I had my first day of work today. As a part of my orientation to the aboriginally centred health service that I am working for I went out on the bus that goes to collect people from the town camps (areas designated for Aboriginal people to live in) for appointments. I have been looking after people who live in these areas for over a year now at the local hospital, so I had some idea of what to expect, but was never-the-less a bit disturbed by the state of things. The first place we went to was a camp of maybe 10ish houses. Out the front of the house that we were headed to domestic rubbish was scattered everywhere with varying density, the thickest area being a metre-high pile. A woman sat out the front on a wheel chair stamped with the mark of ownership which indicates that it should remain in the hospital. At another house in the dry-zone camps someone had at some point been industrious enough to start collecting cans in a large cage, with obvious success, as the hundreds of cans (mostly Victoria Bitter) in the cage were now running over. I saw next to one house a group of children leaping off of a post-2000 model Mitsubishi Magna onto their trampoline. Every window of the car was smashed except for the rear wind-shield which acted as a seat for those waiting to take the jump. Indeed cars with no windows or tyres, with extensive denting and, on occasion, rolled and torched, littered each camp. Perhaps half of them around the same vintage as my own 2002 vehicle, often newer. The cars could have been taken as a statement of fashion; no home is complete without at least one wreck and many had up to four visible from the front.
Is stark contrast the people that we spoke to were quite polite. There was no sign of active violence, vandalism or anger amongst any of the people in any of the seven-or-so camps we saw. No one was overly keen to help and about half of the people we went to collect weren't at the agreed upon place (although one of those places was "the tin shed" in a fairly vast set of three camps), but neither was anyone abusive, or even vaguely derogatory towards us. Which led me to thinking about what happens in these places at night. There is no doubt that rampant alcoholism and resulting issues are a large part of the answer to the question for what changes between day and night.
So what do you do? In a town where robberies and assaults are commonplace. Where so many fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, and their children go out at night to get drunk whenever they can. Where the per capita rate makes us the stabbing capital of the world. Where sexual deviancy and assault is so thoroughly ingrained that people don't say "larrikin" because of what it has come to mean. What can be done?
The local news paper tells me that we are receiving more police to curb the increasing issues. Another state's police force has even donated us another police dog out of acknowledgement of our issues. There are calls for stronger laws and harder punishments against "alcohol abusers". But from past experience people know not to get their hopes too high when law enforcement beefs up. Enforced dry zones lie covered in cans. Police are beaten up at under 17s football matches.
A great part of the fault in this answer to the issue lies in the fact that, while civilised society writes to the editor with one hand calling for more enforcement and crack down on alcoholism, with the other it reaps the benefits of the 96 local licensed venues. People cannot encourage alcohol sales and fight alcoholism. Although, if history has anything to say, halting alcohol sales just results in a flourishing black market and a turn towards backyard stills.
Politicians from local to federal level come and go, each one vowing anew to fight "antisocial behaviour". In a recent local bi-election every candidate cited cracking down on antisocial behaviour as part of their primary goal (except for the guy who wanted to start recycling. I don't think he got many votes). They've not found a lot of success yet.
Antisocial behaviour is symptomatic, it isn't the heart of the issue.
So I ask again, what do you do?
In eighteenth century England, when the country faced the real prospect of civil wall and moral conscience of any variety lay at the bottom of the Thames with a duelling pistol's shot firmly in it's back, something happened. A band of men went about the country telling people that they were sinful and telling them of the one answer to sin. They were told what punishment they deserved and they were told that God had become a man to take that punishment for them. People turned, both the sellers and the buyers because, if a final sense, there is not distinction. Society turned from it's evil and saw it's wretchedness and knew that there is no hope outside God. And people followed Him. And things changed.
J
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