For the past month I’ve been in a pretty ordinary state of
whole body pain and stiffness. At times, I walk around like Quasimodo after he’s
drunk a bottle of Kraken by himself. Other times, I’m like a Thunderbird puppet
navigating a steep cliff of boulders and pebbles. And sometimes I limp like I
gotta mean ghetto shuffle going on.
Earlier
this week the ‘why’ of all this pain—and, indeed, a lot of the random aches and
problems I’ve had over the years—was finally explained to me. I was told that I
have an auto-immune disease that has been systematically savaging various parts
of my body, probably since I was 13. Although, fortunately, it has avoided
tarring my beautiful porcelain skin, it has taken turns attacking my joints,
spine and eyes, and left behind everyone’s favourite pleasantly cynical angry
bastard you all know as Dave.
Moreover, this
prick will be with me till the end of my days.
However,
before you all despair and contact the Make A Wish foundation (a chance to
stare ((uncomfortably)) at Scarlett Johansson from up close, is all I ask),
know that this thing is treatable with fortnightly self-administered
injections. If they work, this treatment will do absolute wonders for stopping my
intermediate flare-ups of random pain and bouts of loud sooking.
Of course,
I’ll have to jab myself every two weeks for the rest of my life, but I think I
can live with that—some diabetics have to do it four times a day, and heroin
addicts at least once … I think I win. Plus the opportunity to add ‘I suffer
from an awesome genetic auto-immune disease, get in line ladies,’ to my Tinder
profile is, surely, a plus in anyone’s book. I’m certain there are women out
there turned on by the phrase: ‘Wanna administer an injection?’
The
downside, and what initially scared the shit out of me, was discovering the
cost of this medication. I won’t post that figure here, but let’s just say it’s
more money than I have and, with the aimless academic path I am on, probably
more money than I’ll ever have at any one time in my life.
Again before
anyone gets out there and tries to crowd fund for my health (I know at least
one of you cares … I hope), it turns out, much to my great fortune, that the
treatment is subsidized by the Australian government and, visits to the doctor
to get the script renewed aside, will cost me nothing out of pocket.
As I left
the doctor’s office on Monday, processing the information I had just received
that I’ll have to treat this lingering trumpet cunt of a disease for the rest
of my life, I did give serious thanks to the fact that I live in this country;
a nation, that on the whole, actually seems to care for the health of its
citizens, recognizing and carrying the prohibitive cost that such healthcare
can burden one with.
Then, of
course, I remembered Tony Abbott’s ‘nope, nope, nope’ in response to Australia
resettling the 8,000 Rohingya refugees stranded at sea. They cannot enter
through the backdoor (presumably, Tasmania), nor jump the cue, he said.
I imagine his vision of immigration
is some kind of immense Beast of Order—bespectacled and adorned with both a
clipboard and pocket watch—given to enforcing strict lines as if carefully controlling
a supermarket lineup on a Saturday morning (ignoring, of course, the crafty and
aspirational cockroaches intent on cutting). In this simplistic vision, Abbott
ignores what essentially amounts to the chaotic diasporic spectacle of
displaced individuals seeking a better life, whatever the cost—even those who
enter the country by the so-called front door (presumably, Darwin).
We talk of the elimination of
boundaries and borders in a globalising world. Yet, it’s astounding how fast these
lines happen to reappear when they pose some kind of political advantage.
Ultimately, I believe that the issue
of refugees and so-called ‘boat people’ is more complex than the, at-times,
simplistic opposing polemic we are inundated with every day.
Yes, a country should have some
measure of control over who crosses its borders; there are checks and medicals
that need to be properly performed. But it absolutely should not submit people
who have attempted to secretly enter the country via boat to a form of
involuntary containment and borderline torture to send a message of no
tolerance. It is needlessly cruel and drags our standing as nation down into
the dankest corner of the proverbial cellar where all the cheap Wolf Blass wine
has turned to vinegar.
At times, to speak truly, I think
the whole debate has been blown out of proportion: a purposeful attempt at distraction
from the challenging issues Australia needs to (perhaps more immediately) face,
like the dispersal of wealth, tax law, damage to the environment, and regulating,
and de-weaning ourselves from, mining companies and profits. On and on. In comparison
to a few hundred people trying to sneak onto our shores every year, these problems
seem of much greater significance and cast a much longer, more damaging shadow,
festering, in part, out of sight and mind.
Thus, I want to go past the ‘border
protection’ propaganda of the government and our spineless opposition; past,
even, the simplistic cries of ‘just let em in.’ This is about more than just ‘stopping
the boats’ and more than just determining who is allowed into the apparently
exclusive club, Australia. It is about more than pandering to some fanciful
notion a terrorist may be embedded on one of these vessels. It is about more
than these people uncomfortably challenging our way of life and, therefore, our
identity as Australian.
Essentially, to really deal with
this, Australia needs to come to grips with its deep-seeded xenophobic nature
and work towards education, rather than three-word negation or terror. Instead
of catering for the votes of the fearful, politicians should take it upon
themselves to illustrate the futility of these peoples’ distrust. Turning human
misery into politics is the worst side of democracy.
What an idealistic notion, I know.
But if I can live in a nation
that will pay as much as it will to just allow me a life without the discomfort
of a degenerative disease, then surely it is capable of the kind of compassion
that goes beyond ‘nope, nope, nope,’ and finds within itself the power to
mutter, ‘well, maybe we’re better than this.’
And I’m not just talking
politicians here.
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