Aboriginals Share Their Culture to Keep It in the Sparsely Populated `Red Center' of Australia, a Small Group of Indigenous People Help Themselves Series: THE WORLD'S NATIVE PEOPLES. Part 4 of an Occasional Series
Catherine Foster, writer of The Christian Science Monitor, The Christian Science Monitor
`THIS is Malbunka land," says Mavis Malbunka, feet sturdily planted in the red dirt of Ipolera. "My ancestors used to live here before the missionaries came and took them to Hermannsberg." As she describes her land, what before seemed like harsh, barren desert suddenly becomes alive, a place filled with sustenance and spiritual vitality.
On the tour she gives for interested whites, Mavis lifts the underside of a plant to reveal a tiny bush tomato and talks about wichitty grubs that are prized from red-river gum trees and honey ants underneath mulga trees. She points out an ancient grinding stone. Her husband, Herman, does a separate tour on the opposite side of the property.
In other parts of Australia, the national clamor over whether Aboriginals should be given back their land 200 years after being dispossessed is deafening. A high court ruling last year opened the door for Aboriginals to claim land under limited conditions, and some whites are angry or frightened.
But here in the Northern Territory, the sparsely populated "red center" of Australia, a 1976 Land Rights Act has given some Aboriginals title to land that their families once lived on. Ipolera, part of a 468-square-mile land trust held for several related Aboriginal families, is viewed as one of the few land hand-over success stories.
Mavis grew up at the Lutheran mission in Hermannsberg, about 10 miles from Ipolera, after her parents died. Set up by Germans to convert Aboriginals to Christianity, the mission was also a haven from the massacres carried out by police (or with police connivance) as late as 1928.
Mavis recovered her family's land in 1982 when the 100-year lease held by the mission expired. She and her husband wanted a place for their extended family, then numbering about 20, where they could follow a tribal lifestyle and maintain their sacred sites.
The group puts a strong emphasis on sharing food and the care of children and on maintaining ancient kinship relationships and sacred ceremonies. They try to maintain the traditions that survived their years of living in the mission.
AFTER the mission signed over the land to the land trust, Mavis and Herman put the first water bore in themselves. The first government funding came six years ago, enabling them to start building. Now the community of 20 adults and 11 children has houses, a school, a tourist campground, a store, and a solar-powered telephone.
"I have Lutheran knowledge and skills. This," she says, pointing to the houses around her, "is what I learned from the Lutherans."
Painted on the cement front of the school built in 1989 are birds and animals significant to her people. "The spinifex pigeon you can't eat, it's a spiritual bird, it's our totem," Mavis explains. "But the emu you can, the goanna you can." Inside the school is a computer, a copier, and a fax machine.
The community provides jobs for school dropouts in the store, training for young men in woodworking, paddock-building, and horsebreaking, and also teaches office administration. Mavis wants to set up a cattle operation in addition to the tourist business. "I'm thinking of our children's future," she says.
Because Mavis and Herman wanted to be self-sufficient and not rely on government handouts, they started the small tourist business to cater to people increasingly eager to learn more about Aboriginal life. It's a delicate balancing act: Sometimes white business practices conflict with Aboriginal tribal priorities. …