I want something to think about/Nothing fancy, just new...
Advertising frequently reminds us that people who are different to us can’t possibly share our experience, or know what we’re talking about. It’s a common advertising theme to claim that the things that you know are better, safer, more reliable.
“Speak to some one who knows”, ads tell us. The most recent series of Commonwealth Bank ads is a good example. In the most recent one I saw, the American ad agency contracted by the bank suggests they turn the "traditional" dollarmite moneybox into a transformer-like robot. One of the CBA reps remarks “Yeah, but the kids kind of like the money box”, i.e. the way it is. This message is reinforced when the new-fangled transformer bursts into flames.
You can watch the ad here.
What I wondered when I saw that ad was, notwithstanding the bursting into flames bit, how does CBA know that “the kids” would prefer the plain old plastic money box to one that turns into a robot? As the mother of a five year old boy, I’ll bet CBA its last quarter profit that market research of the whole moneybox versus robot thing might garner them some unexpected results.
Anyway, what I’m getting to is that I’ve been contemplating the politics of newness. In many locations, difference is very much defined by obvious external appearances: different skin colour, gender, religious observances. Social inclusion rhetoric is based around this notion to an extent, that social cohesion relies on recognising the group disadvantaged by some means (and experiencing what is broadly termed “exclusion”) and drawing this group into community life.
Social inclusion has an obvious currency in areas where poor outcomes against community indicators such as crime, poverty and poor health are the norm: the more meaningful inclusion of people in community life can have very dramatic outcomes for crime reduction, improved health, better employment prospects. In many instances, strong communities are healthy ones, regardless of their size.
Where I live, however, difference is defined by longevity. Some take the view that if you haven’t lived in a particular town for more than a generation, then you have no claim on the place. If your parents lived here, you might be okay, but better if you have a grandparent who moved here in 1927. Being a local is where it’s at. Another way of looking at this is that people don’t just reserve their intolerance for ethnic groups, they’re happy to extend it to anyone.
Of course, the problem with this argument is that it leads to stagnation and the stifling of new ideas. For every idea that is met with the uncomfortable shifting in seats at a Rotary* meeting, there’s:
“Change? Yeah, we tried that once in 1972 and it didn’t work, but you wouldn’t know that because you weren’t here”
One of my friends, at a new mother’s group after the birth of her first child, introduced herself to another mother and observed that she had been in town for less than six months after moving from Melbourne. The mother in question replied “Yes, well it’s all you new people who are ruining the place” and then turned on her heel. This is not the first time I’ve heard this observation, and it’s reinforced by community members who have remarked to me that people “just aren’t what they used to be”, which in many cases is code for
“I didn’t know their mother” or
“I suspect they’re on the welfare, not that I’ve ever talked to them” or
“Drugs! They’re on drugs!”
One of the defining features of this attitude is that it assumes that new people have either exercised no judgement about moving to a particular town or that they have moved there for the wrong reasons. What’s wrong with choosing a town to live in based on its cheap rental market? Or cheap house prices? If your kids came to you with a bargain priced house, that would be cause for celebration, wouldn’t it?
The problem with this attitude is that it is creating two very separate groups in some small towns, with the kind of disconnection which defines the difference between Altona and South Yarra all jammed into a town the size of Pearl Bay.
At the other end of the market, what’s wrong with choosing to buy a sprawling four bedroom house on 40 acres because you’re kind of burned out with city life and would like a change? Apparently, a lot. Because it’s not only economically disadvantaged people being locked out of these towns, it’s also “high-flyers”, whose ideas for small town renewal are being rejected by a dominant group who refuse to change, or even to accept the need to do so.
The real question is: if you already have a low population, and your town is diminished by the flight of youth** and an ageing population, can you really afford to be making ANY new residents feel uncomfortable? I worry that in twenty years time, some of the local citizens I’ve met will be sitting on their verandahs together, idly reminiscing about the time when their town had 200 people, in the good old days before everyone moved away.
I care very deeply about the area in which I live, and I want to see it survive and flourish. But it will not do so until it begins to acknowledge and address that it is not as welcoming as it could be, and that new blood is perhaps the most obvious key to prosperity.
* Rotary is a stand in for any small town organisation.
** “The flight of youth” always has me imagining teenagers in jeans and Megadeth t-shirts soaring over the rooftops. Now that’s a National Geographic Special I’d like to see.
“Speak to some one who knows”, ads tell us. The most recent series of Commonwealth Bank ads is a good example. In the most recent one I saw, the American ad agency contracted by the bank suggests they turn the "traditional" dollarmite moneybox into a transformer-like robot. One of the CBA reps remarks “Yeah, but the kids kind of like the money box”, i.e. the way it is. This message is reinforced when the new-fangled transformer bursts into flames.
You can watch the ad here.
What I wondered when I saw that ad was, notwithstanding the bursting into flames bit, how does CBA know that “the kids” would prefer the plain old plastic money box to one that turns into a robot? As the mother of a five year old boy, I’ll bet CBA its last quarter profit that market research of the whole moneybox versus robot thing might garner them some unexpected results.
Anyway, what I’m getting to is that I’ve been contemplating the politics of newness. In many locations, difference is very much defined by obvious external appearances: different skin colour, gender, religious observances. Social inclusion rhetoric is based around this notion to an extent, that social cohesion relies on recognising the group disadvantaged by some means (and experiencing what is broadly termed “exclusion”) and drawing this group into community life.
