My Brother, My Brother, My Brother, Update.

Michael Gray Griffith, KULTURE/Cafe Locked Out

The play was written and staged quickly. Initially we had great audiences, both here and in Colac, but when we returned to Melbourne, few would come, despite the reviews.

So I decided to convert it into a novella, which might inspire other young male actors, and they have to be very brave, to stage it again, for I don’t have the funds.

Three young men lost at sea. One of them is severely vaccine injured; Myocarditis. He might die out here. In this scene though, he lets the other two know, that he doesn’t want to return to our golden shores . . . Why not?

The Characters

Jack, Isaac, and the injured boy, Conor.

The novella will be ready soon.

Michael Gray Griffith

The Scene.

"You don't want to go back?" asked Isaac.
"Back to what?" asked Conor. "They don't want me."
"Don't listen to him," Jack told Isaac. "He's just depressed."
"Who doesn't want you?" asked Isaac.
"Not just me," said Conor. "You as well. Both of you."
"Oh, shut the fuck up," said Jack.
"No, you let him talk," said Isaac before he turned back to Conor. "Talk."

"Okay, well, I don't know when, but somewhere, at some moment, they decided..."
"They?" said Jack. "Oh, okay. And who the fuck are they? Aye? Who the fuck are they?"
"I don't know," said Conor. "But whoever they are, they decided that we are not wanted. I'm serious. Look at the evidence. There's hardly any work, just casual shit that doesn’t pay you enough to live off. You two are always whinging about that. And there's no way any of us will ever own a house unless we win Lotto or wait around for our parents to die. And your mum rents, Jack. So financially, you're fucked."
"Who gives a shit?" said Jack. "I don't care about money."
"I don't have a job," said Isaac.
"What?" asked Jack.
"They just sacked me," said Isaac.
"What did you do?" grinned Jack.
"Nothing," said Isaac. "They just told me there was no work, which was bullshit. But it wasn't just me. They let three of us go. Then one of us went back in there to find they'd replaced us all with immigrants. Cheaper, I guess. The cunts."
"There you go," said Conor. "And what sort of society doesn’t put the welfare of its own children first? Then, over and above all the crazy shit that's going on—and our world is going fucking crazy—all they do is complain about how we don’t respect them. Respect them for what?" asked Conor. We're not fucking citizens anymore. This country has become corporatized, and all of us now fit into two categories: we are either assets, like you two, or liabilities, like me. Which is what I fucking am.

Do you know how long it took us to find a cardiologist who would take the fact my heart was fucked seriously? Two years. Two fucking years to hear him tell me I now had the heart of a sixty-year-old man. An unfit sixty-year-old. And my parents had to fork out four hundred and fifty dollars to hear him say that. In fact, they’ve had to pay for all my medical bills. Everything. Nothing from the government. They won’t even acknowledge it happened. One hundred thousand dollars. That’s what they’ve paid out. More, probably. It’s destroying them. They’ve even had to remortgage the house. My home. They are trying to take my home. And that’s the truth, boys.
Not only have they fucked me, but they’re making my parents pay for the privilege. So yeah, out here, now, I don’t feel like a liability. Out here, I feel like I’ve escaped. I feel free. And the only thing I’m scared of now, is going home."

Conor was standing on the bow, and with the swell as his audience and the setting sun painting him with a golden brush that left him looking like a young god, he said,
"I’m not a wanted son anymore. I can see it in my dad’s face. To him, I’m just an embarrassment. A reminder. A burden."
"Bullshit," said Jack. "You’re just down, mate, that’s all it is."
"Fuck you, Jack," said Conor.

"You know," said Isaac. "When he talks about the corporations, he’s right. In that last job, the one that just fucking sacked me, they had a social media policy that said if I post anything anywhere that anyone finds offensive, they can sack me. What the fuck is that? They pay me this shit wage, and they think they can own my thoughts?"
"No, no, no," said Jack, trying to return to joking. "They’re just protecting their brand."
"Yeah, well, I’m not their fucking brand," said Isaac. "I’m an independent fucking human being. I am me."

"You know what else I don’t miss, Jack?" said Conor. "The shame."
"For being injured?" asked Isaac.
"No. For being a man," said Conor. "For being a straight man, a white man. For being what I am: an Australian."
"That’s what my grandfather used to say," said Isaac. "I’ve paid taxes all my life, I’ve raised a family, paid off a house, and now I’m the bad guy?"
"Same with my dad, and yours," said Conor. "Become a man? What the fuck are they talking about? What is a fucking man? All I know about being a man is, that they don’t want men."

Extract from My Brother, My Brother, My Brother.

By Michael Gray Griffith