Ten years after the Cronulla riots there are still ramifications. I am no longer the frightened 14-year-old worried an "Aussie" is looking to fight me, but those events did affect my outlook, feelings and sense of belonging for a long time, writes Mohamed Taha.
I was shocked, disgusted, angry and confused as I walked into my school the day after the Cronulla riots. I was 14 years old.
Granville Boys High School was a great place. The students were predominantly Lebanese Muslims, followed by Polynesian and Turkish students. I was a warm, bubbly student - a "cool" geek that was just awarded the Dux of Year 9 weeks earlier. The staff were strong-willed and many students were a little rough around the edges. There was a ghetto-like subculture among some students.
On that Monday, tensions were really high at the school. The riots were the talk of the playground. A lot of students were venting about the media reports they witnessed a day earlier: images of violence, drunkenness, vandalism, offensive slogans and racism. Particularly the images of Australian flags draped over the shoulders of Caucasian men who were targeting anyone who looked remotely Middle Eastern in appearance.
It all felt incredibly personal for a lot of the Lebanese students, including me. In class, I recall hearing some students saying how their parents were "packing their bags" or how they would "bash an Aussie" if they saw one. My friend referred to the racist catchcry, "We grew here, you flew here". One student joked, "Don't worry boys, just tell them, 'You came in chains, we came in planes'."
The funny thing is we were all born and raised in Australia. It didn't matter though, as many of us were angry and some wanted revenge.
The "us and them" mentality had overpowered rational thought with fear and anger. At recess, I saw three Lebanese boys pushing another student against the wall. When I got closer, I realised they were about to punch one of the fair-skinned Italian students.
"Are you an Aussie dog or not?" one yelled as he grabbed the student's shirt collar with his other fist clenched. The student pleaded he wasn't "Aussie". I intervened and told them to leave him alone. I said he's Italian, not Aussie and that he was against the riots.
My mum was concerned about our welfare and told us to be careful in public. Weeks after the riots, we were only allowed to go to and from school.
They stormed off. He was visibly shaken. I remember helping him stand and reminded him to tell people that day he was Italian, not "Aussie". In retrospect that was wrong, but at the time it seemed like the only way to quell the anger.
By lunchtime, a text message had circulated among students that a bunch of white Aussie boys from the Shire were coming down to "punch on" with us after school. Apparently they were meeting us at Granville train station. I was shocked and a little frightened. I remember asking my older brother what we should do. He said we should do nothing but if anything happens, we will defend ourselves.
We lived in Lidcombe, which meant we had to travel east to get home, while the other boys travelled west to Granville, Guildford and Merrylands. This put my brother and me at risk of confronting the Caucasian group alone.
While I was worried about my own safety, others in the playground were turning to thoughts of battle.
"If they want war, we'll give them war," one yelled.
So almost 100 students, predominantly Lebanese, Arab and Turkish, gathered and went to the woodwork department. Many took pieces of wood as weapons. In the heat of the moment, I put a piece of wood in my bag. It was the first time I had ever given in to peer pressure, because I was genuinely scared I could be attacked. Upon reflection, I had given in to the "herd mentality".
At the end of the day, like an army mobilising numbers on a battlefield, groups of students patrolled various parts of Granville train station and its platforms. It was very tense. Any person who looked remotely "Aussie" (fair-skinned and in school uniform) received a barrage of questions from hot-headed students. No such group came. The students went home. As my brother and I walked home from Lidcombe train station, I stopped at a local park and buried the piece of wood under mulch.
When we got home, we had a long conversation with my parents. My parents called for calm and restraint. My mum was concerned about our welfare and told us to be careful in public. Weeks after the riots, we were only allowed to go to and from school.
Ten years on, the riots still have ramifications. I am 24 now, but as I grew up the riots affected my outlook, feelings and sense of belonging. It's difficult enough to navigate your way through life as a teenager with all the standard teen woes and problems. Add the complexities of racism, politics, media coverage and figuring out my identity and it can be very overwhelming.
I found my way by being comfortable in my own skin and I'm grateful for that. The moment I found peace of mind was the moment I embraced my mixed identity: I'm Australian by nationality, Muslim by faith and Lebanese by cultural heritage. I'm richer for it. It was incredibly difficult to figure out whilst learning what it is to be a "man" and how to be a "man".
UK Islamic scholar Aftab Malik from the UN Alliance of Civilisations describes young Arabs and Muslims in the West as the "post 9/11 generation". For us in Australia, I would add to that the Cronulla riots. One of the ugliest episodes in recent Australian history didn't happen in a vacuum. It was a culmination of a bubbling undercurrent of racial tensions and clashes between young Caucasian and Middle Eastern men.
Until recently I thought we'd improved race relations in Australia. The Adam Goodes saga tells us otherwise. If our elite athletes get racially abused, what hope does the average Khaled, Ahmed or Maryam have of a fair go in society?
The then prime minister, John Howard, seemed averse to suggesting that racism was involved when he said: "I do not accept that there is underlying racism in this country."
Tell that to 14-year-old me who was petrified of going home. The lack of honesty and stench of hypocrisy suffocated me. It engulfed my lungs. I wanted our leaders to call out the terrible behaviour and criminality from BOTH sides. Then right-wing commentators and media personalities added fuel to the fire by shifting blame on the "Lebanese community", labelling them "Middle Eastern grubs". The divisive language and slogans from both camps created a dangerous mix of unrest, anger, hysteria, paranoia and anxiety.
Australia's undercurrent of racism reared its ugly head that day. And despite it being 10 years ago, many are still affected today. The majority of my Year 12 cohort went on to attend university, college and TAFE. Some entered the workforce. Many went through an identity crisis. Some changed their name to make it more "Anglo-friendly" for work purposes. Some internalised racism. Others adopted a victim mentality and blamed the system for everything that went wrong in their life. While others developed an inferiority complex. Sadly, some still carry these demons with them today.
Until recently I thought we'd improved race relations in Australia. The Adam Goodes saga tells us otherwise. If our elite athletes get racially abused, what hope does the average Khaled, Ahmed or Maryam have of a fair go in society?
We need a shift in attitude from all parts of society. For starters, let's be open and honest about our history as a nation. Those in positions of leadership need to be measured in times of crisis. We have a civic duty to proactively work towards holistic change and aspire to higher values of justice, equality and fairness.
When I walk past the park in Lidcombe, I sometimes think of the piece of wood. Like our demons, it is buried deep down inside and lies dormant. It serves as a reminder of what a 14-year-old Australian Muslim of Lebanese descent felt he had to resort to in this country at a time when our social fabric was at breaking point.
Mohamed Taha is a reporter and producer for ABC News, based in the western Sydney bureau in Parramatta. Follow him on Twitter @Mo_Taha1.