Abstract
This article focuses on the lived experience of a Karajarri Yawuru, First Peoples Doctoral candidate and his interactions with the Academy. This article draws on three vignettes and highlights first, racism that questions First Peoples’ academic expertise and knowledge, second, racism that dismisses and demeans First Peoples’ lived experience and third, racism that instrumentalises First Peoples’ academics. We argue that despite the aspirational strategies and good intentions of Australian universities, the deeply embedded and pervasive nature of colonisation and institutional whiteness has to be identified and challenged in order for First Peoples to take their rightful place in the Academy.
1. Introduction
Prior to British colonisation in 1788 Terra Australis Incognita, the Great Southern Land, comprised some 650 or more sovereign nations, of which two of the authors of this article identify with, those being Karajarri Yawuru and Gunditjmara. The authors’ preferred nomenclature is to be identified as First Peoples. Where other authors have chosen to identify First Peoples in other ways, excluding direct quotations and naming protocols and providing the meaning and intent remains unaltered, we have utilised First Peoples as an act of self-determination and academic activism. The purpose of this article is to reflect on the research journey of a self-identified Karajarri Yawuru, First Peoples doctoral student and his lived experience of both overt and covert racism both within the University and the wider Academy. At the time of writing, Mark Jones is an Indigenous Pre-doctoral Research Fellow at RMIT University (RMIT). In this article, Mark and his research supervisors, Gunditjmara man Professor Mark Rose and Kartiya (wording from the Kimberly region of Western Australia meaning White person), Professor Pauline Stanton, reflect on their interactions with the White Academy through the lived experience of one First Peoples student and the impact of underlying racism in Australian universities. Our perspective in this article is influenced by Indigenous Standpoint Theory (IST) which questions traditional western approaches to research methodology, arguing that an Indigenous research methodology consists of the Indigenous researchers’ own standpoint (Larkin, 2013). Rose (2020) argues that IST is a paradigm underpinning an emerging methodology which challenges the status quo, a form of academic activism that utilises the approach for cultural, spiritual and intellectual liberation. IST challenges the constructs of traditional hierarchy, control and power by recognising bias from a colonial and Eurocentric origin (Dew et al., 2019; Henry and Foley, 2018). In this article first, we take a history informed approach and situate the policy responses of Australian universities to attract, promote and retain First Peoples students and staff within the continuing impact of colonisation. Second, we explore the international literature on racism and whiteness in organisations in general and the Academy in particular. Third, we describe three vignettes which capture Mark’s lived experience as a First Peoples higher degree student. Finally, drawing on the work of McAllister et al. (2019) and Naepi (2019) we address our research question ‘Why isn’t my Professor Aboriginal?’ and draw conclusions.
2. The impact of colonisation and the University response
Prior to colonisation there was a flourishing First Peoples society in Terra Australis Incognita for over 60,000 years representing the world’s longest continuous living cultures (Broome, 2010; Pascoe, 2018). First Peoples leadership influenced all components of society (Broome, 2010; Pascoe, 2018) and Australian universities have recognised that First Peoples’ sophisticated social structures encompassed governance, leadership, agricultural intervention, commerce, astronomy, navigation and the arts (Universities Australia (UA), 2019). Success was achieved through ingenious systems of knowledge and learning that aligned to place. The transference of which was conducted orally through song lines from one generation to the next (Neale, 2017; Perry and Holt, 2018). Universities Australia (UA) acknowledges that ‘[o]n these lands, teaching, learning and research have taken place since time immemorial’ (UA, 2017: 4).
Despite this proud history, the lie of terra nullius – ‘land that belongs to no-one’, led to genocide, dispossession of lands, cultural banishment, infantilisation of First Peoples and exclusion from economic and educational participation (Perkins and Langton, 2010). All key factors contributing to a multi-generational cycle of poverty, trauma, and marginalisation (Perkins and Langton, 2010). The end game was annihilation of the full bloods, the ‘black ones’, and the elimination of the coloured minority through assimilation economically, linguistically and culturally, which continues to pervade Australian society to this day (Cunneen, 2021; Wolfe, 2006). Before colonisation there was no such concept as ‘Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander peoples’, Indigeneity in an Australian context is a colonial construct (Maddison, 2019) for the convenience of the settler. The imposition of a homogenised identity continues to be a root of contention in Australia, representing a failure on the invaders part to comprehend the continuing diversity of nations (Broome, 2010; Tindale, 1974) that have never ceded sovereignty or autonomy.
Australian universities acknowledge that this extensive lineage of knowledge holders spanned more than 2500 generations (UA, 2017). UA identifies First Peoples’ underrepresentation across all areas of tertiary education (UA, 2020). UA state that they recognise decades of exclusion in Australian universities and understand that ‘[u]niversities have historically underperformed against their obligations to . . . [First Peoples]. Enrolments have been low, attrition rates high and Indigenous staff remain few’ (UA, 2017: 10). In 2007, First Peoples made up 0.8% of both academic and non-academic employees, this figure rising to 1.09% in 2017, against a backdrop of working age population parity of 3.1% (UA, 2019). In 2017, First Peoples academics represented 0.8% of university employees an increase of 0.15% across the previous decade of comparative analysis (UA, 2019).
