At Poisoned Waterhole creek I tell my son about the slaughter of our people
The black marks on our history need not obscure Australia’s shining achievements. But we need to keep our stories alive. Lest we forget.
By Stan Grant
I have my youngest son with me. He has come here throughout his life and we have passed this same road to his grandparents’ house time and again, but he has never paused to question the curious name of this place: Poisoned Waterhole creek. My father would point it out to me when I was the age my son is now. And so I point it out to him.
The Wiradjuri rested here and drank from the stream. As the conflict continued the local homestead owner grew tired of the black people on his property, so he poisoned their waterhole. Many drank from it and died agonising deaths.
“Really, Dad?” My son asks. “Here in Narrandera?” He is quiet and later I take his photo by the roadside next to the sign. He doesn’t smile.
I tell him that later other Wiradjuri people sought refuge from a white raiding party. They huddled together on an island in the middle of the river but the white men opened fire, killing all but one boy. Today this place is known as Murdering Island.
Islands and creeks with such sinister names. Yet today we can be so oblivious. They are almost casual references to long-forgotten atrocities of our past.
We pass each other now in the streets of this town, nodding, going about or business, shopping, stopping for coffee. Black and white people live here: some are even related.
We can wear our history so lightly in this country. Many people tell me still how they just don’t know what happened here among blacks and whites. But to us it is a living thing. It frames our identity, these stories of survival and our heroes who resisted and died.
The black marks on our history need not obscure this nation’s shining achievements. I tell my son that. The white people here have made a home and fought and died to defend it. They have welcomed others from other lands and they are Australians too.
But my people have still not broken the chains of our history and we need to keep our stories alive. To understand. To forgive. To set our selves free, however painful it is, however angry we feel.
I am reminded as I stand here that the trees by this waterside are older than our shared history. This land is older than us all and it is the only home we have.
Questions
What events/history is Stan Grant referring to? Describe these events/history in your own words.
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How does Stan Grant think people currently think about this history and these events?
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What does he want people to think and feel instead?
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