BreanneG
10-27-2011, 05:20 AM
13 February 2008, Lawn of Parliament House, Canberra
‘For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry. To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry. And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.’
At those words, Myuna allowed her emotions to overcome her. A large tear ran down the side of her cheek. She had waited a long time for this - an official apology to the Stolen Generations from the Australian Prime Minister himself. Myuna gazed down at her 10 year old grandson, Narrah, about the same age she had been when taken from her mother. How fortunate he was to live now, safe from all that pain and suffering.
Her mind drifted back to nearly 70 years ago when she was taken away from her people, her family, by the ‘welfare men’….
5 September 1940, Barunga – Wugularr land
The bush tomatoes were ripe and plump and the seed pods were ready to gather. Myuna and her younger sister, Gulara, were drawing in the dirt under the Wintamarra tree. They were just about to go down to the billabong to swim when a big black truck rattled down the road. Myuna’s mother, Pangari, saw it first and shrieked at her children.
‘Myuna and Gulara, run! Run! RUN! Run Myuna! Run Gulara!’
They ran along the long and narrow dirt road with Pangari following close up behind them. Racing the cloud of smoke to the billabong, Myuna paused to look back, waving her hand through the cloud of smoke she could see the welfare men were out of their truck and were only just a couple of meters away. In no time they were battling Pangari who had positioned herself in front of Myuna and Gulara, grasping their arms with all her strength, screaming at the welfare men. A large man struck Pangari across the face, making blood ooze down her side of her neck as she howled in pain. She staggered back in agony with the men roughly seizing Myuna and Gulara as he tore them from Pangari’s grasp. They dragged the children along the road and shoved them into the back of the truck. Myuna wept as the door slammed shut against her face. Her tears were gone unnoticed, as the truck’s engine roared to life; she flailed like a frightened animal against the metal grate. She knew what was happening, yet Gulara was too young to understand.
Pangari reached desperately toward the truck and for a moment her squeals and wails ceased as she whispered, ‘Don’t forget who you are, Myuna.’
The truck sped off along the mud filth road and into the distance. Myuna could see her mother lying on the road, banging her head on the ground and wailing uncontrollably. She looked at Gulara, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the truck trying to shield herself. Gulara didn’t understand what was happening to them, but she knew something was not right. She wondered why her mother was crying like that, what had they done wrong? Myuna inched closer to her younger sister, sat her on her lap and held her close. Her mouth froze and tears rolled down her face whilst she was patting Gulara trying to comfort her.
When it grew dark, Gulara began to fret.
‘Myuna, I wanna go home.’
Myuna and Gulara hugged each other and cried softly.
The truck trekked down the dirt road and miles of countryside sped past. Gulara grew tired from crying helplessly and fell asleep, yet Myuna was wide awake. She longed for her mother, and for the first time in her life, there was no one to sing her to sleep. It had been the longest and most bewildering day of her life.
Myuna fell asleep eventually, but awoke as her head smacked against the side of the truck. It was still dark and grief and fear overwhelmed her again. Myuna began to sob and whimper quietly again, careful not to wake Gulara.
The truck stopped. The men jumped out and yelled at the children, motioning for them to get out of the truck. Gulara awoke abruptly and started to cry. One of the men grabbed her and lifted her out of the truck and Myuna jumped out after her. Children poured out of vehicles and formed lines, all wearing the same clothes.
A tall woman approached Myuna and Gulara. She handed them some clothing and ordered them to line up. Unsure what was happening, Myuna asked when they could see their mother, but there was no reply. An older girl who could speak Myuna’s language explained:
‘You don’t talk blackfella here. You’re gonna be here long, long time, like all of us. You don’t see mudda no more.’
Myuna’s mind was circling a hundred miles per hour to be interrupted.
‘
Come along, I’ll take you to the dormitory,’ snapped the nun.
