She so cultured!

By Edwin Tan (c) 2012

Yeah, so as most of you know, this tends to happen to me quite a bit. Highlights of this particular encounter include:

1. How she waved her hand in front of her face in a circular motion when she said "your background" (see Panel 3 above) in order to clarify her initial question was alluding to my ancestral heritage i.e. my chinky eyes and yellow skin
2. Her stressing of the point that she had attended a "travel expo" that afternoon (see Panel 4 above) and was now "like all cultural and stuff" (same panel). This may be interpreted as an attempt to convey her in-depth knowledge of other cultures i.e. 'Wow! Asians are totes exotic! I love sushi and pandas!' 

So, I've been criticised in the past for posting the "same old" types of cartoons. They're cartoons that apparently encapsulate the same old, stale ideas - you're Asian and people remark about that, everybody's racist, big whoop, haven't you posted about this before? Can't you post something new?

To them, I say, I'll stop posting these types of cartoons when I can walk into a Melbourne restaurant and not be asked where I'm from, where my parents are from, what I think about Australia, what's the exchange rate for the Korean won, what's my background, is it the year of the dragon this year, would I like chopsticks (in an Italian restaurant), so does that make me Malay, do I speak Malay, ching chong  ling long ting tong.

Until then, I'll continue to draw these boring cartoons. And I'll stop only when things like this cease to happen:    

By Edwin Tan (c) 2012

Oh Brother...

By Edwin Tan 2012 (c)

So this tends to happen quite often when we first meet people. After they enquire about our names, they usually ask us where we come from. Australia is never a sufficient answer, so they need to know where we were born or what our "origin"/"background"/"nationality" are (which could all be answered with "Australia/n" anyway. But saying Australia isn't good enough. Coz I have chinky eyes and he has dark skin.

So we tell them where our parents were born: Malaysia. Coz you know, Malaysians are just one ethnic race of people and people seem to be happy with that answer.

Then they go on to say that we can't possibly be brothers coz we look totally different. Hence the cartoon above. However, the ethnicities we've been called have been known to vary. I usually get Korean, Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese. Winston gets called Indian, Peruvian, Latino, Nepalese and Torres Strait Islander.

We then usually get interrograted as to the true "background" of our parents.

Yep, nice to meet you too.

I wish I could say that I've gotten used to it, but yeah, it's still a tad annoying answering all those questions. It's sooo much easier pretending to be a fob and not know English.

But anyway, I dont' get why they could possibly think my brother's Indian...

Oh right. Nevermind.

Celebrity Judges Take on The Press Club

"This is Elizabeth Street!"

Iron Chef Hiroyuki Sakai turned around and paused in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. Matt Preston, George Calombaris and Kylie Kwong looked in earnest. The iron chef frowned solemnly - this was the last time he would organise such an event he thought to himself. Gary Mehigan remained nearby, aloof, in search of an ATM.

The Iron Chef directed them across the road and to the large, stone building that dominated the corner of Flinders and Elizabeth street. A little further along, they came across a polished, brass sign that marked their destination: The Press Club. It was at this point that the Iron Chef's frown softened and his doubts dissipated. On a beautiful, winter's day in the heart of Melbourne, these five judges were about to sample some much raved about food. If only they had brought a camera thought the group as they entered the building.

After some slight confusion as to which way to go, the judges entered the restaurant. The iron chef nervously led the way, and was greeted by a solidly built man in a crisp, black shirt. The maitre d', thought the iron chef. Or the head waiter. Or perhaps just a regular waiter - the iron chef was not familiar with the hierarchy of waiters at fine restaurants. The waiter - who we shall now refer to as "the captain" - led the group of judges to their table. It was a corner table, with cushioned seating running along two adjoining walls, one wall containing large windows that framed a bustling, Melbourne street scene outside. The iron chef took his position on the seat beneath the window. The other judges followed suit: Kylie Kwong and Gary Mehigan sat to the right of the iron chef and Matt Preston and George Calombaris to his left. The captain went around to each guest and laid a fresh, linen napkin on their lap. He then asked the guests if they would like any drinks. They looked at one another, unsure of what to say. Matt Preston offered an "I'm fine thanks" followed by a "could we have a jug of tap water?" The captain somehow managed to keep a serious face.
"No, but we have bottled water. Still or sparkling?"

