Survival Man

I was a ‘savage’ man.

When British sailed across the sea.

To start the Sydney colony.

For 50,000 years we’d lived upon the land.

And then the Union Jack was planted in the sand.

We didn’t know how long they’d stay when they arrived.

But we will survive.

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I was a ‘tracker’ man.

I helped them capture escapees.

When fed up convicts tried to flee.

I read the bush to see the smallest changes made.

Early police would have been lost without my aid.

I’d see where white man tried to run and duck and dive.

One way to survive.

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I was a ‘native’ man.

I was a proud Wiradjuri.

My home along Murrumbidgee.

They fenced the land away, brought in their sheep and cows.

They tore the valley up and sowed their fields with ploughs.

With food and land all gone our culture was deprived.

Harder to survive.

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I was a ‘mission’ man.

Raised on an outback missionary.

They taught us Christianity.

We got there lots of ways - were given, taken, stole.

They showed us how to pray repentance for our soul.

And when we’d run away, they’d catch us, back we’d drive.

Together we’ll survive.

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I was a ‘nothing’ man.

Uncounted ‘Aborigine’.

The states controlled our destiny.

In’67 referendum votes were cast.

To right a little of the wrong done in the past.

90 per cent Yes vote, you’ll find in the archive.

YES we will survive.

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I was a ‘protest’ man.

We never ceded sovereignty.

So we set up an embassy.

With just a tent or two we took a Canberra stand.

And showed the world the black injustice in our land.

They sent the cops in, and new laws they did contrive.

But it still survives.

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I was a ‘High Court’ man.

When I confronted the decree.

Of Terra Nullius territory.

The case took 10 long years from 1981.

And now enshrined in law, our Native Title won.

I only wish I could have seen it when alive.

Homelands can survive.

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I was a ‘prisoner’ man.

Another death in custody.

Locked up for petty robbery.

Young and alone in jail I gave myself no hope.

I used the clothes and sheets to make myself a rope.

The paramedics came too late to be revived.

Too late to survive.

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I was a ‘football’ man.

A Kangaroo or Wallaby.

Or lighting up the MCG.

My silky skills they thrilled, and barriers were broke.

I’d hear the cheers go round from every coloured folk.

The football field revealed a place where we could thrive.

Helped us to survive.

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I was a ‘treaty’ man.

Long after Hawke said on TV.

And PM’s Rudd’s apology.

It was a final step to reconcile the hurt.

The ink was dry, our eyes were wet, we share this dirt.

I can’t believe it took ‘til 2065.

But we have survived.

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I’m just ‘another’ man.

I live a peace that’s colour free.

No-one sees skin, they just see me.

I’m just a person like the man who lives next door.

But I’m an echo of my people from before.

300 years of hardship, justice made us strive.

A long time to survive.