She led the girls up to the dormitory, and opened the door. There were hundreds of suspended hessian beds and girls lying upon them, like prisoners in a cell. Myuna’s spirit shrank as her eyes registered the cramped and sterile scene before her – no sky…no bush…no stars shining above her, and four walls closing in upon her. A feeling of panic rose within her. She felt like a caged animal…trapped…vulnerable…afraid.
The nun called her and Gulara over trying to force their hair straight with a comb in their frizzy curls. It was a vain attempt for the full blood whites to make the children look more like them, along with the pajamas with a printed pocket and number. Myuna was number was number 93. Not Myuna, just the number 93.
The nun left the room, locking the door behind her. The children let out a sigh and started to take their attire off to go bathe. The dirt had made the children to appear airbrushed from the dirt, after their long day of gathering crops. As they stripped they exposed welts that appeared around their inner legs followed by multiple green and red bruises. Gulara came to the term that it was defiantly not a good place and her face swelled red and her eyes turned a glassy texture.
Gulara immediately crawled into the Myuna’s bed.
‘When will we see mama again, Myuna? I want mama.’
Myuna stroked Gulara’s tear streaked face. She too longed for her mother, but other emotions also stirred within her - sorrow, anger…. fear, confusion….
13 February 2008, Lawn of Parliament House, Canberra
‘A future where all Australians, whatever their origins, are truly equal partners, with equal opportunities and with an equal stake in shaping the next chapter in the history of this great country, Australia.’
These words brought Myuna back to the present. Narrah was tugging on her sleeve. She realized she had been crying.
‘Grama, Grama, what’s wrong?’
'Narrah, Grandma is okay; today we are okay’
Myuna grew up with feelings and emotions of being isolated. Her unforgettable past had built a wall around her; brick by brick it was now impossible to escape. She was uncertain of her identity and never heard her mother’s sweet voice again. Emotional and physical scars had etched her heart, as she grew up knowing people she didn't in reality know, and mourned people she thought were dead, but actually never knowing for sure. All she could do was reminisce the days before she was stripped from her family. The days which she was happy and never sad. She tried to be happy. However, this was a hard task for her though. The years to come seemed waste of breath and will always be like that in Myuna’s eyes.
‘For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry. To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry. And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.’
At those words, Myuna allowed her emotions to overcome her. A large tear ran down the side of her cheek. She had waited a long time for this - an official apology to the Stolen Generations from the Australian Prime Minister himself. Myuna gazed down at her 10 year old grandson, Narrah, about the same age she had been when taken from her mother. How fortunate he was to live now, safe from all that pain and suffering.
Her mind drifted back to nearly 70 years ago when she was taken away from her people, her family, by the ‘welfare men’….
5 September 1940, Barunga – Wugularr land
The bush tomatoes were ripe and plump and the seed pods were ready to gather. Myuna and her younger sister, Gulara, were drawing in the dirt under the Wintamarra tree. They were just about to go down to the billabong to swim when a big black truck rattled down the road. Myuna’s mother, Pangari, saw it first and shrieked at her children.
‘Myuna and Gulara, run! Run! RUN! Run Myuna! Run Gulara!’
They ran along the long and narrow dirt road with Pangari following close up behind them. Racing the cloud of smoke to the billabong, Myuna paused to look back, waving her hand through the cloud of smoke she could see the welfare men were out of their truck and were only just a couple of meters away. In no time they were battling Pangari who had positioned herself in front of Myuna and Gulara, grasping their arms with all her strength, screaming at the welfare men. A large man struck Pangari across the face, making blood ooze down her side of her neck as she howled in pain. She staggered back in agony with the men roughly seizing Myuna and Gulara as he tore them from Pangari’s grasp. They dragged the children along the road and shoved them into the back of the truck. Myuna wept as the door slammed shut against her face. Her tears were gone unnoticed, as the truck’s engine roared to life; she flailed like a frightened animal against the metal grate. She knew what was happening, yet Gulara was too young to understand.
Pangari reached desperately toward the truck and for a moment her squeals and wails ceased as she whispered, ‘Don’t forget who you are, Myuna.’