Once the captain had taken their orders for water, the iron chef observed his surroundings. The room was subdued, sophisticated. Dark walls, bright windows, glowing lights, a bar that ran in front of a busy kitchen. The restaurant had drawn a somewhat eclectic mix of patrons - there were the typical businessmen and corporate types in their dress shirts and suit pants, as well as the middle aged couples with their beautifully styled hair and manicured nails - but there was also a spattering of the dreadlocked and the alternative, the hoodied and the charmless. The iron chef noticed a professor type sporting a red bowtie. The iron chef cringed ever so slightly.

The restaurant indeed had a nice ambience. There was a simple elegance to it - not so much in the price list, but in the crisp, white butchers paper that covered the tables. "The glasses are nice," uttered the iron chef absently as he lifted and inspected the heavy, Murano-like drinking glass. The captain returned with two bottles of mineral water - one still, one sparkling. He filled the glasses judiciously. As he leant to fill Matt Preston's however, he quickly paused and scooped up the glass. "There's a chip in it," explained the captain, "I wouldn't want you injuring yourself here." Matt Preston gave an embarrassed smile. He would have played bashfully with his cravete had he worn one, but instead a black, beaded necklace hung around his neck. Later when he enquired after a drinks menu, the captain announced that they didn't have one. The captain 3, Matt 0.

The menus were presented to the judges by a bulky woman with short, firey hair. The iron chef tried to decipher the menu but he was not familiar with the words - English is such a difficult language, he thought to himself. It was only later when he looked at the other judges for help that he realised they had no clue what was on the menu either. George consulted the waitress and relayed the information to the others. The daily special was an entree of pasta, a main of fish and a dessert of chocolate fondant. The iron chef was happy with these three courses. George and Matt ordered the fish and chocolate fondant, but also a side of potatoes. Kylie opted for a similar option but had the oysters as an entree. Matt decided to venture off a different path and chose to sample the lamb off the spit.

Olive oil, black salt and two types of bread - white and olive - were presented as an appetizer. The olive oil was smooth, and the salt deceptively salty.

The entrees were quick to arrive. A plate of two oysters atop a bed of sea salt was presented to Kylie Kwong. She devoured them quickly, approving of their taste. The iron chef attempted to eat his pasta in a civilised manner, but was unsure how to do so with a fork, knife and spoon. The tagliatele was cooked nicely. The sauce was somewhat of an acquired taste - mussels and cured meat in a light and slightly bitter broth. The iron chef was pleased but not 'wowwed'.

Matt's lamb was the first of the mains to arrive. A large mass of meat accompanied with a side of marouli salad. It would later be revealed that Matt thought the meat was a little dry and the lettuce a tad "bitey". Tough criticism from one with such a refined palate. The other judges were satisfied with their fish dish - a fillet of pan-seared Mulloway served on top of crushed potatoes, wilted spinach and creamy leeks. The fish was cooked brilliantly: the flesh white and moist, though the skin was underwhelmingly not crisp. George - who usually avoids seafood and prefers fish that doesn't taste like fish - approved of it. The iron chef, however, was not impressed when he removed a fish scale from his mouth.

The side dish of potatoes was actually a cup of chips served with a creamy, beetroot relish. The chips were crisp and well seasoned, though perhaps a little too reminiscent of "Lord of the Fries".

And finally the piece de resistance, dessert: chocolate fondant with jaffa ice-cream and a mountain tea foam. Everyone was extremely impressed, especially Gary and George who rated it highly (9 and 10 respectively). The mountain tea foam (the appearance of which the iron chef likened to washing up suds) although odd in flavour, somehow counteracted the rich, gooeyness of the chocolate dessert. And the pleasantly sweet chill of the jaffa ice-cream balanced the warmth of the decandent fondant. Overall, it was a delicious dish that all the judges deemed the highlight of the day.

