Imagination is double-edged. It is often associated with words like “freedom” and “play”. That is true,for children. As adults,though,our imagination can come to act as a constraint. As we grow older,what we are capable of imagining narrows:we begin to think along paths already laid down for us by news,by peers,by habit. Eventually,we can see only what is already on those paths:our imaginations have come between us and the world. Trabucco Zeran was talking about reality:facts and events. But the adults listening to her couldn’t grasp it,seemed almost physically unable to hear what she was saying.
People attend a vigil to remember 15-year-old Indigenous boy Cassius Turvey,who was allegedly murdered on his way home from school.Flavio Brancaleone
There has been,in recent years,a spate of dystopian books and movies. I once watched a novelist try to explain this. He used a quotation that has now become common,that matches Trabucco Zeran’s phrase:“it is easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism”. What he meant was that changing our trajectory,in which fossil fuels and greed are driving us into disaster,demands a re-imagining of society. In the face of that enormously hard task,we find it easier to imagine apocalypse. The end of the world has become,rather than a cause for terror,a comforting thought:a way to reassure ourselves that it is alright to do nothing because nothing can be done.
On Wednesday night,I attended an event. I had accepted an invitation,booked a babysitter. There were interesting speakers with important things to say. Several acknowledged the recent death of Cassius Turvey,who,as you may know,. He was 15;he was Indigenous.
Jack Brearley,who is 21 and not Indigenous,is alleged to have attacked him with a metal pole. Some speakers at the event mentioned for Cassius. Only then did I ask myself an obvious question:why was I not at a vigil? I had attended Black Lives Matter protests;I had previously rallied against the violence done by white people to Indigenous people.
On this occasion,though,I had not thought of going. Was it because I had a babysitter booked? But this made no sense. It did not stop me going to the vigil instead. Was it because I had accepted an invitation? That felt like an excuse. The truth is it wasn’t a decision I made consciously. I simply did what I had already planned to do.
A vigil has been held in Perth for Cassius Turvey after the 15-year-old was allegedly murdered.
Cassius,too,was doing what he had already planned to do. That is the thing about life:mostly we just do the next thing. But while I could do exactly that,without worrying about consequence,he could not. He was 15. He shouldn’t have had to worry about anything except school,but in his case simply going about his life led him to his death.
My going to the vigil would not have changed things. But that is not the same as saying it could not have changed things. When it comes to cultural change,to shifts in the way society understands itself,it is hard to know in advance what will work. The #metoo movement changed things,by making it impossible to deny the size of the problem. The March 4 Justice,too,changed things,by making clear how widespread anger and frustration were.
Many of us think we don’t know what we can do,but that’s rarely true;it is more accurate to say we lack the commitment over time that bringing change demands. We want to be part of a moment that obviously changes things – but not knowing when that might be,we instead do nothing,unwilling to take part in all the forgotten but equally essential moments that precede it.
There have been some small hopeful signs. The,a welcome shift from the previous prime minister’s mealy-mouthed efforts the last time this country noticed black deaths. There has been more attention from the media,though,let’s be honest,nothing compared with what might have been had this happened to a wealthy white teen.
But it must also be said that the nation has not stopped,not the way it did for a horse race last week. This country will not admit how bad things are,which means we remain a very long distance from change.
Last week I remembered a scene from an American TV episode about the Black Lives Matter movement. Lawyers gather around a table. In the midst of debate it becomes clear:the black lawyers know the names of all the black people recently killed by white police. The white lawyers struggle to recall any. A similar scene would ring true here. And I wonder whether,as in Trabucco Zeran’s experience,it is in part because our limited imaginations almost literally block up our ears. We find it too hard to imagine a different world;and so we simply stop hearing the names and facts that would make clear to us our responsibility both to imagine that world and to bring it about.
And so most of us don’t do more than read the news,or watch it on TV. We don’t attend the vigils,we don’t vote on the issue,we don’t do enough to make this a matter of national urgency. And as long as non-Indigenous Australians continue doing what we have been doing,the deaths will keep coming. We know this,so why don’t we do more?
Mechelle Turvey,mother of Cassius Turvey,embraces Emily Farmer during a rally for her son.Getty Images
Is it,perhaps,that we find it easier to imagine the death of yet another Indigenous person than to imagine disrupting our plans? It is not a nice thought,but perhaps it is time we admitted this to ourselves:that we find it easier to imagine the death of an Indigenous child than to imagine doing anything other than simply going on with our lives,that everyday luxury that Cassius Turvey did not have and will never have.
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