Kahn suddenly sits up straight in his chair, drops his spring roll onto his plate and beams out at us all. ‘I forgot to tell you, there’s been some gossip about a new Islamic school opening out in Jordan Springs.’
Dad considers him carefully. ‘Really? Jordan Springs?’ He looks surprised. ‘They’ve reached as far as there?’ He shakes his head.
‘I’ll look into it,’ Mum says.
Andrew’s livid. ‘If we can get enough grassroots resistance, we might be able to wake people out of their multiculturalism coma,’ he says gruffly.
‘Medically impossible,’ Nathan declares in a bored tone. ‘You can induce a coma, but you can’t wake somebody from one.’
The way I feel now, I’m beginning to think that maybe, just for once, he’s wrong.
Mina
Irfan’s brother, who lives in Pakistan, is losing his battle with cancer and so Irfan catches the first flight out. Baba hires a casual chef in the meantime but I step in to help out too. The News Tonight program hasn’t affected business. We’re just as busy as usual. Paula was right. The program ran, talkback radio picked over the scraps like vultures over a carcass, and then everybody shifted their hysterical what-is-Australia-coming-to? panic to the next target.
Last night we finished up late at the restaurant. Baba tried to persuade me to go home early but I insisted on staying back to help out. I wake up early to finish an assignment, and go to school on three hours’ sleep. I’m paying for it now, dozing off in class, doing that embarrassing head-bopping manoeuvre that you better hope nobody catches on their phone. Paula nudges me in the side during first period.
‘Oi, wake up,’ she hisses. ‘Ms Hamish is on the move.’
My eyelids are heavy. I yawn and shake my head to try and wake myself up. I get through class thanks to Paula, who prods and pokes me whenever I start to fade out again.
‘Don’t forget Don’t Jump the Queue tonight,’ Paula tells me when the bell has rung and we’re walking to our lockers.
I grimace. ‘Sadomasochism on a weekday. Just. Great.’
*
I’m in a good mood when the last bell rings. Ms Parkinson was impressed with my work in English and read it out to the class. There’s a spring in my step as I head towards the school bus zone.
As I turn the corner of the main gates I almost collide with Michael.
‘Oh, sorry,’ we automatically say at the same time.
I continue walking in the direction of the bus stop. I can hear his steps close behind me.
It’s painfully awkward.
He must sense it too. ‘This an okay distance for you?’ he calls out cheekily.
‘Yep,’ I call back.
His persistence amazes me. I remember his Facebook wall. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I can ignore it all.
‘Just a warning,’ he says from behind. ‘I’m gaining on you, but it’s only because I’ve got longer legs.’
‘Oh, this is just ridiculous!’ I stop in my tracks and face him angrily. ‘Do you seriously think we can be friends again? If that’s even what we were before?’
‘I’m curious. What’s your apology quota? Is there a certain number of apologies before you accept?’
‘So how’s Aussie Values coming along?’ is my response. ‘Gaining more comrades?’
‘Yeah, great, we’ll be taking over the country soon. All fifty of us.’
‘Oh, too bad,’ I say. ‘You need to vamp up the campaign, Michael. Go picket a halal kebab van or reclaim Vegemite or something. Oh, maybe Don’t Jump the Queue will boost your numbers! Exploit refugees for votes. Impressive.’
Chastised, he stares at me.
‘What do you want from me?’ I say, wearily. ‘I don’t get you. Why are you even talking to me? I represent everything and everyone you and your parents stand against.’
‘My parents aren’t bad people, Mina. There are all kinds of people in the organisation. They’re not responsible for every member.’
‘Maybe not. But they’re on the ugly side of a debate. That’s enough for me.’
‘I’m not exactly the best person to explain their policies, but they’re not racists, Mina. They’re not white supremacists like some of the mob you hear about.’ I stare at him blankly as he blusters on. ‘Just the other day they were telling me about how they believe in diversity.’ He then tells me a story about asparagus soup. I don’t know whether to scream or fall over in hysterical laughter.
