The Voice Was Never Good Enough
As 7:30pm ticked over on Saturday night and the result of the referendum was called by Antony Green, I felt deflated. It was the second unexpected emotion I had experienced that day — the first came when I was casting my vote and I was overcome by the feeling of duress. All that pressure, those months of toxic debate, racial slander and so forth, had led up to that one moment.
Throughout the entire campaign leading up to the referendum, I never advocated for a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ position. There were two main reasons for this. The first was, very simply, that given the proposal that was on the table and what a sad little offering it was, I found it difficult to solidify a decision as a long-time Indigenous rights activist. A powerless advisory body being inserted into a still racist constitution didn’t ever read to me as the great unifying moment it was being sold as.
The second reason was more complicated. Very early on, I realised just how dualistic and simplistic the debate had become. The ‘Yes’ side had been positioned as the progressive and anti-racist side, while the ‘No’ was the conservative and “racist” side, according to so many in the various social justice movements I am involved with.
Because this debate was being dominated by very white, mainstream understandings, there was almost no room for Indigenous discussion within it. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who had more radical aspirations for our communities were quickly written off as “siding with the racists”. Similarly, when non-Indigenous people wished to attack Indigenous people online, “vote ‘No’ to constitutional recognition” seemed to become the new “stuff the Blackfellas” (or similar).
Instead of the rest of the country listening to the diversity of Indigenous opinion, engaging with it, and making an informed decision based on what they believed to be the best way forward, people bought into lies. Remaining an “undecided Indigenous voter”, therefore, in the public sphere, provided me with some space to explore and amplify the diversity of Indigenous viewpoints, while also focusing on truth-telling — an order of business from the Uluru Statement which I had always felt should have been the first step.
Sifting through the rubble of the referendum, I feel no sense of satisfaction that my view on truth-telling coming first has turned out to be correct. I long held the concern that, based on my experiences, along with a couple of generations of history and culture wars, most Australians were not adequately equipped to be voting on anything to do with an Indigenous rights agenda. This country was simply too ignorant and too racist, and education was a more pressing concern.
Why has there been a denial of this “racism” fact when it was abundantly apparent through the two mainstream campaigns? I mean, in the case of the mainstream ‘No’, all they had to do to win was feed societal ignorance with an “if you don’t know, vote no” slogan while pretending that the Constitution itself was a great anti-racist document that needed to be protected from racial division at all costs. They never once mentioned that this document was forged to reinforce the ideals that led to the White Australia Policy. To this day, evidence of this exists via the racist sections still in it.
The main ‘Yes’ side, meanwhile, had little business asserting itself as the “anti-racist” side. They too were not interested in dealing with the racism existing in the constitution, or indeed imagining a better society via truth-telling and treaty-making. They appeared shaky as they, on one hand, appealed to the Indigenous electorate by claiming this was a long overdue recognition and a step towards true reconciliation. Simultaneously, on the other hand, they appealed to middle Australia by reminding them this was a mere reference group with no power of veto or governmental compulsion. All the while, many in that group accused members of the “Indigenous progressive ‘No’” of siding with the “racists”, seemingly not noticing that their failure to listen to Indigenous dissent while promoting a Voice was, in itself, an act of racism.
The cruellest ironies of the referendum were two-fold. Firstly, it was particularly striking that Senator Jacinta Price was claiming this as a victory for marginalised remote community people when in actual fact, the returns from remote booths in the Northern Territory show all bar one voted in favour of the Voice. The second was that as the results in Australia were becoming apparent, across the ditch in the New Zealand election, Te Pāti Māori claimed four of the seven Māori-designated seats. Yes, as Australia couldn’t even pass a powerless Voice for Indigenous people, we were being reminded that our cousins not only have proper power in Parliament, but also that they are able to democratically test it for the good of their communities.
The Voice, in my view, was never good enough. It wasn’t meant to be. As Noel Pearson said in the dying days of the campaign, it was designed to be an easy and conservative measure for middle Australia to accept. Yet they didn’t. Instead, it became a vote on the worth of Indigenous people in this country and, ultimately, a display of resentment.
Truly, how damaging is that?
Celeste Liddle is an Arrernte woman, a writer, a social commentator and a community activist, living in Melbourne.