Heartsick for Country

by Sally Morgan

  This time, we drove over the same little bridge and parked the car in exactly the same spot. It was later in the afternoon, and it was a bit darker, so again we worried about the light fading fast. Ronnie and I were following the Elders into the bush. But there came a moment when I stopped, feeling I didn’t want to go back to that place because of what had happened before. The Elders were forging ahead and Ronnie wasn’t far behind them, but when he looked back he realised I wasn’t close, and said ‘Hey, what’s going on, Sis? Come on, we’ve got to go along or we’re going to get left behind and lost.’

  ‘Sorry Ron,’ I replied, ‘I just can’t go in there.’

  So we both headed back to the four-wheel drive to wait for the rest of the group. The Elders must have realised something was up because they came back not long after. The senior Elder, the uncle who had been hit in the guts by the waddie stick on that first trip, came towards us with a sparkle in his eyes. He understood I was feeling apprehensive. He stood with Ronnie and me for a moment, and it seemed time was suspended. It was getting dark by then, and you could hear noises coming from the bush animals starting their night hunting. The frogs were also serenading to each other, and the water in the pool was turning a dark colour. This is the same pool near which Alta, Uncle and I had had our spiritual experience on the last trip. I looked towards the pool, recalling that moment from eight years ago, when suddenly I was jolted back to the present: something similar was happening.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ I quietly asked Ronnie, pointing to the water.

  And he replied, ‘Buggered if I know, but it’s big, whatever it is.’

  There were air bubbles and ripples in the water; it looked like something was swimming or gliding underwater. We watched this thing circling, then it would stop and be still for a moment, before taking off again with the same thing happening. The water was dark and the light was fading, so there was no chance of seeing anything clearer. By this time it was in the middle of the pool. It let out some more air bubbles then disappeared, leaving the pool as dark, still and picture-perfect as it had been earlier. Uncle just smiled at Ronnie and me in a very knowing way; no words needed to be spoken. I understood then that the emerald-green female Waagul I had seen eight years earlier in my dream, and who had given us that rainbow-coloured bubble as a gift, was in the water now. She’d come to show us she was still there, and always would be.

  In 2006, when I approached several Elders to contribute to Heartsick for Country, I told one of them what I was planning to write about. He was quiet for a while and then said, ‘Tjalaminu, are you aware of what you have just shared with me?’ I said yes, and then no, because I wasn’t really sure if I had spoken out of turn, or where he was going with his comment. I needn’t have worried, though, because what he then told me was that the experience and dream I had had were good things, not bad. They were to reinforce my connection to my country, my people and my Nyungar culture.

  Then he shared with me a story that had been passed down to him from his Elders. I didn’t know it then, but it would bring me full circle and help me appreciate what I had experienced over the past fourteen years. This is what he told me.

  At the time of Creation—in the koondarm, the Nyungar Dreaming—many things happened, but one major story was about the female Waagul and her travels across all parts of country in Australia. Her journey started out from the waters of the Derbarl Yerrigan, or the Swan River as it is known today, which is sacred to Nyungar people. This took millennia, but nearing her end, she came up around the southern part of our land near Adelaide, went down again, and came up to scope the landscape at Beedalup Creek— Kepwaamwinberkup (Nightwell).

  I was lost for words when he told me this. I hadn’t known the full story of the female Waagul, I’d just heard bits and pieces over the years. What this Elder relayed to me did, however, affect me in a positive way, because it reinforced my understanding of what my Elders had continually explained to me: that Nyungar culture is one of the oldest living cultures in the world. It is ancient, and we have to acknowledge every part of it and respect it.

  I would like to end by saying that, on reflection, the years I spent in children’s homes didn’t break my spirit or my connections to country. They are still strong. These years may have numbed me for a while, but I think now nothing can rob me again of my cultural heritage. The spirit of my country and the strength of Nyungar people are in knowing who we are and where our place is in the world. And we are proud of that. Even though I see myself as a young student in the cultural and spiritual scheme of things, I appreciate the knowledge that is now being passed down to me from my direct and other Nyungar Elders, and I embrace it. We all need to recognise the spiritual nature of country and care for it and the environment in an appropriate manner. This is respect that we all need to take on board in our lives, because if country dies, then all of us will meet the same fate. And I really do think that this is what the Waagul was telling to me when I went back to country on those two trips.

  BOB MORGAN

  is a Gumilaroi man from the western plains of New South Wales. He is an educator and has an indivisible commitment to Indigenous social and restorative justice. He believes that, above all else, Indigenous people must never surrender the right to be Indigenous, or their connectedness to land. (Image 11.1)

  Image 11.1

  Country—A Journey to Cultural and Spiritual Healing

  The Indigenous concept of country is difficult for many people to grasp. Some people see it as involving considerations of land and territory, while others see it as something to do with geography and the notion of a nation state. When country is viewed through such a lens, people and other living creatures are often absent and therefore the interconnectedness of all living things is lost and never truly appreciated.

