226 years and Australia still has no legal, constitutional recognition for it’s original inhabitants.
226 years and Indigenous Australia is still struggling for Autonomy; for a say over the land that is rightfully theirs.
226 years and there’s still no treaty.
226 years and they’re still debating whether it was more, or less than 30,000 Indigenous peoples killed in the frontier wars, (at least 5,000 more than in the much lauded Gallipoli campaign).
226 years and the world’s oldest living culture is still being painted subversively as people who “…need to pull their socks up.”
226 years and I feel alone in my comprehension of our Indigenous brothers and sisters plight.
226 years and children are still being forcefully removed from their homes.
226 years and we openly celebrate the illusion of choice.
226 years and there’s still no public memorial commemorating the Frontier Wars.
226 years and there are some people who think the Indigenous flag solely represents “Black Power”.
226 years and most kids will know of Crazy Horse before they ever learn the captivating story of Jandamarra.
226 years and the above and the below sentences will deeply offend some.
226 years of genocide, brutality and submission and all we get is an apology.
226 years and there’s still an ignorant, bigoted, British educated, European occupying the highest seat in the land.
226 years have passed, women can vote, a man’s been on the moon, we can fly pilotless drones to drop bombs on innocent civilians on the other side of the world, Starbucks is soon to have robots making our coffee and we still haven’t legally recognised the original inhabitants of the Great Southern land.
226 years and Indigenous culture still lives, breathes, fights, sings, dances and laughs in the face of all of it.
226 years is laughable.
226 years and there’s still a need for me to write this.