From the desk of Roland Rocchiccioli – 18 April

The unedifying spectacle of two women fighting in a supermarket aisle over lavatory paper, caused me to ruminate about the Australia we have become.

SIXTY-five years ago the nation would have been horrified by such an ugly display of female pugilism. Instead, today, we shake our collective heads, mutter disapprovingly, and, with little thought for the repercussions, move-on. One has to wonder: Is that an appropriate response?

The Second World War led to an increase in middle class morality. Women, restricted to home duties, were behaviourally censorious.

The strict social mores which governed everyday life have changed, irrevocably. There was a time when every house wife in Australia pulled on a hat and changed her shoes before she went to the corner shop to buy a loaf of bread.

The vanguard of the metamorphosis was Hair: the American Tribal, Love Rock Musical, which, in the 1970s, stopped a war and transformed the world, forever. Overnight we went from Peter, Paul and Mary with Puff The Magic Dragon, to The Beatles and She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah.

It was the social revolution which ripped-off the lid of Pandora’s box. Life would never be the same. As personal freedoms were won the demands grew, exponentially. Nothing could sate the revolutionary appetite.

Figuratively, women burned their bras. The contraceptive pill heralded a sexually permissive society. Women took control of their bodies and their reproductive decisions. The revolutionaries peppered their dialogue with hitherto prohibited expletives. Expectations underwent a shift of seismic gravity. The last shackles of restraint were cast-off and a new modernism was born. The older generation were puzzled and shocked by the moral laxity. By comparison, the old prevailing ethos, which had well-served the population, seems preposterous when viewed through the liberal prism of 2020.

One evening, as my sister was about to leave the house, my mother, Beria, after giving her the once over, said, “You’re not going out like that. Go and put-on a camisole. I can see your bra strap through that blouse!” My sister, who was about 18, did as she was told.

In this day and age, women have the right to wear whatever they choose; however, I was reminded when I saw two agreeable German tourists on a midday Melbourne tram. One was wearing the smallest, tightest white shorts which left little to the imagination, coupled with a white spandex sporting-bra top, and a pair of very high-heeled, white shoes. She looked sensational, but I wanted to say, “Wear what you like, but be aware that such an outfit might attract the kind of attention you may not want.”

Sexist possibly, but we are conditioned to interpret such an outfit as an indication of sexual availability. If one were dressing an actress for the role of a sex worker it would be in a like manner, and which an audience would recognise in an instant. Certainly, you would not dress the actress in a Peter Pan collar and a box-pleated skirt. That would be bewildering, and run contrary to our perception.

In reality, such patriarchal sexual objectification will continue until women’s numbers equal those of men at every level of decision-making authority.

Our modern freedoms would warm the cockles of the hearts of the soldiers and suffragettes who risked all to create societal change, and provide each of us with an opportunity for fulfilment. While the new-found liberties have wrought much good, they have produced disquieting tribal confusion, and a serious decline in standards; an uncertainty about what is, or is not, appropriate.

While the fight continues for half the population to be accorded their rightful place at the high-table, there is cause to be concerned about the parlous state of our social mores.

Has society become so fragmented, so dysfunctional, that some people think it acceptable to resort to fisticuffs over lavatory paper?

Roland can be heard with Brett Macdonald each Monday at 10.45am on 3BA and contacted via [email protected].