A cluster of Aborigines sits on the grass in a tiny city park. A few meters away the traffic roars through the main street of Adelaide and pedestrians pass by. The little clump of people are like living ghosts, a reminder of the deep history of this land that is now currently occupied by people of European descent. These people are, if not the land’s custodians, at least its children, birthed and formed by this land — they embody it, they do not manipulate it. (Maybe this is a romantic view.) The fact that they have chosen to congregate in a little patch of lawn, right in the middle of town, visible but ignored, is somehow portentous, meaningful. It’s a sign, a reminder, and a living billboard that says that all the buildings and hustle and bustle surrounding them and us who pass by is superficial. That there is a deep and slow biological and geological history that this new colonial world seeks to cover over and obliterate from memory.
But it never will be obliterated completely.
Australia is full of unpleasant reminders.
Poisonous snakes, frogs, spiky plants, poisonous spiders, rip currents. They’re always there to remind you, to assure you that you’re just a guest.
Did a tech check at the PowerPoint talk venue, Elder Hall.
