Creating Space Project

Cherie Johnson is passionate about Aboriginal education.

I interviewed Cherie at the Indigenous Chamber of Commerce, while she participated in a program for entrepreneurs. While we spoke, she brought to life the landscape around us. Sydney Harbour is the traditional land of the Gadigal people. Long before colonisation by the British, this was a harbour into which whales came to breed. It had a rich social history, a shared space that saw peaceful trading with many other nations, including the Dutch and the Indonesians.

When I studied history in Australia in the 1990s, we covered aspects of the histories of many nations. In Australian history, while certain aspects of colonisation were addressed, the Myall Creek Massacre being a notable stand out in my memory, this was not a focus of our education. The white settlers were the focus. I have no memory of being taught anything about Australian history prior to colonisation, which was often, and still is, referred to as the "early days" of Australia.

Cherie believes passionately in the importance of Indigenising the Australian school curriculum. For example, Cherie means that we need to include much more Aboriginal content, such as teaching a history that doesn't start with the colonisation of Australia.

Cherie feels it is also important to recognise that, while Australian education is typically focused on verbal ways of learning, Aboriginal people, and many non-Aboriginals, learn much more through kinetic and visual ways: learning through having a go at a process and then solidifying the learning with the written process.

These are topics that can be uncomfortable for non-Aboriginal Australians. An Aboriginal perspective can be a "narrative that is foreign." Cherie wants to support non-Aboriginal Australians to implement these perspectives, to talk about "topics that they don't find completely comfortable but [are] navigating anyway."

Her sense of herself as an Aboriginal woman is ever-present in her story. For me, a settler woman, it was a privilege to listen to how Cherie's understanding of her identity is located so strongly within her culture. A Wailwan woman, part of the Gomileroi language group, her family is from northern NSW. From a strong line of women, Cherie lives now on the land of the Awabakal people, not far north of Sydney, Australia.

As Cherie says, "at the base of who I am, I'm an Aboriginal woman." That means she will always ask herself what is important for her people, her community, her family network. It means being strong in herself.

Cherie doesn't devalue the existing Australian education system. In fact, as well as raising her children and running her business, she is completing a PhD, seeking to empirically validate her beliefs about the importance of Aboriginal education. She hopes to bring together what is important in both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal perspectives.

As a non-Aboriginal, I am steeped in the settler narrative. My education and upbringing enculturated me into that focus. And, as Cherie said, it can be uncomfortable to take another perspective.

But discomfort, really, is where growth lies. Sitting and listening to Cherie's perspective of this land created an expansive feeling. It was a glimpse into the way another person, another group of people, view and make sense of the world.

As Cherie says, of the way her cultural identity shapes her life and her perspective, "it's like the steering wheel of my life and my body."

If you need a good yarn, Jacqui Cosgrove is your woman. Here, she tells a story about catching a burglar with her sister, many years ago.

The story reflects the importance of community in Jacqui's life. She spends a lot of time volunteering, participating in community events and fundraising. Community provides her with encouragement and support.

As one good story tends to lead onto another, it was fascinating to hear Jacqui talking about her early life.

Jacqui was raised on a farm in the bush, in rural NSW, Australia. Her first home was a mud hut, made of rammed earth.

Her mother and father were very community-oriented. She remembers family outings often being interrupted in order to help somebody they had come across.

Her father, like his siblings, received his education by working at the school to earn it. This was a situation not uncommon in the bush at this time. He left at 13 to go out to work.

Through the stories that Jacqui tells, it's not hard to spot the passing on of values through the generations of a family: Community, compassion, courage, and hard work.

This is a story about potential, effort and achievement. It's also a story about disability.

Peta Leseberg, from Bathurst, a country town in NSW, talks for the first time in her life about her disability.

When she was born, she couldn't breathe. As a child, she had slow development.

Her childhood included a lot of time with specialists and therapists. Bullied in primary school, she chose MacKillop College, a private girls school for high school. Despite the loss of funding this entailed, her parents respected her decision.

Her disability impacts on her life in many ways.

