Voices in the Wilderness: Images of Aboriginal People in the Australian Media (Contributions to the Study of Mass Media and Communications)

VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS

Recent Titles in Contributions to the Study of Mass Media and Communications Advertising, Alcohol Consumption, and Mortality: An Empirical Investigation Joseph C. Fisher and Peter A. Cook The Press in Times of Crisis Lloyd B. Chiasson, Jr. Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth Century Press Mary Ann Weston Rights vs. Responsibilities: The Supreme Court and the Media Elizabeth Blanks Hindman The Press on Trial: Crimes and Trials as Media Events Lloyd Chiasson Jr., editor Personalities and Products: A Historical Perspective on Advertising in America Edd Applegate Taking Their Political Place: Journalists and the Making of an Occupation Patricia L. Dooley Developing Sanity in Human Affairs Susan Preshy Kodish and Robert P. Holston, editors The Significance of the Printed Word in Early America: Colonists' Thoughts on the Role of the Press Julie Hedgepeth Williams Discovering Journalism Warren G. Bovee Covering McCarthyism: How the Christian Science Monitor Handled Joseph R. McCarthy, 1950-1954 Lawrence N. Strout Sexual Rhetoric: Media Perspectives on Sexuality, Gender, and Identity Meta G. Carstarphen and Susan C. Zavoina, editors

VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS Images of Aboriginal People in the Australian Media Michael Meadows

Contributions to the Study of Mass Media and Communications, Number 59

Greenwood Press Westport, Connecticut • London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Meadows, Michael, 1948— Voices in the wilderness : images of Aboriginal people in the Australian media / Michael Meadows. p. cm. — (Contributions to the study of mass media and communications, ISSN 0732-4456; no. 59) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-313-31566-3 (alk. paper) 1. Australian Aborigines—Press coverage—Australia. I. Title. II. Series. PN5514.A83M43 2001 302.23'089'9915—dc21 00-032995 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2001 by Michael Meadows All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-032995 ISBN: 0-313-31566-3 ISSN: 0732-4456 First published in 2001 Greenwood Press, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.greenwood.com Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48-1984). 1098765432

Contents

Tables Preface Acronyms and Abbreviations

vii ix xi

1

Journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

2

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins . . .

33

3

Celebration of a Nation—The Bicentenary

67

4

Voices in the Wilderness—The Cape York Spaceport

91

5

Lost Opportunities—The Native Title Debate

115

6

Reporting the Everyday—Rationalizing Racism

147

7

Managing the Media—Ethics and Professionalism

163

8

Reconciliation

195

Appendix 1 Appendix 2 Appendix 3 Appendix 4 Bibliography Index

1

213 219 221 223 225 233

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Tables

3.1

TV News Stories and Indigenous Issues, 21-28 January 1988

71

3.2

Descriptions of the Sydney March, 26 January 1988

72

3.3

Violence in TV News Discourse, 21-28 January 1988

76

3.4

TV News Stories and Violence, 21-28 January 1988

77

4.1

Spaceport News Stories, 1986-1992

98

4.2

Spaceport Photographs, 1986-1992

109

5.1

Native Title Stories, 1993

123

5.2

Native Title Photographs and Illustrations, 1993

138

5.3

Journalists' Sources, 1993

139

5.4

Indigenous Speakers, June-July 1993

140

6.1

Indigenous Affairs Stories, 31 January to 3 February 1996

152

6.2

Indigenous Sources, 31 January to 3 February 1996

152

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Preface

This is a book about journalism—specifically Australian journalism—and the ways in which it reports on Indigenous people and issues. It is also about the ways in which journalism practices—and the stories they generate—have been and remain complicit in creating and sustaining particular images of Indigenous people in Australia and beyond. In a sense, it is an attempt to map out a process in which I have been both a participant and an observer. It is a process that began almost 25 years ago when I started work as a journalist on a local newspaper in Brisbane. I worked as a print and broadcast journalist for 10 years before becoming involved in more critical reflection through journalism education and research. It seems to me quite apparent that journalism, as a set of cultural practices, tends to fulfill a role in providing simplistic, commonsense explanations for questions or events where, more often than not, complex and contextual answers are needed. This is partially the result of the production processes of news, but journalism—with all its contradictions—remains a central influence. The practices of journalism offer up powerful ways of interpreting the world. This is especially true when representing race relations, because for most people the news media are the only sources of information about such topics. While much of this book is concerned with a critique of mainstream journalism practices, it is optimistic about the possibilities for change. If the book provokes discussion and debate that lead to a better understanding of cross-cultural communication—and the critical role of journalism in this—then it will have succeeded.

X

Preface

It would have been impossible to have completed this book without the support of so many people. I wish to acknowledge them here, apologizing to any who may have been inadvertently omitted. Colleagues at the School of Media and Journalism at Queensland University of Technology and the School of Film, Media and Cultural Studies at Griffith University always allowed me to "bend an ear" or two at crucial times—and were always positive and encouraging. Valda Blundell, Stuart Cunningham, and Stephen Muecke made valued critical comments on the Ph.D. dissertation from which some of the book is drawn. Colin Mercer and Athol Chase provided the theoretical enthusiasm and the down-to-earth advice so crucial in completing a project such as this. Sue Abbey's enthusiasm for an early version of the manuscript convinced me of the need to persevere. Staff at the Australian Institute for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies and the Queensland Newspapers Information Service were always helpful in locating possible sources. University of Queensland librarian Gulcin Cribb applied extraordinary tenacity in tracking down many of the articles I have used here. Her suggestions and commitment were crucial in the early stages of the project. There are many Indigenous and non-Indigenous people who have contributed through their writings, conversations, discussions, and comments. I particularly acknowledge the contributions by Anthony Brown, Susan Pearce, Robert Thomson, and Kitty van Vuuren. For their generosity and insight—Valerie Alia, Shannon Avison, Jennifer Craik, Tiga Bayles, Jacqui Ewart, Susan Forde, Cratis Hippocrates, Suzanna Layton, Gary Maclennan, David Miller, Helen Molnar, Christine Morris, Jacqui Murray, Tom O'Regan, Ross Watson, and Helen Yeates. Special thanks to the editorial team for their enthusiasm, insight, and skill: commissioning editor Pamela St Clair, copyeditor Klara King, and indexer Robert Thomson. But it was my partner, Carola Henley, who made it all possible through her constant love, understanding, and encouragement.

Acronyms and Abbreviations

AAP ABA ABC ABT AEJMC AJA ALP AMIC ANZAAS ATSIC CAAMA CB AA CBC CBD CYP CYSA FACTS FAIRA FARB LOTE MEAA NACS

Australian Associated Press Australian Broadcasting Authority Australian Broadcasting Corporation Australian Broadcasting Tribunal Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication Australian Journalists' Association Australian Labor Party (American spelling is correct) Australian Mining Industry Council Australian and New Zealand Association for the Advancement of Science Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association Community Broadcasting Association of Australia Canadian Broadcasting Corporation Central Business District Cape York Peninsula Cape York Space Agency Federation of Australian Commercial Television Stations Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action Federation of Australian Radio Broadcasters Languages Other Than English Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance National Aboriginal Communications Society

Xll

NIMAA NUJ QC QMS SIFC SQ STS TASA WWF

Acronyms and Abbreviations National Indigenous Media Association of Australia National Union of Journalists (correct) Queen's Counsel Queensland Newspapers Information Service Saskatchewan Indian Federated College Surete du Quebec Space Transportation Systems The Australian Sociological Association World Wildlife Fund

VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS

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1 Journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

At the dawn of the third millennium, Australia has been embroiled in a debate over the meaning and importance of its identity as a nation. Successive federal government election campaigns in the 1990s revealed the unimportance of a need to reconcile the problematic relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians.1 Aboriginal reconciliation has rated barely a mention in the media coverage of a panoply of "real" election issues such as taxation reform, leadership, or moves toward Australia becoming a republic. The rhetoric concerning reconciliation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australia has remained just that. This attitude of indifference toward Indigenous Australians was reflected in the often hysterical debates around the High Court's 1992 Mabo and the 1996 Wik decisions on native title.2 Amendments to the Native Title Act introduced by the Australian government in 1998 were criticized by the United Nations Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination for their "acute impairment" of the land rights of Indigenous people. The committee expressed concern over the "compatibility" of the amendments to the Native Title Act in terms of the International Convention for the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination—to which Australia is a signatory.3 This was one outcome of a particular "structure of attitude and reference" that emerged in the 1990s.4 But there were many precedents—the colonial literature relating to Indigenous people has perpetrated the most insidious racial stereotypes and racist treatment. Gandy suggests that in the increasingly complex world in which we live, the role played by identity has become much more uncertain. The mass media play a central role in the process of transforming traditional guidelines and criteria we used in the past

2

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to determine group membership.5 But while transformations have taken place, as Dower reminds us, the stereotypes are not necessarily dispelled: "They remain latent, capable of being revived by both sides in times of crisis and tension."6 In the mid-1990s in Australia, a new wave of racial stereotyping was promulgated by a handful of independent federal politicians, largely creations of the mainstream media. They perpetrated a destructive and divisive "debate," which saw their ill-chosen and often ignorant words spread beyond Australian shores. Centered around the extremist Pauline Hanson, there was extensive media coverage of their simplistic representation of problems and their equally simplistic solutions. In her maiden speech on 10 September 1996 as an independent member of Federal Parliament, Pauline Hanson voiced her concerns that Australia was under threat from within and without. And the solutions: end multiculturalism, withdraw from the United Nations, immediately cease foreign aid, and reintroduce compulsory military training for young people. She told parliament: "We now have a situation where a type of reverse racism is applied to mainstream Australians by those who promote political correctness and those who control the various taxpayer funded 'industries' that flourish in our society servicing Aboriginals, multiculturalists and a host of other minority groups." She talked about the "privileges Aboriginals enjoy over other Australians," described the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC) as a "failed, hypocritical and discriminatory organisation" and called for its abolition.7 What she was saying was that "Australian culture" was changing for the worse, based on an assumption that there was such a thing as a centered, unitary culture.8 This was an assumption that was never seriously challenged by the bulk of the subsequent media coverage and was the beginning of another dark chapter of the history of race relations in Australia. It is a chapter in which the media again played a key role. Despite some reluctance, most journalists seemed content to report uncritically what Hanson said.9 Virtually overnight, she became the darling of Sydney's influential and right-wing talkback radio hosts. Sensing a groundswell of support, she formed her own political party—Pauline Hanson's One Nation—the first Australian political party to include the leader's name in its title.10 In the Queensland state election 12 months later, the new political party attracted 23 percent of the vote, winning 11 of the Queensland Parliament's 89 electorates. By 1999, the number of One Nation members in the Legislative Assembly had dwindled to 5 through resignations, and the party was deregistered over a technical breach in March 1999. While the party attracted a wide range of supporters, generally disgruntled at their treatment by the mainstream political parties, among its supporters was a significant number of those conditioned by more than 200 years of media misrepresentation of race relations.11 Even Australia's political leaders were loath to condemn openly the racist pronouncements from One Nation that emerged in 1996. There were some exceptions, but it took months of prominent media coverage of Pauline Hanson's extremist views before federal politicians began to question openly the racist ideologies being promoted. Significant political opposition emerged only following reports of concern from

journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

3

Australia's Asian neighbors. The prospect of damage to international trade and diplomatic relations was the catalyst needed to spur political leaders into action. Within this environment, many were quick to come to the defense of Australia's multicultural community, arguing—with good reason—that immigrants had made a significant contribution to Australian society. But the silence around the racist attacks on Australia's Indigenous peoples went largely unchallenged. Lacking the economic clout of the so-called Asian "tiger" economies—although this perception, too, was moderated by the late-1990s economic crisis in Asia— Indigenous people continue to be the target of an increasingly conservative political elite. Just weeks before the 1996 federal poll in which Pauline Hanson was elected, it seemed that reconciliation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people might become reality following a groundbreaking agreement over land use between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities on Cape York Peninsula in far-north Queensland.12 The parties included the Aboriginal Cape York Land Council, the Cattlemen's Union, the Peninsula Regional Council of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC), the Australian Conservation Foundation, and the Wilderness Society. It was an example of how groups with apparently disparate interests could negotiate how to live and work together— how they could "share the country."13 But from its inception, the land use agreement came under attack from conservative politicians.14 Almost 12 months later, the High Court's decision in the Wik native title case essentially confirmed in law what the parties on Cape York had already agreed—that leases over property used for farming and livestock production and native title could coexist. But conservative though it was, this decision, too, was the subject of the most extraordinary attack from the rural and resources sector. The response by the elite in Australia to both the Mabo and Wik judgments represented lost opportunities to address seriously the contradictory relationship between Indigenous and nonIndigenous Australia. It revealed a nation grappling with the notion of identity but dominated by the specter of racist ideas and assumptions. Some have argued that a sense of cultural identity for Australia must incorporate Indigenousness—that Aboriginality embodies the "vital elements" absent in settler Australian culture.15 Others suggest that the two major issues to be resolved before Australian culture can be defined are the dispossession of Indigenous people and their continuing presence in Australian society.16 One resolution might involve a convergence of cultures that would require the affirmation of both settler Australian and Aboriginal cultures. Bain Attwood concludes: "Aborigines and settler Australians are contemporary peoples with identities that are mutually constituted rather than exclusionary and disassociative."17 Anthropologist Marcia Langton takes up this issue again, but from an Indigenous perspective, toward the end of this chapter. Evidence of an inability to come to terms with such issues abounds—almost in the same breath as they acknowledge Indigenous social disadvantage and the theft of children, conservative politicians joined in the vicious attacks on Indigenous rights, with journalists and the media, by and large, dutifully reporting this uncritically.18

4

Voices in the Wilderness

Active Aboriginal resistance to white invasion has been ongoing since the arrival of the First Fleet on 26 January 1788. Antislavery moves by British parliamentarian Thomas Fowell Buxton in 1828 have been suggested as an impetus for the beginnings of the Aboriginal land rights movement.19 But by the 1930s, tactics changed from direct confrontation to more peaceful protest— meetings, marches, and petitions. Some have identified protests by Aboriginal people on the 150th anniversary of white settlement in Sydney—1938—as the first modern Aboriginal demonstration.20 While it is difficult to locate accurately the beginning of the land rights movement in Australia, it is certain that there has been a long and active resistance—virtually from first contact—to what is seen by Indigenous people as the theft of their land. Activity attracting media attention increased substantially in the 1960s. It was a time when the Yirrkala people of the Northern Territory petitioned the Federal House of Representatives for their rights to veto mining on the nearby Gove Peninsula—1963—and the Gurindjis left Wave Hill station in the Northern Territory in protest over their exploitation as workers in the cattle industry, supported by Aboriginal people in the south.21 More direct political confrontation continued throughout the 1970s: on 26 January 1972 an Aboriginal tent embassy was set up (and dismantled by police five months later); in 1972 a new, reformist federal Labor government moved to introduce land rights legislation to cover claims in the Northern Territory.22 This was approved in 1977 by the succeeding Liberal government.23 Some have argued that in the 1970s the black movement in Australia became a "Koori"24 movement—a cultural transition that represented an ideological break with the past.25 Others suggest that Aboriginal people were "without a voice until the 1970s," when they began to adopt the colonizer's cultural forms, like the media.26 In Australia, it was the direct threat of what some termed "a second invasion" by non-Aboriginal broadcast media that set the publishing wheels in motion again. An Aboriginal response to racist media representation emerged in the 1970s and 1980s in the form of demands for control of that representation. Speaking in 1993, Marcia Langton observed that Indigenous demands for the control of their own images had been expressed at "every major film and media conference during the last twenty years." She insisted that it was essential for Aboriginal people to control the means of production for any meaningful change in the nature of representation of land rights to take place.27 While this is happening to some extent through Indigenous media, the problem of the mainstream media remains. JOURNALISM AND REPRESENTATION Australia's Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation has a simple and apparently attainable vision: "A united Australia which respects this land of ours; values the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander heritage; and provides justice and equity for all."28 The reemergence in the mid-1990s of conservative politics at a federal

Journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

5

level in Australia has made this benign expectation seem suddenly impossibly naive. One of the aims of this book is to investigate how Australian journalism has been and remains complicit in creating and sustaining the current environment of uncertainty and division in Australian race relations through its systematic management of information. As Weston found in her study of 70 years' media coverage of Native Americans, journalism has "a unique position in the construction and repetition of images," many of them inaccurate stereotypes. She argues: "The practices, traditions, and forms of journalism rather than challenging the stereotypes in popular culture, have repeated and reinforced them."29 In many ways, this book adopts a similar approach—and reaches similar conclusions—in examining the role played by journalism, from its colonial beginnings to its modern forms. When challenged about the nature of their coverage, journalists argue that they merely reflect reality—just read the letters to the editor, or listen to talkback radio, or look at the ratings of commercial television current affairs programs, they say. But under the guise of journalism, television current affairs programs aim to entertain with their blatant commercially driven agendas, delivering audiences to advertisers. But they bring into disrepute the practice of journalism, dragging all journalists down to their level. It might help to explain why in recent years reporters in Australia have consistently scored a credibility rating around that of politicians and real estate agents.30 Commercial television current affairs programs lurch uneasily between claims of high audience ratings or a reliance on journalistic ethics—whichever is appropriate—to justify their often questionable practices.31 They, like other media, are inextricably part of the processes that construct reality. They are key cultural resources that play perhaps a more important role in creating ideas and assumptions about Australia and Australian society than do other institutions, like universities, schools, clubs, societies or churches.32 At the time of the inauguration of the Commonwealth of Australia in 1901, the motto adopted was "One people, one destiny." Almost 100 years later, while the rhetoric focuses on notions of the need to respect difference, of giving everyone a "fair go," environmental harmony, and reconciliation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities, the reality is quite different.33 The attitude of particular intolerance that emerged in the mid-1990s implies the need for us to reexamine the meaning of citizenship along with its accompanying rights and responsibilities. Former Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner Mick Dodson suggested a range of potential constitutional changes which might begin to address a lack of citizenship rights experienced by many Indigenous people.34 The role of the media in this process of identity construction and reconciliation has remained largely invisible. The momentous Australian High Court's native title or Mabo decision, handed down on 2 June 1992, passed at that time almost without comment in the Australian media. On Brisbane television news, only the government-funded stations—the national broadcaster, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation

6

Voices in the Wilderness

(ABC), and the multicultural broadcaster, the Special Broadcasting Service (SBS)—thought it worthy of coverage. None of Australia's three commercial television channels' news bulletins mentioned the decision that day. Twelve months later, when the issue of native title was raised to the top of the political agenda by the then prime minister, Paul Keating, almost overnight, it became news—big news. In June and July 1993, the Australian news media were suddenly alive with stories about Mabo. This is the subject of one of the case studies I investigate in this book. Reaction to the High Court's 1996 Wik decision was essentially a repeat performance, with the frames for dealing with native title set firmly in place. At the same time as the issue of native title continues to make headlines, the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation persists in its attempts to forge a new relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australia. The role of the media in this has not escaped the council, which has called for the mainstream media to work toward promoting more positive images of Indigenous people.35 While positive images alone may not resolve the problematic relationship that does exist, media response to this suggestion has been muted.36 Examples of initiatives in this vein have been confined largely to public sector media, particularly the government-funded broadcasters, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC), and the Special Broadcasting Service (SBS).37 Australian media audiences are becoming more fragmented, and the numbers of those watching television and reading newspapers, particularly tabloids, are in decline.38 The commercial media in Australia continue to perform poorly in reflecting the reality of Australia's cultural diversity—evidence of the problematic nature of the creation of identity, a process in which the media play a vital role.39 Australia's extraordinary concentration of media ownership, particularly of the press and television, further limits the possibilities for change.40 Commercial media organizations globally reveal strong tendencies for advertiser preference toward infotainment rather than public service programming, all in accord with market logic. This construction of the audience as consumers rather than as citizens means that marginal groups remain marginal and are "served" on advertisers' terms in an increasingly monopolistic mediascape.41 The continuing reproduction of racial stereotypes in the mass media is also a result of the influence and logic of "the market."42 Support for the continuing expansion of Indigenous media in Australia—particularly radio, television, and multimedia—is perceived as one solution.43 The notion of global mass media is not confined to the practical network within which it operates, but must be considered in terms of the way in which it creates and links ideas, issues, events into a whole—a "structure of attitude and reference."44 This manifests itself in many and varied ways. A common phrase uttered at the end of television news bulletins is something like, "and that was the world on this day." It defines world events by collapsing them, both spatially and temporally, into unproblematic, easily consumable vision clips and soundbites. This de-contexualized information glut encourages us to think about identity as

Journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

7

monocultural and detached—diametrically opposed to historical accounts, which reveal the formation of identities and culture as a more complex and continuing process.45 Some have theorized this in terms of the need to establish a dialogue between cultures if we are to make genuine progress toward a sense of identity that is far more dynamic and progressive than that offered by daily news reports. This concept of identity, then, becomes a starting point rather than a static definition.46 In a sense, this book is an attempt to map out a process in which I have been both a participant and an observer—the linking of these two ideas is deliberate. The media fulfill a role in providing simplistic, commonsense explanations for questions, events, and so on where more complex and contextual answers often seem more appropriate. It is "common sense" that is the basis for the routine practices that reinforce and reproduce racist structures.47 Journalists seek closure, easy resolutions, something that can be told in half a dozen paragraphs or in a 10second sound bite. But life is not like that. A conspiracy, by journalists, their sources, or proprietors, seems a nonsensical explanation—there are simply too many places where things could go wrong—and yet the powerful impression of media representation that privileges the dominant culture persists. An investigation I undertook in the aftermath of publication of an article in Australia's version of People magazine in 1986 revealed how one north Queensland Indigenous community viewed its media portrayal. Through a series of interviews, Indigenous people in Cairns spoke out about their perceptions of the way in which mainstream media sensationalized Aboriginal issues and, more often than not, got it wrong. People explained that they viewed such reporting as encouraging racists, often revealing a misunderstanding of Aboriginal issues, and effectively denying Indigenous people a voice. Community members accused the media of performing "at their worst" on contentious issues and of "printing what they want to."48 What this investigation revealed was that the omission of Indigenous people from important debates was as significant as the way in which they were misrepresented. The silencing of Indigenous voices on a vast range of issues canvassed on a daily basis by mainstream and community media alike is a central theme that dominates the case studies in this book. The silence largely continues, even when the issues involved are literally those of life and death.49 An increasing number of Indigenous communities are demonstrating their loss of patience with journalists following exclusion from public sphere debates and constant media misrepresentation of their affairs. Communities are simply refusing to cooperate with reporters or are denying them access to information. This approach has been adopted by Indigenous communities in central Australia, the Torres Strait, and Cape York Peninsula, as well as by some urban groups. It should be seen as a clear warning that something is seriously wrong with existing lines of communication. It is the actions of journalists themselves that have largely precipitated this disturbing trend, and it should be journalists who lead the charge to reclaim some degree of respectability through dialogue.

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Voices in the Wilderness

INDIGENOUS RESPONSES It should be no surprise, then, that in Australia and in many other countries Indigenous people have resorted to their own media—their own means of cultural production. In 1993, Brisbane became the first capital city in Australia to get its own special-interest Aboriginal community radio station. It was nine years after the first licensed Indigenous radio station in Australia began broadcasting in six central Australian languages from Alice Springs—an initiative by the Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association (CAAMA). Since Radio 4AAA Murri Country began broadcasting, there has been little doubt of its close relationship with Brisbane's Murri50 community. It would not be able to operate without this association. One of the first voices heard over the airwaves by the community that day was that of a Jagera51 elder, the late Neville Bonner. It is perceived by the community to be an important cultural resource and is able to attract a weekly audience of more than 100,000 listeners.52 The station now broadcasts across Australia through a National Indigenous Radio Service, a satellite network potentially linking around 150 community radio stations, most of them part of Indigenous communities. It is only through such networking that Indigenous people will be able to talk back in their own languages and to their own agendas. Indigenous enterprises like these have several common characteristics: they were initiated by Indigenous communities; they are controlled and maintained by Indigenous people; but, perhaps most importantly, each is inextricably tied to the social structure of the community from which it emerged. They operate both as a first level of service for their communities and as a cultural bridge—informing mainstream society of Indigenous issues and ways of thinking—and it is a global trend.53 These kinds of responses are indicative of a growing perception of the need for an examination of the lack of democracy within existing mainstream media structures and how the resulting hegemony might be challenged by appropriating new technologies.54 Oppositional voices have always been there, but they have had to struggle for access to mainstream media. They emerge, for example, as a result of the global media impact of events such as the Gulf War, despite the prevailing tendency for the inequitable nature of Western and non-Western power relations to remain well disguised.55 In the same way, alternative approaches to community radio and television challenge the dominant ideology associated with local or regional political struggles in places like Central America.56 Community broadcasting in Australia—and in many places around the world, too—suggests ways in which technology can be appropriated as a tool of resistance. For Indigenous societies, engaged in a state of constant political struggle, such ideas are not new.57 Language and cultural loss is one primary driving force—Indigenous communities' perceptions of the nature of mainstream media is another.58 It is symptomatic of a recent Western discovery that the way in which we have spoken about "subordinate" peoples is now being challenged by those very people. Aligned with this process of cultural resistance are three responses: the right of a community to see

Journalism, Images, and Indigenous Affairs

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its own complete history; the idea that resistance is a valid alternative way of conceptualizing human history; and a move away from separatist nationalism toward a more integrative perception of humankind and culture.59 But what impact does this contribution that Indigenous peoples are making really have? Does it influence mainstream processes, or does it remain at the periphery?60 Many argue that the emergence of Indigenous media over the past 20 years represents an important trend that impacts on debates in several areas— theoretical critique of mainstream media, ideas of representation, media development, and the expansion of ethnographic film theory and associated approaches.61 But the interaction between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples remains problematic, based from first contact on diametrically opposing views on such issues as property ownership and the relationship to land.62 Debates over native title in Australia and treaty rights in North America are evidence of its enduring nature. The 1993 International Year of the World's Indigenous Peoples—and since 1995, the International Decade of the World's Indigenous People—has prompted some response. In a memorable speech in Sydney on International Human Rights Day, 10 December 1992, the Australian prime minister, Paul Keating, acknowledged the "two centuries of atrocities" committed by whites against Indigenous Australians. He also acknowledged how this process had "smashed the traditional way of life."63 Perhaps things have begun to change, although some suggest that the prime minister encouraged Indigenous people to expect a lot from the Mabo native title decision—perhaps more than it could ever deliver.64 Part of this reflexive process must consider ways in which non-Indigenous peoples "determine" or "imagine" Indigenous peoples as well as Indigenous responses to this, because Indigenous people have not been merely acted upon but have themselves been active historical agents.65 This would suggest that Indigenous communities are likely to organize resistance to cultural domination in different ways. This might include, for example, developing a more complex category of citizenship that enshrines access to a broad range of cultural resources, like the media.66 THE SCOPE OF THE STUDY What I aim to achieve in this book is to examine how the media in Australia deal with issues that are of critical importance in formulating notions of identity—of "imagining" Australia as a nation.671 investigate this through a series of case studies of recent events in Australia's history, all of which involve the reporting of Indigenous affairs. In the first section, I offer an overview of approaches to reporting Indigenous affairs from the time of first contact with non-Indigenous explorers to a series of more contemporary case studies. Like the continuing debate over native title, the 1988 Australian Bicentenary offered opportunities to reconcile long-standing differences between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. As such, it offered a good case study to examine how

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journalists negotiated often conflicting information. The second case study concerns media representation of Aboriginal opposition to a proposal to construct a spaceport on Cape York Peninsula in far-north Queensland. This offers the opportunity to examine the role of omission in constructing a particular preferred version of events. The way in which mainstream print journalists have framed the native title debate in the wake of the High Court's Mabo decision becomes a focus for a third case study in this book. In the final example, I examine different approaches to reporting "the everyday" by newspaper and television news journalists. Drawing from a study of 20 years of Queensland Newspapers' reporting of Indigenous issues, this chapter focuses on the coverage of a protest rally held in Brisbane early in 1996. In this, I acknowledge the contribution to this study from colleague Cratis Hippocrates and research assistant Kitty van Vuuren. The investigation reveals significant differences in the approach to news values by the different media involved and illustrates how "creative" television news practices can be. The book concludes with a more positive line of inquiry, which touches on Indigenous people's own media responses. The Indigenous media sector in Australia is the fastest-growing one and represents not only an extraordinary achievement in itself, but also a salutary comment on the parlous state of mainstream media representation of Indigenous affairs. It offers a salutary critique of the limitations placed on mainstream use of information technologies to cornmodify images.68 A more detailed description of the research methods used in this study can be seen in Appendix 1. FRAMING THE STUDY Early Marxist theory, which examines the role of the state and the place of symbolic institutions like the media, generally sees their influence as negative and repressive. Edward Said suggests that while Western Marxism was blind to the matter of imperialism, similarly, critical theory emerging from the Frankfurt School was unable to link ideas of anti-imperialism, antiracism, or oppositional practice.69 These theoretical approaches run into difficulties when they try to explain how the process of state control is consented to at both conscious and unconscious levels. However, the writings of Antonio Gramsci stress the state's positive, productive aspects, emphasizing the importance of culture as a key determinant.70 Stuart Hall has identified the role and place of ideology as important in any theory that attempts to explain both the monopoly of power and how members of a society consent to its continued influence. The workings of ideologies—ideas and assumptions about the world—are able to be explained through the signifying or meaning institutions like the media, which are widely perceived as actively participating in the manufacture of consent rather than merely a reflection of societal consensus.71 The idea of a prevailing dominant ideology alone explaining media practices and processes has been convincingly rejected.72 What is important is the process by which this occurs.

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The idea of hegemony provides a solution of sorts. Antonio Gramsci worked as a political journalist with the socialist press in Italy from 1915 and went on to become one of the founders of the Italian Communist Party in 1923.73 Writing his Prison Notebooks while imprisoned by the fascists, Gramsci, while not specifically referring to the media—although he does so in later writings—emphasizes the importance of examining the relationship between base and superstructures for a proper understanding of the forces active in a particular historical period. Classical Marxism conceived of the superstructures of society as the domain of ideas and meanings, simply reflecting and determined by—both materially and economically—the base. Gramsci departed from this model, theorizing the concept of hegemony as a kind of negotiation that operates both by consent and by coercion. A population gives its consent to the general direction imposed on social life by the dominant social bloc, coupled with the state's legal coercive power. From this comes the notion that hegemony must be continually secured through alliances and compromises that win the consent of subordinate groups.74 Gramsci maintains that one of the state's most important functions is to raise the population to a particular moral and cultural level that corresponds to the needs of production and thus the ruling bloc.75 Raymond Williams further extends this idea, suggesting that hegemony also describes a particular way of seeing the world and human nature and relationships. He defines hegemony as a particular relation between domination and subordination—"in effect, a saturation of the whole process of living."76 This "lived system of meanings and values" is experienced as practices that, as Williams explains, are "reciprocally confirming." The power of hegemony lies with it being perceived not only as an expression of the interests of an elite but also because it is accepted as normal reality or common sense.77 Thus, hegemony offers an appropriate means of understanding and analyzing the relations of power, consent, and authority in a social formation such as a dominant social bloc through a cultural institution, like the media. Ideology—a set of connected ideas, concepts, or frameworks of understanding—enable us to interpret and make sense of how social life functions. Ideologies arise from the "articulation"—the expression and linking—of different elements into a chain of meaning.78 Stuart Hall suggests: "One of the ways in which ideological struggle takes place and ideologies are transformed is by articulating the elements differently, thereby producing a different meaning: breaking the chain in which they are currently fixed."79 Hall's theory of "articulation" represents an important advance from an earlier encoding-decoding model of communication. Articulation necessitates negotiating a new meaning for commonly used concepts. To some, the "free press," for example, may mean freedom from state interference, whereas it can also be interpreted as meaning free for an elite few to make money. Ideologies work, Hall argues, by creating positions of identification and knowledge that allow us to speak "ideological truths" as if we were the authentic authors. We make statements because they seem to be common sense, and we do so from commonsense positions. He continues: "And it

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[the practice of ideology] is generated, produced and reproduced in specific settings (sites)—especially, in the apparatuses of ideological production which 'produce' meaning and distribute them throughout society, like the media."80 Ideologies thus become types of social struggle because they work by redefining the nature of statements and meaning. For example, the ideological construction of the populations of urban Indigenous peoples in Australia as "problems"—as a result of their poor social indicators—and as the recipients of "special treatment" work together to reinforce one another. It becomes difficult to redefine the ideological frame in which such problems are contextualized. The complexity of media relations suggest the importance of investigating aspects such as how elite opinion and intellectual leadership introduce "framing structures" into the discourse on social problems.81 Gitlin has defined "framing" in a similar way: "Media frames are persistent patterns of cognition, interpretation, and presentation, of selection, emphasis, and exclusion, by which symbol-handlers routinely organize discourse."82 The role of language and communication is also crucial in creating the structures on which we rely to guide us through interactions outside our normal routines.83 Hall maintains that while media texts have many possible meanings, they tend to be "structured in dominance . . . hierarchically organised into dominant or preferred meanings," and it is at these precise moments that hegemony operates. He has proposed three possible audience-reading or text-decoding positions: the preferred, the negotiated, and the oppositional.84 Poonam Pillai points out that these positions are articulated—connected in ways that must be sustained by particular processes—by the codes within the text and those used by readers and by the varied positions of the encoder and decoder. But even so, it is possible for a reader to oppose a preferred meaning and still remain constrained by the dominant discourse.85 However, we should not lose sight of the idea that while audiences may well be "active" in their negotiation of a text, this activity should not necessarily be equated with power.86 The notions of hegemony and ideology provide an analytical and methodological framework for the case studies in this book. I also rely on Edward Said's idea of the manufacture of consent through what he terms "structures of attitude and reference."87 By examining ideas and assumptions in news and current affairs stories, positions of identification and knowledge emerge, revealing the sites of social struggle—around changing and often contradictory definitions of racism or identity, for example. This is what Said refers to as "contrapuntal reading"—an awareness of the narrated history alongside other histories against which the dominant ideas and assumptions act.88 A CULTURAL APPROACH Gramsci's Cultural Writings provide an insight into the ideological role of the media in the organization and manufacture of consent. Gramsci identifies the importance of the press—"publishing houses, political newspapers, periodicals of every kind"—describing it as the most dynamic part of an ideological struc-

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ture. But, significantly, he acknowledges that it takes its place alongside other cultural institutions that influence public opinion—cultural organizations, schools, universities, clubs and associations, family and sexual life, churches and religions, ethnically specific organizations, and so forth.89 Thus Gramsci's interpretation of Marxism is more akin to a theory of culture and political science than to economic theory.90 This collection of Gramsci's writings outlines a practical series of strategies for using publications to entice a particular set of readers to transform ideas from simple common sense into "coherent and systematic thought."91 This process is essentially a "strategic management of cultural goods"—the media being one of those cultural goods. This approach extends the interpretation of hegemony as intellectual and moral leadership because Gramsci, by paying so much attention to the genres of popular fiction and journalism, is concerned with their "tactical orientations" and the ways in which they present themselves to audiences for identification.92 Thus Gramsci's idea of hegemony might be described as "cultural resource management." This implies a need to focus on genre—or the ways in which cultural products like the media are offered up and used.93 News stories, for example, become the subject of a different set of instructions for usage than a feature film. News has always claimed for itself a privileged position as a bearer of truth and "objectivity" and thus is an important cultural form where this process of cultural management might be observed. Similarly, this theoretical understanding can be applied to the culturally specific media products emerging from Indigenous communities. Like Gramsci, Benedict Anderson has rejected the idea that nations are "invented." Instead, Anderson proposes that the modern nation is "an imagined political community.. . ." "It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion."94 Anderson asserts that the concepts of nationalism and ethnicity came into being both out of and in spite of the cultural systems that preceded them.95 Both are linked to the rise of capitalism and were generated largely by mass communication and mass migration. Anderson argues that among the set of cultural conditions that enabled the concept of the nation to emerge, the convergence of capitalism and print technology played a crucial role.96 He proposes that neither the philosophical movement out of which the idea of freedom was to emerge (liberalism), nor the rise of rationalism (the Enlightenment), nor economic interest in themselves provided the framework for a new consciousness appropriate to the idea of the imagined community. A crucial role was played out by "provincial Creole printmen [sic]."91 Thus it was the key cultural form of print technology—superseded in the twentieth century by broadcasting and now information technology—that enabled such imagining through the techniques necessary to allow a sense of belonging to a particular population, a mechanism of consent. This provides a necessary link to the idea of culture.98 Williams explains culture in terms of "a constitutive social process, creating specific and different 'ways of life.'"99 Hall

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continues along this same line, describing culture as incorporating both "lived practices" and "practical ideologies" that enable societies to make sense of their lives.I(X) Within these definitions of culture, the media, as an important cultural resource, and journalism, as a set of cultural practices, play a pivotal role in the process of manufacturing and winning consent—or managing society. DISCOURSE AND THE MEDIA The notion of discourse as I have used it throughout this book relies on Michel Foucault's definition—"familiar, enigmatic groups of statements"—as enunciated in The Archaeology of Knowledge and in Discipline and Punish. It relies, too, on Foucault's elaboration of the implications of the organization of discourse, structured within the episteme—the conditions of knowledge—in The Order of Things. For Foucault, the analysis of knowledge depends upon the concept of the discursive formation. Key elements underlying Foucault's definition include the conception of knowledges as social practices rather than as theoretical architectures; concern not with the objects of a discursive formation but with how statements that refer to those objects were made; the identification of how conceptual statements combine; and the search for themes that result from emphasis within a discourse.101 These ideas provide both a methodological and a theoretical guide. The term "discourse" is used by Foucault in a way that is quite different to its several other contemporary meanings.102 Foucault applies the term, not to books or theories, but to "those familiar, yet enigmatic groups of statements that are known as medicine, political economy, and biology. I would like to show that these unities form a number of autonomous, but not independent, domains, governed by rules, but in perpetual transformation, anonymous and without a subject, but imbuing a great many individual works."103 Foucault argues that the aim is to "reveal, in its specificity, the level of 'things said': the condition of their emergence, the forms of their accumulation and connection, the rules of their transformation, the discontinuities that articulate them."104 This conception then focuses on forms of order and the inclusion or exclusion of statements—Indigenous voices, for example. In Foucault's parlance, a statement does not signify, in a purely linguistic sense, description, or a sentence, or even a proposition. It can include groupings, tables and the like, viewed more as functions rather than things—although they may borrow the form of sentences. This idea of a discursive order has been extended by some to include the classification of buildings and humankind itself.105 IDENTITY AND RACE There seems to be almost as many attempts to define racism as there are examples of its application in the media from first contact until contempo-rary times. Often omitted from this melange are the perceptions of Aboriginal people themselves. Mary Graham identifies "the two great axioms of Aboriginal thinking"—the land as the law and the principle that Aboriginal people are not alone in

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the world. She explains that identity for every Aboriginal group means autonomy—everybody is equal, which explains the absence of leaders in Aboriginal society. The media's constant reference to "Aboriginal leaders" is a source of great annoyance to many as a result. A place in the world through kinship and a relationship to the land dominate notions of Aboriginal identity, as Graham explains: "For Aboriginal people you can't get a meaning of life from a great personage, a great figure like a great teacher because in the end, they're just human beings too, with all the vulnerability of humans. All they can ever be is to be great exemplars. The only solid thing you can get meaning out of is land because it's the only thing that exists besides us."106 So a Murri, Koori, Nungar, Nyungar, Yamayti, or Yolngu,107 then, is a person with such ancestry, who identifies who is identified by their own community as such. This notion of identity further problematizes Western philosophical examinations of race. Gandy reminds us that the contested and negotiated meaning of race is a theoretical construct: "The product of the realm of ideas, thought, reflection and perhaps, imagination."108 Such ideas tend to be organized with a "cognitive structure" that includes political ideas and assumptions, world view, and moral and ethical values.lw For scientists, race has several principal meanings. However, a predominant definition is that of a group socially defined but on the basis of physical criteria.110 Racism might usefully be defined as a "complex of determinations of social structure."111 But racism, unlike ethnocentrism, is not universal. Most members of human societies have a fairly good opinion of themselves but based on claims of cultural superiority. Most societies exhibit ethnocentrism, but not racism. While racism is not the unique invention of nineteenth-century western European colonialism, the "western strain of the virus" is predominant. Racism appeared early in the nineteenth century, reaching a peak between 1880 and 1920 before entering a period of decline.112 While all cultures tend to make representations of other cultures in order to either master or control them, it is exclusively modern Western cultures that accomplish both representation and control.113 And, as Gandy suggests, the uncertainty around the meaning of racial categories and classifications is unlikely to displace the powerful impression we share that social relations and the distribution of life chances are significantly influenced by them.114 The period of the Enlightenment that preceded the growth of racism fostered a strong belief in the power of both the physical and the social environment in determining human behavior.115 The concept of race, allied with the emergence of the science of biology in the nineteenth century, was seen as a way of dividing humans into discrete groups. Some suggest that the political use of the term "race" had its genesis here, as it was at around this time that the concept of life in its purely functional aspect arose—the idea of the visible being connected to the invisible or deeper cause of life. Coupled with the concept of organization, biology thus became open to political exploitation—one of the possibilities was racism, with "life," "biology," and the "body" becoming unconscious frames of reference for knowledge in the social sciences.116 This meant that Europeans of the late nineteenth century had a limited range of options open to them in

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subordinating or victimizing Indigenous people: the application of power; an ideological rationale for reducing and reconstituting "natives" as those to be ruled and managed; the idea of Western salvation as a civilizing mission; security of control that enables an ignorance of the violence meted out; and a process following dispossession, where Indigenous peoples' history is rewritten as a function of the imperial (or colonial) one.117 This helps to contextualize early descriptions of Indigenous peoples. Power is an integral part of all of the practices that protect a population against unwanted change, enabling a clear link with the idea of racism. In this way, the notion of race grew out of benign concerns for a healthy sexuality, well-being, and life. There is a clear transition in the meaning of race—from the eighteenth-century notion of ethnocentrism or "European cultural blindness," to genocide in the twentieth century. The preoccupation with race today—as in the representation of war ("race" pitted against "race")—means the possibility of race, nuclear war, and genocide becoming inseparable.118 This suggests, too, that contemporary racism must be seen within the framework of imperialism and colonialism.119 This was perhaps nowhere more apparent than during World War II, when the images of racism resurfaced, directed particularly at the Japanese. Western propaganda relied on them. Dower explains: "The core imagery of apes, lesser men, primitives, children, madmen, and beings who possessed special powers as w e l l . . . have a pedigree in Western thought that can be traced back to Aristotle, and were conspicuous in the early encounters of Europeans with the black peoples of Africa and the Indians of the Western Hemisphere."120 The same racial stereotypes reinforced by Western science and "applied to nonwhites for centuries"—including during the Indian wars in America—were used on the Japanese.121 As this chapter reveals, many of these same images emerged during the invasion and colonization of terra australis to displace and redefine Indigenous people. A common section in Australian colonial newspapers was headed simply "The Blacks." It was here that the "atrocities" committed by Indigenous people were reported, along with the "reprisals" by whites. As Dower concludes: "The propagandistic deception often lies, not in the false claims of enemy atrocities, but in the pious depiction of such behavior as peculiar to the other side."122 Three key characteristics lead to the rise of Western racism: racism corresponded with various forms of capitalist exploitation, notably slavery in the New World and colonial expansion in Africa; it was congruent with Darwin's notions of the various stages of evolution, survival of the fittest, hereditary determinism, and near-constancy of the gene pool; and, ironically, it had a source in the egalitarian and libertarian ideas of the Enlightenment spread by the American and French Revolutions. Faced with the problem of rationalizing this apparent inconsistency, the solution was to divide humanity into such categories as "men" and "submen"—the "civilized" and the "savages."123 It was only in the mid-twentieth century that biologists rejected racial categories by showing that the variation within groups is far greater than that between groups.124 Despite this, racism and racist ideologies have survived. Lattas ascribes a class context to the emergence

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of "the large body of racist literature dealing with Aboriginal cruelty" and argues that Aboriginal people were a means of "grounding a European order in the primitive and moral truths about humanity." He concludes: "It is time we began to look at genocide not as an immoral irrational aberration of our society, but emerging from the historical development of its class relations and, in particular, from those transformations in ideology and power emerging from the incorporation of a science of humanity into the government of society."125 Evidence of the application of racist ideologies is abundant. Anthropologists' propensity to study Aboriginal communities that are as unaffected by "civilization" as possible gives implicit support to the racist notion of a "full-blooded" Aboriginal person being more interesting, from an anthropological perspective, than a "part-Aboriginal." 126 Although in the twentieth century the emphasis shifted to social anthropology, emphasizing that it was the culture of Aboriginal people that made them different, by definition, Aboriginal people existed only in Northern and central Australia, their definition based on a static notion of culture. Urban Aboriginal people are disregarded, and the concept of discrete categories of human beings remains—for some. But in recent times this has been challenged, with specific texts and indeed entire books devoted to discussion of Aboriginal people in settled Australia. Such discussions underline a continuity of culture and miscommunication of such public events as speaking, swearing, and fighting, for example, along with the causes, both direct and indirect, for the arrest of many Aboriginal Australians. 127 The fact, too, that some characteristics of Indigenous people are seen as important and others are rejected as insignificant is a matter of ideology. It is the processes that construct these groupings and conditions that are important. 128 So in Australia, you are either Aboriginal or white—skin color is a powerful signifier, and people who are out of character need to explain their apparently ambiguous position: how can Tasmanian lawyer Michael Mansell call himself an Aboriginal person when he has blue eyes? The notion of Aboriginality as a dynamic concept becomes crucial here. Principal of the Aboriginal Community College in Adelaide Lillian Holt stresses this very point when she argues that discussion of racism in Australia is necessary to accomplish a "collective healing." She concludes: "It is not about being 'antiwhite,' it is about being prohumanity, for what has diminished me as an Aboriginal woman in this country has also diminished white and black females." Anthropologist Jeremy Beckett seems to reflect these views when he describes two ways of conceptualizing the Aboriginal presence in Australian society. One is defined primarily in terms of subordination and dependence. He continues: Within this frame, the Aboriginal voice is counter-hegemonic, in the sense of contesting and resisting, but within the terms set by Australian cultural hegemony. There is an alternative view which argues that essential Aboriginal qualities, such as spirituality and an affinity with the land, are the well springs of Aboriginal survival and resistance. Adopted uncritically, this amounts to a romantic essentialism, and yet it is important to grasp that Aboriginality arises not simply in relation to colonial

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domination, but out of a space in which Aboriginal people are able to produce and reproduce a culture which is theirs . . . it provides them with the means to reinterpret meanings emanating from the dominant society, and to redistribute the effects of external forces.129 Drawing on Said's idea of "Orientalism," Vijay Mishra attempts to reconstruct this into the notion of "Aboriginalism," postulating this as a hegemonic system confirming prejudices based on doctrines of evolutionary difference and intellectual inferiority. Applying this concept to Aboriginal portrayal in various texts, he identifies representation as a conditional political struggle.130 Said might liken the process to one of a "structure of attitude and reference," a key concept he explores in his investigation of imperialism and Western culture.131 Hodge agrees, seeing Aboriginalism operating through two sets of premises, setting Aboriginal people apart. One involves seeing Aboriginal people as having a different concept of history and time to non-Aborigines, constructed according to Aboriginalist principles. He argues that the interpretation of Aboriginality as a single global construct dismisses the possibility of diversity among Aboriginal people. A second interpretation—Aboriginality as innumerable entities—rules out the possibility that Aboriginal people could ever make up an authentic group. 132 Muecke argues that the discourse of anthropology has helped to shape and perpetuate avoidance of issues of importance to Aboriginal people. What has emerged is a set of discursive practices that rely on colonial relationships of dominance. Through such practices, problems like poor living conditions for Indigenous people are partly attributed to nature—and responses to problems with alcohol or work, for example, are tied back to genetics. In this way, racism in terms of a particular identity is constructed through grammatical selections and figures of speech.133 This idea of the construction of cultural identity within representation is extended by Stuart Hall, who suggests that identity might be constructed from two different perspectives—either by defining the concept in terms of a single, shared culture, or, alternatively, by recognizing that points of significant difference exist alongside those of similarity.134 Attwood takes this further still, suggesting that the "Aborigine" has been constructed in terms of an absence or lack—"either of another time or were even timeless, and so were not of our time, that is, modernity." 135 Gandy concludes that while there is a growing uncertainty of the meaning of racial categories and classifications, this alone seems unlikely to displace the shared impression that "social relations and the distribution of life chances" are influenced by them.136 IMAGES A N D IDENTITY The noted Australian anthropologist W. E. H. Stanner has observed Aboriginal Australians being framed within a "history of indifference."137 There is little evidence in the media representations of Indigenous people examined in the case

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studies in this book that might suggest that there has been a significant shift. There is little evidence of the existence of Indigenous identity constructed through real dialogue—and very little opportunity for such a dialogue to develop. The crucial role played by the media in this process of cultural management is clear. Gandy is in no doubt of the active role of the media in the reproduction of racism: "[It] takes place through a multidimensional structure of routinized relationships that are governed by well-structured systems of beliefs and opinions. Those beliefs and opinions are generated, integrated into cognitive structures and reinforced by direct and indirect experiences. The mass media are the primary source of those indirect or mediated experiences."138 As a key cultural resource—and most often, as the only source of information about ideas of race—the media since first contact have fulfilled a key ideological role in framing Indigenous people in particular ways. The images constructed by journalists have ranged from those of the noble and the ignoble savage, to assimilationist and paternalistic views, superseded by the "Aboriginal problem" stemming from the emergence of land rights struggles from the 1960s—remarkably similar to the stereotyping, the patronizing, the romanticizing, and the ignorance identified by Weston in her extensive study of press images of Native Americans.139 And, like Weston's images, there has been little two-way exchange in this process. On the contrary, the notion of Aboriginality has been constructed as a constrained stereotype, largely defined by non-Indigenous people who have had little to do with Indigenous people. While there have been many instances of cooperation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people since the arrival of the First Fleet, the overall tenor of the media representation of this has focused—and, sadly, continues to focus—on conflict and difference. The struggle by Indigenous people to reclaim their identities has been a long one. While non-Indigenous society has long acknowledged the extreme disadvantage suffered by the vast majority of Aboriginal Australians, change is infinitesimal.140 The need to recognize land and sea rights, for example, has been identified by "too many" inquiries since 1836, but there has been little response. Aboriginal Magistrate Pat O'Shane concludes that not much has changed since Aboriginal people were granted citizenship by referendum in 1967—all of the advances made since then have been because of "protracted campaigns" by the Aboriginal community itself. She continues: "What we are contending with is generations of over two hundred years of oppression, dispossession and disempowerment. And that has created a class of people who are dependent to a degree which I think most Australians would find very difficult to comprehend."141 Within this environment, the concept of Aboriginality—as both a chosen and an imposed form of identity—is seen by some as a double-edged sword. The accepted federal government definition of being Aboriginal is someone who is a descendant of an Aboriginal person, identifies as Aboriginal, and is recognized as Aboriginal by members of her/his community. But Marcia Langton and others

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suggest that a more dynamic notion of culture and Aboriginality—or Aboriginalities—is created from the historical interaction of black and white.142 Langton identifies three ways in which Aboriginality might be constructed: by Aboriginal people interacting only within Aboriginal culture; through stereotyping by nonAboriginal people who have had little first hand contact with Aboriginal people; and as a result of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people engaging in dialogue. 143 The opportunity inherent in the last of the three concepts is abundantly clear. The dominant media images of Indigenous people tend to fall into the first frame— Aboriginal people constructed in their absence. While some Indigenous issues have been the subject of media attention and public discussion in Australia, there has been a notable silence of narrative about ourselves and Aboriginal people. 144 O'Shane argues that Aboriginal people have been "defined, undefined, redefined like nobody else in the world." 145 Within this context, it is not surprising that the problem of definition of Indigenous people has proved a slippery one for federal authorities. In 1981, the constitutional section of the Department of Aboriginal Affairs reviewed the most recent working definition of an Aboriginal person—set in 1975. Aboriginal people are referred to in more than 700 separate pieces of legislation in Australia—most of them created after the 1967 referendum, which first recognized Indigenous Australians as having the right to citizenship. From the time of European invasion, around 70 identifiable classifications, descriptions, or definitions have been used to define the term "Aborigine." 146 The meaning of Aboriginality, particularly for non-Indigenous people, remains problematic. Thus, it is representations of race that become the focus of analysis in this book. This consists of an analysis of the representation of Aboriginality—an identity constantly framed within the dominant ideology and being reframed and reclaimed through Indigenous media practices.147 If media are important cultural resources, then examining journalism practices might reveal insights into the processes by which meaning is constructed. While speaking primarily about the experiences of African Americans, Gandy observes that it is important to continue to investigate ways in which media "fail to perform responsibly as an agent of its minority consumers." Media continue to consider minorities—including Indigenous peoples—as an "accidental audience." 148 But Gandy acknowledges that it is a "complex of inequalities" that has contributed to the inability of minorities to speak out against the constraints inherent in the structure of privilege of dominant cultures. 149 "THE WAY WE CIVILIZE" Queensland—one of six Australian states—is the focus for some of the case studies I undertake in this book.150 It was along the east coast of Queensland— then known as New Holland or terra australis—that Captain James Cook made his historic voyage in 1770. It was on the basis of both his and his botanist Joseph Banks's representations of Aboriginal people that the British government de-

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clared in 1785 that New Holland was terra nullius—an empty land.151 This framed representations of Indigenous affairs from the very beginning. It was 207 years later that the High Court of Australia declared the notion of terra nullius a legal fiction in the Mabo decision. The media coverage of this historic event is one of the case studies in this book. Queensland had a very active and lively colonial press, and this, coupled with its isolation from Sydney, almost 1,000 km to the south, meant that it developed unique ways of "imagining" Indigenous people. Queensland has a significant Indigenous population. After New South Wales, it is the state with the highest number of Indigenous people—95,518—as residents. This is just 2.8 percent of the state population. But in the islands of the Torres Strait and the communities of Cape York Peninsula in far-north Queensland, the Indigenous population can be as high as 90 percent.152 As one of the "last frontiers" of Australian settlement,153 the colony of Queensland—and from December 1859, the independent colony—developed particular ways of governing its Aboriginal population.154 At the time of independence, only 7,000 of the 25,000 settlers lived in the present-day capital, Brisbane. At this time, the Aboriginal population was an estimated 100,000—almost identical with the Indigenous population today.155 In modern times, Queensland has developed something of a reputation as a place of political contradictions and quirks—while being the birthplace in 1890 of the Labor Party and claiming the world's first Labor government in 1899, it was also the first state where in 1921 politicians voted their Upper House out of existence. In 1949, Queensland introduced a "gerrymander"—a system of allowing electorates in rural areas to have fewer voters than those in urban centers. And it had a reputation for long periods of unbroken government—25 years of Labor Party government preceded 32 years of conservative rule until the cycle was broken in 1989. As I suggested at the beginning of this chapter—and will again in a later chapter dealing with plans to set up a spaceport on Cape York Peninsula—Queensland has had perhaps more than its fair share of extremist politicians. But for Indigenous people, the processes of governmentality in Queensland—and beyond—meant that they were placed in a unique position. No other marginal group has such a public relationship with the state. Many have concluded that this alone has created a "paradigm muddle" that separates Aboriginal people in Australia and elsewhere from the rest of the population.156 The politicization of Aboriginal affairs was completed in Queensland by the late 1970s and 1980s with Aboriginal life "encapsulated within alien institutions."157 The legacy of the nineteenth-century atrocities committed against Aboriginal people lived on through a "racialized public discourse" with the defiance and resistance exhibited by Aboriginal people merely "the outer edge, the most visible margins of a world that is largely hidden from outsiders' scrutiny."158 It was on this framework that the ideas and assumptions about Indigenous people were created, worked on, and perpetuated by the journalism practices and media which emerged from colonial times and have persisted into the new

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millennium. In the next chapter, I examine some of the media images of Indigenous people that emerged from first contact along with the conditions that enabled this to occur. NOTES 1.1 prefer the term "Indigenous people" or "Aboriginal people" to "Aborigines" throughout this book because of the problematic meaning of the latter. Apart from its exclusion of people of the Torres Strait, the term "Aborigines" was originally adopted by humanitarians who were concerned by the widespread dispossession that accompanied settlement in Australia. It denoted Indigenous people as the "original possessors of the soil." But "Aborigines" soon came to mean "inhabitants," not "proprietors." See Bain Attwood (ed.), In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1996, p. x. 2. The 1992 High Court's native title decision was named after one of the five plaintiffs, Eddie Mabo. The court battle for native title recognition in law began 10 years before the decision was handed down on 3 June 1992. Tragically, Eddie Mabo died of cancer a few months before that day. The judgment established the continuing existence of native title to land in some cases. It effectively overturned the idea that at the time of European invasion the Australian continent was terra nullius—an empty land. The Wik and Thayorre peoples of Cape York Peninsula launched a native title claim in 1993 including an area covered by two pastoral leases. Early in 1996, the Federal Court ruled that the claim over areas of pastoral lease could not succeed, and the decision was appealed in the High Court. In December 1996, the High Court overturned that decision, finding that pastoral leases did not give exclusive possession to pastoralists and did not necessarily extinguish all native title rights. Perhaps most importantly, the court found that while native title rights and a pastoral lease over the same land could coexist, where there was conflict over the exercise of those rights pastoralists' rights prevailed. See Plain English Guide to the Wik Case, ATSIC Native Title and Lands Branch, Canberra, ACT, January 1997. 3. See "Committee on Elimination of Racial Discrimination Examines Situation in Australia, Adopts Decision," United Nations news release, 16 August 1999. The campaign against the federal government's legislative approach was led by the Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action (FAIRA). For more information, see FAIRA's website (www.faira.org.au). 4. Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism, Vintage, New York, 1993. Oscar H. Gandy, Jr. refers to a similar concept—the "structures of meaning"—we rely on to guide us through our day-to-day routines. The multidimensional impressions of ourselves and others are shared and developed through language and communication. He makes these points in Communication and Race: A Structural Perspective, Arnold, London, 1998, p. 5. 5. Gandy, p. 235. 6. John W. Dower, War Without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War, Pantheon, New York, p. 13. 7. For a full text of this speech see Commonwealth of Australia Parliamentary Debates, House of Representatives, Official Hansard, Tuesday 10 September 1996 (www.aph.gov.au/ hansard/reps/dailys/dr 100996.pdf). For some background on Pauline Hanson and One Nation, see Margo Kingston, Off the Rails: The Pauline Hanson Trip, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1999. 8. Bruce Robbins, "Othering the Academy: Professionalism and Multiculturalism," in PC Wars: Politics and Theory in the Academy, ed. Jeffrey Williams, Routledge, New York, 1995, pp. 291-292.