Underrepresentation of Indigenous academics is a problem in universities worldwide despite the implementation of Indigenous strategies and equality and diversity policies (McAllister et al., 2019; Naepi, 2019; Povey et al., 2022; Staniland et al., 2020). UA’s Indigenous Strategy 2017–2020 (UA, 2017) recognises the benefits that universities and Australia will accrue through increasing First Peoples’ engagement and attainment in tertiary education (UA, 2017) as First Peoples presence in Academia grows (Trudgett et al., 2021; UA, 2020). UA policies aim to achieve enrolment and employment targets of First Peoples, aligned to population parity by 2040 (UA, 2019), through strategies that deliver improved outcomes in key areas such as ‘. . . student success, curriculum, research, and workforce’ (Page et al., 2017: 30). Most Australian universities, have Indigenous outcomes imbedded in their strategic documentation and their Reconciliation Action Plans (RAPs) (Page et al., 2017). RAPs guide organisations to embed the principles and purpose of reconciliation, strengthening relationships between First Peoples and non-Indigenous people for the benefit of the Australian nation.
Another important strategy has been to attract more First Peoples into higher degrees by research. Despite the violence of the colonial project, by 2017 there were approximately 640 First Peoples PhDs by research recipients in Australia (Department of Education Skills and Employment, 2020; UA, 2017). Some of whom have chosen to carve careers in the Academy, challenging the prevailing overt and covert structural impediments (Povey et al., 2022) designed to marginalise First Peoples ways of knowing, being and doing (Mohamed and Beagan, 2019). While also developing relationships with non-Indigenous sector allies so as to create meaningful change. By addressing biases, ‘. . . the university sector can fulfil its potential – both for the nation’s First Peoples, and for all Australians – to be the very best it can be’ (UA, 2017: 7). That said, in Aotearoa / New Zealand the growth in Māori students in higher research degrees has not manifested in an increase in Māori academic staff numbers, raising questions about the value of strategic plans, cultural competency, equity and diversity policies (McAllister et al., 2019). Dew et al. (2019) argue that such documents exude the language of reconciliation, inclusion and elevation of Indigenous knowledges reflective of the priority given to increasing underrepresentation in university settings. However, Watego (2021) is not alone when she states that in her experience such documents do not reference race or racism (Henry et al., 2017; Mohamed and Beagan, 2019). Furthermore, in reality, White organisations are often unsafe spaces for Indigenous people and within White academic institutions Indigenous knowledge has often been seen as lesser than, attacked and undermined (Mohamed and Beagan, 2019; Staniland et al., 2019).
Moreover, Staniland et al. (2019) argue that Universities in Aotearoa / New Zealand don’t understand the cultural responsibilities that Māori academics have to their family and communities or how the norms and expectations of cultural conduct influence their attitudes, behaviours and aspirations. Māori academics are often unsupported by their Pakeha (non-Indigenous) colleagues and have the added burden of being responsible for all things Māori (Staniland et al., 2019). The work of Burgess (2017) in Australian schools casts further light on this. She explored Aboriginality through interviewing Aboriginal teachers and captures continuing exclusion in mainstream education. She found the existence of many assumptions and stereotypes about Aboriginal teachers and their position as ‘the other’. This was not helped by a school curriculum that excludes First Peoples knowledges and worldviews and Aboriginal studies that focus on teaching about First Peoples and culture not colonisation, racism and social injustice. Her interviewees described how they were seen only by their First Peoples identity and their teacher identity was devalued. They often had to prove Indigeneity, their role was ‘fixing’ the ‘Aboriginal problem’ and they endured continuing racism. It is against this background that we write this article.
3. Racism – let’s call it out for what it is!
Jones (2002) defines racism as ‘. . . a system of structuring opportunity and assigning value based on phenotype (“race”) that unfairly disadvantages some individuals and communities’ (p. 10), while advantaging others. Racism ‘. . . undermines realisation of the full potential of the whole society through the waste of human resources’ (Jones, 2002: 10) and is embedded at the institutional level through structures, policies, practices and norms and enacted through prejudice and discrimination.
Racism is also insidious in that as Jones (2002) argues it is often internalised by members of the stigmatised group. Furthermore, Nkomo (1992) states that racism is a regime of power that normalises White dominance and subordinates’ people of colour. She argues that the production of knowledge about race must be understood within a racial ideology embedded in a Eurocentric view of the world. Reviewing management and organisational studies that include race she argues that in this worldview ‘“[r]ace” becomes synonymous with other groups and whites do not have “race”’ (Nkomo, 1992: 490). Whiteness in organisations therefore is invisible. Supporting this view, Grimes (2001) calls out this hegemony of ‘whiteness’ in society and organisations arguing that ‘[a] consideration of whiteness challenges the hidden assumption that (in Euro-American) culture white persons do not have a race, whites are seen as a universal category unmarked and ordinary’ (p. 133). Moreover, Grimes (2001) argues that by not speaking of race, unsaid messages are sent out that mask White dominance, power and privilege and organisations are seen as race neutral. In this way the ‘whiteness’ worldview seemingly delivers an objective standpoint rather than the standpoint of the dominant group.
