The stoush that is the just-finished Australian Open is always fought with tribalism very much in the spotlight. 

The Open is a demonstration of palpable tribal affiliations– national, ethnic, religious and all of the above.  I, too, was seduced by the tribal thing and barracked on solely national and religious grounds.  I suppose this is deplorable if one takes a simplistic approach.  But there are also inspiring moments, an example of which I'll come to.

Generally the pontificators in the commentariat take a handle to all displays of tribal loyalty.  There will be tirades about the bogans among the green and gold Fanatics, which are probably justified.  There was a lot more invective about allegedly anti-Semitic Nazi-saluting Croatians, which may have been justified.  And as the Open coincides with Aussie Day, there was much righteous cringing about the ubiquity of the Australian flag as a fashion accessory.  That cringing is ironically very Australian.  For along with cricket and footy, self-laceration is our third national sport before tennis and drinking.  Some of these critics are in fact being more patriotic than they realise.

But attacking our tribalism can be easy to over-simplify.  It is a very complex notion with good and evil exemplified in flag wearing.  

I am a bicycle rider who is obsessed about the direction of the wind.  Daily I ride and daily I worry about the head wind.  And so I am continually searching the heavens for flags to indicate wind direction.  And I can assure you that in my inner urban area there are virtually no flags.  Schools and Town Halls apart, there are zero fluttering insignias and because I never learn, I am continually searching for them on my cycle.  This is a fantastic part of our national self-effacement. Faith in country has led to more misery than faith in religions to my mind.  And I rejoice in the quietness of our tribal patriotism, just as I felt that on my recent visit to Cronulla, the scene of race riots, the flags there had a sinister edge.

But by the same token, I love to see the kids draped in flags at the Open, for it is just fun.  They look great and it is tribalism speaking in a benign and joyous manner.  So that is the complexity of tribalism writ large.  In a nation that doesn't flutter many flags, when we do, we endure angst about it.  Thank God for that.

At the tennis, I needed a reason to care about the game I was watching.  The first game I watched, a walkover between a Russian and some poor Czech, was like watching the imposition of the Iron Curtain in short pants.  And I didn't care.  And I didn't care for who really cares about two nations far from here?  And no one else cared, for Show Court Two was empty.

So I searched for a reason to care and reverted to my ethnic roots.  I was going to watch an Australian player – any Aussie would do.  My tribalism was speaking to me.  So tribalism is an inevitable part of being human.  We can't avoid it.  We just have to know when to enjoy it and when to condemn it.
But I couldn't get into any match with an Aussie player as they were chockers.  Clearly, and properly, tribalism was speaking to a lot of other congregants at the Open. 

And so I searched for my roots and went to barrack for the land of my Israeli grandfather.  Now Jews are not noted for our sporting prowess and so having a Jew in a grand slam is more precious than rubies.  But this year there were six Israelis and one Yank with a very Jewish name, which was a miraculous state of affairs.  So I had found my tribe to support. 

Out on Court 21 were a collection of other Jews going mental for Shahar Peer.  We chanted Eretz Yisrael (The Land of Israel), which is the equivalent of Oi! Oi! Oi! We intoned other tribal yells.  We were much more visible because we were different but essentially we were the same tribal blockheads to be found at every game.  And it was wonderful as Peer won.  You take the boy out of the tribe but you can't take the tribe out of the boy.   

And as we mobbed Peer at the end of the match seeking to be near greatness (well temporary greatness for Shahar was rubbed out in the next round), there was to be found the much demonised Croatian colours.  A young girl, in the vibrant red and white checks of Croatia, who was supposed to be Nazi saluting anti-Semite, was there desperate to get an autograph from the Jewish star.  This beguiling young girl was an inspiration.  It was so compelling I almost wept.  She shamed all of us addicted to simple solutions defining good and evil.  She demonstrated that sometimes tribalism can be merely innocent fun. 

It is impossible to know when tribal antics are a precursor to genocide or just plain pleasure (or both).  Tribalism can be fun or fatal.  It is definitely an indelible, ineradicable part of being human.  Getting the balance right is almost impossible.  What is your view?  Can we fly the flag and not be ugly?  Can the tribe speak without defining its success by the destruction of another tribe? Will we ever transcend tribalism and should we anyway?

PS:  I know that in my last blog I foreshadowed that I would be doing a special Rites of Passage triple bill starting today but I have delayed it until next week for today’s rumination.