I was introduced to Joy Oladokun’s music a few months ago, and she’s an absolute gift. I got to see her live two weeks ago here in Perth, and as she introduced her song Jordan she gave the context: how she had “grown up religious, and very gay”.
Her music is beautiful. I’d encourage anyone to listen, but if you’re involved in any way in leading in churches and shaping their cultures, then you really should. She’s done us a huge favour by putting words and melodies together to capture the beauty and the pain of what it is to have faith, but also to know rejection at the hands of that faith community. And also the beauty of finding love and grace after all that.
Writing this honestly and putting it out into the world, and grappling with the pain and hope and disappointment out in front of everyone – that takes serious courage.
I can’t say it better than she does, but I’m going to share a video, some lyrics, and some links to songs on Spotify in the hope you’ll listen, and get a better feeling of what it’s like to grow up religious and gay. And maybe that’ll help us be kinder when we find ourselves, or the people we’re serving, on the same road.
Jordan
They told me he’s a good lord, as they tied the shackles to my feet. They drowned me in the Jordan, then they walked away from me.
…
I don’t feel so young now I gave the best years of my life I tried to build an institution Instead of trying to keep the faith
…
You kissed the curse from my lips And taught them to rejoice again Now we’re building our own promised land
sunday
Mama says I’m up to no good again I couldn’t make her proud, though I did mybest I feel like I’m a mess, I feel like I’m stuck in the wrong skin I feel like I’m sick, but I’m having trouble swallowing my medicine
Sunday, carry me, carry me, down to the water Wash me clean, I’m still struggling Sunday, bury me under the weight of who you need me to be Can’t you see I’m struggling?
Questions, Chaos and Faith
When my friend Casey died I didn’t drive home for the funeral I was prostrate, as they say to higher minds
Went to my dorm and cried because I still believed in Heaven And I was sure I wouldn’t see her when I die
…
Nothing is certain, everything changes We’re spirit and bone marching to the grave There are no answers, there are only Questions, chaos, and faith
Dust / Divinity
Oh to be a man of faith Never asking questions, never changing your ways I’m a skeptic who still prays If death leads me to Heaven, they’ll recognise my face
Cause though it hurts me to believe, it kills me not to And I am trying to find my way through the middle And I am desperate to receive every good thing From now until eternity, from dust until divinity
Her last album also has some “observations” which feel half way between a podcast interview and a conversation over a cup of tea.
It has not been easy for me to be so vulnerable For so long on such a stage I think there is a part of me that sort of Sees what I’ve given, and sees the places where it hasn’t always been Respected, or treated with care…
…
When I’m looking back on my life I feel like I’ll be able to confidently say That so much of it was motivated by love And actual care for the world around me And hope that I could make it a different, kinder place For people who don’t always feel welcome in it And I sort of saw the world change, you know?
I’ve paid far too much attention to the US election, consuming media and commentary about it for years in the lead up, with addictive behaviours to check-in on news websites and blogs regularly especially over the last few months.
With the result coming in today that Trump has won a second term – despite all the things that I would have wished were disqualifying – I was dismayed. Not surprised – I’d read enough analysis to know it was basically a coin flip chance. But dismayed.
And left wondering how much I should feel with this: it’s not my election. But I’ve followed it so closely, I’m invested in it. And Australia is so closely linked to the US – obviously in defence and foreign policy, but also culturally – that the direction they’re turning worries me. I especially worry for the Ukrainians. And for young women in conservative states. And for the gay and trans communities who are very much being used as scapegoats.
I tried to get through today without doom-scrolling. I cared for my boys, I had a call with a friend, I worked, I went to my piano lesson. I didn’t really know how to process it.
Then while I was driving I remembered an experience I had in 2017, it was a lesson I needed to learn then, and I think I need to remember it now too.
In 2017, I was a several years into trying to do something in education and software and startups. Working in schools, building various educational products, launching a startup, and then when that didn’t work, joining another one that was even more ambitious. I was determined to do something “big”, to make a dent in the universe, as many of us in that scene dreamed of.
Alongside this work/business ambition, I’d also been dreaming big in church circles. First at Riverview (the church I grew up in and have now returned to). But then also with First Home Project, an attempt to not just serve the refugee community but re-shape the Australian culture to be less scared and more welcoming. And then in Melbourne I was part of a small church – only a few dozen people – but that was so determined to be a counter-culture, almost a prophetic voice critiquing what’s wrong with many church communities and painting a vivid picture of what an alternative could be.
