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When you move to another country, you become not only physically removed from your homeland but also somewhat emotionally removed. Even though I've only been in Dubai for 2 weeks, the reaction at home to the death of Steve Irwin has been... rather puzzling from this distance.
Jenn wrote a fabulous piece (link) soon after the news broke. I heard the news in another way. My boss, who is English and who loves to make fun of my Aussie accent, came over to my desk and sat down saying "I've got some really bad news about one of your compatriots, Steve Irwin." To which I flippantly replied "What? Did he get eaten by a crocodile?" She told me that I took all the fun out of giving bad news, and then went on to tell me what happened.
For the past week, I've been receiving emails from family and friends back home about what the reaction has been: calls for a State Funeral (turned down by his family, who are planning a private funeral and a public memorial service); women and children crying publicly (it would be unAustralian for an Aussie man to cry); pilgramages to the Australia Zoo on the Sunshine Coast; news of the State election pushed off the front page of the newspaper (it really wouldn't take much to push it off the front page anyway); and declaring today International Khaki Day. From this side of the world, it has been rather bizarre to see the national hysteria this has created.
Caz at The Spin Starts Here has a post questioning the sincerity of people who have jumped on the khaki wearing bandwagon:
Good morning little possums. Sitting down at your computers, ready to begin the day and for some reason the urge to kill is greater than usual? Yes? Why could that be? Haven't had your coffee/barbituates/anti psychotic medication yet? Possibly. Is it just because it's Friday,duh? Possibly.
Or could it be something else that's bothering you? Perhaps you're in an office full of fuckwits clad in khaki celebrating "National Khaki Day" so they can mourn the loss of someone you never, ever EVER heard them mention, even in passing, in the entire time you've known them? DING DING DING! You might have a winner!
Germaine Greer, Australian feminist, author and expat, wrote a rather backhanded tribute to the Crocodile Hunter in The Guardian newspaper (link to article):
The animal world has finally taken its revenge on Irwin, but probably not before a whole generation of kids in shorts seven sizes too small has learned to shout in the ears of animals with hearing 10 times more acute than theirs, determined to become millionaire animal-loving zoo-owners in their turn.
Greer has been roundly criticised by bloggers, politicians, and just about every "man on the street" journalists can round up to interview for her insensitive comments on Irwin's death so soon after it occurred.
Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony blogs about how Greer and Irwin are cut from the same cloth:
Trouble is, I think with her ability to irritate just about everyone (including old patriarchy-blamers like me), and her penchant for speaking her own mind about our sacred cows, she is just as much an Australian institution as Irwin was. She’s a real ratbag and an eccentric, and we need them in these carefully marketed times.
And Bernice Balconey's Baloney posts about the bigger issue Irwin's death and Greer's response has raised: How do you define the archetypal Aussie?
However I think the main point of Greer's article and the response to it is a fight over how & what is defined as the archetypal Aussie. & for Greer it aint Irwin; for her detractors it aint Greer. There is her indignant sarcasm at his demi-god role as master of nature, and her scathing assessment of his less than sophisticated political savvy. But it is her challenging of the myth-making of Steve Irwin that was already well underway that points most clearly to the prize being fought for here.
Contributing Editor Jules also posts at Jetsetting Jules.
