CHAPTER 3 Coping with change and violence
After working through this chapter you should have an understanding of:
Introduction
In this chapter we examine the position of Aboriginal people in Australian society in relation to the complex factors underlying cultural violence. In Part A we explore structural violence and systemic bias and their effects on Aboriginal wellbeing. In Part B we discuss the effects of rapid socio-cultural change on Aboriginal people’s life chances. In Part C, the processes of alienation and cultural exclusion as a result of environmental stress are examined. This will enhance our understanding of internal violence as a manifestation of cultural violence.
PART A: SYSTEMIC BIAS AND STRUCTURAL VIOLENCE
Remember
Scientific racism was used to justify dispossession and led to institutional racism. These interacted with prejudice and discrimination to locate Aboriginal people at the bottom of the social ladder, crippled by dependency and poverty. Such poverty and dependency were and are reinforced by systemic bias. Today these forces have led to a situation of structural violence.
Following Galtung (1970) we define structural violence as violence inherent in the social order, which is created and maintained by social differential access to resources and life chances (social class), poverty and discrimination/racism (Galtung 1990). It may be expressed as physical violence, indicated in patterns of life expectancy across groups and time (see Alcock & Kohler 1979); it may take the form of psychological violence, indicated in patterns of alienation (see Arosalo 1971); or it may be expressed as systemic frustration of aspiration (see Khan 1978).
In any society, health statistics reveal those groups which, over time, have suffered higher infant mortality rates and lower life expectancies than others, as well as those who die disproportionately more frequently from preventable diseases. Such groups are said to experience physical violence. Similarly, when some groups’ mental wellbeing is seriously affected by stress-related coping behaviour and this leads to measurable indices such as disproportional levels of hospitalisation, then this is evidence of psychological violence. Underpinning physical and psychological violence is systemic frustration of aspirations.
DEFINITION
Systemic frustration of aspirations means that the predominant social order denies one category of persons access to the prerequisites of effective participation in a system developed and controlled by powerful interest groups. These prerequisites, as outlined by Savitch’s (1975) analysis of systemic bias, include organisational and communication skills, financial resources, and commitment of personnel and trained staff.
Further, it is argued, the controlling groups generally define legitimate pathways to effective participation within society and its systems in order to maintain their own power. This is because:
Power derives from imbalances in the social exchange … In other words, one interactant achieves power through the inability of the other to reciprocate. The latter is in a position of dependence: satisfaction of need is contingent on compliance.
In Chapter 2 we provided evidence that, as a group, Aboriginal people in Australia are more dependent and less powerful than any other in Australian society. Poverty is endemic; unemployment affects Aboriginal adults at least four times as often as other Australians and up to 100 per cent in some communities where all adults are ‘employed’ through CDEP (Eckermann et al 2000a). Aboriginal children are more likely to be streamed into ‘special’ classes, and on average they stay at school for shorter periods and attain fewer educational qualifications than other Australian children.
Indeed, it is clear that Aboriginal people in Australia are subject to all forms of structural violence. Physical violence is evident in the fact that adult Aboriginal life expectancy is 17 to 20 years less than that of non-Aborigines, and infant mortality continues to be at least two and sometimes three times higher than among non-Aborigines. Similarly, psychological violence is evident in the levels of alcohol used to alleviate stress and anxiety. It is also demonstrated by the incidence of self-mutilation and the number of deaths in custody, as is evident in the RCIADIC (1991). These forces are linked in Figure 3.1.
In our opinion, however, systemic frustration is one of the most insidious forms of structural violence. Although its causes and effects are more covert than those of other forms of structural violence, we would argue that systemic frustration typifies more completely the position of Aboriginal people in Australian society today. It forms a major obstacle to Aboriginal people’s aspirations to self-determination. As Ena Chong pointed out in Binaŋ Goonj workshops in 1991, ‘We know all about systemic frustration—it’s like the old donkey and the carrot—the government hold out the carrot and we follow like the donkey, but we never get the carrot!’
Consequently, systemic frustration, as well as the other forms of structural violence, are a constant hazard to Aboriginal people’s emotional, social and physical wellbeing. To illustrate this point, we would like to focus on Aboriginal politics.
Systemic frustration and Aboriginal politics
Aboriginal politics date back to earliest contact between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people. From the time the first colonists arrived until well into the 1800s (and later in the remote north), freedom fighters such as Pemulwuy (Wilmot 1987) and later Wyndradyne (Langton 2008) made the colony a dangerous place to live. Indeed, Governor Brisbane was forced to declare martial law in the Bathurst area because Wyndradyne and the Wiradjuri were mounting a full-scale war against the invaders who were taking over their country and reducing them to starvation (Langton 2008).
In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Aboriginal politics turned to strikes, demonstrations, lobbying and alliances with powerful mainstream organisations, petitions and international appeals. The people of Coranderrk in Victoria, for example, petitioned the government and the Crown from the 1870s for decades to protest against the actions of the Aboriginal Board and its representatives (Pascoe 2008).
In 1924 the Australian Aboriginal Progressive Association (AAPA) was formed in New South Wales to agitate against the NSW Protection Act and the Aborigines Protection Board. It was inspired by the Black American Movement in the USA, and, although it operated only until 1928, it became a model for later Aboriginal political organisations in the 1930s (Atkinson 2008), such as the Aborigines Progressive Association (APA). The APA was founded in 1937 by the work of William Cooper, Jack Patton and Pearl Gibbs. The APA in NSW was the sister organisation of the Australian Aborigines League in Victoria.
In 1938 William Cooper and his colleagues organised The Day of Mourning to coincide with Australia Day, to protest at the lack of Aboriginal civil rights (Lippmann 1999; Atkinson 2008). He wrote:
The Aboriginal now has no status, no rights, no land … He has no country and nothing to fight for but the privilege of defending the land which was taken from him by the white race without compensation or even kindness.
Patton’s and Cooper’s agitation against the appalling conditions on reserves and the actions of the noxious Aborigines Protection Board supported the strike and the Cummeragunja walk-off in 1939 (Atkinson 2008). While the strike was not immediately successful, the manager of Cummera reserve was eventually sacked in 1940, and ‘the walk-off played a significant role in changing policy direction from one of protection to one of assimilation’ (Atkinson 2008, p 317).
