Working Two Way: Stories of Cross-cultural Collaboration from Nyoongar Country [1st ed. 2020] 9811549125, 9789811549120

Table of contents :
Foreword
Acknowledgements
Contents
About the Authors
Abbreviations
1 Introduction
Action Research
Terminology
How to Use This Book
References
2 Nyoongar History and Culture
Nyoongar History and Culture
Native Title
Identity
Contemporary Nyoongar Culture
Conclusion
References
3 Indigenous Protocols
Diversity
Men’s Business, Women’s Business
Sorry Business
Ethical Research Protocols
Appropriation
References
4 Action Research and Indigenous Research Methodologies
What Is Action Research?
How to Do Action Research
Why Action Research?
Quality Action Research
Look, Think, Act
Action Research Advocates
The Third Space
Ganma: A Yolngu Metaphor
Indigenous Resurgence
Indigenous Research Methodologies
Yarning
Using Action Research to Write This Book
References
5 History
The Silence
History Wars
Identity
Oral History
The Healing Power of Storytelling
Settler Colonialism
Ways of Working
Case Study: Kukenerup
Conclusion
References
6 Health
Health in Nyoongar Country
Closing the Gap
Physical Health
Mental Health
Case Study: Looking Forward, Moving Forward
Case Study: Earbus
Conclusion
References
7 Education and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students
History and Context
Teaching and Learning with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students
Case Study: Wesley College Moorditj Mob
Case Study—Djidi Djidi Primary School
Working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students—University
Case Study: Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies
Conclusion
References
8 Education and Non-Indigenous Students
Curriculum Overview
In the Classroom
Case Study: Nowanup Bush University
Case Study: Aboriginal Community Engagement
Conclusion
References
9 Media
Protocols in Practice: The Filmmakers’ Experience
Media and Representation
Case Study: Noongar Dandjoo
Planning for Participatory Production
Putting Participatory Production Techniques into Practice
Validity and Feedback
Self Reflection
A Third Space
The Program
Conclusion
References
10 Sustainability
Traditional Land Management
Contemporary Land Care
Walking Together
Changing Policies
Case Study: Gondwana Link and Nowanup
Conclusion
References
11 Conclusion
References

Citation preview

Michelle Johnston Simon Forrest

Working Two Way Stories of Cross-cultural Collaboration from Nyoongar Country

Working Two Way

Michelle Johnston Simon Forrest •

Working Two Way Stories of Cross-cultural Collaboration from Nyoongar Country

123

Michelle Johnston Faculty of Humanities Curtin University Bentley, WA, Australia

Simon Forrest Curtin University Bentley, WA, Australia

ISBN 978-981-15-4912-0 ISBN 978-981-15-4913-7 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7

(eBook)

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

I dedicate my contribution to this book to the significant women in my life, my two grandmothers Maude and Mary, my mother Peggy, my sister Leslie, my daughter Kelsi and my wife, Roni who I can never repay for her patience, understanding and support. Because of Them I Have. Simon Forrest To my family – Jess, Cam, Ron, Arna and Dad. Thank you for all your love and support. Thank you also to all the Nyoongar people who have patiently and generously opened my eyes to Nyoongar culture and to my country. Michelle Johnston

Foreword

This book contains important information and messages for all people working with Aboriginal people including in research, service delivery and advocacy. It is about how to achieve success in dealings between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians. My own interest in the book flows not from a direct involvement in the sort of teaching and research the authors draw on but from long involvement in public administration of Indigenous Affairs and active involvement in organisations and programs supporting Aboriginal education, native title, working on country and reconciliation. Like the authors, I am familiar with success and failure. That personal experience has led me to the conclusion that a central cause of our too frequent failures is the seeming incapacity to do what political leaders frequently say but seldom do, to work with Aboriginal people rather than on them. It is the work of two academics, one Aboriginal one non-Aboriginal, each with long experience of working as teachers and researchers in the intercultural space. In addition, they have engaged and interacted with many others working as researchers, advocates and service deliverers. From direct experience, they have become advocates for changing relationships including power relationships as the basis for changing results. It is hard to step back from our colonising past with its reflex top-down response to Aboriginal issues. It is hard to come to an understanding that Aboriginal people themselves are the key actors rather than just recipients of our interests and decisions. It is even harder to act on that new understanding as these authors advocate and do. This is the time when in the Uluru Statement from the Heart Aboriginal people have made it clear that their absolute priority is to have a voice. They are sick of not being heard and as a result of being powerless and not having agency in the things that affect them. Reconciliation is about respectful relationships. This is not a matter of piety or political correctness. It is reflective of the reality that good outcomes in universities, classrooms, places of employment and in communities, flow from two-way respectful relationships. What is found in this book is a variety of ways of working vii

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Foreword

that embody respectful relationships. All of those ways involve the Aboriginal voice being acted on as well as heard. There is wide community support for fixing problems, a hunger for success in improving relationships and for ‘closing the gap’. There is also frustration that we don’t do better. Public attention is most often directed to failure. Successes are taken for granted and do not invite examination of why they succeeded. In describing success, what works, in particular areas of research, service delivery and community relations this book is an aid to expanding what works and avoiding basic errors in our intercultural dealings. It tells us how we can do better. Put simply this book is about how to implement power-sharing in research, advocacy and service delivery. It describes what we hunger for, how to achieve success in an area of past failure. It is a practical tool for those working in this intercultural space. Western Australia

Fred Chaney Fred Chaney is a Western Australian who has worked with and advocated for Aboriginal people since 1960 variously as a student, lawyer, private citizen, Federal Senator and Member, Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Member and Deputy President of the National Native Title Tribunal and as an NGO board member including the Graham (Polly) Farmer Foundation, Reconciliation Australia, Reconciliation WA, Central Desert Native Title Services and Desert Support Services. He believes that respectfully listening to Aboriginal voices is essential if we are to have good relationships and are to close the gaps.

Acknowledgements

This book includes the voices and experiences of a number of Western Australians, who are working collaboratively with the Aboriginal community and who are passionate about creating change. We thank participants for their generosity, for their willingness to share knowledge and insight, and for spending time with us. All the people acknowledged in these pages participated in an interview, offered ideas and read and approved draft chapters of the book. Their voices are highlighted with italicised text in each chapter. Thanks to the family, friends and colleagues, who have advised and given feedback on the book: Ron Elliott, Gayle Adams, Fred Chaney, Jess Johnston and Margaret O’Connell. Thanks also to the Curtin University School of Media, Creative Arts and Social Inquiry for providing the time and support to write this book. Keith Bradby is currently CEO of Gondwana Link and Chair of WA Landcare Network. Keith is a long-time advocate for the ecological values of south-western Australia and has had key roles in the protection and restoration of these for many years. He has had roles with his local land care groups, in managing government programs and developing key government policies affecting land care and natural habitats. He partnered with The Nature Conservancy to establish the Gondwana Link program in 2002, and has helped with the work of Noongar Elder, Eugene Eades, since 2006. Keith holds the Great Southern Development Commission’s 2005 Medal of Excellence in Natural Resource Management and was awarded an Order of Australia Medal in 2015 for service to conservation and the environment in Western Australia.

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Acknowledgements Dylan Collard is a Wadjak Ballardong Nyoongar man and is a High School Teacher of Humanities and Social Sciences, English and Nyoongar Languages and Culture. Prior to becoming a teacher, he graduated with a Bachelor of Law and Bachelor of Arts (Political Science and Indigenous Studies) from the University of Western Australia in 2016. Dylan has received a host of awards, the most recent including a WA Young Achiever Award recognising his outstanding community and volunteering activities. He is interested in inspiring young Indigenous people to pursue education pathways and navigate both Indigenous and nonIndigenous systems of learning. Dylan is also passionate about Human Rights and how this relates to education. He recently was selected to attend the Aurora Indigenous International Study Tour, which visits some of the most prestigious universities in the world. Tegan Davis has worked at Djidi Djidi Aboriginal School In Bunbury, Western Australia, since 2010. In this time Tegan has worked with the community to systematically transform the expectations of what Aboriginal children can achieve academically. She has also previously worked in the East Kimberly. Tegan is a strong advocate for creating schools that have a culture of excellence and high expectations. She believes that schools who have Aboriginal students must be anchored by high expectations and relationships, and that the easiest way to change a school culture that is devoid of any of these elements is to simply create a new one.

Carol Dowling is an Aboriginal Badimia/Yamatji woman, whose family comes from the Central West of Western Australia. Carol holds a Bachelor of Arts (Aboriginal & Intercultural Studies) from Edith Cowan University and a Master of Arts (Indigenous Research and Development) from Curtin University. Carol recently graduated from her doctoral degree. Her area of PhD research is an auto-ethnography of five generations of Aboriginal women in her maternal family. Her main areas of interest are Aboriginal media, Aboriginal visual arts, identity, ethnobotany, Aboriginal intellectual property rights, stolen generations, human rights and social justice.

Acknowledgements

xi Eugene Eages is a Menang Noongar leader who has a long history of working with his community. In the early 2000s, he established a pilot aquaculture program in Katanning for the Southern Aboriginal Corporation. Since 2006, Eugene has focused all his energy and time into a series of cultural camps and healing activities on the property Nowanup, with a particular focus on supporting disadvantaged and troubled young people, and families. He also works to bring a wider spectrum of the community into an expanded understanding of Noongar culture and its many values.

Veronica (Roni) Gray Forrest is an experienced professional specialising in Aboriginal education and heritage. She is a Minang-Ngadju woman from the south coast, was born in Goreng country of Gnowangerup, and grew up in the Jerramungup and Bremer Bay region of WA. She currently works for the Association of Independent Schools of WA (AISWA) as the Program Coordinator of the Future Footprints Program. The Program is a support network for independent residential Colleges with Indigenous boarding students. Through this position, Roni has a consulting role within AISWA on Indigenous education and culture. She has been involved in and coordinated the research and publication of social and oral histories from the south coastal region of WA, she has been engaged as a consultant on Aboriginal heritage, and been involved in documenting Aboriginal sites on the south coast. This has led to Roni gaining extensive experience in Noongar historical research and she has built up, over many years, an extensive Indigenous network throughout the state. Roni was recently the lead facilitator in the unveiling of a traditional burial ground interpretive place in Jerramungup. She is the Foundation member of the Yarramoup Aboriginal Corporation founded in 1992, and she has completed a Graduate Certificate in Indigenous Sector Management from Edith Cowan University.

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Acknowledgements Veronica Goerke is a child of migrants from the Valtellina in Lombardy, Italy, where all her ancestors (Bertola and Tavelli) have lived for generations. She was born on, and is still living on, Wadjuck Nyoongar country, with her husband—and their children live nearby. In her workplace, she is a senior lecturer and advisor in Curtin Learning and Teaching at Curtin University. She has been a secondary teacher, unit coordinator and lecturer working mainly with first-year university students. Her Ph.D. research is about the actualisation of reconciliation in Australian universities and how this has been expressed through Reconciliation Action Plans. Since 2007, her roles have focused on facilitating staff to create and deliver excellent, inclusive curriculum as well as supporting them, and their students to enhance their intercultural capabilities. Dr. Graeme Gower is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Education at Edith Cowan University. Graeme is a descendant of the Yawuru people of Broome, Western Australia and has been involved in Indigenous education for 38 years, 8 years as a primary school teacher and 30 years in higher education. He is actively involved in teaching and research, and is particularly interested in Indigenous cultural competency and research in Indigenous education, including effective school and community partnerships with Indigenous communities. He is a strong advocate of cultural competency training for researchers who engage in Indigenous research to strengthen ethical practices and effective communication among participants and Indigenous communities. His current research relates to increasing Aboriginal community/student and school engagement. Anna Haebich is a multi-award-winning Australian author and historian, recognised for her research with Aboriginal communities, Nyungar people in particular. Her career combines university teaching, research, curatorship, creative writing and visual arts. Anna is a Curtin University John Curtin Distinguished Professor. Her current projects address performing arts, Aboriginal letter writing in government archives 1860–1960 and 19c German botanical collections from South Western Australia. Her major publications are Dancing in Shadows: Histories of Nyungar Performance (2018), Broken Circles: Fragmenting Indigenous Families 1800–2000, For Their Own Good: Aborigines and Government in the South West of Western Australia 1900–1940, and the complex study of assimilation policy Spinning the Dream: Assimilation in Australia. Anna’s partner is Nyungar Elder, Darryl Kickett.

Acknowledgements

xiii Antonia Hendrick is a social worker who has held various appointments with government and non-government organisations before joining Curtin in 2008 as an academic. Antonia’s passion includes working with people in community, at a grassroots level, to action developmental practice, which she also teaches in the social work course. Her most recent focus is on decolonial practice partnering with Aboriginal Elders to develop staff and student cultural responsiveness. Antonia has a number of publications on decolonial theory and practice and aims to develop this work in the Academy. This work intersects with her interest in eco-social work, where she is a member of a special interest group through the professional association.

Steve Hopper is a field-active conservation biologist, widely travelled, and a well-published scientific author. Currently, as UWA’s Professor of Biodiversity, he leads a program on sustainable living with biodiversity at the Albany campus. His focus is on old, climatically buffered, infertile landscapes (Ocbils), such as granite outcrops, and on cross-cultural studies with Aboriginal people. A graduate from UWA (1974), with a PhD awarded in 1980, Prof. Hopper has named some 300 plants new to science. He was the WA government’s first Flora Conservation Research Officer in 1977. Following overseas study in 1990 in Georgia (USA) and California, Prof. Hopper served as Director both at Kings Park and Botanic Garden in Perth (1992–2004) and at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, in London (2006–2012). In 2012, he was awarded Australia’s highest civilian honour (Companion of the Order of Australia) and inducted into the Western Australian Science Hall of Fame. Darryl Kickett is a Nyungar man growing up in his Wilman country near Narrogin, Western Australia. His wife Anna, children, family and friends bring much joy to his life. Key areas of work included time as an advisor to an Aboriginal Affairs Minister and pursuing land rights in a Land Council. Two key impact jobs were CEO of the Aboriginal Health Council of Western Australia representing and supporting WA Aboriginal Medical Services, and time spent as Head of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies, improving access to higher education for Aboriginal students. Darryl participated in State committees including the WA Ministerial Council for Suicide Prevention and the Telethon Institute Aboriginal Research Committee. Recent work involves research at Curtin University enabling better community access to historical documents in the WA Archives. Healing of spirit work is a priority in the community and he is engaged as Ambassador to the National Red Dust Heelers Wheelchair basketball team building respect with disabled people within schools and community.

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Acknowledgements Marion Kickett is a Balardong Noongar on her Father’s side and Wongutha Yamitj on her Mother’s side of the family. She grew up in Balardong country in the wheat belt town of York in the South West of Western Australia. She has a Nursing and Health Science background and completed a PhD at the University of Western Australia. Marion has been teaching Aboriginal Health and Culture for the past 30 years both at a community and academic level. She has worked in and with Aboriginal community controlled organisations developing, designing and implementing educational programs. Marion is currently the Director of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University and strongly believes the way forward for her people is Education. Her strongest leadership attribute is to empower her own people. Ben Lewis is currently a Director at St. Catherines College at the University of Western Australia, overseeing the Dandjoo Darbalung Indigenous Program. He was previously the Indigenous Program Coordinator at Wesley College for 7 years and a member of staff at the University of Notre Dame, Fremantle for their Working with Indigenous Students course. Previously he was a secondary teacher and a Program Coordinator for the Graham Polly Farmer Foundation in Newman in the Western Australian Pilbara region. Ben works closely with local Elders and the Nyoongar community to facilitate authentic and engaging cultural experiences that empower Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students.

Alison Lullfitz grew up on the south coast of Western Australia and since returning home in 2009 has lived with her family in Goreng Country on the Pallinup River. She is based at UWA in Albany where she is in the final stages of completing a PhD and also teaches undergraduates. She is undertaking collaborative research with Noongar Elders of southern coastal areas between Israelite Bay and Albany. Her multifaceted research explores how specific cultural activities have influenced biodiversity within the South West Australian Floristic Region through a series of investigations examining vegetation patterns and processes in light of Noongar cultural history and landscape age. Although her research takes in much of southwestern Australia, it is focused on the Pallinup River and Esperance areas. Prior to commencing her Ph.D. in late 2013, Alison worked in a range of biodiversity conservation and environmental management roles over an 18-year period.

Acknowledgements

xv Prof. Steve Mickler is Head of the School of Media, Creative Arts and Social Inquiry at Curtin University. He has held a number of senior academic posts including Acting Pro-Vice-Chancellor and Deputy Pro-Vice-Chancellor of the Faculty of Humanities and was a Research Fellow at Murdoch University. Before his academic career, he worked in Aboriginal affairs in the Northern Territory and WA, including with ATSIC and the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. He is the author of A Boy’s Short Life (UWAP 2014, with Anna Haebich) The War on Democracy: Conservative Opinion in the Australian Press (UWAP 2006, with Niall Lucy), The Myth of Privilege: Aboriginal Status, Media Visions, Public Ideas, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 1998 and Gambling on the First Race, Racism and Talk-back Radio (Centre for Research in Culture and Communication, Murdoch University 1992). Kim Scott is a multi-award-winning novelist, having twice won the Miles Franklin Award (for Benang and That Deadman Dance) among many other Australian literary prizes. His most recent novel is Taboo (Picador 2017). Proud to be one among those who call themselves Noongar, Kim is also founder and chair of the Wirlomin Noongar Language and Story Project (www.wirlomin.com.au), which is responsible for a number of bilingual (Noongar and English) picture books and regional performances of story and song. A Companion to the Works of Kim Scott (Camden House, 2016) deals with aspects of his career in education and literature. He received an Australian Centenary Medal and was 2012 West Australian of the Year. Kim is currently Professor of Writing in the School of Media, Creative Arts and Social Inquiry at Curtin University. Lara Shur has an undergraduate Honours degree in Speech & Hearing Therapy, a Masters degree in Audiology and a Graduate Certificate in Business Management. She joined the Earbus Foundation of WA (EFWA) as Director, Clinical Services in 2013. She was previously Manager of the Audiology Department at Telethon Speech & Hearing Centre for Children. Lara has extensive clinical experience in the field of paediatric Audiology with clinical interests in the areas of Aboriginal Children, diagnostic assessments for newborns and difficult to manage cases. Since 2013, she has spent over 110 weeks in Aboriginal Communities providing Audiology Services and coordinating the transdisciplinary Earbus teams. This work has been in the East Pilbara, Goldfields, South West and Kimberley regions of WA. In Perth, Lara undertakes Infant Diagnostic Assessments and works in the Earbus Children’s Hearing Clinic.

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Acknowledgements Prof. Fiona Stanley AC trained in maternal and child health, epidemiology and public health, and has spent her career researching the causes of major childhood illnesses such as birth defects. Her major contribution has been to establish the Telethon Kids Institute, a unique multidisciplinary independent research institute focusing on the causes and prevention of major problems affecting children and youth and to establish the Australian Research Alliance for Children and Youth. She has over 300 publications, books and book chapters. She is a board member of the Gurrumul Yunupingu Foundation, a Governor of The Ian Potter Foundation and a former member of the Prime Minister’s Science, Engineering and Innovation Council and a former board member of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. For her research on behalf of Australia's children and Aboriginal social justice, she was named Australian of the Year in 2003 and in 2006 she was made a UNICEF Australia Ambassador for Early Childhood Development. More recently she has become a spokesperson for the Climate Council, Doctors for the Environment Australia (member of their Scientific Advisory Committee) and 350.org, on the health effects of climate change. She is also a Director of the Australian National Development Index. Dr. Glen Stasiuk is a Lecturer and Program Chair in Screen Production and a senior Indigenous researcher at Murdoch University within the College of Arts, Business, Law & Social Science. Glen is a maternal descendent of the Minang-Wadjari Nyungars of the South-West of Western Australia whilst his paternal family emigrated from post-war Russia. These rich and varied cultural backgrounds have allowed him, through his filmmaking, research and writing to explore culture, knowledge and diverse narratives. Glen’s research has primarily centred on the re-representation of Aboriginal culture and history in both filmic and written form. These themes are evident throughout his extensive film productions, including The Forgotten (2002), awarded Best Documentary at the 2003 WA Screen Awards, Footprints in the Sand (2007), a finalist at the Message Sticks International Film Festival—Sydney Opera House, and Wadjemup: Black Prison— White Playground (2014), which was awarded Outstanding Achievement Feature Film—Factual at the 2014 WA Screen Awards. He has since had several production works displayed in exhibitions at the Rottnest Island Authority museum on the island, the Fremantle Prison and the National Museum of Australia in Canberra.

Acknowledgements

xvii Ernie Stringer began his career as a primary teacher and school principal, then spent 10 years as a lecturer in teacher education at Curtin University in Western Australia. In 1985, he was appointed to the Centre for Aboriginal Studies where, for two decades, he worked collaboratively with Aboriginal staff and members of the Aboriginal community to develop a wide variety of successful education and community development programs. Ernie worked collaboratively to develop a program called “Working With Aboriginal People”, and in 1988 he was appointed senior consultant in the development of the Higher Education section of the National Aboriginal Education Policy. Ernie is currently engaged in developing a history of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University. He is the author of five texts about Action Research, is on the Editorial Board of the Action Research Journal 2003–2013, and President of the Action Learning, Action Research Association 2004–2007. Michelle White is a highly motivated, multiskilled, media all-rounder. She is a passionate storyteller with a commitment to sharing the stories of Australia’s First Nation people. Her skill set includes writing for print, screen and radio, film and video production, event management, media and public relations, MC presentation and organisational management. She was born and raised in Whadjuk country, and Michelle comes from a strong and proud Yamatji/European family.

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Acknowledgements Michael Wright is a Yuat Nyoongar man whose ancestral country is known as The Victoria Plains just north of Perth, WA. Michael is a public health researcher and is currently the lead investigator on the Looking Forward, Moving Forward Project (2016–2021), funded by the NHMRC. He was the lead investigator on the Looking Forward Project (2011–2015) that developed the Minditj Kaart-Moorditj Kaart Framework. The framework was co-designed by Nyoongar Elders and service providers and is a culturally safe system change intervention that has been implemented in mental health and drug and alcohol services in WA. Michael’s research, service and leadership principally focuses on decolonising health and social care to improve the health and wellness of the Nyoongar community and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples more broadly. His research and advocacy holds central the tenets of trustworthiness, inclusivity, reciprocity and adaptability to ensure that work undertaken with the Aboriginal community does not replicate current and past colonising practices, but rather reflects openness, authenticity and the willingness to be receptive to new ways of learning and seeing the world. Michael’s research focuses on shared learning and working together in a participatory, non-linear way and is based upon forming, and coming together in, relationships. He believes a new paradigm of deep listening and being fully present to effect real change for Nyoongar people is required to more fully engage with the Nyoongar world view so it can be truly heard and understood.

Contents

1

Introduction . . . . . . . . Action Research . . . . . . Terminology . . . . . . . . . How to Use This Book . References . . . . . . . . . .

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Nyoongar History and Culture Nyoongar History and Culture . . Native Title . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Contemporary Nyoongar Culture Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Indigenous Protocols . . . . . . . . . . . Diversity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Men’s Business, Women’s Business Sorry Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ethical Research Protocols . . . . . . . Appropriation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Action Research and Indigenous Research Methodologies What Is Action Research? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How to Do Action Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Why Action Research? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Quality Action Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Look, Think, Act . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Action Research Advocates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Third Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ganma: A Yolngu Metaphor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Contents

Indigenous Resurgence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Indigenous Research Methodologies . . . . . . Yarning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Using Action Research to Write This Book References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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5

History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Silence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . History Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oral History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Healing Power of Storytelling . Settler Colonialism . . . . . . . . . . . . Ways of Working . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Kukenerup . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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6

Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Health in Nyoongar Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Closing the Gap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Physical Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mental Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Looking Forward, Moving Forward Case Study: Earbus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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7

Education and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students History and Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Teaching and Learning with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Wesley College Moorditj Mob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study—Djidi Djidi Primary School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students— University . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

8

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Education and Non-Indigenous Students . . . . . Curriculum Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . In the Classroom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Nowanup Bush University . . . . . . . Case Study: Aboriginal Community Engagement

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Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176 9

Media . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Protocols in Practice: The Filmmakers’ Experience . . . . . Media and Representation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Noongar Dandjoo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Planning for Participatory Production . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Putting Participatory Production Techniques into Practice Validity and Feedback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Self Reflection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Third Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Program . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

10 Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Traditional Land Management . . . . . . . . . . Contemporary Land Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . Walking Together . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Changing Policies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: Gondwana Link and Nowanup Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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11 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230

About the Authors

Michelle Johnston I am a teacher and researcher at Curtin University, a filmmaker, a mother and a Wudjella born in Wadjuk Nyoongar Country where I have always lived. My family history goes back to the First Fleet of British colonisers in 1829. I love Perth and the south-west, the place I call home, and the place where my family lives. I spent the first half of my professional life working in television and then moved on to work as an academic at Curtin University in 2000. It was while teaching multi-camera television production to undergraduate students that I engaged with Perth’s new and struggling community television station. My honours research and engagement with passionate station staff helped me to understand that community media is a valuable third tier of broadcasting and has an important role to play in a healthy, democratic, national media landscape. My Ph. D. research sought to understand the absence of Aboriginal community media in Perth, and the role Aboriginal community media plays in maintaining culture and identity. I set about creating a Nyoongar Community Television program, called Noongar Dandjoo, that would answer these questions. Aware that my experience and education up to this point in my life had provided no knowledge or skills to make an Aboriginal program, or to work with Aboriginal people, I knew I had a lot to learn. I took my first steps into Aboriginal community and culture unsure of my decision to work in that space.

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About the Authors

Over a decade later Aboriginal community media is thriving in Perth and I am still learning, but along the way I discovered action research and have relied on that philosophy and methodology to guide my work ever since. I met and collaborated with many Aboriginal people during that time and it is this collaborative work that continues to be the most rewarding and enjoyable for me. The television program mentioned above is still being produced at Curtin, I have worked on an oral histories project with Stolen Generations’ survivors, produced a feature documentary with Nyoongar Elders about the Carrolup artworks (https://jcg.curtin.edu.au/ carrolup/) and I work with students so that they too can begin their own journey of engagement with Aboriginal people and culture. Simon Forrest has been a colleague, a generous mentor and a friend through the majority of that time. I wanted to write this book with Simon because I have seen how transformative is the experience of working with, being with, Aboriginal people. That experience is not just about gaining knowledge and skills. While knowledge is important, it is just a small part of what motivates me. I have also undertaken a spiritual and emotional journey with Aboriginal people whereby I have learned something about myself and about the country, the land, that I love. I hope that this book will not only help with whatever project is in the reader’s immediate future, but that it will also encourage readers to start their own journey and along the way they may become a friend and an ally—a Koorda—to Aboriginal people. I hope for an Australia that universally values and engages with First Australians and the oldest living culture in the world.

About the Authors

xxv

Simon Forrest The maternal line of my family is Nyoongar (Wadjuk and Barladong) and my paternal line is Yamaji Wongi (Badimia and Wongutha). My parents and grandparents and generations of my Aboriginal family have never had a voice in the years after colonisation. My contribution to this book, with Dr Michelle Johnston, is a responsibility of mine that I hold dearly, as I have an opportunity to have a voice that my forbears were never entitled to. Both my parents instilled in me the importance of knowing who you are, where you’re from, and who your people and relations are, and maintaining those connections. They also instilled in me the importance of knowing how the Wudjella system worked, especially through education. If I track those values and behaviours back even further I can trace it to my paternal grandmother, Mary Forrest (née Malcolm), who ensured my father and his siblings also valued the importance of education as a way to ensure at least an opportunity in a Wudjella dominated, ever changing world, for Aboriginal people. I was born in Wadjuk country and grew up in Perth except for some time when we lived in Elizabeth near Adelaide, where my father worked at the Weapons Research Establishment at RAAF base Edinburgh. Discussing this move with my parents in later years it seems a significant part of their decision to move was to remove themselves and their two small boys from the restrictive legislation imposed on Aboriginal people in Western Australian. Returning to Perth we lived in the far northern suburbs of Perth—what was in those days Nollamara. While I did not excel at school I was relatively skilled at cricket, football and athletics. I left school at 15 with no real plans for the future, but completed a TAFE diploma and after that arose an opportunity to study teacher training at the Mount Lawley Teachers’ College. They provided alternative entry arrangements for Aboriginal people through their nationally innovative Aboriginal Teacher Education Program. This not only set me on my path as an educator but while there I made lifelong friends and colleagues.

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About the Authors

My first two professional experiences as an educator, at Fremantle Prison School and then Cundeelee Remote Community School, set me on my way and cemented in my mind the direction I would take as an educator. Working with some insightful colleagues at Fremantle Prison School taught me about professional trust and was instrumental and embryonic in developing my future leadership and management style. The Cundeelee experience was the most culturally rewarding and professionally positive experience I could have wished for. A young city Nyoongar going and living in a remote, tradition-oriented Aboriginal community was just the best cultural experience I could ever have. I cannot thank the Spinifex People enough for their openness and acceptance of me and for allowing my involvement in the many cultural activities that have informed and directed me culturally and professionally since then. My professional colleagues and their family at Cundeelee were also accepting of me into their family and they taught and guided me on my journey to be an effective educator—lessons I have carried to this day. After Cundeelee, teaching in Nyoongar country in Kellerberin was an altogether different experience, personally and professionally. But the experience reinforced my desire to continue to specialise in working with my own people in the education sector. In September 1983, I commenced an academic position as a lecturer in Aboriginal Studies and Education at the Western Australian College of Advanced Education (WACAE), where I had studied as a student. My appointment as an academic was only the second time in WA that an Aboriginal person had been employed in such a position, and my continuing role as an academic for 35 years makes me the longest serving Aboriginal academic in Western Australia. I remained there for 14 years and during that time WACAE evolved into Edith Cowan University (ECU). I subsequently became Head of Department and the inaugural Head of School, Kurongkurl Katijin School of Indigenous Australian Studies. My time at ECU honed my skills as an educator in the higher education sector, and part of my role was to ensure the students I taught connected with the Aboriginal community by taking them ‘On Country’, visiting Aboriginal communities in regional

About the Authors

xxvii

and remote WA, and Aboriginal sites in the Perth metropolitan area. These ‘On Country’ visits commenced in 1984 and have continued to be an integral part of my university teaching practice and teaching philosophy. From 1998, I spent the next 10 years in Geraldton working for the public sector as regional manager in Aboriginal Affairs and Aboriginal education, which enabled me to connect closely with Aboriginal communities in my father’s country, Yamaji country. During this time, I continued my higher education teaching at ECU Geraldton Regional Centre, the Combined Universities Centre for Rural Health and the Geraldton Universities Centre. My teaching at these centres continued my emphasis on ‘On Country’ teaching approaches. In September 2010, I was appointed as Director of Centre for Aboriginal Studies (CAS) at Curtin University. While most of this role was administrative and managerial, I continued to teach as a guest lecturer across all faculties and some CAS units where possible. It was during this time at CAS that I met my co-author of this book, Michelle Johnston, through her work with a television program called Noongar Dandjoo. I also became involved in the development of the new Reconciliation Action Plan (RAP) that included recommendations about the RAP’s governance and implementation within the university. In 2014, I was invited to create and develop the role of Elder in Residence at Curtin University. The main function of this role was to provide cultural leadership across the institution in a number of different ways that included Aboriginal cultural awareness, competency, and capabilities training for staff and students. This resulted in the development of the Indigenous Cultural Capabilities Framework that outlines how Aboriginal Knowledge and Aboriginal ways of being, doing and knowing are brought to the forefront of business at the University for staff and students. This is delivered for staff through specific training programs and ‘On Country’ visits for staff. For students, it takes the form of a specific ‘On Country’ unit of study in which they enrol as an elective. The unit is delivered on Country, deep in Nyoongar Country, by Nyoongar Elders and includes visits to various communities and meeting with Nyoongar community members. This intensive

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About the Authors

unit of study, on Country for a week, allows students to gain a significant and deep understanding of Aboriginal ways of being, doing and knowing. The development of the unit was with the assistance of my co-author, Michelle Johnston. The senior leadership of the university has seen the value and importance of ‘On Country’ units to the extent that a Statement of Intent was signed in September 2018 between the university, Nyoongar Elders, and other stakeholders at Nowanup in the south-west of Western Australia, where the unit is delivered. The development of the Nowanup Bush Campus is a cornerstone of the current Elevate Level Reconciliation Action Plan launched in November 2018. All through my professional work as an educator my main aim has been to work towards the provision of more equitable educational opportunities for Aboriginal people, which has resulted in me working with, and developing, significant relationships with others of ‘us mob’. The other aim is to educate and work with non-Aboriginal people about ‘my mob’. This has resulted in life long personal and professional relationships with non-Aboriginal people who have similar values, thoughts and ideals to me about Aboriginal people and our place in modern-day Australia. All these relationships are built on mutual respect and caring, which is the essence of reconciliation and we have tried to highlight these reconciliation relationships in this book. My people have been on Nyoongar boodja for at least 40,000 years and our presence continues and grows on this landscape. In other words, we are not going away, and issues and concerns we have about our place in modern-day Australia are not going away either—they have to be dealt with. The political, commercial and other leadership in Australia is dominated by Anglo-Australians, who continually deny us our rightful place in our own land and country. Reconciliation in concepts, words and actions is the only way forward.

Abbreviations

ABS ACARA ACE AFC AIATSIS AIME AISWA ARC ATOM AUSTLANG BIITE CAS CBAA COAG DIA ILUA NAIDOC NHMRC NITV NT RAP RCIADIC SBS SWALSC WA WIPCE

Australian Bureau of Statistics Australia curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority Aboriginal Community Engagement Australian Film Commission Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Australian Indigenous Mentoring Experience Association of Independent Schools of Western Australia Australian Research Council Australian Teachers of Media Australian Languages Database Batchelor Institute of Indigenous Tertiary Education Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies Community Broadcasting Association of Australia Council of Australian Governments Department of Indigenous Affairs Indigenous Land Use Agreement National Aborigines and Islanders Day Observance Committee National Health and Medical Research Council National Indigenous Television Northern Territory Reconciliation Action Plan Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody Special Broadcasting Services South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council Western Australia World Indigenous Peoples Conference on Education

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Chapter 1

Introduction

Abstract This book is about ways of working with Nyoongar People and it is written, primarily, for non-Indigenous Australians, who are eager to engage with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. This chapter introduces action research, the terminology used in the book, and a guide to how the book may be used by people working and studying in diverse disciplines who are eager to work collaboratively with First Nations People

This book is about ways of working with Nyoongar People and it is written, primarily, for non-Indigenous Australians, who are eager to engage with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. It may also be a useful text for international non-Indigenous readers, who are working with First Nations People in other colonised countries such as Canada, New Zealand and the United States. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have the longest living culture and knowledge system in the world, and more than ever before non-Indigenous Australians want to engage and know more about this unique and age-old culture. Professionals from diverse disciplines are looking for better ways of working with First Nations communities; students have a growing awareness of how little they know about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, history and culture; and Governments are acknowledging that past policies have failed and are looking for better ways of engaging with First Nations communities. Most importantly, we have much to learn from First Nations People who are generous and willing to share. Working Two Way is a Nyoongar expression that acknowledges the differences between First Nations and non-Indigenous cultures and knowledge, but it also acknowledges the potential for non-Indigenous people and First Peoples to work together. This book aims to help readers better understand those differences and offers guidelines for successful cross-cultural collaboration. The term ‘two ways’ was originally used in the field of education to describe an approach to learning whereby Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander identity was empowered, prioritised and kept separate, but also informed by Western knowledge. The term ‘both ways’ is now a preferred term in the field of education because it

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_1

1

2

1 Introduction

recognises that the two domains cannot be kept separate and encourages their collaboration (Living Knowledge, 2019).1 This book does not aim to disregard the theory of ‘both way’ learning but rather uses the term ‘two way’ in a multidisciplinary sense and as a colloquial term often used by Nyoongar people, the traditional custodians of the country from which this book originates. Federal and state governments have an extensive agenda relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander policies and initiatives. Their programs seek to ‘close the gap’ of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander disadvantage; to reconcile black and white Australia and heal the wounds left by a history of racism and abuse; and to empower Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to have agency over their own lives and communities. Federal Member of Parliament, Ken Wyatt, is a Nyoongar man and the first elected Aboriginal member of the House of Representatives. In a 2018 newspaper article, he speaks of his experience of racism, while growing up in poverty, and how the concept of freedom from want has been an elusive dream that speaks to so many families and First Nations Australians in so many aspects of their daily lives. It is about alleviating the cruelty of racism, the opportunity to have a healthy birth and future, access to basic health services and care, education to acquire the knowledge and skills to succeed in life, and being able to enjoy social success, social justice and inclusion. (Wyatt, 2018)

The federal government’s Closing the Gap initiative, that commenced in 2008, aims to eliminate Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander disadvantage. After 10 years, the 2018 report tells us that only three of seven targets are on track. Yet the language of the report is optimistic and emphasizes the need to work together: “One of the key lessons we have learned is that effective programs and services need to be designed, developed and implemented in partnership with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (Dept. of Prime Minister & Cabinet, 2018)”. But what does working together look like? How do non-Indigenous Australians avoid the paternalistic, disrespectful and culturally inappropriate ways of working that so far have failed to deliver the outcomes mandated by the government? There is little evidence that government has the answers to those questions given that just a few short months prior to the release of the 2008 Closing the Gap report the former Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull, rejected the Uluru Statement from the Heart 2 that presented a united Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voice on constitutional change—no conversation, no debate, just ‘no’. Lawyer and activist, Noel Pearson’s response to the Closing the Gap outcomes asks that government empower communities: For all of Malcolm Turnbull’s [then Prime Minister of Australia] talk about ‘doing things with Indigenous people and not to them’, in reality there is no ‘with’. This rhetoric sounds good but turns out to be an alibi for an absence of policy. It is laughable piety.” (Pearson, 2018)

1 Further

discussion of ‘both ways’ education is included in Chap. 6.

2 . Over one thousand First Nations people came together in May 2017 at a constitutional convention

at Uluru. The convention resulted in the Uluru Statement from the Heart, which was presented to government as a united Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voice on constitutional change.

1 Introduction

3

Ken Wyatt calls upon “all three tiers of government, non-government organisations, and First Nations families, […] to work together to continue turning around the current situation (2018)”. This book calls upon all Australians to turn around the current situation and working together is essential to achieving that goal. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are not one homogenous national culture, but rather they make up hundreds of diverse and unique cultures that each have their own language, protocols and connection to country. This diversity makes it very difficult to write and research about ‘Aboriginal’ culture or ways of working because there is no single history or set of protocols that apply to everyone. For that reason, this book presents case studies about cross-cultural collaboration from Nyoongar Boodja, which is the First Nations’ land located in the south-west of Western Australia, and where the authors of this book live. However, we believe that the stories shared in this book will be of value to people from other parts of Australia, and even the world, as they may be useful for guiding their own crosscultural collaborative work. Many chapters represent case studies and histories relating to different and diverse disciplines and these are not intended to speak to people who are experts in their fields about their area of expertise. These chapters aim to provide background information and context so that discipline professionals can relate their expertise to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, culture and history. The case studies are relevant to each discipline and are offered as a guide for people eager to learn more and wishing to work with First Nations communities and organisations.

Action Research One of the reasons that these stories from Nyoongar country can be helpful to other First Nations’ projects is that each case study is presented using an action research framework. The ways of working offered in this book are informed by an action research methodology and philosophy. As the name suggests, this is about research that results in action. Rather than research for research sake, action research is a democratic and participatory methodology that prioritises the lived experience and knowledge of community participants and empowers them to find solutions to their own problems. Indeed, the question to be answered or the problem to be solved in the first place must come from the community itself. Action research has been recognised as both a philosophy and a methodology and is well suited to working with First Nations Peoples because it gives all participants equal status as co-researchers. It eschews a traditional research culture, whereby research is done about or for First Nations Peoples. Rather research is done with community participants and is, therefore, a decolonising methodology that ensures research is capacity building and of value to the First Nations People who participate. Because action research begins from a place where participants seek to learn and understand the unique history and culture of each community and the individuals within it, there is no single way of

4

1 Introduction

working with a community or doing an action research project. It describes a way of working that is practical and adaptable to each unique community and culture. This book has been researched and written as an action research project. The people we interviewed for the book have agreed to share their knowledge and experience. But they were also asked if a book such as this one is needed, what content was important to include in the book and who is the book for? The responses were overwhelmingly positive, and we have endeavoured to include the voices of our interviewees as much as possible. In keeping with an action research philosophy, we aim to facilitate the voices of people with expertise on to the pages within. We make extensive use of interviews and quotes to deliver their experience and knowledge to the reader. The book has been read and edited by all participants prior to publication to ensure their ideas and words are not misrepresented. We do not argue for action research as the best or only way to work collaboratively with First Nations People. Rather, we offer action research as a way of working that has been acknowledged by many First Nations People as a preferred way. Action research has informed and guided the work of the authors of this book who wish to share their experience and encourage all non-Indigenous Australians to engage with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People so that we each can benefit from that collaboration.

Terminology The authors of this book live and work in Nyoongar country—Perth, Western Australia. The language used in this book is appropriate to the history and culture of Nyoongar people and so may be unfamiliar to people from other parts of Australia. With that in mind, the following is a summary of many of the words we choose to use with an explanation of their meaning and our reasons for using these words. The language chosen to discuss First Nations People and cultures is often political and contentious. Not everyone agrees on how First Nations People should be referred to, and there might be words used in this book that are considered inappropriate by some readers, but we have been guided by the advice of the university where we work and by the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies’ book, The Little Red Yellow and Black Book (2012). We hope that by explaining our choices, readers who disagree will know that no disrespect is intended. Whenever possible we refer to people by their preferred cultural or language group identity. Everyone who has participated in the writing of this book was asked how they wish to be identified and so they are referred to as Nyoongar or Yamatji, for example. When referring to the people in a general location, such as Perth, we use the term Aboriginal, First Peoples or First Nations because that community will represent a diverse group of identities from different parts of the state and even Australia. When referring to people on a national scale, we use the words Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander, First Peoples or First Nations People, which again acknowledges the context of the writing and the many diverse identities of First Nations People. Torres

Terminology

5

Strait Islander People are a distinct and different cultural group and are not referred to as Aboriginal. Aboriginal is used more frequently than Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander when referring to the south-west of Western Australia, because Nyoongar country has only a small Torres Strait Islander population. Indigenous, First Peoples or First Nations Peoples is used in an international context and can apply to people from other countries such as New Zealand or Canada. We avoid the use of the word Indigenous when referring to people, unless used by another author, because some people find the word offensive. A capital letter is used for each of these choices because we recognise them as proper nouns rather than common nouns, in the same way that we use Australian with a capital ‘A’. When using Aboriginal or Indigenous, it is usually followed by a noun such as people or education. (e.g. Aboriginal people, Indigenous education) Aboriginal or Aborigine is never used as a noun. (e.g. He is an Aborigine, or she is an Aboriginal.) Nyoongar people are made up of different language groups and so the spelling of many Nyoongar words will vary within different parts of Nyoongar country. Most significant is the spelling of Nyoongar, which can also be Nyungar or Noongar. We have chosen Nyoongar, unless a written quote uses a different spelling, because author Simon Forrest is a Wadjuk Nyoongar man and that is the preferred spelling for his language group. We also acknowledge that the word Nyoongar is not universally agreed to be the generic name for the people of the south-west of Western Australia, and some people argue that Nyoongar is a name given by the colonisers. Daisy Bates, an English woman and self-proclaimed ethnographer, spent many years living with the Nyoongar people of the south-west after her arrival in Western Australia in 1899. She, and some Nyoongar people, use the term Bibbulmun for the largest homogeneous group in all Australia. Their country extended for many hundreds of square miles, and comprised the extreme triangle of the south-west… The word bibbulmun signifies many breasts, a name derived, perhaps, from the fecundity of that region, or from the unusually great proportion of women and children among them. There were more than seventy groups in the Bibbulmun area linked by one language with local variations. (Bates, 1938, pp. 59–60)

When referring to the many diverse Aboriginal people within Nyoongar country and around Australia, we do not use the words tribe or tribal. Larger geographical groups such as Nyoongar are referred to as cultural groups, while the smaller groups within that cultural group are referred to as language groups. Nyoongar people refer to non-Indigenous Australians as Wudjellas. This is not a derogatory term, and most other Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages have their own word for non-Indigenous people. For example, Yolngu people use the term Balanda. Many non-Indigenous Australians are familiar with the term dreaming or dreamtime, which refers to traditional creation stories from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. Using these words suggests that the stories are untrue or mythical. Instead we use the Nyoongar word nyitting, which means ‘a cold dark time’ and refers to the time of creation as a truth. The word law is used instead of lore for similar reasons. Lore can be defined as “a body of traditions and knowledge on a subject or held by a particular group, typically passed from person to person by word of mouth (Oxford Dictionary, 2019)”. Law

6

1 Introduction

can be defined as “the system of rules which a particular country or community recognises as regulating the actions of its members and which it may enforce by the imposition of penalties (Oxford Dictionary, 2019)”. Our understanding of the use of stories (or truths), song, dance and paintings by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians in part sets out a code of behaviour for humans in their group or society. This ultimately is Law. Synonyms for lore include mythology, myths, legends, stories, traditions, folklore, culture, beliefs, sayings, superstitions, fantasy and oral tradition. Synonyms for “law” include rules and regulations, constitution, legislation, code, legal code and charter. Many of the synonyms for lore like the word dreaming imply a non-reality. The words that imply Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander truths are some sort of non-reality is consistent with other colonial concepts that devalue and attempt to diminish Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander world views. When talking about colonial history, there is contention around the facts of Australia’s settlement or invasion. We use the word colonised and the Europeans, who arrived in 1788 are colonisers rather than settlers. The word settler suggests a peaceful occupation, and this was not the case for Australia. The facts of Australia’s colonial history are still being debated and this is discussed at length later in the book.

How to Use This Book Working Two Way is a practical guide for those with little or no experience of working with First Nations People. We do not aim to speak to academics, or to those who have deep and extensive knowledge of First Peoples and their culture. Our aim is to offer some guidance for those who are taking their first steps into a cross-cultural collaborative space, and we acknowledge that it can be difficult to know where to begin. The first four chapters will be relevant to all readers because they provide important historical and theoretical information that is foundational to the following chapters. We recommend reading these chapters first before dipping into the following chapters that may be more relevant to particular discipline areas. Hopefully, there are experiences and stories in each chapter that will be of interest and value to all readers. Chapter 2 provides a brief introduction to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture in general and a more comprehensive introduction to Nyoongar people and culture. Understanding the history, culture and people of a community is an important first step in any cross-cultural collaborative project. Chapter 3 introduces protocols and explains that while most Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities share some commonalities, there is not one set of universal protocols that can be applied to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. Understanding appropriation, the need for respect and the value of listening can help non-Indigenous people to work with protocols, adapt to diversity and collaborate with each unique and individual community with whom we collaborate.

How to Use This Book

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Chapter 4 introduces the philosophy and methodology of action research as well as introducing some other Indigenous research methodologies. Action research is a democratic and participatory way of working that is ideally suited to First Peoples communities. The practical process of action research is described as a cycle of look, think and act and it is this process that provides a framework for the case studies in all the following chapters. It is the premise of this book that all successful cross-collaborative programs are guided by an action research philosophy even though, for some participants, there is no conscious decision to do so. People who successfully collaborate with First Peoples intuitively work in a way that is respectful, self-reflexive and inclusive. Action research can more clearly articulate and define that intuitive process, and it can assist in the practical application of protocols. Like action research, Indigenous research methodologies offer similar democratic and emancipatory ways of working. Like action research, they have an underlying philosophy that is respectful of First Peoples’ protocols, decolonises the research space and prioritises a First Peoples worldview. Chapter 5 is the first of the discipline chapters and case studies. It is the first because it is about history and is, therefore, important for all readers who are working with First Peoples. Knowing history is an essential first stage for any action research project. The lives of Nyoongar people, like the majority of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, were irreversibly changed when Europeans colonised Australia. Soon after colonisation, they were subjected to brutal and racist government policies and community attitudes, a history that has until recently been denied. The chapter focuses on the absence of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voices from Australia’s history, the history wars and Australia’s reluctance to tell the truth about the colonisation of this country. The featured case study is Kukenerup. It is a history project led by a Nyoongar woman, who sought to heal the rift between the black and white communities of Ravensthorpe. This small regional town on the south coast of Western Australia had, for decades, hidden the truth about the massacre of Nyoongar people by white colonists. The 10-year disparity in life expectancy for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People and non-Indigenous people is a statistic that initiated the Federal Government’s ‘Closing the Gap’ program. Chapter 6 is about health and how better health outcomes can be achieved for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The chapter addresses both mental health and physical health, while also emphasising the holistic nature of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health. One of the main problems in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health care is encouraging people to engage with healthcare services that are predominantly managed by non-Indigenous professionals. Two case studies provide evidence of how working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community can have a significant impact on peoples’ engagement with health services, and therefore contribute to better health outcomes. The first is the Looking Forward, Moving Forward project that embeds Aboriginal Elders with mainstream Mental Health Services to assist these services in connecting with Aboriginal community. The second case study is called Earbus and, as the name suggesthence speech and learning difficultiess, describes a service that travels into Aboriginal communities all over the state and works with families to improve their

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ear health. This important initiative seeks to address the evidence that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children have the worst ear health in the world, which leads to hearing loss and . Chapters 7 and 8 are about education, another discipline area that is not only important to all people working in the Indigenous space, but it is also a topic that covers a lot of ground. There are, firstly, three tiers of education to be considered; then there is the teaching of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and nonIndigenous students; and, finally, the need to differentiate between what is taught and how it is taught. For this reason the topic is divided—Chap. 7 is about teaching Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, and Chap. 8 is about teaching nonIndigenous students. Chapter 7 begins with an overview of education policy and some of the challenges faced by teachers working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. There are three case studies. The first is called Moorditj Mob and it runs at Wesley College, a secondary school with a majority non-Indigenous student cohort and a successful Indigenous student scholarship program. The second is a primary school called Djidi Djidi that caters specifically to Aboriginal children. And the third is a university Indigenous education centre called the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies that operates programs for First Nations students. The programs include bridging courses; short intensive courses that allow students to spend less time away from home; and university accredited undergraduate and postgraduate degree courses. Chapter 8 acknowledges that many teachers feel unprepared to teach Indigenous content to their non-Indigenous students. The chapter looks again at the policies as well as some of the difficulties teachers face at different stages of a student’s education. There are two case studies. The first is the Nyoongar Culture and Identity unit that takes Curtin University students on-country for 5 days of cultural immersion. This is a transformative learning experience for participating students, and it is run by Nyoongar Elder, Simon Forrest, one of the authors of this book. The second case study is a University cross-discipline service-learning program that aims to develop cultural awareness and cultural capability in students. The unit is called Aboriginal Community Engagement and it employs an action research framework for guiding students’ relationships as they work with Aboriginal community partners. Chapter 9 explores cross-cultural collaboration in media production. Because of the growing numbers of talented and successful Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander program makers, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voices are more present in the media than ever before, but there is still a need for collaboration between First Peoples and non-Indigenous people when producing media. Journalists, producers, writers and students are encouraged to tell Indigenous stories because media can be a powerful tool for social change. The media is also responsible for much of the negative and stereotypical portrayal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture that perpetuates community racism, and that needs to change. The case study is a television program called Noongar Dandjoo. For over 10 years, the program has been a collaborative production with university students, Nyoongar community and the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal studies. It uses action research as a framework to guide students as they work with the community in bringing a Nyoongar media voice to a national public sphere.

References

9

Chapter 10 is about sustainability and the special relationship First Peoples have with the land. Australia faces big and urgent environmental problems, such as soil salinity and species extinction, and the answers to these problems may be more easily discovered and implemented if non-Indigenous knowledge can partner with the traditional knowledge of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The case study is called Gondwana Link and describes a partnership between a not-for-profit community organisation and Nyoongar Elders. The outcomes of that partnership have been beneficial to not only the land, that is showing remarkable signs of recovery, but also to the Nyoongar community who participate by sharing traditional knowledge and practicing culture. Many of the interviews and case studies, not all, are linked to the authors through Curtin University where we both work. Curtin University has a large and active Indigenous research program and growing numbers of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander academics and professional staff. There is a lot happening at Curtin that will be of interest and value to people outside of the university, and the diversity of voices and case studies presented in this book is not reduced in any way because of that common connection. The majority of our research and professional relationships are at Curtin University and these relationships are important to our work and to us. We have drawn on many of those relationships in writing this book. There is, of course, a great deal of good work being done throughout Nyoongar country and at other universities, and it would be impossible to describe them all. However, we wish to acknowledge the growing number of First Nations scholars and community activists in Nyoongar country who are leaders and trailblazers. They are determined and tireless in the innovative and important work they do that is already creating change for their people and for the wider community. Many of these voices are also included in the form of citations and references. There are more stories of successful cross-cultural collaboration happening in more discipline areas than this book has been able to share. We are aware of arts projects and collaborative built environment projects, for example. There are undoubtedly many more examples in the wider Nyoongar community, and other Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities across Australia. All these crosscultural collaborative projects are evidence of the increasing desire of non-Indigenous Australians to engage with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture, and there are benefits for everyone when that connection is made. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture offer all Australians an identity that is old, spiritual and intimately connected to a unique and beautiful landscape. Working Two Way recognises a third space in which two cultures meet, sit and talk, and learn from each other. This book can help students, professionals and advocates for First Nations People to do that with respect and understanding.

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References Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies. (2012). The Little red yellow and black book—Third edition. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Bates, D. (1938). The passing of the aborigines. London: Butler and Tanner Ltd. Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. (2018). Executive Summary. Retrieved from https:// closingthegap.pmc.gov.au/executive-summary. Living Knowledge. (2019). About ‘both ways’ education. Retrieved from http://livingknowledge. anu.edu.au/html/educators/07_bothways.htm. Oxford Dictionary. (2019). Oxford Dictionary. Retrieved from https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/ definition/lore. Pearson, N. (2018, February 17). We Must Be Actors in Our Own Destiny. The Weekend Australian. Wyatt, K. (2018, 16–17 June, 2018). Reform must aim to deliver freedom from want to all. The Weekend Australian.

Chapter 2

Nyoongar History and Culture

Abstract This chapter provides a brief introduction to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and history, and a more comprehensive introduction to Nyoongar people and culture. Contemporary Nyoongar people and culture have been dramatically impacted by over 190 years of colonisation. To know the colonial history of Western Australia is to take a significant step closer to knowing and understanding Nyoongar people and community. This chapter can help non-Indigenous people to engage and connect with Nyoongar people because it is an overview of the most significant aspects of our colonial history that are essential knowledge for anyone who is seeking to work collaboratively with Nyoongar people.

White fella got it but it’s still in my heart, this is my country. (Angus Wallam quoted in Host & Owen, 2009)

As we conducted interviews with Aboriginal people living in Nyoongar country in preparation for the writing of this book, there was one piece of advice that was repeated by everyone—“know our history”. Contemporary Nyoongar people and culture have been dramatically impacted by over 190 years of colonisation. To know the colonial history of Western Australia is to take a significant step closer to knowing and understanding Nyoongar people and community. Remember also that Nyoongar people have been living on this land for tens of thousands of years (Pearce & Barbetti, 1981) and so colonial history is just a small dot at the end of a very long timeline. They represent one of the oldest living cultures in the world. While the impact of European colonisation has been devastating, it should also be acknowledged that Nyoongar people have demonstrated remarkable resilience and an ability to adapt to change. Nyoongar culture, in the twenty-first century, has not only survived but is now thriving. To engage with Nyoongar people and culture is to spiritually connect with the land we all now share, and with a worldview that has much to teach us. This chapter can help non-Indigenous people to engage and connect with Nyoongar people because it is an overview of the most significant aspects of our colonial history that are essential knowledge for anyone who is seeking to work collaboratively with south-western Aboriginal people. The focus here is on Nyoongar history, but this is a history that was repeated in other parts of Australia and even in other colonised countries and so it is a story that will be familiar to many First Nations People. Yet © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_2

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while the story of colonisation was repeated in other parts of Australia, and while there are similarities in the many cultures of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders, understanding the diversity and uniqueness of each and every one these cultures is another aspect of knowledge that is essential to any cross-cultural collaborative relationship. Many of the difficulties that arise from cross-cultural collaborations are due to a failure by non-Indigenous Australians to recognise the diversity of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. When Bundjalung man, Warren Mundine, stepped down in 2016 from his position as chairman of the Prime Minister’s Indigenous Advisory Council his advice to government was to stop listening to just one Aboriginal spokesperson, and to recognise that “it was never a one Aboriginal culture, there was never such a thing” (Wahlquist, 2017). Australia’s First Peoples are not one homogenous culture, but rather numerous individual cultural and language groups. Illustration 2.1, produced in 1994 by David Horton, is a visual representation of that diversity. The map is a familiar one for anyone engaged with Indigenous Australia. Yet, as evidenced by some of the students that we teach, there are still many Australians who have never seen it and it comes as a surprise when they see it for the first time. The map was produced for a general audience and for a research project that resulted in the publication of The Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia. It is not definitive, may be contested by many First Nations People, and it is not the only resource that maps language and cultural groups. There are a growing number of other online resources including the wiki-style Australian Languages Database (AUSTLANG) (Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrres Strait Islander Studies, 2017a). At the time of European colonisation in 1788, there were over 200 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages spoken around Australia (Pascoe, 2012, p. 24). According to the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, there are now only about 120 of those languages still spoken and many are in danger of becoming extinct as Elders pass away (2017b). In spite of this loss of language, First Nations People continue to proudly identify with the individual culture and country of their families. Indeed, most First Nations People will introduce themselves as belonging to at least one, and often two or three, language groups. For example, author Simon Forrest will introduce himself as a Wadjuk Nyoongar man because his mother is Nyoongar. But how he introduces himself will depend on where he is living. When Simon was living in Geraldton he identified as Yamatji with Nyoongar connections because his father is Yamatji. One of Australia’s numerous cultural groups is called Nyoongar. The Nyoongar people are the traditional custodians of the land located in the south-west of Western Australia and there is evidence that they have lived on this land for at least 38,000 years (Pearce & Barbetti, 1981). Nyoongar country stretches from Perth, south-east to the coastal town of Esperance, and north-west again to Jurian Bay, and is home to 13 different Nyoongar language groups. The language groups are called Yued/Yuat/Juat, Whadjuk/Wajuk, Binjareb/Pinjarup, Wardandi, Balardong/Ballardong, Nyakinyaki/Njakinjaki, Wilman/Wiilman, Ganeang,

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13

Illustration 2.1 Map of Aboriginal Australia (Horton, 1996). This map attempts to represent the language, social or nation groups of First Nations Australia. It shows only the general locations of larger groupings of people, which may include clans, dialects or individual languages in a group. It used published resources from 1988 to 1994 and is not intended to be exact, nor the boundaries fixed. It is not suitable for native title or other land claims. David R Horton (creator), © AIATSIS, 1996. No reproduction without permission

Bibulmun/Pibelmen, Mineng, Goreng, Wadjari and Njunga (SWALSC, 2017).1 The Amangu language group is usually noted on maps of the south-west but is considered part of Yamatiji country, which is the neighbouring language group to the Nyoongar nation. The Department of Indigenous Affairs divides the state of Western Australia into regions. The Perth metropolitan area is located in the wheat belt region and extends from Perth, east to Southern Cross, north to Jurien Bay and south to Mandurah. This is mostly Nyoongar country and has the largest population of Aboriginal people in the state with 30,000 Aboriginal inhabitants (DIA, 2009). In the 2016 Australian Bureau of Statistics census, 31,214 people living in the Perth metropolitan area claimed Indigenous heritage (ABS, 2016).

1 This

list shows some but not all of the variations of spelling for the Nyoongar language groups.

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Nyoongar History and Culture Nyoongar culture is complex and diverse. It is spiritual and, like many First Peoples cultures, intimately connected to the country. A single chapter in this book could not do justice to this old and unique culture by attempting to describe it. Other publications and authors are recommended here for a more nuanced and detailed introduction to Nyoongar culture. Lois Tilbrook produced the book Nyungar Tradition. Glimpses of Aborigines of South-Western Australia 1829–1914 (1983), which was the result of a South West Aboriginal Studies project at the Western Australian College of Advanced Education beginning in 1977. A travelling display of Nyoongar history resulted in many Aboriginal people from all over the south-west of Western Australia coming forward to tell their stories and have them recorded in the book. The book includes an excellent collection of historical photos, maps, genealogies and an overview of Nyoongar history, and has been a significant source of information for the following summary of Nyoongar history and culture. There are also more recent publications that have emerged from the Nyoongar Native Title Claim (of which more will follow later in this chapter), It’s Still in My Heart, This is My Country (Host & Owen, 2009), and Noongar People Noongar Land (Palmer, 2016). The 2019 publication, That Was My Home: Voices from the Noongar Camps in Fremantle and the Western Suburbs, by Denise Cook is another recent and excellent Nyoongar history resource that focuses on Wadjuk country. The south-west of Western Australia was colonised by the British in 1826 at Albany, or Fredericks Town as it was called then. In 1829, the Swan River Colony was established and is now the location of the cities of Fremantle and Perth. Prior to colonisation, the region was home to a number of different Aboriginal language groups who, after 1829, were known by the same cultural identity of Nyoongar (or alternatively Noongar, Nyungar, Nyungah, Nyoongah). The word means ‘man’ or ‘person’ and all the people who spoke the language came to be known as Nyoongar. The different spellings of the word Nyoongar is a demonstration of the different dialects that exist within Nyoongar country. People in the south-west are sometimes also called ‘Bibbulmun’, as recorded by the ethnographer, Daisy Bates, in 1938. The language group that traditionally occupied the land on which Perth is now located is called Wadjuk. The other language groups that make up the Nyoongar Nation of south-western Australia, as previously mentioned, are shown on the map below (see Illustration 2.2). Prior to colonisation, south-west Nyoongar people lived a life of hunting, fishing and collecting seasonal fruits and plants. As groups moved around they came in contact with each other, an event for celebration, and for exchanging information and trading goods (Tilbrook, 1983, pp. 3–4). Nyoongar people lived in small family groups and movement through their country was dictated by the seasons. With an intimate knowledge of the natural environment, they would read such signs as the flowering of plants or changes in the weather as indicators of when to move and what foods to eat. All aspects of Nyoongar traditional life were dictated by their care for country, and knowledge of every element in the natural environment was passed from generation to generation through stories called songlines or storylines.

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Illustration 2.2 Nyoongar Language Groups (Croft)

Stories explained the existence of plants, animals and features of the land, as well as explaining rules about human behaviour and relationships. The survival of Nyoongar people was dependent on their knowledge and care of the natural environment—their deeply spiritual and uncompromising connection to the land (see also chapter nine of this book). Much of what is known about traditional Nyoongar culture at the time of colonisation has come from Daisy Bates, an Irish journalist who spent the majority of her life studying and writing about First Peoples and culture. Anthropologists and ethnographers at the time focused their studies on the people of the north and central Australia, where colonisation had less of an impact. Daisy Bates, on the other hand, was an amateur ethnographer in Nyoongar country. A book called Aboriginal Perth, Bibbulmun Biographies and Legends is a collection of articles published between 1907 and 1938 (Bridge, 1992). Bates records her keen observations of Nyoongar language and life, kinship structures, moieties, Nyitting (creation) stories and connection to country. With British colonisation, Nyoongar were given all the rights of British subjects and were expected to adopt the culture of their colonisers. There was little acknowledgement of their stolen land and the denial of access to traditional food sources as the British colonists occupied increasing areas of traditional Nyoongar country. The relationship between the Nyoongar and the colonists was initially peaceful and the newcomers benefited from Nyoongar knowledge and management of the land. But a

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lack of understanding between the two cultures was the cause of an escalating number of disputes as the white colonisers expanded their pastoral activities and came in more frequent contact with Nyoongar. For example, traditional Nyoongar law was unacceptable to the British legal system, as it often involved physical punishment such as spearing and even death for those who had broken cultural laws. Another source of tension was the Nyoongar use of fire which was a land management tool and a hunting method that involved ‘firing’ the landscape so that kangaroos and other games could be speared as they fled the flames (Hallam, 2014). The colonists were anxious about the fires damaging property and stock and held little sympathy for the Nyoongar need to find food or appreciation of the important role fire played in shaping the land. The Nyoongar on the other hand, who lived semi-nomadic lifestyles in temporary dwellings,2 had no appreciation for the colonists’ lifestyle, their permanent homes and their fields of food crops. Tensions would erupt into a physical conflict between Nyoongar and white colonists that often resulted in deaths on both sides (Tilbrook, 1983, pp. 6–7). However, the Nyoongar death toll was significantly greater with some incidents described as massacres (Scott & Brown, 2005, p. 72). One of the most deadly of these is the Pinjarra Massacre in 1834. Governor James Stirling led a punitive expedition from Perth to Pinjarra, where he ambushed a group of Binjareb Nyoongar as a response to their resistance and hostility towards the colonists. It is not known exactly how many Nyoongar died that day but it is believed to be at least 25–30 men, women and children (Stasiuk, 2015, pp. 77–80) (see also Chap. 4). Incidences such as the Pinjarra Massacre are indicative of the relationship between First Nations People and white colonists throughout the nineteenthand early twentieth-century Australia. Researchers at the University of Newcastle have mapped massacre sites throughout central and eastern Australia, 1788–1930. So far they have mapped 251 massacres that each resulted in the death of six or more people—a total of 6,181 First Nations People killed (Centre for 21st Century Humanites, n.d.). Simon Forrest concludes that “this approach to the relationship between the two groups was not built on trust. On the contrary, it was built on fear and intimidation (2012).” The denial of access to traditional land and food resources made it difficult to maintain traditional law and practices and so the Nyoongar became more dependent on the colonists for survival. They were forced to choose between starvation and the acceptance of whatever limited employment opportunities were made available to them by the colonists. With time, this dependency and the consequent interaction of the Nyoongar with the colonists resulted in a growing number of children of mixed descent who learnt to adopt both cultures, resulting in the evolution of “a body of custom and lore combining elements from Aboriginal life together with those of the introduced culture of the settlers” (Tilbrook, 1983, p. 4). With increasing numbers of mixed descent people, the question of who was Aboriginal became the subject of debate in regard to the administration of British law. 2 While traditional Nyoongar people lived in temporary dwellings called ‘koolark’, there is evidence

of other cultural groups constructing community-style permanent dwellings that could house large numbers of people. See Bruce Pascoe’s book Dark Emu (2014).

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Until 1898, First Nations People remained under the governance of the British Colonial Office and its appointed Protectors of Aborigines. The state of Western Australia achieved self-governance in 1890 but the state’s indifference to its Aboriginal population did not go unnoticed by the British government who waited another 7 years before handing over responsibility for Aboriginal people to the newly created Aborigines Department. The department had little power and a budget of one per cent of state revenue promised by the then Premier of the state, John Forrest, for the welfare of Aboriginal people. With the state’s population grown to 180,000 and the part-Aboriginal population doubling to 1,000 the so-called ‘half-caste’ population had emerged as a contentious issue for the colonisers. A white Australia sentiment and the popular doctrine of eugenics dominated national policy and, with the focus on minimising funding to this sector of the population, the budget was cut (Delmege, 2005). At this point, the government and the Aboriginal people themselves recognised two distinct groups of Aboriginal people, regardless of whether they were of mixed descent. The first group were those who identified with and lived a traditional Aboriginal lifestyle. The second were those who identified with and lived a traditionally European lifestyle and laws relating to Aboriginal people did not apply to them. In 1905, an Act of State Parliament known as the 1905 Aborigines Act changed the way in which Aboriginality was considered (Delmege, 2005). Aboriginal identity was now biologically defined and had nothing to do with lifestyle. Anybody who was considered to be of more than one-quarter Aboriginal descent was subject to the Act. All Aboriginal children became wards of the state and the Chief Protector of Aborigines was their legal guardian. The Aborigines Department took control of where Aboriginal people could live, and many were moved to reserves created for this purpose. The Act established what is now referred to as the ‘Stolen Generations’, which saw Aboriginal children all over Australia removed from their families and placed in institutions. Edith DeGiambattista is a Nyoongar woman who, with her siblings, was taken from her family in Kojanup by an unknown man when she was about 15 years old. They were taken to the Carrolup Native Settlement near Katanning: He just got hold of the two little ones, because my siblings were smaller than me, and he put them on the truck. Then they lifted me onto the back of the truck and put my Mum on there and then he just took off. We come through the back roads. I didn’t know where we were going because we didn’t hear of this place. We didn’t know it existed. My granddad was very upset. So was my grandma. I had a little brother as well. He was about five I think and my cousin got hold of him and took him away (in Goldrick, 2017).

Simon Forrest’s Nyoongar mother was taken from her mother and sent to New Norcia mission in 1932 at the age of 7. At the age of 91, she still found it difficult to talk about her removal: I was only seven when I went there. I didn’t know what was going on. Nor my sister. Nothing, nothing, no amount of money will ever replace what they did to me at that time. I didn’t have a mum or a dad (in Goldrick, 2017).

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Non-Aboriginal people were prohibited from associating with Aboriginal people, all people of Aboriginal descent were prohibited from living in townships, and white people were prohibited from living on reserves. The Act controlled “access to land, water, employment, education, the use of guns and dogs” (Delmege, 2005). To discourage miscegenation couples were required to seek permission to marry or else face prosecution. By 1936, the Act had been extended to give the Chief Protector of Aborigines, A.O. Neville, the power he had been asking for to “fix the native problem”. He boasted to a Conference of Aboriginal Administration in Canberra in 1937: In Western Australia we have the power to take any child from its mother at any stage of its life, no matter whether the mother be legally married and … no half-caste need to be allowed to marry a full-blooded Aboriginal if it is possible to avoid it (Delmege, 2005).

