Over the weekend, a legend passed away.
Tiga Bayles was so many things to so many different people. To his family, he was a rock – a much-loved brother, uncle, father, grandfather and great grandfather. To the radio station he helped set up, he was a stronghold – a man we turned to for guidance and support.
To me, he was a mentor – a man who could have made so many feel intimidated by the depth of his knowledge, who could have torn so many people down, but instead chose to build them up.
I heard him referred to as the voice of Aboriginal Australia earlier this week. I can understand the appeal in the label. Tiga’s voice was lyrical – it had deep ebbs and flows that reminded me of the melodies of country music; his long pauses were filled with power in a medium so frightened at the prospect of radio silence.
But Tiga’s power was in his recognition that, in black Australia, there is no one “voice”. There are many. And he spent a lifetime ensuring as many as possible were heard.
In a landscape where media outlets have a contact book made up of the same five Aboriginal people to comment on First Nations issues, Tiga’s work was not only unique, but vitally important.
If you look through the archives of his decades-long national black current affairs show, Let’s Talk, broadcast from 98.9 FM in Brisbane, you would find a treasure chest of Aboriginal voices from across the country.
And they are not sound bites. Tiga spoke to a different person every morning for an hour, fleshing out the issues of the day, delving behind the news to bring you the truth.
While other journalists flourished the rhetoric of politicians with their own shallow analysis, Tiga went to the source. He gave strength to so many mob who are so often ignored, who are subsumed into the vicious 24-hour media cycle.
I can still remember the first time he invited me on Let’s Talk. I was 23, the editor of Tracker Magazine at the NSW Aboriginal Land Council, and was nervous about speaking to him.
What sort of insight could I possibly give about issues that Tiga had lived and breathed before I was even born?
I was speaking about land rights in NSW, and Tiga had been the first chairperson of NSWALC. He had marched on the streets for land rights, and here I was trying to give context to an issue he knew intimately, a struggle he himself had sacrificed so much for.
But I shouldn’t have worried. Like so many other guests, Tiga immediately made me feel comfortable. He fostered and fertilised my voice. He helped me grow.
This is important because he not only supported the voice of Aboriginal men, but also ensured that Aboriginal women were represented on his show. In fact, they were the heavyweights.
He would often reference the life lessons of his mother – Aunty Maureen Watson – and had a monthly segment with two strong elders – Aunty Lilla Watson and Aunty Mary Graham.
Arrente writer Celeste Liddle, Dr Jan Hammill, Larissa Behrendt, Priscilla Collins, Pat Dudgeon, and Tammy Solenec were just a few of the other regular voices.
He also regularly featured commentators like Luke Pearson, Chris Graham, Jon Altman, Danny Teece Johnson, Greg Phillips and Eva Cox. I’ve missed so many people who were on Tiga’s show, but I wanted to provide an example of the types of guests he broadcast throughout Brisbane and the nation.
The impact of these daily hour-long conversations was far-reaching. Not only did it help Aboriginal Australia get their voices out, but it also gave an invaluable insight into the true story of our peoples, in a way that doesn’t deny our strength and autonomy.
Tiga was often approached at country music festivals by non-Indigenous people, people who often had prejudiced views towards blackfellas, who would often tell him how he had completely changed their outlook. Tiga was literally doing what so many journalists purport to do, but fail. He was changing hearts and minds. And he was doing it by airing brutal truths. He saw no need to soften them.
But his work was more than just providing a platform for neglected voices. At the Brisbane Indigenous Media Association, under the guidance of his Uncle Ross Watson, Tiga helped build the self-esteem of so many Aboriginal kids. It was much more than preparing them for a career in media, it is about preparing them for life.
Tiga embodied what Aboriginal media is supposed to be about. While a corner stone of black media is journalism, it is so much more than that. Tiga helped mould Aboriginal media to become a model of self-determination for our people. And he launched so many careers, and secured so many futures for Aboriginal families and people, like my colleagues at the station Dan Rennie and Trish Collins, both of whom are often unacknowledged but invaluable to First Nations media.
Aboriginal community radio stations are hubs for the community. They provide training opportunities and employment in areas where there are otherwise none. Sadly, like all areas in Aboriginal affairs, black community stations have struggled due to chronic underfunding.
I’m sad that Tiga left this earth while Aboriginal community radio is still so under-valued.
On a personal note, Tiga gave me more than I could ever repay. On the cusp of being a single mother, and desperately wanting to move back up to Queensland, I rang his long-time friend and collaborator Karen Scott, herself a champion of Aboriginal media, and asked if I could come up. The answer was immediate.
I think I was on air with Tiga the very next week. He broadcast until mid-February, when he became too sick to continue.
I will always think of him behind the microphone, headphones on, as he began with the iconic “I’d like to acknowledge the sovereignty of all First Nations people”. This memory gives me strength to not only continue his legacy, but build upon it.
I hope that others will do it too.

