A Tale Of Two Brisbanes

The flood cometh and the flood taketh away. But in many ways it has also given.

Apologies for the amateur philosophising but it’s been quite a surreal time here in Brisbane town of late. Communities devastated. Businesses shattered. Families losing everything. Not to mention millions of dollars in damages to infrastructure and essential services.

Being a capital city that sits on a river and is subject to monsoonal rains and the occasional cyclone, it probably shouldn’t be that surprising I guess. And it does go to show why Queenslanders have built their homes on stilts for the last 100 odd years.

Its just that you see pictures and footage from natural disasters from around the world all the time. Imagery of people suffering and people trying to survive. And whether they’re from the other side of the globe or just in the next State, it’s hard to truly connect with those people and the places that are enduring the disaster. Not because you don’t care. Far from it. But because you can’t relate with the ‘here and now’ that they are going through.

Events like the Victorian bushfires connect with you far more than say earthquakes in Haiti or Pakistan do because of their geographical closeness and shared nationhood. But once again, it’s a feeling of sympathy and compassion rather than complete understanding and insight into what it’s like and what those people are feeling.

The recent floods in Brisbane have been a completely different experience then even though my house and my suburb weren’t affected. It's because it's happened to my city, to my hometown. And it’s happened to close friends and to my family. A place where thousands of memories of my life have been created. Where thousands of landmarks in my life have been shaped.

From the school oval where I kicked a footy as a kid. To the park where we celebrated my wife’s 30th. The path I take for my lunchtime runs. The ferries my son frantically points at when we drive over a bridge. The fruit markets I worked at during university holidays. The restaurant where my sister held her wedding reception. The friend's former house where we used to play backyard cricket all day. The pub where I had my work Xmas party only a few weeks ago. All of them under water and damaged beyond recognition.

It’s still hard to believe it’s happened. And even though I know it has, because I’ve hauled sandbags into people’s cars and shovelled mud from houses and footpaths, it’s still surreal because I wasn’t directly impacted and in many ways life went on as per normal in the suburbs and lives around me. A real Tale of Two Brisbanes it was.

While some agonised over getting furniture to higher ground or out of the their house altogether, others were choosing which movie to see at the local cinema. While some frantically followed every centimetre rise of the river and every new flood warning, others sat enjoying a coffee and a catchup at the local café. And while some went without power or phones for days on end, others watched the unfolding drama on their plasma TVs under the comfort of fans and air conditioners.

Yep, definitely Two Brisbanes it was. A tale that has created a form of survivor guilt for the majority of Brisbane people. A small feeling of shame that you weren’t greatly impacted while so many had their lives turned completely upside down. That you’re able to return to some normality and resume your life so quickly.

Some of which may have contributed to the volunteer effort and sense of community that has come out of the floods. The compelling need for those unaffected to do something and help out where they can.

And in the simplest of terms, it has been amazing. The city’s people have come to the fore at one of its' greatest times of need. It was unbelievable how quickly the cleanup commenced and how much was accomplished in the three days before the majority of the masses had to return to work. A truly humbling sight to see and feeling to be felt. Just being part of something so much bigger than yourself.

Alas, it’s not over yet and the recovery will be measured in months and years rather than days and weeks. Commission of Inquiry’s have been established and Reconstruction Authority’s have been created. There will no doubt be some blame-game in coming months as both try to make sense of the tragedy and how it unfolded. But here’s hoping the volunteer effort and the days of complete strangers mucking in with other complete strangers is the thing that is remembered and celebrated. If only we could bottle that spirit and keep it.

Its funny though, how small-a-world Brisbane remains despite its rush toward a modern and cosmopolitan city this last 10-15 years. While sandbagging at the Stafford SES Depot one day, the guy next to me turned out to be a friend from primary school. An hour later, one of the cars that turned up for us to throw sandbags in was driven by my sister’s brother-in-law.

While lining up to jump on the volunteer buses at Mt Coot-tha another day, it turns out the woman in front of me works in my building, a mere two floors down. Then when shovelling mud out of a garage at Toowong later that same day, the owner is a friend of a guy I once played rugby with.

Once upon a time I couldn’t wait to leave Brisbane for those sorts of reasons. That smallworldiness and provincial attitude that came with questions like ‘What school did you go to?” and “Which suburb are you from?”

But now I’m immensely proud of this city and take pleasure in its friendliness and lack of pretension. A place to create thousands more memories and to shape thousands more landmarks as well.

EDM.