Here is a story of two friends who wanted to buy a car in Sydney to help them get around. They found a 1984 red Ford Econovan, complete with mattress, camping gear and neon yellow trim, all for $1400 AUD (at time of writing, $826 U.S., goods and services tax inclusive). But alas, alack, upon pulling into the street to test-drive this vehicle, their American instincts got the better of them and into the right lane of traffic they drove. Without seatbelts. $600 in tickets later, the 1984 Econovan seemed a mirage to Walter and Mieke, a spot of orange in the outback, until they spotted a flyer:
MISS BACKPACKER bikini competition, King's Cross Hotel. $1000 top prize, all contestants receive $100 tab upon entry. Call to enter.
The shabby neon of the flyer reminded them of the neon trim of "their" van, and within moments Mieke and her roommates were signed up as Miss Backpacker wannabes, with Walter promoting them for all he was worth. Returning to their Coogee suburb, they told some other people about them, including my best friend.
"A thousand dollars is a lot of money," she said. I prepared for a rant on the objectifying aspects of selling your image for the sake of your bar tab. A few other girls popped into her room.
"Are you doing it?" they asked. "I'll do it if you do it!"
She was entering the contest. My friend, who has forbidden me on pain of death to mention her by name or identifying details, who is president of the feminist club at her home university, was going to walk around a King's Cross (a.k.a red light district) bar wearing a bikini and a smile. Maybe she'd throw in a Lonely Planet Thailand quote for good measure.
The competition, with its unlimited champagne for contestants (and thereby their friends), began well enough. Miss Penny, a 6'10" female impersonator and master (mistress?) of the ceremonies, made lewd jokes and introduced the girls while Walter and I screamed our hearts out for the ones we knew. It was all fun until Miss Penny made an announcement:
"All the girls tonight," she said, "Are from the U S of A."
This was about 12 hours before we attacked Iraq. Let's say that over the past week, I've seen more than my share of protesters in the streets, and "NO WAR" in 20-foot red letters painted on the Sydney Opera House. Australia may be one of the few countries actively aiding the U.S.'s strikes, but that support comes from the prime minister - not Australia's people.
Miss Penny's announcement was not greeted with pleasure. Some low boos, a general murmuring of ill. "F--- the U.S.!" could be heard in the background. It dissolved after some rebukes from Miss Penny, but it was about then that I realized I wouldn't be writing a column about the feminist implications of a bikini contest, but the smaller-scale implications of war.
What do you say when someone hands you a flyer on the quad, inviting you to a "Drop Bush Not Bombs" rally? How do you react when your professor announces that class next week is optional for those who wish to rally at Town Hall? I don't like the fact that we're in this war, but try as I might, I still like America, and it seems a lot harder to reconcile the two than it should. Of course, I like America less when I hear reports of chips being renamed "freedom fries" (someone please e-mail me and say it isn't so), but despite our society's double standards, lopsided health care, Puritan obsession with sex and physical appearance and a president whom I just can't trust, the U.S. has treated me well and no matter where I'm living will always be my home. The problem is that anti-war, to me, does not equal anti-America. To people here, it kind of does. I don't know what I'd be doing if I were in the U.S. - probably walking out of classes and claiming this war as my personal Vietnam. But I can't do that here. As several e-mails from the study abroad offices both here and at Duke remind me, to do so would be tempting fate.
I've taken a cue from Simon Crean, minority leader of the Australian parliament, who vehemently opposes the war: "As much as I disagree with what our prime minister has committed us to, I will always support our troops." I don't agree with what our country is doing. Part of it is an inherent distrust of Mr. Bush and frustration with any information our government gives us - once you peel away the "terror" references and metamorphosis of Osama into Saddam, I don't see much there. But I'm an American, and as an American abroad I'm finding it doubly important to defend my country, or at least show that I'm not ashamed to claim it as my own.
So the Miss Backpacker competition was winding down. I tried to make nice to the judges on my friend's behalf as the boys went to refill their jugs of Toohey's, when a guy sat down next to me and started to chat.
"So where're you from?" he asked.
What a question, more loaded than he realized. I didn't feel like getting into a debate, or even explaining exactly where in "the States" New Jersey is, so I got up my guts and delivered a little white lie, one to which I had sworn I would never stoop.
"Canada."
He didn't even believe me.
Meghan Valerio is a Trinity junior. Her column appears every other Tuesday.
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