Peta has some trouble speaking, due to poor muscle tone. This can lead to misunderstanding and frustration. Peta, in conversation, can be unsure whether people understand her or are just being polite.

Another impact is the value she places on effort and achievement. Peta has a Bachelor of Arts degree, specialising in history. Education is important to her. Also, she spends much of her time volunteering in the community. It's important to her to give back to the community, in part out of appreciation for the Disability Support Pension she receives.

Peta understands the importance of not judging other people. Rather, always explore their potential. Peta realises it's easy to judge another person, to see disability and assume that person lacks potential.

The people who taught Peta to value herself were her parents, her godmother, and some teachers in high school, who encouraged her and valued her potential. Peta remembers vividly being told by her ancient history teacher, Mrs Kanarakis, that she would be a good teacher.

While sometimes she wishes she didn't have a disability, it strongly shapes her identity.

"Sometimes I think I wish I didn't have it, and sometimes I think, well, my disability's got me this far, it hasn't hindered it, why am I so afraid of it?"

Marghanita da Cruz is standing as a Greens candidate for the Leichhardt Ward in the forthcoming Inner West Council election. She took time from her campaign to talk to the Creating Space Project about cumquats.

Cumquats are a small citrus fruit. The variety grown in Sydney can't be eaten fresh, it's too sour. Marghanita has a cumquat tree in her backyard. The fruit, she gives away to people who make cumquat jam.

In this story, simple though it may seem, cumquat jam becomes a metaphor for the networks that emerge between people and between generations. I give you the cumquats from my tree, you give me some lemons.

The making of cumquat jam is knowledge that is passed down through generations. There is value in holding onto this knowledge. Modern Western society often encourages us to purchase so much of our diet and to waste what we do not consume. The women who gather to make cumquat jam are custodians of a wisdom that took a long time to be achieved. It is the techniques for cooking that are learnt only through observation. It is the understanding that in times of glut, we can preserve our food for the future, rather than letting it spoil.

The time spent together over an activity like jam-making is valuable too. It is time in which stories emerge. Marghanita recounts some of the stories of Hilma, an elder of Marghanita's community who passed away two years ago, stories that teach us about the resilience of the human spirit.

If you think about the wise women in your own life, when were the times during which you got to hear their stories? What were the activities in which you stood side by side while they imparted their wisdom? I loved listening to Marghanita. It got me thinking about my grandmother, the stories she would tell while we cracked almonds or made Christmas cake.

In this episode, we talk about mental health, suicidality and abortion. If you are triggered, please seek the support of caring people. In Australia, you could call Lifeline on 13 11 14.

While Katie was at university, she became pregnant. Having children is something that Katie takes very seriously. It is not something to undertake lightly.

Katie carefully considered all her options, thought them through, discussed them with appropriate people, and came to the conclusion that an abortion was the best choice for both her and for the potential life of the foetus. She was simply not the right person, at that time, to raise a child.

Katie, a community lawyer and co-host of the Progressive Podcast Australia (https://progressivepodcastaustralia.com), is deeply committed to the values of justice and compassion.

In this episode, we talk about how a person who is supportive of early abortion and a person who is opposed to early abortion may, in fact, hold very similar values.

In issues that are potentially very polarising, we talk about the importance of seeking a balance of emotions and reasoning, of listening to people who do not share the same beliefs as us, and of acknowledging the truth, or validating, of experiences of people from all perspectives.

Have you heard of the Cove in Taiji, Japan?

Ashley Avci has not only heard about it, she has been there. She has stood for long hours, days, weeks and months, a horrified witness to slaughter. She is a Cove Guardian with the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. In this episode, she talks about her personal experiences in Taiji.

Ashley has put her head into the water and listened to what can only be described as screaming, from pods of up to eighty dolphins and whales. And then, the silence when they are all dead, from great-grandparents down to the smallest calves.

Passionately and fiercely opposed to the hunting of whales and dolphins, Ashley was quite prepared to accept the emotional toll that it has taken on her. It seemed an acceptable price for attempting to bring to the world's attention and so, hopefully one day, stop this practice.

