Yorta Yorta Elder Wayne Atkinson reflects on a life of activism and the quest for justice

Beyond the Meeting of the Waters is the life story of academic, activist and Yorta Yorta man Wayne Atkinson, which he has co-authored with Catherine Guinness. It recognises the long history of Aboriginal activism by Atkinson’s people – a fight for land justice and self-determination that will continue beyond him. Review: Beyond the Meeting of the Waters: A Yorta Yorta Life Story – Wayne Atkinson and Catherine Guinness (Melbourne University Publishing) The Yorta Yorta people first petitioned for their land in 1881. They walked off Cummeragunja Mission Station near Barmah, Victoria, in protest in 1939. They campaigned for land rights and cultural heritage in the 1980s, and for their native title in Australian courts in the 1990s. They are campaigning for treaty and truth-telling today. From the 1970s, Atkinson has been involved in these moments of organising and uprising, as opportunities have emerged, failed and faded. Beyond the Meeting of the Waters explains his involvement, how the Yorta Yorta organised and the experiences they drew upon. Atkinson also acknowledges the Elders who have influenced and shaped him. He does all this without heroics or grandstanding, bitterness or dispute, and always with reference to the many Kooris who were involved. He explains his approach to making change for Yorta Yorta and Kooris as “chipping away”. He sees his life’s work as being an “agent of reform” and sees himself as a pragmatist: someone who understands the process of change as “two steps forward, one step back”. We come to know him as a musician, worker, intellectual, student, educator, community builder, footballer, researcher, commissioner and Elder, who speaks with authority on the people, movements and ideas who have shaped his world. Atkinson’s Yorta Yorta life story opens with a hand-written family tree that does the work of situating Yorta Yorta and Dja Dja Wurrung people and histories. The book is organised into six sections. The first introduces people and Country. The second explains family connections and Atkinson’s childhood, from the “riverbank to town life”, moving on to his working life and the start of his university studies, which often play second fiddle to the pull of activism, but are a constant point of return.
The book goes on to detail the many movements for political change in the 1970s, underpinned by a Koori “cultural renaissance” full of possibilities. Campaigns for land rights and cultural heritage are featured; successes and disappointments are canvassed. Native Title would become the vehicle for Yorta Yorta people to organise. They would spend decades seeking recognition, and much heartache ensued. The book’s commentary on the Yorta Yorta land rights claim lodged in 1994, the legal ruling against it in 2002, and the personal toll it took provides unique insights. The final two sections of the book share Atkinson’s innovations as an educator at the University of Melbourne, where he introduced his students to “on Country learning”, and reflect on “unfinished business”.

Dismantling the tools of oppression Atkinson describes the Yorta Yorta as river and forest people. Their Country straddles the colonial state borders of NSW and Victoria. This has made them subject to an array of sometimes contradictory and confusing laws in two jurisdictions and always under-resourced Aboriginal protection regimes. For the Yorta Yorta people, everyday life was thickly governed, so it is not surprising that Atkinson has dedicated his life to closely examining the colonial project in order to dismantle the destructive tools of control and oppression. Central to this dismantling is self-determination. Atkinson cites the definition in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples; specifically, he notes that Indigenous peoples are “free to determine their political status” and “pursue their economic, social and cultural development”. He offers a simple translation: community control. Kooris should be able to determine their own destiny and have control over their own affairs. Self-determination means “handing the reins to First Peoples”. Atkinson acknowledges that all Australian governments maintain a commitment to Aboriginal self-determination, but there is a “gap between the policy rhetoric of real self-determination and its implementation as a policy commitment”. Governments often treat “consulting” First Peoples as self-determination. As Atkinson explains, however, genuine self-determination is “about embedding change and handing over power and handing over resources”.
Traditions and practices Another theme that emerges is the importance of cultural traditions and practices, along with adaptation, in order to maintain sacred relationships with the land. This includes challenging archaeologists to think differently about cultural heritage. In the 1980s, Atkinson was part of the Koori Heritage Working Group, which developed a charter with the aim of regaining control of heritage. Until this time, Koori cultural heritage was managed exclusively by the government and archaeologists and referred to as “relics”.
Through consultation, the group devised a definition of heritage that included “those distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional features that together make up our present and past identity as Koori people”. These include “physical and non-physical things”. The definition sought to recognise survival, through and despite the devastating impacts of invasion and colonisation.
In the early 1980s, the newly elected Cain government in Victoria, in which Jim Kennan, the minister for Aboriginal affairs, also served as attorney general, was well-placed to proceed with land rights and self-determination. Atkinson reflects on this as a period of revival: a cultural renaissance that confidently expressed “being and seeing the world though Koori eyes”. But when it came to the campaign for land rights – a campaign that was running alongside the one for cultural heritage reforms – there were other forces to contend with. Atkinson explains the hostility that emerged from a coalition of industry, hostile rural communities and conservatives when he was working on the Yorta Yorta land claim for the Barmah Forest alongside his cousin, Sandra Bailey Cooper. He still ranks one public land rights meeting in the 1980s as “the most hostile meeting I have ever attended”. Racism and fear eventually flatlined the Victorian government’s land rights agenda. It was another two decades before a historic partnership between the Yorta Yorta Nation and the State of Victoria was signed in 2004, returning to them a role in management of their Woka (lands) and Walla (waters).

