The Author's infamous pseudonym of course: but which author is who is the key . . .

Excuse me Mr. Reynolds,
but I am a white Australian who was told and nobody tells my story yet.

This is a realistic book reveiw of Henry Reynolds recent work: "Why Weren't We Told", that I commend to every Australian along with all of the so-called black arm band variety of Australian History. But the book reveiw is the subtext, and the overt story I am telling is about the contribution we each make to the discourse that is History. My own contribution into historic discourse is necessarily tempered by only my own life story, as all good histories should be. My own experience floods the pages of every book I read from Qur'an through to the lastest quick grab at the book shop, which is what way I came into reading this latest work by Henry Reynolds. Can I ask all those whom find my blog in any way relevant to read his work and also the work of CD Rowley so as to orient towards the context of white Australian renewal of work to record Australia's black history. Then with that basic re-orientation in mind re-read and and all, and first time read all the very important biographical and autobiographical material that is the modern story of Aboriginal Australia. From Sally Morgan's My Place and beyond, I plan to use this blog to sustain that dialogue which is inhabited in literature between black and white Australians. We know our self when we know each others blood stains our own story. History like any science, is nothing if not alive in reality; and the history of the world as we know it today will not arrive at a sudden end which will end each our own consciousness of responsiblity; but the history we now know will gradually transform by our own labours into the records of reality in which we will learn to know eternity in peace. Wear the black arm band of history of this nation with me, and wear it with pride and dignity, we are not beaten, but are only a people meek in our tolerance of certainty of what our destiny belies. . .

This morning I decided to stay in bed and read. I have a copy of Henry Reynolds new book: “Why Weren't We Told”. By 10:32 am I am walking to the bus stop with 97 pages read. I am already too exhausted in my own life story by receiving of the stories of my black distant relatives, to be emotionally able to keep reading without writing down my own response. I am a writer and a sole parent and a number of other social constructs which this essay will address. But I am not an employed academic and my writing has consistently worked towards an attempt to consolidate an awareness of the validity of Aboriginal cultural forms of verbal expression as equitably valid a form of scientific study of Human society as are the more commonly utilised verbal formulations. The story I will unfold as an early response to Henry Reynolds new book will reveal that it is only a matter of time before this sort of writing is able to gain academic currency. The Henry Reynolds has written a story about his own experience of learning to become a historian of the Aboriginal Australian experience is the real public face of the kind of work I am engaging in both within the Aboriginal community and among other white people. Now I am no Sally Morgan, and certainly there are plenty of other academics whom precede me and write within the context of history but of only their own real life stories. This is the old way of telling history after all, and that which I make no claim as owning. But what is significant about the new book by Henry Reynolds, and many others like it which are recently being published, is that the personal stories of the researchers are being now regarded in the mainstream, as well as in Aboriginal culture, as essential and integral to the historic story which those same authors work to present. That we can not recount history without ourselves becoming a part of that history and so immerse ourselves within the need that our own lives become transparent within that history, is become a mainstream ideology in modern Australia. Even if within that Great Australian Silence, thanks to many authors and film makers and radio presenters like Henry Reynolds, the former “cult of forgetfulness” is no longer the fruit of our fathers.

I was conceived in the aftermath of the 1967 referendum, born in July 1968, after my maternal Grandfather paid for a 'shot gun' wedding. My parents are baby boomers, and I had always been a step ahead of the X-generation. Perhaps a whY-generation, enabling that my own children will be able to tell that the world is one/won. Basically my story is that I got told. Got told what is wrong with the world. In every way and at every place and in every timing. Why am I? Was the burning question in my mind from my earliest memory. Why Me? But to explain how and what that question means and meant to me at a young age, I really need to tell from my own experiences. There is no other way to answer the question. Why wrong exists exemplifies how we will be able to repair it. Perhaps it is that Henry Reynolds and my parents quested for how, as how is the most necessary question. But before arriving at WHAT the solution really is, we know that our children need to be able to learn why those wrongs exist without the intense fear that can surround the terror of how the world has been conducting itself. How is the relativity of feeling, but why is shrouded in the fear that perhaps we already know but are ignoring the truth of cause and effect. Like why is it that death is. What the solution is to questions like death is already long provided within both Christian and Muslim Religious Prophesy, and long already accepted implicitly by Aboriginal Australia. In fact we knew the answers to the questions of this time when the Muslims first arrived here, and soon after some among those first to arrive departed, we knew that they departed in certainty that we are a race already in the sunlight of submission to the real account in Allah. But why? Why is it that we are not today accepted by the schools of modern Arabic wealth in Islam as equitably Muslim? The obvious part of why is that we wear bikinis and are rarely in veil, they drink alcohol, they smoke, they gamble, and, but the we I am a part of do not like earning interest which is a decisively anti-Islamic habit. These are the questions that my own life quest has arrived at with a thud, and in that the story is one which will need telling.

But first, let me identify my self with the legacy of the generation of my forebears who encouraged me toward an identification that is now my public personality, as a communist, a black-lover, and a radical alternative nobody in particular. Well, I should say that by the time I was old enough to think for my self, even though Mum had said that the Communists caused that there were not starving babies in China, and that in Russia men were paid by how many children they feed rather than by the social strata their skills accorded, I never quite openly identified as an actual Communist, because that would have been social suicide in anybody's book by the time I was a teenager in the 1980's. But in 1987, with a record of having been unemployed for then only just long enough to count as a long term unemployed person, and so a potential social problem even though less than one year out of year twelve in the ACT, I landed a job at a Community Radio Station under the Commonwealth Employment Programme, and received a rapid re-education from the oldies who had begun the station as draft resistors radio in the late 1960's and early 1970's. From there it was only a hop step and a jump over to the local Trades and Labour Council conference at which, being a nobody in particular without any sectarian affiliations, I was voted to become the convenor of the ACT Bicentenial Protest Group. My real education had begun in full consequence. The first job that radio 2XX sent me out independently to cover was a public lecture given by Michael Mansel, then recently returned from Libya, and the other speaker whose name I will not mention, true to his culture, since he has subsequently passed away, was one individual whom I had already begun to receive somewhat of an education from which had lead into my gaining employment at the radio station. That is, the former Husband of Eleanor Williams, who was also the first black Australian published Playwright.

I guess that perhaps a portion of why I will regard my writing as significantly worthy to be openly exhibiting it in an early stage of formation, as this is, is because I read that Henry Reynolds wife was, in her work, as a mother in Townsville, just simply unable to protect her children from witnessing that the black population were “poor fellas”. Just that, just that fact alone of growing up in the stream of consciousness of knowing that it is wrong to discriminate against any person on the basis of colour of skin or belief system, but when bearing witness to the treatment of Aborigines is no longer possible to avoid, we are, as a generation, forming a mainstream awareness of horror and we need to question why. I guess most folk mask that horror with money, but as a white Australian whom learned to identify with the black history, and then later factually with my own black Australian ancestry, that option was always closed to me. Now, even if I receive any money, I will not clothe myself in it, but probably still prefer a cuppa with the homeless folk to a cuppa in the Hilton. And I am brave enough to write for two reasons. One reason is because there are those historians like Henry Reynolds whom might just provide the initial audience that I need; academics like the International Socialist Organisation Politics lecturer at ANU who read my essay that is a Marxist analysis of the changes in midwifery and obstetrics which underpin the attack of control of the means of production in speed against the working class. I missed out on a high distinction for the essay, but was in 1997, more than happy with the verdict that the subject warrants post graduate research. But the other reason I write has continually stood in the way of that sort of life story in which I could be writing as an employed academic. I really and truly got mixed up a bit deep in black business back in 1988, so deep that there is no route of return, and never has there been. Perhaps that is what the real terror then is, what is it that blacks know that whites refuse to see?