Big dreams in work, big dreams in church, but they were all sputtering along by July 2017, and it wasn’t really going anywhere. Our church was soon to close its doors, from burnout and disillusionment amongst those running it, and the startup I worked at was struggling along, and I wasn’t sure if they’d have enough money to keep paying me each month.
The big dreams felt like they were dying. And that’s when we went to visit my aunties in the Southern Flinders Ranges in South Australia.
While we were staying with them, we made a day trip out to the farm Annette grew up on, and while giving us a tour and telling us stories – she tells great stories – I had a “holy ground” kind of moment.
She was telling us the story of the 2014 Bangor fires that had swept through this area. I remember their Facebook updates each night as the fire burned for weeks and weeks, each night filled with fear that it might break containment lines and burn through the bushland, through the farm, through people’s houses.
So that day as we walked through the bush, past trees and dried out creeks, with their dogs running ahead, the leaves crunching under my feet with each step, and the stories still being told, I started to see the evidence of the fire. Scars on the trees. The lack of undergrowth. It had come right through here, right where we were walking.
But there was life. Trees still standing tall. New plants sprouting everywhere. The birds. This place was coming back to life.
The family didn’t operate the farm anymore, they had leased out much of the land, but this land, around “sheep camp hill”, they’d wanted to give back to the country. And so they were letting the bush grow again. And after the fire, it was coming back to life.
And I remember being so inspired by that little resilient ecosystem.
Here I was trying to dream big and change the world, but nature was teaching me a lesson. Instead of grandiose plans to re-shape the world to our liking, there’s something beautiful about loving a small patch of land, and fostering the kind of resilience that can survive and bring new life, even after a fire destroys everything.
And so I had a revelation about love at a small scale.
Love, placed in individual relationships and families and small communities and tiny systems. In sports teams and work teams and social groups. Love that can self propagate and spread. That can evolve to the conditions and that can recover after catastrophic events. That love could change the world, far more than the biggest startup or the most dynamic church.
To quote Jesus and mix my metaphors, a little yeast spreads through the whole batch of dough.
And so today, as I feel disappointed in the failure of the big political movement I wanted to see “win”, and dismayed at the state of the culture that wants this alternative, and a little bit of shame for treating the whole thing like as an entertaining sport with winners and losers but not actually doing anything to help… I’m brought back to this idea that maybe where I need to focus is on building resilient love, self propagating love, into communities at a small scale.
There’s a beautiful interview between Krista Tippett and adrienne maree brown that captures this so perfectly, I want to quote it at length:
brown: So I was doing electoral organizing in 2004 — 2003, 2004. We’re gearing up — it’s post-9/11; we’re going to war with Iraq, Afghanistan, and we’re like, we’ve got to get Bush out of office. We have to. He’s just going to keep perpetuating all these unjust wars with all these people and not help figure anything out. So we’re doing all this organizing, and it clicked for me, in a way that I couldn’t — it’s one of those things, you see it and you can’t un-see it. And I was like, oh, we are trying to just change the top layer of this very layered cake, this very layered process, this system of governance. We think that if we just win the presidency, that then we’ll be able to change the world.
And it clicked for me that actually, it’s a fractal system. And it’s layer on top of layer on top of layer. And if none of us are practicing democracy anywhere, it’s not going to just suddenly work at the top layer. [laughs] And I got it, and then I realized — so I started asking people, because I was touring a book we had written. And I started asking people, Do you practice democracy — anywhere in your life? [laughs] Not even politically, but just in your household? Who makes the decisions about the budget?
Tippett: [laughs] What did people say?
brown: No.
Tippett: [laughs] Right.
brown: Nobody was practicing it, or if people were practicing it, they would be like, oh yeah — you know, there would always be like one really happy person who was like, I practiced it. And then I would be like, okay, in your household, you practice it. Do you practice it with your neighbors? And then they would have to be quiet. Or, do you practice it —
Tippett: Okay, that’s fascinating.
brown: There was almost nobody who was practicing it on their block or in their community or in their organizations or other places. Everyone’s kind of dodging the actual work of democracy, small-d democracy.
