 Later this year, Australians will be given the opportunity to come together to recognise Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians in our Constitution, through The Voice.
There is one vote for each person; no political or lobby group pressures should be involved. It is ONE vote per person. It’s up to you. It’s been a long time coming. From a ‘Day of Mourning’ way back in 1938, through to the 1963, Yirrkala Bark Petition, to 1966 Walk off at Wave Hill, then in 1967, a successful Constitutional Referendum, followed by 1979, Call for Treaty, to 1988, the Barunga Statement…and then 1992 Mabo, where things were looking positive; 1997, Bringing Them Home, leading to 2008, Apology to The Stolen Generations. So many attempts to ask us to listen and ‘walk with’ First Nations people. For generations, Indigenous Australians have sought recognition of their unique place in Australian history and society. They have been knocked over, knocked down and denied a voice too many times. Finally, in 2017, along came the carefully worded and simple ‘The Uluru Statement from the Heart’, addressed to the Australian people, gently inviting the nation to create a better future via the proposal of key reforms. (And on which Malcolm Turnbull unwisely placed the wrong slant - and binned.) ___________________________________________________________________ From Wikipedia: The 2023 Australian Indigenous Voice referendum will ask voters to approve an alteration to the Australian constitution, creating the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice to represent Indigenous Australians to the parliament and federal government on matters of Indigenous affairs. Simple as that! (By the way, Australia is one of the very few liberal democracies in the world that doesn’t have any arrangement or settlement with its First peoples). BUT this planned YES/NO question is turning into a mad political and social brouhaha. Social media is bursting with weird false claims of what this referendum will mean to the people of Australia. This morning I saw a statement that claimed we, non-Aboriginal citizens, will no longer be able to own any land. WHAT? Where did that idea come from? Similarly, the woman who states, ‘I was born in Australia. I am Australian. I do not want to be welcomed into MY OWN country’ … is not being smart. She is simply showing wilful ignorance. And it’s not becoming – nor is it helpful. Social media has exposed a few individuals, acting like 10-year-olds. You know those kids who like to show off; to look tough and special as they challenge rules. ‘Look at me!’ they say, ‘I’m powerful. I can break the rules of decency. I am not going to be told what to do!’ Then they say, ‘I’m going to vote No – just because I can.’ These attention seekers are not being clever or brave. Nor are they showing how powerful they are. They are simply ignorant. Put simply: “A Voice to Parliament will give Indigenous communities a route to help inform policy and legal decisions that impact their lives.” Every person (18 years and older) will be able to show that they care. It is not an order. It is a gentle and heartfelt request. You are not being compelled to write that simple word ‘YES’. Ignore fabricated non-facts. Don’t listen to racists and don’t listen to manipulated suckers, some only intent on making squillions of dollars digging up Australia. We have been invited “to walk together to build a better future by establishing a First Nations Voice to Parliament enshrined in the Constitution, and the establishment of a Makarrata* Commission for the purpose of treaty making and truth-telling”. You and I will be given the chance to use our one vote, just the same as any other person. Our vote has no different worth from that of any well-known, outspoken, big-shot politician or your next-door neighbour. One vote, one person. Use it wisely. I will vote YES, in October. Will you? *Makarrata is a Yolgnu word meaning 'a coming together after a struggle'. A Makarrata Commission would have two roles: supervising a process of agreement-making and overseeing a process of truth-telling.
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 Skipping Girl
“I can skip”, the words are loud and clear, and I watch the rope go over her head and under her feet. Through the marvel of technology, I see this child of my child, skipping on a cold and sunny morning in England. “I can skip”! It is a call of victory and my mind retreats, past my allotted three score years and ten, to a cold and sunny Melbourne day, when I called to my mother, in the same voice of victory, “I can skip”! ___________________________________ I don't usually post poetry on this blog site, but I had written this just the other day and thought that it was maybe good enoug to 'put out there' - plus I am lazy and it was easier than tackling a new topic. (Sorry!) I posted this blog six years ago. It is very much still relevant to me today. I thought it was worth a repeat! I remember when children called adults ‘Mr’ or ‘Mrs’ – or sometimes ‘Miss’.
I remember when all children AND adults respected teachers. I remember when children stopped talking and stood when their teacher entered the room. I remember when children used decent table manners – and cutlery. I remember when parents didn’t swear in front of their children – or almost anyone. I remember when children went to bed at a decent hour. I remember when children received one or two gifts for their birthday and one gift plus a few extra treats for Christmas, instead of receiving a gift or a treat every time a parent visited a shopping centre. I remember when children didn’t EXPECT to receive treats and gifts a hundred times a year. I remember when children slept in small single beds and didn’t expect a ‘queen size’ bed by age 12. I remember when children wore children’s clothes, suited for children and not imitation adult wear. I remember when children walked to school or to the bus stop – on their own or with friends. I remember when playgrounds had tan bark for ‘soft’ landings and not sponge rubber. I remember when it was ok – a badge of honour even – to have a broken arm in plaster from a fall and not a disaster of huge proportions - and an invitation to sue. I remember when children drank water when they were thirsty – even if it was from a garden hose. I remember when, if children were bored in school holidays, they had to resort to using their imagination – and that of their friends - and not expect parents to provide entertainment. I remember when movies were acted stories of adventure, usually with faithful dogs or other animals, and not with unfunny (often rude) cartoon figures - or violence, blood and gore. I remember when children shared peanut butter sandwiches and no one died. I remember when children had coughs, but didn’t need to carry a ‘puffer’ with them forever. I remember when bananas came in varying shapes and sizes – some as doubles – and if they had brown spots, that was only a sign of a more sugary taste, not a reason to chuck in the bin. I remember when carrots sometimes came with two ‘legs’ and were enjoyed and not discarded. I remember when school lunches contained meat or cheese and did not require a special cooled lunch box - and no one was sick. I remember when mothers made cakes or biscuits and children were allowed to ‘scrape the bowl’, without being warned of the dangers of digesting raw egg. I remember when farm kids drank milk straight from the cow and grew healthy bodies. I remember when shop-bought milk was just milk, with no fancy brand name or additives providing a dozen choices. I remember when a telephone was attached to the wall and not something carried in a pocket. I remember when pop tunes were called ‘hits’ and were often quite tuneful. I remember when you needed a new pair of socks and you didn’t have to buy a pack of five. I remember when Hot Cross Buns were eaten on Good Friday and not all through the first four months of the year….and never contained chocolate. I remember when an ‘electronic device’ was a term used by scientists or technical experts and not something owned by children. I remember when people registered a polite complaint about a perceived omission or mistreatment and didn’t react by screaming obscenities at shopkeepers or service personnel. I remember when children stood and gave their seats to the elderly on public transport. I remember when motorists grouched about another motorist’s driving, but resisted the urge to get out of the car and ‘punch their lights out’. I remember when an authentic Australian flag was expensive and could only be bought at an Army Disposal store or from a Government official - and was not a cheap, nylon (‘made in China’) item to drape on shoulders to express a suspect form of patriotism. I remember when the word ‘terrorist’ was never seen in newspaper headlines. |
