There is a new orthodoxy in Indigenous affairs, and woe betide anyone daring to diverge from it.
Nicholas Rothwell is one of the chief enforcers of this orthodoxy. In this month's Australian Literary Review he pours scorn on the recalcitrants, singling out Jon Altman (whose sins include issuing a 'rebuke' to Rothwell about a story he had written) as representative, while heaping praise on Marcia Langton, Noel Pearson and others to whose views he accords his stamp of approval.
Masterful as the arguments Rothwell elects to champion are, they do not adequately account for what exists, nor do they provide definitive prescriptions for change.
For example, it is highly contentious to proclaim that alcohol is the 'cause, not mere attendant symptom' of the 'present-day Indigenous crisis' and that drinking and drug-taking are 'best conceptualised as self-perpetuating diseases, rather than symptoms of social ills'.
The rights model of the 1970s and '80s with its emphasis on self-determination has proven to be seriously flawed, but it is only the latest in a succession of flawed ideas and poorly implemented policies devised by generations of policy-makers, bureaucrats and people on the ground.
The advocates of this approach were attempting to correct earlier mistakes. They were no less passionate about improving the condition of Indigenous Australians, and no more corrupt than their current detractors.
Before the people Rothwell describes as deluded or cynical 'leftists', 'academics' and 'ventriloquists' had their influence, there were those who wished to 'smooth the dying pillow', to assimilate, integrate, and educate Aboriginal people. Usually, these reformers were filled with zeal and confident they knew what was best.
Throughout the sorry history of relations between the state and its agents and the Indigenous population, there have been degrees of neglect, and a blind assumption that good intentions would suffice. We need not be mired in the past to acknowledge its impact and its enduring effects.
After all, Indigenous Australians' inequality, poverty and enforced dependency long predated the provision of welfare payments and the right to drink, even if the extension of these rights has exacerbated the problems.
It is surely no coincidence that the levels of sickness, violence, substance misuse, child abuse and neglect found in many Indigenous aggregations have similarities with what can be observed in sites of civil war and social upheaval in other parts of the world. These are among many factors that require something more than the Manichaean simplicity of Rothwell's argument.
Despite his tone of certainty, however, Rothwell does not spell out what is to become of the places such as Maningrida (which he labels 'zoo-like' and implies only advocates of 'victimhood' support) and their inhabitants.
Many of these places were created to exclude Aboriginal people from the 'mainstream'. With some notable exceptions, those in charge assumed the 'inmates' to be incapable of education and full citizenship. To a great extent, the inhabitants had to devise ways of surviving and coping, some of which have proved maladaptive.
Later, the removal of paternalistic order occurred with no preparation for the 'self-management' that replaced it. The situation that now prevails is, at least in part, a legacy of past conditions.
Once again, recipes for salvation are being prescribed for Indigenous people, often with little or no reference to the views or desires of the intended subjects. A little humility might be in order on the part of the current ascendancy, since their recipe is no more guaranteed to deliver the desired results than that of any of their predecessors.
Few people would disagree that there are conditions of both chronic and acute crisis afflicting many Indigenous communities, and that innovative ideas and models must be tried. But let us not pretend that some magic formula has been discovered. Abolishing welfare, imposing alcohol bans, and moving people out of unviable communities, may be partial solutions, but even if they are, such measures will have unintended consequences, at least in the short-term, and they must be accompanied by radical innovation of a more positive nature.
The creation of 50,000 jobs in two years is one such proposal, but its achievement is by no means assured just because influential people wish it to be. Change of such magnitude requires great care, and a willingness to be proved wrong. At least one lesson should have been learned from past failures: that change, once set in motion, will engender an unpredictable chain of events for which its advocates and its subjects must be prepared, to the degree that is possible.
Rothwell fires a parting shot at those who mention 'race', which he considers no longer relevant. Convenient as this may be, racism cannot be simply willed away. Race has been used in Australia from the beginning to define, regulate and exclude Indigenous people. The definition of Indigenous Australians as the inferior 'other' needing to be controlled, has been part of this nation's history and still prevails, albeit in new guises.
Most recently 'race' was invoked to identify which people in the Northern Territory would be subject to the Emergency Intervention, irrespective of the particular circumstances of individuals.
Many commentators, in Australia and elsewhere, wish us to be over 'race'; would that it were such a simple matter of choice, but that genie is not so easily returned to its bottle. Like other unpleasant facts of Australia's history it remains a factor in the world view and lived experience of many people, Indigenous and otherwise.
Dr Myrna Tonkinson is an honourary research fellow in anthropology in the School of Social and Cultural Studies at the University of Western Australia who has done research among Aboriginal people in the Western Desert of WA since 1974.