One of the more unusual aspects of my life story is that I began to speak when I was only six months old. I was being read to frequently and can even now remember dreams from that age in which a local Aborigine kid with fair skin was telling me what was what. The alphabet book I was being read to from told “N is for nigger”, so one day, being myself, and seeing a black man walking past the front of our house in Armidale NSW (the same street which now houses the Aboriginal Medical Centre), I pointed to him and said naturally “nigger”. Of course, much to the embarrassment of every adult connected with the event. So I had an early formative experience of certainty in the fear between persons of different colour, and certainty that the books we were given are not telling it like it is. Not to mention that my mother always stared at “the blacks”. We were warned not to behave in that same way as the visible destitute blacks, warned and warned and warned, but warned to the extent that I eventually discovered myself more at home with a drunken mob under the bridge in Cowra than in my parents home. So why was my mother staring all the time, and WHY was there a photo of a black woman in the old family photo album. Why was the Bible with the names of these people seperate from the photos, and WHY DID MY NANA TELL ME NOT TO LOOK AT THE BLACK WOMAN OR RISK GROWING A NOSE THE SAME SHAPE just as she her self had. Are we warning ourselves not so show that we are whitefellas whom are a racial anomaly among a black race, or are we warning ourselves not to become too afraid of the worst that is, and rather just let it all happen to us as our not too distant black relations will. Meanwhile I have gained a strange sort of credibilty as a white who hangs out with the drunk blacks without drinking, and is accepted. They all know that a sniff of the stuff is enough of that poison to wound me. "They" as in the black consciousness of my locality, among whom there can be no pretence that I am one of. But yet one in among the same race.

The essence here of the story I am telling is that I had no need of that shock Reynolds describes so well, of having been brought cautiously into the reality of black Australians lives, but being revealed to the full depravity of that reality by witnessing children being emprisoned as adults for only swearing at school teachers. That happened in 1970 and is not the last example of similar incidents which prove that Australia has been in a continual state of warfare from 1788 until today. It is to the merit of the Reynold's family that their witness took their whole lives work into account, and that they are among the first to appropriately merit the traditionally oriented black Aboriginal community with the years and years of unpaid labour which has been worked for Spiritual reward not material. The full extent of the shock is deeper than we can ever want to know. It is the shock that we all already know and conveniently forget. That shock of certain constant facts that the British brought criminals to Australia whose descendents are free, while the descendents of our Indigenous ancestors have been incarcerated at rates which call Australia under the limelight of United Nations enquiries into Human rights abuses. Please, Mr. Reynolds, but thanking your work, some of us are now growing up knowing. I know that my own shock in that knowledge has been so deep that I would not have recovered without the Ummah, that is the Kinship of Muslims whom are committed to working among the world’s Indigenous people. Still today, far too few of us Australia are enabled to face the full strength of reality in what has happened, and is still happening in many places at the time of this writing. But in writing this I mean to prevent, and if you will read further you will know that we have the means. But not without the belief of many.

Why I found my way into Islam was through the methodology of Islam being able to give me a measure in which I can begin to express why as cause and effect. Islam is, after all, the Religion of WHY, and having been as much a student of comparative Religion, as of Aboriginal Australia and politics, I can qualitatively verify this statement. Most Australians of any real worth can distinguish that many Muslims are not the good guys; but it is only from in among the Ummah of Islam, (among The Ummah is in Arabic like saying among Gurindji Kinship, or among Wiradjuri Kinship or Nungunnawal Kinship, it sort of means the collective Humanity), that a few distinct facts become obvious about why us Aborigines are not automatically becoming Muslim reverts when encountering Muslim Sheiks and Muftis and Imams. So then, why? Why are there disputes among Muslims as to whether to count Australian Aborigines as already Muslim? Why is the True Law which the Bark Petition was adherent to, not validly recognised as, in truth, Shari'ah, that it is. Why is it that even those Muslims whom accept that Australian Aborigines were already Muslim, are supposing that blessed Mohammed's Prophesies are, in the not too distant future, applicable to indigenous Americans; but when the application of those Prophesies to contemporary Australian Aboriginal life is the only way to sustain any perspective of relative innocence and positive future consequence. Innocence from having done such things as the hole in the ozone layer, and the greenhouse effect. Relative to each our individual consumption offset only by acceptance of the indigenous attitude of relation with land and flora and fauna, as of our own self also. Don't get me wrong here, it is not, as a few have accused me, that I want to claim to be Indigenous only to be able to acquit my own self of such crimes at a lesser rate; but it is, rather, that I know that being indigenous is being able to stretch the mind into full acceptance of the real consequences of over consumption.

The truth about my stopping reading the Reynolds book at page 97, now yesterday, is that I could not bear the fear in my self of reading another portion of another historic document which referred to Aborigines as Godless. Just that it was too much for that day without being able to express an objection. The sounds of the words by which Indigneous Australians are caused to remember the fact God is, have no need to be perfect for us to re-join in the perfection that is everything of created life. Perhaps Aborigines have always had different words for God, since the tower of Babel indigenous folk everywhere, different from each other region by region, only so as to prevent that strangers know we are, when we speak about the sacred. In modern Australian life there are communitists and scientists and public servants who believe in God but have never been provided the social means of entry into any community of those whom are like minded in percieving God. Oddly enough, often those of us whom were believers without being able to express our belief, were those with remote Aboriginal ancestry. I wondered why for a long time. Along with more general wonders about why the Dreamtime myth equivalent to the tower of Babel story feels to have been such a very recent story here, only a little preceding the British invasion perhaps, and perhaps it never was among those communities in which all children commonly are learning to speak anywhere from 9 to 13 distinct languages. When you have been told, you just can't help but wonder. Why this difference? Why me? Why am I able to find out when nobody else around me?

When I was nineteen at the commencement of the Bicentenary of the Invasion of Australia, I happened to be catching a lift to Sydney, with another person from the Bicentenial Protest Group I had become the hapless convenor of. She happened to know about a met up in Mittagong of another car of feminists from Canberra, driving the Rape Crisis centre bus, who were to await meeting with the convoy of Traditionally Oriented folk whom had been on the road for weeks from the Kimberly and other parts of WA, NT and SA. The convoy had received media coverage but little to my own perception then of consequence. I was still in that oblivious mental state of being “convicted by the spirit” as they say, that is, I was suffering from a prolapse that quite prevented my noticing most of what was being communicated on the best of days. We met some other folk waiting at the Uniting Church in Mittagong. I felt like staying to wait, and another traveller felt like departing, and a vehicle swap was made without my having much effective input then. So I was there when the convoy arrived and seem to have miraculously changed the whole course of my life. God bless all those whom caused that my own initial shock out of mainstream white culture, was not as Reynolds describes, witnessing children in distress, but it was rather being suddenly in a small white minority among a large and overwhelmingly loving and supportive group of Traditionally Oriented Aborigines from remote Australia. The only other time I had met such people was buying a shirt from a travelling group of women from the Utopia Batik group, whom came to my school, perhaps I was wearing it then in Mittagong. I certainly remember that its strange, familiar and unfamiliar, smell was only of black sweat, and that the shirt had made me already familar with the smell of these people in whose care all my Dreams have been ever since in the trust of. I am truly blessed as a white Australian because that is a smell which has become synonymous in my mind with safety. The safety of being able to be true to my own self. I have learned only many years later that I was a bit of a prickly pear of an incongruent self whom not many could gauge how to regard. My self, as it was then, and is now, splattered with all sorts of bizzare and awful social regard. I guess I am only by now a bit more used to being me, and certainly had to become far more knowledgeable about being me before that prolapse could mend. At nineteen, and having become socially obliged to join the Indigenous black minority population in boycotting the Bicentenary celebrations which most of my pre-exising peers, and all my close family, were looking forward to the fun of, how could my life not have changed dramatically. In the longer term it has become clear that most of my white peers whom also boycotted are also of Aboriginal Ancestry. But we didn't know back then, not at first.