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9. Kingston, p. xi. 10. Kingston, p. xii. 11. See Michael Meadows, "Perfect Match: The Media and Pauline Hanson," Metro, no. 109, pp. 86-90. 12. Pauline Hanson just failed to be reelected in the 1998 federal election when she switched electorates following a redistribution of electoral boundaries in Queensland. However, her party, One Nation, was successful in having a federal senator elected. At the time of writing, One Nation was involved in legal action to counter a court ruling that it had not been properly registered as a political party in Australia. 13. This notion is borrowed from the title of Jesuit priest and lawyer Frank Brennan's book, Sharing the Country, the Case for an Agreement Between Black and White Australians, Penguin, Ring wood, 1991. The Cape York Heads of Agreement was a joint effort but principal in its successful negotiation was Aboriginal lawyer Noel Pearson of the Cape York Land Council. 14. Courier-Mail, 11 April 1996. 15. Attwood, p. xxv. 16. Attwood, p. xxix. 17. Attwood, p. xxxviii. 18. A study of media coverage of Bringing Them Home, the 1997 Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, revealed an overwhelmingly "positive" emphasis on stories about this inquiry. The study estimated that media coverage represented the equivalent of advertising worth A$12-18 million. The study found that the terms "stolen generation" and "stolen children" were

"probably understood by most people in Australia" following coverage of the inquiry and the subsequent report launch (Mervyn Smythe and Associates, June 1998, p. vii). But at around the same time, the federal government verbally attacked the Aboriginal and Torres Strait

Islander Commission (ATSIC), ordering an audit of its operations, and shifting responsibility for some of its programs to other government-funded departments. 19. Henry Reynolds, Frontier, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1987, p. 83. 20. For an account of this, see Lorna Lippman, Generations of Resistance: The Aboriginal Struggle for Justice, Longman Cheshire, Melbourne, 1981, p. 47. 21. Lippman, p. 49; Donald Edgar, Introduction to Australian Society: Sociological Perspective, Prentice-Hall, Sydney, 1980, p. 298; Jim Miller, "The Awakening," in Four Dimensional Social Space, eds. T. Jagtenberg and P. D'Alton, Harper, Sydney, 1992, p. 487. 22. Jim Miller identifies the tent embassy as a political training ground for Aboriginal people with mainstream media coverage helping to highlight the protest. See Miller, pp. 4 8 7 488. 23. Edgar, p. 298; Lippman, pp. 50-57. 24. "Koori" is a term used by Aboriginal people in southeastern Australia to identify themselves. 25. Miller, pp. 486-487. 26 Jeremy Beckett, "Aboriginal Histories, Aboriginal Myths: An Introduction," Oceania, 65, no. 1, 1994, pp. 97-115. 27. Marcia Langton, "Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television": An Essay for the Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aboriginal People and Things, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1993, pp. 9 10. 28. This is taken from an article by Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation Chairman Patrick Dodson, "Reconciliation: More Than a Quick Fix Needed," Unity News, Edition 2, April/May 1996, p. 2. See the council's website (www.austlii.edu.au/car).

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29. Mary Ann Weston, Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth Century Press, Greenwood Press, Westport, 1996, p. 2. Gandy describes stereotypes as "distillations of complexity" and extremely resistant to change. See Gandy, p. 5. 30. Julianne Schultz, "The Paradox of Professionalism," in Not Just Another Business, ed. Julianne Schultz, Pluto Press, Leichhardt, 1994. 31. Graeme Turner, "Post Journalism: News and Current Affairs from the Late 80s to the Present," Media International Australia, 82, 1996, pp. 78-91. 32. This argument is made in relation to reporting of race relations in New Zealand in Paul Hirsh and Walter Hirsh, Between the Lines: Racism and the New Zealand Media, Heinemann Reed, Auckland, 1990, p. 9. 33. 2001: A Report from Australia, A Report to the Council of Australian Governments by the Centenary of Federation Advisory Committee, Canberra, Australian Government Publishing Service, August 1994, p. 1. 34. These issues are canvassed by Mick Dodson in Office of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, Third Report, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1995, pp. 106-107, 120-122. 35. "Positive Media Images Needed," Land Rights News, December 1992, p. 9. 36. A sample drawn from 20 years of coverage of Indigenous affairs by the Courier-Mail and the Cairns Post revealed that even though positive and negative stories were about equal in number, Indigenous community perceptions of the media coverage of their affairs was strongly negative. It suggests that simplistic content analysis may not accurately reflect such issues as timing and placement of key stories dealing with Indigenous affairs. See Race Reporter, a study funded by the Queensland Anti-Discrimination Commission and conducted by Gratis Hippocrates, Michael Meadows, and Kitty van Vuuren, November 1996. 37. The ABC is Australia's national broadcaster. The closest Western equivalent is the BBC. The ABC operations include a national television network, four national radio networks (Youth, Classical music, News, and Information), capital city, regional, and rural radio stations, an overseas radio network (Radio Australia), and ABC Online, one of the most popular websites in Australia. In addition, the ABC produces virtually all of its own radio programming and operates a respected independent news service with its own system of foreign correspondents. The Special Broadcasting Service (SBS) is a national multicultural and multilingual broadcaster unique in the world. The organization's television service is broadcast nationwide to a potential audience of 17.5 million people, and its radio service is broadcast to millions of Australians of diverse cultural background. The radio service broadcasts 650 hours of programming each week in 68 languages. No other radio network in the world broadcasts in as many languages. See the organization's websites (www.abc.net.au and www.sbs.com.au). 38. Graeme Turner and Stuart Cunningham, "The Media in Australia Today," in The Media in Australia: Industries, Texts, Audiences, eds. Stuart Cunningham and Graeme Turner, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1997, pp. 4-5. 39. Australia has three major commercial television networks—Channels Nine, Seven, and Ten—with affiliates operating in smaller regional markets. In addition, there are three Remote Commercial Television Services delivered via satellite to remote areas of northern, western, and central Australia. In 1999, there were around 300 licensed commercial radio stations operating around the country. In addition, Australia has around 160 licensed community radio stations. For more details, see the websites for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (www.abc.net.au), the Australian Broadcasting Authority (www.aba.gov.au), and the Community Broadcasting Association of Australia (www.cbaa.org.au). 40. Expatriate Australian and now American citizen Rupert Murdoch's News Ltd has a formidable array of media ownership interests in Australia: 67.6 percent of daily and 75.6 percent of Sunday newspaper circulation; Australia's largest book pi-blisher; 46.2 percent of

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the circulation of suburban newspapers; 23 percent of regional newspapers; a half-share with Fairfax in the news wire service Australian Associated Press; 43 percent of Australia's top selling magazines; 25 percent partner in Pay TV operator Foxtel; 33 percent stake in Sky News; and Fox Studio's production facility in Sydney. Australia's richest man Kerry Packer is at the helm of the organization, Publishing and Broadcasting Ltd, that controls the Nine Television Network, a significant stake in Pay TV operator Optus Vision, a 25 percent partner in Foxtel, and a 33 percent stake in Sky News. The other key media owner in Australia is Fairfax, which controls 21.5 percent of daily and 23.3 percent of Sunday newspapers, 14.3 percent of suburban newspapers, 14.9 percent of regional newspapers, three magazines, and a half-share with News Ltd of Australian Associated Press. Two other newspaper companies— Australian Provincial Newspapers and Rural Press—control the remaining regional newspaper market. The two remaining major television networks are the Seven Network, headed by Kerry Stokes, and Network Ten, owned by Canwest, a consortium of international and Australian companies. See "Media Ownership Update 1999," Communications Update, issue 151, February 1999, pp. 7-10. 41. This global phenomenon has been well documented—see Edward S. Herman and Robert W. McChesney, The Global Media: The New Missionaries of Corporate Capitalism, Cassell, London, 1997, pp. 190-191. 42. Gandy, p. 5. 43. Spoonley and Hirsh, 1990; the Centenary of Federation Advisory Committee's publication, 2001: A Report from Australia, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, August 1994, p. 89; Dot West, "Indigenous Media," Voices from the Land: The 1993 Boyer Lectures, ABC Books, Sydney, 1994; Marian Bredin, "Transforming Images: Communication Technologies and Cultural Identity in Nishnawbe-Aski," in Cross-Cultural Consumption: Global Markets, Local Realities, ed. David Howes, Routledge, New York, 1996; Helen Molnar and Michael Meadows, Songlines to Satellites: Indigenous Communication in Australia, the South Pacific, and Canada, Pluto Press, Sydney, 2000. 44. Said, pp. 374-375. Borrowing from Raymond Williams's "structures of feeling," Said invokes this phrase to describe how structures of location and geographical reference appear, and reappear, in the languages of history, literature, and ethnography that either allude to or more directly link ideas in different published works to dominant ideologies. 45. Said, p. 401; Robbins, p. 291. 46. Said, pp. 407-408; Langton, pp. 34-35. 47. Gandy, p. 238. 48. Michael Meadows, "People Power: Reporting or Racism?," Australian Journalism Review, 9, 1987, pp. 105-106. 49. Gabrielle O'Ryan, "Oh Bondage: Up Yours!" Continuum, 6, no. 1, 1992, p. 49. 50. The term "Murri" is used by Aboriginal people in Queensland to describe themselves. 51. The Jagera people are the traditional custodians of the region on which much of Queensland's capital city Brisbane is built. 52. Roy Morgan Research Pty Ltd, Brisbane Radio Station Survey, January 1997, p. 9. 53. There is a growing international literature dealing with Indigenous media production around the world. Ginsburg has identified three primary areas of significance: North America (particularly the Arctic), the Amazon jungles, and Australia. See Eric Michaels, Aboriginal Invention of Television Central Australia 1982-1985, Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, Canberra, 1986; Robert Hodge, "Aboriginal Truth and White Media: Eric Michaels Meets the Spirit of Aboriginalism," Continuum, 3, no. 2, 1990, pp. 201-225; Tom O'Regan, "TV as Cultural Technology: The Work of Eric Michaels," Continuum, 3, no. 2, 1990, pp. 5398; Donald R. Browne, "Aboriginal Radio in Australia: From Dreamtime to Prime Time?," Journal of Communication, 40, no. 1, pp. 111-120; Faye Ginsburg, "Indigenous Media:

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Faustian Contract or Global Village?," Cultural Anthropology, 6, no. 1, 1991, pp. 92-112; Nancy Thede and Alain Ambrosi, Video the Changing World, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1991; Stephen Harold Riggins, Ethnic Minority Media: An International Perspective, Sage, Newbury Park, 1992; Faye Ginsburg, "Aboriginal Media and the Australian Imaginary," Public Culture, no. 5, 1993, pp. 557-578; Tom O'Regan with Philip Batty, "An Aboriginal Television Culture: Issues, Strategies, Politics," in Australian Television Culture, ed. Tom O'Regan, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1993; Philip Batty, "Singing the Electric: Aboriginal Television in Australia," in Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, ed. Tony Dowmunt, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993, pp. 106-125; Tony Dowmunt, Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993; David Robie ed., Nius Bilong Pasifik: Mass Media in the Pacific, University of Papua New Guinea Press, Port Moresby, 1995; Michael Rose, For the Record: 160 Years of Aboriginal Print Journalism, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1996; Marian Bredin, "Transforming Images"; Donald R. Browne, Electronic Media and Indigenous Peoples: A Voice of Our Own, Iowa State Univer-

sity Press, Ames, 1996; Molnar and Meadows, Songlines to Satellites. 54. Herman and McChesney, 1997. This topic is also taken up by Edward Herman in Triumph of the Market: Essays on Economics, Politics and the Media, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1997. 55. Martin Lucas and Martha Wallner, "Resistance by Satellite: The Gulf Crisis Project and the Deep Dish Satellite TV Network," in Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, ed. Tony Dowmunt, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993, pp. 176-194. See also Said, p. 230. 56. Barry D. Adam, "Television News Constructs the 1990 Nicaraguan Election: A Study of U.S. and Canadian Coverage in Three Languages," Critical Sociology, 17, no. 1, 1990, pp. 99-109. 57. One of the most pressing concerns is the disappearance of Indigenous languages around the world. It is estimated that around one-half of the world's 6,000 languages will become extinct within the next 100 years (Michael Krauss, "A Loss for Words," Simply Living, August 1992, pp. 76-77). The aspect of the role of media in maintaining linguistic and cultural identity has been dealt with by a growing list of writers, including Michaels, 1986; Ginsburg, 1991; and others such as Helen Molnar, "Communication Technology in the Pacific: In Whose Interest?'," Australian Journalism Review, 10, nos. 1 & 2, 1991, pp. 137-147; Helen Molnar, "Remote Aboriginal Community Broadcasting in Australia Developments and Priorities," paper for the AEJMC Conference in Boston, August 7-10, 1991; Michael Meadows, "Northern Exposure: Indigenous Television in Northern Canada," Media International Australia, no. 78, 1995, pp. 109-119; Michael Meadows, "Indigenous Cultural Diversity: Television Northern Canada," Culture and Policy, 7, no. 1, 1996, pp. 25-44; Michael Meadows, "Making Cultural Connections: Indigenous Media in Australia and Canada," Australian-Canadian Studies Journal, 14, nos 1 & 2, 1996, pp. 103-117; Helen Molnar, "Radio," in The Media in Australia, eds. Stuart Cunningham and Graeme Turner, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1997, pp.222-225. 58. Krauss 1992; Annette Schmidt, The Loss of Australia's Aboriginal Language Heritage, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1993; Helen Wilson, "7V Wa Whakapaoho i te Reo Irirangi: Some Directions in Maori Radio," paper presented at the Post Colonial Formations Conference, Griffith University, Nathan, 7 July. 59. Said, pp. 259-261. 60. Peter Knudtson and David Suzuki, Wisdom of the Elders, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1992. 61. There are various perspectives on this including Elihu Katz, "Can Authentic Cultures

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Survive New Media?," Journal of Communication, Spring, pp. 113-121, 1977; Tom O'Regan, "TV as Cultural Technology: The Work of Eric Michaels," Continuum, 3, no 2, pp. 53-98, 1990; Ginsburg, 1991; Bruce Girard,>4 Passion for Radio: Radio Waves and Community, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1992; Philip Batty, "Singing the Electric: Aboriginal Television in Australia," in Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, ed. Tony Dowmunt, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993; Michael Meadows, "The Way People Want to Talk: Indigenous Media Production in Australia and Canada," Media Information Australia, 3, 1994, pp. 64-73; Michael Meadows, 1995, pp. 109-119; Jorn Braa, Eric Monteiro, and Erik S. Reinert, "Technology Transfer vs. Technological Learning: IT-Infrastructure and Health Care in Developing Countries," Information Technology for Development, no. 6, 1995, pp. 15-23. 62. Tom Jagtenberg and Phillip D'Alton, Four Dimensional Social Space, Harper, Sydney, 1992, p. 478. 63. See a full transcript of the speech in the Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 3, no. 61, 1993, pp. 4 5; and excerpts in "Blacks Hail 'Admission of Guilt' by Keating," Courier-Mail, 11 December 1992. 64. Tim Rowse, "Giving Ground," Arena Magazine, October-November 1993, p. 16. 65. Bain Attwood concludes that Aborigines "made themselves as well as being made." See Bain Attwood, The Making of the Aborigines, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1989. He has also argued that while historical discourses played a key role in constructing categories such as "Aborigine," history should be seen as both a "colonizer" and a "colonizing" discourse. See "The Past as Future: Aborigines, Australia and the (Dis)course of History," in Attwood, In the Age of Mabo. 66. Colin Mercer, "Regular Imaginings: The Newspaper and the Nation," in Celebrating the Nation: A Critical Study of Australia's Bicentenary, eds. Tony Bennett, Pat Buckridge, David Carter, and Colin Mercer, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1992, p. 40. 67. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Verso, London, 1984; Faye Ginsburg, "Aboriginal Media and the Australian Imaginary," Public Culture, no. 5, 1993, p. 574. 68. Bredin, p. 176. 69. Said, p. 336. 70. Stuart Hall, "Popular Culture and the State," in Popular Culture and Social Relations, eds. Tony Bennett, Colin Mercer, and Janet Woollacott, Open University Press, Milton Keynes & Philadelphia, PA, 1986, p. 22. 71. Stuart Hall, "The Rediscovery of 'Ideology': Return of the Repressed in Media Studies," in Culture, Society and the Media, eds. M. Gurevitch, T. Bennett, J. Curran, and J. Woollacott, Methuen, London, 1982, p. 86. 72. Nicholas Abercrombie, Stephen Hill, and Bryan S. Turner, The Dominant Ideology Thesis, George Allen and Unwin, London, 1980. 73. Diane Austin, Australian Sociologies, George Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1984, p. 29; Stuart Hall, "On Postmodernism and Articulation," interview edited by Lawrence Grossberg, Communications Inquiry, 10, no. 2, 1986, pp. 45-60; Antonio Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916-1935, ed. David Forgacs, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1988, p. 17. 74. Stuart Hall, "Culture and the State," in The State and Popular Culture (1), Open University Press, Walton Hall, 1982, pp. 16-17. 75. Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. and trans. Q. Hoare and G. Nowell Smith, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1971, p. 258. 76. Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature, Oxford University Press, London, 1977, p. 110.

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77. Joseph Femia, too, argues that hegemony predominates by consent (through ideologies) rather than by force suggesting that it "is attained through the myriad ways in which institutions of civil society operate to shape, directly or indirectly, the cognitive and effective structures whereby men [sic] perceive and evaluate problematic social reality." See Femia, "Hegemony and Consciousness in the Thought of Antonio Gramsci," Political Studies, 23, no. 1, 1975, p. 31. 78. Stuart Hall, "Ideology and the Modern World"—an address by Stuart Hall, La Trobe University, 4 April 1983, Media Centre, Department of Sociology and Department of Legal Studies, 1983, pp. 23-32. 79. Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981, p. 31. 80. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes," p. 33. 81. Gandy, p. 235. 82. Todd Gitlin, The Whole World Is Watching, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1980, p. 7. 83. Gandy, p. 5. 84. Stuart Hall, "Encoding/Decoding," in Culture, Media, Language, eds. S. Hall, D. Hobson, A. Lowe, and P. Willis, Hutchinson, London, 1980. 85. Poonam Pillai, "Rereading Stuart Hall's Encoding/Decoding Model," Communication Theory, 2, no. 3, 1992, pp. 231-232. 86. Ien Ang, "Culture and Communication: Towards an Ethnographic Critique of Media Consumption in the Transnational Media System," European Journal of Communication, 5, 1990, p. 247. 87. Said, p. 61. 88. Said, p. 59. 89. Stuart Hall, "Gramsci's Relevance for the Study of Race and Ethnicity," Journal of Communication Inquiry, 10, Summer 1986, p. 26; Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader, pp. 380-381. 90. Austin, p. 430. 91. Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader, p. 385. 92. Colin Mercer, "Antonio Gramsci: E-Laborare, or the Work and Government of Culture," Paper delivered atTASA '89, La Trobe University, Melbourne, December 1989, p. 10. 93. Mercer, "Antonio Gramsci," p. 11. 94. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 15. 95. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 19; Benedict Anderson, "The New World Disorder," 24 Hours Special Supplement, February 1992, p. 43. 96. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 49. 97. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 65. 98. Mercer, "Antonio Gramsci," p. 17. 99. Williams, p. 19. 100. Hall, "The Rediscovery of 'Ideology,'" p. 77. 101. Mark Cousins and Athar Hussain, Michel Eoucault, Macmillan, London, 1984, pp. 87-90. 102. Cousins and Hussain outline various interpretations of discourse that have emerged from within the social sciences. They include: a description of a branch of sociolinguistics; a term referring to the relations of language to the positions of human subjects; a concept used to extend the theory of ideology (where subjects represent the imaginary relationships of individuals to their conditions of existence in speech or writing); and a device in philosophical arguments against using epistemological categories to resolve theoretical reasoning. 103. Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Language, Pantheon, New York, 1972, back cover.

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104. Foucault, back cover. 105. Paul Hirst, "Power/Knowledge—Constructed Space and the Subject," in Power and Knowledge: Anthropological and Sociological Approaches, ed. R. Fardon, Scottish Academic Press, Edinburgh, 1985, p. 173; Foucault, p. 115; Cousins and Hussain, p. 91. 106. Mary Graham, Interview with Carolyn Jones, The Search for Meaning, ABC Radio National, 15 November 1992. 107. These terms are preferred by many Indigenous people to the term "Aboriginal." They are particular regional identifications—Murri{e): Queensland; Koori(e): New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania; Nungar {Noongar): South Australia, Western Australia; Nyungar (Nyoongar): southern Western Australia; Yamayti: northern Western Australia; and Yolngu: Arnhem Land. Other identities often equate to language groups, e.g. Warlpiri, Pitjantjatjara. 108. Gandy, p. 35. 109. Gandy, p. 219. 110. Pierre van den Berghe, Race and Racism: A Comparative Perspective, John Wiley and Sons, New York, 1967, p. 9. For another discussion of these concepts see David Hollinsworth, Race and Racism in Australia, Social Sciences Press, Katoomba, 1998. 111. Gandy, p. 35. 112. van den Berghe, pp. 12-15. 113. Said, p. 120. 114. Gandy, p. 3. 115. van den Berghe, p. 16. 116. John Lechte, "Ethnocentrism, Racism, Genocide . . .," in The Cultural Construction of Race, eds. M. de Lepervanche and G. Bottomley, University of Sydney Press, Sydney, 1988, pp. 38-39. 117. Said, pp. 158-159. 118. Lechte, pp. 42-44. 119. Andrew Jakubowicz, Heather Goodall, Jeannie Martin, Tony Mitchell, Lois Randall, and Kalinga Seneviratne, Racism, Racism, Ethnicity and the Media, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1994, p. 27. 120. Dower, p. 10. 121. Dower, p. 10. 122. Dower, p. 12. 123. van den Berghe, pp. 17-18. 124. Gillian Cowlishaw, "Colour, Culture and the Aboriginalists," Man, 22, no. 2, 1987, pp. 221-234; Colin Tatz, "Race and Inequality: An Overview: Racism and Inequality," in Three Worlds of Inequality: Race, Class and Gender, eds. C. Jennett and R. Stewart, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1987. 125. Andrew Lattas, "Savagery and Civilisation: Towards a Genealogy of Racism," Social Analysis, 21, 1987, p. 56. 126. Cowlishaw, p. 223. 127. Colin Tatz, "Aboriginality as Civilisation," The Australian Quarterly, Spring 1980, pp. 352-362; Athol Chase, "Empty Vessels and Loud Noises: Views about Aboriginality Today," Social Alternatives, 2, no. 2, 1981, pp. 23-27; Marcia Langton, "Urbanising Aborigines: The Social Scientists' Great Deception," Social Alternatives, 2, no. 2, 1981, pp. 16-22; D. F. Jordan, "The Social Construction of Identity: The Aboriginal Problem," The Australian Journal of Education, 28, no. 3, 1984, pp. 274-290; Ian Keen, Being Black: Aboriginal Cultures in "Settled" Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1988. 128. Cowlishaw, 228-229. 129. Beckett, "Aboriginal Histories, Aboriginal Myths," pp. 101-102. 130. Vijay Mishra, "Aboriginal Representations in Australian Texts," Continuum, 2, no. 1, 1988, pp. 165-188.

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131. Said, Culture and Imperialism. 132. Robert Hodge, "Aboriginal Truth and White Media: Eric Michaels Meets the Spirit of Aboriginalism," Continuum, 3, no. 2, 1990, p. 203. 133. Stephen Muecke, "Available Discourses on Aborigines," in Theoretical Strategies, ed. P. Botsman, Local Consumption Publications, Sydney, 1982, p. 99. 134. Stuart Hall, "Cultural Identity and Cinematic Representation," Framework, 36, 1989, pp. 69-70. 135. Attwood, In the Age of Mabo, p. viii. 136. Gandy, p. 3. 137. Stanner's article, "The History of Indifference Thus Begins," Aboriginal History, 1, nos. 1-2, 1977, pp. 3-26, is the piece from which this chapter heading is borrowed. 138. Gandy, p. 155. 139.Weston,p. 163. 140. Research into Indigenous social disadvantage has been extensive. Some of the key findings are these: about 11 percent of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population aged 15 years and over have never attended school; on average, Indigenous unemployment is three times the national average and incomes are less than two thirds those of other Australians; a child bom to indigenous parents will, on average, live 20 years less than a child bom at the same time to parents of the wider community; Aboriginal mothers are 10 times more likely to die during childbirth than other mothers in Australia; young indigenous people are 18 times more likely to be held in detention than other Australian youths, setting a pattern for future contact with police and the courts. Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation, "Tackling Disadvantage," Reconciliation Information Sheet No. 7, n.d. 141. Pat O'Shane, "Beyond Anger," Australian Left Review, July 1992, p. 27. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner Mick Dodson makes the same point about Indigenous people being the most researched group in Australian society with their experiences and ideas absorbed by others without regard for rights. He also argues that no other group in Australian society is expected to engage actively in the consultative process as much as Indigenous people. See Office of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, Third Report, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1995, p. 143. 142. Attwood, The Making of the Aborigines', Jeremy Beckett, Past and Present: The Construction of Aboriginality, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1988, p. 2. 143. Marcia Langton, " Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television, " pp. 34-35. 144. Attwood, In the Age of Mabo, p. xiv. 145. Koorie Cultural Heritage Trust, Koorie, North Melbourne, Creative Solutions, 1991, p. 31. 146. John McCorquodale, "The Legal Classification of Race in Australia," Aboriginal History, 10, no. 1, 1986, p. 9. 147.Bredin,p. 176. 148. Gandy, p. viii. 149. Gandy, p. 3. 150. The Commonwealth of Australia comprises six states—Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, South Australia, and Western Australia—and three territories: Australian Capital Territory (where the national capital Canberra is located), the Northern Territory, and Norfolk Island (off the east coast). For further information, see the Australian government's website (www.nla.gov.au/oz/gov/state.html). 151. Attwood, In the Age of Mabo, p. viii. 152. Australian Bureau of Statistics, 1996 Census data (www.abs.gov.au).

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153. Henry Reynolds, Frontier, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1987. 154. One of the most chilling and thorough studies of the governmentality of Indigenous people is by Rosalind Kidd, The Way We Civilise: Aboriginal Affairs—The Untold Story, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1997. This investigation of previously inaccessible government records reveals the moments of "eternal optimism" and "congenital failure" that fashioned government relations with Aboriginal people in Queensland between 1840 and 1988. 155. Kidd, p. 7. 156. See Roberta James, "The Political Iconography of Aboriginality," Oceania, 63, no. 3, 1993, p. 219; Augie Fleras, "The Politics of Jurisdiction: Indigenising Aboriginal-State Relations," in Visions of the Heart: Canada's Aboriginal Issues, eds. David Alan Long and Olive Patricia Dickason, Harcourt and Brace, Toronto, 1996, p. 170. 157. Kidd, p. 346; and Gillian Cowlishaw, "Introduction: Representing Racial Issues," Oceania, 63, no. 3, 1993, p. 188. 158. Cowlishaw, "Introduction," p. 187.

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2 The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins . ..

When Columbus first sighted the shores of San Salvador on 12 October 1492, he coined the name "indios" to describe the inhabitants he saw.1 It was almost 500 years after Norse seafarers had first established a small colony on the northeastern tip of Newfoundland. It was abandoned in the early 1400s. The first contact between Canadian Indians and Europeans came shortly after Columbus's voyages attracted fishers to the Grand Banks, and by 1534 the fur trade was well established. 2 Within a 200-year period, it is estimated that Indian populations were reduced by up to 95 percent. 3 In 1607, the first permanent settlers in what is now the United States—in what was to become known as Virginia—shared the vast continent with an estimated 600,000-900,000 Indigenous people from an unknown number of tribes speaking around 190 languages. 4 Twenty-five years later, the population had been reduced to about 300,000, all forced to live west of the Mississippi River. Dutch atrocities against the Indigenous people on Staten Island were first detailed in 1640.5 Across the Pacific, over a period of nine days between 18 and 26 January 1788, eleven British and two French ships entered Botany Bay—the present site of the city of Sydney. The tender, transport, and storeships carried 290 seafarers, soldiers, and civilians and 717 convicts. The invasion had begun. From the very beginning, Governor of the new convict settlement Captain Arthur Phillip had failed to identify himself and his motives to the Indigenous people who had watched with curiosity—with trepidation, perhaps—the arrival of the First Fleet. The first Aboriginal prisoner was taken on New Year's Eve, 1788. Some of the first descriptions of Aboriginal people in and around the new settlement, re-

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corded in settlers' diaries, speak about them as being "the Lowest in Rank among the Human Race," or as "the most miserable of the human form under heaven." Others suggested that they were "more like monkeys than warriors" or that the Indigenous people were "altogether a most stupid insensible set of beings."6 The colonists' inability to understand why they were persistently shunned or attacked by Aboriginal people near the new settlement showed their total ignorance of Aboriginal life.7 Race relations passed through several stages in the first 12 months of the new colony—from the "cautious friendship" of the first few days, through a period where relations were "neither frequent nor cordial," to open animosity. The colonial pattern had been set. Anthropologist W. E. H. Stanner observes that "one cannot make full human sense of the development of European life in Australia without reference to the structure of racial relations and the persistent indifference to the fate of the Aborigines." This "fact of indifference" is the very foundation upon which life in Australia has been built.8 The journals, literature, and art of the time of European "discovery" and subsequent occupation of the Antipodes or the Great South Land paint varied pictures of the exotic Other. Images of contact between the first Europeans and Indigenous Americans were constructed almost 300 years before the first white people set foot on the shores of the Australian continent. This environment enabled the discourse of European history to construct the categories of "Aborigines" and "Australia"—it "ignored and erased" the prior presence of Indigenous people.9 Propelled by mercantilism, colonizers moved into the Americas, subjugating the Indigenous people there. This example was followed in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and South Africa.10 In his exposition of the influences on the development of American journalism, John Paul Nord makes a powerful argument for "deeply rooting" modern journalism routines of representation in the social and cultural environment of the time—the seventeenth-century religious cultures of New England. It was here that printing and the newspaper first emerged in a significant way in America. Nord defines "news" as the reporting of current, public occurrences contingent upon the social contexts of time and place. All elements of the process of writing news were "shaped by the belief that everything happened according to God's perfect plan. News was, in a word, teleological."11 Nord argues that two styles of journalism existed: "reportorial empiricism" and "authoritative interpretation." The first used empirical methods—the routine collection and citation of sources' statements—very much like modern journalism.12 The second style took several forms. Nord explains: "Most important, perhaps, was simply the conventional nature of teleological news. Because events were considered part of a recurrent pattern, some events were more likely to be reported than others."13 This approach to newsgathering and writing persists. A board of censorship was set up in 1662 to control the printing press, but Nord argues that there was little disharmony between reporting and authoritative interpretations in the seventeenth century. The coverage of King Phillip's War (1675-1699) ended the nexus forever.

The History of Misrepresentation TJius Begins . . .

35

The influence of war coverage transformed news into an event- and empirically orientated process.14 In colonial Australia in the late eighteenth century it was the influence of the imperial power, Britain, that framed the emergence of an Australian journalism and media system. Spain, Holland, France, and Portugal all had press traditions as old as those of Britain—and all of these nations were involved in early exploration of the Great South Land. One close neighbor, the Philippines, has a press tradition extending back to the sixteenth century. But while British press traditions influenced the setting up of the first newspaper in Australia—the Gazette in Sydney in March 1803—the spread of journalism and the press system was highly varied across the colony because of differences in governance and geography. By the 1840s, all Australian colonies had an established press system.15 Lloyd asserts that there were four key influences on Australian journalism and its press system: •

a 200-year philosophical tradition informed by the struggle of British printers, publishers, and journalists for a free press; . an emergent technology originating in the 1470s; • a body of "press precept and practice" linked to this technology and including literary and publishing traditions and practices; and • the particular geographical structure of Australia and its patterns of colonial settlement.16 The movement of the printing press across the United States generally paralleled the trend of settlement—from east to west. A similar pattern is evident in Canada, although it is not so prevalent. The isolated settlements that comprised colonial life in Australia provoked a different pattern, moving erratically along the coastlines and coastal rivers. Following establishment of the Sydney Gazette, the press first moved to settlements in Tasmania before spreading to other outposts such as Perth, in Western Australia, in 1829 and what is now Brisbane in 1846.17 The style of journalism that emerged in Australia in the late eighteenth century was imported from Europe but was nevertheless influenced and shaped by the dynamic social and cultural environment of the new colony. It was during this period that modern Australian journalism—and, I suggest, a framework for reporting on Indigenous affairs—was born. On 4 April 1991, a small headline on an inside page of the Edmonton Journal read, "Indian Wins National Newspaper Award." The Indian was Calgary Herald journalist and Windspeaker columnist Richard Wagamese. It was the first time in Canadian history that a Native journalist had won a major journalism award. In receiving the award, the sense of the occasion was not lost on Wagamese, who observed wryly: "Ten years ago, most of you thought we were illiterate savages. . . . In 1492, Native people discovered Columbus, and since

36

Voices in the Wilderness

that time, our lives and our motivations have been judged and observed and written about by people who could not hear or understand us." 18 Native people in the Americas have long voiced their claims of racism at the hands of the colonizing society—and, by association, the mainstream media. They see no difficulty in linking the two. 19 In focusing on the plight of Indians in Nicaragua, Bolivia, Guatemala, and Brazil, some commentators believe that these struggles were as significant as those in South Africa and yet were ignored by the media. One Mosquito Indian observed wryly: "If reporters in central America were Indians, the situation would change." 20 And there are other problems to solve—former station manager of Radio Goolarri in Broome, Dot West, has observed that non-Aboriginal Australians have a greater awareness and understanding of Africa's history than of their own.21 Long before the invasion of the Australian mainland began, ways of thinking about Indigenous people—structures of attitude and reference—had been firmly established. It was not only disease that accompanied European explorers as they ventured into the Great South Land—they brought with them ideas and assumptions about journalism and ways of doing it. These prevailing ideologies continue to have a significant influence on the ways in which we think about Indigenous societies and our relations with them. The persistence of media portrayal of Indigenous people in Australia as "a problem" is the result of a long history of misrepresentation embedded in the national consciousness, which began with first contact between Indigenous Australians and foreign explorers. 22 MAKING MEANING—IMAGES FROM FIRST CONTACT French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, dubbed the "prince of romantics," saw the so-called "primitives" of the world as living in a state of nature—noble savages living peaceful, orderly, honest, and courageous lives that would be destroyed by the process of civilization. Rousseau's precivilization idea theorized that modern humanity was in the fourth stage of development, with the previous stage being the best: where people lived instinctively in a society in harmony. 23 Apart from Rousseau's speculations on the nature of humanity in the early 1760s, such events as the French Revolution, scientific investigation, and early theories of evolution influenced interpretation of the images of the wild and uncultured people of the new world.24 At the same time, biological scientific advances, coupled with early theories of evolution, influenced the interpretation of race. The pervasive images of the first 300 years of contact between white colonists and the Indigenous peoples of North America were, according to Brown, largely formulated between 1860 and 1890. He describes the period as one in which the myths of the west were created: "[It was portrayed as] an era of gold-seeking, violence, audacity, sentimentality, undirected exuberance, and almost a reverential attitude towards personal freedom for those who already had i t . . . only occasionally was the voice of Indians heard." 25 Some inquisitive newspaper

The History of Misrepresentation

Thus Begins . . .

37

reporters did interview some chiefs in the late nineteenth century when curiosity about Indian survivors of the wars reached its peak. But the quality of the interviews was variable, depending on the availability of interpreters and on some reporters being hoaxed by their interviewees. Brown documents media complicity in the cover-up of a seemingly endless series of atrocities committed against America's Indigenous people until 1890—the symbolic end of Indian freedom at Wounded Knee.26 Like Brown, Sandoz acknowledges the tremendous amount of public conditioning that enabled the image of the "great red hunter" to be transformed into a "dirty, treacherous, bloodthirsty savage standing in the way of progress." 27 While the nation fought to "free" the blacks from slavery in 1864, it accepted a policy of extermination for its Indigenous peoples. President Abraham Lincoln did not object when the Cheyenne were massacred at Sand Creek, Colorado, in that year. The media of the day effectively ignored the numerous Indian rebellions—the Perce Nez in 1877; the Sioux in 1878; the Bannocks, Arapahos, and Poncas; and even the 2,500-kilometer trek by the Northern Cheyenne from Indian territory back to Yellowstone in 1878. The media eventually took the side of the Cheyenne when 170 Indians were massacred at Fort Robinson. 28 Predominant Ideologies The clear picture that emerges from the early explorers' observations of Indigenous populations is a description of the so-called primitives in terms of the explorers' own existence, based on predominant ideologies. In the journals of Dampier (1697), Australia is seen as the "primitive other." "The miserablest people in the world" was his description of Aborigines on first contact.29 Perhaps this is not surprising, given that illustrators of medieval maps imagined the undiscovered Great South Land as being inhabited by monsters with backwardturning feet who walked upside down—the inverse qualities of human beings— the antipodes. 30 These images fitted in with perceptions of the inhabitants of other lands—Negroes with tails and Patagonian giants are two in particular. 31 These "hostile barbarians" were already stereotyped and subsequently described as the "lowest link of mankind." 32 These descriptions preceded James Cook's voyage of discovery and clearly influenced the way in which Cook and botanist Joseph Banks depicted Indigenous people in their subsequent descriptions of Aboriginal Australians. But the lasting implications of "the first and most preposterous ambit claim for land rights in Australian history" should not be forgotten, especially in the light of the hysteria that ensued in the wake of the 1992 High Court decision on native title.33 Cook's three voyages coincided with two prevalent interpretations of non-European societies: primitivism and theorists of the four stages—placing Aborigines as the most rudimentary form of human development as hunters and gatherers. 34 When Cook's journals were eventually published in 1773, his reflective observations of Aboriginal people—often factual and sympathetic—were omitted.35 But this balanced image of Cook as a "humane

38

Voices in the Wilderness

persona" of the Enlightenment was banished forever on his third and final voyage to the Pacific in 1776-1779. It was at this time that an irrational, unreasoning, and violent image emerges—before his apotheosis and death in Hawaii.36 In 1788 British explorer George Keate published an account of his voyages to the South Pacific with strong evidence to support the idea that primitive people possess "good sense and good hearts."37 Thus the idea of the "noble savage" was adapted from its original description of Native Americans to take into account the newly discovered people of the Pacific. Keate's account of the South Seas was published at a time when the primitivist idea was being challenged—there was a growing insistence by scientists and philosophers that factual accounts of Indigenous people must be collected.38 At the same time, there was an increasing religious dogma that was intolerant of the suggestions of cannibalism, infanticide, and what appeared to be—therefore must have been—licentious dances and sexual orgies practiced by Native savages at the "lowest stage of barbarity" or the "lowest stage of human society" in the Chain of Being.39 Although Cook was instructed specifically to study the Natives and to establish good relations with them, there is a clear tendency in his descriptions to judge them in terms of European values and according to their attitudes toward European voyagers. When Louis XVI read Cook's published voyages, Count de la Perouse was sent off with express instructions to "observe the genius, character, manners, customs, bodily constitution, language, government and number of the inhabitants." At this time, philosophers were becoming aware of the need for an accurate survey of the world's peoples, removed from "distorting idealism."40 La Perouse's brief was ostensibly ethnographic, but the images he collected— because of a shipwreck, many were lost—were far from this objective. The subjects of drawings in the South Pacific are characterized in the conventions of "soft primitivism."41 At this time, too, a religious debate ensued over the possibility of offering these "savages" a path away from damnation.42 This kindled the zeal of the London Missionary Society, which descended upon the South Pacific to deliver to its inhabitants salvation—and to deliver to British society images of the people it was intent upon saving. It was during subsequent visits to the South Pacific that the image of the noble savage was gradually replaced with a new persona—that of the lowly primitive, the ignoble savage. It was an evangelistic picture of a degraded people who might be delivered from eternal damnation only by concerted missionary activity—a new pictorial stereotype that spread beyond the missionary literature of the time into contemporary books and journals. Thus Christianity changed the image of the unredeemable savage to one of pity. This image was further strengthened by selective publication of pictures of the time, which supported the dominant idea. Reprinted editions of Cook's voyages were extensively edited with sections added, commenting on the abject religious state of the Natives and the moral duties of Christians. A more lucid description of "savage" existence appeared, changed from the measured observations in the original version. For example, Aboriginal people were referred to as being stark

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins . .

39

naked or like "the other animals"—evoking images quite different from those noted in Cook's original journals.43 Two key theoretical notions dominated thinking of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in Europe: social evolutionism, which set up a hierarchy in which "primitive" people were relegated to the lowest rung—Australian Aboriginal people to the very lowest of the low; and the Biblical idea of Aboriginal people being seen as the evolutionary nadir—hunters and gatherers were seen to rank in the lowest of four developmental stages based on modes of subsistence. New Hollanders were variously described as in the "lowest stage of barbarity" and at the "lowest stage of human society." One comparison even linked them with apes.44 The Australian explorers George Grey and Edward John Eyre intended to challenge prevailing ideas about Aboriginal people in their ethnographic accounts of the late 1830s and early 1840s—and to some extent they did. But both believed that they should be assimilated into Christian society. Despite this, as their journals testify, against prevailing attitudes, they saw Aboriginal people as individuals, regardless of the apparent unfamiliarity with the natural and social conditions under which they lived. They believed Europeans were superior but that Indigenous people could be incorporated into colonial society only if their social institutions were understood. Around this period, across the Pacific, the misrepresentation of African Americans in the press from the 1800s provoked the emergence of the first black newspaper, Freedom's Journal, in 1827. This was nine years before the emergence of the first Aboriginal newspaper in Australia—the 1836 handwritten Flinders Island Chronicle. Other attempts to counter the dominant coverage of African Americans in North America emerged through abolitionists like William Lloyd Garrison, who launched the Liberator in Massachusetts in 1831. But mainstream media representation of black Americans as inferior persisted.45 Apart from a few exceptions, the literature that documents early life in the colony of New South Wales and its dealings with Indigenous people has been described as perhaps one of the most malignant collection of writings ever.46 In hindsight, this may be so; however, these accounts must be considered within the context of the prevailing ideology and the changing nature of European society at the time. The idea of the primitive simplicity of Aboriginal Australians was eventually challenged by the sheer accumulation of ethnographic material.47 But throughout the descriptions alluded to, there is a failure by writers to record any acknowledgment that any variety existed within Aboriginal Australia. This trend toward uniformity made it much easier to position primitive people without the need for a complex explanation of why such differences existed—if, indeed, the early journalists perceived such differences. Grouping all Aboriginal people together as a homogeneous unit suited the dominant ideology of the time that it was justifiable to take their land and destroy their culture because they were merely savages. Journalists constantly depicted Aborigines as at "the far end of the scale of being," and it was considered almost unacceptable that such New Hollanders had a capacity for speech—despite the

40

Voices in the Wilderness

fact that between 200 and 250 languages (500 to 600, if dialects are included) were spoken and used in 1788—and that they "must have learned it by intercourse with some other nation."48 In this climate, allegations of cannibalism were rife—and still are.49 Although Eyre, who avoided the prevailing literary stereotypes, produced accounts that were well-balanced and truly innovative, such works were rare. By 1830, Aboriginal people had been decimated—as much by diseases like smallpox, influenza, and alcoholism as at the hands of squatters on their land.50 One of the most enduring stereotypes is that of the "drunken Aborigine"—a colonial construction that neutralizes the reality of alcohol as an "agent of seduction."51 But it was the theft of land that, many writers argue, was the most murderous of all. The 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody acknowledges that many observers see high rates of Aboriginal imprisonment as indicative of alienation stemming from dispossession. It has been suggested that the alienation and the high degree of drunkenness, violence, and self-harm in some Aboriginal contexts are indicative of a psychological and spiritual damage and suffering associated with dispossession of land and religious structures that went with it. Along with the continuing significance of an estimated 20,000 Aboriginal deaths in the long battle for settled Australia, dispossession figures strongly in black consciousness. Historian Henry Reynolds observes: "Ancient injustice burns like a beacon across the generations. In black Australia, the flame is fed by two of humanity's most keenly felt grievances— lost land and martyred kin."52 The image of the white noble "frontiersman" [sic]—with the bush skills of Aboriginal people, albeit white—stepped to center stage to replace that of the (male) black noble savage. Surviving Aboriginal people came to represent all that was un-Australian: it was only the extinct Aboriginal Australians who retained a degree of respectability. Most of those who praised Aboriginal men had no opinion about Aboriginal women. Images of Aboriginal women's inferiority is often depicted in accounts of the day, casting them into sex-determined roles of servitude and submission as wives and mothers and describing them as merchandise, sexual objects, and slaves.53 But in many of the early representations, Aboriginal women were largely invisible, although both women and men were subjected to forced labor. Aboriginal women were also exploited sexually by white men, raising the question of which influence predominates—racism or sexism. The words "rape" and "miscegenation" were used by different observers to refer to an identical sexual act.54 The invisibility of Indigenous women largely persists, even within today's Aboriginal histories. Representation of Aboriginal women within the context of a violent and male colonial frontier identified them as being immoral and highly sexed—effectively enabling racism and sexism to reinforce each other. Both Aboriginal and white women suffered under this patriarchal regime, albeit in different ways.55 While due emphasis continues to be placed on the high numbers of Aboriginal men who continue to die in police custody, the number of Aboriginal women who have died in domestic violence incidents in Queensland and the Northern Territory over the past ten years is

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begi

41

larger than that of all Aboriginal deaths in custody over that period. The invisibility of Aboriginal women persists.56 CONTEMPORARY IMAGES For more than 50 years since its inception on 31 January 1880, the Australian magazine The Bulletin carried with it racist stereotypes directed mainly against Asian immigrants, particularly the Chinese. For decades, the weekly magazine was influential in shaping Australia's restrictive immigration policies. While there are examples of "strangely double-edged comments on the position of Aborigines" in the magazine, more commonly Aboriginal people were ignored.57 From 7 May 1908 on, the news magazine proclaimed openly under its masthead: "Australia for the White Man." This remained unchanged until 1960, when the magazine was sold by the Prior family to Australian Consolidated Press; it was then changed by new editor Donald Home. Writing about the magazine's photoengraved cartoons, former Bulletin Art Editor Les Tanner acknowledges the racist nature of the jokes used in these terms: "We were fairly robust about it (if you can call racism robust) as a nation . . . the Jews were fair game, as were the Abos and Poms."58 But Lawson suggests that it is "bad history" to "strip The Bulletin's vast discursive mosaic down to single ideological themes."59 Certainly it perpetrated racism against Asian and European immigrants, but between 1880 and 1900 it offered unprecedented access to its pages for its readers. In this

respect it was a radical approach to journalism, which resonates, in some ways, with what we now call public journalism. A similar "public journalism" approach

was adopted by the Telegraph in Sydney in 1943-1944, in conjunction with

"listening groups" on ABC Radio discussing aspects of Australia's place in the

"new world order."60

Early Queensland newspapers such as the Moreton Bay Courier included a regular section entitled simply "The Blacks," which relayed to its readers the latest news of conflict as settlers moved beyond the new township of Brisbane. In the pages of the early colonial press, it was usual for Indigenous people to commit "atrocities" while white settlers applied policies of "dispersal"—the use of these terms carried powerful ideological messages, rather like the selective application of "rape" and "miscegenation." But the colonial press was far more open—albeit often racist and patronizing—in its discussion of Indigenous affairs than any modern media. Articles dealing with a wide range of aspects of Indigenous culture were common in newspapers of the late nineteenth century. However, while the contribution made by newspapers and news magazines to the processes of colonization was somewhat ambivalent, overall the colonial press was the perpetrator of "virulent racism and white supremacy," with Aboriginal people being the prime target.61 The policy of "dispersal" of Aboriginal groups, particularly from the Brisbane fringe camps, succeeded, and by 1900 the city had been cleared of such camps. It is difficult to see this happening without the support, direct or otherwise, of the press. This manifested itself as much in an

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Voices in the Wilderness

absence of opposition as in the presence of support. In one well-respected study, Brisbane in the 1890s, for example, the presence of Aboriginal people in the city is ignored.62 During the six-year operation of the Australian Community Relations Office (1975-1981), more than one-third of the 4,000 or more complaints of racial discrimination involved Aboriginal people, with a significant percentage relating to "racist slanders" in the media. Community Relations Commissioner Al Grassby identified the role of the media in Australia in the previous 100 years as being chiefly that of defending the invasion and subsequent dispossession with representation of Aboriginal people in early art forms and literature mirrored in the colonial press. He observed: "In 1881, the Age referred to the Aborigines as a 'bygone' people; in 1888 it cited the 'law of nature' that where two races whose stages of progress were different came into contact, the inferior was doomed to wither and die. By the 1890s there was rejoicing in the media that the passing of Aborigines would make a contribution to the solution of the race problem in Australia."63 Although Grassby acknowledged a distinct improvement in the media's approach to some community groups during his time as community relations commissioner, this did not include Indigenous Australians. The popular colonial press played a key interpretive role in popularizing scientific racist theories—with local examples—and hence made a major contribution to the climate of racial conflict that existed. Through this process, colonists received support for their existing racial attitudes. The press of the time supported the notion that Aboriginal people, Chinese, and Melanesians were expendable as part of a process of development of industry—newspapers regarded the "dispersal" of Aborigines as a necessary nuisance.64 Attitudes toward Indigenous Australians were mirrored in the press's reactions to laborers imported from the Pacific Islands. Although not seriously questioning the morality of the so-called indenture system—which occurred at the same time as the American Civil War—newspapers of the day were quick to represent the Melanesians as a threat to society. Melanesian slaves first arrived in Queensland in 1863. Taken as indentured servants from the New Hebrides and Loyalty Islands, the Kanakas—as they were called—posed a new threat to the steady development of the colony. A white Australia policy was under discussion, and Queensland colonial newspapers like the Boomerang and Progress—both aimed at working-class audiences—happily published exaggerated stories of the "moral and social dangers of coloured aliens."65 From the turn of the century until the early 1940s, the use of Asian and Pacific Islander labor in the pearling industry was common—and condoned by a 1907 Royal Commission investigating the possibility of replacing alien workers with European labor. The commission found that white men would not work for the wages being paid, so that jobs could be given to Islanders, Aboriginal people, and Papuans. Kanakas joined this band of workers, drifting north from the Queensland coastal sugar cane plantations.66 Between 1902 and 1914, the world experienced a craze for buying, selling, and sending postcards. Australia was no different, and many of the images available

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins ... 43 were those of Indigenous people. The prevailing images showed them as "impoverished, run-down shanty-dwellers."67 It was a time when it was believed that Aboriginal communities were dying out—perhaps it eased white consciences. In Australia, the 1920s was a "critical modernization period" when major restructuring of the press industry took place, radio first appeared, and the shape of the modern newspaper was born.68 Stereotyping was the norm for Native Americans in the 1920s, influenced by the attractiveness to whites of their material culture and Native people's accessibility to the majority culture. Weston found that the dominant frames in this period for newspapers tended to be human interest stories with little cultural context.69 By the 1930s, representation had changed to reflect the New Deal, with the public and government being asked to think of Native Americans in new ways. Despite this, the old stereotypes and images prevailed.70 By the 1940s, the war years helped to rediscover the images of Native North Americans as "quintessential braves on the warpath." The "bloodthirsty savage" had been transformed into the "noble warrior." But these active images also contributed to postwar efforts to withdraw government support for Native communities.71 Despite some coverage of local issues in the 1950s, newspaper coverage of Native Americans was largely assimilationist, representing them as "ready for freedom."72 Aboriginal voices first appeared in Victorian newspapers around the 1940s as community organizations began to produce spokespeople. Other studies of the colonial press reveal a similar experience to that of early Queensland, with Aboriginal people being variously framed as a problem, voiceless, and without a claim on citizenship. The colonial press thus played an important ideological role in legitimating dominant ideas about Indigenous people and the place they occupied in settled society.73 In Australia, Aboriginal people have been well represented visually, post1940. One study reveals images of Kooris either as victims or assimilated into non-Aboriginal culture.74 Artists of the same period attempted to document the romantic mythology concerning the "tragic demise of the Aboriginal race."75 A more contemporary study suggests that romantic and ethnographic representations of Aboriginal people in photographs persists.76 So it is not surprising that, up to the late 1960s, Australian schoolchildren were being exposed, through their textbooks, to a particular way of seeing Aboriginal Australians as "uncivilized."77 Indigenous people had little or no control over the nature of such representation. Visual depictions of Aboriginal Australians were not confined to still images of the time. Since the Lumiere brothers' first crude cinematograph made its debut in Australia in 1896, around 6,000 Australian films have been made about Indigenous people—the bulk by scholars and missionaries. Despite this, the nonAboriginal community remains "generally ignorant" of Indigenous culture.78 The earliest ethnographic moving pictures of central Australian Aboriginal people were shot in 1901 by Walter Baldwin Spencer. With his cinematograph and an

