I reflect often upon how the Sultanate of Oman has been, for so long now, not only a beautiful jewel in the Arabian Gulf, but a warm, hospitable, oasis of tranquillity within a wider region so often scarred by conflict, and I’m given pause to reflect upon how this peace and stability has delivered both peace and prosperity to the gentle and fortunate people of Oman. It’s perhaps no accident, but maybe a divine rewards for faith and compassion.
Another gentle people, far, far away, are the indigenous people of Australia, the aboriginals, who though they have been around for close to 65,000 years, give or take a few generations, have been identified as a single entity for only the last 200 years. A gentle, often not so fortunate people, with 250 different languages and hundreds of diverse social and cultural identities contributing to an ethnic population of around one million people, slowly coming to terms with, and discovering their identity within this giant, progressive, complex, and culturally diverse nation.
The contemporary aboriginal is torn, it appears, between its past and future, and the first to represent them in the Australian Parliament was one Neville Bonner, a deep thinker and straight talker, on conservation, environmental and humanitarian issues, who said upon his election in 1972, “We, as aboriginal people, still have to fight prove that we are straight out human beings, the same as everyone else.” In doing so, he tore off a ‘sticking plaster’ that had muted the aboriginal voice for decades and set them on a journey towards the acknowledgement of their ‘place’ and their rights.
So, you ask, why the aboriginal? Well, I feel that in many ways there exists a synergy with the Omani lifestyle. Not direct, and not complete, but sharing many of the qualities of another civilization that has fought to retain its nature, and its identity, through an unsettled history. I was particularly taken with an aboriginal proverb that says, “We are just visitors to this time, to this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, and to love, and then we return home.” Despite the religious imperatives that must be nudged briefly aside, I feel there is much in that ancient idiom that an Omani could empathize with.
I also see harmony in the encouragement to the youth of today by author, historian, and activist Jackie Huggins, who said, “It’s a very aboriginal thing to do, to give young people greater responsibility within the community as they become able to take those responsibilities on. It is a culturally and societally appropriate transfer of roles that involves respect in both directions... from the younger to the older, and the older to the younger.” Maybe she has a point, and maybe the younger generation should have greater voice, and greater responsibility, while they are younger, so they may learn to use it wisely.
Ken Wyatt, the former Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, points to his people “retaining our resilience, our humour, and our cultural integrity, always retaining our dreams and a vision for our future.” He focuses too on the value of community, saying they provide the “physical, cultural, spiritual, and social environments to support children, young people, families, and the aged.” Thus, putting so much of the Omani respect for family and tribe, front and centre in maintaining a strength of meaning and purpose.
I am aware that the connection can appear tenuous, that any leap towards any sociological link must be a quantum leap of gigantic proportion, and I’m not really suggesting either anthropological or sociological symbiosis, but what I did want to demonstrate is that a world away, the wisdom of two very diverse cultures embraces community and youth in much the same way. One whilst rediscovering itself, establishing its contemporary identity, the other emerging from historical adversity in a wider geographical region, the Middle East, where peace is both fragile and rare.
Hands across the water? Well maybe. It’s interesting too, that in Australia too they have ‘dry water courses, that when filled with water after it rains,’ are called ‘billabongs.’ That sounds very much like a wadi to me.
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