From the Balgo Hills Mob

(sub-set The Liebmann) 

 Report # 1

The two weeks spent getting here was informative.  Filling the water tanks at night eventuated in the water not going into the tanks but rather into the caravan and this was not noted until the door was opened and the flood waters poured out, with floating books, food stuffs and electrical goods.  Fortunately the ‘puter was high and dry and I am able to write this report or journal entry.  The road from Halls Creek to Balgo has been designed to prevent the passage of private vehicles.  The ridges are placed with geometric perfection to assure maximum jarring and juddering to all forms of life and non-life that attempt to move over the surface at any speed.  A very old ambulance attached to an even older caravan of great length is highly inappropriate to the more than 200 kilometers of ridiculous corrugations, ridges and bumps with the odd rock thrown in just for fun.  I found that 15 kilometers an hour was the least damaging of speeds and the if I ‘bush bashed’ on one side of the “road”, one set of tires had relatively smooth ground to cover, while the other set of tires needed to jounce along the ridges and gullies of the “corrugations” for the duration of this ‘leg’ of our spiritual journey.

I dared not look at my wife (Noreen) for I could feel her glowering at me as though I had created this fun mode of transport for hours on end in the heat of the day through real desert country.  When the rear-right tire blew out, I had the pleasure of changing it.  The lugs did not want to move in the heat and dust of that special country.  I actually bent the bar on the lug wrench while trying to persuade the recalcitrant lugs to move.  Then Noreen suggested that some CRC (oil in a spray can) might help and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it.  It was good that one of us had a brain that could function in that all pervasive sunlight.  The CRC worked a treat and the lugs came off and the spare was attached in the normal way.  When I let the jack down I could not help but note that the spare was flat.  Some fool had forgotten to check the air pressure in the spare before setting out on this spiritual journey.  As there was no other fool about the blame had to be on my shoulders.  Noreen was kind enough not to comment with the sarcastic remark that I am sure was on the tip of her tongue.  Her heavy sigh spoke volumes. 

Fortunately we had a small air pump with us and were able to inflate the tire and proceed at 15 kilometers an hour toward the community of Balgo Hills.  As the sunset I pulled off the road and camped for the night.  The stars were breathtaking in their profusion.   As I entered the caravan I had a flash of insight that the top shelf was not a good place to store the large bottle of cordial in a caravan while traversing a particularly bumpy road.  It had fallen over and broken open and spilled its sticky contents all over the walls and the couch and the cushions.  The great Liebmann mind could think of nothing witty to take the pathos out of the situation.  There was nothing for it but to do a quick clean up and prepare a meal and retire for the night before the caravan lights used all the battery power.  If the battery was too weak to start the motor in the morning we would be stuck.  I did not wish to add my old Ambulance and caravan to the many deserted vehicles, which adorned the side of this part of the Tanami Road.  In the morning we had breakfast and took care of other early morning requirements and used a shovel to bury what needed to be buried and had a wash out of a bucket and proceeded with the ever-so-slow kangaroo hops toward Balgo Hills.  We passed by a number of four-wheel drive vehicles going at great speed.  It seemed that the theory was that the faster one went the more likelihood that one might bounce from the top of one ridge (corrugation) to another.  From the obvious torture that the tires and suspension systems were being given at those speeds I had my doubts as to the veracity of that theory.

As we traveled along the Tanami Road I was reminded of the story of Hansel and Gretel for the road had intermittent clues on how to return to Halls Creek.  These clues were not breadcrumbs but were nappies (one presumes they were soiled nappies but I did not stop to check).

 Report # 2

We finally reach the outer limits of Balgo Hills and were met by a greeting committee of a couple dozen dogs.  There was a cacophony of barking from this committee who were not overfed and in general looked mangy and more than a touch mad.  There were a few people walking from one place to another who seemed intent on ignoring us and the dogs.  I waved to a few of the people who were as black as any humans that I’d ever seen.  For the most part they waved back and kept going wherever it was they were going.  We pulled up at the house near the church and found some shade to park in while we got our bearings and figured out what to do next.