44 Voices in the Wilderness

Edison phonograph, he captured images of the Arrernte people near Alice Springs. By and large, commercial documentary techniques today do not differ from those early attempts in that Aboriginal control is mostly absent. One instance in 1987 of a battle over control between the ABC and the Warlpiri community at Yuendumu, near Alice Springs, highlights the continuation of this struggle.79 LAND RIGHTS AND CIVIL RIGHTS STRUGGLE While land rights protests began in earnest in Australia in the 1960s, across the Pacific it was civil rights demonstrations that captured media attention. The focus there was on violence and controversy, with little attention paid to the reasons for the conflict. The focus by newspapers of the time was on facts and events rather than on an explanation for the severe social maladjustment that manifested itself in protest action across America. By the early 1970s, members of the Chicano community in the southern United Sates were reporting a move from "resistance to negotiation" in gaining access to broadcasting. But other American minorities were not so blessed. During the 1980s, a relocation dispute involving thousands of Hopi and Navajo was virtually ignored by the national press.80 But the 1960s and 1970s were turning points for press coverage of Native Americans. Weston has found changes in journalism of the period that "allowed more description and interpretation . . . reflected in daily news stories." Native Americans appeared in the news as militant, active agents, but it was the "loudest voices" that seemed to attract uncritical media attention. She continues: "Positive images of Native Americans seemed a newer version of the noble savage: These Indians were portrayed as idealistic and wise." Some of the old stereotypes endured.81 In Australia, too, the 1960s and 1970s became an ideological battleground over representation of Indigenous people. Despite some notable writing that emerged from the "golden age of investigative reporting," day-to-day coverage of Indigenous people in the Australian press during this period centered on notions of assimilation and, particularly, conflict—conflict over land.82 When the federal government sanctioned uranium mining at Ranger in the Northern Territory in 1977, the resulting media coverage was described by Marcia Langton as "Stone Age journalism." Aboriginal people were positioned with headlines such as "Stone Age Millionaires," "Rich Fellow, My Country," "Aborigines Get $175 Million," and "Dawn of the Uranium Dreamtime."83 Perhaps in response to this attitude, a coalition of West Australian mining companies, farmers, and graziers mounted an extensive advertising campaign in 1984, challenging the notion of land rights. The Kimberley Lands Council likened the propaganda campaign to that of Adolf Hitler, accusing the lobby of lies and distortion in its contention that Aboriginal people could claim half of Western Australia.84 An Australian National Opinion Poll published details of a survey of attitudes of Australians toward land rights early in 1985. It made particular reference to the effect of the mining-industry-initiated campaign: "The results of our research so far have

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins ... 45 indicated quite clearly that substantial attitude change has occurred in Western Australia purely because of the Chamber of Mines campaign and the associated misinformation pedlars that such a campaign unearths."85 Two years earlier, the Pitjantjatjara people were the subject of an anti-land rights campaign by the Northern Territory government to try to weaken the Land Rights Act there. There was extensive news media reporting of the campaign, involving the handing back to traditional owners of title to Uluru (Ayers Rock) and Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), reported to have cost the Territory government more than $200,000 in press advertising alone.86 The 1982 Commonwealth Games in Brisbane became another site for conflict when Aboriginal people used the occasion—and the presence of the international media—to try to raise issues that have largely been ignored by local media. Aboriginal people set up their own media center in Musgrave Park in central Brisbane in an attempt to control and coordinate information being sought by the media. Like the events of 26 January 1988 with which I deal in greater detail in the next chapter, the media initially viewed the Commonwealth Games protest as a threat against the established order, but there was some acknowledgment of overkill by authorities in their employment of tactics, particularly legislation giving special powers to police. As in 1988, it was the international media who were praised for their extensive coverage of Aboriginal views.87 Recent studies of the representation of African Americans in the press, too, reveal a continuing pattern of "biased and deficient" coverage, 20 years after the Kerner Commission chided the press for its propensity to report on events in the United States "from the standpoint of a white man's world." In addition, where minority journalists are working in newsrooms, racial discrimination remains, and their share of the broadcast news workforce has been eroded.88 RACISM AND SELF-REGULATION In April 1986, an article appeared in the Australian national magazine, People, quoting at length a senior sergeant of police at Cairns Police Station in the far north of Queensland. In the article, Senior Sergeant Vern Timm described Aboriginal people as "coons," "boongs," "black bastards," and "dingoes." He continued: "You know, I'd like to build a fence around this whole place and say (to the Aborigines) right, you bastards! Step through that fence and you're dead!" Predictably, Aboriginal communities in Cairns and beyond were outraged. About 100 marched on the Cairns police station, demanding that Timm should be fired. In the following two months, 28 news stories were published about the incident, in newspapers from Cairns to Launceston in Tasmania, in southern Australia. The offensive words and many of the other allegations against Aboriginal people made by Timm were repeated, apparently without an attempt to check on their accuracy. In more than half of the cases where a denial was published, reporters sought a non-Aboriginal source. Criticism of the magazine made it into two stories—criticism of the reporter made it to three. Cairns Aboriginal people

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lodged a complaint with the Australian Press Council and the then Human Rights Commission. The Queensland Police Department charged Timm on two counts under the Police Rules—one of conduct not becoming an officer and the other for making unauthorized statements to the press. He was cleared of both charges in July 1987 and was later promoted. In none of the stories examined did journalists attempt to question the truth or accuracy of Timm's reported statements. Of all the newspaper coverage examined, that in an Aboriginal publication, Messagestick, came closest to attempting a serious look into the claims so eagerly published by People. The subsequent adjudication on the matter by the Australian Press Council did little to inspire Aboriginal confidence in the print media's sole avenue of complaint. While acknowledging that the language used in the article was "stridently racist" and was bound to cause offense to Aboriginal people, the council concluded that it was in the public interest: "The fact that the views reported were held by a person responsible for law enforcement in Cairns was an important part of that real situation, and important information for anyone seeking to understand race relations. In the opinion of the Press Council, the magazine was justified in publishing it; indeed it did a public service in doing so."89 Aboriginal people were excluded from "the public" if this argument is accepted. This adjudication implies that because the information published was not challenged as being inaccurate, the public interest was being served, irrespective of the nature of the material. As long as journalists report someone's "words" accurately, the Press Council, it seems, is loath to take action, irrespective of the truth of those words. About twelve months after publication of the People magazine article in 1986, I undertook a study in Cairns to determine how Aboriginal people there perceived media portrayal of them and their affairs. Virtually all those interviewed described media treatment of Aboriginal issues as bad. Reasons given included a lack of understanding of Aboriginal issues by reporters, the media's need to focus on negative issues, and sensationalism. All saw the reporting of Aboriginal issues as negative and saw Aboriginal access to the media as either fair or bad. Media were seen to perform worst on contentious issues, and there was a perception that papers printed what they wanted to. All agreed that access to the media by Aborigines was very important to counter perceived sensationalism of Aboriginal issues. The Aboriginal people interviewed passed a sobering judgment on journalists' understanding of Aboriginal issues. Opinion was split evenly between bad and very bad, and the reasons were misconceptions published because of journalists' lack of awareness, understanding, and concern; persistent misinterpretation of Aboriginal issues; ignorance of issues seen by Aborigines to be important; misquoting; sensationalism, and exaggeration of facts.90 Suggestions for improvement included having more Aboriginal journalists working in the media, establishing a better liaison with reporters, a need for better-researched stories, and a need for journalists to speak to Aboriginal people about Aboriginal issues. Almost all of those interviewed were able to relate a personal experience with the media, with virtually all being negative.91 Overt

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racism—openly racist arguments that are given credence by publication—are easy to identify.92 But a second form of racism, inferential racism, is more widespread and more insidious because it is largely invisible. THE MEDIA AND CANNIBALISM In October of Australia's bicentennial year, 1988, newspaper columnist Ron Saw published a syndicated article in newspapers in Brisbane, Perth, and Adelaide. The article, which was eventually published unaltered despite the concerns of a subeditor in Brisbane, referred to claims of Aboriginal people on the north Queensland goldfields "eating" Chinese. In an attempt at irony (according to a subsequent letter by the editor of the Brisbane newspaper The Sunday Mail), Saw referred to Aboriginal people as "darkies" and to Chinese as "chows." Saw later claimed in a follow-up article that it was meant as an attack on racism. Following a letter of complaint to the newspaper, a number of other letters to the editor were published, all supporting Saw, with one repeating the unsubstantiated claims. Interestingly, Saw himself admitted that he had no evidence for the claims of cannibalism—he was merely reporting "accurately" what other people had said. A complaint to the Press Council resulted in an adjudication that concluded: "The Council holds that the article was not racist, but recognizes that irony like comedy and cartoons can offend, especially when people are identified by race."93 The information Saw published—whether amusing or otherwise— was inaccurate and unsubstantiated by available evidence. In 1985 anthropologist Michael Pickering undertook an extensive investigation of first-hand reports of cannibalism among Indigenous communities in Australia and found no concrete evidence for such claims. He likened the newspaper article to the racist material being published in the 1786 edition of the London newspaper, the Morning Chronicle! And he concluded: "Whatever directions future investigations into cannibalism in Australia take, the initial question is not so much one of determining what some people will eat, but rather one of determining what some people will swallow."94 But again the Press Council seemed unwilling to adjudicate on the accuracy of material quoted, as long as the quotes themselves were accurate. This is at odds with the council's own Statement of Principles, which urges newspapers to identify published rumors as such. The council suggests that newspapers are under a strong obligation to take all steps reasonably available to them to ensure the truth of their statements. The principles the council claims as its own seem to carry little weight in any but the most blatant examples. RACISM AND HUMOR One of the arguments proposed by the editor of The Sunday Mail in its published defense of Saw's column was that it was all meant to be good, clean fun.95 Hall identifies a danger in assigning comedy to its own category in the

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media. He suggests: "In the area of fun and pleasure it is forbidden to pose a serious question, partly because it seems so puritanical and destroys the pleasure by switching registers."96 In response to a letter of complaint about Saw's article, the editor of The Sunday Mail resorted to the power of editorial vitriol. Hall suggests that the technique of claiming to speak on behalf of the public through an editorial is a device used by media controllers to legitimate and reinforce their own actions or to solicit public opinion in support of their views: "The public believes this taking the public voice, this enlisting of public legitimacy for views which the newspaper itself is expressing, represents the media in its most active, campaigning role the point where the media most actively and openly shape and structure public opinion."97 The response by The Sunday Mail, appended to the letter of complaint, read: "We feel sure most readers appreciate that Ron Saw often uses irony to make a point, that this is a legitimate use of the English language and his point in this instance was that racism is stupid." The routine organization of newsrooms into the covering of certain rounds affects what ends up as news. This structure inevitably leads to a conclusion that there is just one perspective on events. In the mind of The Sunday Mail editor this was apparently the case. There is a belief, too, that conflict can be resolved by the institutions set up for that purpose. What such media institutions fear is that their work is taken seriously and critically analyzed.98 RACE RELATIONS AND SELF-REGULATION It can be argued that institutionalized avenues of appeal like the Australian Broadcasting Authority, the Australian Journalists' Association, and the Australian Press Council lack neither the power nor the will to monitor properly the media's misrepresentation of race relations. The Authority (formerly called the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal) has, at least, some track record in acting on complaints, although it is often accused of being a toothless tiger. In 1988 the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal warned a north Queensland television station (QSTV) to improve its approach to Aboriginal programming following a complaint by the Townsville Aboriginal and Islander Media Association. The broadcaster subsequently admitted that it had no way of acceding to this because of a lack of funds.99 Nevertheless, the tribunal did intervene. In the same year, Sydney radio announcer Ron Casey was fired from station 2KY following a tribunal finding on four different broadcasts by him between April 1987 and February 1988. The tribunal found that his remarks about Asians were likely to incite or perpetuate hatred against a group on the basis of race, ethnicity, or nationality. Amazingly, the managing director of station 2KY, John MacBean—also a senior Labor Party official at the time—reappointed Casey two days after the announcer made sexist comments on another Sydney radio station, 2UE.1(K) No broadcast station has ever lost its license in Australia over accusations of racism.

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins ... 49 The forces driving misrepresentation are powerful ones. Several Australian studies have examined the role of the media and how they are perceived by Indigenous and ethnic audiences. Examination of the reporting of an incident at Brewarrina, in western New South Wales, on 15 August 1987 shows clearly how the media constructed their stories around this interpretation of events in the New South Wales township. Alternative readings disappeared under the pressure of consensus of daily news production processes. The national broadcaster, the ABC, fell victim to peer group pressure in changing its approach to reporting the "riot."101 An extensive study of more than 2,000 newspaper articles dealing with Aboriginal issues across Australia also concluded that the dominating news value was Aboriginal involvement with the criminal justice system.102 Discussions with other minorities in Australia have revealed perceptions of media representation that support these studies. Evidence from 61 discussion groups held in 21 different community languages identified a series of criticisms in the way the Australian media represent race and ethnicity. Group perceptions are that the media do not present an accurate or wide-ranging reflection of Australian society, including such limitations as physical type, story line, and issues found in programs. Media reporting of specific groups was identified as patronizing, biased, and inaccurate, with a clear focus on bad news. Ethnic Australians perceive their portrayal by the media as "conflictual, violent, and uncivilized," and they were particularly unhappy about the media treatment of Asian immigrants. The discussion groups perceived media representation of Indigenous people as overwhelmingly negative, one-sided, unfair, or too harsh.103 Western Australian researcher Steve Mickler's study of Perth radio 6PR's talkback host Howard Sattler, Gambling on the First Race, revealed the power of the broadcast media in legitimating particular versions of representation over others. Mickler's study identified the methods of talkback radio: framing the terms of the debate; selecting and ordering callers; continually interrupting callers who oppose the host's views. Mickler identified the inadequacy of media regulatory bodies to deal with complaints about this program and the inability of the station itself to come to terms with the influence it exerts on community opinion. 104 Another Western Australian study, which looked at the role of newspaper and talkback radio coverage of Aboriginal issues in the west over a 10-year span, identified a close agreement between media perceptions and public consciousness of Aboriginal people—both equally and disproportionately negative. 105 The investigation revealed, too, an overwhelming preponderance of negative stories about Indigenous people (and Asian communities) when compared with negative stories concerned with other issues and other ethnic groups. This perception about Aboriginal people was further reflected in attitudes of callers to talkback radio programs, who were twice as likely to comment in a negative sense than to say something positive about this particular group of Australian citizens. What is perhaps most significant about this study is that it identified that the sustained negative representation of Aboriginal people was the result of "everyday, routine and habitual practices and predispositions among certain media personnel." 106

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THE ROLE OF THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY MEDIA Indigenous people's concern over their media portrayal has an undeniable history based on, at best, paternalism and more often racism. The systematic exclusion of Aboriginal peoples from equal participation in Australian culture, reflected and perpetrated through mainstream media representation, continues. Aboriginal Australians have had to be content with a portrayal that is mostly stereotypical, sensational, emotional, or exotic, with an ignorance of the historical and political context in which these images are situated.107 Some argue that it is not that bad—that things have improved. The 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody suggests this, but with reservations. Others acknowledge, on the one hand, that Aboriginal people in particular have been the victims of "some unfortunate coverage" but conclude that media publicity overall—especially that dealing with land rights—has been considerably favorable.108 Would Aboriginal people agree, I wonder? Some see considerable merit in specific instances of reporting race relations. More than 20 journalists have won Walkley Awards109 for "writing sympathetically about Aboriginal concerns." It should be remembered, however, that until the late 1990s the Walkley Award was essentially a peer review—there was little public input and few Indigenous reporters vying for the honors.110 Media representation of Indigenous Australians has increasingly become contested terrain. Conflict that results from this, too, is more frequent, now that many Aboriginal groups are more aware of media processes, having become involved in their own forms of media production. The very existence of this conflict is evidence that an ideological struggle over representation continues. While journalists argue that they merely reflect society, over time this process can—and does—create inaccurate images that are remarkably durable. For example, the role of the twentieth-century press has been paramount in constructing images of Indigenous populations in Australia and North America—they have been patronized, romanticized, stereotyped, and ignored by most of mainstream society.111 Weston concludes: "To be sure, journalism has reflected the images and stereotypes prevalent in the popular culture. But it has done more. The very conventions and practices of journalism have worked to reinforce that popular—and often inaccurate—imagery."112 The criticism of mainstream media representation of Native people in North America is widespread, focusing not only on the stereotypes of drunken people and violent confrontation but also on the stories that are not published.113 Some see the relationship between Native people and mainstream media as an unlikely mixture of "preachers and whores." The arrival of the Native media was a reminder of an improvement in the coverage of Native issues by the mainstream media, as Native commentator Owenadeka observes: "It's also a reminder of the uneasy relationship that's existed between Native people and the mainstream media for the past 400 years. For most of that time, we've been the helpless victims of the non-Native media. When we haven't been ignored, we have been variously depicted as noble warriors, primitive savages,

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drunken welfare bums or pathetic descendants of a once-proud race."114 Owenadeka acknowledges that the media have shaped the public's image of Indians and Inuit—and even influenced, to some degree, their own self-image. He cites an example of a reporter from a major Canadian daily newspaper preparing for a trip to the north, intent on making a good impression with the chiefs. The reporter planned to give each chief he met a bottle of whiskey.115 Mohawk journalist Dan David recounts the story of reaction to the first appearance in 1987 of Indian journalist Jim Compton on Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) television. Compton was covering a story about public health and wore his long braids in clear view. A CBC producer remarked on his Indian appearance but was more astonished that Compton was not doing a story about Indians.116 A survey undertaken by David in 1987 revealed concerns by mainstream media workers in covering Native issues. All acknowledged the inadequate coverage that existed but gave various reasons for this: lack of money; lack of time; lack of reporters; lack of knowledge about issues; and the fear of charges of racism. David maintains that Native people are not alone: "Aboriginal people aren't the only ones being short-changed by the media. The so-called visible minorities (black-, Asian-, and Indian-Canadians) get the same raw deal from the media. But then, so do poor people in general."117 He and many others argue for increased Native participation in the mainstream media—something that is happening to some extent, limited mostly to public broadcasting institutions like the CBC in Canada, the PBS in the United States, and the ABC and SBS in Australia. David concludes that "success for Native people in the media will happen when a person like Jim Compton can report on TV . . . and nobody notices." Another Mohawk—former Olympic kayaker Alwyn Morris—has accused the mainstream media of ignorance of the historical context that accompanies each story. While referring specifically to the Oka uprising in Canada in 1990, Morris accused the media generally of not picking up on political stories that concern Native people.118 It is generally acknowledged that in Canada just three Native languages are likely to survive: Cree, Ojibway, and Inuktitut.119 In every region of Canada, Aboriginal languages are perceived to be under attack from the influence of mainstream culture and media. There is little scope for Native journalists in the mainstream, forcing people into the position of consumers. The National Aboriginal Communications Society (NACS) laments: "The result is that we are often reported on from an outsider's point of view. Too seldom do we see our own way of life, or an Aboriginal perspective, reflected in the media."120 Such mainstream media reports seldom feature stories that give cultural insights into Aboriginal communities, focusing on Indigenous people in the news as protesters or victims.121 When the Cree tried to use the media to get across their opposition to a major new hydroelectric dam development on tribal lands near James Bay in Quebec in 1991, the mainstream plan of attack was not always welcomed. Although guaranteeing mass distribution, a planned supportive article in Penthouse magazine worried some Cree leaders, who voiced their concerns in these

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terms: "The Cree are a very religious people with high moral standards. Penthouse does not conform to those standards." 122 The article portrayed the Cree as heroes in the struggle against the villains, Hydro-Quebec. Contradictions abound: Canadian filmmaker Robert Flaherty's Nanook of the North was more a recreation than what it purported to be—a documentary of Native life in the Arctic—when it was made in 1921. Present-day Inuit audiences "roar with laughter" at the film's staged hunting scenes. 123 But it took until 1992 for the introduction of a new policy banning the use of sports nicknames referring to Native Americans. Team names such as the Braves, Redskins, Indians, or Redmen were in common usage, although they had long been considered offensive.124 In North America, an Indigenous perspective was absent from film images until the rise in the 1970s of independent film and video. This coincided with a growth in Native American political activism—the stand-offs at Wounded Knee and Alcatraz Island are examples. As Weatherford and Seubert concluded: "Conscious of the power of the media, Native Americans began to actively participate in productions about their traditions and viewpoints, as on-camera subjects, as coproducers, and as independent producers themselves." 125 In both Canada and the United States, Native people were able to participate in radio and television training programs along with independent film projects. The National Film Board in Canada trained producers and funded the production of documentaries as part of a "Challenge for Change" program. It was in the 1970s that the Native American Public Broadcasting Consortium was formed to try to increase the number of programs about Native issues on United States television; however, it has been largely unsuccessful.126 American journalist Gerry Mander lays the blame for reporter ignorance of Native issues on reporters' inability or unwillingness to go to the sources for information: Virtually all Indian struggles take place far away from media: in the central Arizona desert, in the rugged Black Hills, in the mountains of the Northwest, or else on tiny Pacific islands or in the icy vastness of the far north of Canada and Alaska. The New York Times has no bureau in those places; neither does CBS. Nor do they have bureaus in the Australian desert or the jungles of Brazil, Guatemala, or Borneo.127 If such struggles do get reported, it is through mediated Western sources like public relations organizations. Mander argues that it is in the nature of modern media to distort the Indian message because "it is far too subtle, sensory, complex, spiritual, and ephemeral to fit the gross guidelines of mass-media reporting, which emphasizes conflict and easily grasped imagery." 128 He argues that where once the dominant media image of Native Americans was that of savages—with John Wayne leading the cavalry charge—this stereotype has shifted to that of the noble savage, often appropriated in corporate advertising. Mander contends that Indian stories are further packaged in terms of Indians fighting each other over disputed lands:

The History of Misrepresentation Tttus Begins ... 53 This formula fits the modern thinking about non-industrial peoples inability to govern themselves, the idea that they live in some kind of despotism or anarchy. For example, in the Hopi-Navajo land "dispute" in Arizona, the truth of the matter is that U.S. intervention in the activities and governments of both tribes eventually led to American-style puppet governments battling each other for development rights that the traditional leadership of neither tribe wants.129 Editor of the Vancouver-based Native newspaper, Kahtou, Ronald Barbour is in no doubt that institutionalized racism is a major influence on mainstream media coverage of Indian issues and cites examples of Native peoples' comments taken out of context. He acknowledges a slow improvement in "objectivity" in reporting but believes that many problems rooted in racism persist.130 Media coverage of Native issues in Canada provides some support for the general negative perception Native people have of mainstream media. In a 1977 content analysis of newspaper coverage of Indian issues, the word "problem" appeared in 60 percent of the sample stories. Further investigations revealed an almost total lack of coverage of Native issues by the smaller regional papers, the French-language press, and the tabloids. 131 Two years later, a similar study suggested a totally different outcome—the emergence of a new media image for Native Canadians. The study concluded: Indian people are being recognised in the media as having an important and unique point of view, and of taking increasing initiatives to develop autonomy, and improve their own life situations, both as individuals and as a collectivity. The Indian community is being represented in the press not merely as an ethnic minority or an interest group, but as a politically potent and astute entity, verbal, aware and organised.132 An independent study in 1983 seemed to support the first study's findings. This acknowledged the lack of studies that analyzed media representation of minorities in Canada but accepted that the majority of them so far had supported the notion of negative media portrayal, centered on conflict, disruption, and crime. The study concluded that the image of "Eskimos" (Inuit) was "milder" than that of Indians; they were portrayed less often involved in confrontation, drunkenness, and fighting. However, the image of Native Canadians was found to be consistently negative: The image of the Indian based on the news items is apt to be that of an individual whose relationships to Canadian society are essentially mediated by dependence on government and by presumably aggressive land claims. The second major image component presented is that of conflict-deviance; only one-fifth of the time is the Indian portrayed other than in these situations.133 Persistent attempts in the late 1980s by the Innu (Native people living on the Quebec-Labrador Peninsula) to raise awareness of their objections to military aircraft using their land for low-level test flights fell on deaf ears. The notion of

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the Canadian north being devoid of people—despite the fact that approximately 10,000 Innu live in the area—was raised in a quote on page 1 of Canada's national daily newspaper The Globe and Mail. An unnamed German airforce officer was reported as having said that Canada "has a lot of more empty space over there—except for a lot of caribou—than we do." 134 A subsequent campaign by the Innu initially resulted in some media coverage, but it soon faded. A visit to a remote Innu community by a television reporting team brought a quizzical reaction from the producer as to why they had been asked to come. For the Innu, it highlighted the difference in culture between their society and essentially a white, mainstream news media.135 The "half-hearted coverage" has left the Innu cynical about mainstream media.136 The idea of Canada being a vast "empty space" accords with the notion of terra nullius for the Australian continent and similar views expressed during occupation of that part of North America now called the United States. Jane Tompkins discusses the approach to history of such writers as Perry Miller, who viewed the settlement of the United States as the movement of European culture into the "vacant wilderness" of America. Miller's view of colonial Africa is no different: It suggests that what is invisible to the historian in his own historical moment remains invisible when he turns his gaze to the past. It isn't that Miller didn't "see" the black men, in a literal sense, any more than it's the case that when he looked back he didn't "see" the Indians, in the sense of not realising they were there. Rather, it's that neither the Indians nor the blacks counted for him, in a fundamental way.137 The epistemological significance of such attitudes is clear. Two studies by the Saskatchewan Indian Federated College (SIFC) concluded that Native news was under-represented both at a regional level and in proportion to population in the areas under investigation. A 1990 study found Native news highly skewed toward urban stories, with Aboriginal people living on reserves and in rural areas receiving less than adequate attention.138 Another study identified five key categories of news of concern to Native people: treaties, selfgovernment, education, social conditions, and land claims. 139 The SIFC research showed newspapers' interpretation of Native priorities to be stories about politics or emanating from government, cultural issues, justice, and racism. Politics, economics, and cultural issues dominated as non-Native issues. It deduced that the mainstream press emphasized different issues in its coverage of Native and non-Native news, with a much higher emphasis on economic issues in nonNative news coverage. A later SIFC study looked at the geographical location of Native stories, comparing the location of Aboriginal news items with their nonNative counterparts. It found that Aboriginal news was under-represented at the provincial level compared to the distribution of First Nation peoples, with very few on-reserve stories published during the study period.140

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C A N A D A : TWO CASE STUDIES Tutu and Osnaburgh In the summer of 1990, South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu visited a little known Ojibway reserve, Osnaburgh, in northwestern Ontario. With the potential of an international audience, it was an event that attracted media from all over Canada. The media's inability to deal with what they saw that day was described by Wawatay Communications Society worker John Rowlandson. On the day in question, he drew the attention of one TV producer to several children in a room in the community center "blasted" from sniffing glue, at the precise moment Archbishop Tutu was touring the reserve. He identified it as a very real incident in the life of Osnaburgh—a reserve that had almost ceased to function as a unit. The CBC producer declined the invitation. Rowlandson observes: "And that's where a significant absence emerges among the stories: the broadcast journalists were unprepared to deal with real issues; with the realities of everyday life." He contends that the reporters there that day had no idea how to cope with showing Canadians the realities of an Indian reserve in disarray. All reporters remarked on the lack of Indians at the ceremony and suggested, in their stories, that the visit was something of a failure as a result: "The fact was that they didn't understand that they had left Canada and entered a different culture. Indians don't gather in large numbers, especially in northern Ontario where there's fewer Native people . . . than there is in most small towns in southern Ontario." 141 Rowlandson's observations continued long after the broadcasters had sent off their television news packages—long after the journalists and the news crews had left: It was still, and two people walked up to the central water tap in a community of a thousand and drew some water for themselves and started walking away—that was the first time we had seen daily life occur in that community. And what it told us was that for three days, the people of Osnaburgh had stopped living their lives and they had retreated like the Beothuks in Newfoundland retreated; like the Indians on the great plains retreated; and like so many other Aboriginal groups in Canada and in other countries retreated back into the bush, back into their houses to their families' homes because of the presence of non-Native culture. And it was only after that culture had left that they could begin to emerge again and live their lives. It became a long-standing visual metaphor, the way that non-Native journalists see Native culture; they always see an interruption of life rather than a process.142 The Standoff at Oka Non-Natives were always aware of a kind of benign Native culture out there—they heard the drums, they bought the crafts. But few of us—Natives included—realised how potent and political this sense of being Native could be. If we underestimated it before, we never will again, not after the Mohawk summer. It didn't all start at Oka, but Oka was a watershed.143

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A few minutes before 9.00 am on 11 July 1990, a team of Quebec Provincial Police (Surete du Quebec [the SQ1) moved in on a group of Mohawk protesters who had erected a barricade across a dirt track near the township of Oka, 20 km west of Montreal. The SQ used tear gas and concussion grenades in an unsuccessful attempt to break the protest over Mohawk claims on 22 hectares of sacred land, earmarked for redevelopment as a golf course. As one observer noted: "A two month old demonstration over land rights suddenly becomes an armed encampment."144 And so the world at large first heard of Oka as an armed conflict. During the 78-day confrontation, the SQ were replaced by 3,700 members of the Canadian Army—more than twice the number of troops that Canada sent to the Gulf War.145 For the Mohawk and other Native people, the issues that led to the events at Oka—demands for self-government and land rights—remain unresolved. United Nations representative for the Cree, Chief Ted Moses, observed that for Native people, Oka represented the actions of one society being treated as criminal because it defended its land.146 The name—Oka—was coined by Sulpician priests, granted the land by the king of France in the eighteenth century. The Mohawks have always called it Kanesatake. The year 1990 has been described as a watershed for Native Canadians, largely because of the prominence of several key issues. A Supreme Court decision reaffirming that the federal government had a constitutional and moral obligation to uphold the rights of Aboriginal peoples set the scene.147 In addition to legal advances, call for action by the Canadian Human Rights Commission eventually led to the establishment of a Royal Commission into Native affairs, which included discussion of self-government.148 In March 1990 the Canadian government had announced sweeping funding cuts to many Native organizations and Native media. But perhaps the most significant sign that Native people were prepared to fight in any way possible was apparent in their rejection of the Meech Lake Accord—an agreement designed to recognize Quebec in a way previously denied to Canada's First Nation peoples. Exploiting the province of Manitoba's legislative laws, one of its members, Elijah Harper (a former Ojibway-Cree chief himself), was persuaded by other Manitoba chiefs to oppose the agreement, which required provincial support to become valid.149 The agreement officially died in June 1990, when Harper, "clutching an eagle feather," voted against it in the Manitoba Legislature. 15° Support for Harper's stand came from across North America and continued for the Mohawks during their three-month siege at Oka. Coverage of Oka by Canada's national daily, The Globe and Mail, was rooted firmly within the dominant framework of the Warriors' criminality in all but a dozen background-analytical articles published. However, even these were played out largely within the preferred framework—their infrequency, for one, ensured that they could not effectively challenge the preferred discourse. Attempts by The Globe and MaiVs Native Affairs Reporter, Rudy Platiel, and its reporter behind the Mohawk barricades, Geoffrey York, demonstrate this, but their contributions were almost exclusively relegated to the newspaper's inside

The History of Misrepresentation Thus Begins... 57 pages or to the latter sections of articles where they became effectively inaccessible to all but enthusiastic readers. The stories that dominated the key news pages focused on the Warrior's criminality, essentially ignoring the wider land rights issue.151 The narrow ideological definition of the Mohawk uprising at Oka, as represented by The Globe and Mail, ensured that it fell within the prevailing discourse. Although Native opinion was sought throughout the dispute, journalists clearly gave precedence in the use of direct quotes to non-Native spokespeople— around 60 percent of the quoted passages used. A small proportion of these included lawyers speaking on behalf of the Mohawks or other non-Natives speaking out against the government's actions, but the clear preference is for non-Native spokespeople. The majority (around three-quarters) of non-Native political spokespeople quoted during the stand-off made it to page 1. Only about half of the Native speakers were afforded this degree of prominence. 152 All 16 front-page photographs centered on conflict, and the two largest— published on the first two days—featured images of an armed Mohawk and a masked Mohawk. They established powerful ideological definitions of news, setting the scene for the coverage that followed. The first page 1 picture not to feature a Mohawk did not appear until halfway through the dispute. This discourse worked to blame the Mohawks for the conflict. Just one picture of rioting non-Natives appeared throughout the entire 78 days of the stand-off. The issue of land rights—the central reason behind the dispute—was reduced to an auction as consecutive stories bandied about amounts of money the federal government was prepared to pay to buy the disputed land. Racism was barely touched on as a topic in the pages of The Globe and Mail yet was a crucial element that sparked serious conflict. The omission—or, at the very least, the suppression—of Native perspectives from the news discourse is clear. Mohawk journalist Dan David made this observation: My memories of that summer at Kanesatake are so different from the stories told by the media. Their attention was focussed on the barricades. To most of them, this was just a cop story; the police and soldiers were there to "restore law and order," to put things back the way they were. But most of the people behind the barricades were my family, friends, and relatives. And they didn't want things to go back to the way they were. They knew that would mean a certain and steady ride down a one-way street to an oblivion called assimilation.153 The media clearly adopted a role largely supportive of government and army objectives throughout the dispute. Perhaps the long-term attitude of Canadian people toward Native issues is as a result of this. Oka always was a political event, as acknowledged by Canadian Association of Journalists President Julian Sher. But while Sher claimed "as journalists, we always saw . . . [this] . . . as a political crisis," his colleagues seem not to agree, if their news articles are any indication of how they investigated and analyzed the 1990 stand-off154

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CONCLUSION The dominant societies wanted Aboriginal land for exploitation and settlement and waged battles with the Indigenous people on both sides of the Pacific to secure this. Social conditioning, through media portrayal, made this task easier. The nature of that portrayal reveals the influence of changing concepts of knowledge about notions of race and racism, for example, which informed the various media of the day—whether in early explorers' journals, drawings, and photographs, or in more contemporary accounts in the colonial and modern media. Although there have been many changing perceptions of Indigenous people— from the noble savage through the malevolent heathen to the criminal—there is a continuum that reinforces the position of a dominant social group and is informed by the changing historical and cultural circumstances that have enabled particular ideas to prevail. In North America during the 1980s and 1990s, Weston identified Native Americans "finding prominent places" in mainstream media. But some of the old stereotypes remain, and they tend to emerge at times of crisis. Significantly, Native voices have been more prominent through Native journalists in both mainstream and Native media. She identifies the possibility of a new approach by journalists in covering Native affairs in the new millennium, largely through recognition of the importance of cultural diversity.155 A "history of indifference" has defined Indigenous people in Australia, largely through an absence of stories dealing with their concerns, along with the absence of their voices and their ways of telling stories. Also absent from public sphere debates are the possibilities offered by information technologies to enable Indigenous people to take control of the means of production. Indigenous people on either side of the Pacific have no hesitation in describing mainstream media images as being often racist, negative, and offensive. This long-standing legacy of institutionalized mainstream media racism, perceived or real, has encouraged Native people in North America and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in Australia to pursue their own media and effectively to turn their backs on establishment communications networks.156 If there is to be a significant shift in ways in which Indigenous people are represented in the mainstream media, it becomes especially important to examine the journalistic processes through which they continue to be framed. NOTES 1. Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West, Bantam, New York, 1971. 2. Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, The Canadian Indian, Minister of Supply and Services, Ottawa, 1990. 3. Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, Basic Information on Aboriginal Peoples, Minister of Supply and Services, Ottawa, 1987, p. 1. 4. Michael Krauss, "A Loss for Words," Simply Living, August 1992, p. 76.

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5. Brown, pp. 4, 9. 6. W. E. H. Stanner, "The History of Indifference Thus Begins," Aboriginal History, 1, nos. 1-2, 1977, pp. 4-7. 7. Stanner, p. 9. 8. Stanner, p. 22. 9. Bain Attwood, In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1996, pp. viii, xii. 10. Benedict Anderson, "The New World Disorder," 24 Hours Special Supplement, February 1992, pp. 43-44; Attwood, p. viii. 11. David Paul Nord, "Teleology and News: The Religious Roots of American Journalism, 1630-1730," The Journal of American History, June 1990, p. 10. 12. Nord, p. 26. 13. Nord, p. 29. 14. Nord, p. 33. 15. Clem Lloyd, "British Press Traditions, Colonial Governors, and the Struggle for a 'Free' Press," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 10. 16. Lloyd, p. 10. 17. Lloyd, p. 18. 18. Tu Thanh, "Indian Wins National Newspaper Award," Edmonton Journal, 4 April 1991, p. E10. 19. Frank Blythe, "Native Americans and the Press: Accurate Coverage or Stereotype?," AEJMC Conference in Portland, Oregon, 2-5 July 1988. 20. Armstrong Wiggins, "Americans and the Press: Accurate Coverage or Stereotype?," AEJMC Conference in Portland, Oregon, 2-5 July 1988. Wiggins was the director of the Central and South American Indian Human Rights Program for the Indian Law Resource Centre in Washington. 21. Dot West, cited in 2001: A Report from Australia, A Report to the Council of Australian Governments by the Centenary of Federation Advisory Committee, Canberra, Australian Government Publishing Service, August 1994, p. 50. 22. Noel Pearson, "A Troubling Inheritance," Race and Class, 35, no. 4, 1994, p. 3. 23. Henry D. Aiken, The Age of Ideology: The 19th-century Philosophers, New American Library, New York, 1956, pp. 27, 51; Ross Gibson, The Diminishing Paradise: Changing Literary Perceptions of Australia, Sirius, Sydney, 1984, pp. 144-145. 24. Gibson, p. 142. 25. Brown, p. xi. 26. Brown, p. 13. 27. Mari Sandoz, Cheyenne Autumn, Hastings House, New York, 1953, p. vi. 28. Sandoz, p. vii. 29. Pauline Turner Strong, "Fathoming the Primitive: Australian Aborigines in Four Explorers' Journals, 1697-1845," Ethnohistory, 33, no. 2, 1986, pp. 175-179. 30. Turner Strong, p. 176; Gibson, p. 142. 31. John Lechte, "Ethnocentrism, Racism, Genocide . . .," in The Cultural Construction of Race, eds. M. de Lepervanche and G. Bottomley, University of Sydney Press, Sydney, 1988, p. 36. 32. Turner Strong, p. 179. 33. Pearson, p. 1. 34. The four stages, from the "lowest" on the evolutionary scale, were hunting and gathering, pastoralism, agriculture, and commerce. See Attwood, In the Age of Mabo, p. ix. 35. Glyndwr Williams, "Reactions to Cook's Voyage," in Seeing the First Australians, eds. I. Donaldson and T. Donaldson, George Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1985, pp. 44-46.

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36. Ganath Obeyesekere, The Apotheosis of Captain Cook: European Mythmaking in the Pacific, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1992, pp. 7-8. 37. Bernard Smith, European Vision and the South Pacific, Bodley Head, Melbourne, 1968, p. 97. 38. Smith, p. 100. 39. Gibson, pp. 181-182. Perceptions of cannibalism were not confined to the European explorers; the Hawaiians suspected the British of being cannibals as a result of Cook's visits to the Pacific. See Obeyesekere, pp. 138-139. 40. Smith, pp. 101-102. 41. Smith, p. 103. 42. Smith, p. 106. 43. Smith, pp. 244-245. 44. Turner Strong, pp. 181-182. 45. George P. Hunt, "The Racial Crisis and the News Media: An Overview," in Race and the News Media, eds. Paul L. Fisher and Ralph L. Lowenstein, Frederick A. Praeger, New York, 1967, pp. 12-13. 46. Gibson, p. 157. 47. Turner Strong, p. 186. 48. Barry Blake, Australian Aboriginal Languages, Angus and Robertson, London, 1981; Gibson, pp. 148-166. 49. Michael Pickering, "Cannibalism Amongst Aborigines?—A Critical Review of the Literary Evidence," thesis submitted for the degree of Bachelor of Letters, ANU, Canberra, May 1985; Gibson, p. 156; Ron Saw, "Black Menus put Chinese on the Broil," Sunday Mail, Brisbane, 9 October 1988, p. 25. The myth of cannibalism among Indigenous people in Australia emerged again in the 1990s as part of the propaganda of Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party. 50. Richard Broome, Aboriginal Australians, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1982; Gibson, p. 174. 51. Marcia Langton, "Rum, Seduction and Death: 'Aboriginality' and Alcohol," Oceania, 63, no. 3, 1993, p. 196. 52. Henry Reynolds, Frontier, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1987, p. 195. 53. Gibson, pp. 178-185. 54. Oscar H. Gandy, Communication and Race: A Structural Perspective, Arnold, London, 1998, p. 7. 55. Jan Pettman, Living in the Margins: Racism, Sexism and Feminism in Australia, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992, pp. 17-33. 56. Pettman, p. 70. 57. Sylvia Lawson, "Print Circus: The Bulletin from 1880 to Federation," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 87. 58. The Bulletin, Centenary Issue, 1980, p. 279; Rob Winroe, "Aboriginal Affairs and the Media—A Current Perspective," speech by the deputy secretary of the Department of Aboriginal Affairs to RMIT Communications Faculty, October 19, 1987, pp. 7-8. 59. Lawson, p. 94. 60. Lawson, p. 92; Pat Buckridge, "Editors as Intellectuals: Three Case Studies," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 190. 61. Denis Cryle, "Snakes in the Grass: The Press and Race Relations at Moreton Bay 184647," in Brisbane: The Aboriginal Presence 1824-1860, ed. R. Fisher, Brisbane History Group Papers, Number 11,1992, pp. 69-71.

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62. Blake, p. 49. 63. Al Grassby, "Aborigines and the Media," Identity, 4, no. 3, 1981, p. 12. 64. Raymond Evans, Kay Saunders, and K. Cronin, Race Relations in Colonial Queensland, University of Queensland Press, St. Lucia, 1988, p. 16. 65. Evans et al., pp. 149-151, 215. 66. Jeremy Beckett, "The Torres Strait Islanders and the Pearling Industry: A Case of Internal Colonialism," Aboriginal History, 1, nos. 1 & 2, 1977, pp. 82-83. 67. Nicholas Peterson, "The Popular Image," in Seeing the First Australians, eds. I. Donaldson and T. Donaldson, George Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1985, p. 179. 68. Denis Cryle, "'Old Tales, New Techniques': Popular Journalism 1860-1930," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 69. 69. Mary Ann Weston, Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth Century Press, Greenwood Press, Westport, CT, 1996, pp. 42-43. 70. Weston, pp. 78-79. 71. Weston, pp. 94-95. 72. Weston, pp. 121-122. 73. See Broome, p. 43; R. A. Wild, "Communication, Power and the Country Press," Regional Journal of Social Issues, no. 12, 1983, pp. 1-7; Jenny Carter, "The West Australian and Aborigines: A Content Analysis," in All That Dirt: Aborigines 1938, eds. B. Gammage and A. Markus, Canberra, an Australia 1938 Monograph, 1982. 74. Broome, p. 43. 75. Margaret Maynard, "Projections of Melancholy," in Seeing the First Australians, eds. I. Donaldson and T. Donaldson, George Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1985, pp. 92-108. 76. Penny Gunner, "The Representation of Aboriginal People in Photography," Cabbages and Kings, no. 16, pp. 1-12, 1988. 77. Australian Social Studies, Educational Annual, Albert Park, Victoria, 1968, p. 5. 78. Michael Leigh, "Curiouser and Curiouser," in Back of Beyond, ed. S. Murray, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1988, p. 79. 79. Eric Michaels, "Hundreds Shot at Aboriginal Community: ABC Makes Documentary at Yuendumu," Media Information Australia, no. 45, August 1987, pp. 7-17. 80. Carolyn Martindale, "Selected Newspaper Coverage of Causes of Black Protest," Journalism Quarterly, Winter 1989, p. 923; Jeanni Atkins, "Chicano Media Challenge: Basta Ya!," Freedom of Information Center Publication No. 282, School of Journalism, University of Missouri, May 1972, p. 7; Jerry Kammer, "The Navajos, the Hopis, and the US Press," Columbia Journalism Review, July/August 1986, pp. 41-44. 81. Weston, pp. 147-148. 82. David McKnight, "The Investigative Tradition in Australian Journalism 1945-1965," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999, p. 167. 83. Edgar Wells, Reward and Punishment in Arnhem Land 1962-1963, Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, Canberra, 1977; Marcia Langton, "Stone Age Journalism," New Journalist, no. 30, 1978, p. 10. 84. Kimberley Land Council, "Anti-Land Rights Media Campaign," KLC Newsletter, July 1984, p. 9. 85. Australian National Opinion Poll, Land Rights: Winning Middle Australia—An Attitude and Communications Research Study, January 1985, p. 36. 86. Marilla Eidlitz, "Ayers Rock—The Centre of the Land Rights Storm," YACS News, 1, no. 5, 1982, pp. 8-10. 87. Christine Jennett, "White Media Rituals about Aborigines," Media Information Aus-

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tralia, no. 30, 1983, pp. 28-37; Suzie Brown, "Victory at Games," Rabelais, 17, no. 1, 198283, pp. 14-15. 88. Kerner Commission, Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, E. P. Dutton, New York, 1968, p. 366; Thorn Leib, "Protest at the Post: Coverage of Blacks in The Washington Post Magazine," paper presented to the Minorities and Communication Division, Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication National Convention, Portland, Oregon, July 1988, p. 9; Trace Regan and Hochang Shin, "Minority Journalists in Ohio: A Study of Their Job Satisfaction," paper presented to the Minorities and Communication Division, Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication National Convention, Portland, Oregon, July 1988, p. 33; Vernon A. Stone, "Trends in the Status of Minorities and Women in Broadcast News," Journalism Quarterly, Winter 1989, pp. 288-293; Robert M. Entman, "Blacks in the News: Television, Modem Racism and Cultural Change," Journalism Quarterly, 69, no. 2, Summer 1992, pp. 341-361. 89. See details of this case in Michael Meadows, "People Power: Reporting or Racism?," Australian Journalism Review, 9, 1987, pp. 102-112. 90. Meadows, "People Power," 1987. 91. Meadows, "People Power," 1987. 92. Stuart Hall, "Culture and the State," in The State and Popular Culture (1), Open University Press, Walton Hall, 1982, p. 36. 93. Australian Press Council, Adjudication No 387, 25 November 1988, p. 2. 94. Pickering, p. 25. 95. Sunday Mail, 23 October 1988. 96. Hall, p. 42. 97. Stuart Hall et al., Policing the Crisis, Macmillan, London, 1978, pp. 62-63. 98. Chris Searle, "Your Daily Dose: Racism and the Sun," Race and Class, 29, no. 1, 1987, p. 70. 99. Australian Broadcasting Tribunal, "Inquiry into Varying the Conditions of Licence of Queensland Satellite Television," Report, 1988, p. 12. A QSTV representative made it clear in a subsequent telephone conversation in 1993 that the station could not meet its license conditions. Because of its parlous economic state, the tribunal—and subsequently the Australian Broadcasting Authority—was loath to act. 100. Communications Law Centre, "The Backhand Pelvic Flick," Communications Update, September 1988. 101. Heather Goodall, "Constructing a Riot: Television News and Aborigines," Media Information Australia, no. 68, 1993, p. 76. 102. Mary Edmunds and Roberta James, Black and White and Read All Over: Discourse, Media and Attitudes, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra, 1991, p. 47. 103. Bronwyn Coupe and Andrew Jakubowicz, Nextdoor Neighbours: A Report for the Office of Multicultural Affairs on Ethnic Group Discussions of the Australian Media, University of Technology Sydney, Sydney, 1992, pp. 77-78; Andrew Jakubowicz, Heather Goodall, Jeannie Martin, Tony Mitchell, Lois Randall, and Kalinga Seneviratne, Racism, Ethnicity and the Media, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1994. 104. Steve Mickler, Gambling on the First Race: A Comment on Racism and Talk-Back Radio, Murdoch University, Centre for Research in Culture and Communication, 1992. 105. David Trigger, "'Everyone's Agreed, the West Is All You Need': Ideology, Media and Aboriginality in Western Australia," Media Information Australia, no. 75, 1995, pp. 102-122. 106. Trigger, p. 120. 107. See various perspectives offered by Sam Watson, "Blacks and the Media," Social Alternatives, 1, no. 3, 1978, pp. 27-28; Charles Perkins, "Four Corners' 21st Birthday De-

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bate," Australian Journalism Review, 5, no. 1, 1982, pp. 33-38; Bob Weatherall, Interview with Michael Meadows, 1987; Winroe, "Aboriginal Affairs and the Media," 1987; Richard Phillipps & Christine Phillipps, "How Aborigines Are Presented in the Press," address to Nepean Aboriginal Studies Conference, 1987. 108. John Henningham, "Ethnic Minorities in the Australian Press," in "Mass Media and the Minorities," papers presented at an international seminar organized by the Division of Human Rights and Peace, Sector for Social and Human Sciences, 2-6 September 1985, UNESCO Regional Office, Bangkok, 1986, p. 74. 109. The Walkley is the Australian Journalists Association's top award for journalistic excellence. 110. John Hurst, "Media Coverage of Aborigines: A Positive View," paper presented to the Journalism Education Association annual conference, Toowoomba, 1988. 111. Michael Meadows, "Ideas from the Bush: Indigenous Media in Australia and Canada," Canadian Journal of Communication, 20, 1996, pp. 197-212; Weston, Native Americans in the News. 112. Weston, p. 163. 113. Jeff Bear, "Retrospective," in Retrospective: Twenty Years of Aboriginal Communications in Canada, National Aboriginal Communications' Society, Ottawa, 1987. 114. Owenadeka, "Preachers and Whores," in Retrospective: Twenty Years of Aboriginal Communications in Canada, National Aboriginal Communications' Society, Ottawa, 1987. 115. Owenadeka, "Preachers and Whores." 116. Dan David, "Our Home and Native Land," in Retrospective: Twenty Years of Aboriginal Communications in Canada, National Aboriginal Communications' Society, Ottawa, 1987. 117. David, "Our Home and Native Land." 118. Alwyn Morris, Oka and the Media, Canadian Association of Journalists' Conference, Montreal, 23 March 1991. 119. Cree and Ojibway are in the Algonquian language family—the largest of 11 such divisions of Native languages in Canada. This family extends from the Atlantic to the Rockies and spans the vast area from the Northern Plains tribal lands to the Woodland Indians of the north. In 1990, there were around 120,000 registered members of Cree bands and about 75,000 Ojibway—an estimated 60,000 Cree and 30,000 Ojibway maintain their languages. Inuktitut is an Eskimo-Aleut language—the only non-Indian linguistic grouping. It is the language of Canada's Inuit. Inuit is a word meaning "people," which has replaced the traditional term "Eskimo." Around 30,000 Inuit populate the Arctic and High Arctic regions of Canada. Inuktitut is spoken mostly in the Eastern Arctic. See Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, The Canadian Indian, Ottawa, Minister of Supply and Services, 1990, pp. 14-16. 120. National Aboriginal Communications' Society, "NACS Position Paper," Saskatchewan Indian Federated College Journal, 2, no. 2, 1986, p. 31. 121. Sandy Greer, "Media Analysis," Kahtou, March 1991, p. 8. 122. Windspeaker, "Penthouse Article Worries James Bay Cree," 22 November 1991, p. 3. 123. Inuktitut, "Search for Nanook," Winter 1984, p. 11. 124. Australian Associated Press, "Oregon Newspaper Bans Use of Indian Nicknames," 17 February, 1992. 125. Elizabeth Weatherford and Emelia Seubert, "Currents: Film and Video in Native America," in Native Americans on Film and Video: Volume II, eds. Elizabeth Weatherford and Emelia Seubert, Museum of the American Indian, New York, 1988, p. 7. 126. Weatherford and Seubert, p. 7. 127. Gerry Mander, "What You Don't Know About Indians: Native Issues Are Not History," Utne Reader, November/December 1991, pp. 70-71.

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128. Mander, p. 71. 129. Mander, pp. 71-72. 130. Sherryl Yeager, "Media Choices Challenged," The Martlett, 30, no. 18, 31 January 1991, p. 5. 131. Heather Sim, "Indian Coverage in Canadian Daily Newspapers 1977: A Content Analysis," Policy, Research and Evaluation Group, Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, Ottawa, 1977, p. 17. 132. Peggy Vogan, "Indian Coverage in Canadian Daily Newspapers, 1978: A Content Analysis," Policy, Research and Evaluation Group, Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, Ottawa, November 1979, p. 33. 133. Benjamin D. Singer, "Minorities and the Media: A Content Analysis of Native Canadians in the Daily Press," in Communications in Canadian Society, ed. B. Singer, Addison-Wesley, Don Mills, Ontario, 1983, p. 234. 134. Globe and Mail, 30 September 1989. 135. Saul Chernos, "Out of Sight, Out of Mind: Concerns of 'Remote' Natives Ignored by Mainstream Media," Content, May/June 1990, p. 25. 136. Chernos, p. 26. 137. Jane Tompkins, "'Indians': Textualism, Morality, and the Problem of History," Critical Inquiry, Autumn 1986, pp. 104. 138. Linda Paul, "Geographical Implications of Native and Non-Native News in the Regina Leader-Post and the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix," unpublished research paper, Department of Indian Studies, Saskatchewan Indian Federated College, University of Regina, 1990. 139. Darrell Buffalo, Native Issues and Concerns, Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, Ottawa, 22 January 1990. 140. Linda Paul, "Aboriginal News in Three Mainstream Canadian Newspapers," unpublished research paper, Department of Indian Studies, Saskatchewan Indian Federated College, University of Regina, 1991. 141. John Rowlandson, Wawatay Native Communications Society, interview, 3 April 1991. 142. Rowlandson, 1991. 143. This comment was made by Native journalist Jim Compton in Drums, a two-hour program broadcast by the CBC on 20 January 1991, which dealt specifically with Native issues, making extensive use of Native reporters and talent. 144. Barricade Productions Inc., Voices from Oka—A Native Recounting of the Mohawk Siege of 1990, Haudenosaunee Crisis Committee, Quebec, Canada, 1990. 145. For a comprehensive accounts of the Oka standoff, see Craig MacLaine and Michael S. Baxendale, This Land Is Our Land: The Mohawk Revolt at Oka, Optimum Publishing, Montreal, 1991; Geoffrey York and Loreen Pindera, People of the Pines: The Warriors and the Legacy of Oka, Little, Brown & Company, Toronto, 1992; Weetamah, Manitoba's Aboriginal Newspaper, 30 January 1993, p. 3. 146. Ted Moses, Meet the Press, Special Broadcasting Service, 1 July 1992. 147. Windspeaker, "The Year That Was: 1990's Top News Events," 4 January 1991, and Daniel Lavery and Brad Morse, "The Incident at Oka: Canadian Aboriginal Issues Move to the Front Burner," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 48, 1991, pp. 6-8. 148. Lavery and Morse, p. 8; Henry Reynolds, "Eyes on the Next Century: Across the Pacific, a Different Way of Dealing with Land Rights," Modern Times, March 1992, p. 5. 149. Geoffrey York, The Dispossessed: Life and Death in Native Canada, Vintage, London, 1990, pp. 272-274. 150. York, p. 275; Windspeaker, "Erasmus Hints at Violence" and "The Year That Was: 1990' s Top News Events," 4 January 1991, p. 2.

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151. Michael Meadows, "The Way People Want to Talk: Media Representation and Indigenous Media Responses in Australia and Canada," unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Faculty of Humanities, Griffith University, Brisbane, Queensland, 1993. 152. Meadows, 1993. 153. York and Pindera, 1992, p. 12. 154. Julian Sher, Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence of the Standing Committee on Aboriginal Affairs, Issue No. 49, House of Commons, Canada, 21 February 1991, p. 149. 155. Weston, pp. 163-164. 156. Helen Molnar and Michael Meadows, Songlines to Satellites: Indigenous Communication in Australia, the South Pacific, and Canada, Pluto Press, Sydney, 2000.