So then, of course, we are in this crisis right now where we cannot figure out a way past this political impasse moment. To me, what it reveals is we haven’t been practicing democracy for such a long time anyway. We’ve really outsourced almost every aspect of governance, and the only part we’ve held onto is complaining. People sit in their living rooms, they form opinions, they’re upset about stuff, they don’t do much about it, but they’re apoplectic. [laughs]
Tippett: And they also don’t know what they can do about it, right — at that mega level.
brown: Exactly. That’s on purpose. [laughs] So it’s like, trying to keep people in a place where they’re angry and they think they can buy their way out of it. That’s one of the reasons organizers exist, is to be like, actually, you can’t get out of it that way, but there are ways. We’ll have to work together to figure it out, but there are other practices.
But that’s when it clicked for me, that I was like — something about smallness, I was able to gain respect for, because I was like, every single large system or structure or network or political protocol, all of it is made up of small things — of humans either having or not having necessary conversations, and humans being willing to stand up for what is right and stand up against what is wrong. It’s all these small activities that we need to get great at if we want to actually have anything that would be a real democracy.
Tippett: This way you make the connection between what happens at the interpersonal level is a way to understand the whole society — how we are at the small scales, how we are at the large scale.
On Being with Krista Tippett – adrienne maree brown: On Radical Imagination and Moving Towards Life
I will put my laws in their minds and write them on their hearts.
I will be their God, and they will be my people.
No longer will they teach their neighbor, or say to one another, ‘Know the Lord,’ because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.
For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.
Years ago I remember trying to paraphrase this line: “I will be their God, and they will be my people.”
I think I wanted to make it personal, more individual, something I could remind myself in my own quiet prayer time.
But it just sounds wrong, it doesn’t really work: “I will be his God, and he will be my person”?
I’m sure if I tried long enough you could come up with a line that echoes the original and doesn’t sound completely broken… but at some point I gave up because I realised that the plural is intentional.
This covenant isn’t describing a billion small person-and-God relationships. It’s describing a single community-and-God relationship.
The style of Christianity I’ve grown up with has a heavy emphasis on a personal relationship with God, and this has been important to me!
But the covenants, both the one made with Moses to ancient Israel, and the one promised in Jeremiah’s writings that the early church claimed, are not about the personal relationship to God. They’re about the community’s relationship to God.
I’ve never had much sense that the wider community had any sense of unity around matters of faith. After all I grew up in pluralistic Australia. We’re lots of individuals with individual views making individual choices, and we often don’t agree with each other. So when I read something like Daniel’s prayer for his people (in Daniel 9), the use of us and we instead of I and me feels foreign and strange, even though it’s been translated into simple English language. I’m much more used to prayers and confessions being personal.
Daniel prays this heartfelt confession for the whole people: “we have sinned and done wrong”, “we have refused to listen”, “we have not followed the instructions he gave us through his servants, the prophets”, “all Israel has disobeyed… refusing to listen to your voice”.
From the written accounts we have, Daniel was an outstanding citizen and an outstanding person of faith. It’d be hard to look at the things he’s confessing and match them to things we know from his own life choices. Yet he’s confessing and praying not about his own behaviour and actions but the actions of his entire people.
What comes to mind for me as I try bring this to my own life, is the racism that runs deep in this country. I’m tempted to give myself a pass because I try to be accepting of those who look or sound different, I try respect the First Nations that have been here since before the first words of the bible were even written, and I voted “yes” in that referendum. But if the community has done wrong, and I am in the community… If I follow the example of Daniel I should confess our sins as if they were my own.
“God we started with outright massacres, we went on to steal children from their families and try force assimilation away into our culture, destroying their culture, and to this day we continue to hold racist prejudices and support biased systems that keep oppressing the lives of First Nations Australians, who are your children…”
Daniel doesn’t just confess the failings of his community though. He launched into this prayer after reading the prophecies of Jeremiah, which had been written a few decades earlier. And no doubt he’d read this bit with the promise of the new covenant – which celebrates God’s faithfulness to the people, even when the people are not faithful to God.
So he prayed “O Lord, you are a great and awesome God! You always fulfill your covenant and keep your promises of unfailing love to those who love you and obey your commands.” And “the Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.”
If framing our covenant relationship with God requires considering the whole community and its actions… that is confronting. But when you remember the mercy and faithfulness of God that are central to this covenant… that is hopeful.
Mr Rudy Taslim and Ms Lam Bao Yan, founders of Genesis Architects, take on pro bono infrastructural projects globally, including building emergency homes in Ukraine.
This is one of the few “feel good” stories coming out of Ukraine: Ms Lam Bao Yan and Mr Rudy Taslim, a married couple from Singapore, who together run an architecture firm, have been building insulated and shock resistant homes for displaced Ukrainians, as well as other things that they know the people need, like public places with electricity and internet access (they’re calling “lighthouses”) so people can communicate.