In the 1950s and 1960s, a range of Aboriginal groups formed in each State to protest at the governments’ violation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (e.g. the Queensland Aborigines’ and Torres Strait Islanders’ Advancement League) (Lippmann 1999) or to promote better welfare (e.g. the Foundation for Aboriginal Affairs in Sydney) (Broome 2002). In 1958, many of these organisations joined together to form the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aborigines (FCAA), which became the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders (FCAATSI) in 1964. The FCAATSI formed an alliance with the Australian Council of Trade Unions and forced the resolution of issues such as equal wages. The FCAATSI was also responsible for putting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander rights on the agenda for the 1967 Referendum and campaigned vigorously for a ‘yes’ vote on two major issues: the right for Aboriginal people to be counted in any Australian census (they had previously been classed among the fauna of Australia, rather than its population), and the centralisation of Aboriginal affairs under the control of the Commonwealth Government (Atkinson 2008; Broome 2002; Lippmann 1999). The ‘yes’ vote was also strengthened by the ‘Freedom Ride’ organised by Charles Perkins (Langton & Loos 2008). Perkins organised a busload of Sydney University students to tour country New South Wales and expose the appalling conditions in which Aboriginal communities existed. Mrs Quinlan (1983) recalled his visit to Kempsey as the coming of Moses.
The 1967 Referendum marked a watershed in Aboriginal politics. It represented a ‘win’, when all around acknowledgements of land rights were being rejected, as evident in the struggle of the Yirrkala and Gurindji people (Lippmann 1981). The Referendum raised hope for change among Aboriginal people, but in reality little changed. Systemic frustration led to the establishment of the Tent Embassy in 1971. Land rights became the burning issue for the Aboriginal politicians who spearheaded the Tent Embassy, and the 1972 Labor Government headed some of their concerns by freezing applications to mine Aboriginal land.
In 1973, the Labor Government also established the National Aboriginal Consultative Committee (NACC), comprising 41 elected delegates to advise the Commonwealth on Aboriginal policy (Weaver 1983). Again there seemed to be the promise of self-determination. Although the NACC operated only from 1973 to 1976, the Committee became extremely political—it pushed for reserved seats in the State and Federal Parliaments for Aboriginal people, it demanded representation on major committees dealing with Aboriginal affairs and Aboriginal land, it expected the Aboriginalisation of positions in government departments, and it made numerous recommendations on Aboriginal education, health, employment and housing (Lippmann 1981). Unfortunately, as Lippmann (1981) pointed out, the NACC had no funds for a secretariat and relied on officials from the old Department of Aboriginal Affairs (DAA) for services. Again, the carrot was self-determination, but the reality was dependence on mainstream bureaucracy—a perfect recipe for systemic frustration.
In 1975 the Labor Party lost power, and the policy of self-determination changed to one of self-management. Funds for Aboriginal ventures were axed and an inquiry was conducted into the NACC. In 1978, the National Aboriginal Conference (NAC) was established, comprising 46 elected representatives. In addition, the government established the Council for Aboriginal Development (CAD). The CAD became the official advisory body to the government—five of its members were elected from the NAC, and another five were nominated by the Commonwealth.
Again they were back in the business of advising only, with no executive power or control over major funds. The Council for Aboriginal Development had at its disposal less than one-tenth of the DAA budget … Hopes for rapid change were now blighted and Aboriginal communities recognised that resistance to oppression was going to be even more grueling …
The NAC fared no better than the NACC. It was constrained by its advisory role, dependence on bureaucracy and limited funding. It was attacked for alleged mismanagement of funds and for being non-representative, despite the fact that the review of the NAC suggested that ‘[its] fundamental deficiency was the failure of the government to entrust it with real authority’ (Coombs 1980, p 16, cited in Lippmann 1981, p 71). In 1985 the NAC was disbanded and replaced, after a series of reports and consultations, by the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC) in 1990.
This time the Aboriginal communities throughout Australia were divided into 35 regions, each of which elected a regional council. The 35 regional councils voted for 17 commissioners and these, as well as two commissioners appointed by government, governed the Commission (Broome 2002). ATSIC was in fact set up to ‘promote self-management … The commissioners not only decided on policy but also administered about a billion dollars in grants annually to local communities’ (Broome 2002, p 254). Broome suggests that ATSIC was plagued by controversy from its inception—influential political groups opposed the idea that Aboriginal people should have decision-making powers, and many Aboriginal people were disillusioned and chose not to take part in the voting process to elect commissioners. ATSIC was soon seen by mainstream institutions as the de facto funding body for all Aboriginal programs, and the Commission as well as the community organisations and projects funded by it were accused of fraud, cronyism and nepotism. In 1994 the Commonwealth Government realised that there was a crisis in Aboriginal health and removed the health portfolio from ATSIC.
In 1996 the government reviewed ATSIC’s funding to more than 1000 Aboriginal organisations.
The audit found that only 60 bodies or five per cent were ‘not fit and proper’, the NSW Aboriginal Legal Service which had misused $1 million being one. Prosecutions followed. Of the remainder, 937 had breached funding conditions in some way, and 125 were certified correct. The audit revealed the failure of long-term paternalism, which had left Aboriginal people inadequately trained for self-management and survival in the complicated world of grant-based community development projects.
Tensions between ATSIC and the government continued, and some of the commissioners acquired extraordinary publicity from allegations of serious misconduct. In April 2004, ATSIC was disbanded. Instead, the government set up a National Indigenous Council (NIC):
‘The National Indigenous Council will provide expert advice to the Australian Government on policy, program and service-delivery issues affecting Aboriginal people and Torres Strait Islanders,’ the Minister said.
The National Indigenous Council (NIC) is being established as part of the Australian Government’s revised governance arrangements for Indigenous Affairs, designed to focus effort on providing a better deal for Indigenous Australians.
‘The NIC is a fundamental part of the new arrangements for Indigenous services, which the Government put in place from 1 July this year,’ the Minister said.
The Council will act as an advisory body to Government through the Ministerial Taskforce on Indigenous Affairs, and will support the work of the Taskforce in developing strategies to improve the delivery of services to Indigenous Australians.
The Minister said appointments to the NIC have been made on the basis of expertise and experience. They are hands-on practitioners who will bring a wealth of experience to the Council.