To her, it is simply unacceptable to turn away from suffering and injustice.

"I cannot sit back while I know there is so much hurt going on in the world."

Aurelia Roper Tyler talks with Ruth Nelson about the damage to her family, home and community on learning that her house in Homebush was to be significantly impacted by the Westconnex development.

Homebush Lost is the audio of a short film, of the same name, produced by Paula Rix and Ruth Nelson for Disconnex: Reframing the Resistance, an exhibition at the Chrissie Cotter gallery, showcasing art and salvage items connected with the Westconnex project, an urban motorway extension project in Sydney, Australia.

Clare works in a travel agency in a small town. She tells a story about a lady who had to leave where she was staying and was looking for new accommodation. Everything in the town appeared to be booked out. Rather than giving up, Clare persisted, eventually finding something with the assistance of a neighbouring shop.

For Clare, the story reflects just how much she appreciates connection to other people. It also reflects how deeply she values people.

"People are important and need to feel like they are cared for and connected to the rest of society."

In childhood, her parents frequently took in foster children, exchange students, and strays who just needed somewhere to stay. Clare believes this has powerfully influenced her.

"My parents always put people before money and before possessions."

Clare acknowledges that this approach to the world can lead to her feeling as though others sometimes take advantage of her, and that she can have trouble saying no. For the joys that connection and helping bring her, however, Clare remains committed to her spirit of openness and making room for others.

"I'm always willing to give things a go and assume the best in people."

This is a story about finding the right religion.

Sirisha respects all faiths and non-faiths. However, the religion of her childhood, Hinduism, did not resonate with her anymore and she embarked on a journey to find the core values in her life.

"I needed something to ground me."

The religion she found was Islam.

"It really made me a better person"

She started to value the so-called little things of life, "the little blessings that I have in my life, clean water, and the people that I have and the relationships that I hold."

Becoming a Muslim has come at a cost. Sirisha lost friendships. She is frequently expected to justify her choice and encounters the hostility which routinely meets Muslims in Sydney.

Sirisha also has the ongoing internal struggle to separate her religion from the people who claim to represent Islam and use it as an excuse to commit heinous acts of violence.

"You're constantly dealing with a lot of grief."

Sirisha uses the teachings of Islam to centre herself.

"The way you find hope is stick to why you chose that path in the first place."

Sirisha examines her conscience daily, holding herself to a very high standard.

"What are you doing? How are you responding to your own self? It's constantly a struggle with yourself really."

Contributing to society, in small ways and large, is extremely important to Sirisha, from the relatively small acts of smiling at people, to larger projects of working to alleviate poverty.

This is important to her because it is central to her personal value system. It is also important because, in a climate where Muslim and non-Muslim appear increasingly polarised, it is necessary work to demonstrate that the majority of Muslims are good, hard working people, who follow the teachings of their faith and are a positive force in the society in which they live.

As Sirisha concludes, being part of the society that you grew up in is important.

"Even if you change something personal about you, that shouldn't really change who you are."

In Women of Sudan Part Two, five Sudanese mothers talk with remarkable honesty about the struggles of learning to raise children in a society radically different to where they themselves grew up.

From a village lifestyle, without money and surrounded by people who know you and step in to help, to a Western city, where teenagers have debit cards and are not accountable to most of the people around them, these parents encounter problems they have never seen before.

Recognising that many of the techniques they knew in their homeland are not appropriate here, such as corporal punishment, and tired from the seemingly endless tasks of learning to integrate into a new country, such as learning the language, understanding the housing system and finding somewhere affordable to live, training for and finding work, learning to use public transport, all underpinned by the trauma which they carry from the civil war in Sudan, it is little wonder that the task of learning an entirely new approach to parenting sometimes feels impossible.

In a life where they no longer have an extended family network to turn to, these mothers often feel quite lonely and isolated, sometimes to the point of wanting to give up. Their resilience comes, in part, from gathering together, from the solace of friends.