They’ve found a way to have an impact that doesn’t just feel nice to them, but is valuable to the country – valuable enough that they’ve been officially offered residency in Ukraine to continue their work.
This quote from Ms Lam: “(We want to) overcome injustice with good, and good looks differently to different people. ‘Good’ could look like a word of encouragement to some, (but to us) ‘good’ looks like our skill sets. We are not politicians, neither are we militarians, so we cannot overcome injustice with these because we are not influential people like that. But we overcome all this injustice with the good that we know – our skill sets and our lives.”
They encourage smaller acts of justice too – like knitting scarves or drawing pictures! They don’t judge lesser efforts, but encourage and celebrate it and invite more people to join.
The whole approach seems very humble (not over-celebrating their success, not looking down on others) and very non-judgemental (not criticising the military)
They’re Christians, and 10 years ago bought one-way tickets to Mozambique to study to be missionaries. But that experience taught them that the best thing they can do for the world, and for God, is use their skill sets to serve others.
They keep their day-jobs and self fund their impact work. (This is similar to the take in The Future is Bi-vocational but for social impact work, not just church work. Lots of the same reasoning applies).
They hire locals to be involved in the building and installation, stimulating the local economy rather than trying to capture that value themselves.
This isn’t their only project! They’ve got a history of noticing a need, and getting something started, building it up, and then spotting the next opportunity. It feels like this gives them compounding momentum. I’m not sure the degree to which it stretches them thin – these projects feel like they can be handed over to locals giving them headspace for the next opportunity. There seems to be a delightful responsiveness – they see a need and jump to help.
Very inspiring. Ties in close to the message Ryan Gageler gave at Riverview this morning on The Parable of the Talents, and the idea that “from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked”:
So what is it that’s in your hands? Perhaps you have a family, or significant relationships, that are truly a gift from God. Perhaps you’ve been given financial blessing, or the ability to grow wealth. Maybe God has entrusted to you the gift of hospitality, and you love to help people feel like they belong. Maybe you have capacity for enormous things – you’re like the energizer bunny – and you can do far more than most people in a single day. Maybe you’ve been given the gift of time, you have more time and space in your schedule than most. Or maybe you’re just wired a certain way and you can bring joy and peace to every space that you walk into.
First, a reminder that even if the rabbi of a synagogue is preaching stuff that does not align with your political beliefs–that does not necessarily mean that every single person in that community is similarly aligned. There may be other folks who are much more kindred spirits than you might think at first blush — and it might take a second or two to find them, but that does not mean that they are not there or impossible to find. Synagogues are often comprised of communities within communities, and it may be possible for you to find yours. How? Well, first you have to start showing up to things where you might be able to meet people. Is there a social justice or social action committee doing stuff? Are there other subgroups within the synagogue that feel like they might be more likely to have folks on your wavelength? Is there a younger folks group — even if they call it “Young Professionals“ or some such thing, you may find some true kindred spirits there — you never know. I say this from experience, as someone who showed up to a Conservative synagogue in my early 20s, as the youngest (by about 15 years) and queerest (by far) person I could see for miles. With some patience and digging, eventually I connected with an amazing intergenerational group of people (some of whom knew each other before, some not), some of whom I am still in touch with today, many many many years later.
Second of all, even though it is lovely and comfortable to go to community that has been built, don’t discount your own power to build community. You can (eg) host Shabbat dinner for a motley group of people–some of whom may be Jews, some of whom may not be, some of whom may be familiar with Jewish practice, some of whom may not at all. Make it potluck, or do a simple pot of soup and salad and frittata. Or make a vat of chili get some chips and guac you’ve got dinner. Get some wine or juice and challah– bam! Get this going as a monthly thing and see if you can get enough of a community together to get some text study or prayer action before or after dinner (davening first, study after). Etc. Do a lunch! Make it a picnic when the weather improves! Host holiday things! Get creative! Start slow, build.
It certainly sounds more realistic for people in darkness to dream of God’s day of vengeance, finding satisfaction in the hope that at the Last Judgement all the godless enemies who oppress us here will be cast into hellfire. But what kind of blessedness is it that luxuriates in revenge and needs the groans of the damned as background to its own joy? For to us a child is born, not an embittered old man. God in a child, not as a hangman.
