The Songmaster (47 page)

There was a slight sniff from Shareen, and Andrew looked at Susan before asking, ‘Are you asking that the pastoral families give up their land to you?’ He kept his voice neutral.

‘No. But we want the right to go onto our land and visit our sacred sites and take our friends there.’

‘For money?’ asked Shareen. ‘You’re talking about tourism.’

‘No, just people who come as friends of Barradja people.’

‘That’s splitting hairs, isn’t it?’ Shareen had an aggressive edge to her voice.

Andrew continued in a steady voice. ‘These rights of access are often legislated. But pastoralists have to have rights, too. What about families who have worked and loved the land for generations?’

‘We respect that. And we can take in cattle grazing on our land provided they don’t damage sacred places. We want the right to go onto the land, but we don’t want mining on our land.’

‘But you can’t control that. Anyone can take out a lease for a right to prospect on these properties,’ protested Andrew.

‘They’re already on Boulder Downs,’ said Mick.

Ardjani pointed at Alistair. ‘You stop them disturbing the ground. We can make big Native Title claim and sit in court and stop them mining.’

‘Typical,’ muttered Shareen.

‘Waste of everyone’s time and money. You can’t beat the mines,’ said Mick.

‘What sort of compromise would you consider?’ asked Alistair.

‘We think it might happen that after we old fellows gone, new Barradja elders might decide to agree to mining. So we want to write into land contract now that Barradja must be included in all meetings and have a vote to decide where mines go.’

‘And money, you’d want money?’ put in Shareen.

‘No money. We want to make sure they not dig on the songlines or sacred ground.’

Everyone stared at Ardjani. ‘No royalties? No compensation?’ asked Alistair gently.

‘We don’t need money,’ said Rusty.

‘But what about your young people?’ asked Susan.

Stubbornly Ardjani shook his head. ‘This is our law. If we take money we are saying our culture, our copyright,’ he looked at Rowena, ‘can be bought.’

Digger spoke, a dissenting voice that brought a frown from Ardjani. ‘Maybe when we gone, our young people read the law in different way. Maybe they say it’s all right to get money for mining.’

‘We still got to obey our laws, ’cause it is our land that names us,’ said Rusty.

Beth explained to Shareen who was looking increasingly puzzled. ‘The Barradja’s right to hunt and gather, perform rituals, visit the rock paintings, are all enactments of their link to this land. They say the copyright lies in their very identity, and it’s reflected in their laws, kinship system, pattern of life. And that’s reflected in the land and that must not be extinguished.’

Shareen was unimpressed. ‘That’s all very well and good, but when you look around and see the . . . poverty . . . in which they live, surely these people owe it to their children to take
money from the mines, and make a better life for them. That way they wouldn’t be taking it from the taxpayer.’

Andrew nudged Susan. ‘She’s got a point,’ he whispered.

‘They don’t think they live in poverty. They’re healthy, they’re rich in their culture,’ she hissed back.

The Barradja stared at Shareen, and Ardjani spoke slowly. ‘Our people are dying from despair and alcohol, far away from their country and what gives their lives the meaning. Nothing can grow good without the nourishment from the culture.’

He looked at Rusty, nodding at him to speak.

‘When we got taken off our land, we tried to live in whitefella culture, see what it all about. We work as stockmen, give it a go, and all the time we believe one day we come back and live in our country. We believe that. We innocent people then. We try lotsa ways to get back our country, but now we got to do it whitefella way,’ said Rusty slowly and deliberately.

‘If you excuse me for saying so, to my way of thinking, that’s just handing the lawyers buckets of money and wasting more time.’ Shareen lifted her chin defiantly at Alistair, Mick and Susan, noticing Andrew nodding in agreement. ‘The rest of us ordinary Australians feel like we’re spectators on the sidelines and have no say. The legal people are running this
country, not the governments, and we resent that.’

Veronica caught her breath, expecting Susan to jump in and defend her profession. But Susan deferred to Alistair who sat back on his heels, rubbing his knees. ‘I can understand that feeling, Shareen. Sometimes, those of us who wear silly wigs and silks feel a bit the same way. But our intention is always to find a just solution.’