Amy McQuire

More than a voice: the legacy of Tiga Bayles

Four months shy of her 23rd birthday, Yamatji woman Ms Dhu lay in excruciating pain, unable to sit up, in a South Hedland watchhouse.
It was a pain she had complained of shortly after she was incarcerated on 2 August 2014, locked up for failing to pay just over $3,600 in fines.
And it was a pain that would later kill her. Two days after Ms Dhu was jailed, that beautiful young woman was dead.
Hers was yet another Black death in custody in a state that jails Aboriginal women at ever-increasing rates, a large percentage of them for failure to pay fines.
It is deeply disturbing that a state that made its riches off the stolen land of Aboriginal people is now jailing and warehousing these very same people for their poverty.
In March, the inquest into Ms Dhu’s death continued after beginning in November last year.
The inquest heard that Ms Dhu had made her pain known very early on after her arrest. South Hedland is not a big town – the nearby health campus takes two minutes to reach from the police station. Even so, it took at least 90 minutes before officers took Ms Dhu for treatment.
It was the first of three visits.
The inquest repeatedly heard testimony of Ms Dhu’s pain being interpreted as something else by both police officers and health professionals tasked with the duty to care for her. There were suggestions it was exaggerated to avoid the lock-up, that it was faked, or that it was the result of Ms Dhu coming down off drugs.
It’s hard to believe the pain of a white woman would be viewed in the same way. And it becomes even more shocking when you dig through that testimony.
The inquest heard from one doctor who said she believed Ms Dhu’s limp was not symptomatic of pain, but instead seemed to be “a little bit attention-seeking”.
Another police officer told the inquest she had seen a ward nurse roll her eyes when Ms Dhu reacted in pain (the ward nurse – Samantha Dunn – told the coroner she couldn’t recall doing it).
That officer – first class constable Jamie Buck – said she had believed Ms Dhu’s pain was genuine, but there had been a suggestion she “may have been faking it or putting it on”.
The inquest also heard testimony from constable Shelly Burgess, who told the court the South Hedland police station supervisor Rick Bond had complained Ms Dhu was simply a “junkie coming off drugs”. It was a claim Bond later admitted, saying he had “probably” called Ms Dhu a “junkie” and it was normal practice to use the word “fuck” at detainees, according to the Australian’s reporter Andrew Burrell.
The court heard evidence from constable Burgess that Bond had allegedly told Ms Dhu, “This is the last fucking time you’re going to hospital”, which the supervisor later admitted under cross-examination, according to the Australian.
He was right. It would be Ms Dhu’s last time.
After being handcuffed and carried to the police van, she died shortly after her arrival at the health campus.
We now know that Ms Dhu’s pain was real. She died from septicemia and pneumonia, originating from an infection in a broken rib that spread to her lungs.
The inquest heard Ms Dhu was a victim of domestic violence, and the broken ribs had been sustained in an earlier incident before her incarceration.
Ms Dhu’s grandmother Aunty Carol Roe, worried about her granddaughter, repeatedly rang the watchhouse, only to be told she was fine.
Of course, Ms Dhu was not fine. She was dying, and it has only been through the inquest that Aunty Carol has come to know of the true extent of her granddaughter’s pain – not only through the testimony of those who had power over her, but also through graphic CCTV footage that has played throughout proceedings.
The traumatic images are heartbreaking, and many family members have reportedly walked out during the inquest.
An even more heartbreaking fact is that while the extent of Ms Dhu’s pain wasn’t believed while she was alive, it has still been ignored during her death.
Outlets like the Guardian and the Australian have reported proceedings from the inquest, but Ms Dhu’s name remains largely unknown throughout mainstream Australia. It’s failed to spark the fury that it should have, a fact acknowledged by human rights lawyer George Newhouse, who attended the inquest on behalf of Death in Custody Watch WA.
“It does surprise me that this case is not more notorious. The circumstances of Ms Dhu’s tragic death are shocking”, Mr Newhouse told me on 98.9 FM’s Let’s Talk program in March.
“And the pain and suffering she went through in the lead-up to her death are gut-wrenching.
“It is a case that should disturb all Australians and the family quite rightly wants to ensure this never happens again to any Australian.”