With their bellies full, and the conversation winding down, the judges knew that their lunch break had come to a satisfying end. Having paid their bill and leaving an embarrassing three dollar tip, they said goodbye to the captain and the bulky waitress and made their way out into the beautiful, afternoon sun. What a lovely, culinary experience in the heart of Melbourne thought the Iron Chef. And he laughed. A passerby had stumbled and their shoe fell off. It's the simple things in life.

Asian Tim Tam Sham!!!

Spot the Asian Tim Tam Sham!

*Gasp!*

Underscored by a comical and demeaning orientalist riff, the ad for tomorrow night's lead story on A Current Affair appears on the screen. "Asian Tim Tam Sham!" announces the voiceover as the word "SHAM!" flashes on the screen. Oh no, what have the Asians done now? And to our Tim Tams!

Images appear on the screen: concerned looking folk, crumbling biscuits on plates, packets of Tim Tams that are not quite equal in length. Why, the Asians have stolen an Aussie icon and reproduced inferior replicas! The narrator's voice swells, the chinky-chong music continues full speed ahead.

The voiceover reminds us that it's just like the rip-off Chupa Chups from Vietnam. Now the Indonesians have followed suit with poorly made knockoffs of the iconic biscuit. Labels are peeled off packets of lollypops revealing foreign words. Asian words.

So if you feel like getting frustrated over a poor excuse for investigative journalism, then tune in to tomorrow night's ACA.

Heck, why don't they investigate something useful? Like why the heck people think Ben Price aka Tim Tam from Vietnam (pictured above) is amusing and not blatantly racist? Oh that's right, they wouldn't. Because ACA are a bunch of xenophobic idiots.

Which makes you think: which is the real Asian Tim Tam sham?

Airports, Racebending and Long-legged Jerks

So the lady manning the counter at Gate 6 of Auckland International Airport is a cow. Like a big one. Let me explain.

My brother and I had just spent the previous 29 hours in a kind of quasi-international limbo. Twenty of those hours were spent crammed in DVT-inducing economy class aeroplane seats whilst the remaining nine were spent browsing the three open shops in the international terminals during transit. Thus by the time we reached Auckland from Lima to catch a connecting flight to Melbourne, we were exhausted, grumpy and just wanted to get home. Cue the bitch.

Have you seen the film Meet the Parents? You know that scene near the end where Ben Stiller's character is waiting to board the plane and the lady at the counter is being a cow by not letting him on because she needs to call out each row individually and waits ages even though there's no one else waiting (see above photo)? Well, that's what our lady did. We were assigned to sit in row 12. She calls out for rows 16 to 20 (it's a small plane) to board first. About seven people stand up and queue up to board. There's about seven passengers remaining in the waiting lounge. Ok, fine. She then waits about ten friggin minutes before she decides to call up the next lot. So you'd think that because there's only a few of us left that she'd just ask for the remaining passengers to board. But no, she had to be a bitch. So instead she calls for rows 13 to 15 to board. About two people stand up and head towards the gate. WTH? She waits another ten friggin minutes before she calls for rows 11 and 12. Finally. Hallelujah. We stand up and head towards the gate, sharing exasperated eye rolls with the two remaining passengers who are still waiting to be called. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.

As we approached the guy checking the passports, the bitch-lady leaves her counter and walks over to us. She is old with wrinkled, pursed lips and her hair is grey and arranged in a taut coiffe that may have been popular some time in the 1950's. Her uniform is neat and worn to military standards, and you can tell she'd probably been in the aviation business since the Wright Brothers did their first test flight . Anyway, she comes up to us, scrutinises us with these really judgemental, beady eyes, leans in and asks: "Do you speak English?" And no, she didn't say it in a polite, apologetic way, but rather in an exceedingly demeaning and patronising voice that would normally be reserved for kindergarteners and the elderly.
There is a momentary pause as I process this. WTF did she just say? Do I speak English? In this day and age, with me clutching my Australian passport, she bloody asks if I speak English? Of course I speak bloody English. I speaky Engrish velly good, you stupid racist cow.

