“I wonder what lies beyond that horizon?”

Abstract

The horizon can mean many things to individuals. The author gives an account of those within her ‘sphere of influence’ who enabled her to stand on their broad shoulders to face the challenges and bask in the joys within the tertiary sector and, around the world. Having been raised in an atmosphere of colonisation where assimilation was the norm, the writer extrapolates her encounter with the education system to find her ‘true’ identity and place within the ‘system’. How does one transfer the learnings of living in ‘two worlds’ to a largely non-Indigenous student cohort? How can one remain true to oneself when writing a PhD thesis within a Western system? Finally, as a Churchill Fellowship recipient, the writer travelled the world to seek out how other Indigenous nations around the world have found ways to heal the wounds of colonisation. This writer has experienced the horizon as both a challenger and a nurturer of knowledge.

Introduction ¹

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women for generations stand proud and resilient despite the unsuccessful attempts by the colonisers to diminish their character and future. This article attempts to showcase the inter-generational strength that passed down through three incredible women who dared to defy the odds of society and make known who they were and ‘grew their own’. Like many others, we have become what they and other Aboriginal Ancestors have aspired us to become. I discuss that when Education is implemented ‘our way’ it takes on new meaning and serves to enhance our position as Aboriginal Australians in the tertiary education workforce. It has successfully worked for generations prior to the British boat people’s arrival. However, since then, we have had to contend with living in ‘two worlds’ and our perspective has had to adapt to a binary position. For me, Indigenous education has enabled me to attain the highest position of postgraduate study, which then opened the door to travel and the honour of hearing ‘stories of resilience’ from First Peoples around the world.

Background

As a child who was born on an island within the Torres Straits of Australia, the surrounding saltwater teemed of stories that had been eloquently told ‘our way’ by the Ancestors. Even though the sea was a familiar environment, I distinctly remember one moment when I gazed out beyond the blue ocean, I said thoughtfully ‘I wonder what lies beyond that horizon?’ Little did I realise how my life’s journey would take me on a course of travel that would broaden my knowledge base and deepen my appreciation for my Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander heritage and cultural values.

My mode of learning before commencing school was unique. I would listen intently and respectfully to my Elders, all nurturers and expert knowledge holders within my ‘sphere of influence’. I honour my mother and both grandmothers who have been the ‘giants’ on whose shoulders I stood. I came to understand the importance of rolling with ‘the knocks’ that often occur in life, to arise, dust myself off and continue on, despite the feelings of ‘shame’ that still pervades our lives as Aboriginal Australians. These three have enabled me to make right choices as I travel along my Song-line.

No children’s books were read to me, only the relaying of the old narratives, passed down visually through art, kinesthetically through dance and ceremony and audibly through music, song and storying. There were moral truths to learn from a young age. This provided the springboard from which my mind could learn to imagine, store knowledge, reflect and become reflexive through life. Hawaiian scholar, Manu Aluli-Meyer (2003) has commented that ‘If knowledge is power then understanding is liberation’ (p. 60). The key message in my family was not necessarily what I knew, but that I had understood and applied it. This was reiterated to me as a child by my matriarchs.

Indigenous peoples have always understood and appreciated the relationship between daily living and growth in Knowing. When growing into maturation Aboriginal peoples had to be self-directed and willing to learn to survive, live and sustain a healthy communal lifestyle. They learnt best in a safe, comfortable, informal and flexible environment. Establishing quality relationships with others, the environment and the spirit world were paramount in Aboriginal learnings. In the community, the informal teacher used a variety of methods to challenge judgement, improve decision making and increase confidence in the quality of the outcome. As I grew I combined Aboriginal and Eurocentric ways of knowledge because I had to understand and live successfully in ‘both worlds’.

I commenced ‘school’ but, really, I was continuing the valuable education I had initially received at home. My learning until then was largely devoid of European influence. School became the forerunner of my worldview colliding with the dominant colonial culture in the process. I learnt to become educated in a culture that was not my own, nor my Ancestors’. I read about adventurous ‘Dick and Dora with their dog, Nip!’ – both were ‘white’ children, with ironically, a white dog! Our learning excluded Aboriginal children, their ways of adventure, their home, and their ways of doing ‘life’. The process of doing ‘school’ became so ingrained in me that after school ‘school’ was all I wanted to play. The third grade, however, became a turning point.

