#podkembla

[andydowlingbass-blog]

EP49 of The Andy Social Podcast features Kurt of the Australian podcast Pod Kembla! This was a swapcast that was recorded at the Commercial Hotel in Port Kembla. Available on iTunes, Stitcher, Omny, YouTube, RSS and http://www.andysocial.net #andysocial #andysocialpodcast #podcast #podkembla #portkembla #nsw #wollongong #southcoast #commercialhotel #pub #beer #chat #story

[iamfromdapto-blog]

#RIP_CECIL

This week, in Dapto, a southern suburb of Wollongong, we lost one of its most polarising figures. On Tuesday morning Cecil passed away. For those who may read this who don’t know of Cecil, Dapto or even Wollongong, let me give you a brief history as how I ignorantly know it.

Wollongong is a coastal town south of Sydney, with a serious city complex. Last year I was talking to someone when visiting a friend in Airlie Beach at far North Queensland. When I told them I was from Wollongong they looked at me with a smile on their face and said: “Ah, Wollongong; Penrith by the sea..” Suffice to say, I loved that analogy.

Surrounding Wollongong, are a series of suburbs in varying socioeconomic sub-sects. Although they have one thing in common: it’s predominantly white. These suburbs stretch from just south of the outskirts of Sydney all the way down to Nowra and the Southern Highlands, depending on whom you ask.

Dapto is roughly twenty kilometres southwest of Wollongong. When I was growing up, pretty much the majority of my peers at school had a parent who worked at either the mine, the steel works or somewhere in between the two. Myself included, my father worked for Lysaghts (a steel works subsidiary) up until the late eighties. It’s a proud working class suburb.

In Dapto, Cecil was famous. Even in surrounding suburbs he has a varying degree of name recognition. Cecil was an Aboriginal man, who was perennially intoxicated. He was obviously suffering, despite this; his demeanour was always warm and friendly. I started working at a supermarket in Dapto at the age of fifteen. This was the first time I was aware of Cecil.

Working in retail, i.e. with the public, also introduced me to the prejudice that I had only seen in movies at that point in my life. Sure I’m not going to say I had been a saint at fifteen and not been involved in schoolyard shit talk. I was (and still am) the fat wimpy kid for crying out loud; I do nothing but talk shit. However, I’ve always liked to think I’m not racist. But who am I to say that, when I live in a region, within in a country, which is PREDOMINANTLY white? I’m white; I have no business complaining about anything.

I’m not going to lie though; I’m good at complaining.

This week has been a weird week. I’ve always had a lot of time for Cecil, and from the response to the Facebook page dedicated to him, so did a whole lot of other people. I liked the page too. But how much of that tribute is in jest or and/or an anonymous form of racism? Will there be a page for the old guy in Wollongong who walks around with the hand written signs? If he (insert deity here)-forbid passes away will he be deemed a legend, as have many been referring to Cecil, in the same light? This is one for the locals obviously, but let me put it in broader terms.

Did we idolise Cecil because in reality, he was living what alcohol companies want you to believe is the ‘Australian' dream OR was it because he played into the stereotype of the 'drunk Aboriginal' that we’ve all been guilty of laughing at? I’m not going to pretend I hadn’t heard the jokes, and crumbled at the peer pressure to find it funny. Maybe it wasn’t peer pressure; maybe that laughter was coming from my limited interactions with a tiny section of an expansively diverse community and culture, and in turn highlighting my own ignorance and bigotry. I’m still at odds with it.

If I was to choose, I’d like to think it’s the first one. But, at the same time I can’t get all of this out of my mind. Maybe it’s just me, for which a lot of my life I’ve found to be the case. In too many scenarios this is the case, not just in terms of racism.

I truly did like Cecil as a man, and I respected him. Even after years of not seeing him regularly when I had left the supermarket industry behind, he would still remember my name, and we would have a quick chat. He always knew what was happening around the town, and we’d always find something to chuckle about.

As I write this it has dawned on me that maybe it’s not just a case of championing stereotypes, or being malicious whether subconscious or conscious alike. For most people under twenty, maybe it is still funny because they’re yet to realise how short time really is. But for the rest of us, Cecil’s passing is a reminder that everything has to come to an end, and that one day it won’t be our town symbols, or our favourite celebrity, or a member of royalty. It will be us, or someone close to us.

In his case, even though we wanted to believe he would kick around forever, he was but a mortal man. He was but a mortal man who had a disease that may have been what eventually claimed him. I don’t know. I heard all about this third hand. That’s what happens when you’re well known; you have idiots who don’t actually know you hypothesising about your life. Hopefully this can be seen as what I intended it: a tribute to a man I liked.

Rest in Peace Cecil