Aboriginals kept walking through our campsite and then I noticed that we are in the middle of a track to the shop where these indigenous people spend their “sit down money” (or the “dole” as some would have it). 

At this point I would like to share some of Noreen’s perceptions of our arrival in Balgo Hills:

We came to the ‘community’ (dogs, garbage, uninspiring dwellings) we stop at the presbytery which is covered by a red /black dust as is everything else in the community.  The presbytery depresses me hugely and I can’t imagine being able to live there.  Various Aboriginal people drift past including a lady in red who speaks not a word and shows no sign that she has been addressed when we try to speak to her.  We later find that English is the third of fourth language that these Aboriginal people speak.  They do not speak English when conversing with each other and many do not speak English at all.  While Roger is setting up camp, I see he is surrounded by a large pack of wild looking dogs.  After a while they just wonder off and he continues his work.  Mary-Anne (the head nurse) stops by our camp and introduces herself.  She thinks our camping spot is too exposed and suggests that we move it to the nurse’s compound.  I am loath to accept because of the hassle of packing up and moving again.  Mary-Anne shows us where she thinks we should park our van in the nurse’s compound and then takes us over to the school where she introduces us to the staff and Br. Bernie the principle.  Brother Tony volunteers to help us arrange for a replacement tire for the one that was blown and follows us back to the presbytery where we break camp with his help and move over to the nurse’s compound.  We then have dinner with the brothers at their house, which is spotless.  When we are asked if we would like a drink I say: “I would love a beer” which is greeted with a roar of laughter.  It seems Balgo Hills is “dry” (no alcohol is allowed).  I am given a coke on ice.  We have a very civilized dinner. 

After dinner, I take our old ambulance over to the brother’s compound where it is locked in a shed to keep the kids from taking the petrol out of it to sniff (petrol sniffing is a new craze which seems to be sweeping through Aboriginal communities).  After dinner with the brothers we return to the nurse’s compound; we are exhausted and fall into bed and a sound sleep.

 That night a load of illegal alcohol is brought into the community and there are many card games and drunken fights cheered on by the yelping dogs.  Noreen and I are so bone tired that we are oblivious to the noise and sleep through it all. 

We spend the next day cleaning out the tons of red dust from our rig and wondering around the community. Few Aboriginal helpers or students have turned up for school.  The night’s excesses and brawling had a huge negative effect on the community.  I went over to the priest’s house and have a wee chat about the community.  Father Matt informs me that a lack of motivation is the main problem that besets the community.  I asked about the aboriginal ability to handle cattle that I had heard about and he told me that they learned skills like that only when they were “made’ to do it.  This surprised me as I thought such a comment came out of a paternalistic past and was indicative of a father/child perception.  

That night the rest of the students from Notre Dame University Australia arrive we meet them at the “lookout” which does indeed lookout over a large expanse of valley surrounded by what Australians call breakaways or what the Americans call mesas (what ever you call them they are an awesome sight).  Later that night the drinking and brawling in, and around, the Aboriginal housing is repeated; Noreen and I leave a noisy fan going inside our caravan and sleep through it again. 

The next morning, our student group (and Noreen), meet with the Priest to talk about what volunteer work we might do to help the community while we get to know it in our immersion experience.  The two female students help at the school and the lecturer (Shane) helps out at the adult education center, and Noreen and I work at the medical center.

 Report # 3

A lack of motivation does seem to be a major problem here.  Half the black-fella kids don’t show up for school and the others wander in (and out) of the classrooms when they feel like it.  There are plenty of good teachers trying their best to make the lessons interesting but the result (if any) in terms of response from the Aboriginal kids is disappointing.  If the kids have had no breakfast and no sleep and no motivation to learn the white-fellas educational priorities, they are hard put to get anything constructive out of school.  There doesn’t seem to be much that we can do in the school.  Noreen and I went over to the medical clinic and are given the task of catching up on the backlog of filing of medical records.  It is boring and there is little contact with the people of the community, but it is fulfilling a need and repays (to some extent) the head nurse who has been so kind as to allow our caravan inside the nurse’s compound.

