by Di Morrissey
‘I’m not a camper person, you understand . . .’
‘Shareen, don’t worry. You’re not alone in that.’ Beth led her over to where Billy, helped by Mick and Veronica, was preparing extra food in the cooking area now the intimate group had swollen to such interesting proportions.
Andrew slipped away, following the track the boy had taken towards the river. And in the moonlight, he saw him leading Susan back. He let out a shrill whistle and called, ‘Catch anything?’
Susan stopped, the whistle, so abhorred by city women, not even noticed. She shoved her fishing reel and tin of bait at young Luke and made a dash at Andrew, who swung her up in his arms. ‘Hey, there!’
‘Well, you might have told us when you were arriving. Look, dinner!’ She waved a fish at him. He took it and gave it to the grinning boy as he hugged her tightly once more.
‘So you’ve become a fisherwoman.’
‘I’ve learned a lot of things.’ She linked her arm through his and Andrew sensed a change from the girl he’d shown around Yandoo. There was a different confidence about her. He hadn’t imagined she’d be fishing in the dark along the banks of a river where crocodiles – even if freshies – swam. He leaned down and kissed her warmly.
Young Luke watched this with some concern. He was approaching the age when women and girls were taboo and this was an unfamiliar ritual to him. His face looked reassured as they broke apart and Susan took his hand, her other clasped in Andrew’s, and they headed for the highly active group about the campfire.
The smell of toast and campfire smoke drew the group from their tents for the first morning cup of tea from Billy’s vast iron kettle hanging over the fire. Beth tilted the kettle, pouring hot tea into a mug, and handed it to Shareen. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Off and on. I kept hearing small noises and wondering about animals and such. I’m used to road noises. The silence out here is a bit scary.’
‘Safer out here than anywhere else in the country, I reckon. Pull up a chair, it’s the blokes’ turn to do breakfast.’
Susan and Veronica joined them. Veronica took the lead. ‘So, tell us about yourself, Shareen. Do you have a family?’
‘Divorced. Two kids. But they’re starting to do their own thing, so I’m a free agent.’
‘So you have no commitments. Is that why you went into politics?’
Susan studied the would-be politician, noting her stiff body language, her constant formal manner, her careful answers as if anything she said would be quoted in the press the next day. She’d obviously been schooled in putting forward a professional front. Even the beehive hairdo was in place. Did she sleep with it like that, she wondered.
‘I was working in a small business, feeling very frustrated at the way the country is being run, how the politicians don’t listen to us ordinary people. And when that Pauline Hanson got herself elected saying just what I thought, too, I figured it’s time I stood up and tried to do something about making things better for the little people.’
‘So what, you cashed in the business? Must cost a bit to set up a campaign office and so on,’ said Susan.
‘Yeah, who’s bankrolling you?’ asked Beth, and Veronica and Susan could have kicked her, knowing Shareen wouldn’t respond to such bluntness.
‘I have the support of a lot of ordinary Australians.’
‘What’s that mean, though? So they give you a couple of dollars, what are you going to give them? I mean, how are you and others like you, if you get elected, going to change things? What do you think needs to be changed?’ persisted Beth.
Shareen gave a tight smile. ‘Well, for a start the country has to get out of debt, that’s the cause of all evil. You know the top people in governments round the world are all controlled by the money cartels, IMF, World Bank and the financial families. This new world order is going to bring us down.’
‘I don’t quarrel with debt being a political factor in the country’s economy,’ began Susan, ‘but you’re painting a pretty big picture. How would you go about changing these things?’
‘I want the farmers and rural workers onside. Control the food supply and you control the economy, get rid of free-market ideologies. Look at the grain cartels, they’re all part of the grand alliance to manipulate us.’
Beth and Susan exchanged a glance. ‘So you subscribe to a conspiracy theory then? Where do you lay the blame?’ asked Beth knowing what the answer would be.
‘The banks, the Fabians, the Jews, the FBI, the CIA, the communists, the environmentalists, they’re all partly to blame. We have to set a new agenda and listen to what ordinary Australians want.’
