LIDIA THORPE

GREENS SENATOR FOR VICTORIA PROUD GUNNAI, GUNDITJMARA AND DJAB WURRUNG WOMAN

I was born into a political family, starting with my great-grandmother Edna Brown. Aboriginal people were being buried as paupers, so Nan set up the Aboriginal Funeral Benefits Fund in the 1960s to ensure our people were buried with dignity. In the ’70s, her daughter Alma was instrumental in setting up the Victorian Aboriginal Health Service. Then my mother was a co-commissioner to the

Bringing Them Home report and sat on the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation. She met with then prime minister John Howard, and I was the young pregnant tag-along.

I only really got called an activist when I joined the Greens. Before that I was a Blak woman fighting for Country and my people’s rights. The label of activist takes away from how we fought for Country for over 200 years. My old people who fought weren’t activists; they were land protectors.

You get handed the baton in the Blackfella world. You’re picked up and told, “There you go. Your turn. Get out there.” You’ve got no choice when your elders choose you to be a spokesperson. They have faith that you’ll follow the old values of our culture. I’ve made mistakes; I’ve learnt from them; but as long as my people tell me that I’m doing the right things, then I’m going to keep doing them.

Equality in Australia has gone backwards – just look at the statistics.

There are over 20,000 Aboriginal children in out-of-home care right now. In the 30 years since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, we’ve had almost 500 deaths. That number continues to climb. The imprisonment rate has gone up nearly 500 per cent for Aboriginal women in Victoria since 2009. Children are incarcerated from the age of 10. Suicide, homelessness and family violence rates are getting worse. We have a weak government that doesn’t allow Aboriginal people to make their own decisions. Discrimination, violence and intergenerational trauma comes with being born Blak in this country. We need a treaty to bring this nation together and get rid of the injustices that happen every day. Hopefully, one day soon, we can celebrate what we have in common and we can share this country, this water and beautiful stories.

When I woke up on the day of being sworn into Parliament, I was

shitting myself. I said to my partner, “You know what I’m going to do today? Put my fist up. I can’t walk in there and allow the violence of that colonial structure. I won’t conform.” I had been nervous about swearing allegiance to the Queen, about selling out. The thought of the fist cleared my fear. After a smoking ceremony with the Traditional Owners, I walked into Parliament like I owned the place and felt culturally strong. I put my fist up and said, “I’m here and I’m going to shake this place, because you need to hear from us now.”

Aboriginal people have survived genocide, and yet we always have

hope that it will get better. We still open our arms to everybody who comes to this country. We haven’t had many wins. But when you go from being a five-year-old marching for land rights, and you’re lucky to have 100 people behind you, to speaking on a stage and seeing tens of thousands of people, that gives you hope. That sea of allies shows us how much the movement has changed. One life-changing moment was hearing a young white girl on stage at the School Strike 4 Climate rally, speaking about being on stolen land. The whole crowd of young people started saying, “Always was, always will be Aboriginal land.” I cried. Being among that was incredibly healing and empowering.

Don’t ever lose hope. You’re going to get knocked down, but you’ve

got to get back up and keep fighting. That’s what we’ve been able to do as Blak people in this country. And that’s what we want you all to be a part of now as we fight for justice for all. As long as we stay connected, we can achieve anything.