I have asked a number of white-fellas about the problems in the community and they seem dispirited; it is hard not to get a negative mind set about the general malaise, which seems to have gripped this community.  A young black-fella tried to hang himself last night.  The problems which have beset this community seem to be many faceted and multi-layered.  It seems (according to the white-fella reports) that the Aboriginals have too much time on their hands.  They do not have to earn a living.  They are paid “sit down money” and, in general, they do sit and play cards and drink and fight and eat greasy (or sweet) fast foods from the shop.  Some sport is played.  There are competitions with other black-fella communities; however, I noted no organized practice of any sport.  Apathy and procrastination have been part of my make-up since I was a child so it is easy for me to recognize it in the Aboriginal behavior in Balgo; however, it seems that these negative tendencies are aggravated by a distrust of the white-fella’s ways. 

 Report # 4                 

I admit that, as yet, I have not asked an Aboriginal about the problems for a number of reasons:

1.      I have yet to make a close enough relationship with one of them to be able to ask.

2.      I am not sure that they see the problems or are willing to talk about it with a stranger.

3.       The white and black communities seem to relate on a professional basis only – it is as if the whites have a siege mentality.  The head nurse has informed me that she was called out for professional help and then assaulted (there may be a reason for the “siege” mentality). 

There is a high wall around anything to do with the white-fellas.  The shop/store, clinic, school, art center, even the abode of the priest is heavily fortified with bars and large gauge metal screens.  The nursing compound is like a fort.  The brothers and the teachers at the school also live behind high walls with extra strong wire mesh at every window and door.  The av-gas  and diesel fuel pumps have even heavier gauge metal screens and barred doors with the biggest of locks protecting the fuel.  Petrol can not be had.  Cars that do not run on diesel can run on av-gas which is for planes in normal communities.

The white-fellas drive their four wheeled vehicles everywhere in the community.  The black-fellas tend to walk; although every once in a while they roar past in one of their four wheeled drive vehicles.

 Report # 5

My view of the Balgo Community, so far, has been restricted to the seemingly frustrated white part of the community and I feel the need to see the other side of the picture.

If I am to get the other side of this story from an indigenous person, I will have to make a plan.  I may go and sit outside the store and see if I can get into a conversation with some of the Aboriginal people who seem to congregate around there.

Finally I had an aboriginal man (Greg.) over for lunch.  He worked at the shop.  His working at all is unusual because in general one can get more cash from “sit down money” than from working.  It seems, the majority of the community eat and sleep all day and drink and fight all night.  Greg had made a suggestion to me about how I might solve my petrol problem a few days earlier and a today asked me how it worked out.  As he spoke English and showed some interest in me and my problems, I jumped at the chance to ask him some questions.  The poor man was grilled by this university student about Balgo. He was atypical of the aboriginals of the community in that he was clean and well spoken and made his kids go to school. In his words he “growled at them if they tried to stay home”.  I asked him about the low number of high-school aged kids who actually attended school (a couple of girls may show up on a good day.   He said that if the parent tried to make them go to school the kids threatened to hang themselves. 

I have yet to see any parental discipline in this community with the exception of a few who “growl” at their kids if they think they are acting up.  For the most part kids can come and go as they please.  They run wild through the streets all night with the packs of howling dogs.  I counted thirty-six dogs hanging around the front of the shop yesterday (this was not atypical).  They mated and fought and ran amuck with no attempt by the owners (if they were around) to control them.  The kids would throw away (on the ground) a fast food container and the dogs would fight over it even if it only had one chip left in it.   Again lack of discipline or any sort of control seems to be the status quo.

Am I just reacting like a middle class white-fella to the black-fella’s way of life?  I don’t think so.  The system is not working.  Greg told me that it was better before when the Catholic Priest and the Brothers ran the town.  He said that then there were rules and the streets were clean.  It seems that total self-determination has been given to the black-fellas in the community.  The welfare mentality of money and a good free education and good free medical care are destroying this community. 

