THE WAVE HILL
'WALK-OFF'
G'day folks,
Here is a brief snippet concerning a major revolt by Aborigines in Australia. This very action is mentioned in one of my books - A DROVER'S BLANKET.
Background to the 'walk-off'
Wave Hill
Station is located approximately 600 kilometres south of Darwin in the Northern
Territory. Vesteys, a British pastoral company which ran the cattle station,
employed local Aboriginal people, mostly Gurindji. Working and living
conditions for Aboriginal people were very poor. The wages of Aboriginal
workers generally were controlled and not equal to those paid to non-Aboriginal
employees.
An
attempt to introduce equal wages for Aboriginal workers was made in 1965, but
in March 1966 the Conciliation and Arbitration Commission decided to delay
until 1968 the payment of award wages to male Aboriginal workers in the cattle
industry.
In August
1966, Vincent Lingiari, a Gurindji spokesman, led a walk-off of 200 Aboriginal
stockmen, house servants, and their families from Wave Hill as a protest
against the work and pay conditions. The strike was part of a widespread campaign begun by workers on
Brunette Downs Station and supported by non-Indigenous people, including
unionists and the author Frank Hardy.
The
protesters camped at Wattie Creek (Daguragu) and sought the return of some of
their traditional lands to develop a cattle station. They petitioned the
Governor-General in 1967, and leaders toured Australia to raise awareness about
their cause. In 1972, Prime Minister Whitlam announced that funds would be made
available for the purchase of properties that were not on reserves, and Lord
Vestey offered to surrender 90 square kilometres to the Gurindji people.
Daguragu
was acquired by the Aboriginal Land Fund Commission and, on 16 August 1975 at
Daguragu, Prime Minister Whitlam transferred leasehold title to the Gurindji,
symbolically handing soil to Vincent Lingiari.
The
Gurindji campaign was an important influence on the events leading to passing
the Aboriginal Land Rights Act (Northern Territory) 1976.
The
Central Land Council applied on behalf of the Gurindji under the Aboriginal
Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act 1976 for traditional land comprising
the Daguragu pastoral lease and some adjacent un-alienated Crown land. In 1981
the Aboriginal Land Commissioner recommended that the land claim should be
granted. The claim relating to the South West Corner was granted in 1985.
Clancy's comment: Go, Vincent Lingiari! Love ya work!
Now, here is a snippet from my book, A Drover's Blanket, where the main character, Smokey Danson, addresses the Aborigines at Wattie Creek. He's the only white man present, but his best mate, Magic Billie, an Aboriginal drover he met in 1910, is there also.
I choked up every time I revised this section of my manuscript. It's powerful stuff.
Voice of BBC commentator:
‘Here we are. We’re at Wattie Creek
in Australia’s Northern Territory, a place the Aborigines call Daguragu. It’s a
sacred site for the Ngarinman, Bilinara, Warlpiri, Mudbara and Gurindji people.
Something unusual is happening today. We’ve heard a whisper that Aboriginal
drovers and their families are about to be addressed by a man who’s supported
their seven-year battle with the owners of Wave Hill Station. He’s a white man,
a station owner from New South Wales … The first white man to step foot in
Wattie Creek since the strike began.’
‘Vincent Lingiari, the leader of
the walk off, is about to address the stockmen, house servants and their
families. Don’t forget. This dispute is not only about work and living
conditions. The blacks also want the return of their traditional land. Now,
we’ll hear from the speaker. Here is Vincent Lingiari.’
VINCENT LINGIARI
‘I want ya listen to man come long
way to support us. He white fella … But he good fella. His name Smokey.’
SMOKEY 'GUN' DANSON
‘Thanks, Vince. G’day, folks. My
name’s Smokey Danson, but most folks call me 'Gun' Danson. I own a station in New
South Wales and have come here in friendship. Well, I don’t really own my
station … You do, but my family has been taking care of it since 1848. It’s a
beautiful piece of dirt we call Wiralee Station.’
Smokey stopped speaking when a few
people clapped. He offered the crowd a wry smile and slowly raised his hand. ‘Folks,
I want to introduce you to my brother, Billie. I call him Magic Billie because he taught me
lots about your magic land. He taught me how to find water in a drought, to
respect the animals and birds, and to love the earth.’ Magic Billie stepped
forward and stood next to Smokey. When he smiled, his white teeth shone
brightly against his dark skin. Smokey continued to speak. ‘I met this bloke
when I was taking our mob up the long paddock in 1910 during the big drought.
He was a skinny bloke then … And he’s a skinny bloke now,’ said Smokey with a
cheeky grin. The crowd laughed at his comment.
Smokey draped an arm over Billie’s shoulder,
grinned and continued. ‘Billie and I’ve been best friends since the day we met.
I returned to Wiralee Station in 1911 when the drought broke. Since then,
Billie and his family have lived on Wiralee. They will always live there. It’s
their home as much as it’s mine. Folks, I signed a legal document many years
ago, and you might like to hear what it says.’ Smokey pulled a sheet of paper
from his coat pocket and read from it. ‘It says, “Any descendant of my adopted brother, Billie Nittinunjah Danson, known
as Magic Billie, will be permitted to live on Wiralee Station for as long as
they wish.”’ Smokey folded the document, scanned the crowd and continued to
speak. ‘Yeah, we’ve been brothers for 56 years. He’s black and I’m white, but
so what? Brothers are brothers … And mates are mates.’
Smokey smiled at the crowd and
politely raised his hand. ‘You might ask one question: what does this white
fella know? Well. I know that I’m lucky to be a farmer on land owned by you
folks, and I’m glad that I met this bloke standing beside me. He’s my best
mate. When my beautiful wife, Molly, and my daughter, Jane, were tragically
killed in 1922, this bloke stepped up and took my place. He and his family ran
100 square miles of Wiralee Station while I grieved for my wife and daughter.
Billie would sit next to me every night and tell me what was happening on
Wiralee. He and his beautiful wife, Edna, took care of my son, Clifford, and
treated him as if he were their own son. Folks, you probably didn’t know this,
but we’ve always spoken in Billie’s tribal language. Yeah, I learnt it. Why
not, eh? My point is very simple. I knew Wiralee was in good hands … The hands
of a good mate, a brother, a wonderful stockman and a traditional owner.
Let me say this. I’ve heard about
the massacre in Coniston in 1928, and other terrible things that have happened
to you. I also know that some white farmers have used you as cheap labour.
They’ve made you work for little or no money and offered you poor food,
provided appalling housing and made you live in rough humpies with no lighting,
running water or cooking facilities. I know that. Brothers and sisters, I’ve
come here today to support you, but I ask one thing. Be passive, not violent.
Get your tribes together and tell the rest of this nation that you’ve had
enough. I promise you one thing. I, Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson, will be telling everyone
of your plight, and I’ll support you in whatever way I can. I might be a simple
drover, but I know good people when I meet them. I’m Gun Danson, and I’m proud
to be here … Thanks for listening.’
I'm ...
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