I’m not someone who usually becomes emotionally invested in an incoming Prime Minister’s victory speech, but I don’t mind admitting had me racing for the tissues.
Sure, I was moved by his commitment to the Uluru Statement from the Heart and overjoyed at his insistence that Australia can still become a renewable energy superpower, but it was when he touched on his childhood in public housing that the dam within me broke.
“It says a lot about our great country that a son of a single mum who was a disability pensioner, who grew up in public housing down the road in Camperdown can stand before you tonight as Australia’s Prime Minister,” he said. “My mother dreamt of a better life for me. And I hope that my journey in life inspires Australians to reach for the stars. I want Australia to continue to be a country that no matter where you live, who you worship, who you love or what your last name is, that places no restrictions on your journey in life.”
As someone who grew up in a housing commission estate in Sydney’s western suburbs and went to what was then classed as a disadvantaged primary school – the kind of place where kids would routinely show up with black eyes and ripped uniforms and where evening playtime often happened under police search lights – I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Until recently, I’ve only ever seen former neighbours on news bulletins
Here was someone who had walked my path and had worked his way up to become the leader of our nation. Better yet, here was someone openly talking about where he’d come from, rather than trying to brush it under the carpet. The public representation is too late for me – after all, those days in public housing are long behind me – but I’m thrilled for what having Anthony Albanese as Prime Minister means for the next generation of ‘houso kids’ coming through.
When you’re growing up in public housing, there is no encouragement to thrive; dreaming is a luxury afforded to those in private homes with swimming pools and well-placed connections. I don’t know what Albanese’s immediate community was like, but our streets were a motley mix of (since convicted) murderers and drug dealers, single parent families, migrants and those on disability pensions. We were all focused on surviving and the best we could hope for was that one day we might be able to get into private homes and get jobs. Representation of ‘our kind’ in the public space? Until recently, I’ve only ever seen former neighbours on news bulletins.
In a world where ‘you cannot be what you cannot see’, I was fortunate I had a supportive family pushing me to reach for the stars. Even so, I quickly learned – thanks to my conga line of roles within the Australian media landscape – that my background in public housing was something to be ashamed of, something to hide.
Here was someone who had walked my path and worked his way up to become the leader of our nation
Initially I made up a suburb – the kind nobody’s ever heard of but sounds ‘nice’, but after I summoned up the courage to put my real suburb on my CV, an editor advised me to get a PO Box pronto and speak nothing of my background. “No one would ever guess where you’re really from,” she said in what I’m sure she believed was a well-meaning way. “You’ll get away with it.”
For a long time I did get away with it until a few years ago when I realised what a disservice my silence was doing to all the kids currently in public housing who need to see more of their people on public platforms.
I’m not ashamed of my background, but proud. Proud that my parents made the ultimate sacrifice in migrating to Australia so that my brothers and I would have opportunities we never would have had in my parents’ homeland. Proud that I’ve worked so bloody hard to build a comfortable existence for my own family, and proud that I live in a country where the circumstances in which you are born aren’t viewed as the sum total of who you are and the person you’ll ultimately become.
For the past couple of years, I’ve been pondering how do we – those who ‘got out’ – shine a light for kids still within the system to encourage them to dream, plan and create brighter futures? Do we tour schools? Should we start a mentorship program? But now that I’ve seen one of our own take to the world stage as Australia’s 31st Prime Minister, there’s no better lesson to be learned.
As the Prime Minister himself said, “I want every parent to be able to tell their child, no matter where you live or where you come from, in Australia, the doors of opportunity are open to us all.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Dilvin Yasa is a freelance writer.
