Snags Beneath

Parallel systems of knowledge and the application of connection to Country in correspondence with contemporary dominant Western practices.

Prior to participating in the La Trobe University "Encountering Aboriginal Victoria" subject in Shepparton during January, I asked a number of Aboriginal friends what a white woman going onto country for the first time should do to make sure she didn’t “get it wrong”? Responses ranged from the serious and slightly mysterious “prepare before you go, with the right people”, to the humorous and equally important “just shut up and listen, you know?”  Who were these “right people” I had to prepare with? Of course I would shut up – I had been joking for weeks about having some duct tape permanently applied to my mouth in readiness. I really, really didn’t want to get this wrong - but I didn’t know what wrong was. And no-one seemed able to tell me. Having now completed an essay, two exams, some lectures and three days on country with Yorta Yorta elders, I can now say with absolute confidence:  I still don’t know. But at least I know that I don’t know. And that there is a way of finding out that may not be my usual approach to problem solving.

During this subject, I encountered for the first time the concept of parallel systems of knowledge. Obviously the term appeared in the subject title but I hadn’t really paid attention. By the end of my time with the Elders on country, I was fascinated by the idea that another way of thinking could work alongside the traditional “Western” methods of quantitative analysis and investigation. As such I am using this essay as both a reflective piece on my experiences throughout the course and as an exploration of traditional Aboriginal systems of knowledge. While recognising that these systems apply to such areas as (but not confined to) education, law, health and science generally, for the purposes of this exercise I will discuss connection to country and how this might be applied in parallel with current dominant Western practices. I have structured the essay in such a way as to provide first my own understanding of connection to country, followed by some academic investigation of the concepts presented.

Five weeks ago I stood on the banks of the Barmah Lakes and listened to an Aboriginal former Park Ranger describe his long career of caring for the Barmah National Park. Stories of feral pigs brought across the river by hunters; vandalism of significant sites; his obvious frustration in dealing with a management board comprising what sounded like a cast of thousands; all these examples gave me some insight into his strong connection to country. This Ranger knew his country well and although now retired he was visibly happy to be back. We were told how what was once wide open grassland with only a few large River Red Gums, had become a crowded forest through ringbarking and logging. He grinned slyly as we chewed the bitter water pepper leaves he offered to us and we promptly spat out. I overheard him planning a future fishing trip with his family as he watched a large tinnie chug by. He scowled at rubbish left by campers and fences left untended. This was clearly a man very comfortable with his surroundings. Ironically, it was an area geographically very close to the one I had grown up in, but I was struggling to reconnect.

A discussion earlier in the day about the effect of trans-generational trauma upon the youth of the Shepparton area had left me feeling drained and irritable. In hindsight I was probably visibly upset. It was not long before one of the Aunties asked me to join her for a walk, ostensibly to look for feathers and shells for use in our crafting afternoon. I kept in mind the directive I had been given at the outset by an Aboriginal friend: “When an Elder’s talking – you shut up ok? Wait until you’re asked.” Asked what? What could an Elder possibly want to ask me? Turns out, I was over-thinking things again.

Aunty told me in very sparse terms about someone who had had some issues that I won’t describe here. I remained quiet as we walked, our eyes on the ground looking for treasure. I pocketed large galls of gum while Aunty found pink galah feathers. Finally she looked at me sideways and asked: “You alright?”  I took a breath and told her a little of what I was feeling. About the guest lecturer’s description of abuses perpetuated against the Aboriginal people of Cummeragunja, particularly the children in domestic service; the inadvertent bus detour through Echuca that evoked unwelcome memories of my own family’s inter-generational experiences of child abuse in that town. How this, combined with my general anxiety at being constantly surrounded by a large group of people was setting me up for an explosive “episode”. Of course, I couched it in terms of my annoyance with other people’s behaviour but I suspect she saw through that without difficulty. She looked at me directly – “You just gotta let it go, girl. Take some time on your own for a bit.” At which point she wandered back to the main group, leaving me behind to sit beneath a Red Gum for a while. 

My first inkling of a non-Anglo-Celtic approach to science was about ten years ago. I had found a display at Museum Victoria detailing the Melbourne climate - according to the people of the Kulin nation - as having seven and not four seasons (Museumvictoria.com.au, 2015). I found myself nodding in agreement. It made perfect sense to this Melbourne native that the warm rains of November and December got a season separate to the hot dry winds of January and February. A single season based on an arbitrary, imported calendar didn’t do the patterns justice. Fast forward a decade and I have since discovered that there are also two non-annual seasons overlaying the yearly changes – the approximate 28 year flood and seven year fire seasons. Having experienced the regular flooding of the Murray River in Echuca in the 1970s and 1980s, and devastating fire “events” such as Ash Wednesday in 1983 and Black Saturday in 2009, this additional information also made sense. But why hadn’t I heard about it before? I’d done Environmental Science at La Trobe University in the 1990s and no one made mention of Aboriginal knowledge of the land, let alone a connection to it that formed the very basis of their society.