This discriminatory act of parliament created far-reaching damage and consequences for Aboriginal people. Those who had been living as ordinary citizens were now subject to severe laws and penalties simply for being Aboriginal. For those not subject to the Act, it would be foolish for them to admit to any links with Aboriginal heritage through either blood or marriage, and so people were forced to deny their Aboriginality if the colour of their skin allowed them to do so. The Act, with added restrictions in 1911 and 1936, was finally changed to The Native Welfare Act in 1963 and the trends of the previous decades started to be reversed as basic rights were restored to Aboriginal people (Delmege, 2005). But by that time the damage was done—Aboriginal people had been driven from their land, their connection to culture disrupted, and many of their children removed from family. The impact of federal and state government policies that saw the relocation of Aboriginal communities and families has had devastating consequences for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to the present day. Evidence of the damage caused by these policies can be found in communities all over Australia, including the First Nations communities of south-western Australia (National Enquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, 1997). The removal of West Australian Aboriginal children from their families and homelands usually saw them relocated to either the Moore River settlement just north of Perth, or to the Carrolup Mission south of Perth. Stephen Kinnane, in his book Shadowlines (2003), talks about his grandmother Jessie Argyle who was born in the Kimberley, Mirriwoong country, but removed from her family and transported to Perth—Nyoongar country: I call myself a marda-marda. It is a Yindjibarndi term that strictly speaking means ‘bloodblood’. It is a term that nor-westers of mixed Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal descent use to describe ourselves. In the south, where Aboriginal people such as my grandmother were taken and placed in institutions, terms such as marda-marda were used instead of derogatory words such as ‘half-caste’ and ‘quarter-caster’. Thrown together and forced to learn English, a new language developed, mixing Kimberley Mulba and Yamatji lingo with that of a community of people, mostly women removed from their country, existing in Noongar country (2003, p. 17).

During periods of high unemployment, especially in the post-war years, Aboriginal people were forced into the city. Denise Woods has written a detailed history

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of Nyoongar camps in Perth and Fremantle from the 1930s to 1950s, and explains the “term ‘camp’ refers to both temporary and long-term structures that Noongar people built and occupied (2019, p. 13)”. She includes a quote from Corrie Bodney, who lived in a camp in the 1930s–1940s: “Just an old tin shack with bits of bags and rags… (2019, p. 16)”. With limited housing available, camps were set up on crown or vacant land that provided extremely poor living conditions for the inhabitants. From the 1930s these so-called fringe dwellers were constantly moved on when neighbouring residents complained of disease, poor sanitation and the presence of criminal types. Yet no funding or housing was provided, Aboriginal people were excluded from the same employment and welfare rights afforded to white citizens, and if they complained were forcibly removed to the Moore River Native Settlement. The Aboriginal population of Perth had reached 892 in 1932 with 500 residents at the Moore River mission, the numbers swelling due to police arrests and transport of Aboriginal dissidents (Delmege, 2005). A national referendum in 1967 saw changes to the Australian constitution that had previously discriminated against Aboriginal people. This, in turn, saw the demise of the mission and reserve system but did little to alleviate day-to-day complexities for Aboriginal people, who were again on the move and in search of employment and access to welfare systems. A migration of Aboriginal people into the city of Perth meant they were now more visible to mainstream society (Delmege, 2005). What is traditionally Nyoongar country became home to Aboriginal people from all over the state. Chris Birdsall, a research fellow at Curtin University, wrote her Doctoral thesis on Nyoongar family structure. Entitled All-One-Family she describes how a Nyoongar person will identify with a particular town depending on their family relationships and history. She describes Nyoongar kindred as ‘all-one-family’ because immediate family extends beyond the white Australian family structure of two parents and their offspring. A Nyoongar ‘all-one-family’ will include aunties, uncles, grandparents and cousins and each may identify with different towns. In some cases, these towns will all be located in a particular region or ‘run’. For other families, the towns with which they identify are located on a migratory route or ‘line’. This is the result of families who have been removed from homelands and over many years have attempted to migrate back to their traditional homes. Along the way they have stopped in a town where an individual may have married, started a family and decided to stay (Birdsall, 1990, pp. 182–184). Noongar of the Beeliar is a short film about the Nyoongar history of the Swan River, which features an interview with Richard Walley, a Nyoongar Elder. He explains further the Aboriginal connection with a particular town that may not be the town where a person is born: … it [kinship connections] opens up the whole landscape for you. And even though it opens the whole landscape you still have an affiliation back to one part. So even though I have a connection all the way through, my affiliation is back in Pinjarra – and that’s what I’m talking about. You can’t explain it. Even though I wasn’t born there, it’s my grandmother’s country, and great grandmother’s country, and great grandfather’s country, you go back all through those areas – you find it is something beyond that. There is a spiritual link that pulls

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2 Nyoongar History and Culture you back. And it’s not necessarily just me. It’s a lot of people who are looking for a place of belonging. Sometimes they find that place of belonging in very unusual places or sometimes they find it exactly where they were looking for it (in Collard, 2005).

Native Title Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People have a deep and spiritual connection to their land. That connection lies at the heart of First Peoples culture and community, and is therefore essential to the ongoing survival of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. In 1788 the British colonisers declared Australia ‘terra nullius’, or empty land, and henceforth Australian land laws were established and managed on that premise. First Peoples had no land rights up until 1992 when the Mabo case went before the Australian High Court and challenged those laws from two perspectives. On the assumption that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples had no concept of land ownership before the arrival of British colonisers in 1788; that sovereignty delivered complete ownership of all land in the new Colony to the crown, abolishing any existing rights that may have existed previously. (AIATSIS, 2019)

The High Court declared ‘terra nullius’ to be a fiction, recognised native title for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and hence the Native Title Act of 1993 was set up to allow the Federal court to manage applications for recognition of Native Title. First Peoples’ fight for their land has seen Native Title claims lodged all over Australia (see 2014 Native Title in Australia Map: https://www.alrc.gov. au/publication/connection-to-country-review-of-the-native-title-act-1993-cth-alrcreport-126/3-context-for-reform/outcomes-to-date/). Native Title law is just one part of an array of different laws that relate to First Peoples’ access and rights to land. For example, land rights legislation is different to Native Title, and the Federal and State governments each have different jurisdiction and legislative powers in relation to ownership and access to land (AIATSIS, 2000) (see also Chap. 9, Sustainability). Nyoongar people thought their fight was almost won when on 8 July 2003 a Native Title Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) was signed by the Western Australian government and Nyoongar community members. The MoU was intended to guide the two parties in working together and in reaching agreement on land management objectives and uses. Soon after, in September of that year, members of the South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council (SWALSC) protested with members of 218 Nyoongar family groups who represented the entire Nyoongar nation. Together, they lodged a single Native Title claim in the Perth Federal Court that combined 18 different previous claims, covered all Nyoongar land, and would represent a new era for the Nyoongar Nation. In a 2006 interim decision, the Federal Court granted Nyoongar People native title over the whole of Perth, the first time traditional ownership had been recognised for a capital city. However, in April 2008, the State and Commonwealth governments successfully appealed the decision, with the Federal Court

Native Title

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ruling that the Nyoongar people had failed to demonstrate the “continuous practice of their traditional laws and customs by a single society from white settlement to recent times” (Banks, 2008). In challenging the Perth land claim the state government also challenged Nyoongar cultural integrity and this further strengthened the Perth community’s determination to create a greater awareness of a distinct Nyoongar culture (see Host & Owen, 2009). This sense of unity was again challenged in 2012 when the Western Australian government came to a billion-dollar agreement with SWALSC that would supposedly settle the land rights issue, but which instead only served to divide the Nyoongar nation. Many Nyoongar people rejected the notion of ‘selling’ their land and disputed the right of SWALSC to negotiate such a deal with the government. Nyoongar people eventually voted to accept the native title settlement deal and on June 8 2015 the state government of Western Australia executed six South West Native Title Settlement Indigenous Land Use Agreements (ILUAs) for each of the six areas within Nyoongar country that are individually represented. On October 17 2018 a new milestone was reached when, after a year of considering a decision, the National Native Title Tribunal registered all six ILUAs hence making the agreement between Nyoongar people and the State of Western Australia legally binding and enforceable (SWALSC, nd). The Native Title settlement deal continues to be a divisive issue for Nyoongar people and legal challenges continue. Accepting the state government’s deal means that Nyoongar people must relinquish all other native title claims, a choice that is unacceptable to many Nyoongar people. It remains to be seen what benefits will emerge as a result of the settlement.

Identity State government policy relating to First Nations People in the early twentieth century was created around the objectives of protectionism, assimilation and the assumption that Aboriginal people were a dying race. Even Daisy Bates subscribed to this way of thinking as illustrated by her book The Passing of the Aborigines, which was published in 1938. Since colonisation Nyoongar people have fought to maintain their culture and identity and have consistently proved wrong the opinions of white experts who for so long described urban living Aboriginal people in negative terms: “Old culture would be found, but as diluted or bastardised parts of the original” (Palmer, 2016, p. 86). Nyoongar Elder, Ken Colbung, in 1979 acknowledges a disruption to traditional culture but argues against the anthropologists: “he states that land remained central to belief, emotion and practice and was integral to Nyoongar culture” (cited in Palmer, 2016, p. 87). Kingsley Palmer, in 2016, describes a sentiment about identity that is captured in the phrase ‘Noongar Way’ that is “based on a recognition that there is a distinctive Noongar identity, manifest in particular ways of behaving, cultural practices, ways of speaking and affiliations with country that are unique” (p. 103). Palmer refers to a unique worldview that is differentiated by the country in which Nyoongar people have lived for thousands of years.

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With ever-changing government and community attitudes about Indigenous culture, the issue of how to define Aboriginality has been questioned by both the Aboriginal communities and non-Indigenous communities. Prior to 1967 Western Australian Aboriginal people were subject to different laws than non-Indigenous citizens, and were managed under the jurisdiction of the Department of Flora and Fauna (Trees, 1992). Regarded as wards of the state they had no citizen rights and government dictated all aspects of their lives from where they should live to whom they should marry. It was possible for an Aboriginal person to be offered citizenship, but in return they had to reject all aspects of their Aboriginality. They were not permitted to speak their own language or to associate with other Aboriginal people. This was a particularly problematic choice for those Aboriginal people who looked white. Choosing citizenship provided an opportunity to escape racism and enjoy the freedoms of white society. For some, it was about making the choice to survive—but it came at a high price. The impact of colonisation and state government assimilation policies has resulted in confusion and debate about Aboriginal identity. Menang Gnudju Elder, Carol Petterson, writes about growing up as an Aboriginal person in Australia. She remembers the racism and the trauma of mission life. She struggled with identity because she was “too white to be black, too black to be white. She says that today, white people value my ‘Aboriginality’, but now I find that it is certain blackfullas (sic) who are the perpetrators of racism against me… I’m now being subjected to what I call ‘lateral violence’ from some Noongar people, so I find I am still a victim of prejudice because of my skin colour: a skin colour given to me by my loving parent (2018, p. 190).

Kim Scott, a Nyoongar man of mixed descent, discusses his Aboriginal identity: I was a young adult living and working among Aboriginal people of south-western Australia – Noongars – who repeatedly said, ‘You can’t be a bit and bit. What are you, Noongar or Wadjella (white fella)?… I knew very few members of my extended Indigenous family, and they were either ashamed to admit to their Aboriginality, or – like my father had perhaps been – too diffident to loudly identify themselves as Aboriginal (Scott & Brown, 2005, pp. 14–16).

Australia voted overwhelmingly ‘yes’ in the 1967 national referendum that gave the federal government the power to enact policies for the benefit of all First Nations People in Australia. No longer would individual state government bodies control First People’s lives, or speak on their behalf. Corporate bodies were formed that introduced First Nations political voices to the public sphere. But self-determination required funding and support from the government, which in turn required individuals and organisations to provide evidence of their Aboriginality. So how to define Aboriginality? Skin colour is thought to be an indicator of Indigenous heritage, and it is often assumed by the non-Indigenous community that a darker skin colour is an indication of a greater connection with traditional culture. This is not the case, and First Peoples’ faces are as diverse in appearance as those of the non-Indigenous population (Oxenham et al., 1999).3 For those who had in the past denied their traditional culture, there was now reason to rediscover culture and embrace it. People 3 To

better illustrate differences in Aboriginal identity, see Creative Spirits website https://www. creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/people/aboriginal-identity-who-is-aboriginal.

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who identify as Aboriginal are also eligible for a variety of government funding schemes and allowances. For example, ABSTUDY provides financial assistance to people studying if they meet the ABSTUDY definition of Indigenous (Department of Human Services, n.d.). In discussing who and what is Aboriginal, Aboriginal academic Marcia Langton says: For Aboriginal people, resolving who is Aboriginal and who is not is an uneasy issue, located somewhere between the individual and the state. They find white perceptions of Aboriginality are disturbing because of the history of forced removal of children, denial of civil rights and dispossession of land (1993). She notes that legal scholar, John McCorquodale, has found 67 definitions of Aboriginal people, but the federal government has, over time, arrived at this definition: An Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person is someone who: • Is of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent. • Identifies himself or herself as an Aboriginal person or Torres Strait Islander. • Is accepted as such by the Indigenous community in which he or she lives (Pascoe 2012, p. 4; AIATSIS, 2018). Yet Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander identity remains problematic because definitions have been constructed by the dominant discourse—by governments, anthropologists and historians from white Australia rather than by First Nations People themselves. As Michael Dodson said in his 1994 Wentworth lecture: The moment the question is asked, ‘Who or what is Aboriginal?, an historical landscape is entered, full of absolute and timeless truths, which have been set in place by self-professed experts and authorities all too ready to tell us, and the world, the meaning of Aboriginality (quoted in Oxenham, 1999, p. 37).

First Peoples are having their own discourse about identity and they are reaching conclusions that are far more complex than the federal government’s three-point definition. For First Nations artists, writers and filmmakers, this discourse is represented in their creative works where issues of identity are a recurring theme. For example, Aboriginal painter Robert Stuurman discusses his paintings that are about complex identities: Society functions on a structured system of fixed identities because they tend to be conservative and predictable and therefore easy to manage. Variable identities are people who value the individual as unique which is shown through the emphasis of individual identity, what is your name, where are you from, who’s your mob? This is a sign of respect rather than interrogation. Variable identities collectively are elusive, resistant and cultural (sic) assertive (Stuurman, 2004).

In this vein, Ivan Sen’s acclaimed film Beneath Clouds (2002) follows the journey of two Aboriginal teenagers, Lena and Vaughn. Lena, who is fair and does not look Aboriginal, denies her Aboriginal heritage and instead seeks to identify with her absent Irish father. Sally Morgan’s novel My Place is an autobiographical account of

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the author’s discovery of her Aboriginal identity and a challenge to dominant white Australian history: The kids at school had also begun asking us what country we came from. This puzzled me because, up until then, I’d thought we were the same as them… One day, I tackled Mum about it as she washed the dishes. “What do you mean, ‘Where do we come from?’” “I mean, what country. The kids at school want to know what country we come from. They reckon we’re not Aussies. Are we Aussies, Mum?”… “What do the kids at school say?” “Anything. Italian, Greek, Indian.” “Tell them you’re Indian.” I got really excited, then…It sounded so exotic (Morgan, 1987, p. 45).

A group of Aboriginal academics from Curtin University’s Centre for Aboriginal Studies published a book in 1999 called A Dialogue on Indigenous Identity: Warts ‘n’ All. It is a record of a very personal discussion on identity and how to define Aboriginality. The dialogue was initiated after a Perth academic from another university was required to prove their claim to Aboriginal heritage. The nine Aboriginal academics that participated in the discussion, when reflecting on the process, all expressed their apprehension at being involved. Most expressed concern about how non-Indigenous readers would respond to a dialogue in which Aboriginal people themselves could not agree on a definition of Aboriginality. One participant, Darlene Oxenham, writes about the controversial and negative way in which Aboriginal people are represented in the media. On the one hand, there is a representation that suggests the views and actions of one person represent all Aboriginal people; on the other, there is the representation whereby dissenting voices and opposing positions are highlighted: Both these dynamics can place us in a no-win situation and do not do us, or our issues, justice … so in some situations we are not allowed the right to disagree. We are expected to have only united all consistent opinions on things; otherwise our cultural credibility is brought into question (Oxenham, 1999, p. 151).

Contemporary Nyoongar Culture Living in a large urban area like Perth has its own unique challenges for Aboriginal people working to rediscover culture and create a sense of community. Aboriginal people are scattered through sprawling suburbs and there is no obvious cultural centre or focus for the Aboriginal community. Camps and reserves that developed in Perth in the 1960s were closed in the 1970s by what came to be known as the government’s ‘salt and pepper’ policy. The idea was to house Aboriginal families within the white community to encourage assimilation and to avoid the low standards of health, hygiene, employment and education that existed in the camps, but as

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Delmege notes, “… in practice, families were dispersed and isolated in far-flung outer suburbs of Perth” (2005). In 2020, there is an emerging middle class in the Perth Aboriginal community that is comprised of academics, professionals and business owners. They represent a political and community voice that has claimed an undeniable presence in the local and national public sphere. With that presence is growing support within the wider community for reconciliation, and that has seen a significant increase in the inclusion of Aboriginal culture, language and people at community events. Welcomes and acknowledgement of country are now commonplace at community and institutional events. Nyoongar place names are on display throughout the city, and First Peoples arts regularly feature in Perth’s cultural calendar. Nyoongar identity is growing in confidence and visibility. Yet there is still an attitude held by the government and the non-Indigenous community that urban-dwelling Aborigines are not ‘real Aborigines’. There is a populist-romantic view that ‘Indigenous’ is linked with the original and the primitive—“the idea of ‘Indigenous’ [is] irreconcilable with modernity” (Delmege, 2005). Perth Nyoongar man, Dennis Simmons explains further: They think that because we live in the city and we stay in a house – especially for Nyoongar people – they say Nyoongar people have got no culture. Well we do have a culture. (personal communication, August 2008).

Kim Scott adds: …most thought that there was only ‘oppression culture’ left in Noongar country – not ‘high’ culture, not creation stories, language and songs. (Scott & Brown, 2005, pp. 14–16).

Nyoongar academic, Prof. Ted Wilkes explains that in years past white fathers, in particular, turned their backs on their Aboriginal children and it was Nyoongar women who raised the children in a Nyoongar world: White people who live in Perth don’t believe that Aboriginal people living south of the 26th parallel are genuine and real Aboriginal people. They say, ‘they’re not real black fellas.’…We are Nyoongar. We are the genuine Nyoongars. We are the modern contemporary Nyoongar people. And for any white fella to say that we’re not is a misnomer. It’s an absolute lie. It’s a mistruth. And it’s a stretching of the truth again to meet their own selfish and ethnocentric views (personal communication, February 2007).

Conclusion Culture is a creative response to the conditions of existence experienced by a group. The Nyoongar community of Perth has evolved with a unique and contemporary culture that is the product of history, family and environment. When asked ‘what is Aboriginal music?’, the Manager of a Perth based Aboriginal Music school said, ‘if it is made by an Aboriginal person then it is Aboriginal music’. Non-Indigenous people, when seeking to engage with Nyoongar culture, may think of culture as something that is static and, therefore, primitive and traditional. A reggae song written

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and performed by an Aboriginal band may not be easily recognised as Aboriginal culture because it does not conform to expectations of traditional music that might include traditional language and a didgeridoo, but it is still Aboriginal music. This example of music illustrates the complex and shifting nature of culture—any culture. Attempting to define or describe Nyoongar culture can be difficult but there is no doubt that Nyoongar people and culture are resilient. They have appropriated from and adapted to a dominant, white, mainstream culture. Nyoongar man, Dennis Simmons, explains: Contemporary Nyoongar culture is whatever we say it is. […] Everything changes – culture changes. We live in a very modern world. We walk in two worlds. We are unable to practice a lot of our traditional cultures that we would have been able to do pre-settlement. Postsettlement, that land and that space is just not available for us. So the culture has to change (2017).

It is important to understand that there is a vibrant and growing contemporary Nyoongar culture that has evolved from both traditional and colonial history. Culture is a unique and individual practice for each Nyoongar person, family and community and so assumptions cannot be made about who and what is Aboriginal. Having made that point, there are elements of traditional culture that continue to be widely practised by Nyoongar people and knowledge of these practices and protocols is important for non-Indigenous people seeking to work with First Nations community. These will be discussed in the next chapter.

References Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Studies, (2000). A guide to Australian legislation relevant to native title: Volume One (NSW, VIC, QLD, SA). https://aiatsis.gov. au/publications/products/guide-australian-legislation-relevant-native-title-volume-one-nsw-vicqld-sa. Australian Bureau of Statistics. (2016). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Population. 2016 Census Data Summary. Retrieved from http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/[email protected]/Lookup/2071. 0main+features102016. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Studies, (2017a). Australian Indigenous Languages Database. AUSTLANG. Retrieved from http://austlang.aiatsis.gov.au/main.php? code=W41. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Studies. (2017b). Indigenous Australian Languages. Retrieved from http://aiatsis.gov.au/explore/articles/indigenous-australianlanguages. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Studies. (2018). Indigenous Australians: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People. Retrieved from https://aiatsis.gov.au/ explore/articles/indigenous-australians-aboriginal-and-torres-strait-islander-people. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Studies. (2019). Mabo Case. Retrieved from https://aiatsis.gov.au/explore/articles/mabo-case. Australian Law Reform Commission. (2014). Native Title in Australia Map 2014. Australian Government. Retrieved from https://www.alrc.gov.au/publication/connection-to-country-review-ofthe-native-title-act-1993-cth-alrc-report-126/3-context-for-reform/outcomes-to-date/. Banks, A. (2008, April 24 2008). Appeal puts native title case in limbo. The West Australian.

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Bates, D. (1938). The passing of the aborigines. London: Butler and Tanner Ltd. Birdsall, C. (1990). All One Family: Family and Social Indentity Among Urban Aborigines in Western Australia. (Ph.D.), University of Western Australia, Perth. Bridge, P. (Ed.). (1992). Aboriginal Perth. Bibbulmun biographies and legends. Perth: Hesperian Press. Collard, L. (Writer). (2005). Noongar of the Beeliar: Swan River: Kulbardi Productions. Croft, J. D. (Cartographer). Aboriginal Groups of the South West of Western Australia. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noongar-/media/File:Noongar1.jpg. Delmege, S. (2005). A trans-generational effect of the 1905 Aborigines Act (WA): The making of the fringe-dwellers in the south west of Western Australia. Murdoch University Electronic Journal of Law, 6, 1. Retrieved from http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/journals/MurUEJL/2005/6.html. Department of Human Services (n.d.). Abstudy. Who Can Get It. Retrieved from https://www. humanservices.gov.au/individuals/services/centrelink/abstudy/eligibility-payment-rates/whocan-get-it. Department of Indigenous Affairs (2009). DIA Region—Metro Wheatbelt. Retrieved from http:// www.dia.wa.gov.au/Our-Business/Around-The-Regions/Region-Metro-Wheatbelt/. Forrest, S. (2012). Binjareb Boodja. Curtin University. Goldrick, S. (Director). M. Johnston (Producer) (2017). Heart Coming Home. (Documentary film) Perth: Curtin University. Hallam, S. J. (2014). Fire and Hearth: A study of Aboriginal usage and European usurpation in south-western Australia (Revised ed.). Perth: University of Western Australia Publishing. Horton, D. (1994). The Encyclopedia of Aboriginal Australia: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history, society and culture. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies: Canberra, Aboriginal Studies Press. Horton, D. (Cartographer). (1996). Aboriginal Australia. Retrieved from http://www. reconciliationsa.org.au/pdfanddocs/AboriginalAustraliaMap.pdf. Host, J., & Owen, C. (2009). It’s still in my heart, this is my country. The Single Noongar Claim History. Perth: UWA Publishing. Howard-Wagner, D. (2012) “Reclaiming the Settler Colonial Space: The Northern Territory Intervention and Land Acquisition.” Hinkson, J.; James, P. and Veracini, L. (eds). Arena Journal, 37–38, pp. 322–336. Kinnane, S. (2003). Shadow lines. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Langton, M. (1993). Well, I heard it on the radio and I saw it on the television… (Fourth ed.). Woolloomooloo: Australian Film Commission93. Morgan, S. (1987). My place (1988th ed.). Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. National Enquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families. (1997). Bringing Them Home. Sydney: Commonwealth of Australia. Oxenham, D. (1999). A dialogue on Indigenous Identity: Warts ‘n’ all. Perth: Gunada Press. Palmer, K. (2016). Noongar people, noongar land. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Pascoe, B. (2012). The little red yellow and black book. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Pearce, R., & Barbetti, M. (1981). A 38,000-year-old archaeological site at Upper Swan, Western Australia. Oceania, 16, 173–178. Pettersen, C. (2018). Too White to be Black, too Black to be White. In A. Heiss (Ed.), Growing up aboriginal in Australia (pp. 186–190). Carlton: Black Inc. Scott, K., & Brown, H. (2005). Kayang and me. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Simmons, D. (2017). Noongar Culture and Communituy. Aboriginal Community Engagement. Retrieved from https://communityyarns.com/noongar-culture-and-community/. South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council. (2017). Kaartdijin Noongar—Noongar Knowledge. Retrieved from http://www.noongarculture.org.au/noongar/. South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council. (nd). New and Events. Retrieved from http://www. noongar.org.au/news-and-events/. Stasiuk, G. (2015). Wadjemup: Rottnest Island as black prison and white playground. . (PhD), Murdoch University, Perth.

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Stuurman, R. (2004, 26/3/09). Aboriginal Identity in Contemporary Society. Retrieved from http:// eprints.qut.edu.au/2081/1/2081.pdf. The Centre for 21st Century Humanites (n.d.). Colonial Frontier Massacres in Central and Eastern Australia 1788–1930. Retrieved from https://c21ch.newcastle.edu.au/colonialmassacres/ introduction.php. Tilbrook, L. (1983). Nyungar Tradition. Glimpses of Aborigines of South-Western Australia 1829– 1914. Perth: University of Western Australia Press. Trees, K. (1992). My Place as Counter-Memory. Span, (32), 2. Retrieved from http://wwwmcc. murdoch.edu.au/ReadingRoom/litserv/SPAN/32/Trees.html. United Nations. (2007). United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples retrieved from https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wp-content/uploads/ sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Wahlquist, C. (2017). Warren Mudnine looks back: ‘Tony Abbott was a whirlwind’. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2016/dec/31/indigenous-australiawarren-mundine-treaty-consultation?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign= GU+Today+AUS+v1+-+AUS+morning+mail+callout&utm_term=206408&subid=7861279& CMP=ema_632.

Chapter 3

Indigenous Protocols

Abstract This chapter introduces protocols and explains that while most First Nations communities share some commonalities, there is not one set of universal protocols that can be applied to all First Nations communities. Understanding appropriation, the need for respect and the value of listening can help non-Indigenous people to work with protocols, adapt to diversity, and collaborate with each unique and individual community with whom we collaborate.

The word itself, ‘research’, is probably one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary. When mentioned in many indigenous contexts, it stirs up silence, it conjures up bad memories, it raises a smile that is knowing and distrustful. (Smith, 2012, p. 1)

Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s often-quoted declaration that research is a dirty word for First Nations People summarises effectively the importance and value of cultural protocols. One of the first steps to a successful collaboration with First Peoples is an understanding of the cultural protocols that guide both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and non-Indigenous people working in an Indigenous space. Some of these protocols are widely acknowledged and applied to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities all over Australia. Others are more nuanced and specific to individual communities or even families. There is often misunderstanding and confusion for non-Indigenous people attempting to work respectfully with protocols. On 21 May 2012, the front page of the Australian newspaper bore the headline “Museum sidesteps criticism over bid to record songlines”. The story reported that the Australian National Museum is participating in a project with Western Desert Aboriginal communities that would record two songlines from the region. The project had been negotiated over a period of 17 years and reached the point whereby the stories might now be recorded. However, some community members were refusing permission to record on their land due to “increasing pressure to reveal their most closely held cultural secrets”. They accused the Australian National University (ANU) and the Australian National Museum of degrading Aboriginal culture and accused women of “meddling in men’s law” (Rintoul, 2012). Academics involved in the project argued that the project was totally community driven. It would seem that, as far as adhering to protocols, they had done everything right. Yet this story suggests that, in spite of adhering to protocols, non-Indigenous researchers can still © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_3

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get it wrong—things do not always run smoothly. This story was reported in 2012 and examples of collaborative projects that have gone wrong are harder to find in 2018. Perhaps both First Peoples and non-Indigenous people are more aware of protocols and ways of working? Or perhaps people are just more wary and collaborative projects are agreed to and undertaken with more caution? Or is it a growing respect for Aboriginal people and culture? Thomas Keneally, for example, has been criticized for telling an Aboriginal story when he wrote the Booker prize-nominated novel The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1972). Keneally has since said “he would not write the character of Jimmie Blacksmith today as he did more than forty years ago—‘from within a black consciousness’—but not as a response to political correctness or ‘some sort of no-go zone for writers’. His decision is based on mutual respect, recognition, and a desire ‘to extend a faltering hand across the gulf of culture’ (Birch, 2015)”. A history of colonialism and racist government policy has done irreparable damage to Australian First Peoples cultures. A desire to preserve Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures, to rebuild identity and to empower First Peoples has seen a growing number of non-Indigenous people working with First Peoples, and with that the evolution of formal protocols that attempt to guide and inform those collaborations. The different disciplines and case studies that are discussed in this book have been undertaken with reference to both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander protocols as well as the industry protocols that are relevant to each case and location. This chapter addresses both types of protocols. However, understanding Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander protocols must always be the first step, and because this book comes from Nyoongar country, it is Nyoongar protocols that are acknowledged and explained here. The South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council (SWALSC) represent all the language groups of the Nyoongar Nation and should be consulted about protocols. They have published a guide on their website that provides an introduction to working with Aboriginal communities in the south-west of Australia: http://www. noongar.org.au/noongar-protocols.

Diversity As mentioned in the previous chapter, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are not one homogenous group but rather a diverse range of cultures, languages and identities. In Nyoongar country there are 13 different language groups, each with their own identity and history. The language is very similar across all the 13 groups, but each has its own subtle differences in spelling and pronunciation. Nyoongar people will identify with one or two different language groups, depending on where they were born and where their parents are from. This, of course, means that some people may also identify with another cultural group that is outside Nyoongar country such as neighbouring Yamatji country. Understanding this diversity is essential to understanding almost all other Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultural protocols because it is this connection to country and cultural identity that dictates the behavior of all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Dr. Kathryn Trees is an academic

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who has a long history of working with Aboriginal community. She stresses the importance of understanding diversity: Understanding that there is no such thing as one ‘Aboriginal’ people or ‘Indigenous’ people. It’s just ridiculous that we don’t understand. Too many people I speak to who are going to this project, or that project, with a group of Aboriginal people – they are absolutely well intentioned – but they have a romantic idea of who Aboriginal people are that does not include their diversity. They talk about ‘this community’ and they talk about ‘the mob’, as if there is this homogenous community – as if they are one group of people. We know from native title that Aboriginal people lived in family groups. Their interests are around family groups – no different to ours (personal communication, January 13 2017).

Prior to colonisation Nyoongar people travelling outside of their own country would seek permission to travel from the traditional custodians of the land in which they were travelling. Stories, songs, food and tools were often traded and so it was not uncommon for visitors to arrive from other neighbouring language and/or cultural groups. Visitors were welcomed to the country by an Elder and were consequently expected to respect the laws and traditions of their hosts. The welcoming Elder was also responsible for the behavior of the visitor. It was not until 1976 that Welcome to Country evolved from a protocol recognised only by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to one that has become a widely celebrated recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture by all Australians. It was first performed for a nonIndigenous audience by Nyoongar Elder, Dr. Richard Walley, and Yamatji actor, Ernie Dingo, who were asked by a group of Polynesian perfomers to give them a Welcome to Country as dictated by Polynesian custom. With permission from Nyoongar Elders, the two men performed the Welcome at the Perth Fringe Arts Festival and so began a tradition for the whole nation (Tan, 2016). Welcome to Country, a protocol that has become widely practiced all over Australia, is usually performed by an Elder of the host language group and is a formal welcome to visitors that acknowledges traditional owners and pays respect to ancestors. Welcome to Country can take many different forms and may include song and dance, or a smoking ceremony. In the absence of an Elder, non-Indigenous people can alternatively offer an acknowledgement of country as a way of paying respect to First Peoples and their ancestors. From this traditional practice, it should be understood that a First Nations person, even if they are an Elder, cannot perform a Welcome to Country if they are not from that country. For example, a Wadjuk Nyoongar Elder cannot perform a Welcome to Country if they are living or working in Menang Nyoongar country. Dr. Marion Kickett is the director of the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies. She emphasises that understanding “diversity is number one” when working with First Peoples. Within that diverse group of people comes the protocols. I’ve had people demand that we do an Aboriginal welcome. They say to me, ‘can’t you just send one of your staff?’ I can’t, because you have to understand the protocols. Someone cannot do a Welcome to Country if they are not the local language group. I can’t do a true Welcome because I’m not Whadjuk, which is the language group here in Perth. I can do an acknowledgement of country. It’s better if you can find an Aboriginal person to do an acknowledgement, but if you can’t then you do it as a non-Aboriginal person (personal communication April 27, 2017).

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Cultural identity also dictates what Nyoongar people can and cannot speak about. Individual language groups, and even specific families, are custodians of stories. A Nyoongar person will not speak about the stories, experiences, opinions or history of a language or cultural group that is outside their own country. The traditional custodian of a story may give permission for someone outside of their language group to share a story, but that permission is only given when a trusting relationship has been established. There are some stories that may never be shared. Regardless of how long a non-Indigenous person has lived in the country, they will always need to seek permission to speak about Nyoongar community and culture. Elders continue to play an important role in contemporary Nyoongar community, and visiting Elders must be the first step for any person seeking to work and collaborate with First Peoples. Michelle White is a Yamatji and European descent woman, and is the Aboriginal Programs and Media Manager at Community Arts Network in Perth. She stresses the importance of visiting Elders: Be respectful of who the Elders are in the town and how you should be approaching people to make decisions and stuff like that. Like say, for instance, don’t assume you can just call a meeting and put on a cup of tea and expect everyone to come to you. The protocol should be that you go visit the individuals. So you go to the Elders, you go to the Elder’s home and visit them if they’re comfortable with that (personal communication January 17, 2017).

Men’s Business, Women’s Business Traditional Nyoongar culture has very clear boundaries that define the responsibilities and behaviors of men and women. Prior to colonisation, the provision of food and shelter, care for children and the elderly, and responsibility for stories and sacred places were strictly organised and managed. In more general terms, women and men had different roles and responsibilities. In contemporary Aboriginal communities, the differentiation between women’s business and men’s business is still most evident in the custodianship of stories and sacred places. A man cannot speak about a sacred woman’s place or tell a woman’s story, and women cannot tell men’s stories. Again, these restrictions apply to non-Indigenous men and women and First Peoples continue to respect these traditional boundaries. Kathryn Trees talks about advising a government official on an unproductive meeting held with First Peoples to discuss domestic violence. It was assumed that questions had to be directed to Elders: Often people are too afraid to think about the gender issues in communities. There are ugly gender issues, just as there are in western society. You are sitting there with one group and you are directing most of your questions to the men. You are letting the men speak. Just doing that was appalling. You need to understand that you need to speak to the women too and often the women can’t speak in front of the men because these are sensitive issues (personal communication, January 13, 2017).

She also remembers arriving late to an open-air meeting, where women and men were sitting in different spaces. She sat some distance behind the men because she

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didn’t want to disrupt the meeting by crossing the crowd to where the women were sitting. A man asked her to move: If you put yourself in a wrong position, you change it. You have to know the protocol and you have to act on it. And you have to act on the protocol regardless of whether you will be embarrassed acting on the protocol (personal communication, January 13 2017).

Arriving on time to a meeting should be the priority, but if arriving late wait outside the meeting until an appropriate break in proceedings, or somebody signals for you to enter.

Sorry Business In Nyoongar culture, a death in the community will initiate a series of processes and protocols that are understood and respected by all First Peoples. Due to the inequity of living standards, education and health services, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people often die younger than non-Indigenous people and there is still a great deal of ongoing research and debate about the causes for and answers to this problem of shorter life expectancy. The consequence of this inequity is that ‘sorry business’ is an all too common occurrence in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. For Nyoongar people, the decision to attend a funeral is not a choice but rather a responsibility. Funerals are often scheduled many days, or even weeks, after a death to allow friends and family time to learn of the death and to travel to the place of the funeral. Nyoongar people attribute so much importance to a funeral that all other responsibilities and activities are put aside to allow for attendance. Protocols around death will vary from family to family. Some will not want the image of the deceased to be displayed anywhere, and/or will not allow the speaking of the deceased’s name. Some may choose to impose a period of mourning after which restrictions may be lifted. In Nyoongar country, it is not uncommon to see a family speaking a name and using images of the deceased. Do not assume that just because a family is Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander they will adhere to traditional protocols. Contemporary First Peoples are often eager to celebrate a life by viewing photographs or speaking a name and so consultation with the family is always required before making decisions about how to work around the death of an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person. However, for all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities, it is these traditions around death that require warnings to be given in the media prior to the viewing of films or photographs that contain images of deceased people. Michelle White talks about sorry business as one of the challenges to community work: If we’ve organised to go out and do a series of workshops in a regional area with members of the community and there’s a death in the community, we’re quite okay with the idea that we instantly cancel what we’re doing to allow that grieving space, that sorry business time.

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Ethical Research Protocols Cross-cultural collaboration requires non-Indigenous people to be familiar with both Indigenous and non-Indigenous protocols, some of which are specific to a discipline or workplace. The National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) and the Australian Research Council (ARC, 2007) have published guidelines for ethical conduct in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander research and it is to these documents that academic researchers are usually referred (NHMRC, 2018). University-based researchers are required to seek ethics approval from their institution before commencing a project and familiarity with the NHMRC document is a good starting point for that process. The NHMRC document is introduced by providing some context for the protocols and guidelines. They emphasise the need for research that is led by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and communities, and for researchers to acknowledge that “most research methodologies and practices have emerged from Western Concepts that sometimes do not include other conceptual viewpoints (2018, p. 2)”. Recognising cultural difference, in terms of both the diverse individual Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities as well as the different cultural perspectives of First Nations and non-Indigenous Australians, must underpin all research activities and relationships. Successful collaboration is built on trust, mutual responsibility and ethics (2018, p. 2)”. Six values underpin the NHMRC document (see Illustration 3.1) and, given the diversity of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples and community, each community has the right to decide how these values will be implemented: • • • • • •

Spirit and Integrity, Reciprocity, Respect, Equity, Cultural Continuity, Responsibility.

The meaning of these six core values for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people provides the foundation for the guidelines and are at the heart of any ethical assessment.

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Illustration 3.1 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples’ core values that guide research. (National Health and Medical Research Council, 2018, p. 3)

Spirit and Integrity is of particular importance to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people because it is the central core value that binds together all the other five values. It firstly acknowledges the connection and continuity of past, present and future generations. It also highlights the importance of the other five values in shaping the integrity of behavior. The researcher must demonstrate their commitment to all five values and, therefore, their commitment to spirit and integrity (NHMRC, 2018, p. 4). Cultural Continuity is a value that firstly recognises the many diverse and individual Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures and the right of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to protect and support their cultures. Research should engage Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and communities, should respect the values and identity of participants and consider the use of Indigenous methodologies when developing research proposals. Researchers should also understand that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples might have negative perceptions of research (2018, pp. 4–5). Respect for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history and culture is further exemplified in the third value of equity. Research should value and recognise the knowledge and wisdom that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people contribute, engage Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in all stages of research, and

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ensure that the benefits of research are shared, fairly distributed and are beneficial to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (2018, pp. 6–7). Reciprocity is at the heart of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture and is related to kinship networks. Reciprocity describes an obligation for all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to share and distribute resources and this responsibility extends to animals and care for country. The core value of reciprocity is an extension of equity, whereby all research participants have equal rights and power, and the benefits of research extend to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The outcomes of research may take many forms, and may include both tangible and intangible benefits. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander participants have the right to define what benefits of research are in keeping with their own values, aspirations and priorities (2018, pp. 7–8). Respect is foundational to trust and it underlies all aspects of the research process. “Respect is expressed as having regard for the welfare, rights, knowledge, skills, beliefs, perceptions, customs and cultural heritage of people involved in research (2018, p. 9)”. Awareness of one’s own beliefs and worldview provides capacity for the researcher to understand how research might be viewed differently by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The intent of research, when and how it is done, is a mutual decision between all the participants in the research process. Finally, Responsibility is another aspect of the NHMRC protocols that is core to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. Research activities should not interfere with an individual’s responsibilities to country and kinship relationships. The responsibility to “do no harm” is a foundational directive for all ethical research and this is reiterated in the NHMRC guidelines (2018, p. 11).

Appropriation For community projects that are centred around a creative process, such as writing a story or making a film, the need for protocols is often discussed in relation to cultural appropriation, and the fields of creative practice provide many examples of cultural appropriation both in Australia and internationally. Cultural appropriation generally falls into three different categories. The first form of appropriation is obvious and involves the pilfering of tangible objects like a work of art. The other two categories are more subtle. A song, for example, may be ‘taken’ from a culture but this does not preclude a culture from possessing that song. This is a “non-rivalrous” or nonexclusive possession of the intellectual property (Ziff & Rao, 1997, p. 4). The third form of appropriation is difficult to define because it includes acts of appropriation such as stealing a genre or style. Australian artist Elizabeth Durack provides an example of this form of appropriation when she controversially painted in an Aboriginal style and used the fictitious male Aboriginal name of Eddie Burrup to sell her work (see http://www.elizabethdurack.com/burrup_6_storm.php). Artists, filmmakers, writers and musicians continue to debate issues of appropriation because the nature of creativity essentially requires an artist to interact with other texts. A 2002 Insight

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panel broadcast on SBS heard Paul Goldman, director of the controversial feature film Australian Rules (2002), claim “the right to do what all artists do—appropriate stories”. The film drew intense criticism for its representation of a real-life incident that led to the deaths of two Aboriginal boys. The author of the book on which the film is based, Phillip Gwynne, grew up in the town that features in the story. He knew the characters around which the story is based. He argues that it was his story, a story that he insists he has the right to tell. “But it was someone else’s story too…It is not a black story”, Gwynne says. “It is a white story that intersects 100% with black peoples’ lives.” In response to allegations of racism, Gwynne says “he is not a racist, but he was naïve…he will never write about Aborigines again” (Ellingsen, 2002). Kuku Yalanji actor and director Lydia Miller also participated in the Insight program and adds to the discussion about Australian Rules: I think that is the issue. It is about appropriation in some respects, because the Western notion of the artist as hero goes right up against Indigenous culture paradigms of cultural material belonging to the community from whence it comes from (Brockie, 2002).

Ziff and Rao expand on Miller’s statement by pointing out that an: “… author does not work tabula rasa but rather draws relentlessly on past creations … Any given text is a ‘tissue of quotations drawn from innumerable centers of culture’” (1997, p. 4).

They go on to explain that appropriation can be multidirectional, but it is usually discussed in terms of the dominant culture taking from a minority culture. Even though it can happen the other way around, to think of appropriation in symmetrical terms does not recognise the political nature of the problem and the power relationships associated with it: Today’s issues are about minority groups and subjects (the disempowered, colonized, peripheral, or subordinate) who are seeking to claim and protect rights to a cultural heritage (Ziff & Rao, 1997, p. 8).

One of the most discussed consequences of cultural appropriation is the damage done to the integrity and identity of a cultural group. Arguments for the value of cultural identity in turn lead to questions of why we should be concerned about cultural distinctiveness. The importance of cultural identity has been discussed in Chap. 1, but Ziff and Rao, in answering this question, include a thought-provoking quote that further emphasises the importance of identity: The success of oppressed groups depends on the construction of strong cultural identity. That identity becomes the glue that binds the movement. These images of culture allow for what bell hooks has called the ‘practice of self-love as a revolutionary intervention that undermines practices of domination’ and that allows struggles of resistance to endure (1997, p. 11).

In 2018, concerns around cultural appropriation have evolved and expanded into one of the media’s most often discussed topics, identity politics. Author Lionel Shriver sparked national outrage when, at the 2016 Brisbane Writer’s Festival she labeled efforts to prohibit authors from writing about ethnicity or gender as “runaway political correctness….She defended her right to depict members of minority groups

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in any situation, if it served her artistic purposes. ‘Otherwise, all I could write about would be smart-alecky 59-year-old 5-foot-2-inch white women from North Carolina’, she said” (Nordland, 2016). Wiradjuri academic and writer, Jeanine Leane, responded to Lionel Shriver’s comments by explaining how the representation of First Nations People by non-Indigenous people is rarely informed by any kind of firsthand experience or nuanced understanding of those they write about. Shriver defends the representation of minorities in fiction as “a vital vehicle of empathy”. Leane responds by saying “What Shriver doesn’t seem to understand is that to achieve empathy one must know those they are seeking to represent—and not just through limited and controlled observation, or through a state archive, or someone else’s research… Cultural appropriation is not empathy. It is stealing someone else’s story, someone else’s voice (2016, pp. 43–45).”. Leane offers no simple answer to the question of whether non-Indigenous writers should or could write about a First Nations character. However, she does recognize the potential value offered by literature for conversations about culture and for collaboration. She cites playwright Jane Harrison who argues “that the sharing of our histories and our stories is essential to the health of Aboriginal culture, but first it must be acknowledged who is in control” (cited in Leane, 2016, p. 45). The protection of cultural identity and integrity is a clear objective in the existing protocols for filmmakers and academic researchers in their collaborations with First Peoples. Are respect for cultural integrity and a desire to protect cultural identity enough though to ensure a successful outcome for the researcher/artist and the community alike when they undertake a collaborative project? The lessons learned, even from very recent collaborative projects, suggest that the answer is probably ‘no’. Perth-based Epidemiologist, Professor Fiona Stanley, says: Protocols don’t work unless you live, eat and breathe the whole process. I’m against having a protocol where you just tick boxes (personal communication, December 12 2017).

Leane refers to empathy and that can only come with time and with close personal relationships. Protocols are an important starting point for a relationship but protocols must be more than just a ‘box-ticking’ exercise. In traditional Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture, protocols guided human behavior and defined the responsibilities of each individual to family, to the wider community and to country. This book considers not only formal protocols, but also ways of working, and human behavior. It offers case studies and lessons learned from experienced researchers, First Peoples and non-Indigenous collaborators. It will become clear that there are common elements among the most successful and positive of these cross-cultural collaborations. At the very core, there is respect—respect for difference, respect for voice, respect for culture, respect for the individual. In considering ways of working that are best suited to a cross-cultural collaborative project, the published protocols discussed in this chapter should be considered. However successful cross-cultural collaboration and the protocols that guide that collaboration must translate into ways of working that recognise the unique and individual nature of each community. Indigenous research methodologies and action research can assist in guiding our ways of working, our behavior and our ways of thinking. In the next chapter, we

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discuss several Indigenous research methodologies with a particular emphasis on action research, which can serve as both a methodology and as a kind of underpinning protocol that ensures respect, voice and listening are all part of the collaborative process.

References Australian Research Council. (2007). National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research. Canberra: Australian Government Retrieved from http://www.nhmrc.gov.au/_files_ nhmrc/publications/attachments/e72_national_statement_130207.pdf. Birch, T. (2015). Tony Birch on ‘The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith’ by Thomas Keneally for Reading Australia. Australian Book Review. Retrieved from https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/ reading-australia/thomas-keneally/the-chant-of-jimmie-blacksmith-by-thomas-keneally. Brockie, J. (Writer). (2002). Insight [Television Program]: SBS TV. Ellingsen, P. (2002, August 12). Australian Rules. The Age. Retrieved from http://www.theage.com. au/articles/2002/08/12/1028158065808.html. Goldman, P. (Director) (2002) Australian Rules [Motion Picture] Australia: Palace Films. Kenneally, T. (1972). The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith: Angus & Robertson. Leane, J. (2016). Other peoples’ stories: When is writing cultural appropriation? Overland, 225, 41–45. National Health and Medical Research Council. (2018). Ethical conduct in research with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Poeples and communities: Guidelines for Researchers and stakeholders. Retrieved from https://nhmrc.gov.au/about-us/publications/ethical-conductresearch-aboriginal-and-torres-strait-islander-peoples-and-communities#block-views-blockfile-attachments-content-block-1. Nordland, R. (2016, September 12). Lionel Shriver’s Address on Cultural Appropriation Roils a Writers Festival. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/13/ books/lionel-shriver-cultural-appropriation-brisbane-writers-festival.html. Rintoul, S. (2012, May 21). Museum sidesteps criticism over bid to record songlines. The Australian. Retrieved from http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/museum-sidesteps-criticism-overbid-to-record-songlines/story-e6frg8n6-1226361634134. South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council. (n.d.) Noongar Protocols. Retrieved from http:// www.noongar.org.au/noongar-protocols. Tan, M. (2016, August 2). Interview: Ernie Dingo and Richard Walley on the 40th year of their welcome to country. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2016/feb/23/ ernie-dingo-and-richard-walley-on-the-40th-year-of-their-welcome-to-country. Tuhiwai Smith, L. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Ziff, B., & Rao, P. V. (Eds.). (1997). Borrowed power: Essays on cultural appropriation. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.

Chapter 4

Action Research and Indigenous Research Methodologies

Abstract This chapter introduces the philosophy and methodology of action research as well as introducing some other Indigenous research methodologies. Action research is a democratic and participatory way of working that is ideally suited to First Nations communities. The practical process of action research is described as a cycle of look, think and act and it is this process that provides a framework for the case studies in all the following chapters. Like action research, Indigenous research methodologies offer similar democratic and emancipatory ways of working. Like action research, they have an underlying philosophy that is respectful of Indigenous protocols, decolonises the research space and prioritises an Indigenous world view.

Debakarn debakarn koorliny wangkaning (steady, steady, walking and talking) (Wright & Kickett-Tucker, 2017, p. 160)

The Nyoongar words that open this chapter represent a Nyoongar world view that encapsulates a way of communicating and connecting with people that is illustrative of an action research way of working. This book offers action research as a guide for those looking to work respectfully and collaboratively with First Nations people. Even when action research is not a deliberate choice, we suggest that at the heart of every successful cross-cultural collaborative project is an action research philosophy and way of working, and so this chapter explains action research as a methodology and a philosophy. Action research is by no means the only methodology that is acknowledged as a preferred way of working with First Peoples, and so this chapter is also a summary of some other Indigenous research methodologies from international sources. When exploring each of these methodologies, it becomes apparent that they all have an emphasis on process and share foundational objectives of emancipation and decolonisation.

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_4

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What Is Action Research? Action research may also be known as participatory action research, collaborative action research or community-based action research (to name a few) depending on the context of the people and project being described. Well-known action research advocate and academic, Jean McNiff explains “that there are many different action research traditions, all with varying perspectives (2014, p. 13)” and it is the underlying values that drive the research that make them different from each other (2014, p. 18). Whatever ‘type’ of action research is undertaken there are characteristics that are common to all. Like action research scholars, Peter Reason and Hillary Bradbury, we use the term ‘action research’ as a way of describing “a family of practices of living enquiry that aims, in a great variety of ways, to link practice and ideas in the service of human flourishing” (2008, p. 1). It is not simply a methodology but, rather, a way of working that may incorporate a number of different methodologies. It is a creative and holistic approach to research that is not easily defined but, as the name suggests, can be successfully employed when the researcher is seeking to create change through action, and change that results in action. It is a relatively new concept, emerging after the First World War and the desire for empowerment and change that this era inspired (Brydon-Miller, Greenwood, & Maguire, 2003, pp. 9–28; Zuber-Skerrit & Fletcher, 2007, p. 413) The researcher, who might be better labelled a ‘facilitator’ (Stringer, 2007, p. 24), does not work alone, but with a community or group who collaborate in the research, not as subjects but as participants and coresearchers. Action research is traditionally employed in the fields of education and social justice but is not restricted to these. Though difficult to define, there is some consensus about those elements of an action research project that are essential, and these will be discussed later in this chapter. For now, Reason and Bradbury provide a definition that reflects the characteristics of action research that are most relevant to cross-cultural collaborative projects: … action research is a participatory process concerned with developing practical knowing in the pursuit of worthwhile human purposes. It seeks to bring together action and reflection, theory and practice, in participation with others, in the pursuit of practical solutions to issues of pressing concern to people, and more generally the flourishing of individual persons in communities (2008, p. 4)

The difficulty in defining action research comes from the diverse range of applications, philosophies and approaches from which it has emerged. Hillary Bradbury explains that “the proliferation of action research practices manifests the fundamental values and innovations that constitute our evolving community (2015)”. Action researchers will employ a range of methodologies, which they may choose as being appropriate for a particularly unique and individual community. There is no single approach, no right or wrong way of doing action research. The prime objective is to improve the everyday experience of people’s lives, to provide practical solutions to problems and to create those solutions in collaboration with the people whose lives are affected: “…action research is participative research, and all participative research must be action research” (Reason & Bradbury, 2008, p. 4). Research is

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always done with people—never for or on people. The process is as important as the outcome. Kemmis refers to “emancipatory action research” and describes it as research done by practitioners—“something they do, not something done on or to them…” (2001). Reason and Bradbury describe action research as a verb, rather than a noun—and as a work of art (2008, p. 5). Budd L Hall is a co-founder of the International Participatory Research Network. The first meeting of this group, in 1978, produced the following definition that reflects the social justice and emancipatory nature of many action research projects: PR (participatory research) involves a whole range of powerless groups of people—the exploited, the poor, the oppressed, the marginal. It involves the full and active participation of the community in the entire research process. The subject of the research originates in the community itself and the problem is defined, analysed and solved by the community. The ultimate goal is the radical transformation of social reality and the improvement of the lives of the people themselves. The beneficiaries of the research are the members of the community. The process of participatory research can create a greater awareness in the people of their own resources and mobilize them for self-reliant development. It is a more scientific method of research in that the participation of the community in the research process facilitates a more accurate and authentic analysis of social reality. The researcher is a committed participant and learner in the process of research, i.e. a militant rather than a detached observer (2001).

Hall reiterates the difficulty in describing the methods and techniques of action research (or participatory research, as he refers to it) and describes it rather as “a political or philosophical phenomena” or “a way of life” (2001). Jean McNiff explains that research is always political, but action research is even more so because it challenges the thinking of we, as researchers, and those with whom we work. This, in turn, changes the way we act (2014). But most importantly this is not research for research sake—expect something to happen. Communicating the results of an action research project is important, but the publication of a report cannot be the only objective or the only outcome. Like Hall, Ernie Stringer’s passion for action research stems from its potential to change people’s lives. He argues that it must be “enacted in accordance with an explicit set of social values” (2007, p. 11). The process of enquiry must have democratic, equitable, liberating and life-enhancing characteristics. As Stringer points out, if an action research project does not make a difference to the community, to the participants, in a specific way then it has failed (2007, p. 12).

How to Do Action Research An action research question, the problem to be solved, must come from the community itself. The project may stem from the personal interest or concern of an individual researcher, but the research issue must evolve in consultation with the community. The first step is to approach the community that will be the focus of the research, talk with them, and assist them to define the problem that will be addressed by the

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action research project. Because the individuals who participate in the research are involved not as subjects of the research but as researchers themselves, the desire for change must come from the community itself. Once there is some understanding of the problem, then the researcher can collect as much background information as possible. Speaking to stakeholders, researching the history of a community, and observing activity and relationships, will provide valuable information and understanding for the researcher. In a cross-cultural situation, this process is of particular importance and can be described as ‘ethnographic action research’. Tacchi, Slater and Hearn (2003) have produced an ethnographic action research guide after working with communities in the Indian subcontinent in the creation of Information and Communication Technology (ICT) projects. Ethnography fits well with action research because it allows the researcher to “focus on understanding a specific place, in detail and in its own terms” (Tacchi, Slater, & Hearn, 2003, p. 11) (See also http://ear. findingavoice.org/intro/index.html; Tacchi, 2015). Tacchi explains that there are three research approaches combined in Ethnographic Action Research: Participatory techniques are used to help researchers and participants understand complex issues in an inclusive and participatory manner. Ethnography has traditionally been used to understand different cultures in detail […] Action research allows us to turn what we learn from research into actions, research those actions and adjust and adapt accordingly. (2015, p. 223)

Tacchi and colleagues suggest starting with broad research and progressing to targeted research. Broad research will map and contextualise all aspects of a community—political, historical and social—and will help identify themes or ‘big stories’ such as poverty, identity or loss of culture. Targeted research can then commence, whereby the researcher may focus on specific groups, families or individuals and on specific issues. Consultation with research partners and acquiring permissions are examples of work done at this stage (2003, p. 15). It is also important, at this stage and at all stages of action research, to be critically reflexive and recognise how your own personal culture and history frame your views of the community and the individuals with whom you work (McNiff & Whitehead, 2009, p. 24; Zuber-Skerrit & Fletcher, 2007, p. 415). From here action research can best be described as a cycle or a spiral. Rather than a traditional linear process of planning and doing, action research introduces a third stage of observing and reflecting (Stringer, 2007, pp. 8–9; Tacchi et al., 2003, p. 2). As in Illustration 4.1, there is an ongoing cycle of look, think and act: ‘Look’ has already been described as the first stage of an action research project, but the process of observation and building a picture does not end there. The researchers keep returning to this stage after completing each of the other stages. They describe the situation as it evolves and re-evaluate. The ‘think’ stage requires participants to theorise, analyse and interpret what is happening. Why/how are things as they are? And then the participants must ‘act’; plan and implement what will happen next (Stringer, 2007, pp. 8–9). Tacchi and colleagues offer a series of questions that guide the participants through the process: what are we trying to do? How are

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Illustration 4.1 The Action Research Cycle (Stringer, 2008, p. 37)

we trying to do it? How well are we doing? How can we do it differently or better? (2003, p. 5) There may be a variety of methods by which the action research cycle is done including surveys, interviews or group meetings. Each project is different, and the action research cycle can be adapted to suit the unique and individual circumstances of each community. Bob Dick emphasises the importance of not just participation, but the use of face-to-face procedures: “[W]hen people meet face-to-face … substantial attitude change can most often be achieved … allowing time for people to adjust to the changes might also be useful (Dick, 1997)”. Recognition of and trust in the knowledge that people have is central to the process. Because participants live the problems that action research seeks to address, they are also best able to offer the solutions. It is the ongoing critical evaluation of an action research project by community participants themselves that validates the outcome and makes the process scientific: “Action research meets the test of action” (Brydon-Miller et al., 2003, p. 25) Dick also recognises the creative and holistic process that is action research. Life is messy, and it may not be possible to articulate clear objectives or even clear questions at the commencement of an action research project. However, the action research process will allow ideas and objectives to evolve with each cycle: … there are times when the initial use of fuzzy methods to answer fuzzy questions is the only appropriate choice. Action research provides enough flexibility to allow fuzzy beginnings while progressing towards appropriate endings (2000).

Why Action Research? Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples are considered to be the most researched peoples in the world. Despite this, they have received very little perceivable benefit. (NHMRC)

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Research into First Peoples culture has, in the past, been informed by the European culture of the white researcher and is inextricably linked to colonialism. First Peoples and culture were judged by the degree to which they conformed to European culture. The damage done as a result of those ill-informed judgements, especially by government, and the barriers to research that have been created, are well known and have been discussed in previous chapters. The end result, as the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) states, is that: The repeated marginalisation in research of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander values has reinforced these barriers over time creating a ‘collective memory’ that is an obstacle to research today (2003, p. 18).

The suspicion with which First Peoples regard academics and the notion of research is evident in the need for the protocols and guidelines that now seek to guide researchers in their work with First Peoples. In this chapter, we argue that action research provides a model for working with those protocols and is well suited to breaking down the barriers, establishing trust, recognising reciprocity and creating the change that is so desperately needed for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. Traditional research requires a researcher to stand outside a situation, observe and then comment. It examines causal relationships: “If I do x, then y will happen” (McNiff & Whitehead, 2009, p. 19). Action research challenges the traditional view that, in order to be credible, “research must remain objective and value free” (Brydon-Miller et al., 2003, p. 11). In their article, Brydon-Miller and colleagues (2003) discuss their own enthusiasm for action research and introduce a global community of like-minded researchers. The action researchers quoted in this journal article passionately report on their community participation projects and extol action research as a process of knowledge creation that is “socially constructed” and recognising “that all research is embedded within a system of values and promotes some model of human interaction” (2003, p. 11). The action researchers in this article express dissatisfaction with traditional research methods, a sense of unease with the incongruity between the values they espouse and those they live, and a desire to connect their research with practice. Furthermore, as Brydon-Miller and colleagues note: … action research goes beyond the notion that theory can inform practice, to a recognition that theory can and should be generated through practice, and, … that theory is really only useful insofar as it is put in the service of a practice focused on achieving positive social change (2003, p. 15).

Action researchers describe themselves as a community and, without exception, have a passion for social justice—they want to make a difference. They are a community of people who seek the social interaction and group activity that action research promotes. They are optimists who are tolerant of the unpredictable nature of their work. Brydon-Miller and colleagues refer to the ‘beauty of chaos’, the need for patience and the need to trust the people with whom you collaborate.

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…‘messes’ sums up one of the ways a great many action researchers differ from their conventional social science colleagues. Messes are complex, multi-dimensional, intractable, dynamic problems that can only be partially addressed and partially resolved. Yet most action researchers have disciplined themselves to believe that messes can be attractive and even exciting (2003, p. 21).

In 2001, Levin and Greenwood argued that universities are becoming more isolated from their communities, that research is often socially disengaged and selfreferential, and that the community rarely sees any benefit from such research. But universities are changing and in 2020 Australian Universities are emphasising the importance of community engagement, industry partnerships and high impact research that delivers change. Action research can contribute to these objectives and several of the case studies included in this book are university based. Furthermore, universities are populated by undergraduate students who are preparing to enter the workforce as professionals who engage with community—nurses, social workers and teachers for example. These students can benefit from the philosophy and participatory practices that are typical of action research.

Quality Action Research The self-reflexive nature of the action researcher will, of course, prompt them to discuss some of the drawbacks to the approach, such as the regret that most projects, while frequently successful at a local level, fail to have a more far-reaching impact for some of the global issues such as conservation and poverty (Brydon-Miller et al., 2003, p. 23). We argue that the local nature of action research is the key to its success. Certainly, it is crucial to recognise the local when working with First Nations communities because that means recognition of the diverse cultural and language groups across Australia. The policies that are so frequently applied to an imagined, national and homogeneous First Peoples are doomed to failure for just that reason— they are national in scope and do not recognise the unique circumstances of each community. Using words like ‘messy’, ‘fuzzy’ and ‘holistic’ to describe action research because it is not easily defined may contribute to some uncertainty about putting this approach into practice especially in a formal research environment. But many of the works cited in this chapter have gone to some lengths to provide a theoretical framework, to clearly define action research, and to provide guidelines for the writing of an action research report or thesis. Many of their definitions have already been addressed in this chapter, but what follows is a number of succinct lists that are helpful in further defining action research and clarifying what, as a first impression, may seem obscure. In summarising definitions of a quality action research report or thesis, the following should apply: • Participants reflect on and improve their own situations. • Their reflection and action are tightly interlinked.

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Their experience is made public. Data is gathered by the participants themselves. Participants are involved in decision-making. Participants work democratically. Power is shared and there is a relative suspension of hierarchical ways of working. Members collaborate. Participants engage in self-reflection, self-evaluation and self-management. There is progressive and public learning by doing and making mistakes. Participant reflection supports the idea of the self-reflective practitioner. In short, effective action research is:

• • • • •

Critical, Reflective, Accountable, Self-evaluating, Participative (Zuber-Skerrit & Fletcher, 2007, pp. 415–416).

McNiff and Whitehead then provide a list of questions to assist the process of the action research project: • • • • • • • •

What is my concern? Why am I concerned? What kind of experiences can I describe to show the situation as it is? What do I do about it? What kind of data do I gather to show the situation as it unfolds? How do I ensure the conclusions I come to are reasonably fair and accurate? How do I modify my ideas and practices in light of the evaluation? How do I explain the significance of my research? (McNiff & Whitehead, 2009, p. 18)

They also provide a list of standards by which practice demonstrates specific values: • Improvement—participants live educational values of, for example, justice, freedom, inclusion and independent thinking. • Learning—from doing action research • Collaborative enquiry—take other people’s ideas into account. • Risk—appreciate that nothing is certain. You go on the journey nevertheless. • Reflective critique—Deconstruct your thinking in light of new learning. • Dialectical critique—You understand how you and your circumstances have been influenced by history and culture. • New beginnings—the end of one action research cycle becomes the beginning of a new one (McNiff & Whitehead, 2009, p. 24). Writing a report is crucial to the process because the knowledge, the research outcomes, must be shared to meet the democratic and participatory requirements of an action research project. In this way, the validity of your findings is tested and

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articulated against your own personal values and standards, and then against the critical feedback of others. There are two common problems in report writing: the first is a failure to be self-critical and reflexive and the second is a failure to include the voices of those who have participated in a project and whose lives are represented in the report. Ernie Stringer provides guidelines for writing an action research report, which may differ from a traditional, scientific and objective account of a project. • The Introduction provides focus and framing for a study or project by locating it (in a classroom or community for example), describing the people involved and the problem or issue that the research addresses. It also explains the significance of the study, why it is important and why the problem needs to be resolved. • A literature review describes what has been learned about an issue from previous research. It can include ethnographic, historic and cultural knowledge that is critical to an understanding of a community or issue, and it should point to any gaps in current research that reveal the need for further research. • The methodology section of the report will explain in more detail the people involved in a project and the context of the study. The process employed for the study is described and should include a rationale for this approach. Describe in detail the information acquired from such sources as interviews, observations, documents and recordings; outline the limitations or parameters of the study; and describe steps taken to ensure ethical issues such as protocols are addressed and respected. • The outcomes or results of a study are presented as a narrative that seeks to describe the lived experience of the participants. Unlike the objective observations of a more traditional research report, an action research report aims to evoke empathy and to offer a perspective that is representative of all stakeholders. Stringer explains that “as with any story, readers need to understand where the story is set, the people involved, and other relevant background information.” Tell the stories of the people who are involved and include elements such as emotion, detailed description, and first-hand accounts of experiences. • Finally, the conclusion should present the experiences and perspectives previously described in a broader context. Stringer describes this section as the ‘so what’ section that presents new understandings and compares them with current literature and knowledge (Stringer, 2007, pp. 174–183; see also McNiff, 2014). Jean McNiff explains that the “broad action research family” (2014, p. 17) will result in different types of texts, that the researcher has a responsibility to use their knowledge for social benefit, and “all writing is political (2014, p. 42)”. Stringer emphasises the inclusion of participants’ voices and experiences when presenting an action research report. This book heeds his advice by prioritising participants’ voices and drawing extensively from transcribed interviews, and by quoting from the previous literature that has contributed to our understanding and knowledge of First Nations People, culture and history.

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Look, Think, Act We began this chapter with a Nyoongar phrase: debakarn debakarn koorliny wangkaning—Steady, steady, walking and talking. Wright and Kickett-Tucker feature this phrase in a book chapter about Aboriginal ways of working: Djinangingy kaartdijin (2017) and is illustrative of an action research philosophy. They offer guidelines and advice for non-Indigenous researchers who are seeking to engage with First Peoples and which we translate here into the look, think, act cycle of action research. The look stage of action research asks the research facilitator to spend time with community participants in order to learn about a community, their history, their culture and what change is desired. Stringer suggests interviews, tours and spending time with participants as they go about the activities of their business or daily lives. Dawn Bessarab and Bridget Ng’andu introduce the concept of yarning as a way of collecting information as well as a way of establishing a relationship: Yarning in a semi-structured interview is an informal and relaxed discussion through which both the researcher and participant journey together visiting places and topics relevant to the research study. (2010, p. 38).

Wright and Kickett-Tucker describe ‘yarning’ as a Nyoongar narrative, but it is more than just a story about connected people and events. Yarning is central to Nyoongar culture and is “a method of conversing, learning and teaching and for building relationships, not only between people but also between people and Nyoongar culture (2007, p. 154).” Only by engaging with the stories of Nyoongar Elders can one attempt to understand a Nyoongar world view, the basis of which they summarise as “connection to land, recognition of kinship and respect for Elders (2007, p. 158).” Understanding a Nyoongar world view requires “deep listening and sensing with the whole body (2007, p. 159).” The non-Indigenous facilitator must slow down, listen more, talk less—‘steady, steady, walking and talking’. Most importantly, all of this takes time because it is about building relationships and trust. The non-Indigenous facilitator must be prepared to spend time with Elders and with community participants, and to spend time on country. Country, or boodja, is inextricably linked to Nyoongar culture, identity and story and so any attempt to understand Nyoongar culture and people must include time spent on country. Yarning is a practice and a research methodology that is widely utilised and becoming increasingly popular with Indigenous researchers from all over Australia. Academic and author, Tyson Yungaporta, explains further about yarning: Yarning is more than just a story or conversation in Aboriginal culture – it is a structured cultural activity that is recognised even in research circles as a valid and rigorous methodology for knowledge production, inquiry and transmission […] The end point of a yarn is a set of understandings, values and directions shared by all members of the group in a loose consensus that is inclusive of diverse points of view (2019, pp. 130–132).

Yarning recognises that “stories are vitally significant in all our lives” and a yarning circle provides “a safe and non-judgemental place to share [particpants’] strengths in

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an inclusive and collaborative learning environment” (Dunleavy, 2013, p. 2). When yarning, people will usually sit in a circle so that all participants can see each other and to avoid any sense of hierarchy. Stories are shared, and food and drink may be offered, or participants may be offered something to hold such as a gum leaf or a flower. Yarning requires active listening and mutual respect, which does not mean that only one person may speak at a time. People may interject and even digress from a topic when yarning, or there may be silences. It is often non-linear and may touch on multiple topics, but the yarn will often return and “revisit ideas in ways that find connections and correlations between diverse sets of data that would otherwise not be found in more analytical modes of dialogue (Yungaporta, 2019: p. 131)”. Respected epidemiologist and health researcher, Professor Fiona Stanley says: I will never now do another study in community without having an appreciation of what yarning means. If you’re doing a community participation action research activity - start off yarning. The differences in terms of the answers that you’ll get from the group you’re interviewing, or the person you’re interviewing, are quite dramatic if you actually have this yarning beforehand (personal communication, December 12 2017).

