Marcia LANGTON SAINT OR SINNER
Marcia Langton is chic. Black leather jacket, knee-length skirt, musk-pink scarf, trainers and that curtain of silver-white hair that falls across eyes that have rings like Saturn, from brown through green to blue. She cuts a striking figure, standing in the MCA cafe, Sydney Harbour sparkling behind her, drawing friends, colleagues and extended family into her orbit until tables have been pushed together and a long, animated lunch is in progress.
Love her or hate her, for 40 years, Professor Langton AO has been a formidable and controversial force in Australian public life. We’re used to seeing her on television, despatching critics with a lethal mix of academic rigour and withering scorn. I jumped in a cab this morning, expecting a quick and potentially intimidating interview with one of Australia’s most incisive thinkers. I was not expecting this glorious gathering of friends, nor Marcia’s warmth radiating at the centre of it.
“I’m glad you’re seeing me in this context,” she says when we finally find a quiet moment to chat. “You’re seeing the real me.”
Though I suspect the real Marcia Langton is a complex package.
The great-great-granddaughter of survivors of the frontier massacres and a descendant of the Yiman people of central Queensland, Marcia inherited generations of personal grit and fortitude. She was born in 1951 in Brisbane, and lived there until her mother, Kathleen Waddy, married a Korean War veteran, Douglas Langton.
“He was a severe alcoholic, clearly had a very bad case of PTSD and was a totally unpleasant person,” Marcia reports matter-of-factly.
“We travelled through south-west Queensland,” she recalls. “I counted up once that I went to nine primary schools altogether. The schools were horrible, racist hellholes. The teachers were the kind of people who still advocated killing Aboriginal people,” and the kids weren’t much better. In the little town of Dirranbandi “all the