"Yes," replies my brother with exasperation.
"Yes, I speak English!" I state angrily and a tad too loud. She ignores our obvious frustration and does not offer an apology. Instead, she goes on to say, "You're sitting by the emergency exit and that requires you to open the doors in an emergency." She gives us the same judgemental look, this time with a hint of skepticism as if doubting our ability to turn a door handle. "Can you do that?" Oh no! Open a door? You mean I'd need to use some form of coordination. *gasp* It's all so overwhelming, I'm not sure if I can do it! Oh, and the signs are written in English? However will I cope? Yes I can friggin do it. This isn't the first time I've been on a plane you ignorant cow.

I look her in the eye and say, "Yes, I am capable of that." I give her a good greasing before our passports are finally checked and we board the plane.

The guy sitting next to me is a jerk. He has stupidly long legs that I need to step over to get to my seat because he's too inconsiderate and lazy to move them. And his elbows take up both arm rests. He's rude and unpleasant. I deliberately step on his shins when I get out of my seat to access the overhead compartment.

Anyway, I settle into my seat and realise that we don't have our own personal television like on every other international flight I've been on, but rather we have a crappy communal television hanging down above the aisle (there's only one aisle - it's a small plane). Sigh. Well, hopefully they'll show a decent film I think to myself as I reach for the inflight entertainment programme guide. I flip through it and find the movie they are going to show. Oh god. It's Extraordinary Measures. You know...the film based on a true story starring Harrison Ford who's character, a doctor who finds a cure for Pompe disease, is acutally based on an Asian doctor, Dr. Yuan-Tsong Chen. Yeh that's the one. That's the racist, white-washed film that required the respectable, Asian character to be replaced by a white actor to make it more "relatable to audiences". Coz you know, there aren't any Asian doctors about. The only Asians I know are the ones who do my dry cleaning and deliver me my takeaway sweet and sour pork with fried rice. Friggin Hollywood. I could go on about "racebending" in films, but please just read this or go to any Asian themed blog and I'm sure you'll come across references to "Airbender" and yellowface. Oh, and if you think racebending only happens in Hollywood, think again. It happens right here in our own backyard. The new Australian miniseries "The Legend of Billy Sing" about the deadliest sniper at Gallipoli, a Chinese-Australian (yeah, there were Asian ANZACs), is played by a white guy. Oh, and Billy Sing's Chinese father is played by a white guy too. WTF? Read more about it on Asians Down Under (I love the bit where the director states that he decided not to resort to yellowface because they couldn't have afforded the makeup. Ha!)

So I refused to watch the film and instead listened to the inflight radio (a choice between talkback radio and classical music - classical won) and did a cryptic crossword. In English. Coz I speaky Engrish velly well.

Abercrombie and Bitch

By Edwin Tan (c) 2010

So there's a fairly massive Abercrombie and Fitch store in central London. A friend of mine wanted to check it out on our way home, so we got off at Picadilly Circus and made our way there. We arrived at the entrance of the swanky looking building and as soon as I entered, it hit me all at once. The place was so incredibly, ridiculously superficial and pretentious. Like god, it made me want to run out screaming. But I took a few deep breaths (whilst simultaneously inhaling lungfuls of their signature Abercrombie and Fitch fragrance), and made my way into the foyer. First thing I see - the entire wall infront of me is covered in more six packs than a bottle-o. Abs, abs everywhere. Rippling muscles. Taut, serious faces. And they're just the advertisments. I take a few more steps. The place is full of good looking sales assistants - beautiful, slender girls and buffed up guys, both sexes fashioning carefully quaffed hair and slim fitting checkered shirts. And they joke and laugh and smile so intensely you think they're about to have an aneurysm. Oh, and they dance too. They dance to the ridicious dance music that is pumped over the speakers - I wasn't really sure if I was in a clothes store or an upmarket club. I'm guessing it was a store since they didn't ask for my ID.

We walked around abit. The clothes were overpriced with the A&F brand name splashed across everywhere. When my friend asked a sales assistant where the sale items were, she replied condescendingly, "We don't do sales." OMG.

I felt so incredibly out of place there - a store full of good looking people, expensive branded clothes and no sales bins. It was like I had entered another dimension. It definitely was a step up from Primark.