ATSIC’s administrative work was taken over by Indigenous Coordinating Centres (ICC) in 29 locations in Australia. The ICCs also negotiated Shared Responsibility Agreements (SRA). The process goes something like this: community organisations put in submissions for funding on a range of issues. They send these to their nearest ICC which forwards them to the appropriate government department(s). The funding then comes back to the organisation from the relevant department. The ICC then sends the community a letter of offer and a budget (which may be quite different from the one submitted by the community organisation). Consider the following case study.
Case study
Shared responsibilities?
In 2005 our organisation signed an SRA with the Indigenous Coordination Centre in our region to support and develop our Yumba. The funding was for materials for an Interpretive Trail along the river and the Yumba to employ a Cultural Heritage Officer, six CDEP positions and for recording stories.
It has all been done, but nobody has reported on the work done. They did not submit the performance indicators, and financial reports, because there have been changes in the Board and the full-time Project Officer employed by the local council had finished. The Project Officer had not completed the reports, so the ICC was asking the new Board, who had not a clue what it was all about, for all these reports. When we finally got around to finding where the reports were they were on the computer, in a format called ESub. We didn’t know how to use this kind of form.
The ICC staff said they were coming out to help us many times; we would set a date and time, and they would ring and cancel or sometimes just not turn up. This has gone on for months and months. In the meantime we were organising the next big Cultural Event of the year. We had no time to address this issue.
So they started standing over us then, told us we had to move our office out to the Yumba, as there was no money for rent and office admin. Now they are asking for the money back. We went ahead and spent the money that was allocated to certain items in the budget, because all the work had been done. So the signs are up and we are waiting for the tourists to come and make us rich; but I don’t know what will happen with ICC.
In January 2008, shortly after being elected, the Labor Government disbanded the NIC. The Federal Government has asked the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, Tom Calma, to set up an independent Steering Committee, which will carry out extensive consultations with Aboriginal communities and advise it on the desired structure and function of a representative Indigenous body. Clearly we have again come full circle, and the associated systemic frustration continues to make commentators sceptical. Thus Graham (2008, p 1) editor of the National Indigenous Times points out:
I dare say I’m in the minority in Indigenous affairs on this one, but I don’t support a Labor-created, nationally elected Indigenous body.
The simple reason? Just as parliament giveth, parliament taketh away …
If Indigenous Australia has learnt anything from decades of dealing with white politicians, surely it’s that a black body created by white Australia is doomed not only to abolition, but to become the whipping boy for the never-ending cycle of white government failure.
In the years since the 1930s, then, Aboriginal politics has moved from grassroots activism, to a range of lobbying groups and associations, to a series of elected advisory bodies, to an elected ‘representative’ Commission, back to an advisory body, which in this case was appointed rather than elected, and on to another nationally elected body, whose score and functions has not yet been determined at the time of writing.
What message does this give to Aboriginal communities across Australia? What message does it give to other Australians about Aboriginal people and their struggle for social justice? Lynette Nixon’s poem, presented below, conveys the frustration that continues to influence Aboriginal communities.
PART B: PROCESSES OF SOCIO-CULTURAL CHANGE
The position of Aboriginal people in Australian society is frequently interpreted in terms of socio-cultural change. Such change has, quite naively, been seen as lying along a unilineal culture continuum. People assume that: in 1788, an ideal, uniform cultural tradition existed in Australia, and this cultural tradition was destroyed; its descendants had to find a new place in the Australian situation; this place can be plotted in relation to ‘how much’ or ‘how little’ the new traditions resemble those of the past or, concomitantly, those of non-Aboriginal people. Research has done much to foster this type of interpretation, and we will return to this point later in the discussion.
The prevalence of the unilineal culture continuum idea is evident in the popular notion that Aboriginal people living in rural or urban situations are caught in a ‘cultural vacuum’—that they understand neither the traditions of the past nor those characterising non-Aboriginal society. We present this argument diagrammatically in Figure 3.2.
But this type of thinking is somewhat simplistic. From our discussion in Chapter 1 about adaptation, we know that people make decisions with reference to their physical, political, economic and social environments, in terms of their perceived needs and wants, in relation to their historic and current situations and experiences. Before Cook there were many Aboriginal cultures, and colonisation affected each one differently, or at least at different times. Our previous discussion of Australian society has shown us that there were many different groups—even apart from non-British colonisers—with somewhat different religions and philosophies, who came to Australia after 1788.
It is apparent then, that the notion of a unilineal culture continuum is a simplistic interpretation of socio-cultural change. It would be more accurate to view Australia BC as inhabited by many cultural groups who all experienced colonisation in various ways at various times, who all adapted to external as well as internal pressures on their established methods of coping with the world, and who all generated new socio-cultural patterns, distinct from the past and certainly distinct from non-Aboriginal patterns. Don’t forget, the latter have also changed over the past 200 years or so. We again present this argument diagrammatically, as in Figure 3.3.
Adaptation is never a smooth process. It is never unilineal and it is never ‘finished’—we, as people, representing our cultures, change in response to changes around us. Consequently, our culture changes—it lives, breathes and adapts. If it does not, it dies, and without culture we die. The same principles apply to all people, including Aboriginal people.
In terms of social and emotional wellbeing, this is a most important principle. Many Aboriginal people have internalised non-Aboriginal definitions of themselves and their cultures. Many feel deep down that they have lost their culture.
Activity
Consider the effect that feelings of culture loss have had on members of the communities in which you work. Do you think people can be strong and proud if they don’t believe they have a culture?
The more rapidly socio-cultural (as well as economic and political) change occurs, the more such change is initiated from outside the group, the less control people feel they have over their lives, and the more traumatic change becomes. Imagine the far-reaching changes that have taken place in non-Aboriginal society over the past 200 years—these changes have affected education, politics, the law, the environment, technology, patterns of residence and so on. Aboriginal groups have had to cope with all these changes as well as colonisation, genocide and institutionalisation. Consequently, the traumatic effects of rapid socio-cultural change are evident among many Aboriginal groups today, and are exacerbated by the effects of poverty.