Our class was being taught by an ‘uncle’ through marriage, who was of English decent. Unfortunately, he epitomised ‘white privilege’ and injected fear through his harsh teaching methods. Even so, it was comforting to walk home at lunch times and smell the familiarity of my grandmother’s cooking and listen to my mother’s voice. I learnt from those two opposing experiences that when education is implemented incorrectly it can have dire consequences on the learner/s grasp of knowledge, their understanding and application.

Like many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders, regular employment opportunities were difficult to identify. My father joined the Australian Defence Force – like so many uncles had before him – and we made the bold move to Australia’s mainland. It was here that culture shock reared its ‘head’. At that time, all Indigenous Australians, were not regarded as citizens: racism was overt. I, like so many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders remained voiceless for fear of retribution during those challenging ‘silent’ years.

Writing constantly to my Dad’s Mum, receiving seafood from ‘home’; and the visits made by my Mum’s Mum provided a sense of normalcy that one craves for when swimming in a sea of ‘doubt and anxiety’. These ‘yearning’ feelings often reveal themselves when one remains unsure of where their place and identity belong.

The ‘giants’

My mother took on the work of a domestic cleaner throughout her working life as others had done before her. She had been made to leave school by Grade Three to babysit her many siblings. This limited her employment opportunities despite being creative and courageous in spirit. Yet, on the island she was self-reliant; creatively sewing most of our clothes, our award-winning fancy dress costumes and even a Christmas tree one year.

I have vivid memories of ‘wash day’ when she would boil and scrub the huge pile of white sheets and clothes. It was tedious work that took all day to complete, yet I remember the smell of fresh linen as they were pressed, folded and put away. She ‘made survival possible’ contends Bell Hooks (2009, p. 167). Mum did not have the qualifications nor the confidence to develop her literacy and numeracy skills. Her forte though was in her contagious ‘yarning’, her humour, her storytelling and her ability to be inclusive and embrace others. Her stamina helped her maintain a cleaning job that put food on our table – also in times of crisis – for over 25 years. She voiced her concern over injustices at work – with other women standing behind her – and, in recognition, was asked to become the Union’s senior representative. She refused, but stood tall with pride. Years later she revealed that her refusal was simply because she lacked the confidence to read and write. She had cleverly concealed her illiteracy for so many years, even from her children.

I had come to know, through these ‘giants’, that Ways of Knowing act as a point of reference and require us to know our own stories and our relationship with the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. It is concerned with reciprocal obligations, an awareness of inter-generational learning as well as responsibilities and expectations of one’s position within community (Arbon, 2008). Ways of Being de-colonises and re-frames Western-oriented stories within a framework of Aboriginal relatedness in order to give agency to the voiceless (Martin, 2008). Finally, Ways of Doing transforms and renews former experiences to be placed among current contexts and praxis (Martin, 2008). It requires the use of multiple forms such as writing, language, visual art and the performing arts to communicate in a culturally appropriate and successful manner. Knowing requires listening deeply and contemplatively to the Other. Before we can teach others, we need to be practicing deep listening to be reflective and reflexive; to have the discernment to Become and Do that which is morally and ethically correct.

How can knowledge transition across this inter-cultural space so that the hearers understand? Both my grandmothers demonstrated this transition. They were widows for over forty years struggling to provide an income for their families in an era when children were taken from homes that were deemed neglectful in nutrition or education and/or hygienically unclean. Indigenous women were dehumanised to provide only domestic service and treated ‘as though they had no knowledge, feelings or emotional attachments’ (Moreton-Robinson, 2000, p. 22). My father’s mother only knew domestic service to be her source of income initially but decided this was insufficient for their family’s needs after her husband died. She became renowned for her baking. I would accompany her to the wharf where her basket of pies sold out before we reached the end of the jetty. Her cakes were in high demand, even by her former middle class, white woman employer. As well, the requests for her poultry from the locals kept her busy. I was left with fond memories of wonderful modelling in those early influential years by a grandmother who was a shrewd business woman on one hand, yet was besieged with chronic rheumatoid arthritis and diabetes on the other hand.

Mum’s mother began as a teacher’s assistant prior to having her large family. She lived for 96 years, leaving behind a huge family originating from the 15 children whom she and my grandfather had, before he died at age 55. Although there was a high expectation of her to remarry, she remained single and relied on her children for support. Her inclusiveness and love was illustrated at her funeral when over 400 family and extended family gathered to farewell her. By then, we recognised that she had always been, unbeknownst to us, the link to our traditional custodianship of land and seas.

