Whispers of This Wik Woman

by Fiona Doyle

  Through traditional dance, stories are enacted as a form of education, with the intent to teach and preserve our cultural social structure. During dance certain code gestures indicate the dancer’s relationship to the other dancers. Tradition demands that dancers signify relationship with arm gestures or placement. The following will give you an idea of this performance practice:

  If a dancer is a mother-type relative of anyone who is within the dance circle, she will place the fingertips of both hands on her breasts.

  If a dancer is a father-type relative of anyone who is within the dance circle, he will place the fingertips of both hands on his shoulders.

  If a dancer is an aunty, she will place her hands on her shoulders because of her nieces or nephews within the circle. (Note: This is the aunty on the children’s father’s side)

  If a dancer is a cousin, he or she will place their hands on their hips or rub their thighs while dancing.

  A small uncle will place his hands on his head, to show he is near his nieces and nephews belonging to his older sibling.

  Grandfathers may dance any way they choose.

  In Weipa the adult performers are mainly the women. Where are the men, the Weipa men? When we are fortunate enough to get men to dance, the singer is not traditionally from Weipa anyway. They are either from Coen or Aurukun, or some other neighbouring community. Weipa is desperate for the men who are traditionally connected to lead this place.

  Danny Doyle and Fiona Doyle rehearsing for Awumpun Dance Troupe’s first theatre restaurant staged at the Weipa Albatross, 1992. (Photo by Karen Paterson.)

  Apalich has shark

  Alngith Wikwaya has sara

  Totemic beings, spiritual ancestors

  invited to dance and celebrate

  our history...

  brought to life through carvings

  tribal markings, painted up

  transformed to embrace

  our spirits of the past...

  Told and passed on through

  song and dance

  little ones to swallow that which

  is theirs

  to give them strength

  to give them pride...

  They must learn to hold strong

  mind, heart and spirit

  wrapped up in black flesh

  must shape for themselves

  their own place

  their own home...

  parts of their country depicted

  throughout time

  glimpses of spirits

  for descendants to define...

  One year a trip to the Laura Festival nearly ended in disaster. Nana, Mum and several of my younger brothers, sisters and cousins were travelling to Laura in a little passenger bus. Nana remembers that as they were travelling she began to sense that the driver was driving a little too fast for their safety. Mum, too, was getting quite concerned, and some of the littlies began expressing their fears. Before they knew it, their worst fears became a reality. They were thrown all over the place, as the bus, which had obviously hit something, was flung off the road into a crazy twist. Each person could hear the cries of the others. All Mum could think of was the children and Nana. As the bus came to a halt upside down, everything was quiet for a moment and then the cries started.

  ‘Mama, Mama!’ All the kids were crying out for help. Nana found herself crawling out of the bus, and feeling no obvious effects from the accident, she lifted her arms in the air and started singing praise songs in an instinctive reaction.

  The children were all stuck in the bus and Mum’s main concern was that they were all alive, which they were. It was not until several minutes had passed that Mum looked at Nana and realised that Nana’s hand was torn and badly bleeding. Nana was clearly numb and unaware of her injury. Her left hand had been ripped open and needed urgent attention before she lost too much blood and more damage was done.

  It was quite a wait before any vehicles came past. The road seemed to be unusually deserted for this time of the year; normally there would be plenty of people on the road as it was festival season.

  Finally, a driver in a Telecom truck came by and stopped to offer assistance. The driver insisted that everyone jump in the truck and he took them into Coen. Nana ended up being the only one in urgent need of medical treatment. She was seen to at the Coen Hospital. After the Napranum Council was informed of the accident, the Chairman at the time, Roy Jingle, sent a charter plane to pick up the whole family and fly them back to Weipa.

  Nana’s hand did not heal and she was taken to Cairns Base Hospital for further treatment. A skin graft operation was done and today Nana still carries a big scar on her left hand as a reminder of the family’s lucky escape.

  As recently as 25 May 2002, Nana participated in the Apalich dances at the opening of the Western Cape Cultural Centre. In his speech, Mayor Jacob Wolmby made special, respectful mention of Nana’s dance performance.