‘So let me get this clear, Michael. Australia is a big bowl of soup and Aussie Values is about protecting the asparagus from an overzealous pepper or cardamom pod?’
He shifts from foot to foot, practically writhing in agony under the weight of my gaze. ‘Look, I’m beginning to realise I don’t necessarily feel comfortable, even agree, with everything they say.’ His voice falters and he looks away. I’m about to respond but then he flashes an angry look at me. ‘You know, I get you’ve been through hell and back but you could stop being so goddamn pig-headed and actually appreciate that we don’t have a choice about who we’re born to, or where. This is me, okay? I’m white and my parents started Aussie Values. I’m sorting through that, and it’s not easy thank you very much, so it would be helpful if you quit acting so bloody condescending and superior.’
I see red. ‘You want me to make it easier for you to confront your privilege because God knows even anti-racism has to be done in a way that makes the majority comfortable? Sorry, Michael, I don’t have time to babysit you through your enlightenment. The first step would be for you to realise that you need to figure it out on your own!’
I storm off and just make it to my bus, a rising pressure building in my chest. I blink back hot tears, determined not to let anybody see me like this. I feel ashamed of myself, allowing somebody like Michael to affect me so strongly.
*
The nightmares return tonight. I’m trying to save Hasan from sinking in the boat. I swim towards him and make it in time. I grab him and suddenly we’re sitting on the shore and I’m cradling him in my arms. My chest explodes with happiness and I look down at his face. But the baby I’m holding is faceless. I scream and scream.
Michael
I play hard at our game tonight. I’m unstoppable out on the court, raging at myself and the world. Mina’s words are like blades that keep on slashing through me every time I recall them.
I arrive home that night to a full house. Jazz music is playing from our sound system, the usual Aussie Values’ devotees are over, sipping wine, nibbling on a spread of fancy appetisers.
Mum notices me first and grins at me. ‘Jump into the shower quickly, honey, and then come down to watch! It starts in half an hour.’
A wave of nausea rushes through me.
I can’t even enjoy the escapism a long shower offers. Nathan has been sent to bang on the bathroom door and demand I hurry up and join everybody.
‘Okay!’ I holler.
I get out of the shower, dry myself off and throw on some boxers. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, stare at my reflection. I’m fit and strong. I study hard, get good marks, can code, draw and game with the best of them. I’m a dutiful son, a good big brother. But suddenly it all feels like a character profile of somebody else. I feel shallow. Because I have no idea who I am or what I believe in any more.
I get dressed and trudge downstairs. Everybody’s gathered in the living room, waiting. Terrence calls my phone, but I ignore him. So he sends me a text message: Cheering you on loser.
I don’t bother replying.
Carolina pats the space next to her on the couch and smiles at me.
‘Come on, Michael, sit down!’
‘It’s okay, thanks. I’m just going to heat up dinner. I’ll be back.’
I heat some leftovers and return, cradling the bowl in my hands. I stand at the back of the room. Mum and Dad are
cuddled up on an armchair. Andrew, looking intense as usual, has a notebook in his hands, ready to record his notes so he can write a review on the organisation’s website. Nathan is sitting beside Carolina and they’re in deep conversation. The others are spread across the rest of the furniture, or on the floor, sipping their wine, munching on their mini quiches and pastry puffs, laughing among themselves. Everybody’s relaxed and happy.
Finally the program starts. I cringe as I see a shot of myself with Mum, Dad and Nathan in the opening credits. It will have to be ripped off like a band aid. I’ll only be on there in the beginning, when they’re building the family drama element to it all, before Dad takes off.