…
He will establish “peace on earth,” we are told, and he will “uphold peace with justice and with righteousness.” But how can peace go together with justice? What we are familiar with is generally peace base on injustice, and justice based on conflict. The life of justice is struggle. Among us, peace and justice are divided by the struggle for power. The so-called “law of the strongest” destroys justice and right. The weakness of the peacemakers makes peace fragile. It is only in the zeal of love that what power has separated can be put together again: in a just peace and in the right to peace.
This love does not mean accepting breaches of justice “for the sake of peace,” as we say. But it does not mean, either, breaking someone else’s peace for the sake of our own rights. Peace and righteousness will only kiss and be one when the new person is born, and God the Lord, who has created all things, arrives at his just rights in his creation. When God is God in the world, then no one will want to be anyone else’s Lord and God anymore…
But is this really possible here and now, or is it just a dream?
Jürgen Moltmann in The Power of Powerlessness. I read it in “Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas”. Emphasis mine.
I’ve got an uneasy relationship with Christmas and gifts. I’m not great at gift giving in general. And I don’t feel much on the receiving end – it’s clearly not my love language! The forced-ness of gift giving at Christmas, combined with the overwhelming commercial advertising and expectation, combined with remembering something else that’s supposed to be remembered in that season, combined with thinking about our level of consumption and it’s impact on the environment… I’d personally prefer to opt out of the whole thing but that feels too grinch-like so we continue quietly.
So this reading from “The Gospel in Solentiname” hit home. Ernesto Cardenal the priest apparently “does not believe in sermons” and so facilitated small group discussions to help his people understand the stories. The perspectives they share are from such a different world to my own – they were among the poor in Nicaragua at the height of the cold war.
And the comment from Olivia astounded me with its clarity:
When they saw the star again They were filled with joy. They went into the house; they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and worshipped him. Then they opened their boxes And gave him presents of gold, incense and myrrh.
Tomás: “They come and open their presents – some perfumes and a few things of gold. It doesn’t seem as if he got big presents. Because those foreigners that could have brought him a big sack of gold, a whole bunch of coins, or maybe bills, they didn’t bring these things. What they brought to him were little things… That’s the way we ought to go, poor, humble, the way we are. At least that’s what I think”.
Olivia: “It’s on account of these gifts from the wise men that the rich have the custom of giving presents at Christmas. But they give them to each other”.
Content Warning: Jan 26th. This post talks about 26th Jan, European invasion/settlement, systematic oppression, racial abuse, and is generally pretty heavy. But the person we’re talking about was an incredibly strong resilient leader who I find really inspiring.
2023 Note: I wrote this originally in January 2017, but am only recently found the draft, and have tidied it up to publish now in 2023. 6 years later I still find this story gut wrenching, challenging and inspiring. I no longer live on the lands of the Kulin nations. Now I’m on Noongar land, and I pay my respects to their leaders, past, present and those emerging.
January 26th goes by different names in Australia. “Australia Day”, “Invasion Day”, “Survival Day”. On the 26th I saw people posting respects on social media to the traditional custodians of the land, the Aboriginal people who have been here for over 50,000 years.
I wanted to do the same, but realised I know very little of the people who lived here in Melbourne before 1835. So I set out to learn.
I live in Williamstown, one of the oldest suburbs in Melbourne, and one of the first places Europeans tried to settle back in the 1830s.
Before their boats landed, there was already a nation here – the Kulin Nation. A collection of 5 tribes, who had lived in the land for 31,000 years. One of the tribes was the Boonwurrung people, and the clan that hugged the coast from the Werribee River, through to Port Melbourne, Albert Park and St Kilda was called the Yalukit Willam.
This blog post is me sharing what I’ve learned about the Yalukit Willam, and one of their leaders. I pay respect to these people, the traditional custodians of the land I live in, and their leaders past, present and emerging.
A large field near Werribee, with a beautiful sunrise and the Melbourne skyline in the background.A map showing the Yalukit Willam land, and known meeting places at the time of European arrival. Hobson’s Bay. The water is shallow and you can see people and their dogs standing out in the water.
Ancient History
During the last ice age, there was no Port Phillip Bay, the water level was low enough you could walk right across, you could even walk right to Tasmania. After the ice age ended, the water rose to a point higher than it is today, the bay filled, and the area I now live in was completely underwater. It wasn’t until 5,000 years ago that the water level receded, and that was about when the Yalukit Willam people moved in.