See also “Indigenous Research Methodologies” later in this chapter. Knowing history is another essential element of the ‘look’ stage when working with Aboriginal community. Professor Steve Mickler is a friend and ally of the Nyoongar community after decades of working and researching with Aboriginal people, initially as a Government employee and now as a Curtin University academic. He emphasises the importance of knowing the history of each situation and community that you find yourself in. He remembers his early years working in the Northern Territory: If you can’t understand history you can’t collaborate. The first time I learnt about the stolen generation I was out bush with a woman colleague - she was a field officer with the NT government like me and we were driving out to the community. She said ‘the last time I saw my mother was her running behind the truck when they came to get us kids.’ There was a group of mothers running after their children who were on the truck, screaming, until they fell down in the red dirt, exhausted. She was trying to educate me because I had never heard of this before. I’d never come across the personal story of someone who had been taken away and how it affected her afterwards. Then you start to get an idea – well, how many people? And the fact that this was in the 1950s. The magnitude of the crimes against humanity, the horror of it, starts to dawn on you. That’s extremely important for understanding how people are today. It became important to me to understand that history as much as I could and so I focused a lot of my time on that (personal communication, February 30 2017).

First Nations academics, Bronwyn Fredericks and Karen Adams, discuss action research as a method and process of decolonisation (2011), and therefore the ‘think’ stage of an action research project includes self-reflection. They acknowledge the challenges for non-Indigenous people working with First Peoples and encourage critical reflexivity as an essential element of both action research and decolonisation. We assert that it is through decolonisation that we can come to know ourselves and each [other] more and that action research offers a medium for doing this. Decolonisation is not just a process for non-Indigenous peoples. It is also a process for Indigenous peoples for we too are a product of colonial history (Fredericks & Adams, 2011, p. 3).

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They warn against people with ‘best intentions’ who may mean well but who work against the empowerment of First Peoples. By excluding Indigenous voices and Indigenous world views, they work to protect their own privilege and “maintain the power differentials which keep [First Peoples in their] place and maintain their privileged dominant positioning within the hierarchy (2011, p. 8).” First Peoples, in a research project, should participate as co-researchers, co-investigators and coauthors. “It is the responsibility of non-Indigenous people to investigate their own subjectivities and their own societal, political and cultural positioning in order to fully engage with Indigenous people (2011, p. 9).” Professor Fiona Stanley began working with Aboriginal health workers when she helped set up the Telethon research institute in 1989 and speaks about her own relationship with Aboriginal community. We developed a special relationship with the Aboriginal community. I said to a group of Aboriginal health leaders that we are not a service provider but a research institute, what do you want us (this research institute) to be for you? They said we want you to be our mother! Being a mother means that you give all of your love, knowledge, care and funding to that child, and then you let it go in a world that’s going to be tough. So you give it as much help as you can, build resilience, and then relinquish the child to cope in whatever path they choose– but then you are always there for them. That was a very important message for me, so instead of us doing Aboriginal research, from that time onwards I have been in the collaborative space, the cross-cultural collaborative space. We determined to grow and support Aboriginal research leaders. Although I have to say that I was still pretty paternalistic in those early years and there are some hilarious stories about that paternalism going a bit off the rails, but you have to keep on remembering that you will make mistakes and people will forgive you for them (personal communication, December 12 2017).

She talks about some of her mistakes when working with Aboriginal researchers such as writing the first draft of an application for a research grant on behalf of an Aboriginal research team because she thought she knew what would be funded. The team didn’t like what she wrote and so completely rewrote the grant application and consequently were awarded the top grant in the country. They came home to my place and hit me on the head with bottles of champagne to celebrate because I’d made such a boo-boo again (personal communication, December 12 2017).

Dr. Carol Dowling is a Yamatji woman and she talks about the non-Indigenous staff that work with her at the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal studies: I think the main thing is how very quickly they learn to privilege Indigenous autonomy, that they actually let us as Aboriginal people have decision-making power. That’s a big thing that non-Indigenous people are oblivious to. Often it is their white privilege, or even their fragility, and that’s one of the first things we knock off very quickly. We also find that some people with all the best intentions also have this thing known as the missionary mentality, which means that they come into save us from ourselves, and our inability to do anything (personal communication, March 28 2017).

Tacchi et al. expand on the think stage of the action research cycle in an ethnographic sense. Self-reflection must include an examination of ones’ own cultural lens through which we view and relate to another culture (2003). Wright and KickettTucker ask the non-Indigenous person to take a “profound journey of change” and

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to consider ones’ own perspective and intent (2017, p. 154). A non-Indigenous person must be prepared to reflect on their own “doubts, concerns and aspirations” (2017:154), but even after taking such personal and transformative steps they cannot expect to ever completely understand a First Peoples world view. When working with First Peoples the act stage of the cycle, the collaborative community project that is undertaken, will be one that is decolonising and emancipatory. The paternalistic policies and practices of the colonisers are ever-present in the lives of First Peoples and so the action research project must be capacity building, democratic and inclusive of First Peoples ways of thinking and doing. Community arts’ facilitator, Michelle White, believes that genuine two-way collaboration can be difficult to achieve: It has to be genuine. The perception that it’s collaborative and mutually beneficial has to come from both parties, not just from the non-Indigenous party that’s going into the community. That’s probably the most important part of it really (personal communication, January 17 2017).

We can further expand the theoretical foundations of action research with reference to a number of writers who have used and reflected on the action research model in their own work, especially in relation to common themes such as democracy and participation. While the work of these theorists may not be labelled as action research, their philosophies share enough commonalities to describe them as action research advocates.

Action Research Advocates Paulo Freire’s work Pedagogy of the Oppressed (2006) is a seminal work in the field of action research. Freire, as an educator, proposed that both the oppressed people and their oppressors were responsible for the problem and the solution. It was not merely up to the oppressor, or would-be rescuers, to save the oppressed. There was work to be done on both sides. A pedagogy must be “forged with, not for the oppressed” (2006, p. 48). Solutions to problems must come from the oppressed themselves. The solutions offered by charitable outsiders must be recognised as paternalistic, as “ego … cloaked in false generosity” (2006, p. 54), that ultimately maintains the status of the oppressed. Freire’s pedagogy employs a process that distinguishes between systematic education, which can only be changed by political power, and “educational projects which should be carried out with the oppressed in the process of organising them” (2006, p. 54 emphasis in the original). As with action research, Freire proposes the need for the community to identify the problem to be solved and to be a part of the process that finds a solution—for the researcher (or educator) to work with rather than for the community. He also argues for that self-reflexive characteristic of the action research cycle when he says that those who “authentically commit themselves to the people must re-examine themselves constantly … to consider oneself the proprietor of revolutionary wisdom—which must be given to (or imposed on) the people—is

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to retain the old ways” (2006, p. 60). The people must also engage in reflection because “reflection—true reflection—leads to action” (2006, p. 60). The need for reflection is further discussed in Freire’s ‘investigation of thematics’, which is about the investigation of people’s thinking, the process of painting a complete historical and cultural picture similar to the ethnographic research of Tacchi and colleagues (2003) referred to above. Again, this is a shared process: “I cannot think for others or without others, nor can others think for me” (2006, p. 108). Freire, then, describes education as a mutual process. Rather than a process of narration whereby students are filled like empty receptacles, education is a process of learning and reconciliation for both teacher and student: “The solution is not to integrate them into the structure of repression, but to transform that structure so that they can become ‘beings for themselves’” (2006, p. 74). Freire argues against a traditional ‘banking’ system of education, which represents permanence, in favour of ‘problem posing’ education, which represents the opposite value of change. He says, “Education is … constantly remade in praxis. In order to be, it must become”. Problem posing recognises the history and culture of the people, and it “accepts neither a well-behaved present nor a predetermined future—[it] roots itself in the dynamic present and becomes revolutionary” (2006, p. 84). As with action research, Freire recognises the unique and individual circumstances of each community, the dynamic and ‘messy’ nature of life, and the importance of action to bring about change. The crucial connection between theory and practice that is espoused by action researchers is also emphasised by Freire: …human activity consists of action and reflection: it is praxis; it is transformation of the world. And as praxis it requires theory to illuminate it. Human activity is theory and practice; it is reflection and action (2006, p. 125).

Of particular relevance to collaborative work with First Nations communities is Freire’s discussion of cultural invasion. He argues for ‘cultural synthesis’ whereby the actor (or in this case the researcher) does not come to teach or to give anything, but rather to learn with the people. The actors are integrated with the people, there are no spectators, and both “co-author the action that both perform on the world” (2006, p. 180). Freire’s argument for shared responsibility by the oppressor and the oppressed is echoed in academic Marcia Langton’s call for an end to ‘Indigenous exceptionalism’. As the debate continues on changes to the Australian constitution that will recognise the unique status of Indigenous people, Langton argues that: … many Indigenous people have developed a sense of entitlement, and adopt the mantle of the exceptional Indigene, the subject of special treatment on the grounds of race. Hundreds of Aboriginal people … are fed up with this creeping postmodernist ideology of Indigenism and Indigenous exceptionalism (Robinson, 2012).

Alison Page, like Langton, is on the government panel for constitutional recognition and describes the “learned helplessness and entitlement mentality that is pervading Aboriginal society” as a bad thing (Robinson, 2012). As the title of the newspaper article which quotes Langton suggests, “Indigenous exceptionalism bars realisation of potential” (Robinson, 2012)—this is an argument that Freire may well support if he were participating in this debate.

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Central to any theoretical foundations of action research is the need to communicate, the need for dialogue, and this is traditionally discussed in terms of voice and the right to speak. One of the main objectives of democratic community media, for example, is to give a voice to those who do not have access to, or who are misrepresented by, mainstream media. Susan Bickford extends the idea of communication and dialogue beyond this focus on voice and reminds us that voice is of little value without listening when she says, “both speaking and listening are central activities of citizenship” (1996, p. 4). She argues that conflict and difference are what make communication essential, and that political listening does not necessarily require compassion or caring. Rather, it requires an attention to the role that listening plays in the process of communication and resolving conflict (1996, p. 2). Politics is not just about shared interests or values; it is about “what we do in the face of conflict about all these things” (1996, p. 11)—it is about communication. Bickford quotes Benjamin Barber in explaining what it means to listen: ‘I will put myself in his place, I will try to understand, I will strain to hear what makes us alike, I will listen to the common rhetoric evocative of common purpose or common good.’ The effort of listening is directed toward figuring out what unites us, and we accomplish this through the exercise of empathy (1996, p. 13).

Bickford’s ideas about listening give equal value to voice and listening: both are essential to the process of communication and conflict resolution. Furthermore, the self is not ignored in order to elevate the status of the speaker—speaker and listener are interdependent, have equal status, and both require conscious effort (1996, p. 144). Listening can be risky because there is a chance that what we hear may require change and growth, and that can be painful (1996, p. 149). Bickford values ‘courageous listening’ which requires each person to avoid extremes whereby one simply does not hear, or one simply exchanges their own opinion for another: “Both extremes avoid the effort and danger involved in creating a passageway between us” (1996, p. 153). Neither are the oppressed and disempowered exempt from the responsibility of listening. “They have always had to listen, and will continue to need to, in order to know what is at stake with those in power” (1996, p. 156). Bickford promotes an action research model when she explains that exempting the disempowered from the responsibility to listen equates to a lack of regard for them as equal partners. She says, “it is as though I am doing something for you, rather than now acting together (1996, p. 156 emphasis in original). A Nyoongar colleague, talking about his mentor who was a Nyoongar Elder, explained the advice he was given over and over about the importance of listening: “You’ve got two ears and only one mouth—so you should listen twice as much” (personal communication, August 2011). Like Freire, Bickford recognises how our individual cultures and histories impact on perceptions and opinions. She describes people as ‘situated subjects’ with individual life worlds and this will inevitably impact on our relationships. For this reason, just speaking and listening will not always resolve a conflict but it does create the opportunity for what Bickford calls “a temporary gestalt shift in the face of conflict” (1996, p. 167). This, in turn, creates the possibility for future action and resolution. Bickford is critical of mass media, its one-way communication, and its power to

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mould audiences into certain types of listeners with little opportunity to speak in response. The media landscape has changed considerably in the two decades since the 1996 publication of Bickford’s book. With advances in broadband technology, social media, increasing numbers of broadcast channels and the advent of reality TV, audiences now have more opportunity than ever before to be heard, to participate, to speak back. But it is now the proliferation, rather than the scarcity, of media outlets that causes small voices to be lost in the noise. The problem remains the same—who is listening? Television is of particular concern because, as Neil Postman argues, television “is our culture’s principal mode of knowing about itself…how television stages the world becomes the model for how the world is properly staged” (quoted in Bickford, 1996, p 180). Television broadcasts brief, catchy sound bites to a mass audience of isolated viewers. There is little opportunity for an audience to think about problems and respond. Bickford argues that a democratic society must compensate an audience of listeners with the right to respond in a “forum of equal social significance” (1996). That is, because there is no forum equal to television, there must be public support for other media. The proliferation of Indigenous media projects provides the forum demanded by Bickford through which people may respond, where individuals speak and listen. How much listening to Indigenous media actually goes on is another question but, as Bickford suggests, there is a responsibility for each of us, as citizens, to listen.

The Third Space In seeking to understand contemporary Nyoongar culture and issues of identity, publications in the area of post-colonial studies are useful. Post-colonialism was introduced as a term in the 1970s when power relations established as a result of colonialism were questioned. Various scholars have discussed how minority cultures, such as the Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture, have been impacted by the dominant colonial culture, and have sought to understand and describe the consequences of two cultures meeting (see Bhabha, 1994; Ashcroft et al., 1995). Hybridity is a term used to describe the result of two converging cultures, while the space where two cultures meet is often described as a third space. There is no single definition of the third space, nor is there a consensus on what happens within it, but there are common ideas and concepts running through the discussions of many of the post-colonial and intercultural communication theorists. Homi K. Bhabha is one of the most significant writers on the subject of postcolonialism and culture, which he describes in terms of hybridity and a third space. Indeed, the majority of academic writings on the subject of third space use Bhabha’s concepts as a starting point. He explains how the preservation of culture often means focusing on the primitive or traditional as perceived by the colonising culture. Popular notions of multiculturalism fail to recognise cultural difference and hybridity. In his

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book, The Location of Culture (1994), Bhabha borrows a stairwell metaphor, from an interview with artist Renee Green that helps to define his concept of hybridity: The stairwell as liminal space, in-between the designations of identity, becomes the process of symbolic interaction, the connective tissue that constructs the difference between upper and lower, black and white. The hither and thither of the stairwell, the temporal passage that it allows, prevents identities at either end of it from settling into primordial polarities. The interstitial passage between fixed identifications opens up the possibility of a cultural hybridity that entertains difference without an assumed or imposed hierarchy (quoted in Bhabha, 1994, p. 5).

Hybridity is not black or white, it is not polarised opposites. Bhabha proposes that culture has an interstitial existence whereby it moves beyond the present and creates history—makes it ‘post’: …all forms of culture are continually in a process of hybridity. But for me the importance of hybridity is not to be able to trace two original moments from which the third emerges, rather hybridity to me is the ‘third space’ which enables other positions to emerge. This third space displaces the histories that constitute it, and sets up new structures of authority, new political initiatives, which are inadequately understood through received wisdom…. The process of cultural hybridity gives rise to something different, something new and unrecognisable, a new area of negotiation of meaning and representation (Rutherford, 1990, p. 211).

Looking at Bhabha’s concepts in the context of Maori culture in New Zealand, Paul Meredith describes hybridity as the result of colonial authority’s failure to “translate the identity of the colonised (the other) within a singular universal framework” and so producing something new: “Hybridity is positioned as antidote to essentialism” (1998). Also of central importance to understanding contemporary post-colonial cultures is Bhabha’s notion of cultural difference as opposed to cultural diversity. In simple terms, cultural diversity is understood to mean the same thing as multiculturalism. It assumes a dominant, usually white culture to which other cultures are compared. Multiculturalism tends to essentialise culture, to define culture in terms of ‘the other’, the traditional, and maybe compared to western culture. On the other hand, recognising cultural difference is to acknowledge that culture is changing and contemporary and sometimes cannot be defined or understood in terms of western culture: Cultural diversity is an epistemological object – culture as an object of empirical knowledge – whereas cultural difference is the process of the enunciation of culture as ‘knowledgeable’, authoritative, adequate to the construction of systems of cultural identification. If cultural diversity is a category of comparative ethics, aesthetics, or ethnology, cultural difference is a process of signification through which statements of culture or on culture differentiate, discriminate, and authorize the production of fields of force, reference, applicability, and capacity (Bhabha, 1995, p. 155).

Robert Stam and Louise Spence describe anthropology as the academic offspring of colonialism, a definition that supports Bhabha’s explanation of cultural diversity, which is linked to anthropological visions of traditional Indigenous culture (1983, p. 111). Cultural diversity is linked to ideas of cultural exchange and the promotion of multiculturalism. Cultural diversity makes comparisons between past and

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present whereby the culture of the past is mythologised and idealised—an approach that functions as a form of control and containment. This was most evident in the Australian government’s past assimilation policies which attempted to ‘protect’ the authentic bush-dwelling Aborigines while at the same time treating as problematic the urban-living, “half-caste Aborigine” (Mickler, 1998). Media also, in failing to recognise cultural difference, in their efforts not to discriminate or to be indifferent to difference, fail in their representations of cultures that communicate differently: A transparent norm is constituted, a norm given by the host society or dominant culture, which says that ‘these other cultures are fine, but we must be able to locate them within our own grid’ (Rutherford 1990, p. 208).

Cultural difference, on the other hand, recognises that culture is not simply “dualistic in the relation of Self to Other” (Bhabha, 1994, p. 52). It is a process of enunciation, the creation of a conceptual third space in which culture is created, and eventually articulated. Cultural difference is represented by Green’s stairwell metaphor and it is the failure to recognise cultural difference that results in racism, prejudice and stereotyping. Bhabha’s concept of third space is difficult to define. Ikas and Wagner, editors of the collection of essays called Communicating in the Third Space (2009), open their own discussion with: Anyone who has closely read Homi K Bhabha’s works will know that there is no single, precise definition of the term third space to be found there. Maybe it is exactly this vagueness which explains the term’s attractiveness (2009, p. 96).

Ganma: A Yolngu Metaphor ‘Ganma’ is a metaphor that originates from Yolngu1 culture. It is used to describe ‘both ways’ learning and philosophy and was developed by Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory (Marika et al., 1995). Indigenous educator, Dr. Raymattja Marika explains Ganma in the context of ‘both ways’ education: Ganma is firstly a place; it is an area within the mangroves where the salt water coming down from the sea meets the stream of fresh water coming down from the land. Ganma is a still lagoon. The water circulates silently underneath, and there are lines of foam circulating across the surface. The swelling and retreating of the tides and the wet season floods can be seen in the two bodies of the water. Water is often taken to represent knowledge in Yolngu philosophy. What we see happening in the school is a process of knowledge production where we have two different cultures, Balanda [western] and Yolngu, working together. Both cultures need to be presented in a way where each one is preserved and respected. (1999, p. 7)

1 ‘Yolngu’

comprise several different language groups and are the Aboriginal people who inhabit Arnhem Land, or the north-eastern lands, of the Northern Territory.

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Kim Collard is a Perth Nyoongar man who offers cultural training and awareness for the wider community. He borrows from the Ganma metaphor to explain a third space that is created when two cultures physically come together as is the case when non-Indigenous people participate in First Peoples cultural activities such as those that take place in National Aborigines and Islanders Day Observance Committee (NAIDOC) week.2 Collard’s concept of a third space is influenced by Homi Bhabha’s concept of hybridity and the third space but is not the same. Bhabha’s colonial context of hybridity “is not a third term that resolves the tension between two cultures” (Bhabha, 1994, p. 5) whereas Collard uses the concept of third space as a metaphor for reconciliation and for cultural collaboration. Collard commissioned a painting by Aboriginal artist Dale Tilbrook entitled Coming Together and it illustrates ‘Ganma’ (see Illustration 4.2). The painting shows two rivers, one followed by black footsteps and the other by white. Collard describes the painting: I quite often use the Ganma metaphor, which is the saltwater river meeting the freshwater river. Where those two rivers meet there is a whirlpool. And in that third space there is a lot of turmoil. It’s like being inside a washing machine or a whirlpool. So that’s that contested site stuff. But if we sit, and we listen, and we talk, that place of turmoil starts to settle down. So the silt settles to the bottom and the freshwater rises to the top … My language we say ‘dat nyen kudditj, wangkiny yah’ which means sit and listen and let’s talk (personal communication, November 2009).

Nyoongar identity and contemporary Nyoongar culture are created inside Kim Collard’s concept of a third space within the culturally diverse community of Perth. It is Collard’s concept of third space and the Ganma metaphor that are central to cross-cultural collaboration, a physical coming together of First Peoples and nonIndigenous people and the opportunity to ‘sit, and listen, and talk’. Participatory action research advocates, Timothy Pyrch and Maria Teresa Castillo, use Ganma as a metaphor for action research. Pyrch and Castillo were introduced to the Ganma metaphor of the mixing waters at a participatory action research conference in Canada, by an Australian team of “four white fellas and two Yolngu women” who explained that Ganma represented common knowledge. It was not part of ‘deep and abstract knowledge’ and so could be shared outside of the Yolngu world (2001, p. 380). Pyrch and Castillo lament the lost voices of First Peoples knowledge but they are optimistic about action research because it welcomes the spiritual and intuitive nature of Indigenous knowledge. Dismissed and silenced by the academic and scientific gatekeepers of the modern world, action research and the Ganma metaphor now provide opportunities for those voices to be heard and the knowledge to be shared. As academics themselves, they find it difficult to write about their experiences because their academic training has “fragmented sense from soul” (2001, p. 379) but, in true action research style, they acknowledge that their stories would not be complete without readers.

2 NAIDOC

Week celebrates the history, culture and achievements of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Events are held across Australia each July. See http://www.naidoc.org.au/.

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Illustration 4.2 Coming Together by Dale Tilbrook

Action research invites people to share their histories, to ‘sit and talk and listen’ as Collard suggests and is again reflective of Freire’s cultural synthesis and Tacchi’s processes for ethnographic participatory research. The foam in the Ganma metaphor cannot be captured in the hand but it may linger and reveal itself if hands are gently held out. Thus, knowledge will reveal itself if we are open to it and we allow ourselves to be ‘permeated’ and create a knowledge that is not yours or mine but ours. “The more open we are the more able we are to listen” (Pyrch & Castillo, 2001, p. 381).

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Indigenous Resurgence The third space as described above suggests that reconciliation and collaboration is a simple matter of non-Indigenous people taking the time to engage with First Peoples, to listen and to talk. The turbulent water described in the Ganma metaphor reminds us that it is not that simple and in furthering our discussion of the third space we turn now to a political and intellectual movement that has emerged in North America called ‘Indigenous Resurgence’. The colonisation of First Peoples is the focus of ‘Settler Colonialism’ studies (See Barker & Lowman, n.d.; Veracini, 2012; Howard-Wagner, 2012; see also Settler Colonialism in Chap. 4), which recognises that colonialism is not a thing of the past but rather an ongoing lived experience for First Peoples. For example, colonialism is experienced by contemporary First Nations communities in the form of the colonial government and management structures that commodify land, colonial government policies relating to First Peoples, the capitalist culture that dominates non-Indigenous society, and the forced adoption of the coloniser’s languages. Indigenous resurgence advocates argue that First Peoples “must consequently seek to turn away from this hostile environment wherever possible and channel energies into independent programmes of cultural, spiritual and physical rejuvenation (Elliott, 2018, p. 61)”. This imperative to disengage with non-Indigenous society seems contrary to the idea of a third space and critics of Indigenous resurgence argue that for First Peoples to make any gains in a colonised society they must accept dominant colonial frameworks. Canadian academic Michael Elliott argues that actions associated with Indigenous resurgence, such as reconnecting with land and culture, can be pursued while also fostering engagement with non-Indigenous society. Elliott says that engagement is essential to achieving a resurgence of Indigenous nationhood and culture. Resurgence does not advocate the permanent or absolute cessation of contact with settler society nor seek to reduce it merely to strictly functional necessities. In fact, it demonstrates an interest in actively promoting engagement with members of settler society, whom it figures as potential – arguably even vital – co-protagonists in decolonization rather than inevitable antagonists. Thinkers of resurgence in this sense seek a renewal of dialogue based on genuine mutual respect and reciprocity, and through which decolonization and mutually agreeable terms of coexistence can be pursued. (Elliott, 2018, p. 70)

This engagement requires work from non-Indigenous (‘settler’) people to learn about First Peoples culture and history, understand the injustices of the past, and to “consider how their own actions and beliefs contribute to them and might be changed accordingly (Elliott, 2018, p. 71)”. Non-Indigenous people are asked to reflect on their own behaviour, to change, but to do so in a way that places Indigeneity at the centre of that relationship. This means empowering First Peoples, prioritising an Indigenous world view, and asking non-Indigenous people to depart from their own sense of privilege and normal. It asks non-Indigenous people to step into the turbulent waters of Ganma and to create something new (For more about Indigenous Resurgence see also Alfred, 2013; Simpson, 2016; Coulthard, 2016).

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Indigenous Research Methodologies Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln ask all non-Indigenous scholars to learn from the first United Nations declared decade of International Indigenous peoples (1994– 2004) (UNHR n.d.): It is time to dismantle, deconstruct, and decolonise Western epistemologies from within, to learn that research does not have to be a dirty word, to learn that research is always already moral and political (2008, p. ix).

They define Indigenous research as “research by and for Indigenous peoples, using techniques and methods drawn from the traditions and knowledges of those peoples (2008, p. x)”, research that is empowering, participatory and emancipatory. The Indigenous methodologies defined by Denzin and Lincoln continue the work of Paulo Freire’s “pedagogy of the oppressed in local, Indigenous contexts (2008, p. 2)”, and for the purposes of social justice and social change. Action research processes and criteria are echoed in Denzin and Lincoln’s description of critical Indigenous methodologies but with an additional emphasis on processes that are decolonising, transformative and “grounded in love—‘the moral and material are inextricably linked.’ (quoted in 2008, p. 3)” Denzin offers Indigenous methodologies and emancipatory discourses as a new way of doing research that contributes to social justice and decolonisation for Indigenous societies. Non-Indigenous researchers can learn from Indigenous peoples and begin to “dismantle, deconstruct, and decolonize Western epistemologies from within (2008, p. 437)” the academy and privilege Indigenous knowledge systems. His words support the self-reflective nature of action research by arguing that decolonising the academy means the subject of study is reversed and Western knowledge systems become the object of attention. Cheryl Kickett Tucker, Dawn Bessarab, Juli Coffin and Michael Wright, in their edited book Mia Mia (2017), offer Aboriginal Community Development as a way of working. Similar to action research, community development does not focus on outcomes, and the process is “owned by the people […] the emphasis on the ‘doing’ of community development implies that it can take time, it can be messy rather than neat and tidy, and it is important to get the process right (Bessarab & Forrest, 2017, p. 3). Understanding community development requires an understanding of an Aboriginal world view, which is something more and different to culture. A world view permeates all aspects of reality, “what is good, what is important, what is sacred, what is real (Hill quoted in Bessarab & Forrest, 2017, p. 4)”. They refer to Bhabha’s third space, but when working with a First Nations community it is Western culture and worldviews that are the minority and Western ideas that intersect with a First Peoples worldview. There are, of course, differences in each world view but the aim is to identify commonalities that exist for all stakeholders. When working with First Peoples communities it is important to understand cultural elements such as history, First Peoples world views, diversity, First Peoples connection to land, and kinship systems. Like action research, community development requires the equal and democratic participation of all stakeholders, capacity building for community participants, acknowledgement of local knowledge and experience, and regular feedback

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and communication (Bessarab & Forrest, 2017, p. 13). Pat Dudgeon, another contributing author to the Mia Mia book, explains the similarities between community development and participatory action research (PAR): both creat[e] conditions for the regeneration of and respect for local knowledge and shared understanding to mobilise action for change. Central to this is the collective ownership of the research processes and outcomes in PAR. In this sense, research combined with community development principles become a process for change directed by those most affected by the issues being examined. (2017, p. 145).

Maori academic, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, gives a detailed and historic account of Western research of First Peoples in her book Decolonising Methodologies (2012). She describes research as a struggle between the “interests and ways of knowing of the West and the interests and ways of resisting of the Other” (2012, p. 2). For First Peoples, research is synonymous with colonialism and colonisation. The idea of postcolonialism is regarded with scepticism and best articulated by Indigenous rights campaigner Bobbi Sykes who, when asked, said “What? Post-colonialism? Have they left?” (quoted in 2012, p. 25). Smith argues that research has traditionally been conducted with little benefit for the First Peoples who are the subject of the research, and from a perspective that assumes Western ways of viewing and understanding the world are the only way, the right way, and therefore superior. Some would suggest that attitudes have changed, but Smith asks who is more likely to say that—the researcher or the Indigenous people (2012, p. 58)? The research conducted in relation to First Peoples is frequently discussed in terms of a ‘problem’—the ‘Indigenous problem’, the ‘Aboriginal problem’. First Peoples are perceived to be the cause of their own problems and to have no solutions to offer. This is continuously communicated back to First Peoples communities by the media and politicians, and because the term ‘research’ has come to mean ‘problem’ for First Peoples communities they switch off and resist research because it merely reinforces that definition and contributes to a sense of hopelessness (2012, p. 96). Evidence of the ‘Indigenous problem’ features regularly in Australian media and the following example in The Australian newspaper highlights the frustration First Peoples communities experience when they are not included in conversations about solutions. The story quotes a woman from a Gulf of Carpentaria community: For Gloria Friday and her daughter Adrianne, the endless stream of do-gooders passing through their remote town does little to help. All come with ideas, but few listen to those of the locals – at least that’s how they feel (Aikman, 2012).

Smith advocates research by First Peoples as an important next step in the process of self-determination and decolonisation—a process that commences with and includes First Nations politics and social justice issues. It is essential to the process of self-determination that First Peoples become active participants in research and there are increasing numbers of successful Indigenous research projects that have been established within communities as well as academy-based projects. This book offers some examples of these projects. It is the community-based research that is of particular relevance here because community is such a difficult notion to define. It can mean a geographically co-located community such as a language group, or a

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community of interest such as a women’s group, or a group of artists, or a political group. What is important is that the word ‘community’ suggests a more “intimate, human and self-defined space (Smith, 2012, p. 129) than the word ‘field’ which is used in traditional research language and suggests a space ‘out there’ from which the researcher is objectively removed. It is the human, self-defining nature of community that connects action research with First Peoples communities and causes Smith to emphasise the importance of process for First Peoples community research: In many projects the process is far more important than the outcome. Processes are expected to be respectful, to enable people, to heal and to educate. They are expected to lead one small step further towards self-determination (2012, p. 130)

Smith describes Kaupapa Maori research, which is an approach to research that supports Maori researchers and research that benefits Maori people (2012, pp. 185– 196). It recognises and prioritises a uniquely Maori view of the world and a Maori approach to research. “Kaupapa Maori is a ‘conceptualisation of Maori knowledge’” (2012, p. 190). For this reason, the role of the non-Indigenous researcher involved in a Kaupapa Maori research project is something about which Maori researchers will disagree, with some arguing that only Maori may do Kaupapa Maori research. However, there are aspects of Kaupapa Maori research that are reflective of action research, and therefore relevant to readers of this book. Of most significance is the importance of community consultation and participation, and the equal status of all participants as researchers. Kaupapa Maori research emphasises the need for research that benefits the community, the importance of reciprocity, sharing knowledge and reporting back to the community, and long-term commitment.

Yarning One of the most recognised Indigenous research methodologies is ‘yarning’ and has already been discussed earlier in this chapter as a useful approach to building an action research relationship. References to yarning appear on numerous occasions in this book, where it is discussed as a valuable methodology that can be employed by diverse research disciplines and community-based projects. One of the researcher’s tasks is to collect information, and First Nations researchers emphasise that to do that successfully the first step must be to establish a relationship. Returning to Dawn Bessarab and Bridget Ng’andu co-authored paper, yarning offers a legitimate research methodology and a way by which the researcher can develop a relationship with research participants. Yarning is a process that requires the researcher to develop and build a relationship that is accountable to Indigenous people participating in the research… When an Aboriginal person says “let’s have a yarn”, what they are saying is, let’s have a talk or conversation. (Bessarab & Ng’andu 2010, p. 38)

Yarning is a term that is common to First Peoples across Australia and is directly linked to their oral tradition and storytelling. For thousands of years, storytelling has

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been the means by which First Peoples history and information has been recorded and shared. When Bessarab chose to use yarning in 2000 as a methodology for her doctoral thesis it was challenged by other academics because it was not considered a legitimate research methodology. Thankfully, in 2020, Indigenous research methodologies, especially yarning, are more widely used and accepted. There can be difficulties associated with yarning. For example, the storyteller can choose what to share and what to leave out of a story. Yarning, or stories, can be messy and unstructured. The different types of people participating in the yarning can also pose challenges. For example, it is disrespectful to interrupt an Elder when talking, and so how does the researcher keep the Elder focussed on the research question and maintain a rigour to their yarning or interview process? Gender and power inequity between participants can also be difficult to negotiate, but an awareness of these challenges is the first step in finding strategies to overcome them. Besserab and Ng’andu describe four different types of yarning: social yarning, research topic yarning, collaborative yarning and therapeutic yarning (2010, p. 40). These four types of yarning may be used at different stages of the research process, or relationship, to help identify and negotiate the challenges presented by each individual participant. The two First Nations researchers, one Nyoongar and one from Botswana, engaged in collaborative yarning with each other to gain new understandings of the research process. They learnt something about themselves by listening back to their yarning session recordings and noticing that a story, a conversation, was understood and negotiated based on their own ‘conceptual baggage’ (2010, p. 47) or their own expectations of the information they were seeking. Only after reviewing their recordings did Besserab and Ng’andu realise that a story, while meandering, was often addressing the research question they had posed. Using yarning as a research tool means the researcher needs to allow the participant some flexibility in responding to their questions and like the traveller engage with the journey and not be so focused on the destination. (Besserab & Ng’andu 2010, p. 42)

The success of an interview with a research participant, or research topic yarn, will depend on the successful building of rapport and trust with the participant prior to an interview. This is the value of the social yarn, as a starting point, whereby the researcher shares information about his or herself, establishes a connection with the research participant, and therefore establishes a trusting relationship. Therapeutic yarning will usually involve a topic or experience that is traumatic for the storyteller. This type of yarning can contribute to the researcher’s deeper understanding of the research topic, and the storyteller must be allowed the space to talk without judgement. In spite of the challenges posed by yarning as a methodology, there are benefits for the researcher. Yarning offers information that has more depth and detail. It offers a way of engaging with First Peoples that is culturally secure, builds relationships and establishes trust that might otherwise be absent. It fits well with the action research process that is dependent on relationship building and respect, and the four types of yarning can be easily translated into an action research cycle. Social yarning might be employed during the look stage of the cycle, research and therapeutic yarning

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are useful during the act stage, and collaborative yarning can be a method by which research participants can think and reflect on their actions. It should also be noted that for those with little experience in ‘yarning’ with First Peoples it might be difficult to distinguish between these different types of yarning. If the researcher is generous with their time and patience, as required for mutually beneficial yarning, the researcher should trust that the story will progress through its different stages in its own time. For more information about yarning and its use in diverse disciplines, see also Carlson, 2018; Geia et al., 2013; Lin et al., 2016; The Yarning Circle, https://www. theyarningcircle.com/face-to-face/; Mills, 2013.

Using Action Research to Write This Book Interviews conducted with First Nations academics in preparation for this book confirm that working together is important. The way forward must include First Peoples and non-Indigenous communities working together. It is how we work together that matters and, while it may not hold all the answers, action research has something to offer. We propose that action research is ideally suited to inform the process of a collaborative project and it has been applied in the writing of this book. The ‘look’ stage for writing Working Two Way involved consultation with diverse people, who represented potential readers of the book. We interviewed First Nations and non-Indigenous academics, and First Nations and non-Indigenous community representatives who have worked successfully on cross-cultural collaborative projects. We asked, “is a book about cross cultural collaborative ways of working needed?” “What sort of information and case studies should be included in such a book?” “Who would want to read the book?” Thirty interviews were conducted with people from all over Nyoongar country, who have extensive experience working with First Peoples. The response to the question about whether this book is needed was a unanimous ‘yes’. It was acknowledged by all interview participants that for many non-Indigenous people who are eager to engage with First Peoples and culture, there is also a degree of anxiety and uncertainty that accompanies that idea—a concern that ‘I might get it wrong’ or offend someone. Michelle White, in support of this book said: I found that in my projects, it never ceases to amaze me how little people do know and how green they are when they’re starting out. So the more we can give people to make sure that the collaboration they are about to go on in is respectful and a genuine two-way thing, the better (personal communication, January 17 2017).

Below is some of the feedback we received in response to the question about “who should read this book?” I reckon management, people who are managing teams of diverse people, particularly Aboriginal. [For students], if people are thinking of a career in an Indigenous organisation, or in a service situation where they’re dealing with Aboriginal clients or other colleagues, just so they’ve got an insight. Empathy has to be grown you see. I think it has far reaching

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implications for how people engage. What a lot of non-Aboriginal people don’t realise is that there’s a lot more non-Aboriginal people than Aboriginal people, so who do you think is going to know more about white people? White people? It’s actually going to be us mob as a minority because we engage with you far more than you engage with us. So if you want to know how to collaborate, or to know about yourself, yarn to a black fella because we have to navigate the dominant culture on a daily basis (C. Dowling, personal communication, March 28 2017). It’s so needed. Any of the health industries. Any of the housing industries. I went to see an adult in hospital a couple of times and at one stage the nurse didn’t know whether to touch this Aboriginal man. Not in terms of bandages and things, but he clearly needed some comfort. She wouldn’t have had that uncertaintity if it was a non-Aboriginal person (K. Trees, personal communication, January 13 2017).

We asked what sort of information and ideas should be included in the book? One of the biggest things to realise is you really need to understand your own positioning. I’d say what’s really good is start learning what are Aboriginal values because they are unique, their way of actually engaging within our community is unique, and it’s endured for a very, very, very, very, very long time. (C. Dowling, personal communication, March 28 2017).

There were also several priorities for working with First Peoples that were mentioned by all the interview participants. The first of these priorities is the forming of relationships. Representing the ‘look’ stage of action research it was emphasised that time must be taken to form a relationship with the people with whom you wish to collaborate. Spending time with people is key and knowing the history of a community and the individuals with whom you work is a vital outcome of spending that time. The first thing you ever think about is relationships. If you go into a dynamic cold and just expect someone to give you all the information right then and there, that’s a bit cheeky. You’ve got to form a relationship over time where trust is developed (C. Dowling, personal communication, March 28 2017).

The second priority is to establish a genuine ‘two way’, mutually beneficial way of working. That means the outcome of a project must have benefits for all participants, and it is the First Nations participants who must determine those benefits. Steve Mickler explains the meaning of two-way collaboration: What’s in it for the people you are collaborating with? Collaboration means that energy is coming from all sides. The energy has to be coming from all directions – the desire and the energy to get something done. To do something together. The only other alternative is totally unacceptable (personal communication, February 28 2017).

‘Two way’ also means democratic processes that give equal power to all participants. First Peoples are consulted through all stages of a project and their input carries equal sway to that of non-Indigenous participants. This advice should be embedded in the think and act stage of an action research project. All participants have the opportunity to contribute feedback and ideas, and after reflecting on processes and outcomes, the way forward is democratically decided. The third priority is familiarity with and respect for protocols. While it is not enough to simply be aware of the cultural protocols that are recognised by the First

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Nations communities with whom you engage, our interviewees suggested that it is a good starting point. Cultural protocols will vary in different communities, families and individuals, and so nothing can be assumed about cultural protocols without first having a conversation with First Peoples—a conversation that happens as the result of a relationship. The philosophy and processes of action research have been explained in this chapter, and there are clearly some common features shared between action research and other recognised and preferred Indigenous research methodologies. The following chapters present case studies of Aboriginal community projects that provide examples of successful cross-cultural collaboration and an action research approach to that collaboration. These successful case studies demonstrate that participants intuitively adhere to action research ways of working. It should be acknowledged that the same case studies might also serve to demonstrate the appropriateness of differently labelled methodologies and ways of working. When considering how to write the case studies for each chapter, we first thought about presenting a structure that was divided into the three stages of the action research cycle—look, think and act. It soon became apparent that this was the wrong approach for two reasons. First, structuring the case study stories into three stages interrupts the flow of the story telling of each case study. Second, action research is not a neatly structured three-stage process but rather a holistic process that may see all three stages of the cycle happening at the same time. An action research cycle is ongoing and should not be dissected into individual parts. And so, each of the case studies is presented as a story, a chronological journey. Action research offers a way of working, whereby First Peoples and nonIndigenous people can come together to work and create change. It offers a path to reconciliation by creating a space for talking, listening and for doing together— for Ganma. However, time must be taken to reflect and think on what we do in order to understand how our individual histories, cultures and life worlds frame the way we think and act. Finally, writing and sharing action research is the crucial stage of the cycle that verifies the outcomes, because actions are critiqued and assessed by all involved. Action research is not presented here as the only approach to working with First Peoples community, but it is an approach that is easily adapted to a variety of projects and one that is recognised by a global community of researchers and social justice advocates. The following chapters are all case studies from Nyoongar country, but we suggest that action research can offer guidance for any community-based project, in any country, where social justice and democratic processes are a priority for all participants. Each of the following chapters represents a different discipline area to illustrate the broad applications of an action research approach and we commence with history because, for First Peoples, in particular, knowing history is key to understanding so much about contemporary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture and community.

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References Aikman, A. (2012, 18–19 August). Gulf scream: talk, talk, talk but no action. The Weekend Australian, p. 6. Alfred, T. (2013). Being and becoming Indigenous: Resurgence against contemporary colonialism. 2013 Narrm Oration, The University of Melbourne. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwJNyB3lPA. Bessarab, D., & Forrest, S. (2017). Anggaba jini nimoonggoon: Whose knowledge is that? Aboriginal perspectives of community development. In C. Kickett-Tucker, D. Bessarab, J. Coffin, & M. Wright (Eds.), Mia Mia. Aboriginal Community Development. Port Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Bessarab, D., & Ng’andu, B. (2010). Yarning about yarning as a legitimate method in Indigenous research. International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies, 3(1), 37–50. Bhabha, H. (1994). Location of culture. New York: Routledge. Bhabha, H. (1995). Cultural Diversity and Cultural Differences. In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths, & H. Tiffin (Eds.), The postcolonial studies reader (pp. 155–157). London: Routledge. Bickford, S. (1996). The Dissonance of Democracy. Listening, conflict and citizenship. New York: Cornell University Press. Bradbury, H. (2015). Introduction. In H. Bradbury (Ed.), Sage handbook of action research (3rd ed.). London: Sage Publications. Brydon-Miller, M., Greenwood, D., & Maguire, P. (2003). Why action research? Action Research, 1, 9–28. Carlson, B., & Frazer, R. (2018). Yarning circles and social activism. Media International Australia, 168(1), 43–53. Coulthard, G. (2016). Response. Historical Materialism, 24(3), 92–103. Denzin, N. K. (2008). Emancipatory Discourses and the Ethics and Politics of Interpretation. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Collecting and interpreting qualitative materials. California: Sage Publications. Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2008). Preface. In N. K. Denzin, Y. S. Lincoln, & L. T. Smith (Eds.), Handbook of critical and indigenous methodologies. California: Sage Publications. Dunleavy, J. (2013). About yarning circles. Southern Cross University. Retrieved from https:// www.scu.edu.au/media/scueduau/academic-schools/-gnibi-college-of-indigenous-australianpeoples/About-Yarning-Circles-A-Guide-for-Participants.pdf. Dick, B. (1997). A planned community participation activity. Resource papers in Action Research. Retrieved from http://www.aral.com.au/resources/case2.html. Dick, B. (2000). A beginner’s guide to action research. Resource papers in Action Research. Retrieved from http://www.aral.com.au/resources/guide.html. Dudgeon, P. (2017). Hear our voices: Community development and working with Indigenous people experiencing trauma. In C. Kickett-Tucker, D. Bessarab, J. Coffin, & M. Wright (Eds.), Mia Mia. Aboriginal Community Development. Port Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Elliott, M. (2018) Indigenous resurgence: The drive for renewed engagement and reprocity in the turn away from the State. Canadian Journal of Political Science. Vol. 51. Issue 1. Cambridge University Press. pp. 61–81. Fredericks, B., & Adams, K. (2011). Editorial: Decolonising action research. Action Learning Action Research Journal, 17(2), 2–11. Freire, P. (2006). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th ed.). New York: Continuum. Geia, L. K., Hayes, B., & Usher, K. (2013). Yarning/Aboriginal storytelling: Towards an understanding of an indigenous perspective and its implications for research practice. Contemporary Nurse: A Journal for the Australian Nursing Profession, 46(1). Hall, B. L. (2001). I wish this were a poem of practices of particpatory research. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Handbook of Action Research. Participative Inquiry and Practice. (p. 173). London: Sage Publications Ltd.

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Ikas, K., & Wagner, G. (2009). Postcolonial Subjectivity and the Transclassical Logic of the Third. In K. Ikas & G. Wagner (Eds.), Communicating in the third space. New York: Routledge. Kemmis, S. (2001). Exploring the relevance of critical theory for action research: Emancipatory action research in the footsteps of jurgen habermas. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Handbook of Action Research. Participative Inquiry and Practice. (pp. 91). London: Sage Publications Ltd. Kickett-Tucker, C., Bessarab, D., Coffin, J., & Wright, M. (Eds.). (2017). Mia Mia. aboriginal community development: Fostering cultural security. Port Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Levin, M., & Greenwood, D. (2001). Pragmatic action research. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Handbook of Action Research. Participative Inquiry and Practice (pp. 103–113). London: Sage Publications Ltd. Lin, I., Green, C., & Bessarab, D. (2016). ‘Yarn with me’: applying clinical yarning to improve clinician-patient communication in Aboriginal health car. Australian Journal of Primary Health, 22(5), 377–382. Marika-Mununggiritj, R., & Christie, M. J. (1995). Yolngu metaphors for learning. International Journal of Sociology of Language, 113(1), 59–62. Marika, R. (1999). The 1998 Wentworth Lecture: Australian Aboriginal Studies 1, 3– 9 retrieved from https://aiatsis.gov.au/sites/default/files/docs/presentations/1998-wentworthmarika-raymattja.pdf. McNiff, J., & Whitehead, J. (2009). Doing and writing action research. London: Sage Publications. McNiff, J. (2014). Writing and doing action research. London: SAGE Publications. Meredith, P. (1998). Hybridity in the third space: rethinking bi-cultural politics in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Paper presented at the Te Oru Rangahau Moari Research and Development Conference. Massey University. Mickler, S. (1998). The myth of privilege. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Mills, K., Sunderland, N., & Davis-Warra, J. (2013). Yarning circles in the literacy classroom. The Reading Teacher, 67(4), 285–289. National Health and Medical Research Council. (2003). Values and ethics - guidelines for ethical conduct in Aborginal and Torres Strait Islander health research. Canberra: Australian Government Retrieved from http://www.nhmrc.gov.au/_files_nhmrc/publications/attachments/e52. pdf. National Health and Medical Research Council. (n.d). Historical context of research with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people: Retrieved from https://www.nhmrc.gov.au/research-policy/ ethics/ethical-guidelines-research-aboriginal-and-torres-strait-islander-peoples. Pyrch, T., & Castillo, M. T. (2001). The sights and sounds of indigenous knowledge. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Handbook of Action Research. Participative Inquiry and Practice (pp. 379– 385). London: Sage Publications Ltd. Reason, P., & Bradbury, H. (2008). Introduction. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Action Research. Participative Enquiry and Practice (2nd ed.). London: Sage. Robinson, N. (2012, 1/9/2012). ‘Indigenous exceptionalism’ bars realisation of potential. The Wekend Australian, p. 19. Rutherford, J. (1990). The Third Space. Interview with Homi Bhabha. In J. Rutherford (Ed.), Identity. Community, Culture, Difference (pp. 207–221). London: Lawrence & Wishart. Simpson, L. B. (2016). Indigenous resurgence and co-resistance. Journal of the Critical Ethnic Studies Association, 2(2), 19–34. Smith, L. T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples (2nd ed.). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Stam, R., & Spence, L. (1983). Colonialism, racism and representation. In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths, & H. Tiffin (Eds.), The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (Second Edition ed., pp. 111). Oxford: Routledge. Stringer, E. (2007). Action research. California: Sage Publications. Stringer, E. (2008). Action research in education. Columbus, Ohio: Pearson Prentice Hall.

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Tacchi, J. (2015) ‘Ethnographic action research: Media, information and communicative ecologies for development initiatives’. In H. Bradbury (Ed.) The SAGE Handbook of Action Research (Chap. 21, pp. 220–229) SAGE Publications Ltd. Tacchi, J., Slater, D., & Hearn, G. (2003). Ethnographic action research. New Delhi: United Nations Educational. Tacchi, J. (2015b). Ethnographic action research: Media, information and communicative ecologies for developing initiatives. In H. Bradbury (Ed.), The SAGE handbook of action research (3rd ed., pp. 220–229). London: SAGE Publications. The Yarning Circle. (2019). Let’s have a yarn with yarn. Retrieved from https://www. theyarningcircle.com/face-to-face/. United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner. (n.d.). International Decades of the World’s Indigenous People Retrieved from https://www.ohchr.org/en/issues/ipeoples/pages/ internationaldecade.aspx. Wright, M., & Kickett-Tucker, C. (2017). Djinangingy kaartdijin: Seeing and understanding our ways of working. In C. Kickett-Tucker, D. Bessarab, J. Coffin, & M. Wright (Eds.), Mia Mia. Aboriginal Community Development - Fostering cultural security (pp. 153–168). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yungaporta, T. (2019). Sand talk. Melbourne: The Text Publishing Company. Zuber-Skerrit, O., & Fletcher, M. (2007). The quality of an action research thesis in social sciences. Quality Assurance in Education, 15(4), 413–436.

Chapter 5

History

Abstract The lives of Nyoongar people, like many First Peoples, were changed when Europeans colonised Australia. Soon after colonisation, they were subjected to brutal and racist government policies and community attitudes, a history that has until recently been denied. This chapter focuses on the absence of First Peoples voices from Australia’s history, the history wars, and Australia’s reluctance to tell the truth about the colonisation of this country. The case study for this chapter is Kukenerup. It is a history project led by a Nyoongar woman who sought to heal the rift between the black and white communities of Ravensthorpe. This small regional town on the south coast of WA had, for decades, hidden the truth about the massacre of Nyoongar people by white colonists.

It is a structural matter, a view from a window which has been carefully placed to exclude a whole quadrant of the landscape. What may have begun as a simple forgetting of other possible views turned under habit and over time into something like a cult of forgetfulness practiced on a national scale. (Stanner, 1968)

Chapter 2 provides an overview of Nyoongar colonial history, which is likely to be a familiar story for other First Nation’s communities in Australia but also for First Nation’s communities in other parts of the world, such as New Zealand and North America. This chapter expands on the facts of that colonial history and considers the way history has been contested, argued and understood in Australia, and the way history contributes to our national identity. It focuses on some of the most significant events of Australia’s recent history such as the ‘History Wars’ and ‘The Apology’ and includes comparisons with the experiences of historical truth telling in other countries. It is not intended for professional historians who will undoubtedly know Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history in far more detail than is presented here. It will, however, explain how and why history, truth and storytelling are all part of the process of reconciliation. Getting the historical record straight is important to First Peoples because it acknowledges past injustices and trauma and, in so doing, contributes to individual and community healing. This chapter may be a helpful starting point for community-based history projects or, indeed, any project that seeks to work collaboratively with First Peoples. The interviews conducted as research for this book consistently emphasised the importance of knowing history because it is © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_5

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the story of Australia’s colonisation and long-term treatment of First Nations People that has led to the disadvantage and damage to culture experienced by communities today. History explains the racism that impacts the daily, lived experience of so many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and it informs the government policies that have failed Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people for decades. This chapter does not tell the whole story but rather it creates some awareness of those essential aspects of history that shape Australia’s current relationship with First Peoples. History guides our journey on the path to reconciliation and shapes the stories we tell as “professional historians, museum curators, teachers, journalists, filmmakers and government officials (Brantlinger, 2004, p. 657).” The chapter also points to resources and references that readers will find helpful when commencing the ‘look’ stage of an action research cycle knowing that history is an essential first step.

The Silence The quote at the head of this chapter are the often-quoted words of anthropologist WEH Stanner from his 1968 Boyer lecture that described a ‘great Australian silence’ that excluded Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander stories from not only our history books, but our national consciousness. At the time of Stanner’s lecture, the prevailing story of Australia’s birth was one of peaceful settlement and brave pioneers who tamed a wild and empty continent. Australia was declared terra nullius by the British and claimed in the name of the British crown. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people had no obvious sense of ownership over the country they occupied and so did not defend the land that the British sought to claim, populate and develop—or so the story goes. For Western Australia, what began as a peaceful and mutually beneficial relationship deteriorated into the frontier violence that was played out in other colonies on the continent. James Stirling, the Swan River Colony’s first governor, proclaimed in 1829 that the Nyoongar people were ‘His Majesty’s subjects’, and therefore protected from any ‘fraudulent, cruel or felonious’ behaviour they may be subjected to by the colonisers. Five years later, in 1834, Stirling himself was responsible for the first and only government-sanctioned killing of Nyoongar people when he led a punitive exhibition of 25 police and soldiers on an attack of a Binjareb tribe in what is now known as the Pinjarra massacre—or the Battle of Pinjarra, depending on your historical perspective. Nyoongar men, women and children were murdered as they fled the surprise attack and were then hunted down by the soldiers as they tried to escape. The number of Nyoongar killed on that day is reported to be up to 30. Stirling’s objectives were fourfold: to punish the Nyoongar for stealing cattle and food from the white colonisers; to assist, at the request of prominent landholder Thomas Peel, to deal with ‘troublesome natives’; to clear the path for the construction of a fort on the road to Fredrick Town, known now as Albany; and to discourage an attack on the Swan River Colony. This last objective was related to the murder of

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Yagan in the previous year. Yagan is a famous Nyoongar warrior who had adopted the role of diplomat or negotiator, assisting Stirling with the relationship between the colonisers and the Nyoongar. One account of the massacre explained the rationale for the attack as simply that “the moment was considered propitiously favourable for punishing the perpetrators of such and other diabolical acts (Elder, 1988, p. 171).” When considering Stirling’s concerns about theft, the Nyoongar had no concept of it. The land and the food it produced was there to be shared by all—as the Nyoongar had shared when the colonisers first arrived at the Swan River. Throughout the 1800s, the relationship between the Nyoongar and the colonisers deteriorated, with frequent outbursts of violence. Without accurate records of the Nyoongar population prior to colonisation it is impossible to know exactly how numbers were affected by colonisation but undoubtedly, they had been reduced significantly by 1900 due to the impact of disease and massacres. Nyoongar Elder, Simon Forrest, regularly leads a day trip for university staff and students that retraces Stirling’s journey from the Swan River colony to Pinjarra—he tells the story of the Pinjarra massacre. The bus weaves its way through the affluent Western suburbs of Perth, through the coastal city of Fremantle, and south to the town of Pinjarra where a simple and inconspicuous monument marks the massacre site. The participants listen to the story of the Nyoongar men who stole flour from the South Perth mill, of Stirling who assembled men for his expedition in stages so as not to alert the Nyoongar of his intentions, and then the surprise attack and murder of the Binjareb Nyoongar tribe in the early morning as they sheltered from the rain in their koolark (shelters) by the Murray River. The university group hears the story for the first time, are outraged at the injustice of the massacre, and at the unremarkable monument that acknowledges the massacre site. Nyoongar academic and filmmaker, Glen Stasiuk, remembers going to school and learning about the history of the Swan River colony. It was 1979 and Western Australia was celebrating the 150th anniversary of European colonisation of the Swan River. Glen was doing homework at his Nyoongar Nanna’s house and she watched him draw a picture of black swans, tall sailing ships and red coat soldiers that illustrated the sesquicentennial story he had learnt at school. His Nanna asked, “where are the black fellas?” Glen said, we don’t learn that Nan. They don’t exist. We just learnt that Stirling came in, and they cut down the tree … Nanna marched me down the next day to the headmaster and wanted to know why the other history wasn’t being told. He said it doesn’t exist – it’s controversial. She is dark skinned and she said (pointing at her skin), I am here. I exist (personal communication, March 8, 2018).

The absence of a First Peoples perspective in that 1979 story is unlikely to be repeated today, and events such as the Mabo1 decision in 1992 and the National Apology2 in 2008 have shown that Australia is rethinking its history. Yet the facts of 1A

High Court decision overturned the idea of ‘terra nullius’ and recognised that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have a right to land. 2 The parliament of Australia issued an apology to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people for the forced removal of their children by government agencies.

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our history are still contested, and debates still erupt over the details of that history like a wound that just won’t heal. For example, Federal Member of Parliament, Tony Abbott, who was appointed Indigenous Affairs Envoy by Prime Minister Scott Morrison, sparked media criticism when he said: “it’s hard to believe that back in 1788 it was nothing but bush” (Allam, 2018). Historian, Henry Reynolds, was among the first to challenge the myth of Australia’s settlement. But the research and publications produced by historians such as Stanner (1979), Reynolds (1999) and Elder (1988) prior to the turn of the century had little impact on the wider Australian population who had scant knowledge of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history. The research done by these historians uncovered stories of massacres, of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people driven from their land, of people confined to reservations to live in poverty, and children removed from their families to be assimilated into white society. Even though a new version of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history had been written by these respected authors the wider population showed limited interest in engaging with that story. This was not a story that white Australia wanted to hear and hence academics, journalists, politicians and teachers have argued the uncomfortable truth about Australia’s relationship with First Nation’s people for decades. In 2019, the conversation continues but there is at least some wider acknowledgement that Australia’s story of colonisation is not a peaceful or happy one. To further complicate the vexed issue of history, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history continues to be a subject that receives scant attention in schools, and there are still some non-Indigenous Australians who argue that there are elements of that history that are untrue, or that the trauma of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history is exaggerated. There is undoubtedly some community sentiment that wishes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people ‘to just move on’ or ‘get over it’. Why is history so important? It is important because Australia’s First Peoples have the right to remember their fallen brothers and sisters in the same way that white Australia celebrates the ANZACs each April 25. Australia’s First Peoples mark January 26 as Invasion Day, or Survival Day, because that is the date that marks over 230 years of colonisation, loss of culture, removal of children and the dispossession of land. History tells us who we are, and who we want to be. It shapes our identity as individuals and as a society. Henry Reynolds struggled to understand the racism he witnessed when he first arrived in northern Queensland in the mid-1960s, which initiated his research into Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history. His research revealed a bloody, violent frontier history that helped explain the uncomfortable relationship between the black and white communities where he lived. History is important because it helps us to understand the current relationship between non-Indigenous Australia and First Nations People. It is the first step for any action research project, and for any cross-cultural collaboration—it is an essential element of the ‘look’ stage. For Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, history is not just an academic exercise but rather an essential element of healing that begins with truth telling. Education expert Mary O’Dowd describes the silence and resistance to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history in terms of positioning Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people “as ‘other’ to Australianness (2012, p. 106)”. Since Federation in

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1901, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were excluded in the constitution from the citizenship rights enjoyed by non-Indigenous Australians. It was not until the 1967 referendum (see Chap. 2) that racist clauses in the constitution were changed but this did little to change the racism experienced by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. O’Dowd argues that the Australian government continues to ‘other’ First Nations people with policies that identify the need for ‘special treatment’ (2012, p. 107), as evidenced by the 2007 Northern Territory Intervention.3 The silence surrounding First Nations history contributes to these attitudes of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as ‘other’, which is then further complicated by those who question the truth of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history such as Keith Windschuttle who accuses historians such as Reynolds and Elder of exaggerating the truth of frontier violence. Consequently, O’Dowd contends, the questions about history moved from ‘why weren’t we told?’ to ‘what should be told?, which suggests a kind of censorship of history as well as questioning the accuracy of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history (2012, p. 107).

History Wars Historian, Keith Windschuttle, is one the most outspoken critics of Reynolds (1999), Elder (1988) and other historians who have written about the trauma and genocide of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history. Their version of history is sometimes referred to as ‘black armband’ history and it is this version of history that has had a significant impact on such legal cases as the 1992 Mabo rulings that overturned the colonial doctrine of terra nullius that purports Australia was claimed as a British territory in 1788 because nobody owned it. Over two hundred years later, a new chapter of history was denied when, in 1997, the work of historians provided evidence of the forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families. It was estimated as many as 100,000 people were affected by government policies of assimilation and the removal of children, and the Bringing Them Home report used the term ‘genocide’ to describe those policies. That term is used in accordance with a definition that the United Nations Convention on Genocide provides: “forcibly transferring children of the group to another group (1948).” Australia ratified the UN convention and its definition of genocide, a definition now embedded in international law, yet it is still debated by sceptics such as Windschuttle and right-wing media commentator, Andrew Bolt, when used in connection to the Stolen Generations. In 2017, Bolt commented in the West Australian newspaper in response to a vandalism attack on a statue of Captain Cook: “Some might call it murder. But genocide? If the statue haters really do want more precise language, then let’s ban the word ‘genocide’ when applied to our history (Barry, 2017).” 3 The

federal government introduced policies that directly affected Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. The decision was in response to a report that claimed wide spread neglect and abuse of children in Northern Territory communities.

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A heated debate on Lateline in April 2001 showed Reynolds and Windschuttle at complete odds with each other over what should be considered the factual evidence of history. Windschuttle accused historians such as Reynolds of allowing their left-wing political affiliations to determine their interpretation of history, of failing to honestly and accurately report their sources, and of concocting stories of frontier massacres. In 2002, Windschuttle self-published three volumes of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history called The Fabrication of Aboriginal History (2002) with the whole third book dedicated to refuting the statistics about the Stolen Generations that had been submitted to parliament by the Bringing Them Home Committee. Then Prime Minister, John Howard, responded to the Bringing them Home report (Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 1997) by denying the existence of a stolen generation and resolving to offer no compensation or apology to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people for government’s role in the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from the family. He welcomed Windschuttle’s publications as supporting evidence that the black armband historians were telling the wrong story: Such a portrayal is a gross distortion and it deliberately neglects the story of great Australian achievement that is there in our history to be told and such an approach will be repudiated by the overwhelming majority of Australians who are proud of what this country has achieved although inevitably acknowledging the blemishes in its past history. (Howard, 1997)

Historian, Stuart MacIntyre, estimates the Aboriginal population of Australia in 1788 as 750,000, but by 1921 it was estimated as 60,000 (1999, p. 14; see also 2003; MacIntrye & Clarke, 2004). How the Aboriginal population was reduced by such dramatic numbers is at the heart of this debate. The truth of Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history, or the history wars as it is sometimes called, has been a fierce and political battle, and it continues. Robert Manne, in 2003, challenged the quality of Windschuttle’s research and his version of history. Manne celebrates the generation of Australians who, like Stanner, broke the great Australian silence, but then laments the generation that has enthusiastically embraced Windschuttle’s version of history. “It might be the task of the next generation…to prevent the arrival …of a great Australian indifference (2003, p. 12).” In 2018, the history wars are fought on a different front as illustrated by the ‘Change the Date’ campaign that has dominated media coverage in recent years. January 26 is Australia Day and is celebrated nationally with a public holiday. It marks the date that Arthur Phillip arrived with the first fleet at Port Jackson on the New South Wales coast and so commenced over two hundred and thirty years of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander colonisation and suffering. First Peoples have been protesting the celebration of Australia Day on January 26 since it was first celebrated in 1938 and they mark the date as a day of mourning by calling it ‘Survival Day’ or ‘Invasion Day’. It was not until 1994 that all the states and territories of Australia endorsed January 26 as Australia Day and the public holiday was celebrated on the 26th rather than the Monday closest to the 26th, which ensured a long weekend. There is now an ongoing campaign to change the date of Australia Day and to recognise the meaning of that date to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. While the campaign is

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gaining momentum and support there are still large numbers of Australians who do not support the change. The argument here is that Australia Day is for all Australians and we should forget the past. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people should just get over it. It would seem that large numbers of Australians are attached to the January 26 date, yet when Reconciliation Australia conducted a survey that asked Australians to name the event that Australia Day commemorates, “only 43% correctly named the landing of the first fleet at Sydney Cove. One in five said Australia Day commemorated the discovery of Australia by Captain Cook while one in six said it was the anniversary of Federation (Reconciliation Australia, 2017, p. 16).” Reconciliation chair, Professor Tom Calma said: It’s not about trying to lay guilt on individuals but it’s about trying to make sure that our future, our children and Australians generally, have an understanding of the history of Australia. Australia’s history didn’t start in 1788 but it goes on well beyond that…There’s a lot in our history that’s very dark, that we need to expose to ensure that these sort of atrocities never happen again” (Reconciliation Australia, 2017, p. 16).

Yamatji woman, Michelle White, is worried by the number of people who know nothing about Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history and evidence of that ignorance is especially apparent in the media on significant days such as Australia Day: The starting point needs to be an acknowledgement of Australia’s real history; the genocide, stealing of country, the dispossession, the deliberate, state-sanctioned and led dehumanisation and oppression of First Nation People. The impacts of these actions and policies are still profoundly impacting on generations today. I, personally, find the debates that arise in the media every Australia Day, both infuriating and depressing. I have learnt to never read the comments on any story that’s about Australia Day, Aboriginal Australia, Sorry Day, or anything like that, because it sickens me to think that so many people hold such vehemently negative views about Aboriginal people. It’s like they do not feel they have to include our history in our national narrative, because we should ‘just get over it’… and if you go by social media, the scary thing is that it does look like these opinions are from the majority. I am fearful it is the majority (personal communication, January 17 2017).

Identity The aim of this chapter is not to resolve that argument, but rather to acknowledge that history is important—it matters, because it tells us who we are and where we have come from. It is about our identity as Australians and some versions of that history paint an ugly picture. It matters to everyone—to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and to non-Indigenous Australians. Like John Howard, Windschuttle is well aware of the link between history and national identity when he says, “It’s about the foundation of Australia—whether it was a legitimate foundation or whether it was just an imperialist invasion in which they rode roughshod over the Aborigines” (cited in Moses, 2003, p. 358). The Australian public were eager to believe Windschuttle’s version of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history and

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the conservative magazine Quadrant “accused the authors of Bringing them Home, and those who defended the report, of sentimentality, moral vanity, political correctness and hatred for Australia (Manne, 2003, p. 5).” For those non-Indigenous Australians who see themselves as friends and allies to First Peoples, it is argued that until we integrate with Indigenous history, a history that goes back 65,000 years, Australia will never be whole. Historian, Mark McKenna, laments Australia’s relationship with Indigenous history and declares that there is “no history of Australia that was non-Indigenous” (2016, p. xviii). He says: Australians think they know their history. But the truth is that much of it remains unknown. Our colonial perspective is just beginning to recede. We have only recently discovered the richness and mystery of our Indigenous histories and cultures and the extraordinary regional diversity that so much of our nation-making and popular history making has unintentionally worked to disguise. Since the demise in the 1960s of the idea of Australia as a ‘British’ society, we have tried, sometimes desperately, to agree on an alternative national narrative. Eternally preoccupied with questions of national identity and formation – Where and when was the nation born? How has the nation performed on the ‘world stage’? What is uniquely Australian? – we have failed to embed our national story in the histories on our own soil. This is nothing less than a failure of our historical imagination (2016, p. xv).

Oral History History deniers like Windschuttle will demand ‘direct evidence’ of frontier genocide and stolen children, and that evidence must be in the form of written and official documents. Evidence such as hearsay or oral history is rejected by deniers who argue that if there is no documentary proof to back up hearsay and oral history, then it didn’t happen (Moses, 2003). At the time of colonisation, First Peoples had no written culture. Theirs was an oral culture and history was recorded in the form of stories and songs that were passed down from generation to generation. John Pilger quotes an anonymous Aboriginal poet: At the white man’s school, what are the children taught? Are they told of the battles our people fought, Are they told of how our people died? Are they told why our people cried? Australia’s true history is never read, But the blackman keeps it in his head. (1971)

Oral history is gaining wider acceptance as a research methodology and as a way of interpreting historical events. In the context of this book, it is a methodology, a process, that has something in common with the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander practice of yarning (see Chap. 4). WEH Stanner’s ‘great Australian silence’ refers to the failure of historians to tell the truth about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history. Prior to Stanner’s lecture in 1968, Australia’s history was painted as a heroic picture of brave and resilient

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settlers taming a wild and harsh landscape. The stories about frontier violence and the removal of children were mostly absent from the history books, and therefore absent from the national consciousness. The great Australian silence also extends to an absence of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voices in the telling of Australia’s history. First Peoples culture, prior to colonisation, was an oral culture and so it is understandable that there are no written accounts of history by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people prior to colonisation. It was not until the late 1960s that First Peoples voices began to find their way into the media and the history books. Where once Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander stories and issues were the business of white ‘experts’, after the 1967 referendum First Peoples and issues started to gain significant political force and agency (Mickler, 1998). Yet even with growing political power Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people found that they were still excluded from those journalistic spaces where the “ordinary citizen” or “man in the street” was represented, and Mickler argues for their right to be “ordinary—the right to be sampled, surveyed, and statisticalised, as part of the ‘public’ at large—as rightful members of the communities of consumers, audiences, voters, citizens” (Mickler, 1998, pp. 126–127; see also Hartley & McKee, 1996). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander owned and run media became more prevalent in the 1980s with the launch of the Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association (CAAMA) and several other community media stations in remote and regional Australia. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community media are now prevalent all over the country and their stories are a daily part of those media services in the form of news, current affairs, documentaries and dramas. Phil Graham of The Washington Post is often credited with popularising the saying, “news is the first rough draft of history”. And Wiradjuri journalist, Stan Grant, reminds us of the cliché “that journalism has a front row seat to history (2016, p. 123)” If that is true then First Peoples are now well equipped to write their own version of history, in their own voice. Today National Indigenous Television (NITV) and national newspapers such as the Koori Mail and the Indigenous Times guarantee a media voice for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. National broadcasters and media outlets offer First Nations’ voices as part of their mainstream news, and media voices such as Stan Grant, academic and land rights activist, Noel Pearson, and Perth journalist, Narelda Jacobs, are now household names. (see Chap. 9 for a more detailed discussion of Indigenous media.) Moreover, news is not only the first rough draft of history but also a kind of oral history. As First Peoples participate more and more in the media, their voices and stories are recorded for the future. Oral history is, however, much more than journalism. It is ideally suited for recording the stories of First Peoples and it is a category of history that has grown in popularity as it was acknowledged that history has traditionally privileged the voices of the rich, the powerful and the white. Oral history is a methodology and interpretation of research that focuses on those voices that have been mostly absent from the history books—women, First Peoples, the poor and the powerless. It begins with the recording of an interview, or a series of interviews, that ask a subject to talk about their memories and experiences. It is a bit like yarning because it happens without an agenda and the interviewer must take care not to lead the interview in a direction that may be anticipated because of the cultural or personal knowledge of the interviewer.

