A man is dead with only an Opal card on his person to identify him. Not a single person can identify him, although his opal card shows that he was most likely a resident of Sydney’s inner-west suburb of Campsie. The autopsy shows that he suffered from multiple myeloma, an aggressive cancer leaving him in significant, if not unbearable pain. There is not a neighbour, friend or family member who has ever seen or is aware of the existence of this person.
The story is not only distressing for the fact this person must have endured constant excruciating physical pain during the last stages of his life – although horrible in itself. What is more concerning, what I simply cannot fathom, is how isolated this person would have been during the final chapter of his life and how one could be so utterly alone in an Australian suburb like Campsie.
I moved to Campsie two years ago, having finally saved a sufficient amount for a home deposit. The two bedroom unit is old and dated but the building itself is solid despite the ominous deep cracks on the concrete balcony floor, and the wooden window sill panelling on the verge of complete annihilation. My downstairs neighbour has a NRL Bulldogs poster in lieu of curtains. It is perfect. In terms of location, I did not choose Campsie. Instead, the confluence of circumstance, the Sydney property market and a road trip gone awry led me here (One wrong turn off while returning from the city to my parent’s home in the Northern suburbs resulted in the Nav Man leading me through this strange land overflowing with Asian eateries and groceries, and bursting with people - so many people! ) “What is this place?” I exclaimed with astonishment as I slowly drove through the main artery of the bustling, multicultural suburb. It was Campsie.
The front door of my small unit comes adorned with five separate locks, and despite this ominous type of Feng Shui, I feel assuredly safe perched on the third level of my unit block. I will eventually go on to gut the whole place, but the energy - the bones - has always felt peaceful, alive and almost meditative amongst the buzz of the suburb. I try to take walks around my block like I used to when I was back living at home; down to the fruit shop, to the park, but it is never leisurely or peaceful, as much as I try to convince myself. On the sidewalks, I am carried by the cascade of people; I feel a sense of urgency, a need for survival. Women, men, children whole families from all walks of life imaginable. Perhaps it is me, single with no responsibilities and no priorities which makes me hyper aware of those around me simply trying to live their lives; the initial buzz of the suburb I enamoured from afar now a stark magnifying glass of the realities of suburban life.
There are glimpses of community to be found in Campsie; the sidewalk cafes filled with old men having their first cigarette and coffee of the day; the noise of their laughter reaching unacceptable levels for 8 am (as deemed by those begrudgingly making their way to work). Women with children in tow, walking to the supermarket, to the school or nowhere at all. Young and old men clad in high-vis at the Asian chicken shop sourcing their dinner after work. If Campsie is anything, it is alive.
So when I come to read about a man who dies without a single person knowing his identity – who still remains to be identified – it strikes me. Despite the chaos, the around-the-clock buzz, there is a certain loneliness that reigns in a suburb like Campsie. I wonder if it is the sheer number of people that make it possible for someone to disappear into the busy-ness of it all, to remain anonymous and live one’s whole life making no connections, if that is indeed one chooses to do. For such human silos to exist, however, two parties must play their necessary roles: the individual who does not actively engage and the community that does not reach out. In the case of the dead Campsie man, both played their parts perfectly.
Perhaps making meaningful ‘social connections’ is a luxury afforded to a few, something to be considered only after the daily struggles of life have been endured; after the dinner has been bought, the prescription refilled and the rent paid for the week. Yet, the research is unequivocal -it’s not the mundane daily struggles of life which we need to slug through if we are to make it alive - it is the increasing battle against loneliness. Research now shows that loneliness is a risk factor for early mortality and carries a similar risk to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
The front door of my small unit comes adorned with five separate locks, and despite this ominous type of Feng Shui, I feel assuredly safe perched on the third level of my unit block. I will eventually go on to gut the whole place, but the energy - the bones - has always felt peaceful, alive and almost meditative amongst the buzz of the suburb. I try to take walks around my block like I used to when I was back living at home; down to the fruit shop, to the park, but it is never leisurely or peaceful, as much as I try to convince myself. On the sidewalks, I am carried by the cascade of people; I feel a sense of urgency, a need for survival. Women, men, children whole families from all walks of life imaginable. Perhaps it is me, single with no responsibilities and no priorities which makes me hyper aware of those around me simply trying to live their lives; the initial buzz of the suburb I enamoured from afar now a stark magnifying glass of the realities of suburban life.
There are glimpses of community to be found in Campsie; the sidewalk cafes filled with old men having their first cigarette and coffee of the day; the noise of their laughter reaching unacceptable levels for 8 am (as deemed by those begrudgingly making their way to work). Women with children in tow, walking to the supermarket, to the school or nowhere at all. Young and old men clad in high-vis at the Asian chicken shop sourcing their dinner after work. If Campsie is anything, it is alive.
So when I come to read about a man who dies without a single person knowing his identity – who still remains to be identified – it strikes me. Despite the chaos, the around-the-clock buzz, there is a certain loneliness that reigns in a suburb like Campsie. I wonder if it is the sheer number of people that make it possible for someone to disappear into the busy-ness of it all, to remain anonymous and live one’s whole life making no connections, if that is indeed one chooses to do. For such human silos to exist, however, two parties must play their necessary roles: the individual who does not actively engage and the community that does not reach out. In the case of the dead Campsie man, both played their parts perfectly.
Perhaps making meaningful ‘social connections’ is a luxury afforded to a few, something to be considered only after the daily struggles of life have been endured; after the dinner has been bought, the prescription refilled and the rent paid for the week. Yet, the research is unequivocal -it’s not the mundane daily struggles of life which we need to slug through if we are to make it alive - it is the increasing battle against loneliness. Research now shows that loneliness is a risk factor for early mortality and carries a similar risk to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
Alarming still is that between 17 and 60 per cent of Australians report that they are lonely. Given that loneliness is likely to become the next health epidemic of our times, it is crucial that now, more than ever, we begin to try to address this issue on the ground - as members of our local communities, in our suburbs, as neighbours, in our local fruit shops, on our daily commute and beyond. It demands that we to step out of our comfort zone, be vulnerable and place real life connection and community over the ostensible online kind – an entirely terrifying prospect for many in today’s age. This is our responsibility as individuals, and as communities as a whole. And if we dont? We live a life devoid of rich perspectives, lacking meaningful connection and belonging beyond that of our immediate family and friends - and as the research now shows - a life cut short before its time.
* This post originally written and published in 2019
very true zogi
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