Sad. Indigenous peoples need to get back to their own cultural roots, in my opinion. Too many outsiders have caused so many problems for them. It's all messed, and any further messing would only mess it up even more.
I would offer our unity in our diversity is repectful of culture.
Here is a poem I dedicated & wrote over a period of 7 years to the following person. The last two verses influenced by witnessing the destruction of communities because of alcohol and internal Clan Fighting brought on by loss of culture practiced in the past.
Biography - Rolly (Mpunywithal) Gilbert - Australian Dictionary of Biography
He was a wonderful aboriginal elder who became a Baha'i just prior to passing away, he gave my eldest son a tribal name which meant Pelican (He used to smile and say my son had a big mouth as he was always talking, they had a special bond)
In Memory of Grandad "Rolly Gilbert"
Dreamtime Part 1 (A poem in 3 parts)
Old man Elder, sitting by the fire, drinking billy tea,
reflecting on bygone years and His Races history.
There's a lump in His throat and tears in His eyes,
as He gazes through the fire, knowing of His Cultures demise.
Young men sitting by the fire, drinking alcohol,
minds poisoned by drink, no longer able to be told.
Old Man Elder, His heart begins to tear,
unable to tell those men of His great despair.
The tongues of flame leap high, the fire crackles,
Old Man tilts His head to the ground weary of the battle.
When will these men turn back to their Lord
and give up drink of their own accord?
Old Man Jumps to His feet,
while their is life in Him, He won't be beat.
He starts dancing stories of the Dreamtime,
His feet pound the dusty soil, His voice echos in rhyme.
Young men in awe, drop their alcohol,
witnessing the power of the dance and the story being told.
They rise, slowly to their feet,
joining the Old Man and adding to the beat.
Old Man Elder smiles, with wisdom in His eyes,
He knows they stand a chance, while the Culture is alive.
Sun slowly rising like a flame across the sky,
It's up to the young men now, if the culture is not to die.
Old Man Elder and young men sitting by the fire drinking billy tea,
they've come of age. learning about their Culture and History.
A Bristow-Stagg B.E. 148 (1991)
Dreamtime Part 2
Old Man Elder has passed away,
no longer able to have His say.
Dreamtime fades, nearly forgotten,
Old Mans Spirit makes memories begotten.
If there is a chance, though small,
may the race awake and so not fall.
Young men arise, time is nigh,
help Old Man Elder's Spirit fly,
remember the stories told by dance,
passed down by generations, not by chance.
The Culture is written upon your hearts,
only shrouded by the recent past,
written upon the stones and earth,
well before your time of birth.
Culture revival is already planned,
if not by yours a Mightier Hand.
Old Man Elder may have passed away,
but His Spirit still will have Its say.
A Bristow-Stagg BE 154 (1997)
Dreamtime Part 3 The Final Say
The years vanish into the past,
memories of Old Man Elder did not last.
Sitting by the fire, memories reflecting,
dwelling on an ancient cultures neglecting,
are the young men growing old and grey,
wishing they'ed done it in their day.
Stories nearly lost, Dreamtime fading away
culture no longer on display,
Hope! not all is gone,
greying men move on.
Filled with memories of Old Man Elders Dreams
spurred on by His Spirit, or so it seams,
they arise to their feet
and once again dance the beat.
Hopefully the story now will end,
on the future generations we now depend,
to connect with the Spirit and with no surprise,
Old Mans Memories and Culture will have survived.
A Bristow-Stagg B.E. 155 (1998)
Regards Tony
