#dharug

[matriarchy-au]

Aboriginal woman with her baby, in a canoe fishing with a line, c. 1805. (Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW)

"Fish was a staple food for people along the coast and harbour. Women made their fishing lines (carr-e-jun) by twisting together 2 strands of fibre from kurrajong trees, cabbage trees or flax plants. Sometimes animal fur or grass was used." [X]

[bennyfromthetops]

Out in the country.

[matriarchy-au]

Artwork by Darug artist Aunty Edna Watson

[matriarchy-au]

Darug women Jasmine Seymour and Rhiannon Wright visit a painted rock shelter. (Joy Lai)

[matriarchy-au]

Aunty Edna Watson, with young Darug women, participating in NgAl Lo Wah Murraytula (Together We Enjoy) camp activities.

[matriarchy-au]

How did First Nations women fish in Sydney a thousand years ago?

One of the ways was through crafting shells into hooks.

Shell fishhooks were attached to a fishing line made of bark fiber twisted together into a thin rope. Shellfish was used as a burley to attract fish, and the iridescent shells attracted fish as a lure.

— Australian Museum via Facebook

[foxs0x]

Today is 'Australia Day.' While many Australians celebrate with snags on the barbie and an arvo by the pool, I find it hard to join in. For me, this day marks the erasure of the Indigenous people — the traditional custodians of my country.

What many people don’t know about me is that I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my 5th great-grandmother, Margaret, an Aboriginal Dharug woman who was among the first of the Stolen Generation in Parramatta, Sydney. Her closest living descendant to me is my nan.

Most people don’t realise this about my family, as my grandpa is Swedish and bloody everyone in my community knows him lol. My relatives, apart from me and my brother (and my nan), all have blonde hair and blue eyes. Even our surname is distinctly Scandinavian and difficult for most people to pronounce or spell down here.

But today, I’m thinking about Margaret and her story. She and her little sister were stolen from their mob as children, never to see their mother or family again. The two girls were separated, and Margaret never saw her sister again. Her name, her culture, her teachings — all stolen. She was forced to 'forget' everything about her heritage and was taught how to ‘be white.’

Margaret was indoctrinated into Christianity and later became a house slave for a white family in Sydney. She married a white man — a convict sent to Australia — who was also a slave. When her husband passed, she bought a burial plot to ensure she could rest beside him. But when Margaret died, she wasn’t allowed to be buried there because she was black. Instead, she was placed in an unmarked grave, and to this day, no one knows where.

Everything was stolen from her, even in death.

In World War II, my nan’s father was white-passing. He hid his heritage to secure better work opportunities, something many felt forced to do at the time. He kept this a secret his entire life, only revealing the truth before his death when he returned from the War.

Margaret’s story isn’t unique. It's one of countless others that form the fabric of Australian history. Stories of stolen culture, destroyed families, and enduring pain that echoes across generations.

That’s why I believe Australia Day shouldn’t be a celebration. Instead, it should be a day of remembrance and respect for the resilience of the Indigenous people whose lives and legacies were forever altered by nothing but pure cruelty.

🖤💛♥️

[paulpingminho]