The disturbing CCTV footage of Ms Dhu’s last hours was suppressed by the coroner, originally due to a request from the family. But the family has since made a submission to the coroner, asking for it to be made public in an attempt to finally spark broader mainstream interest in the death of their loved one.
Mr Newhouse told Let’s Talk he believed Ms Dhu’s death had not attracted widespread attention because the footage hadn’t been made public.
“The shocking images that have caused trauma to many of the people inside the inquest have not been released publicly and as a result the public aren’t truly aware of the horrors of what happened to Ms Dhu …
“It’s incredibly traumatic vision. A woman that was so obviously in pain and clutching at her ribs, is unconscious, unable to move and dragged like a carcass to police vehicle where she’s dumped in the rear of the vehicle and taken on her final ride to the hospital.
“Everyone watching that CCTV footage understood these were the last hours of a 22-year-old woman who was in police custody for a fine default. And those last moments must have been some of the most horrific in that short life.”
But last week, the coroner – Ros Fogliani – dealt another painful blow to Ms Dhu’s family, when she determined those last images of her death would not be made available to the media.
Ms Fogliani acknowledged Ms Dhu’s “suffering was extreme and it was a great tragedy”. But that “once the images are released and provided to the media, I cannot control their future dissemination”.
Ms Fogliani said: “It may take family members by surprise and it may shock them in years to come.” The images could “re-traumatise” family members of Ms Dhu in the future, she surmised.
Ms Dhu’s uncle, Shaun Harris, is outraged by the suppression. He says the footage – as graphic and upsetting as it is for the family – shows the truth of what happened to his niece, and a severe lack of duty of care.
He said the coroner’s excuse was unjustified and the idea it will re-traumatise family members is “sickening”.
In a message to New Matilda, circulated to other outlets, Mr Harris said, “They are afraid that the entire world will see racist Australia for what it truly is”.
He told Let’s Talk the footage was something “I will never forget … which will haunt me for the rest of my life”.
But for Mr Harris, ignoring that pain would be even worse.
The simple truth is that the police officers and health professionals who ignored Ms Dhu as she groaned in pain and lay dying on a watchhouse floor engaged in acts of state-sanctioned violence.
And in the same way, concealing the reality of this pain, as the Coroner is trying to do with the CCTV footage, is also a form of state-sanctioned violence. Rather than healing this pain, this concealment could have dire consequences.
Consider the fact that during the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody there was little outrage or coverage over the deaths of incarcerated Aboriginal women. Unlike the high profile cases of men, the pain of these women remained largely unacknowledged.
Shamefully, many of these cases were eerily similar to that of Ms Dhu, despite them occurring before the young woman was even born.
If the realities of their deaths had been exposed to wider Australia, would Ms Dhu have endured the excruciating last hours of her short life? Would she still be alive today?
Ms Dhu’s death was a tragic consequence of the apathetic response that has historically hurt Aboriginal women. In fact, it has killed them.
From the brutal rapes of our women on the frontier, to the unimaginable pain of having a child ripped from you, we have seen how the pain of our women grows in each generation; like the pain in Ms Dhu’s rib, it spreads throughout the body of our people and leads to greater trauma.
Ms Dhu’s death itself taught us just how devastating it can be when this pain is ignored and disbelieved. It is not up to the coroner to determine what will “traumatise” Ms Dhu’s family. It is not up to her to interpret their pain.
Ms Dhu did not have a voice while she was alive, and so we must ensure her family, who speak for her, have a voice in her death.
The coroner, in her position of power and privilege, claims to know more than them about the reality of their pain. Taking away the family’s voice, rejecting their wish to make this vision public, has hurt them even more.
They have already been “re-traumatised” and that trauma will grow every day Ms Dhu’s family has to fight for their pain to be properly acknowledged.
The fact there has never been any accountability for black deaths in custody, there has never been justice, is a source of so much pain today.
Taking away that opportunity will not allow Ms Dhu’s family the opportunity to heal. It will simply ensure the pain of her death continues to spread like a sickness throughout the generations.

