As one of the most significant locations of early contact between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, the Parramatta River has been at the heart of a lot of pain and conflict. I met Uncle Chris Tobin by the river in Parramatta Park, near Old Government House, a place of injustices that still shape the lives of so many people in our community today.
As Uncle Chris and I walked along the river, he pointed out that where we were walking was a pivotal location in the building and imagining of early Sydney. It is also the home of a resistance that started from the beginning of colonisation and is continuing to this day. ‘Pemulwuy crossed the river, walked up to the barracks and told them to stop hunting us down like animals,’ Uncle Chris told me. ‘He came up with 100 men; they all marched up there.’ As Uncle Chris told this story, he pointed to the grassy hills beyond Old Government House and I could picture the scene: these great warriors with their spears coming up against a new threat on their way of life, and the physicality of the battle that took place, but also all the emotions running through the minds of Pemulwuy and his men. This was one of many conflicts that would take place in the area. It’s these old stories that are still with us that we can draw our strength from.
Another story of activism exists here, this one from Baramadagal man Maugoran’s early attempts at resistance. Uncle Chris told me ‘Maugoran went to Governor Phillip to say there is trouble here, you are bringing in too many people. And Phillip's response was to actually just send more soldiers.’ Maugoran, being a Baramadgal man, is one of my ancestors. When I hear stories of my ancestors, I feel a sense of pride but also sadness because of the disrespect and the brutality they experienced, like in this story about Maugoran, but also in the stories of my direct line ancestor Peggy Reid/Goldspink, who was one of the first children to be institutionalised at the Parramatta Native Institution and then later Blacktown Native Institution.
The colonisers saw Baramada as fertile land, and many farming settlements were established here. Countless colonial atrocities – some known, some lost to time – have occurred on my ancestral lands. There is a pain that remains from these acts of violence, but there is also a sense of resilience. As Uncle Chris explains, ‘Baramada’s seen colonisation, settlement and the frontier wars. It was an early example of the institutionalisation of children. The Parramatta Native Institution was a school set up here in Parramatta [where Parramatta Square is now] by Governor Macquarie and it was to educate young Aboriginal children to be “useful” in the community.’
This attitude of what it means to be ‘useful’ did not factor in consideration of what might be useful to the Indigenous people; it was fuelled by greed and a desire to control. It also had devastating impacts, many of which are still being felt today. As Uncle Chris went on to say, ‘They weren't trying to make them lawyers or anything like that. They wanted them to be servants. But they hadn't realised that even though they made us servants, institutionalised us and took our children away, they could never take our culture and our sovereignty over this land.’
Uncle Chris mentions Barron Field, one of the first Supreme Court judges of NSW. In 1825 Field observed that Aboriginal people were not willing to be servants or masters over anyone* – an opinion that illustrates the foundational differences in the two ways of living. Further to this is the ongoing resilience of our people from the very beginning of colonialism and till this day. Barron Field's own observation shows why the colonial project was never going to be successful.
Despite the best attempts to strip us of our connections, it is our connection to Country and the river that continues to flow through. These connections provide healing and a sense of belonging to place.
Baramada today is a meeting place for people of all different walks of life and from many varied cultural backgrounds, but it has always been a meeting place. As Uncle Chris explained to me:
In the old days, roughly where the ferries come in now, there used to be a rock where the freshwater of the river drops off into the saltwater of Sydney Harbour. Baramada is a meeting place between the freshwater and saltwater clans. In fact, Baramada was known to have these feasts. Traditionally, people would come to Baramada when the eels had fattened up. There used to be a lot of lagoons around Baramada. So the eels were not just in the river but also in the lagoons, and when it would rain, the eels would come out from the lagoons, float across the land and into the river. The abundance of food at this time was very important because it allowed clans to get together.
These meetings allowed for cultural practices such as marriage laws to take place. This idea of coming together was integral to our lives. ‘The feasts were important to keep those family connections going, and the eels provided that food source for large numbers to be able to gather,’ he said. ‘So that's why the eel is very important in traditional times and is part of our deeper connections to this place.’
These gatherings are not to be confused with the feasts that Macquarie would establish, which Uncle Chris told me were designed to lure out Indigenous families with the intention of stealing and institutionalising their children. Macquarie’s feasts were a way of taking our traditions of gathering, sharing and relying on community, and using them against us. Through listening to these stories from the past we can contextualise the present, where the intergenerational trauma of child removal is still deeply felt by many in our communities.
In this densely populated area, there are buildings on top of our sacred places, our stories. When I’m on Country, I picture my ancestors lying underneath. Being on Country, I feel my ancestors’ spirits, and I have a sense of the past with me in the present. I imagine these stories almost to the point where I can visualise my ancestors, especially as I hear stories about them unfolding in this place – a place which is now covered over with concrete.
Like Uncle Chris, Aunty Karen spoke of Baramada traditionally being a meeting place and how it still is. ‘I have learnt more in this past year than I had in a lifetime because it's a real meeting place,’ she said. ‘It's got such a strong energy. And that river, much like the trees, the river is sick, but it's there. It refuses to give up. It’s virtually saying I'm choking, but to me when I look down, it tells you its history. You can't get away from it, because it's telling you it's been abused, and it's still there. It's not going anywhere.’