Beth looked at Alistair. ‘We asked these white legal people here to experience and see what Barradja culture is all about, and to listen to the elders’ views, which I believe are reasonable, and to try to negotiate a solution that suits all sides.’

‘That’s not how your neighbours see it,’ said Andrew. ‘They think you’re hatching a plan using city legal advisers to grab their pastoral leases because of the potential for tourism.’

‘Tourism!’ exclaimed Shareen. ‘You’re not going to get hordes of Japanese or even Australians up here, surely.’

‘I didn’t think you were for Asians rushing into the country,’ said Beth.

‘If they come as tourists and spend money, that’s all right.’

‘Just so long as they don’t stay, eh,’ said Mick.

‘Rowena, you explain to Shareen the interest there is in this region from overseas tourists and Alan, you tell her the value they put on the Barradja art. And, Shareen, when you’ve also
heard what Esme and Michael have to say . . .’ Beth nodded at the two academics who had been sitting on the periphery of the group, listening with interest, ‘you’ll understand more about the potential up here.’

‘People believe there’s great treasure in the Kimberley, like diamonds,’ said Alan. ‘But the real treasure waiting to be mined here is the art.’

‘The Barradja feel it is wrong for the farmers to take tourists to Barradja cultural sites. It should be the Barradja doing this and explaining the significance of their rock paintings,’ said Beth.

Ardjani took up the theme, speaking to Shareen. ‘By doing this we could make jobs here for our young people and develop a proper knowledge among white Australians and overseas visitors of what our paintings and culture are about.’

Hunter was nodding in agreement. ‘I’ve seen the way it used to happen all over the Territory where they get a lot of tourists. White tour guides would learn a bit from the local Aborigines and then spew it out to the coach tours when the tourists could have heard the real story from the Aborigines. Thankfully, that’s changing, and that’s how I got going. These days it’s an advantage to be an Aborigine in the tourist business. There are some terrific Aboriginal blokes working for National Parks and so on, who are really educated in both cultures.’

‘So why wouldn’t that work up here?’ asked Susan.

‘You try selling that to Giles Jackson.’ Barwon, who had sat quietly listening to the discussion, couldn’t resist the dig.

‘Len Steele and Frank Ward are reasonable men,’ Alistair reminded them.

The group looked around at each other, this seemed an obvious path for the Barradja to follow into the future.

‘It comes down to negotiation, discussion and compromise. We need to go into this further and talk with the pastoralists,’ said Alistair.

‘We got other plans we want to talk to you about . . .’ said Ardjani. But Beth broke in giving him a smile to smooth over her interruption. ‘I think we should head out to see the guyon guyon paintings we promised to show everyone. Maybe we’ll stop for a smoko along the way.’

‘Sounds good to me. That okay with you, Ardjani?’ asked Mick, showing respect to the elder.

Ardjani rolled up the map. ‘Yeah. We show you special place. We Barradja not been there either for very long time. Now you fellas fix up with Len Steele, we can go back again. And another day we tell you our other plans.’ He pulled the law stick from the ground.

Digger, Rusty and Barwon led the convoy in a truck, with Ardjani joining Lilian, Jennifer and the main group in the Oka, while Hunter drove behind with Shareen and Rowena as passengers.
In the Oka, Andrew was comfortably staring out the window when Susan squeezed his hand. ‘So? What’re you thinking about?’

‘This whole Barradja deal. You seem to be getting in pretty deep. You’re not really going to represent these people are you? Leave it to the two men, it won’t do your reputation any good, I reckon.’

Susan stiffened, glad their low voices were drowned by the engine and general chatter of the others. ‘Why should my reputation suffer? I can handle this. Alistair and Mick are two of the best legal minds in the country, and I
want
to be involved.’

‘What for, Susan? It’s not your normal sort of case, at least as I understood what you did for your firm. And frankly, you don’t want to become known for taking on Aboriginal causes. Stamps you as a bit of a radical, know what I mean?’