After meeting with the convoy we all had a night at Mittagong highschool courtesy of the Uniting Church, then drove on to La Perouse in Sydney. The Convoy seperated into two sections on the way into Sydney, and I just could not help a creeping feeling that the vehicle we were in was responsible for that mistake. But I can swear that it was not my fault. It was Tanya McConvil's beer cans which fell out the door when we opened it to find out what direction to take, and it was Tanya who reviled that anybody sought to ask what our mistake had been because it was Tanya whom didn't want the police to know about the marijuhana in the bus that day. Everybody else was either stoned, or like me and the driver, playing it dead straight. I will mention Tanya only because her name and face are known and knowable as an English woman already within the Gurindji Kinship system. She has an odd and unwaranted reputation for being the face of the far left wing's realisation of the Land Rights polemic. But she is just an old drunk who is strategically placing herself to find out what direction might get her out of Islamic Prophesies. That's what I reckon any how. But you never can tell with us Mussie Gubborigines, we might as well all be the nazis. Regardless of which Tanya had told me that the old women were going to make it rain, and that it always rained when they did that. Search me as to how the convoy becoming split into two manifested a rain storm. I just can't tell when it comes to that level of Indigenous Science. But in truth, I knew Tanya as a woman with a degree in Nuclear Physics whom never says that a group of people can cause it to rain, unless she is herself totally convinced that this is what will happen in every single circumstance.

At La Perouse I was given an important handshake and welcomed into the Ummah of Aboriginal Australia by that playwright I earlier mentioned. I was shy and dumbstruck but feeling certain that special and important things were afoot and that I am specially enabled within these events. I didn't really display any culture but remember being sensitive to there being a whole set of rules at work which I had no idea as to, and so I was careful. I knew that I really really really did not like being white among blacks, and also that I liked being among blacks. This essential internal difficulty took many long years to resolve. I was invited to the corroboree on the eve of the 26th at Kurnell. I only knew that it was about making the old way strong again. I slept through it. I got laughed at because I was very obvious in being well attuned with Kinship, but within my own internal inablity to know that I am already in that pattern of Indigenous Ummah. I was openly behaviourally adherent, but internally mentally oblivious. A typical whitefella. I remember even wondering if everybody was laughing at my thoughts, but wondering in the internalised white fella way of forgetting to remember that my wonderment is open. Yet this speaks to a critical difficulty in modern social relations between black and white. English culture has a specific structure in which Kinship is not of the conscious mind. I was raised in that structure yet conscious where others I was raised alongside were not. I am sure that this is a familiar story for many whitefellas of indigenous ancestry. But the most common method for us whitefellas to become busted out of our internal oblivion is through drug use. It should only take one single use of in the company of blackfellas in good Kinship, whom should be able to provide that essential evidence of our collective connection in mind, but they don't, they laugh instead, and I sure have been long laughed at. In fact, I am certain that the Aboriginal public radio broadcasters found my really very funny when they got me stoned a few times in the following twelve months, and me, I was in that prolapse remember. Realistically the impetus for busting any person out of their English speakers culture must come from that person, but “I know they are laughing at me and I don't know why” as a mental conjecture really is that impetus. The prolapse needed eventually for an Islamic text to cause me to reach that level of certainty in inevitablity required. The really sad thing is that those whitefellas whom regularly use drugs and are really always only using drugs so as to bust themselves out of any culture, and not actually looking for an Indigenous culture which regulates that internal collectivity, are most often those whitefellas whom the black youth are orienting towards as able to communicate with blacks. Even worse is that many of the worst of racists are long already realised this fact about black youth and are using it to further strip down the retention of traditional culture that is sustained among urbanised black populations. “Hello, over here you guys, I'm straight and I know! But I don't even pretent to let myself be blamed only because of having white skin. Sure you can take advantage of me in the fact that I have been over to England, any Dreams about English way that you need, and I am happy to regard my self as in your obligation, if you are black. But really this white skin, I am taking it to my disadvantage on a daily basis already in enough different contexts. And if you need a whitefella to get you in any metaphorical doors then I am an adept mental locksmith. Come for a walk through the city with me, to see what I can see, surely thats a better way than to hang around with a bunch of druggies who let you blame them and intent to take it all back one day, because they sure as hell are getting more out of blaming you for blaming them, than you every get out of them.” If I had any message for the Aboriginal youth who identify with their parents and grandparents struggle through what has become of the tent embassy, then that is what it would be. The few black men whom have taken me up on my offer of a stroll through white culture, did within their own intent to sell me out to the whole black community as though any old prostitute, have:a) appreciated themselves being in my company; b) found their own social value in black society improve through my company, but not when in my company;c) caused that my worth is found suspicious by their hiding of their actual valuation of my company;d) caused that I was myself drawn into the observation of a series of white criminals seeking to prevent that I could provide any further into the black community. (Such as this knowledge, for example.) This is a repeating pattern, most recently repeated through eating at the free food hand outs for those without a house to live in on the streets of Brisbane. Actually, in general, I don't mind the company of the blacks on the street. There is an informal system in urban Aboriginal contexts, by which any person whom gets themselves into trouble in their own community, has to put in time in the lowest local social strata, which is usually among the homeless and involves work oriented tasks of keeping an eye on what is going on with local street politics among criminals and between criminals and police. Just because I am white, here in Brisbane, if I want an Aboriginal identification, I am expected to be relegated to the station of homelessness. I have raged against this more frequently than not because the only reason I am in Brisbane is for the conduct of a family court case in which my children were removed from me because my identifying within the Aboriginal community was regarded as insanity. So I work constantly so sustain any interactions with any trustworthy sober black Aborigines while also sustaining a home. Yet never pointedly only because they are black. I always only communicate with any person within a working reason that is not thier social or racial status. Constantly I am finding that there are blocks being put in my road by the mechanisms of organised crime. Now what seems to be in play is a regard that I must be prevented from winning in court so as to prevent a white family from winning the first landmark stolen generations case. But those whom so try to prevent me have imagined that the whole case is a set up that I partcipated in causing, and so I am constantly in a heated battle over this with whomever in the black community will lower their dignity to talk to me. As a white mother whose children are removed my social identify among the black community is far lower than it is among the white community. In general the white community are more likely to believe that I was discriminated against for openly identifying Aboriginality of remote descent and as a social identification. While the black community seem to have been imagining that I set my self up to rip them off of a sorry for stolen generations, and certainly struggle to manifest belief that a white person has been discriminated against because of an Aboriginal identification, albeit an informal one. Meanwhile I am raging all day and all night in total ferocious hatred for all the forces which consipired to remove my children from me, but am disabled to effect and real change alone, and have been abandoned to my rage by both black and white communities. That is, except for my real friends whom are, like me, totally socially disadvantaged in this scenario. I feel like screaming all day every day, and I know that this rage I am feeling is only that portion which is mine, of the exact same rage which imbues the life of every indigenous person whose land is invaded, and whose children are not safe. If I complain too loud then I am proving the legal case against me, and if I fail to complain I am also proving that case against me; supposedly. But there is not any real case, and my temper is very evenly held by a lesson long learned. My court case has begun to, unintentionally on my part, prove that the Jurisprudence of Shari'ah is ever the victor in Law. So unless you are one of the white Australians whom are already among the Indigneous Ummah, like the many I meet regularly without housing, here is the subtropical Brisbane City Parklands; might I commend that I could tell you a good book to read.

