Mark Wilson relates a personal tale that is indicative of the hypocrisy of so many Multiculturalists.
One day I walked into my front garden to do a spot of gardening, and was greeted from over my fence by my neighbours, who were just on their way out as a family: the husband, the wife and the three children. The lady of the house informed me that they were on their way to the Sydney harbour bridge, which was shut to cars to allow a protest march to say “Sorry” to the Aboriginal people for white settlement and the stolen generation etc.
She asked if I was planning to go, I informed her that I was not, as I hadn’t done anything to the Aborigines to apologise for and that I was a recent migrant from Britain and wished the Aborigines no harm.
She explained to me that it was not the point whether I had personally done any wrong. The fact was that I was white and white people were to blame for all past injustices.
“Ah”, I said, “you believe in collective guilt and retrospective guilt at that.” “Ok”, I said “that’s fine, will you be having a march through Bondi demanding that the local Jewish community say sorry for killing Jesus?” (the idea was ridiculous, but it certainly fitted in with her illogical notion of collective guilt), at which point she gave me a look of total contempt, mumbled something inaudible, and they left for their family guilt trip.
I must give some background information before we continue. My neighbours were not bad people, we got on well with them, despite the fact that the lady had been a card-carrying member of the Communist Party, was now a card-carrying member of the Labor Party, and she knew my politics.
Now a year or so had passed and we decided to sell the house and move, I thought I would tell the neighbours of our plans and at the same time have a bit of an integrity test.
So I told them of our plans and then added casually that we wouldn’t be advertising the sale, having signs and advertisements in the paper etc., because we had found a buyer already.
I was purposely vague about it being “Some kind of government department or other” that buys houses for deprived families from the bush with the idea of giving them a fresh start in the city. I added “I think they’re from Dubbo or somewhere”.
Now I had her full attention, I mean I could have said “Look up in the sky, an engine just fell off that jumbo jet, it’s going down”, and she still would have continued staring at me with her brain racing with horrible scenarios. I smiled and said “I’m sure you will get on with the new neighbours because of your tolerance etc”.
She was so horrified she broke her silence, suddenly speaking faster than usual, “What people, who are they, I mean, do you mean, are they, um, um, well you know?”
I acted dumb and said “Sorry I don’t follow”.
“What government department”, she said, “who are they, what trouble have they been in, I mean are they…?” (she couldn’t even bring herself to say the word).
I said “Aboriginal? Yes, an Aboriginal family, a mum, dad, a few kids, something about a fresh start, a new environment, you know how these government department people speak. I remember now, Aboriginal housing, that’s it, that’s what they’re called.”
Now she couldn’t keep it in any longer, “No no, have you signed anything? What have you signed? No, no…”
Now she was running the fingers from both her hands through her hair, looking down at the ground and breathing heavily through her nose.
I said, “What’s wrong, are you ok? You look quite upset”.
She looks up at me “Have they been in trouble, been to jail, trouble with the police, what have they done, what do you mean new start, new start from what? I’ve got kids here, we’ve got to live here, I’ve got kids…”
“So have they,” I said “and I’m surprised at your negative stereotyping” (I never said to her that these Aborigines had been in any trouble), now she starts walking in circles in her front garden, hands on hips, shaking her head, mumbling something about her daughter’s bedroom being out the back of the house.
At this point I actually felt sorry for her. I mean, I had really put this poor women through an ordeal, she was in a real state of shock. I decided to come clean to put her out of her misery.
I said “I’m only joking, there is no Aboriginal family. I made it up to see if you were fair dinkum, you know, about the bridge walk and all the believing in multiracialism stuff”.
There was a visible moment of relief, swiftly followed by anger, “You f***ing bastard (etc. etc.)”, and she ran in the house and slammed the door.
To her credit, I saw her the next day, she was polite and said “Good day”. The incident was never mentioned again and relations were cordial.
The moral to the story is that even the most vocal card-holding members of pro-multiracial parties know deep down that their ideology is all lies; it’s “Do as I say, not do as I do” with them, and that when multiracialism comes too close for comfort, they will reject it.
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