I read the news today, oh boy…..

Readily admitting most of my dramas are self made is simple fact. Years of inner-reflection have been useful on many levels, yet today I find myself completely ill-equipped to deal with events outside of my experience and control.

When disaster strikes at levels previously unknown, what is the average person to do? How can someone not directly touched or affected by events assist? Is it understandable to feel as distressed as I do? I am sure I am not alone, as this seems beyond the scope of the average tragic news story. It will be quite a while before it goes away. Even  long after it no longer rates a regular mention in the media, it will be touching the lives of those affected daily – for many years to come. Yet as I made a quick stop at a nearby supermarket this evening I saw people laughing, chatting and outwardly showing no signs of distress. It somehow seemed wrong. How could we go about our lives with such ease. Why aren’t we as a nation in complete mourning?

Should I ignore events because they are for me ‘out of sight, out of mind’ or is it natural to grieve for lives I never knew existed, for homes I never saw, and towns I never visited? Would joining an ever growing list of Facebook groups help me? Can online social networking bring comfort or relief to the victims of disaster?

Frankly, I find these events beyond my comprehension. My sense of fear and dread is growing. I can not look away from the online newspaper, aid agencies and official police sites. All of the petty daily life concerns I held up until the middle of Saturday have disintegrated. The death toll is rising like some hellish game of bingo, where the numbers jump higher in an increasing rapid fashion.

There is a certain sense of survivor guilt in our household today. Quite remote ‘survivor’ for we were never at risk on Saturday as vast parts of our state of Victoria went up in flames. I am not a victim. I am not a survivor. I am merely a remote onlooker, a member of the same nation. Yet I grieve in ways I never knew imaginable.

There was already a sense of loss throughout the nation, when only a week earlier a man threw his four year-old daughter off the highest point of Melbourne’s landmark Westgate Bridge. The child survived the fall, but died later despite the efforts of emergency workers. The state was uncomfortable thrust into national headlines while public grief and anger soared to new heights. In this age of ‘cheque-book’ journalism the family made an official statement and kept a dignified silence. A private funeral service was held. We were left to hope the young brothers who witnessed this crime were recovering well. Events more horrific were hard to imagine.

Energy was low, life was far from normal. Public transport and electrical supplies becoming just a few casualties of a week of unprecedented hot weather. Schools cancelled the first day of the new term, as we scrambled to  survive against an ever present background of ever increasing temperature highs.

As I sat in air conditioned comfort able to avoid leaving the house all day Saturday, local temperatures reached 47.3 or 117.4 in the old measure. Elsewhere, thousands of others situated in the western, central and north eastern districts were gathering up prized mementos, basic supplies, pets, and loved ones. Before the end of the day many had to make that decision, to go or to stay. Seems there can be no correct decision in such extraordinary circumstances. If predicting bushfire behaviour was a simple task lives would not be taken and so much property destroyed.

Every fire season I have wondered about what it would be like to be forced to make those life or death decisions under extreme conditions as man made structures and plant life explode into fireballs all around. In the past a certain amount of blame has been levelled at the victims of bushfire, with their own fatal decisions questioned and often held to account. Hopefully, the rest of us will never know the horror of being forced to make those last stitch attempts for survival. How quickly in those awful moments must the need to protect cars or houses, fall away to the need to save loved ones. One early account tells of a seriously burned man arriving at a neighbour’s property with his infant child in his arms. His flesh was falling away, as he begged for his baby to be saved. He was distressed that he had been forced to leave the bodies of his wife and other child. Seems the promise of the young life in his arms had kept him going. His current status remains unclear.

Growing up on a farm the threat of bushfire emerged every summer. During my years in the public school system the best advice of the times was drummed into our young ears. Early thoughts were to escape fire by car, carrying water and blankets. Later this was replaced with staying in the home, making sure it was clear of debris and plant life, the roof was to be kept damp, the gutters clear of embers, cracks under the doors blocked by towels. Spot fires were to be put out immediately. Which was fine, except when you lived in a draught zone and relied on limited amounts of low-pressure water from tanks. Inevitably, my mother would keep a small back-pack water pump for hand operation filled by the back gate every bushfire season. The menfolk were always on standby as Country Fire Authority volunteers. There were bushfires all around us in those years, they just never came close – unless you count the time the drunken truck driver collected a faulty vehicle from the depot. Sparks from the exhaust started a grass fire in the front paddocks and burnt fences. The highway was closed as fire fighters attended and soon controlled the flames. People came to see what was burning, and an insurance claim later ensued. Little property was affected, no one was injured, livelihood was not lost. It was a minor annoyance mostly, costing time and energy and causing stress to my father – a man with a low stress threshold. Life pretty much resumed without real harm.