How to hurt an Aboriginal family without even really trying

URGENT HELP NEEDED
Dr Jacob Rumbiak and the Australian West Papua Association (AWPA) Melbourne seek new friends and donations in the struggle against genocide, environmental destruction and resource theft.
Contact: Australian West Papua Association (AWPA) (Melb) 
	PO Box 1093, Windsor 3182 Victoria 
	mob: (03) 9510 2193 
	email: <a href="mailto:eng.peacechild@hotmail.com">eng.peacechild@hotmail.com</a>
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	An international human rights group is calling for urgent action after two West Papuan students, one still a child, were allegedly beaten and detained for peaceful protest.
Amnesty International in early August raised an alert over the jailing of Robert Yelemaken, a 16-year-old high school student and Oni Wea, a 21-year-old university student, who are involved with the pro-independence movement the West Papua National Committee (Komite Nasional Papua Barat).
The two students were arrested on 8 August at 3am in the Manokwari district after being caught painting pro-independence graffiti. 
Amnesty says there have been reports that “their faces are now swollen, lips are bleeding and they have pains in their chest”, raising concerns that the two students – Robert is still only a child under international law – have been tortured or ill-treated by police.
“According to local sources they were beaten and kicked by two arresting police officers. Robert Yelemaken was allegedly hit on the head and face with a rifle butt. Both were reportedly forced to roll in a drain filled with dirty water and were drenched in paint.
“They were then taken to the Manokwari District Police Station where the beatings allegedly continued.”
Amnesty is calling for the immediate release of the boys, saying they are prisoners of conscience.
“They were arrested and remain in detention solely for the peaceful exercise of their right to freedom of expression,” the group says.
There are currently dozens of political prisoners in West Papuan jails, jailed for attending or organising peaceful political protests or activities calling for independence from Indonesia.
Some have been jailed for raising the pro-independence “Morning Star” flag.
While ethnically Melanesian, the resource-rich West Papua province has been under Indonesian control after the Dutch withdrew in the 1960s. 
In 1969, about 1,000 Papuans out of a population of 800,000 were hand-picked to vote in the “Act of Free Choice”, which is commonly referred to as the “Act of No Free Choice”.
There are concerns they were threatened or coerced into voting for West Papua to become part of Indonesia.
Since then there have been constant concerns over human rights violations in the province and brutal and violent crackdowns on peaceful demonstrations.
According to prominent human rights lawyer Jennifer Robinson “hundreds of thousands of people have been killed or disappeared by the Indonesian forces.”
West Papuan activists and some academics refer to it as a genocide.
“Peaceful activists who dare to speak out against human rights abuse, or more sensitively for Indonesia, raise concerns about asking for a referendum for self-determination, are routinely arrested, beaten and tortured,” Ms Robinson says.
Despite West Papua being one of our nearest neighbours, the human rights violations in the region have failed to raise the ire of Australia or the international community.
The only country to be consistently in support of West Papuan freedom is the South Pacific island of Vanuatu, where opposition to West Papuan independence can lead to the toppling of Prime Ministers.
One of the reasons for the silence is the fact Indonesia has long prohibited international journalists from entering the province.
Last week two French journalists were arrested while allegedly being in the company of separatists and were detained in the highland town of Wamena.
Thomas Dandois and Valentine Bourrat, from the television channel Arte now face a sentence of up to five years in jail after being accused of reporting without valid visas.
Human Rights Watch’s Andreas Harsono told ABC Radio, “the charge is misusing their tourist visa to do journalism work”.
“The police said they were suspected of trying to attract international attention on Papua, to raise the rebellion in Papua.”
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A Darumbul woman from central Queensland, Amy McQuire is a journalist for NewMatilda.com, where this article was first published. She is also the former editor of the National Indigenous Times and Tracker magazine.

More than a voice: the legacy of Tiga Bayles

How to hurt an Aboriginal family without even really trying

West Papuan teen jailed and tortured for graffiti

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