Today some of these traumatic effects find expression in high levels of dis-ease among many Aboriginal people. It is fair to say that assimilationist pressures from the majority question and often abuse Aboriginal identity. Identity is an individual’s very being—his or her essence, self-image and awareness—based on cultural, social, economic and political traditions. People need positive identity, positive self-image, in order to function psychologically and socially. We receive our sense of identity largely from the actions and reactions of ‘others’—what Cooley (1956) calls the looking-glass self. If we are confronted with a very negative looking-glass, if negative reactions persist and if these negative ‘others’ are important to us or have power over us, then we start to wonder about ourselves, our worth, our traditions, our background. This wondering adds to the stress and tension of trying to cope with the society we live in. Alienation and anomie frequently result.
DEFINITIONS
The term alienation was coined by Marx, while Durkheim first analysed the process of anomie. Marx, particularly in his later work, followed an economic/structural analysis of alienation where the individual becomes divorced and consequently alienated from the product of his or her labour because of the capitalistic class structure and the impersonalised, industrialised economic system. Durkheim’s approach to anomie, or normlessness, is largely a socio-cultural one. He sees anomie as a breakdown in the cultural structure occurring especially when the social structure inhibits people’s striving for culturally prescribed norms and goals.
We see alienation and anomie as processes, which lead to similar results—disorientation, helplessness, powerlessness, normlessness.
Further, in our analysis, alienation and anomie are social/structural as well as individual/psychological processes: the system frequently creates situations in which individuals are alienated, but alienation also occurs because of personalised disorientation. Similarly, the social system may create structural anomie by frustrating the efforts of a whole group of people to fulfil their desired goals, but individuals may also experience personalised anomie.
Real destruction results when ‘simple’ anomie—a state of confusion in a group subjected to value conflict, which results in uneasiness and a sense of separation from the group—develops into ‘acute’ anomie—a state marked by deterioration and perhaps disintegration of value systems, which results in profound anxiety.
PART C: TRAUMATIC EFFECTS OF RAPID CHANGE
We have previously pointed out that Aboriginal adaptation to the cumulative circle of poverty has led to much tension and stress, not only because of economic hardship but also because the people form a definite out-group in Australian society, subject to discrimination and prejudice.
We need to be aware of the nature of stereotyping, prejudice and discrimination. In relation to Aboriginal people, such processes and the resultant tension (multiplied by the economic situation) are responsible for a wide range of stress symptoms. The Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (RCIADIC 1991), the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families (1997) as well as McLennan and Madden (1997), Tatz (2001), Sutton (2001), Memmott et al (2001), Gordon et al (2002) and Wild and Anderson (2007) agree that alienation, cultural exclusion and environmental stress seriously affect the emotional and social wellbeing of Aboriginal Australians
The concepts of cultural exclusion and environmental stress were first explored, in relation to Aboriginal people, by Cawte (1972, 1974). We would like to review his early contributions to our understanding of the effects of colonisation and rapid/traumatic culture change, as they have helped us to understand the influence of environment on culture and the process of adaptation, which we outlined in Chapter 1.
Cawte (1972) argues that social disintegration and cultural exclusion are the operant factors related to stress among Aboriginal people. In his analysis (Cawte 1972, p 137), social disintegration is closely linked to the cycle of poverty, subordinate minority status, loss of leadership, direction and mutual support in the family/community as well as racial discrimination.
This approach is based on what seem to us to be three useful models of environmental stress from psychiatric research, which Cawte (1974) has adapted to the concept of culture change. These models are: response to gross stress (Eitinger 1964), interference with vital strivings (Leighton 1959) and the concept of cultural exclusion (Brody 1966).
Although the concept of gross stress has not been applied transculturally by Eitinger, Cawte (1974, p 192) argues that the syndromes identified as characteristic of individuals in concentration or refugee camps, such as chronic anxiety states with fatigue and indifference, personality change with unfavourable concepts of self, the group and the world, hostility and aggression expressed passively against authority, are similar to those experienced in Aboriginal communities and on Aboriginal settlements.
In relation to Leighton’s (1959) concept of interference with vital strivings, Cawte maintains that many people are frustrated in their search for fundamental personality processes such as the quest for physical security, opportunities for creativity, a sense of identity, and a sense of moral order, which results in considerable stress and anxiety.
Concerning Brody’s (1966) model of cultural exclusion, Cawte (1974, p 193) points out that Brody focuses on the effects that exclusion of some sectors of the society from full participation in mainstream society have on individuals’ personalities and ability to maintain good health.
In his emphasis on social disintegration and cultural exclusion, Cawte then considers Aboriginal situations in terms of gross environmental stress, on the basis that:
Generally in Australia … Aborigines are at the bottom of the socio-economic scale. Poorly represented in trade, industry, commerce and the professions, they live in inferior and often squalid, conditions. It cannot be said that they are ‘on the march’… Most European Australians fall back on stereotypes of Aborigines: shy and retiring; spontaneous and carefree; irritable and quarrelsome; lacking in foresight and stamina. Few whites have ever perceived the range of Aboriginal psychological adjustments to culture change, including pathological manifestations. Few have seen the enervating anxiety that pervades Aborigines …
Indeed, Galtung (1990) maintains that people trapped in environmental stress as described by Cawte, are likely to experience:
a feeling of hopelessness, a deprivation/frustration syndrome that shows up on the inside as self-directed aggression and on the outside as apathy and withdrawal.
We would argue that Cawte’s and Galtung’s comments still apply to Aboriginal people today as they did in the twentieth century.
Stress and anxiety
Individuals caught up in these situations are exposed to tremendous stress and anxiety. A huge amount of material related to stress and anxiety has been published, because related processes have such devastating effects on our social, mental and physical health.
The stress cycle goes something like this: it begins when a situation or a stimulus (which may be internal or external), the stressor, is perceived or interpreted as dangerous or threatening. This will arouse stress and associated anxiety. Neither of these is pleasant. The individual feels nervous, unsettled and worried, and inevitably tries to relieve these uncomfortable states. The kind of action we choose in order to cope may be to deny that anything is wrong; we may avoid or withdraw from the threatening situation; we may try to relieve our anxiety by changing our environment; we may ‘solve’ our problems by resorting to chemicals (e.g. overuse of alcohol, caffeine, prescribed medicines, analgesics, illegal drugs, food or tobacco); or we may become physically ill from the pressure (e.g. heart, blood pressure problems, asthma, diabetes).