This speech rolled out of Shareen like a set piece she’d recited many times over. Realising she had a less than sympathetic audience, she closed the subject. ‘I don’t think this is the place to run through my manifesto. I do have people to back me up and I’m still forming my ideas, based on what I see and hear.’
‘That’s fair enough,’ said Beth. ‘Look and listen while you’re here with the Barradja. You might learn something.’
Alistair had drifted quietly into the group by the fire and stood warming his hands on his tea mug. ‘Good morning, ladies. Beth, I’m sure Shareen would be interested in joining us with the elders this morning to decide if we lawyers are going to become involved in helping the Barradja people.’
‘Now wait a minute, just what do you mean, you’re helping these people? That puts me in an awkward position.’ Shareen was defensive, felt trapped and wished Andrew was there. ‘I came here with an open mind. I had a very informative meeting with the pastoralists yesterday. I don’t want to appear to be taking any sides here.’
‘An open mind, Shareen, that’s all we ask.’ Beth stood up. ‘Let’s get breakfast. Mick, Alan and Hunter seem to have the grub ready.’
Rowena joined them and peered at the thick porridge with some distaste. ‘It looks like something you’d use to build a house with.’ She sat next to Shareen. ‘Listen, we have to get you to Bungarra to meet the artists. Their paintings are sold for thousands of dollars in galleries all over the world.’
‘Why would people pay so much for it? And if they earn so much, why do they need taxpayers’ money in welfare handouts? If I work hard and earn money, then I believe I’m entitled to keep that money and not hand it around to a lot of bludgers who will waste it, or gamble and drink it.’ Shareen’s lips settled into a thin line.
‘Bludgers? What’s that mean?’
While Shareen explained the Australian expression to Rowena, Beth took Alistair, Mick and Susan aside. ‘God help Australia if that woman ever gets into politics. She’s a sure bet for any right-wing front that wants a voice in parliament.’
Alistair nodded. ‘In the meantime, it’s time for our meeting with Ardjani.’
‘Are we fair dinkum going to find out what they really want?’ asked Mick.
Beth didn’t waver. ‘It’s true the Barradja elders have many plans. And their plans could be realised if you were prepared to help on a practical level with advice and guidance.’
‘We’d certainly like to hear what the elders have to say before making any commitment,’ said Alistair.
Susan gave Beth a good-natured nudge in the arm. ‘I swear, if I were a more cynical person than the sweet naive girl I am, I’d think that you and the old men got us all up here for just that reason.’
Beth threw up her hands in mock horror. ‘Who me? Never.’ But her light-heartedness was immediately replaced by a more serious tone, tinged with tiredness. ‘I’ve devoted twenty-plus years to helping these people and I’ve never taken a penny for it. The leaders like Ardjani are in their seventies and they fear, unless things are settled quickly, they won’t see their culture secured before they die. And I want that for them. More than anything.’
It struck Susan that Beth’s devotion to the Barradja outweighed everything else in her life.
The meeting was set beneath a tree. Ardjani stuck the simple, carved law stick in the gr
ound, setting the air of formality to the proceedings.
Lilian, Jennifer and Beth quietly directed the newcomers where to sit, so that protocol, seniority and law were observed. Some sat on small stools, upturned drums, canvas chairs or on the ground. Ardjani held a long cardboard tube in front of him. When everyone was settled and at a nod from Rusty, he began.
‘We are the Barradja people, we live in our law and this mob here, this Barradja mob,’ he pointed at Digger, Rusty, Lilian and Jennifer with her baby, ‘we just a little mob. Most of our people be away just now. But we speak for all our people.’
He took a rolled map from the paper tube. ‘Our land gives us our identity. We lived here when we were young fellas as our people always done. Then around fifty years ago, other people came here and these white families were given pastoral leases for cattle. Maybe twelve big places. Nobody asked us if that was okay. We were just rubbish people under the authority of the Crown. Then we get moved to other places and we cannot come back.’
