As a child of the 80s, I’m voting yes. Here’s why.
I’m voting Yes because I believe that supporting First Nations people to have a say in matters that affect them is the right thing to do. Much of the conversations around the Yes campaign have focussed on what it will mean for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Rightly so as this invitation came from them, and they are the people who will be most affected by the proposed changes. A change in our country’s Constitution is, however, a change that at some level impacts on all of us and I’ve thought deeply about what that means to me and my family. So, I’m also voting yes for myself, for my family and because I believe it’s the right thing for our country. For me it all comes down to identity – the big question of what it means to be Australian in 2023.
The question of ‘being Australian’ is one that I have struggled with for some time. As a child growing up in the 1980s in a working-class family in Perth’s northern suburbs, my sense of what it meant to be Australian then is very different to what it is today. If I asked my 10-year-old self what it meant to be Australian, the answer would be something along the lines of BBQs, beach, vegemite and AFL. As much as it pains me to admit it, I very much doubt I would have gone any deeper than that.
When I think about what I absorbed about Australia’s history in primary school there are a few memories that stand out. Along with the annual book week parade I remember dressing up for Pioneer Day. Donned with bonnets and long skirts, we learnt how to ‘bush dance’ – heel and toe, heel and toe. We celebrated the achievements of our country’s ‘settler pioneers’, learnt about the challenges they endured and how their contributions made Australia into the land of opportunity that it is today. I was in Year 1 in 1988, and I remember the bicentennial being a real big deal. I’ve still probably got somewhere limited edition coin me and my fellow classmates were excited to receive– a token to remember the year that marked 200 years since the arrival of the First Fleet.
The only memory I have of anything resembling an introduction to Aboriginal Australia was a crowded school assembly hall in 1991 with hundreds of kids jumping up and down, dancing and singing to the Youthu Yindi hit, Treaty. We all loved the song, but had absolutely no idea of the context, or what it all meant.
It wasn’t until much later that I learnt to see these events within the prism of colonialism and came to appreciate that our country had a much longer and richer history than that which began when Captain Cook landed on our shores. I also came to the realisation that there was a lot about my country that I had not been told. What stands out in my memory when I think about this realisation was reading Henry Reynolds book ‘Why weren’t we told’ in History 101, one of the first units I took as a first year university student at UWA. This was the first time I’d really engaged with this dark side of Australia’s history and started to question the myth of peaceful pioneering that I’d been sold in my earlier years.
At the same time, 2001, a big year in world politics, I’d become increasingly concerned with Australia’s treatment of refugees. This concern led me to devote much of my time and energy into supporting many people who had sought safety from persecution in Australia only to ended up languishing in immigration detention centres for years. Etched in my memory from this time is a hot and dusty visiting yard at the Port Hedland Immigration Detention Centre – imposing razor wire on the periphery –where I sat and listened to a 10 year old boy from Iran tell me about his aspirations for his future and how sad he was that in Australia he wouldn’t be able to achieve this as wasn’t allowed to go to school.
This all made me question my identity as an Australian. My perception of Australia had gone from happy, go lucky – land of sun and fun – to a place that was blind to the injustice in its own backyard. How could I possibly be proud to be an Australian if this is what it stood for? What kind of country white-washes its past and ignores the inter-generational trauma that it inflicted on its Indigenous people – blaming them for them for the systemic disadvantages that lock them out of enjoying the opportunities that this country his to offer. What kind of country locks children up in jail like environments (for years) denying them their basic rights of an education and a safe environment to develop and grow. What it meant to be Australian for me had changed.
This concern with injustice and the desire to make a positive difference led me to a career in community development where I worked initially helping newly arrived refugees settling into their new communities. I came to see that despite the injustices that persisted there was a side to Australia that could be kind, welcoming and inclusive. Church congregations and voluntary groups that were passionate about helping refugees, local leaders who wanted to ensure that everyone in their community (regardless of their cultural background) had access to opportunities for participation. On a personal level my own life was enriched by the opportunities I had to get to know this multicultural Australia – learning about different cultures and listening to the stories of resilience and the ways in which newcomers were welcomed and actively contributing to their communities.
At the same time, while working in local government I had the opportunity to deepen my understanding of Aboriginal Australia. Through working with Aboriginal people and organisations to advance reconciliation I came to more deeply appreciate the strengths within Aboriginal communities and the outcomes that can be achieved when Aboriginal people are empowered to lead solutions for their own communities. I had the privilege of working alongside some remarkable Aboriginal community leaders to support the development of the Wadjak Northside Community Centre and I saw first-hand the power that putting power back in the hands of marginalised communities has in generating positive social outcomes.
These work experiences and the maturity that comes with age, brought about a more positive shift in my view of what it meant to be Australian. The privilege of learning more about Aboriginal culture enabled me to feel a stronger connection with the land on which I was born and the ancient culture of the people who had taken care of it for 60,000 years. I started to feel more comfortable with my own identity as an Australian who can take pride in this country’s ancient past and its multicultural present.
Fast forward to 2023. I have kids of my own in the school system now. Their primary school years (unlike mine) have been filled with celebrations of multiculturalism. They take pride in their Afghan heritage on their dad’s side and their Irish-German heritage on mine. They learn to sing in Noongar and look forward to the annual celebrations for NAIDOC Week and of course the bush dance events too (without the other colonial trappings that Pioneer Days had in the 80s ). I hope as they progress through their school years, they too deepen their understanding of those parts of our history that are not a cause for celebration – the frontier wars and massacres, the White Australia policy, the Stolen Generations and the impact of systemic institutional racism. I hope that we are comfortable enough with our own national identity that we can look back on history with a lens that acknowledges the impact of colonisation and values the contributions of all Australians.
So, for me voting Yes is an important step in supporting the self-determination of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people but it's also a reflection of what I want for myself and my family. I’m voting yes because I want to live in an Australia that celebrates 60,000 years of Indigenous history, one that acknowledges its painful past and one that offers hope for a brighter future.
