A moment of truth: Recording a country's painful past

On a quiet patch of her farm in Gippsland, Elizabeth Balderstone walks through dry grass towards a creek bank as the wind rustles the gum leaves that flank one side of the water.

Her friend, Uncle Russell Mullett, walks alongside her towards a dark bend in the creek.

He pauses to call out to the spirits in GunaiKurnai language, spotting a superb fairy-wren, one of his mob's totem animals.

This spot, just downhill from Elizabeth's home, is a place of unspeakable horror.

It was here in 1843 that dozens of Aboriginal people were shot dead by white settlers in a rampage known as the Warrigal Creek massacre.

A major investigation is underway, an Australian first, unearthing a long-buried history hidden from the national narrative.

It's called Yoorrook, the Wemba Wemba word for "truth".

This truth-telling inquiry has spent years collecting testimony from hundreds of First Nations and non-Indigenous people, revealing the scale of atrocities and the failure of governments to reckon with the past.

Victoria's Yoorrook Justice Commission is not a criminal investigation. It won't bring charges or punish those who benefited.

It has answered the call of communities who have wanted to finally document the crimes of the past, such as what happened at Warrigal Creek.

Records are patchy, but University of Newcastle researchers estimate that about 125 Aboriginal people were killed at Warrigal Creek and other sites in the region as part of a five-day reprisal attack for the killing of a wealthy pastoralist's nephew.

Local GunaiKurnai elder Uncle Russell says it would have been a "shocking, frightening experience" for his people.

"They were used to hand combat, face-to-face. This other method of killing was something quite foreign to us."

Horrific events like the Warrigal Creek massacre spread across Australia when the nation was colonised, interrupting one of the oldest continuous cultures in the world.

Tens of thousands of Aboriginal people — men, women, and children — were killed. Indigenous people were also raped and poisoned.

Warning: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains images of people who have died.

How to tell a story of massacre

There are no monuments on Elizabeth's property.

No brass plaques bearing names or ages.

No way to remember the victims, or a place to lay a wreath.

Nothing marks the weight of history tucked away here, but Elizabeth feels it deeply each day.

"I think any of us can imagine the scene of horror that was unfolding and the power of men on horseback and firearms," she says.

"Not many Australians have been willing to think of what happened at sites like Warrigal Creek and many others throughout Australia."

The first European owners of the property took up the farm the year after the massacre, Elizabeth says.

About 30 years later, they built the homestead — its verandah facing south-east, away from the bend in the creek.

"You do wonder, were they turning their back to the tragedy of what happened? I'm not sure," she says.

Elizabeth first came to the property in 1974, as an 18-year-old.

It's where she met and fell in love with her husband, Alistair, whose family had farmed here since 1910; where they married and had two daughters.

The family was shattered when Alistair died in a horse-riding accident 38 years ago.

"In those moments and days, life just changed immeasurably for me," Elizabeth says.

The family's love and connection to the farm kept her on the property, and she says it's been a "privilege" to live and work here.

In recent years, she has been grappling with how best to protect and honour the massacre site for future generations.

It has led to her forming a firm friendship with traditional owners such as Russell, who has a centuries-old connection to this land. This is the country of his ancestors.

"I think for some First Nations people, some would rather not come, and I totally respect that. It's a place of tragedy. It's very hard for anyone to visit," Elizabeth says.

"However, if traditional owners would like to recognise it or care for [the massacre site], then we are really open to that."

On his first visit to the farm, Russell says he felt trepidation but he has been heartened by the family's acceptance of the property's legacy.

"It needs to be talked about, to be heard," he says.

"If we're going to have a future where we're all living together and understanding each other, it's about knowing that history and accepting it and not tucking it away."

Elizabeth decided to give testimony to Yoorrook.

She hopes other farming families might come forward and share the connections they have to difficult chapters in Australian history.

"One of my hopes … is that other landholders see that and let go of that angst of worrying that land will be resumed. It's a shared journey and I hope that others will see that," she says.

Truth-telling

What is the cost of colonisation? The cost of the loss of land, language and culture?

For Keicha Day, a Gunditjmara and Yorta Yorta woman, it has been immeasurable.

Truth-telling has been critical to her healing.

She is one of more than 1,200 Aboriginal people who have given evidence to Yoorrook.

Keicha spoke about the everyday racism she faced as a Black woman living in a majority-white country town — Portland, in south-western Victoria.

"We have been waiting for something like Yoorrook since colonisation. We need the truth," she says.

"Yoorrook provided that chance of being able to tell our truth in a safe way."

Last November, against a moody sky, she led a solemn ceremony marking 190 years since Victoria was invaded.

Victoria was settled at Portland in 1834 — decades after the arrival of the First Fleet — when squatters began arriving in the south, seizing land and resources.

Yoorrook has heard that the Convincing Ground, minutes from Portland, was the site of Victoria's first recorded massacre.

A group of Gunditjmara people were killed by whalers. It's said there were only two survivors from a whole clan.

"We talk a lot about Portland being 'Victoria's birthplace', but in order for there to be a birthplace, there has to be a death place," Keicha says.

"And there's a lot of death places that exist here."

A place to tell stories

At the top of Yoorrook is one of the most experienced and formidable elders in Australia, Eleanor Bourke, a Wergaia/Wamba Wamba elder who came out of retirement to chair the inquiry.

"It's the most important thing I will have ever done in my life, there's no question about that," Professor Bourke says.