  Front (left to right): Annie Kalkiorta, Awumpun. Back: Francis, Clive and Bruce Yunkaporta. The Yunkaporta siblings are (Big Song and Dance) Elders of the Wik Nation and cousins to Awumpun. Weipa, 1992.

  The Ruchook Festival, a festival which originated from a group of Elders, persons in decision-making roles and other interested people, first took place in 1992 at Napranum. The festival was given the name Ruchook by the organisers of the day. They claimed the name translated as ‘the Red Kangaroo’. Nana disputes this. She claims that Ruchook, originally spelt Rruchuk, is another word for Roolook, which is the Alngith word for brown snake. The word Rruchuk is also one of the names of my great-great-grandfather, Nana’s grandfather on her father’s side, Old Yepenyi.

  This festival is staged bi-annually and invites singers, dancers, stall holders and performers from nearby communities to come together and perform traditional as well as contemporary dance. Alngith Elders and members are given recognition regarding their traditional title during the festival.

  I remember the first year the festival was staged and how I thought it odd that Nana did not have any direct involvement with the opening or closing of the event. Other Elders stood in photos and, though I have no quarrel in regards to this, I do remember feeling a little curious on behalf of my Nana, considering that she is an Alngith Elder and the name ‘Ruchook’ is Alngith. Nana’s obvious lack of involvement did not seem to affect her, but it happened again at the second Ruchook Festival. This time, I mentioned Nana’s exclusion to her and enquired as to why this was so. Nana half-heartedly responded by saying that she had no idea, but deep down I felt Nana knew the reason she had not been invited to take part in the opening ceremonies of the festival, as a representative of the Alngith people.

  Fiona Doyle and Rhonda Parry, both NAISDA graduates, performing at Ruchook, 1996. (Photo by Jocelyn Lobascher.)

  In 1996 I participated in the festival for the first time. I created a 40-minute segment, which was performed by my husband, Danny Doyle, Rhonda Parry, a local and a NAISDA graduate, and myself. There were also two young local performers, Leonie Acoom and Alfie Port, who I was happy to be working with. Up until this time, I had only heard of this festival and how it was run. I had also heard constant comments about it.

  Over the years, it became increasingly evident that there was a question about my Nana’s identity from members of her own community. It ‘leaked out’ in meetings, groups and other events that took place, especially in the Napranum and Weipa area. I realised that people incorrectly thought that Jean George was not Alngith and was in fact from Aurukun. This realisation shocked me tremendously, as my Nana had always been Alngith/Wikwaya to me ever since I was small and used to sit on her knee.

  Her people in Aurukun always call upon Nana, those from both sides. Her father’s people are there, the Wikwaya mob. Her mother’s people are there also, the Apalich mob. This is why some Weipa people think that Nana is ‘an Aurukun woman’—because they lack historical and cultural knowledge.

  Nana represents the Wik from the Weipa end as well as the Aurukun end. This w
oman has her feet in both camps and both are quite valid occupancies. She has historical and traditional connections to both areas (staying within the boundaries of her parents’ family groups).

  The denial of her account of her origins has hurt Nana, but she stands tall and proud and continues to know who she is. She is Alngith and she always will be. The ‘talk’ will not change her identity at all. Some neighbouring groups, who I must admit are family to us, also whisper that Nana is Liningithi. They whisper that when Nana teaches Alngith it is not in fact Alngith but Liningithi. It is fair for others to say this, I suppose, as Alngith and Liningithi are one, and these two languages are extremely similar, only differing in a few words. The two groups are one family, and their land areas are so close to each other, they are one.

  It is not good to harbour a secret passion to discredit or criticise another with no good reason at all. If you have children and grandchildren, it is important to teach what knowledge you have to your own mob down your line, to restore that which belongs to you.

  This Wikwaya woman is content in many ways. She teaches her own. She knows all that she has to know regarding her group, her ways. Most importantly, the knowledge she possesses is being passed down, so when her God does call her home, this information will be left behind among her own. It will provide inspiration and hope to the younger generation, so they too will live with a complete sense of their cultural identity.

