Dr Ros Kidd
Historian - Consultant - Writer
The fight for justice
For most of the
twentieth century the Queensland government controlled the lives – and
the finances – of around 50% of the Aboriginal population. This
‘guardianship’ was characterised by scandalous levels of deprivation,
sickness and premature death. The government’s machinery was predicated
on the forced labour of thousands of men, women and children, either
contracted out as domestic servants and to the pastoral industry, or
consigned to the development and maintenance of missions and
settlements. Today’s blighted communities are both an outcome, and a
continuation, of State economic management that has operated since the
late 1900s.
It was at the end of
the 1890s that the home secretary told Queensland parliament it had a
duty ‘to compensate for the injuries’ inflicted in the process of
driving Aborigines ‘from their native hunting grounds’. Legislation was
passed in 1897 which applied only to persons of Aboriginal descent, any
one of whom could now be declared a ward of State and exiled to a
reserve, losing all personal and public rights. A network of police
‘protectors’ was appointed to oversee their interests or advocate exile
to a reserve.
This was a unique
administrative and physical confinement of a large population group:
such exclusions and limitations of rights had hitherto applied only to
individuals found criminally culpable or mentally deficient. For the
next seventy years Aboriginal lives were entirely dependent on official
decree – there was no due process and no right of appeal. Those brought
under government control lost all rights and responsibilities over the
lives of themselves and their children who were commonly taken from them
and confined in dormitories or contracted out to work. People who
escaped to search for work or freedom were routinely hunted by police
and forcibly returned, often to imprisonment on bread and water.
This inhumane regime
was predicated on ‘protection’. Even today that rhetoric is still
proclaimed by political and social commentators who seek to cloak
decades of inhumanity in the garb of well-meaning, if now out-dated,
policies. Those policies – of social exclusion and removal of children
– are now under challenge. Yet it’s not the policies which
entrenched the sickness and deaths and despair, but how they were
implemented. Mealy-mouthed words of racial and cultural superiority
are not the killers but exploitation, starvation, deprivation and
abuse. Whether governments like it or not, it’s time to question
exactly how a century of ‘protection’ produced such disastrous outcomes
for almost all those who were trapped in this regime, thousands of whom
led full working lives yet remained impoverished. It’s time we demanded
full disclosure of this unprecedented social and financial experiment.
Today I want to share
with you some of the facts as I found them, during more than a decade
researching into hundreds of official files.
From early last
century every employed Aboriginal in Queensland was contracted by the
government for 51 weeks out of 52, with or without his or her family.
To refuse such separation could result in beatings or banishment,
usually to Palm Island. Some never saw or heard from families again.
On the backs of this workforce of between 4000 and 5000 men, women and
children, the Queensland pastoral industry developed and prospered.
Surveys showed that Aboriginal workers were often regarded as more
skilled than whites, but an agreement struck in 1919 between government
and pastoralists set Aboriginal pay at 66% the white rate – for the next
50 years.
But the reality was
even worse, because records show that workers actually received as
little as 31% in 1949 and 59% in 1956. In that year a department survey
confirmed the industry was entirely dependent on Aboriginal workers,
particularly in remote areas where white stockmen were rare. The
inspector deplored the entrenched mentality of paying ‘as little as
possible for Aboriginal workers’ and he dismissed allegations of
incompetence, observing that ‘white men of markedly less ability and
industry [are] receiving higher wages and better living conditions than
Aboriginals who are better workmen.’
Workers’ wages went
directly to State control via police protectors except for a portion of
‘pocket money’. Yet over a sixty-year period the department never
ensured pocket money was correctly paid. Indeed an Inquiry in 1932
warned it could be ‘reasonably assumed’ that workers were being
cheated. This was confirmed by protectors over time who described the
procedure as a farce and a direct profit to employers in 1943, and as
useless, futile and out of control in 1956, with workers ‘entirely at
the mercy’ of employers who simply concocted the figures. The
department rejected auditors’ calls for external inspectors as ‘too
costly’, while admitting – into the mid-1960s – that pocket money
probably was not paid ‘in many instances’. It is sobering to realise
that pocket money accounted for up to 80% of individual earnings.
Workers who did not
live on the pastoral stations were ‘free’ to stay in the wider
community, with every move and every contact watched, supervised and
recorded by protectors. Files were kept on every Aboriginal family,
employment and finances were controlled, and people were always at risk
of banishment from family and country. Racism and poverty denied them
normal accommodation into the 1970s, yet conditions provided on
departmental reserves would have triggered criminal action in any other
circumstances.
