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ABC News
30-05-2025
- General
- ABC News
Tasmanian Aboriginal resistance warriors battled against overwhelming power, but have no recognition
It evokes one of the most powerful scenes in Tasmanian history. On January 7, 1832, the last 16 Aboriginal warriors from the Oyster Bay-Big River resistance walked down Elizabeth Street in Hobart, spears in hand. WARNING: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains images of a person who has died. The warriors were on their way to meet governor George Arthur at Government House to finalise an armistice, bringing an end to the largest domestic military offensive in Australian history. The Black Line. The leader of the Aboriginal resistance to this show of force was Tongerlongeter, a man who paid the ultimate price for defending everything he ever knew against the overwhelming might of British colonial power. "He'd lost nearly everyone he'd ever loved, his first wife had been abducted, never to be seen again," Dr Clements said. "He'd lost his child. He'd lost his arm in battle. Tongerlongeter — like others defending their lands against the world's most powerful empire — is not recognised in statues, memorials or plaques. The scene could not have been more different than one from 60 years earlier, when European explorers first started landing in Van Diemen's Land. Dr Clements describes these explorers as curious and generally well-intentioned towards Aboriginal people — compared with what was to come. As colonial expansion rapidly increased by the 1820s, there was soon conflict. The kidnap of women and girls by sealers and some settlers, and the competition for scarce resources, like kangaroos, saw the start of more organised Aboriginal resistance taking in multiple bands, led by men like Tongerlongeter. "Tongerlongeter was defending his homeland, but there were more proximate causes. For example, the systematic abduction, rape, and murder of Aboriginal women and children," Dr Clements said. Aboriginal people would attack solitary huts during the day, while Europeans would attack at night, Dr Clement said. Then came the Black Line — the conscription of 2,200 soldiers, convicts and settlers to capture the remaining Aboriginal people. While the campaign itself was largely unsuccessful, the show of force proved overwhelming to Tongerlongeter. Historic records show he suffered a catastrophic injury to his arm, requiring amputation by his comrades without anaesthetic, the bone ground smooth with rock before the wound was cauterised. The group agreed to an armistice, or truce, but in their ultimate meeting in Hobart, Dr Clements notes that governor Arthur did not keep records of what was discussed. Tongerlongeter and the others were exiled to Flinders Island, losing his only child on the way. But he continued to be a leader while in exile, before dying of illness in 1837, aged 47. "We just need to get over this sense that this wasn't a legitimate war and that these people don't deserve the same sort of recognition as those who fought in our overseas conflicts," Dr Clements said. "It should be a conversation for all Tasmanians so that we can all feel a part of this because, after all, someone like Tongerlongeter, we can all admire a man like that. The idea of women and girls being kidnapped from their families to live with sealers on remote islands is something that Nala Mansell often reflects on. It was the reality faced by Walyer — a young north-west Tasmanian Aboriginal in the 1820s. "Her childhood would have included freedom, culture, being taught by her elders," Ms Mansell said. "I can only imagine the terror that she would have felt … being captured and kidnapped and taken to a foreign island with white men that she'd never seen before. Walyer was known for her determined attitude and cunning nature, likely driven by the trauma she had experienced. She observed the use of firearms by her captors, and was able to escape. Walyer engaged in forms of violent resistance; Ms Mansell said she led others in helping to cause terror among white settlers in Tasmania's north. She was again taken to remote islands, where her resistance continued to the end. "I just think she embodies the Palawa spirit," Ms Mansell said. Walyer — and the other women and girls kidnapped during the Tasmanian colonial period — are also not physically recognised in the state. The Tasmanian government this week announced it was no longer pursuing a treaty with the state's Aboriginal people and would instead establish a truth-telling and healing commission. There was previously a push, which included the RSL, to establish a memorial to the frontier conflict near the cenotaph in Hobart, but this ultimately did not go ahead. Tasmania is also the only state that does not have an Aboriginal-run cultural centre, originally proposed for Macquarie Point, but now also cancelled. Instead, plaques and monuments — such as one that celebrates Abel Tasmania for his "discovery" of Tasmania — have prominent positions, remaining a source of frustration for the Aboriginal community. That plaque sits on the public-facing side of a government building in Launceston, used as offices for the Tasmanian premier. Ms Mansell said stories of Aboriginal resistance are vital for Tasmanians to be aware of and to reflect on. "It's up to the state government or the local councils who have the ability and the funds to be able to install some type of acknowledgement, but to work without the Aboriginal community so that we can find ways to honour and celebrate Aboriginal people," she said. In a statement earlier this week, Aboriginal Affairs Minister Jacquie Petrusma said the truth-telling and healing commissioners would promote respect and self-determination. "It is a critical and necessary step towards recognising past injustices, gaining a greater understanding of the contemporary challenges being faced by Tasmanian Aboriginal people, and making real progress in healing the wounds of the past," she said.