Al Ariss et al. (2014) point out that there are many different levels that whiteness is acted out. These include history; geographic and social space; the macro context; and organisational and individual levels all of which lead to racism and discrimination. Evidence demonstrates that racism delivers a range of negative outcomes for the individual, society and the organisation and is common in the workplace (Trenerry and Paradies, 2012). Society, its institutions and people might disavow any association with the ethos of racism or the enactment of overt racist acts or sentiments due to a prevailing unspoken norm that “. . . good [white] people do not discriminate or in any way participate in racism (Dovidio and Gaertner, 2005: 2). In reality, in workplace settings, racist practices continue to thrive. They are often the more subtle, yet significant, covert acts of everyday racial discrimination (Essed, 1991) that is often described as “modern racism” or “polite racism” (Ng and Lam, 2020) which have displaced more blatant forms of racism (Deitch et al., 2003). This “new racism” is a form of less visible, covert racism (Noon, 2018). Hence, a focus on major overt discriminatory events, does not fully capture the lived experience of people of colour and the importance of the frequency of events of “mistreatment” which have a detrimental impact on wellbeing and are no less insidious (Deitch et al., 2003; Mohamed and Beagan, 2019).
Tate and Page (2018) argue the lived experience of whites is very different to that of people of colour and ‘[w]e may not even be aware of these views and opinions or be aware of their full impact and implications’ (p. 143). Furthermore, the White response to the calling out of racism is not always a positive one. Often people of colour are seen to be overly sensitive or too quick to generalise (Dar, 2019). Or worse, as Watego (2021) states ‘. . . the Black complainant will always be cast as the troublesome protagonist in the institution’ (p. 29). As DiAngelo (2018) argues White fragility for even a small amount of racial stress can become intolerable triggering a range of defensive actions including anger, fear and guilt. Ng and Lam (2020) call out White liberals who are seemingly supportive but in practice are often complicit in reinforcing White supremacy through ‘. . . unknowing and unsuspecting ways’ (p. 730). In reality, they hold on to power and privilege by avoiding a redistribution of power and resources. In the Australian political context, Liu and Baker (2016) argue that the White Australia Policy of the early part of the twentieth century has led to ‘. . . lingering notions of a racially homogeneous national identity’ (p. 426).
In the Australian University context, the Academy is still by and large unreflective of their international cohorts or first generation domestic populations, despite strategic documents pertaining to racial diversity, inclusion and gender equity (Liu, 2017). Goldberg (2015) argues that the hegemonic nature of Whiteliness continues to be enabled within the Academy which promotes itself as a ‘post-racial’ space. Universities, in common with other organisations, have looked to equality and diversity training to address discriminatory practices despite evidence that they do not work and fail to change attitudes and behaviours (Ng and Lam, 2020). One particular form of diversity intervention that has been used in Universities in the UK and Australia is a focus on unconscious bias. The UK’s Equality Challenge Unit (ECU) describes the term unconscious bias as ‘. . . the associations that we hold which, despite being outside our conscious awareness, can have a significant influence on our attitudes and behaviour’ (ECU, 2013: 1). The argument is that most people have some degree of unconscious bias, these automated associations are most difficult to counteract, regardless of individuals recognising them to be wrong, a consequence of them being deeply ingrained into our psyche and emotional composition (ECU, 2013). A focus on unconscious bias has led to psychology inspired training programmes which as Noon (2018) argues situate racism in social psychology and overstate individual agency. Moreover, Tate and Page (2018) argue that unconscious bias is the sanitised face of racism or the pre-cursor to unintentional racism. Unconscious bias allows perpetrators to feel comfortable discussing and absolving themselves of bias thoughts and behaviours, influenced by their background, cultural environment and personal experiences, much of which occurs at the subconscious level. Unconscious biases are often invisible to the perpetrator but not to the beholder. Unfortunately, Tate and Page (2018) argue, ‘[u]nconscious bias pervades all aspects of institutional life’ (p. 142), even in the Academy. They state that ‘. . . unconscious bias is an alibi to diminish the recognition, analysis and salience of white supremacy in order to maintain it’ (Tate and Page, 2018: 143). Consequently, it can be argued that unconscious bias enables a continuation of White privilege leading to a self-forgiveness distancing strategy. Furthermore, evidence suggests that diversity training can even reinforce negative stereotypes (Ng and Lam, 2020). As Dar (2019) argues diversity training in itself is a dangerous misnomer because it fails to recognise the politics of whiteness in particular power relationships and the fact that for Black academics often it is not talking about race that keeps you safe. Watego (2021) describes her experience whereby speaking out about race she became a problem and how University decision makers are ‘. . . confronted when we name it’ (p. 25).