When I appear back on the screen, it feels like the band aid is ripping off skin. I can’t stand it, but I can’t look away either. ‘Just because we want to protect our borders doesn’t mean we’re heartless. There are wars all over the world. More and more refugees. There has to be a limit or we’ll be flooded . . . yep . . .’ The camera zooms in on my face then. I look nervous and self-conscious. Then the camera cuts to a shot of Dad in Iraq, surrounded by a group of malnourished kids, some of them grinning up at him, some of them staring blankly at the camera. They’re grabbing at his shirt, pressed up close to him. He’s smiling down at them, trying to look cool and composed. At one point another group of kids rushes over to him and Dad looks like he’s about to lose his balance.
‘See that juxtaposition!’ Andrew cries. ‘That’s what you call good TV.’ He looks at us all, triumphant. ‘Just that shot alone on the back of Michael’s excellent point,’ he looks over at me and nods proudly, ‘gives me confidence the producers aren’t bleeding hearts.’
It’s perfect reality TV. Dramatic, shocking, raw, intense. My phone is filled with text messages from friends: You looked good! Good point you made, mate! Your dad’s awesome! My Facebook wall has more mixed responses. Some of the more random people I’ve added over the years aren’t impressed. What about Australia’s international legal obligations? Bet your dad would change his mind if he actually had to stay back with those refugees in Iraq, hey? I’m unfriending you, you dickhead.
I watch with bated breath as Dad and the rest of the group are quickly bundled into an armoured personnel carrier and driven away from one of the camps after they’ve been alerted to a possible ambush. It feels surreal, watching Dad on screen. Watching him try to contain his emotions, deal with exhaustion and fear. One of the other people in the group, Gary, is opposed to Dad’s politics, and they get into fierce arguments on camera, the others in the group either joining in, or holding back to watch on. No matter how hard Gary comes at him, Dad responds calmly and coolly, even while he’s sitting in a leaky boat, or huddled on a desert floor eating scraps of bread with a bunch of Iraqi refugees. A part of me is proud of the way he handles himself, even if I’m not proud of his politics.
I can’t point to where Iraq or Indonesia or Afghanistan are on the world map. Politics here bores me, let alone keeping up with other countries. But something’s shifted in me. This must be what living in grey feels like.
As I watch the images unfold on the TV screen, and listen to the arguments among the participants, I realise that I know so little.
And that knowledge gives me hope.
Mina
Don’t Jump the Queue.
It sounds so quaint, like a queue at a shopping centre or a bus stop.
Michael and his family appear on the screen. They seem like a happy family, warm and generous to one another. When the camera focuses on Michael, he offers an almost half-hearted we’ll-be-flooded opinion, and his eyes instantly dart to his father, Alan, as though he’s seeking his approval. But I don’t get a sense that Michael’s father is an overbearing patriarch. There’s genuine admiration in the way Michael looks at his dad.
Alan is pleasant, funny and exudes charm. He’s calm and measured and manages to smile his way through an argument about ‘economic refugees’ and ‘cultural incompatibility’. He’s not an angry ranter, an unsophisticated easy-to-mock bogan. That role is filled by Jeff from Adelaide. Alan plays it smart. He’s quick to build an alliance with Jeff, while still distinguishing himself as the reasonable, rational conservative. His main combatants are Julianne, who works in radio, and Gary, a teacher from Melbourne.
There are moments when, to my surprise, I find myself liking Alan, and I realise why Michael is so quick to defend his father. It’s hard to accept that nice people can be racist too.
The episode ends with the participants arriving in a camp in Indonesia. The final episode will screen on Monday. I close the screen on my laptop.
I’m numb.
I ignore all the messages that have flooded my phone and Facebook wall. I curl up in the armchair that reminds me of my father and remember being a kid, curled up on his lap as he sat in his chair.
I close my eyes and see Hasan’s tiny blank face . . . the open sea . . . people vomiting over the side of the boat . . . the dazed look on Mum’s face as she cradled me . . . Each memory is a nail inside my head. It sits there, suspended, and I don’t notice it until suddenly something or somebody acts as a trigger and a hammer starts to hit each nail until my whole head is pounding.
