Bridging Cultures

With patience and friendship, Joy Murphy Wandin, Wurundjeri elder, has shown me where to begin to learn about the land I walk on and the tracks I follow. BRIDGING CULTURES was written with her permission and in honour of the extraordinary leader she is.

Across the country, growing numbers of people from widely varying cultures and circumstances are observing an age old protocol. Standing to speak before a crowd, they are acknowledging the land that they are on and the first people of that place. Ceremonies of welcome are being conducted around Australia by traditional owners, welcoming visitors from other parts of the land and from across the seas, be they of indigenous or non-indigenous heritage.

My first experience of such a welcome was under Melbourne's towering Westgate Bridge. "Wonun je ka. Welcome." These were the words Joy Murphy Wandin, Wurundjeri elder, spoke to begin the Welcome Ceremony. The Welcoming was for those involved in an international community theatre tour called Waderbirds - Odyssey of the Wetlands. A small group - maybe no more than 25 people were gathered - represented the several hundred that would perform that night under the bridge.

It was March 1993. It was the middle of the day. The roar of traffic hovered above. Below, the mown grass was end-of-summer prickly and dry. Joy stood before us in front of a small fire tended by Larry Walsh, the Aboriginal heritage officer who had liaised between the theatre team and the Wurundjeri for this Welcome to take place. To one side Ian Hunter stood painted up, ready to dance. Herb Patten, with a carefully chosen gum leaf, stood on the other.

"Wurundjeri ball womin je ka yearmenn koondee bik." Joy spoke in Woiwurrung slowly, as if each word had a taste to savour. 'The Wurundjeri people welcome every one to this land today.'

"Wurundjeri no no no bodumboun warr koondee nang-nak dill-ba-din bik balluk boor telutkin." Her voice was calm. "The Wurundjeri want you to look after and protect the land as their people did long before."

The traffic noise seemed to fade, the prickling grass to lose its sharp edge, the flatness of the midday light to soften. She spoke about Bunjil the Eagle as Spiritual Creator. She spoke about respect for the land and traditions, about the meaning of Wurundjeri, Witchetty Grub People. Then she passed a gum leaf to each of us. Traditionally, the offering of leaves to visitors meant they were given freedom of the bush from the tops of the trees the roots of the earth. A representative of our group was invited to sip purified water from the tarnuk, a wooden bowl, on behalf of us all as a gesture of peace and goodwill.

The ceremony was a combination of some traditional as well as contemporary ways. Ian danced. Herb played the gum leaf. The sweet soaring melody of My Brown Skinned Baby flew high. The dancing feet beat the earth like a drum while the boomerang clapped.

It had stretched across two years, the planning for this moment. Letters, waiting, phone calls, meetings, listening, introductions, mistakes, learning protocol.....my eight-year old son sat close, my baby daughter in my arms. I was marvelling at how fortunate they were to be part of this Welcoming. How different their lives would be because of this. I wasn't expecting the energy that suddenly snaked up through my spine. My skin tingled. I sat still, checking, surprised at how solid I felt sittlng on the earth. Inside I was shaking as if some thing had been let loose to sort through a legacy of tensions, tossing out what was no longer needed. Fears I hadn't ever even named were being swept out the door.

I grew up in the bush. The flat, dry land of western Queensland remains in my blood, lives on as part of the city me who has spent more time in urban Australia than in my birthplace. My sense of self connects back to that hot, dry place,growing up with a love of the land passed down to me by parents who knew that country and its moods like the back of their hands. Yet it wasn't until here, on this patch of reclaimed industrial wasteland, under the roar of a bridge, dwarfed by container ships sliding through greasy water, shadowed by skyscrapers threaded together by a mesh of bustling streets - it wasn't until here that I finally felt I belonged in the country I called my home. I had been welcomed to the land, this Wurundjeri land, by those who knew it as their mother.

As the ceremony concluded and we moved off, back into our separate lives, Herb passed, calling out; "Hey babe, wasn't that the best? If it'd happened 200 year ago,we'd have a different story to tell, eh?" He waved and drove out of the park.

An eagle flew overhead.

It was only recently that I described to Joy how I felt that day. I wanted to thank her again for the gift of that Welcome. By this time, she was welcoming every dignitary who visited Melbourne, from Michael Jackson to Muhammad Ali to the Queen. As I chose my words carefully to convey what was strong in my heart, she sipped her tea, listening. I finished. She smiied, nodding; 'It was the same for me.'

I thought she must have misunderstood what I was saying. I explained again that it was the first time I felt I belonged in the country of my birth. She repeated, 'Yes, that was the same for me,' I began to protest, saying that as a Wurundjeri woman and elder, she was surely born with a sense of belonging. I was born here, and so were five generations of my family, but my ancestry was the invading culture from across the seas. Her ancestors had walked this land for more than 40,000 years. How could our experiences have been the same that day under the bridge?

'That sense of belonging was taken away from us, from me and my family, from our people.' Joy's voice was quiet but sure-footed. 'Under the bridge there was the first time we had been asked to welcome people onto Wurundjeri land. That was a great moment in my life. Permission was given to me to carry on the work of my ancestors. I was given back the right to belong in my own country. For any of us to belong, we need each other's respect and acknowledgment.'

Now, when I'm invited to speak publicly, I hold Joy's words close. Her wisdom encourages me to stand strong in my own culture, in order to respect another's. By acknowledging the first ancestors, I am learning to honour my own - and all those who share the dust underfoot. All those who have sung their songs, danced their dances and told their stories in this land.