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It is the job of the interviewer to listen. Oral history is a controversial methodology because it is dependent on memory—often the memories of people who are old or of events that occurred decades ago. An oral history is ideally an audiovisual recording because an audience can engage firsthand with the storyteller. No transcription or interpretation of an audiovisual recording is required when the recording is viewed in its entirety. Tone of voice, facial expressions, accent and body language all give added meaning to a story told via an audiovisual recording. If interviews are transcribed then care should be taken to include the vernacular of the speaker, as well as noting elements of speech such as pauses, laughter and exclamations. Oral history brings the unfamiliar and often silent voices of minority groups to the pages (and screens) of recorded history (see Abrams, 2010; Perks & Thomson, 2006).

The Healing Power of Storytelling Stories are how we make sense of the world. Humans have always told stories, from prehistoric times when they painted the walls of caves to the present day as we sit down to watch the evening news or a television documentary. Oral historians understand the power of storytelling, especially its capacity for healing those who have experienced trauma and injustice. Recording an oral history requires the storyteller to construct an identity and make sense of past events. Oral Historian Lynn Abrams explains: The life-story interview invites the narrator to dig deep, to reflect on the inner self, to reconcile any conflicts and then to reconstruct the self as a coherent whole in the form of a single narrative. In an interaction with the interviewer, the interview becomes a process in which the respondent actively fashions an identity. (2010, p. 33)

Abrams warns against the oral historian assuming the role of a psychologist or therapist, but the act of storytelling can be a good first step in the healing process. It should also be acknowledged that storytelling will not provide closure if the larger societal issues and injustices remain unresolved (2010, p. 94). Nonetheless, a victim’s need to be heard and their subsequent healing is inextricably linked to that process. Acknowledging the facts of history and providing a forum for victims to testify has been demonstrated as an important part of the healing process for many people. The victims of Germany’s war crimes in World War II were allowed to participate and testify in post-war crimes investigations into the Holocaust. Oral histories from Holocaust survivors have contributed to the world’s understanding of holocaust history. Dori Laub is a psychoanalyst and trauma therapist who advocates the importance of providing a place for trauma sufferers to tell their stories. Working extensively with Holocaust survivors he speaks of the power of testimony and the important role played by the listener: The video testimony functions as a dialogue, not only between the listener and the survivor, but also internally in the survivor herself. It is a step in the restoration of one’s own humanity and the humanity of the world one lives in. It is a step in the rebuilding of mutuality and trust (2009).

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The 1996 South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was established with the aim of recording the truth surrounding the Apartheid years in South Africa. If truth is assumed to be a necessary step in a nation’s journey of reconciliation then the TRC provided an opportunity for victims to be heard, to heal and for a nation to reconcile its racial differences. For one South African history student, the success of the TRC is debatable, but it was necessary: Nothing short of a miracle can heal a country. The terms of reconciliation, forgiving and healing became acceptable terms to many who were affected by the period of apartheid. South African history was given an opportunity to be recorded. People were given an opportunity to clear their conscious (sic) and find peace in truth. For the first time it was possible to see beyond the pain that many had suffered. As a country we would have been much poorer had the truth not been told. I believe it was truly a necessary part of our history (Jardine, 2008, p. 2).

The denial of history, as discussed previously in reference to the Australian history wars, not only misses the opportunity for reconciliation and healing at a national level, but also rubs salt into the wounds of those who have been the victims of a traumatic history. The Japanese World War II comfort women, or sex slaves as the victims describe themselves, were women from Korea, China and other Japanese occupied territories of Southeast Asia, who were forced into prostitution for the sexual gratification of Japanese troops. Japan destroyed much of the historical documentation relating to the comfort women and denied that comfort stations ever existed. Surviving comfort women came forward in the 1980s and 90s and started to speak out about Japan’s denial of this history. Finally, in 2015, Japan was forced to acknowledge that the practice of enslaving women had taken place (Blakemore, 2018) and they offered an apology. Even so, the language of the apology was carefully scripted and came with conditions. The facts relating to this violent history were still being managed by Japan in 2018 as demonstrated when Tokyo criticised South Korea at a United Nations committee meeting where the term ‘sex slaves’ was used to describe the women who were forced to work in the military brothels. A statement from Japan said, “Japan is of the view that the expression ‘sex slaves’ contradicts the facts and should not be used” (News, 2018). Japan has gone some way towards recognising the role of its military in enslaving women but has fallen short of accepting full responsibility and offering an unconditional apology. The United Nations Human Rights Commission requires a public apology to “include acknowledgement of the facts and acceptance of responsibility” (UNHRC 2005). The fact that these war crimes went unacknowledged, and were even denied, for so long has allowed the issue of sexual slavery to sour the relationship between Japan and many of its neighbours. For the victims, 70 years have passed since the war ended and yet it is “a continuing insult and injustice that persists, a wound that has never been allowed to heal and is re-opened every time a Japanese politician expresses admiration for imperial leaders or downplays imperial abuse. To them, it’s not past at all (Fisher, 2015)”. Past prime minister, Kevin Rudd, gave a national apology to the Stolen Generations at the opening of the Australian parliament on 13 February 2008 and he is possibly more familiar than Japan with the United Nation’s Human Rights Commissioner’s definition of an apology. He gave an emotional and heartfelt speech that included

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the words, “I offer this apology without qualification.” His speech acknowledged the history of the Stolen Generations and accepted full responsibility for the trauma inflicted on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Ten years later, in 2018, he addressed a crowded lecture theatre at Curtin University and talked about how difficult it was to write that speech in 2008 (Rudd, 2018). To help him find the words for his speech he visited an Elder, Nana Fejo, who had been stolen from her family in Tennant Creek when she was four. Rudd was invited into her house “then did what we in the political process rarely do—sat down and shut up for two hours and listened (2018).” He then felt he had the ability to write. As Kevin Rudd entered the parliament to deliver his speech he was still uncertain how the apology would be received. He asked himself, why should the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people accept the apology after “210 years of abject mistreatment? Why would I accept some white fella’s apology? Second… I had my seat belt fastened for what I anticipated to be a sustained, national racist reaction… I know something of the deep racism of this country (2018).” Rudd told his audience that “you could have knocked me over with a feather (2018)” when not only the assembled First Nations leaders who witnessed his speech accepted his apology, but the nation and even the world had assembled to watch the broadcast of his speech. The nation and the world had come with him as he delivered the apology. The apology is always referred to as simply ‘The Apology’ because, it seems, there has only ever been one apology. The apology was not an instant solution to a problem, but it continues to be recognised as a significant and important step forward for Australia’s reconciliation movement and for healing the trauma of the Stolen Generations. It is no more possible for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to ‘move on’ from the trauma of history than it is for victims from other parts of the world who are still dealing with the trauma of their past. Nyoongar woman and novelist, Claire Coleman, was interviewed about her dystopian and political debut novel Terra Nullius. Her voice is included in this discussion of trauma experiences because she also acknowledges the healing power of storytelling in a review of her book: Political engagement is at the book’s heart, rooted in observations that underscore the impact of invasion and dispossession… Observations such as this engage deeply with the real-life intergenerational trauma of Australia’s First Nations people. While this history is painful, Coleman found that writing about it through fiction was cathartic: “Terra Nullius came straight from inside my head, which means that every bit of emotion and politics and experience in it that is always there. I was able to vent all the pain. Aboriginal people live in a dystopia every day. The problem is that the world we live in, people don’t understand that. (quoted in Sullivan, 2017)

Settler Colonialism The brief colonial history presented in this book is a history that is clearly still having an impact today, and one that has been repeated in colonised nations all over the world. The discipline of ‘settler colonial studies’ is introduced here as a useful

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way of recognising colonialism not only as a study of the past but also as a way of understanding colonialism as a contemporary issue. Settler colonialism is a distinct form of colonialism that impacts on First Peoples and seeks to understand the presentday conflict and politics of the nations affected by this type of colonialism. Countries such as Australia, South Africa, Canada, New Zealand and the United States are traditionally the focus of settler colonial studies and there are a number of key features of settler colonialism that make it distinct from other forms of colonialism. Firstly, settler colonisers don’t leave. They occupy land permanently and assert sovereignty. Secondly, settler colonialism “is a structure, not an event: settler colonialism persists in the ongoing elimination of Indigenous populations, and the assertion of state sovereignty and juridical control over the lands (Barker & Lowman, n.d.).” And lastly, settler colonialism does not seek to maintain a colonial structure and power imbalance between coloniser and colonised. Rather it endeavours to eliminate differences and create one settler state by eliminating First Peoples claims to land and culture. There are narratives that are common to many settler colonial societies including those of terra nullius and the removal of children, as discussed earlier in this chapter (Barker & Lowman). History and politics academic, Lorenzo Veraccini, argues that settler colonialism literature has traditionally focused on the afore-mentioned countries such as Australia, but the scope of the study should be widened to include a global perspective and more recently colonised lands such as Palestine (Veracini, 2012). Understanding settler colonialism in global terms also acknowledges a growing recognition of a global Indigeneity as demonstrated by the 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Merlan, 2009). The United Nations recognises the special status of First Peoples and their suffering as a result of colonisation. Settler colonialism does not allow for the recognition of First Peoples and their suffering without also acknowledging a discriminating settler majority. “It is settler colonialism that produces indigene and settler (Veracini, 2012, p. 329).” This helps to explain the reluctance of settler colonial nations, such as Canada, New Zealand, Australia and the United States, to support the UN declaration. Veracini explains that because the sovereignty of settler colonial nations is premised on the dispossession of First Peoples it was more difficult for these nations to accept the terms of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People. If the colonial relation fundamentally defines both metropole and colony (and the postcolonial successors), it does so in terms of externality: colonialism is something one does somewhere else (that is, in the colonies, but not at home), or something done by someone else (that is, by exogenous colonizers who have entered the local space.) (Veracini, 2012, p. 329)

Veracini argues that settler colonialism is ongoing and reiterates that “invasion is a structure not an event” (cited in 2012, p. 334). It is evident in the ongoing practice of ‘land grabbing’ in Africa (2012, p. 334) and the ongoing land rights disputes in Australia, mentioned earlier in this book (see Chap. 2). The separation of countries and geopolitical areas by building walls is another settler colonial form, but these days the walls are designed to keep people out rather than to protect those within.

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And finally, he refers to the Australian Federal Government Northern Territory Intervention as an example of a settler colonial policy response whereby the colonisers assume the right to deal with ‘their’ First Peoples in their own way (2012, p. 336; see also Howard-Wagner, 2012). Debate continues around settler colonial studies and its relationship to identity politics and racism. There are no clear conclusions to those debates, however settler colonial theory is useful for understanding Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history, Nyoongar history and contemporary culture in a global context.

Ways of Working Professor Anna Haebich has a long personal and professional history with Aboriginal people in Nyoongar country. Her partner of many years is Nyoongar Elder, Darryl Kickett. The following describes her first personal experience of working with Aboriginal people. After training as an anthropologist Anna was introduced to Nyoongar history as a young research assistant in 1978 when working on research for a book called Nyungar Tradition: Glimpses of Aborigines of South-Western Australia 1829–1914 by Lois Tilbrook. The project employed 16 Aboriginal people, who recorded the oral histories and genealogies of their families. Anna says, “It was a very fortunate thing for me because it was not only interesting, but I was also learning how they were thinking about history. In fact, they taught me history (personal communication, 31 January, 2018).” When doing her Ph.D. research, she went into the state archives to look at Aboriginal history and realised how extensive it was. The state Government kept detailed records about all aspects of Aboriginal people’s lives. A.O Neville, the Chief Protector of Aborigines from 1915, was particularly well known for his record keeping and the level of detail his department recorded about every aspect of people’s lives. Aboriginal people could not marry, travel, own a gun, enter a pub or take a job without Neville’s approval. Thousands of letters were written to his office requesting permission for the most insignificant items as well as those that were lifechanging—from the purchase of a pair of shoes, to a request for the return of a child who had been removed from the family. Anna saw that the voices of Aboriginal people were in the archives. I can’t imagine history without those voices. It wasn’t that Aboriginal people weren’t writing. There were voices there, but it was only comparatively recently that our people (nonIndigenous people) started listening and reading. It has transformed Australian history. It’s hard because I know how much history is out there by Aboriginal people – books, films, songs – but still a lot of those voices don’t get through to the mainstream people, or even to schools and universities. (personal communication, 31 January 2018)

From her archival research, personal interviews, and Ph.D. came the seminal book, For Their own Good (1992), followed by several other publications about Nyoongar history that focus on and celebrate the voices of Aboriginal people.

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Anna acknowledges that non-Indigenous people telling Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander stories can be problematic, and in the past people “got things so wrong.” She gives the example of novelists writing about Aboriginal people and using Aboriginal voices that just sound wrong. They sound like white people writing about an Aboriginal person in a white’s imagining of an Aboriginal voice. For non-Aboriginal people, when they are reading that, they are continuing some sort of vague imagining that some people have, so it doesn’t really take us anywhere much. It’s complicated and vexed. (personal communication, 31 January 2018)

Working collaboratively is vital, she explains, and that requires a relationship and discussion with community. It’s about protocols and an ethics of listening. I really like that phrase (from Rachel Swain of Marrugeku Dance Theatre in Broome). That’s what it’s about. There’s a generosity happening but people don’t know how to listen. There’s an ethics of listening and generosity. If you are respectful and are listening – from my experience – having integrity and respect are really, really important. I try to always have integrity with people so they know when they talk to me I will be respecting what they say. (2018)

In 2016 Anna and a team of collaborators, including Aboriginal academics, were successful in receiving Australian Research Council (ARC) funding for a ‘Letters Project’. The aim of the project is to search the archives for letters to government departments from Aboriginal people, to return them to the descendants of the letter writers following cultural protocols, and, with their permission, to add the Aboriginal voices contained in those letters to recorded history. The project acknowledges that the voices in the archived letters are fresh and unmediated, rather than being interpreted and transcribed with a colonial perspective. The project recognises the resistance and strength of the letter writers who, in many cases, were fighting to keep their families together. As this chapter has argued, knowing history is important and Anna has spent over three decades researching Nyoongar history. She knows it well and again emphasises the value of knowing history. We should all be reading books like this (Anna’s For Their Own Good, Kim Scott’s novels) before we do anything. People should prepare and know about a subject – when doing interviews you really need to know your subject. But at the same time, you can’t assume to know everything or give the impression that you think you know more than they do. (personal communication, 21 January 2018)

Anna’s way of working is similar to her approach to the writing of her books. She speaks to lots of people and about half the information comes from interviews and the rest from the archives. Some of the interviews are just straight interviews, but others are group events. People come together to share a meal and remember and tell stories. Having as natural a context situation as you can. Having a group of people is good. Storytelling is what gets things going. Doing everything with people. You are not this person doing research about Aboriginal people – you really are working together. It’s longer. It is slow research. You keep in touch with people. It’s something universities don’t understand about working so closely with people.

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The importance of relationships is emphasised once again, and Anna reminds us that relationships last longer than the time taken to do a research project or write a book. A slow and cautious start to a project allows Anna to think about how to approach working with a community. There is also the issue of the appropriate payment for Aboriginal researchers, who are contributing Aboriginal knowledge that is something separate, essential and invaluable to the position. “If a person has a degree and that person has Nyoongar knowledge then that person should be paid more than the sum of either of those on their own (personal communication, January 31 2018).” When talking about methodology Anna says “Yarning is everything” because little things are shared that give insight into the history and the lives of the letter writers. Yarning means you have to give up all your questions and you listen. I have a relationship with you. I feel comfortable with you. I feel you are accepting what I’m saying. We are telling stories about things and it works as a way of teaching people. It’s a good way of sharing ideas. It’s slow research. That’s the way to do it. (personal communication, 31 Janaury 2018)

Anna’s books are often Aboriginal-told stories. She minimises her own voice by presenting whole interviews and writing together with Aboriginal people. She adds Aboriginal voices from the archives. Her process for writing now is to not get caught up where you have a crushed-up thing that you are talking about, but to let people go with the flow - to be much more inclusive of the rhythm of people talking, the rhythm of Nyoongar voices. Having people perform their stories would be the most powerful way to present history. (2018)

She aims to make her writing and research as accessible as possible. Write with the people. Sharing is important. It can be a waste of time putting it in an academic journal. I feel very strongly that when you are working with people it has to go back. You have to write something that is interesting and accessible. I like to write so that people can dip in – not feeling like you have to read this great big book. I love to have photographs. I always have a lot of images, photos. It is amazing. One photo can have so many stories. Finding out about what Aboriginal people have been doing and how it comes from their culture. It is healing for people – people are having fun. (2018)

Anna Haebich’s 2018 book Dancing in Shadows (2018), about the history of Nyoongar performance, is a good and recent example of her process and style of writing. The book grew out of ongoing conversations about permission to record and use historic and personal stories. Once interviews were recorded and transcribed, they were sent back to the interviewee for approval and some eagerly co-wrote their stories with Anna. Anna acknowledges that many “people are happy and pleased” to share their stories. However, it can be hard to broach the subject of permission. A lady talked about how she and all her siblings were taken and how this devastated her Mum and Dad. How can I possibly ask her for permission to use a photo of her Dad, now deceased? Then she stopped talking and said, ‘I know that my father would love you to use this photo in the book, [Dancing in Shadows]’. (2018)

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Anna’s ways of working reflect an action research philosophy. Research projects move cautiously through the ‘look’ phase to identify participants and advisors, and to consider the projects’ ways of working. Meetings and interviews are individually planned to suit the needs of the participants. Some are group or community events, and some are one-on-one interviews. Listening to stories and respecting feedback are ongoing processes managed through Nyoongar Elders, project participants and team members. Capacity building is evident in the empowerment and healing that Aboriginal people feel when their voices are heard and the truth of history is revealed and recorded. The idea of slow research means there is time to consult, to consider options, to be self-reflective and to allow the project to evolve and be shaped by all participants. The outcomes of the project are decided with the Aboriginal participants in the projects. Whatever the outcome, a book or a performance, project research is given back and owned by the community. An event was organised at the state archives that provides an example of the capacity building nature of the ‘Letters Project’. The event was called ‘Decolonising the Archive’ and the aim was to make the archive a safe place for Aboriginal people. Mostly Elders attended and those that had travelled were accommodated close to the event venue. The participants wanted to see the original files and so they were taken on tours and were able to see whole files, not just letters. As a result of this event, the participants came to know the people who work at the archive and are familiar with the space. Hence, they were empowered to go back to the archive in the future and conduct research for themselves. The following case study provides a further example of working with the community and is evidence of the importance of history, of truth telling and of being heard. Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities have come together to do research and to record Aboriginal voices in the official accounts of history. This project provides evidence that storytelling, testimony and truth are all important steps for healing and reconciliation.

Case Study: Kukenerup Roni Forrest is a Mineng Ngadju woman from the south coast of Western Australia. Her family is well known in the area. From 1996 to 2004, she researched the story of the massacre of Nyoongar people at a place on the South Coast called Kukenarup (also Cocanarup). The area around Kukenarup, where the massacre took place, subsequently became known to Nyoongar people as a bad place. Few Nyoongar families still live there and people would avoid going there: Many Nyungars today speak with deep feeling about this wild windswept country. They tell stories about the old folk they lost in the massacre and recall how their mothers warned them to stay out of the area. One man describes how Nyungars will roll up their car windows while passing through Ravensthorpe, and not even stop for food or petrol. The whole region has bad associations and an unwelcoming aura for them. It is a place for ghosts, not for the living people. (cited in Forrest, 2004, p. 18)

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In the report that Roni wrote in 2004, as a result of her research, she explains the motivation and methodology around 20 years of research into this story: I am not an historian, but like many other people who have written local histories, have an interest in historical events. I have endeavoured to be truthful to the past and have brought together Indigenous and non-Indigenous versions of an unpleasant event in our past in an attempt to bring people closer together in the present (2004, p. 8). I ensured that I sat together with people and generally ‘yarned’ with them about Ravensthorpe first and then gauged their reaction to events that happened at Cocanarup. Yarning with Aboriginal people is the most effective method of collecting stories as opposed to formal interview techniques (2004, p. 9).

Roni Forrest’s report begins with a forward from Nyoongar Elder, Aden Eades: I hope this report will be a coming together of ‘Two Peoples – Two Stories, so that all our Peoples (sic) Spirits – black and white – can be laid to rest and the true process of reconciliation can be celebrated. (2004, p. 5)

The report explains a tense and hostile relationship between white settlers and local Aboriginal people in the time leading up to the massacre in the 1880s. White men sexually abused Aboriginal women, Aboriginal men were essentially enslaved on the properties where they worked, and there was no acknowledgement of Aboriginal ownership of the country. For some time leading up to the massacre Aboriginal people were being accused of stealing sheep, and there were reports of attacks on several white families. In 1880 a white property owner, named John Dunn, was killed by Nyoongar. This ongoing hostility came to a head when, in retribution for Dunn’s death, a vigilante group killed a large numbers of Nyoongar in the Ravensthorpe/Kukanerup area. There are varying accounts from white records about the details of Dunn’s death and the ensuing massacre. Several versions tell of how white families, including the Dunns, decided to teach the Nyoongar a lesson and, together, rode out to Kukenerup to pursue the ‘troublemakers’. They ambushed and slaughtered up to half of the Aboriginal population in the area, and the bodies were thrown into a mass grave, or a cave near a creek on the property—it is uncertain which. Some versions of the story say that the waterholes were poisoned with strychnine and more Nyoongar died agonising deaths after drinking the water. The police agreed to turn a blind eye to the violence while the vigilante’s declared ‘open season’ on the Nyoongar. Oral accounts of the massacre, from local Aboriginal people, give a different account and provide an explanation for John Dunn’s death. Nyoongar tell the story of the Dunns ‘messing with the women in the camp’ (cited in Forrest, 2004, p. 30) while the men were away shepherding. The Aboriginal men wanted to punish the Dunns for abusing their women and so lured John Dunn out in pursuit of lost sheep and then speared him in the neck. The family of an Aboriginal man who had sex with another man’s wife would have accepted such an execution. But the family of John Dunn was not familiar with Aboriginal law and so retaliated by murdering numerous Aboriginal people. The exact date of the massacre is not known, nor the exact number of Nyoongar murdered. Some say the Dunns were permitted by the police to kill 50

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Illustration 5.1 Entrance to the Kukenarup Memorial featuring the wings of the Walitj (Wedge Tail Eagle) and the Ngow (Mallee Fowl) that are totems for the area. (Photo: Michelle Johnston)

people, and others talk of a whole tribe being massacred. Ravensthorpe has been ‘taboo’ for Nyoongar people ever since. The report written by Roni ends with a proposal for a memorial at Kukenarup, in honour of the people who died and as a gesture of reconciliation. The memorial, located approximately fifteen kilometres west of Ravensthorpe, was opened on 21 May 2015. The walitj (wedge tail eagle) is a totem for the area and so the entrance features the wings of a walitj (see Illustration 5.1) in recognition of the eagles that are often seen circling the site, keeping watch over the spirits of the dead (RHS 2015). A trail winds through the bush dotted with plaques featuring the words of ten Nyoongar families, who describe their personal connection to the site. A sign at the entrance features the words of local Elder, Annie Dabb: Now our ancestor’s restless spirits can sleep peacefully knowing they are not forgotten and their ordeal is recognised and acknowledged. Through our Past our future grows strong (Department of Planning, nd).

Roni’s process for writing the story of Kukenerup and building a memorial for the community is described here in her own words: Just to go back a bit, way back in 1996, me and a guy who I knew from my hometown - we ran into each other and I told him what I was doing. So we did a project together. I used to always wonder about where all the Aboriginal people went from the small town where I come from. Knowing that there were lots of (culturally significant) sites there and it was a very significant Aboriginal meeting place, and knowing the stories of there, and I thought we’re the only ones living here so where has everyone gone? So Stuart Crow and I embarked

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5 History on this little social history project that we did way back in 1996. Whilst we were doing that research, the story of Kukenarup kept coming up. Everybody kept talking about it. It was really when - as we were going around doing it - I couldn’t get over how it was still alive in people’s memories. It was 124 years ago, and it was like it happened yesterday. People would cry; people would cry talking about it. We’re talking 125 years of history have gone under the bridge since then. But it was very, very emotional. So I decided I needed to do some more research on that. That’s how the next part of the project came about. I went around and I compiled all the non-Indigenous accounts of the Kukenarup story, and then I went around and completed the rest of my interviews just specifically talking about Kukenarup. I did lots of interviews with the different Noongar people and I really struggled with it because interviewing black fellas is just so bad sometimes. You could turn up at someone’s place and they wouldn’t be there, so another day would be lost. So talking about ways of working with people, you have to be really flexible and adaptable to that style of making sure people are ready. Even when they’re there, you’ve got to sit down and yarn with people and not even broach the subject of what you’re wanting to know. You’ve got to actually sit and yarn - if it takes two days, so what, it takes two days. I think that’s something that’s really important. Then I put it all together into a report. I was known to most Noongar people. They know my family so they accepted that I was okay. It was mostly everyone I knew because I’d worked with them on other projects before, or they knew my family and they just let me come in and yarn with them. But you know, little things like they’re really deaf so I have to shout. You have to be really flexible and adaptable to sitting down and yarning. If you have to put a feed on for everyone, you’ve got to do that. Yeah, I did know them. If I didn’t know them, they knew my family or I knew their family. But such an emotional subject. People were getting upset. There were a lot of upset people. It was really sad. There were a lot of upset white people who didn’t want to know about it. I actually had somebody ring me up and threaten me to stop talking about this. Down in the Esperance Historical Society somebody ripped the page out of the book in the Esperance Museum. It was horrible. It’s such a horrible subject, but I really wanted to bring people together to stop blaming each other. A terrible, terrible event. But I think it could have turned into a beautiful event, and it did. It still overwhelms me to this day, I feel like crying thinking about it. Yeah, it did, it brought us all together, which is something I’m so super proud of. I didn’t speak with the Dunn family, who are the descendants. My sister did. But they basically wanted the story out there because they were very embarrassed about it. Everyone was talking - whenever they talk about the massacre you associate it with that family. So they wanted resolution and some healing. One wadjela guy that I met in Ravensthorpe - we had to go way down to the bush out of town where people didn’t see us talking to him. So yeah, it was horrible. But all the facts are there. You can pick up any diary, any settlers’ diaries, they’ve got all the facts there. They’ve written it all down. Police records in Albany tell the real story of it all. People can’t get away from it. They’re in the records and in their diaries. For us to have our story told - it’s so real in our memories and our recollections of the history of the area. It’s so real, it’s so emotional. Why isn’t our story told? The white stories are not the truth. The truth needs to be told, so that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to get the Aboriginal stories out there, what really happened. They’re vastly different to what the white people say. Their story was more about the Noongar stealing sheep and everything. It wasn’t, it was about the power the Dunns had over the Aboriginal people and using the men for workers and the women for sex.

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I believe people wanted it out there because they wanted to have some justice and healing to it all. At that stage, nobody knew the Aboriginal point of view. Nobody knew the Noongar story of Kukenarup. So I really bought that out in the open. I proposed to have a memorial, and as it’s turned out, we’ve done that. It’s just been the most amazing healing reconciliation project ever. For everybody. This here is not Noongar history or Aboriginal history, it’s Australian history. It’s that town’s history. This is what I wanted to say. It’s not just my Noongar history. We’ve got to stop blaming people now and try to heal from it and learn from it. So Ravensthorpe people were on board through their historical society. We had the funding bodies all on board. My thing, that I wanted to do, was really ensure every single Noongar family from that region was consulted, which we did. We got them on board. This project took twenty years but we got everyone on board. On the day of the memorial unveiling, we had all those family groups represented and it was just beautiful to see. We had about 400, 500 people in a little town, out in the middle of nowhere. It was incredible. We had all the local schools on board because they want to learn about the history of it. To me, that’s just extraordinary that it becomes part of school curriculum. It’s got a place for people to sit and reflect. It’s not just about the brutality of it all. The memorial’s about acknowledging it happened and these are people’s stories and let’s all walk together and grieve together and heal together. To me, it’s an awesome, awesome project. I’m so proud to be a part of it. It was just brilliant, brilliant. It’s not easy to bring Noongar people together, I’ve got to say - consulting everyone. It’s not an easy job, but we did it. Because we just ensured no one was left out of it. Nobody was left out of it. The people of Ravensthorpe, they just really embraced it. Then - I’ll probably cry when I say this - but the most amazing thing happened. After it was all over a Wadjela lady walked up to me and thanked me. She said “love, thank you so much, there’ll be no more whispering around here now.” I thought that’s exactly what it is, you know. That’s what it’s about. They don’t have to whisper anymore, we don’t have to whisper anymore, it’s all out there in the open. It makes me cry. Why do it? Well it’s healing, it’s reconciliation in action. It’s actually doing something. When you’ve got reconciliation in action, where we are equal people doing a project together, it’s so empowering for us. So that’s what drove me on in the end. That’s what - when I talk about it now, I’m so proud of because nobody owned that project, we all owned it. So I think that’s what you do, you work on something together. It’s not like you’re telling me what to do or I’m telling you what to do. It’s everyone’s on an equal playing field type thing. I don’t think people listen to you unless you’ve got both voices as well, you know what I mean? The healing that it’s brought about for both groups - both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people - is phenomenal. It was about working together in a cross-cultural context. Both understanding and respecting each other’s ways of knowing (personal communication, June 14 2017)

The Kukenarup memorial project evolved from Roni Forrest’s action research process. She did not consciously employ action research as a methodology for her project, but her ways of working reflect the action research cycle and philosophy. In many respects, Roni Forrest has spent a lifetime looking and learning about the Kukenarup story. She is an Aboriginal woman who grew up in the area—this is her country and her story. Listening to her family and Elders and seeing their reluctance to talk about Kukenarup was a significant part of her research for this history

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project. Having decided to undertake the research in 1996, she recognised that the stakeholders in this project included Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal members of the community. There were written historical records of the white colonists’ version of events, which she read and included. But she also sought out local non-Aboriginal community members to interview. Of special importance to Roni were the local Aboriginal people who had heard the story of Kukenarup from their families. Her interviews with local Nyoongar people ensured those oral histories were recorded and Aboriginal voices were included in the history. Gathering the stories from black and white community was difficult and sometimes frightening, but her engagement with community also gave her the motivation and courage to continue. Seeing the emotional impact of the Kukenarup story and witnessing the division this caused in the community gave birth to the idea for a memorial. Feedback from community participants provides evidence of the capacitybuilding nature of the project, which started a conversation about the past and some healing has emerged from that. What better way to build capacity in a community than to bring it together and break down the barriers that once divided it? Carol Pettersen, Roni’s sister, explains: These stories are essentials in shaping our lives and provide a cultural learning pathway for our young people to find their way, their identity and their place in society. It is important that we acknowledge and honour these stories (cited in Forrest, 2004, p. 44).

The report that emerged from Roni’s research presented all versions of the Kukenarup story. Her aim was to be impartial and fair to stories from Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal members of the community and that required some thought about who all the stakeholders would be in this project—Aboriginal community, wadjela community, school children, families, the Ravensthorpe Historical Society and the Dunn family. Everyone’s voice was included. The idea for a memorial was acted on, and again the whole community participated. The democratic and inclusive nature of an action research project is evident in all stages of this history project, but it is the finished memorial where it is most evident. The voices of Nyoongar families are embedded in the visitor’s experience of the site, but Roni’s name and involvement in the project are absent. She is a perfect example of the researcher as a facilitator, who allows a project to grow from the community itself and prioritises the voices of community participants over her own.

Conclusion History isn’t was. History is. No matter how much we wipe our feet at the front door, we track history through the house. Leaving its muddy footprints all over the carpet.” (Adams, 2001)

Again, often-quoted words—this time from social commentator and broadcaster, Phillip Adams. He eloquently summarises history’s enduring impact on the present.

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It defines us as a society, shapes our identity, and it can bind us together or tear us apart. History is about truth telling, and without truth there can be no healing or reconciliation for First Peoples, or for Australia as a nation. Working collaboratively with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people provides the opportunity to bring their voices to the telling of Australian history and the shaping of our identity. A collaborative history project requires the non-Indigenous participant to listen with respect, to sit and yarn, and to facilitate the voices of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander storytellers to spaces where they can be shared and heard by all Australians.

References Abrams, L. (2010). Oral history theory. New York: Routledge. Adams, P. (2001, July 21–22). History is now, not later. The Weekend Australian. Allam, L. (2018). In 1788 it was nothing but bush’: Tony Abbott on Indigenous Australia. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2018/aug/29/in-1788-itwas-nothing-but-bush-tony-abbott-on-indigenous-australia?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other. Anonymous. (1971). Blog—John Pilger’s Utopia. Retrieved from https://archive.mca.com.au/blog/ 2014/01/10/john-pilgers-utopia/. Barker, A., Battell Lowman, E. (n.d.). Settler colonialism. Global Social Theory. Retrieved from https://globalsocialtheory.org/concepts/settler-colonialism/. Barry, H. (2017). Perth academics lash The West Australian for publishing ‘attack’ on Aboriginal people. WA Today. Retrieved from http://www.watoday.com.au/wa-news/perth-academics-lashthe-west-australian-for-publishing-attack-on-aboriginal-people-20170912-gyfsbr.html. Blakemore, E. (2018). The brutal history of Japan’s ‘comfort women’. History Stories. Retrieved from http://www.history.com/news/comfort-women-japan-military-brothels-korea. Brantlinger, P. (2004). Black Armband” versus “White blindfold” history in Australia. Victorian Studies, 46(4), 655–674. Department of Planning, Lands. and Heritage. (nd). Kukenarup memorial project. Retrieved from https://www.daa.wa.gov.au/heritage/site-preservation/projects/kukenarup-memorial-project/? epieditmode=true. Elder, B. (1988). Blood on the Wattle. Massacres and maltreatment of Australian Aborigines since 1788. Frenchs Forest, NSW: Child & Associates Publishing Pty Ltd. Fisher, M. (2015). “Comfort women”; Japan’s 70-year sex slavery controversy explained. Retrieved from https://www.vox.com/2015/12/28/10677136/japan-korea-comfort-women-agreement. Forrest, R. (2004). Kukenarup—Two stories. A Report on historical accounts of a Massacre site at Cocanarup near Ravensthorpe WA. Retrieved from Perth. Grant, S. (2016). Talking to my country. Sydney: HarperCollins Publishers. Haebich, A. (1992). For their own good: Aborigines and government in the South West of Western Australia 1900–1940. Perth: University of WA Press. Haebich, A. (2018). Dancing in shadows. Perth: UWA Publishing. Hartley, J., & McKee, A. (1996). The Indigenous public sphere. New York: Oxford University Press. Howard, J. (1997). Transcript of the Prime Minster the Honourable John Howard MP opening adddress to the Australian Reconciliation Convention—Melbourne. Canberra: Australian Government Retrieved from https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/release/transcript-10361. Howard-Wagner, D. (2012). “Reclaiming the Northern Territory as a settler-colonial space [online]”. Arena Journal, No. 37/38, 2012: pp. 220–240.

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Human Rights & Equal Opportunity Commission. (1997). Bringing them home. Retrieved from Sydney: https://www.humanrights.gov.au/sites/default/files/content/pdf/social_justice/bringing_ them_home_report.pdf. Jardine, V. (2008). The truth and reconciliation commission: Success or failure? (Masters). University of Pretoria, Pretoria. Laub, D. (2009). On holocaust testimony and its “reception” within its own frame, as a process in its own right: A response to “between histroy and pschoanalysis” by Thomas Trezise. History and Memory, 21(1), 127–150. Manne, R. (2003). Introduction. In R. Manne (Ed.), White Wash. On Keith Windschuttle’s Fabrication of Aboriginal history. Melbourne: Black Inc. Agenda. MacIntyre, S. (1999). A concise history of Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacIntyre, S. (2003) The history wars. Sydney Papers, 15(3 and 4), 76–83. MacIntyre, S., & Clark, A. (2004). The history wars. Carlton: Melbourne University Press. McKenna, M. (2016). From the edge. Australia’s lost histories. Melbourne: The Miegunyah Press. Merlan, F. (2009). Indigeneity: Global and local. Current Anthropology, 50(3):303–33. Mickler, S. (1998). The myth of privilege. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Moses, A. D. (2003). Revisionism and Denial. In R. Manne (Ed.), White wash. On Keith Windschuttle’s fabrication of Aboriginal history. Melbourne: Black Inc. Agenda. News, K. (2018). Japan slams South Korea for mention of ‘sex slaves’ at UN meeting. The Japan Times. Retrieved from https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2018/02/23/national/japanslams-south-korea-mention-sex-slaves-u-n-meeting/-.WpY-BWUppR4. O’Dowd, M. (2012). Engaging non-Indigenous students in Indigenous history and ‘un-history’. An approach for non-Indigenous teachers and a politics for the twenty-first century. History of Education Review, 41(2), 104–118. Perks, R., & Thomson, A. (Eds.). (2006). The oral history reader (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. Reconciliation Australia. (2017). Should we change the date of australia day? Retrieved from https://www.reconciliation.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Rec-News-Should-We-ChangeAustralia-Day.pdf. Ravensthorpe Historical Society. (2015). About Kukenarup memorial and information site. Retrieved from http://www.ravensthorpehistory.org.au/documents/kuke.html. Reynolds, H. (1999). Why weren’t we told?. Camberwell, VC: Penguin Books. Rudd, K. (2018). Kevin Rudd’s apology to Indigenous Australia—A decade on. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdWa87acFpM&feature=youtu.be. Stanner, W. (1968). The Boyer lectures 1968—After the dreaming. Sydney. Stanner, W. (1979). White man got no dreaming: Essays, 1938–1973. Canberra: Australian National University Press. Stirling, J. (1829). Proclamation for Western Australia. Perth Retrieved from http:// nationalunitygovernment.org/content/proclamation-western-australia-james-stirling. Sullivan, V. (2017). ‘Speculative fiction is a powerful political tool’: From war of the worlds to Terra Nullius. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/books/australia-booksblog/2017/aug/22/speculative-fiction-is-a-powerful-political-tool-from-war-of-the-worlds-toterra-nullius. United Nations General Assembly. (1948). Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, 1021 C.F.R. https://treaties.un.org/doc/publication/unts/volume%2078/ volume-78-i-1021-english.pdf. United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner. (2005). Basic principles and guidelines on the right to a remedy and reparation for victims of gross violations of International Human Rights Law and serious violations of International humanitarian law. Retrieved from http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/RemedyAndReparation.aspx. Veracini, L. (2012). Settler colonialism: A global and contemporary phenomenon in stolen lands, broken cultures: The settler-colonial present. Hinkson, J.; James, P. and Veracini, L. (eds). Arena Journal, 37–38, pp 322–336. Windschuttle, K. (2002). The fabrication of Australian history. Sydney: Macleay Press.

Chapter 6

Health

Abstract The 10-year disparity in life expectancy for First Nations People and nonIndigenous people is a statistic that initiated the Federal Government’s ‘Closing the Gap’ program. This chapter is about health and how better health outcomes can be achieved for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. It addresses both mental health and physical health, while also emphasising the holistic nature of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health. One of the main problems in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health care is encouraging First Nations People to engage with healthcare services that are predominantly managed by non-Indigenous professionals. Two case studies provide evidence of how working with First Nations communities can have a significant impact on people’s engagement with health services, and therefore contribute to better health outcomes. The first is the Looking Forward, Moving Forward project that embeds Aboriginal Elders with mainstream Mental Health Services to assist these services in connecting with Aboriginal community. The second case study is called Earbus and, as the name suggests, describes a service that travels into Aboriginal communities all over Western Australia and works with families to improve their ear health. This important initiative seeks to address the evidence that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children have the worst ear health in the world, which leads to hearing loss and hence speech and learning difficulties.

We are like the tree standing in the middle of a bushfire sweeping through the timber. The leaves are scorched and the tough bark is scarred and burnt, but inside the tree the sap is still flowing and under the ground the roots are still strong. Like that tree we have endured the flames and we still have the power to be reborn (quoted in Ungunmerr-Baumann, 1988).

The opening words of this chapter are from Ngan’gityemerri activist and educator, Miriam Rose Ungunmerr, who quotes a speech by Pope John Paul II when he visited Alice Springs in 1986. The message here is resilience, and it is a recurring theme for contemporary Indigenous research and creative expression. First Nations People have demonstrated their inexhaustible strength and cultural resilience for over 60,000 years, but it is the past 250 years of colonisation that has truly tested their strength. Resilience does not mask the trauma and pain of colonisation that many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are still feeling, especially in regard to the detrimental toll taken on First Peoples’ health. In 1938, Daisy Bates predicted © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_6

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the extinction of Aboriginal people due to the impact of British colonisation (1938). Extinction was in fact an objective for government in the first half of the twentieth century, and they openly shared their vision for a white Australia as articulated by A.O. Neville at the 1937 Aboriginal Welfare Conference: Are we going to have a population of 1,000,000 blacks in the Commonwealth, or are we going to merge them into our white community and eventually forget that there ever were any aborigines (sic) in Australia? (quoted in McGregor, 2002, p. 293)

This policy of genetic management based on racial science was referred to, at the time, as ‘absorption’; today it is called genocide and it is but one element of the approach taken in the management of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people that contributed to an ongoing health crisis in Australia. In Western Australia, racist government policies of forcing Aboriginal people onto reserves, segregation and removal of children, coupled with community attitudes, impacted Aboriginal people’s lives for the majority of the twentieth century and are largely to blame for the myriad of physical and mental health issues that continue to plague Aboriginal communities. As many Aboriginal people were driven from their home country and denied access to traditional food sources, they succumbed to diseases and other health problems linked to European contact. The extinction of Australia’s First People was assumed to be inevitable and Western Australian Government policy and legislation was enacted with the idea of ‘protectionism’ in order to minimise disease, miscegenation and racial tensions between Aboriginal people and white Australians. It was in fact segregation, a type of apartheid that was enshrined in The 1905 Aborigines Act. State government legislation allowed for management and interference in all aspects of Aboriginal people’s lives in order to ‘protect’ them, but the prevailing wisdom of eugenics that dominated scientific and political thinking at the time informed a more long-term objective which was to ‘breed out the colour’ (Haebich, 2000, p. 195; McGregor, 2002, pp. 14–15; Rickwood, Dudgeon, & Gridley, 2010). Ironically, the protectionist and segregationist policies of the State Government are thought to be the reason why Aboriginal culture has survived today in spite of an ongoing health crisis. However, the life expectancy of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is still significantly less than non-Indigenous Australians and this is the focus of the current Closing the Gap initiative that now informs the majority of federal and state governments’ Indigenous policy and funding. This chapter provides an historical and contemporary overview of Western Australian Aboriginal health in general, and in Nyoongar country in particular. It aims to offer some context for the poor statistics regarding Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health, and to present an argument for new ways of working that empowers First Nations communities to improve the health of their own people. As in previous chapters, our aim is not to speak to professionals already working in the field of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health about how to do their jobs, but rather to offer suggested ways of working with First Peoples and communities that may contribute to better community partnerships with health professionals. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture has a holistic, multi-dimensional view of health that requires consideration of all aspects of well-being—physical, social, emotional and

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cultural—but to assist with the clarity and structure of this chapter we have divided it into discussions of physical and mental health with case studies presented for each category. It will become evident, however, that a holistic approach is taken in the management of all health projects and that working with community has benefits for all participants.

Health in Nyoongar Country Before European colonisation Nyoongar people enjoyed good health and experienced few diseases. A nomadic lifestyle ensured plenty of exercise as people were always on the move gathering food and hunting. The natural food sources, plants and animals, which the land provided ensured a variety of food types with good nutritional balance. Nyoongar people had an intimate knowledge of their natural environment and relied upon plants, animal oils, fire, soils, smoking ceremonies and special healers to heal themselves. The types of ailments that Nyoongar may suffer were related to their lifestyle, such as burns from a fire, digestive upsets, a jellyfish sting or a cut (Hansen & Horsfall, 2016). The application of bush medicines was usually coupled with treatment by a ‘doctor’ or a healer, and Nyoongar people today may still believe in the power of magic and healers. Before European settlement, Aboriginal people had no concept of disease, and sickness was blamed on magic. It was assumed that somebody had broken a taboo, or a sorcerer had harmed them. Briscoe explains: “What Aborigines understood as disease and sickness was intrinsically bound up in other complex ideas about their birth places, their relationships with each other and their beliefs about the animal world (2003, p. 82).” He refers to the work of Daisy Bates who documented Aboriginal peoples’ belief and fear of magic and sorcery. For this reason, Nyoongar had no word for ‘health’ but rather concepts of well-being that were tied up with their connection to the natural environment—the land or ‘boodja’ is intimately connected to their well-being. Their access to food and medicine, when and where they moved, was dictated by the seasons and the Nyoongar have six seasons that are defined by changes in the natural environment. With European colonisation of the south-west came a decline in health. Aboriginal people were forced off their land as colonists expanded farms and livestock grazing country. Without access to traditional food sources, Aboriginal people moved into towns to find work and take advantage of food rations. As their presence in the towns increased they were then forced into camps on the outskirts of the towns because white people objected to their presence inside the towns. These camps became places of squalor and poverty as people were forced to live in crowded and inadequate accommodation. Basic sanitation and freshwater were rarely available and this, coupled with a sedentary lifestyle and exposure to introduced European diseases, brought about illness and premature deaths for large numbers of Nyoongar people. In 1911, the responsibility for Aboriginal patients was transferred from the Department of Aborigines to the local doctors and hospitals who usually accommodated them in separate wards or tents outside the hospital because “they were not clean” and “their

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habits made the white patients uncomfortable” (Briscoe, 2003, p. 130). Yet the debate over who should pay for Aboriginal health care continued between local hospitals, the Health Department and the Chief Protector until the establishment of the Carrolup Native Settlement in 1915 and the Moore River Settlement in 1918. The state-government-run native settlements provided central locations for assisting and segregating sick Aboriginal people, but they did little to improve their health. Health conditions continued to decline due to growing numbers in the congested and poorly facilitated fringe camps; a lack of funding from government and religious organisations to improve living conditions in the missions and settlements that they operated; and hospitals refusing to accept Aboriginal people unless they were very sick in which case they were accommodated in segregated and temporary structures. By the 1930s, most Aboriginal people in the south-west were dependent on government rations that consisted of meat, sugar, flour and tea. Chief Protector, A.O. Neville, maintained that the rations were not intended to replace traditional bush foods yet he acknowledged that many Aboriginal people suffered from malnutrition. At the 1934 Moseley Royal Commission into the condition and treatment of Aboriginal people in Western Australia, Neville is recorded as saying: The children in the southern areas…suffer from the effects of cold and sickness, probably brought about by the lack of clothing… This has the effect of making the whole family huddle together in a small ten feet by six… structure with probably every crevice closed up, their heads under the blanket and in those conditions the whole family are breathing in filth and germs all the time (cited in Briscoe, 2003, p. 192).

Gordon Briscoe gives a detailed history of Western Australian Aboriginal health from 1900 to 1940. He acknowledges the different theories for the decline in the Aboriginal population at this time—there were deaths linked to violent confrontations and massacres, and starvation due to the loss of traditional food sources is also thought to have contributed to population decline. It is clear, however, that disease took its toll and government records provide evidence of this and include information about the types of diseases that Aboriginal people were exposed to and the numbers of people afflicted. In Nyoongar country diseases such as measles, venereal disease, tuberculosis and pneumonia were the most common and quickly spread through overcrowded fringe camps. Briscoe also explains how disease cannot be divorced from history, both natural and social, and how government, police and healthcare professionals’ response to disease shaped the administration of Aboriginal policy during the first half of the twentieth century (2003, p. xx). With increasing rates of disease, government introduced policies aimed at controlling disease by segregating Aboriginal people from the white community. The missions and reserves where Aboriginal people were accommodated became “fertile pools for infection and reinfection. Sickness and death became an inevitable theme (Briscoe, 2003, p. 343).” Many of the problems associated with the mismanagement of Aboriginal health in the first half of the twentieth century were related to uncertainty about responsibility for Aboriginal health, and uncertainty about who was Aboriginal. The growing number of mixed-race and fair-skinned Aboriginal people made it difficult for health professionals to know if patients were Aboriginal and therefore who was responsible

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for the cost of their care and accommodation. The Chief Protector, the Department of Aborigines, the Health Department, the individual healthcare providers such as hospitals, and the native settlements and missions were all engaged in the task of caring for sick Aboriginal people, yet none were adequately financed and none accepted full responsibility. The exclusion of Aboriginal people from census data after 1901 also contributed to the mismanagement of their health care and to the myth that Aboriginal people were a dying race. This affected their “long term economic, political, cultural and social status (Briscoe, 2003, p. 7).” It made it difficult for Chief Protectors to claim economic support for the people in their care when they did not know their numbers. Gordon Briscoe concludes his book by saying that the history he presents ended over six decades ago and one might expect the disadvantage experienced by Aboriginal people to have diminished in that time. While there are fewer deaths from communicable diseases, sadly, other destroyers have replaced them. This list includes heart disease, diabetes, substance addiction, injuries resulting from communal violence, sexual abuse, suicide and other such causes indicative of severe social dysfunction… By any measure the Aborigines remain the most disadvantaged group within Australia. The continuation of Aboriginal deprivation underlying the socio-medical indicators at the beginning of the twenty-first century is a greater scandal than it was at the end of the nineteenth. For Aborigines it is a national scandal, but for Australia it is an international scandal (Briscoe, 2003, p. 346).

Closing the Gap In 2008, the Federal Government launched the Closing the Gap initiative in recognition of the statistics on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander life expectancy. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander life expectancy is, on average, 10 years less than that of non-Indigenous Australians. This government initiative was expanded to include targets to improve outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the areas of health, education and employment (see Education, Chap. 7). In 2018, there has been some improvement in health statistics, but there has been no significant change in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mortality rates and the government’s target to ‘close the gap’ is not on track (Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2018a). What is emerging from the Closing the Gap initiative is a growing awareness of the need for the wider Australian community to work in partnership with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and communities in order to meet targets and create change. The 2018 Closing the Gap Report says: Australian governments acknowledge they need to work differently with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples. This includes genuine partnership with Indigenous leaders, organisations and communities, to identify the priorities that will inform better programs and services, to close the gap (Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2018a).

A special gathering of 45 people was convened in early 2018 to consult and advise the government of future policy priorities in regard to the Closing the Gap initiative.

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They acknowledged that the best progress made to date had been by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community-led programs: “The next phase of the Closing the Gap agenda must be guided by principles of empowerment and self-determination … We demand from government a community led, strength based strategy that enables us to move beyond surviving to thriving (Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2018b)”. The holistic nature of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health cannot be understated and is often the first point made in any publication on the subject. Tom Calma, the former Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner argues that we need to break down the ‘health silos’ that “separate out mental health, family violence and substance abuse services… these issues are often linked”. Furthermore, all medical health professionals working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people should have a basic knowledge of mental health issues to facilitate prevention before a crisis (Calma, 2005). The majority of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families have been affected by the Stolen Generations history, which in turn has negatively impacted on family cohesion and community cohesion. There are ongoing issues of intergenerational trauma, substance abuse, parenting practices, violence and behavioural problems (Blignault et al., 2014, p. 10). It has been community-led healing programs that have had the most success and a 2013 survey of these grassroots initiatives, by the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Healing Foundation, identified ten recurring themes that have contributed to these successful programs: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Identifying with our cultural lineage makes us proud and dignified. Preserving and sharing cultural heritage gives us a sense of future. Connecting with land, country and our history makes us strong. Following our cultural ways makes us feel good and builds our spirits. Strengthening our community gives us belonging and protection. Acknowledging leadership allows us to mentor our future leaders. Respecting self and others is an important cultural value that guides us. Using our cultural skills in our work makes us feel valuable and rewards us. Grieving space and healing time lets us take care of hurt. Reconnecting with our spiritual selves is powerful and makes us whole (Gilmore, 2013).

The central role of culture in the healing journey for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is further discussed later in this chapter, but for now, it is acknowledged as a foundational element of empowering Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to heal themselves and their families, as recommended by the Bringing them Home Report and the most recent Closing the Gap report. The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Healing Foundation publication emphasises the need for community empowerment and then offers practical advice for developing a community health initiative, which is essentially an action research process and cycle of plan, act and review (think) (Blignault et al., 2014, p. 32). It is also acknowledged that “one size does not fit all” and so, in the spirit of action research, the project participants “have the freedom to set the agenda and decide for themselves (Blignault et al., 2014, p. 37)”.

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Professor Fiona Stanley, a Perth-based epidemiologist, and patron of the Telethon Kids Institute, is a long-time advocate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and issues. She is passionate in her support of First Peoples’ self-determination and has worked closely with Aboriginal researchers to build capacity in the area of Indigenous health. She echoes the words of the Closing the Gap special gathering and their call for community partnerships: They’ve been through an apocalypse basically, and survived. Incredible. … I’ve never been so optimistic about Aboriginal outcomes as I am now. I’ve never seen so many Aboriginal people with competencies as I’ve seen in the last four years. It’s been fantastic. So there’s no excuse now. Give them the power and you’ll solve the problem. (personal communication, 12 December 2017)

Professor Stanley advocates an action research approach to working with community because of the need to recognise that each community is different and unique: So you’d have principles. If only the government could get this. There are principles about early childhood. There are principles about maternal health and childhood. There are principles about youth and principles about domestic violence and principles about child protection, but they have to be adapted for almost each and every family, and each community if you’re going to make a difference. The people who should adapt them are the people who are going to be having the services delivered to them. They’re the ones who know what they want. I think that’s the thing. I mean some of these principles are universal about what a child needs to develop – the loving care of parents, a good exposure to food and hygienic conditions and stimulation and so on and so forth. Now how that happens is the purvey of the parents and the people who are working with that particular community themselves. So you can have the principles, just don’t develop the specific policies because you will fail. (2017)

Professor Stanley attended a symposium in Melbourne in October 2017 that was entitled Indigenous Data Sovereignty. After listening to the First Peoples voices at the symposium she thinks that it is no longer enough to simply set up community reference groups to consult with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who are “unpaid, [have] no power, not deciding on the research, and not deciding on how it should be analysed or interpreted (2017).” The symposium brought together researchers, Indigenous health advocates and government advisors from across Australia and was convened by Indigenous academic, Prof. Marcia Langton. Indigenous people are the “most researched people on the planet” (Finlay, 2017), yet they have little or no access to the data that is usually collected by such non-Indigenous organisations like the Australian Bureau of Statistics, universities, hospitals and schools. Marcia Langton defines data sovereignty as the “ability and capacity of Indigenous people to locally manage their data ‘with respect to ownership, access, consent, collection, analysis and reporting’ (quoted in Finlay, 2017)”. Langton referred to the Closing the Gap report that points to the lack of relevant and high-quality data, without which there is insufficient data and evidence for good Indigenous policymaking. Because data and research have been for and on First Nations people, rather than with or by them, a power imbalance is perpetrated between those that collect the data and those that are the data subjects. The need for “community-led data governance

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and ownership” (quoted in Finlay, 2017) is at the heart of this movement that is gaining momentum internationally (see Kukutai & Tayloy, 2016). Again, action research can contribute to such a movement because of its focus on capacity building and community-led research.

Physical Health At the 2016 census, the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population of Australia was 798,400, which is 3.3% of the Australian population. Western Australia has the third largest Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population at 75,978 which represents 3.1% of the total population of the state (ABS 2016). 41% of the WA Aboriginal population lives in Perth, with another 15% living in the south-western region.1 The mortality rate for Aboriginal people living in WA reduced by 35% between 1991 and 2010 (Australian Indigenous HeathInfonet, 2013, p. 1), yet national statistics indicate that Aboriginal people are still, on average, likely to die ten years younger than non-Indigenous people. A detailed breakdown of national Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health statistics can be found on the Australian Indigenous Health Infonet at www. healthinfonet.ecu.edu.au, but to summarise, the site shows that the leading causes of death for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, in 2017, were coronary heart disease, diabetes, chronic lower respiratory disease and cancer. Babies born to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women are twice as likely to die before the age of one, compared with babies born to non-Indigenous women. The website also notes that the factors contributing to poor health outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are complex and often include a combination of factors such as education, employment, income and socio-economic status. Environmental health is a significant factor and this category includes issues relating to poor housing conditions such as overcrowding, the lack of infrastructure and the remote location of many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. People living in remote communities are more likely to experience substandard housing conditions. Remoteness is less likely to be a factor for Nyoongar communities, but health services in Perth, in Nyoongar country, are likely to be caring for Aboriginal patients from all over the state which will include people from remote communities. Poor nutrition is another contributing factor with obesity, malnutrition and diabetes being more prevalent in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Less than one half of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are reported to eat the recommended quantity and variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, and a national survey showed Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people consumed 41% of their daily energy intake in the form 1 The

Australian Bureau of Statistics has expressed concerns about the accuracy of their five yearly census data, especially in relation to health, due to of the problem of identifying Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as Indigenous when they present to health services such as hospitals. Surveys suggest, however, that 96% of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients are correctly identified as Indigenous (HeathInfonet, 2013, p. 3).

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of discretionary foods like soft drinks, alcohol, sweets and cakes. Another survey indicated that 22% of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander respondents had run out of food at some point in the past 12 months and could not afford to buy more. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are less likely to undertake recommended levels of physical activity and are three times more likely to smoke tobacco. They are less likely to drink alcohol than non-Indigenous people but those that do drink are more likely to do so at harmful levels. The majority of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people do not use illicit drugs such as cannabis, heroin or methamphetamine, but those that do are more likely to be hospitalised for drug use if they live in a major city. The HealthInfoNet publication concludes that “there is a need for more health advancement programs, better identification of health conditions before they become serious, more primary health care services that are accessible to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and greater cultural competence of service providers (2017, p. 16).” Healthcare professionals and their governing bodies have published research and guidelines to assist healthcare providers in their day-to-day engagement with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients (see Lowitja Institute, 2014). For example, the Nursing and Midwifery code of conduct was recently updated to include a statement that requires staff to provide culturally safe care for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. It then goes on to explain the meaning of ‘cultural safety’ and suggests that staff should be self-reflective and acknowledge their own white privilege. Yet the idea of providing ‘special’ or different treatment for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people still provokes the ire of some people as illustrated by right-wing media commentators such as Andrew Bolt and Peta Credlin in March 2018. The facts of this story were later proven to be inaccurate, but at the time they were outraged at the idea of nurses being forced to declare their white privilege before they commence treatment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients. Andrew Bolt spoke to Chris Smith on 2 GB radio on March 22, 2018: What about if they’re just within seconds of dying and the nurse has to fling themselves into action, but they have to stop, before, while they just announce their white privilege, oh too late…gone (cited in Barry, 2018).

The comments on the Media Watch webpage, about the episode that revealed how these media reports were inaccurate and had misunderstood the code of conduct, indicate that some audience members are determined to be outraged by the idea of white privilege whether the facts of the matter are true or false. Yorta Yorta academic and public health consultant, Summer May Finlay, responded on NITV by declaring the story a ‘media beat up’ and explaining that ‘acknowledgment’ does not mean making some kind of verbal statement to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients. The intent of the code of conduct is to provide culturally safe health care: White privilege isn’t something that people consciously use, it’s silently pervasive and it permeates through institutions. It’s about believing what is good for white people, must be good for other people. (2018)

The code of conduct explains that “cultural safety represents a key philosophical shift from providing care regardless of difference, to care that takes account of

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peoples’ unique needs.” Findlay explains that racism is an issue for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the healthcare system. We recognise protocols based on gender or age—for example, a woman may want to see a female doctor when needing advice about women’s health issues—yet we fail to understand the need for special ways of caring for people based on cultural protocols.

Mental Health In 2018, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people experienced very high levels of psychological distress at almost three times the rate of non-Indigenous people; and in 2016–17 the hospitalisation rate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people with mental health conditions was 1.9 times higher than non-Indigenous people. In 2017, the death rate from suicide for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people was two times higher than non-Indigenous people, and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people die from suicide at a younger age (Australian Indigenous HeathInfonet, 2013, p. 2). The reasons why Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are over-represented in these mental health statistics are, like physical health, related to their history as a colonised people and government policies of removing children from their families. In the early 1900s, the government saw the increasing numbers of mixed-race children as a problem, and policy to address this concern, as well as the abuse of Aboriginal workers in the north of the state, was debated in parliament: [A] half-caste, who possesses few of the virtues and nearly all of the vices of whites, grows up to be a mischievous and very immoral subject…. It may appear to be a cruel thing to tear an Aborigine [sic] child from its mother, but it is necessary in some cases to be cruel to be kind (cited in Biskup, 1973, p. 142).

The Western Australian 1905 Aborigines Act came into effect with tragic consequences for Aboriginal people. All Aboriginal children under the age of 16 were considered wards of the state and so the government had the power to remove them from family and place them in institutions such as the aforementioned Carrolup Native Settlement in the south-west, and Moore River (Mogumber) Native Settlement north of Perth. The aim was to assimilate the children into white society and to make them employable. This meant that the children were forbidden to speak their language, to associate with other Aboriginal people, or to practice their culture, and they were trained in domestic chores to be housemaids or farmhands. Some children were removed from family because the government assessed their living conditions and determined their care to be inadequate. By 1954, the removal of children became the responsibility of the Child Welfare Department under the new state laws introduced by the Native Welfare Act 1954. Children that were considered, by the department, to be neglected or destitute could be institutionalised and so the children were removed from the family in similar numbers to previous years. The number of children removed from the family by the state government between 1958 and 1961 more

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than doubled (National Inquiry 1997, p. 97). There was no acknowledgement that Aboriginal families often lived in poverty with few material possessions by which to make a home that complied with government standards. By 1972, almost one in ten Aboriginal people in Western Australia were living in institutions and most were children (National Inquiry 1997, p. 98). This is a policy that was replicated all over Australia and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who were affected by it are now known as the ‘Stolen Generations’. In 1997, the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families produced the Bringing Them Home Report (1997). The enquiry took evidence from 535 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people from across Australia who have given first-hand accounts of cruelty and abuse that contribute to some understanding of the intergenerational trauma that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are battling today: Our life pattern was created by the government policies and are forever with me, as though an invisible anchor around my neck. The moments that should be shared and rejoiced by a family unit, for [my brother] and mum and I are forever lost. The stolen years that are worth more than any treasure are irrecoverable (quoted in 1997, p. 4).

Stolen Generations’ children are more likely to have grown up without the love and care of family, so when they themselves become parents they may lack the parenting skills that are learnt from behaviour modelled by their own mother, father and grandparents. Children who suffer emotional and physical trauma while they are institutionalised are more likely to grow into adults with ongoing mental health issues that then impact on their own children. Some people seek to escape from the mental health issues caused by their trauma by turning to drugs or alcohol. And so the cycle of intergenerational trauma and abuse continues. In 2018 modern Australia we need frequent reminding of how recent the Stolen Generations history is, and how many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in our own communities have been damaged by that history. Stress is a major contributor to ill health for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and that is the result of major life stressors, such as the death of a family member, serious illness or a family member being sent to gaol. A 2004–05 health survey reported fifty-two per cent of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people experienced at least two life stressors over the previous 12 months (Parker, 2010, p. 6). These stressors especially affect children and it was reported in The West Australian Aboriginal Child Health Survey that significant numbers of Aboriginal children were living in families experiencing seven or more life stressors. Aboriginal psychiatrist, Helen Milroy, explains the process of ‘malignant grief’ as stress and grief associated with major life stressors. It is ongoing and cumulative, and it can impact individuals, families and whole communities. “This grief has invasive properties, spreading throughout the body, and many of Australia’s Aboriginal people die of this grief (Parker & Milroy, 2014, p. 30).” Death rates related to mental illness are 12 times higher for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men than for the nonIndigenous population, and 20 times higher for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander

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women. The rate of suicide for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men is three times higher than that of the general Australian population (Parker, 2010, p. 7). The Bringing Them Home report concludes that government policies of removing children were genocide as defined by the United Nations 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (Parker, 2010, p. 6), which Australia ratified in 1949. The report provides evidence of the scope and the impact this policy had on the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who were removed. As adults they are less likely to have tertiary qualifications, less likely to be in a stable relationship, three times more likely to have been in gaol, less likely to have a sense of cultural identity and twice as likely to use illicit substances. And it recommends restitution and compensation for the Stolen Generations, which the government has yet to offer in spite of Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s apology in 2008 (see https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3TZOGpG6cM). One of the most damaging impacts of Western Australian Government policy in the early 1900s was the damage done to traditional culture. When Aboriginal people are removed from their land, culture is damaged as a consequence. The Nyoongar word for land is ‘boodja’, like the word for pregnant which is ‘boodjari’. Hence the land is the Nyoongar peoples’ mother. Country, and all the plants and animals contained within, are at the centre of Nyoongar culture. Removal from country strikes at the very heart of culture and the people who are of that land. Helen Milroy describes this as a type of grief and loss akin to the death of a loved one: For Aboriginal people, Land is held in trust – you can’t buy and sell land, it is selling your mother. Your ‘country’ is your home, identity, the basis of your knowledge, your law, it is where you will go when you die and it is an intensely intimate relationship. The profound grief of Aboriginal Australia comes from removal from land, from ‘country’… As the culture grieves for the many generations of loss and dispossession, the land also grieves for its people… (quoted in Wynne-Jones et al., 2016, p. 2)

The heavy hand of colonisation was felt more intensely in Nyoongar Country than in other parts of Western Australia because the Swan River Colony and Albany were the first sites of white settlement in the state. The white population in Nyoongar country grew quickly and the settlers’ farms and industry expanded throughout the south-west. Nyoongar land was taken and culture was damaged as government control of Nyoongar lives and community grew. Then the children were removed from their families and the link to traditional culture was broken. The stories were not passed on, the language forbidden to be spoken, and the ceremonies were not performed. To be Aboriginal meant being subject to racist government laws such as the 1905 Aborigines Act, which forbade people to speak language or to practice culture. Fair-skinned Nyoongar people denied their Aboriginality in order to avoid the harsh laws that controlled their lives, and so another level of alienation from culture was perpetrated (see Chap. 2). Thankfully, times have changed and today Nyoongar people are learning to embrace their culture, and language is being revived in schools and special language centres (see http://noongarboodjar.com.au). With this rebirth of Nyoongar culture brings a greater understanding of how important cultural identity is for First Peoples and the important role it plays in contributing to health and well-being.

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Mike Dockery argues against the conventional thinking that associates Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander disadvantage with traditional culture. He says that “considering the tension between Indigenous cultural maintenance and mainstream economic outcomes, …what we should really care about is Indigenous people’s wellbeing.” Dockery contends that what contributes to First Peoples well-being will be different to non-Indigenous people and therefore we should not assess First Peoples well-being in the same terms, using the same socio-economic indicators. For example, an Aboriginal person living in a regional or remote community may have to sacrifice family connections in order to take up employment in another part of the country, which may have a negative impact on that person’s well-being. Dockery conducted surveys of Aboriginal people to measure their engagement with culture and their sense of well-being. His findings for individuals who were impacted by the Stolen Generations were not surprising when indicators such as health, time in gaol and alcohol abuse were measured. The state government’s aim when removing children was to accelerate their assimilation into white society and ensure their contribution to the mainstream economy. The data produced by Dockery’s research is further evidence that the policy was a failure and it had the opposite effect. Unexpectedly, however, he found that Stolen Generations individuals were more likely to have an attachment to culture and proposes that Stolen Generation individuals and their children have taken steps to re-engage with culture to compensate for their loss. He concludes that there are clear links between strong cultural attachment, better health and a lower likelihood of engaging in unhealthy behaviour such as high alcohol consumption. The evidence suggests that engagement with traditional Aboriginal culture provides some protection against those secondary symptoms of disadvantage such as “loss of control, feelings of helplessness, and the alienation that arises from the loss of one’s own culture. (Dockery, 2010, p.329)” Clinical psychologist Tracy Westerman is a Njamal woman from the Pilbara region of Western Australia. In a 2019 newspaper article, she argues for better government and professional support to address the alarming rates of Aboriginal suicide, and is critical of government inaction. Suicide is a frightening experience for any clinician, but few are equipped with the cultural and clinical skills needed to work in an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community. University graduates have minimal opportunity to develop cultural competency, professional services are almost non-existent in remote communities, and what services do exist are culturally inappropriate. Westerman explains that alcohol, poverty, abuse and colonisation “are not causes. They are risk factors… Our people are not killing themselves because they are poor. They are killing themselves because of racism and trauma… From a suicide prevention perspective, racism manifests as a sense of hopelessness and helplessness, which has consistently been implicated in suicide risk (2019, p. 16).” Like Dockery, Westerman advocates that developing a strong cultural identity helps her clients to have the skills and resilience they need to deal with racism. The World Health Organization tells us that “health is a state of complete physical, mental and social wellbeing and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity”, and it “is one of the fundamental rights of every human being (cited in Dockery, 2010, p. 330).” The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples affirms

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this principle: “Indigenous individuals have the rights to life, physical and mental integrity, liberty and security of person (United Nations, 2007 , p.9)”. Again the holistic nature of health and well-being is emphasised, and non-Indigenous health care providers are challenged to think differently about the service they provide, which is traditionally categorised according to the professional specialisations of the healthcare provider. For example, the psychologist attends only to mental health issues and the Endocrinologist manages diabetes—neither are responsible for the overcrowded home in which their patient lives. Finally, when the symptoms of trauma are ignored for long enough, it is likely to be the justice system that deals with the consequences. While Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people represent only 2% of the Australian population, it is reported that 27% of people in gaol are First Nations People. In Western Australia, the statistics are much worse and 45% of the prison population is Aboriginal (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2015). There is no significant difference in the rate of prisoners with mental health issues when comparing the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander prison population with the nonIndigenous population. However, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander prisoners are less likely to have been diagnosed with a mental health disorder or to have sought professional help. Statistics show that the incidence of anxiety disorders, substance abuse, suicidal ideation and schizophrenia is significantly higher in the prison population than in the general population (Davison et al., 2015, p. 10). While attitudes and policy relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health care are changing to encourage the empowerment of First Peoples, genuine collaboration between healthcare providers and First Peoples, and to provide culturally competent health professionals; non-Indigenous healthcare providers still feel unprepared to work with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to deliver these outcomes and provide a culturally safe space. The following case studies provide examples of successful cross-cultural collaborative projects that are informed by an action research philosophy and methodology.

