Everyone agrees that something sinister happened at Waterloo
May 29, 2019 4:02:12 GMT
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Post by hi224 on May 29, 2019 4:02:12 GMT
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Everyone agrees that something sinister happened at Waterloo Bay 170 years ago. Aboriginal people were herded to their deaths from terrifyingly steep cliffs. But there are wildly differing historical accounts of how many people died, and heated division over whether the event can be called a "massacre".
Official accounts and an inquiry at the time record as few as two deaths at the windswept spot on the remote west coast of South Australia. But local rumours have always persisted of something darker, and Aboriginal oral histories have passed down sombre tales of 250 falling to their deaths from the cliffs. The question of exactly what happened has surfaced again with the erection of a cliffside monument in Elliston. The issue, which has split the small fishing and surfing town, mirrors a much wider Australian dilemma: how to reconcile black and white versions of our shared history.
It was early days for the colony. White settlers were taking up farmlands, advancing relentlessly westward, and encountering Aboriginal people who were unhappy about their hunting grounds and waterholes being taken from them. The stage was set for trouble. "[Indigenous people] had already experienced horrific things at the hands of sailors on whaling boats," says local Port Lincoln historian Margaret Tilsener. "White settlement was on the heels of that happening and word would have passed on." For at least 10 years following settlement, Aboriginal people fought back against a cowboy frontier mentality. It was a time of violence, tit-for-tat murders, poisonings. More than 70 deaths were officially reported during the 1840s. But conventional histories of the area steer away from such stories, focusing instead on tales of pioneer triumph against hardship. Whichever the narrative, around Elliston the story of what happened at Waterloo Bay has never been far from the surface.
The facts get ever muddier
Police and court reports between June 1848 and May 1849 record a series of violent events on the Eyre Peninsula close to where Elliston now stands. A hut keeper called Hamp was murdered by Aboriginal men at a lonely property. An Aboriginal family of five died after eating strychnine-laced flour. Two white settlers, a young mother and a property owner, were murdered. It must have been a highly charged atmosphere of fear and anger. Then, a theft of stores from a hut provoked a station owner to chase a group of Aboriginal people over the Waterloo Bay cliffs.
According to accounts written at the time by the Government Inspector and the police inspector from Port Lincoln, two or three of them died. In spite of that official version, oral histories describing a much larger massacre have persisted in Indigenous communities from the South Australian coast to the desert — where at least one child survivor had fled. In white settler reminiscences, rumours of a cover-up circulated. Several fictional accounts, which have emerged over the years, inspired by the dramatic elements of the story, muddied the facts even further and added lurid inaccuracies, such as the beheading of Hamp the murdered hutkeeper.
'Grandparents wouldn't talk to their grandchildren'
Local Indigenous people aren't concerned with the drama; they just want recognition of what happened. There were raging arguments when local Aboriginal people attempted to erect a cairn in the 1970s. Arguments against it — such as the claim that there was no massacre — won. The word "massacre" has been a sticking point over the years, and caused much bitterness in the small community. For some whose families go back to those early days of white settlement, "massacre" connoted brutal and deliberate murder, and the word did not sit well. But for Aboriginal people, it was the only word to describe what happened. Arguments raged, petitions were circulated. "It actually divided a lot of families," says former mayor Kim Callaghan, who supported the Wirangu in their insistence on the word massacre.
It's polarised some families and overall has polarised the community." But he says the debate has also brought many people together. Many in the community have demonstrated support for the Wirangu people, and new friendships have been formed. "It's united even more people," Mr Callaghan says. "Some still resist — good luck to them — but the good thing is I didn't know [local Wirangu elders] Veda [Betts] or Jack [Johncock], didn't know them at all, and now they're some of my closest friends."
Catalyst for nation-wide change
In 2016, anthropologist Tim Haines was brought in to help clarify what really happened on that day at Waterloo Bay. He took into account the scarce written records, and also the Aboriginal oral histories. "Some people see these as embellished, but the interesting thing about Aboriginal oral histories is that they are repeated, passed down immutably from generation to generation," he says. "It's far more likely that there would be a lot of facts in them than in some of the histories written by settlers who had their own events to portray and their own events to hide." His conclusion was that at least 20 people likely died after being hounded over the cliffs, and that the word massacre is justified. As a result, in 2017, monuments finally went up.
The three dark granite sculptures, designed by local indigenous artist Penong Miller, look out over the cliffs to the crashing surf far below. It's a proud and vindicating moment for the Wirangu people, who have long pushed for a monument. "A lot of us are relieved, our spirits now can rest in peace," says Mr Johncock. But the issue continues to be divisive. The local council was overturned shortly afterwards the monuments went up — a move many believe was linked to the dispute. And there have been anonymous threats to "bulldoze" the sculptures over the cliff.
Still, Mr Haines remains hopeful. "Now there's a monument, at least a discussion can be had. The poison was in not talking about it, in not addressing it," he says. "That's not just important for Elliston, it's important for Australia in terms of what's happened elsewhere. "What happened in Elliston can be a bit of symbol, a bit of a catalyst." Ms Betts is hopeful too. She says her people now feel more accepted and less marginalised. "Our spirits are lifted. People are starting to really respect and come to us," she says. "If we accept the past then we can understand our future together. "We can look forward … this is not just an Aboriginal story, this is everyone's story."