In this position, I would have no basis of reality if I were not, first and foremost, putting my health ahead of every other concern except the wellbeing of my children. There are black youth whom regard that I am in a white only culture because of this fact, that I care for my health, but I know that where I have had the means to learn full initiatory material from within esoteric Islam, which is equitable with a full traditionally oriented Aboriginal education and series of initiations, most urbanised youth just are not being provided to in this basic need. If only they were being enabled to connect with their fears without resorting to drug use, this country will be made one Ummah in reality once again. This is why I am at odds with much of the local Islamic community. Islam could have been providing to our youth. Islam has the means.
Where Muslims with the resources to are providing in Redfern, it is not within the world of Islam as it is compatible with an Animist cultural belief. Aborigines will give up drugs and give up many objects of the invading cultural identity, will readily give up any animal behaviours and animal mind, but will not give up certain belief that when we die we become turned into animals. Just another part of nature, as the worms eat us and fertise the soil, the native grasses grow and the Kangaroos eat of, and we become our own meat. Yet I know, and know of, Muslims whom believe in my work. There are not many whom can mentally adjust to living in two cultures, but those whom can, are most often also unable to express their experience in the English language. This fact worked to the detriment of Aboriginal Australian youth whom are taught in English. I intend that my work will combat this fact. I am factually bound by my own death to the Indigenous Ummah by cause of that Corroboree in 1988, bound to provide of every resource I can find which will strengthen our Indigenous Ummah. But in that, it is that I tell it like it is in the English language, and most folk just aren't used to that. Thanking all the black Austrlian authors whose work paves this way, I reckon that it is about time a few whitefellas had our say, and wore our share of the burden of being who has a life story that is in need of being told as a prickly pear of what nobody wants to know. Meanwhile, if there are any blackfellas who reckon they can avoid our cultural heritage of accountibility by become a Muslim, well I reckon we can let them try, don't you?

So in 1988 I was at a Corroboree. What has that got to do with it, might many ask. Everything I will say. I am bound under the strict obligation I have described, by a whole convoy of people, and the whole tribe of each of them, and the whole collective Ummah, for my passive particpation there that day. I have seen all the signs in the Australian Institue of Aboriginal And Torres Strait Islander Studies in Canberra of the Rom ceremony that was performed at the old site before it co-located with the new National Museum, so am bound in that also to every aspect of Traditional cutlure I have read about within the library there. I went to the Museum on the day it opened. I made a middle of the day decision to show my children Pharlap's heart, after not being able to make the early morning smoking. We were bare foot and pyjama clad in actual fact, but I had suddenly though of it as an attendance of important consequence, while in the car for some other forgettable reason. We sat on the grass and I felt that something is wrong, then I suddenly remembered, “Oh, I haven't told the children that we have Aboriginal Ancestry”. So I told them, not as my Nana had informed me, but with pride and dignity, and commitment to work to ensure that my children live up to this inheritance. And with the sounds of the traditional performers songs there that day ringing in our ears. In 1988, something happened to me which triggered a pattern in my subconscious. In fact, it is a pattern in which I am able to cause that a subconscious awareness is made able to become into the conscious mind. But the immediate trigger that day was hearing the woman from my home state of NSW speak. She said: “we can't do it alone, we are only 2%”, and I heard within the very deep and painful sorrow that was being expressed, a permission being granted to participate in this process as a white person. Back then I didn't even know I am an Aborigine. Well, I could guess, and it was soon after the Corroboree that my Nana warned me not to look at the photo or I would grow to resemble that black ancestry. I heard her only in her assertion of inheritance. I will not hear her in her fear. So I privately received a blessing, and set about that year to become a more active part of work against racism. When I was in London the following year and the one after, I put a Land Rights flag on the picket of the South African Embassy in Trafalgar Square and was there the day Nelson Mandela was released. Was at a concert which a member of the Guilford four attended on the night of that release. (The Guilford four were Irish folk framed as thought members of the IRA and whom spend long in prison.) I connected with the oppressed and marginalised in the British Isles whom might be able to comprehend what it is to be an Indigenous Australian, because what was Merlin if not an Indigenous Englishman, and a Magi, and who would I be as an Indigenous Australian, who has European ancestry, if I had never connected with the best therein. It took me a bit longer to learn about our shared Muslim ancestry among European, but that is an essential connection in this story, and realistically is why I am alive to tell it. If “It's Time” was ever real for the Whitlam Government, then the idea that it is now or never must sustain currency. So I was at a Corroboree in 1988, and so what. The work of such things goes on in our collective mind all the time, without the currency needing to be known by everybody whose life is effected. The whole of modern civilization is regulated by that exact same comprehension of the Dreamtime which regulates Aboriginal culture, but of the mainstream western European oriented industrialised money oriented societies, the mechanisms are not usually knowable, and are bogged down in the crimes of those whom steal of.

My life went on regardless of being at a Corroboree. But I was effected. Soon enough I decided to have children while still young myself, and without a Husband. I made this decision based in a certain fear that I needed something to oriented my wants back into the ground with. My peers and I had all trained ourselves as feminists, and so a boyfriend was sort of obligatory if we were to avoid the lesbian cadre feigning being socialists. It was as though I was seeking to undergo an initiation of sorts, the sort which childbirth always is for females. I was factually instinctively seeking the means I needed to cause fear in myself of the consequences of that life I had already lead. Already I was inextribably off track, before 1988, put off track by all sorts of odd and unnecessary interventions of interests other than what any teenage girl should need to have to deal with. Somehow I knew that a solution was to make my life difficult by having a baby. Fortunately I knew better than to resort to that other strategy that youth at a loose end often resort to, of taking drugs. We all need something to remind us of the fact that one day we will die, and that life should be hard work, and when drugs are the only avenue in lives that have been given the false orientation of money, then I guess we must face the fact that crime is governing society. This facing is what is being done by many people of my generation. Why is it all too easy? Go to school, get a job, get money, buy and house and car, have sex, make a baby if that happens to be the case . . . . nah, nobody really buys it, do we? That is not what reality is made of, except for the baby bit, and, ooops if you look a bit further and buy drugs, or buy Religion, then you find that there is death to fear, and so sex is to fear, and so then what are we alright, and why are we even alive? Does anybody exist who believes that it is all about the house the car? Well, now that I mention it, these things like Corroborees and Prayers seem to regulate that for many vacuous folk all about the place the house and the car are life, and at least they aren't at war in that case. But hang on, or are they? Is this seeking a house and a car just as good as the neighbours are, causing overconsumption causing wars? Causing drugs? Now who are the dudes who are selling the drugs and what do they know about this house and car business that we don't know? Well, what do they know? And Why is this description one of a not so uncommon a processing of the life story of very many Australian youth. Hang on, why, we have gum trees and kangaroos and stories about you and me as well as about old blackfellas who are almost dead and gone! And look, those blacks aren't even almost or nearly dead and gone, but alive and well and asking to be listened to! And look there is another new book that historian Henry Reynolds wrote telling us all about what will make our life difficult without the drugs. Why not find out about the crime that causes black deaths in custody rather than the crime that causes drug sales? The result is the same wisdom in a healthier body. I guess that I am saying that I believe my self to be at the front of a generation of Australians whom are just not able to accept that everything which has gone before must amount to us being ordinary run of the mill mainstreamed bunnies. (Even if some black Wirrin casts a magic spell on us and turns us all into rabbits in the end.) The generation in which, by questioning why, when it was all given to us on a platter, we learn that by expressing our difference from each other and our difference from our parents, and our difference from the rest of Humanity, we become more and more alike to the rest. Every generation rebels, but now, we are being force feed methods of rebellion. So far force feed that rebellion becomes no longer running away into star studded rich kids ville, but falling into the gutter in self righteous, self certain, ascetic denial, of that non-reality of consumerism. We want it real man. And that is what we are getting, but if only we can learn not to believe that we need money. Meanwhile all the so many whom are struggling to know what is real which they can not yet find, are getting nothing at all but more and more indebted to their own truth in Allah. There is a hole in the ozone and history is telling us of all of its causes without telling us of a solution which we can earn the right to buy with ready cash. There are Aborigines who fought for and won some land rights and we can all sing “My Island Home”, in knowledge that the worth in which it is sung to the world at the Sydney Olympics was a very hard won battle. We know that even if we are not at home here on this land, even the racists know that Aborigines are winning something real and that the suffering that accompanies that win is so far into the terror of the situation that even now today, when many of us know about the bloody frontier that Henry Reynolds writes of, The Great Australian Silence has not been displaced. We can just hope for a minute that the cult of forgetfullness, which Henry Reynolds also refers to, is gradually diminishing all the time, and that its eventual finish will be that hallmark of the victory of Indigenous worth in every land mass.