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3 Celebration of a Nation— The Bicentenary

The battle over the meaning of the Australian bicentenary began long before Prince Charles stood outside the Sydney Opera House on Australia Day 1988 and told millions of television viewers: "For the original people of this land it must have all seemed very different, and if they should say that their predicament has not yet ended, it would be hard to know how to answer, beyond suggesting that a country free enough to examine its own conscience is a land worth living in, a nation to be envied."1 Regardless of the fact that the Australian Senate had, in 1974, accepted—without debate—that "Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders were in possession of this entire nation prior to the 1788 First Fleet landing at Botany Bay,"2 confusion over the position occupied by Aboriginal people in Australia during the bicentennial year was widespread. Bipartisan support for the bicentenary in parliament was based on the notion of the existence of a united Australian community but was transformed into a celebration of diversity in 1988.3 In subsequent years, some observers have claimed that the event encouraged much hi story-writing and rewriting, influenced by public intellectuals like Manning Clark, Robert Hughes, and John Pilger. Some suggested that "self-loathing seems to have become something of a national pastime" and argued that it was the convicts and free settlers who ill-treated Aborigines, not, "as a rule," governments. As a result, Australia became a 'remarkably tolerant' society."4 But deeper-seated problems emerged. Events such as Canada's federal centenary in 1967, the bicentenary of the American Declaration oflndependence in 1976, the 1988 Australian bicentenary, and the 1992 American quincentenary revealed governments ill equipped to engage in the process of nation-building, with

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ensuing problems for social cohesion in the very nature of identity—in particular, Indigenous identity.5 The celebratory framework that surrounded the Americas' quincentenary—12 October 1992—was akin to that which marked 200 years of white settlement in Australia in 1988. It incited similar feelings of disdain from Indigenous people on both sides of the Pacific. Indigenous people in North America maintain that genocidal exploitation continues, contradicting media images of celebration. The only issue to celebrate, they argued, was 500 years of Native people's resistance.6 The representation of a battle over the meaning of the bicentenary had farreaching effects on Australia's Indigenous people and in a variety of settings.7 The nationalist discourse in Australia in 1988 overshadowed both the problematic notions of the unity of diverse settler cultures—displaying the Australian people to themselves—and Indigenous people's claims for autonomy.8 Largely because of what was perceived to be a negative community response to "radical Aboriginal protests," a conservative federal opposition withdrew support for a process of reconciliation with Indigenous people. The then shadow minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Chris Miles, observed that Aboriginal protests indicated that they were not interested in good relations with non-Aboriginal people.9 In this chapter I investigate the way in which television news represented Indigenous concerns over the bicentenary by examining seven days' coverage by television news and current affairs' programs broadcast during key bicentennial events in January 1988. THE QUEST FOR A NATIONAL IDENTITY For almost ten years before what was to become the most significant event of the bicentennial year—26 January 1988—the Australian Bicentennial Authority had battled with political interpretations not only of how the particular day could best be used, but also of how best to organize an entire 12 months of activities. The authority's planning pendulum swung uneasily between notions of celebration and reflection for much of that decade.10 This took place within the context of tensions over how best to negotiate the clear conflicts between a number of contradictory ideas: invasion and settlement; bush legend and urban culture; British tradition and ethnic diversity; nationalism and internationalism.11 The political wrangle over the bicentenary's theme is evidence of this, with the authority itself preferring the shibboleth "Living Together." The incumbent Fraser Liberal federal government rejected this, replacing it with the slogan "The Australian Achievement," which was considered to be more in line with its political expectations. There was yet another wrangle over a key bicentennial icon—the logo, in the form of a folded ribbon making up the outline of Australia—which, in its original version, cut off the southeastern portion of the continent as well as Tasmania.12 But within 12 months of the election of the Hawke government in 1983, the theme had reverted to the original maxim, "Living Together"; the bicentennial

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logo's colors were changed from the blue and gold of the Commonwealth of Australia to the sporting combination of green and gold, and around 40 Australian Bicentennial Authority staff—including the general manager, Dr. David Armstrong, and authority chair, John Reid—either resigned or were fired over tensions surrounding the statutory authority's direction and purpose. 13 The Hawke Labor federal government was elected in 1983 on a platform that committed itself to a national land rights policy for Indigenous people. The election platform included a promise to investigate the principle of a Treaty of Commitment with Aboriginal people. But within 12 months of its election, the government had recoiled from this notion. A Senate standing committee unanimously rejected the idea of an international treaty and recommended that the Commonwealth investigate a "compact" with Aboriginal people. 14 During this period, the then Aboriginal Affairs minister, Clyde Holding, urged the government to look at making lasting changes to the relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australia. Holding suggested that Indigenous rights should have precedence over state's rights and introduced a motion to that effect into the House of Representatives, setting out five principles necessary for land rights. Although the motion was allowed to lapse, it was put forward by Holding, internationally, as government policy until Hawke's 1984 election campaign killed off once and for all any hopes of a satisfactory resolution. The prime minister made it clear that he would not override a Western Australian Labor government decision not to allow Aboriginal veto of mining operations on Aboriginal land. At the same time, a 1985 Australian National Opinion Poll showed that although strong support for land rights was low, more than 50 percent of those polled agreed that land rights would assist the cultural and racial survival of the Aboriginal people. Selective leaks of sections of the report "most alarming" to the Hawke government encouraged the Labor Party to withdraw its support for a legislated land rights policy. It was safe, politically, to ignore party policy and abandon ideas of national land rights or a treaty—and the Labor Party was quick to do just that.15 Thus, the more conservative elements within the Labor federal government intervened in both a formal and an informal way to regain control of the bicentennial discourse. It ensured that criticisms by the far right (voiced by the then Institute of Public Affairs) that minority concerns were prevailing within the authority's ideology were dealt with. The Australian flag once more appeared on the authority's letterhead, and commissioned articles on republicanism and discrimination against Aboriginal people were rejected by the authority. It returned to the business of promoting the event as a celebration.16 There seemed to be little chance that attempts by the Aboriginal Development Commission to gain support for national land rights legislation, additional resources for existing programs, and new initiatives under the bicentennial banner would succeed. 17 Shortly after his reelection for a third term in 1987, Prime Minister Bob Hawke made further overtures to Aboriginal people in the last National Aborigines Week before the 1988 bicentennial event. His reference to a "treaty" on Aborigi-

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nal radio in Alice Springs (operated by the Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association, CAAMA) led to a downgraded pledge for a "compact of understanding" after he was pursued by the media for some days. An opinion poll published in the Sydney Morning Herald, 6 October 1987, showed that 58 percent of those questioned supported the idea in principle.18 However, Hawke continued to push two conflicting ideas of celebration and recognition at an Alice Springs news conference on 2 September 1987: "And I would like to see 1988 preceded by some sort of understanding . . . a compact of understanding between the whole Australian community which recognizes that 1988 is the celebration of 200 years of European settlement. And to recognize that in that 200 years very many injustices have been suffered by the Aboriginal people."19 That proved an impossible task, but the prime minister continued with his efforts to draw Indigenous people into the "celebrations" during a speech at the National Press Club on 22 January 1988, interpreting the bicentenary as a key element in a process of national identity, responsibility, and maturity. He denied accusations that it was "window dressing" and in his Australia Day address, he reiterated the government's intention to continue with a process of "rectification and reconciliation." And on Australia Day 1988, for the first time in the long-running debate, the federal opposition supported the notion of reconciliation.20 Similar moves to use such historical milestones as a movement toward fundamental social change were pursued in the Americas with the onset of the quincentennial in 1992, where a similar prevailing atmosphere of celebration was challenged by Native Americans in an attempt to shatter the 500-year-old myth of discovery. As with their Indigenous counterparts in Australia, America's Native people planned to "crash the colonial party." What was needed was to locate the event—12 October 1492-1992—within a more comprehensive framework. And like the ideological battle that was waged within Australia, Native North Americans suggested that 1992 should have been a time for reflection, not celebration, and a time for new dialogue that reinforced the notion of Indigenous historical continuity.21 On the western side of the Pacific, the ideological battle was already lost, although 1988 certainly could be described as a high-profile year, especially for Aboriginal politics. The year raised conflicts over different concepts of national identity. Aboriginal history invoked such concepts as invasion day, conquest, dispossession, and sovereignty. The notion of sovereignty and the idea of an Aboriginal Nation appears as a post-invasion development of the 1980s and one that bears some relationship to the claim by Canada's Indigenous people to First Nation status.22 A decision that 26 January 1988 be a day of mourning and protest for Aboriginal people came out of a similar event 50 years earlier. In 1938, Australia Day was marked by a protest by prominent New South Wales members of the Aborigines Progressive Association, who appealed for greater educational opportunities for Kooris, full citizenship rights, and equality.23 Despite these "counterhistories," the A$10.5 million "Celebration of a Nation" advertising campaign in Australia ran for six months from 1987, apparently

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ignoring claims that if played backwards, a subliminal satanic message resulted.24 The interpretation of the event primarily as a celebration was thus cemented in the authority's ideology. There were, of course, many discursive strands other than the planned Sydney Harbour party, which sought to invoke an Australian imagination. Donations and loans of around one million dollars in support of the Tall Ships and First Fleet Re-enactment projects helped to focus further attention on Sydney and to achieve what the bicentennial authority had feared most—Australia Day 1988 became a glorified celebration of Sydney Harbour. 25 Either despite or perhaps because of this, a big march of survival on 26 January was able to invoke pan-Aboriginality as the means to enact a powerfully symbolic event. 26 Sydney Harbour was already the chosen site for the opening and closing events of the bicentenary and, indeed, had attracted "special event" status under the Australian Bicentennial Authority's national program. Thus the scene was set for Australian television news and current affairs to focus on what was perhaps the first time that Australia, as a nation, was able to be present at its own celebration. 27 Not surprisingly, then, Indigenous people's response represented the most significant challenge to the official panoply of bicentennial events. 28 THE MEDIA COVERAGE In the five days before 26 January 1988, television news coverage focused almost exclusively on two opposing stories—the spectacle of the contrived Sydney Harbour birthday celebration and what the media claimed would be a violent protest against this by Aboriginal people. Organizers planned two marches on the day—one to voice opposition to the First Fleet landing reenactment just after dawn and a later, much larger event. Numbers taking part in this latter march were variously estimated to be between 5,000 and 15,000 people (Seven) or between 20,000 and 30,000 people (SBS). Another issue that dominated at this time was a surprise demand for secession by Torres Strait Islanders. However, within two days of 26 January, you could be forgiven for thinking that Aborigines had vanished from the face of the earth—that is, if you believe that television news is indeed a reflection of reality or a "window on the world." 29 (See Table 3.1.) Table 3.1 TV News Stories and Indigenous Issues, 21-28 January 1988 The bicentenary Torres Strait secession Deaths in custody Others

51 24 7 5

Total

87

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Table 3.2 Descriptions of the Sydney March, 26 January 1988 . . . the organisers want a show of Aboriginal unity—probably the first in living memory1 . . . the biggest black protest since the early 70s2 . . . the biggest land rights protest in Australian history1 . . . one of the biggest Aboriginal gatherings since the black embassy rallies nearly 16 years ago4 . . . the largest mass demonstration of black solidarity ever staged in Australia5 . . . the biggest Aboriginal protest ever seen in Australia6 1

Carroll at Seven, 21 January 1988. National Nine News, 21 January 1988. 3TVO Eyewitness News [Channel 10], 21 January 1988. 'ABC 7V News, 21 January 1988. ^National Nine News, 22 January 1988. ( lVO Eyewitness News, 25 January 1988 2

The bicentenary was historically significant—billed as either "Invasion Day" or "Australia Day"—and both were used as television news headlines during the period studied, with the latter clearly the most favored. It was attractive as a news event in several ways. It could have been the largest-ever gathering of Aboriginal Australians, and television news described the event in various ways. (See Table 3.2.) Aboriginal people saw it as much more than a large gathering. It was a march of mourning and a celebration of survival of 200 years of white oppression. It was an attempt to raise again publicly the issues of prior and continuing Aboriginal custodianship of land and the subsequent effects of dispossession, and to redefine the framework that contextualizes Australian society as emerging from a 200-year-old history rather than one that stretches back for millennia. But seldom, if at all, did these become issues in mainstream television or print news. Television news also clearly framed the protest march in terms of it conflicting with the widespread acceptance of the notion that 26 January was Australia Day and was a time for the "Celebration of a Nation"—the title of a song that spearheaded an extensive bicentennial advertising campaign. It was not generally reported that a historic landline link-up involving participating community radio stations in Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne, and Canberra allowed Aboriginal broadcasting groups, centered around Radio Redfern in Sydney, to get the message across in their own way. In adition to discussion that centered on issues of social justice, the topics on Aboriginal radio highlighted the racist treatment of the gathering—and of Aboriginal issues in general—by the mainstream media. Aboriginal people spoke of television news sensationalism and the need for Indigenous media to combat the predominantly negative images

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created so effectively by the non-Indigenous media. Spokespeople boycotted the local media in Sydney in favor of the many international representatives who were viewed generally as more sympathetic in getting across alternative viewpoints. FRAMING THE NEWS On 26 January 1988, news stories involving Aboriginal people focused almost solely on a forecast confrontation—with the much preferred celebrations being threatened with violent disruption. Violence was clearly the dominant news value, with both suggestions and denials of violence evenly balanced. Emphasis on the positive aspects of the event as a celebration is aligned with this. The leadup to the Australia Day event bore a striking resemblance to media forecasts of violence in the buildup to the 1982 Commonwealth Games in Brisbane, where Aboriginal people had threatened protest action. On that occasion, as during the 1988 event, international media coverage was viewed favorably by Indigenous people, with the local media being castigated.30 But in the case of the bicentennial coverage, the "threat of violence" was never clearly defined, and there was no evidence presented on which to base such an expectation. Violence as a news topic became naturalized as an unquestioned assumption. The systematic repetition of this as a theme throughout the coverage effectively legitimated it. In none of seven days' television news and current affairs stories studied did journalists specifically identify or define the source of the alleged threat. It was unnecessary for them to do so because the theme was incorporated into a commonsense understanding that effectively framed news coverage. Soft news or human interest stories were few and centered principally on the massive trek to Sydney by thousands of Aboriginal Australians. Current affairs programs like The 7.30 Report and Carroll at Seven did allow Aboriginal spokespeople some time to explain something of what the march was about, but television news overall limited spokespeople to a tightly edited 6-10-second sound bite. On the Aboriginal air waves it was a different story. Local mainstream media were being accused of racism and sensationalism, and this ultimately led to a boycott by march organizers of the Sydney-based media. Aboriginal people were critical because there was little or no discussion about what they perceived to be the issues—the fact that they are still the subject of colonialist white oppression; the reality of black deaths in custody; appalling Aboriginal imprisonment rates; scandalous Aboriginal infant mortality rates, and other key social indicators. The protest was about quashing the notion that Australia had been a vast unsettled continent (terra nullius) when the British claimed possession. Just one television news story on SBS mentioned this concept, and one current affairs story (Carroll at Seven) barely touched on the idea. On the Aboriginal air waves, however, this was discussed at length.

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By omitting a particular perspective, others are privileged—and it enables an easier negotiation of preferred ideas. In this case, the topic of invasion was one that directly contradicted the celebratory mode. The nightly television news stories building up to the 26 January march and the speculation of violent confrontation involving Aboriginal people in Sydney was already well under way, five days before the event. All television channels entered into this ritual, with National Nine News in Brisbane taking it one step further. The third item on the station's 21 January news bulletin announced "rumors of a violent Australia Day uprising" and speculated that "black activists plan to join drug dealers in using gelignite to blow up parts of the prison [Brisbane's Boggo Road jail]." By using the term "uprising," the media placed the story in a particular ideological frame. Why not a disturbance, even a riot? An uprising represents something more than what could be classed as prison unrest by a handful of disgruntled inmates. It suggests a popular movement rising up against authority—an insurrection or a revolt—symbolic, perhaps, of what media had

begun ot sugges t might happe n no 26Januar y ni Sydney.

The articulation of the alleged Australia Day "uprising," with its significance for Aboriginal people and "black activists," gives the story a particular ideological and racist significance. It also gives it greater news value. The source for the story was a newspaper, which, in turn, used as its sources "former inmates and unnamed prison officers." Because Aboriginal people were involved—and Aboriginal prisoners at that—it was not necessary to investigate the story more deeply, because of their positioning outside dominant frameworks. It was validated by the then Queensland Prisons minister, who is quoted as "taking seriously" not the rumors, but the newspaper report.31 Would rumors of a similar nature not involving Aboriginal people on a day other than Australia Day have made news in the same way? It is doubtful. It seems that it became a story purely because Aboriginal people were implicated in an alleged "uprising" on a significant day for protest—black-versus-white conflict. This event had, of course, been preceded by many stories of threats of violence on 26 January. The threatened violence was conveyed, through race, to the audience. Framing the story in such a way legitimated it—Aboriginal people, prisoners, the uprising, Australia Day, gelignite. Enough information was presented, regardless of its accuracy, so that it seemed a commonsense interpretation. The following day—22 January—Aboriginal prisoners reacted, taking their message to TVO Eyewitness News in an effort to counter the story that originated in the Brisbane morning daily broadsheet, the Courier-Mail. Inside Brisbane's Boggo Road Jail, Aboriginal inmates had offered to sign a statutory declaration pledging their noninvolvement in the alleged "prison bloodbath," which they claimed would not happen and had not been planned. The onus of proof had shifted, placing them in the impossible position of trying to prove that it was not planned. From that day, there was no follow-up story by any of the television news services—and for National Nine News viewers in Brisbane, the image of a planned "bloodbath" probably remains. An interesting aspect of the TVO Eyewit-

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ness News "disclaimer" is that it was juxtaposed with a story concerning federal Aboriginal Affairs Department Head Charles Perkins's comments in a magazine (another secondary source) calling for American black entertainers who speak out against Aboriginal people to be deported from Australia. The comments followed others by Perkins calling on the federal government to curb Asian migration—hence its claim to be newsworthy. The effect of the disclaimer by Aboriginal prisoners is likely to have been lessened as a result. It seems a clear attempt to link Aboriginal people with conflict through race and racism. It is common practice for news subeditors to juxtapose stories with similar elements, no matter how irrelevant these might be. There were a number of stories about convoys of thousands of Aboriginal people converging on Sydney from as far away as Carnarvon in Western Australia and the Northern Territory. When there was no violent confrontation on 26 January, the news value of the story changed dramatically. There was no information at all about the how and the why of the protest march on the following day—the following week. No explanations. No follow-ups. The many thousands of people who had traveled to Sydney for the protest march returned home, but it was not apparent in any nightly television news bulletins how they accomplished this. How can this be explained? Within the notion of news values—which journalists themselves find difficult to define—media workers tend to play up the unusual or the dramatic to enhance a story's newsworthiness.32 Clearly, there is little drama involved in a large number of people peacefully dispersing. Contrast that with a large number of people coming together, articulate this as a threat of violence, and a news story emerges. Add Aboriginal people and the "problem" of race, linked with challenging the preferred framework of the "Celebration of a Nation," and a more newsworthy justification emerges. The theme of violence clearly dominated news coverage throughout the period studied—until the march ended peacefully. (See Table 3.3.) The vast majority of stories examined here concerned Aboriginal disruption of the proposed bicentennial celebrations. Despite consistent denials by Aboriginal people interviewed that violence would erupt in Sydney, reporters' disbelief manifested itself in a continuing obsession with this topic in all but 5 of the 87 stories broadcast during the period examined. This clearly became the most sought-after news value. Journalists clearly unfamiliar with Aboriginal culture were assigned to cover the event and often found it difficult to position and identify Aboriginal sources, apparently lacking the necessary accreditation or institutional power.33 Some Aboriginal people have voiced a dislike for the obsession of the mainstream media with "leaders," finding the term itself offensive, which goes against media notions of identity.34 Journalists found it necessary to rely on already wellknown, accredited figures ("leaders") for comment—Bob Weatherall in Brisbane (featured seven times) or Lyle Munro and Gary Foley in Sydney (interviewed four times and three times, respectively). Michael Mansell, from the Tasmanian

76 Voices in the Wilderness Table 3.3 Violence in TV News Discourse, 21-28 January 1988 . . . march leaders have ruled out violence1 . . . there's an increasing community expectation of violence2 . . . is there a potential for violence?... a danger of violence from whites?1 . . . despite persistent rumours, it's claimed they'll employ no violence4 . . . white authorities have prepared for anything from violent riots to sabotage and bombings5 . . . leaders have warned police the march may not be peaceful [coupled with a grab from an unnamed spokesperson talking about the tent embassy, not the march!] 6 . . . and there's a threat of more racial strife tomorrow. Aboriginal leaders have promised they'll retaliate if police interfere in their protest march7 l

SBSNews, 21 January 1988. ABC News, 21 January 1988. 3 These questions were put to Aboriginal Affairs Minister Gerry Hand—7.30 Report, 21 January 1988. 4 Seven Nightly News, 21 January 1988. ^Carroll at Seven, 21 January 1988. "Seven Nightly News, 22 January 1988. 1 Seven Nightly News, 25 January 1988. 1

Aboriginal Centre, spoke briefly during one SBS news story but appeared in vision only in several others. He was an important figure in that he represented one clear viewpoint, which maintains that Aboriginal sovereignty has never been voluntarily surrendered. This is in opposition to the other prevailing view (held by such figures as Charles Perkins) that Aboriginal people are part of the Australian nation. This is perhaps best demonstrated in the words of Wenten Rabuntja, an elder representing two major land councils in the Northern Territory. In the Barunga statement, issued on 12 June 1988, Northern Territory Aboriginal people set out their expectations and demands for land rights, compensation, and a treaty.35 Wenten Rabuntja explained to the then prime minister, Bob Hawke, that many people had come to Australia and others were born here: "We have to work out a way of sharing this country, but there has to be an understanding of and a respect of our culture, our law. Hopefully, that's what this treaty will mean."36 Television news journalists relied heavily on police sources in the last few days before the march, although most stories used unsourced material. Even in the interviews that did offer the possibility for in-depth examination, the emphasis of questioning was on the alleged threat of violence. The topic is raised eight times during one interview between the ABC's Paul Lynham and the then Aboriginal Affairs minister, Gerry Hand.37 In just one interview—Gary Foley speaking at length on Carroll at Seven—was an Aboriginal speaker able to

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accuse the mainstream media of using violence as a "red herring" to divert attention away from the real issues of concern to Aboriginal people.38 Stories that used conflict as their primary news value predominated. (See Table 3.4.) Unfamiliar media figures, like Lyle Munro in Sydney at the Aboriginal tent embassy, were treated in peculiar ways—sometimes not even named on screen, even when they had significant messages to impart.39 This is an interesting ideological device. Journalistic practice demands that figures important to news stories be clearly identified. Those deemed to be unimportant remain unnamed. Therefore, those who remain unnamed are unimportant. Thus, identity becomes a form of institutional accreditation. Aboriginal people decided to boycott the local media and go to the large contingent of overseas journalists, where they perceived they would get a more sympathetic response. One interesting question that arises here is what kind of critical eye these visiting journalists turn toward conditions in their own countries. Herman and Chomsky, for example, suggest that greater critical attention is more easily given by the media to events outside their own frames of reference.40 Just one local current affairs story in the period under study critically examined media coverage—and, significantly, it was the international media coverage that was under the microscope. The reporter for A Current Affair was almost apologetic in acknowledging that the Aboriginal protest was being given as much overseas news coverage as the royal tour and the arrival of a fleet of squarerigged sailing vessels. In the story, one British reporter described his view of Australian cab drivers: "I thought Britain was quite a racist country but the taxi drivers here are astonishing. They're like Nazis with suntans. I've been astonished by the remarks they've made about Aboriginals."41 A French journalist described Australians as being not only racist, but also drunk. The rejoinder from A Current Affair presenter, Jana Wendt, left audiences in no doubt about her sympathies, "Not a very flattering picture. I wonder if it's balanced and I wonder how our cabbies feel being called Nazis with suntans?" Table 3.4 TV News Stories and Violence, 21-28 January 1988 7V0 Eyewitness News 13 ABC News 12 SBS News 12 National Nine News 8 Seven National News 7 Carroll at Seven (7) 2 7.30 Report (ABC) 3 A Current Affair (9) 1 Total

58

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To meet daily broadcasting deadlines, news organizations are structured to allocate reporters to particular locations and to assign them particular stories from institutions where news is expected to occur during working hours. Usually, skeleton crews and stringers operate on weekends and outside these times. There were many colorful evening events at the Aboriginal base in Sydney at La Perouse, previewed and discussed at length on Murri/Koori radio—none was broadcast by mainstream television news or current affairs. On the weekend preceding the march, just two stories dealing with Aboriginal issues were broadcast. This was the same group—the "largest gathering of Aborigines in history"—that had been identified with an expected violent confrontation. On Saturday, 23 January, ABC News ran a short (40-second) voice-over story about families and friends meeting at the Aboriginal tent embassy. On Sunday evening, SBS News ran a longer piece (90 seconds), focusing on a large Aboriginal benefit concert in Sydney with all the elements for a "good" television news story: colorful pictures, a large crowd, music, speakers, talent. And that was it! Why had the much publicized threat of violence suddenly become unimportant? There are several possible explanations: staff were on rostered days off in preparation for the saturation coverage on Tuesday, 26 January; commercial networks (and the ABC) had sent journalists and crews to Thursday Island with Aboriginal Affairs Minister Gerry Hand to cover his talks with Torres Strait Islanders who had threatened secession; or there was simply nothing of news value (i.e., confrontation or protest) to report in Sydney. It was to the Torres Strait that the specter of black versus white had shifted—another issue articulated to race. The story was new, as well, and therefore of greater news value. The expected violent march by Indigenous people and supporters in Sydney was the ideal television news story to juxtapose with preparations for the big birthday bash, promising both conflict and color. But all networks were quick to change tack when presented with tastier bait. Indeed, the Torres Strait Islanders secession story led all news bulletins on both Saturday (23 January) and Sunday (24 January) evenings, with the exception of SBS News, which did not run a story at all on Sunday, probably because it did not have a news crew on Thursday Island. Aboriginal people as a group were consistently positioned outside the preferred framework of celebration. One journalist told viewers that "some radical activists on the fringe of the Aboriginal movement like Michael Mansell have openly advocated violence."42 There was no evidence presented to support any of the claims made in this accusation—a practice common to all stories that raised the allegations of Aboriginal-initiated violence. Journalists can survive by being lazy in accepting standard, easily accessible sources, and it seems that accusation can be clearly leveled at many of those covering Aboriginal affairs in the lead-up to 26 January 1988. There seemed to be no attempts to check the claims (hopes, perhaps?) of violence. If there were, they were not published. Journalists seemed to rely on what had been published before. If any person made a reference to violence, that claim was apparently evidence enough for broadcast.

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Additional police were rostered for duty in Sydney on 26 January, with the local police inspector in Sydney warning that all troublemakers would be dealt with. This was duly reported, but again, specific evidence of an explanation for the threat of violence was not. Could it be that police—a key source for journalists in such situations—were reacting symbiotically to media demands? The preferred bicentennial discourse, controlled both directly and indirectly by the federal government through the Australian Bicentennial Authority, pushed the central theme that Australia was 200 years old and we should be proud of it. If the media were to embrace this viewpoint, they needed to negotiate these contrary messages. The tendency toward the reproduction of preferred definitions, ideas, and assumptions in the media is inscribed in the very structures and processes of newsmaking.43 Depending on which news bulletin they watched on 26 January, Australian audiences were told that between one million (SBS News) and two million (Seven Nightly News) people took part in events on the shores of Sydney Harbour. Crowd numbers are notoriously difficult to estimate in the best of circumstances, but a difference of one million people is significant. One Seven Nightly News story on Australia Day intoned: "Then in a reminder of how sophisticated Australia has become in just 200 years, our Navy, Army and Air Force staged a dramatic fly past, thundering over the opera house in formation." It was a stirring moment. Ideologies are made up of different elements that produce chains of meanings—the terms "Invasion Day" or "Australia Day" transmitted different messages about the bicentenary, depending on the context in which they were used. The first contradicts the dominant discourse that frames Australia as terra nullius and the need for a celebration of a nation. The second reinforces the dominant view that Australia began as a nation in 1788. Both were used as headlines and referred to in stories during the television coverage in question, although, as expected, Australia Day (mentioned 44 times in the scripts examined) far outstripped its counterpart, Invasion Day (used just 3 times). Audiences were constantly reminded that the bicentenary was our birthday party—our celebration of the beginning of our nation. Despite the evidence to the contrary, this was the prevailing discourse. The real issue for the mainstream media on that day was the celebration of Australia's 200th birthday.44 SPEAKING UP An examination of how Aboriginal people were identified throughout the study period is revealing. Of the 51 television news and current affairs stories that dealt specifically with the bicentenary, Aboriginal spokespeople were allowed air time on 41 different occasions. Bob Weatherall, as a prominent Queensland Aboriginal spokesperson (a key member of the Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action [FAIRA]) was used and named most frequently—six times throughout the eight days' coverage. Gary Foley, Lyle

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Munro, and Burnham Burnham appeared and were named on camera, speaking, three times each. Michael Mansell was given just one chance to have his say. But the most interesting finding here is the large number of Aboriginal people who were interviewed—but not named. As I suggested earlier, this has important ideological implications in terms of the degree of accreditation afforded a source. High-profile figures like Bob Weatherall and Lyle Munro went unnamed in one story each. In all, around one-quarter (10) of all the Aboriginal spokespeople consulted remained anonymous. This seems an extraordinarily high percentage, especially when compared with the number of non-Aboriginal spokespeople chosen by television journalists. Of the 19 non-Aboriginal speakers used, just two remained unnamed. Significantly, politicians made up more than 50 percent (10) of non-Aboriginal speakers. This analysis clearly shows the media's preference for sources that might be expected to provide support for the prevailing bicentennial discourse. While it might be argued that some of the Aboriginal "talent" used came from short impromptu interviews (vox pops)—usually left unidentified—the majority of those unnamed did not, having significant statements to make. Was it the result of journalists' laziness, a lack of interest in the source, a deliberate attempt to devalue the information being presented, or a result of newsroom routines that have rarely placed much emphasis on the importance of such nonaccredited sources? What is very clear is that Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal sources were treated very differently by journalists covering this event. The only unnamed nonAboriginal sources were from the vox pop category. Whether by accident or by design, Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal sources were treated very differently. The overall effect was to reinforce the preferred discourse by naming virtually all non-Aboriginal sources and by presenting a significant number of Aboriginal speakers as anonymous, therefore indicating their lesser importance. A LACK OF CONTEXT Active, participatory discussion of the meaning of 26 January (the how and why) did not take place on Australian television news and current affairs programs in the lead-up to the Sydney Harbour celebration. There were sporadic references—grabs from selected Aboriginal spokespeople—to the real reasons for the march, yet the event, according to most stories, would be violent. This became the dominant unquestioned assumption throughout the coverage. It is significant that the three current affairs programs on Australian television at the time showed almost no interest in discussing the issues in depth—at least during the period examined. It was a time when serious allegations of violence were being made, and they went virtually unchallenged. The three programs made limited use of the six broadcasting days available to them to present contextual information concerning the bicentenary: the ABC's 7.30 Report presented two stories—one focused obsessively on the potential for violence,45 another con-

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cerned a personal attack on broadcaster John Pilger for his claim that Australia had its own system of apartheid.46 The Seven network's Carroll at Seven41 produced one backgrounder, and Channel Nine's A Current Affair4* managed just one program, which, significantly, was critical of the international media's coverage of the celebration. When Torres Strait Islanders chose the lead-up to Australia Day as the time to demand independence from Australia, it clearly annoyed the prime minister, Bob Hawke. He ignored the Islanders' demands to see him and reminded us all of the state of democracy in Australia: "That's one of the beauties of this country. It's a democracy and a democracy in the real sense of the word. People are free to express their views, their dissent, and to do it with considerable exposure and to do it with virtually no limitations. It's not something we should be sorry about— it should in a sense be a source of pride."49 As perhaps the largest-ever gathering of Aboriginal people and supporters marched through Sydney streets, one television network, the ABC, broadcast a live bicentennial event—a jazz concert by the shores of Sydney Harbour. But the message was being heard live—on community radio. It was an Aboriginal initiative, and it took listeners to the very heart of the march, using portable telephones. By anybody's standards it was a powerful, exciting event—and powerful and exciting radio. Emotive live-to-air descriptions by Aboriginal broadcasters on the spot with portable telephones added to the color and spectacle that were denied to mainstream media audiences. Earlier, during official events involving the royal visitors, all television stations broadcast live pictures to the nation. Television audiences would have to wait until judicious selection presented an image of Aboriginal dissent for viewers in an acceptable package and in its proper place in television news bulletin line-ups that evening. THE SYDNEY MARCH On the evening of 26 January 1988, the march coverage was item two on both SBS and ABC television, although ABC News did not mention that there was an Aboriginal protest in its bulletin's opening headline. Channel Nine ran the protest march as item three, while Channel Seven and TVO Eyewitness News relegated the now nonviolent march to item four. All bulletins led with the spectacle on Sydney Harbour. Efforts by the Australian Bicentennial Authority and the prime minister, Bob Hawke, to mediate the contradiction between the celebration and the only significant challenge to that idea by Aboriginal people was unsuccessful. The media identified Aboriginal people as dissenters—bad sports—and, in the end, what the authority had feared came to pass: the Sydney Harbour spectacle was the overwhelmingly dominant image on television news that night. On 26 January television news stories positioned Aboriginal protests in much the same way, albeit using different terms to explain why. An SBS News reporter told viewers, "Aborigines seized on Australia Day as an opportunity to consolidate their unity and strength, demanding an end to what they see as 200 years of

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oppression." This story also used four soundbites of Aboriginal people speaking about the march and two non-Aboriginal people's comments of support. However, just one—Gary Foley "Activist"—was named. Bob Weatherall (unnamed) was able to tell viewers: "White Australia must begin to address the question and return our sovereign right, our right to our land, our right to our culture." SBS included fuller coverage of the march in a special half-hour bicentennial program, following the news bulletin on 26 January. ABC television, in contrast to SBS's acknowledgment that there was some protest in its introduction, greeted Brisbane viewers with this summary of the day's events: "Good evening everyone and happy birthday—it's been one vast party all around the nation." In New Farm Park, Brisbane people were "bursting with patriotism"; however, in King George Square, Aboriginal people were "mourning 200 years of white invasion." The main story concerning the Aboriginal march—the fifth in the bulletin line-up—used the headline "Birthday Blues" superimposed on an Aboriginal flag to introduce the story. The reporter told viewers: "While it was a big day for white Australia, it was a momentous one for the country's original inhabitants. Never before had so many Aboriginal people gathered to show Australia their grief and heartbreak over the treatment they'd received in the last 200 years." The coverage included three Aboriginal people speaking briefly, and two of them were identified by name—Ross Watson and Ray Robinson. Like SBS, TVO Eyewitness News acknowledged that there was a protest ("their biggest protest in Australia's history") in its introduction, but this came after acknowledgment of the "birthday party" celebrations. While the introduction to the first story reminded viewers that "Australia enters its third century of white settlement," Australian of the Year rock singer John Farnham told audiences, "We're 12,000 miles away from anywhere basically." Channel 10 described "Invasion Day" as a "bitter birthday"—again suggesting noncompliance ("a grim contrast to white festivities") with the dominant celebratory mood. A news story describing the local protest march in Brisbane concluded: "They say if you multiply a bicentennial by 200, you get 40,000—the number of years Aborigines have inhabited Australia." However, no Aboriginal people were interviewed or named in the six TVO Eyewitness News stories. Like the ABC, Channel Seven viewers were greeted with the "happy birthday" message. It was not until the fourth item that Aboriginal protest was mentioned. Under the headline "Mourning," with the colors of the Aboriginal flag behind it, viewers were told that "It was a great day for all in attendance [referring to the previous story] but Australia Day has been a day of mourning for Aborigines, who claim their land was stolen 200 years ago." Seven Nightly News showed a scuffle between what appeared to be Aboriginal people and the camera crew, explaining this away as "flared tempers." Like Channel 10, no Aboriginal person was interviewed or named throughout the coverage of the march, running into four separate stories.

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The birthday theme continued with Channel Nine's coverage (a graphic behind the presenter read "200th" over an image of the Australian flag). Dissent was first suggested in item three, headed "Protest," and included the symbolic elements of conflict—the bicentennial logo and the colors of the Aboriginal flag. One reporter described the earlier march as being staged by a "rebel group." Associated with this were "threats of violence," which led to the abandonment of a reenactment of Captain Phillip's landing, according to the reporter. The report of the Brisbane protest began: "In Brisbane's King George Square, children performed a dance of mourning—the same ritual performed by their forebears tens of thousands of years ago." The story concluded, describing why Aboriginal people marched to Brisbane's Musgrave Park in these terms: "Once they say they owned it, now it's among the many tracts of land they yearn to reclaim." The reporter chose a puzzling, unexplained grab from the only Aboriginal person interviewed and named—Cheryl Buchanan, "Spokeswoman": "People who come to this march are not in it for any reasons of leadership or for money. Most of the people who are here are not in the services, do not have jobs they're just families, children." The story finished with a one-word comment from an unnamed Aboriginal boy. Of the nine Aboriginal people who were allowed to comment directly on the meaning of 26 January, four appeared on SBS News, three on ABC News, and the other two were on National Nine News. But just four Aboriginal spokespeople were identified by name in the stories used. From this, it is clear that even in the stories that acknowledged, in some small way, the possible reasons for the protest, Aboriginal people were unable to speak for themselves in all but a handful of around 30 separate television news stories broadcast on 26 January 1988. For Aboriginal Australians, the significance of that day was that there was a march, drawing together up to 50,000 people—including non-Aboriginal people—who, in Bob Weatherall's words, took ground away from the racists and the wealthy.50 Pat O'Shane, too, observes that while the catchcry "Celebration of a Nation" represented a distortion of history, many Australians "found this country and its history in Aboriginal terms" during 1988. She was invited to speak at 1,000 venues during the bicentennial year and describes 1988 as becoming, ironically, "a very special Aboriginal year."51 The Sydney march was part of a plan aimed at the "education of a nation," and Weatherall maintains that for that particular period of time in 1988, support for Aboriginal people was higher than at the 1967 referendum.52 If this is the case, it was most certainly not evidenced by the "air rights" accorded Aboriginal people on television news bulletins, nor was it at all clear from the way in which the Aboriginal protest was represented. The role of the media was clearly one that sought to legitimate the preferred official version. Explanations or alternative versions of events—Invasion Day versus Australia Day—were essentially ignored because they fell outside the frameworks of understanding established by the powerful ideological bicentennial discourse.

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RACISM AND THE MEDIA On five of the eight days' coverage examined here, accusations of racism were raised, but in a very subdued form, most usually buried well in stories and bulletins. No stories featured this theme in the headline. Just two—Seven Nightly News, 21 January and SBS News, 22 January—raised the notion in story introductions. Of the eight occasions where racism was raised, three were broadcast on SBS News,53 three on ABC News,54 with one each in news bulletins on Channels Seven55 and Nine.56 SBS News raised the issue of racism in several different contexts. The theme first appeared on 21 January during a news conference called by Aboriginal people for the international media. SBS was the only local television news service to report this event, at which "Australia was described as one of the most racist countries in the world." On the same day, Seven Nightly News reported a clash between Aboriginal people and the author of the official Bicentennial History of Australia, John Moloney, at a Sydney book launch. The introduction to the story read: "The official Bicentennial history of Australia has been condemned by Aborigines as racist rubbish. The book has been launched in Sydney but only after angry scenes involving its author and Aboriginal protesters." It seems probable that the "angry scenes" alone did not lead to the elevation of this issue. The preceding story in the news bulletin that evening was one dealing with another conflict—Torres Strait Islanders' secession moves. Juxtaposing the two stories continued the theme of conflict raised in the Torres Strait confrontation. The next discussion of racism was in a very different context. This time, the accusations came from the prime minister and concerned Aboriginal public servant Charles Perkins. The reporter's voice-over described it like this: "He labelled as racist calls by Aboriginal public servant Charles Perkins for restrictions on the entry of South East Asians."57 The story was not featured high in the bulletin, and the comment came about halfway through the script. In the following story, SBS News again raised the issue, and again in a different context—a denial of aspirations of violence. On the day before the march, ABC News featured the only direct quote by an Aboriginal person dealing with this subject. It was used in the same context as the previous SBS example. Lyle Munro, of the Aboriginal Unity Organisation, told viewers, "If there are any undue harassment from any right-wing racist groups and the jeopardy and lives of our young people and old people are at stake, well then Aboriginal people will defend themselves." Immediately following Munro's statement, the reporter raised another issue, although he attempted to keep it in perspective: "In Sydney last night, someone desecrated the cenotaph in Martin Place. No-one's claimed responsibility—the culprits could be white or black." Nevertheless, the juxtaposition again maintains the idea of a continuing conflict between black and white—or should that be white and black? ABC News was the only organization to raise the issue of racism directly on 26 January. And it allowed an Aboriginal person, Ross Watson, to speak. Although

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featured in the fourth story of the bulletin, the message was clear: "An Aboriginal spokesman said Australia was racist and today's protest was designed to drive that message home . . . [SOUND BITE] . . . because there's nothing to celebrate as long as society does not acknowledge the fact that it is our country." Australian journalist and filmmaker John Pilger's claims that a system of apartheid exists in Australia raised the ire of one interviewer on the ABC's 7.30 Report on 27 January. ABC journalist David Ransom went to extraordinary lengths to attack Pilger's assertions of the operation of an unofficial apartheid in Australia. Here is part of the interview, which followed the playing of a small segment from Pilger's documentary, A Secret Country: RANSOM: NOW Mr. Pilger, both you and I know very well that there's no apartheid in Australia. PILGER: Oh no, no that's a loaded question. There is apartheid in Australia. You haven't been to an Australian country town lately where blacks can't really walk in the streets without difficulty with the police. What I'm talking about, as I explained—what you didn't go on to say, and I put it very carefully in that program and in these programs—was that we have an apartheid in theory if not in practice. Those were the words I used, so I think when you talk about being misleading, I think you should always quote the full context and that. . . RANSOM: That's in context with the first program which, is exactly what I've done . . . PILGER: RANSOM:

Well, fine . . . I haven't taken that out of context in any way whatsoever.

PILGER: The notion of an apartheid in Australia is absolutely credible. You go and ask the people who are objects of it. . . RANSOM:

There is no official separation of races in Australia . . .

PILGER: Of course there is an official separation. If you go to . . . there is an official separation in the fact that Aboriginal children never complete education in the same way that whites do. There is an official separation in health in the way that Aboriginal people die 20 years younger than white children. There is an official separation in the health of children in which Aboriginal children die of common measles and preventable diseases that white children don't die of. Now you can play with the word official for all you like. That is apartheid in the way people conduct their lives and have their lives conducted for them. If you wish to say it's not, then that's your privilege. RANSOM: I put it to you, Mr. Pilger, that a lot of people would see what you're saying as true and lamentable but not apartheid. PILGER:

Ok, well, that's your opinion.

The obsession by Ransom in attempting to achieve a semantic victory, if nothing else, is clear from this exchange. It is a clear attempt by Ransom, I suggest, to redefine or reframe the discussion so that it can be accommodated

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within the prevailing bicentennial discourse. Such a discourse denies the existence of an apartheid—either official or unofficial—and Ransom did his best to put forward this view. Of all the examples cited here, this case stands out for this reason. The attempt to discredit John Pilger, regardless of the accuracy of Pilger's claims in the documentary itself, is the issue here. It is a battle to regain control of the debate and to redefine it in terms that fall within accepted bounds. When Pilger persists with his interpretation, Ransom is forced to move onto another topic—not to discuss it, but to again attack Pilger's credibility in an attempt to redefine the terms of the debate. A similar threat to the predominant discourse, ironically, appeared on the same day on Channel Nine's A Current Affair. It was the last time in this study that the issue of racism was raised and/or discussed. Significantly, it was a story about the international media coverage of the bicentenary and the emphasis on the Aboriginal protests. Australians were again accused of being racists—this time by international journalists. The Channel Nine story is a very interesting one, too, because of its particular focus on the media and, again, the reaction to it. Reporter Marie Moore's unease is evident—although not as rabid as Ransom's. The "bicentennial bash," she told viewers, did not "woo" the international media. For their representatives, the story of the bicentenary was the Aboriginal protest, as one CBS correspondent told her: "The Aborigines in a large measure have gone to the international press and said, 'We'll tell our story to you because we can't be heard within our own country.' And that's a very explosive kind of situation to have in a country." Moore seemed to lament the fact that "the Aboriginal protests received as much publicity as the royal tour" and the fleet of square-rigged sailing boats in the international coverage—a very different treatment to that identified in this study. The perception of the international media by Aboriginal people was that they were more willing to listen to their protests than the local media. Although not as outstanding as the Pilger story, there is evidence, nevertheless, of a lack of acceptance of an alternative framing of the debate. Here, the spectacle on Sydney Harbour clearly dominated, with the media legitimating that version of what was newsworthy consistently, with little or no real challenge to it. There were few attempts to contextualize the debate, leaving audiences—and most Australian journalists, it seems—puzzled when confronted with contradictory versions of events. CONCLUSION The bicentenary, like other forms of national celebration, was essentially a rehearsal of what it means to belong—Colin Mercer suggests a relationship between the personal and the political: "The objective of this politics of identity would be the consolidation, progressively at arm's length and in increasingly negotiated ways, of 'manageable' and preferred forms of social identity." 58 This notion of preferred identity—a sense of belonging and a sense of place—is

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maintained and worked on through institutions like the family, school, the workplace, and everyday practices. This, of course, includes the media.59 The media's role during the seven days of television news coverage was to represent the preferred idea that Australia would celebrate its 200th birthday on Australia Day 1988. Aboriginal people were identified—through white eyes— as possible initiators of violent confrontation with police and other non-Aboriginal people. This nonnegotiable version of Aboriginality prevailed throughout. Stories that could be judged as nonconfrontationist (coverage of some of the convoys, for example) focused on tribal Aboriginal people—the "real Aborigines" in the eyes of the media and in the eyes of many Australians. Here, the possibility arose for representation of a version of Aboriginality, negotiated through dialogue between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people.60 But the few stories that dealt with this issue moved uneasily between this and stereotype. As a group, Aboriginal people were cast as being more interested in disrupting or thumbing their noses at the celebrations than in taking part like the rest of Australia—with virtually no contextual explanation. And they were identified through race as being apart from the community. The symbols of national identity became clear on Australia Day, if only through the lack of display of Australian flags on Sydney Harbour. But there were significant numbers of the emblematic boxing kangaroo flying from the rigging of Harbour vessels—and, perhaps more significantly, a Coca Cola flag fluttering from the mast of one of the First Fleet Re-enactment boats. Aboriginal people were the only protesters. When violence, real or imagined, did not eventuate, they and the notion of Aboriginality were banished from the news discourse, because their mere presence became awkward, if not impossible, to explain within the preferred framework. They were legitimized into oblivion.61 Alternative discourse on the bicentenary theme was sometimes actively suppressed—comments on multiculturalism and a critique of the Australian legal system were two such cases in point that were censored by the Australian Bicentennial Authority.62 Such critiques were similarly excised from the mainstream media coverage discussed, although the article on the Australian legal system was eventually published in an Aboriginal affairs journal and in the Age newspaper in Melbourne. In the article, the author, Justice Michael Kirby, spoke of the frustrations in "the lessons of gradualism" in achieving social justice for Aboriginal people: "They are irritating in the extreme to those who view what they see as the inherent perfidy of a system which can punish people for theft of a motor car ("a man's second most precious possession") while usually providing no compensation whatsoever for the initial usurpation of Aboriginal land and the erosion of the traditional rights that once went with it."63 I wonder how such material could be dealt with within the prevailing television news ideology. Some suggest that an Australian pluralistic and unproblematic past was reinforced through the rhetoric of the bicentennial authority.64 A crucial element missing from the stories—along with a problematic picture of the past—was the discussion of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal cooperation.65 When

88 Voices in the Wilderness media construction of reality is examined within this framework, such notions as conflict or bad news—key news values—are rendered inert. Working within such a framework demands a more complex and contextual explanation than is generally offered within the bounds of a 60-second television news story or a 6-second sound bite. If, as Burgmann argues, the celebration of such events as the bicentenary aims to "suspend people's critical faculties," then the media, as a cultural institution, perform a crucial role. She is in no doubt about the underlying influences when she observes: "It is the people with money and power who decide how the bicentennial history, and the bicentenary itself, will be presented to the public, and nationalistic sloganizing suits their purposes admirably."66 It could have become a moment that recognized and incorporated Indigenous calls for social justice. The chance was lost, and it degenerated into a public relations stunt. Prime Minister Hawke's 1988 statements about a treaty, or a compact of understanding, or a process of reconciliation, resulted in confusion among Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people alike, and as Jesuit lawyer Frank Brennan observed: "The bicentennial year was a salutary lesson to us all. We did not speak meaningfully about ourselves as a nation according Aborigines their due place."67 There is nothing in the television coverage examined here to suggest that journalists played anything other than a legitimating role as agents of cultural management. Through well-established newsgathering routines that effectively omitted Indigenous voices along with context of the reasons for dissent—and even acknowledgment of the identity of a significant proportion of Aboriginal spokespeople—the preferred message prevailed. In the next chapter, I look at the omission of Indigenous voices in a decade-long campaign to build a spaceport in one of Australia's most remote regions—Cape York Peninsula. NOTES 1. TVO Eyewitness News, 26 January 1988; Frank Brennan, Sharing the Country: The Case for an Agreement Between Black and White Australians, Penguin, Ringwood, 1991, p. 2. 2. Brennan, pp. 17, 58. 3. Peter Cochrane and David Goodman, "The Great Australian Journey: Cultural Logic and Nationalism in the Postmodern Era," in Celebrating the Nation: A Critical Study of Australia's Bicentenary, eds. Tony Bennett, Pat Buckridge, David Carter, and Colin Mercer, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992, p. 189. 4. Gerard Henderson, "Rewriting Our History," The Bulletin, 26 January-2 February 1993, p. 27. 5. John Hutchinson, "State Festivals, Foundation Myths and Cultural Politics in Immigrant Nations," in Celebrating the Nation: A Critical Study of Australia's Bicentenary, eds. Tony Bennett, Pat Buckridge, David Carter, and Colin Mercer, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992, p. 4. 6. Julio C. Tresierra, "The Political Economy of Discovery 500 Years: An Indigenous Perspective," Saskatchewan Indian Federated College Journal, 5, no. 1, 1989, pp. 105-110; Robert Allen Warrior, "Columbus Quincentennial Is Nothing to Celebrate: But 500 Years of Native People's Resistance Is," Utne Reader, November/December 1991, pp. 74-76.

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7. Tony Bennett, Pat Buckridge, David Carter, and Colin Mercer (eds.), Celebrating the Nation: A Critical Study of Australia's Bicentenary, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992. 8. Bennett et al., pp. xvi-xvii. 9. Brennan, p. 3. 10. John Warhurst, The Politics and Management of Australia's Bicentenary Year, University of New England, Armidale, 1987; Peter Spearritt, "Celebration of a Nation: The Triumph of Spectacle," Australian Historical Studies, 23, no. 91, 1988, pp. 3-20. 11. Cochrane and Goodman, p. 175. 12. Spearritt, pp. 4-5. 13. Spearritt, p. 11; Warhurst, p. 18; Cochrane and Goodman, p. 175. 14. Brennan, p. 65. 15. Brennan, pp. 66-69; Australian National Opinion Poll, Land Rights: Winning Middle Australia—An Attitude and Communications Research Study, January 1985; Murray Goot and Tim Rowse, "The 'Backlash' Hypothesis and the Land Rights Option," Australian Aboriginal Studies, 1, no. 9, 1991, p. 6. 16. Warhurst, p. 18; Spearritt, pp. 9-11. 17. Department of Aboriginal Affairs, Proposed Policy on National Aboriginal Bicentennial Objectives, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1985, p. 78. 18. Brennan, pp. 73-78. 19. Brennan, pp. 74. 20. Brennan, pp. 80-81. 21.Tresierra,pp. 105, 109. 22. Christine Jennett, "Race and Inequality in the West: Incorporation or Independence? The Struggle for Aboriginal Equality," in Three Worlds of Inequality: Race, Class and Gender, eds. C. Jennett and R. Stewart, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1987, p. 68. 23. Koorie Cultural Heritage Trust, Koorie Creative Solutions, North Melbourne, 1991, p. 53. 24. Spearritt, p. 12. 25. Spearritt, p. 5. 26. Goot and Rowse, p. 9. 27. Bennett et al., p. xvi. 28. Cochrane and Goodman, p. 177. 29. Gaye Tuchman, Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality, Free Press, New York, 1978, p. 1; John Langer, "The Structure and Ideology of the 'Other News' on Television," in The News in Focus, ed. P. Edgar, Melbourne, Macmillan, 1980, p. 13. 30. Christine Jennett, "White Media Rituals about Aborigines," Media Information Australia, no. 30, 1983, pp. 28-37; Suzie Brown, "Victory at Games," Rabelais, 17, no. 1, 198283, pp. 14-15. 31. National Nine News, 21 January 1988. 32. Ian Baker, "The Gatekeeper Chain: A Two-Step Analysis of How Journalists Acquire and Apply Organisational News Priorities," in The News in Focus: The Journalism of Exception, ed. P. Edgar, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1980, pp. 137-140. 33. Stuart Hall, Chas Richter, and Tony Jefferson, Policing the Crisis, Macmillan, London, 1978, p. 58. 34. Ross Watson, personal communication, 1988; Mary Graham, interview with Carolyn Jones, The Search for Meaning, ABC Radio National, 15 November 1992. 35. Brennan, pp. 15-16; The Barunga Statement, 12 June 1988. 36. The Barunga Statement, presented to Prime Minister Bob Hawke on 12 June 1988, called on the Australian government and people to recognize land rights, the need for compensation as a result of dispossession, and the desire for self-determination and management. The

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Statement called for legislation setting up an elected Aboriginal and Islander organization to oversee their affairs, a national system of land rights, and a justice system that recognized Aboriginal and Islander law. In response, Bob Hawke committed the federal government to "work for a negotiated treaty with Aboriginal people." The Barunga Statement was finally hung in Parliament House, Canberra, on 20 December 1991. 37. 7.30 Report, 21 January 1988. 38. Carroll at Seven, 25 January 1988. 39. Seven News, 25 January 1988. 40. Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media, Pantheon, New York, 1988. 41. A Current Affair, 27 January 1988. 42. National Nine News, 22 January 1988. 43. Hall et al., p. 66. 44. Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981, pp. 30-31. 45. 7.30 Report, 21 January 1988. 46. 7.30 Report, 27 January 1988. 47. Carroll at Seven, 25 January 1988. 48. A Current Affair, 27 January 1988. 49. TVO News, 21 January 1988. 50. Bob Weatherall, "Assessing the Bicentennial: Interview with Bob Weatherall," Social Alternatives, 8, no. 5, 1989, p. 6. 51. Pat O'Shane, "Celebration of a Distortion," The Bulletin, 17 January 1989, p. 51. 52. Weatherall, p. 6. 53. SBS News, 21 January 1988, 22 January 1988. 54. ABC News, 25 January 1988, 26 January 1988. 55. Seven Nightly News, 21 January 1988. 56. National Nine News, 27 January 1988. 57. SBS News, 22 January 1988. 58. Colin Mercer, "Identity Crisis," Australian Left Review, July 1990, pp. 24-25. 59. Antonio Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916-1935, ed. David Forgacs, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1988; Mercer, "Identity Crisis," p. 24; Mercer, "Going for a Song," Australian Left Review, December/January 1993, p. 31. 60. Marcia Langton, "Well, I Heard It on The Radio and 1 Saw It on the Television": An Essay for the Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aboriginal People and Things, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1993. 61. Spearritt, "Celebration of a Nation," p. 17. 62. Spearritt, "Celebration of a Nation," p. 11. 63. Justice Michael Kirby, "Aboriginal Bicentenary?," Australian Aboriginal Studies, no. 1, 1988, p. 29. 64. Rae Frances and Bruce Scates, "Honouring the Aboriginal Dead," Arena, no. 86, 1989, p. 72. 65. Marian Aveling, "Honouring the Aboriginal Dead," Arena, no. 86, 1988, p. 19. 66. Verity Burgmann, "Flogging the Bicentenary," Arena, no. 82, 1988, p. 13. 67. Brennan, p. 7.