  For me, country is fundamentally about community, culture and identity. Country serves to link us to our past and provides a space within which family and community can be acknowledged and celebrated. Country is more than issues of land and geography; it is about spirituality and identity, knowing who we are and who we are connected to; and it helps us understand how all living things are connected. The symbiotic relationship Indigenous people have with country and how it defines our identity are as old and profound as the land itself.

  When Indigenous people become disconnected from country, their teachings, steeped as they are in generations of traditions and wisdom, are open to abuse and indeed systematic erosion. Disconnection from country is pivotal to the dysfunction that sadly can be found in the lives of far too many Indigenous people across the nation. Government policies and programs that fail to incorporate country and the relationship Aboriginal people have with it are fundamentally flawed. Real and sustainable changes to that dysfunction will only be witnessed when country and culture return to the centre of our existence as a people.

  This is not to suggest that simply restoring and reconnecting people to country will necessarily be the answer to Aboriginal dysfunction. Rather it is an argument that the issues of identity and culture, both of which are intrinsically bound to country, will better position Aboriginal people to reject the destructive elements of non-Aboriginal teachings and values. Government policy, not to mention Aboriginal governance, that is culturally grounded will allow us to move beyond the illusion of selfdetermination that has impeded meaningful growth and development in our communities.

  The journey

  This is a personal perspective of one man’s continuing struggle for spiritual health, cultural reconnection and wellbeing. Both the narrative and the journey are connected to and an extension of those of the countless generations who have gone before, involving thousands of years. The story is not a simple historical picture, but more a mega pixel in the bigger image of Indigenous spirituality, cultures and philosophies. Though it is a personal account, it is reflected in the experiences of other Indigenous peoples around the globe.

  My journey commenced in Walgett, a small largely Aborigin
al community in the land of the Gumilaroi nation, in the plains of western New South Wales. This is the centre of my universe. My culture and worldview are centred in Gumilaroi land and its people. This is who I am and will always be. I am my country.

  Growing up in Walgett was wonderful, an experience filled with so many of the joys and heartaches that helped shape my identity and kept me grounded. I am passionate about striving to assert the wisdom and philosophies of my ancestors. For me, wisdom and philosophy are not simply about how we think about the world and our place in it, they are about how we live our lives. Put another way, wisdom is not simply what we think; it is also about what we do with what we know or believe.

  My journey has not always been pure and I have strayed from the teachings of my Mother and our extended family. But this says more about me than about my teachers. I have felt the impact and contamination of experiences and the teachings of the majority culture. I have taken tools from it and I use these to supplement the Gumilaroi skills and knowledge as I navigate both the perils of life and celebrate its special gift.

  For me life is like a river that starts from the collective life pools and wisdom of past generations. There are many currents, some more powerful than others; the most powerful are at the centre of the river and the more one strays or is enticed from the nurturing strength of the currents at the centre, the more chance there is of being stalled or diverted. Diversions can take many forms, such as the seductive lure of the teachings and cultures of other rivers. And in the path that the river etches, and at its periphery, there are also barriers that will impede a safe and meaningful journey.

  I see four distinct, yet connected, stages to life’s river. Each has its own individual strength and current, but all inevitably head in the same direction. The first stage is birth and renewal, a time of new beginnings and hope, conception and childhood, a time of nurturing and growth. The second stage involves adolescence and youth, when meaning and purpose are constant companions to discovery and growing independence. The third is adulthood, when a mate is chosen and hopes and aspiration are shared, informed by the experiences and wisdom of others we share this stage with. The fourth and final stage is a period of reflection, of rediscovery and of reconnection. It is also a period of heightened awareness and compassion, a time to counsel and protect those in the earlier stages of growth and development.

  In this narrative I will seek to define and offer a glimpse of my journey on life’s river, and how I have contended with its currents, diversions and barriers. I will conclude with a snapshot of a journey of reconnection, an attempt to return to the teachings and wisdom of country, the river and its people, to the current at the centre.

  My personal experience of disconnection began when I was seventeen and travelled to Sydney, the ‘big smoke’, to pursue my dreams. One of the motivating forces behind my decision to travel to Sydney was the Freedom Rides, in 1965. A group of university students, led by Charlie Perkins, an activist who was one of the first two Aboriginal students enrolled at Sydney University, decided to drive a bus through rural New South Wales to expose the Third World living conditions of Aboriginal communities. His aim was to combat the racism and discrimination that had given rise to and allowed such conditions to exist.

  I remember standing in the crowd on the steps of the Walgett Returned Services League (RSL) listening to the words of Charlie and the students. Aboriginal people, including those who had fought in wars defending Crown and country, were not allowed to enter the RSL. I can’t recall Charlie’s exact words, but I will never forget how his words made me feel. They were my inspiration to go to Sydney in search of a new world, where racism and prejudice were not always constantly biting at your heels. Of course, while I was growing up in Walgett in the 1950s and ’60s, I never really knew the extent of the racism and prejudice that permeated our community. As a kid, all you want to do is enjoy life with your mates; the fact that you couldn’t go inside the homes of your white mates didn’t seem to matter, because we didn’t know any different, we just thought that this was the way the world was for everyone.