Case Study: Looking Forward, Moving Forward The Looking Forward, Moving Forward Project is a mental health research initiative based in Nyoongar country and informed by a Nyoongar worldview. It grew from an acknowledgement that Nyoongar people are not accessing mainstream mental health services nor are these services responding appropriately to meet people’s needs in a culturally safe manner. The research team comprises Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal academics, and Nyoongar Elders who work in collaboration with mainstream mental health professionals. The project is informed by an action research philosophy that works in partnership with Indigenous research methodologies, and guided by the cultural leadership of the Elders. Action Research is about creating change and this project emphasises that the change participants seek is not only to improve the delivery of health services to Nyoongar people, but to undertake a spiritual change in themselves.

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Michael Wright is a Yuet Nyoongar man and the Chief Investigator on the project. The action research nature of the Looking Forward Project reflects a desire for systems change that has come directly from the Nyoongar community with whom Dr. Michael Wright works. He explains its origins: The impetus for doing what we’re doing came from the community while I was doing my PhD, which was working with families who had family members living with serious mental illness. Their stories were full of experiences and examples of them feeling completely alienated, disenfranchised, and on occasions feeling very distressed in the way they had experienced mainstream services in relation to trauma, their access to services and invariably the response on behalf of the services themselves. The directive to me was, ‘can I do something about that?’ The ‘Looking Forward’ project came out of those interactions. It was about trying to improve the way mainstream services provided support to the Aboriginal community. (personal communication, 12 February 2018)

The project commenced in 2011 with the title Looking Forward Aboriginal Mental Health Project. The primary objective of the project was to embed Nyoongar Elders in the mainstream mental health services, an idea that also came directly from the community. Structural and systemic restraints within the mental health services were seen to be at the root of the problems being experienced by the Nyoongar community. A new paradigm was needed that would decolonise the service providers and be more inclusive of Nyoongar people and culture. Five years later the project’s next iteration, the Looking Forward, Moving Forward project, has 24 Elders engaged with 10 different mental health, alcohol and drug support organisations, and the outcomes have been rewarding and positive for all participants. Decolonising the work practices and underlying culture of the service providers has required not just a systemic change but a spiritual change as well. When service providers agree to participate in the project they are asked to commit and be open to a process that acknowledges a Nyoongar worldview that encompasses history, culture and relationships. Community consultation revealed that service providers needed to recognise and understand a Nyoongar worldview so that Nyoongar clients could feel safe and have some control over the healing process. Again with community consultation, a framework was designed called Minditj Kaart-Moorditj Kaart (Nyoongar words for ‘sick head, good head’), a Nyoongar worldview that is privileged by all participants and provides the foundation on which the project’s processes of engagement are designed. The central concepts of that Nyoongar worldview are a powerful spiritual connection to the land (boodja), the central role of Elders who hold and protect culture and the importance of family and kinship (Wright, O’Connell, Jones, Walley, & Roarty, 2015, pp. 51–52). Like action research, the Minditj Kaart-Moorditj Kaart framework is democratic, participatory, collaborative and flexible. It is a process that focuses on establishing trust and building relationships, whereby a Nyoongar worldview is experienced by the service providers through the formation and sustainment of relationships; it cannot be communicated nor understood as a concept or theory. Nyoongar people live this worldview, through the interconnectedness of kin, community and country. For mental health and drug and alcohol service providers, developing a working understanding of a Nyoongar worldview

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is central to the change efforts they undertake alongside the Nyoongar community. [Research] findings demonstrate that when nyidiyang [non-Indigenous people] are open to and accepting of a Nyoongar worldview, the shift in intention is profound and in turn becomes an intention shared with the Community, an intention that is, to change the system that continues to disenfranchise and re-traumatise Nyoongar clients and their families (Wright & O’Connell, 2015a, p. 111).

The establishment of relationships is key to the process and success of this project. The Elders are placed with the service providers and then regular ‘working together’ meetings are scheduled monthly or bimonthly. Before this, however, service staff and Elders spend time together either ‘on Country’ or sharing personal aspects of themselves so that trust is developed between them and their work together can be meaningful and intentional. This is further described in the project’s 2015 paper published in the ‘Action Learning, Action Research’ journal: For service providers, being introduced to the unique qualities that comprise a Nyoongar worldview will provide a better understanding of the practices they develop to respond effectively to Nyoongar clients and their families (Wright, Culbong, Jones, O’Connell, & Ford, 2013). Activities such as trips on country, listening to and telling stories, sitting with Elders sharing food, learning about family, and so on, all enable service staff to directly experience aspects of a Nyoongar worldview (Wright & O’Connell, 2015a, p. 111).

A special 2015 edition of the journal New Community was entitled ‘Nyoongar ways of working and the Looking Forward Project’ and was dedicated to the stories of Elders and service providers who had participated in the project. The Mental Health Association (WAAMH) participants described their experience: Our participation has involved partnering with Elders; meeting together on a monthly basis to build relationships and learn about Nyoongar culture; and being supported by the Looking Forward team through their participation in these monthly meetings, their active provision of advice, and their role in ‘connecting the dots’ during and between meetings. We met with Elders each month, usually sitting in a circle for a yarn. At the meetings, the Elders always welcome us to Nyoongar boodja. We listen to the Elders and project team tell us stories about who they are, where they are from, what it means to be Nyoongar and reflect on this (McKinney & McKinney, 2015, p. 31).

The WAAMH participants described five stages of their participation in the project. The first stage acknowledged some excitement for the service providers, but there was also some trepidation and concern because they knew they were leaving their comfort zone and working Nyoongar way. The service providers acknowledged that this would be a long-term commitment and were eager to make progress and so brought action plans to the early meetings, but the Elders showed little interest in these plans. “Instead they encouraged us to stay with the relationship and reflection process, and sought to teach us about Nyoongar culture, experiences and worldview in an oral storytelling and experiential way. (McKinney & McKinney, 2015, p. 32)” The Elders explained the importance of slowing down and listening: “God blessed us with two ears and one mouth… Listen twice as much as we speak. Listening is learning, talking is teaching (2015, p. 32).” The second stage of the project recognised some frustration for the WAAMH participants who, after some months, felt that they had listened and understood the

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messages of the Elders and were now ready to move into a more active phase of the program. The meetings would rarely stick to an agenda and often ran overtime. The Elders explained that Nyoongar work differently with time: “[time] is not important to us. Time is different. We do not worry about time, we worry about getting the job done (2015, p. 33).” The WAAMH participants, on reflection, accepted that they were not yet ready to progress and did not fully realise the depth of the relationship and cultural understanding that was required by the Elders—the need to fully let go of their wadjella (white fella) ways. The third stage for the WAAMH participants was to achieve acceptance of the Nyoongar way of doing things—to let go. This was experienced as a greater enjoyment of the project process and honouring the Elders and their knowledge. The fourth stage was to realise that the trust and the relationship that they had created with the Elders was an achievement in itself. One of the WAAMH team commented: The project has involved sitting and listening with our two ears, our minds, our bodies and our hearts. Reading about what it means to be Nyoongar can provide us with only a limited understanding, it is through sitting and listening that we can experience what a Nyoongar world view means and begin to experience a deeper connection to Nyoongar people and boodja. (2015, p. 34)

The fifth and ongoing stage, involves the collaborative planning and activities that the WAAMH participants do with the Elders to produce tangible outcomes—to create change. Another service provider that features in the New Community journal talks about the storying process: The methodology initially was not comfortable for most of [the organisation’s] Executive, however, as relationships built and sharing occurred, so understandings and connections grew. The Executive team in particular gained an appreciation of the experiences of racism in the Elders’ life stories and their current concerns for their community particular (sic) their young people. Laughter and warmth also built in the group. Through the exchange and with the input of the Project team it became clearer how mainstream service systems were not meeting the needs of the local Aboriginal community and did not recognise the existence of Nyoongar culture and worldview within the urban context (Carmody, 2015, p. 41).

Michael Wright describes the benefits of this working together approach: What invariably happens out of that space [shared between Elders and service leaders] is there is a real shift for everyone – Elders and service providers included, where they see same but different. That’s how we like to coin the phrase. We’re all different but we are somewhat the same. There are similarities in each of our stories and that provides for this foundation where, Ok, we can actually start a true conversation here together. We found that to be quite a powerful way of actually getting engagement for everyone. The senior management in the organisations are meeting either bi-monthly or monthly with the Elders about issues that have arisen in the organisations. The Elders are often engaged as consultants to help with a whole range of things that happen inside the organisation. The spin off from that is the Elders, because of their position and status in the community, have an authority and a legitimacy that offers to the organisations a whole range of benefits. (M. Wright, personal communication, 12 February 2018)

An important stage of the action research cycle is the ‘think’ stage and participants in the Looking Forward, Moving Forward project are invited to reflect and explore

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“beliefs, attitudes, knowledge, skills, and feelings” as part their “spiritual journey of change (Wright, O’Connell, & Jones, 2013, p. 25).” WAAMH participants, for example, explain that “by ‘exploring the inner self’, we have been able to explore our feelings, beliefs and knowledge and to increase our confidence and competence in working with Elders (McKinney & McKinney, 2015, p. 31).” Elders are recognised as ‘Boordiyas’ (leaders) and therefore have the same status as the senior management of the services who are encouraged to connect on a personal level with the Elders. It is this personal interaction and direct shared experience that has been key to the success of the project. The 2017 report on the Looking Forward, Moving Forward Project included this quote from a service provider: We have shown that it is actually possible to transform an organisation if you engage with Elders.

And from one of the Elders: So getting to know who we are, they getting to know us and we understand each other […] And the more we communicate, the more the trust is, the stronger the trust is. […] We’ve become family. That’s the best way I can describe it (Wright, O’Connell, Lette, Garlett, & Culbong, 2017, p. 23).

The Looking Forward team emphasise the importance of service staff building relationships with the Elders, which in turn strengthens their relationship with the wider Nyoongar community. “It is not about learning new skills, but more about how to sit and be still with oneself so as to realise and then expand one’s own capacities. […] The ripple effect is that Nyoongar people begin to trust services where there was great distrust previously. (Wright & O’Connell, 2015b, p. 5)”. The ways of working developed in Michael Wright’s Looking Forward, Moving Forward Project have been extended to an educational program at Curtin University for Social Work and Occupational Therapy students. It is a service-learning, action research program called Reaching Across the Divide that aims to provide a culturally informed fieldwork experience for students that decolonises the curriculum and better prepares students to work with First Peoples in the future. Students are introduced to Nyoongar culture and history in their first year when they enrol in a mandatory unit designed for all students studying health. However, feedback suggested this one unit was not enough and students did not feel prepared to work with First Peoples when they graduated and started work as professionals. Antonia Hendrick is an academic who teaches Social Work at Curtin University where, she says, it was difficult to include more Indigenous content in an already crowded curriculum. She has helped lead the Reaching Across the Divide program, in partnership with Michael Wright, and acknowledges that social work is traditionally based on a white epistemology, knowledge that comes from a Western way of thinking, and she wanted to change that. The program began with a staff–Elder engagement similar to that described earlier in the Looking Forward project, whereby Elders and staff would meet regularly and yarn. After 2 years of planning and relationship building, it was decided that a similar program could be offered to students who would engage with Elders as part of their service-learning, or placement, program. Antonia explains the process:

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The yarning process for us was a steep learning curve and differently experienced by staff members. It challenges the white way of working – or the western way – and it certainly challenges academia and the way we are traditionally supposed to teach and learn. On a personal and professional level, I think there were lots of things that we jointly and individually learnt through that process of engagement with the Elders. It was a way of engaging that Michael Wright and the Elders had established was a good way to work in connecting Indigenous and non-Indigenous ways of working – and ways of thinking or knowing. So that was an important process that we continued with the Elders and something they identified as needing to engage with the students as well. This wouldn’t have worked if we had continued traditional ways of teaching as academics. It needed to come from the Aboriginal Elders in terms of how this would look. Different things emerged from the evaluations. From a personal experience I would reflect and say that I didn’t structure the yarning. From a couple of the students the reflection was, they wanted the yarning to be less structured. There are interesting and different experiences as to how that was. Ultimately the yarning was a space that the Elders felt comfortable with, well versed in, knew how to navigate and work within. As one student said, the Elders knew what they wanted to teach, and that was quite evident. It created a safe space for students even though it was very different, and I think it was the different format and way of relating that brought about the most impact on everyone’s learning. Yarning was a really important component of the project. I facilitated the staff meeting with Michael and the Elders, so I had my academic hat on thinking I need to facilitate an agenda. My colleagues are time poor, they can only get together at these particular times – those sorts of processes that we are very versed in as we work in our day to day settings was something that challenged me because that’s a very different way of working from when we were yarning with Elders. Lots of things can happen in the life of Elders, and others, that mean time is blown out or time doesn’t start when you would like it to. The structure of the yarning itself – I would go into sessions thinking it’s important that everyone has a chance to talk so then you are scheduled by this time restraint as well. I had to let all of that go and to really let go also my own expectations that I put upon myself based on what I thought all my colleagues wanted from me, because that wasn’t my role to facilitate that. It was actually to participate, listen and learn from the Elders and also the process. That process taught me a lot about myself and a lot about the process and the importance of that engagement and that format for engaging, which equipped me with the skills to go into this project. It wasn’t explicit. It was listening deeply, learning from the Elders, particularly Michael Wright, having conversations outside the yarning sessions, and critical reflective groups with the staff members were important. You need to have a space outside of that to reflect on what’s happening. You need to be able to talk through what the anxieties are, how you experience certain things – to make sense of the process and be candid about that. (personal communication, 23 January 2018)

The action research process meant that Antonia consulted with the Elders on everything. She did not concern them with internal university administrative processes, but she always consulted when looking for guidance and direction for the project itself—no decision was made without their input. The Elders’ status and integral role in the project is evident in their naming as co-researchers when the project outcomes are written up and reported. A protocol was established whereby Antonia would meet with Elders prior to them meeting with students to discuss the Elders’ thoughts on the direction of a yarning session. As the students’ relationships with the Elders developed, their confidence working with community during their industry placement also grew. They would return to the yarning sessions to share

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what they had done in practice. For example, students would share in yarning sessions about how they used yarning in their practice, while on placement. They further shared how they often challenged other peers and colleagues to understand its role in practice to build relationships and ultimately provide better services. Projects risk being labelled tokenistic or paternalistic if they mimic or replicate good practice, do not deliver benefits to the community with which they work, or do not pay attention to or genuinely engage with the process. The Reaching Across the Divide program is Nyoongar led, follows an Indigenous pedagogy and framework, and so Antonia describes it as ‘genuine and authentic’, but what does that mean? That is a really fraught concept and every time I hear the word ‘authentic’ I cringe. But what I mean is the process is really valuable and vital to this project and way of working in the cross-cultural space. There is the possibility of this being tokenistic or co-opted, which is a real concern for myself and the research team, including the Elders. We honour the process and it is genuine, meaning that we do take the time, that we do think about the respect built through the development of relationships. And a lot of that goes against the grain of academia. University is big business and [there is] money involved and [there is] time involved to get it right. One of the things we don’t want to happen is for people to look at this project and say this was really successful, positive outcomes for all involved, so let’s roll it out across all student groups – which would be fantastic because it’s essential and important, but how can you do that in a way that honours the process? Because the process is the most important part of this being successful. That’s about the respect and the relationship building. This project followed an Indigenous pedagogical framework and that needs to be honoured. Once white people take a model and adapt it as their own, that’s when it becomes tokenistic and paternalistic. (2018)

The Looking Forward, Moving Forward project and the Reaching Across the Divide project are both imagined and enacted within an action research framework. The idea for the projects came from the community itself. Action research is about creating change and the Nyoongar community wanted to change the way mainstream mental health services were delivered for their families. Furthermore, Michael Wright and Margaret O’Connell, in their design of the Looking Forward project, have been guided by an ‘Indigenous research framework’. They explain “The key objective of our research activities is to engage in practice that facilitates the process of decolonization in society. […] We believe decolonization can begin by engaging organisations and communities and enabling more meaningful relationships with the people in them. The application of a participatory and collaborative research framework initiates the decolonising process through privileging a Nyoongar worldview. (Wright & O’Connell, 2015a, pp. 115–116)”

When non-Indigenous service providers come together with Elders, and sit and listen to their stories of colonisation, they become witnesses to a lived history. This personal and direct engagement builds relationships and creates a shift in the nonIndigenous participants’ understanding of history and culture. Relationship building is at the heart of this project and it is by building close relationships that “service staff are irrevocably changed” (2015a, p. 116) and a Nyoongar worldview is prioritised. Only by building close relationships can Nyoongar and non-Indigenous people come together to create change.

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Co-design and collaboration are embedded in all the processes and protocols in which project participants engage with the objective of building trust and relationships. The ‘look’ stage is represented most significantly by the yarning and storying sessions, which allow participants to learn about each other and better understand a Nyoongar worldview. Health professionals and students will then ‘act’ and engage with Aboriginal community in a way that is culturally sensitive and safe for their clients and patients. Self-reflective practices, the ‘think’ stage, are also embedded in the process as participants are encouraged to discuss what they have learned in meetings that are not inclusive of Elders. Reflections and feedback, from all participants, are then included in the ongoing yarning sessions with the Elders. Both projects are ongoing, and outcomes are still being measured, but qualitative data indicates that both programs have been successful and both organisational and spiritual change has indeed taken place. The project is empowering Elders to be “agents of change. The system is being challenged and changed, not by researchers but by the participants, that is, Nyoongar Elders and service providers, together (2015a, p. 120).”

Case Study: Earbus The Earbus Foundation of Western Australia is a not-for-profit children’s charity that aims to reduce the incidence of middle ear disease in Aboriginal children to meet the World Health Organization benchmark of four per cent. Aboriginal children have the worst ear health in the world. For every non-Aboriginal child with middle ear disease, there are ten Aboriginal children with the disease. These are third-world statistics and the impact on Aboriginal children is significant. Ear disease leads to hearing problems, which in turn leads to speech and learning difficulties. Carol Dowling is a Badimaya woman who lives and works in Nyoongar country. She is an academic and the chair of the board of the Earbus Foundation. When invited to join the Earbus team, she explained to her non-Indigenous collaborators that one of the biggest issues for them to understand is that our mob do not present for consultations or appointment follow ups or anything like that because there is a real lack of trust with health professionals - white health professionals. So we collaborated and said: look, let’s develop something here where we can make sure that that doesn’t happen. So I worked very strongly with them about the ethos for us, for the foundation was relationships. Develop relationships with the community, be consistent, stay by your promises and just keep going to these communities. (personal communication, 28 March 2017)

Lara Shur is an audiologist and director of clinical services with the Earbus Foundation. She is a founding member of the charity, along with two others; Paul Higgenbotham, a teacher of the deaf, and Dee Parker, a nurse. The service began in 2013, now employs 30 staff, and runs programs throughout Western Australia. Lara and Paul were previously employed by another charity service that formed part of a number of mainstream services in ear health that were funded by the state

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government. Ear health was a small part of that health service which had a broad remit, and Lara could see that ear health was a much bigger problem that needed more focused attention. In 2015, government funding was withdrawn at a time when Lara had been talking to communities about providing a service in the Eastern Pilbara and the Goldfields. She explains how it was her previous employer’s decision to renege on the offer of an ear health service to those communities that sparked the idea for Earbus: I was absolutely horrified that I had been consulting with people in good faith – me as a human being putting my name out there - talking to people who were responding, saying that we definitely have a need - please come. And then to have an organisation turn around and say we’re not going to do that as if it were nothing – I really battled with that. I said to Paul it doesn’t sit comfortably with me. We need to do something and from that we decided, yeh, you keep faith with people and keep talking to them. It doesn’t matter what the organisation does or what government funding does. If you’ve promised a service and given the expectation that there will be a service then, as a human being, you should deliver on that. That really was the driving force behind what we were doing. That’s where we started in the East Pilbarra and the Goldfields and our programs now extend up into the Kimberley and down into the South-west. Exciting! (personal communication, 1 May 2018)

A charity was established, federal government funding was approved and Earbus was off the ground. The work motto for the Earbus Foundation of Western Australia is “Say it, Mean it, Do it!”—words that take on a special meaning after hearing Lara’s emotional response to her previous employer’s failure to deliver promised services. The relationships initiated by their previous work in Aboriginal communities were now an important starting point for the more focused work they intended to do. Within 10 days of receiving funding, they were back in the Pilbara talking to Elders, talking to families, to the health department, to schools and to the children. Lara explains the first step was to ask the question, ‘do you need this service?’ The overwhelming response was, ‘thank goodness you’re coming back. We’ve missed you.’ We had been in touch with them while we weren’t providing the service, so they were our first foot in the door, and from there people talk to each other. It’s the Aboriginal grape vine. People from that community went to another community to visit family and they contacted us and said ‘why don’t you come? We heard you did a really good service.’ And so we went to the next community, set up there, and it grew and grew. Now we are across twenty-six sites in those two regions. The thing people don’t get about Aboriginal Australia is it’s not one size fits all. There’s a lot of lip service given to that and I think one of the strengths in what we do is that we genuinely tailor the service to the community, depending on what the community needs. In any community, before we go in, somebody needs to invite us in. Somebody needs to say we would like the service. We have had a few communities where we’ve said we’re just offering you the service so that you are aware that it’s around. Nobody had invited us in yet, but we said we are at ‘x’ community, we’re letting you know that we’re in the region if you would like us to come. And then we wait for somebody to invite us in. Normally we go in – we’re a health service - but normally we provide our service through schools. For a number of reasons, but the first is accessibility. All families in a community can get to a school. All families cannot necessarily get to the health clinic or the hospital. Secondly, by providing services in the schools you get to know families and children and you find you actually end up seeing a lot of babies that way because parents get to know you with their older children. When they trust you with their older children, they bring their babies into see you. When

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seeing kids in the school we don’t have a ‘DNA’ or a failure to attend rate. Before we provide any services, we’ll go and have a bit of a yarn to people about what their needs are, what their community is like, what the issues are for the community because every community is different. For some communities their biggest issue is that they sit near a river and they get flooded every year. In other communities the weather has no bearing on how the community operates. They don’t get cut off, they don’t get flooded, but there are issues around alcohol, drugs and substance abuse. So you need to know those kinds of things before you go in. And certainly, our doctors need to know what the issues are for the community in terms of treating people holistically. We’ll always have a chat to the school and then have a chat to whoever the local Elders are. A lot of the communities we go to have a chairperson for that community, so we have a bit of a chat to them as well. If the response is overwhelmingly positive, then we start our services. In some cases, the chairperson will meet with us and say they have to go back and have a community meeting and so we go away and wait to hear back from them. Once they have discussed it as a community then we’ll go in if that’s what they want. By meeting at the school, you always get to meet the kids and talk to them about what we’re going to do. I do think it’s good because we’re a bunch of white fellas going into an Aboriginal community and the kids need to know who you are and have met you before, so that when you come back for treatments you’re not a scary unknown entity. They’re actually relaxed around you. For most people health is about your body. It’s about, have you got any sores, have you got a cough, have you got a cold? In the communities that we work in health is so much broader than that. Health is about the environment. Health is about the psychological stresses they are under as well as your physical body. There are topics that people are not going to overtly discuss with you if they don’t know who you are and where you’re from and how you fit into the picture. And if you don’t have an understanding of how they fit into their community, and who they are, and how they fit in with their family – you need all of that information in order to find the most appropriate treatment for somebody. So, we try to keep the core group of people who go to any community the same. The specialists might change from month to month because you can’t always get one specialist to agree to do eleven trips a year. But that core group are the same so that core group carry the cultural knowledge and cultural understanding. I think that we have really good relationships with families. At no point do we say to somebody ‘your child needs an operation so here’s a piece of paper, go find a GP and get the GP to refer you into the specialist.’ And then get the specialist to set the appointment and then you are just expected to arrive in the hospital on ‘x’ day. Our services are very tailored to each individual child. So we have the conversation – I’m going to give you an example – let’s say an eight-year-old child needs an operation, we’ll call everybody in and have a bit of a discussion about the fact that this is an option – one of many options – how does everyone feel about it? And then in that discussion you might find somebody going ‘oh no, we don’t want them going to hospital because something bad happened at the hospital.’ And then you can address those issues. If you get everybody to the point where they say yes, surgery is an option that we want to take, we’ll then look very carefully at when the family can get to the surgery. For some families there are reasons why they can’t get to surgery for some months. They might be travelling up to Broome for something. ‘We can’t have the surgery before we go, it will have to be afterwards.’ So we put the date off and move it around depending on when the family want to access the service. If we book somebody in we always make sure there is some kind of transport for them. The nurse will sit down with the family and say, ‘we booked in the surgery next month on the 20th, it’s a Thursday, is there anything you can think of for why you might not be able to make it?’ She’ll have that conversation and then she’ll say, ‘how are you getting there?’ She will know that family. If she knows they don’t have a car she will ask ‘how are you going to get there’ and try to work that out. We had one of our kids who rang us up the day before and said ‘Mum has had to go into town

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because one of the other siblings is ill and in hospital so I’ve got no way of getting to my operation tomorrow – what do I do?’ That was from a child who’s twelve. So, we were able to talk through what her options were, and it turned out we were able to find someone in the community who could bring her in just by being able to talk it through. I think that makes the service different to normal mainstream where you just hand them a piece of paper and if you don’t arrive, too bad, we’ll just move on. (personal communication, 1 May 2018)

The feedback from communities and families is extensive and ongoing. Some are acquired through formal channels such as the schools with whom Earbus work. They also run stakeholder meetings with families and community groups and try to invite as many people as possible. People are encouraged to give feedback, even if they think the Earbus service doesn’t want to hear it. However, the feedback is overwhelmingly positive and often is in the form of ‘what have you done to this child?’ The changes in behaviour are significant because when children can hear they are able to engage with the people around them. They make friends, they are attentive at school, and they are well behaved. Lara shares a special memory about a child she treated: You have this whole understanding of a child. We had this one little boy up near Port Hedland and the first time I saw him he was not speaking. He was nearly four years old. He literally climbed the window frame in the room that I was in. Our nurse came into ask, ‘do you have so and so with you?’ I turned around and he’s up at the top of the window. I thought he’s going to kill himself. She and I both ran in and tried to pull him down. He was absolutely out of control. It turned out he was in DCP (Department of Child Protection) care – Mum not able to care for him. She had substance abuse issues. He and his brother ended up staying with somebody in the community who was fairly responsible. Speech and language delayed – terrible hearing. Totally missed by everybody. So, he was put down as a behavioural issue. Throwing things – under the desk, climbing things, out of control. He had a hearing test, saw our GP, prescribed medication, saw our ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist) on our next visit, and he needed grommets. He was one of the kids on our first surgical list and he had his grommets put in, and he changed completely. Behaviour changed. He stood next to little girls in the classroom – he wasn’t smacking like he was doing before. This was a success! We were overwhelmed. His hearing was normal. He was behaving – the whole thing. About two and a half years later – the end of last year – I had a new doctor that was working with us. We had a board dividing me from where he was. I was sitting on this side of the board and these two little girls came in who were in the same class as this child. They came in and said to the doctor, ‘have you seen so and so today?’ He said, ‘yes yes, I saw him.’ One little girl said to the other one ‘He’s such a clever boy. He’s so funny.’ I sat there for a moment and I thought, what do you have to do to be funny so that two little girls are talking about you? You have to have language. You have to have good behaviour. The other little girl said ‘he’s not just funny. He’s top of our science class’. I sat there and I thought, I’m going to cry. This is the same child who was out of control. Nobody wanted him in their class. They had to keep him separate from the other kids because he was so aggressive. If we’ve done nothing else, if all the trips that we’ve done – and we’ve done hundreds and seen so many kids – if that’s the only thing that I have done in my whole life … it’s magic … it’s magic. I’ll remember him for the rest of my life. (2018)

Feedback is collected in the form of data that clearly demonstrates the impact Earbus is having on Aboriginal ear health. In 2017, they reported that 1,200 children had been seen to date in the Goldfields, and 760 children in the Pilbara. In the Goldfields the incidence of otitis media, hearing loss and chronic ear disease were

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all down by two-thirds. In the Pilbara otitis media and hearing loss were down by one half, and chronic ear disease down by two-thirds.2 Data such as this is, of course, valuable for securing future funding and Lara is proud of their numbers and their ability to collect such data. She also questions the lack of data that is produced by mainstream services. In spite of all the activity that is happening around ear health there is no evidence that these services are effective. Feedback, whether it is verbal or in the form of data, is essential for changing a service to meet the needs of a community. Lara argues that measuring outcomes is essential for demonstrating that a service is making a difference over time and this undoubtedly contributed to their success in winning an ‘Impact 100’ grant in 2019 whereby the final decision for which charities will be funded is decided by the donors themselves. With this new funding, Earbus will provide services to two Perth Metropolitan regions from 2020. Carol Dowling, as an Aboriginal chair of the Earbus board, is one of the greatest influencing factors for Earbus. The non-Indigenous members can provide a professional service, but Carol provides the insights into Aboriginal culture and community that guide their discussions and contribute to their awareness. Lara summarises the lessons learnt from Carol and their experiences working with community: I don’t think you can work in Aboriginal Australia effectively without recognising that it’s not about us. It’s not about mainstream health services – it’s actually about people on the ground identifying what they need. Having people respect them and listen to them, and tailor a service to that. It’s a two-way thing. (personal communication, 1 May 2018)

The Earbus Foundation was established to create change and the need for change was clearly communicated by the Aboriginal communities in which they work. The stakeholders in this successful health program include community Elders, families, Aboriginal health services, schools, the Earbus health professionals, the Earbus board and the children themselves. All are consulted prior to a service being delivered to a community. Relationships are built and nurtured over time so that the recipients of the Earbus service learn to trust and therefore seek out the service Earbus provides for their children. Relationship building is also an important element in their capacity to deliver a tailored and holistic health service to each community, family and child. The health outcomes for the Earbus communities are outstanding with the successful treatment of middle ear disease having important and ongoing benefits for children and their families. Children who can hear can also learn, and they can develop valuable relationships with teachers, peers and family—this is capacity building at its best. Feedback is encouraged from all stakeholders, is ongoing, and is used continuously to improve the Earbus service.

Conclusion Health and well-being are a basic human right and yet, in a wealthy first-world country like Australia, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians represent some of the 2 2017

statistics provided by Earbus Foundation.

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worst physical and mental health statistics in the world. History has played a big part in delivering trauma and disease to the door of contemporary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families. The Closing the Gap initiative is evidence that Government is listening, First Peoples health is a priority, and that there is a need for change. Yet the strategy to this point has had minimal success due to a paternalistic and one-sizefits-all approach to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health. The conversation has now shifted to more collaborative ways of working that empower Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to heal themselves and their communities. Professor Fiona Stanley reminds us,“give them the power and you will solve the problem.” NonIndigenous health professionals can be the facilitators who help to build capacity for First Nations communities by providing culturally safe and culturally aware health services. Collaborative and respectful ways of working can contribute to the Closing the Gap outcomes that Australia is struggling to achieve. Initiatives such as Looking Forward, Moving Forward and the Earbus Foundation provide a model for working successfully with First Nations communities to deliver positive outcomes for all participants.

References Australian Bureau of Statistics. (2016). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population. Retrieved from https://quickstats.censusdata.abs.gov.au/census_services/getproduct/ census/2016/quickstat/5 Australian Indigenous HealthInfoNet. (2017). Summary of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health, 2016. Retrieved from Perth: http://www.healthinfonet.ecu.edu.au/health-facts/summary. Australian Indigenous HeathInfonet. (2013). Overview of the health of Indigenous people in Western Australia 2013. Retrieved from Perth: http://www.healthinfonet.ecu.edu.au/uploads/docs/waoverview-2013.pdf. Australian Institute of Health and Welfare. (2015). The health of Australia’s prisoners 2015. Retrieved from Canberra: w.gov.au/getmedia/9c42d6f3-2631-4452-b0df-9067fd71e33a/aihwphe-207.pdf.aspx?inline=true. Barry, P. (Writer). (2018). White privilege outrage. In A. Klauzner (Producer). Media Watch ABC. Bates, D. (1938). The passing of the Aborigines. London: Butler and Tanner Ltd. Biskup, P. (1973). Not slaves, not citizens: The Aboriginal problem in Western Australia, 1898–1954. St Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press. Blignault, I., Pulver, L. J., Fitzpatrick, S., Arkles, R., Williams, M., Haswell, M., & Ortega, M. G. (2014). A resource for collective healing for members of the stolen generations. Planning, implementing and evaluating effective local responses. Sydney: Muru Marri. Briscoe, G. (2003). Counting, health and identity. A history of Aboriginal health and demography in Western Australia and Queensland. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Calma, T. (2005). Indigenous mental health. Paper presented at the Djirruwant Aboriginal Health Program, Charles Sturt University. Carmody, S. (2015). Working together: Growing ideas into practice. New Community, 13(51), 41. Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, 1021 C.F.R. (1948). Davison, S., Fleming, J., Butler, T., Morgan, V., Petch, E., Morgan, F., … Janca, A. (2015). Mental health and substance use problems in Western Australian prisoners. Western Australia: North Metropolitan Health Service, Department of Corrective Services, Drug and Alcohol Office, Mental Health Commission.

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Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. (2018a). Closing the gap refresh. Retrieved from https://closingthegaprefresh.pmc.gov.au/about. Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. (2018b). Special gathering statement. Retrieved from https://closingthegaprefresh.pmc.gov.au/news/special-gathering-statement. Dockery, A. M. (2010). Culture and wellbeing: The case of indigenous Australians. Social Indicators Research, 99(2), 315–332. Earbus Foundation. Our mission, vision and values. Retrieved from http://www.earbus.org.au/ourmission/. Earbus Foundation. Blog. Retrieved from http://www.earbus.org.au/blog/2019/11/25/metro-earbuscoming-in-2020. Finlay, S. M. (2017). Indigenous data sovereignty: more than scholarship, it’s a movement. Retrieved from https://croakey.org/indigenous-data-sovereignty-more-than-scholarship-its-a-movement/. Finlay, S. M. (2018). Cultural safety is not about saying “sorry” for being a white nurse. Retrieved from https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/article/2018/03/28/cultural-safety-not-aboutsaying-sorry-being-white-nurse-1. Gilmore, M. (2013). Our healing our solutions: Sharing our evidence. Retrieved from Canberra. Haebich, A. (2000). Broken circles. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Hansen, V., & Horsfall, J. (2016). Noongar bush medicine. Perth: UWA Publishing. Kukutai, T., & Tayloy, J. (Eds.). (2016). Indigenous data sovereignty. Toward an agenda. Canberra: Australian National Universit Press. Lowitja Institute. (2014). Cultural competency in health services. Retrieved from https://www. lowitja.org.au/congress-2014/workshops/cultural-competency. McGregor, R. (2002). ‘Breed Out the Colour’ or the importance of being white. Australian Historical Studies, 33(120), 286–302. McKinney, C., & McKinney, B. (2015). Hand in hand—Cultural learning for better mental health: Our journey in the looking forward project. New Community, 13(51), 31–36. National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families. (1997). Bringing them home. Retrieved from Sydney: https://www.humanrights.gov. au/sites/default/files/content/pdf/social_justice/bringing_them_home_report.pdf. Parker, R. (2010). Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Mental Health: An Overview. In N. Purdie, P. Dudgeon, & R. Walker (Eds.), Working together: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health and wellbeing principles and practice. Canberra: Australian Government—Department of Health and Ageing. Parker, R., & Milroy, H. (2014). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Mental Health: An Overview. In P. Dudgeon, H. Milroy, & R. Walker (Eds.), Working together: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health and wellbeing principles and practice (2nd ed.). West Perth: University of Western Australia. Rickwood, D., Dudgeon, P., & Gridley, H. (2010). A history of psychology in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health. In N. Purdie, P. Dudgeon, & R. Walker (Eds.), Working together: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health and wellbeing principles and practice. Canberra: Australian Government—Department of Health and Ageing. Ungunmerr-Baumann, M. R. (1988). Dadirri. Retrieved from http://www.miriamrosefoundation. org.au/about-dadirri. United Nations (2007). “United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People”. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wp-content/uploads/ sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf Westerman, T. (2019, April 20–21). Sick heart of a generation. The Weekend Australian, Inquirer, p. 16. World Health Organisation. (1948). Constitution of the world health organisation: principles. Retrieved from http://www.who.int/about/mission/en/. Wright, M., Culbong, M., Jones, T., O’Connell, M., & Ford, D. (2013). Making a difference: Engaging hearts and minds in research practice. Action Learning Action Research Journal, 19(1), 36–61.

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Wright, M., & O’Connell, M. (2015a). Negotiating the right path: Working together to effect change in healthcare service provision to Aboriginal peoples. Action Learning Action Research Journal, 21(1), 108–123. Wright, M., & O’Connell, M. (2015b). Thematic editorial: Community, mental health and how and what we can learn from Indigenous Peoples. New Community, 13(51), 3–8. Wright, M., O’Connell, M., Jones, T., Walley, R., & Roarty, L. (2015). Looking forward aboriginal mental health project: Final report. Retrieved from Subiaco, Western Australia. Wright, M., O’Connell, M., Lette, H., Garlett, E., & Culbong, T. (2017). Looking forward, moving forward: 2017 report. Retrieved from Perth. Wynne-Jones, M., Hillin, A., Byers, D., Stanley, D., Edwige, V., & Brideson, T. (2016). Aboriginal grief and loss: A review of the literature. Australian Indigenous Health Bulletin, 16(3).

Chapter 7

Education and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students

Abstract When thinking about working with First Peoples in the field of education, there are several different aspects to be considered. Firstly, there are three tiers of education; then there is the teaching of First Nations students and non-Indigenous students; and finally there is a need to differentiate between what is taught and how it is taught. Chapter six is about teaching Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and begins with an overview of education policy and some of the challenges faced by teachers working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. There are three case studies. The first is called Moorditj Mob and it runs at Wesley College, a secondary school with a majority non-Indigenous student cohort and a successful Aboriginal student scholarship program. The second is a primary school called Djidi Djidi that caters specifically to Aboriginal children. And the third is a university education centre called the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies that operates programs for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students.

Education is the garden, it gives you fruit; it gives you food. With that garden basket you fill it up with knowledge and you bring it back to the community and you feed the community with the knowledge you have gained. (2012 Adeah Kabai, quoted in Behrendt et al.: p. 9)

In 2017 3,000 delegates assembled in Toronto, Canada, for the World Indigenous People’s Conference on Education (WIPCE). It was hosted by the Six Nations Polytechnic, people of the Haudenosaunee, Anishinaabe, Huron-Wyandot and Mississauga traditional territories. The theme was a “celebration of resilience, the role and impacts of Indigenous Education in truth and reconciliation around the world” (WIPCE, 2017). Three thousand delegates from across the globe came together to acknowledge their shared experience of colonialism, to discuss the education of First Nations People, Indigenous pedagogy, and the teaching of First Nations culture and history to non-Indigenous students. The Toronto conference reminds us of what First Nations People across the world have in common—from the impact of colonialism to a sacred connection with nature—and so there was a sense of solidarity and kinship felt by those who attended it. It reminds us also that education plays an important role in the future of First Nations People, and the attendance of 3,000 delegates is evidence of how education is prioritised by so many. It was inspiring to see people © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_7

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at the conference passionately engaging with determined educators from all over the world who presented diverse and innovative education programs. This chapter echoes the voices of the Toronto conference. We recognise that education is essential in developing cross-cultural collaboration and understanding, advancing reconciliation, improving the lives of First Nations People and communities, and in the preservation of language and culture. Education plays an important role, not only in the preservation of culture, but it is also crucial to addressing the social and economic disadvantage experienced by many First Nations children. At the launch of the 2008 Our Children Our Future Report, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, Tom Calma said: Education prepares us to make decent and proper choices. It is fundamental to the development of human potential and to full participation in a democratic society. It is also fundamental to the full enjoyment of most other human rights: most clearly the right to work but also the right to health. Many Indigenous children are fundamentally disengaged from education (2008).

The subject of Indigenous education and curriculum encompasses, firstly and most importantly, the education of First Nations students. But the education and awareness of non-Indigenous students, young and old, is also an area of Indigenous education that is important and in need of more attention than it currently receives. With all students in mind, two distinct and separate areas of knowledge are recognised: Indigenous content that relates to historical and cultural facts, and Indigenous Pedagogy which is about the how of teaching and the inclusion of Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing. In addition to these two distinct areas of knowledge is the consideration of who; First Nations and non-Indigenous students and teachers will each have individual responses to Indigenous teaching and learning experiences. How do we teach Indigenous history and culture to Australian primary, secondary and tertiary students? How do we educate an adult population whose schooling failed to teach them about the diversity of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture and the truth of our colonial history? The subject of Indigenous education is relevant to all Australians because it is foundational for successful cross-cultural collaboration and reconciliation. It is only by better understanding and knowing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture that we can work together. To do justice to this expansive topic we have written two chapters—one for education with First Nations students and another for education with non-Indigenous students. This chapter will focus on the former. However, not even two chapters will provide all the answers, cover all the ground or acknowledge all of the many successful education programs and teachers who are making a difference in the lives of Australian students. Moreover, these chapters do not offer expert or in-depth advice on the subject of Indigenous pedagogy. We point to resources that can be a starting point to better understanding Indigenous pedagogy, and there is a body of literature that will do justice to this important subject for those who wish to know more about the ‘how’ of Indigenous education.

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Rather than a comprehensive overview of Indigenous education, these two chapters offer a snapshot of several education initiatives that have developed as the result of successful cross-cultural and community collaboration, and the historical context in which these case studies developed. Several of the case studies come from Curtin University where both authors of this book have a long history of teaching and research, but it must again be acknowledged that there are many other successful Indigenous education programs happening not just in Nyoongar country but also in communities all over Australia. Curtin University is not alone in its contributions to Indigenous education and curriculum. Furthermore, it will be demonstrated that an action research approach is at the heart of each successful collaboration. We have chosen case studies from primary and secondary schools, and from universities; this chapter features the education experiences of First Nations students and the next chapter looks at education with non-Indigenous students.

History and Context At the 1999 World Indigenous Peoples’ Conference on Education (WIPCE), held in Hawaii that year, a paper was presented entitled The Coolangatta Statement on the Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Education (1999). It reminds us of First Nations Peoples’ rights to be Indigenous, to practice culture and to speak language; and that the unsatisfactory educational outcomes of First Nations People are a failure of the non-Indigenous education system rather than a failure of First Nations People. The Coolangatta statement declares that First Nations People have the right to establish and control their educational systems and to have their culture and history appropriately reflected in all forms of education. The 1999 WIPCE recognizes an existence of a commonality of purpose and desire amongst the Indigenous peoples of the world for education. It further recognizes that this commonality involves a shared belief that education must be scholarly and empowering whilst at the same time the processes of education must be embedded in Indigenous culture and wisdom (1999, p. 233).

In 2018 the Coolangatta Statement was still held as a benchmark for Australian Indigenous education policy, resources and curriculum, yet the Australian education system has some work to do before it can say with confidence that it meets the WIPCE standards and goals. We begin with an overview of Indigenous education in Western Australia because the historical context and knowledge of stakeholders is an important first step in the ‘look’ stage of any action research project. This includes an outline of current policy, historical impacts and statistical progress for universities, primary and secondary schools, First Nations and non-Indigenous students. Indigenous education is often discussed in reference to ‘Closing the Gap’, a term that was adopted in 2008 by the Council of Australian Governments (COAG) in reference to the disparity in the statistics for life expectancy when comparing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and non-Indigenous Australians. Aboriginal and

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Torres Strait Islander people, on average, have a life expectancy of 10 years less than non-Indigenous people (Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2017, p. 81). The term is now used as a title for the Federal Government’s initiative to improve the status and well-being of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians across a number of key indicators including education. When considering Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, statistics show that our educational institutions need to do more to improve Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students’ experience of schools and universities. Closing the Gap reports that, while some headway has been made in improving the achievement rate of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, a consistent trend of improvement has not been established. The National Assessment Program—Literacy and Numeracy (NAPLAN), which was introduced in 2008, reveals that the gap between the performance of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and non-Indigenous students has not narrowed since the first survey of literacy and numeracy in 1975 (O’Keefe, Olney, & Angus, 2012, p. 1). In 2018 the average gap between the NAPLAN performance of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and non-Indigenous students was improving for students in urban and metropolitan areas. Yet for students in remote locations, when compared with schools in major cities, the gap was still much larger (Indigenous Literacy Foundation, 2018). The National Indigenous Reform Agreement was established in 2008 by COAG as an action plan for delivering the outcomes proposed by the Closing the Gap initiative. The agreement has seven building blocks: early childhood, schooling, health, economic participation, healthy homes, safe communities, and governance and leadership. It is expected that improvement in one building block will lead to improvements in others. The agreement is underpinned by a policy framework with indicators of success that are linked to six targets: • close the gap in life expectancy within a generation; • halve the gap in mortality rates for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children under 5 within a decade; • ensure all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander four-year-olds in remote communities have access to early childhood education within 5 years; • halve the gap for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students in reading, writing and numeracy within a decade; • halve the gap for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people aged 20–24 in year 12 attainment or equivalent attainment rates by 2020; and • halve the gap in employment outcomes between Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and non-Indigenous Australians within a decade. Of particular importance here is the key role of education in delivering these outcomes. The agreement is also indicative of the level of commitment (at least at the policy level) that government has made to improving the lives of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and a changing culture in the approach to meeting these targets that now emphasises the strengthening of relationships with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. It is recognised that, in the past, “engagement with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people on the development of the Closing the

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Gap agenda has been at a very broad level (COAG, 2008, p. A19)”. COAG commits to working in partnership with Australia’s First Peoples, to incorporate the views and advice of First Peoples, to inform all interested parties about decisions, and to seek feedback from all participants. It should be noted that COAG’s commitments to working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people suggest the potential for an action research approach to deliver proposed education outcomes. COAG formed an Education Council subcommittee comprised of all education ministers and it is this committee who have been tasked with advancing educational outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. The council are responsible for the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Strategy, which has evolved from a 1987 initiative with the same name that was the result of a collaboration between federal and allstate governments. The latest version of the strategy, released in 2015, is informed by Closing the Gap targets and an evaluation report of the 2010–2014 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Action Plan (ACIL Allen Consulting, 2014, 2015; Ministerial Council for Education, 2010). The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Strategy is evidence of the long-term commitment governments have made to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education; however, the 2014 evaluation of the action plan concludes that while it provided a useful guide for schools, it resulted in varying degrees of influence and success. More action is needed to extend the initiative to schools outside of the action plan’s focus group, and to ensure progress is maintained and continued. Partington and Beresford provide an overview of the historical and cultural factors that contribute to the difficulties experienced by Aboriginal people in the education system (2012). As outlined in a previous chapter the historical factors, such as dispossession of land and the Stolen Generation government policies, have done harm to language and culture, which in turn contributes to ‘cultural dispossession’(Beresford & Partington, 2012, p. 79). For the majority of Aboriginal peoples’ living in Western Australia in the 1900s, their experience of school was one of segregation and abuse. Children were removed from their families and placed in missions where they were forbidden to speak language or practice culture. The government’s justification for removing children was to educate them and assimilate them into white society—it was done “for their own good” (Haebich, 1992). However, the children’s education fell well short of the experience of non-Indigenous students, and their time was often spent training for domestic and agricultural work in the service of white families. Many of the stolen children did not see their families ever again, and if they did reconnect it was difficult for relationships to be rekindled after so many years of separation. This history has been well documented (see Beresford, 2012; Delmege, 2005; Haebich, 1992; Host et al., 2009), and has a lasting impact on Aboriginal people’s negative perceptions of the Western Australian education system, which manifests in a number of ways. Because of past colonial practices and racist policies, many young Aboriginal people in Western Australia feel they have lost connection with their traditional culture, yet also feel they don’t belong in a dominant, Western culture and society. They are caught “between two worlds” (Beresford & Partington, 2012, p. 79). There

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is evidence that Aboriginal people who connect with traditional language and culture are more resilient and more likely to experience a better sense of well-being (Dockery, 2010). Alienation and resistance are further causes of Aboriginal families’ negative perceptions of education. Parents who suffered trauma in their own school experience are likely to reflect those negative emotions back to their children. Because schools are seen as centres of white authority and values, some Aboriginal people are reluctant to engage with teachers or with the education system. For young Aboriginal people there may be pressure from peers to fail because success is “regarded as ‘shame job1 ’” (Beresford & Partington, 2012, p. 76). Students feel alienated when the school system does not reflect the cultural values of their families and their school experience creates an awareness of their socio-economic status and difference. Research has been useful for helping educators to understand the challenges for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, but there are also a growing number of success stories as illustrated by the case studies in this book. While Aboriginal students in metropolitan Western Australia are unlikely to have the opportunity to connect with their own language and culture in mainstream schools, there are exceptions in Perth, such as Clontarf Aboriginal College (see http://www. clontarf.wa.edu.au/) and Moorditj Noongar Community College (see https://www. det.wa.edu.au/schoolsonline/overview.do?schoolID=5774). The Western Australian Education Department also has an Aboriginal Language program that is delivered in some metropolitan schools but is more popular in regional and remote areas. Racism continues to be an all too common experience for Aboriginal people and Partington et al. describe a new form of racism that is more covert and expresses itself in the attitudes of non-Indigenous people who view First Peoples with suspicion and a sense of superiority because of the stereotypical perceptions they subscribe to. In general terms, racism may express itself in schools in the following ways: • failure to recognise Aboriginal learning styles and needs; • the rigid enforcement of discipline policies that fail to take adequate account of the circumstances of Aboriginal life experiences; • failure to include an Aboriginal perspective in the teaching about Australian history and society; and • normalisation of attitudes about Aboriginal students’ poor school outcomes (Beresford & Partington, 2012, p. 68). This final point is highlighted by Dr Chris Sarra in the 2017 Closing the Gap report: There is no place in any education jurisdiction for educators with stifled perceptions of who Indigenous students are, or what they can achieve. (Office of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, p. 35)

There are also several other contributing factors that lead to poor educational outcomes for First Peoples that are less obvious. One of these factors relates to health. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are more likely to suffer from 1 ‘Shame’

is a word often used by Nyoongar people to describe shyness or embarrassment.

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poor physical and mental health. This impacts on school attendance and a child’s ability to engage in the classroom (see Chap. 6 on Health). Housing is also an issue with First Nations People more likely to be homeless or to be living in overcrowded conditions, which can impact on a child’s ability to study. Beresford and Partington emphasise that First Nations students “who succeed have to learn to live in two worlds” (2012, p. 69) and conclude that “the key strategy that enhances the success of students is the coalition of stakeholders in the students’ success…(2012, p. 58)” Again the need to work with Aboriginal people is emphasised. There are a growing number of Indigenous education success stories, including the Batchelor Institute of Indigenous Tertiary Education (BIITE) in the Northern Territory. The need for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students to live in two worlds is recognised by the philosophy of both-ways learning that originates from the BIITE. Both-ways learning is informed by the knowledge of Northern Territory Aboriginal peoples and, in particular, the Ganma metaphor (see Chap. 4) shared by the Yolngu people (Bat et al., 2014). Ganma describes two bodies of water, one saltwater and one freshwater, coming together. Where the two waters meet the surface of the water is quiet, the water below is turbulent and something new is created in the briny lagoon. Water represents knowledge for Yolngu people, and Ganma is a metaphor for two cultures meeting where neither culture is compromised. Frawley and Fasoli (2012) argue that ‘both ways’ has similarities with interculturalism, a capability that needs to be developed by educational leaders. We assert that both Ganma and ‘both ways’ learning are third spaces (see Chap. 4) where two cultures come together and learn from each other. ‘Both ways’ requires students and teachers to take a learning journey together, with their communities, to “develop strong intercultural capabilities and an increased confidence with walking in ‘both worlds’” (Bat et al., 2014, p. 875). It strengthens Aboriginal and Torres Strait islander identity, making students strong in non-Indigenous ways as well as Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ways. They are “recognised by both worlds” (cited in Bat et al., 2014, p. 878). Batchelor Institute was, for many years, Australia’s only higher education provider for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and continues to be a successful and valuable contributor to the education sector today. At BIITE “all learning must be framed through ‘the development of appropriate responses to issues of cultural survival, maintenance, renewal and transformation within national and international social, political and economic contexts.’ This is enacted pedagogically through the both-ways philosophy of education (cited in Bat et al., 2014, p. 874)”. With the exception of dedicated Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander educational institutions like BIITE, most schools and universities in Australia are traditionally centres of Western knowledge and epistemology—they are colonised spaces. Western ways of thinking and doing are prioritised over Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ways of thinking and doing. But in more recent times, First Nations People are creating their own spaces inside schools and universities where Indigenous pedagogy and Indigenous research methodologies are not just included but are privileged and valued as legitimate ways of thinking and doing. Governments and institutions have put in place significant policy and curriculum guidelines to ensure Indigenous

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teaching and learning, for all students, is prioritised at all levels of the education journey. Yet the practicalities of delivering expected outcomes for students remain problematic. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have many passionate, engaged and experienced allies working in the education system who are aware of the issues and who are helping to deliver change. We aim to contribute to the important work of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander educators by offering action research as a framework whereby non-Indigenous teachers, students and researchers can work effectively with their Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander counterparts. Action research acknowledges Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community participants as equal partners in the education and research journeys we take together. The following case studies highlight the action research processes and practices that have delivered successful educational outcomes. Rather than education being a service provided to or for First Peoples, education is transformed into a process of learning and enquiry that is done with and by First Peoples.

Teaching and Learning with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students There has been excellent research in recent years that offers a starting point for teachers who are eager to know more about successful ways of working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. One example is a book written by Neil Harrison and Juanita Sellwood aimed at assisting teachers working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. They begin by expressing their opposition to “the claim that ‘good teaching is good teaching for all students’” (2016, p. viii). Notions such as this do not recognise the important role education plays in mending the broken relationship between First Peoples and non-Indigenous Australians. Only by recognising the special status of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as Australia’s first peoples can that healing commence. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students are not just another ethnic or minority group and teachers should recognise several important differences in their ways of working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. Crucial to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education is an understanding of the cultural identity of students and a preparedness to work closely with family and community. ‘Keeping things local’ is also emphasised as this helps avoid stereotyping and ensures the learning experience is relevant to the student. Harrison and Sellwood (2016, p. 71) explain that ‘learning is social practice’ for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and therefore there are different ways of teaching. On the other hand, it should be understood that teachers cannot generalise about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ways of learning and must spend time in the classroom learning about their students and determining which approach best suits individual students. Spend time in the community getting to know families and community cultural practices, then involve families in the classroom so that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledge is integrated into the curriculum.

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Melodie Bat and colleagues (2014) explain both-ways learning and how it offers three principles of practice for the learning journey that teachers and students take together. Firstly, both-ways is a shared journey and includes not only students and teachers but also families, community and workplaces. The classroom is a shared space to which all collaborators bring their knowledge and experience. The second principle places the student at the centre of the learning journey. The student feels safe and comfortable in the learning environment and learning is relevant to the real-life experiences of the student. Finally, the third principle ensures that learning strengthens Indigenous identity and that the curriculum offers “the opportunity for all learners to engage with Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing (Bat et al., 2014, p. 878)”. Roni Forrest is a Mineng Ngadju Nyoongar woman who offers practical advice for teachers and schools. She works with 17 different Perth independent schools, through a scholarship program called Future Footprints (AISWA), providing pastoral care for Aboriginal students through the Association of Independent Schools Western Australia (AISWA). She acknowledges that teachers are fearful of teaching Aboriginal content and teaching Aboriginal children. “I’m always saying it’s not that hard; sit down and talk to me and we’ll work it out. I always say to them, any question, ask me a question, what is so hard about it? There’s Aboriginal people out there willing to help you (personal communication, June 14, 2017)”. Many of the students she cares for come from the Kimberley, but there are now more Nyoongar students at the schools. Her advice for schools enrolling students from remote and regional areas is to understand how stressful it is for students to leave home and family to attend boarding school in Perth. Always bring more than one student from a community to the school: There has to be five; two at the very least, so that they can support each other…. Because we’ve had instances where we’ve had seven kids from Broome in a school, and then suddenly they’ll get another girl from Karratha. She’s totally alienated. So you can’t do that… it’s top of the list, you can’t take one student from one community and try to put them in a private boarding school. Won’t work, never has, never will. (personal communication, June 14, 2017)

Roni emphasises the importance of everybody doing cultural competency training, especially in the boarding house. You’ve got no idea - the most simplest things … people just don’t understand. For example, some of our kids were being suspended for stealing, like stealing a shirt. But at home, if you see a clean white shirt hanging on a table and it fits you, you wear it. It’s everyone’s shirt. Whereas not at boarding school, it’s not everyone’s shirt. (2017)

In the classroom teachers should not single out First Nations students for their opinions or knowledge about Indigenous topics. Students cannot know everything about Indigenous subjects just because they are Aboriginal. Roni explains, “that sort of shaming, that sort of thing, needs to not happen so much”. On the other hand, there should be lots of Indigenous topics included in the classroom, and Roni singles out the successful Wesley College program that is described in detail below.

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[Wesley] has a cultural dance group where the school allows them to go out and teach. They can go out of school and teach other schools about culture, Noongar culture, and the dances that they do. It just builds enormous pride, self-esteem, and identity with those students. They’re buzzing; they’re honoured for their culture. They’re not being rubbished or run down for it - they’re put up there. (2017)

Roni explains that the boys performing as a group avoids the embarrassment, or ‘shame’, that can happen when students are singled out for comment or attention. I think it’s got different contexts for when a kid says ‘shame’. What does it mean? It’s just like singling them out. Even if it’s to get them to stand up and talk, whereas the kids all think we’re all going to talk together. I’m not going to be the only one standing up here representing my group. Even our dance group, all the boys stand there together and all the boys introduce themselves, and all of them take turns in doing it because it’s that sharing way. …One boy doesn’t stand out - you know that’s wrong. That’s sometimes a bit of a hampering thing to our culture. As soon as somebody wants to be great and stand out, other fellas, that lateral violence, they tend to drag them back down again. Because we normally don’t stand up and say how great we are, we’ll do it by actions. We do it by our support of others. We don’t tend to stand up and put ourselves out there (2017).

Case Study: Wesley College Moorditj Mob Ben Lewis, until the end of 2018, was the Indigenous Program Coordinator at Wesley College for boys, and for seven years ran the program that Roni mentions above. The Aboriginal students at Wesley are called The Moorditj Mob (‘Moorditj’ means ‘good’ or ‘strong’ in Nyoongar language), and most of the students participate in a special cultural dance program. The Wesley program is now ten years old and has two parts; the mainstream classes that the boys attend with all Wesley students, and the Aboriginal cultural experience that includes dancing. The boys come from all over the state, from diverse cultures, and so permission is sought from Elders in each community for the boys to participate in Nyoongar culture and learn Nyoongar dances. The Wesley dance group are well known around Perth and they spend a lot of time, outside of school, performing. In 2017 the boys did over 140 community performances. 20,000 primary school children either saw the boys dance or participated in a workshop with them. They are widely travelled, and their adventures include a performance at the previously mentioned Toronto Indigenous Education Conference in 2017 and an impromptu performance in Times Square, New York. Ben explains that there are now thirty-four boys dancing and so they can rotate their time outside of school ensuring that they don’t miss out on too much classroom time. The program is not used as a behavioural management strategy. In other words, if the boys misbehave, they will not be withheld from the dance group. The college incorporates the boys’ cultural performances into the wider school experience as much as possible. For example, there is an acknowledgement of country at every school assembly with a didgeridoo player, and all the junior school students will spend time in the boys’ cultural centre to participate in workshops. The cultural

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centre is a large room that is a special space for the Aboriginal boys. Ben emphasises the importance of this exclusive space because it contributes to making the boys feel safe at the school, especially those who are far from home. Each boy gets a handmade blanket with an Aboriginal flag design, and the cultural centre is full of photos and artwork from the boys’ school experiences. Not everyone agrees with the idea of an exclusive space for the Aboriginal students. Some schools see it as a kind of segregation or isolation that reduces the Aboriginal students’ interaction with non-Indigenous students, and Ben acknowledges that there are arguments for and against the idea. Ben sees himself and the boys as a kind of resource for the wider school community to help them integrate Indigenous content into the classroom. The cultural centre has a large library of books that all staff and students can access, the non-Indigenous students do a lot of arts-based projects with the Aboriginal students, and Ben is often sought out to offer advice on how to teach Indigenous topics. He has observed that teachers are reluctant to bring Indigenous topics into the classroom and estimates most teachers would address an Aboriginal topic only two or three times a year because they are wary about political correctness or giving offense. Ben explains that reluctance: There is just a huge lack of knowledge. They haven’t learnt anything as kids about Nyoongar culture or even Aboriginal culture. They haven’t lived in an Aboriginal environment either. They just have very little understanding. They don’t want to upset anyone. They have their hearts in the right place and they want to engage, but they just don’t know how to do that. (personal communication, February 9, 2018)

He sometimes overhears the boys talking about being called on in class to talk about Aboriginal topics: The boys often will say ‘I hate it when they talk about Aboriginal things in the class because they all look at me and think that I know the answers—or they think I should know the answers.’ I think there is still a gap with teachers engaging [in Indigenous curriculum]. (2018)

The exchange of knowledge between the Aboriginal boys and the non-Indigenous staff and students is further hindered by the boys’ reluctance to talk about what they do. Sometimes that is because they are dealing with trauma and won’t talk about it. Ben explains that there are also parts of their lives that are about culture and can’t be shared: Because of the nature of what we do I guess there is an element of almost secrecy about what the boys do. There are a number of boys who are struggling with different forms of trauma in their life and they sometimes will not make it as inclusive as they could be. I think Aboriginal culture has always been fairly secretive because that’s the nature of culture surviving for tens of thousands of years. There has to be elements that people can’t share with other people. I think you can still see a lot of that today. Especially with the boys up north, when they talk about law – or when they don’t talk about law – some teachers have walked into that when they have said ‘where have you been?’ The boy feels incredibly uncomfortable because he’s not allowed to talk about what exactly he’s done. That makes teachers reluctant to try again. They think, ‘oh, I may have overstepped the mark there.’ The boys try to make it as easy to understand as possible but it’s hugely complex if you don’t have a background in it. (2018)

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Ben feels a kind of parental pride for the boys in his care. He knows the hardships many of them face— Every day is really difficult here. It’s a battle. These are two worlds. It’s an issue we have with teachers. They see the boys come in, they are happy and dressed. They have stationary. They have shoes. They are well fed. They have been to New York. They have been all around the world. And they think there is no gap. They think they know Aboriginal people and this gap doesn’t exist. But we keep that secret – that a boy has been in jail for the weekend. Or that their parents have suicided in front of them.[…] All this stuff still happens. It’s hard to balance when we tell those stories, and when we don’t tell those stories. (2018)

However, all the Wesley boys are proud of their cultural practices at the school and Ben believes it is reflected in their good attendance and their resilience. He is proud of the fact that all the boys know who they are and where they come from. They are not ‘just Aboriginal’. If a boy arrives at the school and does not know where he comes from, as is the case for orphaned students, then the school will consult with Elders to find out who they are. The boys learn about Aboriginal history and culture from local Elders and Ben will take his students to any events that are happening around Perth that he thinks will provide a learning experience. For example, past Prime Minister Kevin Rudd spoke at Curtin University on the tenth anniversary of ‘The Apology’2 and some of the older Moorditj Mob students were there to listen. The boys will attend arts festival events such as the one by Djuki Mala Dancers who performed at the 2018 Fringe Festival in Perth. Ben explains that programs such as Wesley’s Moorditj Mob need champions and there are big responsibilities for those who take on a role such as the one he performs. He talks about finding the balance between protecting the students and protecting himself. He works in a bureaucracy that prohibits him from caring for the students because of set boundaries. If the Department of Child Protection calls looking for someone to host a homeless boy, then he finds it hard to say ‘no’ and for many of his teacher colleagues that is overstepping a mark. Schools cannot expect staff to do a job like his for a small fractional workload: It just doesn’t work. You can’t build relationships and I think that’s the number one thing – you need to build relationships with kids. You can’t build that relationship overnight. You can’t build it just within the school grounds. If we maintained our program within the school, it wouldn’t work. Look at the photos around the room. The majority are taken outside the school. That’s where we spend a lot of our time and that’s where we learn about each other. We spend a lot of time in the car. All those car trips – that’s where we talk. That’s where we get to know each other. And that relationship doesn’t go away when they graduate. Every year you are here that is another year of graduates that are still needing you. (2018)

Ben says that it would be ideal to have an Aboriginal person doing the role that he does at Wesley, but he doesn’t think it is essential and he doesn’t think that being Aboriginal has anything to do with the job that he does. He also acknowledges that there are elements of the job that are easier because he is not Aboriginal—and some 2 Prime

Minister Kevin Rudd made a national apology to the Stolen Generations from the floor of the Federal Parliament on 13 February 2008.

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that are harder. “You certainly need people who are passionate and who can take the hits. Because you believe in it and because you see success it gives you energy to keep going (2018)”. Ben acknowledges that good work is being done, but it isn’t enough. He sees regional schools being closed down which forces students to travel long distances to attend a different school. Funding for scholarships goes up and down and he thinks of the students who miss out on an opportunity to attend a school like Wesley each time the number of scholarships is reduced. The scholarships need to allow for individuality in the school programs, and those that run the programs, like Ben, need the freedom to do their own thing. While Perth independent schools receive scholarship funding from various providers, Future Footprints, which was established by the Association of Independent Schools of Western Australia (AISWA) works with all schools and all students. These strong networks, established by AISWA, ensure students and families have access to some of the best schools in Australia. As mentioned, Roni Forrest is part of the leadership team for the organisation and plays an important role in providing pastoral care and cultural advice to teachers like Ben who work with the Aboriginal students. Ben explains that each school is unique in its approach, and not all of them get it right. The work being done by Future Footprints and each of the school programs still “feels revolutionary” (2018). Often they are testing approaches to the Indigenous programs and so people like Roni and other Elders provide important support for teachers like Ben. They provide information on events that will be of interest to the Aboriginal students, they ensure collaboration and connection between all the participating schools, and they help to run authentic cultural experiences in the schools. Future Footprints also assist with relationships between the school and the diverse and often remote communities that are home for the students (Illustration 7.1). The power and value of programs like Future Footprints and Moorditj Mob is evident in their graduates. Ben tells the story of a critic who told a student that his dancing is not ‘authentic’, but that student had the confidence to speak back: “I’m Aboriginal and I know my family. I know my parents and I’ve learnt these dances. Yes, there are probably gaps that have developed because we’ve had it beaten out of us and we’ve lost our language. We’re reinventing our language and we’re reinventing our dances. But this is for me. This is what it is to be a modern Aboriginal person. I’m taking the best of my culture and I still want to dance. Even if I have to develop new dances, I’m going to do that. And it’s still authentic because this is me and that’s what I’m going to do. We love it, and we’re still proud of it, even if it’s a bit broken.” For him to have those words and to be able to express that is really important. (personal communication, February 9, 2018)

When looking at the Wesley Moorditj Mob as an example of an action research program, community collaboration is essential to their success. Wesley consults regularly with the local Aboriginal community and with the communities in which the students live. An ongoing dialogue with Elders and families also contributes to the program’s success. The knowledge and experience of local Nyoongar Elders inform the Future Footprints program and the teachers who work under its guidance. Relationships, and the time needed to build them, are recognised as essential to the

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Illustration 7.1 Future Footprints students gather for a Welcome to Country at the start of the 2018 school year. (Photo: Michelle Johnston)

students’ positive learning experience. The program builds capacity for the Aboriginal students who participate, for the communities where they live, and for the Wesley non-Indigenous staff and students whose knowledge of Aboriginal people, culture and history is developed by the ongoing presence of the Aboriginal students in the school.