Social inclusion has an obvious currency in areas where poor outcomes against community indicators such as crime, poverty and poor health are the norm: the more meaningful inclusion of people in community life can have very dramatic outcomes for crime reduction, improved health, better employment prospects. In many instances, strong communities are healthy ones, regardless of their size.
Where I live, however, difference is defined by longevity. Some take the view that if you haven’t lived in a particular town for more than a generation, then you have no claim on the place. If your parents lived here, you might be okay, but better if you have a grandparent who moved here in 1927. Being a local is where it’s at. Another way of looking at this is that people don’t just reserve their intolerance for ethnic groups, they’re happy to extend it to anyone.
Of course, the problem with this argument is that it leads to stagnation and the stifling of new ideas. For every idea that is met with the uncomfortable shifting in seats at a Rotary* meeting, there’s:
“Change? Yeah, we tried that once in 1972 and it didn’t work, but you wouldn’t know that because you weren’t here”
One of my friends, at a new mother’s group after the birth of her first child, introduced herself to another mother and observed that she had been in town for less than six months after moving from Melbourne. The mother in question replied “Yes, well it’s all you new people who are ruining the place” and then turned on her heel. This is not the first time I’ve heard this observation, and it’s reinforced by community members who have remarked to me that people “just aren’t what they used to be”, which in many cases is code for
“I didn’t know their mother” or
“I suspect they’re on the welfare, not that I’ve ever talked to them” or
“Drugs! They’re on drugs!”
One of the defining features of this attitude is that it assumes that new people have either exercised no judgement about moving to a particular town or that they have moved there for the wrong reasons. What’s wrong with choosing a town to live in based on its cheap rental market? Or cheap house prices? If your kids came to you with a bargain priced house, that would be cause for celebration, wouldn’t it?
The problem with this attitude is that it is creating two very separate groups in some small towns, with the kind of disconnection which defines the difference between Altona and South Yarra all jammed into a town the size of Pearl Bay.
At the other end of the market, what’s wrong with choosing to buy a sprawling four bedroom house on 40 acres because you’re kind of burned out with city life and would like a change? Apparently, a lot. Because it’s not only economically disadvantaged people being locked out of these towns, it’s also “high-flyers”, whose ideas for small town renewal are being rejected by a dominant group who refuse to change, or even to accept the need to do so.
The real question is: if you already have a low population, and your town is diminished by the flight of youth** and an ageing population, can you really afford to be making ANY new residents feel uncomfortable? I worry that in twenty years time, some of the local citizens I’ve met will be sitting on their verandahs together, idly reminiscing about the time when their town had 200 people, in the good old days before everyone moved away.
I care very deeply about the area in which I live, and I want to see it survive and flourish. But it will not do so until it begins to acknowledge and address that it is not as welcoming as it could be, and that new blood is perhaps the most obvious key to prosperity.
* Rotary is a stand in for any small town organisation.
** “The flight of youth” always has me imagining teenagers in jeans and Megadeth t-shirts soaring over the rooftops. Now that’s a National Geographic Special I’d like to see.
posted by gigglewick at
8:42 pm
5 Comments:
I live in an area that I *think* has managed to get over that hump, or that moment of critical mass, where the Incomers start to outnumber the Locals and it all starts to gel into a general love of where we are...
But only just.
And maybe only because I've been there 12 years now.
I guess the ideal is expansion, but managed to such an extent that the Locals don't feel sidelined, and the atmosphere of Place that attracted the incomers in the first place is actually maintained.
A challenge indeed. And one that the Unholy Trinity of Woolies, Coles and Developers probably aren't up to...
I had this growing up. My parents moved to a country town when they got married, mum had a great deal of trouble fitting in initially (dad never has any trouble fitting in!) but then got a network going and was pretty happy. When I was 12 we moved to another small country town and it wasn't easy. My closest friends were also 'not locals' and while I don't remember any specific teasing the locals just stuck together. Needless to say, my friends and I all moved to the city, my parents have moved out of town and I don't go back. I hear occasional rumours about the locals getting together with other locals... Oh how we non locals joke about inbreeding! I think country life can be great for kids, but I could just never go back. And the towns (both of them) just don't seem to change. The first one, that I haven't live in for 18 years still has the same milk bars, fish and chip shop, hairdresser and pub. Just doesn't change.
I can just see the teenagers learning to fly in preparation for the mass-exodus!
I'm afraid I live in a gigantic city, so I cna't really comment on the small-town mentality, except to say that it's quite sad, and if I ever have kids I'd want them to grow up in the middle of nowhere, so I'd better be on the lookout for a friendly little town with minimal inbreeding...
That "turned on her heel" incident is quite chilling. Really, I hope you have some more of this excellent rain we've been getting (in the inner West Melb) and she trips and falls into a very large mud puddle. One which contains quite a lot of cow poo.
I lived in the rural part of this State for just long enough to get a pretty clear sense of exactly what you mean.
I never really managed to fit in, mostly due to my refusal to mock Kooris and my willingness to consider the possibility of evolution.
A truly appalling lack of footballing skills didn't help any, and my insistence that if one insists on placing pineapple on a pizza, it is simply not acceptable to call it the "Vegetarian Italiano" was incomprehensible to all.
In other words, I agree with everything you say and I have no idea what to do about it, since my solution was to marry the hottest woman in the region and sprint in the general direction of Melbourne as soon as possible.
Which worked out pretty well, really.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home