Dear OAM council/board,
I write today to query the criteria for recipients of the OAM award.
I query because of its awarding to a man named Charlie King. I wonder whether the OAM considers the violence an award participant projects prior to distributing.
Charlie King, this violent man, is a reward recipient of the OAM and I am unsure how the board does not do its research prior to awarding. Research that has the potentional to block recipients whose personal/lives away from the public are hypocritical to the award they are receiving.
Charlie King received his award for services in Domestic Violence. He received for creating a program that focuses on removing family violence from communities, promoting equality, breaking down the walls of rascism and discrimination, working towards peace.
However all of these unsafe violent behaviours Charlie projects towards staff, towards the CEO of the organisation, a position and relationship that Charlie abuses for his own pursuits. Charlie is allowed to do this because everybody around him, including the executive, comments it is Charlie King, nothing can be done whenever his actions are brought into question.
Charlie manipulates, bullies and dismisses everything and everyone in his environment. The manager he hired has been left in tears multiple times from Charlie’s interactions with her, his bullying her.
Charlie attempted to bully me, I did not allow. I complained as was my right to the organisation, the organisation responded, bullying, that’s a big word Fred, and are you sure you want to say this. Said to me by the primary victim of his bullying.
Charlie is the barrier to the education of family violence in the Northern Territory. When Charlie’s violence becomes public, which it will, the work with domestic violence gets put back again. It should never have been allowed, you allowed it by handing an award to a violent man.
I have many stories about Charlie, this weak man, many. I’ll share just one with you, what Charlie’s ego is doing to his people.
My role for the No More program was the field officer, I worked in multiple communties. The job was simply to listen to people and support the building of their ideas.
Gunbalanya was one of my communities. After a year of hard work myself and the community made beautiful progress together, so beautiful that during an end of year visit by Eddie Betts they were also excited to get together to talk about the safety in their community. The old men were all on board, Charlie was the tool that was bringing them to the meeting.
Let us reiterate safety first, what I mean by community safety. Just two simple examples.
Four weeks before the event I was in Gunbalanya sitting outside having a coffee and a cigarette. I watch as a women is walking up the road holding her daughter’s hand. Very quickly it came apparent that the women was heading to the medical clinic. As she came closer and I was able to pick up her features the only thing that stood out was her battered face, battered by her partner.
Two weeks before, same community. Same activity, sitting having my morning coffee and cigarette. I hear screaming from the medical clinic, I look up and a women is walking around the building smashing her fists on the walls and doors demanding to be let in. Her face, arms and more are battered to the point of almost being unrecognisable.
The medical clinic will not let her in, they cannot, they are not allowed. They are not allowed to because they are attending to a man’s sore wrist, the wrist he hurt making sure his partner could not be recognised through the blood, bruising, missing teeth and whatever else.
Safety is the priority, safety we could do something about.
Charlie was supposed to come to the event, promised he would, promised the old men he would. No matter how many times I told him to book the private planes we always do, that all workers take, he would not. Charlie was coming on the police plane and the police plane only.
He knows, and I repeated, how unreliable this is. That it has every chance to be redirected and not be available. Charlie knew this but any other form of travel was not good enough for his status, the only thing that matters to Charlie is his ego, is covering up all the violence he continues to project to the world.
The night before the big day I was invited just to hang out in the community, help do a few things, be a guest judge for the christmas light competition. Phenomenally beautiful evening, out of all my community trips nothing was as positive, relaxed and inclusive as this, everybody was involved. We knew tomorrow was going to be a beautiful moment in the tragedy that is Aboriginal community life.
10pm we finished, I arrived to my accommodation to the sound of my phone ringing, it was my Team Leader, the police plane has been cancelled, Charlie won’t be there, Charlie is breaking another promise.
I had to call my mate, the organiser of this beautiful event, a man who has given his life to this community. Given, not sacrificed like Charlie did me, he gave it. He broke and hung up, he knew as well as I did tomorrow was not going to be what it needed to be.
Not one old man showed up to the event, not even to see Eddie Betts. When you lose the trust of the old men in an Aborginal community you lose the community, you put them back through the repeating of every worker, government agent, outsider that has come into the community saying they will help.
My life was physically put at risk because of the ego identification of a coward, a coward awarded an OAM.
Remember before I continue, the two women, their children, actually reflect on it. Imagine watching this yourself. These two occurences are not unique.
Not one of the community safety discussions took place, not one, no progress at all. Charlie King is to blame for this.
Charlie is to blame yet he was not there, to the community it was not him who broke the promise, it was me. I accepted it and took responsibility, didn’t bitch and moan and complain about Charlie every time someone brought it up. I said it is my fault every time as I represent the organisation, I accept responsibility. The heartbreak was clear in my face and my voice, the breaking of trust broke me as much as the community.
People would not talk to me, I would help with activities and they would walk away from. I was asked to help with the barbecue for a bit, I walked over and everybody left. I did not care, I continued to help, I cooked alone, I collected footballs alone, I said hello to everybody and nobody said hello back.
Eddie noticed, he didn’t know the background, but he noticed how hard I was working despite the interactions with me. I was holding back tears cooking the barbecue when he walked over to me and had a chat, we laughed together, smiled and he walked away. The community started talking to me again.
My friend, the organiser, he started talking to me again, said he knew I wasn’t at fault and invited me to some activities, I was involved in the community again. I was safe again when Charlie made me unsafe. This man you awarded an OAM, this man who let two women and more be beaten half to death in Gunbalanya and other communities.
Where is the integrity in your award, I’ll give you an example of integrity and then ask yourself if there is any in anything you do.
I demanded a meeting to discuss Charlie’s behaviour, this week and ongoing. Instead of a meeting I was chastised for being a man, my manager, a women managing a team to remove discrimination chastised me solely through discrinmination. I asked her for evidence every time she made a claim, she had none, her only response was that you are a man.
My Team Leader bullied me, knowing she could because of the coward standing next to her. I laughed at them.
At this point I had signed a contract three months earlier to keep me there for six more years, this work is me, the organisation knew it. In a year the progress I had made in all five communities far surpassed anything the organisation had done in all the years previous. We were making ground finally, we did it by listening.
I had a unit, beautiful friends, a phenomenal life in the place I loved. A future that was more secure than anything I could possibly imagine, particularly when one takes into account the repetitive torture I was subjected to as a child. My future was bleak, as it is for most repetitive violence victims, I pulled myself out of it, made my life something and finally had all the safety I could imagine.
The next day I walked into the office and said to my Team Leader that I am going to take some time to decide if this environment is right for me. I never went back, I have not gone back to working for organisations, and I never will again. Not while they project all the abuse they say they are trying to undo, not while they live in hypocricy.
The three years since have been horrible, I pursued violence, domestic violence, safety, healing, and all the rest to understand it. It cost me everything.
September my life was sleeping in the bush in Tasmania in a hammock, with a fire basically going right under me to try and stay warm. I had a root canal that needed treatment, it was incredibly painful, no money for the option of pain killers, for months I used mouth wash to make it as painful of possible so I could get some form of relief on the comedown. My only food options were weetbix and water.
I did all this to understand violence, to show the world that when we say something means something to us we will do anything for it, even maybe take a private plane rather than acting on the desperate requirement for ego and status validation and reinforcement.
The No More program and Catholic Care NT are a violent organisation, committing violence within their own walls and nothing is being done about it. I guarantee were there an independent audit into this organisation there would serious concerns around the manipulation of power, bullying, unsafe work practices, financial and personal misappropriation. Charlie King’s OAM would be stripped, it needs to be for the benefit of all domestic violence and safety work in this country.