I just don't get what all the fuss is about though. Why do people care so much about a brand name? Why do people put so much effort into such superficial things? Oh well, let the beautiful people have their fun. I'm happy contributing to society in a way that actually matters - by arguing with people about why they need to pay £ 7.20 for one Flagyl suppository.

Why I Love Outpatients

"Where are you from?"

I had just finished counselling him on how to use Asacol rectal foam when he popped the question. He was Asian, around my age, and fashioned a bad haircut and thick glasses. He had asked the question so seriously, so randomly, I hesitated ever so slightly to answer. I placed the box of rectal foam gently on the counter, and looked him squarely in the eye through the sheet of glass that separated us. “I’m from Australia,” I said. I announced it clearly, deliberately, with patriotic pride.

Snapping up my reply with eagerness, he then goes on to tell me his entire life story about how he was born in China but then moved to Hong Kong then to London all before the age of seven. Oh, how incredibly fascinating, Mr Random Patient, please go on. Actually, no don’t go on. I have about a billion other prescriptions to hand out, so please go away. However, being the respectful and caring health professional I am, I mumble, “Wow, sounds like you’ve been around the world.” Even though he’d technically only been to three different places. He takes these words as encouragement to divulge yet more information about his life history – about his life in London and how he has cousins in Sydney.

But what really annoyed me the whole time was this really fake, English accent he put on. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually know if it was fake or whether that was just the way he talked, but it was just really irritating. To put it bluntly, it was a fob putting on a British accent. You know what I mean.

I got nothing against fobs, some of my best friends are fobs (you know who you are!), but it just annoys me when they try and put on these fake accents. Or maybe they aren’t. I dunno, but please just don’t do. It’s not cool.

And besides, you came over to England when you were a kid and have been living in London for like twenty years. Shouldn’t you like have lost your fobby accent and acquired a British one? I’m just saying.

And what’s with the random “Where are you from?” question? Like seriously, dude, I just counselled you on how to administer rectal foam. And now you wanna get to know one another? You want to bond over Asacol rectal foam? Gee whiz, kid. Act at least a little bit awkward.

I’m not sure what the guy wanted from me. Did he want me to say I was from China or something? So that we could bond over that instead of the Asacol rectal foam? Maybe, just maybe.

Ok, so I’m going to stop now before I start offending people. But yeah, I just thought I’d share that random moment from today. Oh, and I counselled this other patient in French. Thankfully the script was for Augmentin tablets and not Asacol rectal foam – my French vocabulary isn’t that broad.

Because When I Go To Italy, I Want To Eat Fried Rice & Lemon Chicken

By Edwin Tan (c) 2009

So this happened in St Marks Square in Venice, Italy.

I'm not exactly sure what this guy was expecting. There are a few possibilities:

1) I am a local and know about the various restaurants in the vicinity.
Sorry, but I'm a tourist like yourself. Tip - local people tend not to carry a camera, city map and torn out pages from a Lonely Planet guidebook around with them. Bigger tip - I'm Asian.

2) I'm Asian so I obviously know where the Chinese restaurants are in any given city in the world.
First off, good work on picking up on the fact that I'm Asian. Second, I'm afraid I left my copy of "International Chinese Restaurant Listings 2009" at home. Oh wait, maybe you thought I don't actually need a book and that I just naturally know where the Chinese restaurants are situated? Like by instinct? Like all I have to do is detect the faint scent of sweet and sour pork in the air and hence locate all Chinese restaurants within a 10 mile radius? No.

3) I own/am related to someone who owns a Chinese restaurant nearby.
Again, apologies. I'm afraid I don't own a Chinese restaurant in the city that I am visiting. I also don't have any relatives who own Chinese restaurants in the city that I am visiting. Well, I mean I might be related to someone who owns a Chinese restaurant in Venice. I just never really bothered to find out. Heck, maybe I'll discover a long lost half-cousin twice removed or something! What an inspirational story that would be. I'm sure it would feature on Oprah and inspire her to hand out free automobiles to people in the audience.

The possibilities seem endless. Oh well, I guess we'll never really know.

Travelling on the Randomness Express

Agatha Christie, the famous mystery writer and author of "Murder on the Orient Express", once said:

"Trains are wonderful.... To travel by train is to see nature and human beings, towns and churches and rivers, in fact, to see life."