4 Voices in the Wilderness— The Cape York Spaceport

The idea for a private spaceport in far north Queensland was first claimed by the former state premier, Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen, in 1986. Over the next six years, the issue ebbed and flowed with assertions of the need for such a development a consistent driving force behind the proposal. By 1992, the project had lost significant momentum, with its focus shifting further north to a remote island near Papua New Guinea. The potential disruption to the lives of thousands of Indigenous people on Cape York finally was gone. The project returned to the Australian mainland in 1997 and was described in a Sunday Mail editorial as "Pie in the sky?"1 Perhaps this is how it should have been viewed from the very beginning. As I have suggested in earlier chapters, the media are often the only source of information about such issues as race relations. But what role did the media and journalists play in constructing the spaceport as an important public issue in relation to Indigenous people? Queensland's sole statewide daily newspaper, the Courier-Mail is the focus of analysis in this chapter, in which I examine how Indigenous concerns about the spaceport proposal were represented over an eight-year period from 1986. On 23 May 1992, readers of Queensland's only remaining metropolitan daily newspaper, the Courier-Mail, were told, in a Special Report, "Cape York— which was home for many thousands of years for some of Earth's most ancient people and a frontier for explorers and settlers—is perhaps on the threshold of mankind's space-travelling future."2 A few months earlier, an ABC television program, the 7.30 Report, explained to viewers that the first scientific expedition to Cape York had discovered many new species of plants and animals, unseen by

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all "except for Aborigines who once lived here." 3 An SBS program, Millennium, informed viewers that not only were Tasmanian Aboriginal people extinct, but also that protests by the Wuthathi people against the proposed spaceport on Cape York were nonexistent until 1990.4 When the Australian version of the high-rating television program 60 Minutes dealt with the spaceport in 1990, the traditional owners of Temple Bay—unidentified on screen—were allowed 13 seconds to speak: "Money just comes and goes . . . we don't want money, we just want our land. They want something which is not theirs . . . thou shalt not steal." 5 The reporter, Jeff McMullen, emphasized the "isolation," the "vast expanse of wilderness," and described Cape York Peninsula as an "empty place," but he did acknowledge that "three tribes used to share the area until they were herded off to make way for cattle. Now they want their land back and they won't be bought off."6 Anthropologist Athol Chase complained in 1990 of the omission of Indigenous people from another Channel Nine program—a documentary entitled, significantly, Empty Places. The program centered on Cape York Peninsula and dealt, among other issues, with plans to establish a space-vehicle launch site there. Although protests against the proposal from conservationists were acknowledged, there was no mention of opposition from Cape York's Indigenous people—the Wuthathi and the Kuuku Ya'u people had voiced their opposition since the mid-1980s. 7 Although Aboriginal people make up around 70 percent of the cape's population, not one image of an Indigenous person appeared during the hour-long program. In a letter of complaint to the station manager, Chase made the observation: "Aboriginal people, as so often happens, are 'written out' of existence in superficial treatments like this, their strong cultural links to land completely ignored, and their continuing presence quite deliberately avoided in order to perpetuate the myth that CYP [Cape York Peninsula] is empty of all but industrious developers, a few Paul Hogan types on trawlers and fishing safaris, and a few battling frontiersmen." 8 Easily accessible information presents a different picture. Australian census figures show that around half of the 11,000 people living on Cape York Peninsula identify either as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Island people, with about 50 percent of them aged under 20 years. Around 20,000 people living in the Torres Strait and northern peninsula area would have been affected by a spaceport in the area. In some of the Cape York communities, Indigenous people make up more than 90 percent of the population. 9 In another Channel Nine television program in the same series, Indigenous people were mentioned—but it was the specter of cannibals that became a focus. The program described them in these terms: "One of the greatest dangers faced by them all [the prospectors] was the threat of attack by the local Aborigines, the Merkins, a notorious tribe of cannibals. There were hundreds of cases of miners being killed and eaten along with their animals." 10 The program continued, referring to instances of Chinese captives being found "hung in a tree from their pigtails, waiting for their turn to be clubbed, roasted, and eaten." A complaint

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about this to Channel Nine executives, the federal Aboriginal Affairs minister, and the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal was eventually rejected on a technicality. The Tribunal found that the statements did not represent a breach of program standards—that is, likely to amount to gratuitous vilification or racial hatred— although it qualified this by acknowledging that "inaccuracy is not of itself sufficient grounds to find a breach. This does not mean the Tribunal in any way endorses the statement."11 Cape York is a site for conflicting stories and images. The prevailing set of ideas and assumptions privileges perceptions of an empty land or a vast expanse of wilderness with the prospect of development far beyond our limited dreams— a site where "man left earth to colonise space."12 Aboriginal people in the area see it quite differently. The Umpila people are affiliated to a particular country on the eastern side of the peninsula, south of one of the former spaceport sites near Temple Bay. Although most of the Umpila live at the Lockhart River Aboriginal community, the philosophy that governs Umpila concerns about developments (such as a spaceport) stem from their desire to maintain a "footprint on the land." The Umpila cultural landscape consists of more than mere geography: "It incorporates powerful known spiritual forces, a delineated human society which reproduces itself continually through mechanisms of kinship and descent, the physical form of land and marine environments, and the biological species which occupy it."13 The concept is complex and probably very difficult to understand in this cultural context—the antithesis of the concept of terra nullius. Conventional wisdom has long shown a preference for the "legal fiction" of terra nullius and its application to the status of Cape York, and it is one that prevails, despite the 1992 High Court native title decision in favor of Murray Islanders' land claims in the Torres Strait. TALKING UP A SPACEPORT Former Queensland premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen helped to legitimate the notion of Cape York Peninsula as an empty space by proposing, in 1975, that the entire area of 350,000 km2 be declared a wildlife reserve.14 In the following years, there were more attempts to appropriate the Cape for a variety of commercial purposes—most notably, mining.15 In 1985 and 1986, there were moves to annex the Wuthathi country near Shelburne Bay for sandmining. One anthropologist observed: "Clearly the miners didn't want to know about these people [the Wuthathi] . . . they have got no knowledge of their history, they think because there are no Aborigines running around bare-assed with a spear in their hand that there are none with traditional ties to this land."16 One month after abandoning three Cape York national park proposals in 1986, the Queensland government announced that $93,000 would be spent on a feasibility study into a possible space-vehicle launch site for satellites on Cape York Peninsula. The original idea came from the Institution of Engineers Australia,17 although two years later the then Queensland premier Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen

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claimed the idea as his in a full-page pictorial feature in the Sunday Mail.1* The plan was to carry out a feasibility study for a spaceport operating on a commercial basis, built and operated entirely by private enterprise—a marked departure from existing spaceports. The benefits, according to its supporters, were many: it was close to the equator, which meant launch vehicles used less fuel; and because the launches would be to the east, it meant that rocket stages would fall into the sea, although "a few islands there" might cause a problem. Other "benefits" included the "undeveloped" nature of the peninsula.19 Almost a year later, the Queensland government released its findings and invited formal expressions of interest in the project worldwide. It was at this time that Aboriginal concerns about Cape York Peninsula development proposals were raised by the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland in an article in the Courier-Mail and in a regular column in the Gold Coast Bulletin. In the spirit of the 1992 article in the Courier-Mail referred to at the beginning of this chapter, a one-and-a-half page feature article in the Australian described a "reconnaissance mission . . . by a group of rocket engineers" (4 NASA engineers and a missile expert) into the "wilderness" of Cape York as one of "man's great modern day expeditions," which may have "propelled a nation into a new age." The article implicated Aboriginal people in the spearing of explorer Edmund Kennedy (in paragraph 3) before giving his readers this colorful description: "Aboard a Cape York Air Service BN 2A aircraft, these men of modern science flew into the heart of a primitive territory steeped in Aboriginal legends, where little change has been wrought for millions of years save for the height of giant anthills that poke from the ground like sienna-coloured church steeples."20 The engineers were appointed by a Queensland consortium, the Cape York Space Agency (CYSA), to investigate the project. The CYSA was then a collection of 64 companies—59 Australian and 5 overseas. It was awarded the right to assemble a feasibility study on the spaceport by the Queensland government on 3 February 1988.21 Later that year, the CYSA settled on a site on the eastern side of the peninsula, and rumors of property speculation in the area began to circulate. Claims surfaced in several newspapers that the first rockets would be launched in 1992. There were more reports that the agency would begin construction in 1990, with the first rockets in orbit in 1993 or 1995. The proposal was no longer "pie in the sky."22 Conservation groups protested to the prime minister and the Australian Space Office over the possible impact of such a venture on the environment and the Indigenous people of the peninsula. However, the CYSA—which was sent a copy of the protest letter—responded by acknowledging that although the project had been shown to be technically feasible, the commercial viability of the project "has not at this time been entirely proven."23 A feasibility study of the spaceport proposal was prepared by the premier's department and was completed in 1989. It identified the need for a "further consideration" of social and cultural issues, administration and management issues, changes in land tenure, and mining and exploration issues. The report acknowledged the importance with which Aborigi-

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nal and Torres Strait Islander communities viewed their relationship with the land and recommended their involvement in decisionmaking of Cape York's future. The traditional landholders of Temple Bay, the Wuthathi, had already made their opposition to the spaceport project very clear in the July 1989 edition of Land Rights News. Likening the plan to the destruction of the Amazon rainforests, Wuthathi Council Chairman Gordon Pablo described the idea as a "further attack on Aboriginal rights by the Queensland government." Pablo continued: "We'll do everything in our power to stop this spaceport proposal from becoming a reality and we're calling on supporters of Aboriginal rights, environmentalists and the federal government to help us." Following a meeting with the CYSA, this opposition was reaffirmed in the November edition of the newspaper when both the Wuthathi and the neighboring Kuuku Ya'u people joined to condemn the proposal. The two groups told the CYSA this at their Cairns meeting, where they said they were surprised by being presented with complete plans and designs for the spaceport. Gordon Pablo told the newspaper: We do not want Cape York to become a nuclear target and we do not wish that our children will live with fear of an exploding rocket... like the [Challenger space shuttle] rocket that blew up on launching in America, not so long ago. But we keep asking ourselves why do they choose Cape York Peninsula. . . why do they choose to build this rocket launching area right in the middle of our peaceful and beautiful tribal lands? Is this something Cape York needs, is it something Australia needs?24 In 1990, the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland's own study concluded that there would be severe ramifications for at least three Aboriginal language groups should the spaceport proposal come to fruition. Aboriginal objections to the project were acknowledged in the report.25 In the scientific arena, a series of articles in the ANZAAS' journal Search also questioned the viability of the project and called for a careful and critical assessment.26 The Australian Space Office and the CYSA predictably rejected this.27 Skepticism about the Cape York spaceport proposal was supported by scientist and sciencefiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who first developed the idea of communication satellites in the 1960s. Clarke observed: "I don't know that it [the spaceport] is viable. I'm not convinced any more launch sites are needed." It is interesting that Clarke's comment is buried in the middle of an article that concentrates on his "fantasy" of returning to Queensland.28 The new Queensland Labor government's response to this debate in 1989 was to give, in principle, support to what it saw as predominantly a private-sector proposal dependent on the outcome of a joint federal-state land use study of the peninsula. Six months earlier, the then Opposition Leader, Wayne Goss, had promised and arranged (with the federal government) such a study on his election, singling out the spaceport proposal as a matter for concern.29 Aboriginal opposition to the project was well established with a conference of Cape York Aboriginal communities and conservationists meeting in 1990 at

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Lockhart River. Community representative Isaac Hobson made clear how he viewed plans for the Cape: "They call this the second wave of development. I tell you now, the flood from the first wave is still high. There's people still trying to swim from the first wave. The wounds, the sores, the hurt and pain of my people has not healed. We are still trying to put our people together."30 The Umpila people, whose traditional land was close to the proposed spaceport site, voiced their concerns through Eddie Omeenyo: "We gonna contribute our sense together. One tongue. One mouth. We talk from the heart. Not from the mouth. Talk from the heart what we think about our land. You take our land out, you might as well shoot us blacks down. Kill us, because you take our land. Shoot us down!"31 Continuing and vehement Aboriginal opposition to the proposal was clear, stemming from the people's identification with the area and its relevance to their existence. The Wuthathi, for example, identify the coastline north from Temple Bay as the path of a cultural hero, Yawa, the diamond stingray.32 Cape York is one of the few parts of the Australian continent where Indigenous languages and cultural activities continue to thrive. The coastline south of Lockhart River, for example—near the proposed spaceport site—is one of the last places along the entire eastern seaboard where traditional Aboriginal initiation ceremonies still take place.33 The Wuthathi's experience of European invasion has seen their numbers reduced from an estimated 1,000 people to today's population of about 200. And they faced a double threat with proposals for the nearby spaceport and sand mining at Shelburne Bay, a sacred story place. Wuthathi opposition to both projects has been definite and continuing. Gordon Pablo, chair of the Wuthathi Community Council, makes this clear: We Wuthathi tribe don't want this space base to go ahead. And the Kuuku Ya'u tribe too. They're from that area near where the Wuthathi land is, and we two tribes don't want anything to go ahead, nothing to be built there, because that is our tribal land. It's been given from God Almighty to our ancestors many years before the white men came. That's why we know that's our land. We are the true and rightful owners belonging to that land. That's why we want nothing to be built there or taken away from there.34 In July 1990 the United States government announced support for the spaceport in the Courier-Mail, and this, coupled with federal and state governments and influential sections of the Australian media, worked to legitimate the idea that the spaceport was an accomplished fact—although accuracy, it seems, has not played a crucial role in the provision of information on the proposal. There was a succession of confusing and contradictory information about the siting, cost, and construction timetable of the spaceport published in the Courier-Mail at this time. An environmental impact study, for example, was variously reported as either taking two years or being already under way. And over a period of five months, the spaceport itself was reported as costing between $475 million and $750 million. By 1997, the cost was reportedly $1.3 billion.35 One exasperated

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observer concluded, with some justification: "How much does a spaceport really cost?" 36 The push for a spaceport was being supported by powerful business interests—American, Japanese, and Australian—and it seems that this alliance proved persuasive to both the federal and the state governments. The realization of a need for Indigenous communities and conservationists to cooperate in determining the future of Cape York Peninsula led to an historic meeting in north Queensland in November 1991. Following a three-day workshop at the Yarrabah Aboriginal community, near Cairns, the groups agreed that the siting and the operation of the space base would be opposed. 37 This was in light of some new developments—the Cape York Space Agency (fronted by Bjelke-Petersen) was wound up in October 1991 with debts of around $17 million; and a new consortium, Space Transportation Systems (STS), headed by former conservative Queensland premier, Mike Ahern, was awarded preferred status jointly by the state and federal governments. The Yarrabah gathering developed an historic 30-point accord covering such issues as land rights, consultation, development issues, and national parks. 38 Many environmentalists saw the agreement as the beginnings of an historic and effective Black-Green alliance. 39 In the light of this new alliance, opposition to the spaceport took on a new dimension, one likened to resisting a new form of colonization. From the Umpila perspective, which links people and landscape near the Lockhart River (and the spaceport site) through the forces of spiritual attachment, development proposals like the spaceport represented a misunderstanding of the possible impact on the very nature of the relationship between land and people. It [Umpila territory] includes the past dead through the return of spirits, and it includes the future generations through the spirit forces of the landscape which will provide the individual miitpi of the yet unborn: the arrival of newly born Umpila, as the Umpila language makes clear, literally embodies the landscape "hearing" and becoming aware in the never ending cycle of (Umpila) cosmological existence.40 How can such perceptions be accommodated by a commercial development like a spaceport? How are such ideas represented in mainstream media? On 15 September 1993, Space Transportation Systems announced a joint venture with Russia to develop the world's first privately owned spaceport—in Papua New Guinea. 41 For the Aboriginal people of Cape York, it represented the end of years of uncertainty about their future. The headline had a familiar ring to it: "Russian Space Launch in PNG Likely in 1998." But by 1996, the project had returned to Australia, this time focusing on Darwin in the far north as a possible site.42 Just 12 months later, the possibility of a site on Cape York reappeared. In July 1997, the Sunday Mail announced: "Cape Space Base Starts with Study." The lead had a now familiar ring to it: "A bid to build a $1.3 billion spaceport on Cape York by 2000 has moved ahead with the start of an environmental impact study on the controversial Temple Bay site." In the seventh paragraph, Aboriginal opposition is introduced, and Wuthathi Land Trust chairman Arnold Wallis

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explains in the next paragraph, albeit indirectly, that he is "surprised" and "angry" to hear a study had been commissioned. "Mr Wallis said he would investigate native title rights and 'gear up to a legal fight.'" The threat of a land rights battle was effortlessly invoked once again to frame Aboriginal opinion. On virtually this same day eleven years earlier the then Queensland premier, Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen, had announced the creation of the idea of a space base on Cape York Peninsula in the same newspaper. 43 THE MEDIA COVERAGE Between 1986 and 1992, Queensland Newspapers published 65 stories dealing with the Cape York spaceport proposal and Indigenous people. The idea for a spaceport on Cape York Peninsula was linked to former Queensland premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen. He claims credit for this in a prominent, full-page Sunday Mail feature story, heading the Review section, accompanied by color pictures of Cape York, with a space shuttle being launched. He was reported as having said, "I didn't support it. I created it."44 The genesis of the spaceport idea helps to explain the nature of the coverage, which began in 1986 and ended in 1992, when the idea to move the location further north into Papua New Guinea was adopted. During that six-year period, Queensland Newspapers published 65 stories dealing with the spaceport and Indigenous interests. (See Table 4.1.) From April 1987 on, clear support from the then Queensland premier—and hence the Queensland government—ensured that the considerable resources of the state government would be thrown behind the idea, virtually without question. Bjelke-Petersen's attitudes to the project itself—and hence to any opposition, whether from Aboriginal people or the Green movement—was a clear indication to media representatives of a preferred version. On Christmas Eve 1986, the first mention of the spaceport's possible impact on Aboriginal people was made—albeit indirectly—in a feature-length story on

Table 4.1 Spaceport News Stories, 1986-1992 1992 1991 1990 1989 1988 1987 1986

1 16 28 7 3 9 1

Total

65

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page 4, accompanied by a head shot of Bjelke-Petersen with the caption, "Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen . . . space station 'a goer.'"45 About one-third of the way through the story, a Hawker de Havilland representative told readers that "Aboriginal land south of Weipa would be left untouched" and that "no environmental landmarks would suffer." The article explained that the laughter over BjelkePetersen's former schemes—including a hydrogen car, cancer cures, and a transAustralia railway from Brisbane to Perth—waned when he organized a flight for space technology representatives to Cape York to inspect "possible . .. space shuttle launch sites." One of the closing paragraphs explained: "Sir Joh says it's a 'goer.'" It would be good for Brisbane and north Queensland and, yes, the Aboriginal reserve [Weipa South] would be "looked after." This was the only story published by the Courier-Mail in 1986 that dealt with Aboriginal concerns about the spaceport. The following year, 1987, nine stories that referred to both the spaceport and Aboriginal people were published. All "talked up" the spaceport proposal except one—"Plan Land Uses for Spaceport: Greenie."46 In that story, the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland asked of the spaceport proposal, "what impact would it have on Aboriginal territory?" It was the first time such a direct question was published. In three of the stories, a possible threat to Aboriginal people was summarily dismissed by the journalists in these terms: "Aboriginal land south of Weipa will not be harmed . . .";47 "Aboriginal land will be unharmed .. .";48 "there were no conflicting Aboriginal interests. . . ."4y By September 1991, the spaceport's existence was assured, according to Queensland Newspapers' journalists. The Sunday Mail magazine ran a special feature on page 19, complete with an artist's impression of the new space base. This collection of stories set the framework for future spaceport discussion. It proved impossible for Aboriginal people and other opposing elements to redefine. TALKING DOWN THE CULTURE Three early stories introduced ways of thinking about Indigenous culture and its relevance to Cape York Peninsula. In one, a journalist described his father's journey through the peninsula some years before: "He didn't mention anything adventurous like attack by bushrangers or Aborigines, or swimming flooded creeks."50 In the same vein, another told Telegraph readers that the spaceport proposal meant that Cape York was about to "leapfrog evolutionary zones." The story refers to Cape York Peninsula variously as "this long-ignored land," "an adjunct to Australia," "this primitive land," a "seldom-visited expanse," and "too hot and too remote for any but the pioneers and the solitude-seeking hermits." The concept of terra nullius was, it seems, firmly planted in this journalist's mind.51 Predictably perhaps, in an earlier article, the same author found no difficulty in recounting stories of how Aboriginal people killed and wounded Chinese people in the old days on Cape York. It is surprising that the cannibalism myth was not invoked here.52

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The idea of the north as an empty land—with some qualification—continued, with it being described as a "vast wilderness" with "a great depth of Aboriginal history—but almost no one lives there. Townships are as rare as some of its wildlife species." 53 The article acknowledged the possible "adverse impacts on Aboriginal communities" of uncontrolled development—a theme the Sunday Mail seemed determined to undermine in an article one month later. This story was headed "Spaceport Backing Just down to Earth" and featured a picture of an Aboriginal man, Wampoo Kepple. The caption under his picture read, "the space thing will be good." The article described how the 69-year-old "black man born in the shade of a pandanus tree" wanted to see the spaceport go ahead so that Aboriginal people could get jobs driving trucks. It continued: This life time stockman who survived the gun-barrel colonisation of the Peninsula in the 1920s and 1930s by keeping his backside in a saddle and his hands on the red hide reins, now wants to embrace the fanciest technology the white world has to offer. Rockets, the rearing symbol of man's desire to conquer the frontiers of space could, in our own frontier of Cape York Peninsula, assist the embattled black people to conquer their own abyss of drunkenness and despair. The writer continued: "Wampoo Kepple, as his name suggests, is a product of the natural environment. Tliere is none of the pretentiousness of affected love of the environment that causes some sections of the urban classes to give their children names like Moon, Rainforest and Waterfall. Wampoo has a son named Ralph. Ralph doesn't have a job." 54 Reporting of a direct protest against the spaceport almost 12 months later revealed similar views smoldering below the surface. A story headlined "United Opposition to Space Base" was accompanied by a picture of Aboriginal people and environmentalists during a demonstration. The picture caption read, "Aborigines and greenies united yesterday. Aborigines warned that spirits would come to get those who tried to build a space base." A predictable response from people who are "products of the natural environment" perhaps? 55 Aboriginal culture came under suspicion again when it was suggested in a Sunday Mail article that at least one non-Aboriginal person on Cape York Peninsula considered attempts to reestablish Aboriginal burning patterns on Cape York of more concern than the spaceport. A picture of the person featured accompanying the story had this caption: "Mia Lennon on Cape York . . . white ants [termites] a greater threat than space launches." 56 Attempts to devalue Aboriginal cultural attachment to Cape York Peninsula surfaced in other ways. In an article in the Sunday Mail's Business section the traditional landholders' legitimacy was questioned in this way: Will Australian Aborigines cause difficulties over the ownership of the Cape York Space Base? The present Aborigines were not the first inhabitants of the area. Those were the Tasmanians who were chased into Tasmania when the sea level was very much lower than now. They are now extinct. In any case, Aboriginal women, who

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were treated very badly by their men, should be glad that the English occupied Cape York and not the Germans or Dutch.57 It was important for Aboriginal culture either to remain invisible or to be constructed in terms of the preferred discourse, and this is what happened. Using such descriptions as "primitive" and "empty place," associating Indigenous people with "nature" and "mysticism," placed them outside the framework that informed "space-age development." Again, the redefinition of themselves, through the media, proved impossible for Aboriginal people. The role of the media in producing meaning here is crucial, because there were virtually no easily accessible, alternative sources of information about this issue available. The media offered up a powerful interpretation. TALKING D O W N THE OPPOSITION More direct rejection of Aboriginal opposition to the Cape York space base proposal became apparent in the middle of 1990, after several articles in the Courier-Mail had raised the threat of land rights. An editorial aligned Aboriginal opposition with Green opposition when the Courier-Mail reminded readers that they owed former premier Bjelke-Petersen a "debt of gratitude" for his space base scheme—"an idea before its time." The editorial acknowledged that it was crucial to the scheme's final acceptance that the "rights of the traditional Aboriginal owners" be taken into account but stressed that the spaceport scheme would encourage technology-based industry in Queensland, concluding: "Aboriginal owners and conservationists should view it in that light." The headline read: "Blacks Plan High Court Plea to Stop Space Base." In this story, the Wuthathi were described as "the site's traditional displaced land-holders." 58 On the same day, in the newspaper's Letters to the Editor section, one correspondent took the issue a little further: "When white people own land required for progress they face compulsory purchase with no option. Why then is special consideration being given to Aboriginal Australians in regards to the proposed space base at Temple Bay?" 59 But two more letters published within a week tried to explain what seemed so difficult for the paper's journalists to elicit. Although critical of Green opposition to the spaceport proposal, one writer was in no doubt as to the legitimacy of Aboriginal concerns: "Their country was taken from them by us more than 200 years ago, and history shows what a raw deal they were, and still are, given. We have improved a little since we no longer shoot them for sport or gain as did our British forebears. . . . Is it too late to reach that compromise [between developers and environmentalists]?" 60 The following day, 17 July, another perceptive correspondent managed to have this response published: Aboriginal groups have every right not to want to swap their traditional land and lifestyle for some dubious "delights of the 21st century" and wealthy builder's profits. The oft-stated benefits of high technology are easy to tout but extremely

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difficult to verify. . . . Our world's natural regions are dwindling quickly enough for survival purposes, let alone for Jules Verne-inspired space bases. Be careful Queensland, the propaganda is about to begin.61 Perhaps the warning came a little too late. The report of a planned seminar in August 1990, on "business and legal issues" surrounding the proposed spaceport by the International Law Association in Cairns, attempted to draw the battle lines. The headline read: "United Opposition to Space Base." But Aboriginal opposition was portrayed in an unusual way—in the story's third paragraph, readers were told: "Some Aborigines warned conference delegates Aboriginal spirits would 'come to get' those who attempted to build a space base on their sacred land." The story carried a picture with a similar caption. Midway through the story, the journalist acknowledged that the Wuthathi and the "Kukuuyau" [sic] people were "the traditional landowners of the proposed site" although "a leading space industry advocate told the seminar Australia could not be driven by Aborigines, greenies and politicians who sat on the fence."62 Just one month earlier, the Sunday Mail reported in a small story buried in its "Business Watch" column that "the Russians look set to approve the $350 million space base scheme before the end of the year despite Aboriginal protest" [my emphasis], and it continued: "Australia's trade commissioner in the USSR, Mr Ian Wing, said the Russians expected the Australian and Queensland governments to handle Aboriginal and environmental protests." Was the Cairns seminar an attempt to "handle" such protests?63 Moves by the Queensland government to enact some form of land rights legislation early in 1991 came after Cape York elders asked the premier, Wayne Goss, when they were going to get their land back. The suggestion brought forth a flurry of headlines and stories that focused on the spaceport proposal in a new light. The project was now under direct threat. The headline on page 3 of the 21 February edition of the Courier-Mail said it all: "Cape Claim of 60m Hectares by Aborigines." The first paragraph filled in some information gaps: "Aborigines are seeking more than 60 million hectares of Cape York land—including the proposed Cape York space base site—after a state government pledge to enact land rights legislation." In the third paragraph, mining, industry, and rural groups reportedly opposed the plan because it would "lock up vital resources." Spokesperson for the Cape York Land Council Noel Pearson was able to put his point of view halfway through the article. However, the Queensland government moved quickly to allay the fears of those who feared that the entire Cape York Peninsula would revert to Aboriginal control. A feature story on land rights—headed "The Black and White of Land Rights"—appeared a few days after the Cape York land-claim headline. In the last quarter of the article, the Queensland premier described moves by Aboriginal people to veto the space base project as having "Buckley's chance" of succeeding.64 Five months later, an editorial focused directly on "inaction" on the space base proposal. "No Time to Waste on Space," the headline urged, because it was

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"Time to move." The editorial railed: "If the knockers had been around then [four decades ago] the Snowy River scheme65 would never have got under way." But it had only just begun. The spaceport project "has similar potential to that great adventure" and was continually having "spanners [in the form of federal Aboriginal Affairs minister Robert Tickner] .. . thrown into the works." The project, the editorial informed us, would not harm the environment and "might even enhance the opportunities for Indigenous bird and aquatic life." It did mention Aboriginal concerns—in the last paragraph: "That there are political problems are clear: the questions of Aboriginal land claims and consultation remain to be addressed."66 An even more direct threat to the project appeared quite suddenly in 1992 following the federal government's use of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Heritage Protection Act to prevent the destruction of sacred sites by a proposed flood-mitigation project near Alice Springs in central Australia. The headline on page 1 of the Courier-Mail said it all: "NT [Northern Territory] Decision Threat to Cape York Spaceport." In the story, Aboriginal spokesperson Bob Weatherall was quoted—in the second paragraph—as suggesting that the same legislative measures could be applied to prevent the destruction of sacred sites on Cape York. Weatherall was allowed six paragraphs to state his case, three in direct speech. Clearly, it was the element of conflict that elevated this Aboriginal issue to page 1 and even allowed an Aboriginal community representative to speak—in 6 of the article's 21 paragraphs. Weatherall stressed that Aboriginal people had made known their concerns about the spaceport.67 It is unfortunate that the Courier-Mail took so long to acknowledge this. The existence of "Aboriginal concerns" was first mentioned by the newspaper in 1989.68 Stories had been replete with talk of consultation, which remained largely an unfulfilled promise. "Aboriginal concerns," of course, had existed for very much longer than was acknowledged by Queensland's only state-wide daily newspaper. Throughout this coverage, fear and conflict are invoked as dominant news values. The "threat" of land rights emerged as a theme and is represented in terms reminiscent of coverage given to the High Court's native title decision, which I discuss in greater detail in chapter 5. The threat to development—"locking up vital resources"—and to people's backyards is a clear example of this particular emphasis. The ideological implications of this kind of representation are clear. It further strengthens the framework that constrained the issue from its inception. PRINCE PHILIP'S NEWS RELEASE As the then international president of the World Wide Fund for Nature, the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip, made a rare statement to the media at Brisbane's City Hall on 22 November 1990. He urged conservation of Cape York and, in the second of only two directly quoted paragraphs in the news release, opined: "It is very important that a land use study begin immediately so that areas of high conservation value can be defined and protected, taking into account the

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legitimate interests of Aboriginal people."69 The news release went further: "He [the Duke of Edinburgh] urged that this blueprint [land use study] guarantee that the area's special conservation values are protected and counseled caution in assessing the spaceport proposal for Cape York Peninsula." On the same day, the Cape York Land Council also issued a news release, endorsing the call for the protection of the peninsula. Aboriginal representatives from Cape York traveled to Brisbane to attend the Duke's media address and acknowledged in their statement the fact that Prince Philip had recognized their concerns. Their statement drew attention to the Duke's clear endorsement of land rights for the Aboriginal people of Cape York.70 The land council coordinator, Francis Deemal, described the Duke's statements as "the most important event in the history of Cape York since the landing of Captain Cook in the Endeavour River in 1770" and explained why: "It is the most important event because today, for the first time, a representative of the British Crown has acknowledged the preexisting land rights of the Indigenous inhabitants of Cape York Peninsula."71 In the same news release, elders from the Wuthathi and the Kuuku Ya'u also welcomed the statements. Wuthathi representative Gordon Pablo made very clear his views on the spaceport: "My people and all of the Aboriginal people in Cape York Peninsula, do not want a Space Base in our country. The premier, Mr. Goss, and the Queensland Government must listen to what Prince Phillip [sic] has said here today. We do not want a Space Base, and our people will oppose this space base proposal right to the bitter end if we have to."72 In the article that covered the event for the Courier-Mail, the landowners' statements were not reported. In the final section of the page 5 article, it mentioned that Pablo and Deemal had "told the prince they did not want the spaceport to go ahead." Under the headline "Prince Philip Says Time Is Running out for Cape," the introduction to the story set the scene: "It could have been awkward. Yesterday at Brisbane City Hall, the Duke of Edinburgh flirted with a series of politically sensitive topics, including one close to his heart... he discussed government policies and the environment, Aboriginal land rights and development." There was no mention of the Duke's clear comments concerning the space base. There were no direct quotes from any of the Aboriginal representatives. Their concerns were relegated to a phrase in indirect speech toward the end of a large article. The picture caption accompanying the shot of a smiling Prince Philip is as illuminating in how this story was effectively depoliticized. The caption read: "Prince Philip, World Wide Fund for Nature president, shares a joke at City Hall yesterday."73 We are left to wonder just what was the joke here. VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS Indirect referencing was most commonly how the possible impacts of the spaceport on Aboriginal people surfaced in the news stories under review here. The issues were raised in similar ways in many of the stories. Federal-state endorsement of the spaceport proposal hinged on a range of issues. These were

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variously described as "reconciliation of Aboriginal concerns," "satisfactory resolution of Aboriginal concerns," "consequences for Aborigines," "Aboriginal heritage and culture," "issues being settled with the traditional occupiers," "settling of the 'outstanding issues' with the traditional Aboriginal owners of the site area," "[balancing] the interests of the Aboriginal land owners," "Aboriginal concerns . . . of a sensitive nature. . . best conducted by a small team on a confidential basis," "the Aboriginal situations." What the writers and those directly quoted meant, of course, was land rights. And those words took on a special meaning—because of their absence in the stories under investigation. Of the 65 stories examined, "land rights" was used in just 8 during a 14-month period from July 1990. Of those, 2 used the words in a headline: "The Black and White of Land Rights,"74 and "Land Rights Issue 'a Political Juggernaut.'"75 Neither of these feature stories focused specifically on the space base issue. Both dealt with land rights in a general sense, mentioning the Cape York Peninsula claims in passing. There were, no doubt, many other stories dealing with "land rights" published during this time, but it is clear from this analysis that the issue was never seriously identified as one that could be related to Aboriginal people and the Cape York spaceport proposal. It was not a question of land rights for Aboriginal people, it was more a question of resolving the "concerns," "consequences," "issues," and "interests" of Aboriginal people, thereby effectively denying not only that the debate was about land rights, but also that a real debate existed. Several stories made oblique supportive statements, referring to the need to consider such issues as "Aboriginal heritage and culture,"76 "effects on Aborigines' hunting and food gathering and . . . lifestyles, significant sites, heritage and values,"77 and the fact that it is "an important Aboriginal area."78 But the thrust of all was to marginalize any possible damaging effect or threat to Aboriginal communities in the projected spaceport area. SPEAKING OUT That there was Aboriginal opposition to rather than an undefined concern over the space base proposal went virtually unacknowledged until 1990 in the newspaper coverage examined in this case study. Acknowledgment of Indigenous opposition surfaced in April of that year in the form of land claims on Cape York Peninsula—one land claim in particular. The headline on page 4 read: "Black Bid for Space Base Site."79 The fact that the land was part of the Wuthathis' traditional territory cut no ice with the headline writer. The opposition came from Wuthathi representative, Gordon Pablo. He had made his opposition clear, in direct quotes and at length, in an article in Land Rights News, nine months earlier.80 It was the first time—since the space base was mooted four years earlier—that the Courier-Mail published, albeit indirectly, comments from one of the representatives with a traditional claim over the affected area, although the story described the action as "seeking legal ownership." The story continued:

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"Mr Pablo said a large number of Aborigines, station owners and conservationists strongly opposed the proposed space base. He said the base would spoil the surrounding land which he claims is traditional Aboriginal land which contains sacred sites." The story ran four column-centimeters—just five paragraphs. The Land Rights News article the previous year ran to seven. The chance for Aboriginal people to speak out for themselves about their concerns has been extremely limited in the coverage examined here. Of the 65 stories considered, just 10 named an Aboriginal spokesperson. In 7 of the stories, direct quotes were used; in 3, indirect speech only was used to express Aboriginal viewpoints. One story used a short phrase in direct speech but did not identify the speaker or speakers in the story introduction: "Some Aborigines warned conference delegates Aboriginal spirits would 'come to get' those who attempted to build a space base on their sacred land."81 The first Aboriginal person to be quoted directly by Queensland Newspapers in a news story dealing with the space base, perhaps not surprisingly, was someone who supported the idea. It was reported in the Sunday Mail on 10 September 1989. The comments of support were attributed to Wampoo Kepple, described by the reporter as a "product of the natural environment." It had taken three years from the moment the spaceport idea was first raised to hear the people most affected by its presence speak for themselves. And it was to be a further seven months before another identified Aboriginal voice was allowed to speak about the spaceport in the mainstream Queensland press—Wampoo Kepple was the first and last Aboriginal voice of approval for the project. Perhaps that explains the extraordinary absence of Aboriginal comment. Spokesperson for the Wuthathi people Gordon Pablo featured in three news stories in the period covered. He was first named on 12 April 1990, in a story on page 4, where, in indirect speech, he voiced Aboriginal opposition to the spaceport. Three months later, a representative from the Tharpuntoo Legal Service and for Cape York Peninsula Aboriginal groups, George Villaflor, voiced his opposition to the project in a page 2 story—again, this was reported in indirect speech.82 A spokesperson for the Cape York and Torres United Party, Roland Cantley, managed one sentence in direct speech on 15 July 1990, although this was the text of a telegram sent to the U.S. president protesting the use of American technology in the spaceport project. This was the precise time that representatives from nine Cape York Aboriginal communities gathered in Townsville to voice their opposition to the spaceport.83 But readers relying on the Courier-Mail for information on Aboriginal views of the proposal were to be disappointed. Six weeks later, the first Aboriginal person to be quoted directly in the Courier-Mail on the topic of spaceport opposition was another Cape York Land Council spokesperson, Noel Pearson. This story, which originated from Australian Associated Press (AAP), gave Pearson three paragraphs in which to state opposition to the project on behalf of Aboriginal people on the peninsula. The AAP story had forecast a meeting at Lockhart River community to discuss

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development threats to the peninsula, and coverage of the meeting itself, five days later, gave Wuthathi representative Gordon Pablo an unprecedented five paragraphs of direct speech and two in indirect speech. Pablo was able to state that the focus of concern was the space base: "There will be no more beautiful Queensland, we are frightened for our country. Cape York is like a giant chess board with white government and big business taking all the pieces. One side gets everything and we get nothing." Unfortunately for Cape York Aboriginal people and those who might not have read that far, these statements were placed in the second half of the story, which itself focused on the outcome of an outof-court settlement of a dispute over Bromley Holdings, at the time one of the proposed spaceport sites. Hence, the story was headed "Cape York Land Settlement a Blow for Blacks." An accompanying picture of several Aboriginal representatives merely named them.84 In a small story five weeks later, Gordon Pablo was again quoted—but in indirect speech this time. The headline "Spaceport Land May Go to Blacks" previewed a suggestion that the Cape York Space Agency might "lease back" the spaceport site from Aboriginal people after giving it to them. Pablo was quoted as voicing some skepticism over this offer—which was ultimately withdrawn.85 Four more months passed before Aboriginal voices were again raised in opposition to the spaceport in the Queensland press. In a story headed "Cape Claim of 60m Hectares by Aborigines," Cape York Land Council spokesperson Noel Pearson was allowed three paragraphs of direct speech and two of indirect speech. Again, Pearson's opposition to the space base appears in the 11-columncentimeter story in the second half, effectively burying his comments for all but the more conscientious readers. He told those who persevered: "The protection of those [sacred] sites and the maintenance of Aboriginal people's relationship with the land has got to be our first priority, over and above considerations such as the space base. The negative impact on sacred sites that a space base would have is something we're not willing to accept."86 In July 1991, the Courier-Mail published an unusual story about a possible threat by Cape York tourists to Aboriginal land and culture. It was unusual in many ways. It was the first and only story published on the issues under examination that focused on the notion that the spaceport proposal would have a possible negative impact on Aboriginal people. Even the headline supports this notion: "Spaceport Would Lead to Invasion by Tourists." And the introduction supported this line strongly: "A Cape York spaceport would open the doors to a tourism invasion of Aboriginal land and the destruction of sacred spiritual sites, a federal inquiry was told yesterday. In a heated, emotional debate, Wuthathi and Kuku-yao [sic] tribe spokesmen said they were frightened for the future of their children." It is unusual because it is the only story in the 65 investigated here to name and to allow two Aboriginal spokespeople to state their opposition: "a member of the group," Jim Wallis; and "Aboriginal elder and member of the Cape York Land Council," Gordon Pablo. Perhaps the fact that the two men were

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giving evidence before a Federal Senate transport, communication, and infrastructure inquiry into the development of satellite-launching facilities made their views more compelling. In the story, Wallis reportedly told the inquiry: "It's a pity [the then prime minister] Bob Hawke does not have love and sympathy for us like he does for the people at Coronation Hill."87 And Gordon Pablo was able to voice his people's continuing opposition to the space base proposal in these terms: "The spirits of the Aboriginal people are still there, the land is more important to Aboriginal people than anything."88 The last story in this investigation to quote directly an Aboriginal representative was in 1992. The front-page story headed "NT Decision Threat to Cape York Spaceport" featured six quoted paragraphs from Bob Weatherall of the Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action (FAIRA). Three were in direct speech. It was the most prominent use of an Aboriginal speaker, mentioned in the second paragraph. Conflict was clearly the driving news value that elevated Bob Weatherall's quotes to such a high place in the story. He was able to tell readers of the Courier-Mail in the fourth paragraph: "There is major significance for all those lands there in Cape York for dreaming stories. The traditional owners have made their position very clear about those sites." The bulk of the story concerned the real issue—the federal government's banning of work on a floodmitigation scheme in Alice Springs to protect sacred sites under its Heritage Act. The Queensland "angle" was a clear attempt by the Courier-Mail to localize the story. A perceived threat to the spaceport was a key influence here.89 I have suggested that identifying a source ascribes it credibility. The heavy reliance that media workers place on official sources led to a "structured overaccessing" of people in powerful positions.90 Here, both of these institutionalized news practices served to legitimate a preferred discourse. In doing so, Aboriginal speakers were effectively silenced. To "make sense" of the spaceport discourse, the newspaper essentially omitted Aboriginal voices. To include them would have created a more complex discussion, difficult for mainstream journalism to confront. VISUALIZING ABORIGINAL PEOPLE Queensland Newspapers published 32 pictures in the sample of stories being investigated here. (See Table 4.2.) Photographs of Indigenous people were by far the smallest category used, and yet, as I have argued, it is this section of the Queensland community that would have been affected more than anyone if the spaceport proposal had gone ahead. The clear opposition to the project from Aboriginal people was not reflected in Queensland Newspapers' use of photographs—a similar finding to my analysis of news stories. The first picture that links the spaceport project with Indigenous people is that of Wampoo Kepple.91 As I have already outlined, the story accompanying this picture advocates the need for the spaceport to create employment

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The Cape York Spaceport Table 4.2 Spaceport Photographs, 1986-1992 Indigenous people Non-Indigenous people North Queensland locations

6 11 15

Total

32

for Cape York Aboriginal people—a point of view that does not emerge from any other Indigenous source during this entire affair. The first photograph that relates to Aboriginal opposition to the project does not appear until almost 12 months later, on 18 August 1990, on page 18. This is more than 12 months after clear Aboriginal opposition to the project was published in Land Rights News. That there was opposition to the project was acknowledged just once more in a picture used by the Courier-Mail three weeks later, on 4 September 1990, making it to page 6. The three remaining photographs of Indigenous people used in the period under scrutiny tell the same story: one is of a church service on Thursday Island (accompanying an article about the tourism potential of the north), another is of an Aboriginal dancer at the Cape York Laura Festival, and the third is a small picture of an Aboriginal man accompanying perhaps the newspaper's most sensational headline used in the entire case study: "Cape Claim of 60m Hectares by Aborigines."92 This picture was used on one of the newspaper's key news pages, page 3, and is the most newsworthy placement of any of the 32 photographs examined here. The news value that drove this decision is quite clearly conflict. A head shot of the then Queensland premier Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen made it to page 4,93 and the Duke of Edinburgh (pictured in front of a prominent WWF panda) page 5.94 Overall, there is a clear parallel between the absence of Aboriginal representatives in news pages and in photographs used by Queensland Newspapers since 1986. Again, an Indigenous presence is essentially omitted from the news pages. In contrast, 11 photographs used during the case study period by Queensland Newspapers featured non-Aboriginal people—equally divided between politicians (5 pictures) and business people (6 pictures). By far the most used category of photographs (15) was of the Cape York landscape itself, including 5 pictures or illustrations of the proposed spaceport or space launch vehicles. The remainder are shots of Cape York and tourist attractions in the area. CONCLUSION At the time of writing this, the Cape York spaceport has not been built, and it seems highly unlikely that it ever will be. But the fears it has instilled in the Aboriginal people of Cape York since the idea was first mooted remain. In an

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interesting twist, the idea for a Queensland spaceport emerged again early in 2000. According to an ABC TV News story, the 85 residents of Turkey Beach near Gladstone in Central Queensland opposed the plan to build a spaceport at Hummock Hill, near their township. The story featured interview grabs with several residents. Indigenous concerns were not mentioned. A cynical assessment might conclude that perhaps this is the criterion for attracting media attention.95 Coverage of Aboriginal concerns about the spaceport Cape York by the Courier-Mail is an example of the omission of particular ideas and assumptions relevant to Aboriginal inhabitants of the region. There were no articles among the sample chosen that provided any substantial explanation as to why Aboriginal communities on Cape York opposed the spaceport proposal. The few references to opposition are invariably buried in the latter section of articles or are countered by contradictory information, essentially reinforcing the preferred version. Aboriginal people remained unmentioned in Queensland Newspapers' headlines until early in 1990, when they emerged as a threat to the spaceport within the framework of land rights. And when land rights finally made it to the political agenda, it was portrayed as a threat to the existing order rather than just recognition of prior title. Again, Aboriginal people were ideologically constructed as the problem. The emergence of a legal definition of native title in 1992 has given journalists a new issue with which to frame Aboriginal dissent. Omission is central to the nature of the media representation in this case study. The selective excision of virtually all direct Aboriginal commentary from the news pages of Queensland's major (and now only remaining) daily newspaper is disturbing. The stories in this case study were chosen because they included Aboriginal concern over the spaceport. It is revealing that only 11 percent (7 of the 65 stories) actually quoted an Aboriginal person directly, and Aboriginal people were quoted indirectly in a further 3 stories. It effectively means the stifling of Aboriginal dissent on this project of crucial importance to Cape York's Indigenous communities. It was only after Aboriginal people were perceived as a threat to the spaceport proposal that their voices were heard in the pages of the Courier-Mail and the Sunday Mail. The cavalier manner in which Aboriginal views were sought—or not sought, as was the usual case—is evidence enough to support a rejection of mainstream media by Indigenous people. Earlier studies have shown a dissatisfaction by Indigenous people with the media in general.96 The outcome of this case study does not provide any encouragement for north Queensland Aboriginal communities to modify their perceptions. The prevailing view was that the spaceport, in this case, was good for Queensland and, effectively, a fait accompli. That Aboriginal dissent represents an opposition to "progress" clearly dominates the media discourse here. While quantifying by itself does not necessarily inform an analysis, a clear trend emerges from this study: Aboriginal concerns related to the spacebase proposal found their way into the least important sections of the stories studied twice as often as those that appeared in the first few paragraphs. It is

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indicative of the apparent incompatibility of two discourses—a preferred view, which represents the spaceport as a necessary economic and political advance, and another, which proclaims a spiritual as well as a physical attachment to country, transcending the claimed advantages that accompany development. The few paragraphs that Aboriginal people were given to speak out in the mainstream media meant that there was virtually no possibility of debate centered on such crucial issues as the complex relationship to land from an Aboriginal perspective. Aboriginal culture was portrayed as something removed from the discourses about land that dominated the stories of the spaceport, thereby denying the possible existence of a problem. Representations ranged from confusing attempts to define Aboriginal interests to ignorant and insulting attempts to justify dubious economic arguments. The fact that Torres Strait Islanders have been claiming their right to autonomy in the region for more than 50 years, or that Aboriginal people at Injinoo-Cowal Creek have been drawing attention to their customary land claims, especially since 1985, has not figured in the debate in the pages of the Courier-Mail, yet this is crucial to the communities involved.97 Aboriginal views centered on opposition to the project, for several reasons, were accessible to journalists, but proved elusive to Queensland Newspapers reporters at crucial times. Throughout the stories under examination here, it was seldom (if at all) suggested that the spaceport might not proceed. However, the state government in 1992 acknowledged that the project "always had only a 50 percent chance of going ahead," although even this appeared in the antepenultimate paragraph of a 21-paragraph story.98 This was not the impression that predominated in the news pages of the Courier-Mail and the Sunday Mail. In chapter 5, I look at the way journalists dealt with the 1992 High Court decision on native title—Mabo. My focus again is on Indigenous voices in the debate and the role of the media and journalism in managing the flow of information. NOTES X.Sunday Mail, 20 July 1997, pp. 6, 78. 2. Bob Johnson, "Wilderness Could Be Base for Colonisation of Space," Courier-Mail, 23 May 1992, p. 4, emphasis added. 3. Gavin Gilchrest, The 7.30 Report, 18 February 1992, emphasis added. 4. David Maybury-Lewis, Millennium, Special Broadcasting Service, 7 September 1992. 5. Nine Network Australia, Cape of Dreams: Empty Places, documentary, 29 July 1990. 6. Nine Network Australia, Cape of Dreams. 1. Greg Borschmann, "Home to the Spirit of the Land," Messagestick, 1986, pp. 4-5; Nonie Sharp, "Armed Space at the Top End?," Arena, no. 93, 1990, p. 32. 8. Athol Chase, Letter to Kerry Packer, Chair of Nine Network Australia Ltd, 7 August 1990. 9. Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland, A Conservation Strategy for Cape York Peninsula: Draft for Discussion, WPSQ, Brisbane, November 1990, p. 30.

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10. Nine Network Australia, Cape of Dreams. 11. The complaint in 1990 was made by long-time Brisbane-based campaigner against media racism, Richard Buchhorn. 12. Johnson, p. 4. Part of the article reads: "And when historians in the future look back on May 1992, they will wonder why the genesis of the site as a spaceport was hanging in the balance because of a mere few hundred million dollars of risk capital." 13. Tharpuntoo Legal Service, "Umpila Territory as a Cultural Landscape," unpublished paper, Tharpuntoo Legal Service, 14 July 1990, pp. 1-3. 14. Jack Lunn, "Joh May Conserve the 'Great Divide,'" Courier-Mail, 27 April 1975, p. 1; Courier-Mail, "Wilderness, Wildlife," Editorial, 28 April 1975, p. 4; Greg Roberts, "The Cape York Wilderness Is Untouched," Courier-Mail, 25 August 1977, p. 4. 15. "Conserve or Destroy," N.Q. Messagestick, 5, no. 1, 1980, p. 3. 16. Borschmann, p. 5. 17. David Leser, "Space City: Finding the Site to Launch Australia into the Cosmos," The Australian Weekend Magazine, 23-24 April 1988, p. 1. 18. Desmond Zwar, "Pie in the Sky?," Sunday Mail, 22 July 1990, p. 17. 19. Trish Ferrier, "Spaceport," in A Conservation Strategy for Cape York Peninsula, p. 214. 20. Leser, p. 1. 21. Ferrier, pp. 214-215; Adrian Jeffreys, Cape York Peninsula developments briefing paper for the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland, 1990, p. 1. 22. Department of Aboriginal Affairs, "Space Base," Cape York Peninsula in Focus, 1, no. 3, 1989, pp. 11-12. 23. W. A. Shirley, "Cape York International Spaceport," Letter to Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland, 30 March 1990. 24. Kathy Wright, "Opposition to Cape Space Port Growing," Land Rights News, November 1989, p. 2. 25. Ferrier, p. 223. 26. G. T. Gait, "Launching Zenit into the Black," Search, 21, no. 3, 1990, pp. 79-80; B. S. Middleton, "Cape York—Myths, Opinions and Spaceport Facts," Search, 21, no. 3, 1990, pp. 78-79; Sam Paltridge, "Spaceport Fantasy and Economic Reality," Search, 21, no. 3, 1990, pp. 75-78; Geoff Smith, "Queensland Government Supportive in Principle," Search, 21, no. 3, 1990, p. 80. 27. Middleton, p. 79; Gait, p. 79. 28. Bob Hunter, "Famous Writer Has a Queensland Fantasy," Courier-Mail, 24 November 1990, p. 16. 29. Wayne Goss, "Agreement on Joint Federal-State Land Use Study of Cape York," News Release, Brisbane, 11 October 1989, p. 1. 30. Isaac Hobson's speech to the Remote Aboriginal Communities Future Conference at James Cook University on 14 July 1990 includes references to the murder of Aboriginal people on Cape York. He challenges the use of the term "contact" when he asks: "Do you call the murder of my people contact?" He also makes the observation that Australians seem prepared to pursue German war criminals to the courts but ignore the atrocities committed on Aboriginal people. "When we gonna have a War Crimes Court in Australia? Well, to this day, these people who took my land, have never been taken to court. They have not been told to give my people their land back." 31. Wright, p. 7. 32. Sharp, p. 32. 33. Ray Wood, "Cape York Peninsula: A Cultural Landscape," in Cape York Peninsula: The Land Needs Its People, a supplement to Habitat Australia, August 1995. In their over-

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view of the anthropological significance of the area, Dr. Aila Keto and Keith Scott conclude that "this is one of the few pristine areas in Cape York Peninsula where an opportunity exists for setting aside an entire traditional homeland for a linguistically cohesive group of Aborigines." See their report, A Proposal for a National Park in the Mcllwraith Range Area Cape York Peninsula, Rainforest Conservation Society, Bardon, Brisbane, November 1989, p. 27. 34. Quoted in Sharp, p. 33. 35. Sunday Mail, 20 July 1997, p. 6. 36. Anthony Brown, "The Cape York Spaceport Is On but How Much Does It Cost?," WPSQNews, no. 124, December 1991, p. 14. 37. Australian Associated Press, "Opposition Expressed to Cape York Spaceport," 8 November 1991. 38. Horstman, "The Second Wave," p. 19. 39. Horstman, "The Second Wave," p. 19. See also Mark Horstman and Jim Downey, Cape York Peninsula: The Land Needs Its People," a special supplement to Habitat Australia, August 1995. In this, the authors and others, including Cape York Land Council director Noel Pearson and Cape York Land Council anthropologist Ray Wood, explain how this relationship has developed. Horstman speaks in this supplement as assistant to the director of the Cape York Land Council. 40. Tharpuntoo Legal Service, Umpila Territory as a Cultural Landscape. 41. ABC Radio News, 15 September 1993; Courier-Mail, 17 September 1993. 42. Courier-Mail, 15 March 1996, p. 29. 43. Sunday Mail, 20 July 1997, p. 6. 44. Sunday Mail, 22 July 1990, p. 17. 45. Courier-Mail, 24 December 1986, p. 4. 46. Courier-Mail, 9 October 1987, p. 12. 47. Courier-Mail, 19 February 1987, p. 2. 48. Courier-Mail, 22 April 1987, p. 11. 49. Courier-Mail, 25 June 1987, p. 3. 50. Courier-Mail, 14 December 1987, p. 8. 51. The Telegraph, 22 September 1987, p. 8. 52. For an account of a more recent incident involving a complaint to the Australian Press Council over claims of cannibalism, see Michael Meadows, "Getting the Right Message Across," Australian Journalism Review, 10, 1988, pp. 140-153. 53. Courier-Mail, 1 July 1989, p. 6. 54. Courier-Mail, 10 September 1989, p. 24. 55. Courier-Mail, 18 August 1990, p. 18. 56. Sunday Mail, 2 September 1990, p. 16. 57. Sunday Mail, 9 June 1991, p. 35. 58. Courier-Mail, 11 July 1990, p. 6. 59. Courier-Mail, 11 July 1990, p. 8. 60. Courier-Mail, 16 July 1990, p. 8. 61. Courier-Mail, 17 July 1990, p. 8. 62. Courier-Mail, 18 August 1990, p. 18. 63. Sunday Mail, 26 August 1990, p. 31. 64. Courier-Mail, 23 February 1991, p. 29. 65. In 1949, the Federal Labor government set up the massive Snowy River scheme, a project designed to use water resources of the Snowy Mountains in southern Australia for hydroelectricity. Water was redirected for crop irrigation along the Murray and Murrumbidgee Rivers. The scheme was completed in 1972. 66. Courier-Mail, 3 July 1991, p. 8.