Aboriginal Communities
This heading is heading towards a discussion on Aboriginal Communities, Australian First Nations People and to ensure a comment I made where I echoed another, Tony Armstrong, when he says genocide continues in 2025 is addressed.
Tony is 100% correct. Not only our government but all of us, including Aboriginal persons, especially people like Charlie King, are the ones continuing the atrocious now.
Some background. With the exception of playing footbal with a few First Nations men I had nothing at all to do with Aboriginal People until I was 31 or so and moved to Bunbury in Western Australia. Nothing at all. Knew nothing about them. Had no idea of the history of Aboriginal People oin my door stop, Alvie, Colac and surrounds. Had no idea that some of the oldest, richest history of people, sedentary lifestyle history of humankind, came from my front door.
None at all, not a single moment of Aboriginal history was taught at any of my schools with the exception of the stories regarding colonisation. Had no idea the English did any of what they did.
From here I spent more and more time in sporting roles that had a focus on inclusion. Making sure these places were what they were supposed to be, safe community orientated spaces. None of them were, are, well very few. The Alvie Football Club were one of the few, do not know about now, will return to them.
We’ll talk a lot about sport here as well, Aboriginal communities and sport have a somewhat symbiotic relationship.
We will talk about the beautiful tool sport can be, the terrible weapon it is often used for. We’ll talk about Police in regards to this, how a police officer by the name of Craig Grenfell, Taddie, can run around country football grounds coward punching men, good men. Lining a beautiful man up from 10 metres away, a man who had no idea he was coming, and knock him out cold, could have killed him, doing this shit knowing he will get away with it because he is a Pig. We’ll talk about that stuff here too.
I’m going to educate you like I have educated myself, mainly through my own ears and eyes, but also referring to books and studies. All the rest.
It must be known to all, that I do not know what happened on January 26, 1788 and neither do you, no matter who you are. Neither of us were there present. There are many conflicting stories about this day so I will not focus on it, I will focus on what is happening now, like we all should be. You cannot sway we on this date, I do not know what happened, and will never ever know, neither will you.
A Google search using exactly the same keywords returned two completely different results when a friend and I were having a discussion about this date, January 26, once. Both of us, in our very next breath said the same thing, that is fucked, well we can’t talk about this anymore let’s change the subject. Exactly what we did, never ever talked about it again. Pointless, just an argument with no answer made more complicated by rubbish digital algorithms simply designed to create confusion and misunderstanding.
I will finish this part here however, with an absolute fact, any person who has worked in the social disciplines in Aboriginal communities will be able to back up the following paragraph.
Aboriginal community life is extermely difficult, many in these spaces continue to live in third world conditions. Not only this but every worker is told that they are not to speak publicly, or outside the organisations, about any of the social issues presented to them. We are required to sign a document promising not to share our experiences. Required to make this promise while we have to listen and watch the public narrative seriously downplaying the terrible that happens in these communities. Australia is not allowed to know about the true conditions Australians are living in, this is Australia.
Why would this be the case? Not being allowed to know? Simple dickhead, this way you can continue to be distracted by the horrible on other shores while being ignorant to the equal horrible in yours, the one you and your government are doing nothing about. The thing you can do something about. Make some noise here, real noise, redirect your international protesting here you weak cunts and see then what you see.
Sporting Prowess
I am good at pretty much everything I give a go, especially true in the sporting space. Particularly untrue when it comes to basketball, absolute nuffer when it comes to dribbling. Nowadays better at shooting than I once was but this was because of netball, which I love playing. Stuey, a good mate, is the only one on one basketball competition I have participated in, 10 zip the final score, not my way. Stu is good, but not that good, I’m just that shit.
The basketball environment itself we will get to, it is the worst of all the sports in Australia, daylight in between the next worst. It’s also where I did some of my very best work so I get to float my own boat a bit here too. Believe it or not my best work amongst challenges that should not have been challenges, Local Council, Port Hedland in this case.
Off topic, but still, Port Hedland built this new beaut stadium, 20 million dollars or something. They built one, just one, indoor court. Just the one court that got to benefit from the air conditioning. Look up the weather conditions in Port Hedland for yourself, you will understand the need a little more. Down the road in Karratha, 400 plus kilometres, the next closest town, yeah footy bus trips were great and not great, they used the same money to build four courts and a whole bunch of other great stuff.
For a bit of perspective. Port Hedland is 150 kilometres from Marble Bar, it isn’t a town. Marble Bar is basically a gathering point for the cattle muster industry in the area, it’s claim to fame being a big thermometer on the way in showing the temperature. There have been some crazy photos well above 50 degrees. Marble Bar was the hottest town in Australia oonce, since surpassed by Wynyard I think (I do not know for sure, a guess).
My claim to fame is I held the record for the Marble Bar triathlon for a while, unlikely to now if Nathan has competed in it since. It was the second year it was held. The first year there were eight participants or so, the oldest, a 60 year-old bloke won it in an hour and a half or or something. I did it in about 40 minutes, fucking smashed it!! Nathan is/was a professional triathlete, trained with him sometimes and held my own, cigarettes et al.
Back to the stadium. Against all recommendations the architects continued with the plan to make the outside of this thing all glass. They were told the local population of very bored kids, high percentage Aboriginal, would see those things as nothing but a plaything, they will not last a month. The advice was not taken, biut it was wrong anyway, they didn’t last the first weekend after opening! Every single one smashed.
Another example, Eaton Council, new beaut stadium. West Coast of Australia, ever heard of the Fremantle Doctor? Nope, yes, look it up. My boss, Ben, was very clear that the big sheets of tin on the roof, no matter how heavy they are, needed to be nailed in and fixed to the structure, otherwise there could be very poor results. Again, advice not listened to, nothing will move them apparently. Within weeks the doctor kicked up, two days later when everything settled down the sheets were found all over the place, found in the playground of the school next door.
Darwin, haha! Local councils, oh my God. After cyclone Tracey they were rebuilding the city, deciding which trees to line the streets with. The council wanted mahogany, beautiful trees. Arborist advice was clear, these trees have shallow roots, they get big, a cyclone at the end of a big wet could uproot them, it may be dangerous. Advice rejected, trees planted. 2018/19 whenever, Cyclone Marcus. I am away for work for two weeks, when I leave Darwin is beautiful, when I return it is a wreck. These trees are the biggest wreck of all, down everywhere. One, through the roof of my colleague’s daughters house she had just moved into with her own six year-old daughter.
More examples?
Footy, Aussie Rules, this was my sport. A whole bunch of games I dominated. Kicked the teams whole score in a handful of them, five, six goals. I never got anywhere near my potential, I didn’t care, I don’t care. I wasn’t competitive, simply loved pushing my body in a way that made sense, as funny as it is running around a paddock chasing a ball was that sense. Like cricket, if you really think about it when you watch it’s really funny.
My fear of men was my barrier to my potential. It was my barrier to myself. The two are symbiotic with one another, fear for others comes from fear for yourself, within yourself. I was afraid in general, men were just the pinnacle of my fear.
Symbiotic, a symbiotic relationship, basically means that the two things work together to create the conditions that are created. Those conditions are not possible without the relationship working together. For instance, green grass is not possible without the sun. The sun makes photosynthesis possible, photosynthesis is the process the plant uses to convert energy into a form it can use.
Pretty much every club I have played at, going back to Alvie, there is a person or persons who whenever they see me tell me exactly the same thing, such a waste of talent you were Fred, could have made something out of your football. I started to agree the older I got, not the waste, just the ability. The less afraid I became the better footballer I was.