  Sydney was a revelation. It provided a totally different perspective on life from the one I had been accustomed to in the small community of Walgett. I enjoyed the pace of the city and the fact that white people appeared to be more accepting. It seemed that employment and training opportunities were there to be taken. It was the time leading up to the 1967 referendum, and the Foundation for Aboriginal Affairs, at 810 George Street, was the mecca for Aboriginal people who had found their way to the city.

  But even with the appeal of the bright lights, sport and music and girls, I longed for my country and the people back home. I returned to Walgett every chance I could to catch up with my mates and to spend time with family. During my visits back home, I used to tell my mates about Sydney and all it had to offer and soon a number of them took the plunge and moved there with me.

  The decision to leave my community and country was a form of disconnection and, at the same time, an awakening to the possibilities that existed beyond the world that I had been born into. I have never regretted the decision to leave all those years ago, but with each passing year and with an ever-increasing desire to know more about why I see the world differently from non-Aboriginal people—and, indeed, even some Aboriginal people—I continue to strive for more cultural understanding and spiritual growth.

  For all its attractions, Sydney never held the special appeal of Walgett and its people. Nor did it have the bush and the river to sustain me, and though I no longer live there, Walgett and all it represents will always be home and country.

  Pathways to spiritual and cultural disconnection

  For most Aboriginal people, the first Australians, the path to disconnection commenced with the arrival of a profoundly new and different cultural order: the Newcomers and colonialism. These were people whose worldview and life journey revolved around the notion of domination and cultural imperialism. This new order was, and in many respects remains, bewildering to most Aboriginal people.

  Historically, Aboriginal societies were just and egalitarian, with structure provided for a clearly defined, strict and uncompromising social and cultural order. This provided the values and lessons important to living a good life. Life’s journey was about honouring the past and celebrating the present and, it served as a roadmap to the future.

  After contaminating and destroying most of the Aboriginal nations that had first tasted the toxins of colonialism, and driven by their rapacious greed and sense of superiority, the Newcomers soon arrived in the lands of the Gumilaroi. They used massacres and other forms of genocide to usurp the land and destroy its people. They saw land as a commodity, a possession, to be exploited and, when its usefulness was exhausted, to be disposed of. For the Gumilaroi, like other Indigenous people, land, more precisely country, is the source of life and identity, not to be traded or, for that matter, surrendered, for with it would go the soul and spirit of its people.

  As a nation, Australia continues to struggle to come to terms with its colonial past. Its history of denial and oppression of the First Australians frames much of what masquerades today as public policy. This struggle revolves around the method of dispossession and the continuing failure of the nation to accept and acknowledge its legal and moral obligations.

  ‘Civilising’ Aboriginal people through Christianity was the Newcomers’ primary objective, and one of the preferred methods was to separate children from the nurturing influences of parents and extended family by schooling them. Aboriginal people first experienced this with the establishment of the Native Institution at Parramatta in 1814.

  Country has always been core to Aboriginal knowledge, and it is the absence of this core that contributes to the continuing failure of non-Aboriginal knowledge and education systems to provide adequately for the intellectual and cultural development of Aboriginal students. Another contributing factor is that ever since the arrival of the Newcomers, Aboriginal students have been tr
eated as guests in education systems, particularly at school level.

  There were other experiments with Aboriginal schooling in the colony and the primary objective of each was the separation of Aboriginal children from their families. Early attempts at Aboriginal schooling provided little or no access to parents and family for students, a point graphically illustrated in the following observation in 1848 by Mr E Merewether, the Crown Lands Commissioner:

  The ill success which has attended the efforts to reclaim the children has been in my opinion caused by their being allowed to remain within the influence of their parents and tribe, and however arbitrary and unnatural it may sound, I am convinced that no real advance towards the end desired, their civilization, will be obtained until they are taken from the locality in which they were born and thus removed from all chance of being tempted or forced to return to the savage mode of life of their race. [93]

  Of course, the trauma stemming from the removal and separation of Aboriginal children has continued in a variety of forms for generations, and resulted in a royal commission whose report was tabled in 1997. Ten years later, the Aboriginal people who were traumatised and brutalised by this system still await an apology and their families continue to seek justice, even if it is a simple sorry.

  Communities in crisis

  In many Aboriginal communities, people exhibit characteristics similar to those of people who have been traumatised by war. There is evidence of an alarming escalation in incidences indicative of communities in crisis: child abuse; family and domestic violence, including attacks on the elderly; drug, alcohol and other substance abuse; and a rate of youth suicide that is one of the highest in the world. Clearly, something is terribly wrong.