Mission

Mr. Coffey. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go to the town disco and flim a bunch of black people dancing in the dark. Look I'm not being racist or anything, I'm just looking at the world through the lens of crappy video camera. It's a matter of science - dark skin in low light makes for very little contrast. All that shit about seeing them smile in the dark is cruel myth that imposes unrealistic standards of dental hygiene on young Aboriginals. They need more attainable dental rolemodels - like the English.

Last night was the opening ceremony of the Maningrida Cyclone Recovery Festival. It was supposed to start at 4, which in Maningrida really meant 6. All the white people arrived on time and waited patiently - all with cameras ready, not wanting to miss the traditional dancing. I don't want to be cruel here - many Balandas (whities) had a large hand in organising the event (fat handed twats) - but I got the sense that there's no greater social faux pas among Balandas than to NOT be moved by and interested in Aboriginal culture. You hear them fighting amongst themselves about who understands them better, who patronises them more, and who is closer to which families. I fret from altuism.

Slowly a crowd gathered in the school playground - everyone sitting neatly in family arcs, legs crossed, like a row of anthills. Some families with 30 plus people, few with less than ten. A few celebrities. My mate Marion, Olympian Nova Peris-Kneebone, and that guy from 10 Canoes - no, I'm not being racist, it was actually the guy. He was one of the traditional dancers. At the end they invited everyone up to dance - balck and white. The Balandas waited cautiously for the literal invitation from an Aboriginal to get their 'cultural experience'. They got it. It was a little sad. More white dancers than black. Balandas are so enthusiastic about Aboriginal culture, Aboriginals are so unenthusiastic about their enthusiasm. Proud people, but perhaps a little reluctant to share with us of what we have already taken so much.

By the time the battle of the fist ever Arhnem School Bands started there was quite a crowd - seething with dogs and children. Everyone watched crosslegged. Nobody danced. The crowd, it seemed, was controlled by one man who stood by the stage. If the kids edged too close he would ward them off with a swing of his hand. The kids moved like a shoal of frightened fish - squeeling and trampling eachother. I was filming. Kids love the camera and followed me around and sat on top of me to see what I was looking at. I had the camera off for the better part - the sound was shit, the footage would be mostly useless. Moreover, I didn't want to put an obstacle - a window - between me and this fairly surreal experience. Was I really still in Australia?

Next to the town hall - an average hall built with every second brick in every second row missing to let the air flow through - for the dance off. The scene was crazy. Kids covered the floor - still all neatly crosslegged - playing, fighting, laughing, eating chips and drinking coke. Others ran - RAN - over, through and around the mass. The noise was deafeningly high-pitched, but that's kids.
While the music at the battle of the bands was mainly reggae or ska influenced, all the dancing was R'n'B. Moves were busted, booties shook. All these kids were so shy, so self-conscious - same as at the battle - but they so wanted to be up there. Maningrida hadn't seen anything like this for a long time. And neither will I again... oh, except tonight, there's another concert on for the festival. Ha. So much for varied and unique cultural experiences.