
Issue No 73		13 October 2000

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Away For The Games

Great Southern Lands

By Peter Lewis

The citizens of the Calabrian hillside town of Borgia gathered around their TV sets to watch the Olympics Closing Ceremony after their own annual Festival of the Virgin was washed out.

Heavy rain in the Mezzagiorno - that part of Italy that runs from the shin to the toe - had washed away roads and cars as well as the annual parade through the town. We arrived in the eye of the storm and heavy fog, barely able to see the road in from Catanzaro over what we later learn is the second highest bridge in Europe to the town of 6,000 that my wife's mother had left as a girl of five. We'd stayed in the city overnight, resigned to missing the religious festival, which had been carried out for centuries. Instead, to the delight of many who had watched the Italian's string of gold medals, they were forced indoors where four hours of a different pomp was being broadcast around the globe.

It was a weird experience as we sat down with the cousins and watched the package of Australiana. We may have been missing out on the Festival of the Virgin, but Sydney served up its own kit bag of Aussie Icons from Elle to Kylie to Hoges. If it hadn't been for Christine Anu, Yothu Yindi and Midnight Oil's brave symbolism you would have called the whole thing tacky, but there was a striving for something better that came out and made me feel warmer towards the whole show. As for the locals, they're spellbound in front of the set. Through broken lingo we explained the Aboriginal situation, the stolen generation and the PM's refusal to apologise. To people inculcated with the family and Catholic guilt it was anathema. The reconciliation cause has won some strong, if distant, supporters.

The older folk of the South have their own connection to the land, a sense almost akin to indigenous Australia. They live in the town, but work their land, olive groves for oil and grapes harvested and brewed to create uncompromising wines. The harvests are carried out according to tradition, the picking, the pressing, the fermenting all subject to rules and regulations that are never written down, but live in the heads of the old men and women. They dress in black, the 12-month mourning periods running into each other until they become indeterminate. At night they return to the town, where they watch the ever present television, beneath the gaze of the Madonna and a very Italian looking Jesus, and none of them seem to be phased by the game shows where the busty blond mermaid reclines in a clam shell and sings trivia questions. Such is the clash of old and new.

The Festival has been put off for a week because of the rain, so we spend the time meeting the family, who laugh affectionally as we struggle through 'pocco' Italiano. They shower us with food, massive meals of five and six courses which cease to be pleasurable, a sign of plenty in a land when there is never enough. They take great pride in showing their houses, modest flats on the outside, but inside renovated kitchens and bathrooms and all the mod cons amongst the religious icons. Outwards extravagance is dangerous. Family is central and branches of the tree are rattled off with a hypnotic intensity that is all about marking a place. And it all occurs against the unspoken backdrop of the Mafioso, which despite high-profile trials in the mid-90s still cast a shadow over Calabria. Everyone has a story, like the time our cousin saw a car in the street outside where we are staying riddled with bullets. But you don't need the testimony, the suspicious looks on the faces, particularly with strangers in town, say enough. After all, there are no hotels in Borgia. It's been that way for millennia, the mountainous land is not just unforgiving, it is downright provocative, jutting out as it does into the Mediterranean exposed to wave after wave of invasion - the Greeks, the Arabs, even the Normans have come and imposed their culture here. What this does to the collective psyche is to place it under permanent siege.

On Saturday night the streets are lit up for whatever the Festival of the Virgin is - we have been told of a parade and a 'choo-choo' fire-eating donkey but noone's too strong on the details of the where, when and why. The young people head for the fairground, the older people to mass as a stage is set up at the end of the main road, mulletted roadies testing with an incongruous power-rock track. But the rain begins falling at nine and the band is delayed, the forlorn figure of the drummer banging away on his own for a few minutes before the clouds open and everyone goes home. We're woken next morning by explosions, the first of last night's fireworks being let off at 7am to get the town rocking. There's activity around the town from all directions but strangely disconnected. The church bells summon the followers to mass. The sounds of a brass band break out for a single song every half hour - but from where? A fleet of tooting cars does laps of the town, celebrating something with gusto - later we learn the object of their joy is totally removed from the festival and is actually a celebration of the Ferrari team's victory in the Japan Grand Prix. They obviously drive better than the revelers who crash one of their vehicles in the main street.

By evening the rain has set in again and the Festival, for the fourth time in two weeks, is in danger of being called off. What gets me is that this is the most important cultural event in the town's calendar and noone seems to know, or care, what's going to happen. What's more noone seems to know what it all means anymore - the choo-choo, the Virgin, the fireworks - it's just a tradition and that's good enough. For someone from a country which apart from indigenous culture is devoid of these types of festivals it seems almost wanton, a waste of a public asset. But when you've always had a sense of place and history I guess it's not such a big deal. And the opposite is probably true as well, which is why the Olympics seemed from a distance so great and so sad - great for the enthusiasm Sydney let forth and sad because this was the only outlet. Meanwhile in Borgia and its 9pm and the rain's getting harder. They've put themselves out of their misery and packed up the stockpile of fireworks, the choo-choo, and the fairground. It's been a bad night for the guy behind the bar in Grizzly's, the ice cream bar which is the Borgia nightlife. He shrugs his shoulders in signature Cal-abrasiveness. Maybe next year.

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Issue 73 contents

Interview: Righting The Wrongs
Improving the lives of Aboriginal people can't be taken out of the context of the economy, welfare and other areas says Bob McMullan, Shadow Minister for Aboriginal Affairs.

Economics: At The Mercy Of Gamblers
The plunge of the Australian dollar relative to the greenback has consequences for Aussie workers according to Frank Stillwell.

History: Labour History Under Seige Again
The Friends of the Noel Butlin Archives Centre have recently been informed of proposed changes to the Noel Butlin Archives Centre (NBAC), changes that will cut staff by more than 50% and leave the Archives mothballed in the tunnel where the repository is situated.

Workplace: Fighting The Flexible Firm
We are told that hardship and exploitation at work is dying out, and the new economy offers opportunity, freedom and job satisfaction for all. Richard Sennett unveils the true nature of the flexible workplace.

Safety: Being bossed around is bad for your health
A survey of more than 3,000 Australian workers has revealed that some 54% of workers experience intimidating behaviour in their workplace. In almost 85% of cases it is employers, managers and supervisors who are identified as the culprits.

Unions: Discrimination
New to the union and the maritime industry and with only a few days casual work to live off, Stephen Rolls courageously spoke up against individual contracts during a job interview with Burnie Port Corp.

International: Serbian Workers and Their Unions Fight for Freedom
Serbian workers and their unions have been at the forefront of the struggle for democracy in Yugoslavia as they led a general strike in response to attempts by President Slobodan Milosevic to nullify the defeat he faced in the Sept. 24 election.

Satire: A few more years of civilised brutality will advantage Aborigines: Ruddock
CANBERRA, Tuesday: The Minister for Reconciliation Philip Ruddock has defended his comments to French newspaper Le Monde claiming that Aborigines were disadvantaged because they were late in coming into contact with developed civilisations.

Review: Poetry For Workers By Workers
Poems about the trials and tribulations of a waitress and what you learn in a chocolate factory are among the gems from the 925 anthology.

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