Everyone agrees that something sinister happened at Waterloo Bay 170 years ago. Aboriginal people were herded to their deaths from terrifyingly steep cliffs. But there are wildly differing historical accounts of how many people died, and heated division over whether the event can be called a "massacre".
Official accounts and an inquiry at the time record as few as two deaths at the windswept spot on the remote west coast of South Australia. But local rumours have always persisted of something darker, and Aboriginal oral histories have passed down sombre tales of 250 falling to their deaths from the cliffs. The question of exactly what happened has surfaced again with the erection of a cliffside monument in Elliston. The issue, which has split the small fishing and surfing town, mirrors a much wider Australian dilemma: how to reconcile black and white versions of our shared history.
It was early days for the colony. White settlers were taking up farmlands, advancing relentlessly westward, and encountering Aboriginal people who were unhappy about their hunting grounds and waterholes being taken from them. The stage was set for trouble. "[Indigenous people] had already experienced horrific things at the hands of sailors on whaling boats," says local Port Lincoln historian Margaret Tilsener. "White settlement was on the heels of that happening and word would have passed on." For at least 10 years following settlement, Aboriginal people fought back against a cowboy frontier mentality. It was a time of violence, tit-for-tat murders, poisonings. More than 70 deaths were officially reported during the 1840s. But conventional histories of the area steer away from such stories, focusing instead on tales of pioneer triumph against hardship. Whichever the narrative, around Elliston the story of what happened at Waterloo Bay has never been far from the surface.
The facts get ever muddier
Police and court reports between June 1848 and May 1849 record a series of violent events on the Eyre Peninsula close to where Elliston now stands. A hut keeper called Hamp was murdered by Aboriginal men at a lonely property. An Aboriginal family of five died after eating strychnine-laced flour. Two white settlers, a young mother and a property owner, were murdered. It must have been a highly charged atmosphere of fear and anger. Then, a theft of stores from a hut provoked a station owner to chase a group of Aboriginal people over the Waterloo Bay cliffs.
According to accounts written at the time by the Government Inspector and the police inspector from Port Lincoln, two or three of them died. In spite of that official version, oral histories describing a much larger massacre have persisted in Indigenous communities from the South Australian coast to the desert — where at least one child survivor had fled. In white settler reminiscences, rumours of a cover-up circulated. Several fictional accounts, which have emerged over the years, inspired by the dramatic elements of the story, muddied the facts even further and added lurid inaccuracies, such as the beheading of Hamp the murdered hutkeeper.
'Grandparents wouldn't talk to their grandchildren'
Local Indigenous people aren't concerned with the drama; they just want recognition of what happened. There were raging arguments when local Aboriginal people attempted to erect a cairn in the 1970s. Arguments against it — such as the claim that there was no massacre — won. The word "massacre" has been a sticking point over the years, and caused much bitterness in the small community. For some whose families go back to those early days of white settlement, "massacre" connoted brutal and deliberate murder, and the word did not sit well. But for Aboriginal people, it was the only word to describe what happened. Arguments raged, petitions were circulated. "It actually divided a lot of families," says former mayor Kim Callaghan, who supported the Wirangu in their insistence on the word massacre.
It's polarised some families and overall has polarised the community." But he says the debate has also brought many people together. Many in the community have demonstrated support for the Wirangu people, and new friendships have been formed. "It's united even more people," Mr Callaghan says. "Some still resist — good luck to them — but the good thing is I didn't know [local Wirangu elders] Veda [Betts] or Jack [Johncock], didn't know them at all, and now they're some of my closest friends."
Catalyst for nation-wide change
In 2016, anthropologist Tim Haines was brought in to help clarify what really happened on that day at Waterloo Bay. He took into account the scarce written records, and also the Aboriginal oral histories. "Some people see these as embellished, but the interesting thing about Aboriginal oral histories is that they are repeated, passed down immutably from generation to generation," he says. "It's far more likely that there would be a lot of facts in them than in some of the histories written by settlers who had their own events to portray and their own events to hide." His conclusion was that at least 20 people likely died after being hounded over the cliffs, and that the word massacre is justified. As a result, in 2017, monuments finally went up.
The three dark granite sculptures, designed by local indigenous artist Penong Miller, look out over the cliffs to the crashing surf far below. It's a proud and vindicating moment for the Wirangu people, who have long pushed for a monument. "A lot of us are relieved, our spirits now can rest in peace," says Mr Johncock. But the issue continues to be divisive. The local council was overturned shortly afterwards the monuments went up — a move many believe was linked to the dispute. And there have been anonymous threats to "bulldoze" the sculptures over the cliff.
Still, Mr Haines remains hopeful. "Now there's a monument, at least a discussion can be had. The poison was in not talking about it, in not addressing it," he says. "That's not just important for Elliston, it's important for Australia in terms of what's happened elsewhere. "What happened in Elliston can be a bit of symbol, a bit of a catalyst." Ms Betts is hopeful too. She says her people now feel more accepted and less marginalised. "Our spirits are lifted. People are starting to really respect and come to us," she says. "If we accept the past then we can understand our future together. "We can look forward … this is not just an Aboriginal story, this is everyone's story."