Image: Ambiguities

A friend was upset that Rove, whom she described as a "bogan", had been chosen to host the Dalai Lama's recent meeting in Melbourne. She's from the other side of the Yarra to me, both literally and figuratively, yet she is a good friend, so when she said this in a matter-of-fact tone, I stamped my feet and waved my arms in the air, and we both laughed: a familiar rite of ours whenever she uses the "b" word.

There are the articulated labels which can shrink and diminish the world. And there are the unspoken, barely formed ones.

For many Australians (myself included), a glance at the man in the keffiyeh and robe would lead us to think "Arab", and beyond that, what? The exotic usually appears inscrutable, since 'exotic' people are rarely explored from within their everyday lives, their imagination, their language frames, their values and viewpoints. Would "Arab" invariably conjure up a list of negative presumptions in people's minds, preconceptions born of reading books like The Exodus or watching televisiion shows such as 24?

But who is this man? This person? Is he brusque or patient? Is he a loving father and husband? How does he show his care for the environment? Is he a well-travelled business man, a scholar, a farmer? His dress suggests he is a visitor to Damascus, so what stories will he take home? Is his identity shaped by a home in a desert landscape, or does he live in a Mediterranean village? Or a 21st century cityscape? Does he water a rusty tin can of jasmine on his terrace and sweep up autumn leaves, or does he look down on his city from a 20-storey apartment building? Is his religiosity private or public, mystical or practised? Will he post the photo to this children? (My husband would be incredulous if he knew I felt a need to ask these questions.)

And the man behind the movie camera? He's taken his sandals off to walk on the white marble; might his sandals shock my friend into using the "b" word? Does the fact that he tucks in his chequered shirt just as my father does indicate anything about him? Can I conclude that he is as good-hearted as my father?

And what can be said about men who wear thier shirts out? They know what makes practical sense on a hot day in Damascus!

BTW my husband is a dapper dresser; he goes to work in a suit and tie most days. People comment on it. He is also a keen 774 Melbourne listener and loves listening to Red Symons as well as Australia All Over From Macca (on a Sunday morning); he prepares lavish BBQs for friends, drinks red wine because he likes it, and waters the azaleas and lemon tree. But he once wore a keffiyeh and robe. For many years.