Dr Ros Kidd
Historian - Consultant - Writer
National Sorry Day - 1999
First of all I would like to acknowledge the traditional owners of this
country, and say that I feel honoured to be asked to address you on
this, the last National Sorry Day of the century.
Now, more than ever before, it is essential that we understand the
experiences of indigenous people in Australia. It is because few people
have this knowledge, that so many are confused, some even resentful,
about the whole ideal of being sorry, of making apologies. I might have
been one of those people myself, except that my work, in recent times,
has opened my eyes to another dimension of history, another dimension of
the human condition.
The theme of this Sorry Day is the Journey of Healing. I have been asked
to share with you my own journey of understanding. It began ten years
ago, when, as a middle-aged, middle-class white woman, I needed to
choose a topic for my five-year PhD project. I was deeply aware of my
ignorance when it came to Aboriginal affairs, and the erratic statements
of the press and politicians only added to my confusion. So I chose to
study Aboriginal affairs in Queensland.
Most of my research was spent analysing thousands of official documents,
ranging from the middle of last century to only a few years ago. What I
read, what I began to understand, was a horrifying, unbelievable story
of abuse and repression, of negligence and unnecessary deaths, of forced
labour and unpaid wages, of deprivation and institutionalised poverty.
Much of this sorry circumstance, far too much of this sorry
circumstance, directly resulted from actions of the police, the
bureaucrats and the politicians who said they were ‘protecting’ the
indigenous people of Queensland.
Did you know that from 1865 any Aboriginal child could be taken from
their family, for no other reason that the child had an Aboriginal
mother? Did you know that from 1897 almost every Aboriginal person in
Queensland could be declared a ward of state and banished to a reserve?
For no other reason than their Aboriginality? The one exception was
mixed-race men, provided they severed all contact with their Aboriginal
relatives. People were separated from their families, separated from
their country, separated from society - only because they were of
Aboriginal background. They lost all the rights which the rest of us
take for granted - to choose where we live and work, to keep our
earnings for the benefit of our family, to receive standard education
and standard medical care, to keep our children with us and share with
them our language and culture, teach them their heritage, strengthen
them with love.
Until the 1970s, here in Queensland, Aboriginal children were routinely
taken from the parents and locked into dormitories, Aboriginal teenagers
were sent to work in remote areas for a year at a time, Aboriginal
adults were locked into compulsory work contracts and the government
took their wages: if you were lucky, if you asked nicely, the local
policeman might allow you a little to spend. But from the earliest days
police fraud on Aboriginal savings was prevalent, even when dockets had
to be thumb printed and witnessed. Over more than 70 years of financial
control, despite countless examples of fraud, theft, and irregularities,
the government refused to let Aboriginal people see any record of what
was happening to their money.
This is not so surprising. Because without Aboriginal knowledge and
consent, the government was taking their savings: there was a levy of 5%
and 10% to help run the missions and settlements, there was another levy
as an insurance against drought and sickness, although only a fraction
was paid out to the workers each year. During the depression years, the
government took the equivalent of over $5 million of Aboriginal Trust
monies to cover budget deficits, money that was never repaid. It took
money out of workers’ accounts to pay for fencing and improvements on
country reserves; it took money out of invalids’ accounts for medical
treatment on Fantome Island, when the rest of the population was treated
free in state hospitals; it took the child endowment monies, allowing
mothers only a fraction of their entitlement. So while infant mortality
at Palm Island was 15 times the state’s average, the government was
using these child endowment funds for capital works on the mainland.
Under this system, while Aboriginal families were living, and dying, in
abject poverty around Queensland, their earnings grew to unbelievable
levels. By the early 1930s Aboriginal savings were the equivalent today
of nearly $14 million: how much hardship and sickness could have been
eliminated if Aboriginal families had kept their own earnings to spend
on their own needs? But the government decided to keep over $12 million
to invest for valuable revenue, leaving only a small amount to cover
daily transactions. No wonder so many workers were refused permission to
make withdrawals. No wonder so many families continued in destitution.
By the late 1960s, while governments publicly questioned the failure of
many Aboriginal families to ‘improve’ their social standing, the
Queensland government was keeping for itself the equivalent of around
$20 million as a revenue-producing nest egg.
Life for the hundreds of families interned on missions and settlements
was a horrifying struggle. From the earliest days Aboriginal needs,
Aboriginal lives, were valued at only a fraction of whites. As late as
1938 the head of Aboriginal administration in Queensland conceded the
government regarded Aboriginal children as less important than white
children. This might go some way to explaining why, despite laws stating
that all children must be offered a full education, Aboriginal
wards of state were denied this: until the 1950s trained teachers
were rare, schools were often rundown unlit structures, furniture and
books were usually discarded from white schools, classes were
overcrowded and rarely went past grade four level. High schools and
accredited trade training were unheard of.
Records show that the government knew of these appalling conditions on
communities, but refused ever to provide sufficient funds for basic
physical needs. Inmates have died, year after year, from diseases caused
by malnutrition, overcrowding, unsafe water, faulty sanitation. After
each fatal outbreak internal reports also often criticised the
scandalous state of medical attention and hospital amenities. This was
always hidden from the public. Even into the 1970s, the blame was put on
Aboriginal incompetence. Or the eating of green mangoes.
Missions and settlements, the Aboriginal communities of today, were
built and run on compulsory, unpaid, Aboriginal labour. Apart from a few
key tradesmen, workers got only some lousy rations for their effort. In
the late 1940s a ganger on Palm Island got 5/- a fortnight, that’s about
$12.60 today, only 3% of the basic wage. And in 1957, when seven men
went on strike over starvation pay, the wage was around $37 today. The
men were arrested at gunpoint and deported. By 1978, according to a
letter by Joh Bjelke-Petersen, the Queensland government was underpaying
its Aboriginal workers by over $10 million each year in today’s
terms relative to minimum wages, or nearly twice that relative to award
wages. In the 1980s, in full knowledge that it was breaking state and
federal law, the Queensland government was still paying its
Aboriginal employees only 72% the basic wage. Today’s government
still has not agreed to pay all the wages which it knows are owing. And
enormous sums of taxpayers’ money is being allocated to deny Aboriginal
claims of official malpractice and misappropriation.
To
save money during the 1970s and 1980s the government sacked hundreds of
workers; fewer houses were built or repaired; overcrowding became
critical because families could not afford to pay rent; essential
services were barely maintained. Community violence and alcoholism
increased with poverty and despair. Yet these exact outcomes were
predicted years earlier by bureaucrats and politicians, who decided to
hold to their hard line economies while the communities under their
control fell apart.
For a hundred years the Queensland government has controlled every
aspect of Aboriginal lives, running secret files on every Aboriginal
person, growing rich from Aboriginal poverty. The situation of
Aboriginal people today is the direct outcome of government controls.
And these controls continued to the present.
So
this has been my journey of understanding. How do I feel now that I know
these things? I feel angry that the government created and sustained
such appalling conditions for Aboriginal families, and continues to lie
about it; I feel resentful that their actions were hidden from public
knowledge; I feel sorry that children, mothers, uncles, grandparents had
to suffer such untold hardship over so many years.
So
for all those who reject the concept of Sorry Day, I say that this
sorrow is not about guilt; its about compassion.
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