Nkomo (1992) argues that in the White Academy there is a desire for universal theories that reflect the dominant group and suppress the experience of others. Hawkes et al. (2017) call out how university ethics committees have treated First Peoples research arguing that ‘. . . university ethics processes have resulted in neo-paternalistic, disrespectful and therefore also unethical situations’ (p. 17) and the need for a greater focus on First Peoples knowledges. Furthermore, Cavanagh et al. (2021) argue that it is essential that non-Indigenous supervisors understand ongoing colonial pressures and institutional racism that their First Peoples students face. Dar et al. (2021) ‘. . . call for anti-racist, scholar activism in the form of knowledge production, theorising and community building’ (p. 696). Woods et al. (2021) argue for the decolonisation of the business school and placing ‘. . . Indigenous voices and knowledge at the centre where space is created for relevant Indigenous focused learning’ (p. 32). Al Ariss et al. (2014) also identify the need to encourage articulation of Indigenous knowledges and epistemologies and Banerjee and Linstead (2004) make a call to decolonise the mind.
In Australia, Moreton-Robinson (2000) argues First Peoples are invisible in the discourse on race and there is a need for White race privilege to be owned. Swan (2017) a White female academic points out that whites often want to ‘help’ and ‘support’, but they forget the importance of listening and instead rush towards action which can block the actions of the hindered. She stresses the importance of educating ‘ourselves’ through fearless listening, the reality of learning in fits and starts, and the importance of attending to institutional racism in our own institutions (Swan, 2017). In this article, we have drawn on three vignettes that demonstrate our experience of overt and covert institutional racism. By identifying these vignettes, we believe that we are taking part in scholarly antiracist activism (Dar et al., 2021; McAllister et al., 2019; Naepi, 2019).
4. Vignettes
RMIT, a member of UA, introduced a Vice Chancellors, Indigenous Pre-doctoral Fellowship programme in 2018 and recruited students from across a number of disciplines into the programme. Mark Jones was recruited into the College of Business and Law and his research was situated in the management discipline. At an early PhD milestone presentation, the Panel suggested that Mark capture and document his experiences with the White academy as a further contribution to the thesis. That proved to be valuable advice.
In this autoethnographic enquiry (Pechenkina and Liu, 2018) we present three vignettes which draw on incidents and events from 2018 to 2020 experienced and captured by Mark Jones and his supervisors. These vignettes focus at three levels which demonstrate a range of overt and covert enactments of racism embedded in the organisation and in the wider Academy. The first is an example of the systems and processes within universities in which invisible covert racism flourishes. The second, captures two shocking events at a major disciplinary conference and the third outlines an astonishing piece of everyday racism and opportunism from Academic colleagues. There were other examples that we could have chosen but we felt that these three captured a range of different types of racist actions.
As Pechenkina and Liu (2018) argue the use of autoethnographic enquiry can be a political act and an act of resistance. It is also a useful approach that can capture and cast light on complex dynamics and challenges. This form of narrative enquiry also demonstrates both differences and similarities between the storytellers (Cavanagh et al., 2021). By describing these incidents from our own perspectives, we allow insight into our feelings and emotions at the time of the incidents as well as combined hindsight that emerges from collective reflection later (Liu and Pechenkina, 2019). Of course, such personal stories and insights also have their limitations. Traditional criticisms of autoethnographic enquiry are around issues of subjectivity and difficulties in generalisation. Another limitation might be that we do not include the narratives of the instigators as to why they spoke and behaved as they did. However, we have no wish to give them a voice through which to justify their racism.
4.1. Racism that questions Indigenous expertise and knowledge
Within Australian universities, First Peoples research is carried out within traditional western paradigms and processes. The research process is overseen by Human Research Ethics Committees (HREC) whose role is to provide independent assessment of the ethical dimensions of research projects governed by a set of national principles. First Peoples research is guided by the AIATSIS Code of Ethics developed by the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies. At the time of the ethics submission these were the 2012 guidelines (AIATSIS, 2012).
In this first vignette we explore the invisibility of new racism and clashing paradigms in the ethics approval process despite the existence of the Code of Practice. As is the case with most First Peoples research in this vignette, the project was reviewed by the University wide committee. This is a consequence of race as opposed to the risky nature of the project. The supervision team consisted of three Professors all employed by the University, two of whom were First Peoples and the other–the Principal Supervisor was a Kartiya woman. The non-Indigenous HREC struggled to understand the definition of the term Co-researcher in the application. More importantly while they did not query the role and experience of the Principal Supervisor, they challenged the role and experience of the two First Peoples Associate Supervisors. Our reactions to the HERC Review are captured below.
4.1.1 The Karajarri Yawuru Candidate
In my research journey, I have benefitted from my Gunditjmara and Waradjeri Associate Supervisors’ guidance and support, acknowledging First Peoples beliefs, cultures and values, as well as my relationship with reality and the ethics of First Peoples research. They provide a sense of belonging, emotional strength and pride in our people. As a relatively inexperienced doctoral candidate, I also completed a range of professional development workshops, seminars and short courses building my research knowledge and skills. I was well prepared and forewarned, for the likely necessity of response, pertaining to Indigenous methodological research approaches, but nothing could prepare me for the HRECs response required of my First Peoples Associate Supervisors.