Much of the history she has traversed at Yoorrook is her own — as a black child growing up in rural Victoria in the 1940s and 50s, she was routinely ostracised.

She recalls being knocked off her bike and beaten by other students "only because I was Aboriginal".

Decades later, she has now helped hundreds of others to come forward, and she knows many of the people giving evidence personally.

The inquiry has investigated the ongoing impact of the historical human rights abuses and of persistent racism in the health, education and justice systems.

Some of the evidence has been harrowing, she says, but it has given First Nations people a place to tell their stories.

"People are usually uplifted, and I think they must feel they've shared the weight of it," she says.

"It's still hard to hear because you think Australia's a good country. You think Victoria's a good place, and some of the things that you hear … they just shouldn't be happening."

'Have I done enough?'

In a lush patch of land in south-west Victoria, Travis Lovett surveys a collection of bluestone ruins — a permanent reminder of the conditions his relatives endured here.

These are the remnants of Australia's segregation era, at Lake Condah mission.

When Victoria was colonised, Gunditjmara people clashed with settlers in what are known as the Eumeralla wars.

From the mid-1800s, after being dispersed from their lands, Aboriginal people were forced onto missions, where their lives were controlled, and cultural practices and languages were often forbidden.

Lake Condah mission, built in 1867, housed First Nations families in severe conditions, but they were forced off the reserve when it closed in 1919, though some refused to leave.

"We were never, ever considered as equals," Travis, a Kerrupmara Gunditjmara traditional owner, says.

For Travis, there is a "deep personal connection" to the mission, and it's both a painful and peaceful place to visit.

Some of his relatives were stolen from the mission as children, he says, but it was also a place of resistance and community.

As an Aboriginal commissioner at Yoorrook, Travis has undertaken gruelling work to record personal stories across Victoria, often driving several hours in the car to sit face-to-face with people.

"It does take its toll. You know, there are days where you just go like, 'Am I doing enough? Have I done enough?' It's also important for non-Aboriginal people as well that we get this right."

Travis has helped to investigate the ongoing impact of government policies that sought to absorb Indigenous people into white society.

"Every day I hear people say, 'I didn't know about this. Why didn't I learn?' I understand that because I went through the Australian schooling system as well," Travis says.

"We're not asking people to say sorry, but we're asking people to open their minds, to open their hearts to the full story."

Yoorrook has been one of the most comprehensive reviews of the country's colonial history.

The commission has had broad powers to compel politicians and bureaucrats to be questioned and it has collected thousands of documents as evidence.

"The government has known about all these injustices the whole time," Travis says.

"It was plain in black and white. [It's] not just our people coming forward and saying these things happened … the government knew already."

Yoorrook has already called for a major overhaul of the criminal justice and child protection systems.

In June, it will issue a final blueprint on redressing injustices in education, health, housing, and the theft of land and water.

Healing open wounds

For decades, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have put their faith in royal commissions that have exposed injustices, such as the Aboriginal deaths in custody inquiry.

But, often, recommendations stemming from those inquiries have been ignored by governments.

Last year, the Victorian government was criticised for rejecting some of the commission's recommendations, a response Aboriginal legal experts slammed as "unworthy of the heart-wrenching truths" told at Yoorrook.

The Premier, Jacinta Allan, responded at the time by telling ABC News that she understood the frustration, but said many of Yoorrook's recommendations were accepted in principle.

"The pathway that the commission presented goes to some complex legal and policy questions that the government also needs to work through, and we need the time to do that," she said.

Travis is anxious to ensure that Indigenous people who have given evidence at the inquiry aren't let down again.

"It's something that weighs on my mind on a regular basis because we've got to get this right," he says.

Aunty Eleanor, too, is adamant that the work of Yoorrook is heeded by the Victorian government.

It's now on the public record that Aboriginal people have suffered mass human rights abuses — and the Victorian government has agreed it's time to make amends.

The next crucial step is agreeing on a new way forward — what could be the country's first formal treaty.

It's late November, and Aboriginal people — young and old — gather on Wurundjeri country in Melbourne heralding the beginning of treaty negotiations with the state.

It is a jubilant day.

But, nationally, political will on Indigenous affairs has waned.

Most Closing the Gap targets on the health and living standards of First Nations people are falling far short of where they should be.

Conservative governments in the Northern Territory and Queensland are abandoning commitments to truth and treaty.

In Queensland, a truth-telling and healing inquiry had already begun collecting stories when Premier David Crisafulli rushed through laws to axe it immediately.

Victoria remains the only state to have gone through with a truth-telling inquiry.

Yoorrook's purpose is to help black and white Australia reconcile with our uncomfortable history.

In many ways, Aunty Eleanor believes uncovering the truth has been easier compared with the difficult task of systemic reform to right the wrongs her people have suffered.

"The hard thing is making sure the change happens, that truth should bring."

Watch as Four Corners examines how we as a nation reckon with our colonial past and take critical steps towards truth, healing and justice — Monday from 8:30pm on ABC TV and ABC iview.

Credits:

Story: Bridget Brennan, Ali Russell and Kate Ashton

Photography: Margaret Burin

Digital Production: Maryanne Taouk and Nick Wiggins

Archival photos are courtesy of the State Library of Victoria and the Vern McCallum Collection. Used with permission of the Eastern Marr Aboriginal Corporation, Gunaikurnai Land and Waters Aboriginal Corporation, Gunditj Mirring Traditional Owners Aboriginal Corporation and the Victorian Indigenous Research Centre.