On October 14th Hamer Hall was full to capacity as we waited for the performance of Eumeralla. Four minutes before it was to begin, news that the Referendum had already produced a resounding NO spread through the crowd. Deborah Cheetham AO, first Nations Woman, renowned singer and composer, stepped to the front of the stage. Before she could utter a word, the audience stood and clapped as though we could never stop. The vast choir and the Symphony Orchestra behind her, and the children’s choir to the edge stood and applauded with us. At last Deborah said, ‘We are the Voice’, gesturing to those who would make the music and those ready to hear it. It was a performance made for this moment: Eumeralla, a War Requiem for Peace. Deborah Cheetham wrote, composed, and now would sing in Gunditjmara language the story of the Eumeralla Resistance War (1840 – 1863). ‘Eumeralla, a War Requiem for Peace’ was written to break the silence of many decades.
The Gunditjmara homeland, reaching between river and coast in western Victoria, was fiercely contested. First Peoples, thought to number around 7000 before the invasion of squatters, fought for 23 years to retain their country. Eventually only four hundred and forty-two Gunditjmara survived the battles. Despite the loss of country their culture remained strong. We heard their story of resistance and pride sung by soloists and choir entirely in the ancient dialects of Gunditjmara. They sang the story of the history in the language of those who suffered it. Images created by a Gunditjmara artist were projected on to the wall behind the choir.
A week later I climbed on to a crowded tram on a rainy Sunday morning, steadied myself and held the grab-rail with two hands. When we lurched to a start I was still just inside the entrance. A young man and a fierce looking dog sat side by side on the bench nearest to me. He grinned up at me, pulled the dog onto his lap and patted the space he had made. ‘Here’, he said. ‘Sit down’. He was clad in black with a shining silver band around his head, a matching pattern on his tee shirt and various sparkling piercings. His voice was gentle and friendly. We exchanged names. He talked of the suffering in the world, the Jewish people murdered and held hostage and the Palestinian people pushing south in the chaos of Gaza, the pain of it all. He was on his way to the State Library to protest. Noticing the small red, yellow and black badge pinned to my jacket he said, ‘I’m Aboriginal’ and lowered his voice as he talked about the suffering of his people, his family, his father who had fought for Australia in the war and returned as a broken man, the referendum NO. From among his belongings, he drew out a fourteen-centimetre red black and yellow square, gave it to me, pushed the button for his stop, called his dog to follow him from the tram, then as he reached the footpath, held aloft a First Nations flag. I unfolded the square; it was black at the top, red at the bottom. Across the centre was a yellow shape of Australia with HEALING SPIRIT lettered across it. Later I searched Healing +Spirit +Australia and understood much more. Solidarity of those who suffer.
Now I listen to the voices of my closest First Nations friends. Rejection is hard to bear but their spirit remains robust. Already they talk about what comes next; they have experienced rejection many times before. I thank Sherry Balcombe and through her all my First Nations friends. There is a parable that is familiar to them.
Stories and Musings 