 Report # 6

Fr. Matt has learned the community language and says Mass in the tongue of the people.  One night we have Mass in the Sorry Camp.  The Sorry Camp is a sacred open place near the community where the family, of a person who has died, goes to for the duration of the ‘sorry business’.  Fasting is done by close members of the family and other members assist them for the days of the sorry business for the main mourners are not to move around at all.  When Noreen and I went there for Mass with some of the others from the community we were introduced to the mother and the aunt of the dead boy and shook hands with them and said “sorry”.  There is a sense of guilt in that the dead person was not kept from harm.  The Sorry Business may go on for many weeks.  I could not help but notice that the women were naked to the waist and streaked with white as part of the ritual.  All possessions of the dead person and the spouse will be given to the uncles to be distributed to others.  Cars, TV sets, blankets – everything connected to the dead person and the spouse is given away.  The time in the Sorry Camp will include discussion (sorry meetings which include many from the community) of what should have been done to keep the person alive and what punishment (if any) might be applied as “pay back”.     During ‘sorry time’ the ground where the dead person may have walked is swept with leaves and branches and the person’s name is not to be used.  Others who have the same name need to take on a second name during this time.

 Report # 7

When I asked Greg why the black-fellas seemed to fight all night he said it was often over cards.  I had not seen any card games in play but I can well imagine that his would be a form of passing the time and the money involved in the gambling would be a source of discord especially with the drinking and the petrol sniffing.

It seems (according to Greg) that the community learned about the petrol sniffing from the TV and from youths coming over from Alice Springs (just down the Tamini Road).

 Report # 8

 It is past time to break up this litany of sad pictures with one that made me smile. I first saw Tjumpo (pronounced: “Jumbo”) in Mass; he was using Aboriginal sticks to keep time with the singing.  He was very old and very black (probably a full-blood).  He wore jeans and a faded shirt of poor quality.  He did not say anything.  If he sang it was too quietly to be heard.  I saw him shambling around the community several days later and said “hello”; he just waved back but kept shuffling along where ever it was he was going.  Tjumpo cannot see well, as his eyes are nearly totally glazed over with some eye ailment. 

I visited the art center (just stopping in to see what there was to see) and there was Tjumpo.  He was painting a large canvas with Aboriginal art in a style that is of Balgo and yet still of his own.  A rip in his jeans was being held together with a large nappy pin and he was bare foot.  He took no notice of me whatsoever. 

I later found that Tjumpo often gets $40,000 for a painting.  Jumbo gives the money away.  A young black-fella will say he needs a four-wheel drive vehicle and Jumbo will give him the money to buy a new one.  Tjumpo is a senior and highly regarded Lawman and also a Marpan (traditional healer).  He spent his formative years in the Great Sandy Desert hunting goanna, porcupine, wallaby and pussycat (I just love the concept of a black-fella hunter stalking a pussycat).  

The art center is self-sustaining and is run by a white-fella and his wife.  They do an excellent job of keeping the place well stocked with paint and canvases.  The Aboriginals (mostly women) may come in whenever they want to and paint what ever they wish.  The smallest canvas (unframed) had a price of $350 on it.  The priest told me that they just treat painting as a hobby. 

The painters that I saw working were wearing clothes that had not been washed in a very long time (if ever).  The general lack of cleanliness in the community and the personal lack of cleanliness that I observed must be reflected in the poor general health of the black-fellas of Balgo.  

 Report # 9

One might ask why the black-fella of this region has not been educated both in terms of general academic study and in terms of basic hygiene.  This question involves a certain amount of paternalism.  When the black-fella was treated in a paternalistic fashion by the government and the religious missions and the ‘stations’ of this area there was a chance of such education.  Under that paternalism education in both of these areas was achieved.  The older black-fellas are better educated (literate) than the younger black-fellas   However, after the “equal pay” decision involving the stations and the black-fellas, paternalism on the stations ceased.  Paternalism from the religious institutions ceased when the concept of “self determination” was brought in.  No one is allowed to “manage” the black-fella anymore and he does not seem to have the skills to manage himself in the welfare supported community that he finds himself in.

