They come to a land Down Under – hastily marry in polyester gowns, top up university coffers, or cruise to a Pacific paradise where every day is Christmas. Whatever the journey, ‘we will decide who comes to this country & the circumstances in which they come.’ Touch down means assimilation. Sunday is fun day for arvo footy, downing schooners, cutting waves at Bondi. But ‘where the bloody hell are you?’ You’re west of the red & yellow flags cloistered in mosaic domes chanting gobbledy-gook in sinister frocks whispering in secret tongues. That’s just not cricket – everyone’s equal here. The Indigenous Voice is a case in point – a singing show to Close the Gap between black & white singers, a panel of glib judges to feign support. We voted. The show never aired because ‘we treat them the same as everyone else, couldn’t be fairer.’ Our nation is a multicultural palette of colour; a hotpot of rice, spice & everything nice. And we’re definitely not racist – our cleaners are Asian & we gollop baba ghanoush.