He spread the map on the ground and signalled to the outsiders of the circle to reach for small rocks to anchor its corners. He knelt down and pointed. ‘All this 200,000 square kilometres, this is Barradja country, since creation time.’ Susan and Alistair knelt beside him to study the map. ‘Since the 1950s, we been asking that our people can come back here.’
‘So how come you can stay here on this little piece of your land?’ asked Rowena.
‘When the Pastoral Award came in, saying the white bosses got to pay Aboriginal workers the same as white men, they can’t afford this so they had to let the black workers go.’
‘Which meant all their families had to go, too?’ Mick asked.
‘Yeah, they all drift into towns, get on the grog. Things no good when they go off the stations,’ agreed Ardjani. ‘So some people ask their pastoralists to give them just a little bit, an excision, maybe three square kilometres like this one, so they can camp there and not in town.’
‘Did they agree?’
‘Not all. But some station owners are good people. Then the government got into it and made the pastoralists responsible for roads and all that stuff, so most didn’t want to do it. People who owned Eagle Rock long time back agreed. So that’s how we got to stay here on Marrenyikka. It just be a matchbox, eh?’ Ardjani gave a rueful smile.
‘With few legal rights obviously,’ said Mick.
Ardjani circled their immediate surroundings with his arm. ‘So we make a claim for just a small bit of our land, 50,000 square kilometres, so we can live here in our country.’
‘Excuse me, Ardjani, are there pastoral leases on this land you’re claiming?’ Susan spoke up, not shy of breaking the hypnotic spell Ardjani’s voice was weaving.
‘No. It Crown land.’
‘But we want to go to our sites and take our friends. They on whitefella leases,’ interjected Rusty.
‘So you’ve already lodged a Native Title claim for this Crown land? What’s happened?’ asked Alistair.
‘More better to say land rights. The Land Council don’t like that we represent ourselves. Lawyers from Aboriginal Legal Service don’t listen to us, so now we want to do things our way, and we ask for whitefella legal help.’
There was a slight sniff from Shareen, and Andrew looked at Susan before asking, ‘Are you asking that the pastoral families give up their land to you?’ He kept his voice neutral.
‘No. But we want the right to go onto our land and visit our sacred sites and take our friends there.’
‘For money?’ asked Shareen. ‘You’re talking about tourism.’
‘No, just people who come as friends of Barradja people.’
‘That’s splitting hairs, isn’t it?’ Shareen had an aggressive edge to her voice.
Andrew continued in a steady voice. ‘These rights of access are often legislated. But pastoralists have to have rights, too. What about families who have worked and loved the land for generations?’
‘We respect that. And we can take in cattle grazing on our land provided they don’t damage sacred places. We want the right to go onto the land, but we don’t want mining on our land.’
‘But you can’t control that. Anyone can take out a lease for a right to prospect on these properties,’ protested Andrew.
‘They’re already on Boulder Downs,’ said Mick.
Ardjani pointed at Alistair. ‘You stop them disturbing the ground. We can make big Native Title claim and sit in court and stop them mining.’
‘Typical,’ muttered Shareen.
‘Waste of everyone’s time and money. You can’t beat the mines,’ said Mick.
‘What sort of compromise would you consider?’ asked Alistair.
‘We think it might happen that after we old fellows gone, new Barradja elders might decide to agree to mining. So we want to write into land contract now that Barradja must be included in all meetings and have a vote to decide where mines go.’
‘And money, you’d want money?’ put in Shareen.
‘No money. We want to make sure they not dig on the songlines or sacred ground.’
Everyone stared at Ardjani. ‘No royalties? No compensation?’ asked Alistair gently.
‘We don’t need money,’ said Rusty.
‘But what about your young people?’ asked Susan.
Stubbornly Ardjani shook his head. ‘This is our law. If we take money we are saying our culture, our copyright,’ he looked at Rowena, ‘can be bought.’
Digger spoke, a dissenting voice that brought a frown from Ardjani. ‘Maybe when we gone, our young people read the law in different way. Maybe they say it’s all right to get money for mining.’