The education that is to be had is culturally biased.  The black-fella had education before the white-fella came.  The black-fella was able to think before the white-fella came.  That education and that thinking is not helping them in their present situation.  The white-fella’s education for the black-fella is ineffective according to Richard Trudgen (2000, “Why WARRIORS lie down & die”, p. 124, Aboriginal Resource and Development Services Inc.: Darwin).  Further, because of this ineffectual education the black-fella feels inferior and unintelligent, discount their elders and traditional knowledge, lose the cause and effect relationship in their thinking about how the world operates, come to believe that dominate culture knowledge is of a superior, mystical (as if by some ritual) quality and unattainable, and the black-fella loses all interest in gaining white-fella’s knowledge. 

 Report # 10

It seems that the black-fella of Balgo is suffering from adaptational breakdown.  “…unless man quickly learns to control the rate of change in his personal affairs as well as in society at large, we are doomed to a massive ‘adaptational’ breakdown” (Toffler, Alvin – “Future Shock”, Pan Books , Londonand Sydney: 1970, p.20)

In my humble opinion the white as well as the black communities of Balgo are working in a “Culture Shock” relationship. 

Culture shock is the loss of emotional balance, disorientation, or confusion that a person feels when moving from a familiar environment to an unfamiliar one. (International Student Handbook, 1995-96 College of Wooster web site, USA.  

When an individual enters a strange culture, all of the most familiar cues are removed.  He is like a fish out of water.  No matter how broad-minded or full of good will he may be, a series of props has been knocked from under him.  This is followed by a feeling of frustration and anxiety.  People react to the frustration in much the same way.  First they reject the environment which causes the discomfort: “The ways of the host country are bad because they make us feel bad” (Oberg, Worldwide Classroom web site, January11, 1999).     

The black-fella has not been able to compete in the white fella’s world on any level except in sport. The frustration of being considered slow or inferior to the white fella particularly in the white-fella’s education (which is strongly biased toward white fella skills) is of a devastating nature. The white–fella in Balgo lives behind his tin walls and his steal mesh.  Real trust does not exist between these communities. 

 Report # 11

It seems that nothing that the white-fella holds as sacred is also held as sacred by the black-fella.  The black-fella’s concept of sacred is hard to define in white-fella’s language.  This is what I went to Balgo to find out.  I asked Greg about the black-fella’s concept of the sacredness of the land.  I told him that the treatment of the land by the black-fellas of Balgo did not indicate to me a concept of sacredness, when garbage and trash was thrown about thoughtlessly.  He looked surprised at the question.  And then he said: “We do not hold the ground we stand on as sacred but rather all this and he waved his hand at the horizon which stretched out filled with the desert view.  I understood this to mean that the grand scale of the land is of import.  If the black-fellow goes away to visit in another place he wants to come back and be able to recognize the land of his fathers when he returns.  He wants to know he is home.  When the white fellas blew up a portion of the “China Wall” to ease the pressure on the road during a flood, the black-fellow felt a sacrilege had taken place because the shape of the land was destroyed.   In the sorry business and the Aboriginal painting I noticed the images of black-fella power and mystery which to some extent balances the wildness and drunkenness and violence which seem to be normative for these poor people.

The Balgo Hills area was visited by Mary Durack in 1960 and she writes of it:

Father Worms from an intensive study of the Halls Creek tribes, had formed the opinion, supported by the Bishop that a greater purpose might be served by establishing a frontier mission south f Billiluna Station so that contact could be made with the desert people on their own ground.  Here it was hoped, the natives harsh and inevitable contact with civilization might be softened and the life spark preserved of their spiritual faith that is so closely linked with their will to live and their pride of race.  In all his talks and writings Father Worms has stressed his the deep spiritual sense that has been the mainspring of Aboriginal survival and that the old faith dies hard, once dead it has been found almost impossible to rekindle the flame at another fire.  Something immeasurably precious has been destroyed, leaving a disenchanted people with little interest in life, but ready enough to feign belief in anything for material ends.  It has always been the policy of the missionaries to tread lightly where cherished traditions are concerned and not to impose upon a native such Christian responsibilities as he will have little chance of living up to (Durack, 1960, pp. 100-101).  

