Rockin in Riga

The joy of living in Europe (as opposed to Australia) is that you can jump on a plane and in an hour you are in another country surrounded by people speaking a new language and with a different culture and a different history.

And with the expansion of the European Union there is the possibility of visiting Eastern Europe and see the countries of the old communist bloc. Riga in Latvia was recommended to us as a city of incredible medieval architecture and World Heritage protected streetscape on the shores of the Baltic.

We went for the weekend and stayed in a concrete hotel that was described in the handbook as a “Russian Inservice hostel” ie for members of the Communist Party elite to holiday on the Baltic.

By chance it was Latvian Independence day while we were there and so we were treated to a “Russian style” military parade. One hour of unsmiling ranks of soldiers, one brass band and no jollity.

When I lived in Australia I felt that I missed not only Ireland but Europe. The history of Europe and being in streets that were imbued with the spirit of generations past of which I was a part. The vibe that these streets have seen history unfold and that the stone somehow holds on to the collective memories of those who went before makes me feel I belong here.

It’s a marked contrast to Australia which on White fella terms is such a young country. I feel that the consistent refusal to say sorry has meant that one doesn’t feel a part of the Black fella heritage. This festering sore in Black White relations will continue as long as the status quo remains.

The positive thing about Australia is that there is the opportunity to mould this new country in a way that plays to its strengths – as opposed to the Howard years which was a race to the bottom – appealing to the baser instincts of humanity.

As I look at my photos of the ranks of soldiers marching through the historic streets of Riga and think about the dreadful history of invasion and brutality that surrounds it my mind goes back to a little event that we ran as part of the Remembering Minto project in a deprived area of Western Sydney where we had children from the local primary school singing in concert. To look at the 50 little faces – no two the same colour – and all singing together as one like a little band of angels – I felt hope for Australia which overcame the depression of the darkest days of children in detention, kids overboard and the deathly tones of dead man walking Ruddock. If we can only hold onto the notion of a multicultural future then Australia has got sunny days ahead.