I would like to move into this debate and post a story on the Aboriginal
experience. I met a friend at uni, her name is Jo. We both studied script
writing together. She was a top student in script writing and wrote a great
drama on the life of her family, which included her aunty, (if I remember
correctly 5th or 6th generation indigenous australian) who owned a mustering
station in the northern part of Western Australia.
In her script she included black and white characters, epitomizing the
reality of her aunty's station, that did not discriminate when it came to
employment. When it came to submitting her script to be published (which she
got a distinction for), her own people (those that pre-read her script) at
university level, lambasted her for including whites. At the time the stolen
generation, was a focul point in the film/documentaries unit. They told her
she was black on the outside and white in the middle. She was crushed and
consequently left uni and did not complete her degree.
She was representative of aboriginal people who have assimilated, who enjoy
a harmonious lifestyle (urban/rural), who create their own self-worth
through various means, whether it be owning their own home or obtaining
employment through the vast opportunities today in education. Granted, not
all aboriginal communities, can vouchsafe this, however, she told me that
most young aboriginal families, today, just want to get on with their lives.
Most view the Colbungs and Mansons in their community as radicals, who often
misrepresent the true wishes of their people.
When Joe left uni, I felt very sad. She had inspired me, to include her
culture in my work. What was so amazing about this young woman was - she had
a helicopter license!
Same river
For Jo
you couldn’t imagine ruin
from friends mirroring skin
nor expect the amount of green
they carried in stone pockets
voices rippling bitterness
across a campus courtyard
swallowing pages of your script
like old jaw bones
we made noises over coffee and juice
crossed roads under one sky
nor’easter rippling our two way street
created a backwater going inland
to a deeper side where the river lay
—you sizzled distinction while I fried mine
your aunty cracked earth with her feet
mine knitted cardigans of string
somewhere the river flowed
equidistant shores
turning fluid and silent
looking for higher ground
one stream full of a future
you wrote of men mustering stock
black feet kicking stirrups
white boots lost in red earth
immortalizing red skies
melting ice into ebony nights
If I could write this poem for you
I’d ignite their dust particles
garner this moment of flying helicopters
wind circling your station yard
me sitting next to you in fiction
worshipping the rise and fall of us
Helen Hagemann
>
>No, I wasn't suggesting this: what I am trying to get at is the
>complexity of the problem. And that part of the complexity lies in the
>difficulties we seem to have, as a nation, in addressing the complexities
>of our history. I have sometimes wondered if it is because that history
>is so brutal, that it seems that it can't be absorbed into the national
>psyche without some kind of collective breakdown.
>
>I don't know how many times I've heard John Howard say something like:
>"We have to put it all behind us and look forward". What puzzles me is
>how it is possible to look towards a future when we have such faulty
>understandings of how we got to the present.
>
>But of course, we're all relaxed and comfortable here...
>
>A
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