Approaching matters of care for land and people from a dual perspective of combined knowledge systems can have positive outcomes for both environmental health and personal well-being, providing a potential flow-on effect for wider societal problems. In his discussion of the decade long Yorta Yorta native title claim, Richard Broome describes Aboriginal people as “traditionally having a peculiarly intense and symbiotic relationship with particular country of which they were spiritually a part” (Broome 2005, p.379). His claim that the Australian legal system’s failure to recognise aspects of Aboriginal culture not connected to land practices - such as those of kinship and identity - for the purposes of native title claims, is indicative of a wider dismissive attitude in which Aboriginal knowledge has been and is held by Western systems (Broome 2005). This is similarly reflected by many other authors who describe the notion of Aboriginal connection to country as one generally ignored or actively dismissed by the dominant paradigm of Western systems (‘Yotti’ Kingsley et al., 2009; ‘Yotti’ Kingsley et al., 2010; Muir, Rose and Sullivan, 2013; Muller, 2012; Muller, 2014).  Optimistically there is evidence of increasing collaborative approaches in areas such as natural resource management and health care between non-Aboriginal practitioners and Aboriginal peoples (Muir et al. 2010, p.259). Nevertheless Muir et al. (2010, p.260) also suggest that such engagement may be self-limiting. In focussing on methodological processes such as listing Aboriginal practices and names for animal or plant medicines, the contextual influence of connection to land in a dynamic Aboriginal society is ignored. If solutions to complex environmental and health problems are to be comprehensively addressed, then a dual approach may be more likely to provide a deeper understanding of such complexities.

The palliative care experiences of Aboriginal people are relevant examples of a situation in which connection between country, knowledge systems and health could be vastly improved with the use of a dual approach to care. In exploring the issue of employment of Aboriginal Health Workers in palliative care, McGrath et al highlights the fears experienced by Aboriginal people facing their end-of-life stage:

That fear is exacerbated by the fact that Western clinical medicine is not seen to be respectful of traditional Indigenous understanding of healing knowledge, which includes notions of ownership… The communication of information about healing in the traditional Indigenous system depends on relationship systems with rules about the “right” individuals within the social system who are deemed appropriate to share healing knowledge. (McGrath et al., p435)

Services provided by Aboriginal Health Workers can address the concerns of patients approaching their end-of-life stage - that is, being provided with the appropriate care by the appropriate people with the appropriate connections to country and access to knowledge. Such an approach is not an unreasonable expectation. Yet implementation will likely prove difficult when faced with institutional failure to identify intrinsic connections between kinship, country and knowledge. The Rumbalara Elder Facility in Shepparton is an example of the development and integration of parallel systems successfully providing residents with appropriate end-of-life care. By recognising the importance of family presence, connection to country and knowledge ownership and transfer, the palliative care room in the Elder Facility is a way for both systems of care to work collaboratively for the benefit all involved. Even the deceptively simple effect of the huge Barmah Lakes wall mural indicated the importance that “coming home” is held in.

When Aunty left me beneath a River Red Gum to “let it go” I tried to stop thinking. I spent the time instead watching the water. I love the water of the Murray River. Its flow is deceptive. Only the occasional swirl suggest the large snags lurking beneath the surface. The Ranger had mentioned the ongoing negative impact on the entire river system that a snag removal program had caused. I thought about snags. And how they were a vital part of the entire ecology of the river system. Removing them just muddied the water. Without the snags, the Murray wasn’t the River I knew. Without the obstacles in my life, I wouldn’t be the woman I am. I moved back to the group feeling calmer than I had in months. I decided to make more time for myself to sit by the river.

My approach to this essay is different to any I have taken before. Presenting a reflective piece interspersed with academic knowledge gained throughout my research is not a structure I would normally use. Yet it seems to be one best suited to the subject matter. Understanding a knowledge system other than that which I have been immersed in for my entire life is not something easily grasped within a single summer university subject. Rather, I seem to have gained only a glimpse into what is undoubtedly an undertaking of years, if not a lifetime. I am a sceptical atheist with a Western science background now studying a double major in History and English Literature.  As far as I have been concerned, the Eurocentric system of knowledge I have existed within, is one of objective universal truths that stand separate to outside influences. It would appear however that I have been missing out. It seems to me that the dominant knowledge system exists in stark contrast to that of Indigenous systems intricately immersed within contexts of relationships and understandings that are proving difficult for me to grasp. I am entirely unused to such intellectual struggles and the challenge both excites and terrifies me. I want to know all the things! What this subject has shown me however - in no uncertain terms - is that I have very little idea of just how many things there are to know, and ways to know them. And that there are ‘right people’ to ask. I still haven’t worked out who they are though.

March 2015

BARMAH LAKES. IMAGE NMJOYCE 2015

References

‘Yotti’ Kingsley, J., Phillips, R., Townsend, M. and Henderson‐Wilson, C. (2010). Using a Qualitative Approach to Research to Build Trust Between a Non‐Aboriginal Researcher and Aboriginal Participants (Australia). Qualitative Research Journal, 10(1), pp.2-12.

‘Yotti’ Kingsley, J., Townsend, M., Phillips, R. and Aldous, D. (2009). “If the land is healthy … it makes the people healthy”: The relationship between caring for Country and health for the Yorta Yorta Nation, Boonwurrung and Bangerang Tribes. Health & Place, 15(1), pp.291-299.

Broome, R. (2005). Aboriginal Victorians. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin.

McGrath, P., Patton, M., Ogilvie, K. and Rayner, R. (2007). The case for Aboriginal Health Workers in palliative care. Australian Health Review, 31(3), p.430.

Muir, C., Rose, D. and Sullivan, P. (2013). From the other side of the knowledge frontier: Indigenous knowledge, social?ecological relationships and new perspectives. Rangel. J., 32(3), p.259.

Muller, S. (2012). 'Two Ways': Bringing Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Knowledges Together. In: J. Weir, ed., Country, Native Title and Ecology, 1st ed. [online] Canberra, ACT: ANU E-Press. Available at: http://press.anu.edu.au//apps/bookworm/view/country,+native+title+and+ecology/8681/ch04.html [Accessed 1 Feb. 2015].

Muller, S. (2014). Co-motion: Making space to care for country. Geoforum, 54, pp.132-141.

Museumvictoria.com.au, (2015). Museum Victoria [Forest Secrets] Climate. [online] Available at: http://museumvictoria.com.au/forest/climate/kulin.html [Accessed 20 Feb. 2015].