Mourning

There is no memorial for the genocided aborigines here on Tasmania, not yet. But there is one for Truganini, whose life stands symbolically for all the aboriginal suffering under the British invadors.

It is here on Bruny Island that I found a place to lay down flowers, as you may remember I had promised myself, three weeks ago, on the ferry to Tasmania. Actually I did not lay down, but plant living flowers. May my small gesture help raise awareness, if only for a day or two. I don't know whether, or when, the local authorities will undig the red carnation I planted, and toss away the stones that read "In memory of all aborigines that died in the genocide".

If you are able to digest a tough story, read the story of Truganini's life, as in the next picture. It gives you an idea of what the natives of this serene island went through when the Europeans came.

Devils always wear uniforms. And come with vehicles and weapons. And think they are right.

Another sad and horrific story, not from the past but now, just struck me here in the McDonald's in Hobart, in the newspaper I grabbed while Cori was reading her e-mails. Some student had run amok with a gun in Germany. Just a few weeks back, Australia had flagged half-mast to comemorate the victims of the Victorian bushfires. Now it is Germany that half-masts.