When travelling in third world countries, one cannot but be aware of another white face in the train carriage or bus; you know that the owner of that white face is just as aware of you even though not so much as a word or nod or any other sign of recognition has passed between you. It is almost telepathic communication, passing through the ether of the racial collective unconscious, and it is oddly comforting - no matter how much one likes to think of oneself as an intrepid traveller willing, nay eager, to face whatever strangeness that may be laying in wait, and no matter how less travelled the road.
Living in an Australian metropolis threatening to burst into a megalopolis, this is an experience that can now be had without ever leaving the country. This should be qualified by adding that a generation gap figures in the experience. That is, if that other white traveller is young,(and worse still, 'educated')has never really known it to be any different, there is a distinct possibility that you will be enduring the experience on your own. However, if the fellow white passenger is old enough to remember when an experience of being surrounded by aliens on local transport would have been unthinkable, there's a good chance the telepathy will be flowing and carrying a kind of unspoken mutual commiseration with it. Then again, perhaps that older passenger is of a liberal bent and has swallowed every morsel of political correctness ever dished out. If so, it's more than likely that he or she is struggling quietly but mightily with the politically incorrect instinct that is lurking like a strange fish in the depths of the unconscious. A concentrated act of will is needed to prevent it leaving its primordial darkness and rising into the light. In this case you will be pointedly ignored, but rest assured, it will be as difficult as ignoring a shiny, new two dollar coin on a footpath.
Similar experiences in a rapidly darkening city are bountiful. You may, for instance, get into a taxi and experience a minor miracle: the driver is an Australian, albeit and old-timer and not far off being turned out to pasture (the symbolism here is hopefully not missed). You immediately begin to relax. You know that you will not have to do the navigating that might have been needed even if your destination is a major city landmark. You know too that you will not have to request the meter to be turned on. You can even take part in a conversation without needing an interpreter. It's an even bet that your driver is just as pleased and relieved to be carrying an Australian passenger.
You are walking through the Babel-like city and amongst the incoherent yabbering, you hear an Australian accent. You almost turn to see who it is; against the background of cacaphony , it could almost be the voice of a friend.
You visit a country town and are immediately overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of Australians. Why, it's like stepping into a time machine and ramming it into reverse. This is exactly how you remember Australia as being. On a recent trip to a northern NSW town the traveller was confronted with the positively surreal site of rosy-cheeked Australian girls waiting on tables in a Chinese restaurant.
But back to the city. It is here that Australians are sampling the first bitter taste of becoming a minority in their own country. The possibility is no longer an abstract idea, but a growing reality. Entire suburbs are lost and overrun, CBDs resemble more those of third world cities; workplaces, hospitals, government departments and institutions have been willfully converted into multicultural showcases. It is here that Australians are feeling more and more threatened and alienated. This though paradoxically is where hope springs. By becoming a minority, the minority mentality begins to take hold. The majority, by becoming twisted into a minority in the cities is beginning to let go of its insouciance and atomised way of being. Apathy looks to become less and less the Australian way. Racial gravity begins to pull Australians together just as it did in London's Earl's Court during the sixties. Australian-Australians are beginning to circle the wagons just like all the other minority groups, and are on their way to becoming just as survival orientated. (And those that are not should be.)
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