During the referendum, I was a national scapegoat. I considered quitting but now I have hope

Politics is an eternal tug-o-war. Left and right. Right and wrong. Us and them. Positive and negative. Negative, negative, negative. This is one of the reasons that Australians tend to be disengaged from it.
Bad Actors want us to disengage, to not care enough, to give up and focus on ourselves without pursuing the truth. They want us to be so polarised that we cannot discuss politics at the kitchen table.
We need to build a resilience to the discomfort we feel when we discuss political matters. Then we can talk with our friends and family about matters that we believe are important for our whole country.
During the referendum campaign, I was a national scapegoat.
The no campaign took their first swipe at me through the Murdoch media, with a full page of mashed together quotes – things I had said throughout almost a decade of activism. The quotes were indeed ideas I had talked about, even supported during the shaping of my personal political beliefs and as Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people negotiated our way forward.
“Pay the rent”, “reparations”, “tearing down the institutions that harm us” – shocking, isn’t it, that a people so wronged would discuss such ideas?
There were many instances when I made speeches at rallies for justice. Was I supposed to politely sing “Advance Australia Fair” among aggrieved families after another death in custody, or when another young Indigenous person was put in jail?
Snip a clip from an impassioned speech here, extract a quote from a debate there, present it all together, and there you have it – the scary Black man trope.
Going back over my years of passionate advocacy, they found all they needed to present the angry Black man who is here to take your back yard. They made me the stereotype: a militant union thug, a communist who hates Australia. The only truth in that is that I am a member and leader of a union and I’m proud of that.
Soon after, an official no campaign full-page advertisement was printed in the Australian Financial Review. It depicted a caricature of me wearing raggedy jeans and a red shirt with a communist logo on it, dancing a jig for money.
The Bad Actors brought me to my lowest moment in the campaign. I contemplated quitting. It was hard to think clearly and I was sorely missing home. I felt as though I no longer had any energy for others.
Many other Indigenous leaders who stepped up to support the voice experienced this. So did non-Indigenous supporters who were harassed online and at market stalls, mentally slapped around to get an angry reaction that could be splashed across the media.
I share this because we must insulate our hope against the Bad Actors’ tactics of intimidation that will be used again and again. They will try to bully us into silence, to find ways to sever support from the public, and on social media especially they will use trolls to make each of us feel alone.
The way to deal with this type of intimidation is to double down on our loud, proud support for what we believe is right. We should not be cowed to soften our stance when what we are working towards is justice.
When I was unfairly represented in the media, I was saddened by the personal nature of the attacks – especially by how the no campaign was dishonestly poisoning a rare opportunity for meaningful Indigenous recognition.
I did not give up. Instead, I worked harder. Day and night, seven days a week I fought on for our children who are being taken from their families, for Indigenous people who are dying in custody, to change a system that ignores their trauma and the racism that confronts them, not just in the streets, but also in the power structures of their nation.
I say we should use hope and resilience to build a fire in our bellies. Whatever the Bad Actors throw at us, let it burn to give us energy.
I ask that non-Indigenous people try to understand our anger when we protest. For my fellow Indigenous people, we should use our anger to be heard. But we should temper our anger – hone the edge of our rage into a key that will open hearts and minds, rather than a blade that will sever our support.
The Uluru statement from the heart was a call for peace. The voice, a means for discussion.
When my children were born, I felt their vulnerability, and it made me want to live for them. When I was learning about politics, I was discovering that the best way to live for them was to actively hope with like-minded people, because protecting their children protected mine too. We experienced a loss at the referendum, but we gained resilience, and I refuse to give up my hope – a new generation of Indigenous leaders are ready.
Compared with 50 years ago, we have come a long way. But we still have a long way to go. The statistics – the reality on the ground in many Indigenous communities, in the prison cells and on the hospital beds – are a crying shame. Our gains are under attack.
If you are walking with us, we must find our energy and give hope to others. If you are First Nations, continue to be loud and proud; fight for your rights with the commitment and determination of your ancestors.
Why have I written this? The answer begins with the love of my family, community and fellow Australians.
Why are you reading this? The answer is that you care.
Together, we have hope.