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67. Courier-Mail, 18 May 1992, p. 1. 68. Courier-Mail, 4 December 1989, p. 5. 69. World Wide Fund for Nature Australia news release, 22 November 1990. 70. Cape York Land Council, press statement, 22 November 1990. 71. Cape York Land Council, press statement. 72. Cape York Land Council, press statement. 73. Courier-Mail, 23 November 1990, p. 5. 74. Courier-Mail, 23 February 1991, p. 29. 75. Courier-Mail, 1 September 1991, p. 31. 76. Courier-Mail, 1 March 1990, p. 15, halfway through the story. 77. Courier-Mail, 10 July 1990, p. 2, last paragraph. 78. Courier-Mail, 10 July 1990, p. 2. 79. Courier-Mail, 12 April 1990, p. 4. 80. See "Wuthathi People Say 'No' to Spaceport," Land Rights News, July 1989, p. 2. 81. Courier-Mail, 18 August 1990, p. 18. 82. Courier-Mail, 10 July 1990, p. 2. 83. Sharp, "A Second Invasion." 84. Courier-Mail, 30 August 1990, p. 18. 85. Courier-Mail, 10 October 1990, p. 6. 86. Courier-Mail, 5 November 1991, p. 3. 87. The federal government decided to oppose mining at Coronation Hill in the Northern Territory because of its sacred significance to Aboriginal people. 88. Courier-Mail, 11 July 1991, p. 7. 89. Courier-Mail, 18 May 1992, p. 1. 90. Stuart Hall, Chas Crichter, and Tony Jefferson, Policing the Crisis, p. 58. 91. Sunday Mail, 10 September 1989, p. 24. 92. Courier-Mail, 21 February 1991, p. 1. 93. Courier-Mail, 24 December 1986, p. 4. 94. Courier-Mail, 23 November 1990, p. 5. 95. ABC TV News, 16 January 2000. The story reported that United Launch Systems International was aiming to have test flights from the spaceport by the end of 2001. Residents claimed that they had not been consulted about the project and that an environmental-impact study had not been undertaken—familiar claims. 96. Michael Meadows, "People Power: Reporting or Racism?," Australian Journalism Review, 9, 1987, pp. 102-112; Meadows, 1988. 97. Nonie Sharp, "Armed Space at the Top End?" 98. Sonia Ulliana, "Spaceport May Be Financed Overseas," Courier-Mail, 4 July 1992, p. 5.

5 Lost Opportunities— The Native Title Debate

At precisely 11:58 P.M. on 21 December 1993, the Native Title Bill was passed by the Australian Senate. It was the culmination of many months of often grueling lobbying by the Coalition of Aboriginal Organisations Working Party, made up of representatives of land councils, ATSIC, and others. Kathy Whimp, who acted as legal adviser to the Working Party, described the atmosphere in the Senate chamber on that historic evening: "When the speaker made the announcement the public gallery erupted into applause, and after a moment's pause—as at the opera—a swelling, standing ovation. Members of the Government, Greens, and Democrats stood and applauded those above them in the public gallery. Even members of the press clapped. The Opposition sat mute and motionless, isolated by their refusal to participate." 1 The Australian High Court's decision on the Murray Islanders' land case (Mabo) was handed down 18 months earlier, on 3 June 1992. At that time, the event was given some coverage in major newspapers like the Australian, which acknowledged it as a "black-white watershed." 2 Other media were not so generous in their recognition of the occasion. Pat Dodson laments that the Northern Territory News interpreted the impact of the decision in a small story on page 4.3 On television news bulletins, only the government-funded stations—ABC and SBS—thought it worthy of coverage. SBS ran a long background story (2 minutes 40 seconds) as its opening item. The ABC ran the story as item 3, giving it slightly less air time than the multicultural broadcaster (2 minutes 20 seconds), albeit referring to the overturned notion of Australia being an empty land as "terra nullius." The majority of media consumers who use commercial television

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as a primary source of information remained uninformed. Channel 10 led its news bulletin with a story about an imminent State of Origin rugby league match. The media coverage of the native title decision and the surrounding issues took on a new turn when the prime minister, Paul Keating, raised the topic of native title to the top of the political agenda 12 months later with the release of a Commonwealth Discussion Paper. Since then, scarcely a day has passed without some mention of native title in newspapers and news bulletins around the nation in an attempt to achieve what has proved to be an elusive goal—defining what it means for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people alike. In this chapter, I investigate the role of one major media outlet in constructing the native title debate by examining, in detail, all newspaper stories concerning the High Court decision published by the Courier-Mail and the Sunday Mail in June and July 1993. I have suggested in previous chapters that the notion of ideology is important in analyzing the role of media—especially where they are the only sources of information about a particular issue. I have also suggested ways in which particular ideologies—ideas and assumptions—set up a framework for thinking about a particular issue. What role did Queensland Newspapers—the source of Queensland's only major daily newspaper—play in this process of framing the native title debate? A wave of news activity concerning the native title decision broke in June-July 1993, making it an opportune moment to examine how journalists dealt with the issues of the day. Eddie Mabo was one of five plaintiffs who brought the case—three, including Eddie Mabo, tragically died before the High Court decision was handed down. THE HIGH COURT DECISION The story of Eddie Mabo's involvement in the High Court case begins in the 1970s, when he worked as a gardener at James Cook University in Townsville. Historian Professor Henry Reynolds recalled how conversations with Eddie Mabo about cultural issues inevitably led to a discussion of land ownership on Murray Island land—Mabo's traditional home. When Mabo was denied access to his own land by the Queensland government in the late 1970s, it spurred him and others to challenge the legal notion of ownership in the High Court. In May 1982, Mabo and four other Murray Islanders began an action in the High Court of Australia seeking confirmation of their traditional land rights. They asked the court to declare that the Meriam4 people are entitled to the Murray Islands (Mer) as owners, possessors, occupiers, or people entitled to use and enjoy the islands. They also asked the High Court to find that the State of Queensland had no power to extinguish the Meriam people's title. But the Queensland government intervened, passing—without debate in State Parliament—the Torres Strait Islands Coastal Islands Act containing just three lines: "Any rights that Torres Strait Islanders had to land after the claim of sovereignty in 1879, is hereby extinguished without compensation." 5 This was overturned by the High Court, and the native title case proceeded. A little over 10 years later,

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the High Court made two rulings: that the Meriam people are entitled to possession, occupation, use, and enjoyment of the Murray Islands; and that the Queensland parliament and the Queensland governor have the power to extinguish the Meriam people's title as long as they exercise that power validly and in a manner consistent with Commonwealth laws.6 The decision essentially meant the rejection of the doctrine of terra nullius (no one's land) at the time of European settlement in 1788. The decision, however, left some key issues unresolved: which precise areas of land are subject to native title; which Indigenous peoples are the legitimate holders of native title rights; and the precise definition of native title rights.7 Despite the paucity of informed media debate in the wake of the decision, the issue was soon a hot topic within legal circles. The Aboriginal Law Bulletin devoted several of its 1992 editions to aspects of the native title decision, opening its pages to a wide range of contributors. Aboriginal lawyer Michael Mansell suggested that two Aboriginal groups would benefit from the decision: groups in isolated areas who have maintained their traditions and relationship with the land; and those "whose ideas on the destiny of Aboriginal people rests entirely upon manipulation of white compassion to our advantage."8 His prescient statements seem even more so in hindsight. Mansell concluded by estimating that a tiny handful of Indigenous people would fall within the ambit of the native title decision: "Mabo offers something for those who are grateful for small blessings but nothing in the way of justice."9 Another suggested significant implications flowing from the decision, despite a notable lack of reaction from the nonAboriginal community at the time the decision was handed down. He argued that a combined effect of legal and political processes might eventually lead to a "meaningful settlement" of Indigenous claims.10 A third suggested that the decision opened the way for more substantial recognition of Indigenous rights to own and manage Australia's conservation estate.11 Toward the end of 1992, on the eve of the International Year of the World's Indigenous Peoples, another issue of the Aboriginal Law Bulletin dealt with some more disturbing aspects of the native title decision: the "myths of Mabo." Aboriginal Arts/Law student Loretta VanderLans argued that representatives of industry were exaggerating the implications of the decision and sensationalizing its findings. She likened the "hysterical bandwagon" to the campaign in 1985, particularly by the West Australian Chamber of Mines, which effectively killed off any chance of national land rights legislation. She targeted grossly distorted comments by Western Mining head Hugh Morgan, who claimed the decision "put at risk the whole legal framework of property rights throughout the whole community." "Mabo will not affect freehold or leasehold land," she asserted. VanderLans also highlighted the absurdity of media commentator Padraic McGuinness calling on the federal government to hold a referendum on the native title issue.12 In the same issue, Henry Reynolds wrote at length on the long problematic relationship the Indigenous people have had with pastoral land, especially in Queensland.13

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By early 1993, other accessible documents explaining the native title decision in detail and in plain English had been widely circulated by the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission. 14 It is significant—particularly in the light of what was to follow—that ATSIC warned the federal government that public awareness of the High Court decision was likely to be "highly inaccurate." The commission continued: "Public misconceptions, if they persist, are likely to diminish the range of politically feasible options for responding to the case, to the detriment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people." The ATSIC statement further urged the government to embark on a sustained public education campaign to correct and avoid negative public perceptions of the meaning of the decision. ATSIC suggested that the campaign be targeted at primary and secondary schools, tertiary institutions, and public libraries. 15 The media were not mentioned, but perhaps that was an oversight. ATSIC and other Indigenous representatives had signaled from very early on in the debate that native title and reconciliation were closely linked ideas. This very issue became the focus of the April edition of the Aboriginal Law Bulletin—again, setting the agenda. Chairperson of the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation Patrick Dodson drew attention to the opportunity inherent in the native title decision and the reconciliation process to "heal old sores whilst being constructive about the nature of the future of Indigenous affairs."16 Critiques of the notion of reconciliation—particularly its vagueness and significance for the idea of Aboriginal sovereignty—also surfaced, revealing a diversity of views within the Indigenous community. 17 In March 1993, Paul Keating claimed an extraordinary win in the federal election. In celebrating this, the ALP had chosen as entertainment the Aboriginal band, Yothu Yindi, with lead singer Mandawuy Yunupingu—then Australian of the Year. Keating's reelection set the scene for the dramatic events that were to follow.18 Within a month, the prime minister had invited key Aboriginal organizations to a meeting in Canberra. It was at that meeting that senior Indigenous representatives presented an eight-point Peace Plan: • recognition and protection of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander rights; • Indigenous title not to be extinguished by grants; • Indigenous title not to be extinguished or impaired unilaterally without consent; • declaration of Indigenous title in Reserves and other defined lands; • a tribunal to issue declarations of indigenous land title; • a long-term settlement process for the benefit of indigenous people; • the Commonwealth to negotiate with Indigenous people toward Constitutional acknowledgment of their rights.19 In return, the proposed native title legislation might address such issues as validation of mineral rights and funding to enable Indigenous participation in the consultations.

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The federal government released a discussion paper on the native title decision in June, and the prime minister pursued the issue of some legislative response to native title with the state premiers the same month, reportedly with offers that the Commonwealth would pay for any compensation claims that might result from the extinguishing of native title. The state premiers could not agree on a unified response, and each went their own ways, all ultimately using conflict over the decision to their own political advantage. In the weeks that followed, Queensland Labor Premier Wayne Goss, West Australian Liberal Premier Richard Court, and Victorian Liberal Premier Jeff Kennett all alluded to the possibility of native title claims on suburban backyards—something that had never been legally possible within the terms of the High Court decision.20 In addition, a conflict over a conservative position on native title swept through the ranks of Australia's nonLabor politicians.21 This was the political environment in which media coverage of the debate took place. In anticipation of a campaign of misinformation, the Office of the Minister for Aboriginal Affairs in June released a four-page document entitled Rebutting Mabo Myths. In the material, Minister Robert Tickner explained its purpose: "I have prepared this paper to rebut the myths about Mabo which have appeared in some sections of the media and which have been voiced by some of the more extreme interests in the current public debate." The document quashed a range of spurious claims—that suburban backyards or farming or grazing land might become targets of native title claims; that the decision would mean huge compensation payouts; that Australia's mineral wealth would be "locked up"; that Indigenous people could claim sovereignty over parts of Australia; and that the native title decision was all about guilt. It was a response to the kinds of assertions already finding their way into news and feature stories in the Australian press. The battle for ideological control of the native title debate had begun in earnest. The first hints of public opinion on the native title decision came in a poll published in the Australian on 17 June 1993. An intense media focus on the political implications of the decision had been under way for around three weeks when this poll was taken. Not surprisingly, perhaps, the survey revealed evidence of a nation divided. Although the majority of those polled (73 percent) thought land rights should be a priority of the federal government, the largest proportion (46 percent) thought it warranted minor attention. The same poll showed that 22 percent of respondents felt that land rights was not a priority. In addition, most (52 percent) were against compensation being paid to native title holders for mining or farming activity on their land. Early in July, The Australian Mining Industry Council and the West Australian Chamber of Mines and Energy released details of their "independent" opinion poll, with unsurprising results. According to the mining industry study, almost three-quarters of Australians agreed that Aboriginal people should be given "the same land rights as other citizens." The poll claimed to reveal that more than 70 percent of 1,500 people surveyed said land claims should be assessed on

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individual merit, with 17 percent saying that all land claims by Aboriginal people should be rejected. The survey also asserted that Mabo was now a major issue for Australians, with 72 percent believing that Aboriginal people were likely to lay claim to 55 percent of Australia. Aboriginal Affairs Minister Robert Tickner accused the survey of being "loaded" and suggested that peak industry groups, like mining companies, had "unprecedented gall" spouting about equal rights when they had privileged rights to override the rights of other landholders. One month later, a Saulwick Poll published in the Sydney Morning Herald showed some extraordinarily contrasting results. This revealed a high level of awareness by the 1,000 people questioned over which land might be the subject of a native title claim. Almost 90 percent rejected the notion of backyards being up for grabs, despite this fallacy being propagated through the media by several state premiers. Perhaps this is an indication of the success of the federal government's intervention. Other agencies, too, had tried to provide the information that seemed to be lacking for media audiences: ATSIC issued The Mabo Judgment in February 1993, together with a further "plain English" version, and Community Aid Abroad-Freedom from Hunger published its own document, Mabo—Its Meaning for Australia, in August 1993. Perhaps of greater interest from the Saulwick Poll results is the finding that around half of those polled (51 percent) agreed that successful native title claimants should have a veto over mining on land subject to native title. In the mining industry poll a few weeks earlier, it was reported that nearly half of the survey respondents believed that Aborigines should not be allowed to stop exploration and mining on their land. It represents a significant contrast to the first poll results.22 What this suggests is that the media presided over a great deal of confusion about the exact nature of the proposed native title legislation. Perhaps the federal government's interventionist tactics help to explain the large number of undecided respondents. But the conflicting trends that emerge from these studies reveal the complexities and contradictions within society, not to mention the complexities in trying to "read" poll results. The level of uncertainty they show may well prove to be the only really reliable indicator of attitudes. The outcome of such polls depends heavily, of course, on such issues as the wording of questions and their timing. Meanwhile, Indigenous people around Australia were getting down to the important business of negotiation. On 3 August 1993, 500 Aboriginal and Islander delegates attended a historic land summit on a cattle station in the Northern Territory. Mainstream media were banned from covering the three-day meeting called to discuss the native title decision on Jawoyn land at the Eva Valley Station, 100 km northeast of Katherine. One non-Indigenous journalist acknowledged that such "obsessive and unprecedented concern . . . reflects Aboriginal distrust of the white media," and he observed: "The only reporter to get past the [Aboriginal] guards was George Butler, one of the Jawoyn people and manager of the black-owned Radio Rum Jungle, which broadcasts on short-wave to Aboriginal outstations. Mr. Butler's 6 P.M. report on the assembly would be

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heard by Indonesians and a dozen other nationalities but not by many fellow Australians." 23 Long-time community radio broadcaster Tiga Bayles later produced a 30minute radio special on the Eva Valley meeting, broadcast on Brisbane's Aboriginal community station, 4AAA, and on ABC Radio National's Indigenous arts program, Awaye. By September, the federal government had released its draft outline for the proposed Native Title Bill. A further meeting at Eva Valley Station agreed to allow individual organizations to take up negotiations with the federal government. Representatives from ATSIC and from land councils formed a Coalition of Aboriginal Organisations Working Party on 5 October, and the lobbying began in earnest with the group meeting with the prime minister on five occasions over the next few weeks. As the debate over native title legislation reached a crescendo early in November, another poll revealed that 41 percent of people surveyed rejected the bill— which now excluded a veto over mining! The poll revealed 35 percent support, but, significantly, a huge 24 percent of people who were undecided. 24 On 21 November, the Australian Mining Industry Council, in conjunction with the West Australian Chamber of Mines and Energy, released details of a second poll it had conducted on the native title issue. The industry news release on the poll details was headed, "Mabo Doubts Remain High." It continued: "Australians have strong doubts over the financial implications of the Mabo/native title issue, a belief in equal treatment for all, and serious concerns about the federal government's Mabo response." 25 A study of the mining industry poll by Peter Cronau from the Australian Centre for Independent Journalism revealed some possible alternative interpretations of the data the survey gathered. Cronau argued that the mining industry survey was weighted heavily toward "country" populations in Western Australia, the Northern Territory, and South Australia. In addition, he questioned interpretation of the data by the mining industry. For example, 86 percent of respondents agreed that they were "very concerned" or "somewhat concerned" whether existing property titles were put at risk by the native title decision. But this was never a real issue. The survey also sought unprompted responses to a question asking respondents to name issues of concern to them. Perhaps to the chagrin of the mining industry, the greatest concerns perceived by the survey audience were unemployment (100 percent), the economy (39 percent), social problems (29 percent), crime (24 percent), and government politics (21 percent). Just 12 percent mentioned native title as an issue that attracted "a high level of concern." Cronau also argued that the numbers of respondents expressing "concern" over the possible consequences of native title had in fact declined by an average of five percent! 26 It seems as if the mining industry was searching for evidence that industry would grind to a halt because of native title. But if there was a "slowdown," it was not evident by the September quarter in 1994, when mining exploration

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increased by almost 8 percent. Expenditure on mineral extraction increased by almost 40 percent over the same period.27 National Native Title Tribunal member Tony Lee makes a similar observation. He suggested that the unsubstantiated sensationalism and rhetoric in media reports of delays to industry and development was not supported by available evidence. Most new mining and mineral exploration in Western Australia, for example, proceeded without delay, despite the opportunities for Aboriginal people to lodge objections under the new Native Title Act. And cooperative deals between mining companies and Aboriginal communities did not seem to attract the same level of media coverage as the conflicts.28 Despite a threatened breakdown in negotiations between the Coalition of Aboriginal Organisations Working Party and the government on 8 October— "black Friday"—the Native Title Bill was finally introduced into the House of Representatives on 16 November and passed. The Bill passed through the final stage in the Senate on Christmas Eve 1993, following often heated negotiations with the Green senators. The Native Title Act took effect from 1 January 1994.29 As a key community resource, the media play an important role in providing both cultural and moral leadership in society.30 As a cultural institution, the media contribute to the shaping of opinion through the generation, production, and reproduction of ideas and assumptions about the world. This enables us to "make sense" of reported events as part of the social relations of everyday life.31 And it is precisely at a time like this that media play perhaps their most important role in contributing to "imagining" the kind of nation that might emerge from this historical moment. 32 Tim Rowse takes this further, suggesting that "moral community" is a dimension of the "imagined community" and "must be re-created in speech, writing and action, at strategic sites that gain much of their majesty from the value they place on precedent and tradition." What this amounts to, he argues, is that words must now be chosen more carefully in such an environment. Rowse asserts that this is a time in Australian history that demands "both moral and practical reasoning" about the nature of the coexistence between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. 33 However, concern over the direction of the public debate on native title prompted the Australian government to issue several publications that attempt to counter popular racist myths about Indigenous Australians—and the native title decision itself—which seem remarkably resilient.34 What was it about the High Court's native title decision that stirred up such acrimonious debate in the Australian media? The decision certainly represented a "judicial revolution"—a kind of "judicial activism" in linking a system of landholding to notions of equality and justice in terms of the existence of the 1975 Racial Discrimination Act.35 But in another sense it offered the chance for something much more profound—a basis on which to reconcile the problematic relationship between Indigenous and nonIndigenous people in Australia. As Cape York Land Council director Noel Pearson observed, the High Court decision did not reveal "a tragedy of legal history but the result of a deliberate obfuscation of truths which were well

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known but not well accepted by the settlers."36 And as Jesuit lawyer Frank Brennan eloquently argued, it may not have undone the injustices of the past, but it most certainly offered the possibility for just land dealings in the future, compelling developers, pastoralists, and miners to negotiate with Indigenous people on an equal footing.37 Perhaps this might help to explain the extraordinary response to the decision by vested interests—developers, pastoralists, miners, and settlers. It could be argued, then, that the native title decision represented both a legal and a moral victory—some suggest a giant moral victory—despite its inconsistencies. One flaw was that it perpetuated the idea that some Indigenous people were more real than others, leaving those unable to trace links with the land with fewer rights. Stephen Harris argued this and suggested that compensation thought of within the notion of rent for dispossession might resolve this apparent division.38 The question of identity or Aboriginality emerges here again. How do media negotiate who is an Indigenous person? As Marcia Langton has suggested, Aboriginality is a dynamic, open-ended concept, with "Aboriginalities" being generated when Indigenous and non-Indigenous people engage in dialogue. She also suggests the fruitlessness of engaging in analysis of representation in terms of "positive" or "negative" images.39 Tim Rowse also adopts this approach in suggesting that enterprises such as this one might be more productive in seeking "a variety of situated performances of 'the truths' of the contemporary Indigenous condition."40 News media are places where this process might be observed in action. THE MEDIA COVERAGE During the two-month period June-July 1993, Queensland Newspapers published more than 100 news stories, features, comment pieces, and editorials dealing with the native title issue. (See Table 5.1.) On the eve of the International Year of the World's Indigenous Peoples, the Courier-Mail featured this front-page headline: "City Ours, Mall, Bridge and All—Black Leader."41 The story was accompanied by a large picture of AborigiTable 5.1 Native Title Stories, 1993 Story Category

June

July

News Background Comment Editorials

41 3 11 6

33 5 4 —

Total

61

42

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nal writer and filmmaker Sam Watson standing with arms folded, with the city of Brisbane as a backdrop. The picture caption read: "This land is my land. . . . Aboriginal leader Sam Watson with the city in the background last night. Mr. Watson's Mullenjarli people plan to mount a High Court challenge for land rights to Brisbane's central business district and the Story Bridge." Regardless of the legal improbability of the claim on the city of Brisbane, the story featured prominently. Alongside the story of the claim was another, with smaller type for its headline: "Angry Reply to CBD Claim." It featured a map entitled "Proposed Aboriginal land rights claim" alongside denials of the claim's validity by A T S I C s Deputy Chair Sol Bellear and Federal Aboriginal and Islander Affairs Minister Robert Tickner. Why was the story of the claim published when it was clear—even from the evidence produced in the stories—that it could not succeed? Perhaps the last comment by National Party leader Rob Borbidge answers that question. He described it as "land rights gone mad—Queensland landowners could be forced into expensive defenses of their properties." It was an indication of things to come. The mood over the next six months was one of uneasiness in the news and feature pages of the Courier-Mail. The focus was on the possible cost of compensation, 42 of the rich mineral resources that might be open to native title claims, 43 and warnings by the Australian Mining Industry Council that investors were looking elsewhere because Australia now lacked the conditions for a development to proceed with certainty. 44 There were a few bright spots. One feature story, in particular, attempted to look more deeply into the issue of native title. Under the headline, "Mabo: Australia's Chance for Reconciliation," Peter Charlton argued in the Courier-Mail that native title represented "a landmark decision which if handled the right way could bring together both whites and blacks across Australia." And he reiterated that it was clear that all freehold title and some leasehold titles were secure against land claims. 45 It was one of a handful of stories providing much-needed background on the native title debate over the next two months. Early in June, an editorial in the Courier-Mail signaled an approach to the debate that set up a framework within which the bulk of subsequent stories would fall. The editorial explained in a puzzling sentence that "there seems no reason why Aboriginal or Islander Australians should not have any 'rights' that are not indistinguishable from those possessed by other Australians. The question of social equity should not arise." But the leader writer continued, asserting: "We cannot continue to sit on our hands where resources and other means of enriching society are concerned. . . . The Mabo ruling is an impediment." 46 On the same day, the newspaper featured two other pieces concerned with native title. The headlines summed up the substance of the stories: "Black Advisers Say Govt Mabo Action 'Weak'"; and "Miners Want Mabo Limit." 47 They were the first of a wave of stories that framed the native title decision in terms of a problem—not only for Indigenous people, but also for the mining industry and "ordinary" Australians. The first story was significant in that it is the

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first of only 7 stories of the total of 103 examined here in which only Indigenous people are quoted as news sources. The following day, 4 June, more problems for the native title decision emerged as the federal government released its discussion paper on the proposed legislation. ATSIC chair Lois O'Donoghue threatened to withdraw from the reconciliation process, and Cape York Land Council director Noel Pearson described the paper as "a fairly slimy, useless document." Mick Dodson suggested that the approach was attempting to "do the same job done earlier by strychnine."48 On the same page, another headline proclaimed, "Goss Forecasts Compensation 'Hangover,'" with the Queensland premier claiming in the introduction that "compensation issues associated with the native title case might not be resolved for years." Still on the same page but in a comment piece, National Affairs editor Wallace Brown urged all parties to "settle down." This most certainly fell on deaf ears. In the same edition in the Features section, conservative commentator Gerard Henderson warned that the native title legislation could cause "50 years of litigation, doubt over future mining and pastoral activity."49 The pace was winding up. On 6 June, a Sunday Mail editorial, headed "Mabo Wars," informed readers that it was the government that was in a quagmire and that "far from calming the waters, politicians have fuelled the fire" of the native title debate. The role of the media in the "fueling" process was not acknowledged. The following day, Prime Minister Paul Keating appealed for a "cool, positive and national response to the Mabo native land title issue" under the provocative headline, "PM Tries to Head off Mabo Battles."50 No one reading the Courier-Mail as a source of information would have been too surprised at the page 1 headline on 8 June: "'10% of Qld' for Mabo." The introduction made it a little clearer: "Ten percent of Queensland—172,720 km2—could be subject to Mabo-type compensation claims." It was based on "government sources" and featured comments from Queensland Premier and NSW Aboriginal Legal Services Director Paul Coe. But the barrage had only just begun. "Mabo-Style Bid for Huge Slice of Qld" read a page 2 headline on the following day. The introduction to this story managed to include an impressive number of elements: "An Aboriginal group is making a Mabostyle claim for 140,000 km2 of central and southwest Queensland, including the scenic 2,500 km2 Carnarvon National Park. The claim for the 400-kilometer-by350-kilometer area, including a claim for $500 million compensation, will be lodged with the High Court by the Charleville-based Bidjara Aboriginal Housing and Land Company." It was accompanied by a map that carried the caption: "New Aboriginal land claim."51 Two other stories on the same page kept the ball rolling. "ACT, NSW Hit with Claims" urged the headline, with the story asserting that "Aboriginal land claims were lodged with the High Court yesterday for the whole of the Australian Capital Territory (ACT) and surrounding New South Wales regions and for the area stretching from Sydney's southern outskirts to Nowra." Toward the end of the story, Aboriginal and Islander Affairs Minister Robert Tickner again stressed that such claims were "contrary to Mabo and did not have a legal feather to fly with." But they were given great prominence,

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nevertheless. National Affairs editor Wallace Brown warned of two problems with the native title issue emerging—the difficulty of attaining a national consensus and a white backlash. The newspaper's editorial took up the issue, again employing its curiously ambivalent style. It acknowledged the point made by the Aboriginal provisional government ("however unlikely or unrepresentative it might be as an authoritative organization") that "many Aborigines are being left behind with little idea of what Mabo itself means, let alone the effect of subsequent government action." But it reminded Queenslanders that "life must proceed" and that resources must be open to exploration and, if viable, exploitation: "It would be shameful to let the issue of Aboriginal rights founder in a war about dollars. Equally, as the Australian Mining Industry Council asserts in its national response to the High Court ruling, the Mabo outcome has shaken the foundations of all resource industries and therefore community prosperity by raising questions marks over the fundamental basis of security of title." The mining industry's campaign against the native title decision was beginning to bite. Queensland Premier Wayne Goss again joined the fray, warning that "crazy ambit claims" for land were not doing the Aboriginal cause any good. There was no Indigenous response sought on this occasion, nor any suggestion that such claims had little, if any, chance of success. The claims were getting bigger, yet this approach to reporting, with little or no context, prevailed. The page 5 headline on 12 June announced: "Blacks Prepare $500b Torres Islands Claim." The story informed readers that "a claim for $500 billion compensation and all the islands between Australia and Papua New Guinea is to be lodged by a group called the Torres Strait Islanders Legal Service." One Indigenous group was reported as "distancing itself from the claim," but "a leading U.S. banker" warned that Australians risked scaring off overseas investors by emphasizing the uncertainties created by the native title decision. It was unclear from this whether the banker was suggesting that Australia should remain silent about the issue or resolve it. The newspaper's Features section announced that "Mabo Mess Leaves PM High and Dry."52 While reactionary columnist Terry McCrann commented that with $1 billion already flowing to Indigenous people from the public purse, "it is doubtful that a poorer Australia will be 'reconciled' by such a process," in the same edition of the newspaper the prime minister was fending off racist claims by an international investment adviser.53 It was another of an increasing number of industry voices finding easy access to the news pages. While a Goss government representative "told Japanese industry leaders Mabo-style land claims should not affect their resource investment plans for Queensland,"54 a front-page story on the following day announced that "Aboriginal leaders" at a legal services conference planned to sue Britain for crimes by Captain Cook and white settlers. On the same front page, the adopted son of Eddie Mabo—in a five-paragraph story— said that the continual use of the name "Mabo" in the land rights issue was affecting his family, and he found it offensive and culturally inappropriate. The story was insensitively headlined: "Mabo Terms Hurt Family."55

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By 18 June, the threat to sue Britain had been withdrawn, but the issue was "out of control." A comment piece suggested that "the fear and loathing stirred up by the spate of Mabo-type claims, and some of the wilder accusations and arguments put by mining and pastoral lobbies have created widespread public concern." 56 As the prime minister moved to begin drafting native title legislation, the Courier-Mail published one of eight background stories used over this twomonth period. The headline belied the informative body of the article, proclaiming: "Mabo: What It Will Mean for the Average Australian." Were Indigenous people included as "average Australians"? It was not clear from either the headline or the article itself, although it did provide some valuable context—an extended interview with lawyer Frank Brennan, who was highly critical of the mining and pastoral lobbies in controlling the native title debate. The article was accompanied by a drawing of a map of Australia with two Indigenous faces gazing out toward the coastline—greedily eyeing off the land, perhaps? Around the coast, native title claims were indicated in a series of boxes. While the editorial railed about "the Mabo muddle," another feature story provided more valuable contextual information for those willing to read past the headlines. The introduction to the story explained: The Mabo ruling most likely will impact on only a small area of Queensland but that hasn't stopped some protests that the state will be overrun by Aboriginal land claims. That fear has been reinforced by signals from some Aboriginal groups that they will claim a 400 km-by-350 km area of central and south-west Queensland and all of the Torres Strait Islands. These claims have been criticised by other Aborigines and lawyers as being outside the likely parameters of the Mabo ruling, thus raising false expectations among Aborigines. 57 Although hedging its bets somewhat, the article did address the key issue of the probable success of the rash of ambit claims in the wake of the federal government's moves to draft the native title legislation. Jagera elder Neville Bonner was interviewed at length during the story, along with several lawyers, and the "main players" were profiled briefly. The collection also included comments from two Brisbane QCs who expressed their amazement at the campaign of "disinfonnation and misinformation" in the native title case. They argued that the culprits were wide-ranging: "Government, Aboriginal interest groups and business interest groups, especially mining interests, alike." FRAMING THE THREAT On 20 June, the Queensland government was reported to have threatened Aboriginal groups lodging "unsuccessful Mabo-style claims" that they would be liable for "millions of dollars" in legal costs. The story was sensational and unsubstantiated—based on claims by a number of political figures. Then Labor Party backbencher Graeme Campbell labeled Aboriginal native title claimants as "carpetbaggers," and Federal National Party Leader Tim Fischer warned that the

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prime minister's decision to override the states in the wake of the native title ruling could "break up Australia." Three days later, on 23 June, there were several attempts to counter the climate of fear that had swept through the Queensland Newspapers' stable. In a page 2 story, Aboriginal and Islander Affairs Minister Robert Tickner rejected a claim by West Australian Premier Richard Court that private homes could be the subject of native title claims. Under the headline, "Private Land Titles Secure: Minister," the introduction reported Tickner now needing to insist that any attempts to claim private land would be rejected "comprehensively" by the courts. In the Letters to the Editor section, two more Brisbane QCs, Anthony Morris and Shane Herbert, managed to say what no one else had been able to in the debate thus far—that the media were implicated in the proliferation of "exaggerated and plainly mistaken reports" concerning the native title decision. The two lawyers continued: By reproducing comments and claims from politicians and representatives of interest groups based on that decision, the media have—no doubt in good faith, but uncritically—helped to foster a sense of alarm across the white Australian community, and particularly among land-owners and investors. The absurd demands which are now coming forward from some sectors of the Aboriginal community appear calculated to prey upon people's fears. . . . People would do well to ignore the sensational claims made by extremists on both sides of the Mabo debate. But the level of fear was well entrenched—or so it seemed. A page 7 headline on 25 June explained: "Blacks Also Fear Mabo Decision." The editorial on the same day followed this up with a curt response: "Enough: Let's be sensible on Mabo." It is interesting that while the paper's own news pages published wild and unsubstantiated comments day after day, it saw no irony in railing against the ill-informed in the community. The editorial writer asserted: "It is not true that the results of the High Court's decision in the Mabo case extend to potential threats against privately owned property." The editorial concluded: "Only the most blinkered among us would suggest that the wider community owes the Aboriginal and Islander peoples of this continent nothing. It is not necessary to join the guilt trippers to concede that. We must look forward. It is an affront that in this affluent First World nation, a Fourth World community exists." Two human interest stories dealing with the Mabo family appeared in the Courier-Mail on 26 June. One featured Eddie Mabo Jr., who warned against "extremists" hijacking the native title debate. The second story concerned his mother, Bonita Mabo, who was reportedly "snubbed" on her return to Murray Island. The story seems a little contrived, with Bonita Mabo at first critical of Murray Islanders for not welcoming her, but later she is reported as being pleased at being accepted back into the community. The headline, "Island Snubs Hero's Widow," clearly dwells on the first part of the story—the conflict. The following day, another human interest story on an Indigenous person appeared. This time, it

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was a profile on "Sugar" Ray Robinson—an oft-quoted source and the man behind several of the larger ambit land claims deemed to have little chance of success. The color piece ranged across Robinson's background, with almost half of the story focusing on allegations of misappropriation against him made by Queensland National Party politician Bob Katter Jr.58 Federal Aboriginal and Islander Affairs Minister Robert Tickner used a conference opening in Brisbane on 27 June to address some of the disturbing aspects of the native title debate so far. In a page 1 story on the following day, headlined "Education Poison Fuels Mabo Uproar: Tickner," he suggested that much of the native title hysteria had been caused by "a poisoned education system." Tickner argued in the story that "most of us alive today had an abysmal education in regards to Australian history." The story continued: "If Australians had a better understanding of Indigenous history and culture and the place in it of land, many arguments about the Mabo land title decision could have been avoided, he said. Claims about backyards being up for grabs were without foundation." It seemed as if the Courier-Mail was attempting, at least, to reinforce this position. But was it too late? In the same edition, on page 7, "industry leaders" called for urgent talks on the native title issue because of threats to "major development projects" by mining company BHP. A further push from the business sector was reported on 30 June in a page 2 story headlined: "Native Veto on Land Use Condemned." Seven business groups, this time, called for native title and the reconciliation process to be separated. This was rejected by the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation. And on the last day in June, the editorial removed any doubt as to where the allegiances of the Courier-Mail lay. In the last paragraph it expressed support for the now-released coalition's discussion paper,59 concluding that it "suggests that, overall, the economic and social health of the entire country is more important than grievances—real or imagined—in one sector of the population. There is one Australia. In it, everyone should have equal rights and obligations. Let us proceed on that sensible proposition in sorting out the Mabo mess (and others)." Establishment Voices The Chief Justice of the High Court, Sir Anthony Mason, came to the defense of the native title decision in a front-page story on 2 July. He was the second of the seven judges involved in the decision to speak out. Exactly one month earlier, the dissenting High Court judge on the original 1992 native title decision, Sir Daryl Dawson, had reportedly said that it was the government's job, not the court's, to "right wrongs." But Sir Anthony defended the decision, arguing that the court had not usurped parliament's role. In the same edition of the CourierMail, on page 2, two stories dealt with reaction to comments made by Western Mining Corporation head Hugh Morgan, who reportedly described Aboriginal culture as "inferior to European culture and was doomed." Both Queensland

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Premier Wayne Goss and Prime Minister Paul Keating criticized Morgan, who suggested that "all titles to property in Australia" were devalued by the native title decision. Other mining industry leaders distanced themselves from the comments. One week later, on 9 July, comments by Shadow Deputy Prime Minister Tim Fischer caused another furore. Addressing a gathering in Wagga Wagga in southern New South Wales, Fischer reportedly said: "at no stage did Aboriginal civilization develop substantial buildings, roadways, or even a wheeled cart." He argued that dispossession, therefore, was "bound to happen." 60 While Keating accused both Morgan and Fischer of intolerance in the story, Liberal parliamentarian John Howard defended them. Howard argued that a new kind of "cultural McCarthyism" was limiting criticisms of the native title debate and Aboriginal affairs. At the same time as this racism row erupted, another swag of land claims hit the headlines. A page 5 story on 3 July was headed: "Tribe Mounts Claim over Comalco Land." It seemed to incorporate all the elements the media had predicted over the past five weeks. The claim, by the Wik people, quickly became a symbol of all that was wrong with native title. The introduction read: "Aborigines have lodged a Mabo-style claim over part of Comalco's Weipa bauxite lease which holds 15 percent of the world's total deposit of the mineral." By now, describing any new claim as "Mabo-style" had become de rigueur for journalists working with Queensland Newspapers, regardless of whether such claims fell within the ambit of the yet to be proposed Native Title Bill. National Party leader in Queensland Rob Borbidge was quick to react, claiming that the move "could be the death knell for mining investment" in Queensland. The last section of the story included comments from "irate Fraser Island residents" (unnamed) who claimed they were now discriminated against in a climate of "Mabo madness." On the following day, the Sunday Mail's Business section asserted: "Miners Call for Mabo Funds Cut," in a story quoting a representative from the Queensland Mining Council who called on "governments" to stop funding organizations that lodge "Mabo style" claims. A few pages on in the newspaper the Archbishop of Brisbane, Peter Hollingworth, urged the media not to use the Mabo family name, because the practice was offensive. The page 1 headline on the following day, 5 July, was an indication of how seriously the Archbishop's suggestion had been considered by the CourierMail: "Mabo Hatred Warning: 'Cool It,' Says Federal Judge." The added irony in the nature of the story clearly escaped the subeditors. The first few paragraphs read: Australia faced being engulfed in racism and hatred by people pursuing personal interests against the Mabo decision, Federal Court judge Marcus Einfeld warned yesterday. Justice Einfeld, speaking at a conference in Brisbane, also criticised "corporate nobodies" for shameful personal attacks against the High Court's Justice Gerry Brennan. He said Justice Brennan had made a greater contribution to Australia's progress than "any mining executive could ever hope to emulate."

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On the following day, 6 July, the Courier-Mail was forced to temper its earlier Comalco land claim story when the Aurukun community explained, through a letter to the prime minister, that their claim would not have an impact on the existing bauxite mine. Why weren't community spokespeople sought for the first story? Nevertheless, a mining industry speaker suggested that the claim would have "much wider implications than its impact on the rich Weipa bauxite leases." The threat to progress was again made clear. It was the first story during the study period that used a logo—The Mabo Issue—as an identifier. This particular edition of the Courier-Mail featured an intriguing juxtaposition of news stories and comment pieces, in clear conflict with each other. On the same page as the land claim story, Race Discrimination Commissioner Irene Moss was quoted at length, describing "low-level terrorism" being directed at supporters of the native title decision. Moss argued that an undercurrent of racism had been shaped by the "myths, hysteria, hype and bigotry" surrounding the decision. A few pages on, in the Features section, two comment pieces offered different perspectives on native title. One, by anthropologist Ron Brunton from the conservative Australian Institute of Public Affairs, criticized attempts to portray Aboriginal attachment to land as "qualitatively different from the kinds of attachment that other Australians may feel towards their homes, their farms, or to cherished parts of the country." A more extraordinary story was published on the same page. In it, a professor of anthropology at Macquarie University, Kenneth Maddock, provided a useful background explanation of notions of dream-spirit journeys made by western desert Aboriginal people. He argued that such experiences had been considered as a way of establishing rights to land—note the headline: "T Dreamed It so I Own It.'" Apart from the fact that the actual quote was not used in the story, it offers a flippant interpretation of the well-argued essay. To cap it off, on the same page a story listing the names of the Wik claimants to land near Aurukun carried the headline: "The 95 Who Want Their Slice of the Rich North." The logo—The Mabo Issue—reappeared on 8 July, accompanying a story headlined: "Documents Spark New Mabo Fear." The story was based on two-week-old documents, which, the federal government claimed, were out of date. But this did not prevent publication of the suggestion that mining companies with leases on land deemed to be subject to native title would be liable to pay compensation. A predictable outcry from politicians accompanied theflimsyclaim. Also on page 5, the mining company Comalco was allowed unchallenged space to voice its claim that there would be "major implications for all forms of land title if a Mabo-style claim on its Weipa bauxite leases was successful." It is significant that none of these stories dealing with the Wik land claim attempts to include any semblance of historical context that might explain the reason for the claim. For around 20 years, the Aurukun community has been protesting over the acquisition of their land by the Queensland government for mining leases.61 Having read this array of stories in the Courier-Mail, readers could be forgiven for thinking that this community arrived by boat from another country on the previous day. On the following day, 9 July, the logo reappeared,

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with the headline: "Rainforest, Reef Plans Put on Hold." The basis for this story was another letter, which suggested that plans to develop a management scheme for Queensland's world heritage rainforest and reef areas had been "put on hold" because of the threat of uncertainty over the native title decision. In another irony that seemed lost on the journalists or subeditors who compiled it, the story took a different turn halfway through. Church leaders and former commissioners with the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody called for calm over the native title decision. They suggested that confusion, lack of information, extravagant counterclaims, and financial preoccupations might obscure the case's message. One reason for the group speaking out became apparent if you read the last few paragraphs of the story: Their [church leaders and royal commissioners] comments came as the Liberal Party's John Howard defended Western Mining chief Hugh Morgan and National Party Leader, Tim Fischer, against accusations of bigotry and racism over comments both have made about Mabo. He [John Howard] warned the government was using a new style of "McCarthyism" to silence critics on Aboriginal affairs and Mabo.62 In a page 2 story on the following day, 10 July, Prime Minister Paul Keating urged Australians to put aside their prejudice. He warned that the country's international reputation and integrity were at risk unless the native title issue was resolved. Paragraph 6 of the story read: "His comments come as the Government moved to quell new concerns about land claims." New concerns? By whom? This was not stated anywhere in this story. ATSIC chair Lois O'Donoghue was given a hefty eight paragraphs toward the end of the story to comment. Again, the calls for sensitivity had fallen on deaf ears. Two days later, the Australian Mining Industry Council (AMIC) released an opinion poll, curiously described as "independent" in the story. I have discussed this survey and another undertaken by the AMIC earlier in this chapter. Needless to say, Aboriginal Affairs Minister Robert Tickner described the findings as "loaded." Perhaps one of the most interesting comments came from AMIC Assistant Director Geoffrey Ewing, who said that the survey was needed because "government and interest groups had been running the [native title] debate." Did the mining industry consider itself not to be an interest group? By 15 July, even Aboriginal people had apparently begun to oppose the native title decision. A page 6 headline proclaimed, "Aboriginal 'No' on Mabo Move." But it was ATSIC calling on the federal government not to give in to the demands of interest groups like mining companies. ATSIC's Sol Bellear was allowed four paragraphs to speak out alongside politicians Cheryl Kernot and Paul Keating. Six pages further on in the same edition, Cape York Land Council director Noel Pearson asked whether the Queensland government was more interested in advancing the interests of mining companies or those of the whole community. 63 The opposition continued on the following day with conservative federal politician Wilson Tuckey reportedly threatening to resign from the Anglican Church over its support for native title.

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The 17 July issue of the newspaper carried four stories—a page 1 news article headed, "Mabo Laws Warning," dealing with the need for federal-state cooperation over the native title decision—and three further stories, including two features. The trend—already well developed in the stories so far that the native title decision was a problem—was bolstered by a feature story on page 29. The headline read: "The Eddie Mabo Myth." Although a background piece, it focused on comments by a Queensland Supreme Court judge about the demeanor of Eddie Mabo as a witness during the native title case. The story quoted the judge's comments describing the plaintiff as an unreliable witness "quite capable of tailoring his story to whatever shape he perceived would advance his cause." This quote was enlarged and used as a subheadline. Another subhead informed us: "How one family inheritance row snared Australia." Although acknowledging later that other witnesses did (obviously) make a more positive impression on the judge, the thrust of the story seemed to be to undermine the credibility of the late Eddie Mabo—with no real explanation as to why. A smaller accompanying background story was headed, "A Slow Burning Ember Which Sparked a Social Bonfire." Interestingly, Federal Aboriginal Affairs Minister Robert Tickner's comments about media misreporting was acknowledged here. Six pages later, in the Business section, the Institution of Engineers voiced its concern about "abandonment of investment" because of a lack of action by the federal government to solve the native title problem. It was not a good day. Further attempts to counter the criticism of native title surfaced in a page 5 story on 19 July. Headlined, "'Mischief on Mabo, Says Leader," ATSIC's Sol Bellear—"an Aboriginal authority"—accused a range of interests, including the media, of peddling misinformation. In the third paragraph, Bellear said that politicians as well as "bigoted media commentators and powerful sections of the mining and pastoral industries" had deliberately set out to misinform and confuse Australians on the issue. A front-page headline on the following day intoned: "Big Bank Blames Delays on Mabo"—it was the "major" Chase Manhattan Bank, after all, and it alluded to an unnamed project "worth $100 million." Not "claimed" to be $100 million; not "alleged" to be $100 million; but a project "worth $100 million." Justification for the story's prominent placement came halfway through the article, with the reporter explaining that the comments were "among the first about Mabo to come from a senior businessman outside the mining and resource industry." Four days later, two page 11 stories kept up the trend. Under a headline "Doublecross over Mine Leases: Nats," the introduction read: "Comalco's expansion plans at Gladstone were 'dead' if Canberra's latest draft Mabo legislation became law [Queensland], Opposition leader Rob Borbidge said yesterday." The story was based on a leaked copy of draft legislation that suggested that mining leases did not extinguish native title. In an adjacent story, former National Companies and Securities Commission head Henry Bosch was cited for racist remarks by Aboriginal legal service head Ray Robinson. Bosch had reportedly described Aboriginal people as the "most back-

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ward one percent of the population" and had said that reconciliation with "stone age people was a waste of time." On the following day, 25 July, the Sunday Mail's front page screamed: "Mabo Move Land Boom." This story claimed in the intro: "A Mabo style land claim threatens to spark a land price boom in Rainbow Beach because of fears the town could eventually be strangled due to a land shortage." By now, the phrase "Mabo-style" had become virtually compulsory to describe any claim, regardless of whether or not it fell within the ambit of the native title decision. Certainly there was little, if any, evidence produced in stories such as this to indicate the likely success of such claims. The story revealed that the claim "cast a dark shadow over predictions in the Great Sandy Region draft management plan which said Rainbow Beach, with a present population of around 900, could grow to between 5000 and 8000 people by 2010." And the source—a local real estate agent who suggested the claim would send real estate prices rocketing! A vested interest, perhaps? Another business authority was enlisted in the campaign of fear on 30 July, but this time it was one of the big guns. The headline on page 31, in the Business section, read: "Uncertainty Danger with Mabo: AMP." AMP Society chair Sir James Balderstone "became the latest businessman to speak out over the issue." He warned that investment in a range of industries was "in grave danger" because of uncertainty over the native title decision, which, by now, was regularly referred to simply as "Mabo." Halfway through the story, accompanied by a picture of him, Balderstone "claimed that emotional blackmail and racism claims were being used to stifle comments from people with 'more balanced views.'" It was a return to the "cultural McCarthyism" approach claimed by Prime Minister John Howard three weeks earlier. The caption under Balderstone's head shot read: "Sir James . . . racism claims used to stifle." Coverage of the native title debate reached a crescendo on the last day of this case study period, 31 July. Three stories dealing with different aspects of the case appeared—two juxtaposed on page 7 and the third in the Business section. Under the logo The Mabo Issue, the most prominent headline read: "Judge Cautions on Wik Clan Bid." The key words "Mabo-style claim" in the introduction left little doubt as to the relevance and tenor of the story—the Wik people were being warned by Federal Court Judge Doug Drummond that their claim could be "a voyage into the unknown which ends in disaster." And just to emphasize the absurdity of such "Mabo-style claims," the adjoining story headline announced: "Cairns Casino Land Claim 'Outlandish.'" With the federal attorney general describing it as such, it nevertheless made a juicy item, especially alongside the Wik land claim story. The casino story was largely a denial of the possibility of success of the claim by the federal attorney general, Michael Lavarch. Apart from that, there was no information in either story that referred to the actual decision itself—a common trait of all news stories discussed here. The fact that a "Mabo-style claim" was made, regardless of the possible outcome, was enough to guarantee news headlines in this charged atmosphere.

