Today is Australia Day. Veteran aboriginal activist and lawyer Mick Dodson is the 2009 Australian of the Year. That’s good. At least he’s not a sportsman or an entertainer. Peter Cundall was a finalist, but he was never going to win because he’s vocally opposed to Gunns’ Tasmanian pulp mill. As I expected, Prime Minister Rudd’s Australia Day speech was dispassionate, measured and boring. (I feel ashamed I voted for him.) Oh for an Aussie Obama. Today 536 Australians received national recognition awards – most for services to the Labor Party and the government, or for doing the jobs they’re paid to do. And, naturally, women were under-represented. On this national public holiday, my countrymen may have flown the occasional Australian flag, but certainly we barbecued and alcoholised, watched tennis and cricket either there or electronically, and generally acted like the yobbos and yahoos we are. Sweetheart Vivienne, my moral compass, often marvels at how lucky we were to have been born in Australia compared with say Nigeria, Sudan, Iran, or anywhere else which is not blessed with our democratic political system, freedom, natural resources, prosperity and climate. And, as usual, she’s right. So today I didn’t attend any Australia Day events, I didn’t listen to any speeches, and I didn’t watch any sport. But I did reflect on how blessed I am, that I’m a citizen of this nation.
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