Latest news with #Arrernte
Canberra Times
5 days ago
- Politics
- Canberra Times
The changes we need to make to the war memorial's governing council
Finally, if the outcome of the Voice referendum has inhibited proper commemoration of the Australian Wars at the memorial, we offer the Defending Country theme. "Defending Country" applies to all who have fought for Australia or parts of it, just as much to First Australians (Arrernte, Noongar, Wiradjuri and others), defending their Country on Country (and often dying on Country), as to uniformed Australians fighting our overseas wars. An emphasis on Defending Country does not divide Australians, but treats them equally, black and white, those not in uniform and those in uniform. Defending Country is a theme that should appeal to a bold, ambitious government.
The Age
6 days ago
- The Age
My job is to tell the UN about young lives in Australia. I wish the story was a better one
'It's a race to the bottom,' one youth worker said. She represented an Aboriginal boy picked up by Townsville police because he 'looked suspicious'. In NSW, a sign-language advocate tells me over a video call how Sydney police threatened a deaf man in his 20s walking on the street.'The cop said that if this young man didn't stop moving, he would pull his gun out,' she says. Fortunately, the man's sister who was nearby, rushed over – hands flying in frantic sign language – desperately trying to bridge the deadly gap between silence and misunderstanding. This could have easily ended in tragedy – all because an officer wasn't trained to recognise this young person's disability. This isn't just incompetence. It's a death sentence. And these are not isolated cases. Children as young as 10 are being locked away in watch houses across the country for weeks on end. Queensland's Draconian 'adult crime, adult time' laws mean a child can be sentenced like an adult for 13 offences, erasing any consideration of their circumstances, their development, or their potential for rehabilitation. Loading These are not just statistics, they are stolen futures. Australia has some of the worst child incarceration rates in the world. We have one of the lowest ages of criminal responsibility out of 38 developed countries. This tells every child detained in a watch house, every young person failed by the foster care system, every First Nations teenager racially profiled by police, that their government does not care about them. And you know it's when survival looks like a jail cell for a child, that we haven't just failed these kids – we're beginning to destroy them. But I will also share something else – something easy to miss among the rubble of these stories. It is the quiet strength rising in unexpected places. In Tasmania's Ashley Youth Detention Centre, incarcerated young people are finding their voice. Guided by the principles of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, they're using art to confront decision-makers with the lived experiences, resilience and insight of children inside the justice system. In regional North Queensland, for First Nations' children who have been removed from their families, from culture and from country, youth councils and cultural fellowships are offering the chance to lead, to heal and to reclaim what was stolen. In Alice Springs, Future Yayes (meaning 'Future Sisters' in the Arrernte local language); a heart-driven, youth-led movement, gives young Aboriginal women from local town camps the power to ignite change in their communities. Young women are encouraged to embrace their worth, find their voices and cultivate the self-love and confidence they so deeply deserve. And in every town, every school, every detention centre I visit, there are youth workers, counsellors, lawyers, community elders and volunteers who refuse to give up. Who fight every day, not because they're paid to – but because they believe every young person matters. I carry the pain of a generation that is exhausted. But I also carry their fire. So when I stand before the United Nations in October, on a world stage in front of almost 200 countries, it will be with all of that inside me. A voice not only for what we must fix, but for what we must nurture – because across Australia, against all odds, there are young people still daring to dream of something better. And that is worth fighting for.
Sydney Morning Herald
6 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
My job is to tell the UN about young lives in Australia. I wish the story was a better one
'It's a race to the bottom,' one youth worker said. She represented an Aboriginal boy picked up by Townsville police because he 'looked suspicious'. In NSW, a sign-language advocate tells me over a video call how Sydney police threatened a deaf man in his 20s walking on the street.'The cop said that if this young man didn't stop moving, he would pull his gun out,' she says. Fortunately, the man's sister who was nearby, rushed over – hands flying in frantic sign language – desperately trying to bridge the deadly gap between silence and misunderstanding. This could have easily ended in tragedy – all because an officer wasn't trained to recognise this young person's disability. This isn't just incompetence. It's a death sentence. And these are not isolated cases. Children as young as 10 are being locked away in watch houses across the country for weeks on end. Queensland's Draconian 'adult crime, adult time' laws mean a child can be sentenced like an adult for 13 offences, erasing any consideration of their circumstances, their development, or their potential for rehabilitation. Loading These are not just statistics, they are stolen futures. Australia has some of the worst child incarceration rates in the world. We have one of the lowest ages of criminal responsibility out of 38 developed countries. This tells every child detained in a watch house, every young person failed by the foster care system, every First Nations teenager racially profiled by police, that their government does not care about them. And you know it's when survival looks like a jail cell for a child, that we haven't just failed these kids – we're beginning to destroy them. But I will also share something else – something easy to miss among the rubble of these stories. It is the quiet strength rising in unexpected places. In Tasmania's Ashley Youth Detention Centre, incarcerated young people are finding their voice. Guided by the principles of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, they're using art to confront decision-makers with the lived experiences, resilience and insight of children inside the justice system. In regional North Queensland, for First Nations' children who have been removed from their families, from culture and from country, youth councils and cultural fellowships are offering the chance to lead, to heal and to reclaim what was stolen. In Alice Springs, Future Yayes (meaning 'Future Sisters' in the Arrernte local language); a heart-driven, youth-led movement, gives young Aboriginal women from local town camps the power to ignite change in their communities. Young women are encouraged to embrace their worth, find their voices and cultivate the self-love and confidence they so deeply deserve. And in every town, every school, every detention centre I visit, there are youth workers, counsellors, lawyers, community elders and volunteers who refuse to give up. Who fight every day, not because they're paid to – but because they believe every young person matters. I carry the pain of a generation that is exhausted. But I also carry their fire. So when I stand before the United Nations in October, on a world stage in front of almost 200 countries, it will be with all of that inside me. A voice not only for what we must fix, but for what we must nurture – because across Australia, against all odds, there are young people still daring to dream of something better. And that is worth fighting for.