Footy is a massive commitment though, as a career, especially today. These poor young men. Forced into superstardom because of where they were picked in a list of other young men, because of the money that is expected to be in their bank account one day. Harley Reid, like hell, second year player and the attention he gets is completely unfair. The first year, it was heartbreaking, why not let the man become his own man, his own footballer, and then judge his potential? Judging on potential and stifling the ability to become his own man, any version of man, it’s disgusting. Damien Barrett, this piece of shit, the worst of them all, I’ll come back to him.
Luke Hodge, we’re going to have a little bit of a different conversation than I once had about you, sell out buddy. You don’t have enough? As a commentator you make a great coach though, which is where you should be, which I know because we were mates once. Mates before you became whatever you are trying to be now.
Footy, I just love it, sport just love it. Played a lot in many places, Aboriginal communities though, this is the best of the best. Just the highlight of all my sporting time. If you ever get a chance to watch a community match, especially a grand final, take it.
The next step, to play in one. Just play, you do not need to know how or have any skills whatsoever, the very best thing you can do in these places is get involved, fully involved. I don’t want to scare you but you will likely get whacked in the back of the head once or twice, if you’re really lucky they won’t worry about they back of the head part, will look you directly in the eye and whack you with a big smile on their face to boot. Ladies competition, not exempt.
It is what it is, smile too and get back into it.
Treated like a Human
The breaking the fear of men I attribute a hell of a lot to the time I spent playing football in Aboriginal communities. I’m only learning this now, it’s a beautiful addition to the other stories I know so well.
I wasn’t allowed to play, Charlie kept telling me no at every turn. A new excuse each time, it’ll seem like favouritism was his favourite. I ignored him, I played at every opportunity, I played with the women, they played with me 😉. Not in that way, perve, funnily enough is how I was greeted in the phishing email the other day, Hello Pervert.
Not reacting to this rubbish on the footy field with Aboriginal men, instead getting up and getting on with your business was one of the truest ways I built the trust to talk to these men about shit that First Nations men do not discuss, domestic violence, their participation in it.
I got on with my business every time I was hit until they stopped hitting me. I played for every team, I treated all my teammates and opposition the same. I took the hits, I only gave them out fairly. I played well in games without dominating, I earnt their respect on the football field and it translated to everything off it. Everything.
The men playing football are involved in every single aspect of community life, no matter where you go you will meet one. The council offices, hospital, mental health spaces, trades, cafes and shops, homelands, sitting under trees, everywhere. This means that every time you go somewhere you will be talking to your audience, the men committing the worst of the violence in the community, and their families. Some of these men are the worst of them all, the worst of the worst in general, football gives one an opportunity to at least open conversation with them.
Playing football, as you can imagine, being taken away as a punishment is very effective. For a little while anyway. It is also a double edged sword. Besides the field, training, their mates, there are no safe spaces for men to go to when they feel isolated in community. Some communities have a Men’s Shed but even that is complicated. We’ll talk about all this more later. Isolation breeds further isolation, in this case it also creates a temporary safety, double-edged sword.
Football in communities, this was my first safe space I created with the men. I wasn’t another worker, I worked hard to be part of the community, it was my only intention, fit in as much as possible, engage in everything and see what happens.
The hits I copped were nothing really, temporary pain, a headache for a couple of days at most. The relationship however was maintained, no matter how long I was away between visits, maximum four weeks, I was welcomed back exactly as I left. We simply continued doing what we were doing and the trust continued to build.
My examples of Aboriginal community are phenomenal, both the good and bad, the most beautiful experience of my life (yeah, I know, many things are, they are). Those examples all came from listening and participating, the space was created from this. They came from doing what I knew needed to be done and not listening to people who had alternative agendas.
Which is all Charlie was doing in his rejection of the request to play, he could not stand that one of his workers was starting to become known as No More in communities rather than Charlie.
Hadn’t even taken a speccy yet!
Returning to the opening statement, as dumb as it is, being able to take these hits and understand the purpose of it. Know maybe I’ll have a couple of days of pain but the upside is so much more, it helped me to make sense of it all, the stupid games we play with one another. Which is all me and my Dad were really, a stupid game, both of ours. I was able to see how much I learnt from our time together, that there was no better teacher than him, that I would like to teach a different way, all be it equally effective.
To forgive and love my Dad was ultimately what broke my fear of him, men and me. To know he is human. These men taught me that, they treated me like a human and asked, without asking, for me to do the same. I did, we did, and everything else we did benefitted from it.
More than the men
Domestic and family violence affects every house in every street of every town in Australia, plus the country side. It happens in every single home, yours too, whether you be the parent or the child reading this, yours too.
It’s the scale that makes it acceptable or not. That I do not consider what I am doing as violence because it does not reach the heights, the scale, of the violence others project. It’s the same thing, the story is irrelevant.
Women, you too are perpetrators, but currently the outcomes of your violence are less significant so we give it less attention. It is important we change this, we give the whole scope of violence as the scope of violence.
Cooking, the equally excellent tool along with participating in community activities to open conversation. Cooking as a vehicle to conversation has proven successful in every part of my life. I’ll talk about it more in the cooking topic, it has an important place here too.
The women in the community need to be involved in discussions, need to be listened to. Often, the ladies are the wisest and most knowledgeable, certainly the most sensible. To make a decision or try to raise a program without the input of everybody is the repetition of programs past. To have any chance at success, to make change, to even make change available, all voices must be heard.
Cooking is absolutely ideal to create conversation spaces, if you a man and want to talk to women it is your only tool just about, it and art primarily. Proper cooking, putting some effort into it. My Friday mornings in most communities was cooking a beautiful meal to take to lunch with a women’s group here and there. I would do this every Friday and say nothing other than introduce myself and occasional general chit chat.
Over repetitive consistent episodes trust started to build, the women started to tell me their stories, by the end I knew many stories in great detail. Beautiful and heartbreaking stories. Stories of trauma I do not have the experience to understand, trauma that continues on to this very day. Trauma that makes my story look like a fairytale.
Consistent episodes does not have anything to do with time, it’s where my approach to it comes in handy. It means every time I said I would do something I did it. Not once did I fail to deliver when I said I would. Every time I first asked for permission to bring lunch, then I produced the goods, really good goods.
Correction, one time, a significant death (simply means elder, a person requiring additional respect due to tribal status) occured in the community the night before. Lunch was cancelled in the morning. I cooked the food anyway and took it to where people gathered to pay respect. Together with Peter fed as many people as we could, made sure they had water, showed that we cared.
I’ll return to this, the main point I am making is both of the activities have some common factors. One, people love them, people will come for these activities. Good food, not shit, biscuits and cakes and stuff is crap and is the opposite of what is needed in community. Good, healthy, simple food full of vegetables, fresh meat and other stuff the body loves.
Clearly I love sport and cooking, it is very easy to put myself into them, it is no chore. These activities are the easiest work I have ever done simply because they are never work, paycheck or no. Shit you love, this is your tool to open spaces, you can find a way to make it work.
Three, there is a desperate need for the second. Cooking, healthy cooking in community, ridiculously desperate need, it is what is needed without it becoming another dumbfuck program. One of the many things needed, I know this because the ladies, and the men told me so.
To be continued.
Out of touch
Charlie, this ridiculous excuse for a man, has an extremely unhealthy obesession, bordering on stalking towards a great bloke, excellent role model, fantastic footballer, Cammie Ilett. If you have heard him on the radio you would swear they were the ones giving each other hygiene lessons, Cammie just wasn’t aware Charlie was there ….
Oh yes, that’s where I was, Charlie, ridiculous excuse for a man. His thing with not letting me play football showed how out of touch he was with his own people to a degree but it was the Gunbalanya trip that uncovered the ocean that disconnect actually was.
