Yesterday I did a presentation at uni on Indigenous Australians and the stolen generation. Just a short one, a synopsis of a reading, really.
But I was so wrapped up in the emotion of it all and the story of young Warren Braedon. As I stood there talking I felt all this passion boiling within me. By the end of it I had the other students in tears. My voice was shaking as I ended. Afterwards I felt emotionally spent. My tutor was also touched. I felt a bit awkward as just last week she shared her
story as an Indigenous Australian. I was a little bit afraid that what I said spoke too closely to her heart.
When it comes to Aboriginals I get so fired up, so passionate, so stirred. It does something to my heart strings. I get ashamed of our history. I'm sometimes ashamed to be white Australian.
I want to do something, but I don't know what. I don't know if I have the right to do anything.
On my way home from uni yesterday I was so lost in my thoughts. I'm not sure if I have found my way out yet. Looking for answers that I don't know if I have.
The story of Warren Braedon is such a tragedy. Born in Alice Springs January 4 1973. Murdered in Perth January 4 1992. Just two weeks before
he found his people. His land. His mother and father. Identity. Murdered because he was black
I'm asking God... What can I do as a christian, a white Australian christian, to bring peace to our land. Peace to the Indigenous. Hope, love.. ?
Talking with two young Aboriginal men the other night at Swanston Street McDonalds. They shared their lives, their fears, their dreams. One of the men, 20 years old, had such a soft and pure heart. Wanting to make it in the world and do good. The other 20 year old man confessed to murder, all in the name of revenge. We have some hurt people out there.