Aborigines Not The Only Ones Who Have Suffered
My dear departed dad fled from the Nazis in the '40s who were hunting down any adult males over the age of 9.
He hid under the floorboards as they storm-trooped through the tiny wooden shack, which was his birthplace, breathing quietly, slowly, as he listened while his mamma convinced the Germans her son left the previous day to head south.
Cottages in his small Italian village were razed, so with little-to-no prospects for a young man in war torn Europe, he sought hope in a strange land with a funny name on the other side of the planet.
Like many thousands in the same situation, young Giovanni Zanetti jumped on a ship, solo, at age 21. No family, no connections, no English language to rely on when he got to the other side…nothing but the clothes he was wearing, and the most valuable assets of all - a desire to start a new life, and the willingness to do all it takes to survive.
The journey to that unknown land at the other side of hell, was a hell hole of its own. A quarter of the passengers on the floating, overcrowded sardine tin died from dysentry. Better to starve if you planned on surviving the trip.
On landing, he was funnelled like so many, up north, cutting cane in Ayr, Queensland.
He depended only on the sweat of his brow and his commitment to Australia to build a new life.
Over time, he got a job at fledgling engineering company in Sydney called Transfield, their 7th employee.
He worked his way up to manager at their Port Kembla steelworks, then went out on his own with a few mates to start a company subbing to BHP, LJC Engineering, eventually employing over 200 men.
He raised 6 boys, bought a hobby farm in Kangaroo Valley, and in his sunset years, built a retirement home for fellow ageing migrants.
He died a self-made, fully accomplished man a few years ago, and I miss him.
He was humble. He was wise. He was generous to his friends and his employees. I recall as a young kid, driving around in his old light grey 1964 Holden EH ute, filled with home made Christmas hampers of vino and focaccia visiting each and every home of his workers sprawled across Wollongong, as Babbo (Santa) Zanetti delivered Christmas presents.
Giovanni was like so many millions who sought a refuge from their their homelands decimated by wars.
He and those like him, gave their services, their sweat, their everything to build families, workplaces, communities, towns. His taxes supported the less well off, the truly needy.
(Today his taxes would be supporting recently arrived immigrants whose ‘cultural’ beliefs permit them to have a harem of multiple wives, all on taxpayer funded welfare, only because today’s spineless politicians shrug off as some sacred ’religious’ observation which grants them a magical untouchable status)
Giovanni Zanetti had nothing for which to apologise, nor do the rest of his fellow migrants and fellow Australians, many who have also suffered at the fate of history’s adversities.
For those today demanding an apology for whatever horrible acts were committed a hundred years ago, or more, by people we are not connected to, in any way, nor responsible for people who passed away many, many, many years ago, I pass on my Australia Day message.
I speak to those who choose to attach themselves to the lucrative ‘guilt industry’ where free money is available to anyone jumping on the taxpayer funded gravy train.
My message is that you are not the only people whose ancestors suffered at the hands of other races, no matter how little, if any, connection, you have to those people.
You can choose to be a perpetual whining, self-imposed victim for something that was never done to you, by anybody today.
Or you could take a leaf from the book of Giovanni Zanetti and the many like him who built this great Australia.
You can moan, you can protest, you can tweet.
Or you could contribute - like the rest of us.
It’s a choice. Your choice.
That goes for the socialist, green enablers and the GetUp! regressive agitators whose only currency in life is offence taking, outrage seeking and virtue signalling (faux-feel goodedness). None has ever had a real job, which is why these parasites will never win the hearts and minds of the silent majority who do.
And, by the way, that light you thought you saw at the end of tunnel?
That’s no gravy train.
That’s the Trump train, and it’s heading right for you.
The silent majority has had enough.
Australia Day is the 26th January, and will always remain so. It’s a celebration day of what makes this nation great, not a day for lighting up the non-existent ’guilt trip’.
If anyone should be ashamed, its those who choose to denigrate this beautiful country and it’s (mostly) wonderful people.
I won't be feeling guilty for something I nor my ancestors were responsible for to anyone else's part caste ancestors.
But I will feel very proud of Giovanni Zanetti for overcoming tremendous adversity, never complaining, making a wonderful life, grabbing each little opportunity, despite the hurdles thrown at him.
Happy Australia Day, everyone, from this proud wog’s son.
(PS: Here’s an archival YouTube video of the life my father and his fellow migrants lived on settlement in Australia. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2D3ioAH6_4)