As expected, the HREC failed to understand or accept the term co-researcher in the initial ethics application despite a detailed definition. However, my Associate Supervisors were skilled in advising how to navigate the structural impediments encountered, utilising language in respecting the Nilangany Ngarrungunil – owners of knowledge in the Yawuru language. The subsequent approval of the use of Yawuru language, while aligning to IST did not particularly engender any trust or demonstrable understanding of the importance of connection and relationship pertaining to a First Peoples research project. I felt it to be more a compromise of convenience to appease the Karajarri Yawuru researcher as opposed to acknowledging my epistemological, axiological and ontological approach.
The HREC request for more details of the Associate Supervisors’ relevant qualifications and experience for the research project was clumsy, undignified and insulting. I had the unfathomable displeasure of being the conduit of this request, witnessing their expressions, I felt their pain. The Professors, bring over 100 years of research and engagement experience to my project, highly regarded in the Academy and community, their presence opens doors, providing connections for which I am truly indebted. To have the suggestion that such amounted to intellectual nullius by questioning their bona fides for me was both embarrassing and offensive. I questioned aloud, is this the environment for me?
4.1.2 The Kartiya (White) Principal Supervisor
As a senior academic, I appreciate the importance of Ethics Committees. I have supervised many PhD students to completion and Ethics Committees seeking further clarification of aspects of the project is not unusual. Given the absence of First Peoples from the HERCs composition, I was expecting that the Committee would struggle with an Indigenous approach to research. For example, the concept of ‘Co-researchers’ has a specific meaning in traditional western research. I knew that the Committee would find it hard to appreciate the way that our team had defined it. This is despite the detailed definitions that we provided in the application. Likewise, the use of yarning and the application in practice of IST with the use of Yawuru language raised further scrutiny despite comprehensive theorising.
I was not expecting the Committee to challenge the role and experience of the two First Peoples Associate Supervisors. In applying for research funding, it is common to have to outline the individual contribution of all team members. However, in an ethics application, particularly for a PhD, in my experience, if the Principal Supervisor has the necessary knowledge and skills to supervise the project that is usually sufficient. Sometimes Associate Supervisors in PhD projects have never supervised before –it is a training ground for them, however, in this instance, this was not the case. The two Associate Supervisors are vastly experienced with expertise in First Peoples research, both carry the word Indigenous in their position titles with distinction, one a Professor and the other Deputy Pro Vice-Chancellor. If there was to be any questioning of supervisory capacity in a First Peoples research project, I would have thought that it would have been – why is the kartiya (White) researcher the Principal Supervisor? Collectively, our team could have provided a substantive response to the reasoning for this, but surprisingly it was not required. However, to question the role of two distinguished First Peoples academics – was insensitive at best and at worst an expression of the continuation of colonialism through systemic institutional bias. To me it said–you maybe one of us, but you need to justify your presence. I was shocked as I did not expect that my esteemed colleagues would have to defend their very existence in the Academy. While on the one hand it appears to be quite a small thing –what is your role in the project? The fact that it was asked of them and not asked of me spoke volumes of what was unsaid.
4.1.3 The Gunditjmara Associate Supervisor
I felt that the team struck a right balance and worked productively, predicated on understanding competing knowledge systems by respectful engagement and open minds. This arrangement was significantly challenged not from within the team, but from within the University, through its ethical compliance mechanisms that surfaced aspects too culturally intrusive to ignore. Unfortunately, in my experience it is all too common. In most of the nation’s Universities, any ethics application that bears a First Peoples thread is usually elevated with ‘Pavlovian’ zeal to the highest risk rating. The unintended consequences of applying a ‘one size fits all’ mentality to ethical compliance frameworks to research of and involving First Peoples is problematic. Based on reviewing the feedback and subsequent meeting with the HREC Secretary, I had no great surety that any of the above institutional responsibilities were adhered to. It appeared to me that the ethics review and subsequent reiterations were determined exclusively by non-Indigene HREC members who demonstrated an aversion to understanding Indigenous Standpoint Theory as a legitimate research approach through the amending of the ethics submission.
Evidence also exists of excessive and unnecessary support mechanisms applied unilaterally based on race. A more sophisticated notion of Indigenous Knowledges has surfaced over time, yet the hegemony inherent in many standard ethics committees again seem to deem Indigenous Knowledges and the Black Academy to that of the ‘fringe’. Furthermore, in many Universities the answer appears to be an unreasonable and in fact an unethical reliance upon the First Peoples at the table of the University ethics committee. Many First Peoples sit on these committees expected to be representing all First Peoples communities and be an expert in all disciplines. What is needed by all members of these committees is a more sophisticated and functional understanding of Indigenous Knowledge Systems and deploy their First Peoples assets beyond that of ‘black cladding’. This calls for a better alignment with ethical frameworks and Indigenous Knowledges.
