We struggle with our history because once we admit it, we have nowhere to go with it; no way of rehabilitating our pride; no way of understanding ourselves. As a nation, we lack a national mythology that can cope with our shortcomings. That transforms our historical scars into fatal psychological wounds, leaving us with a bizarre need to insist everything was – and is – as good as it gets.
That’s the true meaning of the love-it-or-leave-it ethos that so stubbornly persists. We don’t want to be improved in any thorough way, because for us that seems to imply thorough imperfections.
Instead, we want to be praised, to be acknowledged as a success. It’s a kind of national supplication, a constant search for validation. And history’s fine, as long as it serves that purpose. But if it dares step out of line, it can expect to be slapped swiftly with the Sandilands dictum until it changes the subject: “you’re full of shit, just get on with life”. Then we can be comfortable again.
Sourced through Scoop.it from: www.smh.com.au