She withdrew her hand. ‘No, I don’t agree. Andrew, we’ve been down this track and I thought that’s why you came out here, to get a different viewpoint of Aboriginal culture.’

‘Susan, I only came here to see you. I’d have gone to the North Pole if you’d been camped with Eskimos. It’s you I’m interested in, not what happens to these people.’

‘That’s just the point, Andrew. If you want to get to know me, you have to respect the things that I care about. I came here knowing nothing about Aboriginal life or culture. Now
I’m beginning to see there is a lot that Aborigines and whites can learn from each other. Aboriginal people like the Barradja can offer us ways that might improve our lives and we can help them in return. You of all people should care that we work out a way for indigenous and white Australians to get along together.’

‘There are no problems at Yandoo. I think Shareen, for all her superficial judgements, has a point – you legal bods bloody complicate things more than help most of the time.’

Susan was indignant, but she also sensed hurt in her anger. She was fond of Andrew and had hoped their friendship might develop, despite their different lives and the distance between them. But unless they could agree on fundamental issues like this, there’d be constant friction.

‘Listen, Andrew, we are coming from opposite sides of the fence. I hoped you might be able to share some of the magical experiences I’ve had out here. And I don’t just mean being in the bush, I know that’s not a novelty to you. But I would have thought finding Hunter might have made you think about things differently.’

‘Hunter has turned into a white society businessman. Hooking up with that American woman, flogging bark paintings to a bunch of billionaires . . . that’s not too tribal.’

‘Andrew, I’m not going to argue with you. What I do with my career has to be determined
by me, okay?’ Susan sighed, glad that the little convoy was pulling over by a stand of shady trees.

Billy and Hunter quickly had a small fire going. They produced a damper made at breakfast and corned beef and pickles while they boiled water for tea.

Esme settled herself on one of Billy’s fold-up chairs with Michael de Witt beside her. Beth, always the team leader, clapped her hands. ‘Gather round, folks. As you know, Esme and Michael have been part of a team studying rock art sites with permission of the Barradja’ – she indicated the three elders – ‘and they will be announcing their preliminary findings to the international scientific community in the near future.’

‘It’s of international interest?’ murmured Mick. ‘It must be pretty significant.’

‘It is,’ said Esme firmly. ‘And it’s going to have an impact not only on Australia but the world, which of course will affect our friends here. Ardjani and the elders know about this, which is another reason they need to secure their land.’

At Beth’s words, Rowena’s head shot up, she stiffened and flashed a look at Ardjani who ignored it.

Esme looked at de Witt who deferred to her. ‘You sketch the background.’ The wiry old lady
rose to her feet, her straw boater festooned with a fly veil shading her face, a commanding presence in her long cotton skirt, man’s shirt and stout boots.

‘Some of the art you are about to see today represents our ancestors’ efforts to communicate, express themselves and record their existence as far back as 50,000 years ago. I take the liberty of saying “our ancestors” because I believe that, as Australians, each of us has the right to claim a sense of attachment to the heritage of this country.’

‘Not if you’re not born here,’ muttered Shareen. ‘And are you saying we whites want to claim black ancestors? I don’t think so.’

‘I like the idea,’ said Susan and Andrew winced.

Esme was unfazed. ‘We could learn mythic awareness. Most of us in white society have lost the ability to experience by intuition. But we still find comfort in returning to the place where we came from, the place of our roots. Now,’ she waved a fly away from the corners of her mouth, ‘the important news. Our team has been excavating an archaeological site on Barradja land. And the cupules – they’re the hand-pecked indentations in the rock art we’re examining – have produced indications that they are extremely ancient.’ The old lady paused for dramatic effect, enjoying her moment on centre stage. ‘The team members have dug trenches and taken samples and, as they’ve dug deeper
and deeper to the levels representing tens of thousands of years ago, they’ve continued to find indications of human endeavour, including ochres used in painting and the remains of stone implements.’