Aboriginal men and having their photo taken, ha, good luck. Unless it has to do with football, sport, drinking piss, shooting, spearing, fishing, man stuff. What I mean in this version of photo, the serious I represent myself and my people on a really difficult topic photo, nope, nuh uh, my face does not come with this conversation. Even mention the possibility of recording a serious conversation and you lose trust immediately, the very question being asked shows how out of touch you are with the way of men in community.
Once I invited Charlie to Gunbalanya he immediately started dictating how things would work, how the community conversations would run. The first week of this I didn’t mind, repeated myself over and over, we’re not running this thing Charlie, we are supporting the conversation, helping to ensure everyone understands each other, that’s it. You’re bringing the old men to the table, it’s the reason you were invited.
I reckon I repeated a version of this line 10 times in the three conversations I had with Charlie.
The truth about Charlie that he doesn’t understand is the young people don’t give a shit about him. Young, 45, even 50 and younger. He is an old man to these people, an old man they don’t know, he is a nobody. The old-men, and sadly in community old-men is the 50 plus population rather than the 65 plus, are the only ones who remember him but they are the most important if you want to get shit done. They can make or break everything in less time than it takes to click fingers.
The next week Charlie decided he was going to bring a media crew to this thing, to the community discussion, record everyone in high definition and all, every word, every conversation. When he said this to me I laughed, I seriously thought he was pulling my leg. He wasn’t, he was serious.
I found it hard to get words out, you’re not serious are you Charlie? Yes, he was, very serious, very disconnected. As was my Team Leader, Maria, an Indigenous woman who sat there and encouraged Charlie, I could not understand how one of them, let alone two leaders in this space, could be so pathetically abandoned from everything they came from.
Then he pushed me to ask the community. Charlie, I do not want to do this, even asking them is going to break the trust we have built. How can you not see what you are asking here? This is a private community conversation on a very difficult topic being had by a very private people. You know this is not the way it is done.
He pushed and pushed, I said okay.
I could have just not asked and nobody would have been any the wiser but then I would have had to lie. I would have had to lie to my work about asking permission or I would have to lie to the community about the kind of bloke they were dealing with in Charlie. I chose not to lie.
Football quickly, I rejected Charlie but I didn’t keep my playing a secret, he was well aware I was defying his will. I was a great worker, be a dumb thing to fire me over. This instance I would have had to kept a secret or potentially lose my job, I was not willing to.
When I asked the question about bringing the media team to my mate the organiser of the event I made it clear that I was pressured to ask, made it very clear I knew the ramifications of the words that were about to come out of my mouth. I made it clear we should not be asking the question. I asked, Charlie has asked that I request permission from the community to bring a media team and record the community conversations.
‘He didn’t?’ Yes he did. ‘You don’t need me to answer do you?’ No, I don’t. ‘Great, lets move on.’
He didn’t even laugh, the tone in the voice was simply disappointment.
Unbelievably, absolutely unbelievably, I took the reponse back to the office, back to Charlie, Narelle and Maria and UNBELIEVABLY they asked me to ask again. I replied with absolutely not. I continued with this same response for the next two weeks as I was continually pressured to take the request back to the community but make it more convincing.
Trick ’em in
Catholic Care NT, I love that I get to add this.
I sent them some feedback when I walked away. Fred, no way, not you, so surprised. This is called sarcasm in the case you do not recognise it.
Whether it was the catalyst into their workplace culture review I do not know but it came soon after. Extremely poor culture that I fortunately avoided by being on the most beautiful places on earth for most of my working hours.
Wadeye, Ramingining, Gunbalanya, Daly River, Maningrida were my offices, my working hours.
A friend relayed the events of the two days of meetings titled something along the lines of Workplace Retention and Recruitment strategies.
Retention, this means how do we make sure that staff feel so happy and respected that they don’t want to be anywhere but here. The higher an organisation rates in the respect and happiness the longer the employees tend to stay. People did not stay very long at Catholic Care, Darwin being a transient place or not.
From what I was told they spent the first three hours on staff culture, retention, decided that was enough and moved on to recruitment, attracting new staff, quality staff to the organisation.
Do you want to kniow what their number one strategy was to bring people to this healing organisation?
Guess, please guess because I am not at all shitting you in any way when I write the title of the recruitment strategy to get quality people into this quality organisation.
Trick them in.
Seriously. That was the primary, maybe the only recruitment strategy they brought to dicusss. How do we manipulate people to come to our organisation was literally the subheading, they opened this up and explored, one and a half days worth from what I understand.
The butt of all jokes
Aboriginal community, if you cannot be the butt of all jokes you will become the butt of every joke. Should it get to this you might as well leave and never go back, not this current community or any other, word quickly gets around.
The joking can be exceptionally challenging in the multicultural space. I’m going to speak primarily to First Nations people in this regard, one example makes it more simple.
In a discipline like domestic violence there is no way you can effectively broach this topic in a multicultural community without first breaking through things that need to be broken through; discrimination, rascism, separation. First you must unite with the community and then together you get to open it.
Unless you are an Aboriginal person you cannot unite in any other way than your actions, skin colour does not matter. The only thing that matters to a person of aboriginality is that your first mother is the same as their first mother, the same mother that has made their culture what it is for well over 65 thousand years.
My about photo does not do my skin tone justice, I am a few shades darker than this. WIllian, African-America mate from Gabon, a few shades darker again, absolutely know he is African-American when you meet him. My father, a couple more shades again.
In fact, once my Dad accidentally scared the bejesus out of the next door neighbours when they were walking back from a sunset viewing up Red Rock. One of them looked up and freaked out when they reached the final corner home. Just saw these white things shining at them from a distance, it was Fred, they could only see his teeth!
This joke is not rascist, it is bloody true, the trueness makes it funny as hell. Most jokes directed in your direction will not be rascist, they will simpluy be matter-of-fact. Some will be rascist or discriminatory, having the ability to effectively communicate this message is key but you cannot force it on people no matter how much you know the harm it is.
How do you know you are right about this Fred? Simple bud, because I know equality is the way forward, the way to peace. Equality mate, meaning everybody treats everybody equally. No expansion on this sentence, it means exactly the words that are written. Try to bloody argue this with me, I dare you bud. I will give you the few examples where equality has been the primary intention towards the outcome based intentions, I will show you a saturated world where separation gets in the way, no way to argue the examples.
No way at all.
I’ll use a common comment in community to help us understand each other rather than a joke. All you white pricks are pricks, none of you any good. ‘We seem to be getting along alright. You, Nick and Pete over at the Men’s Shed seem to have a bloody good time.’ Yeah, you’re right, you’re not all bad.
Now, please do not say another word, banging on about discrimination just becomes a lecture, you break the trust. Can you see how clearly and simply I get my point across without education on violence being the intention at any point along the way?
William is not a black man to Aboriginal people. There is a Sudanese bloke in Maningrida, black as the ace of space, nope not black either. I’m darker than maybe 15% of Aboriginal people, still white to them all. You, most likely, ha ha, yes white.
To aboriginal people our skin does not matter a lick, while it is absolutely does. They discriminate equally as much as we do, this needs to stop from an equality perspective clearly, both directions. Rascism this is called.
Back to the jokes, most are just pure fact. Take them, learn to laugh at the, step one be the butt, let the butt laugh. A common interaction will go something like;
White cunt.
‘Haha, thanks mate.’
You know why white people need sunglasses Freddy?
‘Nah mate. Why do white people need sunglasses?’
Because mate, sun shining off a white person’s skin kills eye cells quicker than staring into the sun from 40 kilometres away. Fucking bright cunts.
Clearly this joke is both an exaggeration and pure fact, it is as funny as hell too. If you cannot laugh at this you are in a lot of strife community worker. The exchange above is a very gentle version too. Women, again, you will receive the same type of stuff.
