Like many white Australians, I didn’t grow up thinking a lot about what January 26 meant to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. If it wasn’t for my history buff mother, I would never have known about the nearby Cullin-La-Ringo massacres (and follow up massacre). We certainly weren’t told about it in school. In our family, January 26 is a holiday-within-a-holiday — it’s our Ukrainian grandmother’s birthday, and she loves Australia more than anyone I’ve ever met. She spent her childhood fleeing war, and Australia is her paradise.
By all accounts, Mooloobinba (modern-day Newcastle) was paradise too. The Awabakal and Worimi people lived in a land of abundance, with unlimited supplies of food, fibre and materials for weapons and tools. They used fire to cultivate the land. Early white settlers all commented on how fit, healthy and tall the traditional owners were.
When I visited Newy in May last year, I went on a walking tour. The guide took us to the location depicted in the Joseph Lycett painting at the top of this email, and got out a print of it to compare how the landscape had changed. Since then, I’ve been trying to find out more about how people lived in the Newcastle, Lake Macquarie and Hunter regions before white settlement.
Last night L and I went to an event called Ngarrama - To Sit, Listen and Know. It was organised by the uni and the Awabakal Aboriginal corporation and held in the beautiful natural amphitheatre of King Edward Park, overlooking the ocean. The idea was for Aboriginal people to share their culture and history with non-Aboriginal people, explicitly acknowledging what was lost, while celebrating their continued survival.
When I moved to Melbourne, I found myself in an inner-north scene where attending the big Invasion Day march through the CBD was seen as the only acceptable form of allyship. I was told to Pay The Rent, but then derided as a lazy capitalist for “trying to throw money at a problem”. It was hard to know what was helpful, and what was harmful.
This event was the opposite of all the Invasion Day marches I’d seen. It was billed as a “truth-telling vigil [with the opportunity] for listening and quiet reflection through the sharing of stories, knowledge and culture”, but the vibe was joyful and respectful. Adults sat listening respectfully while little kids ran around during the speeches.
All the speakers stressed that we will never make any progress on reconciliation without inclusion on all sides. We heard from elders, young people and Professor John Maynard, who is a historian and Worimi man. Everything was explained and contextualised, right down to introductions before traditional dances. All the children were encouraged to run down the hill and join the dances, no matter their cultural background.
A young woman closed out the speeches by pointing out that the first official Aboriginal Day of Mourning was held on January 26 1938, whereas the Australia Day public holiday on January 26 only began in 1994. Which is the greater tradition? For her family, January 26 includes attending protest marches, but also celebrating their connection to country by enjoying the beach.
I’m not saying that protest marches are mean and nasty and polite park performances are good and acceptable. There’s a protest march happening here today too, which culminates in an event with market stalls and beach rugby. All approaches are valuable and worthy. I left last night’s event full of wonder, sorrow, and hope that in my lifetime we’ll be able to grow leaders who can bring us together for a better future without denying the horrors of the past.