The secrecy which grew out of the fear of being separated from family had long plagued her because her mother had escaped the clutches of the Government at the time. It was the 1886 and 1909 Government Acts that ‘young people of mixed descent felt the sting of the Aborigines Protection Board (otherwise colloquially understood within Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander confines as the “Destruction Board”) controls and their absorptionist policies’ (Broome, 2010, p. 96). Under these racist policies, families were broken up depending on one’s skin colour (Broome, 2010). For much of the time, she remained silent, loyal to the hidden secrets. If they were unveiled, they had the potential to become detrimental for her family. Resistance to adversity takes many forms. This was one example.

These three strong, fearless women were self-effacing and very protective of their loved ones. They epitomised humility, resilience, courage, wisdom, discernment, pride and responsibility. They had undeniable strength that became contagious to all those within their sphere of influence. Yet, they often lived in a state of tension within the inter-cultural space.

The cultural interface

Aboriginal educators and researchers have helped me to understand the cultural clash that was occurring in this inter-cultural space. Nakata (2007), a Torres Strait Islander scholar, confirms that this recognised battle between cultures occurs at what he named the ‘cultural interface’. By the 1980s, Indigenous scholars around the globe had begun to voice the importance of de-colonising language, literature and other Western ways of obtaining knowledge. It has been suggested that by being critically reflective about our Indigenous learnings this would enable Aboriginal people to grow in the right cultural direction (Rigney, 2006).

Foley (2003) highlighted the devastating effect Western science had on Aboriginal peoples. It was a domain that pervaded education, the law, as well as, the social sciences: an approach that was Anglo-European male dominated, complete with a power structure that chose to ignore the Other’s interests (Foley, 2003). This resulted in the destruction of Indigenous knowledge, the elimination of social structures, culture sciences and traditions (Rigney, 2003). This Eurocentrism asserts that only Europeans can progress, because Indigenous peoples are guided by knowledge systems that reinforce the past and, in so doing, do not look toward the future (Blaut, 2012). Aboriginal scholar, Foley (2003) and colleagues from Turtle Island (Canada) (Battiste and Henderson, 2000) argue that this was based on racial superiority whereby Indigenous knowledge was viewed as inferior. The assimilation of Indigenous knowledge into the dominant education system provided the conditions through which Indigenous peoples would be absorbed into the dominant non-Indigenous society, thereby losing their uniqueness (Kovach, 2009; Rigney, 2003).

Even so, in their research into tertiary education, Christie and Asmar (2012) have concluded that by bringing Indigenous knowledge and voices into the Western post-colonial classroom, knowledge approaches to teaching and learning are enriched and further extended.

Academia

I entered the academic tertiary world later than most others after having had a family and having been a health professional in an Aboriginal community. I successfully obtained a university initiated scholarship to pursue postgraduate studies and permanent academic employment. In a world that was uncertain, complex and ambiguous, Indigenous Ways of Knowing, Being and Doing shaped my thoughts.

Academia had mostly dictated a quantitative, biomedical paradigm. I wrestled with what true knowledge and deep understanding meant. My Ancestors had taught that to be truly informed, one’s knowledge had to be absorbed and then interpreted wisely before it became established. This required setting aside enough purpose-filled time to enable one to do so. Yet, time alone is a diminishing commodity in today’s ‘hustle’ and ‘bustle’. However, my heritage had emphasised ‘island-time’ which allows time to decipher the plethora of ‘noises’ one often hears in the tertiary education sector.

Universities were established within a Western-dominated education system, founded on a vision, directed by a strategic plan and are continually being guided by the university’s policies and procedures. I perceive it to be a cold, artificial institution that only comes to life when relationships within its borders are nurtured to belong; and have a sense of purpose. One can either grow or struggle to survive in this environment. It led me to mentoring others in the volatile and changing environment, an action that had been demonstrated by my ‘giants’.

In the latest 2017 National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) Report, ‘How secure do you feel’, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander members were surveyed about their job security within the tertiary sector. The report showed that ‘6 in 10 academic and professional staff members were in a state of job insecurity within the sector’ (p. 1). The report showed that issues of workload allocation, change management and having to choose between work, family, community and cultural obligations were detrimental to the Indigenous Australian staff members’ sense of future job security. Unfortunately, university management was shown not to assist the Government, community or unions to reach their targets, to recruit and offer sustainable employment of Indigenous Australians. This report, coupled with the previous 2014 NTEU Report ‘I’m not a Racist but…’ stated that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander staff members asserted that racism still exists in Australia. They had been impacted by the effects of racism, discrimination and lateral violence within the tertiary education workplace and outside in the public arena. These Reports gave me the impetus to nurture and care for those who may value my mentoring support both in the work place and in the classroom.