Depending on how positively we ‘solve’ our situation, on how well we cope, we will perceive new situations as either more or less threatening, and consequently break the cycle of stress or become more involved in it. Diagrammatically we present this process in Figure 3.4.
Remember Cawte’s (1974, p 194) statement that ‘few have seen the enervating anxiety that pervades Aborigines … ’.
All writers agree that, although some stress and anxiety are very ‘good’ for people because they force us to be creative, to meet challenges and to develop, too much stress is mentally, physically and socially debilitating (i.e. enervating). Most people who have had anything to do with Aboriginal people will agree that many are trying to cope with tremendous stress. Much of this stress is simply related to having to constantly deal with non-Aboriginal people. Additionally, their environment is more stress arousing than that of most non-Aboriginal people, not only because of the history of contact and dispossession or the level of discrimination and prejudice in the community, but also because of the level of poverty and economic insecurity.
Kamien (1978) highlighted the interaction of social and economic depression, exclusion and powerlessness when he discussed physical and personal health among the Bourke Aboriginal community. His results indicated that 32 per cent of adults in this community suffered from some form of psychiatric disorder. Importantly, 31 per cent of the women in the community who suffered from anxiety states or depression were living between two white neighbours, and Kamien (1978, p 140) concluded that:
Aboriginal people were not welcomed by their white neighbours. Their reception was often so hostile that they lived in a state of virtual siege. Their anxieties were increased by the complexities of electrical appliances which no-one had shown them how to use. The self-image and confidence of an Aboriginal woman was further eroded by the censorious attitude of her neighbours to her lack of basic material goods such as furniture and curtains. Not only had she lost the support that she had formerly obtained from her peers on the Reserve, but she was sometimes ostracised by them for trying to be ‘flash’ …
No wonder that in this sort of ‘enervatingly tense’ environment, children suffered. In 1972 Kamien (1978, p 125) identified that 28 per cent of boys and 35 per cent of girls presented at least one category of frequent and persistent behaviour considered by him (a psychiatrist) and their families as abnormal.
Note: It is clear from Kamien’s data that many Aboriginal people in Bourke were turning the enervating anxiety and stress on themselves, with devastating effects on their emotional wellbeing.
Thirty years later, the situation appears to be worsening rather than improving, because the level of violence within and towards Aboriginal communities appears to have increased. Tatz (2001, p 28), for example, indicates that external violence has generated internal violence in the following areas:
Three major interrelated areas of this internal violence are substance abuse, family violence and suicide.
Substance abuse
Obviously, stress relief—that is, coping behaviour—based on ‘chemicals’ has many negative spin-offs. First, it affects individuals’ social, physical and personal health as well as that of their families. Second, it reflects an image of the minority, which the majority is only too eager to accept, because it fits in with their stereotypes. How many times have you heard that ‘Aboriginal people can’t drink’ because of some peculiar genetic make-up? Of course that’s not true—genetically, Aboriginal people are no more different from other Australians than they are from one another. Although there is some variation due to gender, age, weight, food consumption and so on, all of us eliminate alcohol through the liver at exactly the same rate (10 g of pure alcohol per hour). However, Aboriginal drinking patterns are different, the level of anxiety appears to be much higher among Aboriginal people than the general community, and their visibility may be greater.
Aboriginal people often cite their reasons for substance abuse, whether the substance be food, analgesics, alcohol, caffeine or even gambling, as loneliness, hopelessness, domestic and marital problems, economic catastrophe and ‘just being worried all the time’. These reasons appear to us to reflect not only their individual perceptions, but also gross environmental stress due to cultural exclusion and the effects of poverty, poor housing and un- or under-employment.
Pearson (2000) acknowledges the strength of these forces, but also condemns the drinkers who, by bastardising Aboriginal cultural values are, he believes, destroying whole communities. Pearson (2000) argues as follows. The principle of reciprocity—that is, sharing of resources—is strong in the communities of Cape York. This value is also strong among the drinkers who share resources in order to get alcohol. The community of drinkers then manipulate the non-drinkers to feed, house and clothe them, and to provide further resources to buy more alcohol. While this pattern is not new, he maintains:
When we look back, in the 1970s it was mainly the men who formed these drinking circles. And the children, the youth, the women, the old people, stood outside of these circles but were affected by their behaviour and forced to supply resources to the drinkers. Then in the 1980s, we started to see younger women despair and join the drinking circle. The drinking circle is a suction hole—it draws in resources and participants.
Today we see … old people looking after the children … the youth have taken to drugs and drinking at an earlier age … We have young children forming their own petrol sniffing coteries.
And it is the old people—yes, mainly women—who are keeping the society fed, and have an anxiety for the future of these children and their community.
Pearson is not attributing blame. He is, however, pressing his people to take responsibility—responsibility for themselves, their communities and their cultural traditions. Pearson is not without his critics,1 who maintain that he wants to reintroduce the old mission system; nevertheless it is true that the first step in coping with substance abuse is to stop.
Many Aboriginal communities have been and continue to be aware of the personal and community destruction caused by substance abuse, particularly alcohol abuse, petrol sniffing and illegal drugs. In relation to alcohol abuse, many have declared their communities ‘dry’ or have limited the amount of alcohol available in local canteens. For example, in 1994, when Eckermann and Dowd worked with the Anyinginyi Council in Tennant Creek, the Town Camps around Tennant Creek were ‘dry’ and large, public notices warned residents and visitors not to attempt to bring alcohol onto the camps. Such measures have been in place for more than 20 years through Australia, yet they have at times been undermined by grog-runners who smuggle alcohol into remote communities to make huge profits, or public hotels and roadhouses which trade all hours of the day and night set up in close vicinity of Aboriginal camps.
The NTER is also addressing the issue of alcohol abuse by banning the possession, transport, sale and consumption of alcohol in the prescribed areas subject to the Intervention, unless the individual possesses a liquor licence or is drinking on licensed premises. The NTER also provides police with greater powers to arrest drunks and requires an individual who buys more than $100 worth of alcohol to provide identification. Yu et al (2008) support the need for extensive, coordinated measures to control alcohol abuse, which are supported by local communities. They maintain, however, that ‘top-down’ control is unlikely to make a lasting impact, particularly if it is not coordinated with existing, successful local programs set up to combat drug addiction. One such program, which has addressed petrol sniffing, has been recorded in the Sunshine Coast Reconciliation Group, Caloundra, Quarterly Newsletter, January to March 2009, from discussions with two Yuendumu women:
Living in Yuendumu they have witnessed the social problems, but also the great strengths. Magali says Yuendumu has always been a strong community and it had all that was necessary for a township—childcare, school, art centre, shops, clinic with resident doctors and a land council. They have also been part of a community with the strength, determination and ability to create its own solution in some areas.