I have thought about this: that to be published as a writer I could omit the fact of being a believer in Islam, the fact that within the esoteric heart of Islam many Aborigines here in Australia can be rightully regarded as Mujahid(een), if only we spoke Arabic to know what that means. It sure puts the frontier conflict into a different mental category. Who was Robin Hood? Who was Maid Marion? Who was King Richard and who was Friar Tuck, in the real legacy of the fact that the crusades were ended by Saladin marrying his daughter to King Richard of England, within condition. Conditions which Terra Nullius, enshrined in the Australian Constitution, is the English breaking of. Conditions Prayed about, but regarded by most Arabic speakers as being American rather than Australian conditions. That oddly not quite right, but heartfelt regard for the Indigenous peoples whom have experienced invasion; and which is causing a strange set of conditions to migrate from America back here into Australia, which are foreign to us, yet not. The Indigenous Americans are perhaps only more duplicite than Aborigines are about what to do with strangers, regardless of their Religious orientation. The keep 'em happy camp is really not what Islam is notorious for falling into, but there you have it, and how many are fallen? Islam the Glorious, Islam of knights and of round tables, Islam of Gothic Cathedrals, (of which there is one here in Brisbane which even has a crescent moon and star marked into the masonry); Islam of the Masonic Temples and Tuetonic knights, and therein is the story of Jesus in Islam, and which went wrong somewhere in falling into a Rosicrucian dream of living only for death. Well we all know really that it is the Christian Churches story rather than the Muslim story, which took that peculiar turn, but do we all remember yet that it is Islam underpinning the truth in Jesus? Only Islam sustains in completion that book learning by which all Aborigines are going to become enabled to pick up the pieces and make the world real again; that is, if you believe Islamic Prophesy, and apply it to your own life rather than as other minds might suppose it is best applied. You just need to remember that where Qur'an says to decry those whom worship Father Son and Holy Ghost as through three individual Gods above God, that we are to sustain belief in One God whom is Allah, without decrying Jesus, whose teaching is perfect and sound. As any good Muslim knows through the Surah called Maryam about the Prophet Isa. As for Iblis, why He is the redeemed because Jesus showed us how to deal with the Satan. But these are things that Aborigines were already aware of, why our mythology is full of stories of the redemption of the fall.

I could deny being a Muslim to my own benefit, but I won't, not even, these days, for social crediblity among the socialists. Or I could deny my Aboriginality, and perhaps then equitibly be supported in becoming a published author by the Ummah of Islam. Even were I a black sister my whole story could carry more crediblity than is carries today while I write in this white skin body. Black Muslims are at least an existing social category, as are black indigenous Australians. But nobody can quite recall yet how a social construct of a white revert to Aboriginal Australian Animist Islam could ever even have entered our sensiblity of what is possible. It is a big hat alright, the embodiment of the general world veiw that can be carried into any employment situation is as an initiator and a big picture thinker, with a kind of para-legal social work skill set. But us whY-generation seem to be who prostitue our self without earning money. It is either that or prostitute our ideals for money, because when you know why, there is no space between. Is it that we could see a solution in prostituting losses? I Pray not, but fear so. Where are the qualified doctors who are also qualified lawyers up the rungs of the social ladders we are falling off, those whom might have been able to validate our worth. The worth of an ordinary Indigneous Australian Muslim is next to nothing when not accepted at the local Mosque; except that as a white skin Indigenous Australian Muslim, Praise Allah that there are Traditionally Oriented communites whom can not but accept me into their reality. But it ain't going down well in court where I am wrongly branded schizophrenic for associating with blacks. Meanwhile the psychiatric profession seem to be trying to communicate that their hands are bound by the insurance industry preventing them from forensically giving me a clean bill of health, off the record, why yes, I could just do them the favour of getting out of their office since there are so many other patients more needy, but in a medico-legal report, why there just isn't any industry. And secretly the local member of State Parliament had tried to fob me off to the Federal Attorney General's department in the situation of the total failure of the Australian Government to provide for me as every other Government pensioner is provided for in every responsive legal case. I have been studiously writing letters to any person whom might have the slightest interest in my predicament, now for over three years. And I write, and write and write, and have already wrote a book of some worth once it is made more, more, well more properly like everybody else is I expect. Maybe when I sue the forensic psychiatrist I can fund its being published as I want it to be knowable. And there is James Blunt singing in the background reminding us all of war and love and lifes gone by uncounted. I have known a few, and know the Hell that will save those I love true. But all this, is nothing but my own need to communicate, just one working mother, just one believer, just one individual whom could be anyone.

I know that my own story is really worth nothing of material wealth, unless it builds upon the work of authors like Henry Reynolds whom have already built a professional basis of work to set the historical records straight. As a writer I seek to report factually. To report facts that will later sustain any historic worth, I report from either other non-fiction writers, or from my own experience. There in am I finding that I just keep on returning into an Aboriginal cultural regard for the science of defining what is real and what is not. What is tellable and what is not. What is the true historic record. Our own story which we remember, each with our own sequences and plot, until we have that under out belt then we are nobody to be reporting upon the history of the world as it effects all persons. Really there are many Muslims whom specialise in the history of historic records. Every word Mohammed spoke in twenty three years is recorded and the records are sustained within a thorough system of scientific enquiry. Thereby modern Islam is accessible to those of us who were raised with only a modern western European oriented frame of reference of reality. What was it that Mohammed said about a mountain, and it is Uluru? Regardless of which I plough on directing my writing at small elite audiences in various contexts and with various concerns. I wrote for criminals, poems which string together their wedges of reality, but place such back into the world of Aboriginality and Islam. They don't like me much but seem to believe in my poetry. And the poems are having portionally that effect I wrote them for, they are fishing a few true believers out of the criminal circuits. Believers with horror stories of the continuation of the frontier struggle but within our very homes, in our minds and bedrooms. One close Aboriginal male friend was attacked by an axe-weilding maniac of a white European girlfriend, why? Because she noticed that he was taking his certainty of her eventual death into his own so as to cause that she can not prevent her own death being in full retribution. He is, by enduring equitably to her death within his own, preventing her from trying to escape the inevitable by trying using black magic. Now hang on, how many of the texts which Henry Reynolds refers to are describing that same cause of violence? One black man murders one white man, and sixty blacks are massacred, and is it the same story as one unsupported suicide bomber flying into a building in America, killing a few too many folk whose relations find that they are unable to find out what has become of the ghosts of the dead, and begin to panic about retribution and hell fire and brimstone. In Islamic teaching the whole regard for Heaven and Hell is somewhat simpler to negotiate, but only in Indigenous comprehension is that simplicity given a basis in reality. That grounded reality of every step we walk and the feeling in our feet, is not book learning, but reality walking.