(Fun fact, that gives weight to their ancient stories: The geological record lines up with their oral history, as a people they preserved a memory of the last ice age, and as a culture they remembered a time when they could walk across the bay. Even crazier, the Yalukit Willam borders line up closely with the high-water level following the last ice age – they moved in as soon as the water line receded and the land was available to walk on).
Introducing Derrimut
At the time of European Arrival in the area, one of the leaders – an “arweet” – of the Yalukit Willam people, was called Derrimut.
He’s a complicated and sometimes controversial figure… I’ll mention why in a minute, but for me though, in reading his story I’m filled with incredible respect at his strength, and sadness at how much he suffered.
Portrait of Derrimut by Benjamin Duterau, painted in 1837 during a visit to Hobart. Found on Wikipedia, public domain.
One of his first experiences with European forces was before any of them had attempted to settle down in the Melbourne area. It was a band of seal hunters, who came on to the shore and kidnapped several of the local women and took them as slaves. One of the women was Derrimut’s wife, Nandergoroke, another his sister in law, and one the wife of his nephew. When I think about the family close to me… I can’t even begin to imagine the pain.
Even with such a painful personal history to carry, he continued to lead his people with honour and courage. When a small group of Europeans landed and tried to settle, rather than responding in hostility and violence, he remembered the law of his people.
Tanderrum Hospitality: Freedom of the Bush
“This land will always be protected by the creator, Bunjil, who travels as an eagle, and by Waarn (Waa) who protects the waterways and travels as a crow. Bunjil taught the Boon Wurrung to always welcome guests, but he always required the Boon Wurrung to ask all visitors to make two promises: to obey the laws of Bunjil and not to harm the children of the land of Bunjil.
One of the customs of the Kulin people was to grant access to strangers and wanderers who came to their land, to welcome them and offer protection.
In June 1835, John Batman came with the intention to set up a village in what is now Melbourne. (Hilariously, if Wikipedia is to be believed, he wanted to call it Batmania). He met with the locals, and sought to organise a treaty with them, offering to pay them annually with a range of goods.
It seems likely this was misinterpreted by the Yalukit Willam leaders to mean Batman was participating in a Tanderrum ceremony, asking for temporary access and protection as a visitor, and offering gifts in return. The access rights
gave visitors who had no familial ties to the country the opportunity to seek formal permission from clan-heads for temporary access. The safety of all approved visitors was guaranteed.
As wikipedia notes, it was “a diplomatic rite involving the landholder’s hospitality and a ritual exchange of gifts, sometimes referred to as Freedom of the Bush.”
For Derrimut, he was a local leader, and a good man, and it was now his responsibility to care not only for his clan, but for the visitors that had arrived on his shore. (It makes me think about how poorly we treat those who come to our land, seeking our protection, in this day and age.)
Saving the settlement
So when word spread in October that year that a tribe from the North was intending to come and wipe out the new settlement, Derrimut raced to warn the European colonists, so they had time to arm themselves and fend off the attack.
This is where some of the controversy in his legacy comes in – in giving warning to the colonists, the colonists were able to arm themselves, and presumably kill/hurt/harm the people who were coming for them.
To me this feels like an ethically wrought and morally messy decision. It’s not straightforward and calling him a “hero” or a “traitor” for his actions in this moment skips over just how human this moment is – facing no good options and needing to decide what you will do. It’s not as simple as “picking sides”, especially once you count his own moral framework.
When I read the accounts, I suspect Derrimut saw it as his duty to protect them while they were on his land, and he did that by warning them of the oncoming attack, knowing what the consequences would be.
Values mismatch
Everything I’ve read about Derrimut shows me that he was exceptionally strong. Not in an angry, violent way that attacks and lashes out, but in a persistent, courageous, peaceful and moral way. He lived out his beliefs and tried to protect his people and co-operate with the European arrivals.
The Yalukit Willam had a culture that celebrated peace.
The culture he was dealing with though, the European settlement, did not recognise the same principals. The governor refused to recognise Batman’s treaty, and stuck to the arrogant belief that the land was empty when they found it, and therefore belonged to the Queen.
These people, coming to Derrimut’s land, in ever increasing numbers, were not temporary visitors, but invaders.
Fear and cruelty
As European settlers arrived and set out farms, they would fence off areas and claim them as their own. The land the Yalukit Willam people had walked on and hunted on and played on and celebrated over, for 5000 years, was now not in their control – and they were now told they were not welcome.
