By Catherine Watson
TWENTY-five years ago I became an Australian citizen. These days you have to pass a test and prove you’re of good character but back then they took anyone.
stood in the Richmond Town Hall with 63 people from 20 nationalities and took the oath. Then the mayor bestowed on us the symbols of citizenship: a wattle tree and a certificate with an emu and a kangaroo.
It was all a bit kitsch, except that to my great surprise I found myself on the verge of tears.
Pledging allegiance to a country is a strangely profound act. Like many Australians, I now have two countries in my heart. Sometimes “we” is Australia; sometimes it’s NZ. “We” when I approve; “They” when I don’t.
TWENTY-five years ago I became an Australian citizen. These days you have to pass a test and prove you’re of good character but back then they took anyone.
stood in the Richmond Town Hall with 63 people from 20 nationalities and took the oath. Then the mayor bestowed on us the symbols of citizenship: a wattle tree and a certificate with an emu and a kangaroo.
It was all a bit kitsch, except that to my great surprise I found myself on the verge of tears.
Pledging allegiance to a country is a strangely profound act. Like many Australians, I now have two countries in my heart. Sometimes “we” is Australia; sometimes it’s NZ. “We” when I approve; “They” when I don’t.
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I barrack for Australia in rugby because they’re not very good and NZ in cricket (ditto). I became bilingual, though if I were to ask the barman for “Sucks bears please” you would probably still pick me.
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Bass Coast Shire’s next citizenship ceremony is on Australia Day, January 26. |
Do I feel Australian? Not particularly. That's too big and abstract for me to grasp. But I do feel like a Bass Coaster.
That’s certainly not what I planned when my partner and I bought an old miner’s cottage in Wonthaggi in 1996. This was to be our weekend escape. The last thing I wanted was to get involved. A couple of lesbians from Collingwood – long before lesbians were trendy – I was prepared for the small town prejudice but …
During my first week here an old man knocked on the door and persuaded me to drive him to Inverloch to buy fresh fish. On the way back he asked me to take a detour so he could show me where the lesbians lived. Yikes!
On our second weekend here a neighbour called in and said “Welcome to Wonthaggi.” I can remember his words: “We need the tide to wash in and out and refresh the place.”
As it turned out, the south side of Wonthaggi was the wrong side of the tracks and we felt right at home. We were surrounded by hippies, birdwatchers, philosophers, philanthropists, free thinkers, stoners, dissidents and botanists. In all honesty, we were probably the straightest people in the street.
Back then every second house in Wonthaggi – probably Bass Coast – was for sale. There were few jobs and fewer services. The town was pretty depressed … or at least it was on paper. But I found myself surrounded by contented people who didn’t seem to know how deprived they were!
No one talked about property prices. My neighbours would ask me if I’d heard the boobook owl hooting in the night. They talked about the clouds. … the sunsets … the full moon … the whales in winter …
Nature was all around us. The magic seeped into me too. I had found not just my place but my people. Wonthaggi has seen waves of migration. My neighbours are of Italian, British, German, Yugoslavian, Lebanese, Scottish, and Swedish descent. For centuries our forebears were at war with one another and here we are, living like family.
Despite my best intentions I did become involved. Thirteen years ago I started publishing the Post. Five years ago I became part of a campaign to save Bass Coast’s last forest. I have formed friendships that will last me to the end.
There is an epidemic of loneliness around the world. What do we need? Enough money not to worry, of course. But beyond that … nature, community, a sense of purpose.
I think back to the way I was welcomed into this community all those years ago. With Bass Coast growing so quickly the challenge is how to welcome the thousands of new arrivals so they feel that same connection.
For everything there is a season. Young people are working and raising families. I know there aren’t enough hours in the day. Getting involved can be as simple as talking to your neighbour over the fence, a nod and a greeting when you pass someone, acknowledging our shared humanity, sharing the joy of this moment in this place.
To our new citizens, welcome to Australia! Welcome to Bass Coast!
That’s certainly not what I planned when my partner and I bought an old miner’s cottage in Wonthaggi in 1996. This was to be our weekend escape. The last thing I wanted was to get involved. A couple of lesbians from Collingwood – long before lesbians were trendy – I was prepared for the small town prejudice but …
During my first week here an old man knocked on the door and persuaded me to drive him to Inverloch to buy fresh fish. On the way back he asked me to take a detour so he could show me where the lesbians lived. Yikes!
On our second weekend here a neighbour called in and said “Welcome to Wonthaggi.” I can remember his words: “We need the tide to wash in and out and refresh the place.”
As it turned out, the south side of Wonthaggi was the wrong side of the tracks and we felt right at home. We were surrounded by hippies, birdwatchers, philosophers, philanthropists, free thinkers, stoners, dissidents and botanists. In all honesty, we were probably the straightest people in the street.
Back then every second house in Wonthaggi – probably Bass Coast – was for sale. There were few jobs and fewer services. The town was pretty depressed … or at least it was on paper. But I found myself surrounded by contented people who didn’t seem to know how deprived they were!
No one talked about property prices. My neighbours would ask me if I’d heard the boobook owl hooting in the night. They talked about the clouds. … the sunsets … the full moon … the whales in winter …
Nature was all around us. The magic seeped into me too. I had found not just my place but my people. Wonthaggi has seen waves of migration. My neighbours are of Italian, British, German, Yugoslavian, Lebanese, Scottish, and Swedish descent. For centuries our forebears were at war with one another and here we are, living like family.
Despite my best intentions I did become involved. Thirteen years ago I started publishing the Post. Five years ago I became part of a campaign to save Bass Coast’s last forest. I have formed friendships that will last me to the end.
There is an epidemic of loneliness around the world. What do we need? Enough money not to worry, of course. But beyond that … nature, community, a sense of purpose.
I think back to the way I was welcomed into this community all those years ago. With Bass Coast growing so quickly the challenge is how to welcome the thousands of new arrivals so they feel that same connection.
For everything there is a season. Young people are working and raising families. I know there aren’t enough hours in the day. Getting involved can be as simple as talking to your neighbour over the fence, a nod and a greeting when you pass someone, acknowledging our shared humanity, sharing the joy of this moment in this place.
To our new citizens, welcome to Australia! Welcome to Bass Coast!