Global Changemakers

On the way home from Davos, I was receiving some worrying emails and texts. A heatwave had hit Victoria, the state in the bottom right hand corner of mainland Australia. Four consecutive days over 40 Celsius, turning the state from a tired-brown to a dusty and tinder dry yellow and grey.

After just a few days respite, the heat came back. Victoria’s Premier, John Brumby warned of the ‘worst day in our history,’ with Melbourne expected to hit 46 degrees, getting closer to 50 in some parts of the state. Gale force winds were expected from the north-west, with a change to the south-west late in the evening.

And it was.

In the afternoon of Saturday February 7th two fires just north of Melbourne – about an hour from where I live – had started, and after roaring across the forests and paddocks had through several towns that fringe the city.

Entire communities were decimated in what became the worst natural disaster in Australian history. At first, it looked like the human toll would be high, but not severe. It was 16 confirmed deaths at 8am on Sunday, 40 by lunchtime, and 70 that night. By Monday morning it was clear that it would be many more, and at the time of writing, the toll stands at 200 – and is expected to rise, as those who are reported missing are confirmed dead.

I flew back into Melbourne on the Monday night, through a smoky haze and over the affected area, into a city that was struggling to come to terms with what happened. It’s all anyone spoke about for a few days. Just about everyone in Melbourne has spent time in the affected areas. We all have friends and family who live up there, and everyone knows someone who is affected. My old University has lost a number of staff, current and former students. A conference centre I’ve used half a dozen times is gone – and no one’s sure where the owners are. Maybe they were away, maybe they’re some of the 10,000 people left homeless and who are living with friends or at emergency shelters, or maybe they died defending the property.

But, amidst all the tragedy, there’s been the most amazing sense of community. I’ve been so incredibly proud of my city and state, and the whole country. The government opened an appeal with the Red Cross on Monday, saying they would contribute $10 million to emergency relief. The Australian public had contributed $20m within 48 hours. Within four days, it was at $44.5m, and 10 days in, as I write this, it’s a staggering $120 million dollars (US$85 million) – that’s $6 for every man, woman and child in the country.

I had dinner with a good friend last night – he teaches at one of the poorest primary schools in the state, down by the coast, and far away from the fires. His student leadership group – 6 grade 5 and 6 students – decided to run a casual clothes day on Friday to raise money for bushfire victims. With 200 students at the school, they normally raise $250-300 for one of these days. They raised more than $800. Unemployed parents came up to the school to offer their last $20, saying that others needed it more than they did. Another friend, who teaches at one of the most elite schools in the state saw a comparable feat, raising $70,000 in one week.

But beyond money, the demonstration of community has been profound. The Salvation Army, one of the largest charities in the country, have had to ask people to stop donating goods for bushfire victims as they’re so overwhelmed that they can’t manage any further donations. The Blood Bank – a vital resource for burns victims – has seen an influx of thousands of donors, and are booked out for weeks. And, the voluntary services – the State Emergency Service, Red Cross, and the Country Fire Authority, have been working non-stop to provide ongoing support, and protect people and property for those still at risk from the dozen or fires that continue to burn around the state.

Thousands of volunteers from around the state have been working without pay, without sleep, and without recognition to support those who have lost homes, livelihoods and loved ones. And to me, that is perhaps the greatest thing that can emerge from this tragedy – an affirmation of our sense of community, and a view of the world which says that we care about others.