A few years ago, in a remote northern Aboriginal community, a friend of mine painted on the walls of his house: Black Lives Matter – I Can’t Breathe. They were written in black, large print on his yellow-painted brick house. They were simple and stark in their message.
I have known this friend for many years. These simple words captured something of his feeling at the time, a feeling of anger and hurt at what he saw around him, what he had experienced and witnessed in life as an Aboriginal person. It was triggered by what he saw in America but it expressed what had been gradually building up within him. He wanted the world to hear his anger and pain but more than that. He wanted the world to hear his hope, much more than simply a protest. It was a desire for something better for his family and people. It was a cry for new life.
Our country is hurting at the moment. Pain can be felt across the whole country, affecting many Australians, not just First Nations people. In cities, towns and remote communities. The referendum has caused an old and deep wound to be re-opened and pain to re-surface.
This pain cries out from the core of being Australian. It affects us all, not just First Nations people. In recent weeks we have heard many voices, especially First Nations’ voices, expressing their preference for a yes or no vote. Some have been measured, reflecting on the implications whichever way the result finally goes. Others have been more angry, dismissive of other opinions. Sadly, some have promoted ignorance and fear.
What is this pain? For some Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people it is the weight of history, their personal experience of discrimination, the endless funerals and litany of tragic events, violence and suicide. And much more. For other Australians it can be witnessing the brokenness of peoples’ lives, the addictions and high imprisonment rates. And then there is the pain of those of us who move between both cultures. We feel our inability to adequately support Aboriginal and Torres Strait leaders and the burdens that many carry. We feel helpless to respond to what comes across as careless and negative comments by other Australians, the point scoring by politicians and an underlying racism that can be expressed in so many ways.
There is also a collective pain, one which reveals we as a nation cannot yet find a common ground of truth telling, hope and healing. We struggle to agree on the truth of our past and how it affects the present. We live unreconciled and yet there are clear and growing signs that we wish to be more united as one people: The First Australians and those of us who came later. Convicts, settlers, migrants and refugees.
This is not a unique pain that applies just to Australia. It is very similar to what many Indigenous people across the world have faced over centuries and some continue to face. To ignore or deny that pain is to avoid facing the brutal and generational effects of colonisation and how it has particularly affected the First Nations people of this land where simply being Indigenous and people of colour were key ingredients. This is not to say the suffering has affected all First Nations people in the same way. Shared trauma will deeply wound some more than others. Some show signs of greater resilience and others have found a path they believe they can safely navigate within the dominant culture. Many are still looking for that path or, if on it, face many challenges every day to their health and wellbeing.
'We cannot rewrite Australian history but we can name where we stand in it now. With one word we will each make our own mark for a nation seeking the truth and healing of its soul.'
To some of us it is a familiar pain because, if you live long enough, it regularly returns. To my surprise, however, it now seems to catch so many Australians off-guard like the pain of a new infection. And, like some physical pains, we wonder if we just have to learn to live with it and then medicate using occasional pain-killers or is it one we now wish to face together more openly and courageously. The coming vote of the referendum gives us a choice. Both choices involve pain but only one attempts to take steps to heal that deep wound.
A few weeks ago, I visited old friends in two remote Northern Territory Aboriginal communities, friends and families I have known for decades. In one community I was asked on occasions to explain what a referendum was and the context of this one. Not an easy task moving between English and, with the help of others, the principal local language. I talked about treaties the British Government had made with other Indigenous groups such as in the US, New Zealand and Canada and the background to the making of our Australian Constitution and the origin of this current referendum. At the end of one session, I was asked: ‘How come there never was a treaty here?’
The answer to this question lies in our ability to honestly face the truth about the history of this country and which distinguishes it from many similarly British-colonised countries. The generational pain that accompanies this truth will continue to arise and seek healing unless we Australians face it together and with courage and hope. This coming referendum is no magic bullet that can simply remove this colonial legacy whether one votes yes or no. But what it does do is draw a line in the sand of history and offers everyone the opportunity to stop, draw breath and explore what we as Australians want for a more inclusive and reconciled nation moving forward. It is not the referendum that is causing division. We have been divided since January 27, 1788.
Shortly after my friend had painted these words, the local police came and told him to remove them. He refused. They came back again reminding him who had built his house. And, again, he refused. He could not go back and wash away what he had written. I later asked him why he had painted these words. He replied that he saw what was happening in America and over decades what was happening to his own people. He could identify with the experience of African Americans, especially how they were still being treated. He felt good, strong and proud in what he did.
What will we each feel on Saturday 14 October when we come to vote? And what word – yes or no – will carry our own sense of feeling good, strong and proud? We cannot rewrite Australian history but we can name where we stand in it now. With one word we will each make our own mark for a nation seeking the truth and healing of its soul. On Sunday 15 October will our First Nations people feel that their lives do matter? I hope so.
Brian McCoy SJ is a Jesuit priest who lived amongst Indigenous people in Australia and overseas for more than fifty years. Apart from long contact with Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people across much of north Australia he has also spent time with the Maori in New Zealand, the Anishinabe people in Canada and the Lakota Sioux in America. He completed a Doctorate (University of Melbourne) on the health of Aboriginal men, later published as Holding Men: Kanyirninpa and the Health of Aboriginal Men.
Main image: Indigenous artist William Parmbuk. (Provided)