Let me now re-orient this essay back into the actual story I am telling. The truth in respect of the relationship between what I write and the Animist Religion of Aboriginal Australians, and Islam, Christianity etc, is possibly the bigger field of the discussion that I am trying here to launch, but not that which this essay is meant for to tackle. Where the subject matter converges with that larger field is only really indicative of my own personal involvement in the modern internal Islamic debate about what the realisation of Prophesies is potentially actualising. So let me then here add to my observations of the Reynolds book in this respect. There is a quote from a colonialist voice whom spoke in opposition to the brutality and violence of the frontier. On page 104 Reynolds quotes: “Already the evil leaven has begun to work. . . .” Now what is not told is whether the writer of 1867 was well versed in the Gospel of Jesus. The chances are that the original writer had a better Christian education than had Reynolds, because the term 'evil leaven' has a very specific Biblical reference to racism. The Bible passages are from shortly before Jesus announced to his disciples that to follow him in life they must follow him in death. He had earlier warned them to beware of the yeast of the saducees and pharisees. There is a danger here to suppose that Jesus was being racially biased in telling to avoid certain bread. But in fact the full teaching is rather that he was telling to avoid trade with such persons whom practised black magic. That is the fuller teaching which is available through the Prophesies of Mohammed. Now again we need to be careful that the term 'black magic' is not becoming associated with persons of black skin. Rather it has a very specific definition. Sihr is the Arabic. That is of work that attempts to place a negative consequence into the future of another persons life, and by causing that the positive consequence they have worked towards is being already benefitted from by a third person. All true Religious teachings are designed to orient the mind away from black magic and into a frame of reference in which the future is, at all times, able to be held in positive belief. Sadly it is that within British Canon Law, the legal term Terra Nulluis not only describes a world without Humanity, but implies that black magic is apparently the only means of any persons whom are existing.

Now, among elders of remote Aboriginal communites, in which Christianity is (mostly) quite assimilated into Aboriginal Religion's Animist Tradition, the 'evil leaven' is quite openly known as the specific black magic which is causal to an apocalypse. But a causal factor, and not the ultimate cause, since that must be of positive consequence. This understanding also has significance to the fact that among Aborigines in the past, and also today, there are choices made to intermarry with the white community so as to instill the ancient law of inherited reciprocal obligation. That is Religious Law accepted by all three Abrahamic religions also. I wonder how many white skin Australians, like my self, and perhaps Henry Reynolds also, perhaps, are inheritors of that obligation. This is an obligation which seriously indents the action of that 'black magic' or simply 'depravity of mental intention' which was causal to the extreme violence of the frontier, and manifests to this day in prisons, on the street, and inside of houses.

Here is another example from Reynolds research which he quotes on page 114. “They say things like 'it is well to draw a veil over the dark side of the picture' or 'there one would willingly draw a veil over the sad picture'. Now what attracted me to these quotes is two things. First is that in the second 'there' is used with implication, that other-where, one might not want a veil drawn. Now what springs to mind by the language in use is the Religious phenomenon of Hijab. Actually it is a Judaic and Christian phenomenon as well as Muslim. The veiling of the vanity. That is, the concealing of the true appearance. The covering over of reality so that reality is not subject to Sihr. But obviously Aborigines were not clothed like Europeans, so how can the term 'veil' have application. The reality of Hijab, and many Christian concepts of 'to veil' is that the term embodies a definition of a mental state as well as an external behavioural expression. So 'to veil' the mind is to prevent oneself from imagining what one's appearance might, or might not, be. It is that mental state in which a person 'lies low', is less active, and therefore more difficult to track down. Now in general there is regarded that the battle front between Islam and those whom claim a Christian identity, but whom Muslims regard as non-believers, (unlike other Christians whom might more likely be Orthodox), is operational in respect of what we appear as at all times. Whether or not we appear in another person's Dreams, is the reality of whether we are adhereing to being veiled. That is the understanding from any Religion. Now consider that the quotes Reynolds took those statements from, might in fact have been made by superstitious folk whom were afraid of the black community being silent, or invisibly active in the Dreams of white people. Reality is that the intention of the black community has always been to do just that. In fact, when women were sold to white men, it was to cause a genetic manifestation of the possibility to work upon the Dreams of the invaders.

So then who among us descendents of such intermarriages is able to stand up and be counted again alongside the black skin people whom have borne the brunt of the violence of invasion, as an indigenous person committed to stabilising the society of the invaders back into being a land based economy rather than a fiscal profit driven economy? In my mind Henry Reynolds counts as one. But he is still not in that generation in which I have grown up of knowing up front. Knowing so far that we can not silence our certainty of belonging to the black race and so belonging to this land. Just yesterday I was waiting for the public phone near my house to become available and another red head girl was there also. We talked. She said something racist, about blacks being propagators of violence. I disputed her and established a point that what is being done to black men in prisons is so extreme that they are often forced into a delusional state of mind thereafter, and that is why they are hitting women. Then she revealed that she, like I also, have had our children removed only by cause of associations with the black community. But that the black community will not include us under the banner of being effected by stolen generations, yet still will regard us as of Aboriginal ancestry and therefore within their culture. It was sort of fortunate that the woman was a red head like me, because I could cause her to relate to the black skin experience by remembering the difference which red heads experience. The reality is these days that many blacks whom have themselves fallen for racist arguments of the premacy of black skin, are regarding red heads as that necessarily, lower than they are, step in the social structure, from which to get a step up. But not just red heads so much as any body whom can be identified as being of Aboriginal descent as a white skin person. Well, that is not such a bad position for them to take in order to get that step up which is still long needed even today. In fact the reason we intermarried was to enable that exact thing to happen, that we whitefella Aborigines provide a shield from black magic for the black community. But this is where the whole picture becomes quite terrifying for all of us. What about my children? I have been victimised by white organised crime groups whom are renowned for the know how of enforcing multiple personality disorders. Thankfully they are not really very good at knowing who their techniques just can not work upon. But the worst truth is that among those groups of criminals, it has been the work by black skin folk, on the almost bottom rung, in enforcing to my self the ritualised abuse which accords that, in general, their bosses regard me as being controllable by them. Thank Heaven that in my own case I have found that every Aboriginal man whom got so close as to be able to try the known abuse techniques on me, was also in fact very loving, sought to obtain my permission first, and was complicit in feigning with me the success of the technique where my permission was not granted. But here I need to be very careful as to revealing what we were together complicit in. My self and, by now five, Aboriginal men, whom crime gangs have sent to bother me, have complied only in pretending that we are both willingly criminal, and only by cause of knowing that if not, it is likely that a white rapist could be sent to hurt me seriously. Why? Is just because I happen to have grown up knowing. Knowing that as white Australians we are complicit with violence against blacks. Knowing that as a white Australian of Indigenous ancestry I will be a voice who speaks out in defence of black skin persons. Because I have been told I am being socially relegated into categories of deviance. But not just because I was told, but because I listened and knew that the plight out Aborigines is real. Thankfully so did that white rapist, the second among, actually believe me when I deciphered the Surah The Elephants of Qur'an for him to fear me by.