For instance, in the
1940s at Ravenshoe and Cooktown people lived in hessian and sheet-iron
shanties without running water, but the government would not pay for
amenities; unlike at Charters Towers were they took money out of
workers’ accounts to pay for toilets and sheds. In the 1950s the
reserve at Normanton was described as ‘absolutely destitute’ with no
trees or fresh water; here the government again took money from workers
accounts to pay for shelter. In the 1960s the government admitted it
had no housing program, and that many people with good bank balances
lived on country reserves in deplorable poverty. In the 1970s, faced
with continuing scandals over deplorable conditions, the government
simply forced people off the reserves, advising councils to evict
families ‘for health reasons’, and then demolishing the shacks and
selling the land. The government well knew its failure to provide
standard living conditions prevented generations
of children from attending local schools. And time after time, into the
1970s, this poverty and lack of schooling provided grounds for
authorities to ‘rescue’ children from their families.
Under the wages
‘protection’ system workers had to request permission to withdraw their
own money, and records show that permission was often refused, even for
people with large account balances. Few workers complained direct to
head office, fearing retribution from the protector or exile to a
reserve. Yet records show that Aboriginal savings directly controlled
by the government and its agents – the police protectors – were
massively compromised by decades of fraud, negligence and improper
dealings. We know thumb prints were introduced in 1904 and again in the
early 1920s because of widespread fraud on private accounts by both
employers and police protectors. An Inquiry in 1922 revealed errors by
protectors in nearly half the calculations for government levies. The
1932 Inquiry found that pilfering from private accounts was common, and
department supervision was said to be ‘totally inadequate’. This
Inquiry concluded that ‘the opportunity for fraud existed to a greater
degree than with any other Governmental accounts’. Although the Chief
Protector again admitted there were no real controls over official
dealings on private accounts, he refused outright the recommendation
that workers be allowed to see any record of what was happening to their
money.
In the 1940s,
auditors said there was ‘no system of internal checks’ on wage
collections, and banking and withdrawal dockets were sometimes marked as
witnessed despite the absence of thumb prints. In 1965, a public service
inspection deplored the lack of a central signature register against
which to check ‘signed’ withdrawals, and observed that there was no way
to authenticate the witnessing of multiple withdrawals. In 1967, it was
admitted that lax head office checks on withdrawals, payments and
interest allocation allowed ‘room for fraud’. In 1970, auditors were
still calling urgently for ‘vital checks’ to be implemented to avoid or
deter forgeries. In 1974, the auditor again criticised head office
controls as faulty. When the minister frequently insisted all accounts
were regularly audited, she did not mention these constant and trenchant
criticisms.
We know now that the
government was itself misusing private and Trust funds. The 1922
Inquiry condemned misappropriation by the government of an unemployment
relief Trust fund and a second Trust fund comprising deceased workers’
estates; both of which were raided for development and equipment on
settlements, grants to missions, and costs of compulsory deportations.
During and after the 1929-32 depression years, the government simply
transferred ₤72,032 ($3.5 million today’s value) out of the Trust funds
‘for departmental purposes’, rendering the deceased estates’ fund
technically insolvent.
In 1933 the
government centralised ₤258,596 (almost $15 million) of workers’ savings
in Brisbane. This was promoted as a measure ‘to minimise fraud by
members of the Police Force who are Protectors’. However we now know it
provided a windfall to the government, which promptly diverted over 80%
of these private savings to investment, yielding interest of $320,500 in
that year alone, money which should have devolved to the account
holders. For several decades, by simply stating that massive amounts of
Aboriginal savings were ‘idle’ or ‘surplus to needs’ successive State
governments reaped the interest bonus while those whose money it was,
those whose lives they had sworn to protect, struggled and died in
abject poverty. We can only conjecture how different life would have
been for Aboriginal families if they had for themselves the $9.6 million
p.a. in the 1940s, over $11 million p.a. in the 1950s, and almost $10
million p.a. in the 1960s, all removed from circulation by the State for
its own profit.