As the settlers expanded, they new arrivals viewed the Yalukit Willam suspiciously and fearfully. Land management rituals like burning out the undergrowth (without which Victoria’s horrendous bushfires will occur) were how the people kept the land flourishing, safe and sustainable, but Europeans believed the fires were meant to burn their farms and their families, and so responded with violent force.
The Boon Wurrung were known as a very peaceful people and if actually hostile, they would hardly have been deterred by one ‘old sailor’! This was likely a Yalukit Willam party engaged in their regular burning back of the lands during cooler weather necessary to stimulate pasture for kangaroo, reduce undergrowth and promote fire-tolerant food plants. Settlers however strongly discouraged ‘fire-stick farming’ as they were unfamiliar with the role of fire in regenerating Australian flora. This change in land management may have contributed to the Black Thursday disaster in 1851 when a quarter of Victoria burned.
These fears meant that as the farmers kept expanding their borders, they kept pushing the Yalukit Willam people further and further away. They were not subtle about this, they were brutal. I’ll quote a few paragraphs from “The Yalakit Willam: the First People of Hobson’s Bay”:
In June 1846, on government orders, Thomas [a government officer charged with “protecting” the Aboriginal people] removed the valuables from the willums (bark huts) of the Boon Wurrung camp then wrecked and burnt them. He ordered 51 residents to disperse. Thomas lamented that he had to order them to move every time a European objected. ‘Poor fellows, they are now compelled to shift almost at the will and paprice of the whites’. Their hardship was intensified because there was no bark left in the district and they were now compelled to build ‘mud huts’.
The Boon Wurrung and Woi Wurrung increasingly had trouble obtaining food in the vicinity of Melbourne, and they were suffering from introduced diseases. Europeans objected when Aboriginal people entered fenced paddocks to hunt, and, consequently, they were forced to subsist by begging and cutting firewood for the intruders.
The breaking up of camps continued unabated in the latter part of the 1840s. In January 1849, at one Boon Wurrung camp, Thomas was asked ‘where were they to go, why not give them a station’.
(Side note: the disparity between Thomas’s compassionate thoughts and cruel actions is why I think civil disobedience is vital for a just society. If you think something is wrong – don’t do it! Even if it is your job! Even if it puts you on the wrong side of the government and law-enforcement!).
It’s hard to comprehend just how unjust this is.
These people had successfully cared for the land sustainably for 5,000 years. Their first contact with Europeans involved family members being kidnapped. They still did the honourable thing and protected the first white immigrants, working with them cooperatively and peacefully. But the arriving settlers stole their possessions, and burned their homes, because they were prejudiced and afraid, assuming that land management practices were attacks. They banned them from hunting and from their traditional land management practices, and forced them into subsistence, reduced them to begging.
The Yalukit Willam people asked Thomas for a station, a section of land they could care for and continue to live on as they had always done, but free from European encroachment. Benbow, one of Derrimut’s fellow clan leaders, and even an employee of the government, tried to meet with Governor LaTrobe to make the request. LaTrobe left him waiting outside all day and refused to see him.
In March 1849, Benbow resolved to see Superintendent La Trobe to ask for a country for the Boon Wurrung… Benbow stood outside all day but was not admitted.
The last time I saw him was nearly opposite the Bank of Victoria, he stopped me and said, “You give me a shilling, Mr Hull.”
“No”, I said, “I will not give you a shilling, I will go and give you some bread”, and he held his hand out to me and said
“me plenty sulky you long time ago, you plenty sulky me, no sulky now, Derrimut soon die”, and then he pointed with a plaintive manner, which they can affect, to the Bank of Victoria, he said “You see, Mr Hull, Bank of Victoria, all of this mine, all along here Derrimut’s once, no matter now, me soon tumble down and die very soon now”.
Forced into subsistence, being told he’s not welcome on his land, Derrimut soon began to lose hope. The people he had welcomed onto his land, the people he had protected and co-operated with, had taken everything from him, and treated him cruelly.
(You can even feel the racism dripping in the sentence: “I won’t give you money, I’ll buy you a meal” – I’ve said that too! It makes me question how I respond to people on the streets who approach me for help. Did they think Derrimut was not capable of using money wisely? He was a capable and smart leader).
In July 1863, the very last of their land was sold to white settlers; they were now not allowed to live anywhere on the land that had once been their nation for 5,000 years.