  Wikwaya mob: Fred Kerindun, Joseph Chevathun, Norman Kerindun and Edgar Kerindun. Sitting in the front is the late Nyaker Cyril Owokerem, singer of the songs and dances.

  CHAPTER NINE

  What is Wik in the white man’s sense of the word? My grandmother’s people on her mother’s side have had to enter the white man’s law system to determine Native Title the white man’s way. My people have had to talk to and work with anthropologists, solicitors, barristers and lawyers to establish some kind of agreement within the Queensland government’s law system. Our people know our lore, systems and structure. However, the white man’s system dominates and forces our Elders and leaders to step into the dominant culture to determine Native Title recognition and ownership.

  The land, rivers, coastline, wildlife, trees and the land’s produce all have distinctive significance to the original inhabitants of that particular area. When the white man comes in with his dreaming in the name of power, economics and financial gain, they violate our sense of belonging and identity. They interfere with an ageless, spiritual system, especially in regards to what country and produce of country mean to us as a Nation.

  Is there room for co-existence between the two nations and, if so, how? Although the Wik people have this system etched deeply in their minds, hearts, spirit and psyche, it is also necessary that the non-Indigenous, dominant culture, as well as the law that determines how this country operates, recognises the Indigenous system.

  Sometime in 1996, negotiations between all relevant parties in regards to determining Native Title in Wik country commenced. The process involved lengthy talks and a lot of travel, not only for members of the legal and anthropological teams visiting country to talk to people, but also for people leaving country to enter the buildings and law sanctuaries of the white man to present the ways and stories of our Nation. Back and forward people travelled. In December of 1996 my Aunty Gladys Tybingoompa made history when she proudly danced on the steps of the High Court after the handing down of its decision that pastoral leases and native title could co-exist.

  ‘What time this business gonna end, girl?’ was a question too commonly asked by a grandfather or grandmother during that time. ‘We should finish this business now, we tired,’ they would say.

  These questions are the words of Elders that have now passed on. They died wondering if the fight was ever going to culminate in victory. They are not here with me today, but the memories of these strong identities will forever live in my mind. Their voices have become a foundational song that continues to feed my spirit.

  Basically, the fight from our perspective is to establish recognition of why and how country is important to our identity and our existence.

  Nana shaking hands with Kim Beazley (Leader of the Opposition) during Wik native title negotiations in Canberra.

  Nana accompanied her families constantly to Cairns, Brisbane and Canberra. As an Elder, she had to fight. She had to meet face to face the white law men—‘long black dresses and Goldilocks wigs’, as she put it. Or, as others commented, ‘Why them mob wear them silly little wigs on their heads? They look like little children.’

  ‘Because this one High Court now’, another relative chipped in. ‘They dress up them kind way when we talk big business. We all have to talk proper way now, for straighten im up.’

  Nana would look the white man straight in the eye and say what she needed to say. Then she would shake his hand firmly, and say, ‘I trust what you do will be fair, fair and right.’ She would also often quote the Bible back to the white man. Her favourite scripture was taken from the book of Exodus in the Old Testament: ‘You shall not steal’. She honestly believed the chances of being heard and understood would be high. Then she would use her own language to confirm her argument, whether it was her mother’s dialect, Wik Ngathan, or her father’s, Alngith/Liningith or Wik Munkan, the language she grew up in.

  Nana’s involvement with Wik is not something she could have chosen to be involved in. It is not a conscious decision whether to be a part of it or not, and as weary and time-consuming as it is, Nana, along with every other Wik person, would always be automatically involved. Even if Nana had refused to pursue her rights or the rights of the Wik Nation, it would not have been possible because she quite simply is already a part of the process.

  Nana at a Land Rights march in Brisbane, mid 1980s.

  The Wik people are a strong Nation. Certain persons can see into the realms not meant to be seen by the human eye. These people have, through various ceremonies, acquired the knowledge, powers and ability to step into and function in these realms. Song, spirit travel, imagination, sweat and blood are elements that make this kind of travel possible.