Case Study—Djidi Djidi Primary School Kaya ngany djoorabiny noonook djinanginy Kaya noonook yoowarl-koorl Ngalang miya nanakat kadadjiny Nidja Djidi Djidi (Djidi Djidi Aboriginal School)

The Nyoongar greeting above appears on the Djidi Djidi Aboriginal School home page for their website. It welcomes readers and visitors to ‘our place of learning’. Djidi Djidi (pronounced Jiddy Jiddy) is the Nyoongar name for the native willy wagtail bird. Located in Bunbury, two hours south of Perth, Djidi Djidi is a primary school that caters specifically to Aboriginal children by making Nyoongar culture and community central to all the school’s programs and activities. After extensive community consultation, the poor performance of local Aboriginal children in school was acknowledged and Djidi Djidi was established in 1996 as an early childhood

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centre aimed at giving Aboriginal children a strong start to their school life. By 2003 the school had extended its programs to include children up to year 7. Djidi Djidi prioritises engagement with their Aboriginal community and families by “promoting a sense of shared responsibility and building everyone’s capacity to work together, [which] is vital to ensure that our students have the best chance of realising their social and academic potential.” (Djidi Djidi School, About Us)

Ongoing consultation and engagement with Aboriginal community is foundational to the school’s philosophy and teaching practice. Even the school’s buildings are designed in consultation with the community. Their current building was opened in 2004 and was built to accommodate the unique needs of the students and to reflect an Aboriginal perspective. From above, the school design looks like the wings of a bird, and curved walls, ochre and earthy colours mimic the bush surroundings in which the school is located. The front counter in the reception area is shaped like a boomerang to encourage visitors to always come back. All the gardens are native and a recently added library represents a dolphin Nyitting story. Children, Elders and parents were all consulted about the beach and ocean theme for the library and it was named Kwilena, which is the Nyoongar word for dolphin. Community meetings are held regularly and include two different groups. At their request, meetings with Elders are held separately from those with parents and families. The parents tend to be a younger group with specific wants and needs that are different to the more traditional views and values of the Elders. It is the job of the school principal, Tegan Davis, to make decisions about the school that reflect both groups. She explains that if the two groups met together then it is likely that the younger participants would defer to the Elders because that is a cultural expectation—she would not hear so much from the parents. There are, however, annual general meetings where everyone is together. Tegan has been school principal for only 3 years, but before this job she was deputy principal and a teacher at Djidi Djidi. She believes community meetings are working better now than when she first took over as principal. Diverse and multiple agendas from different community groups used to make progress difficult, but she explains that in 2013 they established new protocols that are solutions focused. The meaning of consensus has been redefined to 80% agreement but with 100% commitment. Now that the community, parents and Elders have agreed to this idea of consensus the school has been able to make decisions and, as Tegan explains, “change the way we do business. And that’s become the biggest change agent here— our conversations are always solutions focused (personal communication, April 10, 2018)”. The school uses a well known psychological tool called ‘coaching’ that uses the acronym ‘GROWTH’ to map out a process of change. Participants set Goals that are appropriate for the Reality of the current situation, consider Options, decide What to do, and set a Timeframe in which to achieve goals. Tegan emphasises the importance of the conversations that take place about goals and the reality of challenges faced by families. “We don’t seek information to judge, we seek it to support (personal communication, 30 January, 2019)”. Finally, what Habits need to change in order to achieve these goals? The Chris Sarra ‘stronger, smarter’ philosophy (see Stronger Smarter Institute, n.d.) also informs the school’s ways of working. Staff

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and community participants are encouraged to be aware of their body language when they are speaking to each other, to be respectful even if you disagree, and to have the courage to speak up even when you know another person will not like what you say. Tegan emphasises the need to constantly remind all participants of their core business, which is the education of children, and she makes the point that the school is guided by the community, not governed by it. So if you asked an Elder, ‘do you like the way I run this school’, I think it would be an emphatic ‘no’. I really do. I respect their position and they understand that I have a job to do and whilst they may not all agree, what we no longer have here is people coming in and screaming and carrying on and that sort of behaviour because they’re not the protocols by which we deal with each other anymore. [We get lots of feedback from the Elders] – and I like it because that means they are still speaking to me. Even if they are cross, the fact that they perceive I am still approachable tells me that it’s all still pretty good. We had our annual public meeting on the 29th of March and a couple of the Elders who have been with us since inception and have held positions within the school – employed positions or school council positions – came along. Some of the comments that I hear are, I run a mission school like a nun. That we do not do enough Nyoongar language within this school. Lots of those sorts of things. They mainly centre around the varying of opinion about the amount of cultural delivery we do here. In a lot of ways, we agree to disagree on that. (personal communication, April 10, 2018)

The children do one hour of Nyoongar language a week, one hour of Nyoongar and contemporary dance a week, and explicit Aboriginal studies that are taught by an Aboriginal Inclusion Officer (AIO). So there are three hours a week of formal cultural learning, but there are also Aboriginal content and perspectives embedded in every lesson that is pervasive and aims to make connections between home and school. Elders are invited into the school to watch what happens on an average day and they can witness how Aboriginal perspectives and Aboriginal culture is honoured numerous times each day. The Indigenous pedagogy here means making those real-world links. ‘Do you have a story that you can share that connects to my story?’ We use the construct-deconstruct method. For example, in a mainstream school if you are doing a science experiment you start from the start and you finish at the finish – it’s very methodical. We acknowledge that’s very important because when you go to high school and you sit your ATAR that’s how scientific process works. But our children, as a rule, need to see the finished product first. They need to have it in the whole and then deconstruct it from there. Whereas the opposite happens in mainstream – we build up and have this finished product at the end. It’s the same when we do cooking. We must have the scones cooked and visible as the whole before we go back and start from the start like a wadjella school would do. So that’s what it means to me – using the processes and protocols versus just that tokenistic ‘ok, everyone let’s learn about Aboriginal culture. There you’ve done that lesson. Let’s pack that textbook away.’ It’s interwoven and its pervasive throughout your day (personal communication, April 10, 2018).

The school does not offer an alternative curriculum and, as Tegan explains, the only way they differ from any other mainstream school is we just provide exemplary education targeted towards Aboriginal children which you would not see in a mainstream school. We deliver the same curriculum as the school next door. Because that’s what’s required of us to be successful learners. Do we receive bucket loads of funding in comparison to the school next door? No – I’ll debunk that myth right now.

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We just choose to spend our money very differently. The two main differences are we teach Aboriginal language and Aboriginal dance as opposed to teaching Japanese or something like that. What you will see differently at Djidi Djidi, and I don’t think it’s exclusively just because we are Aboriginal – I think it should be best practice everywhere – is that every child at this school is individually case managed. And it’s exhaustive and it’s a massive process. But in order for our kids to achieve the success of a child in a mainstream school that is what needs to happen. So what does that look like? From the earliest age – that’s probably our three-year-old program – we intervene early, we fix what can be fixed – first and foremost. So if your ears are buggered, we fix it. If speech is the issue, we fix it. All of those things are easy fixes but they are left to languish too long in other schools. The way we go about that is generally down the private sector road. Whereas most other schools you would refer to a community health centre. Our sense of urgency here is so great that we choose to bypass that. So Djidi Djidi kids, for example, we will pay for a private speech therapist to deliver a session one-on-one with them, once a week, for an entire year. Another school will go, well they’ve got speech issues we’ll refer them to the community health service, which is free, however the wait list is fairly extraordinary. We feel we don’t have the time to do that. Because a non-Aboriginal child could potentially start school with 5,000 words – one of my children might start school with 500 words in their vocab. You can already see the disparity before we’ve even hit our straps. A non-Aboriginal child might have had several hundred books read to them. The majority of mine won’t have been exposed to environmental print. So from the very get-go, if we need to employ an Education Assistant whose sole job is to read you two books a day, that is what we do. What does that mean in terms of what we miss out on? There’s always something we miss out on. For example, you don’t see at Djidi Djidi phys-ed specialists. We don’t have it. Why do we pick that? Because generally we are exceptional at sport anyway. We love our sport, we’re great at it. So our teachers pick that up willingly if it means that we can intervene here and get that done. It’s just about balancing the books in that way. So every child is case managed here, and when I say case managed people think like the department of child protection or the welfare. No, it’s a whole family support. And that’s where that ‘moort maladiny’ concept comes in about growing families. So we start at the earliest opportunity and we grow these really strong authentic relationships with families that allow us to have these conversations – these honest conversations about your little one has got pretty shocking speech – this is not an indictment on your parenting. We just have this issue, let’s fix it. Ears are a mess here. Ok we know that Aboriginal children have otitis media rates that are off the charts. We get that. We know what the problems are. We look at the solutions to those problems. If it’s a private ENT [ear, nose, throat specialist) that has to come to Bunbury, then that’s what happens. We fix all of those fixables. Every five weeks – so we have a five weekly collection cycle of data. So every five weeks our teachers and – depending on the age of the kids – will set goals for their learning. They either meet or beat their targets and then we reset their goals all over again. Now if they don’t meet their targets we don’t say ‘oh well’ they’re a bit thick or a bit dumb. We don’t ever go that deficit route. We look at why didn’t it work. Was it teacher influence? What did the teacher need to do differently? Did attendance drop? It’s very fine-grained analysis of the data that we have. Because data doesn’t lie. Closing the gap – I don’t even really like going there because when we set these targets that we want to close it by whatever per cent, you’re still saying that we’re going to be this far behind. So our goals are aspirational, some of them in terms of saying that we want to be up there with a Nedlands or a Dalkeith.3 They’re our aspirational targets, but we also have those real goals on the ground like we want to beat, or be better than, all of our like schools. People say, why do you compare yourselves with a like school? Why don’t you compare yourself with a Dalkeith? And I say, when the children all start at the same running gate and they all have the same amount of words, then we’ll do it. But until then, why would I? It’s like comparing apples and oranges. So every 3 Dalkeith

and Nedlands are two affluent suburbs of Perth.

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five weeks the data is turned over. We discuss the data and every single child has a new plan – it’s exhaustive and it’s huge. (personal communication, April 10 2018)

Each Djidi Djidi teacher will make a visit to their students’ homes at least once a year. Where it is not appropriate to make a home visit, the teacher will find other ways to engage with the family such as sending home communications and examples of the child’s work. It is a bigger workload and when I look at the model Djidi Djidi runs our staff are all over allocated their duties-other-than-teaching (DOT) because I acknowledge how much we expect them to do. Our student-teacher ratio is higher. Each one of our classrooms here has a minimum of three adults per class. So it’s more in the way that we structure the school. The students finish here at 2.30 every day. So that also provides us with that buffer because most schools finish at 3.10. So that tells me at the end of the day you’ve got that 40 min window. No staff member walks out of here at 2.30. Seven years ago when we first started the change into the new Djidi Djidi some teachers felt really challenged by the high expectations model that we wanted to run. And I was disappointed in that because the kids will rise to whatever bar we set for them and when it’s really low then they are going to achieve just that low bar. They’re not going to be self-determining at this age and push themselves beyond that. So we had really quality teachers here but we had some really hard conversations. I’m not saying you can’t teach; I’m just saying that you can’t teach at this school. Too many people had that white knight mentality that we were here to rescue our children and to save them – we’re not. These kids don’t need rescuing. The parents don’t need, necessarily, to be told how to parent. I’m yet to meet a parent here who doesn’t give a toss about their child. Just because the way they care looks different to my middle-class upbringing, doesn’t make it wrong. It’s just about that no judgement. When you’ve got that white knight philosophy, you’re on a hiding to nothing because it’s not authentic and you are not in a partnership with our families. We lost quite a few staff and on the surface they looked like the really nurturing ones, and they were. But feeding our children all day and letting them sleep all day and allowing someone to colour in because they’ve got such a hard life isn’t nurturing. You may as well put a ball and chain on their ankle and resign them to a life of mediocrity. (2018)

The children at Djidi Djidi are being prepared for two different worlds: We have a mantra, or a little motto, at Djidi Djidi – we honour our past, we live in the present, but we’re always preparing for the future… Our curriculum is as broad as it needs to be and its as defined as it needs to be, but ultimately, we are just wanting to create kids that are critical thinkers. They know their worth, they know where they’re going, and they know what they need in order to get there. This is a very exciting school to be a part of. (2018)

To summarise Djidi Djidi in action research terms, collaboration is at the heart of their school philosophy. They consult regularly and extensively with the Aboriginal families and Elders who make up their school community. Community meetings are an opportunity for teachers and families to reflect, assess progress and plan for the future. Principal Tegan Davis also asks teaching staff to reflect on their teaching practices and their expectations of the children. Each child is individually managed in consultation with family—individual goals are set for students, assessed every 5 weeks and a new plan of action determined based on data. Where goals are not met teachers not only look at environmental factors that may hinder success, but also look to their own teaching practice to determine if it is appropriate for the child. Capacity building for the Djidi Djidi students is evident not only in their academic

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success but their engagement with Nyoongar language and culture. This in turn is capacity building for the wider Nyoongar community.

Working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students—University With Universities Australia undertaking the “National Best Practice Framework for Indigenous Cultural Competency” in 2009, there is now an ongoing national objective for all universities to continue the work initiated by this project. The ultimate aim of the project was to provide the Australian higher education sector with a best practice framework comprising the theoretical and practical tools necessary to embed cultural competency at the institutional level to provide encouraging and supportive environments for Indigenous students and staff, as well as to embed in non-Indigenous graduates the knowledge and skills necessary for them to provide genuinely competent services to the Australian Indigenous community. (Universities Australia, 2011, p. 6)

Universities are developing programs and services that will meet the needs of both First Nations and non-Indigenous students, and significant progress is being made for all students. In Perth all four universities: The University of Western Australia, Edith Cowan University, Murdoch University, University of Notre Dame, and Curtin University have dedicated Indigenous centres for learning and research, and/or offer units of study for students designed to develop cultural competency (see http://www.web.uwa.edu.au/indigenous; http://www.ecu.edu.au/centres/ kurongkurl-katitjin/overview; http://www.murdoch.edu.au/Kulbardi/; https://www. nd.edu.au/indigenous-portal; https://karda.curtin.edu.au/). Research into the transitioning of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students into university has produced a range of key findings that can contribute to increasing the number of students attending university and to improving their university experience once they have made that transition. Rochecouste et al. (2016) surveyed staff and students from four Australian universities and consequently recommended policies and best practice that would assist Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander university students. The first set of recommendations relate to teaching staff and, in many ways, can be applied to the teaching of all student cohorts but may be considered particularly beneficial to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. The recognition of a wide range of learning styles, the need for teachers to be explicit about assessment expectations and providing learning opportunities outside of the classroom are recommendations for teaching and learning approaches. However, the development of relationships was considered one of the most important factors for teaching staff to understand. Survey data revealed that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students “are keen to form a relationship with a member of the teaching or support staff. They need to have someone they know whom they can approach for advice (Rochecouste et al., 2016, p. 12)”. The authors urge teaching staff to be aware of the cultural issues such as family obligations that

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impact students, and to be sensitive to overt and covert racism. The classroom needs to be a culturally safe place for all students. Narrative is acknowledged as a preferred and “prominent means of knowledge transmission in Aboriginal culture” and so teaching staff should draw upon either their own personal or vicarious experience to explain or further explore difficult concepts (Rochecouste et al., 2016, p. 13). In considering policy Rochecouste and colleagues again address the issue of overt and covert racism, which is the responsibility of both the individual and the university. “It needs to be explicitly addressed at the policy level and to be rigorously enforced at all levels of the university (2016, p. 14)”. This awareness is the responsibility of all university staff who must accommodate the diversity of their Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students and “divest themselves of expectations…of overt stereotypical manifestations of Aboriginality (2016:14)”. While the specific needs of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students should be acknowledged, they cannot be expected to look or behave differently to non-Indigenous students, or to choose only from Indigenous courses of study. They conclude that, while there have been small changes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students’ experience of university, there are concerns that still need to be addressed.

Case Study: Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies While there are exceptions, most Australian universities are colonised places that are traditionally dominated by the hegemonic Western culture. The challenge for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander academics and students is to claim a space of their own that recognises Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ways of knowing and doing, where the knowledge of First Nations academics is respected and has equal status to dominant white epistemologies. The Centre for Aboriginal Studies (CAS) at Curtin University was originally conceived in 1984 as both a physical and intellectual space for Aboriginal academics, students and knowledge. A set of principles designed to provide the basis for the operation of the Centre began to emerge […] They ensured that the Centre itself would operate according to needs and realities of Aboriginal community and cultural life, rather than adhering to commonly accepted Western protocols and procedures that were often alien to Aboriginal experience. (Kickett et al., 2019, p15)

The centre has been operating as an education program for much longer and celebrated its thirty-five year anniversary in 2017. Dudgeon and Fielder describe it in Homi Bhabha’s terms, as a third space, where the classroom opens up “a space in-between the coloniser and the colonised (2006, p. 406)”. The priority for CAS is educational and pedagogical process rather than just curriculum and the “injection of knowledge” (Dudgeon & Fielder, 2006, p. 405). To avoid tokenism and empty rhetoric, and to create a meaningful experience, the classroom must become a place for reflection and an educational experience. The classroom is a third space that

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…requires the spirit of generosity and trust: it cannot be manufactured in a formulaic way. It probably can be faked and romanticised, but then there is no risk, no productive tension, and no change. The third space unsettles […] They’re often risky, unsettling spaces – where the security and familiarity of our own place of belonging has to be left behind. We have to shift, to be open, to listen, to change[…] All students in these units face some level of risk (Dudgeon & Fielder, 2006, p. 407).

Indigenous pedagogy, knowledge and ways of working are respected and prioritised at CAS. It is a space for both First Nations and non-Indigenous staff and students because CAS is at the heart of the university’s goals for reconciliation, closing the gap and developing cultural competency in graduates; and so collaboration plays an important role in achieving those goals and in the success of CAS. However, the employment of Aboriginal staff at CAS is prioritised. Nyoongar author and academic, Ted Wilkes, one of the founders of the centre acknowledges the need for collaboration: I’ve always maintained that Aboriginal people need to control their pathways out of poverty. It’s important for non-Aboriginal people to understand this: we Aboriginal leaders need you alongside us to help us, but we don’t want you to come in and patronise or paternalise systems (Noongar Dandjoo TV, 2017).

One of the priorities for the centre is to educate Aboriginal people without them needing to relocate for long periods of time and so they run courses as ‘blocks’ that run for 2 weeks, three or four times a year. One CAS student describes the centre as “a place that belongs to them. We feel a part of a community and a connection to each other. We have a safe place to belong. It [CAS] works so well because we are all together. The programs are set up for us and it continually improves with the feedback from the students (Noongar Dandjoo TV, 2017)”. CAS was the first of its kind in Australia and other universities have looked to the model that CAS provides as they set up their own centres for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education. Ernie Stringer was a member of staff at CAS from 1984, when it was first established, to 2002. He has expertise in the area of education and social research methods, with many years of experience working with Aboriginal people. That experience has taught him that he can work more effectively when collaborating with Aboriginal people than when he works alone. For example: When I was in teacher education I used to give lectures about Aboriginal issues. About teaching in an Aboriginal school, teaching Aboriginal students and that. I discovered that it wasn’t nearly as effective and it had not nearly as much impact as when I bought Aboriginal people in to speak in their own voices about the same issues. … I think it’s quite remarkable, when I think back on it – it was never easy – but how effective and productive it was when we were working. We being the Aboriginal staff and I, were working together, each bringing our own expertise and understanding and knowledge into the area. (personal communication, June 6, 2017)

This collaborative approach was the foundation for the community-based research that underpinned and informed the early days of CAS. The centre was working directly with Aboriginal community groups, running workshops to assist organisations with the skills they needed to be independently successful. The processes and

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understandings that evolved as a result of these community development services were then applied to the setting up of courses at CAS. People were consulted about what they wanted in the courses when staff went out into the communities for work. It was “informal and unstructured, to some extent. But it was very extensive (Stringer, 2017)”. A health program was then developed with a more systematic approach that involved running workshops for over a year in regional communities to determine what were the health needs of Aboriginal people and what types of training was needed for Aboriginal health workers. The extensive community consultation that Ernie describes is the ‘look’ stage of the action research cycle. He speaks with pride about the early days of CAS in the 1980s and their engagement with community: “I’ve not seen any evidence of anything as extensive or well grounded (personal communication, June 6, 2017)”. While on sabbatical in Illinois, Stringer was encouraged to write about what he knew as ‘community-based research’. He was then introduced to action research by Steve Kemmis (see Kemmis, McTaggart, & Nixon, 2013), a contemporary of Stringer, and realised the similarities between the two methodologies. Stringer, from then on, used action research to describe his work and went on to write several books on the subject (see Stringer, 2007, 2008). Nyoongar Elder, Darryl Kickett, worked closely with Stringer in the early 1990s, the early days of the community development program. He says that the program was two pronged – one area of focus was to bring impact to the development of Aboriginal communities. Help with the development of leadership and develop skills to manage your own affairs. On the other hand, we wanted to help prepare government and NGO (nonGovernment organisations) to prepare their staff to service Aboriginal needs properly and effectively so that would lead to empowerment of communities. (personal communication, January 1, 2018)

Darryl explains that the starting point for working with any community is to ask, “where are you hurting”? Problems stem from a lack of attention to the little things such as food, shelter, relationships and the nurturing of children. People can talk about what has gone wrong but can’t articulate the solutions. He describes the stages of a community development program in action research terms. Start by talking about the children. Start by building a picture and determining what is out there, who are the families, what exists in terms of services, what are the good things that are happening, and what are the bad? This is essentially the ‘look’ stage of action research. Build a picture and analyse it. From that analysis you then start to create goals – so what do you want to achieve? When they have set their own goals then you implement the actions to achieve that goal. What steps are needed? It’s the experience they have to work with it. Then at certain points you evaluate. What worked and what didn’t? What went wrong and how can we fix that? So you redefine your plan. In the end, people become masters of their own destiny. (D.Kickett, personal communication, January 1, 2018)

The first courses developed by CAS used a competency-based design that was inspired by an Aboriginal Management Program at the Northern Territory Batchelor

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Institute. There was some theory in the curriculum design of the program, but the structure was project based. Often the community itself would identify who in the community should attend a course and then, working with a mentor, the student designs a project for their own community that also meets the standards of the course. Students were required to demonstrate competencies as they worked through their community project, and then they were assessed as complete or incomplete. No traditional grading or marking system was used. These competency-based courses formed the foundations for the degree programs that are offered by CAS today, although current courses now comply with traditional university degree structures and assessment policies. However, the Centre prides itself on continuing to respond to Aboriginal community needs and now offers courses in Indigenous Community Management and Indigenous Health as part of a Bachelor of Science course. The centre’s history is a source of pride for CAS staff who offer statistics for improved retention rates and high numbers of graduating Aboriginal students as evidence of the Centre’s success. Marion Kickett is a Nyoongar Yamatji Wangai woman and the Director of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University. When she accepted the role of Director, one of her priorities was to further extend the collaborative work done with other schools in the university because she believed that collaboration is beneficial for the centre and for the staff who work with her. “The Centre can’t do everything. Aboriginal people only make up a small percentage of the population – there aren’t many of us. And so working in collaboration is about success (M. Kickett, personal communication, April 27, 2017)”. She describes successful collaboration as a relationship in which Aboriginal knowledge and protocols are respected, and the building of relationships that provide space for talking and sharing. The new medical school at Curtin provides an example of successful collaboration, which grew from the school Dean approaching Marion when plans for the school first commenced. They met regularly to discuss an Aboriginal health unit that would be offered for medical students and the medical school was eventually accredited with special mention made of their relationship with CAS. The Centre for Human Rights also approached CAS to assist in their plans to run a postgraduate unit and to offer on-country cultural experiences to their staff and students. Other collaborations include relationships with the School of Built Environment, the School of Media, Creative Arts and Social Inquiry, the School of Nursing, the School of Social Work, and with the Sustainability Policy Institute. Sometimes CAS staff are seconded to other schools for a period of time to assist with teaching, or staff may be called upon to do guest lectures in other teaching programs. Prior to Marion taking over as Director, she says that a few CAS staff were teaching non-Indigenous students outside of the centre. Now they are encouraged to work outside the Centre, and this is crucial to her staff’s development and growth. They have the opportunity to develop their professional skills as well as their ability to work with non-Aboriginal people. Her staff feel pride in their successes and Marion too finds their success personally rewarding. On the other hand, Marion explains, when non-Indigenous staff are seconded to CAS the results are less successful because “you have to be a certain type of personality to work in CAS if you are non-Aboriginal because you (the non-Indigenous staff member) are

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the minority… it can be a bit of a culture shock (2017)”. Those non-Indigenous staff who have been successfully seconded to CAS are able to adapt, and they work well with CAS staff and students. One non-Indigenous staff member has been working with CAS for 17 years, but the aim is to employ Indigenous staff wherever possible. Sometimes a non-Indigenous person must be employed when the appropriate skills and experience are not available, but a succession plan will be put in place to ensure that an Indigenous person is trained and then moved into that position as soon as possible. Each collaborative relationship is different because different individuals respond differently to a collaborative relationship, especially when working with protocols. Marion believes that consultation is the most important protocol to be respected, especially when teaching Indigenous content, or undertaking Indigenous research— the core business of any university. Some non-Indigenous staff will decide that they don’t need advice from a First Nations person to teach Indigenous content, while others will recognise that there is some teaching that can only be delivered by a First Nations teacher. Failing to recognise when Indigenous content needs to be delivered by a First Nations teacher is a failure to respect Indigenous knowledge and a failure to deliver an authentic learning experience for students. A non-Aboriginal person can teach the content. You can teach it from a book and you can get students through. But to have real value and meaning to the content it is far more important for Aboriginal people to teach that content - for the students especially. For the [non-Indigenous] person doing it, it demonstrates that they at least respect Aboriginal people and culture, and acknowledge that they should have at least some involvement of Aboriginal people. (M.Kickett, personal communication, April 27, 2017)

Marion sees CAS as the way of the future. It is a pathway into university for Aboriginal people and “education is key. It’s the key to our future”(2017). Darryl Kickett sums up the success of CAS by acknowledging their hundreds of graduates: I take my hat off to them because they’re the ones who did it. They did it. Nobody else did it for them. To see them graduate and go out into the world to conquer the environment around them – in a good way – and to be able to promote their culture using these new skills, I think, is so important (Noongar Dandjoo TV, 2017).

A history of CAS was published in 2019 (Kickett et al.) in recognition of 35 years since the Centre was established in 1983. The book not only celebrates the many successes of the Centre, but it also acknowledges the constant struggle for Centre leadership who must continuously explain why they continue to offer unique and different programs that do not fit the traditional university model, and why funding needs to be maintained. “In the course of producing this history a number of senior Aboriginal staff exclaimed in exasperation, ‘They just don’t get it!’ (Kickett et al., 2019, p. 58)”. As a third space, the Centre for Aboriginal Studies continues its struggle to maintain a unique identity that serves the needs of the Aboriginal community, while also resisting pressure “to conform to the procedures and protocols of the university (2019, p. 69)”. This struggle requires CAS and the university to constantly reflect on

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their decisions and actions, to continue to collaborate, and to maintain a close and respectful relationship. In summary, the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal Studies was imagined and developed with a Community Engagement framework, a philosophy and methodology that is very similar to Action Research. Courses have been designed in collaboration with community partners, and they continue to evolve based on feedback and consultation with the community. This is a clear look, think, act cyclic model for education as the CAS courses are regularly reassessed and redesigned in response to community and student feedback. There is also a strong element of capacity building in the CAS model as the value of education is recognised as an essential factor in contributing to the future of Aboriginal people and communities. The aim is to build on the local and cultural knowledge that resides in each community, and to further develop the capacity of individuals to provide for the needs of their own community. The majority of staff at CAS are Aboriginal and this strategy will help to grow the number of Aboriginal academics and students in the university. Finally, collaboration is at the heart of the Centre’s success—collaboration with diverse and individual Aboriginal communities, with the University as an institution, and collaboration with individual non-Indigenous staff and students.

Conclusion There are many people and programs in Nyoongar country who are working to improve education outcomes for Aboriginal students. Education can make a great contribution to the nation’s ‘Closing the Gap’ programs and policies. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students take the benefits of good education into their communities and families, and so break the cycle of poverty and disadvantage. Education impacts all other aspects of well-being, including health and employment, and it contributes to the ability of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to walk in two worlds. When looking at each of the successful education programs outlined in this chapter, it is apparent that they share common ground in terms of those elements that have contributed most significantly to their success. The focus however must be people, because people are the number one ingredient for a successful Indigenous education program. Education needs people who are willing to champion and prioritise Indigenous education for their students, and who are willing to give the time and energy that is needed to nurture the relationships that are essential for success. Relationships with community, families, students and Elders are at the heart of each successful education project—and relationships take time. This is the challenge for all levels of education, and for those policymakers and managers who design curriculum, manage teacher workloads and control budgets. Long-term commitment is essential for success and that commitment requires financial support and formal recognition for the time needed to teach well.

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References ACIL Allen Consulting. (2014). Evaluation of the Aboriginal and Torrest Strait Islander Education Action Plan 2010–2014. Retrieved from http://www.scseec.edu.au/site/DefaultSite/filesystem/ documents/ATSIdocuments/ATSI2010-2014FinalEvaluationReport/1Final_Evaluation_ ATSIEAP_ACILAllenConsulting.pdf. Association of Independent Schools of Western Australia. Future Footprints Program. Retrieved from https://www.ais.wa.edu.au/future-footprints-program. Bat, M., Kilgariff, C., & Doe, T. (2014). Indigenous tertiary education—we are all learning: Both-ways pedagogy in the Northern Territory of Australia. Higher Education Research & Development, 33(5), 871–886. Beresford, Q. (2012). Separate and UnEqual: An Outline of Aboriginal Education 1900–1996. In Q. Beresford, G. Partington, & G. Gower (Eds.), Reform and resistance in aboriginal education. Perth: UWA Publishing. Behrendt, L., Larkin, S., Griew, R., & Kelly, P. (2012). Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People: Final Report. Retrieved from https://docs.education.gov.au/system/files/doc/other/ heaccessandoutcomesforaboriginalandtorresstraitislanderfinalreport.pdf. Beresford, Q., & Partington, G. (2012). The Context of Aboriginal Education. In Q. Beresford, G. Partington, & G. Gower (Eds.), Reform and resistance in aboriginal education. Perth: UWA Publishing. Calma, T. (2008). Launch of ‘Our Children Our Future’ report. Retrieved from https://www. humanrights.gov.au/news/speeches/launch-our-children-our-future-report. Council of Australian Governments. (2008). National Indigenous Reform Agreement. Retrieved from http://www.federalfinancialrelations.gov.au/content/npa/health/_archive/indigenousreform/national-agreement_sept_12.pdf. Delmege, S. (2005). A trans-generational effect of the 1905 Aborigines Act (WA): The making of the fringe-dwellers in the south west of Western Australia. Murdoch University Electronic Journal of Law, 6, 1. Retrieved from http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/journals/MurUEJL/2005/6.html. Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. (2017). Closing the Gap Prime Minister’s Report 2017. Retrieved from Canberra: https://closingthegap.pmc.gov.au/sites/default/files/ctg-report2017.pdf. Djidi Djidi Aboriginal School.—Home page. Retrieved from http://djididjidiaboriginalschool.wa. edu.au/. Dockery, M. (2010). Culture and Wellbeing: The case of Indigenous Australians. Social Indicators Research, 99(2), 315–332. Dudgeon, P., & Fielder, J. (2006). Third spaces within tertiary places: Indigenous australian studies. Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, 16, 396–409. Education Council. (2015). National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Strategy 2015. Education Council Retrieved from http://www.scseec.edu.au/site/DefaultSite/filesystem/ documents/ATSIdocuments/DECD__NATSI_EducationStrategy.pdf. Frawley, J., & Fasoli, L. (2012). Working Together: Intercultural leadership capabilities for bothways education. School Leadership & Management, 32(4), 309–320. Haebich, A. (1992). For Their Own Good: Aborigines and government in the South West of Western Australia 1900–1940. Nedlands: University of Western Australia Press. Harrison, N., & Sellwood, J. (2016). Learning and teaching in aboriginal and Torres strait islander education (3rd ed.). South Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Host, J., Owen, C., & South West Aborinal Land and Sea Council. (2009). “It’s Still in my Heart, This is My Country.” The Single Noongar Claim History. Perth: UWA Publishing. Indigenous Literacy Foundation. (2018). News and Events. 2018 NAPLAN results released. Retrieved from https://www.indigenousliteracyfoundation.org.au/news-events/2018naplan-results-released. Kemmis, S., McTaggart, R., & Nixon, R. (2013). The action research planner. Singapore: Springer.

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Kickett, M., Wilkes, T., Satour, T., Kickett, D., Dudgeon, P., Lee Hong, A., et al. (2019). A history of achievement. Centre for Aboriginal Studies, WA: The Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University. Ministerial Council for Education, Early Childhood Development and Youth Affairs. (2010). Aboriginal and Torres strait islander education action plan 2010–2014. Carlton South: Ministerial Council for Education, Early Childhood Development and Youth Affairs Retrieved from http://www.scseec.edu.au/site/DefaultSite/filesystem/documents/ ATSIdocuments/ATSIEAP_web_version_final.pdf. Noongar Dandjoo TV. (2017). Noongar Dandjoo Series 8 [Video]. In M. Johnston & S. Goldrick (Producers). Perth: Curtin University. O’Keefe, K., Olney, H., & Angus, M. (2012). Obstacles to Success. Retrieved from https://www. appa.asn.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Obstacles-to-success.pdf. Rochecouste, J., Oliver, R., Bennell, D., Anderson, R., Cooper, I., & Forrest, S. (2016). Teaching Australian Aboriginal higher education students: what should universities do? Studies in Higher Eduation, 12. Stringer, E. (2007). Action research. California: Sage Publications. Stringer, E. (2008). Action research in education. Columbus, Ohio: Pearson Prentice Hall. Stronger Smarter Institute. (n.d.). Stronger Smarter Institute. Retrieved from http://strongersmarter. com.au/. Universities Australia. (2011). National Best Practice Framework for Indigenous Cultural Competency in Australian Universities. Retrieved from Canberra: https://www.universitiesaustralia. edu.au/. World Indigenous Peoples Conference on Education. (2017). About: A Celebration of Resilience. Retrieved from http://snpolytechnic.com/wipce2017/conference. World Indigenous Peoples Conference on Education. (1999). The Coolangatta Statement on Indigenous People’s Rights in Education. Retrieved from Hawai’i: http://press-files.anu.edu.au/ downloads/press/p15621/pdf/ch191.pdf.

Chapter 8

Education and Non-Indigenous Students

Abstract This chapter acknowledges that many teachers feel unprepared to teach Indigenous content to their non-Indigenous students. It looks again at the policies as well as some of the difficulties teachers face at different stages of a student’s education. There are two case studies. The first is a university cross-discipline servicelearning program that aims to develop cultural awareness and cultural competency in students. The unit is called Aboriginal Community Engagement and it employs an action research framework for guiding the students’ relationships as they work with Aboriginal community partners. The second case study is the Nyoongar Culture and Identity unit that takes Curtin University students on-country for 5 days of cultural immersion.

As a nation we will walk side by side with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People on the journey of recognition and reconciliation, to build a promising future for all. (2017, Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, p. 1)

The previous chapter looked at the challenges for teachers and students in the area of education for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students. It is recommended reading before this chapter about Indigenous education for non-Indigenous students because the history and policies addressed in Chap. 7 are relevant to all areas of Indigenous education and to all students. In June 2017 The Sydney Morning Herald, with numerous other media outlets, printed a story with the headline, “School’s controversial Stolen Generations lesson draws parents’ ire” (Singhal, 2017). The story reports that a school staff member entered a year four classroom one morning and told the children that she had received a letter from the Prime Minister’s office. The letter said that their parents were not taking care of them and so they would be taken away from their families. At first the children didn’t believe the story, but the school insisted it was true and allowed the children to believe it until 2.50 pm the same afternoon. Some of the children were upset by the story and started to cry. Some could not eat their lunch, and one child started to think of ways to escape from the school. When parents learnt of the school’s lesson, many were outraged and accused the school of emotional abuse. The story sparked a discussion about how best to teach the history of the Stolen Generations to school children, a conversation that was joined by First Nations © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_8

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author Trina Saffioti who wrote the children’s book Stolen Girl. Saffioti said “the classroom exercise was misguided” and “sort of cheapens almost what has happened with the Stolen Generations”. She explains there are better ways to teach that history using books, printed material and by seeking out “an Indigenous person to get some advice on how to handle such a sensitive subject (Smiley, 2017)”. This example of teaching Indigenous content is illustrative of the uncertainty and confusion that non-Indigenous teachers still face when teaching Indigenous content. There are many schools and teachers who are passionate about developing cultural competency and furthering their non-Indigenous students’ knowledge of First Nations People, history and culture. However, it is also acknowledged that there are many teachers who feel ill-prepared to teach Indigenous content to their students and the Stolen Generations lesson above is an example of that problem. Teaching Indigenous content in schools is a priority for government policy and curriculum designers because education has an important role to play in advancing Australia’s goals for reconciliation and for ‘Closing the Gap’ of disadvantage for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians. Experiences of racism will continue for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people until non-Indigenous Australia has a better understanding of First Peoples culture and history. As mentioned previously, a discussion about teaching Indigenous content could potentially cover a lot of ground and would ideally address all stages of education. This chapter includes case studies that are examples of university teaching, however, the themes and lessons offered can hopefully be applied more broadly. It addresses some of the concerns that teachers have about teaching Indigenous content. It provides an overview of the curriculum policies that are shaping the delivery of Indigenous content in schools, as well as discussing some successful strategies and a case study for teaching Indigenous content to students at all stages of their education. The focus here is ‘how’ to teach rather than ‘what’ to teach, and action research is again offered as a framework to guide teachers who want to contribute to students’ learning and to work with First Nations People.

Curriculum Overview The state and national Curriculum Authorities have addressed the need for better teaching of Indigenous content for all students. It recognises the need for the Australian Curriculum to provide every opportunity possible to ‘close the gap’ and so, at a national level, the Australian Curriculum is working towards addressing two distinct needs in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education: • that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students are able to see themselves, their identities and their cultures reflected in the curriculum of each of the learning areas, can fully participate in the curriculum and can build their self-esteem;

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• that the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Histories and Cultures crosscurriculum priority is designed for all students to engage in reconciliation, respect and recognition of the world’s oldest continuous living cultures. (Australian Curriculum). These are welcome and important goals, but how do they translate into the day-today practice of teachers? Indigenous curriculum in primary and secondary schools is determined by each state’s curriculum council and aims to embed Indigenous content and perspectives into all subjects taught in schools. Content has been mapped out for teachers and students of all ages, yet non-Indigenous teachers struggle to include Indigenous content in an already crowded curriculum, and when they feel ill-prepared to teach about a culture that they themselves know very little (See Aboriginal cultural standards framework: http://det.wa.edu.au/aboriginaleducation/detcms/portal/). As university teachers, we are aware of how little our non-Indigenous students know about First Nations People, history and culture when they commence their studies at university. Secondary school curriculum offers some learning in this area, but most students commence university with a very basic knowledge and understanding that does little to dispel stereotypical and racist ideas of First Nations People and cultures. Today’s university students are tomorrow’s professionals, and many will in the future be working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in a professional capacity. Tertiary graduates will one day contribute to our nation’s ambition to improve the lives of Australia’s First Peoples, therefore their knowledge and experience of First Nations People must be prioritised if progress is to be made in closing the gap. Dr Graeme Gower, a descendant of the Yawuru people of Broome, is an academic at Edith Cowan University where he presents a Cultural Competency course that is mandatory for all education students: The Aboriginal population is growing markedly – it’s hovering around 760 odd thousand. And most of those people are in the five to twenty age group. It’s a young population that’s coming through and so the chances of graduates coming into contact with Aboriginal people is increasing by the day. When they ask the question, “why are we doing this unit?”, I come back to them and say “why shouldn’t you be doing it?” Some of them think they won’t be coming into contact with Indigenous people, and I say “what makes you think that?” “Because I’m living in Perth.” I say, “don’t you realise that the majority of Aboriginal people live in cities?” People are so naïve that they think they will never come across Indigenous Australians because they live or work in an affluent suburb. (personal communication, March 8, 2018)

The answer to the question, “why do I need to know about Aboriginal culture”? is usually answered in terms of benefits for First Peoples—when non-Indigenous students acquire cultural competency and learn about Indigenous history they will contribute to reconciliation, they will be prepared to deliver professional services to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and they are less likely to be perpetrators of racism that does harm to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. However, knowing about First Nations People, cultures and history has benefits for non-Indigenous people as well. Engaging with First Nations People, cultures and history will develop empathy, a sense of identity and an appreciation of diversity.

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Senior Research Fellow, Michael Westaway, argues that engaging with the long history of First Nations Australia opens up a pathway to new understandings about Australia in a global context and “a truly Australian narrative (2014)”. It promotes empathy, which he describes as a skill and “a very powerful emotion that helps us recognise and understand diversity.” Without empathy we are deprived of “a more comprehensive appreciation of our humanity (2014)”. Indigenous Education lecturer, Jessica Rogers, responded to government advisors tasked with reviewing the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander content in the Australian curriculum. The opinion was expressed by some that there was too much emphasis placed on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander histories and cultures and the balance needed to swing back to a better understanding of Western civilisation and a Western narrative. Rogers argues that students should “have genuine opportunities to learn about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to share pride in our complete and balanced national story (2014)”. Jo Goodwin reminds us that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures are everybody’s business and tokenistic additions of First Peoples’ stories to the national curriculum miss the opportunity for wonderful new insights that can come from considering and accommodating a new world view. In working with all children, but particularly Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children, we need to understand the strength, sense of identity and belonging that comes from recognising culture as a unique, core part of every individual’s being (2012).

In October 2011, Universities Australia responded to the Closing the Gap initiative with the introduction of the “National Best Practice Framework for Indigenous Cultural Competency”. It was recognised that universities have an obligation to produce culturally competent graduates that can make an impact on the delivery of professional services to First Nations People. In spite of a proliferation of cultural awareness courses being delivered by professional organisations across Australia, there was little evidence that this was making any impact in the lives of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who continue to feel alienated by services delivered by predominantly non-Indigenous Australians. Universities and their graduates have an important role to play in creating a future that can deliver professional services with, and for, First Nations People. The Universities Australia document shifts the conversation from cultural awareness to cultural competency and acknowledges that there is no single definition of cultural competency. We offer Graeme Gower and Matt Byrne’s definition: to develop an informed position based on an understanding and appreciation of Aboriginal issues, culture and way of life that enables confident and effective interaction with Aboriginal people and the wider society. (2012, p. 380)

They present an illustration of how First Nations and Western knowledge can come together to “bring better outcomes and services for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people”, a framework that reflects the ‘two way’ concept that is the title of this book. It is interesting to note that the illustration of cultural competency (Illustration 8.1) also translates into an illustration of third space. One circle represents First

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Illustration 8.1 Cultural Competency Framework. (2012, p. 381) Indigenous Knowledge System

Cultural Competency

Western Knowledge System

Nations cultures, the other circle represents non-Indigenous culture and the space where they overlap is a third space (see Chap. 4). The classrooms in our educational institutions could be considered physical third spaces where each culture is respected and acknowledged, one does not dominate the other, and the students who emerge from those classrooms are a product of two (or more) cultures coming together (see Chap. 7 and ‘both way’ learning). This is not just an idealistic way of thinking about education, but rather an image and a goal all teachers and education policymakers should keep in mind. Rhonda Livingstone is the Australian Children’s Education and Care Quality Authority (ACECQA) National Education Leader. In addition to Gower and Byrne’s definition of cultural competence she adds: Underlying cultural competence are the principles of trust, respect for diversity, equity, fairness, and social justice…Culture is the fundamental building block of identity and the development of a strong cultural identity is essential to children’s healthy sense of who they are and where they belong. Educators who are culturally competent respect multiple cultural ways of knowing, seeing and living, celebrate the benefits of diversity and have an ability to understand and honour differences. (Livingstone, 2014).

Livingstone and Gower both explain that there is no single definition of cultural competence, that it is not static, that it is “a journey, not an endpoint (Livingstone, 2014)”. If willing to enter that space you must be prepared to reflect on and examine your own cultural beliefs, and “to step outside your own cultural paradigm (Gower, 2018)”. (See also the Narragunnawali website at https://www.narragunnawali.org. au/about) All acknowledge that cultural competency “can operate at the individual and organisation levels” (2012, p. 386), a point that is similarly made by Universities Australia who recognise that cultural competency must be developed at the individual, professional and institutional levels (2011, pp. 37-48). There is a great deal of work being done in this space. The Western Australian Department of Education has developed the “Aboriginal Cultural Standards Framework” (2017), the first state in Australia to implement such an initiative. It aims to provide guidelines for school staff to be ‘culturally responsive’ by assisting them in working with Aboriginal students, families and communities with the ultimate aim of closing the gap for First Nations students’ educational outcomes. The document

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reflects the current research around Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education that was presented in the previous chapter, participatory and inclusive practices with First Nations families and community, the adoption of high expectations for First Nations students, the encouragement of flexible and adaptive approaches to teaching and learning, and the creation of a safe and welcoming space for First Nations students. The recognition of individual and culturally appropriate learning needs is listed as an indicator of a culturally responsive school, and staff are asked to respect the knowledge and experience of First Peoples, but the framework does not discuss or provide information pertaining to Indigenous pedagogy. While schools are encouraged to prioritise the framework and work towards improving staff and students’ awareness of First Nations cultures and history, the framework is not mandatory and schools will not be assessed or measured in their response to it. It remains the responsibility of individual teachers and schools to implement culturally responsive policy and practice. So what do Western Australian teachers think about this new Education Department initiative, especially those schools with small numbers of First Nations students? How does the Education Department’s goal to transform schools into culturally responsive spaces translate into the day-to-day activities of teaching and learning in our schools? How does the Cultural Standards Framework assist teachers in delivering Indigenous content to their non-Indigenous students? A survey conducted by the authors of a small sample of teachers at Perth secondary schools provides evidence that while all respondents thought it was important to include Indigenous content at all levels of schooling, not all teachers felt confident in delivering that content to their students. Those that did feel confident had taken steps to develop their own competency because they have a personal sense of advocacy or interest in First Nations People and issues. Some examples of feedback include I feel confident in the areas where I have liaised directly with Elders who have given me permission to share stories and ideas with students. I read a great deal and watch a number of visual texts, I’m confident in including information; however, I also think context needs to be included. I do feel confident, perhaps this is because I have a son who works in communities and recognises and respects culture and Country. We frequently share together. I personally feel confident as I chose to study the topic at uni in both undergrad and post grad. I also took the opportunity to work in a remote community school. Not many teachers are in this boat in my experience. Having said that there are many areas on which my knowledge is not deep or potentially outdated - constantly looking for further resources. Having a member of your department/school that can be seen as an ‘expert’ and go-to person might help.

This last comment about resources is one that was repeated by a majority of respondents. Teachers find it difficult to source printed and audiovisual texts that can assist them in their delivery of Indigenous content. Having an Indigenous Education Officer in the school who is willing to assist teachers with content delivery was also acknowledged as an important resource that several teachers relied upon. When asked how teachers bring First Nations history and cultures into their classrooms, the responses fell into two categories. The first were those teachers who did teach Indigenous content in their classrooms and this seemed to be, for the majority, in

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arts-based programs such as music, art and English. They were mostly dependent on First Peoples visiting their classrooms to assist, or delivering First Nations voices to students through books and documentaries: Through film, documentary, literary [poetry, plays and drama] and, transactional and media texts. I tell the students about things I have seen and done - last week I saw ‘Gurrumul’ at PIAF. Have been talking about it to everyone… Aboriginal radio, you can receive it through the computer. Music, books, art.

The second category were teachers who just didn’t teach it at all: I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t feel I do consciously bring Aboriginal history or culture into my classroom, other than in passing. Occasionally, we will study Australian media that features Aboriginal characters and/or culture, which provides an opportunity to discuss the representation of Aboriginal people and to question perceptions and stereotypes, but this is not something I set out to do unless the text calls for it. I don’t think anyone does it in an authentic way. Dot paintings? Red, yellow and black? Give me a break! None of us understand it enough to give it justice.

Given that the survey was voluntary and solicited only 22 responses across a random group of teachers, it might be assumed that teachers who were not interested in Indigenous content chose not to engage with the survey, whereas those who are already advocates for Indigenous education would have been keen to engage. The survey is more anecdotal than it is scientific, but from whatever conclusions were drawn from the small participation rate in this survey the responses indicate that there is room to do better when teaching Indigenous content in mainstream classrooms.

In the Classroom While writing this book a website was launched in 2018 to introduce the National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Curricula Project (see https://www.indigenous. gov.au/teaching-guides/curricula-project). It aims to inspire and encourage teachers to integrate Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander perspectives into their classrooms, in all subjects, and it offers resources centred around three themes—Astronomy, Fire and Water. Professor Marcia Langton features in a video on the website and she explains the value of the resources it offers: It is our hope that this work will inspire teachers in educating the next generation of Australians to understand 65,000 years of our country (2018).

Another widely used resource to assist teachers in teaching Indigenous content is the ‘“8 Aboriginal Ways of Learning” (see https://researchonline.jcu.edu. au/10974/4/04Bookchapter.pdf) that was developed by Tyson Yunkaporta in 2012. It aims to help teachers include “Aboriginal perspectives by using Aboriginal learning techniques”.

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Each of the eight ways reflects First Peoples ways of ’knowing, being and thinking’, or in other words, Indigenous pedagogy. Indigenous pedagogy can be difficult to define because it is linked to culture and there is no single, hegemonic First Peoples culture. However, the 8 Ways is a guide that has been widely adopted and accepted, and it encompasses Indigenous culture in a universal way. Rather than just teaching content, the eight ways offer First Peoples’ processes and protocols as a way of connecting with all students. Yet, in spite of declared objectives to ‘close the gap’, the Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority (ACARA) were criticised in 2013 by Yunkaporta and co-author, Kevin Lowe, for failing to be inclusive of First Peoples’ perspectives in the design of the national curriculum for English, Maths, Science and History. While content in the form of First Nations history and culture has been included, Aboriginal ways of knowing, being and thinking have not. The eight ways have not been employed as a way of including First Nations perspectives in the curriculum which means, Lowe and Yunkaporta argue, that teachers must include Indigenous content as basic historical and cultural facts that are additional to an already crowded curriculum. They argue for the inclusion of Aboriginal ways of thinking and doing, rather than just Aboriginal content, in terms of the revised Bloom’s Taxonomy, which categorises thinking skills within curriculum content. They conclude that there is inadequate opportunity for students to build on the knowledge they acquire in the early years of schooling and develop that to higher levels of cognitive learning (2013) (see also Lowe & Yunkaporta, 2018). As discussed in the previous chapter, the Batchelor Institute in the Northern Territory offer tertiary and vocational education for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. They offer an Indigenous pedagogy that is informed by a ‘both-ways’ philosophy that emerged from knowledge shared by Aboriginal Peoples in the Northern Territory (see also nation we will walk side by side with Chap. 6). Robyn Ober explains that both-ways will be understood differently by people from various social, cultural and educational backgrounds, but offers this definition: Both-ways is a philosophy of education that brings together Indigenous Australian traditions of knowledge and Western academic disciplinary positions and cultural contexts, and embraces values of respect, tolerance and diversity. (Batchelor Institute, cited in Ober, 2009, p. 34)

Melodie Bat and colleagues explain that both-ways is, most importantly, a “shared learning journey” (Bat et al., 2014, p. 877) which is the first of the three principles of the both-ways learning framework. Teachers, students, community and all cultures come together in the learning space where collaboration and group work are the focus. Principle two states that both-ways is student centred and so the learning space is one where all students feel safe, comfortable and that they belong. Learning is based on problem-solving and connects with the real-life experiences of the student. Principle three ensures that students are strong in their Indigenous identity while also building confidence and knowledge in Western ways. This framework and its three principles are underpinned by action research; both-ways learning is a cycle and “an interwoven process requiring constant reflection and iteration (Bat et al., 2014, p. 878)”.

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Dylan Collard is a young Wadjuk Ballardong Nyoongar man who recently finished a law degree at the University of Western Australia. On graduating from law he then decided he could have more impact on his people as a teacher so he engaged with the Teach for Australia program (see https://www.teachforaustralia.org/about-us/). He now teaches at one of Perth’s most multicultural high schools with First Nations students making up about 25% of the student cohort. He acknowledges that more teachers are trying to include Indigenous perspectives into their classrooms, but many are unsure about how to do that. The curriculum prioritises Indigenous perspectives but does not offer guidance on how to teach it and so teachers who are not sure what to do often request his advice. However, the school where he teaches is “doing a good job. (D. Collard, personal communication, February 8, 2018)” They are very multi-cultural and there is good leadership at the school to ensure culture is respected and prioritised. Dylan explains his own approach to teaching: I’m just trying to teach how it’s been taught for thousands of years I guess. I’m trying not to do the stereotypical classroom teaching. I’m trying to get outside to do stuff, trying to do more hands-on activities and small group work. I try to keep ‘chalk and talk to a minimum’. The eight ways is useful – especially storytelling. Nyoongars love stories – all kids love stories. I try to share nyitting stories with non-Indigenous students as well as the Indigenous ones. (2018)

Nado Aveling (2006) writes frankly about a university course she teaches that challenges ideas of racism and the ‘whiteness’ of her non-Indigenous undergraduate students. Rather than focusing on the ‘other’, her course turns the gaze around and onto the students themselves. She describes her students’ experience of her course as confronting and ‘turbulent’, as it has been for her own decade long experience of examining racism. She uses lectures as a way of teaching students about Australia’s racist history and describes the response from students: Many of them have asked why this history is not taught at school. Others, of course, see the lecture material as far too negative and have exhorted me repeatedly to focus on more positive things or to talk more explicitly about ‘what works’ and ‘what does not’ when teaching Indigenous students … They are sceptical about my insistence that ‘one size does not fit all’ and my oft repeated mantra that if we are serious about anti-racism then we cannot afford to write out of history the less palatable aspects of the story. (2006, p. 265)

Aveling’s exploration of racism is part of a mandatory course in ‘Aboriginal and multicultural education’ for student teachers. In the early days of her teaching, she received angry and negative feedback. Asking students to reflect on their own white privilege provoked feelings of guilt and anger for them and she struggles to find a strategy that would negate some of that hostility. She cites Ghassan Hage as a reminder that academics must consider carefully how racism is discussed: Such people see racism as something ugly and bad. To somehow propose a different understanding of what racism is in order to convince them that they are ‘ugly and bad’ is not only bad academic practice, but, it seems to me, also ridiculously bad political practice (cited in Aveling, 2006, p. 268).

When working with smaller tutorial groups, Aveling uses storytelling as a way for white students to understand whiteness as “an ideology and social location (cited

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in Aveling, 2006, p. 265)”, rather than just skin colour. She commenced an ongoing action research cycle of evaluation and self-reflection to determine new ways of teaching that would engage students more positively, but she still fails to understand the consistent resistance to her course from some students that is reflected in their journal writing and course feedback. She asks, “Are these students ‘hardcore’ racists? What is it they object to? (2006, p. 272)” The challenges of teaching Indigenous content to non-Indigenous students extend across all levels of the education sector including, as Aveling illustrates, university. Rhea and Russell problematise Indigenous education in universities and question the relationship between Indigenous studies and Indigenous education. There is tension between the pedagogy of Indigenous education and the content. While they see the value of collaboration between these two distinct cognate areas, they conclude that it “also represents their greatest threat (2012, p. 24)” Given that First Peoples’ knowledge is always local, and specific cultural knowledge is held in the hands of a few First Nations People, the translation of that knowledge into university and school curriculum risks a kind of homogenisation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledge and culture. This is an issue beyond the scope of this book and something that will continue to be discussed by First Nations and non-Indigenous academics, but we offer action research as part of the solution to this problem—at least for nonIndigenous teachers and students. By shifting the emphasis of Indigenous education for non-Indigenous students away from the delivery of cultural and historical content, and focusing instead on ways of working with First Nations People, action research recognises the unique and individual nature of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture and community. It provides a framework for developing respectful relationships, and for initiating an individual journey of cultural learning and understanding that extends beyond the classroom. Reconciliation Action Plans (RAP) are now familiar to the majority of Australian universities, and some schools are also now adopting them. A RAP can ensure there is an ongoing conversation between First Nations and non-Indigenous academics about how Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture, research methodologies and pedagogy can be integrated into the university. Curtin University prides itself on being the first university in Australia to adopt a Reconciliation Action Plan (RAP). Inspired and informed by Reconciliation Australia who, in 2006, established the RAP program, Curtin has formally established its own RAP with reference to the Universities Australia National Framework of Best Practice (Australia, 2011) and the Behrendt Report (Behrendt, Larkin, Griew, & Kelly, 2012). At Curtin, this means that individually and collectively we: • recognise Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians as the first Australians and as the Indigenous peoples of Australia • support the right of Indigenous Australians to express their cultures and participate on an equal footing in all aspects of Australian life • accept the Indigenous connection between country, community, culture and wellbeing

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• develop a greater understanding of how our different pasts and cultures are part of our shared history and shared future • acknowledge that Indigenous and Western knowledge systems have much to learn from one another • commit to a respectful partnership whereby Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians tackle disadvantages together • participate in the healing process of the traumas experienced by Indigenous Australians • actively address racism within ourselves and our families, friends, workplaces and communities • support all initiatives in personal and professional lives that improve the lived experiences of Indigenous Australians • take pride in the relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians (Curtin University, 2014, p. 3). Since its initiation in 2008 the Curtin RAP has been translated into a number of programs and initiatives that are evidence of goals and ambitions being put into action. The 2014–17 plan outlines commitments to increasing the participation rate of Aboriginal staff and students at the university, developing the cultural capability of all staff and students, and conducting research that reflects Indigenous cultural capabilities and is inclusive of Indigenous people and communities. Some of the ongoing Indigenous projects at Curtin include the establishment of an Indigenous Research Network, regular on-country trips for all Curtin staff, support of the Australian Indigenous Mentoring Experience (AIME), the establishment of a mandatory Indigenous Health unit for first year students, and the application of cultural protocols, such as Welcome to Country, for all significant events. Note that Curtin now use the term ‘cultural capability’ to describe the development of staff and students’ knowledge and understanding of Indigenous cultures and history. As Livingstone and Gower suggest earlier in this chapter, the term ‘cultural competency’ suggests an endpoint at which a non-Indigenous person might arrive after participating in a course. Developing ‘cultural capability’, on the other hand, describes a journey that should be a lifelong one that has no end. Veronica Goerke’s PhD research focused on University RAPs and reconciliation. She explains that RAPs in a university are often about social justice and ‘key performance indicators’, but there must also be an element of self-reflection for those that commit to reconciliation in a university—that may, or may not include a RAP. In our efforts to transform the academy, this reconciliation includes recognising and valuing First Peoples world views, pedagogies, and Indigenous ways of thinking and doing, and goes beyond the concepts of equity and social justice: We need to give a prominence, a different status, a different space for our First Peoples. That’s why you have the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. These are extra rights, that our First Nations People have, that affords them recognition. We should be doing it here, in our tertiary spaces – because we are leaders. (V.Goerke, personal communication, 30 January 2018)

She suggests two practical ways by which this may translate into the classroom:

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If we can try to recapture some of the language – we’re talking Nyoongar. If we find any version of that Nyoongar language, if we find some of the words – the minute you try to use some of the language then you are immediately asking people to contemplate and to be in a different way. Because words mean different things. For example, if you were to use the words around how we describe land – in Nyoongar it’s ‘boodjar’. When you use the ‘boodjar’ concept it’s different to ‘land’ because it has this whole spiritual aspect […] The other way is to look at ways of being that are more prominant within our First Peoples ways of being. The number one thing for me is the concept of ‘deep listening’. Instead of just reading, this might include activities such as listening to a song or sitting outside, being on-country – physically being in a different position (2018).

Kim Scott is a Wirlomin Nyoongar man, an author, and a Professor of Writing at Curtin University. He contributed to the establishment of the aforementioned mandatory first year Health Science unit and talks about the priorities for such an initiative: Anything that promotes a reflection on one’s own cultural background…is very important. Rather than attempt to try and get some sort of checklist of the Other, with the implication that one can control the situation with that checklist. (personal communication, June 12, 2017)

Kim Scott’s experience of setting up the health unit revealed that when staff were developing curriculum the focus became the efficient delivery of services, which in turn can become an issue about power relationships. Their thinking was how to do that more efficiently and it was about controlling the recipients of those [services] or anticipating the reactions of those people… It was a power relationship they were seeking. Perhaps that’s understandable, but power relationships tend be characteristic of cross-cultural work, and often detrimental as far I’m concerned (2017).

Scott emphasises reflection as a way of creating awareness of your own ‘triggers and reactions’ and from there develop cultural competency and “work out where to position yourself in those terms”(2017). Rather than trying to identify the characteristics of one cultural group in comparison with another cultural group, “just work out where you are yourself ”. He also argues for the importance of providing historical context: “ Stolen country, tiny percentage surviving, fifty years of colonisation, then an apartheid-like regime. That’s the fundamentals for why we’re coming together, particularly if we just talk about Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal interaction. (2017)”

History is a recurring theme in this book and it is mentioned here, once again, as we turn our attention to the teaching of Indigenous content in universities. Many First Nations academics seek to decolonise the university and therefore history must be an essential part of any teaching and understanding about Indigeneity. To understand contemporary First Peoples culture and community, students must open themselves up to a First Peoples perspective of history. Moari academic Linda Tuhiwai Smith echoes Kim Scott’s words: Coming to know the past has been part of the critical pedagogy of decolonising. To hold alternative histories is to hold alternative knowledges. The pedagogical implication of this access to alternative knowledges is that they form the basis of alternative ways of doing things. (2012, p. 34)

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Scott does not want to “harangue people about history” or allocate blame, and he does not want to position himself or those he loves as victims or rely on a discourse of victimhood. I try to find a way to talk about the benefits that will come from knowing more of their cultural background, more about Indigenous culture and history. Talk about what we all have to gain, for instance, if we can better connect our nation state to its Indigenous roots. It means we’re not just doing a guilt or victimhood thing. It’s about, here’s a context and we can all gain in terms of collective identity and individual identity, through these strong and ancient roots (2017).

He suggests talking about Aboriginal place names, or about the English language and how it doesn’t fit the continent – English language tends to default to England, the green – and so our narratives about being Australian often rely on struggle with the environment… So if you can toss up those things – and then when you start to talk about the healing that might be potentially available through cross-cultural work, I’d like to think it would make people see that it might be win-win. So that’s why I emphasise the importance of reflection in cross-cultural work (2017).

Case Study: Nowanup Bush University Simon Forrest is the Elder in Residence at Curtin University. In 2014 he decided that if he was to teach Indigenous history and culture at the university it would, and should, henceforth be taught on-country. The decision to teach on-country reflects the Coolangatta Statement on Indigenous People’s Rights in Education (WIPCE, 1999) that was discussed in the previous chapter. The 1999 World Indigenous People’s Conference on Education declared that the “right to self-determination and the achievement of other inherent human rights and freedoms for Indigenous peoples is inextricably connected to the physical and spiritual phenomenon of what most call ‘the earth’… so too are Indigenous people’s hopes and securities, aspirations and comforts fundamental in their relationship to Mother Earth (1999, p. 234)”. Teaching on-country is a crucial element of Indigenous pedagogy, and so commenced a relationship between Curtin University and Minang Nyoongar leader, Eugene Eades, who manages a number of cultural and land care programs at Nowanup on the south coast of Western Australia (see also Chap. 10 on sustainability). Simon and Eugene already had a long and valued friendship when they began working together on what has come to be known as the ‘Bush University’. For two hundred years the process of education has been a one-way process of knowledge. Aboriginal people have had to adapt and learn about Wadjella culture, but the Bush University would provide the opportunity for non-Aboriginal students to learn ‘Aboriginal way’ – an opportunity for two way learning (S. Forrest in Noongar Dandjoo 2017).

Students enrol in a second year undergraduate unit called “Nyungar Culture and Identity” and so commit to a bus trip that takes them 6 hours south of Perth to

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Nowanup where they will spend 5 days on-country. A commercial tour company manages the travel and accommodation for the group as there are minimal facilities at Nowanup. The students camp in tents, and meals are prepared on barbeques by the tour operators. Before leaving for Nowanup the students are divided into ‘totem’ groups and that have the Nyoongar names of their totem animal, for example, yongka (kangaroo), nyingarn (echidna), or koomal (possum) are a few of the totem group names. All activities, including camp chores, are scheduled and organised based on totem groups. On the six-hour bus trip to Nowanup Simon Forrest asks each student to spend some time sitting next to him on the bus, having a yarn with him, so that he can get to know each of them personally. The week is tightly scheduled so that each day is filled with activities and new experiences. But in spite of the full schedule, the days never feel hurried or stressful. The schedule allows for students to spend time with each Elder that they meet, and at each new location that they visit. Time for reflection and journal writing is a part of the daily schedule and the routine. Stories about colonial history are a big part of the experience and include, for example, a visit to the Kukanerup Memorial site near Ravensthorpe (see Chap. 5 on History). The memorial commemorates the massacre of Nyoongar people by white farmers who were living on their land, and it features a walkway marked by plaques and the words of Nyoongar people whose ancestors were killed in the massacre. Eugene Eades speaks to the students about the significance of the site and they are asked to sit, look out over a vast and beautiful landscape, and reflect on the story. Nowanup itself was once farmland that had been left decimated by the clearing of native bush and the grazing of domestic farm animals. It was handed back to the not-for-profit organisation, Gondwana Link (see http://www.gondwanalink.org), who engaged with local Nyoongar people and now, after years of love and hard work, have restored the land. The animals are returning, the native plants are once again thriving, and the landscape is unique and beautiful with views that stretch to the distant Stirling Ranges. Eugene talks to the students about his love for this country, about what they have done to restore life to it and their plans for its future. As they learn about the country, they also learn about traditional Nyoongar culture, bush foods, ways of life and storylines. Some of the students’ activities resemble a traditional classroom experience such as when Simon explains Nyoongar language phonetics and structure. On one rainy afternoon, the students practiced grass weaving; at other times they have met with an anthropologist who shows them traditional Nyoongar rock tools and spearheads; and on several occasions they have visited a farm to catch marron that they then cooked and ate for lunch. Wherever they go the students have ample time to get to know the people they meet and, as Simon asks them to do, “listen to the land”, an Indigenous pedagogy that is at the heart of the on-country experience. Simon calls the pedagogy ‘Boodjar neh’, which is Nyoongar for ‘listen to the land’, and it is a pedagogy that eschews traditional classroom teaching. To those who are unfamiliar with Boodjar neh, the idea of ‘listening to the land’ may seem like some kind of spiritual or esoteric concept, but it is a very practical pedagogy. Some examples of Boodjar neh at Nowanup include talking to the students about

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how a large flock of ngoolark (white-tailed black cockatoos) mean rain is coming. Or when the paperbark (bibool) tree is flowering, it means the kalkada (mullet) are fat and it is the best time to catch them. When you can see the weitj (emu) fully in the sky, that means emu eggs are ready for collecting, and when you see or hear Djidi Djidi (Willie wagtail) it is a message about children. Students are fully immersed on-country for the duration of the week-long course, and so they learn to see and hear what the land is telling them. It is this experience that is both transformative and spiritual because, for most students, they feel a connection to place, to Nowanup, in a way that they have never experienced before. They leave reluctantly at the end of the week, and they all want to return to this place that was once so alien but is now a treasured memory of their university lives. Most of what the students hear and learn over the 5 days is new to them. Some of the stories they hear about massacres and stolen children are difficult for them to grasp because it contradicts everything they know about Australia and its history. They learn that this is not ancient history but rather history that was experienced first-hand by many of the people they meet. They are also experiencing a connection to nature that many have never felt before. Some are camping for the first time. There is a lot for them to digest from each day’s activities and so each evening everyone gathers around the campfire. The evening yarning circle provides the time and space for each student to talk about the day—what have they learned, what do they question, what do they feel? It is dark, with only firelight to see by, and almost all the students want to talk about their day. Each night Simon and Eugene create a safe space for the students to talk honestly about their thoughts and feelings. The students demonstrate a remarkable capacity for deep and considered insight, and an ability to articulate their thoughts. When the talking is over Eugene will bring out his guitar and the evening ends with a song. The most important elements of the on-country experience are the two Nyoongar men, Eugene and Simon, and the students’ presence on the land of which they speak. It is a week of immersion in Nyoongar culture. It is 5 days that are managed by two Nyoongar men who are masterful storytellers, who are generous with their sharing of personal stories and their culture, who are patient and good humoured in all their interactions with the students, and whose passion and love for the land is evident in every moment of every day. The student experience is undoubtedly transformational. Below are examples of the type of feedback received from the students: It has changed my perspective towards the way I view things in a positive light towards my own life. This On-Country unit has been by far the highlight of my university studies. I found the Nyungar Culture and Identity Unit to have been one of the most intense, viewaltering experiences I’ve experienced at uni or anywhere. I enjoyed the entire experience to be honest! The method of teaching that gets you physically involved is really effective. Thank you for giving me a totally new and insightful way to look at Australia. This experience has had a profound effect on me. I will share what I have learnt and felt and I will make change. My eyes have been opened, my mind has been changed and my heart opened a little more with awareness and empathy.

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Your stories and those of your friends have impacted on me in more ways than I could have imagined. I promise to use my new knowledge and understandings for many years to come. I was excited to break away from the traditional Western style of education, which involves gaining knowledge through books and scholarly texts. I was ready to embrace learning through the ancient practice of storytelling. The camp was a journey, one that took you from oppression and sadness to a place of healing and HOPE! When we stood in the circle to say our farewell to Uncle Eugene I felt again extremely and overwhelmingly honoured to be so welcomed. I feel sad that our week on country is over. I feel I have learnt so much, and at the same time not enough. Kaya Simon. Thank you for taking us on the journey to Nowanup. You have changed each and everyone of our lives. Around the campfire I was lifted with joy hearing every single person vocalise how much this trip had changed their lives. Every single person’s life had been changed. You could feel it in the air.

When they return home, the students write an essay that asks them to apply the knowledge and experience of the on-country trip to an aspect of the discipline they are studying. For example, an education student may connect their understanding of a Nyoongar world view to their teaching practice. A health science student may write about how colonial history has impacted on the health of contemporary Aboriginal people. Curtin University is investing time and money in the Bush University. Built Environment students have participated in a design competition that will contribute to the development of more infrastructure at Nowanup to accommodate students and teaching spaces. The ideas submitted demonstrate the students’ ambition to incorporate Nyoongar culture and elements of the natural environment into their designs. In 2018 a memorandum of understanding was signed between Curtin and Gondwana Link that consolidates the relationship and progresses plans for the Bush University’s future. Speaking in support of the Bush University, Nyoongar Federal Minister Ken Wyatt said: the whole experience of how Nyoongar people lived, what is important to us, stories that transmit the history, culture and knowledge, and understanding are given first-hand. People then get an understanding, and the interrelationship and friendships that develop are very rich and so they are lasting and they are far superior to sitting in a class and listening to someone lecture to you because you have the opportunity of being within the environment […] being immersed down in the Bush University means that you get commonality of the understanding of why things are, of what is meant, by what is said, the importance of the impact of the history on Nyoongar people. But equally important the history of 40,000 years of being on land, being on country […] we need to value the importance of the oldest living culture but in the context of a contemporary culture (2017).