Years later, I was living alone in town. The day before I had gone for my driver’s licence. The driving instructor had versed me in the standard route the police had female learner drivers take. With minimum driving practice, I could just about manage that short journey. Male learner drivers were given the more difficult task of heading towards the jetty at the lake and were then asked to reverse along its narrow straights. This manoeuvre would replicate the idea of a parallel park, an item which was lacking in the streets of our small town. The test started off well. I remembered to engage my seat belt, check the side and rear view mirror before taking off for the handbrake stop and start on the steep incline by the Guide Hall. Then things went somewhat askew. The police officer had wanted to check a fire burning down near the railway line. So off we set on a completely unfamiliar journey with me not sure where street corners might lay and generally not knowing which way to go. I did manage to get my licence, just.

That fire, it turned out was minor. However, the fire the next day was not so inconsequential.

That became known as Ash Wednesday. Firestorm conditions spread across South Australia and Victoria killing 75 people. My town was never threatened but sat close to the edge of coastal fire’s that ran inland over mountain ranges and forest land to sit on the horizon that night in an ever present glow. Very few had known that afternoon what was taking place. Communications were limited, telephone and power supplies unreliable, the Internet and mobile phones a decade and a half away from being a part of common household usage. I recall a lot of local speculation that afternoon. People knew the aftermath would be bad, and it was. Ash Wednesday, almost 26 years to the day was Australia’s worst bushfire disaster. It would hold that dubious record in our collective nightmares as something that could never be repeated. Something that would never again have to be endured. An event on a scale that would take untold recovery from. Something like this could never happen again.

On Saturday, February 7 2009 that all changed.

Scared and alone that night back then, I knitted by candlelight to distract myself. Smoke hung heavily in the air, the sky was red, and the horizon aglow with flames. I did my best to sleep and hope that the world wasn’t ending. In the morning light I emerged to find my knitting embedded with a fine layer of soot before setting out and learning the reality of what had taken place the day before. The following week I would leave for university, unlike some of my peers who had parents now without livelihoods, or indeed, peers who had lost a parent to fire, my future plans were wholly unaffected. For the next years I would solemnly witness the aftermath and eventual progress from train windows as the scorched earth slowly found renewal from the devastation as I travelled back and forth from college.

Prior to this weekend, authorities issued dire warnings of impending weather conditions. Fire risk was high. It sounded like the standard weather conditions we hear of every summer. Bushfires were burning around the state on Saturday, but no deaths were expected. Despite the seeming ease of decades of improved communications, information was slow to trickle out on late Saturday. Deaths were being reported. Those numbers grew in an ever increasing rate. By Sunday morning it was over 70. Late Monday it stands at more than 130. Estimates fear this tally will reach well over 200. More than 750 homes have been burnt to the ground, along with over 330,000. The Red Cross states that over 5000 people have lost their homes or have been evacuated. After a while these numbers become numbing. They are unfathomable.

Our leaders have quickly stepped up, and toured extensively in fire ravaged areas. Both our Prime Minister, Mr Rudd and State Premier, Mr. Brumby at times breaking down over the scenes before them. The Chief of Police toured the regions extensively. Immediate Department of Social Security payments have been arranged to support the bereaved, the injured, the homeless, the jobless and more. The Red Cross has moved into areas where towns once stood, from where vital services are now missing. The Elizabeth II, our Queen has sent her condolences and praised the efforts of fire-fighters and other rescue workers for their round the clock efforts. Insurance companies have been put on notice to treat fire victims with compassion and in a timely manner. Australians have queued to donate blood and millions of dollars. Hospitals across the country have taken air-lifted patients, and Country Fire Authorities have sent volunteer crews to help continue to battle the flames. An official enquiry into events, in the form of a Royal Commission is planned. Every bureaucratic action appears to have been prompt, decisive and meaningful. Yet, it only tells one tiny portion of the story.

Immediate emergency government assistance, donations from relief organisations, and speedy processing of insurance claims are all vital, and seemingly more than what survivors of Hurricane Katrina received, yet it seems like so appallingly little. In an affluent society, accommodation, food, shelter, funds seem like basic rights. Yet, somehow I don’t feel charitable donations – although incredibly necessary – are enough to diminish my own grief. I imagine the thoughts of proud country people being reduced from home owing, wage earning community members having difficulty becoming instantly in need of government payouts, emergency accommodation, insurance payments, and Red Cross supplies. Although much needed, and well deserved, it would be very hard to accept.

Grieving after the death of a loved one takes significant time in any ordinary circumstances. The death of a parent, a spouse, a child, a sibling, or friend under disaster circumstances is reason for shock and despair. The potential to have an endless combination of loved ones taken in one very foul swoop would be beyond comprehension. The circumstances of their death would be a constant source of grief and regrets. Everyone of those killed with have a loved one, parents, children, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, colleagues who will be affected by a terrible grief. Funeral services will inevitably be delayed by identification and matters relating to criminal proceedings. Immediate grief will be prolonged. Shock and disbelief compounded.