On missions and
settlements families were trapped in a cycle of work and poverty, the
regime enforced through punishment and withholding of rations. On Palm Island in the
1930s the death rate was over 6% and nearly every baby died who was not
breastfed, because there were no funds for vitamin-enriched formula. At
Cherbourg, the government’s showpiece institution, the walls of the
dormitory were described as ‘literally alive with bugs … beds, bed
clothing, pillows and mattresses are all infested ... all pillows were
filthy because the previous matron withheld pillowslips to save
washing’. In the 1950s at Cherbourg families of up to 19 people shared
unlined two-room huts lacking water for washing or food preparation. In
the 1960s malnutrition was cited as the key factor in the deaths of 50%
of children under three on missions and settlements, and ten years
later, at Palm Island 75% of child outpatients registered as severely
underweight, and massive infection loads of inmates were traced to
substandard living conditions – a survey revealed that many homes had no
fridge, cupboards or even beds.
Missions and
settlements were built and maintained by Aboriginal inmates who had to
work at least 32 hours a week for meagre rations of 500 grams of meat
and flour, some soap and tobacco. Work included building construction,
water and power supply, farming, fencing, sawmilling, teaching, nursing
and domestic service to white staff. Until 1968 only the few most
crucial employees were paid an ‘incentive’ – amounting to three per cent
of the basic wage in the 1940s. In 1968, when the ration economy
ceased, community wages were set at 20% below the dole. Yet
store prices were often twice that of neighbouring towns, and – belying
public statements to the contrary – department correspondence clearly
shows that amenities nowhere near made up the deficit.
In the mid-1970s,
when passage of the federal Racial Discrimination Act rendered
underpayment on the basis of race illegal, the Queensland government was
paying its reserve employees 60% of the basic wage. Fighting off a union-backed
challenge in 1979, when the wage parity was 72%, the government sought
legal advice – which confirmed it was breaking state and federal law in
underpaying its Aboriginal employees. Nevertheless, on several
occasions into the mid-1980s, the Queensland Cabinet discussed – and
decided to continue – its illegal conduct. It was only when Aboriginal
councils gained control of communities from late 1986 that legal wage
rates were paid, although the government refused to provide for this in
the budget.
Indeed since 1982,
when Cabinet decided not to budget for wage increases, costs have been
met through mass sackings of workers – over 1500 in the decade to 1985.
This has caused massive shortfalls in building and maintenance programs:
in the mid-1980s occupancy averaged 12 per house at Palm Island, 14 at
Weipa and more than 18 at Hopevale, and people had no option but to
remain in condemned buildings. At Woorabinda one 3-bedroom house held
21 people. Homes were typically serviced by wood stoves and cold
water. On several occasions essential services were brought to crisis
and high level bureaucrats warned continued sackings would increase
alcoholism, violence and community upheaval. Then they stood by and
watched it happen.
Under this punitive
policy the government continued to reap massive profits by illegally
shortchanging the very people it was mandated to protect, a shortfall to
workers of over $180 million between 1975 and 1986; in full knowledge
that this underpayment was illegal, and in full knowledge of
consequential dire poverty. Rightful payment of this money to community
workers would have dramatically altered living circumstances and
prospects, then and now. After losing a case in the Human Rights and
Equal Opportunity Commission in 1996, the government in 1999 made
available $7000 for each worker underpaid in the 1975-1986 period. The
final payout was around $40 million, a massive bargain for the State of
less than one quarter of what is owed.
In 1999 the Beattie
government also settled a case on what is now known as the Stolen Wages,
namely, missing and misused private savings and Trust funds. In May
2002, with an estimated 4000 workers expressing interest in taking legal
action against it, the Beattie government offered a $55.6 million
package to resolve grievances – either $2000 or $4000 per person
depending on age. The government portrayed this pittance as
‘reconciliation’ and ‘generosity’ for those whose working lives may have
spanned thirty years of systemic impoverishment. This payment ass also
conditional on an indemnity against any future action on any aspect of a
century of ‘protection’ controls. But the government refused to give
all potential claimants their financial records so they could make an
informed choice, and government-appointed lawyers will explain only the
government terms. Without advice as to the full financial, historical
and legal context, many claimants effectively signed in ignorance of
their own best interests.