Native title After decades of working towards land justice and cultural heritage rights, the High Court’s decision in the Mabo case in 1992, which overturned the legal fiction of terra nullius and gave rise to the commonwealth government’s Native Title Act in 1993, created a new opportunity to pursue land justice.
One year after native title laws were enacted, Yorta Yorta people were again organising and strategising. Atkinson reminds us that this was the 18th time in the preceding 150 years that they had sought formal application for the return of their Country. Over this time, they had limited success appealing to politicians, so taking land justice to the courts seemed like the best strategy.
Yorta Yorta people were the first mainland group to seek application to recognise their native title rights. They were full of optimism and carried the strength and weight of their people’s history. Atkinson was one of 16 principal applicants for the claim. He also worked as senior researcher, gathering extensive evidence and oral histories from older people about their Country, traditions and customs.

There has been plenty written about the Yorta Yorta native title litigation, but less so from a Yorta Yorta perspective. Atkinson speaks eloquently about the injury that these processes inflict on the people who spend decades in preparation and negotiation, only to find themselves sidelined, as the native tile industry – lawyers, barristers, expert witnesses and competing interests, including state and local governments and farmers – debate the merits of their claim. Regional racism and a hostile media fuelled public fear. Others became emboldened to challenge identity claims. The newly formed National Native Title Tribunal provided little hope for negotiation. Confidential discussions found their way into media reports and the meditation failed. In hindsight, Atkinson reflects that it was a “mistake” to have entered mediation. “Our experience,” he says, “showed how hard it was to steer a course through a minefield of bias, bigotry and the conservative rural elites.” A travelling circus In October 1996, Yorta Yorta people embarked on a huge undertaking, presenting their claim in the Federal Court. Sixty Yorta Yorta witnesses gave evidence, along with members of neighbouring groups. Hearings were heard on Country and the entire entourage visited cultural sites. Atkinson describes the number of witnesses as “formidable”, the whole thing resembling a “travelling circus”. Two years later, in 1998, Justice Howard Olney returned his verdict to a crowded and anxious courtroom. Taking 19 seconds, he informed the court that the Yorta Yorta case had failed. The full judgement ruled that the “tide of history” had “washed away” traditional Yorta Yorta laws and customs.
The Yorta Yorta appealed, on the grounds that the decision failed to recognise the capacity of traditional laws and customs to adapt to changed circumstances, rather than being “frozen in time”. The case eventually reached the High Court. In 2002, Atkinson was joined in the courtroom by several of his students of Aboriginal political history to hear five of the seven judges rule against the Yorta Yorta claim. The majority decision marked the end of the road to secure their land rights through the courts.
Deep thinking Atkinson’s life story provides a compelling perspective on the Yorta Yorta experience of the native title process. They were the first group on the mainland to pursue their land rights through the native title system. Their claim covered a region that was heavily settled and populated, so they came up against powerful organised interests and a system yet to comprehend Aboriginal worlds in settled places.
The decision put native title beyond the reach of many Aboriginal groups in south-eastern Australia. Atkinson’s account reveals the sense of history that permeates Aboriginal justice claims. “I still think a lot about all those relatives who suffered from this terrible judgement,” he says, “and those who are no longer with us and did not see the justice they rightly deserved.”

Yet Atkinson and Yorta Yorta people show us a path forward. This lies in a “refusal to yield” and the resilience to “bounce back”. Atkinson describes the grief and hurt after the decision, the need to step back, to heal, and for goopna ngarwu (deep thinking). The “gentle words” of activist Uncle William Cooper (1861-1941) offered consolation and inspiration. “Our pen is our spear,” Cooper wrote in 1938.
After some time recovering, the Yorta Yorta’s settled-upon strategy was to return to “base camp”. They would return to local political campaigning for land justice and a renewed focus on recovering the Barmah-Millewa Forest country.
Fighting back The 2023 referendum to enshrine a “voice” for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in the Australian constitution seemed to reawaken old biases in political life. Some attribute the defeat of the proposition to the withdrawal of cross-parliamentary support as the campaign was emerging. Others have pointed to a new global politics that has had a destabilising effect on issues that promote democratic participation. Still others have suggested the proposal needed more evidence to convince the voting public.
It was a disappointing outcome for millions of Australians and will be a reference point for years to come. Atkinson explains that, in Victoria, despite the disappointment, the Yorta Yorta continue to focus on treaty, self-determination and sovereignty. He sees the focus on local issues as a “fight back position” that will allow “more energy to be concentrated on Treaty matters and truth and justice”.
Beyond the Meeting of the Waters takes us into the world of Aboriginal political activism in south-eastern Australia with heart and compassion. It reminds us that the campaign for justice is a long and abiding process. It is not measured in moments, but generations. It is a gift to read Atkinson’s life story and learn about his Yorta Yorta Country, the strategies and ideas that drive change, and the resilience needed to make change happen. Beyond the Meeting of the Waters should be on university and school syllabi and read by an interested public. It will inspire and guide activists and allies.

Heidi Norman receives funding from the Australian Research Council.