. It does not accommodate the need for justice to the indigenes of Australia. Neither does it have a clear understanding of the viability and integration of Asian immigrants into Australian society.

Again, bipartisan policy has enabled major decisions to be taken by governments, without the public being adequately informed, or consulted. To whose drumbeat have our governments been marching? No, I am not implying any conspiracy.

I agree that our political representatives have successfully gone their own way, chanting the mantras "international obligations", "humanitarian requirements", "family cohesion", "net economic benefits", "future trade relations", and so on, in relation to immigration; or "financial accountability", "urgent resource development", "the national interest", or whatever, in relation to Aboriginal matters, without drawing up appropriate long-term strategies for the nation.

Just as (reportedly) the flutter of a butterfly wing in one part of the world can change the climate in a distant part of the glove, so every little policy action sets up constraints or other implications for the future, perhaps in another area of policy. Just like the law of karma, isn't it?

In the event, we need policies directed to ensuring that the Australian Aboriginal people, in all their diversity of community structures, lifestyles, skills, and adaptation to white society, receive recognition and compensation for past injustices; and are enabled self-empowerment and, where appropriate, self-determination. It may not be inappropriate also to contemplate a compact or treaty between the Aboriginal people and the Australian nation, as with the Inuits of Canada and the Amerindians.

We also need policies to ensure that immigrants can contribute in a measurable way to the nation. As said recently by an immigrant Chinese local government councillor, we need not be responsible for taking all the economic refugees of East Asia. The operation of the allegedly non-discriminatory immigration policy may also need scrutiny. How is it that the majority of the Asian entrants are Christian (survey reports) or that main source-countries are in East and North Asia?

We need policies to educate immigrants and host-peoples about tolerance. The presence of a plethora of cultures is not a sufficient condition for a racially or culturally tolerant society, or for close intercommunity relations. For example, a study of a major ethnic community from the Mediterranean region showed that it represented localised networks based on family, kin, and fellow countrymen. These formed the bulk of their relationships, i.e. there was little intercourse with other communities, except on the basis of need. This pattern is likely to be found with most Asian and other non-Anglo-Celt communities, especially where chain migration has taken place.

Can multicultural policies change this pattern, when they emphasise the retention of cultural attributes, and thereby imply a degree of separation? Why not accept that the word 'multiculturalism' is simply a description of what is? Any policy of multiculturalism, instead of celebrating diversity, can then take the form of tolerance-inducing education programmes, such as those in Singapore and Malaysia. These extol one nation from many peoples. We do not need policies or bureaucracies to allow us to continue to dance in archaic clothing styles, feast on 'ethnic' foodstuffs, and live in exotic, tourist-attracting enclaves.

Policies of tolerance do, however, need to encompass cultural imperialism too. Do we need to bend our necks to minority religions, especially those preoccupied with the human female's netherlands (abortion and contraception) and the right to life (or death)? We should all be free to practise our diverse beliefs, and make choices on life-chances and lifestyles without coercion by politicians or priests. An example of cultural imperialism was a private member's bill in the national parliament. It imposed a minority religion's view on a secular nation, when nearly eighty per cent of the population reportedly support voluntary euthanasia in highly specified circumstances.

We also need, contrary to current practice, debate and policies for the nation we are to be. We need to cover population and resources; skills, education and economic viability; and sovereignty. When foreigners own almost everything in this country, can we claim to be independent?

After a long period in the wilderness, a conservative government is seeking to make Australia a viable part of the global economy. Following drastic downsizing in major private enterprises, and privatisation of all manner of public activities, can one now expect the national parliament to be downsized, parliamentary services and much of the public service outsourced (i.e. privatised), and the three levels of government afflicting us to be reduced to one, in the name of efficiency? Can we expect a form of voting that permits small groups to form the government? This may achieve greater respect for the view of the public; whereas, currently (for example), the immigration juggernaut continues to roll, while the majority of the population want a reduction in total migrant intakes, with emphasis on entrants knowing English and possessing skills.

While we await these developments, we can watch the skies with interest, as the squadrons of curly-tailed ones sail by in all their multicultural glory. In the meanwhile, the youth of this nation (except some white yobbos) are quietly building bridges towards one another, irrespective of tribe, colour or faith.

Our hope of one nation out of many peoples lies safely with them.

