I haven’t previously had much opportunity to indulge in that wonderful piece of mobile street theatre: the rant of the Australian taxi-driver. Despite the variance in the subject matter, which broaches such diverse topics as immigration, petrol prices and indigenous affairs, it is generally of a similar structure. It begins with a light tap on the accelerator as the driver veers just that little bit too much to the right as he jets around a driver going less than a hundred kilometres an hour. As he overtakes on the right, he’ll snort and glare across at the driver of the other car. This is the key moment in deciding the thematic content of the rant.

If our taxi’s commander-in-chief spots that the other driver is non-Caucasian the argument is likely to be about immigration and how Australia’s skilled migration policy is flooding the country with low-skilled workers who are nothing but a burden on the hard-working Australian taxpayer. If the other driver is white, the commentary will invariably focus on why the public servants that flood the streets of Canberra after taking long morning teas, cigarette breaks and extended lunches are nothing but a burden on the hard-working Australian taxpayer. Aboriginals, well, they’re desperate for welfare payments and nothing but a burden on the hard-working Australian taxpayer.

At this stage, I sit quietly in the back seat and choke on my tongue, being careful to remember not to pass out. You see, I wouldn’t want to have to go to hospital, as this would be a tax on our national healthcare system. This could then be construed as the behaviour of a dole-bludger, someone who is nothing but a burden on the hard-working Australian taxpayer.

Today, however, I got an entirely more targeted rant. You see, today was the Olympic torch relay and much to the organisers surprise rather than the expected mass of pro-Tibetan rabble rousers they were faced with a sea of red flags lining the course. Thousands upon thousands of flag waving Chinese supporters that had been bussed in from around the country, presumably by the Chinese consulate. Everywhere you looked there were the same mass-produced white and red shirts, and the same flags draped over shoulders. The pro-Tibetans didn’t stand a chance.

This particular taxi driver had spent the afternoon ferrying Chinese students back and forth between city and the airport and he had cooked up his own little timeline of how the world would end. “It will start with petrol prices,” he said, “the crude will go up, and they won’t be able to regulate it. A national watchdog, that won’t do anything, mate, you’ll see. Once it hits a buck eighty, two bucks, that’s when we’ll see it. This whole relay thing is reminiscent of 1936. That’s when this started, this torch relay thing, parading around the world, it’s not about sport, mate, nah, it’s about politics. Show the rest of the world your might and power. Show us what you’re capable. And don’t think they won’t use it, mate, don’t think that for a second. 1936, that’s what’s it’s like and that was the fuckin’ nazis. Set a golden fuckin’ example didn’t they. You know what they did with every country they ran the torch through? They invaded it, mate, invaded it and burnt it to the ground five years later. It’s the next four years that are going to determine the future of this country, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.”

I grunt in as non-committal a fashion as I can manage, and then quietly choke on my tongue. Breathe, Dan, remember to breathe.

Chinese students aside, I will admit that my favourite taxi driver comment came a few weeks earlier, on a run back to the city between presentations. The taxi driver this time was a pock-marked 60 year-old with a beer gut and a copy of auto-trader sitting next to him on the front seat. We pulled up at a set of traffic lights and a somewhat chubby teenager pedalled past on her bike. The driver raised his eyebrows as she wobbled over the curb, before exclaiming, “Jeez, get a load of that girl on the bike. She’s solidly put together, she is. I reckon a couple of her would roll you over in a scrum.”

A scrum otherwise populated by hard-working Australian taxpayers, no doubt.

Posted in Oz on Sunday November 2, 2008.

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