The next step is to engage back.
‘Well buddy, you’re so black, it’s what made you such a good bloody thief.’
Yeah, often you are talking to an ex-con, one on remand, waiting for trial.
‘As long as you keep your bloody mouth shut nobody can see you. But even then, open it up, nobody can see you anyway.’
Most Aboriginal men will laugh, the ones that don’t, get angry, whatever I ask them a simple question. ‘Buddy, you just said the exact same thing about me, it’s true, I laughed. Can I ask we look at my response the same way?’ I do not say please, very little in communtity do I say please, it is a superfluous word. Unnecessary word.
Yeah, sorry Fred. He, mainly he, will think for a moment now, a smile will come across the face and a laugh will follow it all. I’ll laugh again too.
Again, I don’t continue with any rubbish post this point. I could not have taught this guy, more than one, this message any better. We move on and next time it does not come between us.
The funniest shit about my joke is how true every word is. Part one, pure experience from my life, my neighbours walk. The second, often in community you will come across a group of people sitting by the fire, 10 people. They may invite you over to sit and chat. Between the party, the whole 10 people there will not be a full set of teeth.
Above paragraph, both funny and sad, ever been to Indonesia? Into a really scummy mini-mart that is unhygienic and full of rubbish? Nothing but fat saturated rubbish in the bain-marie? The sweetest of sweet rubbish in the display cabinet? Yep, Aboriginal communities brothers and sisters.
Haven’t been to Indonesia? If you can think back in Australia to the time before health codes, before there was some type of standards for the quality of stuff on shelves, you are in a Footscray Asian grocer. Much better than the shops in communities, we’ll talk about them soon enough.
To be the butt of all jokes does not mean you have to put up with harmful crap but it does mean you have to find a safe way to open the conversation up. You’re work in community is about people, interactions, safety, love, kindness, it is the service you give so give it first, tick boxes second.
Your most effective work will be when you are one of the people so make it your purpose.
Gifted a traditional name
I started to get really nervous during my community trips to Maningrida, I spent a lot of time here. I spent less time in Wadeye but one of the men in Port Keats, same place, I spent more time with than anyone.
Adrian just knowing I am writing about him would make sunshine beam out of his heart, it would eminate from every orifice. I love this man with all my heart.
Adrian is the community worker for the No More program in Wadeye, my eyes and ears and ridiculous amount of experience on the ground.
Adrian has a really tough life and is hit and miss in the community. He says a lot but sometimes his actions and words are not quite walking the same road, entirely different maps in different states is probably the best way to put it.
Together we started to make amends, he learnt a lot from me and I, well, I’ll tell you a bit about it.
One day we are driving and Adrian bounces out of the chair, he is driving, loves to drive the Troopy. Freddy, Freddy, Fred check this out. There was a massive ochre whirly whirly, whirlpool, following side by side with the car. My ancestors Fred, this is them talking to us, walking side by side, I’m really happy we are here together.
Another day, Adrian driving the Troopy again, his whole family in the car, about 10 of us. Sorry, not sorry, Catholic Care. We are coming back from a day at the beach after the community lockdowns were lifted. Adrian slams on the breaks, I am left alone with five women while Adrian, a couple of his sons, a cousin and a friend or two go running into the bush.
Maybe more than 10 of us ……..
10 minutes later a couple of them return, a few scratches, gashes, not too much blood, massive smiles. Adrian next, hands on hips, we fuckin’ got ‘im Fred, we got dinner. The final boys follow carrying a dead Kangaroo in their arms. No weapons nothing, probably picked up shit along the way.
Adrian’s respect grew for me, and mine in return, every time we were together. He watched as I treated everybody like I treated him. I stood up for things he didn’t expect me to, in private later would give me a hug, shake my hand, or simply put his hand on my shoulder as he walked past me without saying a word.
The start of our relationship was tough, I could not rely on Adrian for anything. Not to be where he said he would be, help out at this or that, anything. By the end of our time together he would arrive at location before me, sometimes calling me asking me where I was 30 minutes early. Aboriginal people and time, they do not give a shit about it, haha, not a single fuck.
We had a week of team meetings, Adrian was unreliable in showing up to them. Often, he would get the free airfare, the accommodation, the bit of extra money that came with it, show up to the first session and next be seen back in Wadeye sometime later in the year. No shit at all.
I took a chance, a big chance, asked that he be paid before he arrive, even leave Wadeye. I was not encouraged to move forward with this plan, in fact a couple of colleagues, Marcus in particular, flat out laughed at me. ‘You did what? With Adrian?’ Marcus, aboriginal man, has the most beautiful melodic voice, heart melt material in the best Dad in the world type of way.
I don’t know if Marcus is the best Dad in the world but I sure know he tries to be a good bloke. Makes him the best Dad in my books.
Adrian not only rocked up to the airport so I could pick him up he attended every session, got involved in every activity, paid attention. He gave me a massive hug on the last day when I ripped into my manager and team leader in front of the entire team.
For months I was telling this stupid woman these people need to learn self-care, come on mate bloody listen, yeah it got to this point. Narelle, our manager, who has no social spaces background or experience would not listen. In fact, this woman has so much leadership potential that her previous job, a job notorious for below average, the Northern Territory Government, assigned this woman, a manager receiving maybe 120k plus a team of nobody, managing nothing. Her words said to me, the managing nothing and nobody part.
Then Charlie brought her to No More. Charlie did this for one reason, we’ll get back to that another time. Remember, I only use actual examples, examples of this leader and recipient of the prestigious Order of Australia medallion
The men that do the field work for the No More program, my heart melts thinking about these beautiful men. The only two of us that came through the space with a violence background were myself and Sean, we’ll talk about him later, BEAUTIFUL man, a bit maybe excessive but he is aware of and working on it, is the best he can do.
Actually Jimmy did, but we’ll talk about Joimmy a little differently to Sean and Adrian, the same way too, beautiful man.
Nobody else, the media dude, the next media dude, other roles within the team, no experience. All of us were now directly dealing with severe trauma, people with no background were suddenly exposed it before breakfast.
The Gunbalanya year, the two examples before breakfast, before checking anything other than the time on my phone, two days out of 220 plus I spent in community that year. I was not the only one spending most of my waking life in these places, I had significant experience and it was extremely hard to separate myself from. I had great tools already, these guys had not even come to know there were tools available to them.
I could not believe it, in a week of rubbish, not a moment was spend on self-care, looking after ourselves, making sure my neck doesn’t end up at the end of the same rope that my mate’s neck in community just did, from a telephone pole, in broad view of everybody. Another example of what we see everyday. That bloke, the guy from the pole, 20-odd, a good young bloke, awful.
As we go on, these are examples of the heartbreak in this story, you can see the beauty too. It is hard for me not to continue writing example after example after example, I’ll do my best to move forward.
The Friday, lunch has just finished, the next three hours are unfilled, Narelle tells us not to fill them as she has something for us, she is sick, sending direction from her death bed apparently. Always sick, you know a lost soul by how often they are sick.
It is the most ridiculous rubbish, the most ridiculous diculous shit. It is an email sent from the executive to Narelle asking her how she is going to manage a bunch of programs and activities from a feedback and reporting perspective, something as equally managerial. On the phone, she asks us all to read it, get in teams, discuss it, write how to respond and email the group consensus back to her.
You are fucking shitting me right, Narelle? I was not in a mood to hold back, I wasn’t angry, I was standing up for my brothers and sisters in the room. I did not take my eyes off the phone or Maria for an instant.
