Does Tasmania need a Statue of Liberty

Garry Stannus
You tell people in New York about that little island called Tasmania, to the south of ‘Australia’ and many of them know about the Devil, from the cartoons. You try and explain the fact that the majority of people on the island don’t want this thing called a pulp mill in their Tamar River estuary. You describe how in spite of the results of the surveys, the opinion polls, the public demonstrations and ongoing opposition drawn from the whole diverse population on the island, the Bill and Ben political parties have been hand in glove with the big playground bully, a company called Gunns.

They smile at the name, and as you tell them about the dirty tricks, the sullied processes, the resignations of honorable people, the forced resignations of others, the secrets, the lies, the scandals … you see in their faces, behind their eyes, a picture forming of a little state somewhere ‘Down Under’. It began most likely as a mental picture in their minds as you spoke, and you filled it in for them with your words. There were hills, vague mountains, streams and this thing called the bush. It was all dark and mysterious. To this you added images of corrupt government, big business, and the picture grows as that ‘banana republic’of Keating’s.

You wonder whether you should tell them that there are no bananas produced in Tas, that the players don’t wear uniforms bedecked with braid and medals, that instead they wear business suits and light coloured silken ties.

You want to say that this negative thing that you have painted for them, is not the true Tasmania, that Tasmania is a beautiful place, an island that you love … full of such beauty. You want to explain its essences, accumulated in your heart over years. But in your own mind are the bare hills of the north east, the skies of smoke, the roads full of trucks, laden with our forests.

And you look out over the rails of the ferry which is taking you over to the Statue and then to Ellis Island, and you wish that the hope that immigrants to the USA experience at the sight of it, somehow could work for this visitor. That there will be someway to save our island state from its remorseless enemies. The following extract is from the well known poem, “The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

We have no such symbol in Tasmania which promises hope, it seems that we have only our determination, based on our convictions, and the strength that comes from the goodwill and relationships forged over the years.