Tag Archives

Australia

TRAILS OF TEARS

Alexis De Tocqueville, in DEMOCRACY

IN AMERICA, witnesses an event

on the Trail of Tears: the expulsion

of the so-called Five Civilised Tribes –

Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee,

and Seminole – from the Deep South.

They were expelled to make way for share croppers,

gold prospectors, cotton plantations.

The government promised the people asylum

on what it described as empty grasslands

to the west of the Mississippi.

 

In December 1831

De Tocqueville is in Memphis, Tennessee.

The snow has frozen hard, and immense ice floes

are moving fast down the Mississippi.

He watches a large family group of Choctaws

arrive, among them are old people dying

and newborns. Their possessions are only

what they have been able to carry

on the long exhausting walk from the south east.

They are silent as they pass him, knowing

their injuries are beyond remedy.

There is no room for their dogs in the vessels

that will take them across to the west bank.

As the boats leave the shore the dogs begin to howl,

then enter the icy waters to follow them.

 

***

 

De Tocqueville’s sympathetic testimony

seems the exception that proves the following

rule: that it is some sort of hubris makes

those of European heritage

record and justify – almost by default –

in detail, and with self-righteousness,

their settler-colonial iniquities,

their removal of people from their homelands,

their furtherance of capitalism,

whether by cavalry, cannons, starvation,

litigation, fraud, whether in

the Americas, Ireland, Siberia,

Australia, Algeria, New Zealand,

Indo-China, Malaya, Kenya,

Tanzania, Uganda, Rhodesia,

South Africa…

 

 

NORTH COAST, ANGLESEY

This is a coast of wrecks, of conventional

tempests and unexpected rocks, mists, fogs.

 

St Patrick, not long from dismissing

the serpents of Ireland, clung to an outcrop

slippery with seaweed, loud with skuas.

Legend built a church on the cliffs above.

 

The Royal Charter, steam clipper, laden

with gold and souls, Australia bound

from Liverpool, foundered in haling distance

of the shore, one long October night of gales.

A parish churchyard is full of strangers.

 

Low water exposes the remains

of a lifeboat station’s high wooden pillars

held in rough concrete blocks. A sloop in full sail

could slide down the steep ramp in seconds.

In less than sixty years boats launched from here

saved more than sixty lives. Generations

of local men – farmers and fishermen,

blacksmiths and shepherds – along this coast,

merely for virtue’s reward, risking their own

saved the lives of strangers.

 

 

ON THE 70TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NATO ALLIANCE

Guarded from the people who elected them

and pay their wages, behind the high walls

of what was a country estate whose owners

hunted foxes for the fun, and answered

only to death and to penury,

the heads of state, with drums and with trumpets,

celebrate their fealty to weaponry –

while Australia’s forests are burning,

and bergs slip from glaciers into oceans

north and south, and melt discreetly, swiftly,

and Victoria Falls is silent, dry,

the plunging waters that were The Smoke

that Thunders, The Place of the Rainbow,

the plummeting river that became the Nile.