‘Fred, you cannot say that to me.’ Maria tried to defend Narelle and I made sure it was not happening. This is a management task, assigned to management, for management, it has absolutely nothing to do with us. You know, the people on the ground, people with no experience in dealing with others trauma, and you are bringing us this rubbish after I pleaded with you to make care for your fucking staff a priority at some point during this week.
These two guys banged on in all different ways trying to justify Narelle’s laziness, I repeated myself over and over and over and over. Barely changed a word. Five minutes later I stood up and left, walked into the fresh air.
Simon followed out a minute or two later to see if I was okay at the request of Adrian. Then, a few minutes later I watched as Adrian snuck out of the main roon, edged through the door, walked up to me and wrapped his arms right around me. We smiled and moved on from it all.
Adrian and I became true brothers, I was different, he really liked it. I didn’t ask about being bestowed a traditional name or being included in anything, he and the community, included me in everything.
I was well aware the last couple of trips to Wadeye that there was a question burning inside of Adrian, he wanted to ask me to take the traditional name he had ready for me but was really nervous. I wasn’t just another white guy that his query was going to mean any benefit. It simply meant we would be brothers forever, that he sons would be my sons and brothers, and his sons would be their brothers and sons, our blood would now be the same blood.
This name, the traditional name, was handed down from his eternal mother, it is deeper than skin, blood and breath. The name is the essence of the creatures we are together, our beautiful oneness, me having this name meant me an Adrian were now connected in that unity, I am connected to all his kin, everywhere on this ground through that same unity. Effectively, a white man, a first generation Australian becomes a black man, a 2 to whatever power generation brother. Our blood, skin and breath become one and the same.
Yeah bud, this question, this name meant a lot to both of us. It had to come from Adrian and no other, I earnt it from him, he from me.
The next trip to Maningrida, the last, I didn’t know it would be. One of the, if not the, most respected elder in the community, David, and myself had started to build a really nice relationship. It took about 10 months before he would give me more than a g’day, was not interested in talking to me. The more I proved my trust in other places in the community the more David started to let me in. By the mentioned trip we were sitting in the same car meeting people all over the community, working together to get a connection to country for disengaged boys trip started.
David started asking me about my name, then moved onto traditional name. Throughout the course of the week he brought it up three times, thereabouts. I knew he was starting to consider asking me, for the first time in community I felt pressure, I was aware a very difficult choice was coming up and extremely lucky I was only in Maningrida one week instead of two this time around.
Post Gunbalanya my upcoming schedule was a quick trip, three or four days to Wadeye and straight back to Maningrida, maybe one night in Darwin in between. We were doing some great things that were full momentum in the men’s shed space, it was all hands on deck.
Adrian had one chance to ask me to take all pressure off my decision, the name had to come from him. It wasn’t simply our beautiful relationship, the moment would have opened my door to the Wadeye community gaping wide. The conversations we could have had. I wouldn’t have pressured Adrian, or said anything, nothing wouod have changed but my heart would have been beating a little faster those few days.
David definitely would have asked me the following week. The working together method, intention to work together before making objectives the intention was made possible in part because of me and my calm approach to a difficult environment. I was pure honesty and it made sense, everybody enjoyed my company and I did what I said every time I said I would. Not a person had a reason not to trust me, not a single example.
David appreciated and respected me, it’s an absolute guaranteed way for the community to make you a full-time forever part of it.
I’m not sure if I could have rejected David, it is a phenomenal mark of respect no matter who asks, but a man like David, I’m sure I would have gone weak at the knees.
My timing overall to move on was great, I’d go back in a heart beat but it would be all my way or I’m back on the highway.
The car in the mud
One day we are driving the seven hour journey to Wadeye. Me and Jimmy.
For 6 of these seven hours you are lucky to see another vehicle moving in either direction. Lots of vehicles, none of them moving, all burn out and left to die by the side of the road. Sometimes you’ll see people collecting bits and pieces to fix their car which is parked up next to it, also currently not moving.
Bush mechanics, it’s a bit sterotypical and stuff but still, I recommend checking out a YouTube channel called Black As, it’ll explain a lot. Pretty close to be honest to how things are.
The Butt of All Jokes. Sometimes something so funny will happen and you will never live it down until it is exceeded by another white person. Aboriginal people will do the same shit and forget about it in the next heart beat, not when you do it though! Uh uh, no way buddy.
We are about three hours away from Wadeye, it has been a pleasant trip, good conversation. There hasn’t been another mechanically sound vehicle since we got off the highway. We are driving a Troopy back otherwise we would fly, it is not long after the wet season and there may be water and mud crossings.
There is a big crossing coming up. Now, firstly, I made a dumb mistake but I made it in full clear decision making, I wanted to four-wheel drive this puddle, it looked like a lot of fun. If you cannot see the bottom of the puddle in front of you either get out and check the depth with a stick or something or if you have to drive through, drive straight through the middle, do not go off to the soft sides.
Off to the soft side I went, I didn’t put the car in 4wd to start with, we got stuck, no problem. Tried to put her in 4WD, would not go, tried again and again nope, we are stuck in 2WD.
The whole bloody purpose of this car having a rest in Darwin was for it to have a full service, to be fixed of shit that didn’t work and checked over for general good condition. Wadeye, community in general, is the toughest of tough places on vehicles.
It’s buggered, with the exception of the motor making the wheels spin, the break’s making them stop, 4WD is the next most important thing, even moreso than lights. Yet, it did not work. Were this many other roads we could have been stuck for hours and hours, Gunbalanya to Maningrida for example, with no shade except the inside of the boiling hot vehicle, happens to many. We had plenty of water, doesn’t happen to many.
An hour later fisheries drive past and pull us out, thank you and off we go sticking to the middle of future puddles.
Jimmy and I are sitting back chatting, stuck in the mud, we’re over the being stuck here factor by now. Jimmy excitedly proclaims there is a car coming behind us, we wait for it to get closer, it is going to be no help at all, a lowered blue Holden Commodore.
I’m already laughing, I see it before Jimmy does, I see a bunch of mobile phones suddenly hanging out of the car windows. The car finally gets close enough for Jimmy to see what I do and I am almost in tears laughing, I already see in my head what is about to happen.
This commodore drives straight past, it’s lowered to maybe an inch off the ground, goes straight through the puddle and past us like it is a gumboot splashing opportunity. There are five people hanging out of the two passenger side windows holding their phones out, there are also five people hanging out of the driver’s side windows straining there necks to see, another three or four somehow stuffed in amongst them.
Yeah, out do that white buddies! This story though, haha, Adrian passes on that name and I am forgotten about completely, only Jimmy remains in that stranded Troopt that the dumbass white guy got bogged.
Haha, sorry, not sorry Jimmy.
Governor-General’s Office
Received a response to my email today, the one which started this topic, it’s a real email.
Not only is it a real email I have really said these things to Charlie King, CCNT, Narelle, Maria, everybody who I mention in my online journal under every heading. First, I talked to them, second I went up the hierarchy, I continued north until there is no more north.
My final stop with the shit that means something to me is my government, the top of the chain, the last ones that can do something that does something.
My complaints are never addressed to my loved ones, friends, random acquiantances, unless they are a necessary part of the conversation. Even then, I do not complain, I tell my situation and what I have done about it or am doing about it.
I do not waste people’s lives with gossip, complaining, doing nothing while I bitch and moan for others to do everything. I just do everything, then stop, move the fuck on and live my beautiful life. Really mates, bloody try it.
When I have an issue I do something that does something, the something is the source of my issue.
Charlie King is not the source of my issue, the source of my issue is domestic violence.
Sadly, I just want to call you names, please imagine it for me 😀. Sadly, as you may be learning, the first thing in my life that I mastered was understanding domestic violence. I’ve done it myself, it didn’t take me long to realise what I was doing and stop doing it. It was bloody easy actually.