 CONCLUSION:

The black-fella does not like the white-fellas “education” where the many thousands of years of black-fella ways are reduced to nothing.  There is a strong resistance to educational efforts by the white-fella in terms of qualifications, sanitation, health and parenting because it is seen as white-fellas telling them what to do.  “We don’t need you to tell us how to raise our children”.  However, the blackfella does not live in the traditional manner – those days are gone forever.  Consequently disease continues to be rife.  Immediate gratification is an obvious overriding value in the black-fella community of Balgo.  Stealing and vandalism are common and seen by the white-fella as destructive where the blackfella sees it as a way of life and seems to see it as a form of “pay back” to the white-fella for stealing the land of the black-fella. 

Let us consider this concept of “pay back” for a moment.  Not long before we arrived a child of six was playing with a gun and accidentally shot and killed another child.  When this six year old turns sixteen he will be up for “pay back” if the family of the dead child call for it he may be speared in the leg or he may be killed.  It seems that this form of justice is “traditional”.  Do we have a right to question the black-fella’s traditions?   

We tend to hold to our values, our stories, our culture and our religion as the ‘one true way’.  E. L. Doctorow in the “City of God” (pp. 14-15) explains the stupidity of this perception:

But how do we distinguish our truth from another’s falsity, we of the true faith, except by the story that we cherish?  Our story of God.  But, my friends, I ask you: Is God a story? Can we, each of us examining our faith – I mean its pure center, not its consolations, not its habits, not its ritual sacraments- can we believe anymore in the heart of our faith that God is our story of Him?  To presume to contain God in this Christian story of ours, to hold Him, circumscribe Him, the author of everything we can conceive and everything that we can not conceive… in our story of Him? Of Her? OF WHOM? What in the name of Christ do we think we are talking about?     

If I understand the above concept we need to take care when we put our core beliefs and values up against other core beliefs and values.  According to the United Nations there are some minimum standards of health and education, which all humans should enjoy as well as the right of self-determination.  If a culture (or the practice of a culture) disagrees with the standards of health and education (or the values which underpin those standards), which the UN has stipulated, there seems to be a contradiction with the concept of the right of self-determination.  In other words if the black-fellas, under a sense of self determination, turn their backs on the standards and values set by the UN, then how does one bring about improvement to the black-fella’s health and education?

The black-fella and the white-fella cultures continue to clash.   The white-fella sees himself as offering free services to the black-fella.  The black-fella sees the white-fella as having taken the black-fella’s land and now trying to take his soul and his culture away.  To achieve even the smallest educational advancement the black-fella must overcome language and cultural divides which are extraordinary.  Motivation to do so is non-existent. In reality the well-meaning welfare of the white-fella is destroying the black-fella motivation to fend for himself.  The black-fella can not go back to the old ways.  The black-fella seems to reject the all encompassing white-fella’s way.  For the black-fella there is no way.  A community without hope is doomed to drugs and the world of the walking dead.

All the university “immersion” students left Balgo and that immersion experience before the designated time commitment was fulfilled.  The white community seemed to appreciate the volunteer work done by the university immersion students.  However, in my humble opinion, the culture shock was too great and the hopelessness of the situation was too painful to support a longer stay in Balgo.

I did learn from the immersion experience.  I have had to have a long hard look at my positive perceptions of the welfare state.  I have a greater understanding of the difficulties of the black-fella with the ways of the white-fella.  I have watched a community in the act of self-destruction and found no solution to the problem other than band-aid efforts like making the pay for work higher than the pay for non-work (sit down money) in the Balgo community.  This would seem to be logical but the white-fella’s political ways are not always logical.