For those of us not directly touched by this tragedy, we reel in disbelief as more information on those killed is slowly released; children, the elderly, wheel chair bound, those who came to the area to help friends and family protect property, people on holiday. The death toll has reached public figures, with beloved newsreader Brian Naylor and his wife listed among the dead. Suddenly, this disaster has a very real face to the wider community. Brian appeared on our television screens for twenty years. He was our friend, “Brian told me” was the advertising jingle. “May your news be good news” was his signature signoff. We knew Brian from his time in living rooms, and now today he is part of these dreadful headlines.

The real human toll amounts to much higher numbers. Fire fighters, rescue workers, medical staff, police personnel all have spoken of witnessing scenes too terrible to describe. Their labours will risk being rewarded with post-stress disorder. The families, friends and employers of those involved in the rescue efforts will too have to cope with long absences, disrupted routines, and the stress and depression resulting from all they have seen.

The trauma to children will be life long. This is too early a lesson in death and loss. Few will have been fortunate to be comforted by a favourite teddy or toy, so quickly did their lives change.

The loss of a house is not simply recompensed by a juicy insurance payout. Having a permanent roof overhead after being made suddenly homeless would be a relief, but nothing would be familiar. It would never be the and garden lovingly built with years of sweat and memories. Worse still today insurance experts warned that 3.7% of home owners do not possess house insurance, and a further 25% do not have contents insurance. This grim statistic is bound to be reflected within the parameters of this disaster.

The destruction of a life time of photos, documents, letters, books and mementoes would be disorientating. I moved house three weeks ago, and am troubled by the fact that a box of miscellaneous kitchen utensils is yet to surface.

Entire towns have been destroyed. Amidst growing fears of arson one news outlet late today claimed that Victoria Police had declared the complete former site of one town as a ‘crime scene’. Community infrastructure is not readily rebuilt or recreated regardless of the funds available. Schools, shops, banks, medical rooms, council offices and homes don’t materialise instantaneously. Residents of the affected areas are destined to an extended time of temporary and portable buildings in effort to have the community up and running. Live in a small town and you will know the kind of delays involved in waiting to get to the top of builder’s, plumber’s and electrician’s work lists. Endless rearrangement will be needed to house people for months on end. Children, women will be sent to live elsewhere with friends or relatives. People will go about resurrecting the source of their incomes, while many will no longer have a job to report to.

Adults and children have been separated from their pets. Many are lost, presumed victims of the fires. Countless wildlife has been destroyed, along with livestock. Emergency calls have been publically made for donations of feed and agistment.

Those who survived along with their housing will reside next to those who experienced the loss of life and property. Some will say they ‘saved’ their properties, others will believe their homes remain standing merely through sheer coincidence or act of firestorm inconsistency. The ‘fight or flight’ argument will no doubt be dissected in great detail through numerous official inquiry, government reports, and endless public debate. Whatever the case, stories of heroism and bravery are slowly emerging. As yet untold tales of brutal terrors of suffering are still to be revealed. The fires are yet to be contained. More lives are expected to be lost.

By Sunday, the media reporting was trotting out some tired old clichés. One live to air journo standing in still smouldering ruins announced “everyone” from the newly razed town intended to “rebuild”. While managing a complete survey of an entire population in such a short time seems unlikely it appears that within the aftermath of such a shocking event we are now relying on some tried and true Australian-isms. The “she’ll be right!” and “keep on keeping on” attitude that keeps things ticking over. Our little country, barely two hundred years on from European settlement avoids a flag waving level of patriotism, that sentiment usually reserved for sporting events. As a nation we travelled off to wars not of our making. Courage and resilience sorely tested time and time again. More recently at Bali in 2002 terrorist bombings killed 88 of our population, an apparent retaliation for Australia’s involvement in the United State’s war on terror. The nation rallied. Their was grief and devastation, but there was little fuss. Our support of international events continued. Today, the aftermath of events on the weekend are being compared with the Bali bombings. Doctors at hospital burns units are comparing the injuries of bushfire patients to those of bombing victims. Survivor reports of the fires describe bomb blast like visions as buildings “exploded” in flames.

Now the official death toll has moments ago been announced as rising to 171. The extent of losses The full extent of losses as yet uncertain.

For now, survivors, rescuers, fire fighters will be beyond exhaustion. Tonight there are reports of agitation as whole towns become crime scenes, where survivors have not been allowed back into areas to learn of the fate of their homes and properties. The recriminations will inevitably start when the shock begins to wear off, for the time being they will need to wait while whole communities come to terms with what has taken place.

Operating on adrenalin, fear and the horrible unreality of the situations they face, waves of grief will wash over them in the days, weeks, months and years to come. Meanwhile, those of us watching from a very comfortable distance will need to find our own ways of coping.

Make donations online here: Red Cross Australia

Be Sociable, Share!

•