The very first time I made Isaac, my beautiful little boy, afraid was all it took. A moment to look into his eyes and see that I was the fear looking back at me, man I saw me in him that day.
I walked out of a room of people crying. The other guys in the room were listening to a womanm speak on the violence the kids at their facility come from, I was watching the boy in the back of the room who could not lift his head. Not even when answering a question. It was me. Might as well have been.
I mastered this shit from being the victim. It is my primary, absolute PRIMARY goal here, get rid of this terrible rubbish that destroys lives before they have had a chance to do a single fucking thing wrong.
When it comes to DV friends, I have gone to every source, knocked on every door, screamed my lungs out on YouTube, I have done it all. There are many many witnesses.
I do something that does something. There is no protesting about what I believe or feel towards the subject, you, as well as the Governor-General now knows that I purely give example after example after example after example to ensure I am understood. The message is clear, there is no bullshit ranting and raving. It is full, simple, example based, evidence supported truth.
Now, you tell me if my cause is not worth it? That you do not believe DV is worth fighting to remove from our worlds? Anybody? Is there a single hand?
Ha, funny buddy, I know you were joking. There is always one, generally me, yeah I’m a bit of a dick!
The stuff I can’t say to people directly, like Elon Musk and the space race, well I got it out on YouTube too, publicly to the world, left it up for a good amount of time, took it down. Plenty of witnesses again good buddy, all people who know me and want nothing to do with me.
You know why that is good buddy? Because I told them the bloody truth, the full bloody truth.
Let me tell you, the truth is definitely not the Aussie way.
But, how funny I say this, our government has twice now at least acknowledged they have both read and done something with my query. The reading part almost made me cream, I then almost shat myself when the email advised it had been escalated.
I responded of course, said a beautiful sincere thank you and pointed them here.
Welcome GG if you made it. Recommend you read the Armed Services Post too.
Sean
Or Shaun, who knows. We’ll come back to him.
Ever watched a kettle boil? I just did. Haha, some life Fred, watching kettles, LOSER said while making an L on the forehead with their hand.
Hear me out. Off topic maybe, but probably not. Switch the kettle on, everything is calm, suddenly a noise interrupts, then bubbles, a little chaos. More bubbles until it is boiling, bubble galore, chaos. Kettle stops all calms down, balance restored.
While watching this I thought, yeah goodest buddies, I thought, I use my brain to think, it is its bloody purpose after all. So, while I was watching this I thought what would happen if the kettle didn’t have an off button, the heat remained. It was clear, this would create confusion, eventually the water would all evaporate, the final point becoming dry the closest it reaches to any form of calm.
Chaos created from confusion. There is a simple answer, yes, but a lot of people haven’t worked it out yet, give them time. You know the number one fault called in to I.T. helpdesks yeah? My computer isn’t working. ‘Is it plugged in?’ Oops, nope. No shit, or a version of it.
The calm is only maintained for an instant before the hot plate starts to glow red before eventually lighting on fire. The kettle turns off when it is burnt to a crisp, still there is no calm. The house is on fire, finally the fire is put out, not too much damage. Calm restored. Absolute chaos that felt like it will never end but then it does, calm endures.
All a lesson to continue understanding chaos and confusion, talking about Charlie and introducing some beautiful men in a world where we are lacking.
Sean, he is kind of like the above, comes from a really tough background, it is very very hard to see past what Sean first presents, extremely hard. Like buddy, a lot of it doesn’t make sense, you know there has been confusion in this man’s life.
But, buddies, you look into Sean’s eyes and you see his heart, the whole bloody thing, you know it is the whole bloody thing because it comes out of his mouth the same way always.
His confusion brings the moments that end up in an organisation losing a phenomenal fit or a phenomenal fit losing a phenomenal organisation. He has just lost trust, I do not blame him but he takes his past forward, he cannot leave it where it needs to be in the important moments, accept it.
Sean is a phenomenal asset to the mental health space, seriously tough background, super thick skin when it needs to be, the most gentle heart. Tears. Yeah, I love this man.
A request that should never have been questioned and his boss discriminating against men were the two areas he just could not leave where they needed to be to stick around at CCNT. Just like me, Sean did what was right, a great bloke was lost to a mediocre organisation.
The request which came directly from the men in Yuendamu, 88% sure, was to start a boxing gym. When Sean started telling me the story I was trying to work out why his face wasn’t beaming with sunshine like it did in every other chat we had. Charlie said no, didn’t want to encourage violence. Sean’s face made sense.
God almighty in heaven, hell, earth, down my fucking pants, God almighty. I don’t reckon I said a word, fucking believe that if you can.
Sean told me the whole story, maybe five minutes worth without me speaking, not even a yes to say I am listening, a grunt, nothing. I could not believe my ears.
Sean firstly, this is the thing he loves, bringing men into the boxing discipline space. Honestly, this is one case where you can pick a man as something, stereotype him as it and know for damn sure it is true. Sean just presented everything that is required to be a trainer in a boxing gym. I cannot possibly imagine what it would have done with him at its head, I just cannot.
What Sean was doing in community, especially Yuendamu, was beyond words friggin’ awesome, pure awesome. Pure awesome and none of it was his thing, not footy which he loves, no, boxing and working with men is Sean’s full heart, it is a huge heart too.
Boxing is not violence, violence is uncontrolled anger expressing itself, the worst of it physical, this is all men in community know, the worst of it. Violence is their whole world from before they enter this world. I have written about the boys, 50 of them in Wadeye imitating the war games, the actual fighting with real deadly weapons, that caused the community lockdowns.
Boxing is learning to accept myself and express me in a way that makes sense. These men do not know meditation, yoga, salsa dancing, chatting about their feelings, holding hands and singing kumbaya. These men, sadly as fuck, know violence. All of these men, every men, every man, needs to learn to understand how to express themselves, we can only do it through the means which make sense. In this case, please do not make me repeat it.
Boxing is pure controlled aggression, its more advanced buddy is clear evidence, MMA. I cannot watch it, but occasionally I do, the fighters physiques and how they push their bodies is the pinnacle of beauty. Watching two artists fight, man, I can bring my eyes to the TV.
What’s his name Georges St-Pierre, French Canadian dude, not a single thing he does is violence. Haha, except once, underestimated his opponent, was not switched on the moment the bell rang, his head was still ringing when he woke up however long later. I’m not sure this is violence though, just a poor lapse in concentration.
Which, funnily, is basically what most violent episodes are. Learning to identify the triggers that break concentration is important in a sport like boxing. Our mate above I reckon will agree. When you snap, and break out, every single thing about your form, technique and ability to see the situation go out the window. Georges knows he just has to sit back and wait for you to lose balance, he knows you will, even just slightly, and then, you, my buddy are a goner. All what 30 odd of you, 30ish and 1 his record from what I recall.
No matter how calm a person is when they get whacked in the head, or anywhere it hurts, immediately the body reacts in all ways, fight or flight, we are an animal remember, same process. All our feelings go fucking bazaam at once, most men will lose their shit in these first moments and purely react, they will get their lights kicked in by a good fighter, even one almost half their size.
BUT not when that half their size is a woman, it is a very very very different kettle, using crabs and fucking eels.
Aboriginal men, but in communities in particular, oh my God people, the shit these men and women have had to live through. Just oh my God. Feel yourself when your frustration builds up in one to three parts of your body almost pushing you over the edge. It is the whole body, everything these people know from utero. The men react, I am not justifying it at all, I want us to understand each other, the men react.
The women react.
Both parties react.
One party is built for bringing back crocodiles to feed the tribe, the other party is built for nurturing its children.