4.2. Racism that dismisses and demeans Indigenous lived experience
In this scenario we explore two incidents at a management academic conference, first in Aotearoa / New Zealand and then in Far North Queensland, Australia. The first incident involved an intrusion into a Gender and Indigeneity stream by a loud, offensive and opinionated White male Academic and the impact that had on the Māori and First Peoples presenters who had just finished speaking. The second involving an incident outside of the conference where Mark and a Gurindji, First Peoples conference presenter assisted an unwell tourist. In these examples, we comment on the impact of such casual racism not only on future scholars but also on the reputation of Australia – that such language is justified.
4.2.1 The Karajarri Yawuru Candidate
Presenting my first year’s research at an international management conference carried with it mixed emotions, vacillating between trepidation and excitement. Of particular interest was the presence of a number of influential Māori academics. The Indigenous streams at such conferences, as I have come to learn, comprise small numbers of First Peoples. These streams while growing in number are overpopulated with non-Indigenous scholars – their narratives and perspectives are different to ours.
A successful conference paper presentation is followed by a deep breath, a nod of parental satisfaction from your supervisors, allowing relief to follow momentarily. We had all successfully completed our presentations and the floor was open for questions and comments. A loud, White man took the microphone. Following a lexicon explaining the world’s history of colonisation through his personal experiences, he focused his aim with the dismissive voice of the oppressor: ‘The point I am trying to make is. Everybody’s been invaded, get over it’!
Disappointingly no commentary followed from that speaker on how to improve the papers! Furrow browed, I wondered what was his point? Words like that strike like a knife to the heart. I appreciated the support by fellow Māori presenters who were a tour de force in presence, response and perspective! It did cross my mind how younger First Peoples HDR candidates would feel following such sentiment, given our identity and lived experiences are so intertwined in our research? Amazingly, somehow, the same speaker was able to grapple the microphone for our Indigenous stream’s last question in an attempt to get a final shot away, only to be shouted down by members of the audience – you need allies! In an era of extremism, terrorism and deep political division, the reality is societies deep divisions, even ones from a brutal colonial oppressor, from a supposed bygone time, which have left a stain on humanity, are easily re-surfaced. Unfortunately, this was not an isolated example.
Returning the following year on Yidinji country, Cairns, I was better prepared than in 2018, our First Peoples pre-doctoral presenters had doubled, a Karajarri Yawuru and Gurindji voice would be heard, there would-be safety in numbers, or so I thought! The humidity is high during Gurrabana Bana (meaning water), the wet summer season, those not used to such environments are prone to dehydration. While sitting in the shade, I noted a gentleman stumbling while crossing the road, until he eventually collapsed on the footpath. Going to his aide with the assistance of my Gurindji colleague, we placed the man in the recovery position, re-assuring him and checking his pulse. Requesting water from another conference attendee, I provided assistance to the distressed Irishman whom I presumed was suffering heatstroke. In the shade of the hotel’s veranda, facial abrasions cleaned, thirst quenched, he thanked the trio of good Samaritans. Disappointingly our fellow conference attendee responded: ‘That’s alright, you’ll have a good story for your mates, tell’em two Abos rolled you’! To which I respond: ‘You know that’s us? We are Aboriginal’! To which we received the age-old Australian excuse: ‘I was only joking’!
4.2.2 The Kartiya Principal Supervisor
When he began to rant angrily–the Session Chair was immobilised – she didn’t know how to react and was stunned. Mark Rose and I looked at each other and then we both exploded –Mark was much more articulate than myself but then he has had far too much experience of such attitudes and behaviour. At the time I wished that I could have been more articulate – the cutting comment – the sharp reply rather than just shouting – I thought ‘what kind of role model am I’? However, on reflection sometimes showing your anger and calling it out is the right thing to do. When he tried to speak again at the end of the session –the whole audience shouted him down!
4.3. Racism that instrumentalises Indigenous academics
Academic black cladding is the practice where non-Indigenous academics look to partner with a First Peoples scholar in order to meet the criteria set out in lucrative research grants. The First Peoples scholars’ input is akin to accessorising with a ‘black handbag’.
4.3.1 The Karajarri Yawuru Candidate
I was approached randomly by phone in January 2020 by a fellow Academic from a different discipline, subsequently explaining via email of an impending Australian Research Council (ARC) application they were trying to submit. The grant condition requires a First Peoples researcher to be part of the research team. They advised me that they went through the University directory looking for Indigenous academics, informing me there’s not many you know!
Before I have even met the two Academics, I am cc’d in on a flurry of emails. They re-affirm the ever so brief discussion on the phone, stating we are in the process of writing an ARC application for Indigenous leadership development and looking for an Indigenous researcher to join our team. They re-iterate the condition of the grant is one team member should be an Indigenous researcher. The use of the lower case i for Indigenous sets off alarm bells, especially given the researchers’ claims of extensive experience with both Indigenous and Māori peoples.