Perhaps the most
unpardonable aspect of these decades of poverty, sickness and death is
the fact that these wards of the State had, through their own labour,
generated millions of dollars in earnings but have been prevented from
accessing it to fulfil their basic needs. Documentary evidence confirms
that the State’s financial handling of Aboriginal savings and Trust
funds has been marred by negligence, fraud, mismanagement and
misappropriation. By legislative decree and regulatory regime the State
devolved to itself a fiduciary duty which it has patently failed to
execute. The State has failed to provide standard requirements for life
and wellbeing on communities and in the workplace; it has failed to
implement proper accounting procedures to protect workers’ earnings and
savings; it has failed to ensure workers’ entitlements in the pastoral
industry; and it has deliberately refused to pay legally due award wages
to its community employees.
No other mass
employer could preside for a century over such a travesty of basic
industrial rights to fair wages and conditions – and expect to walk away
from it. No other major financial institution which for decades lost
private savings, condoned systemic negligence and misused funds could
refuse to be accountable for its incompetence. The Beattie government’s
approach to resolution of this shameful saga can be gauged by its
cut-price and peremptory attempt to shut down exposure and
accountability. So how do we achieve justice?
The law is a definite
option. At this stage we have lawyers offering to work pro bono for
claimants seeking justice through the courts. But why should it be up
to people individually to force the government to account for its
mismanagement of their funds? Especially when they rely on the same
government to locate and provide the evidence? In my opinion the
government must be challenged on its record as trustee for those people
it declared to be wards of State, and as trustee for their finances
which it took under its control. It is the government which must answer
charges that it has comprehensively failed its fiduciary duty to act in,
and to protect, the best interests of Aboriginal wards of State.
There is an
interesting parallel in the United States. Here, since mid-1996, the US
federal government has been fighting – and losing – a class action
brought on behalf of 300,000 past and present account holders
which asserts that monies due to them which were collected and managed
by the government, have never been properly accounted for. At stake is
billions of dollars – the proceeds of farming and grazing leases, and
sales of timber, oil and gas on Indian reserves. Mounting the class
action is a group from the Blackfeet Indian tribe of Montana, and their
case centers on the mismanagement of private funds by government, as
does the Queensland campaign for justice.
In December 1999, in
what he described as a ‘stunning victory’ for the Indian plaintiffs, the
judge ruled the US government had breached its trust responsibilities to
individual trust beneficiaries, a breach he described as ‘far more
inexcusable’ than misuse of normal donative trusts because, he said,
‘the beneficiaries of this trust did not voluntarily choose to have
their lands taken from them’ (and managed by the government). A
subsequent appeal has been rejected: the three-judge panel noted
specifically ‘the magnitude of government malfeasance at issue in the
case’. The judge held that the US government had an obligation to
account for every dollar from the inception of the trust.’
The same should apply
for Queensland. Aboriginal workers did not choose to be
controlled by the department, and certainly did not choose for
the department to intercept and administer their earnings. There can be
no dispute that the great majority of ‘beneficiaries’ of this system
were, and still are, trapped in appalling poverty.
I am currently
working on three avenues to achieve justice on the stolen wages. I am
completing a book, due out in October, which investigates the full scope
of financial management in the context of national and international
case law. Using legal precedent and expert opinion, I argue the
Queensland government holds an enforceable fiduciary duty because of the
enormous discretionary powers it wielded over Aboriginal lives and
finances. This means there is an obligation on the government to be
fully accountable for its dealings on Aboriginal monies. It means it
cannot profit from its position of power.
And of course
Queensland is not the only state to control the lives and finances of
its Aboriginal population. Already the NSW government has conceded it
misused Aboriginal trust monies and lied to people who applied to be
paid monies still owing. It has set up a panel to process claims.
Every state and territory to some extent gave itself the right to manage
the wages, savings, endowment and pensions, workers compensation and
inheritances, of Aboriginal people. By mid-year I hope to produce a
National Report which investigates these controls.
More immediately,
after constant lobbying and the very positive response over several
years from Democrat senators, the issue of a senate Inquiry into Stolen
Wages nationally will be debated in the senate next month. But it
appears many politicians believe this is just a Queensland issue. So
I’m working up a summary for circulation before this debate.
We need a full
accounting of the government’s record as banker and trustee of millions
of dollars of private savings and Trust funds. We need legal experts to
adjudicate culpability and financial experts to assess compensation. We
need to incorporate the whole story of Aboriginal labour and
confiscated Aboriginal wealth into our national history. It is up to
each and every one of us today to make sure that this happens.
Links
www.linksdisk.com/roskidd
www.indiantrust.com
www.narf.org
www.atfrs.nsw.gov.au
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