  We, as children of this powerful nation of peoples, have received whispered warnings to tread carefully alongside the darker, more spiritual side that exists within our social framework. From my dual connection to both the Weipa and Aurukun side of country I possess a culturally-trained woman’s view on all things pertaining to life. I am finding that all that I create as an artist, whether it be through painting, writing or dance and movement, depicts an expression that is a mixture from both sides of the Western Cape. This result is inevitable, as it is how I was reared by my family, both immediate and extended.

  Our people have functioned as scientists, healers, teachers, historians and artists throughout endless time. They did not carry a title, as mainstream society would. Certain families were and are still known for a specific skill or ability which, when required, is called upon by our community. A group of members from one family might be known as the singers during ceremonies, or as the dancers, carvers or artists, or as the Clever Men practising to both heal and destroy. Certain persons inherently adopt or are conceived with that specific ability or role within the community.

  I am a performer through and through. My white father would say to me in the short time I knew him, ‘You didn’t get it from me, girl. You got that need and ability to perform and express artistically straight from your mother’s people.’

  In early October 2000 an historic event occurred for the Wik People of Cape York, mainly the family groups who now reside at Aurukun, with a few scattered families among the surrounding communities. At this event, Justice Drummond declared that the Court now recognised Wik Native Title over our respective countries. This was a long-awaited victory for the people collectively, and there was relief that there would not have to be a long drawnout trial in court.

  I was fortunate to be at the hearing at which Justice Drummond made his ruling, along with my mother and grandmot
her. As I sat among the families, my heart saddened at the thought of our old people who had passed away. They died contributing to this fight and persevered in the hope that ‘traditional title’ over Wik country would be recognised by white law.

  I was proud to see our very dignified-looking Elders sitting before Justice Drummond, and also the younger generation seated on the laps of their relatives or playing contentedly on the floor. His decision was made with the utmost respect for these people and the generations that will follow.

  Outside the courthouse, the dancers celebrated the victory through song and dance. Each group performed dances that spanned hundreds of years, that ancestors had proudly passed down from generation to generation. My sister and I held back tears and our throats ached as we watched Nana join the Wikwaya to perform ‘Sara’.

  Angus Kerindun sang, which gave me hope that there would be no shortage of singers in the future. And it was moving to see Granny Norma Chevathun’s girls dance as young and proud members of the new generation of Wik people. The other neighbouring Wik groups also performed their own dances proudly, as cameras and news reporters darted busily to and fro to capture this historic moment.

  It was a very proud moment indeed. Part of the battle was over, but Nana had one more hurdle to jump. Where she would stand and how she would be recognised would greatly determine not only her own Alngith identity but also the identity of all of her descendants. Her Alngith title had to be recognised and recorded in this way.

  This hurdle was in the signing of an historical agreement (Western Cape Communities Co-existence Agreement) between four Cape York communities—Napranum, Aurukun, Mapoon and Injinoo—and Comalco/Rio Tinto and the federal government, which took place on Wednesday 14 March 2001.

  The fight to proclaim and maintain recognition of Nana’s cultural identity as an Alngith woman came to a close on that day. It had been a long, hard, time-consuming battle. Nana appeared to be the only Alngith member of the Wikwaya clan fighting to maintain connections to the Weipa township end of country. In retrospect, I am left confused. The process leading up to that historic event was arduous and painful. If Nana was from a younger generation or even a middle-aged generation that was claiming something that could be challenged or disputed, then I could understand it. But the fact that it was an Elder of the Alngith that was being challenged in this way was beyond my understanding. That was what made it not only painful but downright audacious. Here was the only fluent Alngith speaker, obviously possessing a wealth of knowledge regarding all things traditional on both sides of the Embley River being dictated to by lawyers, anthropologists, Cape York Land Council, certain community persons and various others disputing the fact that she had any title for the north side of the Embley River—that she had no right to be recognised as an Elder of the Alngith. Even certain countrymen, relatives, did not stand with her. They neither disputed nor supported. We did not hear from them directly regarding this issue.