Martin McKenzie-Murray’s piece in today’s
Fairfax papers rehashes an all-too-familiar list of gripes with the nation’s
capital. It’s spread out, boo! It’s full of whinging lazy public servants,
boo! It’s cold, boo! It’s sterile, boo!
I’ve read these sentiments so many times,
from so many sources - not to mention all of the roundabouts - that it
has become clear the national perception of our national capital isn’t going to
shift any time soon. Fair enough. I’m not interested in trying to convert the
detractors into fans a la a proselytising Christian banging their proverbial
head against atheism’s intransigent brick wall. I just feel driven to put in words some of what can be said for this place, from the perspective of
someone who has chosen to make this town home, and who holds not a small amount
of love for this ‘meeting place’.
So what’s to love about Canberra? A city
with a ridiculously high percentage of bureaucrats and their attendant staff, a
designed city, destined to be criticized for failings in the design. I admit I found it hard nut
to crack, but one once opened full of delectable goodness.
I love Canberra for a multitude
of reasons. I love the design of Parliament House, the way the building emerges
from the grass-covered hill, topped by that magnificent flagpole. Ours is the
world’s most unique and distinctive house of government and I think it’s
fantastic. Canberra is clean, it smells clean. It feels safe. There is an
abundance of nature – sometimes we do have kangaroos hopping down the road,
there are possums nesting in our shed, and our trees welcome myriad avian
visitors on a daily basis. It’s family friendly with schools and parks and
cultural institutions aplenty. Food and wine and coffee are not half bad, we
attract a decent number of sporting events and concerts. Local secrets, like
how good breakfast is at a bite to eat at the Chifley shops, what it means for your
prospects at uni if the fluff flies early, or how you can spend hours browsing
for first editions and other rare delights on the shelves of Canty’s in
Fyshwick, add to the charm.
To me, the open spaces, clean air and low
population enhance my quality of life. Each of the far-flung town centres, from
Tuggeranong to Gunghalin, has its own quirks and secrets. We may not have a
great buzzing nightlife, but our kids can play outside, our commutes are short
– a Canberran will complain if it takes us more than 20 minutes to get anywhere
– our workplaces are flexible and our friends come from all over the country
and the world, brought here by accident of birth, to study, or to work.
And it is home. I met my husband here, over
a coffee machine. My kids were born here. My work is here, my family, many of
my friends, a good chunk of my personal history. To me it is not a “vision
turned sterile”; rather, it is my home. I know this home town has its faults as
any town has its faults. But I am not the only one who holds this oft-maligned
principality in affectionate esteem.
Last night I took my au pair over to the
Parliamentary Triangle to look at the architectural projections of the
Enlighten Festival. Our national institutions were gloriously illuminated with
original artworks, in a languid slideshow of creativity and beauty. We parked
at the National Library, meandered past Questacon and the Portrait Gallery over
to the NGA, and walked back to the car beside the lake, then drove up the hill
a bit to OPH. It was a warm autumn evening, a weekday, and we arrived a bit
after 9pm. And there were hundreds of people there, all taking the same photos,
catching their breath as each spectacular image appeared on the walls of these
striking buildings. It was wonderful, and it was free.
I guess I’m wondering, since it seems to some that Australia has forgotten our birthday, maybe it’s because the people who make it a national pastime to find fault with Canberra weren’t on the invite list. After-all, wouldn't we all prefer to celebrate special occasions with friends and loved ones?