Michael
Mina walks straight past my desk in English. I keep my head down, focusing on my laptop screen, but I can hear her laughing with Paula. I ache inside, wanting desperately to fix things, to wipe the slate clean, to be a different person, somebody she’d choose to laugh with too.
Ms Parkinson hasn’t arrived yet and people hang around talking. Somebody mentions Don’t Jump the Queue. I’m mortified.
‘No offence or anything, Michael,’ says Adrian, ‘but I can’t believe your dad wasn’t affected by what he went through.’
‘Oh get stuffed, Adrian,’ I lash out. ‘How the hell would you know what he went through?’
‘What do you mean?’ Adrian yells back. ‘He went on a boat and stayed in the camps and he still thinks they’ve got no right to ask us for help.’
Leica joins in. ‘And you were talking about floodgates and stuff too. Do you actually agree with your dad and that organisation he started?’
‘I’m my own person,’ I snap.
‘It’s a free country,’ somebody calls out.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice Mina looking at me.
‘Yeah, well, we have the right to say it’s bullshit,’ somebody else says.
‘Where’s your humanity?’ Adrian says. ‘They’ve got no choice.’
‘Yeah but they don’t fit in,’ Fred says. ‘They don’t learn English, and they treat women like they’re second-class citizens.’
‘Fred the feminist,’ Paula says with a snort. ‘I think I’ve heard everything now.’
‘The point is, they come here and try to change things,’ Terrence says. ‘Like Michael’s dad said. There’s a big culture clash.’
I want to disappear. Just evaporate into thin air.
‘Fred, you’re forgetting that they want to turn Australia into an Islamic state.’ Mina’s eyes flash at Fred. Her voice drips with sarcasm. ‘We all know that’s exactly what’s on the minds of asylum seekers and all two point five per cent of the Australian Muslim population.’
I look up sharply. She has a look of pure defiance on her face. A fierceness and courage that takes my breath away.
‘Speaking of political parties, there’s a sex organisation, you know?’ Terrence says. ‘I’ll join that.’
That gets people laughing.
‘Anyway, listen to Fred,’ Terrence continues, a big grin on his face. ‘He’s Asian. Even he thinks it’s all bullshit. You can’t call him racist.’
Terrence slaps Fred on the back, like he’s scored a point. Fred tells him to shut up, but he’s laughing too.
‘Another intelligent contribution from Terrence,’ Paula moans.
‘Anyway, Michael
,’ Adrian says, ‘all I’m saying is it’s weird your dad wouldn’t –’
‘He can think what he wants,’ I snap, cutting him off. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me.’ I continue to focus my eyes on my laptop, signalling that the topic is closed as far as I’m concerned.
‘Oh, stop giving Michael and his dad a hard time everybody, will you?’ Terrence cries. It’s only drawing more attention to me but he thinks he’s sticking up for me. ‘It’s a free country, remember?’
‘Why is it that whenever somebody uses the “it’s a free country” defence they’re basically defending the right to act like a bigot?’ Mina says to nobody in particular.
I almost laugh. Because strange as it may seem, I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.
*
I’m like one of those stupid birds that keeps on launching itself at the same window. I walk over to the library hoping to catch Mina during our free period, bracing myself for the impact.
She’s alone, bent over her work, deep in concentration. I want her to know that I’m not my father. That I only said those things on the program because I hadn’t thought much about my parents’ arguments before, had always just gone along without questioning them.
I want so bad to be able to talk to Mina. But she’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me. I have to accept that. I need to man up. I’m being a complete idiot.
Changing my mind, I turn around, but the librarian is walking past at that moment and calls out, ‘Hi, Michael! How’s it going?’
Shit.
Mina turns around sharply and sees me standing there. Oh God it’s awkward. I must look like a creepy stalker.
I mumble something back to the librarian about looking for a book and she smiles and walks off. Meanwhile, I’m frozen in position, like a kangaroo caught in the headlights. Mina’s looking at me.
‘I’m just looking for a book,’ I say quickly.
‘I watched Don’t Jump the Queue,’ she says in an icy tone.