Magali and Claire: ‘We had petrol sniffing and the older women stopped it with the Mt Theo program that is run with the families of the young people. This was not a government program, but one that local people came up with’.
In the early 1990s Yuendumu was gripped by an epidemic of petrol sniffing among young people. By 1993 there were more than 70 regular ‘sniffers’ in Yuendumu and the community was suffering the subsequent violence and property damage.
But in 1994, local Warlpiri Elders decided on a ‘zero tolerance’ approach to the problem. And with the support of traditional owners and local services, young petrol sniffers were sent to Purtulu, Mt Theo Outstation—160 km from Yuendumu and 50 km from the nearest main road—to recover, learn traditional culture and break their addiction.
At the same time, a comprehensive youth program was started in Yuendumu to offer young people active and healthy alternatives to petrol sniffing, and to support young ‘graduates’ returning from Mt Theo. Within a decade, the program has reduced the number of petrol sniffers in Yuendumu to zero. In 2007 the people behind the program, now used in other communities, were awarded Orders of Australia in recognition of their work.
Obviously, it is important to attack all of the factors related to Myrdal’s cycle of poverty, that is poor housing, poor education, poor health and poor employment as well as concomitant prejudice, discrimination and poor self-esteem, with coordinated, community-based, capacity-building programs which provide real economic foundations.
There is a clear relationship between substance abuse, family violence and child abuse (Memmott et al 2001; Tatz 2001; Gordon et al 2002; Wild & Anderson 2007).
Family violence
Family violence is abhorrent and has no place in Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander societies. It is a scourge that is causing untold damage and trauma among Indigenous communities, to our women and children, and to the fabric of Indigenous cultures.
(Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner 2006, p 4)
Memmott et al (2001) carried out an extensive literature search in their analysis of violence in Indigenous communities, and argue that it appears that all kinds of violence, including family violence, have increased dramatically since the 1980s. They group the causes of violence into three categories:
We have already discussed many of the underlying factors in previous chapters—institutional racism and poverty, as well as structural and cultural violence, have all had their role to play in challenging Aboriginal families. In relation to family violence we would also like to explore the influence of family separations and resultant dislocation, lack of role models and parenting skills.
The Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families (1997) demonstrated that many Aboriginal children removed from their families and communities experienced serious identity problems, inability to form strong attachments and resultant lack of trust, resentment and what Tatz (2001) referred to as externalisation of blame, alcohol abuse and depression. As adults, many of these people found it difficult to effectively parent their own children—exposed to abuse and violence, ‘it becomes far more difficult for them to be spontaneous and open and trusting and loving in terms of their own emotional availability and responsiveness to their children’ (Dr Nick Kowalenko, evidence 740 to The Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families 1997, p 195). Their anguish is well documented in comments such as this:
There’s still a lot of unresolved issues within me. One of the biggest ones is I cannot really love anyone no more. I’m sick of being hurt. Every time I used to get close to anyone they were just taken away from me. The other fact is, if I did meet someone, I don’t want to have children, ‘cos I’m frightened the welfare system would come back and take my children.
(Confidential evidence 528, The Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families 1997, p 184)
The pain experienced by those removed is mirrored in the families and communities they were forced to leave behind. Such anguish, as Elaine Lomas’s poem illustrates, transcends generations.
My granny Grace Dabah came to Yarrabah in 1902. She was 14 when she was baptised and given the name Grace. Her mother had named her Bessie, but by age four her first white boss called her Dolly. I wonder if she looked like a doll next to the boss’s daughter.
At Yarrabah no information was recorded about where my grandmother came from or who her parents, brothers and sisters were. Contact with her homeland was cut when her usefulness as a domestic came to an end and she was pushed onto the mission to be excluded from the progress of white Australia.
The Stolen Generations, as these children are called today, and their families, are, however, not the only victims of separation. It was common practice on many missions and reserves to separate children at the age of three and to rear them in dormitories under the supervision of non-Aboriginal staff in order to minimise the effect of their parents, their language and their cultural traditions. These children too suffered trauma and anxiety.
Things were so tough, but to me it was the custom to all who went to the dormitory in my time. Now children are free, but I was treated differently. I could not speak and play with my brother, uncle or cousin. The only time we could play and have fun was when the missionaries were not watching.
Following Hazlehurst (1996), Memmott et al (2001, p 19) list the following situational factors as contributing to family violence: interracial tension, over-zealous policing, cohabitation between distinct tribal groups on missions, interfamily feuds, poverty, unemployment and boredom. They add that, in some communities, and indeed some families, anger and violence have become accepted (if not acceptable), particularly where ‘intergenerational problems are reverberating in time, from parents to children, from older children to younger ones’ (Memmott et al 2001, p 42).
Another contributing situational factor is the trend for increasingly younger men and women to become parents. It has often been described to us as ‘babies are having babies’. This is borne out by population statistics, which verify that the median age of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people becoming parents is 20.5 years, while the median age for other Australians is 36 (Australian Medical Association 2004).
We believe that young women may be attracted to parenthood because becoming pregnant marks the transition to adulthood and independence. Unfortunately, 13-, 14- and 15-year-olds are not always able to assess whether they or their youthful partners possess the necessary financial resources or parenting skills to provide real life chances for their babies. Lynette Nixon believes that she was an exception when she married at the age of 16. More normally, women in her community married in their twenties, and it was not respectable to bear children out of wedlock. Obviously, family structures and values have changed.
Reflection
Before Cook, Aboriginal societies were marked by clear gender roles—men hunted, women gathered (Berndt & Berndt 1988). Men and women were mutually dependent on one another for food, ritual and comfort, yet occupied separate and valued positions in their communities.
