An Auld Joke.

The first time I heard a joke about the First Nations people of Australia, I was eight. 

However, being so young it was less of a joke (I didn't get it) and more of a passive apprenticeship in the fact that those "other" people were different and lesser because of their appearance and incompatibility with the expectations of modern Australia. I can still hear that vile joke being told to me by a much beloved and respected family member, its nauseating vitriol eagerly recited with an ignorant grin as I sat by my five-year-old sister in your typical Aussie rumpus room. A sea of wood grain, 70's decor and Australian Rules Football memorabilia lining the walls alongside Frederick McCubbin and Tom Roberts prints.

It mustn't have been too long after that first racist joke that I heard a few more gags about other minorities: Jews, Asians, and of course, the Irish.

Irish jokes were quite possibly the first adult jokes that I found funny. Not the very first Irish joke I was told – that probably wasn't all that amusing to me. In fact, I'm sure as a neurodivergent kid I sat quite perplexed while the gag was being enthusiastically acted out in front of me by my mate's teenage sister. Why on earth would anyone pull one of their sleeves fully up and then proceed to clean the fish tank with the opposite arm? Weird, give me a knock-knock joke any day.

However, as soon as I was spoon-fed the idea that the "other" in the joke was one of lesser intelligence, I was sold. Goddammit that Irishman was one daft blaggard, big LOLs t'be sure, etc.

My wife is Irish, as are our two kids. I feel so proud and privileged to be so closely aligned with such a rich and ancient culture. A culture that has forged (and reforged) itself as a nation, a culture and language that survived occupation and warmly uses the term ‘deadly’ to express genuine approval. Éire, a nation that has not only inspired her people to go forth, learn, create and prosper but also to look inward at times, to reflect and say "This is wrong, enough is enough". More importantly, Ireland's people possessed the empathy and stamina to convert those words into action. Ireland, despite its deeply conservative history, democratically introduced marriage equality through a referendum in 2015 and made the 34th amendment to their Constitution, which considering that prior to 1993, same-sex activity was legislated as a criminal act in Ireland, one must doff one's flat cap. In turn the 36th Amendment corrected a decades-old flaw that severely restricted uterus owners access to safe, legal abortion.

 
I am insurmountably proud of those who for so long dedicated every fiber of their being to fight for equality and choice for their country, against the odds, against the "moral high ground" and at times against their kindred.

Both amendments pushed Ireland forward as a progressive state and put its human rights standing much closer to parity with that of the nation's progressing technology, environmental and energy policies of the time.

Referendums can and do result in Yes, and in change, and in progress.

I have to mention that the 36th Amendment to the Constitution of Ireland repealed the 8th. The 8th Amendment was written into the Constitution of Ireland in 1983 via a referendum 'Yes' vote of 67% to 33%.

So now all that tedious political, historical stuff is out of the way… back to the jokes! They don't disappear once you reach Ireland by the way – the Corkonian will denigrate the Kerryman and the Kerryman the Dubliner in turn.

Same jokes, next county.

I'm not completely sure why I wasn't still racist towards the Irish by the time I met my future wife. I’ve often pondered what exactly spawned and incrementally helped me to construct my worldview, continue to accept outsiders and erode prejudices. One factor might have been that, by 2010, I was a full-time comedian and in the comedy climate of the time, the auld “Englishman, Irishman, Scotsman” witticisms weren’t landing as consistently as they had done previously.

I shouldn't sugar-coat this bit. I can't pretend that my performances in the past were completely free of fault. Elements of the material that I performed during my time in a comedy duo walked the line of cheekily inappropriate and edgy in the late noughties. Besides getting the nod from several national broadcasters at the time, it would not and should not cut it in today's landscape. 