Why me? My life story. Why is it me, whom as a white skin girl, has had Dreams of being a half-caste Aboriginal child whom was abused so far as to never speak a word all her life. Why am I Dreaming that? Why am I Dreaming of being a half caste Aborigine whom as a mother was forced into prostitution and had my children stolen? Why aren't I like any other apparently 'normal' white Australian. Even being like an ordinary white Australian hippie single mother would have me been better placed than I am today. And I get a feeling like my whole life is a repeat. But that this time I am a well educated mainstreamed white Australian whom has been provided with every possible educational resource within which to know that according to Australian legislative justice they can not sustain taking my children away. This time I will have to change that story because I must, because there is no future for life unless we end the stealing of our children. Killing times are better than raping times. I have been provided also the education within which to know that there are criminal, corrupt policing, and corrupt government forces, whom are evidenced to be working alongside so-called Christian Churches (among criminals it is known that the Salvation Army are the only major Australian Charity who do not knowingly harbour child rapists), and whom are the inheritors of the ideology that sustained the removal of Aboriginal children, not because of real difference of skin colour, but because of the process of land invasion. Why then are those inheritors of that legacy still today fighting. There are families in whom the men are bashed and raped in prison to such extremes that they fear not hitting their wives, and thereby their children are removed. That pattern is factually systematic and the system is knowable in evidence only among criminals, and those same criminals have threatened me that if I make statements to police, they will make a collective set of counter statements which accord false evidence of insanity in me, so as that my children will not be returned to me. Why? What is their interest in the removal of my children from me? Is it truly that they wish to prevent me imparting to my children the serious relevance of inherited reciprocal obligation?

My situation seems too hair-raising to have real credence in the Australian mainstream. But what I am trying here to communicate is that I am not the only person in this “Y”-generation who was told and who just could not buy into the corruption. But we are an ill defined bunch, us of the first wave of this awakening to the reality of what our forebears were deceived of. My peers include: a self identified post modern punk in his fourties; a couple of law graduate school teachers who went out bush to run a two teacher school to give their own four children a decent chance; a Maori women who sometimes sleeps on the streets and was forced into prostitution and then forced to have a baby to cause her muscles to orgasm tighter by the removal of the baby from her care thereafter; a black man who has had a cut made in his penis while drunk, by a gay man whom believed that such a form of sado-masichism is the truth of what a Traditionally Oriented Aboriginal intiation is; a bunch of folk generally regarded as ratbag hippy ferals whom stave off poverty by selling marijhuana to those other folk whom want to know, but whom them themselves become caught by the delusions which criminals want us to swallow; an Australian soldier whom returned from the middle east with a morphine addiction, and whom was emprisoned and tortured by the US army after he refused an order that he must shoot through a baby in the arms of its father so as to kill the father by killing the baby; and the list goes on and on through the experiences of the marginalised but informed members of this society. In this predicament, how can I not speak out on behalf of these other true believers whom I am describing. Too many of whom have been dependent upon criminality in that too many were drug addicted. Too many whom have not yet received of the esoteric knowledge I have fallen to. In fact I began to dissociate my self from most of my peers in 1999 for the sake of my children. But then it was that there began a systematic abuse of my psychology. As I withdrew from exposure behavioural abuse, a whole system of psychological abuse ticked over into place. I had been unconsciously prepared by criminals to prevent me from speaking out. Their strategy is that known among Muslims as that of Gog and magog, in which we are prevented from reconciling with one another. Each of our patterned responses has a patterned reconciling reply, which can be forced to trigger an opposing response also. That is why there are high rates of drug abuse and domestic violence among Aborigines. Usually, in this modern time, it is such behaviours which are the cause for children being removed, and given away into the foster care of non-believers. But in my case, the had to work harder and caused a string of misinformation surrounding my mental health status. By the time my children's violent alcholic father had refused to sent them back to me from a holiday with him, I had make a series of sweeping lifestyle changes over a three year period. I had proven my self a good cook by doing the family Christmas all alone one year. I had worked at Tai Chi and lost much weight, and am now a skinny person. I had worked for and been granted permission from the ACT Department of Education to homeschool my children in conjunction with their continuing enrollment at the local primary school. I had begun some personal research into Aboriginal Kinship systems aligned with the experiences of my youth and later anthropology study, and in that was working to provide into my children's homeschooling an Aboriginal cultural component. There weren't dirty dishes around the house any more. I had told my ex-boyfriend, the children's father, not to come back from the drunken sordid episodes he habitually displayed, and then had become able to begin to scientifically research a set of ideas which I had been exposed to through interest in alternative health care practises, and began to learn that what I was orienting to as worth valid scientific investigation was Islam. No wonder the bad-guys don't like me. Eventually I even uncovered evidence as to the sacking of the Whitlam Government within criminal social contexts. Not to mention the fact that I witnessed who is selling drugs to those whom sell through connections with the Aboriginal tent embassy in Canberra. And that I noticed that there are black Aboriginal Australians whom are quite mixed up with the corruption and that I would not let them blame me for having white skin, has had me branded as an out and out racist pigdog. Although that has been really very convenient since it enabled me to obtain a large degree of evidence from within organised crime which I might not otherwise have been privy to, and then feed that information back into the Traditionally Oriented Aboriginal community. However, I still need to tell it like it is: “NOT WITHOUT MY CHILDREN”.

I will not tolerate this nation state which claims ownership of the land we are born from being caught red-handed in corruption at the expense of my children. How many black mothers have been silent in their evidence so as to protect children? How many of us whitefellas were the produce of those half-caste women whom “passed as white” after Federation only so that the children could be raised within the world of knowable maternal love? Yet here now today, is it the case that I can not get my children back UNLESS I speak up and am believed?

If that fact is real, why then all our sacrifices have been worth the Earth.

Well, I guess that in general there remains only to be said that I certainly am ever accepting of the fact that most black skin person's lives have been far harder to live than mine. That is the very fact which drives this essay, is it not? Or is it the fact that the Indigenous mentality of people belonging to Earth, is needing a white skin, as well as a black skin, expression, in modern Australia. Perhaps that is simply because we whitefellas would be seriously wrong to leave the whole mess of responsibility for what has become of this land to blackfellas. To leave the entirety of the work of Reconciliation to blackfellas is equally wrong. But also to put up with being assumed to be a racist only because of having white skin is also wrong. Let me outline here what I have witnessed in this respect. Once I was a panel member of a committee deciding upon allocation of Government funding for Community Housing. Unfortunately the housing body whom I was a member of had an application under consideration and so I was disallowed from contribution to any of the decision making. The senior public servant involved discriminated in favour of an Aboriginal housing group, but it was not a positive discrimination. She decided upon the basis of fear of being labelled as a racist if that group did not get the funding. She spoke that the Department would not want to be named in any media as having discriminated against an Aboriginal housing group, and therefore it was necessary to give them the funding. She had been verbally threatened by telephone with such media attention. But the situation was that the whole committee, of which I was the only community representative, had been working very hard towards developing a model of funding provision in which funds were only provided to whom could substantiate that the infrastructure was already in place within which to manage the funding. Additionally there is another organisation funded cyclically to provide that infrastructure so that no group ought to miss out by being underinformed. Now I guess that perhaps the Aboriginal organisation could have argued that the infrastructure providing organisation was not letting them equitably access the resources necessary, but that organisation had sustained a record of excellence in qualifications of employees work history of working with black skin people. The decision was made to provide a grant of enough money to purchase a few houses. Then within the next round of funding the grant was removed because the Aboriginal organisation had not managed the money transparently and within the legislation. So the Government was called racists after all. But with the additional leg of racism in which an Aboriginal group were given a negative experience of managing Government money. I know first hand what quality of experience that is, because as a youth I participated in a young women's group whom successfully applied for and managed a youth grant with which we published an anthology of youth writing. The positive quality of that experience can not be underestimated.