This system was seriously impaired by colonisation, and men and women had to adapt to new environments. On the whole, they managed to carve a new niche for themselves—both men and women worked on stations and farms; as children were born, women generally stayed at home while men became the sole breadwinners. Many of them went off to work for months at a time to provide for their families. At this time, boys were inducted into manhood by their fathers and uncles, who took them out to work with them and taught them the diverse skills necessary for working on the land.
From the 1950s onwards, Aboriginal people were beginning to move into the cities; this escalated in the mid-1970s when drought, equal wages and reorganisation of the pastoral industry led to widespread unemployment.
Since the mid-1970s, unemployment in Aboriginal communities has grown, and Australia’s welfare system has improved and become available to more Aboriginal people. In the process the ‘breadwinner’ has lost his role in the family. Women are now even more able to live and to rear their children apart from their partners. This has not only had a devastating effect on the self-esteem of men in Aboriginal communities, but it has also ensured that boys are not being inducted into the masculine role by strong and respected role models. Instead, their masculinity frequently becomes enhanced by alcohol abuse and dependent on their ability to dominate, rather than support, their partners.
The socio-economic climate, an increase in welfare dependence and alcohol abuse, then, appear to have led to an increase in family violence. It has also escalated rates of child abuse.
Child abuse
Child abuse can and does take many forms within any population—it may be manifested in a failure to meet basic needs for food, water and shelter, insufficient stimulation, emotional and physical abuse as well as sexual exploitation. Gordon et al (2002, p xxiii) argue, however, that:
There is an added complexity to the causes of family violence and child abuse within Aboriginal communities. The history of the colonisation of Australia has resulted in marginalisation, dispossession, loss of land and traditional culture, and the forced removal of children, which has led to ongoing trauma within Aboriginal communities. These underlying factors are coupled with extreme social disadvantage including poverty, racism, passive welfare, drug, alcohol and substance abuse. Persistent assaults on Aboriginal culture, kinship systems and law have created a situation where Aboriginal communities are extremely vulnerable to family violence and child abuse.
Remember
There have been numerous reports, for example the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Women’s Task Force on Violence (2000), the National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Survey (ABS 2004), the Gordon Inquiry (2002), the Aboriginal Child Sexual Assault Taskforce (NSW) (2006), to mention just a few, which raised issues related to child sexual exploitation. Yet governments did little to act until 2007, although the media highlighted the level of dysfunction in some Aboriginal communities and the courts’ leniency towards perpetrators of child rape throughout 2006.
The Federal Government’s response in 2007 was the Northern Territory Emergency Response (NTER), often referred to as the Intervention. The NTER suspended the Racial Discrimination Act (RDA) and the NT Anti-Discrimination legislation in order to impose a range of quite draconian measures on 73 settlements and town camps in the Northern Territory. Remember, these regulations were applied only to Aboriginal people in these locations.
Remember
In Chapter 1, we labelled such legislation, which applied only to Aboriginal people, Institutional Racism.
There is no doubt that in 2006–07 Aboriginal affairs became a political football. In our opinion a range of interrelated factors fuelled the situation. These included government neglect, its shame at exposure, and an impending election. Then Prime Minister Howard had been advised in 2003 by Aboriginal leaders to set up a national framework:
… aimed at curbing violence, support for community-based answers, and a commitment to a set of principles to guide solutions.
These principles recognised people’s right to be protected from violence and the role of alcohol abuse.
They also included a desire to move away from so-called passive welfare and a call for strong indigenous [sic] leadership. …
Yet Prime Minister Howard postponed dealing with the issue for 12 months until the June 2004 COAG meeting. Further, between 2004 and 2005 only 16% of the funds allocated for family violence programs had actually been spent. It can then not be argued that the government was unaware of child abuse in Aboriginal communities—it simply chose not to address it until it was embarrassed into action by the media and continuing reports, which highlighted the problem.
All the reports about the levels of child abuse in Aboriginal communities identified alcohol and other substance abuse, poverty, poor and overcrowded housing, under-education, poor health, gambling, pornography and unemployment as related social evils. All stressed the need for a coordinated approach, negotiated with the community, to combat child abuse. Thus the Little Children Are Sacred report reiterated:
The thrust of our recommendations, which are designed to advise the Northern Territory Government on how it can help support communities to effectively prevent and tackle child sexual abuse, is for there to be consultation with, and ownership by the communities, of those solutions. The underlying dysfunctionality where child sexual abuse flourishes needs to be attacked, and the strength returned to Aboriginal people.
The government did try to implement a comprehensive approach to combat violence against children in 2007 with the NTER, which, among other things, addressed issues of:
However, the response was not based on community consultation or community ownership of possible solutions—it was a strategy imposed from outside and from above, just as the health checks and rations and forced labour of the old mission days were. In the context of Canada and its ‘Indian Industry’, Widdowson and Howard (2009, p 1) have termed this ‘reverting to the past for solutions to present problems’. Further, while the areas addressed were quite comprehensive, programs and actions, according to Yu et al (2008), were not coordinated and the silo mentality continued to guide departments’ activities. Additionally, the NTER did not acknowledge or build on already existing, successful programs in communities, for example the petrol sniffing intervention in Yuendumu (Sunshine Coast Reconciliation Group, Caloundra, 2009) or existing voluntary income management schemes, such as the Family Income Management program in Cape York which started in 2002 (Indigenous Enterprise Partnerships 2007). Indeed, the NTER did not appear to build on existing health services and programs as outlined in the following case study.
Case study
Too little coordination
When it was decided that ENT surgery blocks would be done through the NTER, the permanent RAN was away. The relief RAN staffed the clinic. The NTER sent out an ENT doctor to assess the children in the community and decide which should have surgery. The clinic had an existing list of 22 children referred for ENT review by the regular doctor and paediatrician. This caused some consternation as the NTER had only generated a list of about six children … It then appeared that the NTER ENT team also lost some of their paperwork as they rang, wanting the RAN to fax some of it again. When the driver came to collect the children and adults for ENT surgery … he apparently collected a large number of clients. Unfortunately, it was admitted by the coordinator of the ENT effort, she had no idea what children and adults were transported to Alice Springs and who was returning, as, apparently, the NTER driver did not make proper records.
A similar lack of coordination across services was recorded by Yu et al (2008). Consequently Fred Chaney, former Liberal politician and retired member of the National Native Title Tribunal, commented on the ABC’s 7.30 Report, 19/4/2007:
I think governments persist in thinking you can direct from Canberra, you can direct from Perth or Sydney or Melbourne … and I think that is a thing we should know doesn’t work.