ABC News
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- ABC News
The poppy and the pea: 1,000 voices perform in Parliament House to mark Reconciliation Day
Dressed all in black with two big red flowers pinned to her chest, 11-year-old Larnisha has travelled all the way from the Northern Territory to have her voice heard in the nation's halls of power. However, the Western Arrernte girl has not come to the grand hall of Canberra's Parliament House to give a speech, but to sing. She's one of 1,000 singers from around Australia who gathered to sing the Anthem of the Desert Pea — a ballad about the Frontier wars, death and new life. Larnisha is singing to commemorate those who lost their lives during colonisation. Florist and 1,000 Voices liaison officer Hazel Davis, with the help of the Arrernte people from the Northern Territory, has committed a decade to understanding the story of the desert pea. The desert pea is a flowering plant that grows in the centre of Australia, from far west New South Wales, into South Australia and Queensland, and across into Western Australia. Ms Davies said the desert pea was a symbol of remembrance for people who have died on country, similar to the story of the Flanders poppy. "The ancestors in the sky [witness the Frontier Wars] … they weep so much that their tears flood the land … the water flows over the bodies of the Aboriginal people," she said. Ms Davies said the desert pea sprouted from where the bodies lay. "It's a flower of sorrow … it is not a replacement flower, it does not negate our powerful, rightful memorial of those who died for our country overseas. It's calling for a memorial on our own soil," she said. Shirleen McLaughlin was told the story of the desert pea by her grandmother in the next step of an oral history stretching generations. She was pleased the story had now been written down in a book to be recorded forever: 'The Legend of the Desert Pea' by Arrernte Elder Beverley O'Callaghan. That book inspired the anthem and Ms McLaughlin, representing the Arrente people, read it to the audience. "We need truth-telling and then we'll all be set free. "I hope they acknowledge and change the future." This year's theme for Reconciliation Day is "Now more than ever" and, as the singers take their places on stage, there's an undercurrent of hope that Australia's history will be remembered in its entirety. Wangkangurru Elder Uncle Raymond Finn, who travelled from the Simpson Desert, said the story of the pea helped him understand who he was. He has lost family members both on country and for country, and said the performance in parliament filled him with hope. "To see the children today touched my heart, and I know that we're moving forward as a nation with the poppy and the pea," he said. Standing by Larnisha is her close friend Adelaide Page from the NSW Central Coast. The pair first met when the Ozy Youth Choir headed to the Northern Territory to learn about the desert pea. Adelaide is also 11 and she's a "poppy" child. Her father was deployed to Iraq in 2007 and Afghanistan in 2009. She may be young, but she hopes singing her heart out in the halls of parliament will pave the way for a better future.
