At its mildest familiarity breeds indifference, and when there is difference familiarity is inclined to breed derision. That may explain my attitude and that of some of my workmates to a fellow I worked with briefly at The Newcastle Herald in the late 1970s, Percy Haslam.
The name Percy Haslam may have never crossed my mind again had I not come across a chapter devoted to him in a book I bought at markets a fortnight ago. The book, Voices from a Vanishing Australia, contains transcripts of stories told ABC Radio interviewers by people of a disappearing era, and Percy's was one of those. As I read about his regular trips from Hamilton as a child to spend time with Awabakal families in the Watagans and later of his commitment to resurrecting the lost Awabakal language, I reminded myself that I and some of my workmates had been dismissive, even derisive, towards Percy. We'd mocked his eccentricities, and we'd laughed aloud at his claim to be rediscovering a language that had no surviving speakers and no records.
As I read in the book and in other material since, Percy did claim to recall much of the Awabakal language he'd spoken fluently as a child, and on his retirement in 1977 he set about his new life's work with enthusiasm.
He became an Awabakal researcher at Newcastle University, he scoured colonial archives in England, he was writing a language primer and taught Awabakal language and culture to Aboriginal families, prisoners in Cessnock and at Long Bay, and he was instrumental in establishing an Awabakal language program at what was then Gateshead High School.
Percy died much too young and too early into his great work, in 1987 at age 75.
I regret now that my willingness to adopt the attitude of some around me prevented me from taking an interest in and appreciating him and his work. Many of us so crave acceptance by our peers that we are willing to adopt their beliefs, attitudes and prejudices without question, and I do believe that acceptance is dependent on that.
I sometimes say, perhaps as a defence against my legions of detractors, that I don't care what others think of me, but I'm not sure that is true. Paying heed to others' opinion is a constraint to difference, to independence - to be different is to risk derision. Has a fear of derision, no matter how unfair that derision, had a role in shaping your life? Is that such a bad thing?
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