Since 2008, the new Labor Government has introduced some changes to the Intervention (Budget 2009–10)—it has:
In addition, the Labor Government is collaborating with Aboriginal leaders to explore ways in which the income management scheme may be retained after the proposed reintroduction of the Racial Discrimination Act in October 2009. In early 2010 the Act is yet to be reintroduced.
Activity
We live in rapidly changing times—to keep up to date with current events, check the web regularly for new developments in Aboriginal affairs.
One form of violence, which the Intervention does not address, is the ever increasing rate of suicide.
Suicide
Research suggests that suicide in Aboriginal communities was practically ‘unheard of’ in the 1960s and did not become a public issue until the 1980s and 1990s (Hunter 2001). The incidence of Aboriginal suicide did become an ‘issue’ when Aboriginal families began to demonstrate against the high rate of Aboriginal ‘suicides’ in custody in the mid-1980s. Over the space of ten years (1980–89), 99 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people died in custody; two-thirds of these deaths occurred while the individuals were in police custody. The resultant Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (RCIADIC 1991) created a furore.
However, suicide was not only common among Aboriginal people in custody. Hunter (2001), for example, pointed out that the number of Indigenous suicides increased almost four times in the period 1992 to 1996. Tatz (2001) reported that in his 30-month study of suicide in 59 largely rural communities, 38 men and 5 women committed suicide. Sixty per cent of these were aged 15–34 years—at least double the rate of suicides among other Australians in this age group. More than 50 per cent of these suicides involved hanging.
Tatz (2001, p 19) argues that the self-violence of suicide develops in four stages:
a feeling of frustration; followed by a sense of alienation from society, of not belonging, of foreignness; the withdrawal from society, no longer caring about membership, about loyalty, or about law-abiding behaviour; and then the threat of, or actual, violence.
Tatz agrees with other writers on the subject, such as Lester (1989), who argue that attempted suicide and completed suicide fall along a continuum and that ‘the suicidal behaviours in these communities have become patterned, ritualised and even institutionalised, perhaps even contagious’ (Tatz 2001, p 102).
We can identify with this statement. In 1998 we (Eckermann, Gray and Chong) co-facilitated the Cape York Suicide Summit. At this Summit, representatives from all the Cape communities and the Torres Strait joined to explore strategies for suicide prevention. Some of the stories that participants shared, such as in the case study below, highlighted the patterned, ritualised and contagious nature of this pathology.
Case study
Communities trying to cope
We’ve got this group of grannies—we just look out for anyone that looks like they might be getting’ into trouble … This one night someone came running to my house shouting that there were five little kiddies in the school and they were goin’ to hang themselves. We all rushed over there and true as God, there were these little kiddies all lined up. They had the chairs next to the table, they had the ropes hanging from the beam and they were ready—‘1 we all get on the chair, 2 we climb on the table, 3 we put the rope around our necks, 4 we jump off’. Thank God we got there in time.
Tatz (2001, pp 96–7) explores the various forms of suicide that have been identified in the literature and concludes that, in his opinion, suicide among Aboriginal people is more likely to be related to meaninglessness and lack of purposefulness than mental illness. Instead Tatz (2001) proposed that a typology of Aboriginal suicide could include:
Obviously the feelings of hopelessness, disempowerment and disengagement are heightened when people are also abusing substances. We agree with Tatz (2001) that alcohol or other drug abuse may be another form of suicide. As one of our friends remarked frequently, ‘If grog can kill you, I hope it does soon’.
We can illustrate the reality of Tatz’s typology in the following case study.
Case study
Hearing voices
It must have been a couple of years ago. So this young man, his parents were prominent Aboriginal leaders in the town, he was heavily into drugs. He was goin’ around and telling people that he was hearing voices—even went lookin’ for counselling. So he was very troubled. In the old days, you would have said he was ‘in the horrors’—like voices in your head and seein’ things. Then one day he just went ’round all the family, visiting, and then he just went away and hung himself under the school. And the cousin, wasn’t long after this fella, got depressed and got into heavy drugs and the same thing—he was hearing voices and seeing things that wasn’t there, and he did the same thing—went around all the family and then ended up hanging himself under the school. The fact that they did it at the school, I don’t know if that was significant or not. See, they reckon they have to kill themselves to stop the voices in the head.
Activity
Carefully analyse Tatz’s typology. Can you identify the complex interactions that may have influenced such tragic behaviours?
At the time of these tragedies, there were no services in the town to help individuals in such crisis, appropriate agencies were miles away, and community and family members were unsure of how to deal with this new form of ‘the horrors’. Today, family and community members more readily identify behaviours that could lead to suicide, and they have developed their own strategies. Now, when someone hears voices, the family will try to organise for the individual to ‘go bush’, where they can keep an eye on him or her and keep them away from drugs.
Many communities are involved in a range of violence prevention programs. Memmott et al (2001) describe and analyse these across the country. They comment that:
The best interventions are often said to be those where action is taken quickly in relation to an incident of violence. It is often community members who are best positioned to implement action … programs which are not designed around the premise of community management through community authority are likely to fail by perpetuating the helplessness and powerlessness which cultivate cycles of violence …
One such nationally recognised community program is the Yarrabah Life Promotion program in Queensland, which has been delivering successful strategies for suicide prevention, intervention, aftercare and life promotion since 1995 (Steering Committee for the Review of Commonwealth/State Service Provision (SCRCSSP), 2007).
Despite such innovations, suicide in Aboriginal communities continues to escalate. In 2007 suicide was three times as prevalent among Aboriginal people as among other Australians. Hanging was the most common method; it occurred most frequently among those aged 15 to 34 and was more prevalent among Aboriginal males than females (ABS 2009). Suicide attempts, however, were more frequent among Aboriginal females than males (SCRCSSP 2007).
The violence of suicide, like family violence and violence against children, is closely associated with substance abuse, alienation, hopelessness and confusion resultant from rapid social change over which Aboriginal people have had little control. Consequently, as Tom Calma, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner (2006, p 23) points out, ‘solutions are complex, multifaceted and require long-term focus and commitment’. He suggests ten steps to address these complex issues. They are (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner 2006, pp 23–9):