An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
– Dorothea Mackellar
Artwork by Milly Baker-Roberts
Writing is quite cathartic for me. Like an old-school diary, there is something about getting the words and thoughts onto paper – or in this case, a screen – that eases whatever burden I’m feeling. I also feel that my best writing comes when I’m hurting. It’s kind of sad, but true. I don’t put myself in the “tortured genius” category – I’m no Van Gogh – but when my anger or sadness is too much for my soul, it helps to put it somewhere. And that is, perhaps, the reason that pain produces my best writing, because there’s nothing quite as impactful as seeing the depths of someone’s heart ripped open, seeing their vulnerability, and maybe seeing part of your own pain in theirs.
And today, I’m hurting. I’m grieving. And so I write.
I am wondering what the “no” campaigners and voters are feeling today. Are they feeling victorious? I hope not, because they haven’t actually won anything, unless you think the grief us “yes” people are feeling is a prize (If you do think that, part of me feels sorry for you, but not all of me – mostly I just think you’re vile, and I’ll be honest – I wish bad karma upon you). Are the ‘no’ voters still scared? Because unless they’re Indigenous, or running an organisation profiting from Indigenous disadvantage (hi there, Indue Ltd), the Voice to Parliament wouldn’t have affected them in the slightest. Are they relieved? Relieved that nothing has changed, that our white politicians can continue to tell Indigenous people what’s good for them with no accountability, and they don’t have to listen to Indigenous perspectives?
I suspect many people on the “no” campaign feel vindicated. But I spit on their vindication, because it was based on lies. Jacinta Price lied about Indigenous people. Warren Mundine lied about Indigenous people. Lidia Thorpe threw away the chance of something that would tangibly help all First Nations people, particularly the most disadvantaged communities, because she felt it didn’t go far enough. But the Voice was never going to be an instant fix – but it was a step in the right direction. A big one. And so Lidia threw away 80% of something so she could grasp at 100% of nothing – and right now, that’s what she’s got. And now that the Voice has been defeated, I think we can forget any talk of Treaty or Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Sovereignty, as much as I support it. Because any steps towards those goals will be met with “but the people have spoken,” and those pleas will be shoved back into the darkness, where ignorant, scared people have kept them for generations.
But then this was the goal of most ‘no’ leaders all along.
Over the last few weeks, I frequently thought about how “no” voters would have felt today, if the Voice got up. I would imagine, from some of the arguments I’ve heard from that camp, that they might be feeling scared. Because the “no” leaders tried really hard to make us feel terrified, and for many Australians, it clearly worked. But after a time, when the Voice was set up, and you learned that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people really did want this, and you saw that you hadn’t lost your home, we weren’t all forced to be British subjects, our nation hadn’t become a corporation owned by Indigenous people, the United Nations hadn’t invaded and carried us all to concentration camps, we still only had one Prime Minister and not two, there were still only 2 chambers of parliament, that the Australian Government was still the highest authority in the land, that you found out that each Indigenous person is not actually given a free $100,000 land cruiser by the Australian government, that the proposed constitutional changes were really very safe and well structured, that the Voice was as simple as we said it was, that we hadn’t become a communist state, that we weren’t a republic with an Indigenous president, and that it would actually produce better outcomes for Indigenous Australians*, I suspect that for most of you, your fear would evaporate. Of course there would still be the old hard-core racists who would continue to shout these lies, but when you saw for yourselves that we’ve been telling the truth all along, you’d see these people for what they are – at best delusional and misled, and at worst, evil far-right activists with a very white agenda (and I know that’s extreme, but when ‘no’ rallies had self-proclaimed neo-nazis turning up to events and performing the nazi salute on stage, you can’t pretend they weren’t in the mix).
So how are we “yes” folk feeling today? The emotions are deep. Conversely to how “no” voters would be feeling today if the result had been different, I really couldn’t tell you if what I’m feeling is fear. Because there’s too much despair, and when I look at the future of my country, the country I love, I see barrenness. I see people becoming more insular, more fearful of “the other,” even less willing to listen and understand, even more dismissive of the lived experiences of Indigenous people.
We are, simply, gutted.
We came together last night, in sombre gatherings all over the country. Many of us cried. I held back the tears as I scrutineered my booth, took down our signs, and went home to shower (I am grateful that the scrutineer from the ‘no’ side was gracious enough not to rub salt in my wounds). It was only after turning up to our local RSL, when I saw the stricken faces of the open-hearted, clever, generous people who gave every last drop of themselves to this fight, that my tears broke through. And my tears haven’t really stopped since.
I’ve spent the day alternating between cleaning and crying, and sometimes both at the same time (this is a silver lining – I hate cleaning. It’s so excruciatingly mundane and thankless. But when I’m this sad, mundanity is welcome). Now I’m opening my soul to let the grief pour out through my keyboard, and I still have tears running down my face. I cried as I analysed the results booth by booth. I cried as I saw the overwhelming number of ‘yes’ votes in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. They wanted this. They’ve wanted this since 2017. The ‘no’ campaign told you they didn’t. The ‘no’ campaign lied to you – again.
I’ve cried today as I thought of Thomas Mayo. I’ve been fortunate enough to speak with Thomas on a few occasions. Rarely have I met a man with such a big heart, who is so committed to creating a better Australia. He is softly spoken, deeply and profoundly intelligent, kind, honest, and – despite the lies about him that have infected the internet – one-quarter Indigenous. Not that indigeneity is a number, or a colour. The lies told about him, that have been repeated to me by people I love, have been hateful, and I find it difficult to think of a man who is less deserving of such treatment.
I cried as I saw, one by one, the profile pictures of my friends turn black in mourning today. I’ve cried as I’ve seen the faces of brave and inspirational Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander elders on the news, on my phone, and in my mind. I’ve cried as I’ve thought of my Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander friends. I just want to hug them and tell them I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. It just wasn’t enough.
As I come to the end of this missive – still with so many thoughts swirling around my head that I just don’t have the energy to articulate – the computer tells me I’ve written 1300 words. But today, writing hasn’t been cathartic at all.
The tears just keep falling.
*actual arguments against the Voice I personally heard from “no” campaigners, all of them demonstrably false.