### Destiny Will Out

By Raja Arasa Ratnam

The Experiences of a Multicultural Malayan

In White Australia

### Summary of Reviews

"...a well-written, honest, first-hand account of the trials, the pain, the pleasures, the frustrations, and the ultimate success of an Asian immigrant in Australia...contains important lessons...the story is peppered with keen observations, acerbic comments, strongly expressed opinions and wry humour...Totally fascinating and strongly recommended." **–** _Probus News_ **(Spring 1999)**

"...honest, insightful, and marked by a genuine perception of the workings of Australian culture and society...provides an intelligent and spiritually perceptive man's views and reflections on how Australia has changed over the past forty years...It is the sort of book that should be widely read as an antidote to the blinkered views held by both pro- and anti-multiculturalists, because it offers humanity (and spirituality) in an area too dominated by abstract and barren intellectualising." **– Dr. Gregory Melleuish, Senior Lecturer (History and Politics), University of Wollongong, and author of** _The Packaging of Australia_

"...a valuable book." **– Prof. Bob Birrell, Director, Centre for Population and Urban Research, Monash University**

"...a timely book. The author is well qualified to comment on burning issues of ethnicity, tribalism and cultural hegemony...having had personal experience of settlement in Australia over a period of half a century; voluntary involvement in a range of community organisations; and work experience as a senior public servant..." **– Prof. Jerzy Zubrzycki, Emeritus Professor; and Member, National Multicultural Advisory Council**

"A rare blend of experience, reflections, and strong judgements, grounded in keen insight. Arasa knows how vote-seeking parliamentarians and ambitious 'ethno-politicians' do not see how their actions work against the life-chances of immigrants, by distorting social justice, democracy and language as power foci of official multiculturalism. A cleansing fire! Highly recommended!" **– Dr. John Atchison, Senior Lecturer (Classics, History and Religion), University of New England**

"The family reunion (immigration) program and structural multiculturalism have come in for their share of criticism and analysis in the 1980s, and Arasa has some pungent insider's comment on these topics and on the humanitarian (refugee) intake." **– Dr. Katharine Betts, (Senior Lecturer, Swinbourne University of Technology) in "** People and Place **", vol. 7, no. 2, 1999**

"...a narrative interspersed with charming homilies and thoughtful commentary about Australian society and its reaction to the substantial contact with people of non-European origins...a wealth of empirical material regarding the transformation of Australian society, with particular regard to the sensitive areas of immigration, cultural diversity and race relations...he has many salient points to make about the distinction between cultural diversity and State-funded multiculturalism, and the problems of public education and the welfare system...this authentic testament of the migrant experience in the midst of the White Australia policy also offers refreshing perspectives, bereft of bureaucratic jargon and, more importantly, of the sort of predictable rhetoric one has come to expect from some political activists." **– Jason Soon in "** _Policy_ **" (Spring 1999), organ of The Centre for Independent Studies, Australia**

### Summary of Reader Responses

"...thoroughly enjoyed it. It is well written, informative and slyly witty." **– Noel Purves, Retired school principal, Western Australia**

"Raw honesty, with unsettling insight. Read it and reassess multiculturalism." **– Danny Ronis, Planning Manager, South Australia**

"...I found his account of childhood...fascinating and nostalgic...his experiences of emigration to Australia and subsequent struggles to understand and come to terms with the culture are where he affords insight and sympathy with the new immigrant's plight." **– Philippa Cairns, Co-ordinator, ESOL (English as a Second Other Language) Home Tutor Service (Western Bay of Plenty), New Zealand**

"I must congratulate you on your commendable work in bringing out a worthy publication. I enjoyed your language, particularly your humour and quotes." **– C. Rajadurai, former Bursar, University Technology; Executive Secretary, Pertubuhan Akitek Malaysia; and community leader, Malaysia**

"I recommend that all Australians read this book to understand what immigrants go through." **– Maria de Rocco (ex-Italy), Music Tutor, New South Wales**

"...Arasa's insight into problems that arise, along with suggestions on how to avoid them and live in harmony in a multiculturally enriched society is an intriguing read." **– Hilary Chaly, Legal Executive, New Zealand**

"...such an interesting book..." **– A. Vijiaratnam, former Chairman, Harbour Board, Singapore**

"Arasa's book is poignant and informative for anyone of adult age. We have lived through enormous cultural/political changes in Australia since World War Two. I have watched the face of the nation change, and read the book with fascination..." **– Maureen Nathan (ex-South Africa), Pharmacist, New South Wales**

"A definite inside story reflecting prejudice and his success against mountainous odds due to his colour...Excellent reading." **– Dr. Zyg Atlas (immigrant), medical practitioner, and author of** _One Life_ **, Victoria**

