Cool to be kind

IT'S such a meek little word. Not very fashionable. In some quarters it implies spinelessness, a lapdog-willingness to please.

IT'S such a meek little word. Not very fashionable. In some quarters it implies weakness, spinelessness, a lapdog-willingness to please. It seems completely absent from the nation's politics right now. But, my God, the depth-charge of emotion it can stir in the Australian psyche.

It’s called kindness.

Think of the resonances around the Gallipoli legend of Simpson transporting wounded comrades on his donkey. The heartbreak in the song Two Little Boys about mates helping each other from nursery to battlefield. The stirring speech on a generous heart in the Aussie cinema hit Red Dog. As a girl I remember the extraordinary emotion around Fiona Coote – and when she needed a new heart the Aussies who came forward and said, “Give her mine.” It was a powerful lesson about sacrifice and selflessness, those words sanctified by grace. During the recent Queensland floods we had 13-year-old Jordan Tyson insisting that his younger brother be rescued first, before being swept to his death.

The older I get the more I respect kindness. Its ability to transform a situation, to soften, move. There’s a particularly Australian brand of it. We were flooded by myriad unforgettable kindnesses when we moved back to Oz from England. New to the ’hood, neighbours threw a party to enfold us into the community. When I had the Timewaster, the mums at the boys’ school – the little state primary – held a cooking bee (when I gave them all champagne in gratitude I was admonished with “you big dag” and “you silly duffer” – things I hadn’t been called for 15 years, and God it felt good.) Drowning within the exhaustion of new parenthood, a neighbour – all six foot seven of him – arrived one night with gourmet ingredients, cooked up a storm then tenderly held the baby while the chap and I ate. We’ve been marinated in kindness and it feels peculiarly, movingly Australian.

I’d see it in London a lot. Strapping young Aussie lads breaking all the rules of Tube non-engagement by chatting away to the person beside them. Couches offered to friends of friends; floorspace to store suitcases; dinners and cars. These Aussies felt like teenagers growing too tall, too fast in a grown-up world; sweetly naïve, enthusiastic, kind. Tim Smits is the latest Aussie hero in London after getting stabbed while defending women being harassed on a bus. “I come from a family that taught me good values and to respect people,” he told Britain’s media as he recovered.

Respecting people. A basic, life-affirming quality. Perhaps this reckless and spontaneous Aussie kindness developed in the convict days because those in the underclass had to stick together, unite against the bosses, protect each other. Perhaps it arose because this land is so bloody tough; and if we can’t help each other out, well, we’re buggered. As Professor Stephen Muecke wrote, “in what other country does the school kid share her musk stick by breaking it and giving her friend the choice?”

It’s why the ugliness of a lot of political discourse right now feels so jarring; as if there’s a disconnect between people on the ground and those in the public eye; a shocking coarseness.The horrors that the Prime Minister and other powerful women are called on the airwaves – the tone of the voices – is downright ugly and a world away from those sweet, honourable young Aussies who fly the flag for us overseas.

Kindness is about people who are heart-lifters, not heart sinkers. The politics of negativity and sourness is all around us. It feels grubby, reduces us all. Some people think kindness is a weakness but they’ve got the wrong end of the stick – it’s the gift of attention, the highest form of civility. It’s about compassion, being a good person. People are drawn to it. Some of our politicians and broadcasters should take note of that.

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