And she wasn't wrong. Riding a train sure gives you a glimpse into human nature, and reminds you just how stupid people are.

A couple of examples:

Translation: "Look, little Jean Pierre...an umbrella...a bag...oh, and some Chinese people! What a special day this is!" FYI, Monsieur "I'm-teaching-my-son-to-be-a-racist-whilst-broadening-his-vocabulary", the guy next to me was Japanese.

And this next one happened to my Dad on the way from Mallaig to Glasgow:

Oh, are you an astronaut? No? It's just that I was reading an article on space travel and just assumed the next person I saw would be an astronaut. A simple mistake. Dumbarse. My dad doesn't even look Nepalese. Seriously, random much? (Btw, my dad doesn't actually have hydrocephalus, I just drew his head real big and mine real small)

Agatha Christie had some romantic thoughts on train travel. Don't get me wrong, I do too - it just involves me not sitting next to anyone and staring out the window.

Slightly Racist Food Products: Confectionery

In these overly PC times, it's refreshing to look back on the past with rose-coloured glasses and imagine a childhood world free of racism, sexism and discrimination against minorities. However, polish those rose lenses of yours, and you'll see that not everything was entirely politically correct. Take for example the playground chant beginning with: "Ching Chong Chinaman went to milk a cow." Yeah, the memories just come flooding back, eh?

In this episode of Ed's Rant, we look at some of the childhood confectionery that we enjoyed, and how they were (and maybe still are) just a little bit racist.

___

I remember the good old days back in primary school when we would stop by the milkbar before heading to After School Care. Whilst my other classmates would happily suck sherbet out of plastic tubes, I had a more refined taste. But little did I know that my seven year old sweet tooth was more partial to confectionery of a more racist nature. *Gasp!*

I spent my pocket money (the equivalent could probably buy about a third of a Chupa Chup today) on Redskins. These red, sticky, raspberry-flavoured treats were awesome (and still are). But little did I know at the time that the product I was happily sucking and chewing on was actually racially offensive to Native Americans. With its derogatory name and stereotypical image of a Native American wearing a traditional headdress on the wrapper, my childhood lolly of choice was actually nothing more than a cheap attack on a minority group. Shame, Nestle. It was only several years later that the image of the "Red Indian" was replaced with a more neutral, nondescript, red character, though the name still remains.

Remember those chocolate flavoured jelly babies? They're called "Chicos" (Spanish for "Kids"). Do I need to explain the racial implications?
And what about the "Eskimo Pie"? The term "Eskimo" is deemed pejorative by the natives of Canada and Greenland, and the term "Inuit" is preferred. This however does not hold true for the natives of Alaska and Siberia (Yupik and Inupiat people). Perhaps this ice-cream treat should be renamed "Inuit, Yupik and First Nations Pie". Or maybe "Choc wedge without a stick".

Anyway, whilst researching this edifying post, I stumbled upon this article: "Too many lollies can 'lead to prison'". Haha...gummy bear induced armed robbery.

Hey Hey It's Let's Make Fun of Black People Day!

So, did anyone else receive the memo saying that Wednesday 7th October was "National Racist Day". No? Well it seems like the team at Hey Hey It's Saturday did when they presented the Australian public with this little gem on the second part of their reunion show.

Difficult to watch isn't it? What's even more disturbing are the comments on Youtube. Ignorant much? Hell yeh.

It would be easy for me to rant about this and point out the obvious. But you readers are intelligent and can connect the dots. This skit is obviously demeaning, racially offensive and in poor taste. And so not funny. I just find it so confusing as to how the heck it managed to get aired on Australian TV? At this day and age. Channel Nine, shame on you.

Why did Hey Hey feel it necessary to ask this group of morons to come back 20 years after their original performance? Surely it wasn't funny back then, so why would it be now? The fact that these performers are themselves from ethnic backgrounds (Sri Lankan, Indian, Lebanese, Greek and Irish-Italian) does not excuse them from their racist act. To mock a minority group whether or not you are part of a minority yourself is uncalled for. If anything, they should have realised the sensitive nature of what they were doing and just not have gone ahead with it. Stupid, stupid stupid.