Do we understand each other?
Every time you box and get hit you react, you learn against decent fighters reaction is the worst thing you can do, you know it leads to losing more often than not. One starts to pay attention outside the ring, boxing is important so they study. Suddenly, at home, one party is not losing their shit anymore therefore both parties are losing their shit together far less often. The home is safer, boxing, and a man like Sean, the tools to this safety.
Some of the biggest idols in these men’s worlds come from the space, the Mundine’s, Lionel Rose, I don’t know many myself. An activity like this in community, a sustainable and accepted activity as it would have been were it supported and funded No More, could have easily attracted a Mundine. An idol in community just for these men who asked for, built and made it what is, no need to say more.
The flow on effect to the community, the safe of the community could have been huge.
I’ll say it, I do not like Anthony Mundine, I haven’t heard the one competing now speak, but I know the message he spreads amongst his people is one of safety and people listen. It is all that matters when it comes to solving the domestic violence crisis, doing the right bloody thing.
I could not understand the rejection, just could not. How Charlie could just be so completely out of touch in so many ways and nobody allowed to say anything continues to confuse me. I know he continues to get away with it, saw him on TV live the other day.
Charlie, he’s just full of confusion mates, that’s all.
Right now Charlie and most leaders in the DV space are the kettle that will not switch off, it needs to be. Things can be turned around, why do we need to gamble with a house fire when we can unplug the problem at the wall? A kettle without an off button causes confusion, but there is always a solution that allows an opportunity at calm.
Heartbreaking, all of it, the whole story, chapter, this whole bloody thing.
It’s pretty lovely too.
Goodnight good buddies.
Intergenerational trauma
There is a term used a lot in regards to our First Nations family, intergenerational trauma, it is a difficult term.
I was having a conversation with a friend, another Emma, in Colac. Emma is currently doing her masters in the mental health discipline, intergenerational trauma comes into the equation.
But Fred, how can you say everything about us is learned when children who are taken from their mothers at birth exhibit the behaviours and traumas of their mothers and their environment. It has to be genetic, in the DNA.
My first questions to Emma were, when do our eyes start seeing? Our ears hearing? Our brain functioning? Do these functions only start to occur once oxygen becomes our source of life?
Well, no, they all start before hand.
‘From what I understand from mothers is the baby feels their every change, it moves, feels and acts accordingly to the way the incubator acts, feels and moves.’
‘The baby also is learning the movements and patterns from its mother, general mother traits in her gait for example. It sees shadows, hears voices, comes to associate the shadows and voices to one another. The shadows tell a story, my mother feels safe or she does not. Association has already begun, intergenerational trauma is being taught in utero, it is a learned trait, not genetics.’
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, for no reason, Dave runs into the shed and screams BAM. Mushroom trip good buddies.
Emma just went, woah, yes, it makes sense. She didn’t come over to me but she couldn’t argue, and had no argument to pull me back to her side.
Intergenerational trauma is learnt, absolutely learnt, let us please understand this together.
I could not understand why I was afraid of heights. The ropes course at Somers no problem, the one in the army was ridiculous slow caution. Did it all but kept questioning in my head why the hell I am so afraid of this, I have no reason to be.
The year at home with Mum and we are talking one night, general stuff and basic training comes up.
We were doing the high ropes course. On the ground I was feeling great but then I climbed up and put my foot on the rope, my body tried to recoil. I tried to push through it but every step was really hard work. I don’t know why I was so scared.
‘I don’t know why either, you have no reason to be. I’m petrified of heights. Cannot stand them, my body almost goes completely paralysed at heights.’
Exactly how I felt.
I didn’t put two and two together at the time, it came later. My fear of heights was passed onto me through my mother’s fear of them. Between generations it swapped hands because she felt it when pregnant, therefore I did and the developed stage I was at ensured I was able to make the associations to bring this protective mechanism into my own life.
Intergenerational trauma, at least be like Emma, be willing to have a different type of conversation around it. We are responsible for all the violence people, all of it, us now, not us then. Me and you now are responsible, me and you are passing it on to our children.
Me and you.
Listen to yourself, Fred
Did you pick it up in the Sean chapter the thing I said about Sean and you are repeating it outloud imploring me to listen to myself?
First, mates, absolutely excellent. Beautifully so. Well bloody done.
The Enigmas, I have explained this term, in my writing are the things I want you to pick up and understand in the topic which is relevant to you. Repetitively, through every heading in every chapter there are new things to learn.
Further, I make it more complicated for people a little more advanced on their path. Sub-heading three may have the basics you need to pickup the message in sub-heading six. I’m not writing to dictate shit to you, I am writing for you to learn for yourself as we go, you do this and you will get to a point where you do not need to read another word. You will understand each chapter is the same message.
What I wrote about Sean, and those of you identifying it in me should be every single worker in the mental health space. If you did not pick it up you have work to do, a lot of it, you have no ears to hear. You need to take your very first look in the mirror and say for the sake of everyone, I need to be better.
Ears to hear. Yes, I am writring, but words from the paper and my mouth go into your head the same way, just through two different vehicles. The vehicle, car, bus, train, aeroplane, does not matter, they reach the same point.
Our point together, every chapter will reach the same one. How I word it I will know then, the answer, the conclusion will be peace.
However, I will not use the word peace at the conclusion, I will use the word love. By this point you will understand what the word means and what you are doing now is nothing at all love, none of it. Your version and the real version are so different I would need to talk about a completely different creator in a different universe in a completely different experience. What you currently call love is hate, even the love you say you have for your children. We understand this together eventually.
What was it that others picked up and you did not?
I wrote a phenomenal asset may be lost to a phenomenal organisation because HE cannot leave the past where it needs to be. Yes, buddies, this absolutely applies to me too. I hope you picked this up community worker. You did not even need to go to another topic to learn this about me, it is here.
In your clients pick up themes that apply broadly, this is a problem. When a theme repeats there is a source of commonality, find the commonality and you can start working towards a community orientated solution.
I’ll expand with me and Sean because there is a difference I haven’t exclusively mentioned.
Sean approaches a new situation with the feelings rather than solely the intellectual knowledge and acceptance of the events which led to those feelings. Before he is given an opportunity he already is working through the narrative in his head that you, the person presenting the opportunity, are going to fuck him over and not listen to him like everybody else. His feeling is motivating his outcomes before the outcomes are presented.
For me, I have all the same understanding, I have had all the same feelings but none of it enters the conversation. I listen and then decide.
I do not only listen to the opportunity, I listen to the people in front of me presenting and I watch them like a hawk. I do not stare, they are there and I see them in every moment, every facial action, every body tick, every single everything. The same as every other moment of my life.
I hear the truth when you repetitively say the same general message over and over regardless of the story and experience you are using to help me understand. I hear when there repetitiveness is confused, when you are just telling me what you think I want to hear, when you are lying to me.
My response to the offer you give is based on whether it is the right fit for me now and you are going to support me the way you say.
When there isn’t complete clarity in your words, if you cannot say I do not know when you don’t know the answer to my question, if you cannot listen and accept me for me I will walk out the door and never come back.
Sean will listen to the beautiful words you are selling, the great opportunity, and his body will beam with excitement. The beaming is his decision rather than the experience presented in front of his eyes. Sean is still driven from attachment to making the world a better place, I am not, I am just trying to make my world the safest best place it can be for me. My decisions and approach to life show this in every way.
I am just me, purely me, I act for and on behalf of my own best interests. Sean still puts others before himself, the only thing he needs to change.
Mental health worker, you have to know yourself and look after yourself in absolute beautiful detail to be the most effective version of yourself for others. The approach ensures you are always safe and therefore so are your clients.