They were in a concentration camp, they were enclosed within the perimeter of a wire fence, they lived in dormitories and they clothes were not suitable for the climate. Their language was taken away from them if they spoke it they would be punished severely, their culture, traditions were prohibited from being practiced or spoken of they were afforded no dignity. They were malnourished not only physically as the food was not sufficient to sustain them, but mentally and emotionally. They were forbidden to use their names and they were assigned an alpha numeric identity. Nanna was W38.
W38 was stamped into a lead breast plate worn around the neck. Elements that created the breast plate were lead, and old fencing wire. Lead is heavy, it is toxic to the nervous system, and cold. Lead in the breast plate represented the deadly way of life forced on these people. Fencing wire represented the boundaries for living as a young child.
So who wore this form of identification?
T and I went to the art gallery after dropping J at school. We sat for an hour and listened to the artist Dale Harding speak about his contribution to the installation at The Hub – Caboolture Regional Art Gallery
We took a seat in the arranged seating and with five other women of varying ages leaving half of the chairs empty, emotive art works from Michael Cook lined the walls and Wilma Walker’s baskets were displayed on pedestals, down lighting lit the space and the polished wooden floors added another earth element. Listening to this world renowned artist speak and hearing the atrocities of his family and country, I had tears tracking down my cheeks. I was ashamed and embarrassed that within the hour spent with this generous, honest man, I learnt more about Indigenous Australian history than when I was at school or at any time since. I was uncomfortable as a white person in this setting that I had to be educated to the outrageous history of the state that we live in. History that is so new. As Dale said while World War I and II were raging in Europe these things were happening in our own country. In our state of Queensland. He opened up and told us that this history lesson skipped a generation in his family. That his mother never knew the extent of her mother’s and his nanna’s tragedy. It wasn’t until Dale started to ask about the story of his nanna that it came to light. Dale worried about asking appropriate questions to his nanna and he was conscious of seeking her permission to share, as there are strict protocols for sharing women’s and men’s stories.
As T and I left the gallery after taking a few photos. I was grateful that T had the opportunity to have that experience and to learn some history from such an authentic source and to view the Exhibition: My Country, I Still Call Australia Home: Contemporary Art from Black Queensland.