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CONTEXT Media constructions of conflict over the native title issue enabled race to be introduced within preferred ideological bounds—as a threat to common sense. Debate that focused on issues like racism, misinformation, social justice, negotiation, and reconciliation was relegated to the tainted category of "political correctness" or "cultural McCarthyism." There certainly were some departures from this constraining framework in the Queensland Newspapers' sample under investigation here, with some attempt to provide a contextual explanation for the native title claims being made—but these were few and far between. Just 8 of the 103— fewer than 1 in 10—stories examined could be categorized as providing important background explanation of the High Court decision. The fact that the stories appeared in clusters on just four occasions further narrows their possible impact. Of the total of eight background pieces, half could be described as presenting the native title decision as having potential positive implications for Australia— contributing to the reconciliation process, redressing social injustices, and so on.64 Two painted bleak pictures of the possible impact, essentially questioning the very basis of the decision or aspects of the case.65 A third story in this category, although backgrounding the nature of Indigenous culture, carried the flippant headline: "I Dreamed It so I Own It." The last background piece in this collection see-sawed between acknowledging, on the one hand, that the native title decision would only affect a small part of Queensland but, on the other hand, a series of "Mabo-style claims" covered a large area of the state.66 These tend to pale when set against the vast majority, which included no contextual explanation, relying instead on material sourced to key participants in the debate. Outrageous claims for land—many of them clearly intended to be symbolic or negotiable or both—were reported as if the likelihood of their success were assumed. At least they were given a prominence that suggested either their validity, or their ability to attract an uninformed readership. Conflict and fear dominated as themes in the sample of news stories examined here. An increasing level of concern was effectively maintained through the privileging and often unchallenged claims by conservative politicians (on 35 occasions), mining company representatives (on 12 occasions), and other business spokespeople (on 10 occasions) expressing personal views on the impact of the decision and the ensuing debate. Although this was countered by alternative political viewpoints (42 speakers) and Indigenous voices (33 speakers), racist claims were still able to find their way into the discussion—legitimated in the climate of fear that had been constructed by the uncritical repetition of comments from a range of sources, both non-Indigenous and Indigenous. The trend throughout was for Indigenous voices to be used almost entirely in defending the native title decision. The story headlines alone suggest the tenor of the debate: of the 74 news story headlines analyzed here, around 40 contain words that suggest conflict or a problem associated with the native title decision. These include words like

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warning, hatred, claims, slice (of Queensland), fear, battle, threat, mess, tension, risk, danger. Interestingly, the words "race" or "racism" were never used in a headline. Around a dozen headlines suggest some positive outcome in the following story, with the remainder offering no real clue. While this is not meant to be a definitive assessment, it does indicate the limits of the framework in which the native title "debate" took place. The misunderstandings that have accompanied the media "campaign" against native title relate strongly to an ignorance of the notion of Indigenous identity. This produces attacks on those least able to sustain such assaults—a reemergence of criticism under the doctrine of "special treatment," which conveniently ignores questions of equality. It assumes that everyone—including the dispossessed— now has equal access to all community resources, despite the overwhelming evidence of social indicators to the contrary.67 This fallacy seems particularly virulent in the rhetoric of conservative commentators and seems likely to sustain its position because of its pervasiveness. The racist ideologies that underlie this approach have enabled the privileging of a preferred media version of what native title means to Australia—a meaning bound up in notions driven by economic and real estate imperatives. No evidence is needed any longer to support such stances—merely invoking the term "political correctness," it seems, justifies almost any speaking position. Then Liberal parliamentarian John Howard preferred the term "cultural McCarthyism" to describe criticism of the rights to use bigoted and racist language to advance their argument.68 Under the headline, "Moral 'Censors' Hijacking the Debate,"69 Kevin Donnelly, described as "a Melbourne teacher and educationalist" challenged criticisms of such luminaries as Geoffrey Blainey, Fred Hollows, and Tim Fischer for their observations on multiculturalism, gay rights, and Indigenous people. One wonders how many other people in Donnelley's position might be given access to mainstream media to put forward opposing views? Responses like these have everything to do with the media and their coverage of the Murray Islanders' land case. The ease with which such stories seem able to appear, effectively unchallenged, is an indication of the ideologies at work in the media. I do not suggest a conspiracy—the often chaotic day-to-day atmosphere in newsrooms forbids such a claim. But there is no need for a conspiracy because of the way in which the media work. The kind of "inferential racism" that continues to drive mainstream media coverage of Indigenous Australians in general, and the native title case in particular, operates within an ideological discourse inscribed with racist premises and unquestioned assumptions. And it is far more insidious than overt racism because it is largely invisible.70 RACISM The subject of racism itself was broached in a handful of the 103 stories and commentary pieces considered in this study. Just 7 stories either dealt with or mentioned racism as an issue—the majority (5) in July, when the debate and

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accusations from some prominent authorities became more virulent. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this section of the study is that none of these stories used the words "race" or "racism" in its headline. The headlines themselves managed to hedge around this issue by referring to almost anything but racism: Jones Is Over the Top, Says Perkins71 Education Poison Fuels Mabo Uproar: Tickner72 Mabo Hatred Warning: "Cool It," Says Federal Judge73 Claims Bring "Hate Mail"74 Rainforest, Reef Plans Put on Hold75 "Mischief" on Mabo, Says Leader76 Uncertainty Danger with Mabo: AMP77 Just three did mention the subject in captions accompanying the stories—two were in picture captions and the third in a description of an old school textbook reproduced on the page. On 9 June, a small picture of Charles Perkins appeared, with the caption: "Charles Perkins . . . 'racist' remarks." This story centered on a "debate" between Perkins and conservative radio commentator Alan Jones. The only other instance where race was referred to in this way appeared more than a month later, when a caption to a photograph read: "Sir James . . . racism claims used to stifle."78 This story, in the Courier-Mail's Business section, reported comments from AMP chair Sir James Balderstone concerning native title and development. This paragraph, halfway through the story, sums up his concerns: "Sir James claimed that emotional blackmail and racism claims were being used to stifle comments from people with 'more balanced views.'" It is interesting to compare the way in which the words "racist" and "racism" were treated in these two instances. In the story concerning Charles Perkins and Alan Jones, the word "racist" is in quotes, indicating that it was spoken by someone and distancing the statement from the newspaper. But when AMP chair Sir James Balderstone makes a reference to "racism," it is not enclosed in quotes. This has the effect of giving more weight and credence to the latter's statement. It is perhaps not so surprising when we consider that this story appeared toward the end of July—at a time when Indigenous voices had been almost silenced, and those of big business had impacted significantly on the news agenda. A third reference to racism appeared as a caption to an excerpt from a school textbook, accompanying a story in which the Aboriginal Affairs minister, Robert Tickner, is critical of the Australian education system. In the story, on 28 June, Tickner reportedly argues that because of the "poisonous" nature of Australian education, assertions that people's backyards would be available for native title claim were given currency. The caption for the graphic read: "Pages from the past. . . extracts from school text books which gave racist views of Aboriginal culture." All other mention and discussion of racism took place within the body of the stories listed here. Simply by not elevating the issue of race as one worthy

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of inclusion in news story headlines, the message was given clearly to readers: racism was not a key issue. I suggest that many people in Australia—Indigenous and non-Indigenous—might disagree with such an assumption. VISUAL IMAGES In the two months of coverage being investigated here, there were 26 pictures or illustrations accompanying the 103 stories published by Queensland Newspapers. The numbers of photographs of Indigenous and non-Indigenous participants are about equal, but it is in the substance of the visual material that differences emerge. All of the 11 non-Indigenous people are named: 4 politicians (two of Paul Keating, two Queensland councillors, and Michael Lavarch), 4 lawyers (Sir Darryl Dawson, Justice Marcus Einfeld, Justice Moynihan, and barrister Brian Morris), and 3 others (Alan Jones, Sir James Balderstone, and Race Discrimination Commissioner Irene Moss). Of the 10 images of Indigenous people featured during the period, 3 are unnamed: 2 are drawings—of two Aboriginal male faces gazing out of a map of Australia (longingly at the land claims?), and an Aboriginal man—with the third an unnamed photograph of an Aboriginal man with a long beard. The remaining 7 pictured Indigenous people are named (Ray Robinson, Charles Perkins, Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Eddie Mabo Jr., Bonita Mabo, Eddie Mabo, and John Lee Jones). (See Table 5.2.) SPEAKING OUT Despite the fact that the primary group supposedly affected by the native title decision was Indigenous people, Queensland Newspapers' journalists overwhelmingly favored non-Indigenous sources for their news stories in June and July of 1993. Politicians clearly dominated as the major news sources during the entire period. In June, just over one-quarter (27 percent) of all sources named in news stories published were identifiably Indigenous; by July, however, the increasingly strident oppositional voices coming from industry—particularly the mining industry—pushed Indigenous comment out of the news pages. In one month, the proportion (14 percent) of Indigenous sources quoted was half that of the previous month. (See Table 5.3.) Table 5.2 Native Title Photographs and Illustrations, 1993 June Indigenous people Non-Indigenous authority Other (maps etc) Total

July

7 5 4

3 6 1

16

10

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July

Indigenous voices Non-Indigenous politicians Business leaders Mining speakers Non-Indigenous lawyers Other non-Indigenous

26 49 7 2 6 4

8 28 3 10

Total

94

59

5 5

The trend from June to July 1993 was for Indigenous voices to be smothered in more ways than one. As the number of Indigenous sources fell dramatically, so did the number who were allowed to use their own words. Just 4 Indigenous sources were quoted directly in July, compared with 12 such speakers in the previous month. In each month, the use of direct and indirect speech for Indigenous sources was about the same—that is, in June, 13 Indigenous sources were quoted in indirect speech compared with 12 who were able to speak directly to readers. In July, the numbers quoted were 3 and 4, respectively. Other interesting trends emerge from this analysis. While Queensland Newspapers' journalists quoted and named 15 different Indigenous people as sources for their stories in June, by July the number had dramatically reduced—to 6. In only one feature/ background story in the entire two-month period was an Indigenous person able to speak directly to the audience—Neville Bonner, who was allowed 10 paragraphs to state his case.79 Virtually all of the remaining Indigenous voices were raised in defense. (Those who were allowed space to speak, and the frequency with which they were enlisted as sources, are listed in Table 5.4.) This analysis reveals that Indigenous voices still remain sparsely scattered throughout the news pages of Queensland Newspapers' publications, the Courier-Mail and the Sunday Mail. In the previous chapter dealing with the Cape York spaceport proposal, I suggested that Indigenous voices were effectively silenced during the course of that event. While Indigenous people were able to speak out during the newspaper coverage of the native title decision examined here, serious questions of access remain. Why were Indigenous sources so rarely used? If the answer lies in politicians having considerable influence in agenda setting, what about the voices of Indigenous politicians? Concentration on often provocative, "loud" Indigenous sources like Ray Robinson, Paul Coe, and Charles Perkins elicited a predictable response. The fact that these three speakers made up more than half of all Indigenous sources used during June 1993 might account for the particular tenor of conflict which was effectively sustained.80 More moderate voices were there all right, but these were dominated by the

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Table 5.4 Indigenous Speakers, June-July 1993 June Ray Robinson (four times, including an entire story) Paul Coe (three times) 6 paragraphs Pat Dodson (three times) Charles Perkins (twice) 8 paragraphs Lois O'Donoghue (twice) Mick Dodson (twice) Arnold Franks (twice) Neville Bonner (once) 10 paragraphs Brett Medina, Mitchell Aboriginal Housing Corporation spokesperson Mario Mabo John Lee Jones Oodgeroo Noonuccal Les Stewart Eddie Mabo Jr. July Sol Bellear (twice) 12 paragraphs John Lee Jones (twice) 2 paragraphs Lois O'Donoghue (once) 8 paragraphs Noel Pearson Tony Kerindun, Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation spokesperson

selection of particular sources, perhaps more to sustain a procession of sensationalist headlines than to satisfy a professional obligation of responsibility to inform the community. It seems difficult to draw any other conclusion from the array of stories and headlines considered here. As powerful business interests gained control of the agenda in July, Indigenous voices all but disappeared. The public relations' battle over the native title decision might well have been lost here had not the prime minister, Paul Keating, taken a personal interest in seeking some form of resolution within a social justice framework.81 This latter approach was seldom, if ever, the focus of debate or discussion in the news stories, features, or comment pieces published during this period. CONCLUSION Thousands of column-centimeters of newspaper stories were generated by the native title debate in June and July 1993, and it was here, I suggest, that the predominant ideological framework for media representation in subsequent

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months and years was fashioned. The media found reporting at this crucial time difficult, largely because few journalists seemed to have taken the time to investigate the legal ramifications of the High Court decision. Legal debate on the case had been underway virtually since the day it was handed down in journals like the Aboriginal Law Bulletin, but there was little evidence to suggest that journalists sought to access this. Issues under serious discussion in such journals included which land might be claimed, who might be eligible to make land claims, the notion of Aboriginal sovereignty, and even a critique of the ''myths" surrounding the High Court decision that found their way so effortlessly into many of the newspaper stories I have examined here.82 Clearly, journalists paid scant attention to this information. While Indigenous voices were almost totally absent, prominent non-Indigenous commentators like Kenneth Maddock, Frank Brennan, and Henry Reynolds were able to discuss the issues in a handful of feature stories. But the news pages seemed to be following a different agenda. As a result, the confusion—the "Mabo mania"—that ensued meant that there was little chance for rational debate.83 The media resorted to stereotyping to overcome their clear lack of understanding of the main points. For the vast majority of Australians, media provide the only source of information about such issues, as I have already argued. What is missing from such coverage are creative suggestions that consider negotiation as a method of resolution, for example. Indigenous identity and issues of social justice quickly become lost within a context of conflict and confusion. What can we say, then, about the role of the media in this? It seems possible to suggest that the media, as the primary source of information on this issue, failed to clarify what were fairly straightforward issues. The agenda was (and continues to be) largely dominated by the preferred news value of conflict—whether between the states and the Commonwealth; the states and Indigenous representatives; the states themselves; the mining and pastoral lobbies and the federal or state governments; Indigenous group against Indigenous group; almost everyone against Indigenous claims; and so forth. The media's role, in an overall sense, has been to legitimate a preferred version of native title as essentially a threat to the existing order. It most certainly represents a change, both legally and morally, but the social consequences and the possible moral and social outcomes have been given cursory treatment. By framing the native title decision in terms of conflict or race, the media lost the opportunity to embrace alternative interpretations. Once defined like this, it becomes very difficult to redefine this ideological framework. The contribution that Indigenous peoples might make to wider society, for example, is the subject of some debate—but it remains at the periphery, ideologically trapped. The media debate over the meaning of the High Court decision has been clearly dominated by economic and real estate concerns within the paradigm of "development," interwoven with a predictable resurgence of claims of states' rights. Questions surrounding the "special treatment" meted out to mining companies in relation to land access or to the huge tracts leased out to graziers

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remained unanswered.84 Social justice—an important basis for decision—has rarely been the focus of mainstream media attention, except on publicly funded outlets like ABC Radio National. As Marcia Langton suggests, it is a topic that seems to have been banished from public rhetoric.85 It is evidence of powerful ideological forces at work, effectively setting the limits of the debate. The High Court decision on native title quashed the legal fiction of terra nullius}6 This has placed Indigenous people in a new relationship with the rest of Australian society. Although the complex judgment has become law in Australia, there is still an extraordinary degree of debate that challenges this. It represents an unprecedented campaign by a variety of often opposing interests to secure legitimacy for their version. Because it represents quite possibly the single most important decision affecting Indigenous land tenure in Australian law, the social ramifications are profound. The notion of extending the native title judgment to include intellectual property rights87 and as an argument for greater access to media, for example, is another possibility yet to be seriously considered in Australia, although in New Zealand such moves have already begun.88 It is in this context that the role of the media and journalism becomes crucial. It is a significant moment in the making, or "imagining," or creation of the Australian nation. The media represent an important site where such definition is taking place, and the critique I offer here suggests that some serious difficulties exist. If, as I argue, the general approach to the representation of native title can be extended to other media, then, I suggest, Australian journalism lacks the maturity and sensitivity needed if it is to make a lasting positive contribution to this process. The "symbolic victory" won by Indigenous people in June 1992 may have been transformed into legislation, but in the process the opportunity to achieve something far more secure and lasting remained elusive. The legal ramifications of the native title decision, now enshrined in legislation, are indeed revolutionary and will enforce, at one level, a different relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australia. As lawyer Noel Pearson argues, land rights in Australia can no longer be tied to moral obligation, sympathy, guilt, or the Aboriginal condition—"it is about recognition and restoration of legal right."89 The negotiation of a Cape York regional agreement,90 early in 1996, was an example of the creative ways the impact of native title might have on the process of "imagining" Australia as a nation. Imagining a future that incorporates notions of reconciliation, self-government, or sovereignty will clearly involve much more than the mere force of law. It must necessarily invoke a consensual reassessment of the nature of the Indigenous/non-indigenous relationship. The media and journalism will continue to play a pivotal role in this process, and the outcome may depend heavily on how effectively media workers are able to negotiate this necessary cultural alliance. Reporting on an "everyday" event is the focus of chapter 6. In it, I compare newspaper and television news coverage of the same event—a protest rally by Indigenous people in Brisbane in 1996. It offers the chance to investigate how

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journalists from different news organizations, working in different genres, deal with the same issues. It enables an examination of the role that one person might play in constructing a version of reality for an audience. NOTES 1. See Kathy Whimp's fuller explanation of the events leading up to the passing of the Native Title Bill in her article, "Mabo: The Inside Story," Arena Magazine, February-March 1994, pp. 16-20. 2. Henry Reynolds, The Weekend Australian, 6-7 June 1992, p. 22. 3. "Positive Media Images Needed," Land Rights News, December 1992, p. 9. 4. Meriam is the name Murray Islanders use to refer to themselves and their language. 5. Henry Reynolds, "The Mabo Judgement—Its Implications," in Mabo: Its Meaning for Australia—Community Aid Abroad, Background Report No. 4, August 1993, pp. 9-10. 6. Peter Butt and Robert Eagleson, Mabo: What the High Court Said, Federation Press, Anandale NSW, 1993, pp. 8-9; Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, The Mabo Judgement, Canberra, February 1993. 7. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, p. 3. 8. Michael Mansell, "The Court Gives an Inch but Takes Another Mile," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 57, August 1992, p. 6. 9. Mansell, p. 6. 10. Justin Malbon, "The Implications of Mabo v Queensland No. 2," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 57, August 1992, pp. 7-8. 11. A. J. Brown, "Claim That Park!: A Post-Mabo Update on Aboriginal Ownership of Conservation Areas," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 57, August 1992, pp. 2-3. 12. Loretta VanderLans, "The Myths of Mabo: Guest Editorial," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 59, December 1992, p. 3. 13. Henry Reynolds, "Mabo and Pastoral Leases," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 2, no. 59, December 1992, pp. 8-10. 14. Here I refer to two 1993 ATSIC publications in particular: the Plain English Guide to the Mabo Decision for the Use of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Communities; ATSICs Response to the Commonwealth Government's Consultation Process Concerning the High Court's Decision in the Mabo Case, February 1993. 15. ATSIC's Response, p. 11. 16. Patrick Dodson, "Reconciliation and the High Court's Decision on Native Title," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 3, no. 61, April 1993, p. 6. 17. Loretta Kelly, "Reconciliation and the Implications for a Sovereign Aboriginal Nation," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 3, no. 61, April 1993, pp. 10-13; Noel Pearson, "Reconciliation: To Be or Not to Be—Separate Aboriginal Nationhood or Aboriginal Self-Determination and SelfGovernment Within the Australian Nation?," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 3, no. 61, April 1993, pp. 14-17. 18. Frank Brennan, "Reconciliation in the Post-Mabo Era," Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 3, no. 61, April 1993, p. 18. 19. Community Aid Abroad, Mabo: Its Meaning for Australia—Background Report No. 4, August 1993. 20. Tim Rowse, "Giving Ground," Arena Magazine, October-November 1993, p. 17. 21. Rowse, pp. 18-19. 22. See the Saulwick Poll in the Sydney Morning Herald, 4 August 1993.

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23. Australian Financial Review, 4 August 1993. 24. The KooriMail, 3 November 1993. 25. Peter Cronau, "An Illusion of Influence: Mabo Concern and Opinion Polls," Reportage, January/February 1994, p. 13. 26. Cronau, pp. 14-15. 27. Cronau, p. 15. 28. Tony Lee, "NTA Has Positive Impact," in Native Title Law . . . Two Years On, Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action, Brisbane, 1994, p. 9. 29. This chronology is drawn from a number of sources, primarily Whimp, p. 17. 30. Antonio Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916-1935, edited by David Forgacs, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1988. 31. Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981, p. 31. 32. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Verso, London, 1984. 33. Tim Rowse, "Mabo and Moral Majority," Meanjin, 52, no. 2, 1993, p. 229; "The Mabo Debate: An Update," a paper delivered by Tim Rowse at the Post Colonial Formations Conference, Griffith University, Nathan, 7 July 1993. 34. See the following publications from the Office of the Minister for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Affairs: Rebutting the Myths: Some Facts about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Affairs, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1992; Rebutting Mabo Myths, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, June 1993; Social Justice for Indigenous Australians 1993-94, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1993. 35. Gabriell A. Moens, "Mabo and Political Policy-Making by the High Court," in Mabo: A Judicial Revolution, eds. M. A. Stephenson and S. Ratnapala, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1993, pp. 48-62; Nonie Sharp, "Native Title: The Post-Mabo Landscape," Arena Magazine, no. 8, 1993, pp. 5-6; M. A. Stephenson, "Mabo—A New Dimension to Land Tenure—Whose Land Now?," in Mabo: A Judicial Revolution, eds. M. A. Stephenson and S. Ratnapala, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1993, pp. 96-118. 36. Noel Pearson, "204 Years of Invisible Title," in Stephenson and Ratnapala, Mabo, pp. 75-95. 37. Frank Brennan, "Mabo and Its Implications for Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders," in Stephenson and Ratnapala, Mabo, pp. 44-45. 38. Stephen Harris, "Pay the Rent: Mabo and the Big Picture of Aboriginal Education," Social Alternatives, 13, nos. 3 & 4, 1994, p. 22. 39. Marcia Langton, "Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television": An Essay for the Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aboriginal People and Things, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1993. 40. Tim Rowse, "Expert Testimony: How We Talk about Aboriginal Health," Arena Magazine, December 1994-January 1995, p. 35. 41. Courier-Mail, 30 December 1992. 42. "Premier Cautions on Mabo Action," Courier-Mail, 19 March 1993, p. 5. 43. "The Legacy of Mabo," Courier-Mail, 5 January 1993, p. 5. 44. "Mabo Rights Hit Govt.: WA," Courier-Mail, 1 May 1993, p. 27. 45. "Mabo: Australia's Chance for Reconciliation," Courier-Mail, 29 May 1993, p. 31. 46. Courier-Mail, 3 June 1993. 47. Courier-Mail, 3 June 1993, pp. 22, 33. 48. "Threat to Reconciliation Aborigines Angry," Courier-Mail, 4 June 1993, p. 2.

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49. "Happy Birthday to the Mabo Mystery," Courier-Mail, 4 June 1993, p. 8. 50. Courier-Mail, 1 June 1993, p. 1. 51. Courier-Mail, 9 June 1993, p. 2. 52. Courier-Mail, 12 June 1993, p. 33. 53. "PM Rejects Mabo 'Stone Age' Claims," Courier-Mail, 14 June 1993, p. 5. A group of international investment advisers suggested that the High Court decision could turn Australia back to a "stone age culture." 54. "Coal Assurance on Mabo," Courier-Mail, 16 June 1993, p. 37. 55. Courier-Mail, 17 June 1993, p. 1. 56. "Blacks Retreat on British Writ," Courier-Mail, 18 June 1993, p. 2. 57. Courier-Mail, 19 June 1993, p. 29. 58. Courier-Mail, 26 June 1993, p. 5. 59. It is interesting to note that the coalition opposition released mining industry news releases as adjuncts to its own native title position paper. This is discussed by Peter Poynton, "Mabo: Now You See It, Now You Don't," Race and Class, 35, no. 4, 1994, p. 51. 60. This was quoted in an editorial in The Australian, 9 July 1993. 61. "The Aurukun Story," N. Q. Messagestick, 4, no. 2, February 1979, pp. 6-7. 62. Courier-Mail, 8 July, p. 2. 63. "Black Leader Blasts Goss," Courier-Mail, 15 July, p. 12. 64. "What It Will Mean to the Average Australian," Courier-Mail, 19 June 1993; "The Main Players," Courier-Mail, 19 June 1993; "Why Mabo Is Also a Victory for the Historians," Courier-Mail, 13 July 1993; "A Slow Burning Ember Which Sparked a Social Bonfire," Courier-Mail, 17 July 1993. 65. "Fiction Replaced by More Fiction," Courier-Mail, 6 July 1993; "The Eddie Mabo Myth," Courier-Mail, 17 July 1993. 66. "Mabo: How—and Where—It Affects Queensland," Courier-Mail, 19 June 1993. 67. These ideas are drawn from a range of publications from the Office of the Minister for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Affairs, including Rebutting the Myths; Rebutting Mabo Myth', Social Justice for Indigenous Australians 1993-94. 68. The Canberra Times, 5 July 1993. 69. Courier-Mail, 2 October 1993. 70. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes." 71. Courier-Mail, 9 June 1993, p. 2. 72. Courier-Mail, 28 June 1993, p. 1. 73. Courier-Mail, 5 July 1993, p. 1. 74. Courier-Mail, 6 July 1993, p. 5. 75. Courier-Mail, 9 July 1993, p. 2. 76. Courier-Mail, 19 July 1993, p. 5. 77. Courier-Mail, 30 July 1993, p. 31. 78. Courier-Mail, 30 July 1993, p. 31. 79. "Mabo: How—and Where—It Affects Queensland," Courier-Mail, 19 June 1993. 80. This same point is made by Mary Ann Weston, Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth-Century Press, Greenwood Press, Westport, CT, 1996, p. 164. 81. Peter Poynton, p. 53, describes how the eight weeks of "intense national debate" in June-July 1993 forced the prime minister into releasing outlines of the proposed Native Title Bill. 82. Brown, pp. 2-3; Mansell, pp. 4—6; VanderLans, p. 3; Kelly, pp. 10-13. 83. The Australian Financial Review, 23 July 1993, p. 1. 84. Noel Pearson, "A Troubling Inheritance," Race and Class, 35, no. 4, 1994, p. 8. 85. Langton, p. 84.

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86. Frank Brennan, Sharing the Country: The Case for an Agreement Between Black and White Australians, Penguin, Ringwood, 1991. 87. Christine Morris, "First Peoples and Government: What If . . ."—unpublished conference paper delivered at Postcolonial Formations Conference, Griffith University, Nathan, Brisbane, 1993; Kamal Puri, "Copyright Protection for Aborigines in the Light of Mabo," in Stephenson and Ratnapala, Mabo, p. 158. 88. Helen Wilson, "Broadcasting and the Treaty of Waitangi," Media Information Australia, no. 67, 1993, pp. 92-99; Derek Tini Fox, "Honouring the Treaty," in Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, ed. Tony Dowmunt, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993, pp. 126-137. 89. Pearson, "A Troubling Inheritance," p. 8. 90. This was an agreement between Indigenous, conservation, and pastoral interests to resolve questions over the use of and access to land on Cape York Peninsula. Cape York Land Council director Noel Pearson argues that this agreement was made possible by the environment created by the native title decision.

6 Reporting the Everyday— Rationalizing Racism

The unfortunate reemergence in the late 1990s of ignorant and divisive attitudes toward Indigenous people in Australia did not augur well for a positive start to the new millennium. It seems, too, that the very notion of multiculturalism is undergoing a revisionism that contradicts Australia's geographical and international alliances. The media continue to play an important part in this process, giving voice to baseless claims alongside attempts to contextualize the issues. While some conservative voices have been raised in defense of Australia's ethnic minorities—for commercially motivated reasons rather than concern over racism—overt support for Indigenous people is all but absent from the dominant agenda. On the contrary, Indigenous people find themselves the targets of attack from the most privileged sections of Australian society—politicians, pastoralists, mining companies. It is these elements, with almost unparalleled access to privilege, that have led the attack on the most socially deprived and disadvantaged without any real sense of community outrage. And the media have seemed content to participate in this exercise of "reflecting reality." As I have suggested throughout this book, the pattern of reporting of Indigenous affairs in Australia has remained locked within a particular framework as a way of rationalizing, or explaining away, racism. In this chapter, I examine media coverage of Indigenous affairs from several perspectives: a content analysis drawn from a study of two 5-year periods, 20 years apart, of Indigenous issues in two Queensland newspapers, the CourierMail and the Cairns Post, a series of focus group discussions; and a more intensive comparative analysis of newspaper and television coverage of a particular event—namely, a series of protest rallies and marches by Indigenous

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people in Brisbane early in 1996. The aim of this exercise is to explore not only trends in the nature of the media coverage but also the effectiveness of quantitative analysis in assessing media performance over a long period. COVERAGE BY THE CAIRNS POST AND THE COURIER-MAIL December 1975 to December 1979 The study revealed that Indigenous affairs' stories were not prominent during this period, tending to be located on pages of the newspapers other than the key news pages—1, 2, and 3. Only the Courier-Mail carried feature stories dealing with Indigenous issues in the sample examined. The focus of stories for both newspapers was Aboriginality or identity, land rights, and race relations—and a preoccupation with conflict. Where Indigenous people were mentioned in stories rather than being the focus, crime and law-and-order featured as the primary news values. The Courier-Mail included politics in this anay. Neither newspaper tended to cite Indigenous community representatives in the stories examined. The Cairns Post cited Indigenous sources in around 40 percent of its stories, while just one-third of the Courier-Mail's offerings included this acknowledgment—effectively excluding Indigenous voices from stories that focus on their affairs. The Courier-Mail's news stories tended to be more negative in tenor over this period. January 1991 to December 1995 While the Cairns Post published the greatest number of Indigenous items in his decade, it was the Courier-Mail that gave its Indigenous stories more prominence. But it was still just one-fifth (22 percent) of Indigenous stories published during this period that found their way onto the paper's main news pages. Land rights was the largest story category in this sample for both newspapers, with race relations a close second. The mention of Indigenous identity was associated most often with the arts; however, the topic of law and order followed close on its heels. A focus by both papers on stories dealing with land rights and the arts meant that Indigenous people remained trapped within this stereotyped interpretation of their place in the Australian community. News stories in the CourierMail and letters to the editor in the Cairns Post were the sources of the most negative stories in this decade. Changes in the Courier-Mail's Coverage There was a significant change during the 20-year span of the investigation in the way the Courier-Mail covered Indigenous affairs. The number of stories about Indigenous affairs doubled in that period, and the proportion of feature stories increased. Despite this, the proportion of stories focusing on land rights

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remained about the same. Stories dealing with Indigenous identity decreased in the 1990s, while stories dealing with discrimination and topics such as health, education, and deaths in custody increased. One significant positive change was a five-fold increase in stories linking Indigenous people and the arts (from around 5 percent of stories in 1975-79 to 28 percent in 1991-95). However, at the same time, stories focusing on law and order have doubled in number, while those mentioning Indigenous people in relation to politics plummeted (from 42 percent in 1975-79 to just 2.5 percent in 1991-95!). While in overall terms the proportion of negative stories has decreased, those that stereotype have increased slightly. There has been no change in the proportion of stories in which Indigenous representatives are cited. Changes in the Cairns Posts Coverage Over the 20-year period of the study, Indigenous stories have become less prominent in the Cairns Post, tending to drift away from the main news pages. As with its Brisbane newspaper counterpart, the number of stories about Indigenous affairs has doubled in that period. One significant increase has been in the proportion of feature articles and letters to the editor, although the number of editorials dealing with Indigenous issues has fallen slightly. As with the CourierMail, land rights and the associated conflict were the main focus of stories about Indigenous affairs in the Cairns Post in this decade. Indigenous people mentioned in stories in the 1990s tended to be associated with the arts rather than the topic of law and order, which had predominated 20 years earlier. However, as the analysis suggests, the focus of stories on land rights has perhaps elevated that topic to greater prominence. While the number of stories has doubled, the proportion that cite Indigenous community representatives as sources has decreased in the 1990s. This has been accompanied by an increase in stereotyping and in the proportion of negative stories. Summary The content analysis attempts to "objectify" the issue of racism in the media, and while it reveals evidence of racist and discriminatory content, it is difficult to make definitive statements about the overall performance of the newspapers. This is because of the wide range of story topics included and the limits of content analysis. It is difficult to say from the evidence that either of the newspapers sought to lead the debate, one way or the other, through their respective coverage of the issues. The analysis suggests that overall the level of overt media racism or discrimination is mild through the perpetuating of stereotypes. At best, using the criteria on which the study is based, the newspapers' coverage of Indigenous affairs could be described as maintaining the status quo. However, several significant trends did emerge and should be acknowledged. The first is that the association of Indigenous people with the arts—particularly

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in the Courier-Mail—has increased substantially in the 20-year time span of this study. Perhaps this is offset by a continuing reluctance by both newspapers to include Indigenous sources in stories about Indigenous affairs. Between 1975 and 1995, the infrequency with which Indigenous people were approached and included in such stories as sources in the Cairns Post (40 percent of stories) and the Courier-Mail (30 percent of stories) has remained virtually unchanged, despite the fact that the number of stories that focus on Indigenous affairs has doubled in that period. At the same time, stories that focus on Indigenous affairs have tended to drift away from the front pages—in the 1975-79 decade, around 30 percent of stories about Indigenous affairs in the Courier-Mail appeared on the main news; 20 years later, this figure had fallen to around 20 percent of the stories sampled. A similar drift has occurred in the news pages of the Cairns Post. The frustration felt by Indigenous community representatives is perhaps understandable if these trends are taken into account. Focus group discussions accompanying this research in Brisbane and Cairns in late 1996—at the time that the conservative Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party was in full cry—revealed a high level of dissatisfaction with mainstream media representation of Indigenous affairs. Despite a content analysis revealing that most stories published by the newspapers in that period tended toward the neutral or the positive, story placement was identified by focus groups as being perhaps more relevant—the negative stories are "always" on pages 1 and 2. Despite this downbeat response, Indigenous people expressed a desire to build bridges with media practitioners. They identified community media as more in tune with Indigenous affairs and acknowledged that "a new [newspaper] editor can make all the difference"—perhaps refening to the then new Editor in Chief of the Courier-Mail, Chris Mitchell.1 While the study revealed some important trends, it also suggested the limitations of content analysis. While it might be statistically shown that the newspapers adopted a stance over the 20-year period that could be described as neutral or positive, curcent community perceptions of their performances differ markedly. Why is this so? It might suggest that overall perceptions of the media are perhaps more influenced by current events;2 or it might suggest that the selective placement of a few key stories and even one news headline might counter any number of other stories that may well reflect positive values, dealing positively with topics such as the arts, for example; it may even suggest that people's negative responses to the popular electronic media—television news, for example—might be carried over to include print journalism. It should be noted, however, that newspapers were specifically identified by focus group members in Brisbane and Cairns as needing to address what were identified as serious reporting deficiencies. A 1994 study in Western Australia revealed that 38 percent of Perth suburban dwellers gained most of their knowledge about Aboriginal people from the news media, with the vast majority gaining some knowledge about Nungars from this source.3 Significantly, the study found that the last story remembered by those interviewed was one that concerned crime or vio-

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lence.4 The role of the media in contributing to perceptions of race relations is crucial.5 In the next section I take a more intense look at television and newspaper coverage of a single event. This approach enables an analysis of a range of journalistic practices that is difficult using content analysis alone. The following case study also enables a comparison of reporting approaches by print and electronic journalists. CREATING REALITY Early in 1996, a coalition of Indigenous organizations in Queensland organized a three-day meeting in Brisbane. The summit, planned as a series of public rallies in King George Square in central Brisbane, sought to place important, neglected Indigenous issues back onto the public agenda in the lead-up to a crucial state by-election (held on Saturday, 3 February) and an imminent federal election set for 2 March. The issues identified by organizers included the continuing incidence of Aboriginal deaths in custody and the failure of the federal government's Native Title Act and state legislation to deliver land rights to the dispossessed. The summit agreed on a log of claims that was served on both state and federal governments, calling for a state-based Indigenous land-acquisition fund alongside an Aboriginal commission that could administer funds for the implementation of recommendations of the 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. Following two days of discussion—and two protest marches—the summit participants decided to end their meeting one day early, explaining that the forum program had been completed ahead of schedule. This analysis is based on news coverage of events over an eight-day period early in 1996. It features coverage by the Courier-Mail and two television news services, the publicly funded ABC TV News and the commercial National Nine News. I have also included material from another commercial television news service, Seven Nightly News, at one point to explain one particular incident in greater detail. The Sample For this study, all stories dealing with Indigenous issues in two newspapers— the Cairns Post and the Courier-Mail—and two television news services—ABC News and National Nine News—were gathered for the eight-day period, 31 January to 3 February 1996. The Brisbane protest meeting was chosen as a case study to enable a comparison of reporting styles between print and television. As the Cairns Post did not mention the Brisbane rallies, it does not feature in the specific case-study examination. (See Table 6.1.) A significant element of the overall coverage during this period is the high proportion of stories published with no contextual explanation. Almost half of the stories—28 out of a total of 47—included some background explanation for

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Table 6.1 Indigenous Affairs Stories, 31 January to 3 February 1996 Stories

Some Context

Courier-Mail Cairns Post ABC TV News National Nine News

13 19 9 6

12

Total

47

28

15 1 0

the event that was the story focus. Significantly, the newspapers have a virtual monopoly on this, with just 1 of the 15 television stories broadcast including relevant contextual material. It suggests a particular framework within which television news works, regardless of its origin. Both the ABC News and National Nine News were reluctant to include explanatory background material in the stories broadcast during the eight-day period. It suggests that they offer little more than a headline service when it comes to reporting on Indigenous issues. (See Table 6.2.) A pattern of indifference toward Indigenous sources was more widespread, with all four media outlets deciding not to allow Indigenous people to speak in most of these stories. Again, the newspapers fared better than did their electronic counterparts. Both included direct quotes from Indigenous sources in just under half of the stories they published in this period (Cairns Post: 47 percent; CourierMail: 46 percent). Remember, these are stories that focus on Indigenous issues. If indirect quotes from Indigenous sources are included, then this category includes around 70 percent of the newspaper stories (Cairns Post: 73 percent; CourierMail: 69 percent). The inclusion of Indigenous voices in the television news stories pales in comparison. Around 20 percent included Indigenous spokespeople (ABC: 22 percent; National Nine News: 17 percent). The environment leading up to and surcounding the chosen case study did not augur well for a positive outcome. Table 6.2 Indigenous Sources, 31 January to 3 February 1996 Directly Courier-Mail (13) Cairns Post (19) ABC TV News (9) National Nine News (6) Total (47)

Indirectly

6 9 2 1

3 5 0 0

18

8

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Media Coverage of the Brisbane Rallies 31 January The first time that viewers of National Nine News learned of the Indigenous summit was in a news bulletin opener on 31 January, which told its audience: "Police showered with paint bombs in a city protest" over vision of uniformed police splattered with red paint. The accompanying news story was seventh in the line-up that night, behind stories on the campaign for the by-election in the state electorate of Mundingbuna, the federal election campaign, and a murder in Brisbane. The newsreader's introduction set the scene: Aborigines have come up with a new weapon in their continuing protests over black deaths in custody. Paint bombs splattered police and the Executive Building in Brisbane today, following an angry march by about 200 demonstrators. The story length—an unusual two minutes—its use of language, and the linking of words and images reinforced the expectations already suggested in the bulletin opener. This was an important story. The reporter's script made up for the ambiguous vision. Viewers were informed that the protesters' "anger boiled over" before "fearing a riot," police "ordered an immediate end" to the protest. The story continued in this vein, describing how demonstrators "screamed" at shoppers in the Brisbane City Mall before throwing paint bombs at the state government Executive Building and police. This was accompanied by a short, agitated quote from an Indigenous participant: "This is blood from our people." The significance of the red paint might easily have been missed by an inattentive viewer. Curiously, the story script took viewers back to where the marchers had started—King George Square—with this comment: "At a rally in King George Square, speeches about deaths in custody set the tone for the day of action." There was no indication of the content of the speeches and how they had "set the tone." What were protesters saying about deaths in custody? Why did they march? These questions remained unanswered. But by the time marchers had reached the Executive Building in central Brisbane, "the issue became land rights." How this happened was not explained by the journalist. The last few sentences of the story reveal more about the reporter than the topic with which he was trying to come to terms. After explaining that protesters "promised they'd be back," he concluded the story with these words: "Earlier speakers called for a strategy of more angry confrontation with police—a return to the 70s, they said, when there was fighting in the streets." None of this was supported by interviews or excerpts from speeches. It was opinion and, as other reports suggest, inaccurate. The Channel Nine news story did not name or interview any of the Indigenous participants. ABC TV News audiences were greeted with a bulletin opener that proclaimed: "Three arrested as Aboriginal protest anger erupts" over images of people being arrested. Placed number six in the bulletin line-up, the introduction seemed little

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removed from its commercial counterpart, but there was some attempt to place the story in context in the voice-over: Protesters marching against Aboriginal deaths in custody were arrested in Brisbane today after violent scuffles. Demonstrators had attended a peaceful rally in the city before marching on the Executive Building where they demanded to meet Premier Wayne Goss—but he was in North Queensland and their frustration boiled over. The reporter introduced her voice-over by explaining, with some vision, that an earlier rally in King George Square had been peaceful. This story, too, acknowledged a possible reason for the march—to urge the implementation of recommendations of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. As with the National Nine News story, audiences were told how the protesters anger increased along the way until "the crowd's anger boiled over." Use of the same metaphor is interesting. But the reporter did explain the significance of the red paint: "Two protesters claimed the State Government had blood on its hands and to illustrate the point, hurled red paint bombs at the Executive Building, splattering police and security guards." As with the Channel Nine story, demonstrators warned that they would return. Some important contextual information appeared as the last sentence: "Aboriginal groups from around Australia will be conducting forums in Brisbane over the next three days discussing strategies to improve conditions for Indigenous Australians." This story included just one acknowledgment of an Indigenous speaker—Santa Unmeopa—at the square rally. No one else was either interviewed or named. I February Next morning, Brisbane's daily newspaper the Courier-Mail featured the event on page 5—an important news page. The paper used two photographs: a large one, across four columns, of Aboriginal poet Lionel Fogarty pressed against the bars of a police paddy wagon, and a smaller picture of three police officers arresting another demonstrator. Significantly, both Aboriginal men were named in the photograph captions. The headline read: "Paint Protest over Prison Deaths." The writer, Indigenous affairs reporter Marcus Priest, was able to explain the symbolism of the red paint in his short introduction, which focused on the newsworthy issue of the arrests. He wrote: Three Aboriginal protesters were arrested yesterday after splattering police and the Queensland Government Executive Building with paint which they said symbolised Aboriginal blood. In the second paragraph, the link between the protesters and the arrest of Lionel Fogarty—the brother of young Aboriginal dancer Daniel Yock, who died in the back of a police vehicle in 1993—again provided important context that

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was absent from most of the television news fare. The Courier-Mail story ran for 18 paragraphs and included 7 paragraphs of quotes from a protest organizer, Wayne Wharton. None of the television news stories managed more than a few seconds of shouting from Indigenous participants. Police were the only ones given time to comment in television news versions of this event. The newspaper story provided much more background, omitted from the television news versions. It explained the nature of the summit that had delivered a log of claims to the Queensland premier and to the federal Aboriginal Affairs minister. The log of claims included a demand for the establishment of an independent Aboriginal-run commission into Aboriginal deaths in custody and places to be set aside in parliament for Aboriginal people. This story also explained—contrary to either of the television news stories—that the tactics adopted represented a return to the nonviolent confrontations of the 1960s and 1970s. Significantly, the Courier-Mail published a feature in the paper's Perspectives section dealing with the issue of Aboriginal deaths in custody. Written by criminologist Paul Wilson, the story provided important background to the claims that Indigenous people were making at the time. Demonstrators gathered again in King George Square that day. The meeting went on for many hours before a decision was taken to stage another march. This repeat performance by demonstrators prompted National Nine News to elevate the story to second in the line-up that night. The bulletin opener declared: "More paint bombs and arrests as Brisbane protesters demand land rights." The introduction to the story set the tone: "In Brisbane for the second day running, Aboriginal protesters have bombarded a public building and onlookers with red paint. Four people were arrested when police intervened in a land rights demonstration." Which particular aspect of land rights the protesters were concerned about was not explained. This time, we heard that the "land rights demonstrators took to the city streets" and "heckled a group of visiting [Aboriginal] entertainers." The reporter informed viewers that although the marchers had a permit, they "lost patience" when they reached the Family Services Department headquarters in the city. Why did they lose patience? There were anests and the demonstrators threw paint bombs, but this time there was a difference: "Police and media were the prime targets along with the building itself." Audiences were left with another thinly veiled threat: "Police are preparing for a similar display tomorrow." Only one person was interviewed and named in the story—a police officer. Targeting the Media? On that same evening, Seven Nightly News took its coverage one step further. Describing the protest in its introduction as "Brisbane's second ugly display of racial violence in as many days," this story, too, claimed that the media had come under attack. The reporter presented it like this: "A decision was made to return

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[sic] to Musgrave Park, some turning their rage on the media." Edited in here was a soundbite from one of the protesters, who shouted: "Don't use your microphone like a baton!" Why would he say this? Several observers6 and Brisbane's third commercial television news service, Channel 10, revealed that a member of a television news crew did indeed jab the marcher in the back several times with a boom microphone. When the protester turned around to object—justifiably so—his angry response was caught on tape. It made a great action grab. None of the TV news stories that night acknowledged this. For most viewers across Queensland—and interstate—here was yet another example of a bad-tempered demonstrator attacking the media. In fact, it was a case of the media deliberately provoking the demonstrator. The Channel Nine story interviewed and named one police officer. ABC TV News coverage that evening did little to dispel this impression. In fact, the bulletin opener—a short sequence of videotape showing a police officer, who was covered with a red substance which looked like blood, struggling with a demonstrator was accompanied by this voice-over: "and black anger spills over on the streets of Brisbane." The story was placed ninth in the bulletin line-up, and the introduction went some way toward resolving the question about the red substance, but the framework of violence reemerged: "For a second day in a row police have clashed violently with some members of Brisbane's Aboriginal community. Four people were anested during today's protest march in which Aborigines threw paint at police." When the mandatory paint-bomb sequence appeared on screen, the reporter explained that this time they were "fired" at buildings and police and that three people were charged with "seriously assaulting police officers." No such charges exist. And as if on cue, the ABC, too, ended with the threat of another march on the following day. This story contained no explanation for the march or why red paint was again thrown. The ABC News story interviewed and named one person, a police officer. 2 February The Courier-Mail story was back to page 9, but again the paper used two photographs—both focusing on the anests. One large picture showed three police officers arresting an Aboriginal man, and the smaller photograph was a head shot of a police officer "spattered" with paint. The story headline read: "Four Arrested over Paint Bombs." The first two paragraphs, again by Marcus Priest, informed readers: "Four Aboriginal demonstrators were attested for paintbombing a government building yesterday as Aborigines continued their campaign of confrontation. The red paint symbolized the blood of Aboriginal people who had died in custody, protest organisers said." This story—20 paragraphs long—included and named two Indigenous speakers at the rally that preceded the march. The story gave over nine paragraphs—almost half of the available space—to Indigenous comment. Although the story used the anests and the paint

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bomb throwing as a news angle, it provided valuable context for those wondering why the protest took place at all. This important background explanation was notably—and predictably—absent from all of the television news stories. One observation by Priest in the story is worth highlighting. He wrote: "Police were covered in red paint as were journalists who were caught in the cross fire"—quite a different perspective from that of being "under attack." One commercial television reporter was subsequently awarded compensation following a claim brought against the police union for damage to his clothing caused by the red paint. In his story, Priest was also able to confirm—from information gathered at the forum that preceded the march—that there would be no further marches, as was indeed the case. How is it that Channel Nine and ABC TV news journalists reported the very opposite in their version of events? 3 February The Courier-Mail continued with its coverage with some interesting observations from reporter Marcus Priest. These appeared in a comment piece written by him on page 5, curiously placed inside an unrelated story concerning disruption at the Aboriginal community of Hope Vale in far-north Queensland. The headline read: "Hope Vale Cowers as Violence Grows." Priest's comments on the protests of the past few days are worth reproducing in full: It is sad that Aboriginal protesters had to resort to paint to get their message heard. Sad because they felt they had exhausted all other means of getting their concerns heard; the public and the government had been deaf to their cries. It is sad, also, that their message was still ignored by the majority of the media who chose to concentrate on the so-called "violence" of protesters. It should be noted, however, that while the protests were fiery, they were not violent. For the record, the protesters' main concerns were three: the rising number of Aboriginal deaths in custody; the failure of the Aboriginal Land Act and the Native Title Act to provide land for the majority of Aboriginal people; and the wastage of government money on Aboriginal bureaucracies. Combined with social and economic disadvantage, heightened by a recession in which they were one of the greatest victims, there is a growing radicalism and desperation to have their message heard—whatever the cost.7 In the same edition of the Courier-Mail, two additional stories concerning Indigenous issues provide an important window into the diverse nature of Indigenous endeavor. One, written by historian Henry Reynolds, 8 outlined the enormous contribution Aboriginal people have made to the state's pastoral industry. The second story, heading the newspaper's Employment section, featured a large picture of an Aboriginal man seated at a computer. The headline read: "Murrinet Set to Put Aborigines on Info-Highway." What a contrast to the images of confrontation and violence that continued to obsess the creators of television news.

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TV news coverage of the protests revealed stereotyping by both the ABC and Channel Nine, refening to the group variously as "land rights protesters," or protesting over "deaths in custody" when other equally important issues were identified by the rally organizers. The marchers were branded as "violent" when little or no violence was obvious, even in the edited news reports. Negative stories used by both news bulletins were significantly longer and placed higher in story line-up than those with some positive or neutral tenor. There was a consistent use of sensationalism in TV news headlines and story scripts—such as, for example, the fact that the words accompanying the vision of a paint-splattered policeman (ABC TV News) do not identify the red substance as paint—it could be blood. Unsubstantiated claims by National Nine News that Aboriginal protesters used "police and media as the prime targets" also fall into this category. It is underlined by evidence that one commercial TV news crew provoked demonstrators by jabbing a man in the back with a microphone and then included his angry response as part of the story—a prime example of constructing news. In the same vein, when paint was thrown at government buildings, police and media who were standing together between the protesters and the building were hit by some of the paint—hardly a surprise, but an attack? All but one (ABC TV News) of the stories included some contextual explanation for the rally and march. Most stories seemed content to settle for shallow reporting of superficial happenings, ignoring the many hours of prior public discussion by rally participants. The few Indigenous sources approached by television news crews were allowed only a few seconds to speak. Just one participant was interviewed and named (by the ABC) in the four stories that covered this event. Selected soundbites of Indigenous participants were confrontational, aggressive, and angry. There were no considered interviews with rally organizers. What also emerged from this study was that on each day both television news stations used different reporters with little apparent knowledge of Indigenous affairs. This resulted in significant inaccuracies in story details. In contrast, coverage in the Courier-Mail revealed some attempts to avoid stereotyping by enabling a range of Indigenous people to speak and by assigning a specialist Indigenous Affairs Reporter to cover the stories. This resulted in numerous interviews with key Indigenous organizers and speakers, and this was included as vital background information. The Courier-Mail's coverage of the rallies was supported by a series of well-researched feature-length articles that further contextualized the issue. A comment piece by the newspaper's Indigenous affairs reporter reflected on inaccurate television news reporting of the protest as "violent." Television news reporters seemed to go out of their way to create a sensationalist product designed to entertain rather than to inform. Even the Courier-Mail's coverage was driven by the event rather than by the issues raised; despite the inclusion of context and background information, the stories published focused on the arcests and the confrontation in headlines and introductions. The news pictures used focused only on the arcests.

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CONCLUSION This case study revealed all too clearly the superficiality of television news coverage: an almost complete absence of Indigenous voices with selected grabs serving to reinforce the framework of "violence" set up to explain the events as news; an almost complete lack of context for the protest march in TV news coverage; no important explanation of background, which would have had a significant impact on how the stories might be "read" by TV audiences. This enabled the dominant framework of violent confrontation to prevail as the prime news value. It was almost eight years to the day that television news stories had whipped up hysteria over Aboriginal protests against the bicentenary in Sydney. While superficially little has changed, the blatant assault on a participant by a television news crew in this case study suggests a more malevolent environment in 1996. The inaccuracies in reporting and the consistent ignorance of television reporters sent to cover the event suggests that the same simplistic framework for interpreting Indigenous affairs prevails, regardless of the findings of a Royal Commission and a national inquiry into racist violence.9 By adopting a simplistic frame for the story, television news journalists were able to rationalize their practices. They invented—or, rather, recycled—an acceptable explanation that effectively sought to win consent for their version of events—that Indigenous people disrupt the everyday with unexplained protests about "land rights." This violation of "common sense" as represented by television news continues to reinforce the old stereotypes. Aboriginal people, in this case, remained trapped in a framework of disgruntled troublemakers who wanted something to which they were not entitled. Juxtaposition with the newspaper commentary is an interesting example of a struggle over ideology.10 But because such examples are rare, it is doubtful whether it had any impact at all—except possibly on those already suspicious of media constructions of reality. Coverage in the Courier-Mail did enable Indigenous people to speak, often at length, about the complexity of the issues involved. Although still tending toward a framework of confrontation as the major news value, the series of stories enabled a more considered view of events to be presented. In addition, the newspaper published longer feature stories dealing with the very issues at the end of the coverage of the rallies in the same editions. Again, this provided valuable contextual information for readers. Television news producers often use the argument that they have far less space in which to tell their stories than do newspapers, who, apparently, are blessed with column centimeters aplenty. It has also been argued that it is difficult to get across complex issues in a two-minute TV news story (about 350 words). A word count of the stories in this case study reveals that there was very little difference in word length between the electronic and print media. The Courier-Mail managed to include extensive background information in stories, which ran between 350 and 450 words. Using the average reading pace of three words a second for 120 seconds, the number of words available for electronic and print journalists to

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tell their stories was almost identical. Add on the 45- to 50-word television news introductions, and there was really no difference between them in actual length. But other influences determine the TV news approach, and clearly in this case it was the availability of sensationalist pictures that influenced decisions about news value and thus judgments on the amount of information viewers would be allowed to consume. This case study suggests that there is a distinct advantage for readers, newspapers, and audiences alike if a specialist reporter is assigned to cover such issues. In this regard, the coverage by the Courier-Mail revealed the possibilities either missed or avoided by the television news services. It is also worth noting that recognition of the importance of a specialist reporter—one person—may make all the difference in media coverage of Indigenous affairs. The strategy is not new. It has been used by news organizations almost since their inception. It is sad to acknowledge that its importance in this sensitive area has yet to register with the majority of Australia's news media outlets. Perhaps what this case study reveals, too, is that the reporting of this event is reflective of the "commonsense" coverage of such issues, particularly by television news. This was not a large event like the Sydney march in 1988 and is representative of many similar protests held in cities across the country. The formulaic approach used by television news in such circumstances is not confined to Indigenous issues alone. But when there are simply no alternative representations on which audiences might base their assessment of the events being reconstructed for them, then reporting moves us into quite a different realm of truth. In chapter 7, I look at ways in which journalism and its practices have been framed by practitioners themselves and how this might help in negotiating an alternative approach to reporting race relations. NOTES 1. Cratis Hippocrates, Michael Meadows and K. van Vuuren, Race Reporter: A Report on an Investigation into the Media and the Representation of Race Relations, Qld AntiDiscrimination Commission, Brisbane, 1996, p. 11. 2. David Trigger, '"Everyone's Agreed, the West Is All You Need': Ideology, Media and Aboriginality in Western Australia," Media Information Australia, 75, 1995, pp. 102-122. 3. Terms like "Nungar" are preferred by many Indigenous people to the term "Aboriginal." There are particular regional identifications: Murri (Queensland), Koori(e) (New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania), Nungar (South Australia), Nyungar (southern Western Australia), Yamayti (northern Western Australia), and Yolngu (Arnhem Land). Other "identities" often equate to language groups—e.g., Wakka Wakka, Badjalung, Warlpiri, Pitjantjatjara, etc. 4. Trigger, pp. 102-122. 5. See Steve Mickler's writings, including Gambling on the First Race: A Comment on Racism and Talk-Back Radio, Murdoch University, Centre for Research in Culture and Communication, 1992; "Talk-Back Radio and Indigenous Citizens: Towards a Practical Ethics of Representation," UTS Review, 3, no. 2, 1997, pp. 46-66; "The 'Robespierre' of the Air: Talk-Back Radio, Globalisation and Indigenous Issues," Continuum, 11, no. 3, 1997, pp. 2 3 -

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34; The Myth of Privilege: Aboriginal Status, Media Visions, Public Ideas, Fremantle Arts Press, South Fremantle, 1998. 6. This incident was observed by several journalists including Marcus Priest, then of the Courier-Mail. 7. Courier-Mail, 3 February 1996, p. 5. 8. Henry Reynolds, "Imprisoned by the System," Courier-Mail, 1 February 1996, p. 17. 9. See the appendices in this book for the recommendations by the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (Appendix 2) and the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission's Racist Violence inquiry (Appendix 3), both reported in 1991. 10. Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981.

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7 Managing the Media— Ethics and Professionalism.

