I have come into adulthood at the end of the world. I just turned 25. While many older people constantly ask “When will things go back to normal?”, I found myself wondering: “When were things ever normal?”
When I was just a baby, France dropped a nuclear bomb in the South Pacific and Tupac Shakur was killed. When I was a child, two planes crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York and a third smashed into the Pentagon, leading to the US announcing a “war on terrorism”; 5,000 racists marched on the beach in Cronulla chanting “No Lebs”; Chris Lilley debuted Summer Heights High and his brownface caricature Jonah Takalua became a national favourite – and not for the last time.
As a teenager and then young adult I watched as the Pacific labour scheme, now known to be exploitative, was introduced; Donald Trump became 45th president of the United States; #BlackLivesMatter became a global movement; same-sex marriage finally was legalised; an Australian white supremacist slaughtered 51 peacefully praying Muslims in Christchurch; and mega-bushfires this past summer.
Coming of age in the time of the coronavirus seems fitting as a Tongan woman. The fear of life-threatening issues from climate change to diseases to racism has been neverending. As the award-winning author Melissa Lucashenko wrote in the Guardian recently, colonisation taught indigenous people around the world “how to survive generation after generation of externally imposed hard times”. Her poignant words remind me of the Tongan proverb my nana used to repeat to me: “Motu ka na‘e navei”, which means “Always be prepared for disaster.”
Covid-19 has highlighted the severe failings of capitalism – being poor is considered a pre-existing health condition for the virus. It has also shown the pervasiveness of systemic racism. Asian people have been spat on, coughed at, beaten on the streets, threatened with knives and called “dogs”. Predominantly poor people of colour are imprisoned at a moment’s notice in their public housing.
In America, black people are three times more likely to die from Covid than white people. And in Australia, Muslims were wrongfully blamed for the second wave in Melbourne, creating a new stream of anti-Islamic bigotry.
The virus has also revealed the flaws in our old lifestyles: the lack of international air travel has significantly reduced air and water pollution around the world.
There are fears the pandemic will cut young people off from opportunities. But traditionally “adult” things such as full-time work, studying and buying my first home have always been limited or even impossible for me, especially considering that young people in Australia are still suffering from the last financial crisis.
The other day I went to a unit inspection with a close friend, Azari, a young woman of colour fortunate enough to be in a position to possibly put a deposit on a one-bedroom unit in western Sydney. The white male real estate agent took us through a newly refurbished block of units in Fairfield. When I said that the kitchen in unit 13 was the most spacious we’ve seen and Azari should make an offer for it, the agent rebuffed with reddening cheeks: “Oh no, it’s actually quite small. But then again, I’m no kitchen racist! Hahaha.” Azari and I rolled our eyes. Eventually he owned up: “We already have a buyer who will be purchasing the whole block for full price but I’d be happy to rent it to you after he’s bought it.”
As soon as we left Azari fumed: “I’ve lived in western Sydney all my life. It took me a full eight years to save for a decent enough deposit. Just a deposit! And now what? Some millionaire is going to buy the whole block and resell it as rent so he can steal more money off poor black and brown folk? This whole thing is a rort; it’s not even our land!”
I really felt for Azari, realising she will never be able to compete with gentrifying property investors who own blocks and blocks of units in western Sydney, a place they’ve probably never set foot in.
There can be no “going back to normal” when racism, poverty, a growing class divide, gentrification, over-policing and shortened life expectancy is everyday life for millions of Australians and billions of people of colour throughout the world. Covid has shown the world a realm of possibility that Indigenous people globally have known forever: that there is meaningful purpose outside of imperialism, capitalism and white supremacy.
In the next 25 years I do not want to always be prepared for disaster. I want to live. It is about time we put the world on a better path.
• Winnie Dunn is the general manager of Sweatshop Literacy Movement and editor of Sweatshop Women, Australia’s first anthology produced entirely by women of colour
