'When someone walks along our street, the dogs bark from behind their fences like a choreographed Mexican wave that travels from one end of the road to another. I know the sound and rhythm of the dogs well. I know when something is urgent and when it's not. But I don't know my neighbours' names. We smile and wave politely in passing, but that's about the limit of our interaction on this quiet street in this small town. Less than a kilometre away, where my sister-in-law lives, things are quite different. The dogs aren't locked up behind fences because the gates are always open and the dogs never run away. My sister-in-law knows the names of her neighbours. She also knows the names of her neighbours' parents and grandparents, their children and most of their grandchildren. Migrants in Australia, those of us that have arrived at different points in the last 230 years, can only dream nostalgically about that depth of community. The reasons for this can in part be traced back to government policies that have designated where and how particular people live, especially so in this town. ' (Introduction)