‘We still got to obey our laws, ’cause it is our land that names us,’ said Rusty.
Beth explained to Shareen who was looking increasingly puzzled. ‘The Barradja’s right to hunt and gather, perform rituals, visit the rock paintings, are all enactments of their link to this land. They say the copyright lies in their very identity, and it’s reflected in their laws, kinship system, pattern of life. And that’s reflected in the land and that must not be extinguished.’
Shareen was unimpressed. ‘That’s all very well and good, but when you look around and see the . . . poverty . . . in which they live, surely these people owe it to their children to take money from the mines, and make a better life for them. That way they wouldn’t be taking it from the taxpayer.’
Andrew nudged Susan. ‘She’s got a point,’ he whispered.
‘They don’t think they live in poverty. They’re healthy, they’re rich in their culture,’ she hissed back.
The Barradja stared at Shareen, and Ardjani spoke slowly. ‘Our people are dying from despair and alcohol, far away from their country and what gives their lives the meaning. Nothing can grow good without the nourishment from the culture.’
He looked at Rusty, nodding at him to speak.
‘When we got taken off our land, we tried to live in whitefella culture, see what it all about. We work as stockmen, give it a go, and all the time we believe one day we come back and live in our country. We believe that. We innocent people then. We try lotsa ways to get back our country, but now we got to do it whitefella way,’ said Rusty slowly and deliberately.
‘If you excuse me for saying so, to my way of thinking, that’s just handing the lawyers buckets of money and wasting more time.’ Shareen lifted her chin defiantly at Alistair, Mick and Susan, noticing Andrew nodding in agreement. ‘The rest of us ordinary Australians feel like we’re spectators on the sidelines and have no say. The legal people are running this country, not the governments, and we resent that.’
Veronica caught her breath, expecting Susan to jump in and defend her profession. But Susan deferred to Alistair who sat back on his heels, rubbing his knees. ‘I can understand that feeling, Shareen. Sometimes, those of us who wear silly wigs and silks feel a bit the same way. But our intention is always to find a just solution.’
Beth looked at Alistair. ‘We asked these white l
egal people here to experience and see what Barradja culture is all about, and to listen to the elders’ views, which I believe are reasonable, and to try to negotiate a solution that suits all sides.’
‘That’s not how your neighbours see it,’ said Andrew. ‘They think you’re hatching a plan using city legal advisers to grab their pastoral leases because of the potential for tourism.’
‘Tourism!’ exclaimed Shareen. ‘You’re not going to get hordes of Japanese or even Australians up here, surely.’
‘I didn’t think you were for Asians rushing into the country,’ said Beth.
‘If they come as tourists and spend money, that’s all right.’
‘Just so long as they don’t stay, eh,’ said Mick.
‘Rowena, you explain to Shareen the interest there is in this region from overseas tourists and Alan, you tell her the value they put on the Barradja art. And, Shareen, when you’ve also heard what Esme and Michael have to say . . .’ Beth nodded at the two academics who had been sitting on the periphery of the group, listening with interest, ‘you’ll understand more about the potential up here.’
‘People believe there’s great treasure in the Kimberley, like diamonds,’ said Alan. ‘But the real treasure waiting to be mined here is the art.’
‘The Barradja feel it is wrong for the farmers to take tourists to Barradja cultural sites. It should be the Barradja doing this and explaining the significance of their rock paintings,’ said Beth.
Ardjani took up the theme, speaking to Shareen. ‘By doing this we could make jobs here for our young people and develop a proper knowledge among white Australians and overseas visitors of what our paintings and culture are about.’
Hunter was nodding in agreement. ‘I’ve seen the way it used to happen all over the Territory where they get a lot of tourists. White tour guides would learn a bit from the local Aborigines and then spew it out to the coach tours when the tourists could have heard the real story from the Aborigines. Thankfully, that’s changing, and that’s how I got going. These days it’s an advantage to be an Aborigine in the tourist business. There are some terrific Aboriginal blokes working for National Parks and so on, who are really educated in both cultures.’