REPRESENTATIONS OF THE OTHER IN CONTEMPORARY AUSTRALIA Volume 1 Rudrakumar Soman Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Discipline of English School of Humanities and Social Sciences University of Adelaide June 2007 CONTENTS Volume 1 Abstract i Declaration iii Brother Nation One – Brothers 1 Two – Wildings 178 Three – Respect 312 Volume 2 Exegesis Introduction 1 One – Rape, Race and Moral Panic 8 Two – Conflict, tension, ambiguity 17 Three – Texts and Contexts 39 Four – I hear voices: Bakhtin and the Dialogic 60 Conclusion 79 Bibliography 84 Abstract Representations of the Other in Contemporary Australia is a thesis consisting of a novel, Brother Nation, and an exegesis in a separate volume. Brother Nation is set in Australia at the beginning of the twenty-first century, a time of great political and social change. The novel explores ambiguities in issues of race, crime and moral justice through the eyes of an adolescent who comes of age amidst a chain of disturbing events. Omar Assaf is a sensitive sixteen-year-old with a problem—he needs to lose his virginity. However, like most boys his age, he is anxious and naive about matters of sex and love. When a young female friend, Belle, rejects his romantic overtures, Omar is crushed. He rapidly falls under the corrupting influence of his older brother, Sam, and Sam’s motley band of miscreant friends. Fuelled by drugs, alcohol and pornography, the boys roam the migrant suburbs of southwest Sydney, alleviating their boredom and frustration by flirting with crime, cruising in cars and pursuing girls. However, Omar soon learns that being involved with Sam and the boys has dangerous consequences. In compensating for his sense of emasculation, Omar finds himself taking part in a series of attacks, including a betrayal of Belle. Though ambivalent about and at times sickened by his complicity, Omar realises much too late that he and his brother have entered a theatre where their fate will be determined by broader, more powerful forces than he could ever have imagined. The exegesis charts the creation of Brother Nation via the author’s movement from a mode of autopoiesis to allopoiesis, through the practice of narrative research. That is, the essay is structured to illustrate how the process of researching the novel resulted in the production of knowledge external to the creative work itself. In doing this I discuss the genesis of the idea to write the novel, the basis and modes of my narrative research, the style of the finished work in relation to the genre of the ‘faction’ or ‘non-fiction novel’, and the internal and external conflicts that arose in i relation to the representation of demonised Arabic Other characters in the story. I also contextualise the work in relation to other relevant fiction and non-fiction texts that address similar subject matter, and make a case for holding a non-essentialised notion of cultural identity regarding my own speaking position. In particular, this exegesis investigates problematic questions in relation to representations of contemporary characters with an immigrant Other background; and, via the framework of Bakhtinian theories of dialogism and heteroglossia, considers the extent to which seemingly incompatible moral viewpoints can be coherently instantiated in fiction through a multiplicity of characters’ voices. ii Declaration This work contains no material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution and, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference has been made in the text. I give consent to this copy of my thesis, when deposited in the University Library, being made available for loan and photocopying, subject to the provisions of the Copyright Act 1968. Rudrakumar Soman September 2007 iii One - BROTHERS 1 At the age of sixteen Omar Assaf was still a virgin. He knew this was a problem and felt that one day soon he would do something about it. He lived with his family in Greenacre in the southwest suburbs of Sydney. A line of electricity pylons snaked through their neighbourhood like a collection of dormant metal oil derricks. Planted in small green reserves, the towers dominated the streetscape, adding a heavy industrial touch to the ordinary suburban blocks. In the bony shadow of one of these electric pumpjacks, no doubt bathed in the invisible glow of electromagnetic radiation, was the Assaf three-bedroom orange brick house. At the kitchen table Yasri Assaf set a plate down in front of her younger son. Omar looked at it for a minute and then picked up his fork. He stabbed at the meat and played with the rice and vermicelli mixture, raising tiny portions to his mouth. He chewed slowly and appeared to be staring right through a curved corner cupboard in front of him. ‘Eat,’ said Yasri, turning to look at him from the counter where she was preparing her own lunch. Omar mumbled an affirmative. He slowly raised another forkful. Before it was halfway to his lips, the lamb dropped from the tines and back on to his plate. Omar did not seem to notice. You stay out late with those boys and you wake up at lunchtime! Look at you! Like an old man, said Yasri in Lebanese. You have bags under your eyes. You eat like each mouthful is made of sand. ‘Mmm.’ - 1 - Why didn’t you clean the van before you go to sleep? Your Baba rang me this morning to say there is hamburger paper and cans in the back. It all smells like grease. How can he put bread in the van like that? … I am going to walk to see Mrs Budail later today. She just came out of hospital. Her hip, they made it better now. Why don’t you come with me? She always asks about you and Sam. She says she never sees you and your brother anymore. ‘Mmm.’ What do you mean, ‘hemmm’, eh? Sorry, Moma. Too busy today to go with you. I’ll clean the van tonight. Was too tired when I got home. Argh. I don’t understand you boys sometimes. Yasri squeezed Omar’s shoulder so hard that he grimaced. Then she gave him a kiss, which landed on the side of his head rather than on his cheek. She placed her own plate on the table and sat down. She began to eat in her methodical and businesslike way, precisely cutting, dividing, combining and then consuming the lamb, green beans, yoghurt, rice and vermicelli. Omar finished as much as he could and pushed away his plate. Thank you, Moma. I’ll go over to Emad’s now. You know that the Haddads, they bought a new computer? Im-Emad can email her sister in Jounieh, once we get it set up. Why don’t you try using ours? I’ll show you. Ahhh, she replied, waving her hand as if shooing away a fly. I don’t know about that. Moma, it’s easy, I’m telling you. You could write to everyone back home. Baba can do it and you can do it too. He didn’t learn about computers at school - 2 - either. Everyone uses them now, Moma. It’s quick. You don’t have to wait around for weeks to get a letter— Ahhh. Yasri gave another Aussie salute. Whatever, OK, I’ll see you later. Omar got up and left the kitchen, but not before stooping down to give his mother a goodbye kiss on the cheek. As he walked down the street Omar looked back at their house. It was not the best house on the street, but in the running. Moma and Baba were very proud of the way their place looked. Baba mowed the small patch of lawn and hosed down the driveway every few weeks. True, their fifties bungalow did not have arches but they had recently replaced the tired wooden windows with gleaming aluminium frames, and Moma religiously swept the small front porch every two days. The outside of the Haddad place was a dump in comparison. Emad’s parents only cared for some appearances. They would buy a new computer with a Pentium III chip, stereo speakers and a sub woofer because Emad told them it was what everyone was getting. They owned a huge new Sanyo 68 centimetre television with a flat screen and square edges. Emad said it had ‘a picture so sharp, mate, you could fillet a fish with it.’ Emad’s dad, who worked as a factory foreman, had a late model Commodore that he washed every weekend. But the Haddad front garden was infested with weeds, some waist-high, and the paint was peeling off their original window frames in curling, brittle strips. Omar thought back to his own home. Yes, the front of their house was freshly painted and the yard neat in every way but they’d had the same lounge furniture since he’d been a toddler. The big old colour Kriesler was only the second TV set Moma and Baba had bought since they immigrated to Australia. Of course, by now he and Sam had bought their own colour portables for their rooms, but the - 3 - Kriesler was still embarrassing when people came over. He didn’t know anyone else who had a TV with a wood-grained cabinet that stood like a hippo on its own short legs. Omar arrived at the Haddads’ house. He opened the squeaky, rusting gate and stepped across the weed-flanked path to the front door.