ABC News
11-05-2025
- General
- ABC News
Many paths to becoming a mum: First Nations women reflect on Mother's Day
On a cold Alice Springs morning, Cherisse Buzzacott's kids are frolicking on the play equipment and running through the park. She's trying to encourage them to keep their jumpers on — but she knows it's futile. "They are busy, rambunctious, but I wouldn't change it," she laughs. WARNING: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains the name of a child who has died. Cherisse's youngest, Angus, is now five, and she is also known as mum to her partner's twins — Douglas and Dylan — who she's raised since they were about four. "They beautifully acknowledge that they have two mums." But this picture is missing Senna — a child who came too early and died too soon after birth. "I love to say her name, I love to speak about her memory," Cherisse said. Senna was named after the legendary Formula One race car driver, but it also happens to be the name of a beautiful yellow flower. "I love to share the story of how she was born and how she's been in our lives. And the boys love talking about it and acknowledge that they have a sister." The Arrernte midwife recalls that in her 20s, before she became a mum, people would ask, "When is it your turn?" She felt the weight of expectation as women around her would have multiple babies in the time she was trying for one. Over eight years she would have four miscarriages — one while receiving an award on stage for being a midwife. When baby Senna was born prematurely at 22 weeks, she died soon after. "I was that person that was having grief and loss, but I was supporting some of the happiest times for people," she said. "I always thought if I never have a baby, and this is my life, then this is what I do. I help other women have babies." Now, watching Angus swinging on the monkey bars, she reflects on the hardships she's overcome and the happiness that lay on the other side. "Having my son has just been everything that I imagined, but also so much better," she said. "I've had all these experiences, and I've waited this long, and I finally got him." Whadjuk Noongar journalist Narelda Jacobs now spends her mornings in Sydney with her eight-week-old baby Sanna strapped to her chest, walking around the neighbourhood to give her partner a break at home. As the mum of a 30-year-old, Narelda always thought she would have more kids, but the opportunity never presented itself — until now. Narelda is on day duty while her wife Karina, who has been up and down all night feeding, sleeps. "While Karina is the one that gave birth and is breastfeeding, everything we do, we're doing together." Narelda first became a mum at 19 years old with her daughter Jade. The pregnancy wasn't planned, and she says she still had so much to learn about the world. "I had fallen pregnant out of wedlock … It was a shotgun wedding when I married Jade's dad, there was also some shame associated with being pregnant." The marriage only lasted a few months, and she found herself a single mum. "Jade is loved an enormous amount. It didn't impact the amount of the love I have for her, it is just very different experiences now and you can't compare them." All these years later Narelda has forged a successful television career, and after marrying Karina last year, she said there is no shortage of love this time around either. "Everyone should have two mums," Narelda laughs. "There are two mums changing a nappy, there are two mums getting a new outfit, there are two mums bathing the baby … How lucky is this kid?" Sanna is named after Finland's youngest ever prime minister, Sanna Marin. Narelda said the former leader was everything they aspire their daughter to be. "We've just really loved watching her be more observant and more aware of the world around her," Narelda gushed. But when they announced Sanna's birth on social media, Narelda said the nasty comments outnumbered the good ones. "People are often surprised when they learn that homophobia exists. "How great for you that you don't ever have to experience homophobia but for us it's an everyday thing online." The pair decided to create what they've called a "satirical picture book for adults". Titled 'If Queers Weren't Meant to Have Kids', it's due to be released later this year. "We hope that it will challenge people's thinking around rainbow families and how they're created, and the importance of including them." In turn, they hope by normalising their family, their child will have fewer questions to answer from other kids at day care. With extended families interstate, Narelda says it's their "chosen family" who will rally around with support and are "dying to babysit". "It's like a ready-made village." Cherisse's five-year-old describes Mother's Day as "about love and kind" — a precious insight from a boy who rules the roost in their house. Cherisse and her boys will celebrate the day with kangaroo tail cooked over a fire and will sing songs as the embers burn. Mother's Day is always "bittersweet" for Cherisse, and each year they make a trip to Senna's grave to place toys and trinkets. "Although I have three amazing sons, I don't have my daughter here with me. "I'm still able to get up and celebrate, and not kind of sit in sadness, but it is more about that memory and reflection and just talking about it, that, you know, she did exist." She explained that not everyone would do what she does, and that culturally just speaking her name wasn't always accepted, but this is right for her. The midwife, who now works in health advocacy, encourages anyone who has gone through loss and grief to find their own personal way of healing. "If you are a mum and you've experienced loss, you know loss of your own mum, loss of a baby, loss of a pregnancy, miscarriage, I feel like it's your choice to choose how you spend Mother's Day," the midwife said. "It's not up to other people to determine." Narelda Jacobs said her focus will be on ensuring her wife Karina has a great first Mother's Day, but she doesn't expect they will be able to leave the house for long. "She has done an exceptional job from throughout pregnancy and with the birth experience and now catering for every need of the little one, it's just been a joy to watch, and she does it with loving eyes and just a reassuring voice constantly." Mother's Day is one day where Narelda says the value of the unpaid and under-recognised work mums do can be celebrated. "I'm looking at the blessing that it is to be a mum, to bring to life a new creation." After 25 years as a journalist and presenter on Network 10, Narelda has taken the year off to be present and try to "slow down". "It's really nice to be reminded that this is a really precious time, the most precious of times. "You're allowed to press pause and just be here for your baby."