I explain the application title aligns with my research interests which I later find out is of no importance, what is important is my Indigeneity. From my perspective the devil is in the detail, I request more information, so as to have a better understanding of the application. A second flurry of emails ensues over the next week, as I read the email trails, I am better able to get an understanding of my accessory appeal. There is no acknowledgement of or commitment to the University’s First Peoples policies and principles or the action areas associated with the Reconciliation Action Plan.
Unbeknown to myself, I am listed as the Chief Investigator (CI), the Project Leader! According to the guidelines the lead (first-named) CI must be an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander. I read further, given the application is now to be led by a researcher from my School, it will need to be approved at the School and College level. I receive a friendly email from the College Grants office offering to meet and discuss why the college thinks this ARC application should not proceed, they have concerns I am the CI. I need to interject, explaining I don’t know what a CI is, nor have I seen the draft application. With alarm bells ringing for both parties, I am provided a copy of the application. I note that while I am the named CI, the CI is not funded to present any of the findings at various European conferences, that only one of three funded positions will be a First Peoples researcher, there was no community organisation’s letter of collaboration provided and community benefits for First Peoples is ill-defined.
Further emails ensue, thankfully with some level of sensibility, the Grants office advises these projects should be conceptualised and developed by First Peoples researchers as a means of developing their careers. They must be the lead CI, not just named on an application at the last minute to meet eligibility criteria.
Having listened to the Academics and not too carefully considered their transactional approach to accessorising the ARC Grant with a ‘blacademic’, I decline to be involved. In the blink of an eye, they move to the next ‘black fella’ on their very short list. Promptly being advised by this more senior academic such overtures of accessorising are inappropriate and unethical simply because of one’s Indigeneity. There’s no one else left on the list that fits the bill!
5. Discussion and conclusion
As these vignettes demonstrate despite university strategic plans, RAPs, statements of commitment and other innovations, the reality for First Peoples scholars is that the Academy is often a brutal place (Dew et al., 2019; Mukandi and Bond, 2019; Watego, 2021). First Peoples ways of knowing, being and doing are diminished, positioned as the lesser and First Peoples presence borders on invisibility. First Peoples are often situated in ‘identified’ roles, both in terms of position title and expectations of performing their Indigeneity. They represent all things Indigenous (Staniland et al., 2019). First Peoples appear ‘. . . as guests . . . in a pool of mainstream academic culture and tradition’ (Holt and Morgan, 2016: 97). This often takes place through a mixture of blatantly overt racism and the more insidious undermining, devaluing and marginalising by organisational systems and processes with accompanying actions and behaviours of White staff. Against this background and drawing on the work of McAllister et al. (2019) and Naepi (2019) we return to the question Why isn’t my Professor Aboriginal?
First, our vignettes highlight the continuing impact of colonisation that has contributed to the exclusion and underrepresentation of First Peoples scholars in the Academy. The violence and brutality of colonisation means that First Peoples are not only marginalised in the Australian population but even more so in the academic workforce and in particular disciplines (UA, 2020). In the management discipline of which Mark is a member, First Peoples scholars are few (Staniland et al., 2020). In this context, the recruitment of First Peoples scholars does not necessarily lead to retention (McAllister et al., 2022; Naepi, 2019) and the efficacy of academic RAPs comprising employment targets aligned to UA 2040 employment population parity misses the mark (Dew et al., 2019; Staniland et al., 2019). One way to retain First Peoples scholars is to build critical mass and while many First Peoples scholars are in Indigenous departments which are safe cultural spaces (McAllister et al., 2022) many are not (Staniland et al., 2019). Mark’s experiences demonstrate that for First Peoples’ scholars, ascension across all academic disciplines in realising UA’s (2017) strategies is fraught with excessive cultural demands –the Academy is not a safe place.
Second, our vignettes capture underlying overt and covert racism in the Academy which demonstrates the lack of cultural safety. The literature on racism and whiteness provides some insight into why RAPs and equity and diversity plans fail Australian universities, First Peoples scholars and limit capacity building. Strategies that do not address the fundamental aspects of organisational White power and privilege serve to mask racism and discrimination and close down alternative worldviews (Dar, 2019; Dar et al., 2021; Grimes, 2001; Nkomo, 1992; Watego, 2021). Evidence suggests that equity and diversity policies do not address the underlying question of whiteness in universities (McAllister et al., 2019) and often reinforce prejudice (Ng and Lam, 2020). White privilege is still largely uncontested (Al Ariss et al., 2014) as policy makers continue to deny racism (Ng and Lam, 2020; Watego, 2021). Furthermore, McAllister et al. (2019) argue that decolonisation is distinct from and cannot be absorbed into equality and diversity discourses until the settler – colonial power relations have been identified. In order to do this Moreton-Robinson and Walter (2009) argue that White race privilege needs to be owned. White liberals need to reflect on their own practice and explore how their own behaviours contribute to the continuation of institutional racism (Ng and Lam, 2020).