There are viewers who have tried to defend The Jackson Jive and Daryl Somers, and claim Harry Connick Jr (who gave the act a zero and voiced his disapproval of it) overreacted. Some people say that because Harry Connick Jr is American, and America itself has a history of black mistreatment (this skit is totally like the minstrels or "blackfaces" of the US - white guys who put black makeup on their faces and did racist performances), that his views are skewed and do not relate to Australia. I hate to break it to you, but Australia does not have a very polished history when it comes to blacks aka Indigenous Australians.

The mistreatment of Indigenous Australians is a cruel and dark stain in Australian history. For starters, about half the Indigenous Australian population died as a result of the introduction of fatal European diseases such as small pox when the First Fleet arrived. Then there was the obvious appropriation of land and water resources by British settlers, and with that the death of many Aboriginals as they fought to retain control of their land. Many Aboriginal women and children were murdered at the hands of white farmers. Those Aboriginals that survived were treated as cheap labour on farms.

During the gold rush, Aboriginal sacred sites were destroyed and Aboriginal people massacred. Aboriginal women were stolen and men and children killed by white seal hunters. White pearl divers abducted young Aboriginal boys and forced them into dangerous labour, making them dive for long periods in deep and treacherous waters. Aboriginal women prostituted themselves to white men.

In the 1880's, oppressive legislation was passed that restricted the movement of Aboriginal people to government reserves and controlled many aspects of their lives, including where they could work and who they could marry.

Then came the Stolen Generations - those Aboriginal children who were removed from their families without parental consent and placed into institutions or adopted out to white families. This continued into the 1960's.

As reserves were closed down and employment diminished, Aboriginal people, who were not entitled to welfare support, became impoverished fringe dwellers who had not only lost their land and so many of their people, but also their culture, language and traditions. The erosion of their culture continued with the introduction of the Assimilation Policy - a policy where complete cultural and social conformity to European values was expected by the Aboriginal people.

As we know, the Australian government since then has tried to make up for the past mistreatment of Indigenous Australians (increased funding to improve socioeconomic standing, land rights and legal ownership, reconcilliation, "Saying Sorry" etc), nevertheless, compared to the Australian population as a whole, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people today continue to suffer disproportionately from serious social problems such as poverty, unemployment, lack of education, substandard housing, and poor health.

Gee. Sorry to get all serious with the slightly rambling history lesson (I copied most of it from here), but I think it's important to put it in some sort of perspective. It's sad that these sorts of things are only brushed on lightly in school, and that we spend more time memorising the dates of English wars (Battle of Hastings 1066!) than on stuff that actually matters. Anyway, the reason I brought this up was to show how something that mocks black people doesn't just affect Americans, it also affects people in Oz.

Other viewers then went on to say that Australia is such a "laid back" country that its people aren't affected by racism. That we're too "laid back" to care. Well, this is one Australian who does care. Are we seriously going to sit back and allow such utterly racist crap be aired on national television? It's bad enough we have the racists at Today Tonight churning out garbage about how immigrants are evil. Gah! Don't people understand? Racism is bad. It should not be tolerated. Whether it be disguised in some light-hearted parody does not make it any less offensive. Am I overreacting? Yeh, probably. But I would rather overreact than just laugh it off as if what was done is frowned upon but acceptable. It should never be acceptable!

When will people learn? I mean seriously, was the act even funny? Like really, do people find this sort of stuff actually LOL funny. It's these people who need to get a sense of humour. Lame! I think it's this fact which pisses me off even more.

All I can say is, kudos to Harry Connick Jr for actually standing up for what is right. (in the face of a stupid audience and a dumbarse host). And Daryl Somers? Enough is enough. Hey Hey sucked then, and it still sucks now.

I'm from "Other"

So, I've been job hunting. It's been a bit quiet, so whilst my current agency is looking for jobs for me, I've decided to join another agency to increase my prospects. And to join another agency, I have to fill in lots of paperwork.