As a lecturer, I would describe my learning theory as a combination of Indigenous Knowledge and Transformative Learning Theory (TLT) which developed out of a Critical Race Theory (CRT) perspective. CRT exposes the imbalance in power between races. TLT ‘is the process of effecting change in a frame of reference’ (Mezirow, 1997, p. 5). It is a critical dialectical learning discourse enabling reflective and self-reflective processes to occur between the teacher and the student (Mezirow, 2003). TLT seeks to transform the frame of reference or develop new points of view.

My understanding of TLT is through my lens of Aboriginal Ways of Knowing, Being and Doing. Dunbar Jr (2008) contends that this position enables scholars of colour, who are in a position on the margin, to transcend the dominant ways of knowing by

providing multiple lenses that changed the dominant cultural model that they contend had distorted their realities and served only to sustain power relations that continued to place them at a disadvantage. (p. 86)

I currently implement some of the ways of Knowledge transference passed on by my Ancestors by demonstrating to the largely non-Indigenous students the importance of storytelling when lecturing, and using yarning circles to stimulate discussions in tutorial sessions. The classroom does not need to be within four walls but outside on Country where the earth, wind and sunshine can be felt. Smoking ceremonies that acknowledge the history and presence of traditional custodians of that particular area have enabled students to centre their thoughts on Aboriginal culture. These have highlighted the importance of respecting and caring for the Land on which they are studying. The response from students has been overwhelmingly positive.

The scholarship I received also gave me the opportunity to achieve the highest academic degree – a Doctor of Philosophy through research. Due to negative past experiences, research is an activity in which all Aboriginal communities struggle to participate. I reflected and internalised what Aboriginal scholar Karen Martin (2003) had stated, namely that it would be my ‘worldview, my knowledge and my realities’ which would influence my study. I vowed that my research would empower the community.

Research

However, I wondered, what was I to research and write about in my Higher Degree thesis? There was so much in my life’s journey that I could choose from. Who could help me decipher the plethora of experiences that I had encountered and set me on an appropriate course of action? Regardless of age, I have come to recognise that these are the most pressing thoughts that any Aboriginal academic pursuing higher studies can have.

An air of high expectation which lingered remained, whether it be announced loudly by others or presents covertly from within yourself. I was uncomfortable, at times, to research outside my familiar cultural norms. Indigenous communities and organisations have reacted against research because ‘research’ has been framed and experienced as white researchers doing research on Indigenous peoples (Smith, 2012, p. 122). I wanted to be different and authentic. This position of sitting on the ‘margins’ of academia, African American scholar, Bell Hooks (1990) ably describes as a ‘space of radical openness’ (p. 145). A political space where the process of ‘re-visioning’ can occur through struggle and resistance (Herising, 2005, p. 144).

Through times of ‘testing the waters’, perseverance by supervisors who had my interest at heart, the collegial support from peers and spurred on by the encouragement from family, I consistently moved forward on the long journey of research and writing. I chose qualitative and holistic paradigms that elaborated the spiritual and cultural perspective and highlighted the importance of relationships. To argue their legitimacy, I relied heavily on my acquired knowledge through my Ancestors, Indigenous scholars and my research participants, who were resilient Indigenous women.

Their resilience was displayed, for instance, as they struggled through the outcomes from birthing. Despite their loneliness to need someone, or a group that would help them return to what they deemed as normal to them, these women desired for a geographical place or location where they felt they could connect and belong. Hill (2006) highlighted that the sense of belonging needs to be seen from a cultural perspective that connects to the emotional and social dynamics of the person, with their family and the community.

Kovach (2005) asserts that, within research, the Indigenous epistemology emphasises one’s experiences as a way of knowing, storytelling as a legitimate means of sharing, relationality between all parties as a natural methodology and collectivism as the environment for reciprocity to occur. It was a privilege to put these principles into practice. I endeavoured to position my research as a counter-story, because it gave a sense of agency and ‘voice’ to those who had been deemed as a minority group in an otherwise dominant white privileged society.