Third, our vignettes demonstrate that White privilege also manifests itself as universal knowledge (Nkomo, 1992) which does not recognise or understand, and which devalues and marginalises Indigenous knowledge systems. An Indigenous research approach challenges the constructs of traditional hierarchy, control and power recognising its bias from a colonial and Eurocentric origin (Dar et al., 2021; Henry and Foley, 2018). Moreton-Robinson and Walter (2009) exhort the essence of Indigenist research, which is far from a poor imitation of the academy of the west that produces authentic methodologies that, ‘. . . reflect our epistemologies (ways of knowing), our axiologies (ways of doing) and our ontologies (ways of being)’ (p. 2). The reality for Indigenous scholars is that they often have to ‘teach’ their non-Indigenous colleagues and defend their world views against ignorance and sometimes hostility. It is difficult to have research papers that draw on Indigenous methodologies to be accepted by business and management journals (Staniland et al., 2020). A recent example being of an Indigenous colleague who had a paper desk rejected by a human resource management (HRM) journal and told it was a better fit in sociology. Despite the fact that this was a HRM paper grounded in the HRM literatures. It is time to decolonise the business school through rethinking curriculum and placing Indigenous knowledges at the centre (Dar et al., 2021; Woods et al., 2021).
Fourth, our vignettes capture the continuing everyday casual racism and bias that is the lived experience of First Peoples in Australian universities. We have captured Mark’s experiences that have been witnessed, called out and in these cases acted upon. Unfortunately, we are confident that there are many more examples of such ‘mistreatment’ (Deitch et al., 2003) that happen every day that are invisible to many but internalised by First Peoples and send a message that you do not belong here. Watego (2021) argues that racism is seen as ‘. . . occasional or aberrational, if one sees it at all’ (p. 29). Our examples demonstrate the importance of calling out racism and building antiracist communities and allies to create the conditions for self-determination and voice for First Peoples scholars and staff in Australian universities. As Watego (2021) argues the beneficiaries of calling it out ‘. . . will be all those who follow, who will be far greater in number than the lone and supposedly vulnerable complainant’ (p. 29). Only by such direct action will we realise the ‘good intentions’ of the Indigenous policies and strategies of Universities Australia and its signatories.
Finally, we identify the importance of collective action and the importance of allies. We have presented our experiences both internally at seminars in our own university and in academic conferences. We have called out racism and opened up the conversation. At our University in July 2022, the Secretary of the HERC demonstrated that he had listened to our feedback by organising a seminar drawing together researchers from different disciplines involved in First Peoples research.
The purpose of the seminar was to better understand the ethical implications of their research projects. Change will only occur if we call out our experiences of racism – it is easier and safer to do this collectively rather than individually.
6. Conclusion
An extensive array of strategic documents, policies and Reconciliation Action Plans supported by cultural competency and equality training, intertwined with the thread of inclusion are commonplace in Australian universities. Despite such initiatives, they have barely scratched the surface of a near impenetrable colonial veneer of White ideologies that sustains racial in-equity in academia. First Peoples remain marginalised, due to numerical underrepresentation, the constraint of epistemological racism and a significant cultural load. Our three vignettes cast some light on this continuing marginalisation of First Peoples scholars. The impact of the entrenchment of a colonial mentality, the invisible but ongoing influence of Whiteliness in the Academy and a reticence to name racism, are all captured in our vignettes. Until First Peoples expertise and knowledges is valued, and First Peoples lived experiences understood and respected, First Peoples scholars will determine alternative outlets for their intellectual freedoms to the detriment of academia. This requires that racially discriminatory practices are named and called out in all their many guises. It is only then that we can disrupt the colonial status quo and instigate structural changes to ameliorate First Peoples underrepresentation.
7. The final words to Mark
If the research journey is the training ground for future academics those experiences along this path are likely to influence the desire to call the destination home.
Universities promote themselves as relinquishing historical habits of exclusion, to do this fully necessitates including First Peoples knowledges, worldviews and perspectives within the campus boundaries. Upon further reflection, the minimal presence of Indigenous scholars at conferences, having now presented in Britain, Turtle Island / North America, Australia and Aotearoa / New Zealand, is reflective more broadly of our minimal presence in the academy, as well as our disproportionately low number in the management disciplines. In so many circumstances, significantly outnumbered, I am culturally mandated to ‘call out’ what colleagues are oblivious to or required to educate, that leads me further questioning the effectiveness of reconciliation initiatives?
You need White allies in the ongoing fight against the lip service of First Peoples inclusion, that in practice often perpetuates resistance, obstruction and discrimination to the genuine inclusion in self-proclaimed ‘post racial’ institutions. I stand resilient in the knowledge of how my ancestors survived circumstances far more perilous than any co-option by the Academy, my silence and therefore retention cannot be bought. Despite such, I am less inclined to accept that Australian universities can’t do better and live up to their commitments to First Peoples. I put forth a call to White allies to join me going forward, our First Peoples numbers are few, but we are strong. It is only collectively that we can shape a different future.