ABC News
26-05-2025
- ABC News
Forced into slavery at 12, Sue Roman has spent her life fighting for Aboriginal justice
Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains the names and images of Indigenous people who have died, used with the permission of their family. Larrakia woman Sue Roman says her story begins two generations before her, with her grandmother Yirra Bandoo and the children that were stolen from her. In the early 1900s, Yirra's two children were taken from her under the Aborigines Protection Act, and she was forced into servitude for a white family as a "domestic". Her daughter Lindy was taken to the Kahlin Compound in Darwin and her son Robert was taken across the territory to Alice Springs. Yirra was barred from living in the house of the white family she served, instead made to stay in what Ms Roman describes as a shanty out the back. Decades later, Yirra's daughter Lindy Roman went through a similar experience. Her five children were taken from her and sent to the Retta Dixon Home in Darwin, while she was forced into labouring for white families. At Retta Dixon, Sue Roman remembers being "groomed" to be a domestic labourer, and could only sneak conversations with her mother through a fence. The notorious mission was responsible for the welfare of mixed-heritage Indigenous children between 1946 and 1980, and was later found to be the site of horrific abuses. When Retta Dixon sent Ms Roman to Victoria to stay with a white "foster" family, her mother was not told. At just 12 years old, she was the third generation of Aboriginal women in her family forced into labour and sent thousands of kilometres away from family. She remembers feeling trapped in Victoria, until a teacher at her local school began to look out for her. "Over time she was able to learn about the physical, mental, and sexual abuses that [were] going on and had me removed," she said. At 18 years old, Ms Roman flew back to Larrakia Country, but she struggled with the isolation from her time interstate. "I had been gone for so long during my puberty years, I missed out on being connected to people my age on my return. It was very hard," she said. Ms Roman clearly remembers the Royal Commission into Institutionalised Responses of Child Sexual Abuse being announced more than 10 years ago. When she learned it was coming to Darwin, she knew Retta Dixon survivors needed to be heard. Through extensive talks with her community, Ms Roman managed to gather 50 survivors of abuse at Retta Dixon to share their stories with the private sessions held as part of the inquiry. The sessions revealed abuses so horrific, the royal commission bought a public hearing to town, in its Case Study 17 focused on Retta Dixon. Almost 50 years after their suffering, victims of alleged rape, sexual touching and brutal physical assaults at the home were able to tell their stories and the impact the abuses had on their lives. Ms Roman's childhood friend Sandra Kitching remembers testifying during the royal commission. Solicitor Bill Piper, who was part of the victim's counsel on the inquiry, said it was the depth of children's suffering that hit him the hardest during Case Study 17. He credits Ms Roman with encouraging survivors to speak. "It is my opinion that the Retta Dixon story could be lost to history but for Sue's efforts," he said. When the royal commission finished, Ms Roman and other Retta Dixon survivors tracked down Mr Piper to start a class action. Ms Roman remembers the class action work being done on the "smell of an oily rag", with a roomful of law students being recruited at one stage to get through all the evidence. In 2017, the Commonwealth settled, and 71 people who suffered abuse at the Retta Dixon Home won compensation. "Letting the world know and making the government be accountable, that was just magic," Ms Kitching said. Ms Roman has also raised her family, fought a land claim and worked to preserve her Larrakia culture and language. "In losing my mother … it gave me appreciation of the fact that we're losing so many of our old people," she said. Ms Roman tracked down one of the last Larrakia language speakers and created the first Larrakia language dictionary. She has also represented Australia at international conferences, worked on truth-telling inquiries and founded an Aboriginal corporation, Yirra Bandoo, in honour of her grandmother. When prime minister Kevin Rudd delivered the formal apology to the Stolen Generations in 2008, Ms Roman was in the crowd — but she "wasn't caught up in the euphoria of people celebrating." "An apology doesn't remove the fact that mothers were deprived of kids and kids deprived of their mothers," she said. Two generations on, Ms Roman's grandson Connor Wright is advocating for action on climate change. He is one of the faces of activism group Generation Justice, and last year he presented at the G20 Youth Summit as Australia's first Indigenous representative at the event. He credits his grandmother as the primary reason for his activism. "My grandmother is unapologetically driven with a sense of justice and betterment for everyone around her," he said. "[She] experienced so much in her life. I don't doubt that influenced my mother's upbringing, and therefore my upbringing and my sister's upbringing.