Toxic masculinity and misogynistic undertones, racial stereotyping and cultural appropriation (parody or otherwise), are completely wrong and we'll never again perform material of that nature. Times change and so too should our attitudes and execution. That said, I do sincerely apologise if our material ever upset or offended you or made you feel unsafe. There were also some very PC stinkers in there as well, sorry for those also. Feel free to dispose of any of our recordings à la Metallica fans c.2001. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, lucky you, carry on.

The closest I've come to working out where my current thinking originates is a memory I have of my grade 3 teacher Roger, reciting to the class an anecdote about the resourcefulness of Australia's First Nations people.

With us all gathered around a torch attached to some orange and red cellophane on the floor, he demonstrated that "the whitefella would build a ragingly large fire and stand at a distance, the blackfella builds a fire out of just enough fuel (which is plenty) and stays close by". 

I can't help but wonder now if that was a run-of-the-mill circle time or a surreptitious middle finger to capitalism but to a nine-year-old me, that fire logic was bloody smart. A spark of respect had hit and lit the kindling. It wasn't long after this revelation that my parents took me to meet my family overseas. "Oh right, part of me was an… other". That was no happy accident, touché (and thank you) parents.

Since that lesson from Roger in 1993 and throughout my education and professional life, that respect for Australia's First Nations people and their culture has only grown. From admiring the poetic logic and resourcefulness, to enjoying the storytelling and humour, to focussing on our future and some of the areas that are in desperate need of urgent reform: human rights, education, land conservation & regeneration.

Is that it? A solid foundation and pedagogy backed up by everyday integration that maintains respect?

Or is that way too simplistic? Are we staring down a perpetual gauntlet that relies on a chaotic concoction of fortuitous interactions and circumstance, wide-ranging perspective and privilege in order to build empathy?

Or do we all just need to listen, more often, and more deeply?

You can probably already guess which way I voted in the 2023 Australian Indigenous Voice referendum, but what about that comedian from the rumpus room in 1992? Well, let's just say that with another 30 years under their belt, a few influential yarns from my sister, a bit of logic from their mates and a deep respect for their clan – that much-adored family member was proud to say they voted for a better Australia… and leaving nothing to ambiguity I asked them if that meant they voted 'Yes'. They voted 'Yes'.

Can I indulge you in one last yarn? In late 2020 I was cleaning out the family fish tank and while removing the wastewater I used my actual mouth to get a syphon started. A minuscule amount of that water entered said mouth and ~48 hours later I had turned a sickly shade that a hardware paint swatch might describe as '9 weeks overdue a clean Green'. My wife, who really knows a thing or two about bacteria (smaller than minuscule, apparently), naturally recommended that I "get properly checked out ASAP, you fool" (I've paraphrased slightly to maintain a G rating there). To her [absolutely no] surprise it was Campylobacteriosis.

I learnt a really valuable lesson that umpteenth week of lockdown: I'll never syphon water out of a dirty fish tank with my own mouth ever again. In my defence, I did pull both my sleeves up while cleaning the tank.

In 2023 Australians have voted to keep our Constitution as it is for the time being. I'm furious, so furious. And I'm sad, and I'm so sorry to my indigenous friends and colleagues and their hurting communities. Whether you are mourning the loss of this opportunity or seeking something more in the future, the fact that you have to keep enduring this extremely public fiasco, I am sorry. 

I am also hopeful.

Hope comes from the fact that the referendum result wasn't 100% No, closer to 60%. Hope comes from the epiphany that 'Always Was, Always Will Be' is way broader than land rights - it speaks of spirit, strength and a symbiotic connection to our home. Although I am ashamed that we've kicked the can to the next generation of Australians (those who have been educated alongside Wominjeka, Yarning, Bunjil and Acknowledgment of Country), I am hopeful that once they're of voting age, they'll have learned, through listening. They will know how much sense constitutional recognition and an Indigenous Voice to Parliament (or better) makes and how integral they both are for creating a more equal and sustainable Australia.

If by that time we haven't yet copped on as a nation, then Póg mo thóin - hell, we might as well all bid our own behinds farewell in the same manner.