I am profoundly appreciative to have been able to be a part of the Balgo community (even for a few weeks).  I met some truly wonderful people struggling against the odds in an effort to improve the situation at Balgo.  I have had many pre-conceptions challenged and that is a major factor in real education in this ERC immersion programme.  The major pre-conception, which was challenged, was one of being pro-welfare (especially for the black-fella).  I now believe that unconditional payments (sit down money), with out a work commitment of any kind is destructive to the black-fella community.  Sit down money seems to do more harm than good.  If the priest of this community is correct in claiming that ‘motivation’ is the greatest need, then a system of ‘earning’ money through cooperation with health and educational programmes might be the way to go.  Whatever way we face the future it seems logical to look for a change of methodology, as the present system is not working for the betterment of the black-fella community at Balgo.  In my humble opinion these people are being destroyed by the present system of social welfare.

Noreen has found some hope in the school at Balgo where the young white teacher was using a fancy big story book to tell a story.  The kids were running amuck as usual and paying scant attention.  Then it was the turn of the teacher aid who was an Aboriginal mother.  She and another aid had illustrated a story from the white-fella’s Bible with Aboriginal people in the major roles.  The kids were totally absorbed in the story. 

The requirements for becoming teachers in Western Australia may be too culture biased to allow for Aboriginal teacher qualification.  This seems to be the experience of the adult education efforts in Balgo.  Many have started the teacher training (or related courses) and have failed to get those qualifications.  Perhaps if we made teacher training courses less culture biased (the jargon tends to get in the way) could get the pump primed and the Aboriginal teachers could help the Aboriginal kids cross the culture gap which makes white-fella education seem too foreign (and meaningless) to them. 

 Father Matt put his finger on the problem when he told me that the problem was a matter of motivation.  No sanctions or inducements were seen to be in place, which would change the self-destructive behavior in this community.  We have to consider whether health and education are matters of “culture” and to what extent these can be left to “self-determination”.  If the black-fella is not able to generate the required discipline to improve the standards of health and education in the black-fella community (I am not talking about the standard of service available – but, rather, the life style which runs counter to the health and education programs that have been provided), we may need to consider imposed discipline (perhaps related to “sit-down” money) which will impose better standards on the community.

These thoughts indicate a major shift in this student’s social thinking.  I fear this student may have moved toward the right on the political spectrum as a direct result of this emersion experience.  I was most sorry to see that all the wood had been taken out of the kid’s swings as well as the see-saw in the playground.  I guess someone felt the need of fire wood.  The value they put on a childhood involving play is in question here if nothing else.

It is informative to note that the black-fella community of Warnum or “Turkey Creek” seemed to show a greater sense of the white-fella’s concept of ‘a healthy life style’ when Noreen and I when we passed through there.  Noreen had a photo of “Turkey Creek” taken in 1934.  It was of the police station and quarters – there was no other structure at “Turkey Creek” at the time. There is the black-fella community of Warnum there now.   By lining up the hills in the background of the photo with the present hills behind Warnum, we were able to stand where her father stood when he took the photo as the policeman of Turkey Creek in 1934.  The black-fellas showed great interest and showed us where the old police station had stood.  The photo gave us an introduction to the community and they took a number of photo-copies of it.  We listened to the elders for a number of hours talking about the old days.  For some reason there seemed more hope for the future in Warnum than there was in Balgo.

 It should not be surprising that there is a difference in the level of health and/or education “standards” in various black-fella communities.  To research the reasons behind these differences would take a huge academic effort.     The head nurse (Maryanne) at Balgo put forward the theory that having strong black-fella leaders in the black-fella communities (or not) made a big difference to how those communities were run.  I am left with the question: “How do we educate such leaders?”  Providing the facilities and the teachers and the nursing staff and the doctors is not doing the trick.  Motivation and discipline need to be generated in the communities’ everyday life.  “How?” is still the question.  I fear that the words of Mary Durack (from report 11 above) may prove too true: “Something immeasurably precious has been destroyed, leaving a disenchanted people with little interest in life, but ready enough to feign belief in anything for material ends”.   The only remnants of the old faith I found in Balgo Hills was in the depictions in the back-fella art and in the Sorry Business; all else seemed lost.

 On that positive note I'll end this communication to my favorite vets.

 See ya,

Roger

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