The Forgotten Generation
Gosh that was a bit intense. Just finished watching oranges and sunshine which is by far one of the most moving movies I might ever have seen.
Because it doesn’t even try to be.
Neither do any of the actors.
Because the story needs nothing. No frills, no script. It stands so tall on its own that one might wonder how it didn’t garner an Oscar. Maybe it did. Maybe, I don’t know. Sitting on a flight I cant check Wikipedia or IMDB. I saw it only because I wanted to download something to watch on my iPad for the long journey, and this was the first low cost iTunes rental movie that caught my eye. But at any rate, how well it did commercially does not bother me.
The movie tells the story of the forgotten generation. The generation that Kevin Rudd apologized for in 2009, my second year as an Australian migrant. The generation that I for some reason thought was connected to the aboriginal people? I had it mixed up with the stolen generation. I saw episode after episode of debate programs on national telly about it, but never once did anyone explain what had happened for some reason. And never once did I look it up really. It’s just assumed that everyone in Australia knows about this dirty little secret. Bet you that story isn’t in the australian citizenship test book on my desk hey?
It’s a true story of 130,000 young boys and girls who were given up for adoption across Britain in the 1950s, all below the ages of 13, some as little as 4, were migrated with the consent of the British government across New Zealand, Canada and Australia. Within Australia, they were packed off to a remote location in the outback of the desert where they - the aforesaid children - constructed huge children’s homes through forced labour. So basically, they were told their parents were dead, this was also unofficially indicated on the paperwork, and they were shipped, unaccompanied, in droves, on a month long ship journey from England to Australia. Hoards of them on a ship, no idea where they were going or why. Then upon arrival packed off to the wilderness. This was done under the aegis of the Christian church- as was the nature of child care and social welfare in those days. The brothers of the “parish” if that’s what we want to call them, were the wardens of the prison. For that is what it was. An Australian Alcatraz, too remote for anyone to find or run away from, where the child was made to feel they were indebted for life for the fact that they were given food and shelter (or whatever excuse for food and shelter it was. They each had a bed in an unventilated unseated room and one set of clothes - no shoes.) And incase it hasn’t already become apparent, or crossed your mind, just the way that the Khmer Rouge and the Abu Gharib prisons became stench houses of carnal dictatorships, so did this. Stories of the girls and boys being assaulted repeatedly by the brothers have been documented, scars that have left 60 and 70 year olds today that manifest in multiple failed marriages, substance abuse and post traumatic syndrome. It’s like Holocaust for children - only these kids had no idea what they were being punished for, some of them too young to even know they were being abused as they had no idea what the outside world was like. They were let go at 18 and had to then fend for themselves - lonely kids with no family, no idea of what a normal life looked like - and no educational or vocational skills to speak of sans the ability to work 13 hours a day cleaning floors, laying bricks or whatever utility they were tasked to as a child.
Sounds like a scene out of a Charles Dickens novel doesn’t it? I used to think the 1800s were bad. This was the 1950s. And this was what the Christian church and the governments of the most developed countries in the world were doing to their own kids.
Wherever they build a house of prayer
The devil always builds a chapel there
And it is found, upon observation
That the latter has the greater congregation
In 1987, when this came to light, both governments said they had done the best they could and they didnt understand why it wad such a big deal. No one died, they all grew to be productive members of society, what more could one expect the organizations in charge to do with so much liability post war? It took several years and public outrage before the government and the church took accountability, leave alone apologized.
We humans can be so bloody inhuman when no one is looking.
And then they fuss about taking on 7 people on a boat. I mean, seriously.
I remember watching Anne of Green Gables as a child and thinking I was so lucky to have parents who could afford to have me. Seeing what lack of infrastructure as a child can do to a life has a huge impact on my personal value system - the joy of mentoring, my respect for my mothers work as a teacher, my respect for working women, hell, even my strong belief that one should get married when one if dead sure and have a bloody stable partnership before having kids - only so the kids can grow up without more personal demons than they already have to face on the playground.
Look, I’m sure there are much more angry stories out there. I’m sure journalists have ripped both sides to pieces. But it’s easy to do that, isn’t it? I guess my question to each journalist would be - what’s the point? Its like trying to provide compensation to soldiers returning from war. It’s never the money, is it? It’s never the revenge. It’s just doing our best to try and make it better hereon. And offering a genuine, heartfelt apology. In the end, that’s all one can do. Unless you have the strength
Ike Maragaret Humphries, the next door social worker who at the cost of her family and personal safety spent - and still spends - her life trying to reconnect child with parents, there is really no bloody point.
Every country has a history. Every history has messy, bloody, gory bits. But we can’t forget it. Just like a couple who cannot turn a blind eye to each others faults. If you screw up - you apologize, you make amends, and you move on. It’s the only decent thing to do. Its the only thing you can do. So no, this doesn’t make me sad to be Australian (well technically my citizenship test is in 2 months but still). It just reminds me that just like being Indian, just like being Hindu, just like being a girl, there are joys and sadnesses that come with each identity. Stereotypes - and those who break them. Life isnt always warm and sunny in Australia, and it isn’t always cold and gloomy in Britain. Life is - oranges, sunshine, and a little whole lot of rain to make us appreciate them both.
Also, if I have the guts to give up the money, once I have my citizenship and my MBA, maybe, just maybe, I’ll give up corporate in a few years and apply to be a social worker? I think I would really enjoy it, though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss the money and lifestyle. We will just need to find me a rich hubby methinks.
