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What I'm thinking about ... forgiveness and healing What I'm thinking about ... forgiveness and healing
(7 months later)
Between 1910 and 1970 the Australian government forcibly removed over a 100,000 Aboriginal children, some as young as a few months old, from their parents. These children, known as the stolen generations, were given to white families to raise, or sent to orphanages because the government did not think that their parents were capable of raising them. At 18, they were released into "white" society, often with no awareness of who their biological parents were and with no way of finding them.Between 1910 and 1970 the Australian government forcibly removed over a 100,000 Aboriginal children, some as young as a few months old, from their parents. These children, known as the stolen generations, were given to white families to raise, or sent to orphanages because the government did not think that their parents were capable of raising them. At 18, they were released into "white" society, often with no awareness of who their biological parents were and with no way of finding them.
The first time I heard this story, I had goosepimples. I was also very upset. Surely, terrible things happened in life, but this one haunted me for weeks, sending me nightmares when I slept. However, as is usual with life, other events overtook this and I no longer thought of the stolen children every day. Their story became peripheral to other news, so much so that I forgot they existed. On the plane down to Adelaide, I thought of the heat, of beaches, of wild game: everything I associated with the country I was visiting for the first time except its indigenous people.The first time I heard this story, I had goosepimples. I was also very upset. Surely, terrible things happened in life, but this one haunted me for weeks, sending me nightmares when I slept. However, as is usual with life, other events overtook this and I no longer thought of the stolen children every day. Their story became peripheral to other news, so much so that I forgot they existed. On the plane down to Adelaide, I thought of the heat, of beaches, of wild game: everything I associated with the country I was visiting for the first time except its indigenous people.
However at the opening event of the Writers' Week, I was forced to think of the Aborigines and of that dark period of Australia's history when reference was made to the fact that we were standing on Aboriginal land. An Aboriginal chief welcomed us and offered up generous prayers for us. He was the first Aborigine I ever saw. I wondered if he was one of the stolen ones. The goosepimples came back. The anger returned and threatened to stop me from enjoying the event.However at the opening event of the Writers' Week, I was forced to think of the Aborigines and of that dark period of Australia's history when reference was made to the fact that we were standing on Aboriginal land. An Aboriginal chief welcomed us and offered up generous prayers for us. He was the first Aborigine I ever saw. I wondered if he was one of the stolen ones. The goosepimples came back. The anger returned and threatened to stop me from enjoying the event.
I have spent all week in Adelaide, at one of the best lit fests I have ever had the good fortune to attend, thinking not just of the stolen children, but of the Aborigines in general. Marginalised in their own country, wronged on so many different levels, the annual "Sorry Day" seems almost farcical. Although I have read some accounts of some Aborigines finding consolation and healing in it, I have always thought some things too big to be forgiven. Colonisation for example.I have spent all week in Adelaide, at one of the best lit fests I have ever had the good fortune to attend, thinking not just of the stolen children, but of the Aborigines in general. Marginalised in their own country, wronged on so many different levels, the annual "Sorry Day" seems almost farcical. Although I have read some accounts of some Aborigines finding consolation and healing in it, I have always thought some things too big to be forgiven. Colonisation for example.
I imagined that the Aborigines I came across in the city all looked burdened with pain and anger. Their sadness looked infinite. I wondered how anyone could think that they could begin to heal. There are things done to me that I could not imagine that I could be healed of because I did not think that I could forgive.I imagined that the Aborigines I came across in the city all looked burdened with pain and anger. Their sadness looked infinite. I wondered how anyone could think that they could begin to heal. There are things done to me that I could not imagine that I could be healed of because I did not think that I could forgive.
However, today, an Aboriginal woman came to me to have her book signed at the end of my reading event. She was tall, elegant, beautiful. She did not look upset. She said how much she enjoyed my session. Then she asked if I had been welcomed properly on Aboriginal land. She said a short prayer and welcomed me. She said more than once, "this is our land". In her voice was pride rather than resentment. Then she told me she was a writer as well. I did not ask her what she wrote but I was so intrigued by her that once the last person in the queue left, I went and purchased her book.However, today, an Aboriginal woman came to me to have her book signed at the end of my reading event. She was tall, elegant, beautiful. She did not look upset. She said how much she enjoyed my session. Then she asked if I had been welcomed properly on Aboriginal land. She said a short prayer and welcomed me. She said more than once, "this is our land". In her voice was pride rather than resentment. Then she told me she was a writer as well. I did not ask her what she wrote but I was so intrigued by her that once the last person in the queue left, I went and purchased her book.
I am reading that book now. A memoir. A touching story of a young girl taken from her family to be raised by white strangers. Her own father, a stolen boy raised in a home for boys in the city. Generations separated from their natural families by cruel government policies. I am skipping pages, not reading chronologically. The last sentence of the book is "Together we will be there always, turning the past hurts into healing." I know I will cry. This week in Adelaide has touched me much more profoundly than I could ever have imagined.I am reading that book now. A memoir. A touching story of a young girl taken from her family to be raised by white strangers. Her own father, a stolen boy raised in a home for boys in the city. Generations separated from their natural families by cruel government policies. I am skipping pages, not reading chronologically. The last sentence of the book is "Together we will be there always, turning the past hurts into healing." I know I will cry. This week in Adelaide has touched me much more profoundly than I could ever have imagined.
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