Curtin University recognises Simon Forrest and Nyoongar Elders as equal partners and collaborators in their role as educators. Establishing the on-country unit has been an on-going dialogue between all stakeholders—Simon, university teaching and learning staff, Nyoongar community and students. The ideas for the on-country unit and the way it is structured have come from Simon and other Aboriginal participants. Evaluation of the unit happens through the usual online university assessment tools, but also via less formal student feedback such as the yarning circle that gathers each

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evening when the students are on-country. Simon provides a culturally safe space for listening and talking. The on-country unit is emancipatory and capacity building in its objectives because it changes the hearts and minds of all who participate. Students leave Nowanup with a new level of cultural capability, a sense of allegiance to First Peoples and a desire to contribute to change and social justice. The Nowanup Bush University creates change for students, for the Nyoongar community who participate in the activities there and for the wider community that benefits from Nowanup’s contribution to reconciliation. Curtin Professor, Steve Mickler, summarises the value of the Nowanup Bush University: the point of what we do is human happiness. The point of what we do ultimately is to increase human happiness. For me that’s the purpose of the government, that’s the purpose of the state, that’s the purpose, ultimately of the university. Indigenous people have the right to be happy. It’s a human right to pursue happiness. The university should be assisting with that. Nyoongar people should know ‘that’s our university’ – it’s equally ours, it’s not just them. This is a university that understands and respects us. We’re a part of it. It’s about partnering and collaborating and being a university for those people who have the right to be happy. That’s what those meetings down there [at Nowanup] were about. (personal communication, February 28, 2017)

Case Study: Aboriginal Community Engagement In 2014 the opportunity arose for media academics at Curtin University to collaborate in an arts-based service-learning program with Australia’s First Peoples. The project was initiated by Griffith University and included collaboration with the University of Western Sydney and a number of Aboriginal communities from around Australia. This Federal Office of Learning and Teaching (OLT) funded research project resulted in a book entitled Engaging First Peoples in Arts-Based Service Learning: Towards Respectful and Mutually Beneficial Educational Practices (Bartleet, Bennett, Power, & Sunderland, 2016). The Curtin University program that emerged from this research project is called Aboriginal Community Engagement (ACE) and it is offered to multidisciplinary students who are eager to improve their cultural competency and to engage with First Peoples. Students spend a semester with one Aboriginal community group working collaboratively on a project that has been imagined and designed by all participants. Action research was used to guide and inform the setup and design of the program in 2014 as well as providing a framework for students as they work with their community partners. ACE is a service-learning program and it became apparent, as the research project developed, that action research and servicelearning complement each other as methodologies and philosophical approaches to cross-cultural collaboration. The emphasis for both is on reciprocity, whereby both student and community participants benefit from the collaboration; reflection on learning and feelings; democratic processes that give all participants an equal role in a collaboration; and an emphasis on social justice. We recommend the chapter

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Finding Common Ground: Combining Participatory Action Research and Critical Service- Learning to Guide and Manage Projects with Aboriginal Communities in Bartleet et al. (2016) for further information about the service-learning elements of the ACE program. For the purposes of this chapter, it is the action research framework that is the focus. The four academic staff who initiated the ACE program in 2014 included two journalism academics, Dr Bonita Mason and Mr Chris Thomson, John Curtin Distinguished Professor Dawn Bennett, who was one of the Chief Investigators on the OLT project, and Screen arts academic Dr Michelle Johnston (one of the authors of this book). All had a passion for working with First Nations community and all had experience working with different Aboriginal communities. With our diverse backgrounds and experiences, one of the first and most difficult questions to be addressed in creating the ACE unit was ‘where’? The final decision was informed by an action research philosophy, which emphasises the importance of spending time with community participants in order to understand who the stakeholders are and what is the history and culture of the community with whom one is working. We decided to work with our local Perth Aboriginal community in Whadjuk Nyoongar country. This is where we live and where we would have the best opportunities to develop long-term relationships with our community partners. Travelling to a remote or regional community with students would limit the amount of time we could spend with community participants and maintaining a long-term relationship would be difficult without regular opportunities for face-to-face meetings. In short, limited funding and time ruled out regular travel to a remote or regional community. We also agreed to offer the ACE unit to students who are, preferably, in their final year of study or postgraduates. As a service-learning unit, the students would bring the professional skills they had acquired at university and apply them to the community projects undertaken in the unit. It was unlikely that first year students would have sufficient professional skills to deliver a project to a suitable standard. Keeping in mind the need to prioritise relationship building and spending time with community participants, we aimed to keep the students’ assessments and creative projects small and manageable. For example, our media students would undoubtedly be producing a media project in collaboration with their community partners. It was agreed such a film would be short, such as a five- to ten-minute documentary, in order to ensure the students could spend as much time as possible with their community partners rather than spending hours of their time in an edit suite or planning a project. We approached a number of Aboriginal community organisations in Perth to ask if they would like to work with our students to develop a project that would be of value to their organisation. It was emphasised that the project would come from them, our community partners, and would be shaped over time in collaboration with our students. We did not want to dictate what product or outcome would evolve from the collaboration. From here we structured the ACE unit and the student’s assessments with an action research approach in mind. In week one of the semester, students were introduced to action research as a methodology and a philosophy that would guide their ways of working with community participants and the ways in which they would imagine, design and create

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their collaborative project. Students were advised to meet their community partners and spend time with them. The project that evolves from the collaboration with their community partner may not be apparent at first, but by talking to their partners about their community needs and about what professional skills the students could contribute, a project would eventually be imagined. This uncertainty and lack of clarity around a major assessment item is one of the most difficult aspects of the unit for many students. University courses are usually tightly structured, and students have detailed information about their assessments at the start of the semester. However, the process of completing an ACE project is as important as the finished project itself, and so the student experience emulates the ‘real world’ where relationships and understanding must be developed before answers to problems emerge. Students are advised to ‘yarn’ with their Aboriginal partners, stay for a cup of tea and participate in the day-to-day activities of their community partner. All this forms part of the ‘look’ stage of their action research cycle. One student group were tasked with the production of a short video to document the success of a healthy eating program. The program included cooking classes and so the students spent time in the kitchen, with the community participants, preparing meals. This was an ideal way for them to meet the people in the healthy eating program and encourage them to later participate in the short film. Of equal importance to the ‘look’ stage are the Aboriginal guest speakers who visit the classroom each week. Each guest brings a different perspective of colonial history, First Peoples culture and community. Aboriginal people share their stories with our students and contribute to their knowledge and understanding of First Peoples culture and history. A common theme of discussion is the Stolen Generations and the impact of that history on contemporary First Nations communities. Students are shocked to know how recent this history of racist government policy is and how it contributed to the intergenerational trauma of so many First Peoples. One guest speaker is a Nyoongar man in his mid-forties. He speaks quietly and without apparent emotion as he tells the story of removal from his family and growing up in a mission where life was often cruel and lonely. The students respond to this new information by questioning the significant gap in their own education about Indigenous history. What we learn from guest speakers is further supported by a lengthy reading list and students are encouraged to engage with the writings of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander authors, as well as with current Indigenous affair stories in the media. Identifying all the stakeholders that should be consulted throughout a project is also an important part of the ‘look’ stage. There will be community participants who are obvious first contacts—managers, spokespeople and facilitators. However, there will be less obvious stakeholders who are less outspoken, quiet contributors who are equally invested in a community project. Students should take the time to speak to them also. The students and teaching staff who participate in the ACE program are also stakeholders and we emphasise that all participants, even students, have equal status in an action research project. All participants are co-researchers and therefore we, as teachers, are also learning from this experience. We ask the students to collaborate with teaching staff in continuing to improve the servicelearning university program that is ACE.

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In 2017 two journalism ACE students spent a semester researching and writing a feature story about the Beeliar wetlands and the community protest against a highway that was proposed by the state government (Schmidt & Daly, 2017). The wetlands are a significant cultural site for Nyoongar people, many of whom participated in the loud and often violent protests that sought to stop the development. The students walked and talked with Nyoongar Elders at the development site. Their engagement with the protests and with one or two Elders evolved into relationships with other Nyoongar people and more stories about culture and connection. Their ‘look’ stage required them to research and work through lengthy government documents in order to understand the environmental assessments and the government’s failure to heed community and expert advice. The ‘look’ stage for this project was ongoing and required many hours of engagement with Nyoongar people. The students’ first approaches for interviews were sometimes rejected but they persisted with their attempts to build relationships. The result is a series of culturally sensitive and multidimensional stories that bring Nyoongar voices to what has been a predominantly wadjella and political story. The story Beeliar Wetlands Were Our Church was highly commended by judges in the 2017 Ossie awards for student journalism. One student articulates her experience of the unit in her blog: This unit has given me more to take away than any I’ve ever done. It’s provided me with insight to Nyoongar culture that to me is incredibly valuable. It’s opened my mind to how much we still don’t know, don’t notice, aren’t aware of, and has positioned me to feel honoured and grateful for the culture and knowledge that has been shared with me. I now feel that as a citizen of Perth and the South-West, of course I should know about the history of the First People of the country. I feel connected to a part of me that cherishes my understanding of Nyoongar culture, and acknowledges there will always be more to learn. I would deeply like to work within the community in my future work…I am also grateful for the connections made with our Nyoongar collaborators. We have been doing some very real sharing with them over the last few months, about topics that are raw and at times painful for them to share. Through the cups of tea, long phone calls and passionate interviews, I feel we have created something close to friendship with many of them too. (Anonymous, personal communication, June 2017)

Throughout all stages of the ACE program, students are encouraged to think about the project they will do and how they will go about doing it. Most importantly, they are encouraged to think about their own responses and ways of thinking as they take in new information and engage with their community partners. Self-reflexivity is an essential part of the action research process because students must understand why they think and respond the way they do before they can take action and commence work on a project. Bonita Mason introduces the students to Bourdieu’s Field Theory and asks students “to identify and examine the power relations, positions and other field contexts, structures and dynamics enacted and made evident through ACE and the symbolic challenge it represent[s] to orthodox journalism education (Mason, Thomson, Bennett, & Johnston, 2017, p. 133)”. Self-reflexivity is central to Bourdieu’s Field Theory and can usefully inform an action research project. Students are encouraged to keep a journal of their ACE experiences and to share their concerns and observations with all participants in the classroom. The classroom

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discussions are not only an opportunity for reflection but also valuable learning experiences for all participants. Students are encouraged to share their observations and concerns so that we can learn from each other’s experiences and discuss individual responses. The way forward for individual projects is not always clear and classroom discussions provide an opportunity for students to hear advice and ideas about the choices they will make. For example, two students who were working with a group of Aboriginal high school students were troubled by the lack of support the school was providing for the students. As journalism students, they needed to make a decision about how to write a feature story about the school program in a way that would not damage the relationship between the school and the independently run program for Aboriginal students. They recognised the school and its non-Indigenous management were also stakeholders in their project and we discussed the students’ concerns at length in the classroom. Another project took two journalism students to a regional community with the Deaths in Custody Watch Committee where they attended a Coroner’s Inquest. On returning to the classroom, they talked about meeting the family of the woman who had died in custody and witnessing the family’s pain as the court visited the police cell where she died. They were also confronted by members of the mainstream media who expressed their disapproval at the way the students were connecting with the family—journalists traditionally aim to be objective in their reporting and to maintain some distance between themselves and their subjects. This conflicted with what they were doing in the ACE program and troubled them as young and inexperienced student journalists who were also working to develop their professional skills (see Mason, Thomson, Bennett, & Johnston, 2016; Thomson, Mason, Bennett, & Johnston, 2016). In each of these cases, the whole class listened to the students’ concerns and talked about their responses. The aim was not necessarily to provide answers to the questions that arose from these experiences, although advice and suggestions were offered by the class, nor was the aim to judge their choices while working in the field. The aim, rather, was to provide the opportunity for the students to be heard and to explore their own responses to challenging events. The impact of this self-reflexivity is evident in these responses from two ACE journalism students: When you take on an article you’ve really got to look at it as in, ‘What position am I saying this from? Am I really saying this from a Caucasian Christian background kind of culture, or am I saying this as far removed from a set group as possible? I guess I just appreciate other cultures a lot more… I realise differences and I realise when I’m hearing something what position I’m hearing if from and how other people might hear that differently.” [ACE] made me question a lot of the things that we consider normal in journalism… It’s made me wonder why we are so reluctant to do a story that requires a bit of relationship building and a little bit of time that goes into it […] what’s presented through our journalism impacts on the lives of minority groups […] (quoted in Mason et al., 2016, pp. 66-67)

Feedback is another important element of the ‘think’ stage. All participants are asked to give feedback on their experience of working with students and the university. What could we do different or better? The ACE semester finishes with a celebration and showcase of the projects and all community participants are invited

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to speak at the event. It is attended by university staff and management, students and Elders, and our community partners have been eager to attend this event and use the opportunity to talk about their community organisations, their achievements and their experience participating in the ACE program. Students talk about their learning experiences with our Aboriginal partners and present their finished projects. Each year the ACE celebration provides new insights and perspectives on the relationships we seek to develop with Aboriginal community. For example, one community attendee of the celebration had participated in a health program through an Aboriginal community group with whom the students worked. She talked about possibilities for the future that ACE represented: Hopefully we can see more community messages that’s gonna help our mob, because I think that’s really important too - that basically you’ve got the resources and we’ve got the knowledge and let’s get together and actually make something bigger, ‘cause I think this is the beginning of a new story. (quoted in Thompson et al., 2016, p. 67)

Another community partner expressed his support for the ACE program by commenting that the university had ‘come down from its place on the hill’ to connect with Aboriginal community. These words illustrate the perception that universities are colonised spaces and that First Peoples can feel alienated from them (see Beresford & Partington, 2012). The students ‘act’ to complete professional projects that have been requested by and designed with the community partners. The aim is to deliver a project that is capacity building and that meets the needs of the community partner. Sometimes the capacity building potential of a project is easy to identify. For example, students produced a documentary about a Nyoongar language program offered by a community organisation. The short video had clear benefits for the community partners because it was to be used by them to promote their language program to new students and to explain the cultural significance of maintaining traditional Nyoongar language. Students participating in other partnerships may find it difficult to recognise the capacity building nature of their project. For example, the capacity building in the Beeliar wetlands journalism project may not be immediately apparent. The journalism students who wrote those feature articles came to realise that by working with Aboriginal people they delivered an Aboriginal media voice to a story that, for many months, had been dominated by government, big business, and the non-Indigenous community. The students’ stories create an increased awareness for the wider community about contemporary and traditional Nyoongar culture and community. Furthermore, the student journalists will enter their professional lives with established relationships in the Nyoongar community, and with a level of cultural capability that will assist them to represent Indigenous voices in the mainstream media in an empathetic and inclusive way. This example illustrates how capacity building can include less tangible outcomes such as contributing to a sense of identity for Aboriginal people, to a sense of pride in culture and community, or to the process of reconciliation in the wider community.

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In summary, Aboriginal Community Engagement is a university-based, servicelearning educational program that uses action research as a philosophy and methodology for working with First Nations community, and for managing a university teaching and learning project. It has the capacity to be transformative because the students are encouraged to think about their ways of working with community partners, to be self-reflexive in each stage of their project, and to be inclusive of their community partners through all stages of a project. Students’ final assessment is an action research report that demonstrates an understanding of the action research look-think-act cycle and provides evidence of their self-reflexivity. The multidisciplinary nature of the unit and the students who participate is also evidence of how action research can be appropriately and broadly applied to a wide range of diverse community projects.

Conclusion There are many people and programs in Nyoongar country who are working to improve education outcomes for First Nations students, and others who are eager to open the minds of non-Indigenous students to a unique and contemporary Nyoongar culture that connects us all to the places we love. Education can make a great contribution to both our personal and our national journey of reconciliation. When teachers ask non-Indigenous students to engage with First Peoples, culture and history, then two distinct and different areas of knowledge should be recognised—Indigenous content as well as Indigenous pedagogy. This requires teachers and students to take the time to not only engage with facts and content, but to also reflect on their own cultural background, foster empathy and connect with First Peoples ways of knowing, doing and being. Spending time with First Peoples is essential to this process. No single unit of study or cultural awareness program will deliver all the information and competency that a student needs to ensure a successful cross-cultural collaboration. However, it is possible to provide students with guidelines and a framework for ways of working that will prepare them for what will, hopefully, be a lifetime of engagement with Aboriginal people and culture. Action research provides that framework and can be foundational to students becoming empathetic and active allies to First Peoples. Our non-Indigenous students will enter their professional lives with the skills and knowledge needed to close the gap, and to improve the lives of Australia’s First Peoples.

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References Australian Curriculum. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Histories and Cultures. Retrieved from https://www.australiancurriculum.edu.au/f-10-curriculum/cross-curriculum-priorities/ aboriginal-and-torres-strait-islander-histories-and-cultures/. Australian Indigenous Mentoring Experience. AIME Mentoring. Retrieved from https:// aimementoring.com. Aveling, N. (2006). ‘Hacking at our very roots’: Rearticulating White racial identity with the context of teacher education. Race Ethnicity and Education, 9(3), 261–274. Bartleet, B.-L., Bennett, D., Power, A., & Sunderland, N. (Eds.). (2016). Engaging first peoples in arts-based service learning: Towards respectful and mutually beneficial educational practices. Switzerland: Springer. Bat, M., Kilgariff, C., & Doe, T. (2014). Indigenous tertiary education—we are all learning: both-ways pedagogy in the Northern Territory of Australia. Higher Education Research and Development, 33(5), 871–886. Behrendt, L., Larkin, S., Griew, R., & Kelly, P. (2012). Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People: Final Report. Retrieved from https://docs.education.gov.au/system/files/doc/other/ heaccessandoutcomesforaboriginalandtorresstraitislanderfinalreport.pdf. Beresford, Q., & Partington, G. (2012). The Context of Aboriginal Education. In Q. Beresford, G. Partington, & G. Gower (Eds.), Reform and resistance in aboriginal education. Perth: UWA Publishing. Commonwealth of Australia, Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, Closing the Gap Prime Minister’s report 2017. Curtin University. (2014). Curtin’s Reconciliation Action Plan 2014–2017. Retrieved from http:// karda.curtin.edu.au/local/docs/RAP2014Brochure.pdf. Department of Education. (2017). Aboriginal Cultural Standards Framework. Retrieved from http:// det.wa.edu.au/aboriginaleducation/detcms/navigation/aboriginal-education/. Forrest, S. (2017). Noongar Dandjoo. Perth: Curtin University. Goodwin, J. (2012). Indigenous culture: It’s everybody’s business. Every Child Magazine, 18(1). Gower, G., & Byrne, M. (2012). Becoming a Culturally Competent Teacher. In Q. Beresford, G. Partington, & G. Gower (Eds.), Reform and resistance in aboriginal education. Perth: UWA Publishing. Langton, M. (2018). Curricula Project. Retrieved from https://www.indigenous.gov.au/teachingguides/curricula-project. Livingstone, R. (2014). What does it mean to be culturally competent? We Hear You. Retrieved from https://wehearyou.acecqa.gov.au/2014/07/10/what-does-it-mean-to-be-culturally-competent/. Lowe, K., & Yunkaporta, T. (2013). The Inclusion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander content in Australian National Curriculum: a cultural, cognitive and socio-political evaluation. Curriculum Perspectives, 33(1), 1–14. Lowe, K., & Yunkaporta, T. (2018). The Inclusion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander content in Australian National Curriculum: a cultural, cognitive and socio-political evaluation. Redress, 27(2), 18–30. Mason, B., Thomson, C., Bennett, D., & Johnston, M. (2016). Putting the ‘love back in’ to journalsim: Transforming habitus in Aboriginal affairs student reporting. Journal of Alternative and Community Media. Mason, B., Thomson, C., Bennett, D., & Johnston, M. (2017). Reshaping the field from the outside in: Aboriginal people and student journalists working together. In J. Albright, D. Hartman, & J. Widin (Eds.), Bourdieu’s Field Theory and Social Sciences (pp. 133–147). Singapore: Palgrave MacMillan. Ober, R. (2009). Both-ways: Learning from yesterday, celebrating today, strengthening tomorrow. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 38(S1), 34–39.

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Rhea, Z. M., & Russell, L. (2012). The invisible hand of pedagogy in australian indigenous studies and indigenous education. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 41(1), 18–25. Rogers, J. (2014). The national curriculum—knowing the truth about Australia’s history. Retrieved from https://www.reconciliation.org.au/the-national-curriculum-knowing-the-truthabout-australias-history/. Schmidt, M., & Daly, J. (2017). Aboriginal Community Engagement—2017. Retrieved from http:// communityyarns.com/category/2017/. Singhal, P. (2017, June 29). School’s controversial Stolen Generations lesson draws parents’ ire. The Sydney Morning Herald. Retrieved from http://www.smh.com.au/national/education/schoolscontroversial-stolen-generations-lesson-draws-parents-ire-20170628-gx0lml.html. Smiley, S. (2017, August 26). Stolen Generations classroom roleplay exercise ‘cheapens’ the topic, author Trina Saffioti says. The World Today. [web page] Retrieved from http://www.abc.net.au/ news/2017-06-29/author-distances-herself-from-schools-stolen-generation-exercise/8663590. Smith, L. T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples (2nd ed.). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Thomson, C., Mason, B., Bennett, D., & Johnston, M. (2016). Closing the arm’s-length gap: Critical reflexivity in student Indigenous affairs journalism. Australian Journalism Review. Universities Australia. (2011). National Best Practice Framework for Indigenous Cultural Competency in Australian Universities. Retrieved from Canberra: https://www.universitiesaustralia. edu.au/. Westaway, M. (2014). Why our kids should learn Aboriginal history. Retrieved from https://www. sbs.com.au/news/why-our-kids-should-learn-aboriginal-history. World Indigenous Peoples Conference on Education. (1999). The Coolangatta Statement on Indigenous People’s Rights in Education. Retrieved from Hawai’i: http://press-files.anu.edu.au/ downloads/press/p15621/pdf/ch191.pdf. Wyatt, K. (2017). Noongar Dandjoo. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= pzyYjwbVUCc&list=PLhbJGkMxAm3SLYfCO0lRskI4Hej4nfZzI&index=8. Yunkaporta, T.K. (2009) Aboriginal pedagogies at the cultural interface. PhD thesis, James Cook University.

Chapter 9

Media

Abstract This chapter explores cross-cultural collaboration in media production. Because of the growing number of talented and successful Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander program makers, First Peoples voices are more present in the media than ever before, but there is still a need for collaboration between First Peoples and non-Indigenous people when producing media. Journalists, producers, writers and students are encouraged to tell Indigenous stories because media can be a powerful tool for social change. The media is also responsible for much of the negative and stereotypical portrayal of First Peoples and culture that perpetuates community racism, and that needs to change. The case study in this chapter is a television program called Noongar Dandjoo. For over 10 years, the program has been a collaborative production with university students, Nyoongar community and the Curtin Centre for Aboriginal studies. It uses action research as a framework to guide students as they work with the community in bringing a Nyoongar media voice to a national public sphere.

“’What’s on’ creates the context for what is known and hence finally for what ‘is’”. (1993, Marcia Langton, p. 5)

This chapter offers a case study for participatory media production and focuses on a television program called Noongar Dandjoo. Broadcast annually on National Indigenous Television (NITV) from 2007–2017, it is a magazine style series of half-hour programs that are the result of a collaboration between Curtin University academic staff (including the authors of this book), undergraduate media students and the Aboriginal community of the south–west of Western Australian–Nyoongar country. The incentive to produce Noongar Dandjoo came from the observation that, in 2007, there was an absence of Indigenous community media in the city of Perth, the capital of Western Australia. The First Peoples voices that were seen and heard in the Perth media were rarely Nyoongar, and often included a stereotypical and negative representation of First Peoples and cultures. Furthermore, the 1991 report that resulted from the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody made recommendations that addressed the representation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the media, including recommendation 207–208 that called for all © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_9

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universities with a journalism course to include the teaching of Indigenous history and cultural awareness for their students. An action research approach is employed in the production of the Noongar Dandjoo television program. The ‘look’ stage of this project commenced with research into the experiences of those non-Indigenous filmmakers from the past who had set out to tell Indigenous stories. What were the challenges, processes and examples of best practice that would help guide the production of a media project such as Noongar Dandjoo?.

Protocols in Practice: The Filmmakers’ Experience The debate in the late 1970s about the rights of non-Indigenous filmmakers to tell Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander stories versus Indigenous self-representation has been resolved in favour of collaboration between First Peoples and nonIndigenous filmmakers. Marcia Langton, in her frequently cited 1993 essay argues: There is a naïve belief that Aboriginal people will make better representations of us simply because being Aboriginal gives greater understanding. This belief is based on an ancient and universal feature of racism: the assumption of the undifferentiated other. More specifically, the assumption is that all Aborigines are alike and equally understand each other (1993, p. 27).

Today the production of Indigenous films and television programs is guided by industry-recognised protocols such as Screen Australia’s Pathways and Protocols, written by Janke (2009), and Lester Bostock’s Greater Perspective (1997) (see also AFC 2003; Monash M. University, 2012). The protocols discussed in this chapter and in chapter two are essential to the success of any cross-cultural collaborative project, including the production of a film. Their value and impact can be demonstrated by examining some examples of cross-cultural filmmaking collaborations from the pre-protocols and post-protocols eras. German director Werner Herzog provides the first example with his film Where the Green Ants Dream (1984), which was made before the existence of formal industry protocols. A hybrid film that is a cross between documentary and fictional feature, it tells the story of the struggle for land rights between an Aboriginal community and a mining company. On its release, it was criticised both by First Peoples and white audiences as flawed in its representations of Aboriginal culture, in particular for its romantic notion of the noble savage (see Peters-Little, 2003). The film failed to recognise a contemporary Aboriginal culture and presented a romanticised and idealistic version of traditional culture. Herzog was sympathetic to the Aboriginal fight for land rights and preservation of culture, and he was aware of his own lack of knowledge about Aboriginal culture. He therefore created his own fictional story, “an invented mythology”. In Herzog’s own words: I made it clear to them that the film is not their dreaming, it is my dreaming…I can’t bear it that there are so many people of all kinds, anthropologists, political activists and politicians,

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who claim they know exactly what has to be done with them, who claim to understand them completely. My understanding of them is limited, therefore I want to develop my own mythology (quoted in Hurley, 2007, p. 182).

While sympathetic to the Aboriginal cause and respectful enough of Aboriginal culture to admit his own ignorance, Herzog did not know enough to recognise protocols that would now be considered essential knowledge for anyone attempting such a project. He is accused of cultural appropriation. The ‘green ant dreaming’ does exist, but is associated with a different cultural group, outside of the community that features in the film. This appropriation of an Aboriginal story, as well as the fictional treatment of an actual land rights court case, was problematic for Aboriginal participants in the film. These same participants were then denied the anonymity they needed to distance themselves from the film when Herzog named them in the film’s credits. Where the Green Ants Dream and its flawed processes are now cited as a valuable example of the consequences of a failure to understand and adhere to protocols. Andrew Hurley, in examining the film’s cross-cultural collaboration, suggests “the uncomfortable possibility that, in some cases, the objectives of the various parties might be irreconcilable” (2007, p. 188). By way of contrast, Michael Edols’ trilogy of films were also produced prior to the introduction of formal protocols and remain today as an example of successful intercultural collaborative filmmaking. Lalai Dreamtime was made in 1973–75, followed by Floating, Like Wind Blow ‘em About—This Time. The third, When the Snake Bites the Sun was made nearly 10 years later in 1985–86. Edols distanced himself from Herzog’s film: You don’t have to create any fantasy around the Aboriginal people. You can make a film around them, but you don’t have to make any fantasy, because everything they say about life lies in what they do and what they do is complete (Hurley, 2008, p. 79).

At a time of considerable activity by ethnographic filmmakers, Edols perceived a failure by these ethnographers to capture Aboriginal culture. Alternatively, he considered himself a filmmaker “who is politically motivated and primarily interested in drawing attention and respect to the cultural values of other peoples” (Hurley, 2008, p. 78). Edols’ first film, Lalai, is also a hybrid film, a mix of ethnographic documentary and drama, and is about the preservation of ancient cave paintings; a story that the Worrorra participants wanted to tell and includes them acting out aspects of their traditional lifestyle. Edols, like Herzog, was also accused of idealist authenticity as well as being accused by anthropologists for a lack of scientific analysis (Hurley, 2008). Yet the film was enthusiastically received by the community who participated and by wider national and international audiences. It is still respected today as a thought-provoking and aesthetically beautiful film. Unlike Herzog, Edols worked closely with the community in making the first two films. These films were made at the request of the community, but the third film, When Snake Bites the Sun, was an idea initiated by Edols himself and was made after he had been blamed for the death of an Aboriginal man and banished from the community. Snake is criticised by the featured community as being self-indulgent and for breaching kinship rules.

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Rolf de Heer’s film Ten Canoes (2006) was made after the publication of industry protocols and is possibly one of the most recognised recent examples of a successful cross-cultural collaboration. The documentary about the making of the film, The Balanda and the Bark Canoes (DeHeer, Reynolds, Ryan, & Nehme, 2006) demonstrates de Heer’s respect for the Yolngu participants in the film and his commitment to working with the protocols in spite of the considerable difficulty he experienced in doing so. He introduces the documentary by saying that the film will be made their way and “it would be the most difficult film I have ever made”. The issue of respect is once again a consideration in this film but, as de Heer notes, this time it is in regard to the Yolngu’s desire for “more than history from this film. They want respect—respect for their culture from the Balanda (white man) culture”. Ten Canoes is particularly successful in demonstrating reciprocity. All the sets, costumes and props from the film were retained by the community, which has also benefited from offspring projects of the film. One of these projects, appropriately named Twelve Canoes, is an educational and beautifully designed website that explains Yolngu history and culture (see http://www.12canoes.com.au). The film is also noted for its unusual form of storytelling, which was innovative in the way it combined Western and Yolngu storytelling traditions in order to appeal to a Western audience while maintaining the authenticity of a traditional story. In doing so, de Heer recognises the cultural differences of his two audiences and demonstrates Marcia Langton’s suggestion that “one of the conditions of a successful collaborative film is that the intercultural exchange of its production is evident in the look of the film” (Langton, 1993, p. 40). Yet even de Heer, it seems, is to be criticised. In her article about cross-cultural collaboration in Ten Canoes, Therese Davis accuses de Heer of being an artist-hero who is seen to wield the power of authorship (2007). The film is also criticised for privileging a European notion of a “mythic time as a utopian past” (2007, p. 10), although Davis acknowledges that the film was not generally received in this way because of many of De Heer’s inspired choices, particularly in regard to casting which was controlled by the community. She also makes particular mention of David Gulpilil’s role in the film as narrator and his closing words that: “This is not your story. But it’s a good one, all the same”. Echoing Langton’s requirement for evidence of an intercultural exchange, Davis continues: Here the narration very consciously invites us to recognize this Yolngu story’s difference from Western stories and, at the same time, to value this difference … Ten Canoes takes us back to the past not in order to ‘preserve it’, but to integrate it into the present (2007, p. 13).

Ross Hutchens is the Perth Producer of the successful SBS television series The Circuit (Jodrell, 2007, 2009). Set in the north-west town of Broome, the program is about a Kimberley circuit judge, and many of the stories in the two series are Aboriginal ones. Hutchens, a non-Indigenous man with considerable experience in Indigenous-themed productions, recognised the importance of Aboriginal community collaboration in making the program and therefore established and adhered to protocols from the outset. Local Aboriginal community media organisation, Goolarri, were invited to collaborate in the production and played an important role in the

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program’s success. The Circuit is a textbook example of how industry protocols can work. Goolarri helped with gaining permissions and access to locations for shooting; Aboriginal cast, crew and writers were employed wherever possible; nonIndigenous crew were briefed and required to participate in a cultural awareness program; Goolarri viewed final cuts of each episode, and the production team donated training and equipment to Goolarri in exchange for their assistance. All agreements negotiated between the filmmakers and the community were formally contracted. As a drama The Circuit is fictional and, like any successful drama, has good and bad characters. The success of any drama lies in its ability to make stories and characters feel real for an audience and it was here that compromises had to be made in order to make fictional stories and characters acceptable to the Aboriginal community. Characters could not be associated with specific country or language groups and so were never heard to speak language or, for one particular character, to reveal the location of the ‘home’ to which he sometimes returned. This would allow characters to do good and bad things without their actions being associated with any particular language group. Hutchens explains that adherence to this protocol is a compromise because it detracts from the characters’ authenticity and creates a ‘blandness’ to their fictional world. The same approach was taken when he worked with Richard Frankland on the comical feature Stone Brothers (2009) that was partly set in Perth. The characters were not identified as Nyoongar, and the fictitious sacred stone at the centre of the plot was not associated with any particular language group or country. Hutchens values the industry protocols and agrees that they are both useful and adequate. He argues that the days of filmmakers going into a community and ‘pinching stories’ are a thing of the past because funding for films is clearly dependent on producers adhering to protocols (R. Hutchens, personal communication, June 2012).

Media and Representation We turn our attention now to mass media such as television and radio, and to journalism specifically. Media representation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people continues to be problematic and is tied up with issues of identity and racism. Recognising the power of the media to influence what we know, First Nations People have been fighting for their own media, for the opportunity to control the representation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture, for decades. Representations of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the media as produced by First Nations and non-Indigenous program makers all contribute to identity. The issue of who and what is Aboriginal is a significant aspect of Marcia Langton’s previously mentioned essay: For Aboriginal people, resolving who is Aboriginal and who is not is an uneasy issue, located somewhere between the individual and the state. They find white perceptions of Aboriginality disturbing because of the history of forced removal of children, denial of civil rights and dispossession of land (1993, p. 28).

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She continues her argument by suggesting that “there are possibilities for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people to work together on a film or television program, for example, and contribute to the construction of Aboriginal identity” (1993, p. 33). In discussing the types of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander media production, Langton recognises differences between First Peoples communities living in urban Australia and those living in remote and regional areas. Because of the impact of assimilation policies over a much longer period of time and the impact on community as a result of this, media production by individual Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is more common in settled Australia. First Nations community media, on the other hand, is more common in remote and regional Australia where “the aim is to survive as distinctive social and cultural entities” (1993, pp. 12– 13). As mentioned earlier, this was certainly the case for the city of Perth a decade ago. Community media in Australia are defined as local, grassroots, not-for-profit broadcasters who actively encourage access and participation to their facilities and operations (CBAA). There are over 450 community-owned radio stations in Australia and five city-based community television broadcasters. Australia has one of the highest concentrations of media ownership in the world and so the community media sector plays an important role in contributing diverse and local voices for the maintenance of a democratic Australian media. For the majority of Australians, however, it is the mainstream media that shape perceptions and opinions about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture—something that is achieved as much through the absence of First Nations voices in the media as it is by misrepresentation. Langton describes this as a form of racism: The easiest and most natural form of racism in representation is the act of making the other invisible. Indeed, racism can provide a complete and satisfying comprehension of black identity (which is why it persists) and one that is linked to the viewer’s ideological framework (1993, p. 24).

Steve Mickler (1998) gives a shocking account of racist mainstream media representation using the example of one Perth radio ‘shock jock’. In his book The Myth of Privilege, Mickler describes the events leading up to a public rally in 1991 where 30,000 people turned up at Parliament House demanding incarceration for youth offenders. Radio 6PR’s talkback program The Sattler Files and its host, Howard Sattler, organised the rally after a long campaign of sensationalising youth crime in Perth which, according to Sattler, was on the increase and out of control (1998, p. 52). Sattler’s campaign for justice included the identification of Aboriginal youth as the perpetrators of many of these offences, a personal campaign that commenced in 1991 with the death of three Aboriginal teenagers in a police high-speed car chase. Sattler’s on-air response to the deaths: Well I say good riddance to bad rubbish. That’s three less car thieves … I think, they’re dead and I think that’s good (in Mickler, 1998, p. 56).

Sattler’s quest for justice failed to acknowledge the murder of Aboriginal teenager Louis Johnson, who died as the result of the racist attitudes manifested not just by his attackers but the medical professionals who attended to him after his assault (see

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Haebich & Mickler, 2013). Adopted and raised in a loving, middle-class home by non-Indigenous parents he was attacked and beaten one night when walking home in suburban Perth. Louis Johnston was later assumed to be drunk when attended by ambulance officers who had been called by his parents, and he died as a result of the beating. Mickler raises a number of questions about public attitudes towards Aboriginal people, especially in Western Australia, such as … how it is possible that mortally injured Aboriginal people can simply be assumed to be petrol sniffers by medically qualified professionals; how white people in responsible positions get the idea that Aboriginal people ‘are all the same’; how negative stereotypes are circulated within society; and who is responsible for spreading them around? (1998, p. 57)

While overtly racist media may be a thing of the past, the journalistic practices of today can now be described as ‘new racism’ that “is a more common explanation for the work that journalism does in perpetuating the view of a dominant ‘White Australia’” (McCallum & Holland, 2010). Mickler makes a strong case for the media’s role in shaping the ‘quite monstrous’ (1998, pp. 58–60) prejudicial public views of Aboriginal people, a case that had been made previously by two high-level Government enquiries in 1991—The Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (RCIADIC) and the Human Rights Commission National Inquiry into Racist Violence. As a result of recommendations from the RCIADIC enquiry, two media forums entitled Telling Both Stories were held in Perth, the first in 1992 and the second in 1994. There were a number of recommendations from the RCIADIC enquiry that was the focus for these forums and the call for media organisations to set up new policies and procedures to assist in a more balanced and positive representation of First Peoples. For example, one of the outcomes of the enquiry led to a change in policy that now prohibits journalists from identifying the ethnicity of a news story subject unless it is relevant to the story. One RCIADIC recommendation that is of particular importance to this chapter is number 207: That institutions providing journalism courses be requested to: (a) Ensure that courses contain a significant component relating to Aboriginal affairs, thereby reflecting the social context in which journalists work …(Hartley & McKee, 1996, p. 3).

John Hartley, then a Murdoch University academic and editor of the publication resulting from the forums, sums up the possibilities that the Telling Both Stories forums represent If media can influence negatively then they can also be at the forefront of progressive positive change. They have that capacity (1996, p. 73).

Scholars like Langton and Mickler have concerned themselves with the representation of First Peoples in the media, the media’s capacity to create prejudicial public views and the ways in which the media define Aboriginality for both First Nations and non-Indigenous audiences. Meadows and Molner address a different perspective on media with Songlines to Satellites (2001) which tracks the history of Indigenous television, which is largely local and community focused, and the problems

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of mainstream media for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and culture. They conclude that community media are best suited to represent the highly local nature of Indigenous culture but they also recognise the role played by mainstream broadcasters: … this is not an argument for Indigenous people to participate only in small media – access to mainstream media is an essential element of the Indigenous communication spectrum. The small media are ideally placed to complement the mainstream as they can offer communityspecific programs in the languages of the area they serve. Mainstream media will at best take a pan-Indigenous approach, which makes it difficult to reflect the diversity of Indigenous languages and cultural agendas (2001, pp. 70, emphasis in original).

In spite of the commendable efforts of national public broadcasters, ABC and SBS, in their production of Indigenous programming the Productivity Commission in 2000 recommended a dedicated Indigenous television channel. This has its own drawbacks though, as it risks ghettoising Indigenous programs rather than having them in a shared broadcast space that will be accessed by both First Nations and non-Indigenous audiences (Meadows & Molner, 2001, p. 67). In considering the prospects for Indigenous television, there is also a tendency for government to privilege remote and regional Aboriginal communities, with little recognition that the majority of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people live in urban centres. Since 2007, National Indigenous Television has been a reality providing First Nations People with the opportunity to produce their own programs; however, representation of First Nations People in mainstream media continues to be problematic. Studies such as those conducted by Meadows and Molnar provide evidence of the detrimental impact mainstream media can have on First Peoples culture and identity, while also highlighting the potential local media production offers for the maintenance of Indigenous language and culture, for community building and for creating a sense of identity. However, as Langton points out, community media is more likely to be found in remote and regional Australia (1993). The invention of Aboriginal television began in the early 1980s when, with concerns about the introduction of mainstream television services made possible by new satellite technology, community media advocates lobbied for Aboriginal television in Alice Springs. Meanwhile, also in central Australia, pirate television stations were established in the remote communities of Yuendumu and Ernabella. As a result, the Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association (CAAMA) was issued a radio licence in 1985 and a television licence in 1986 and continues to operate today as one of the largest commercial broadcasting services in Australia (Bell, 2008). The question of how community media contribute to cultural maintenance and identity in the city, however, was yet to addressed. Stereotyping, misrepresentation and the absence of First Peoples voices in mainstream media are as damaging for urban First Nations communities as for remote communities—perhaps even more so given the added challenges to cultural maintenance created by city living. Culture is important and is linked to strong and healthy First Nations communities, both urban and remote. Community media is an important contributor to culture and identity and understanding those links has been useful in the creation of an urban Aboriginal community media project called Noongar Dandjoo. The following case study is a Curtin University project initiated

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by one of this book’s authors, Michelle Johnston. It is therefore written in the first person by her.

Case Study: Noongar Dandjoo When first exploring action research as an approach to film and television production I found that there was a precedent for an action research approach to filmmaking. In 1968, the ‘Challenge for Change’ filmmakers in Canada made films with people rather than about them when they successfully prevented the relocation of the poverty stricken and dysfunctional fishing community of Fogo Island (see Waugh et al., 2010). I considered a similar approach to the production of a university-based, studentproduced television program called Noongar Dandjoo (see Curtin University, 2018). The ‘look’ stage of the program included gathering information about the Perth Aboriginal community as well as the Indigenous community media sector in order to provide history and context for the Noongar Dandjoo project. This stage included engagement with literature and historical documentation and conducting interviews with community participants. It is worth noting here that the ability to allow this project to evolve over a significant period of time has been essential to its success. Ten series of Noongar Dandjoo have been produced and broadcast over 12 years with the action research cycle being repeated with each series. Prior to those production years was another initial 2 years of exploring and seeking to understand the Perth Aboriginal community and a culture about which I knew very little. It was 2 years into the production cycle of Noongar Dandjoo that the fuzzy beginnings of this project felt like they had evolved into clear objectives. Furthermore, the underpinning research for this project has continued to evolve and may well continue to do so for as long as the television program continues to be produced. Community media is recognised in many countries as a tool for social change, providing a voice for the disenfranchised and misrepresented communities that are mostly ignored by the mainstream media. The communities in Australia who most value the empowerment that community media provides are the ethnic and First Nations communities as described by Forde and colleagues (2009) in their audience study of Australian community media. For First Nations and ethnic communities, community media contributes to cultural maintenance, it creates community identity, it contributes to multiple public spheres and it is a cultural bridge that contributes to reconciliation (see Forde, Foxwell, & Meadows, 2009). In 2007, watching Perth’s community television station Access 31, there was little evidence that this community media service was working as a tool for social change. There were a few ethnic community programs but there were no Aboriginal programs. The Aboriginal community in Perth were not engaging with the television station, and the WA Aboriginal Media Association (WAAMA) had dissolved after Perth’s first Aboriginal radio station had its licence revoked by the Australian Communications and Media Authority in 2006 (see Johnston, 2013). When I interviewed the Perth community TV, Access 31, station manager in 2007 he had no explanation for a lack

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of Aboriginal participation in the station. He suggested there was a lack of interest within the community, and that the community had traditionally focused on radio. Given the greater cost and time needed to produce television, this is understandable. Access 31 were in discussion with the newly formed NITV and were discussing the possibility of NITV programming being broadcast to capital cities via community television stations (personal communication, February 2007)—an idea that did not eventuate possibly due to the demise of Access 31 in August 2008. West TV acquired the new community television licence for Perth and commenced digital broadcasting in 2010. When I interviewed the West TV CEO in 2009 he confirmed that there had not been any Aboriginal program makers working through West TV either, and was also perplexed by their absence (personal communication, March 2009). The cost, time and technical skills needed for television were again suggested as obstacles that led the Aboriginal community to focus on radio. The reasons for an absence of Aboriginal community media were explored and a combination of factors were revealed including factional disputes. But, more importantly, my research into the reasons for that absence revealed a very strong desire within the Aboriginal community for them to have their own media—both radio and television. The question was how to initiate the production of an Aboriginal community television program? I had no relationships inside the community. There was no single Aboriginal organisation that I knew of to approach with the idea to create a program. And so I suggested the idea of making a short video project with students at a Perth-based Aboriginal College, a high school that was attended by Aboriginal students from all over Western Australia. Young Aboriginal boys are stereotyped and regarded with suspicion on the streets of Perth more so than any other Aboriginal people. Inspired by David Vadiveloo and the Community Prophets project in northern Queensland that teaches filmmaking skills to school children (see https://www. creativespirits.info/resources/movies/voices-from-the-cape), my idea was to give the students at the school a voice in the media that would address stereotypes and create a positive representation. I worked with the students at the school for 2 years and learnt a great deal about First Peoples culture and the challenges the teenagers faced on a daily basis. They talked of being constantly harassed by security guards whenever they were in public places, and of how they were regarded with suspicion whenever they were on the streets. Many were dealing with the challenges of dysfunctional families, drugs and alcohol abuse. Added to this were the cultural tensions that bubbled under the surface of daily school life because the students are from different cultures, from different communities, all living and working together in Nyoongar country. The school and the students dealt with this very well, but I discovered that they made it work by just being teenagers and, like all teenagers, they wanted to be just like their peers. They rarely talked about culture or language. They showed little interest in Aboriginal politics or issues of social justice. They were interested in music, football and being with their mates. The students enjoyed making the two videos that I produced with them and these were well received by the school community. The teacher with whom I worked was enthusiastic about the outcomes for the students. Working on the video together had provided an opportunity for the students to collaborate and to bond, which in turn

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created a more harmonious classroom environment. The progress the students made in their speaking and listening skills, and the growth in their personal confidence, were significant, and they all learnt a little about making a video. The videos were screened at the school, however, neither the students nor the school were interested in a wider audience. The possibility for a broadcast on community television was never realised because of the difficulties in obtaining consent from families and from the school, and this was compounded by the aforementioned lack of desire for the school to have a wider audience. It was at this point that I decided to try producing a program with my own students at the university. The reason I had not taken this option first was because I had imagined producing something that was under the creative control of Aboriginal participants and that I would merely assist in facilitating a production. My university students are not Indigenous and this seemed less than ideal. However, as I learned more about action research, I knew it might be possible to still provide the Aboriginal community with a media voice through a cross-cultural collaboration—we could produce something with the Aboriginal community rather than about them. Curtin’s screen arts students and journalism students were routinely working together each year to produce a multi-cam1 studio-based television program that was broadcast on Access 31. The students were traditionally left to devise their own program themes and stories, rarely resulting in a program of great substance or community interest. Music, fashion and movies were story ideas that frequently featured in their program and we were looking for a way to encourage the students to produce more challenging program content. I was also conscious of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody Report that had recommended universities include Indigenous affairs in their journalism courses. To my knowledge, there was little evidence that Curtin media students were being exposed to any significant amount of Indigenous studies and I saw the production of the television program as a way of rectifying this. Employing an action research approach to producing the program first required a series of consultations that began with students for the broadcast unit. I attended classes that potential students were attending and put to them the idea of producing an Aboriginal television program in the next semester. The students’ response was enthusiastic and positive, and some individuals contacted me to express their support for taking on the program. I believe it was the social justice nature of the project that appealed to them. With my journalism colleague we organised a meeting with representatives of Curtin’s Centre for Aboriginal Studies (CAS) and some other people who are recognised as leaders within the Perth Nyoongar community. We put to them our idea for producing an Aboriginal television program, the participatory production techniques we intended to use, and our reasons for wanting to produce such a program. The meeting acknowledged the negative media representation of Aboriginal people 1 Multi-cam is a term used to describe a production technique which employs three or more cameras

simultaneously to record or broadcast a program. It is predominantly a television studio production technique that allows for the live cutting of action.

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and the need for such a program to address this problem, and so those present at the meeting offered support and consent. As a unit coordinator, I also made it clear at the outset and in all future consultations with Aboriginal participants that I had to consider pedagogical outcomes for my students when making the program and these were explained at every opportunity. I explained the educational context of the program at all meetings and in emails at the start of semester and, without fail, people were always supportive and encouraging of the student experience. I believe that continually reminding the community about the educational outcomes of this project is important for its ongoing support. We are not just a group of wadjellas telling Nyoongar stories, but rather educators and students eager to learn about Nyoongar culture and history.

Planning for Participatory Production The collaborative and democratic processes we wished to employ throughout the production of the program required constant consultation with community participants and careful consideration of our production processes and how they would reflect an action research approach. The aim was to employ participatory production techniques and so my student production teams and I had to ‘think’ about what that meant in practical terms and how we would enact them. At the start of the production cycle for each series of Noongar Dandjoo, Aboriginal people are invited to attend our classes where they talk to the students about Aboriginal culture, history and media representation. Our guest speakers talk about the injustice experienced by First Peoples, Stolen Generations history, colonisation and connection to country. This is important to the process of encouraging the students to talk and ask questions, which they do. The question that comes up most frequently from the students is in regard to their concern that they would say or do something offensive to Aboriginal people in the process of producing the program. This fear is put to rest with the assurance that as long as the intent and motivation for their activities is genuine and the students make the effort to ask questions when they are unsure, they will be forgiven any cultural mistakes they might make. Asking questions is emphasised as an important part of our participatory practice, not just to ensure adherence to cultural protocols, but also to provide every opportunity for Aboriginal people to engage with the program. Nyoongar staff at CAS are crucial to this participatory process, as they are accessible and welcoming to the students throughout the program’s production cycle. I also realised after some time that, because the program has been planned specifically as a Nyoongar program, it is only Nyoongar CAS staff that involve themselves with the program—staff who do not identify as Nyoongar are supportive but do not participate by offering cultural advice or program ideas. Participatory production techniques are employed throughout the production process to ensure the programs are made with First Peoples rather than about them. Students are encouraged to consult with Aboriginal people about all aspects of the

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program’s production such as design elements, story content and choice of interviewees. In the early days an email list was compiled that allowed me to make contact with all program participants on a regular basis so that I could not only inform them of the program’s progress, but also request advice and assistance when needed. In more recent years we have made use of a Facebook page to engage with the Nyoongar community (see https://www.facebook.com/NoongarDandjoo/). In the first series of the program, we stated to students and Aboriginal participants that our program objective was to provide a positive representation of Aboriginal people and Nyoongar culture. The program was intended as a response to the negative and stereotypical representation of First Peoples that was regularly seen on mainstream television. It is worth noting that in 2007 there was a flood of what had been labelled as ‘squalour porn’—graphic media images of remote First Nations communities struggling with poverty and alcohol abuse. These images were regularly broadcast in the mainstream media in the months leading up to the Northern Territory Intervention.2 It was this that influenced our choice to focus on positive representation. Series one and two followed a typical magazine-style format that included studiobased links and interviews intercut with location-produced current affairs-style stories and studio-produced performance pieces. Series three, with more political themes than previous programs, comprised a studio-based panel discussion with a studio audience, intercut with location current affairs-style stories. This format was decided upon as the result of a meeting held prior to series three production to ask for ideas on program content and a preferred format. I suggested an audience for the recording of the program to provide an opportunity for as many voices from the community as possible to be heard, and in recognition that the themes for series three would produce a variety of opinions and ideas. The audience and panel format were approved by that meeting, as were the themes which were Aboriginal Incarceration, Politics, Country (including land rights) and Culture. In recognition of the political nature of the themes for series three, it was decided that the program would run for one hour rather than the usual 30 min. Mainstream media are frequently criticised for not providing history and context to news and current affairs stories, and so time was scheduled at the start of each of the series three programs to provide the background, history and context for each of the themes. The middle part of the program involved discussion of the themes, and then time was allocated at the end of each program for discussion of possible future solutions. McNiff and Whitehead distinguish between different types of action and highlight political action as “the highest form of engagement” because it

2 In

2007 the Australian federal government, under the leadership of Prime Minister John Howard, introduced new legislation that made changes to law enforcement and welfare provision in the Northern Territory. The Northern Territory National Emergency Response, also known as ‘The Intervention’, was in response to reports of child sexual abuse and the publication of a report called Little Children are Sacred (Board of Inquiry into the Protection of Aboriginal Children from Sexual Abuse 2007).

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… signals people’s intent to take control of and transform their lives for the better. It is accomplished by people talking with one another … it is the main form of action in action research, directed towards human wellbeing and sustainability (2009, 113).

All of the Noongar Dandjoo series represent political action to some extent, though this was especially true of series three. A television program was produced in all cases, but each series was intended as a response to the negative media representation and misrepresentation of First Peoples. Each series was intended to give a voice, political or otherwise, to the Perth Aboriginal community where previously there was no voice. The programs contributed to an Aboriginal community public sphere and to the wider National Indigenous public sphere. The changes made to each of the Noongar Dandjoo series were a result of consultation and feedback from the community. The changing and evolving nature of the programs reflect McNiff and Whitehead’s action research standards and values of learning, collaborative enquiry, risk, reflective critique, dialectical critique and new beginnings (see 2009, p. 24).

Putting Participatory Production Techniques into Practice Adopting a participatory action research approach to the program’s production requires that it be translated into a production style and process that can be adopted by the students. What does a participatory style of production mean to the students as they go about the business of researching, shooting and editing their stories? How should we ‘act’? This is discussed in the first two weeks of class and, while we have guidelines established from the outset, this becomes a part of the program-making process that will be continuously discussed and reassessed, as the action research cycle demands. At pre-production stages we first decide what stories will feature in the program based on community advice. These initial discussions avoid specific story elements such as who will feature in the story and how the story will be told. The students then determine who will be the appropriate people to speak in the story, and this is determined through consultation with Aboriginal advisors such as the Nyoongar staff at CAS. With that advice in mind, students can then approach people to ask them to participate in the story. The Aboriginal people who agree to participate in the stories are then asked to contribute ideas about how the story should be told. Only after a conversation with story participants can the students commence production. It is made clear to all Aboriginal story participants that this is their story, that they have control of the story from start to finish, and that their advice and ideas about the story are valued. The same approach is employed during the story production process. Participants are encouraged to offer ideas about locations and the images that are appropriate to the story. After editing, students are encouraged to send finished stories to participants for feedback and approval. Design aspects of the program, such as set design, graphics

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and titles, need to reflect contemporary Nyoongar culture and so regular consultation with Aboriginal people is sought throughout all stages of design and production. Indeed, wherever possible, we endeavour to have Aboriginal people involved. To fully explore a participatory production process, I participated in the shooting and editing of a story myself in collaboration with the program’s Nyoongar host, Dennis Simmons. This was for the second series, and I had by then established a good working relationship with Dennis so I felt confident I could talk to him about the process as we went. I offered him complete freedom to tell the story he wanted to tell—I would help and facilitate the crafting of the story, under his direction. Dennis had some experience in making short dramatic films, but no journalistic or documentary experience at the time. (He has since been involved in a number of drama and documentary film productions.) He had many ideas and together we agreed on a story that would communicate how Nyoongar culture was practiced and valued in the contemporary Perth community. I had then to find a balance between contributing my own expertise to the story’s production and at the same time giving Dennis as much opportunity as possible to contribute. Initially it was difficult to see how Dennis would contribute, but his desire to have a say in the story’s production became clear on many occasions over time. On one occasion we made a trip to a special site where Dennis and his sons collected ochre. There was a brief ceremony on arrival at the site and I felt uneasy when I asked him to do it again for the sake of another camera angle, but he agreed. After collecting ochre they danced to clapping and the tapping of ki-lees (boomerangs) to thank the land for what they had taken. He directed me as to where I could point the camera so as not to show any landmarks that might reveal the location of the site, which was not far from the outskirts of suburban Perth. He also made suggestions for what sequences we should shoot while being there, and for interviews with his son and with a Nyoongar friend who had accompanied us. We made a first edit of the story, and when shown it he had only one criticism, that was very clear in its purpose. There was a segment that showed them performing a spirit dance on arrival at a burial site. When we recorded the segment, Dennis later did a piece to camera that explained the significance of the site, but I had edited the segment so that his voice is heard at the start of the segment and over the vision of the spirit dance. Dennis explained that the spirit dance had to come first. He could not speak at the site until the spirit dance was performed. If his voice was heard at the start of the segment people would think that he had not followed protocol when visiting the site. And so we changed it. Creating this story with Dennis helped me to understand not only the added time and effort required when employing a participatory style of production, but also the benefits of working together. The participatory approach to production was applied with varying degrees of diligence and success by the students. For some, the production of the story in the shortest time possible was their prime motivation and therefore adherence to the participatory process was minimal. For other student groups, their efforts to apply our participatory guidelines were frustrated by participants’ lack of either ability or desire to contribute in a substantial way. Students frequently encountered the concept of ‘Nyoongar time’, or polychromic time as described by Kalscheuer (see 2009, 30), whereby participants seemed to have little concern for student deadlines or schedules.

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For many participants there was simply a lack of time to devote to story production. For others, it was a lack of ideas or knowledge to be able to contribute a great deal. But without fail everyone who did participate in story production welcomed the opportunity and encouraged the students in their efforts. Advice was always provided when the students asked specific questions.

Validity and Feedback As the action research cycle demands, I sought feedback after each production cycle from both the students and the Aboriginal people who participated in the program. Students were surveyed at the completion of the first three series of the program and all reported changes to their attitudes towards First Peoples. They said they had gained a better understanding of First Peoples and culture, and that the program’s creation was one of the most rewarding experiences in their university life. The following is a selection of student responses from the first three series. One student had been a victim of crime while living in Sydney and she admitted to initially being fearful of approaching Aboriginal people as a result of her past experience. After working on Noongar Dandjoo she wrote: I’ve changed my opinions about Indigenous people after working with them for the last three months…I’ve been to AbMusic (an Aboriginal Music School) twice a week in the past 10 weeks. I have to admit that it was one of very few times that I felt I’m welcomed. I could be myself. It’s very strange, because I felt quite comfortable to go there and talk to anyone there, not having to worry about my language or my nationality (Student A, 2007).

The following comments provide further evidence of how the program provided the opportunity for students to learn more about First Peoples and culture. One of the main things I have learned was that there are so many different Aboriginal groups across Australia such as Koori in NSW and Murri in Queensland…before this program I was not aware about this at all … I also got to meet a lot of Aboriginal people … I did not know any Aboriginal people personally (Student C, 2007). I’m less afraid to handle Indigenous topics and stories as I have a greater cultural understanding. I also had fun working not only with the other people in our class, but with members of the Noongar community that I may otherwise not have met … We did more than just create a film and TV show, I think we participated in a cultural experience that we will always remember (Student E, 2007). I believe I have become more understanding of Aboriginal culture, and would become quite defensive of it if someone was to judge or make wrong assumptions about it … I have learnt so much myself too, and would be willing to learn more and tell more in the future (Student G, 2009). Before the production, my perception of the Indigenous people was pretty much constructed by how they are represented by the media, most of the time in a negative way. Getting to work with them changed my perception completely (Student H 2009). Noongar Dandjoo was the most rewarding and amazing experience in my life. Meeting so many different Aboriginal people really opened my eyes and changed my overall perception of Aboriginal people as a whole (Student J, 2011).

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Students were surveyed both before and after the production of series three. A comparison could thus be made between students’ attitudes and ideas before their participation in Noongar Dandjoo and again after the program’s completion. There were subtle shifts towards the positive in most of the students’ responses, but there was a significant change in the part of the survey that asked students about their overall impression of First Nations People in terms of 11 different characteristics. Whereas the first survey saw that students were evenly divided about some qualities, almost all now saw Aboriginal people as friendly, good humoured, respectful and welcoming (see Johnston & Bishop, 2012). The students were also asked in what ways, if any, the program had been of value in their development and learning as a media professional. Extremely beneficial. It has not only made me aware of the incredible amount of work that goes into a TV production but also of the fact that as media professionals we can strive to make a difference. Working on such a positive example of community media has opened my eyes to the influence TV has and has definitely encouraged me to work towards something worthwhile (Student E, 2007, emphasis in original).

That working on Noongar Dandjoo might impact on future professional practice was illustrated by one of several of our graduates who had subsequently been employed by a mainstream broadcaster as a journalist. Assigned to report on a Coroner’s inquest into the death of an Aboriginal man in police custody, she secured an exclusive interview with the family of the dead man. She confirmed that her approach to the family and her choice to spend time with them had been informed by her experience working on Noongar Dandjoo. She had dinner with them over two nights, including a meal hosted by her, she invested time, and the family agreed to tell her their story. The relationship between journalist and family was maintained over the many weeks that this story featured in the news, and the journalist was able to advise and assist the family during court proceedings (Student N, personal communication, 2008). Another student was working in a Perth television newsroom for an industry placement not long after completing his work on Noongar Dandjoo. A story was listed for the day about a well-known Aboriginal man who had died in hospital while serving a prison sentence. The student contacted the man’s family for comment and learnt from them that nobody had bothered to contact them to inform them of the man’s death. The family had found out through the media. The student broke the story about this police neglect for the news bulletin that night, and then went on to cover another aspect of the same story when police denied permission for the family to have a funeral service on land that had once housed a Noongar community but had been shut down by the government. The student wrote in his industry placement report: After talking to a few people around the [newsroom], it became clear that a couple [of] journalists were particularly apprehensive about covering Indigenous issues with detail because of the ethical situations the stories can bring up. I think that attitude is quite unacceptable and believe it is important for there to be an Indigenous angle to many of the main stories in the news agenda. I know that it wouldn’t have bothered me as much if I never was involved

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in Noongar Dandjoo because I wouldn’t have had the understanding behind the situation of Indigenous people in Australia (Johnston & Bishop, 2012, p. 174).

As students commence production of Noongar Dandjoo, they become aware that they are now more than just students. They are media players and they have the power to create change in the community by the way they work with First Peoples to tell their stories and give them a voice. This becomes even more evident when they receive positive feedback from community partners. This feedback is from a Noongar participant and cultural advisor to the program: It tracks a path for reconciliation. It connects up to bigger issues than just a film production, and it’s defining ways that we might collaborate and work together which is what Australia needs to do if it wants to find its soul. The Aboriginal question is an important one. This little journey that you take just represents the bigger picture of how they should be doing it (Personal communication, 2012).

Interviews with Aboriginal participants after each production cycle revealed positive outcomes. Neil Coyne, the program’s Nyoongar host (see Illustration 9.1) talks about the importance of telling community stories that would otherwise go unnoticed. The community feedback has always been positive. I’m not Neil Coyne anymore – I’m Mr Dandjoo. It’s a tag I love wearing. The feedback has definitely been great – people love it. I could be an old, old man and I think, in the future, what do I leave behind? There a few things on a personal level that I have done, but the biggest thing I love doing is this (Noongar Dandjoo) because, on a bigger scale, I get to showcase my people. It’s something

Illustration 9.1 Neil Coyne, Noongar Dandjoo host, features in the ‘100 Days of Deadly Mob’s social media campaign: “That’s one of the reasons I love doing Noongar Dandjoo. On the Dandjoo team we have students from Curtin Uni, and they’re from everywhere. Blackfullas, Wadjellas, Asians, you name it—and they put in all the hard work behind the scenes to bring Noongar culture and stories to TV

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I love doing. Something I look forward to every year. I love doing the social media stuff where you get to interact with everybody. And my Elders, when I see them, and they say ‘keep up the good work’- that’s more than a pat on the back. That’s like a big teddy bear hug. And it’s setting pathways for my kids. It’s showing them, you’ve got a voice – use it. You’ve got talent - use it. Don’t be shame. When I go to schools, prisons, council meetings, other colleges, men’s groups - people recognise me straight away. I go in there and talk about what we’re there for, and get the next Indigenous people involved with the program. (personal communication, October 2018)

Neil’s biggest problem is responding to the many requests for people to participate in the program because we can’t include everybody, every year. He commends the program’s ways of working and insists he has only ever had positive feedback from the community. Social media provides evidence of the community’s engagement with the program. The Noongar Dandjoo Facebook page currently has over 1,900 followers, with the majority being First Peoples, and many of the videos on the Youtube channel have been viewed hundreds of times. Another aspect of the feedback process is an official launch for the program at the end of each semester. All participants, community members and students, are invited and each launch has been well attended. The speeches made at the launch are overwhelmingly positive. The conversations that take place as people socialise are enthusiastic and supportive of the program and of the students’ achievements. I believe the opportunity for all participants to come together and celebrate is an important one, especially for the students, who are able to see and hear for themselves what Aboriginal people think about the program. It has more impact on their understanding of the Aboriginal community than anything I could attempt to communicate to them in a classroom.

Self Reflection It was in the production of series three that my research and knowledge of the Perth Aboriginal community’s history, the ‘look’ phase of the project, was of particular importance. Going from a pre-recorded magazine format to a panel format with live audience created a new series of production challenges as I tried to abide by the consultative processes that defined the Noongar Dandjoo series. My instinct during pre-production of series three was to have an ‘Insight’ (see http://www.sbs.com.au/ insight/) style format whereby one person leads the discussion with an audience in which every person has equal status. The pre-production meeting I held with the community voted against this format, with some people saying they had participated in an Insight program and were unhappy with the way the host directed and controlled the conversation, hence, we went with the panel format. I had some understanding of the community’s politics, the importance of kin relationships and of how the two impact each other. I also knew enough to know that I still knew very little. I would be very dependent on Aboriginal advisors and

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participants to get this right. My strategy was to be as inclusive as possible, to consult as widely as possible. My email contact list expanded significantly as people were eager to offer ideas and names of potential participants. The political themes of series three and the live audience discussion-based format made its production a more difficult process for me because I was required to make judgement calls that I had not had to make in previous programs. I made mistakes and was frequently uncertain about how to deal with situations. For example, the process of choosing and inviting guests for the panel was particularly difficult. My intention was to provide the opportunity for as many people as possible to have a voice in the program that would contribute to a community and Indigenous public sphere. I had hoped that by having an audience who would participate in discussion I would not have to deny anybody a voice. It was not that simple. Offering somebody a place on the panel rather than a place in the audience gave them status. Even though I consulted as widely as possible about who should be invited on the panel, there were some people who were unhappy with the way I set up the panels and they let me know it. I invited a woman, who had participated in previous programs, to be a panel member only to be informed later that she was known in the community to be dealing drugs. The allegation came from several trusted sources who insisted she should not be speaking about culture, and I was compelled to retract my invitation which upset her greatly. The process of making that decision was difficult and I still cannot be certain that I did the right thing. On another occasion I tried to move somebody to a different panel on a different program because I was told he and another panel member had a very acrimonious relationship that might be problematic on production day. This resulted in a rude and angry email from the man I attempted to move, and I realised I was manipulating and censoring the program. On this occasion I questioned the advice I had been given to move him, discussed it further with other participants and changed my mind. I apologised to him and left him on the same panel. It is worth noting that, on production day, both men conducted themselves well while strongly disagreeing with each other. I believe the opportunity for a dialogue that the program created was beneficial to both men. They were still talking long after the program had finished and, while neither changed their mind, they had seen the other’s viewpoint and acknowledged it. Another incident involved an anonymous phone call from a woman who asked me to remove a panel member because Elders were unhappy with comments the panellist had made in the media. On this occasion I ignored the request because I didn’t think it was my job to censor on behalf of Elders. The Elders could approach her directly with their opinions and make their own request for her to remove herself from the panel. I realised it was easy for Aboriginal people to make requests of me that suited their personal politics and opinions. They could remain anonymous while I was the public face of the program who must take responsibility for the program’s choices. I had to be aware of this and be cautious about finding that balance between listening to advice, considering different opinions, and applying my own values. Advice that comes from an Aboriginal person is not necessarily good advice just because they are Aboriginal. This seems like an obvious point to make, but my determination to have Aboriginal people advise on all aspects of the production was often in conflict

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with my own judgement and ideas. Traditional Aboriginal culture may provide clear guidelines about who may speak, but such protocols are not so easily applied in a contemporary community like Perth. There is no way to avoid the difficult situations described above except to spend more time consulting and researching before decisions are made—something that is not always possible given the time pressures of producing a program series in only 12 weeks. While responses to my general emails are forthcoming prior to production, getting feedback from the community after production has proven difficult, as rarely will people offer opinions or ideas unless they are asked directly. For example, my request for feedback after series three via my regular contact list received only one reply and I had to make personal contact with several people in order to get more feedback. As far as future productions are concerned, we have returned to our original magazine style program for all subsequent programs, and have avoided panels and audience discussions. I believe the political issues tackled by series three can still be addressed by the magazine format employed in all other series, but without the difficulty of bringing large numbers of people together for a panel and audience discussion. Over the 12 years of producing Noongar Dandjoo, one of the most difficult things for me to deal with and change has been my sense of ownership over the program. While I was eager for the community to participate and even take over the program’s production, I always felt that it was my program. As executive producer I had to take ultimate responsibility for its content, while as unit coordinator and teacher I had to ensure it was an appropriate and valid learning experience for my students. On several occasions, I made decisions regarding the program that seemed inconsequential but were based on assumptions about my own right, as an executive producer, to do so. For example, I attended a conference in Queensland where I intended to present Noongar Dandjoo as a model for cross-cultural collaboration. I informally mentioned this to Noongar staff at CAS who said they would get back to me with permission to present the program in Queensland. I was embarrassed that I had not thought to formally request permission and they explained that the program’s content is their cultural and intellectual property, and therefore I needed permission, which I subsequently received with acknowledgement of my respect for protocols. I have, since then, always sought permission to speak about Noongar Dandjoo to an audience. Some decisions were much easier to make because they could be clearly guided by protocols. When a man who featured in a story died just prior to the broadcast of series two, I knew the process to follow. I visited the family to ask about the broadcast. We watched the whole half-hour program together and the man’s wife said to me that it was too soon to broadcast his story. NITV had already confirmed that they would comply with the wishes of the family and were awaiting my direction on what to do. I assured the family that the story would not be broadcast, and I was invited to return 6 months later and ask again for the family’s permission. I sent several DVDs of the program to the family at their request and included a note on the front of all distributed DVDs that the episode that featured the dead man’s story was not for

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public screening. After 6 months the family asked for another 6 months, at which time they then sent me a message giving permission for the story to be broadcast. The students were not the only ones to experience changes in mindset from this experience: the project has had a significant personal impact on me. Twelve years ago I would not have described myself as racist, but I was guilty of ignorance and of harbouring all the stereotypical preconceptions about First Peoples that stem from that ignorance. In learning about Nyoongar culture and history, in forming friendships and relationships with many Aboriginal people along the way, and in the many conversations I have had in completing this project, my ideas and opinions about First Peoples have changed significantly. I am more aware of the racism and indifference that exists within the Perth community. I understand the reasons for the social issues that affect so many of Perth’s Aboriginal people and I am sympathetic to those issues. I enjoy the humour and generosity that seems to be typical of so many of the Aboriginal people I meet. Having made that comment, I would add that I am also cautious about making any generalisations about Aboriginal people but instead recognise and value their individuality. It is the potential for projects like this one to change attitudes for all involved that makes Noongar Dandjoo a third space project.