The truck sped off along the mud filth road and into the distance. Myuna could see her mother lying on the road, banging her head on the ground and wailing uncontrollably. She looked at Gulara, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the truck trying to shield herself. Gulara didn’t understand what was happening to them, but she knew something was not right. She wondered why her mother was crying like that, what had they done wrong? Myuna inched closer to her younger sister, sat her on her lap and held her close. Her mouth froze and tears rolled down her face whilst she was patting Gulara trying to comfort her.
When it grew dark, Gulara began to fret.
‘Myuna, I wanna go home.’
Myuna and Gulara hugged each other and cried softly.
The truck trekked down the dirt road and miles of countryside sped past. Gulara grew tired from crying helplessly and fell asleep, yet Myuna was wide awake. She longed for her mother, and for the first time in her life, there was no one to sing her to sleep. It had been the longest and most bewildering day of her life.
Myuna fell asleep eventually, but awoke as her head smacked against the side of the truck. It was still dark and grief and fear overwhelmed her again. Myuna began to sob and whimper quietly again, careful not to wake Gulara.
The truck stopped. The men jumped out and yelled at the children, motioning for them to get out of the truck. Gulara awoke abruptly and started to cry. One of the men grabbed her and lifted her out of the truck and Myuna jumped out after her. Children poured out of vehicles and formed lines, all wearing the same clothes.
A tall woman approached Myuna and Gulara. She handed them some clothing and ordered them to line up. Unsure what was happening, Myuna asked when they could see their mother, but there was no reply. An older girl who could speak Myuna’s language explained:
‘You don’t talk blackfella here. You’re gonna be here long, long time, like all of us. You don’t see mudda no more.’
Myuna’s mind was circling a hundred miles per hour to be interrupted.
‘
Come along, I’ll take you to the dormitory,’ snapped the nun.
She led the girls up to the dormitory, and opened the door. There were hundreds of suspended hessian beds and girls lying upon them, like prisoners in a cell. Myuna’s spirit shrank as her eyes registered the cramped and sterile scene before her – no sky…no bush…no stars shining above her, and four walls closing in upon her. A feeling of panic rose within her. She felt like a caged animal…trapped…vulnerable…afraid.
The nun called her and Gulara over trying to force their hair straight with a comb in their frizzy curls. It was a vain attempt for the full blood whites to make the children look more like them, along with the pajamas with a printed pocket and number. Myuna was number was number 93. Not Myuna, just the number 93.
The nun left the room, locking the door behind her. The children let out a sigh and started to take their attire off to go bathe. The dirt had made the children to appear airbrushed from the dirt, after their long day of gathering crops. As they stripped they exposed welts that appeared around their inner legs followed by multiple green and red bruises. Gulara came to the term that it was defiantly not a good place and her face swelled red and her eyes turned a glassy texture.
Gulara immediately crawled into the Myuna’s bed.
‘When will we see mama again, Myuna? I want mama.’
Myuna stroked Gulara’s tear streaked face. She too longed for her mother, but other emotions also stirred within her - sorrow, anger…. fear, confusion….
13 February 2008, Lawn of Parliament House, Canberra
‘A future where all Australians, whatever their origins, are truly equal partners, with equal opportunities and with an equal stake in shaping the next chapter in the history of this great country, Australia.’
These words brought Myuna back to the present. Narrah was tugging on her sleeve. She realized she had been crying.
‘Grama, Grama, what’s wrong?’
'Narrah, Grandma is okay; today we are okay’
Myuna grew up with feelings and emotions of being isolated. Her unforgettable past had built a wall around her; brick by brick it was now impossible to escape. She was uncertain of her identity and never heard her mother’s sweet voice again. Emotional and physical scars had etched her heart, as she grew up knowing people she didn't in reality know, and mourned people she thought were dead, but actually never knowing for sure. All she could do was reminisce the days before she was stripped from her family. The days which she was happy and never sad. She tried to be happy. However, this was a hard task for her though. The years to come seemed waste of breath and will always be like that in Myuna’s eyes.