PERHAPS it was the slight weight gain stemming from the
recent addition to the Billabong’s library of a book chocka with American
barbecue recipes and marinades. Or it may be that the desk chair, like the
bottom it has cradled for so long, simply fell victim to time’s wear and ravages.
Whatever the reason, there was an explosive crack when a poor Bunyip sat down last
week to tickle the keyboard and ended up sprawled on the study’s axminister.
This turned out to be a blessing, as the skirting-board perspective revealed an
unopened packet of Silk Cut under the desk drawers, bringing back happy
memories of the last passage through an airport duty-free shop.
The smokes were still tasty and the chair, now fixed,
brought its own blessing en route to the repair shop, which is in an industrial
estate on the border between Williamstown and Altona. To get there one needs to
drive along Kororoit Creek Road, where a maze of town houses is under
construction beside the bird refuge, which looks a lot like a tidal swamp. They made
quite a sight, those units, so striking that the Bunyipmobile came to a stop
while memories consumed its driver. Once, in a different Australia, the address
had been the site of a migrant hostel, where New Australians were housed while
finding jobs and coming to terms with their new homeland. Some remained in residence for three or four years.
How different things are today. Earlier, on Melbourne Road
en route to the upholsterer, one of the most arresting sights was the spectacle
of three tented women, veiled from head to toe and escorting a posse of nippers, near Newport railway station.
Perhaps their husbands -- mind you, it could be but a single hubby for all -- are productive new arrivals, and perhaps there is not a
penny of public subsidies supporting their homes. Perhaps, but not likely.
How much better would it be, rather than arguing about Nauru
or sending children to the waiting procurers in Malaysia, if Australia turned
back the clock and re-introduced the hostel system? The message would be that
you are welcome to come, but the only taxpayer largesse you can expect will be
a bed in a hostel’s Spartan accommodation and free meals at its cafeteria.
Other than that, you will need to learn English, pick a footy team to support
and build your own future.
It would blunt UN criticism of Australian inhumanity and,
one suspects, diminish the appeal of the land of milk and welfare cheques those
people smugglers have found so easy to sell. One suspects the number of illegal
aliens arriving by leaky boat would see a precipitous decline. Those who did
arrive, however, might be precisely the sort of fresh citizens we need – the sort
who are grateful for the chance to get ahead in a new land, expect no public charity, and won’t mind a
little discomfort while finding their feet.
It’s just an idea, and. these folks’
recollections, testaments to how well the hostel system worked, suggest it
is a good one.
