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(english) a funeral for all the shame we’ve ever felt MARGHERITA DALL’OCCO
I watch as my father’s language is rudely corrected by strangers whilst my mother watches the pixelated faces through the screen. I put my name through a meat grinder to make it more palatable. “Is your family safe?” I get asked.
their home countries, immigrants all over Australia form ties between the world and this country. Ties that through travel, through phone calls and zooms keep getting stronger.
At this point, the shame seems to die out.
I don’t know, I hope so.
In most moments, Australia seems to forget about the immigrants – those who shift from place to place, hoping they’ve landed in the right basket. It seems as if maybe – there is no right basket and maybe, there never will be. Living here often feels like constantly trying to catch up. With so many different cultural traditions, norms and words to start getting used to, being undermined is only the first of a rollercoaster of emotions felt in the process of integrating. While conforming, a floor-length list of traits began to be abandoned. My parents struggled to have my siblings and I practice our mother tongues, and I felt odd having friends at the dinner table. My closest friends became immigrants, families of immigrants, and my trust was sparsely shared, mostly with other foreigners. It’s a push and pull – constantly feeling the pride, the richness of culture, whilst simultaneously feeling out of place. This continued and often still does until one has a revelation. A revelation that reveals a strong cultural tradition or an overwhelming sense of a missing piece. In many ways, the revelation allows us to embrace the good and less scary parts of Australian culture. Although I’ll never say “mate” seriously in my life, I will enjoy any element of Bunnings and embrace the series of different acronyms. The missing piece is where one begins to explore their own culture. For most immigrants the answer lies in looking back to their nation. In connecting to
When COVID-19 happened the shame felt amplified, almost because the ties began to weaken. Although Australia has been fortunate throughout the COVID era, the loss and despair felt by immigrant families is unmeasurable. Telephone birthdays, Christmases and announcements over the phone have never been a new thing for families living far away. The added stress of death was an unwelcome addition. In talking to Australians who are doing so well in keeping the nation safe, it felt as if we’d forgotten about the outside world and how it was in shambles. When talking about travel, many accepted their fate, understanding that their next roundthe-world trip wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. For disconnected families, it continues to be a heavy burden to bear and will always be. When Australians speak of interconnectedness, of all being the same, it’s hard to forget the lack of support, the loneliness, the isolation and the shame that comes with being an immigrant. So, I held a funeral. A funeral for all the shame I’ve ever felt, for all the feelings of being less than and for all the embarrassment I’ve held on behalf of my family. In saying this, I still insist that shame is often ignored. With politicians undermining the sadness of being disconnected, it feels like even those elected are neglecting that families all over Australia are isolated indefinitely, for now. What needs to happen is empathy and without it, the funeral will never properly finish.