A new horizon

However, there came a time during my lecturing that I became disheartened. Speaking about the deficit statistics had always left me emotionally drained, to the point of sensing that I was losing hope that there would ever be a change in the health and well-being direction of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders. Having successfully completed my PhD, the first in our family, I attempted to re-vision myself. What was happening to other Nations around the world? Hence, I proposed that as an early career researcher I would attempt to pursue an avenue where I could listen to stories from other Indigenous Nations around the world. I wanted to hear about their journey toward healing since the traumatic impact of colonization in their communities. It would broaden horizons because I was convinced that there were reciprocal lessons which we, as Aboriginal Australians, could learn from them, and they from us. That opportunity came when I applied for and was successful in obtaining a Churchill Fellowship scholarship to travel the world. The child who looked at the horizon and wondered what lay beyond would now see and experience what life was like for other Indigenous peoples around the world.

With the support of the university, family and friends, I ventured out into the world scene and had an amazing experience visiting Nations around the globe in 79 days. I have often referred to the 1873 adventure novel by French author Jules Verne ‘Around the World in 80 Days’ by claiming that it was no mean feat that I alone, as an Aboriginal Australian, a woman and an Elder, did likewise, but in one day less! Perhaps it was because I had stood on the shoulders of the ‘giants’ in my family. The following are examples of stories I heard during my research tour of disenfranchised people who had gained agency and became ‘giants’ in their unique culture.

In Finland, Elders of the Sami culture, found it challenging to talk about the trauma of the past. An Elder could not hide her tears when she recalled her childhood. She had been bullied at school because she was deemed as being different: wearing Sami clothes and unable to speak the Finnish language. Her only safety was at home where she could speak her ‘mother tongue’ and learn about her culture in the presence of like-minded relatives. At the time of interview, she was managing the cultural centre’s shop that sold Sami clothing and cultural artefacts to visitors. Ironically, Sami clothing was now worn with pride in public. Times had changed and now there was a rejuvenation of language.

In the Netherlands, Fresians believe they are invisible to society because their light skin-colour ‘blends’ in well. Although the Dutch call them a ‘stubborn’ people who have not gone away, Fresian families continue to keep their language, cultural customs and beliefs, sports and music. In the past, generations remained in their village in order for their Knowledge to be protected which is a stark contrast to Aboriginal Australians whom the colonisers deliberately dispersed, resulting in a loss of language, identity and belonging.

I found that, on Turtle Island, the First Nation people have retained their language despite the traumatic impact of the residential schools in which children were removed from their families and forced to learn the Western ways. They have also fought to preserve their spirituality. One major event that I witnessed which strengthened the community’s capacity was needed through the Pow Wow, a celebration of culture. On this occasion, I observed how a grieving family’s burden was carried by the whole community. Here, the grieving family members paraded the deceased person’s photo in the arena as everyone stood as a sign of remembrance. The young women in their colourful costumes then performed what is regarded as a ‘jingle’ dance. In uniform precision, they danced. As they moved to the rhythm of the drums, the sound of the bells on their costumes rung out. It was a moving performance which signified that a healing process for the community’s grief was underway.

Trauma, whether it be past or present, could be healed by acts of caring, sharing and protection of cultural knowledge. Among Native Hawaiian and Maori families, children and young people were mentored by the older generation as they danced, sang and were taught cultural crafts. Women were predominantly the Knowledge keepers. Their task was to seek out and groom those they were spiritually guided to, for mentoring and passing on their inherited Knowledge. These skills in leadership development were and continue to be imperative in the sustainability of cultural identity and resilience. These skills directed Indigenous peoples to their future.

Returning to Australia has opened opportunities for me to share what I have learned through the stories from other nations. Respectful listening to the shared counter-stories of colonised people had enabled them to feel valued and empowered. It has opened the floodgate to cultural intellectual knowledge exchange. Relationships have been built on a foundation of respect that has paved the way for sustainable healthy outcomes. The pervasive and prescribed western-academic orientations for research paradigms would benefit by understanding this process.

Conclusion

Knowledge comes in many forms. Most of those who transversed my ‘Song-line’ were women who overcame, or who are still in the process of overcoming, the challenges that colonisation has imprinted on their people. They are the trustees of culture who have made a positive difference to their community.

Aboriginal ways of Knowing, Being and Doing were my foundation, heightened by positive role models – my mother and grandmothers. They demonstrated what it meant to be humble, yet strong and resilient. They spoke words of wisdom and discernment that enabled me to develop my dreams for the future. Disadvantaged, perhaps, but never losing hope. Under-valued by society, yes, but always standing as ‘tall’ as ‘giants’ among our people. It is Because of Her [Them], we can go forwards.