I do believe that I’ve found proof that immigration leads to a merging of cultures and not assimilation of the incoming into the general morass.
Driving. Cars. Roads. You know…
When I was young the general level of technical driving skills in Australia was just that much higher.
The speed limit was seen as a guideline and no one drove at it or under it.
Rain did not weary them, nor slow them down.
Lane changing did not come with the risk of coronaries.
In fact lane changing always occurred from the lane closest to the turn and at speed, not from the middle of the road at near zero velocity.
Wing mirrors were used prior to pulling out from the parked position.
Reverse-parking was a one-handed art-form, and not a cause for the prescription of Valium.
Noisy and distracting kids in the backseat were slapped into submission.
Cars drove straight in lanes and didn’t wander about seeking external guidance.
Acceleration and braking was smooth. Jerking was reserved for home.
Awareness of others on the road wasn’t limited to the view through the windscreen.
Driving with no hands while eating a hamburger and changing gears was unnoticeable to anyone outside of the car.
Turning right at busy traffic lights meant sitting out on the middle, waiting for the lights to change for a quick turn. Now they stay behind at the line; probably still there since last Christmas.
Cyclists had no rights.
Being tooted was a social faux pas, avoided at all costs.
Social norms meant that we worried about those behind us getting through the red lights, so we made sure all was done to make this possible.
Merging was a non issue.
Despite the fact that cars were agricultural, brakes that faded, all manuals, no power steering, only a vague connection between cornering and what was happening at the steering wheel, the rate of accidents was much lower. If you take alcohol out of the equation.
Overtaking was a sport.
It wasn’t ok to just stop in the middle of the road to ponder your next move, if confounded by place, time or whatever the fuck else runs through their minds.
Taxi drivers were the best on the road.
The cops just fined those that were a genuine danger to themselves and others.
Just about everyone could drive on dirt with no noticeable change in velocity. Now it requires a 4WD guided at 10kph.
Look what we have now. It’s a disaster that barely moves. I know this because I discovered some time back that cycling is a far more efficient means of transport. This can’t be explained away just by congestion, unless you are completely deluded.
I track the decline and fall of driving skills to the influence of immigrants from countries where driving is rare. They learn to drive at mature age and, thus, their level of skill is what it is.
There’s enough of them to influence the rest. It’s been a slow decline. We are frogs that have been well and truly boiled, skinned and stewed into a ragout of indeterminate origins. But it tastes bloody awful.
Thus you see, we have a merger of cultures, not assimilation. In the case of driving, we lost out. But in almost every other aspect, we gained by assimilation.
Before cars we had horses. Same, same.
Joseph Furphy in “Such is Life” made the same point, that a lifelong adherence to the skills is required to make the grade.
“For it should be known that the perfect rider ‘nascitur, non fit’, to begin with; that his training must begin in early boyhood, and be followed up sans intermission; that his system of horse-breaking must be the Young–Australian, which is, beyond doubt, the most trying in the world.”
And then after being suckered into breaking a colt.
“The chap draws the handkerchief from the colt’s eyes, and walks backward. The colt catches sight of your left foot, and skips three yards to the right. In doing so, he catches sight of the other foot, and skips to the left. Then everything disappears from in front of the saddle — the wicked ears, now laid level backward — the black, tangled mane — the shining neck with the sweeping curve of a circular saw — the clean, oblique shoulders — they have all disappeared, and there is nothing in front of the saddle but a precipice. There is something underneath it, though.”
“And yet you’ve been riding all manner of horses, on and off (mark the significance of that expression) since you were a mere kiddie. However, you have stuck to him for a good solid sixty seconds; now, one of your knees has slipped over the pad, and your stirrup is swinging loose. Good night, sweet prince.”
offshore westerly 