A Third Space The most significant measure of the success of the program is not the artefact itself as watched by a television audience, it is the community and student response to the participation process as well as my own personal journey through this project. Two cultures have collaborated, worked together, come together in a physical space for a dialogue, and each is changed by the experience. As discussed in Chap. 4, the Ganma metaphor of two bodies of water coming together to meet in a single whirlpool of water is a perfect description of the third space that is the Noongar Dandjoo program. In considering third space I wish to acknowledge the valuable contribution of the program hosts, Dennis Simmons, Kimba Benjamin, Michelle White and Neil Coyne (see illustration 9.1). They each have a foot firmly planted in both Aboriginal culture and white culture. The ability of our hosts to communicate effectively in both cultures allows them to work as a kind of cultural bridge that makes possible the collaboration between non-Indigenous students and the Perth Aboriginal community. Our hosts not only make it possible; they make it fun. My students listen to them. Neil Coyne, in particular, employs humour to talk to them about what it means to be an Aboriginal man living in Perth and the challenges of his past as a member of the Stolen Generations. The program would not succeed without our Aboriginal hosts. The process of producing Noongar Dandjoo has not been as turbulent as the whirlpool in the ‘Coming Together’ artwork suggests. Mistakes were made, but the process has been enjoyable and rewarding. The program has been well received by the Aboriginal people who participate and there are potential ongoing benefits to the community, particularly in changing the way journalists represent First Peoples.

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Professor Simon Forrest, co-author of this book, is a Wadjuk Noongar man. He said this about the program: It is a story of reconciliation. There are not enough of us to do all the things we want to do so Aboriginal people need to work with non-Aboriginal people to assist us to achieve our objectives (personal communication, April 2013).

Responses from participants suggest feelings of empowerment and some have reported the program has given them confidence to attempt other projects. Michelle White, one of the current hosts, had this to say in reflecting on her experience: It was an absolute honour to be involved in the Noongar Dandjoo project in 2012. As a former News-Caff journo, I really connected with the revamped format and I particularly enjoyed being a part of the panel discussions. The insights and stories shared by panelists were powerful, compelling and at times heartbreaking. It was refreshing to be a part of a project that allowed Aboriginal people to provide the expert analysis of topics relating specifically to our life experience. On a personal note, the series reignited my passion for media and in particular, storytelling. I was so inspired by the experience I was bursting with ideas for projects … one of them actually came to fruition … I pitched and co-wrote a play called ’Black As Michael Jackson’, which was presented by Yirra Yaakin and performed at the Blue Room Theatre. Being involved in the series in a presenter/interviewer role also fired up a long-lost passion for journalism. I have actually started writing feature articles again. I’ve had four features published in the Koori Mail and I’ve also started working on the first draft of a book. Prior to being involved in the series, I had shied away from the media (albeit for a brief term as the CEO of Noongar Radio). Noongar Dandjoo was such a positive, affirming experience for me that it helped me find a long-lost love for journalism (personal Communication, January 2013).

Michelle White’s comments illustrate the importance of participation and process. Most significantly, more voices have participated in the Perth community public sphere and the wider Indigenous public sphere due to community participation in the Noongar Dandjoo program—people coming together in the third space created by the program. In 2008 the first series of Noongar Dandjoo won a West Australian Screen Award for ‘Best Community Television program’ and a national Antenna Award for ‘Best Indigenous Program’. In 2012 Noongar Dandjoo series three was nominated for an Australian Teachers of Media (ATOM) award for ‘Best Tertiary Teaching Resource’, and it was highly commended in the category of ‘Best Broadcast Current Affairs or Issues Based Story’ at the JEAA Awards. It was also nominated for a Vice Chancellor’s Award for Excellence and Innovation at Curtin University. In 2016 the program won a national Office of Learning and Teaching award for ‘Programs that Enhance Learning’. Each of these awards represents recognition and engagement by the wider community—by people outside the Indigenous public sphere. The awards represent a growing third space in which more people engage with the program as an audience who are listening.

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The Program In line with the recommendations of the RCIADIC, the Noongar Dandjoo program addresses the problem of the absence and misrepresentation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in mainstream media. Positive stories were prioritised in the first two series to counterbalance the negative and stereotypical images of First Nations People that were typical of mainstream programming. In series three we further politicised the program by focusing on issues that are of importance to the Perth Aboriginal community, but, unlike mainstream media working within the time and operational constraints of the daily news cycle, we were able to allocate enough research and broadcast time to accommodate history, context and the inclusion of as many Aboriginal voices as possible. Subsequent series have returned to the original format and offer a balance of political, community and cultural stories and voices. Further funding from the university has allowed us to travel and engage with regional communities across all of Nyoongar country, and to develop a Youtube channel (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCV40cyyhXCOTh0u3hJJGwEw) that has made the program more accessible to an audience. The focus on positive stories, and on the inclusion of history and context when discussing Indigenous issues, can contribute to reconciliation in the wider community. An understanding of Indigenous history, seeing positive and non-stereotypical representations of First Nations People and learning about culture can help to change ill-informed, racist attitudes. Non-Indigenous audiences, whose ideas and opinions about First Nations People have often been formed as a result of consuming mainstream media, now have the option of listening and learning as a result of hearing the Noongar Dandjoo stories. Noongar Dandjoo can therefore be categorised as a community media intervention that, as Tanja Dreher (2010) argues, targets mainstream media and their audiences. Ask the question, “Who is listening”? and the answer is not only a small and marginal community television audience. The programs have been broadcast nationally on NITV and shared via the Youtube channel, thus giving a voice to the Perth Noongar community and recognising a unique and contemporary Noongar culture. Through the broadcast of the programs on national television the series has also contributed to a wider, national Indigenous public sphere. An NITV broadcast has not been possible since 2018, but we continue to share Nyoongar stories via the Youtube channel and Facebook. While broadcasting is beneficial for engaging with a national audience, the online presence has made Noongar Dandjoo more accessible.

Conclusion Participatory action research is of particular importance to the Noongar Dandjoo process. It is a way of working that assists the process of cross-cultural collaboration. In this context cultural protocols, rather than being seen as hurdles to be negotiated,

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are tools in the action research process that assist in building cultural awareness. They also contribute to learning, with all participants having the opportunity to talk and then analyse and improve their practice. The existing protocols for film and television production provide a useful starting point as a set of initial guidelines for cross-cultural production. However, action research accommodates the diverse range of personalities and cultures that a creative production such as this one will inevitably encounter. It is a way of working that recognises that mistakes will be made and that we learn from those mistakes. Our production process was similar to the Ganma metaphor artwork of the third space as a whirlpool—sometimes there are difficulties, mistakes are made and things did not always go as planned. Notwithstanding this, as action research demands, all participants in sharing the common goal of producing a successful television program have benefited from the process. It is acknowledged here that the participatory nature of the program and its ability to provide a space for learning and understanding would be difficult to duplicate in a mainstream production environment. The time and effort required for participatory production is uneconomical and giving editorial control to story participants is a practice unlikely to be adopted by professional producers or journalists. As the Noongar Dandjoo experience shows, however, giving First Nations People editorial control in no way compromises the program’s ability to deal with difficult issues. The process revealed the readiness of Aboriginal collaborators to ask the hard questions and discuss the answers—there is no need for non-Indigenous journalists or producers to do that for them.

References Australian Film Commission. (2003). Towards a protocol for filmmakers working with indigenous content and indigenous communities. Retrieved from Woolloomooloo: http://www.wipo. int/export/sites/www/tk/en/databases/creative_heritage/docs/aus_film.pdf. Bell, W. (2008). A remote possibility. The battle for Imparja television. Alice Springs: IAD Press. Bostock, L. (1997). The greater perspective. Retrieved from http://media.sbs.com.au/home/upload_ media/site_20_rand_1000072370_the_greater_perspective_sbs.pdf. Community Broadcasting Association of Australia. About Community Broadcasting. Retrieved from https://www.cbaa.org.au/about/about-community-broadcasting. Curtin University. (2018, September 17). Noongar Dandjoo TV. Noongar Dandjoo. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCV40cyyhXCOTh0u3hJJGwEw. Davis, T. (2007). Remembering our ancestors: cross-cultural collaboration and the mediation of Aboriginal culture and history in Ten Canoes. Studies in Australasian Cinema, 1(1), 5–14. DeHeer, R. (Director). (2006). Ten Canoes [DVD]. Australia: SBS Independent. Film Australia, Palace Films. DeHeer, R., Reynolds, M., Ryan, J., & Nehme, T. (Directors). (2006). The Balanda and the Bark Canoes [DVD]. Australia: SBS Independent Film Australia. Forde, S., Foxwell, K., & Meadows, M. (2009). Developing dialogues. Bristol: Intellect Ltd. Haebich, A., & Mickler, S. (2013). A Boy’s short life. Perth: UWA Publishing. Hartley, J., & McKee, A. (1996). Telling both Stories. Arts Enterprise: Edith Cowan University.

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Hurley, A. (2007). Whose Dreaming? Intercultural appropriation, representations of Aboriginality, and the process of filmmaking in Werner Herzog’s Where the Green Ants Dream. Studies in Australasian Cinema, 1(2), 175–190. Hurley, A. (2008). Three takes on intercultural film: Michael Edols’ trilogy of Aboriginal films, Lalai Dreamtime, Floating Like the Wind Blow ‘em About—This Time, and When the Snake Bites the Sun.”. Studies in Australasian Cinema, 2(1), 73–93. Janke, T. (2009). Pathways & Protocols. A filmmaker’s guide to working with Indigenous people, culture and concepts.: Screen Australia. Jodrell, S. (Director) & Hutchens, R. (Producer) (2007). The Circuit (Series 1). Television Program. Australia: SBS. Jodrell, S. (Director) & Hutchens, R. (Producer) (2009). The Circuit (Series 2). Television Program. Australia: SBS. Johnston, M. (2013). Noongar Dandjoo: A cross-cultural collaborative approach to Aboriginal community television production. (Doctor of Philosophy), Murdoch University, Perth. Johnston, M., & Bishop, R. (2012). Noongar Dandjoo: A work integrated learning case study. Asia Pacific Media Educator, 22(2), 165–177. Langton, M. (1993). Well, I heard it on the radio and I saw it on the television… Woolloomooloo: Australian Film Commission. McCallum, K., & Holland, K. (2010). Indigenous and multicultural discourses in Australian news media reporting. Australian Journalism Review, 32(2), 7. Meadows, M., & Molner, H. (2001). Songlines to satellites: Indigenous commuication in australia, the south pacific and Canda. Annandale: Pluto Press Australia. Mickler, S. (1998). The myth of privilege. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Centre Press. Monash University. (2012). australian indigenous film and television digital bibliography. Retrieved from http://artsonline.monash.edu.au/indigenous-film-bibliography/protocols-and-guidelines/. Peters-Little, F. (2003). ‘Nobles and Savages’ on the television. Aboriginal History, 27, 16–38. Waugh, T., Brendan Baker, M., Winton, E., & Klein, N. (2010). Challenge for change. Activisit documentary at the national film board of Canada. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

Chapter 10

Sustainability

Abstract This chapter is about sustainability and the special relationship First Nations People have with their land. Australia faces big and urgent environmental problems, such as soil salinity and species extinction, and the answers to these problems may be more easily discovered and implemented if non-Indigenous knowledge can partner with the traditional knowledge of First Nations People. The case study in this chapter is called Gondwana Link and describes a partnership between a not-for-profit community organisation and Nyoongar Elders. The outcomes of that partnership have been beneficial to not only the land, that is showing remarkable signs of recovery, but also to the Nyoongar community who participate by sharing traditional knowledge and practicing culture.

We have a continent to learn. If we are to survive, let alone feel at home, we must begin to understand our country. If we succeed, one day we might become Australian. (Gammage, 2011, p. 323)

For tens of thousands of years Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have lived in Australia, creating a lifestyle of abundance while living in harmony with their natural environment. Care for country is embedded in traditional Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture and law. When Europeans arrived in 1788, they stepped onto a land that seemed untouched by man. They did not see how the First Peoples had made the land. Since European colonisation, man’s impact on the Australian environment has been detrimental in numerous ways. Many of Australia’s environmental problems stem from the lack of understanding and knowledge of a landscape that was starkly different to the green Britain from where the colonisers had travelled and would continue to refer to as home for decades to come. In the 230 years since English colonisation, a fraction of the time that First Nations Australians have lived on the continent, over 100 animal and plant species have been made extinct with many more in danger of extinction. Australia has the worst mammal extinction rate in the world. 22% of Australia’s forests have been cleared since 1788. Climate change, sustainability and environmental protection are now high on the agenda for not only Australia’s government but also many of Australia’s citizens who are, now more than ever, taking independent action on environmental issues. © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_10

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With research and reconciliation has come a better appreciation of how First Peoples skilfully cared for country, and an understanding that they were so much more than the nomadic hunters and gatherers who seemed, to the colonisers, to wander aimlessly through the land. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were ecologists, farmers, botanists and environmentalists. We know now that nonIndigenous Australia has a lot to learn from First Nations People about caring for the natural environment, but First Nations People have never before had to deal with the degree of land degradation that faces us today. Scientists, governments and farmers are ready to work together with First Nations People, to learn from each other and restore the land to health. This chapter summaries some of the research that has provided a clearer picture of how Nyoongar people cared for the land, and some of the unique characteristics of the South-Western Australian landscape to which Nyoongar people are so intimately connected. Readers are encouraged to seek out some of the texts cited here as they provide detailed insights into traditional Nyoongar and First Peoples land care. What lessons may be learnt from traditional First Peoples land care is up to the environmental experts who are tasked with reversing the damage that has been done by clearing, fencing and mining the land. We, the authors, do not assume to know the answers to the complex and urgent questions faced by those who have the mammoth task of restoring our land to health. What this chapter does offer, however, is some insight into how non-Indigenous scientists, environmentalists and farmers can work with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to heal the land that we all now call home.

Traditional Land Management When James Cook sailed down the coast of Australia in 1770, he declared the land he ‘discovered’ to be ‘terra nullius’, or no-one’s land, because the First Nations People he saw there showed no signs of civilisation—at least not as James Cook understood civilisation to be. He saw no towns, or fences or any of the signs of occupation that a European might read and interpret as ownership. Ownership of the land was understood in European terms, which meant buildings, cultivation and development. Cook chose to ignore the First Nations People he saw and did not know that the continent of Australia was owned and occupied by over 400 different nations. First Nations People appeared, to the British, to wander aimlessly through the landscape without possessions, homes or any recognisable structure to their communities. The colonisers on the west coast came nearly 50 years after Cook claimed Australia for the British crown and they had mixed feelings about the Nyoongar people and the land they encountered on arrival. Albany, or Frederick Town as it was named in 1826, was the first site of British settlement on the south coast of Western Australia and was originally established as a garrison rather than a site for agriculture and expanding occupation. The Swan River Colony was established several years later in 1829, in Wadjuk Nyoongar country on the south-west coast of Australia, by

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James Stirling. First recorded impressions of the landscape around the Swan River Colony were diverse in their sentiment, but many noted in their journals the beauty and openness of the country through which they travelled: …peppermint and wattle trees… gay with white and yellow blossoms; an infinite variety of flowering shrubs gave to the country the appearance of English grounds about a goodly mansion… (E.W. Landor quoted in Hallam, 2014, p. 57)

Researchers have provided numerous accounts of the early colonisers’ first impressions of the south-west. The land is frequently described as being like an English parkland with green grassy clearings interspersed with stands of trees. Some of the early colonial artists have been accused of romanticising the Australian landscape because their creative representations made it look like an English meadow or garden. Nyoongar agriculture and land management was at first invisible to the colonists, but they soon came to understand that the manicured appearance of the Western Australian landscape was largely from Nyoongar people burning the bush. Fire was an important farming and land management tool for Nyoongar people. Bill Gammage and Sylvia Hallam have written extensively about the First Peoples’ use of fire and traditional land management techniques. Both cite the observations of early settlers who witnessed First People’s frequent and skilled burning of the bush. Hallam’s book Fire and Hearth (2014) is of particular relevance here because her research focuses on the south-west region and Nyoongar interaction with white colonists. She quotes from the journal of soldier and explorer, Henry Bunbury, who journeyed through the Vasse region in 1836: It cannot be denied that Western Australia, as far as it is known, is generally of a rather sandy barren nature, partly owing to the constant dryness and clearness of the atmosphere and climate and to the periodical extensive bush fires which, by destroying every two or three years the dead leaves, plants, sticks, fallen timber, etc. prevent most effectually the accumulations of any decayed vegetable deposit… By these fires… the country is kept comparatively free from under wood and other obstructions, having the character of an open forest through most parts of which one can ride freely; otherwise, in all probability, it would soon become impenetrably thick, and…. The labour and cost of clearing would be so greatly increased as to take away all the profit, and it would change the very nature of the country, depriving it of the grazing and pastoral advantages it now possesses…. It is true that we might ourselves burn the bush but we could never do it with the same judgement and good effect as the Natives, who keep the fire within due bounds… (cited in Hallam, 2014, p. 47, 48)

Bunbury alludes to the economic advantage that clear and grassy land offered to the colonists as they took over country that was suitable for grazing stock and farming. They quickly took advantage of the most appealing Nyoongar spaces, such as the land around waterways and water holes that had been carefully managed to attract game while also offering cover to hunters. Nyoongar people burning the bush to encourage the growth of grass, which in turn attracted game animals for hunting and food, had created the land that appealed to the colonists.

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The progress of exploration and settlement had depended and continued to depend on Indigenous knowledge, use and development of the country and its resources—native wells, native paths, clearance and vegetation patterns dependent on Aboriginal firing. The grazing and pastoral advantages of the country depended on their firing. (Hallam, 2014, p. 66)

Cleric, John Wollaston, observed in 1842 that “land good for Aborigines was land good for Europeans (Hallam, 2014, p. 72)” and hence the Nyoongar were dispossessed of the land they depended on to feed their bodies and their souls. It cannot be understated—the close connection that First Peoples have to their country. Aboriginal author, Bruce Pascoe, says “one of the most fundamental differences between Aboriginal people and non-Aboriginal people is the understanding of the relationship between people and land. Earth is the mother… (Pascoe, 2014, p. 145)”. We would add to Pascoe’s observation that the difference between First Peoples and nonIndigenous people is that First Peoples adapt to meet the needs of the environment; non-Indigenous people change the environment to meet their needs. At the time of colonisation Nyoongar family groups were responsible for tracts of land that they knew intimately and managed to ensure every aspect of that environment, from the water sources to the smallest insect, was cared for. Bill Gammage explains, “theology and ecology are fused… theology serves ecology” (2011, p. 133). Every feature of the land is explained by a creation story or, as it is often referred to, the ‘dreaming’. In Nyoongar country the dreamtime is referred to as ‘Nyitting’, which translates to ‘a cold, dark time’. The creation stories form songlines or storylines, and it is these stories that explain how the world was created, dictate human behaviour and how humans must care for the land. Each story contains a truth about creation or human responsibility for country; and each story describes a consequence that tells us what will happen if that truth is ignored. Storylines are like chapters in a book. One family or language group will have a story about a kangaroo, for example. A neighbouring family will have a different story about the kangaroo, so as you move through the country the stories build on each other like a book. Each story teaches something about a family’s care and connection to the land and its animals. Everything has a storyline. If it exists, then it was created and there is a storyline to explain its creation. In other words, everything is sacred. Bruce Chatwin tells the story of a seemingly insignificant spur of rock, in Central Australia, that is connected to a small hill that developers wanted to clear for a railway. Enquiries were made of the traditional owners to ensure this was not a sacred site. A group of Aboriginal people eventually came forward but were reluctant to speak of the songline for that hill. When it was explained that there were plans to demolish the hill, the Aboriginal men became very upset. They predicted an apocalypse if the hill was cut—they explained the truth of the hill and then the consequences of not following the ritual and, in this case, the destruction of the hill: The song that lay along the line of hills told of a Dreamtime Ancestor who failed to perform the correct ritual for controlling a bush-fly breeding cycle. Swarms of maggots overran the Burt Plain, stripping it bare of vegetation—as it is today. The Ancestor rounded up the maggots and crammed them back beneath the spur of rock where, ever since, they’d been breeding and breeding underground. The old men said that, if they cut into the hillside, there’d be a gigantic explosion. A cloud of flies would burst upwards and cover the whole earth and kill every man and animal with poison. (Chatwin, 1987, p. 87)

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Each and every Nyoongar person has a totem, which is a life force stemming from a storyline. A totem can be an animal, a plant or any other element of the natural environment. Individuals have totems, as do families and tribal groups and so people can have more than one totem. Totem members are responsible for their totem animal or plant, and they have a responsibility to other members of their totem group. Totems are the main organising principle of the Nyoongar community. Bill Gammage articulates beautifully the centrality of totems to First Peoples spirituality: Totems make clear how basic to the unity of creation an ecological perspective is. All must care for the land and its creatures, all must be regenerated by care and ceremony, no soul must be extinguished, no totem put at risk, no habitat too much reduced. That mandate, not the theology, made land care purposeful, universal and predictable…The parks and puzzles Europeans saw in 1788 were no accident…By so thoroughly implanting means and incentives to shackle body and soul to the survival of all things in heaven and earth, it made environmental management obligatory. (Gammage, 2011, p. 137)

The Nyoongar six seasons also played an important role in land care and management. Nyoongar people moved with the seasons to ensure natural resources were never overused, that they had time to rejuvenate and that people were in locations best suited for weather conditions and access to food at particular times of the year. For example, in the warmer months Wadjuk Nyoongar people would move to the coast where they could fish and find relief from the heat. In cooler months they would move inland where they were more protected from bad weather and had access to different foods. From the arrival of the first colonists, Nyoongar perspectives of sustainability and land management have conflicted with non-Indigenous use of the land. The colonists saw the land as a resource to be developed, utilised and conquered for economic benefit. The colonists cleared the land to plant crops and moved their livestock to graze on the grass that Nyoongar people had cultivated to attract native animals. The colonists saw fire as a destructive force and stopped Nyoongar burning by prohibiting access to country. They fenced the land and felled the trees for export to Britain. They assumed European culture to be superior and therefore the colonists assumed a superior knowledge of land management. The academic, Alan Pope, refers to this as, ‘the incompatibility of establishing individual fortunes based on ownership and exploitation of the land and the maintenance of an Aboriginal way of life so fundamentally linked to the same land’. (quoted in Pascoe, 2014, p. 84)

Nyoongar people, on the other hand, see the land as their spiritual mother and they are committed to her care. Prior to colonisation, care for country ensured survival and every Nyoongar language group, family and individual had an intimate relationship with their own tract of land, or their ‘run’ as Daisy Bates called it (Palmer, 2016, p. 46). Culture and law guaranteed that both people and country thrived—land care is obligatory and tied to the soul of every Nyoongar person. Nyoongar people do not ‘own’ country, rather it owns them and sustainability was a way of life. Pascoe (2014) and Gammage (2011), whose research covers First Nations communities from all over Australia, describe First Peoples as farmers because of their land management practices. They explain how fire was used to encourage the growth of bush foods,

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and law ensured that country was burned only by those who had the knowledge and authority to do so. Totems prohibited the eating of some animals, hunting of some fish and animals was seasonal to allow for breeding, and seeds were spread around to encourage the growth of favoured edible plants. People also reared dingos, possums, emus and cassowaries, penned pelican chicks and let parent birds fatten them, moved rats and caterpillars to new breeding areas, and carried fish and crayfish stock across country…. Coast and inland, thousands of weirs, dams and traps of stone, mud, brush or reeds extended species and harvests. (Gammage, 2011, p. 282)

Researchers have shown how Nyoongar people contributed to the conservation of a valuable ecological region through their traditional land management practices. Ethno-botanist, Alison Lullfitz (2017), and her co-authors describe a number of different ways that Nyoongar people managed and constructed their environment. They fired the bush to create a mosaic, or patchwork, of different food plants and to also attract animals that were hunted for food. Plants that were of value to humans were cultivated and protected. The native ‘yam’ was one of the most popular edible plant roots and this was protected from fire, while some other plants offered cover for hunters and so were rarely burnt. Nyoongar moved and stored roots and seeds for food and propagation and so extended the geographical distribution of some plant species. Modifying habitats attracted, protected and increased food resources as demonstrated by the remains of Nyoongar fish traps and lizard traps in the southwest, and the tops of the grass bush (Xanthorrhoea preissii or balga) that were broken down to attract bardi grubs that were a favoured food. And finally, Nyoongar placed cultural restrictions on the use of some plants. For example, a person could not eat their totem animal, or plants could not be gathered while in seed. In summary, there is evidence that “Noongar law instituted both sustainability of resources and societal well-being through such prescriptions. (Lullfitz et al., 2017, p. 213)”

Contemporary Land Care The south-west of Western Australia is one of the world’s 35 internationally recognised biodiversity hotspots. Only one other exists in Australia, which is the forests of eastern Australia (Lambers & Bradshaw, 2016). These regions are called hotspots not just because of their biodiversity, but also because endemic species are subject to significant loss of habitat. The potential loss of plant and animal diversity in ratio to the percentage of the earth’s surface in which these species are found is what qualifies a region as a biodiverse hotspot. The south-west of WA covers an area of over 300,000 km2 and contains over 8000 plant species (Gioia & Hopper, 2017; Lullfitz et al., 2017). About half of these plant species are endemic to the south-west, as are a number of animals such as the numbat and the honey possum (Hales, 2014). Hans Lambers has produced an edited book called Plant Life on the Sandplains in Southwest Australia (2014) that provides an excellent and detailed account of the rich, unique flora of this region.

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Today there are many species of animals and plants that are in decline or in danger of extinction. The Department of Environment and Conservation list 70 threatened flora species in the Western Central Wheatbelt alone (Collins, n.d.). The Brush-tailed Bettong or Woylie used to be abundant but its numbers have dramatically declined since 2006 (Lambers & Bradshaw, 2016). South-Western Australia is home to three endemic black-cockatoo species—Baudin’s Black-Cockatoo, Carnaby’s Black-Cockatoo, and the southwestern subspecies, the Forest Red-tailed BlackCockatoo. All three of these iconic birds are currently listed as threatened under both state and federal legislation (Peck, Barrett, & Williams, 2018). The main threats to many animal species are the loss of habitat, introduced feral predators such as cats and foxes that eat native fauna, and ecological changes resulting from current fire regimes. For plant species the main threat is land clearing, which has also resulted in increased soil and stream salinity, and weed invasion. Urban growth has also caused environmental damage as a greater human presence brings weeds, a higher incidence of animal road deaths, more frequent bush fires and more land clearing (Lambers & Bradshaw, 2016). Land degradation and species extinction are urgent environmental issues that challenge contemporary scientists, governments and farmers. There is growing recognition that working with First Peoples offers new possibilities for land care strategies and the acquisition of knowledge. It should be acknowledged that some parts of the environment have reached a crisis point, which creates problems never before encountered by First Peoples or non-Indigenous people.1 We must be wary of romanticising or essentialising First Peoples by assuming that their intimate connection with country means that they have all the answers. On the other hand, it should not be assumed that First Peoples, especially those living in urban environments, have lost their culture and therefore lost all traditional knowledge of the land. Stocker, Collard, and Rooney (2016) remind us that culture was interrupted by colonisation and the Stolen Generations, but Nyoongar people have not lost their identity and there is an ongoing cultural renaissance within the community. Cultural memory exists with the Elders in the form of stories that are still being shared and passed on to a new generation. One such Nyitting story explains how the islands off the coast of Perth, in Wadjuk country, came into existence when a crocodile travelled from the north and caused the sea level to rise and flood the Derbal Yaragan (Swan River). The Waagle, or Rainbow Serpent, guardian of the fresh water, smells the salt and travels down Derbal Yaragen to see what’s happening. … The Waagle fights the crocodile, bites off his tail and places the tail across the mouth of the river to prevent salt water coming up stream. (Stocker et al., 2016, p. 858)

Here is a Nyitting story that explains the creation of the islands and the rock bar at the mouth of the Swan River, as well as informing Nyoongar management of coastal resources. The waters in the Swan River were once shallow enough for Nyoongar people to fish by just wading into the water, until in the 1890s when C. Y. O’Connor 1 In 2020 catastrophic bush fires on the East Coast of Australia are burning as we make the final edits

to this book. Bushfires have burnt 10.7 million ha of land, killed 26 people, and pushed numerous plant and animal species to the brink of extinction.

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blasted the rock bar at the mouth of the river to create Fremantle harbour. The water in the river became deeper, prohibiting fishing in the traditional way, and causing saltwater to flow into the Swan River forever changing its ecology. Some people tell the story of how Nyoongar ‘sang him’ or cursed him to make him crazy and C. Y. O’Connor killed himself in 1902 at a beach close to where the Nyoongar believe the spirits of the dead leave the coast to travel over the sea (Hancock, 2013). The Nyitting story of the crocodile and the Waagle is a traditional one that is shared today, but now it is told with the addition of contemporary elements such as C. Y. O’Connor’s changes to the river and the circumstances of his death. The story not only explains the natural environment but also the environmental consequences of failing to care for the land—there is truth and consequence in this story.

Walking Together It’s a synergy of ancient, ancient, ancient way with this modern new way. (quoted in Stasiuk, 2015)

These are the words of Nyoongar Elder, Dr Noel Nannup, in a short film called Synergies: Walking Together—Belonging to Country (Stasiuk, 2015). Nannup stands side by side with Professor Steve Hopper, a respected Biodiversity Scientist and Wadjella, as they explain the origins of the Swan Coastal Plains and follow the course of the Swan River, or Derbal Yerrigan, from the hills to the sea. This beautiful film is mandatory viewing for those who wish to better understand a Nyoongar world view, but it also serves as an example of Western science and Nyoongar traditional knowledge working together for sustainability. Steve Hopper runs a student program, through the University of Western Australia, called ‘Biodiversity On Country’. The unit provides the opportunity for Biology students to be on-country and learn from both Western scientists and Nyoongar Elders. The unit is run at Nowanup with Nyoongar Leader, Eugene Eades, and there will be more about Nowanup in the case study included in this chapter. For now, Steve Hopper’s work with Nyoongar Elders provides evidence of how Western science and Nyoongar traditional knowledge can complement and inform each other—to work together to further our understanding of sustainability and biodiversity. Steve attempted to publish a book in 2000 about Nyoongar and Western knowledge systems but was informed by a reviewer that he had not “spent enough time consulting with Elders and it was, therefore, inappropriate for another Wadjella to publish a book on Aboriginal knowledge without, not only consent, but genuine collaboration (Personal communication, September 2017).” He has spent his time, since then, consulting and working with Nyoongar Elders to better understand a Nyoongar world view and Nyoongar traditional knowledge. The film Synergies is one example of the collaborative publications in which he has participated in recent years. Steve Hopper’s research is based on the rationale that

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Whatever biodiversity we have, and we inherited at colonisation, was a product of Aboriginal management of land and living things—land management practices that have evolved over 50,000 years of occupation under tremendous environmental change, from before a major glaciation, through a major glaciation and out the other end. (Personal communication, September 2017)

He explains the underlying aim of the educational unit, which he calls Walking together—two-way science. I’ve found a number of Elders … who are saying “““well we all live together on the same country and we all have to go forward and have a common future.” It’s negotiating that common future is such a way that we each bring to the table a knowledge system that will achieve something that’s better than what we’ve got at the moment. (2017)

Eighteen years have passed since Steve received that damming review about his book. He has still not published it because, he says, he is still learning about protocols and genuine collaboration, but he now understands the challenges he faces, as a wadjella, working with Nyoongar people. Eventually, you learn that every family has its own story, and no one speaks for everyone. There’s as much diversity, or more, in Nyoongar people and their attitudes as there is in any group of people. So you can’t just apply the name Nyoongar and think you’ve got a homogenous group of one view who you can work with and in a simple way (2017)

Steve’s students are each required to complete an ethics application before they go on-country. Their early lecture content helps with the cultural awareness they need to complete that task. While they don’t submit the ethics application, it ensures that students are familiar with, and respectful of, protocols and that they understand essential things such as the secret nature of some cultural knowledge, men’s and women’s business, Nyoongar value systems and totems. The aim is to make sure the students are well prepared before they go on-country because, for many, this will be the first time they have met an Aboriginal person. Steve’s current research overlaps with the PhD research of Alison Lullifitz whose co-authored article is cited earlier in this chapter. They seek to understand how the landscape shows evidence of Nyoongar cultural practice (see also Hopper & Lambers, 2014). Zoology and Botany courses teach about the landscape as if it is terra nullius, but there is evidence of a humanised landscape in Nyoongar country. Alison talks about her own introduction to Nyoongar protocols when she first commenced her Ph.D. studies. She was questioned about her project by Elders and she soon realised how distrustful they were of researchers. “They were sceptical about how we were going to use the information, and rightly so because they haven’t always been treated with respect. They have had information stolen from them before (Personal communication, September 2017)”. As her studies have progressed she has learnt some valuable lessons along the way including the importance of developing trust and relationships. Plants are mostly the domain of women and so Alison spends more time with women, but the adherence to gender protocols can vary from family to family. The project has become more Nyoongar led as it progresses, but she says the biggest lesson has been “just learning to listen and be quiet (2017)”.

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To better understand how Aboriginal people moved across the landscape and affected plant distribution, Alison and Steve brought about half a dozen different families out to country near Nowanup. They asked if the landscape had stories for them that connected with their childhood, their parents or grandparents. This is a research methodology that is linking oral history to science and the results of the on-country experience provided evidence that cultural knowledge is quite deep, but it’s kept quiet. The community-led research that Steve and his colleagues now advocate offers a very different approach to the traditional, Cartesian way of working. Rather than approaching Aboriginal people and culture as subjects of a study, the researcher is an observer who maintains an objective distance in order to test a hypothesis, the research question comes from the community. Conversations with Elders will lead to questions about plants or traditional use of the land. From that “shared interest of country comes an opportunity to compare and contrast knowledge systems for mutual learning (Hopper, Personal communication, September 2017)”. Steve acknowledges that appropriation of Aboriginal knowledge has, in the past, been problematic: It’s fraught, isn’t it? Because we’re all learning and in Western Science, appropriation has come to have a negative meaning. But sharing knowledge is the difference. Sharing is a better word. Appropriation in science has occurred by anthropologists, archaeologists, biologists and sociologists—just having a Cartesian view of the relationships. “I want to study you and I’m going to write a paper about you” and in the old days you just got the information, went away, wrote it under my name and you knew nothing about it. So now we routinely ask people if they, first, are happy to share knowledge, and we understand fully that there is closed knowledge and there’s open knowledge and most often it’s just open knowledge that we really want to work on. But then when it comes to publishing, we ask the same question, do you want to co-author this? So that’s a routine thing now, it’s treating Nyoongar people as co-investigators rather than being subjects of investigation. I think that’s probably the difference between appropriative science and collaborative science. (2017)

Steve has always loved fieldwork and has spent the majority of his working life in the field. But he describes the work he does now, on-country, with Nyoongar Elders as a ‘second education’. He revisits, with Nyoongar, places that he visited as a biologist in his early career and attempts to understand country, plants and animals from a Nyoongar perspective. Steve acknowledges the generosity of spirit offered by the Nyoongar Elders with whom he and his students engage. His passion and connection with country are evident when he says: Ultimately, the big lesson is that country is the teacher. We’re just transmitters of the stories, but if you observe and sit and respect, quietly, then you know there are stories to be understood here that are of importance globally. (2017)

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Changing Policies Recognising the value of Indigenous traditional knowledge and working with First Peoples on land care projects is a social justice cause that is gaining momentum internationally and locally. The United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous People recognises that First Peoples have the rights to access land for traditional medicines, for cultural practices and to protect cultural and intellectual property (2008, Article 24). They also have the right to “the conservation and protection of the environment and the productive capacity of their lands or territories and resources (2008, Article 29)” The United Nations (UN) makes it mandatory for governments to work with First Peoples on issues of sustainability and land management. Another international initiative that seeks to protect not just biological diversity in general but also First Peoples cultural knowledge is the Convention on Biological Diversity (see Department of the Environment, 2014), which recognises the special contribution First Peoples can make to conservation and sustainability programs (2006, p. j). Australia is a signatory to both these international agreements, which have informed our own changing national policies for working with First Peoples on land management and sustainability initiatives. The Indigenous Land Corporation (ILC) was established in 1995 and is responsible for planning and implementing the National Indigenous Land Strategy (NILS). ILC has two functions: “to assist Indigenous Australians to acquire land, and to assist in the management of Indigenous land, however that land was acquired (ILC 2018, p. 4)”. The ILC assists in the care and management of what they refer to as the ‘Indigenous Estate’ (ILC 2018, p. 4), which includes land, people and intellectual property. In Western Australia the ILC has purchased 55 properties making up a total of 2,721,678 ha (ILC n.d.), which are a mix of urban and regional properties. ILC-purchased properties are managed and owned by Aboriginal corporations. In 1997 the Indigenous Protected Areas (IPA) program was established and funded by the Federal Government for the specific purpose of protecting land and biodiversity. IPA land may be owned or managed by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander groups who voluntarily dedicate their land to the program. These areas of land are usually recognised as parks or reserves and the aim is to provide opportunities for First Nations People to care for country in partnership with Western science. There are 75 dedicated Indigenous Protected Areas throughout Australia which represent 45% of Australia’s national reserve system (Dept. Environment & Energy, n.d.). The majority of these areas are located in central and northern Australia but there are currently no Indigenous Protected Areas in the south-west. At the time of writing, an IPA application from Ngadju country north-east of Esperance, has been accepted by the Federal Government and a formal dedication was planned for March 2019. The IPA program includes an Indigenous Rangers project that was established in 2007 with the aim, again, of providing opportunities for First Peoples to combine traditional knowledge with Western science and conservation training to build capacity and assist them in caring for country. Over 60% of IPAs are managed through the Indigenous Ranger groups (Department of the Prime Minister & Cabinet, n.d.).

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In Western Australia there is another category of Aboriginal land called the Aboriginal Lands Trust (ALT). This is a state government program that issues leases to Aboriginal individuals and organisations that give rights to leaseholders that are in addition to those associated with Native Title. 312 parcels of land form the ALT estate in Western Australia, which equates to approximately 24 million ha, or 9.65% of the State (Dept. Planning, Lands & Heritage n.d.). Eighteen of these land parcels are located in the south-west and include regional and urban locations. Three of the old mission sites—Carrolup, Wandering and Gnowangerup—are examples of ALT sites in the south-west. Leases are allocated for the exclusive use and benefit of Aboriginal people and include sites used for tourism, farming and community facilities such as health clinics (ALT, 2017). First Nations People also have rights to land and waters based on Native Title claims, which were first recognised by the Australian High Court in 1992. This High Court decision is famously known as the ‘Mabo’ decision (see also Perkins, 2012; NNTT, 2017) and it overturned the long-accepted doctrine of ‘terra nullius’. Native title may be recognised where Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people can demonstrate a continuing connection to traditional land and waters since colonisation. Native title rights will vary for each individual case, but it usually allows access to land for First Peoples to practice culture such as hunting, camping or performing ceremonies. This is called Non-exclusive Native Title and includes procedural rights such as the right to negotiate a mining lease. Exclusive possession Native Title entitles First Peoples to hold the land to the exclusion of all others and can only be allocated to vacant crown land or land that is already held by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (NNTT 2017). In 2016 a historic native title agreement was reached between the South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council and the Western Australian Government (see Chap. 2). The South West Native Title Settlement is one of the biggest native title settlements in Australian history and has been described as “Australia’s First Treaty. (Hobbs & Williams, 2018)” When details of the agreement are finalised, benefits to Nyoongar people should include the acquisition of 320,000 ha of development and cultural land with $46,850,000 of funding for land-related projects (SWALSC, 2018). This is a significant step forward in providing Nyoongar people access to land with possibilities for cultural and land management programs in the future. The programs mentioned here represent opportunities for First Peoples to own, manage and care for their traditional lands. They point to an optimistic future whereby, as Stocker et al. propose (2016), a third space of sustainability is created and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander traditional knowledge and Western science work together. There is evidence already of this third space emerging in Nyoongar country with Nyoongar place names displayed in public spaces, commissioning of Nyoongar public art and Nyoongar cultural festivals. But as governments make native title deals, administer land management programs and declare the doctrine of ‘terra nullius’ to be a lie, some attention should be given to how First Peoples, their cultural values and their traditional land management practices can be empowered and supported in the third space. Working together should not assume the superiority or authority of Western science, but rather Nyoongar world views should be central

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to sustainable coastal and land management practice (Stocker et al., 2016, p. 862). A dialogue is needed whereby First Peoples traditional knowledge can inform Western science, and First Peoples can in turn learn new skills and acquire new knowledge to build capacity and be empowered to care for and manage their land. The following is a case study of how such a third space of sustainability can be built.

Case Study: Gondwana Link and Nowanup Gondwana Link is the name of a non-government, not-for-profit land care project that brings together a diverse range of local, national and international groups, private landholders and Aboriginal communities to work together. They have a bold plan to reconnect 1000 kilometres of habitat across the south-west corner of Western Australia. Vast tracts of land have been cleared for farming in this region with devastating effects on flora and fauna, and so the Gondwana Link vision includes restoring and maintaining ‘ecological resilience’ to the land by purchasing properties that are now too fragile to farm, and supporting ranger teams (Bradby, Keesing, & Wardell-Johnson, 2016; Gondwana Link). One of the properties obtained through the Gondwana Link program is Nowanup. Located between Boxhill and Jerramungup, just north-east of the Stirling Ranges (see Illustration 10.1), it is land previously used

Illustration 10.1 Inset map shows a key area on the south-west coast that Gondwana Link aims to reconnect. The large map shows the Stirlings-Fitzgerald region where Nowanup is located (Maps by Amanda Keesing)

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for farming but never very profitable for the previous owners. It is now managed by the Nyoongar community, in collaboration with the owners, Greening Australia and Gondwana Link. Nyoongar Leader, Eugene Eades, has led the restoration of Nowanup while, at the same time, transforming the property into a healing space where he invites people of all ages and cultures, but especially young Aboriginal people who have been caught up in the justice system. They come to Nowanup to learn from Nyoongar Elders and to rediscover their culture and identity. Of particular relevance to this chapter is the incredible work that has been done at Nowanup restoring and healing the land. Greening Australia purchased the 763 ha at Nowanup in 2005 and, with the assistance of grants and donations, mass plantings of native vegetation have now transformed the land and restored its native flora and fauna. The relationship between Gondwana Link, Eugene and the Nyoongar community of the Great Southern offers a valuable example of cross-cultural collaboration that benefits all participants, but most importantly, it is healing the natural environment in which they all live and work. Keith Bradby is the Chief Executive Officer of Gondwana Link and describes his first meetings with Eugene Eades back in 2006. Gondwana Link had secured funding and so asked partner and landowner, Greening Australia, if they would take some Elders to Nowanup to offer use of the property. Eugene already had a reputation in the community for working across different families and so he was approached to invite some Nyoongar families to Nowanup. On this first visit to the property, it was made clear by the community visitors that this was Nyoongar country—many of the Elders were familiar with this land. On a second visit with a wider group of Elders, it was decided that the first step was to build a meeting place at Nowanup for black and white community but designed and built in Nyoongar way so that people could sit and learn around a fire. As a result of this initial meeting, Eugene was given a job with Greening Australia. Keith talks about the consequences of that decision: Not long after a couple of Nyoongar organisers in town had a cup of tea with me and basically said, you’ve done the wrong thing there, physical violence will ensue to you if you don’t sack him. I was like, oh lordy, this is going to be fun. For white people coming in, you learn you’re going to have to expect a bit of this. You can’t please everybody. I think like everything you do, It’s a fine line between being flexible and being too ziggy-zaggy all over the place. I always use the word navigating. You’re constantly working out where you’re going. You’ve actually got to make judgement calls and stick to them a bit, and if they stuff up, you’ve got to wear it and say, well that’s stuffed up. He [Eugene] was very lucky in that the guys in Greening [Australia] who were his line managers, looked after him, were pretty flexible and very supportive. He drove their accountant mad by having an enormous phone bill. But that’s what he does. He’s on the bloody phone all the time talking to everyone. That’s his job, isn’t it? Then their funding stopped, and with it his job. Well, Eugene’s had probably 8 years or more now where he’s had to run it supporting himself. He’s a bloody hero. Greening Australia remained supportive of Nyoongar use of the Nowanup property, and Gondwana Link stepped up to provide administrative and logistical support. That’s not been all smooth sailing, as Nyoongar ways, fiscal accountability and Wadjella project timelines aren’t always a close fit. But the key people involved can see who Eugene is and what he is achieving—which has been an eye-opener for us all. Amanda Keesing in

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Gondwana Link has become very adept at administrative acrobatics and running a 24/7 cash banking system with auditable paperwork, while Barry Heydenrych from Greening Australia continues to smile, help with all the property issues, keep his bosses informed and end the day with guitar jamming with Eugene. These are much more than professional relationships—they are deep and lasting friendships built on mutual respect, earned over time, and our awe at the more complete world, one that includes the Nyoongar world view, that Nowanup has shown us. (Bradby, personal communication, 15 May 2018)

Keith explains that there were different factions within the Nyoongar community who were not supportive of Eugene and may still not be supportive. Community politics can be difficult to negotiate. But there is now a good level of support from the Circle of Elders and Keith believes it is non-Indigenous people who often make it more complex than it needs to be. I actually think there’s some fundamental stuff behind all this—number one, be decent, mutual respect. (2018)

Keith explains that non-Indigenous people can be too ‘reductionist’ in the way they think, whereas Nyoongar people think about the world as a whole place, and the mission is to make it whole again. A lot of progress is made through the heart, not through the head. That’s an artificial anatomical distinction, but as we understand heart and head, there’s a lot more heart in the Nyoongar world. … That’s a big understanding that the country 200 years ago was fundamentally different from how any white person can perceive it. Within that, there’s an awful lot of technique of management and understanding. I actually think us white fellows have got a bit going for us, and the techniques of restoring that land draw reasonably heavily on Western Science and agronomic techniques. Even the business of seed placement in soil and weed control and all that stuff. But Eugene was very quiet for a number of years, and I think we were very clumsy in just progressing all that big restoration work. I think it’s one of the reasons he got stroppy with a couple of groups, because he was feeling we were partitioning—that’s Nyoongar engagement, this is land management. There’s no difference. We had to realise that. One guy said, we’ll do our science stuff here, and they can do their cultural stuff there. I said, I’m sorry, their cultural stuff is your science stuff, is your land management stuff, your ecological stuff. Different ways of seeing are absolutely vital, and I don’t quite get their ways of seeing, but it helps me understand that mine’s not the 100% whole story, and there’s different ways. (2018)

Keith believes that, in spite of stolen generation history and removal from the land, more cultural and land management knowledge has been passed on to contemporary Nyoongar Elders than they, themselves, will admit. He asks, “why would they share it with us”? Respecting the knowledge of the past, the Elders, is an important element of Nyoongar culture, but white culture prefers to look forward to the future and does not place the same value on the knowledge of Elders or the lessons offered by history. Keith summarises the success of his collaboration with Eugene as follows: Well, it’s still a work in progress. As long as it’s always a work in progress, it’ll keep progressing. There’s a certain amount of tenacity on all sides. Ewie (Eugene) has done it really tough out there. It’s not always been an easy road for us either, but tenacity comes from a determination that this has to work. There’s no plan B, white and black in the black country have to work.

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There’s a lot of heart, a lot of heart in it. People say, tell us about your career, and I say, have I had a career? Oh, I thought I was having a life. Trust—you trust. And you’re not trying to second-guess details as judgement. If I’ve got a tricky one, I’ll ask his (Eugene’s) advice, but I’ll make my call. If he’s got a tricky one, he’ll ask my advice, but he’ll make his call, and I’ll back his call. Lots of fun, and you’ve seen him with the music and the guitar and everything. I’ve taken a number of distinguished people out there (to Nowanup), and most of them have ended up bloody jamming with him. You’ve noticed, you’ll get a laugh about every five minutes. I think it might be a part of the Nyoongar awareness of the immensity of past time that makes you realise that you’re a bit of joke in the immensity of time—a person, a speck of dust sort of thing. They don’t take themselves too seriously, and I don’t think I take myself too seriously. I think there is a really deep well of determination to make things better between Aboriginal Australia and white Australia. (Personal communication, 15 May 2018)

Nowanup and Gondwana Link have now established a Nyoongar Ranger program that Keith hopes will grow from three in 2018, to six or more rangers in the near future. The aim is to give the program continuity and the funding required to do that. One of the difficulties is that people are frequently contracted as a family to do work at Nowanup, because families work well together. However, these types of employment practices break workplace rules. Yet Eugene knows what is going to work and creates cohesion in his work teams. Keith values the different ideas that they each bring to the work they do together: Different ways of doing, and we let different ways happen. I think that ability to think broad, and agile, and in greater detail is still there in Nyoongar communities. It might have been knocked around a bit, but I think it’s still there. Whereas I think we’re much more straight jacketed in our thinking. I think that’s one of the things they bring—they’re smarter. They might not be able to do as much algebra, but they’re smarter in a deeper sense. (Personal communication, 15 May 2018)

When talking to Eugene Eades about Nowanup the conversation may begin with land care and restoration, but will very quickly turn to healing people, culture and community. The two are intimately and inextricably linked, and cross-cultural collaboration has an important part to play. Eugene explains: Within the environmental healing of the land is the healing of the people. In return the land will heal us. What seems to be coming up in my mind and in my art is that we couldn’t get a better time for non-Aboriginal people to walk with us, talk with us, laugh and cry with us—on this journey of healing the land. I think the key for the door to open—for that to happen—is looking at a geographical story of two cultures on the one land. We could have a wadjella family walking out of the bush over there, and a Nyoongar one walking out of the bush over here and saying, “t’s our backyard. We’ve got to clean it up.” The way we give that respect is for non-Aboriginal people now—regardless of who they are—saying “listen, we want to walk behind you. You show us how to do it.” A whole bunch of really clever people that are in retirement that are willing to come on this journey of coming together to do something that’s going to be different to what has been done in the past. I’ve been really, really stoked about that. That idea of the Gondwana Link’s vision of engaging Nyoongar people to come back to country and follow their dream and help us learn from that dream as non-Aboriginal people. I think some of the stuff we touched on with the cultural,

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ecological restoration program is a classic example of how the landowners of this country, Greening Australia, have come to the table and said, “oh, look, we never saw it that way. But we want to open up more land for you to do that cultural restoration in properties we continue to purchase, so you can put that storyline that belongs to the land back in the land, and build capacity with that to do other things that could actually empower Nyoongar people, strengthen the spirit and encourage engaging”—the handing down of knowledge to not only Nyoongar youth, who’ll be the leaders of the future, but to a lot of our youth in the wadjella community as well. Keith said to us, when we first visited this place—these are the words he said—“I’m coming to show you the land. And, after all, it’s Nyoongar country. The gates are open. You’ve got to do what you need to do to make it work and teach us what we don’t know, because we just don’t know.” I could never forget that statement that Keith had made. In another way, he said that “for too long us white fellas have been playing silly buggers with these Nyoongars.” He said, “it astounds me when you take a bit of land, put a few plants in the ground, come back next year, the plants are flourishing. The birds are on the trees. It’s back to what it was.” He said, “us blokes, us white fellas, in 200 years, we done the opposite. We destroyed that.” (E. Eades, Personal communication, 6 June 2017)

The collaboration between Greening Australia, Gondwana Link and Nyoongar community has, over 15 years, produced some amazing results. The before and after pictures (see Illustration 10.2) are evidence of how the land has been restored. Nyoongar knowledge and Western science are working together as Eugene explains: Oh, lots of discussion, lots of talkings over and over with the botanists, all the clever people with the knowledge of planting and harvesting and collecting seeds. We’ve even been out seed collecting to get the germination going. Greening Australia got a team of people that they sent out to speak to us about the area of land that’s going to be cultivated next year, and how we feel about that. There’s collaboration, of course. What do you think would be suitable for the land, and is it from a Nyoongar perspective? What can we put in there, and they’ll give it the knowledge and two-way sharing of an ecological sort of background. You know, respecting each other’s values right through. So we try and get it to be right. If we get it wrong, we’ve both got it wrong. If we get it right, we’ve both got it right. So up to now, we’ve been doing everything pretty much right. We’ll get host plants going in the first year, and we let them grow for a year to get a grip. He’s going to be one that will feed and support the next plant that you’re trying to grow there—that belongs there. So you’ve got to put the first plant that absorbs and sucks up all the water and holds it. The next plant, roots grow, connect that root to that one, and he hosts—he’s like a mummy with a bubbie

Illustration 10.2 Restoration of the land near Nowanup after 9 years (Photos by Amanda Keesing)

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in her breast. Then, of course, other little things come and go, and the brush—low sort of stuff—grows. Grass grows. You’ve got this perfectly revegetated land that almost looks like it hasn’t been damaged or taken out ever. Then of course they’ll go and get the plants or the seedlings. The seeds are harvested, and they’ll plant them—germinate them in a laboratory. They’ve got a big nursery and they let grow to be like a yearling, a one-year-old plant. Then they’ll lock them into the region that they’re meant to be planted in. We got the job of planting them nowadays, as Nyoongars. We try and move it around a bit, so different Nyoongars every year. So share the work up a bit. We look to the land. The way a botanist, the way people look—they’re going clockwise. They’re going forward all the time. I’m going backwards—I’m unwinding it. By unwinding it, I’m getting to reconnect with what used to be there. What was a Nyoongar food? What was a Nyoongar fruit? What was a Nyoongar medicine? What was a Nyoongar animal that was edible in seasons? When you link it with the six seasons, you start to link them into where they fit, and that’s the way I’m going. So they might be planting their normal way, and what’s happening, while they’re planting, there’s some bare patches at the end of 12 months. Some bare patches where nothing has grown, and what I’m saying, and what we made an agreement now to do is, if any bare patches show up every 12 months, that becomes a project that we manage, because we feel that it’s the wrong vegetation being put there. So we start experimenting with those empty spaces with a Nyoongar food, Nyoongar fruit and Nyoongar medicinal plant, and they’ve taken off. We don’t get bogged down with looking at next year, putting another thing in there, or going back replanting it with the same species. Forget about that, we’ll do something different. This is Nyoongar business. So there’s two different times. One going back, and one going forward, but it’s alright. It’s okay. It’s all working really, really in a good way. It’s a respect thing, you know. (E. Eades, Personal communication, 14 May 2018)

As mentioned before, healing culture and people is always a part of any conversation about healing the land. While there is reconciliation happening in the form of collaboration to heal the land, Eugene talks about healing the people: We’re filling the gaps of unwellness that is amongst our non-Aboriginal people and our Aboriginal people as well. We run those workshops and camps, and healing camps, and that’s gearing up and priming our younger generation of leaders to start getting ready to become caretakers for country. That’s in the low times and the quiet times—we have those camps as often as we can. The walks, the talks, the laughs, all the cries, and we deal with all the strength and the weakness that we could get out of it. That makes us strong. We need the good stuff, all the time. You’re reliving moments of sadness through your stories, many times over, around the campfire. The more we tell the stories, the sooner we become better, in our health and wellbeing—because we’re releasing all the time. (2018)

The restoration of Nowanup, for Eugene, is also the restoration of culture. There are large areas on the property that have been planted in patterns that appear, from above, as enormous artworks. One of these plantings is a giant series of circles, and another has been planted to represent a malleefowl (see Illustration 10.3). There’s wadjella mainstream sort of style of restoration. Then they said, “put back the story line, because this is where it belongs, in the land”. So that ended up creating a way where we did a design and it became a cultural restoration. So it went away from the counting and straight lines and squares, and round and around in circles—to putting back the pathway where the Waagle crawls through, and created the land and the mountains and the valleys, and the rivers and tributaries. Then it created the lakes and the water holes, and ceremony

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Illustration 10.3 Aerial view of the circular plantings at Nowanup (Photo by Greg Knight)

grounds and camp-sites, and all this type of thing. You got these two stories from two cultures, on the one land. My boodja (land), Nowanup, is saying to me, “I am the way. I’ll teach you the old people’s way, and your culture will be back to stay. But first, you heal me and I’ll heal you. I’ll show you the old people’s ways, and your culture will be back to stay.” I could never forget those words. It came to me as I was sitting in the meeting place one evening watching the sun go down. I’ve never ever had that sort of experience before. You know, for those who don’t know about their culture, and their homeland and their heritage as Nyoongars, I’d like to say, for those that do hear this, if you’re looking to reconnect to your country and your culture, and your heritage and your homeland, speak to some Elders. Get some good guidance from them—cultural guidance. And take your shoes off and walk back on that land. Camp back on that land and have a smoking ceremony, have a corroboree, have a celebration, and in just a little while, you’ll get the feeling I got, and you’ll never leave that land. You’ll always go back there. It’s your boodja. It’s your mother, and the mother will never let you go. It’s unconditional. (Personal communication, 14 May 2018)

Keith Bradby and Eugene Eades are the human face of a collaboration between the Great Southern Nyoongar community, Greening Australia and Gondwana Link. When the Nowanup property was first purchased by Greening Australia it was Keith Bradby and friends who reached out to Eugene and to local Nyoongar families, organised a meeting at the property and asked “what would they like to do?” Acknowledging Nowanup as Nyoongar country was the first step in a long and successful relationship—a success that is exemplified and underpinned by the close friendship that has developed between Eugene and Keith. The science of non-Indigenous culture works hand in hand with Nyoongar knowledge and world view, and they learn from each other to restore life to land that has been decimated by farming. Consultation is ongoing as all participants explore new ideas, experiment and celebrate successes together. Eugene and his community have

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the time and space to build cultural strength and resilience from Nowanup because their non-Indigenous partners have listened to Nyoongar voices, respected Nyoongar ways of knowing and doing, and recognised the opportunity to learn from that. Science, culture and healing are all intimately connected at Nowanup and every person who chooses to participate, Aboriginal and non-Indigenous, benefits from that. The Gondwana Link-Nowanup project is an outstanding example of capacity building, and a shining beacon of hope for the future of our land.

Conclusion Bruce Pascoe reminds us of the skill and knowledge of Australia’s First Peoples who farmed and cared for the land prior to European colonisation. Yet, the “European brain was so intrigued by its own superiority that it rendered every civilisation they encountered as savages (Pascoe, 2018)”. They did not recognise First Peoples land care as a knowledge system worthy of respect and understanding. Pascoe argues that if Aboriginal domesticates, that thrive in Australian soils and climates, replaced just “five per cent of current agricultural lands … we would go a long way to meeting our carbon emission reduction targets (2018)”. Tackling the daunting challenges of climate change, land degradation and the extinction of our flora and fauna will require bold and courageous action. It begins with a conversation with First Nations People and opening our minds to the possibilities of a partnership between Western science and First Peoples world views. It begins with non-Indigenous farmers, scientists and students seeing the land as more than just a commodity and a resource. Like First Peoples, an emotional and spiritual connection to the land can become a part of a non-Indigenous world view. And the land will, in turn, nurture and heal us. Tyson Yungaporta offers Indigenous thinking as a way to make sense of the world in his remarkable, thought provoking book Sand Talk (2019). He says: Some new cultures keep asking, ‘Why are we here?’ It’s easy. This is why we’re here. We look after things on the earth and in the sky and the places in between. (Yungaporta, 2019, p. 109)

Government has failed to show leadership around environmental issues and so it will be up to individual communities to take the lead and create their own third spaces of environmental action. Action research offers a framework and guidelines for two cultures to come together, connect to the land, learn from each other and learn what it means to be Australian.

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Lullfitz, A., Dortch, J., Hopper, S. D., Pettersen, C., Reynolds, R. D., & Guilfoyle, D. (2017). Human niche construction: Noongar evidence in pre-colonial southwestern Australia. Conservation and Society, 15(2), 201–216. Palmer, K. (2016). Noongar people, Noongar land. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. Pascoe, B. (2014). Dark emu, black seed: Agriculture or accident? Broome: Magabala Books. Pascoe, B. (2018, Spring). Australia: Temper and Bias. Meanjin Quarterly. Peck, A., Barrett, G., & Williams, M. (2018). The 2018 great cocky count: A community-based survey for Carnaby’s Black-Cockatoo, Baudin’s Black-Cockatoo and Forest Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo. Retrieved from Floreat, Western Australia. Perkins, R. (Director). (2012). Mabo [DVD]. Australia: Roadshow Entertainment. South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council. (2018). Settlement agreement. Retrieved from http:// www.noongar.org.au/settlement-agreement/. Stasiuk, G. (Director), & Robertson, F. (Producer). (2015). Synergies: Walking together—Belonging to country. Perth: Black Russian Productions. Stocker, L., Collard, L., & Rooney, A. (2016). Aboriginal world views and colonisation: Implications for coastal sustainability. Local Environment, 21(7), 844–865. https://doi.org/10.1080/13549839. 2015.1036414. United Nations General Assembly. (2008). UN declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. Retrieved from https://www.humanrights.gov.au/publications/un-declaration-rights-indigenouspeoples-1. Yunkaporta, T. (2019). Sand talk. How indigenous thinking can save the world. Melbourne: The Text Publishing Company.

Chapter 11

Conclusion

Our purpose is to inspire and enable all Australians to contribute to the reconciliation of the nation. Our vision is for a just, equitable and reconciled Australia. (Reconciliation Australia, 2018)

Reconciliation Australia conduct a biennial survey that seeks to determine the progress of reconciliation between First Peoples and non-Indigenous Australians (2016). Called the ‘reconciliation barometer’ the results confirm that there is still work to be done to improve the relationship between non-Indigenous Australians and First Peoples. The 2016 survey results confirmed that the majority of Australians believe the relationship between First Peoples and non-Indigenous Australians is important. Since the first survey in 2008, there has been a significant rise, to 46%, in the number of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders who trust other Australians. Yet the number of non-Indigenous Australians who believe Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are trusting them is much lower at 19% (2016, p. 11). When compared to national statistics, Perth is noted for its particularly poor results with 75% of nonIndigenous people having very little trust for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People and vice versa for Perth’s Aboriginal people. Non-Indigenous people are less likely to socialise with Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander Australians than people of any other cultural heritage (2016, p. 15), although there has been a small increase in socialising statistics since 2014. 46% of First Peoples had experienced at least one form of racial prejudice in the past 6 months, which is an increase from 2014 (2016, p. 18). About half of all Australians believe Australia’s racial policies and colonial legacy are the cause of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders disadvantage today, while those who disagree that Australia’s past has been the cause of disadvantage also feel that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are responsible for their own disadvantage (2016, p. 20). Again, Western Australia stands out when compared to the statistics of other states with the highest number of non-Indigenous people who believe that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are responsible for their own disadvantage (2016, p. 35). The perception of trust that First Peoples have with professions such as police, shop owners and employers has deteriorated since 2014 (2016, p. 48). The statistics for police are most worrying with a doubling of people © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. Johnston and S. Forrest, Working Two Way, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-4913-7_11

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who felt they had been racially discriminated by police. The non-Indigenous community are more likely to cite the media as their main source of information about First Peoples, and the majority of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders people continue to feel that the media portrays them negatively and are more sceptical about media portrayal (2016, pp. 55–56). In 2016 more Australians, across all communities, believed that Australia is a racist country but Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (57%) are more likely to believe Australia is racist. On a more positive note, more people in 2016 agree that they are proud of Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures and they want to improve reconciliation. The reconciliation survey also suggested that most Australians believe the Government needs to do more to advance reconciliation and close the gap (Reconciliation Australia 2016). In December 2018 Tony Abbott, the federal Liberal Government’s Special Envoy on Indigenous Affairs, presented his first report to the parliament. When appointed to the role earlier that year, he indicated that he would be focusing on Indigenous education and so, as promised, Abbott’s report had recommendations relating to this important sector. He recommended boosting pay and conditions for teachers in remote areas, and he suggested that fines imposed on parents of truant children should be deducted from other government payments because threats of jail time for non-payment of fines were ineffective (AAP, 2018). Statements such as this are evidence that Tony Abbott, and by association the government, has not only failed to engage with First Peoples in his role as special envoy, he has also failed to engage with the education experts who have declared his ideas about school attendance as out-dated. Darren Godwell from the Stronger Smarter Institute tells us that the two most important factors in successful Indigenous education are teacher capability and student engagement (Thorpe, 2018). At least Tony Abbott got it half right. Government rhetoric, state and federal, continues to highlight the importance of working with First Peoples and communities if Australia is to make progress in improving the disadvantage experienced by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Yet Government representatives continue to give speeches and write reports, like Tony Abbott’s report as Special Envoy on Indigenous Affairs, that rarely show evidence of consultation or that translate into collaborative action. At the heart of that failure to collaborate with First Peoples is a failure to give Indigenous knowledge and world views equal status to Western epistemologies. The assumption is that Western knowledge, ways of being and doing are superior and so Australia continues to wait for Government to lead the way on repairing the nation’s relationship with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People, and to recognise their status as the first of the First Peoples. On the other hand, communities, not-for-profit organisations, NGOs and small businesses are making progress. There are numerous examples of successful crosscultural collaborative projects and relationships and this book has described just a handful of examples from Nyoongar Country in Western Australia. Each of the case studies describes ways of working—working two way—that are respectful, capacity building, emancipatory and democratic. It is only by working together that Indigenous disadvantage can be addressed, and we can close the gap in the education and health outcome statistics that are indicative of that disadvantage.

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The trauma of colonisation has been felt by First Peoples from many countries other than Australia such as Canada, New Zealand and the United States. Settler colonial theorists assert that colonialism is not a thing of the past, it is ongoing; and for that reason, non-Indigenous people from all these nations have some responsibility for the trauma and disadvantage experienced by First Peoples today. It is therefore the responsibility of all non-Indigenous people to play their part in addressing the ongoing inequality and racism created by settler colonialism. We believe the case studies in this book, the ways of working offered by all those who have participated in the writing of this book, will be useful to non-Indigenous people from other nations who are eager to contribute to reconciliation. Koorda is the Nyoongar word for friend, or ally, and Koorda is a word that describes all the participants of the case studies presented in this book. Action research provides guidelines, a framework, by which Koorda from Indigenous country everywhere can be encouraged to engage and collaborate with First Nations People. Each community is unique and different, but for those who are willing to take the time for “debakarn debakarn koorliny wangkaning”—steady, steady walking and talking (Wright and Kickett-Tucker 2017, p. 160); for “dat nyen kudditj, wangkiny yah”—sit and listen and let’s talk (Collard, Personal communication, November 2009), relationships can be built from which everyone benefits. Action Research is a philosophy that may adopt a variety of methodologies to engage with community and create change. It is not research for research sake, but rather research that results in action. An action research project recognises all stakeholders and participants as co-researchers and is, therefore, democratic. The problem to be addressed, the change that is needed, is identified by the community itself and action research recognises that the community participants themselves have the lived experience and unique local knowledge that will be essential to a project’s success. Action research also recognises the diversity of each community and the people who participate in a project. It is therefore ideally suited to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community projects because the action research process, or cycle, begins with ‘look’. Participants spend time forming relationships within a community, understanding historical and cultural elements that are unique to that community, and identifying the stakeholders to be included for consultation and inclusion in a project. Anybody can be an action researcher—you don’t have to be a discipline expert or an academic. Action research is for people who are engaged, empathetic and respectful. It eschews the notion of objective, arms-length research whereby a subject is observed from a distance and data recorded. Rather than an investigator with superior knowledge and experience, the action researcher considers himself or herself to be a facilitator. A facilitator offers their knowledge and expertise to progress the ideas and well-being of community participants. They are not ‘white knights’ that set out to save First Nations People, but they are Koorda who build capacity and work with community participants. Importantly, an action researcher reflects constantly on their own cultural and historic perspectives to better understand their own actions and responses when participating in a community project.

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Action research allows for strength-based research and action. Rather than seeing First Peoples and culture as a problem, rather than engaging in the deficit discourse that is all too often employed when talking about First Nations People and culture, action research prioritises Indigenous knowledge and experience and recognises First Nations People as equal partners in the journey we take together. At the 2018 International Indigenous Research Conference, held in Auckland, Kaupapa Moari Research was discussed and celebrated as an Indigenous research methodology that empowers Maori people and creates change. Pakeha (nonIndigenous people) allies or Koorda were also recognised for the role they play in empowering Maori, but then the question was asked, “whose job is it to build those allies?”. The answer? It is the job of non-Indigenous Koorda to build those allies and to build capacity, not only in the Indigenous community, but also in the nonIndigenous community. Capacity can be built in the form of better understanding and knowledge of Indigenous history, in recognising racism and standing up to it, in opening minds to Indigenous world views and cultures, and building capacity to work collaboratively across all disciplines, industries and cultures. Also speaking in Auckland was Metis academic, Victoria Bouvier from the University of Calgary who reminds us that we “learn through our relationships and because of our relationships”. Relationships are at the heart of cross-cultural collaboration, action research and identity. Each of the case studies in this book emphasises the need to build strong relationships because they are key to successful cross-cultural collaboration. Identity gives us a sense of who we are. We may have many different versions of self—for example, I am a parent and a teacher and a woman. Identity merges all these different versions into one cohesive whole. None of these versions of self can form or exist in a vacuum, and so relationships play an important role in creating identity. Psychologists argue that if identity is about who we are, then being true to yourself is essential to understanding who we are and therefore being happy (Heshmat, 2014). To extend this idea about identity to a national scale, Australia’s relationship with First Nations People shapes our identity as a nation. To deny pre- and post-colonial history, and to deny the longest living culture on the planet, is to deny who we are. First Peoples are rediscovering and reconnecting with their culture and identity after their relationship with non-Indigenous Australia sought to destroy them. It is now up to non-Indigenous Australians to discover who we really are by being true to ourselves, true to First Nations Peoples, and nurturing a relationship with them. Then we may come to know who we are and, as Bill Gammage tells us, “if we succeed, one day we might become Australian (Gammage, 2011, p. 323).”

References Australian Associated Press. (2018). Tony Abbott calls for parent fines to boost Indigenous school attendance. Retrieved from https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/nitv-news/article/2018/12/06/ tony-abbott-calls-parent-fines-boost-indigenous-school-attendance. Gammage, B. (2011). The biggest estate on earth: How aborigines made Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin.

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