So clearly I am no stranger to the advantage of being white. But somehow I am finding that it is an advantage which is only sustainable either in actual ignorance, or within a real racist mentality. Now my father's voice comes to mind from the future in which he has met the hour of Judgment as a believing Muslim, and he simply reminds me that my "somehow" is REPEATINGLY how. Now that I am informed of the interests which are causing modern day stolen generations, I am finding that a bizzare series of administrative errors have been delaying the progress of my family court case. But who would I be to associate such administrative errors with court house security, or even believe the letter I have from a solicitor describing that it is not uncommon for the family court registry to loose documents as occurred in my case. If I made those mental associations externally, why then everybody would regard me as completely balmy, and the children's father's case, that I am a paranoid schizophrenic, would be proven. Despite the mass of evidence to the contrary. There are now three independent psychologists whom tell me that it is preposterous to believe that I have schizophrenia, and that I have a case to take to the anti-discrimination commission. While there are a few psychiatrists whom have told me that belief in Aboriginal culture is tantamount to schizophrenia. (Are they relying upon Terra Nullius or something?) But in the full picture the tag of schizophrenia has no legal jurisdiction over me because I have never been diagnosed with a schizo-freno-form disorder for any continuous six month period. I begin to see the picture of what is being done against black Aborigines. The picture of police getting away with murder and not calling it war. The picture of Australian soldiers white and black, having been pressured by the British and Americans, into proving the hard way that we already know how war prevents black magic. This is the truth of the Australian legacy. Our ancient indigenous warfare was so well managed in social justice that it would not be recognised in the modern context as more that a back yard barbaque brawl. Is the legal system really trying to regard all belief in Aboriginal culture as schizophrenia, and so arbitrarily dismissing evidence as has been done in the case against me? Actually I have a mild post traumatic stress disorder that becomes active when in association with certain persons, but which is effective at providing me with appropriate fear levels for watching my back among criminals. It was caused only by two accidents. One my own fault at three years old in sitting in a bucket of hot water when told not to sit there, and the other a natural disaster in New Zealand that got onto the front page of the Canberra Times, only because there was not much else newsworthy that day.

Above all else what I can communicate about Australian racial relations is a matter that will not receive the immediate popularity that it warrants because of endemic racism prevalent. That racism of sihr, in which there is no positive future outlook. I observe that when ever white folk like myself imagine that every black skin person is more deserving of a hand up then ourself, that we attract to ourself, mainly those black skin persons whom are setting out to rip off white skin people. There are those whom really don't care that a hand up is not a hand out. Mainly but, they don't care because of the extremities of abuse they have suffered, and for generations preceding; often having lead to extreme use of drugs, and in that is the real difficulty that we are facing. Drug use is not a black problem, it is a white problem which the black community is fallen into through their attempts to find out the causes of so as to eradicate. But drug use is a problem which thrives on black skin folk assuming that any white skin person is indebted to them. Conversely to the statement I made about whites trusting every black person, it is that when black skin communities believe that every white skin person is indebted to them, they begin to attract to their own self only those white skin persons whom are actual racists and are very much indebted to them. Pray for this to be the lesson to take from this essay; a lesson in what it will take to make Reconciliation a reality. Reconciliation of white and black Australians has been a long term broad based goal of many Australians. It is only the occultists whom have openly refuted the social justice model of Reconciliation as a realisable outcome. Of course we all already know that blackfellas must not, and will not, trust every whitefella whom comes along with a hand out, and that whitefellas must not, and I believe that enough of us will not, assume of any blackfella that they are not deserving of a step ahead being given at our expense. But we must learn better how to draw that line. The line exists in respect of criminal action. That is the argument that black Australians have been winning against whites, and it is the argument which must be sustained. So in that, I will not shy away from exposing that there were drug users at the Aboriginal tent embassy whom believed that I deserved that my children be stolen only because I am white. They are wrong and they will learn without me needing to draw a gun. They could never have made any impact upon my life if they had not been supported by a large contingent of whites whom are the real migaloo, and who are knowingly setting up the black community to hate white skin folk, only so as to prove evidence of reverse racism, as though such excuses their own actions against blacks. I have met such racists and know. One of them was recently exposed in the Brisbane Courier mail, a Wayne Smith, exposed for having been collecting and 'squatting' various website domains, in which he had been placing nazi propaganda so as to try to effect a false belief that the Australian Liberal/National coalition are neo-nazis. I guess he hoped to bring out any actual extreme facist sentiment among their constituents. It was that he showed me he was squatting 'Bindi Irwin' dot com, and I exposed that fact becaue I knew that he had affiations with those whom promote child pornography. This story is related only to the fact that those whom seriously, and religiously, believe in nazism, also believe that Animist religion is a belief that happiness is only found through abuse of children. That is the sort of idea which has currency among the criminals whom control much of what is being traded, both legitimately, and illegitmately, in Australia today. Among criminals, among police, among prison security, among the clergy; so how far have we really come since the policies of Federation. This kind of dangerous idea I am referring to, is regarded among true believers in Religion as the basis of black magic. The worst of its currency is among those whom want to protray the methodology of pleasant gain through mass hatred, as though based in actual religion. That is, those whom practise the occult. But, among Christians, among Muslims, among Animists, Hindi, Sikh, and Buddhist, how are any of us to know who are the true believers, and whom are those opposing true belief by engaging in research of Religious merit only so as to try to prove false ideologies such as racism? The answer is to engage in your own scientific research. That is the methodology which attracted myself to Islam, and it the methodology by which within Islam, I am in open disagreement with the mainstay of that powerhouse in Mecca, but only in a few minor matters of Reconciling the fulfillment of Prophesy. It is a disagreement which has absolutely no consequence to any person whom is not a Muslim true believer; and that is the case because it is a disagreement which has absolutely no consequence to any person whom believes. In our Prayers we each find our own way for Allah is ever safe.

Am I a white racist who is adopting to herself such a large field of identification that I am scandalous in exposing the extent of theft from the words Indigneous folk and true religious believers? That is what most folk arrive at in trying to place me. But I believe that there is only one way to combat racism. By accepting in dignity and self certainty the sanctions existing within the culture of the persons with whom you share what you can see as an external biological difference. That is, if my behaviour in mainstream Australian culture is sanctioned by a supposition of eventual death being caused by in the situation named A, but not in the situation named B, C, or D, and then in Indigenous culture I will be sanctioned at death at point D, but not point A, B, or C, while in Islam I share with the non-whites of America I might be sanctioned quite heavily at point B, then I'd be rather bereft if I lived only to C. Many persons would look at the situation and think I must be culture hopping, when it A think like an American, when in D think like a white Aussie, etc. But truth be told nobody would ever be able to trust me then. Truth be told is that to effectively integrate one community with the next, and to inter-culturally communicate, we must accept the sanctions of every culture in every context. So here I am sanctioned a A, B, D, and low and behold my Vietnamese neighbourhood want to sanction me at C. So I am getting dead all around. And yet I live. But that is for the time being only. The truth of successful inter-cultural relations and Religious integration, and all work against racism, is that we must accept the negative of one another's culture or we only end up even deader. Deader than dead, now that, well, that, that is my own account in Allah and it is not between you and me, widespread though it may have been supposed to be. Allah is a word for God which means essential accountiblity; the essential accountiblity of everything existing and our own being a part of; that mental state in which we can be certain that it is not our own individuality which accords that we are sanctioned, but rather a oblique and emorphous everthing that is life. Will you put your hand up with me to receive the sanctions of the black indigenous Australian community? Then learn to love existing in the commas by the Grace of the endlessness of everything existing, by which you are able to be certain that we are not alone in life. Even in the valley of the dead we will remember.

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