They were moved on to a reserve at Coranderrk, North-East of Melbourne. On the day they had to leave, Thomas, the government officer enforcing the rule, wrote:
Poor Derrimut cried & so did Mr Man who hung his head on the breast of Derrimut like Esau and Jacob, I was forced at length to separate them.
Their connection to the land was more than just sentimentality and familiarity. I believe there is a spiritual element to it, and when Derrimut was forced off his land, despair set in. He died the following year.
Derrimut became very disillusioned and died at the Melbourne Benevolent Asylum at the age of about 54 years in 1864. In his honour, over his body, interred in the Melbourne General Cemetery according to European rather than Aboriginal rites, a tombstone was erected.
The tragedy continued after Derrimut’s story ended. His clan, resourceful as they were and with their knowledge of the land, used the station at Coranderrk to farm and run a successful business. They were so successful that they started winning awards, and then the oppression started once more, with neighbouring European farmers believing it was not the people and their farming practices that resulted in the high quality produce, but merely that the land was more valuable. Because of this they started moving the Yalukit Willam people off the reserve, and caused the business to collapse.
Coranderrk Station ran successfully for many years as an Aboriginal enterprise, selling wheat, hops and crafts on the burgeoning Melbourne market. Produce from the farm won first prize at the Melbourne International Exhibition in 1881; and other awards in previous years, such as 1872.
By 1874, the Aboriginal Protection Board (APB) was looking for ways to undermine Coranderrk by moving people away due to their successful farming practices. Neighbouring farmers also wanted the mission closed as the land was now deemed ‘too valuable’ for Aboriginal people to occupy.
The level of abuse and repression they suffered is hard to swallow. I’ve often felt a sense of shame at our national history, but seeing these details of specific incidents, the cruelty of it, it hurts to know that it was my culture inflicting this on good, innocent people.
My reflection
Most mornings I ride my bike along this land, around Hobson’s Bay and through Point Gellibrand, along the river and bay and wetlands where Derrimut once lived freely.
There is a beauty here that is breathtaking. It is also life giving. There is a spirituality to this place. I can only imagine how strong that sense is for the people of a culture that have lived here and sustained the land, and been sustained by it, for thousands of years.
That same respect for land also gave him a respect for other people, even foreigners from a culture he did not understand, and as I read his story I am so inspired by his kindness and decision to honour his commitment to hospitality and protection of visitors, even when it put him in opposition to some of his own people – he stood up for the visitors in his care.
And yet he was crushed by a cruel invading culture, and that is the culture I’m part of. It brought me to tears realising how horribly we treated such a good man, and all his people.. And to think of the generations of pain caused to countless Yalukit Willam people who lost their connection to the land and have been repressed for over a century. And people of nations all over this continent…
It gives me so much more respect for Indigenous people across Australia who are still here, still fighting to be heard, fighting to have their culture recognised, fighting for a positive future for themselves and for their children. The cruelty they have suffered is so significant, to continue on shows such courage.
Learning this history has also been a big reality check for my own privilege, helping me see the systematic racism still at play, and start thinking about what my role has been in it, and what my role needs to be in reversing it.
Your own learning
If you want to learn more, I recommend you look up the history from your local council. Most local governments in Australia will publish some history of the first inhabitants on their website. Take a look, learn about the leaders, past and present, who are the traditional custodians of the land you now live in.
Here are the articles I read in writing this post:
I’d add to that… with an upcoming referendum on giving an Indigenous Voice to Parliament, have a think about who you know, who you’ve got a trusting relationship with, and who will or might vote against it. And have a heartfelt conversation with that person, try to change their mind.
When I see the human face behind a political issue, the emotions of apathy, indignation or anger become less. Then empathy (understanding their suffering), sorrow (grieving with them), remorse (that collectively, the humans in my country did this to other humans) – these emotions become stronger. Finally, there is hope – these people have courage, and see a better future. They want to fight injustice, and fight for the rights of those who follow. I hope, at the end of my life, I can say that I partnered with these guys, not the powers that locked them up and stole their childhood.
“All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!” Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman.
I used to notice 3 groups here: the accusers, the accused, the defender. I had a hard time imagining which group I would realistically fall into.
I’m not often confronted and threatened for my errors, I’m not the sort to condemn others for theirs either. Yet I usually lack the courage to defend the accused and stand up to the crowd, so I can’t honestly group myself with Jesus in this story.
I guess I fit with the group I never noticed before today: the onlookers. The crowd, drawn into the drama, not sure of what they think, but afraid to speak up, lest they say something wrong and find themselves the new target of the accusers.
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