How Well Do Australia’s National Parks Pay Homage to Traditional Custodians?

I would like to acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri peoples whose land I write on, and pay my respects to all Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander readers of this piece. My following perspectives are a product of the lessons taught to me by First Nations educators—the sovereigns of this land. 

 

I am a non-Indigenous Australian of mixed Melanesian and Jewish heritage. I am in the final year of studying a Bachelor of Politics, Philosophy and Economics with a minor in Indigenous studies at the Australian National University. These fields of study have encouraged me to scrutinise local and global inequalities. Alongside this, they have also endowed me a healthy dose of skepticism regarding Australia’s mainstream histories, heroes, and commemorations. 

 

Venturing into Adnyamathanha Country can conjure up unfamiliarity for a number of reasons. Located on the Eastern interior of South Australia, it boasts a vibrant landscape of orange earth, green trees and distant mountain silhouettes that appear mauve. The quietness of its towns also take guests by surprise. It is likely that visitors will encounter zero of Hawker’s 300 inhabitants as they pass through its main road and deeper into Australia’s core. In truth, however, if one was like me, they would be most taken aback by the homage this region pays to its traditional custodians. 

 

Having grown up in New South Wales, I had not expected Ikara National Park to greet me with signs reminding me of Traditional Owners. There, guests are reminded to tread lightly, always cognisant of their visitorship status. The major resort on Adnyamathanha Country, Wilpena Pound, is Indigenous-owned. The experiences offered to Wilpena Pound’s patrons venture beyond their diverse range of accommodation (cottages, campgrounds, “Ikara safari” tents). They also facilitate a daily Welcome to Country, Aboriginal cultural tours and environmental walks. Their restaurant menu heroes native flavours. Don’t get me wrong, the pub grub is relatively familiar, but this time your sausages will consist of emu and kangaroo and be garnished with quandong jam.  

 

I couldn’t help but compare this experience to childhood holidays in Kosciuszko National Park. While the Flinders Ranges were in 2016 renamed to Ikara-Flinders Ranges—a nod to the Adnyamathanha word for “meeting place”—Kosciuszko continues to be the namesake of Polish-Lithuanian General Tadeusz Kosciuszko. Welcome signs as you enter Kosciuszko National Park remind you that “all flora and fauna [are] protected”, despite failing to acknowledge its traditional custodians, the Ngarigo people. Meanwhile, Kosciuszko National Park’s largest resort, Perisher, is a ski resort that was developed over the 20th Century and later acquired in 2015 by holiday conglomerate Vail Resorts Incorporated. 

 

So, why the difference?

I spoke to Yali Windl, a Wiradjuri and Wonnarua woman, about why this occurs. Yali informed me that visitor information throughout Capertee Valley, in the heart of Wiradjuri Country, centres the explorations of settler James Blackman. To this day, he is honoured via the eponymous communities of Blackman’s Flats and Blackman’s Crown. What the Lithgow City Council ensures is less commemorated, however, is the Dabee massacre of the 1830s, which took the fate of dozens of Dabee adults and children. One possibility as to why historical acknowledgement varies so greatly throughout Australia is tourism.  Perhaps Kosciuszko National Park conservationists assume that honouring Ngarigo custodianship would not add value to the average Perisher-frequenting skier’s holiday. This may explain why on other hand, the Willandra Lakes, home to the resting places of Mungo Lady and Mungo Man (discovered in 1968 and 1974, respectively), are decorated with due homage to the Mutthi Mutthi, Paakantji and Ngiyampaa peoples. Tourists enter these regions for Indigenous tourism. 

 

Alternatively, our inquiry may be met with a counter question; who are the park’s managers? Are they First Nations or non-Indigenous? It could be the case that a park is jointly managed. Joint management, while not without its own challenges, recognises the value of Indigenous knowledge and custodianship by working to ensure traditional owners have a voice to formal decision-making. It aims to rectify exclusionary Western approaches that situate particular environments as ‘wild’ or ‘true nature’. Not all Australian national parks are governed by schemes of this nature, and even those that are did not all become this way at once. Ngarigo traditional owners were only formally involved in Kosciuszko National Park’s management from 2016. This came almost two decades after the first Indigenous Protected Area (IPA) was established. Where was this, you may be wondering? As it turns out, it was Nantawarrina IPA—run by the Adnyamathanha people. The establishment of Nantawarrina was a triumph that has allowed native vegetation and animals to continue thriving today. Knowing this now, it is unsurprising that I considered the homage to traditional custodians on Adnyamathanha Country to be leaps and bounds ahead of many of its counterparts. 

 

Finally (though not conclusively), we must question whose responsibility it is to acknowledge Indigenous history, custodianship, and sovereignty. Is it traditional owners or settler conservationist bodies? The answer often lies somewhere in between, varying from place to place. While Indigenous groups should hold unique rights to heritage signage on their lands, this should not absolve Governments from committing to such forms of makarrata (truth-telling). Often, proposals to acknowledge Country via signage can get caught in a state of bureaucratic stagnation. Other times, however, the public takes matters into their own hands. In February of this year, a road sign along the Northern Territory’s Larapinta Drive was graffitied; etching Mparntwe and Ntaria where it once read Alice Springs and Hermannsburg. Perhaps this is the way forward, where movements for homage are grassroots and spark debate. This is certainly an approach we endorse at Our Songlines. In fact, we have recently launched a petition to recognise traditional place names on Instagram. We believe that each Australian can play a role in bettering the signage and nomenclature of this nation. If this is a sentiment that resonates with you, please consider adding your signature. 

 

Ultimately, Australia’s First Nations are diverse, and we can’t expect the same experience when passing through each individual Country. Nonetheless, as we journey across Australia, it is important to make these observations. I only realised what Kosciuszko National Park lacked after seeing firsthand what Ikara-Flinders Ranges National Park offered. So next time you are in a national park, please let us know what histories you are presented with, and importantly—which are missing. 

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