Now, one of the sections of the application form deals with the agency's 'Equal Opportunities Policy'. And "for the sole purpose of monitoring the Policy" I have to choose one of the following:

• White (British; European; or Other)
• Asian (Bangladeshi; British; Indian; Pakistani; or Other)
• Black (African; British; Caribbean; European; or Other)

It took me a while to decide which box to tick. I'm still not sure if I selected the correct option. I mean seriously, there are just a few things that need tweaking with this question. First of all, what exactly does this 'Equal Opportunities Policy' hope to achieve? I mean, shouldn't they be treating all candidates equally? Why do they need to find out what race we are? What's the point?

Secondly, why is their "Asian" option so limited? Am I even considered Asian? At least chuck in an "Oriental" option. And why the hell am I called "oriental" anyway? It seems so archaic and dated. It makes me want to put on a kimono and wave a fan about. Oh, and now that you've got me on this particular train of thought (riding the Oriental Express no doubt), what the hell is "Oriental" flavoured food. Like "Oriental" flavoured soups, instant noodles, crisps etc. I mean, are they meant to taste like soy sauce? Perhaps sweet and sour? Maybe hoisin sauce? Or plum sauce? Are they meant to taste like sichuan peppers or lime juice or coconut cream or preserved tofu or wasabi or shitake mushrooms or fish sauce? How the hell can you reduce the myriad of different possible flavours, spanning an array of different countries and cultures, down into one particular, all encompassing flavour. God, it pisses me off. It's just plain idiocy.

Anyway, to get back to my application form, I decided to tick the "Other" option under "Asian". Even though they probably now think I'm Sri Lankan or something. It's their own fault. And where exactly does my nationality fit in? I'm Australian. Does that mean I'm an "Other Other Asian"? And don't get me started on my Malaysian heritage either. I'm not trying to be damn politically correct or picky, but seriously, how the hell do you expect someone to fill in this form properly. I mean, it's about equal opportunities for goodness sake. How much more ironic can you get? A racist equal opportunities question? Ha!

Anyway, as long as they get me a job, they can ask me as many irrelevant and racially offensive questions as they like.

Welcome to Britain

By Edwin Tan (c) 2009

I wish I could say that the above is a comical exaggeration of the truth. Unfortunately, it is not. I really did have to wait in a massive queue with the other non-EU citizens because of my Australian passport. I wouldn't usually complain about this except for the fact that:
1) There were at least five manned counters for the EU passport holders and only ONE for the non-EU passport holders
2) The queue for the non-EU passport holders was obviously exceedingly long
3) A second plane load of passengers had arrived and were dealt with BEFORE us because they held EU passports
4) The EU sucks

I will now elaborate on the fourth point.

The EU is like some big exclusive country club where only certain people are allowed to be members. And like any good country club (yeah..coz I know all about country clubs), these members get benefits whilst non-members do not. For example, at many museums and art galleries across Europe, EU citizens below a certain age or who are students or pensioners are allowed free or discounted entry. Whereas non-EU citizens automatically have to pay the full fare. So what they're basically saying is, if you're not from a particular country of the European variety, you're not entitled to the rights and privleges of someone who is European. To put it bluntly, they're being racist.
Now, before you start tuning off and mumbling "oh...he's in one of his 'everything's racist' kind of moods again", let me justify this statement. Think about it. Does Australia have some policy where only Australians and people of the Oceanic/Pacific/Asian region are allowed discounted entry into it's museums, galleries, theatres, parks, cinemas and sporting grounds? Do we go up to tourists and say "Oh, you're a student from France eh? Well, that's not quite in the correct region of the world required for a 30% discount into the Ian Potter Gallery" or "Oh, you have a German pension card? Well it looks like das ist nischt gut for the MCG".

No we don't! Aussies are better than that! We treat overseas visitors* with dignity and respect, and give them the opportunity to pay ridiculous amounts of money to see a koala at Healesville Sanctuary no matter their colour, race or creed.

Oh, and don't get me started on how EU citizens can pretty much just waltz into the UK and start working here whereas I have to do another year of pre-reg and exams if I want to practice as a pharmacist. Let's just say, would you rather have someone who knows English dealing with your prescription medications? Or some Spanish guy asking you, ' ¿Qué significa “Not for human consumption”?'



*visitor, not immigrant