The misrepresentation of Indigenous people and issues in Australia has been commonplace since the turn of the century in a range of contemporary media— school textbooks, colonial and contemporary news stories, press photographs, postcards, films. Silence and omission in the colonial press, for example, accompanied the systematic "dispersal" of Aboriginal people in Australia. The emergence of land rights as a key issue in the 1960s led to increasing media coverage of Indigenous affairs, but the specter of conflict was never far from the news pages. The "stone-age journalism" of the 1970s reflected the growing political influence of powerful institutions like the Australian Mining Industry Council, which, in recent times, has experienced something of a revival in media framing of the 1992 and 1996 High Court decisions on native title. The nature of media representation of Indigenous opposition to the 1988 bicentennial celebrations and to the north Queensland spaceport proposal, or the more recent "everyday" coverage of Indigenous events, provide further examples of a continuing structure of attitude and reference that positions Indigenous people in a particular way within mainstream media. Despite some recent positive shifts—a wider range of Indigenous voices in the media on some occasions and moves toward a new spirit of cooperation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous media practitioners— overall, Indigenous people remain largely excluded from mainstream media processes, their interests ignored, and their voices seldom, if ever, heard. The news media remain powerfully constrained in reproducing the ideas of the powerful, largely through journalistic practices. Marginal voices face opposition from "journalistic and academic critics [who] belong to a wealthy system of informational and academic resources with newspapers, television networks,

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journals of opinion, and institutes at its disposal." 1 Newsroom organization, along with legal and systemic constraints like a high concentration of Australian media ownership and journalistic self-censorship, further shape the way in which Indigenous people are written about. And rather than the idea of "professionalism" acting as a safeguard, the reverse may in fact be true—at least in terms of the way in which the notion of "professionalism" is constructed within Australian journalism. RACIST IDEOLOGIES A N D THE MEDIA The media undoubtedly represent, to many, a primary source of beliefs and values on which they base their interpretations of the world. Race relations is an issue where dependence on the media for information is greater still. But we must be careful in assigning particular significance to the power of the media. Consider two "commonsense" ideas that find ready acceptance in media portrayal of a topic like racism—one is the idea that there is "an identifiable point of absolutely neutral truth" about such topics, and the second, that media are able to "implant what they like" on a particular audience. 2 Both are fallacies. However, constant repetition of particular kinds of images of—or ways of thinking about— Indigenous people tends to reinforce particular ideas and assumptions. Media workers apply—consciously or unconsciously—an interpretation of reality that defines how people and issues are portrayed. Subjective reality does not vanish when people become media workers, because we all must work within ideology. And yet reporters often hold up the ideal of objectivity as an essential element of journalism, ignoring the existence of genetic and cultural filters through which we perceive images of the world. 3 How many media consumers would link Indigenous people, for example, with business and success? Ngcobo concludes: "Seldom do blacks appear in the courts or the media linked with cases of a financial nature, fraud, embezzlement of funds, for they seldom come anywhere near the management of large sums of money." 4 The media are not only a major source of ideas about race, they are also places that articulate, work on, transform, and elaborate these ideas. But it is a mistake to interpret this as a racist conspiracy. Progressive ideas about good relations between racial groups do exist in the media, albeit bound within certain acceptable limits. Individual journalists can make a difference. Thus, we might identify two kinds of media racism: overt and inferential (institutionalized). The real significance, however, is that media are so powerfully constrained by a particular set of ideas and assumptions. 5 Media not only define events in society—they offer powerful interpretations of how to understand these events. This is particularly significant because media are often the only sources of information apart from the direct experience of most of society. 6 A 1990 study in Western Australia, for example, revealed that 38 percent of Perth suburban dwellers gained most of their knowledge about Abo-

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riginal people from the news media, with the vast majority gaining "some knowledge" from this source. Significantly, the last story remembered by those interviewed was one that concerned crime or violence. The role of the media in contributing to race relations in Western Australia is clearly crucial. 7 A range of investigations in Britain and the United States, too, reveal that blacks are consistently represented in terms of "problems" like crime and conflict.8 There are many international analyses that demonstrate media supporting fair treatment of minority groups in editorials yet allowing stereotypical or racist portrayals to prevail in news and comment pages. 9 Others suggest several phases through which news media reporting of minorities passes: initially excluded, not being recognized as part of the social system; then reported as threats to society; subjected to confrontation; and, finally, reduced to stereotypes. 10 As Weston suggests, stereotyping does not rely only on the use of racist language or inaccuracies. She continues: "It also comes from the choice of stories to report, the ways stories are organised and written, the phrases used in headlines." 11 That racism exists in society, and therefore in our media, is beyond doubt. Many have described and examined the processes that news workers know so well—that selection and processing of news is not controlled by a set of universal rules or codes. Terms such as "news value" and "news sense" are vague. This has important implications for the way in which race is dealt with, particularly in establishing a dialogue between media workers and sources of information.12 It is easy for columnists in high-profile magazines to describe moves toward antiracism as "minority terrorism" and argue against its most fundamental tenets in commonsense terms that work to win the support of the readership. This is a good example of the use of political correctness to stifle debate. 13 Thus we can be told that it is the "problem" of the people who raise these issues, not that of the people who suffer as a result of discriminatory policies: The problem with people who keep raising the cry of "racism" is that they would have us see everything in terms of race. They treat minorities as emblems, and everyone as typecast. And in suggesting that a white cannot put himself [sic] in the shoes, or soul, of a half-white, or a black, they would impose on us the most stifling form of apartheid, condemning us all to a hopeless rift of mutual incomprehension.14 What such tirades seem to fear more than racism is reverse racism. It seems that racism itself is not a problem to such people—it is when the adjective "reverse" is interposed that it becomes a threat.15 The media produce explanations or frames that justify their interpretation of the world. And a definition of race is part of that framework. The media construct a definition of "what race is, what meaning the imagery of race carries, and what the 'problem of race' is understood to be." 16 Overt racism manifests itself through openly racist arguments that are given credence by publication—claims of cannibalism, for example. But a second form of racism—inferential or institutionalized racism—is more widespread and more insidious because it is largely

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invisible. This is the kind of racism that puts forward naturalized versions of events relating to race that inscribe into them certain propositions as a set of unquestioned assumptions. It enables racist statements to be made, divorced from the racist basis on which such statements depend.17 PROFESSIONAL IDEOLOGIES AND THE NEWS News is social rhetoric that, through a set of cultural practices (journalism), reproduces the ideas of the influential and powerful—the status quo. Most theoretical analyses of how news is constructed more or less agree on this outcome, but it is how this is accomplished that provides a diverse range of theoretical explanations. In general, approaches that fall within the framework of this chapter look within institutions for explanations as to why journalists select and process information in a particular way. These include organizational and gatekeeper studies that postulate that news professionals, by a process of selection— influenced by institutional relationships—determine the nature of news. This asserts that a newsroom socialization process operates that eventuates in institutional priorities—some call this corporate ideology—governing how information is treated as it is passed along the hierarchical newsroom chain. Some see the chain as a hierarchical system with guidance always from the top.18 The notion of news value is omnipresent. It is always offered up by journalists explaining why a particular story is given preference over another. The notion of news value is tied up, for journalists, within their claims to professionalism. They see news values as a result of their professional practices rather than as a determinant.19 Others argue that journalists' activities and those of their organizations need emphasis in understanding how news workers define norms at the same time as they invoke and apply them. Adopting this approach, definitions of newsworthiness are negotiated from moment to moment by newsworkers; thus news cannot mirror society—rather, it helps to interpret and thus constitute it as a shared phenomenon.20 Valerie Alia suggests the method of ethnography—defined as a principle of "learning from people, rather than studying people"—as an alternative approach to the kind of journalistic inquiry that privileges investigatory and confrontational methods. A reluctance to adopt an alternative approach in covering Indigenous affairs is precisely the problem. Alia elaborates: "I have heard over and over again that non-Native journalists are afraid to go into First Nations communities to research stories first hand. This fear comes from stereotypes, often perpetuated by the news media themselves." And so few Indigenous sources are reported. She makes the timely observation that investigation is "not the only way" to serve the public interest. "A journalist can be a cross-cultural guide, providing insights into one culture by explaining another." This entails adopting softer approaches: "hanging around," using quieter and less obtrusive methods of "presenting the journalist's self to the world," can lead to trust and access to information.21

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Journalists themselves seem unable to define news consistently because news is the product of a set of institutional definitions and meanings: news value. News workers are uncomfortable when asked to define the concept, yet they rely on the term to explain their choices. Television producers, for example, see the availability of good vision as a prime determinant and seem to rely on a definition of news that focuses on what has happened since the last telecast.22 This was shown clearly in chapter 6. Gaye Tuchman's notion of "news as frame" highlights the fact that for newsworkers to have merely witnessed an occurrence is not sufficient to define one's observation as factual. Newswork is a practical activity, geared to deadlines, so facts must be quickly identified. Finding facts involves newsworkers demonstrating that they are impartial—that they can remove themselves from a story. Verification of facts, Tuchman says, is both a political and a professional accomplishment.23 As reporters observe events and collect information in the process of identifying "facts" for stories, it is the how and why that cause the most trouble.24 Factors such as time constraints and availability of sources and resources influence the nature and range of information used by journalists to create news. Some sources are easily available—often existing in a symbiotic relationship with journalists— and are strongly linked to dominant power structures within society. Thus, media organizations have tended to become, to a large extent, slaves of public relations agents.25 Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky theorize that self-censorship resulting from the easy availability of information from dominant sources results in the United States' media being used as a vehicle for state propaganda. Private media are businesses selling a product (audiences) to other businesses (advertisers); they target and serve elite opinion and groups; and deviants from the prerequisite values are identified as irresponsible and aberrant. Herman's later work examines this practice in relation to global media, finding powerful connections between transnational corporations in the global marketplace and global media organizations. This is evidence of a fundamental structural flaw that limits the media's service to democracy.26 Within such a framework, journalists operate in a system where it is assumed that the Western media are "free"—at least, free for those who adopt the required societal principles. Journalists exhibit elemental patriotism defined as a general overwhelming wish to think well of ourselves, our institutions, our leaders. But there is room for dissent—exposure of the Watergate break-in, for example— although some suggest that American journalism, post-Watergate, is more subservient to dominant ideologies. Even where there are apparent departures— media initiation of the Fitzgerald inquiry into corruption in Queensland, for example—such deviations still fall within accepted boundaries. The inherent structure of the media "compels adherence to conventional thoughts" because little else can be accomplished in the space between two commercials. There is most certainly little space to develop complex arguments regularly: news coverage of the Bosnian conflict was one such example.27 Little evidence is required by

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the media to vilify Mu'ammar Gadaffi or the exploits of the PLO—at least, up until the 1993 Israeli-PLO peace accord. One could probably now comfortably add Saddam Hussein to that list, given the uncritical mainstream media coverage of the Gulf War and its aftermath.28 DEFAMATION A N D RACIAL VILIFICATION LAWS Libel and defamation laws represent a significant constraint on the ways in which journalists gather and process information in Australia. However, there are conflicting views among journalists of whether Australia's defamation laws are genuinely inhibiting, or merely inhibiting to those disinclined to pursue important matters zealously. 29 Certainly, when Australian journalism was emerging in the new colony, "a punitive approach to the application of criminal and civil libel and sedition" was an impediment. But "broad press freedoms" were established by the 1830s.30 Defamation cases are a hazard of the craft, and they cost time and money. Eight different versions of defamation law operate across Australia, and although defamation law reform has been mooted in the eastern states since 1990, it is doubtful that Indigenous or other minority interests would be safeguarded in any proposed changes. A right of reply or a court-ordered correction may help to counter misinformation, but these concepts are generally opposed by journalists. 31 A perceived increase in racist behavior in Australia since the 1970s has led to calls for racial vilification legislation. Through the Racial Hatred Act 1995, the federal government introduced into the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 a section that made unlawful the public vilification of persons on the basis of their race, color, or national or ethnic origin.32 Paralleling the election of a conservative federal government and the rise of Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party in 1996, the number of complaints to the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission alleging racial hatred during that period increased by a factor of three— between October 1995 and June 1996, there were 63 complaints; for the 1996— 1997 financial year, this increased to 186.33 However, other indicators suggest that the racial vilification legislation, first introduced in 1996, seems to have had an impact on the way journalists report race relations in Australia. The AntiDiscrimination Board of New South Wales—Australia's most populous state— recorded a decline in the number of complaints of racial vilification concerning the media during 1996-97. However, this was accompanied by "a large increase" in the number of inquiries to the Board about racial vilification during this period. 34 From the outset, journalists, in general, have not welcomed the legislation, seeing it as another curb on free speech, although one might well ask: free for whom? Again, objections to such constraints tend to rely on the notion of professionalism, although there is little evidence to suggest that self-regulatory approaches have been able to deal with the problem. The racist violence inquiry by the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission and the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, both reporting in 1991, make this

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point strongly. Some suggest that it is questionable whether civil remedies, such as the Racial Hatred Act 1995 in its existing form, are able to achieve the same kinds of symbolic and educative effects as criminal sanctions.35 And perhaps journalists have themselves to blame if such legislative measures are seen to be necessary. INSTITUTIONAL CONSTRAINTS Journalists fulfill a multifaceted role in processing media messages. These might be described as responding variously to the needs of the powerful, as moral and social guardians, as storytellers, and, perhaps most importantly, as constructors of nation and state in "managing the symbolic arena."36 Theoretical approaches that consider communication as a product of societal structures include those that examine the relationship of the media and political economy. They generally reject the notion that communication determines "what kind of society we are going to have," pursuing a line of investigation that involves relations between communications owners and the capitalist class and between ownership and control of communication. They also insist on an examination of processes through which the dominant ideology is translated and on an analysis of the economic base of the production of cultural form—or ideological production.37 The market becomes the main determining factor for production. In their extensive study of the media's participatory role in winning consent for a particular interpretation of "mugging" in the United Kingdom in the 1970s, Stuart Hall and colleagues examined news production from a number of perspectives: the bureaucratic organization of media companies; the structure of news values (determining story selection and ordering); and, perhaps most importantly for this discussion, news story construction and the nature of professional ideologies. One of the difficult aspects of the hegemony model espoused in this study is how to explain occasional, apparent media contradictions. Within this framework of understanding, the transmission of dominant ideas depends more on noncoercive mechanisms—consent—for their reproduction.38 The pressures on journalists to meet deadlines and to fill media space, coupled with the ethical demands of fairness and accuracy, do result in a heavy dependence on official sources for information—and official sources are only too pleased to provide ready-made stories for news-hungry journalists. The result is a "structured over-accessing" of people in powerful institutional positions.39 Others suggest that the diversity of sources being used by the different media is being significantly reduced—a response primarily to a trend toward global massmarket advertising and the expansion of global media systems.40 Concentration of media ownership, particularly noticeable in Australia, and the myth that more television channels equals greater program diversity, further exacerbate this move toward homogeneity in content. In such a commercially competitive environment, journalists are tempted to neglect the powerless voices of minorities in their scramble to fulfill professional and institutional obligations. Issues like

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racial problems are defined by powerful sources, and, because of the structured relationship between journalists and such sources, the media play a crucial role in reproducing the definitions of those who have privileged access to the media as accredited sources. This places the media in a position of "structured subordination" to these sources, resulting in the transmission of dominant ideas.41 Hierarchical structures of command and review within media institutions might include such elements as a perceived threat, by journalists, to continued employment because of concentration of media ownership and the enshrined power of such institutions to hire and fire.42 Rupert Murdoch's News Ltd controls around 70 percent of capital city and national newspaper circulation, threequarters of Sunday newspaper circulation, and almost half of suburban newspaper circulation in Australia. Murdoch is an American citizen. The Fairfax Group is the other major national and metropolitan newspaper owner in Australia, with around 21 percent of the total newspaper circulation. Kerry Packer's Australian Consolidated Press (47 percent) and Murdoch's News Ltd (26 percent) together control almost three-quarters of Australia's magazine circulation. Since the late 1980s, the concentration of media ownership and control in Australia has been one of the highest, if not the highest, in the Western world. Despite this uncontestable situation, a 1992 federal parliamentary print inquiry did not find evidence of adverse effects of such concentration of control, nor did it recommend divestiture.43 If individual journalists fall foul of either of these two media owners, what employment options do they have in the print sector? Pressure on governments to relax cross-media ownership rules will further expand the reach of the multimillionaire media magnates. Fortunately, Australia has an active, albeit small, independent press sector, which makes a significant contribution to enlarging public-sphere debate.44 In addition, the community broadcasting sector offers a similar range of alternative views. Most of the workers in the alternative media sector in Australia are volunteers. Journalists are subject to informal socialization into institutional roles, such as those of reporters, subeditors or producers, chiefs-of-staff, editors, and so on, which carry with them institutional responsibilities. Reporters' roles, for example, do not generally extend to subediting duties such as writing a headline or story layout. Perhaps the male culture of the newsroom could be added here— men still dominate major newsroom decision-making positions, and women are often placed in areas of soft news. Significant gender bias in the Australian media is clear from the work done by the National Working Party on the Portrayal of Women in the Media—women as news subjects do not dominate in any news story category, making up only 18 percent of all references examined. In the print media, 27 percent of by-lines and pictures included women, with just 14 percent of women who were included in news stories described by their proper names. Consistent undervaluing of women's presence in society, as reflected in the media, is clear. In a survey in 1992, male reporters made up 77 percent of television news and current affairs journalists in Australia, with the same proportion of interview subjects being male. Of the Australian states, Queensland had

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the lowest proportion of female by-lines—16 percent—compared with a national level of 27 percent.45 While the use of such statistics in themselves should be approached with caution, they nevertheless reveal a trend that is difficult to deny. This institutional bias against women is doubly true for Indigenous women who have identified a continuing stereotypical media representation of them and issues that concern them. The Indigenous Women's Network has indicated a need for a project to investigate this more closely, examining stereotypes and the development of appropriate policies to ensure that Indigenous women receive a more representative and relevant coverage.46 The perception many journalists have of themselves as undefined professionals sets the scene for the enshrining of dominant ideas into their professional ideology. Empirical studies have identified "professional attitudes" among journalists in Australia and the United States, but there seems to be a tenuous connection between attitude and practice.47 News values are notoriously slippery to define, especially by journalists themselves, and the Journalists' Code of Ethics—a vague, largely untested document—is seldom (if ever) found prominently displayed in newsrooms.48 One industry watchdog, the Australian Press Council, has a poor record—particularly in dealing with complaints of racism— in challenging industry or journalists.49 Its counterpart in the broadcast sector— the Australian Broadcasting Authority, formerly the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal—has a similar record. Most journalists appear to care little about the state of their profession. Although there have been calls for, and some success in introducing, charters of editorial independence—another attempt at professionalizing journalism—there is continuing insecurity of employment as a result of the great concentration of control, for one.50 The adoption in 1998 of a revised Code of Ethics sparked little debate on this important issue, with much of it remaining locked within proscribed limits, often focusing on detail of particular wording rather than the big picture. The issue of professionalism as it relates to such a code remains problematic—and particularly so in relation to the reporting of race. The revised code does not offer any substantial change to this important aspect of journalism practice. As Brennan suggests, any moves to reflect on journalistic ethics must begin with an examination of the "corporate behavior" of the media organizations. But this does not relieve journalists of personal responsibility for their own behavior.51 All of this helps to ensure, largely through self-censorship within the media— or "swallowing a dose of corporate culture"—continued reproduction of dominant views.52 The framing of some topics and the rejection of others enables this process to define news within dominant ideas and assumptions about society. There are conflicts and departures from the prevailing viewpoint, but they are played out within distinct ideological boundaries. A move to publish a critical journal, New Journalist, in the early 1970s was unsuccessful largely because of a lack of support from members of the journalists' union, the AJA (Australian Journalists' Association). But I stress again that journalists and employers are not conspiratorially linked with dominant agencies of information—the process is

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such that they play out their roles as a commonsense response within the determining ideology. It is the media, as institutions, that fulfill their role in reproducing dominant ideas and assumptions. In the words of Stuart Hall, "A prevailing tendency in the media is toward the production, amidst all their contradictions, of the definitions of the powerful, of the dominant ideology."53 Media don't create news, but they receive prompting from reliable institutional sources. Pressure to meet deadlines is a mitigating factor, but journalism as a cultural practice offers itself up as impartial, balanced, and objective, thus needing constantly to turn to accredited sources. A permanent ideological struggle determines the operation of power and definitions of the world. This conflict between ideologies transforms one set of ways of understanding the world into another. If this is so, why don't journalists and other media workers realize the crucial ideological role they fulfill in reproducing the definitions of the powerful? It is because the system operates unconsciously—journalists ask questions and are thus constrained by ideas and assumptions that, they assume, are consistent with dominant community interests because "ideology is a function of the discourse and of the logic of social processes, rather than an intention of the agent"—it is not the fault of individual journalists.54 The genre of "New Journalism" perhaps takes this lack of reflexivity to its most extreme limit. Although purporting to be "accurate nonfiction with techniques associated with novels,"55 New Journalism exhibits a "naive concept of realism" based on the flimsy idea that the world is as it appears to be. New Journalism is, in some respects, antithetical to a reflexive social science. It is an example of how some journalists can deny the existence of an ideological role or of ideologies themselves. Journalists tend to see their role in terms of the socalled "mirror metaphor" and thus argue that research that identifies a media preponderance for white, male, conservative news figures merely reflects the society from which such dominant news figures emerge.56 This is despite a body of evidence that continues to document the way in which news gives legitimacy to some speakers while excluding or marginalizing others—patterns of distortion not easily discernible to casual viewers and part of the commonsense process of consuming media.57 PROFESSIONALISM The notion of professionalism is one seized upon by media workers and some media educators to defend the often precarious ideological position that journalists occupy. Moves in Australia in the early 1990s to restructure the media industry were accompanied by discussions on an appropriate response from the journalism education sector. The industry, in partnership with the Australian Journalists' Association (now amalgamated with Actors Equity to form the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance), set up a number of training courses as a result. In North America, as in Australia, there have been similar debates centering on the nature of journalism education and the need for an appropriate

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response toward hands-on courses, essentially run by industry workers. At one level, there is concern that journalism education at tertiary level has been hijacked by a media industry agenda—at another level, there are calls for a reexamination of the role of media education and its relationship with the academy.58 Some Australian commentators advocate the notion of professionalism as a safeguard against the evils of influence, assuming that its very existence, presumably enforced voluntarily through a professional code, will empower journalists with the wisdom to make the right decisions on behalf of their audiences—and provide them with the strength to deter proprietorial interference.59 Some assert that as long as journalism is taught "as a profession" by "professionals," then graduates should be able to see themselves as "professionals."60 This assumes that professionalism, whatever it is, can be somehow automatically transferred to others. If journalism courses are run strictly along the lines of newsrooms, with no critical perspective, does this make those who are trained under these conditions "professionals"? If so, then what will change, assuming that some change is desirable? Newspapers hiring staff in Australia seem to prefer tertiary graduates in a range of fields, including journalism. This suggests an industry wariness of specialized journalism courses or perhaps a preference for graduates with a broader liberal arts education or special qualifications, like law, languages, or economics.61 The idea of professionalism in journalism is a vague and contradictory one. Attempts to explain the term itself have relied on a definition of the characteristics of journalism—the existence of a professional organization and a code of ethics, for example. Other more empirical approaches take into account journalists' professional attitudes—self-perception—as a defining characteristic, even suggesting that there exists a "professional orientation scale" to measure the degree of such "professionalism." Australian journalists themselves rate selfdevelopment very highly on such a scale, and on this basis some argue that Australian journalists can be regarded as having a professional outlook.62 Reducing such questions to a scale is problematic, to say the least. Researcher Thomas Patterson has challenged notions that as journalists become more politically independent—one of the major tenets of professionalism—the marketplace of opinion in the media becomes more robust. His studies of the media in the United States, Germany, Sweden, Britain, and Italy suggest that the opposite outcome is more likely. Patterson found that in the United States, Germany, and Sweden, news diversity in the media was inversely related to claimed levels of press freedom. He concluded that the so-called "free" media tended to underplay political ideas and were far more consensual than critical in their approach than in countries like Italy and Britain, which are deemed to have a lesser degree of press freedom. Patterson suggests that this is largely the result of journalists' "professional values" reflecting a common view of the world, with the real casualty being news diversity.63 Others concur, suggesting that journalists (in the United States, at least) are committed more strongly to the norms of the profession than to political ideas. This is in accord with trends within the

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United States toward greater commercialization of news, challenging the notion of journalists' professionalism as a public trust. This suggests a widening gap between wealthy consumers of high-quality, user-pays news and poorer audiences who have access only to tabloid or free-to-air news—essentially an intensification of the knowledge gap—reinforcing the schism that exists between the information-rich and the information-poor.64 There is a considerable body of literature not only challenging the nature of ideas of professionalism in journalism but also challenging suggestions that there is such a thing as professionalism. Some describe "professionalism" as an ideology used to describe such disparate activities as that of hired mercenaries, cooperation that leads to a collective effort, and the application of a highly competent skill.65 Robbins reminds us that "profession" derives from a close association with theory, used to describe entry into holy orders. In this way, he suggests, the term becomes open to scrutiny for its values and ends. 66 In an Australian context, some have used a critique of teaching to demonstrate the tenuous concepts on which ideas of professionalism seem to rest. Professionalism might be considered in terms of three key elements: that methods and procedures employed by members of a profession are based on a body of theoretical knowledge; that an overriding commitment of members of such a profession is to their "clients"; and that in order to address these needs, professionals reserve the right to act autonomously on behalf of their clients—they enjoy both individual and collective autonomy, enabling them to determine policies, organizations, and procedures. Based on this approach, there is little evidence to show that teaching—like journalism—constitutes professional practice. Most teachers, like journalists, regard research as an esoteric activity carried out by specialists. The notion of clients (audience) is complex, with a huge diversity to serve and, as polls in Australia consistently reveal, journalists' relationship with their audiences remains strained. Although both teachers and journalists can make autonomous decisions in their respective workplaces, they have limited control over the broader aspects of their practices. 67 Other theorists have been critical of the notion of professionalism in journalism, some seeing it as inimical to human freedom and development. James Carey concludes, perhaps cynically, that "professionalization," as it is constructed within the discourse of journalism, has little to offer, having fostered a set of anti-intellectual and antiethical social practices: The great danger in modem journalism is one of a professional orientation to an audience: the belief, usually implicit, that the audience is there to be informed, to be educated, to be filled with the vital information and knowledge whose nature, production and control rests with a professional class. This knowledge is defined, identified, presented based upon canons of professional expertise over which the audience exercises no real judgment or control. And in this new client-professional relationship that emerges the same structures of dependency are developed that typify the relations of doctors, lawyers and social workers to their clients.68

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Uncritically embracing a cult of professional expertise makes practitioners accountable to a peer organization rather than to the community. Social, political, and class-based commitments, then, become subsumed. 69 But because work has faded as an analytical concept, perhaps we need to look at consumption, not production, as a basis for social analysis. 70 Because professionalism as a concept is central to the notion of journalism, it seems unlikely that it will be abandoned. In this sense, perhaps its meaning needs to be reorientated to encompass such important notions as greater accountability to community in terms of the media's role as an important cultural resource. And perhaps it should persist because it does have "self-rectifying mechanisms." 71 To date, the AJA has barely had the resources to deal with anything but basic industrial issues—and the impetus for change is hardly likely to come from media owners. The recognition of excellence in the reporting of Indigenous affairs and the development of codes of editorial independence are positive moves, although these, too, must be seen as operating within particular institutional contexts. Moves for the development of an extended version of professionalism seem to be limited, but this should not preclude debate around the subject. Professional ideology at work in the media privileges routine structures and practices that tend to frame events within dominant paradigms. Such practices are not reducible to individual news workers but can be explained as being the products of a particular way of thinking about professional practice or professionalism. 72 This would seem to suggest, too, that the idea of professionalism requires a more critical approach—for example, seeing professionalism and cultural diversity "entangled with each other within a common project, or at least a possibility, of a rejuvenated democracy." 73 If the meaning of professionalism is to be extended, journalism education becomes a crucial site. The influential Oregon Report into Journalism Education in 1984 accused academic culture of having failed to have taken hold successfully in North American (and Canadian) journalism schools. As a result, there has been considerable debate since then over the need to look at education as something broader than simply training—a catchcry all too familiar to the ears of Australian Journalism Education Association members. Three North American studies—the Canadian Royal Commission on Newspapers in 1981, the 1984 Oregon Report, and a 1989 follow-up study by the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication—have been critical of journalism schools for apparently being unable to break out of the apprenticeship learning pattern. They undoubtedly produce people who are well prepared for industry but are doing this by following rather than leading industry. There is little evidence to suggest that the approaches adopted by the majority of Australia's journalism programs depart significantly from this model. Professional ideologies and the notion of professionalism in their present form provide a sanctuary for those unwilling or unable to examine their key role in shaping reality. Examples of overt and inferred racism remain, despite the Journalists' Code of Ethics, myriad industry codes of practice, and complaints proce-

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dures of the Australian Press Council and the Australian Broadcasting Authority. Industry codes of practice have gone some way toward addressing these questions, but the topic is still given a low priority. There remains a resistance to admitting that it is a problem, despite the number of decisions by the Press Council that reflect the pervasiveness of racism and prejudice in Australia—and despite the increasing volume of research into this area of journalistic practice. 74 The need for some guidelines for reporters, often ignorant of Indigenous cultural issues, has been urged by many. 75 There has been little movement in attempting to deal with the climate of misrepresentation that pervades the Australian media. In 1998 the AJA adopted a new Code of Ethics, and the Australian parliament has conducted its own inquiries into various aspects of media ethics such as media rights and obligations and the possibility of some legal protection for journalists in dealing with confidentiality of sources. 76 Neither has specifically addressed the question of guidelines and education in reporting race relations. And they seem to be ignorant of the existence of a useful body of knowledge concerning media representation of Indigenous people and how media practices might be reexamined. MEDIA INQUIRIES Two national investigations into aspects of race and racism in Australia—the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission's national racist violence inquiry and the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody—acknowledged both the persistence of racism in the Australian community and the importance of the media in the representation of race. Both of these inquiries delivered their findings and recommendations in 1991, although few of those pertaining to journalistic practice in Australia had been translated into concrete policies at the time of writing. Questions concerning the role of the media in reporting race have been addressed in many forums and for many years, with only minimal response from journalists and their industry. The Kerner Commission In the summer of 1967, riots in hundreds of cities and towns across the United States resulted in intense media coverage. Informed by 300 years of racial prejudice, student sit-ins in colleges across the country changed the course of the civil rights movement. The United States and the world received a picture of events that became the focus not only of bitter protest by African Americans but also of the equivalent of a Royal Commission. The National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, often referred to as the Kerner Commission—after the chair, Otto Kerner—pointed a finger at the news media in its final report, accusing them of failing to communicate to both black and white audiences an understanding of the problems faced by the United States. The media, according to Kerner, essentially "report and write from the standpoint of a white man's [sic]

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world." 77 The commission found that the press "repeatedly, if unconsciously, reflects the biases, the paternalism, the indifference of white America." 78 It was a savage indictment. Two years before the 1967 riots in the United States, 75 journalists had gathered at the eighth annual Freedom of Information Conference to discuss "The Racial Crisis and the News Media." They agreed on a number of guidelines, among them: that the best reporters should be assigned to the "police beat"; that moves be made to increase the number of "Negroes" involved with news organizations, especially in the reporting area; and that additional training be provided for reporters responsible for coverage of racial news. Other areas of agreement included encouragement for reporters to "probe areas of discontent," including interpretations and explanations as to why incidents occur, and avoiding "stoking the fires of prejudice." 79 Clearly, this move failed to affect significantly the reporting of events of 1967—and, more than 20 years later, media representation of African Americans in the United States remains problematic. 80 These lessons have yet to be learned by journalists across the Pacific. THE MEDIA AS A SOURCE OF IDEAS A N D BELIEFS The Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody began in Australia's bicentennial year, 1988. Although primarily focusing on investigating the circumstances surrounding the deaths of 99 Aboriginal people in custody, it documents the social and political context in which such deaths took place. The Royal Commission made four recommendations concerning the media and their influence on public opinion. Although no specific study of media representation was cited, the commissioner, Elliott Johnston, perceived a "very considerable change" in the nature of reporting of Aboriginal people and issues. Johnston saw this as positive, with newspapers carrying "many more stories of Aboriginal achievement"; however, some appeared to be "badly slanted against the Aboriginal people." 81 He concluded that Aboriginal people in general remained critical of their media representation: Aboriginal people had, and continue to have, an extremely negative view of the functioning of the media as a whole. Their view was that Aboriginal people were presented as problems. They considered that their achievements were very seldom given any prominence even if noted at all, whereas failure of an enterprise or failures to account to the satisfaction of a funding agency, on the one hand, or anti-social or unlawful behaviour, on the other hand, were given much publicity.82 The commission's four recommendations for action—Numbers 205-208— center on strategies for support for Aboriginal media, on an increased mainstream media awareness of Aboriginal issues, on more relevant journalism education courses, and on the need for strong links between the media industry, unions, and Aboriginal organizations (Appendix 2). The commissioner acknowledged work

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already being done in these areas by the ABC and SBS, with a training program for Indigenous recruits and some newspapers offering a regular column for Aboriginal spokespeople. In Brisbane, the Courier-Mail, too, adopted this practice, but not until mid-1995. As a result of the recommendations, a number of meetings around the country have attempted to deal with the issues raised— specifically, the nature of mainstream media coverage and how it might be improved. 83 Despite the Royal Commission, the proportion of Aboriginal people in Australia's prisons and deaths in prison have both increased since the commission's findings became public. 84 This highlights the cross-cultural difficulties inherent in information exchange between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australia. A reliance by Western communication on scientific reasoning results in an analysis and categorizing of information that fails to recognize such elements as sensory and emotional feedback as a valuable source of information about people. 85 This has important ramifications for journalistic practice in dealing with Indigenous issues. It reflects directly on the reliability of traditional ways in which journalists obtain information from Indigenous communities—through interviews, for example. The National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia—entitled simply "Racist Violence"—reaches conclusions similar to those of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. In all, there are 16 recommendations relating directly to media practice, 4 of them specifically targeting the media treatment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (Appendix 3). This inquiry's terms of reference were restricted to the investigation of "acts of violence or intimidation based on racism" and of "current or prospective measures by government . . . to deal with the (above) matters." 86 Like its contemporary investigation, the "Racist Violence" inquiry acknowledged that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were keenly aware of media images that they felt to be racist: The evidence presented to the inquiry from across Australia suggested a wide range of factors of serious concern to Aboriginal people in relation to the media. Of particular concern was the representation of Aboriginal people as "criminals." There was ample evidence of discriminatory reporting and racial stereotyping. It was argued that the effects of such presentations provided a legitimization of coercive and violent measures against Aboriginal people.87 Perhaps one of the most significant points to emerge from the inquiry is an acknowledgment that the exposure of racist attacks by the media is a strategy that can easily backfire. The report concluded: "This [sensationalist media coverage] can be highly counter productive, particularly when dealing with extremist groups." 88 Support for Aboriginal media was identified by the inquiry as a mechanism for Aboriginal viewpoints to be expressed. At the same time, it acknowledged the lack of resources available for such enterprises. 89 Both inquiries suggested that the media must accept much of the responsibility for the way in which Australians perceive Aboriginal and ethnic communities.

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THE JOURNALISTS' CODE OF ETHICS The AJA's own Code of Ethics places emphasis on the need for journalists to strive for honesty and fact-finding in newsgathering. But the subject of reporting on race, for example, is broached just once—it was added in 1984, when the code was revamped and extended from eight clauses: "They [journalists] shall not place unnecessary emphasis on gender, race, sexual preference, religious belief, marital status or physical or mental disability." In 1995, the code was again reworked, initially expanded to 20 clauses. This was reduced to 12 clauses and adopted in 1998 as the new ethical yardstick. But the section of the code dealing with media representation of race relations remains essentially unchanged. The word "race"—not to mention the subject—is covered in full in this one short clause. In the early 1990s, the AJA released an additional set of guidelines for reporting on Aboriginal issues, but this identified only the more traditional, remote communities as those that need such recognition. The majority of Indigenous people live in urban or rural communities (except in the Northern Territory), but this is not acknowledged in the published guidelines.90 The Australian Press Council's published Statement of Principles is an extension of the AJA clause and seems to have little influence on its perfunctory decision-making.91 The AJA (now incorporated into the Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance— MEAA) itself can act only if a charge alleging an ethical breach is laid against a member. The association's Judiciary Committee hears the complaint and, if it is proven, may impose penalties including fines and possible expulsion from the union. For most print and ABC journalists—where union membership is virtually compulsory—expulsion from the association could mean the end of a journalist's career in the mainstream. Again, such action is rarely taken and has rarely been pursued in relation to cases involving breaches of the association's Code of Ethics' clause relating to the reporting of race. The outcomes of Judiciary Committee decisions have long been covered by secrecy provisions to avoid subsequent defamation action, so there is no public knowledge of case studies on which to base judgments. While the MEAA has moved to address this, it was still under review at the time of writing. Media Industry Codes of Conduct Calls for the development of a code of conduct for Australian journalists reporting on race relations are not new, but efforts to do something about it are relatively recent. Significantly, the impetus has come not from the profession nor the industry, but from Indigenous people themselves. An overseas model—the National Union of Journalists Code of Conduct—has existed since 1974. The NUJ set up a race relations' working party with the aim of raising the issue with members and dealing with complaints. Like the AJA's Code of Ethics, race is mentioned just once in the NUJ's code. Clause 10 reads, "A journalist shall not originate material which encourages discrimination on the grounds of race, color,

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creed, gender or sexual orientation." But the NUJ goes further. It developed a five-clause set of race relations' guidelines for reporters: • Only mention someone's race or nationality if strictly relevant. • Resist the temptation to sensationalize issues which could harm race relations. • Press for equal opportunities for employment of black staff, particularly in areas of extensive minority group settlement. • Seek to achieve wider and better coverage of black affairs: social, political, cultural. • Investigate the treatment of blacks in education, employment and housing, and the activities of racialist organisations.92 There have been, and still are, flagrant abuses, but at least it is a start— something for concerned journalists to use as a basis for training. In 1977, NUJ branches were asked to set up watchdog committees to monitor racism, but there is still some way to go before this impacts on journalistic practice. 93 The MEAA has limited advice for its members but may soon be embarrassed into accepting a similar code being used for many years, particularly by remote Aboriginal communities. Some Indigenous communities who have a long association with both their own and outside media have developed their own codes of conduct. The guidelines developed by the Warlpiri Media Association, like those covering media activity near Uluru, Kata Tjuta, and other areas of Aboriginal land in the Northern Territory, were developed particularly to curb insensitive mainstream media coverage. 94 Across the Tasman, a void exists for journalists in mainstream New Zealand media. In the absence of alternatives, there are suggestions for adopting ethical guidelines put forward by Asian journalists as a possible model in an effort to deal more effectively with Maori-Pakeha relations. 95 Other Aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory have developed their own codes of conduct, which are handed out to journalists and film or video crews wishing to report on Aboriginal affairs. Up to 400 such crews invade Darwin each year, wanting access mainly to remote communities. 96 In one wellknown example, conflict arose during the filming of Crocodile Dundee II, when filmmakers were reluctant to accept traditional landholders' claims for the use of exotic locations. Another community refused access to the ABC television program, A Big Country, during filming of a special with Aboriginal Warumpi Band and Sydney rock band Midnight Oil, for this reason. The Warlpiri Media Association at Yuendumu, northwest of Alice Springs, now uses a standard contract to which all visiting crews must agree if they plan to use Aboriginal land as a location. Visits must be approved beforehand, and filmmakers must inform the community of the benefits flowing to it before permission will be considered. The Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service has issued restrictions for crews filming near Uluru to ensure that Aboriginal interests are respected.97 Indigenous communities in urban areas, too, demand respect from media covering issues of which many journalists and crew members are ignorant. Some

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urban communities object to media use of the term "leader," saying they find the term offensive, implying that the rest of the community are followers.98 This may seem unimportant to journalists seeking information in a hurry, but it is a legitimate question that has clearly angered many communities. The racist term "partAboriginal," too, is identified as taboo. Do descriptive terms like part-Irish, part-American, or part-British appear regularly in the media? A propensity for television camera crews to capture groups of Munis or Kooris meeting and drinking in urban parkland, too, has caused offense. Many of these urban groups consider places like Musgrave Park in Brisbane or the Esplanade in Cairns, for example, as traditional meeting places, and there is plenty of evidence gathered by community historians to support their perceptions. 99 From this perspective, the activities of camera crews are the equivalent of invading the privacy of someone's home—contrary to non-Aboriginal perceptions of such places as public land. One response to the recommendations of the 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody was a conference held in Brisbane in 1993 that attempted to deal with the thorny task of setting up guidelines for journalists dealing with Indigenous issues. The conference heard from a range of speakers— Indigenous and non-Indigenous—and was attended by a number of working journalists, mostly representatives of Indigenous media organizations, Brisbane's daily newspaper, the Courier-Mail, and the ABC. Significantly, representatives from commercial broadcast media were notable by their absence. The conference workshops involving Indigenous and non-Indigenous media workers resulted in the publication of a set of draft principles for reporting on issues of race. Included in this negotiated draft were important statements relating to the need for the recognition of continuing negative media representation of Indigenous people and the urgent need for white Australia to move toward owning its history. However, almost 18 months later, the Department of Transport, Communication and the Arts released the final Statement of Principles for reporting on Indigenous issues in Australia. These guidelines were a watereddown version of a draft circulated in 1993. It was unfortunate that most of the detail and energy inherent in the draft was successfully erased—another lost opportunity. There have been some attempts to provide guidance in this area, but most have had little support from the journalists' union. One sustained effort has come from Western Australia, the focus of a biennial National Media Forum that has sponsored workshops and awards for excellence in reporting of Indigenous affairs. Two key organizations representing the commercial media industry—the Federation of Commercial Television Stations (FACTS) and the Federation of Australian Radio Broadcasters (FARB)—were slow in developing self-regulatory codes for dealing with discrimination. Both eventually achieved this in response to the recommendations by the Australian Broadcasting Authority and the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, introducing new guidelines into their Codes of Practice in 1993. The 1999 FARB guidelines address the question

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like this: "A licensee shall not broadcast a program which is likely to incite or perpetuate hatred against, vilify any person or group on the basis of age, ethnicity, nationality, race, gender, sexual preference, religion or physical or mental disability."100 This code is modeled on the AJA Code of Ethics, but additional explanatory notes accompanying both commercial broadcasting codes go further. They deal with descriptions of identity acceptable to Indigenous communities— terms such as Murri, Koori, Nungar, and so on—along with unacceptable terminology. The codes and accompanying notes were drawn up in consultation with the Aboriginal community—a perfect example of the level of dialogue that could and should be operating between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities in Australia. As a result, they offer genuinely useful information for journalists in approaching the sensitive issue of cross-cultural reporting. It is a positive response, but will such documents be freely available or displayed in broadcasting studios? One FARB representative has observed that "the number of complaints we receive in this area is very, very small, so it hardly seems an urgent matter . . . and we have to be careful we don't come up with something which ruins creativity and tempts broadcasters to ignore certain issues."101 As previous chapters in this book suggest, it is ignorance of "certain issues" concerning Indigenous people that is precisely the problem. The commercial television industry is represented by the Federation of Commercial Television Stations, and it, too, was required to deal with this problem in its Code of Conduct. Under the heading "Proscribed Material," the FACTS Code, in just two clauses, advises licensees that they may not broadcast a program likely to "seriously offend the cultural sensitivities of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people or of ethnic groups or racial groups in the Australian community; or provoke or perpetuate intense dislike, serious contempt or severe ridicule against a person or group of persons on the grounds of age, color, gender, national or ethnic origin, disability, race, religion or sexual preference."102 The Community Broadcasting Association of Australia (CBAA), too, has developed its Code of Practice for the community radio and television sector. The issue of race is dealt with in Guidelines for General Programming and takes a familiar form: "Community broadcasting licensees shall not broadcast material which may stereotype, incite, vilify, or perpetrate hatred against or attempt to demean any person or group on the basis of ethnicity, nationality, race, gender, sexual preference, religion, age or physical or mental disability."103 The first moves to develop an effective industry code of conduct in relation to Indigenous people came from the Special Broadcasting Service, significantly, in Australia's bicentennial year, 1988. Aboriginal broadcaster Lester Bostock, then working with the SBS Secretariat, drew together information that journalists should know before they attempt to report on Aboriginal issues. The published guidelines, called The Greater Perspective, focus on dealings with remote communities, but there are nevertheless many suggestions that are applicable to rural and urban Indigenous communities. This could provide the basis for the construction of a set of general guidelines that the AJA could choose to adopt, in the

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same way as the NUJ has bravely taken on racism in the United Kingdom. The SBS booklet is made up of four sections, dealing with such topics as the service's policy on combating racism, a general discussion of racism in Australia, and a checklist for journalists and crews planning to visit Aboriginal land to work. The suggestions include: • applying for permission to go to an area; • identifying how Aboriginal people will be used on film crews, where possible; • negotiating contracts before arriving; and • being aware of Aboriginal cultural norms such as the religious significance of some landscape, the complex system of ownership of knowledge, copyright on dances and ceremonies, taboos, the Aboriginal cultural code on gender division and respect for the environment.104 The SBS has a charter that encourages employees to work toward correcting the distorted image of ethnic minorities and Indigenous people. The organization first introduced a set of antiracist guidelines for coordinators, broadcasters, and contributors in July 1985. The organization's 1999 guidelines include a statement of its policy on combating racism, as well as guidelines for journalists reporting on the sensitive issue of race.105 The organization has specific access and equity policies in relation to ethnic minorities and Indigenous people: To ensure that its "Access and Equity" goals are met, SBS Radio maintains a policy of cross-cultural news and current affairs programs, and provides community service announcements and information programs. Similarly, SBS Television policy provides for at least 50 percent of its programming schedule to be in Languages Other Than English (LOTE); maintains its training and employment program for Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders; produces programs which do not reinforce racial stereotyping, and which combat racism or any other form of discrimination; and assists accessibility of its signal through reception and technical advice.106 The Australian Broadcasting Corporation's Code of Practice includes a general clause concerning discrimination and is along the same lines as others already cited here, grouping a range of undesirable activities. With regard to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander programs, the code is vague: "Program makers and journalists should respect Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures. Particular care should be exercised in traditional matters such as the naming or depicting of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people after death."107 Within the ABC, Indigenous radio and television production units have defined their own approach to program making in their own way.108 But how this impacts on mainstream production is difficult to say. Adoption of a set of principles developed cooperatively by practitioners around Australia as a result of the Royal Commission might enhance the corporation's approach to this important area of cultural practice.

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A number of Australian newspapers have developed codes of conduct that deal with editorial independence, generally designed to separate editorial activities from those associated with management. The Age newspaper in Melbourne, for example, was at the forefront of the development of this in the late 1980s. It has continued with this approach; however, apart from a general clause that warns against discrimination, there are no specific guidelines relating to the reporting of Indigenous affairs.109 It should be acknowledged that such codes were developed for a specific purpose—to establish a clear separation between editorial and management practices. The Herald and Weekly Times Professional Practice Policy extends this somewhat, prescribing particular journalistic practices—but remains an expanded version of the journalists' Code of Ethics. As a result, it offers the same ethical ambiguities, often in the same words of the code, but in greater detail. While it may deal in greater depth with issues such as grief and trauma, harassment, confidentiality, and so on, the topic of race is dealt with in the same cursory way as in the existing AJA code. A 1995 study of journalists' responses to this code of conduct suggests that it has not had a significant impact on work practices—18 out of 30 journalists questioned about this denied that the code had changed their work practices. Just eight acknowledged that it had. It seems, then, that even where positive approaches by management are adopted, the reluctance of working journalists to acknowledge the worth of such codes remains a serious impediment to changing professional ideologies.110 COMPLAINTS AND ENFORCEMENT The Australian Broadcasting Authority (ABA) replaced the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal in 1992. One of the effects of the new "light-touch" regulatory environment was a shift of responsibility for program content away from the new broadcasting authority to the broadcasters themselves. Under this revised regulatory approach, broadcasters were required to develop their own codes of practice in consultation with the ABA. Following a brief period of debate where some public input was possible, the ABA registered codes for the commercial and community broadcasting sectors in 1993-94. Industry codes now exist for the commercial, community, and national broadcasting (ABC and SBS), open narrowcasting, and pay television sectors. As with the development of the codes of conduct, primary responsibility for handling complaints shifted to the broadcasters themselves. Direct approaches to the ABA may only be made if the broadcaster concerned has not responded to a written complaint within 60 days. The ABC and SBS are now included in this, although the ABC also has its own Independent Complaints Review Panel, which can investigate serious cases. Although the ABA does have a range of sanctions that it can invoke under the Broadcasting Services Act, it is unclear how this might happen should a broadcaster breach a code relating to the representation of Indigenous issues, for example. Under the 1992 Broadcasting Services Act, according to the seriousness of the breach, the ABA can impose a condition on

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the license of an offending broadcaster or order it to comply with the Act. The ABA can also impose a program standard or, as a last resort, refer a breach to the Director of Public Prosecutions. However, the ABA is at pains to point out that its primary obligation is to "assist" broadcasters to be responsive to community concerns. Under this scheme, the ABA conducted 105 investigations of complaints from the commercial and community broadcasting sector in the 12 months to March 1999. Of these, 49 were found to have breached aspects of its codes of practice, with most being procedural breaches. The categories used to define complaints made to the commercial radio and television industries make it impossible to determine whether any involved Indigenous issues. Just one complaint against a Sydney radio station during this period was so identified. It was upheld, but on procedural grounds rather than on its claim—"gratuitous vilification of Aboriginal people." The Federation of Commercial Television Stations compiles its own complaints statistics. About 15 percent of all complaints made in this period fall under the broad heading of "discrimination." The radio sector has an even broader category, "offensive matters," making any real analysis of complaints about Indigenous affairs impossible. It is significant that this category, particularly relating to talkback radio, receives the majority of complaints. From these statistics, we can say either that there are few programs dealing with Indigenous issues that are either "discriminatory" or "offensive," or, what is more likely, that Indigenous and non-Indigenous people do not bother to complain. The latter conclusion seems more likely, given the long history of negative media representation of Indigenous affairs. Without clearer statistical support, it is difficult to reach a firm conclusion.111 In November 1995, the ABA did uphold its first complaint dealing with Indigenous issues. It was the culmination of a terrier-like campaign by Brisbane media monitor Richard Buchhorn. The complaint concerned the gratuitous use by Seven Nightly News in Brisbane of videotape footage of a clash between Indigenous people and police. The news story in question was broadcast on 20 April 1994 and concerned a march by Indigenous people and their supporters in protest over the findings of a Criminal Justice Commission inquiry into the death in police custody of young Aboriginal dancer Daniel Yock. The news story began with about 10 seconds of file footage from a clash between Indigenous people and police that had taken place more than five months earlier, on 8 November 1993, giving the impression that the initial vision referred to that day's events. It did not. The voice-over accompanying the file footage explained that "the demonstrators promised that there'd be no repeat of violent clashes with police." Although the file footage was captioned as such, and dated, the ABA found that the fact that it was not immediately verbally identified may have led viewers to believe that this was that day's footage.112 The broadcasting authority concluded that it considered that "the broadcast of the program would have been likely in all the circumstances to stir up racial hatred against Aboriginal people on the grounds of their race."113 It is an important decision, because it deals with an

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ethical issue that has remained blurred for many years—the use of file videotape footage out of context. Despite the success of this complaint, it is difficult to assess the effectiveness of the self-regulatory code system in relation to racism because the information available remains sketchy. The Australian Broadcasting Authority does point out, however, that complaints of racism can be taken to either the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission or to a state-based antidiscrimination commission. The Australian Press Council adjudicates on complaints under its own Statement of Principles. Two clauses—Numbers 8 and 9—that concern complaints of media racism: 8. A newspaper should not place gratuitous emphasis on the race, nationality, religion, colour, country of origin, gender, sexual preference, marital status, or intellectual or physical disability of either individuals or groups. Nevertheless, where it is in the public interest, newspapers may report and express opinions upon events and comments in which such matters are raised. 9. A newspaper should not, in headlines or otherwise, state the race, nationality, or religious or political views of a person suspected of a crime, or arrested, charged or convicted, unless the fact is relevant. In each of these clauses, terms like "in the public interest" or "unless the fact is relevant" would seem to give the council an escape route—something it is only too eager to take. In recent years, the trend with press council adjudications is toward partially upholding decisions—effectively, fence-sitting. Defining terms like "in the public interest" or "unless the fact is relevant" does not generally occupy space in such adjudications. It is the interpretation of these terms— invoked time and time again by journalists and their employers—that are crucial for an understanding of how media racism works. Unfortunately, the press council has resorted to superficial interpretation of individual complaints within the strictures of its Statement of Principles. The make-up of the press council ensures that decisions remain ideologically trapped. It is composed of 21 members—10 employer representatives from metropolitan, suburban, regional, and country publishers and Australian Associated Press (AAP); two independent journalists and one "editorial" member appointed by the press council; seven public members, nominated by the chair; and the chair. While the council is prepared to mete out a perfunctory slap on the wrist, it is only to the most blatant offenders. The decision of whether or not to include someone's racial background in a story is essentially left up to journalists or their employers. This means that such decision-making rests entirely with the sensitivities and attitudes of individual newspaper editors and journalists. Between 1976—the year the Australian Press Council was established—and May 1999, 47 complaints relating specifically to Indigenous people were lodged with the council. This is about 5 percent of more than 1,000 complaints dealt with

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by the council during that period. Of these, 17 were upheld and 30 were dismissed—a success rate of just over one in three. This frequency has increased slightly since the Press Council first began hearing complaints.114 With around 65 percent of complaints involving Indigenous people being dismissed, either the nature of the complaints is significantly inadequate or the press council's difficulties in this sensitive area prevail.115 Press Council decisions on complaints of racism are inconsistent and concerned primarily with the more blatant cases.116 This in itself is predictable, given the make-up of the council. The AJA withdrew its support for the Press Council in 1987, following the council's refusal to condemn publicly a takeover of the Herald and Weekly Times newspaper group by Rupert Murdoch's News Ltd. But there is little evidence to suggest that the council's decision-making has either improved or deteriorated as a result, despite the Press Council's attempt—in print, at least—to spell out the principles under which it will act. The council asserts that it will treat what it perceives to be the public interest as the first and dominant consideration. But Indigenous people appear to be excluded from this finely worded phrase. The council's Statement of Principles reminds complainants that readers of newspapers are entitled to have news and comment presented with due respect for public rights and sensibilities, and it declares: 2. A newspaper has an obligation to take all reasonable steps to ensure the truth of its statements 3. Rumour and unconfirmed reports, if published at all, should be identified as such. Despite these wide-ranging criteria on which to judge complaints, the council still seems to have a very low success rate for complainants. Given this, it can be argued that aggrieved parties can be excused for thinking, "Why bother to complain if the outcome is virtually assured in all but the most outrageous cases?" The answer to the question of how to combat racism in the media lies not in the institutions that claim to represent the public interest—consciously or unconsciously, they are inexorably constrained by their vested interest in sustaining the dominant ideology. The answer, I believe, lies in treating the causes rather than the symptoms. CONCLUSION As has been the United Kingdom experience, a code of conduct in dealing with race relations is not a panacea—but it is arguably much better than the present ad hoc system that operates, based on a vague set of principles that seem to carry little weight in Australia's tribunals of complaint. There needs to be a sincere move by the AJA at least to try to educate its members in how to deal more sensitively with race relations' reporting. Journalism education, too, must play a key role. While there are some attempts to address these issues at particular

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journalism schools around Australia, the topic does not have priority. For most tertiary-qualified journalism graduates—making up an increasing proportion of Australian media workers—discussions dealing with the media and race relations will be their first and last in-depth consideration of the subject. Such topics do not receive regular attention in newsrooms. Most cases of racist reporting are the result of institutionalized rather than overt racism—the kind of racism that has become so much a part of Australian society that it is not recognized as such. It has become part of the "common sense." Articles that use devices like irony and humor merely veil the underlying racist premises. The use of such devices prevents media consumers from acknowledging their incipient racism.117 The media—largely through journalistic and institutional practices—remain important cultural resources in managing ideas and assumptions about race. Journalism, as a set of cultural practices, remains central in this process. In this chapter I have examined some journalistic practices and institutional constraints that result in the construction of a narrow concept of identity or Aboriginality in terms of race and racism. Marcia Langton has theorized a much more dynamic notion, which might be adaptable here. She suggests that identity construction takes place in three ways: Aboriginal people interacting within Aboriginal culture; stereotyping by non-Aboriginal people who have had little first-hand contact with Aboriginal people; and Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people engaging in dialogue. 118 If it is important for Australian journalism to reexamine the notion of accountability—to extend the meaning of professionalism—then establishing a dialogue with Indigenous people, in particular, would seem to be a basic first step. This is especially so if journalists and journalism are to play a significant role in the reconciliation of Indigenous and non-Indigenous relations in Australia. In chapter 8 I look at the prospects for change in the ways in which Australian journalists continue to report on Indigenous affairs. NOTES 1. Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism, Vintage, New York, 1993, p. 31. 2. Stuart Hall, "The Message from the Box," The English Magazine: Language, Childhood, Race, no. 5, 1980, p. 6. 3. David Suzuki, Inventing the Future, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1990, pp. 239-240. 4. Lauretta Ngcobo, Let It Be Told, Pluto Press, London, 1987, p. 21. 5. This discussion is drawn from the work of Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981, p. 46. 6. Stephen Bagley, "Race Relations and the Press: An Empirical Analysis," Race, 15, no. 1, 1973, pp. 59-89; Kerner Commission, Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, E. P. Dutton, New York, 1968; Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes"; Barry Troyna, Public Awareness and the Media: A Study of Reporting on Race, Commission for Racial Equality, London, 1981; Australian National Opinion Poll, Land Rights: Winning Middle Australia: An Attitude and Communications Research Study, January 1985; Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, National Report, overview and recommendations by

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Elliott Johnston, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1991; Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, Racist Violence: Report of the National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1991. 7. Alison Bunbury, John Hartley, and Steve Mickler, Telling Both Stories: The Media and the Recommendations of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, Murdoch University, Centre for Research in Culture and Communication, 1993, p. 6. 8. Jack L. Daniel and Anita. L. Allen, "Newsmagazines, Public Policy, and the Black Agenda," in Discourse and Discrimination, eds. G. Smitherman-Donaldson and T. van Dijk, Wayne State University Press, Detroit, 1988, p. 41; Robert M. Entman, "Blacks in the News: Television, Modern Racism and Cultural Change," Journalism Quarterly, 69, no. 2, 1992, pp. 341-361; Teun van Dijk, Racism and the Press, Routledge, London, 1991, pp. 245-246. 9. Paul Hartmann and Charles Husband, Racism and the Mass Media, Davis-Poynter, London, 1974; Alfred Lee, "Mass Media Mythmaking in the United Kingdom's Interethnic Struggles," Ethnicity, no. 8, 1981, pp. 18-30; Nancy Murray, "Anti-racists and Other Demons: The Press and Ideology in Thatcher's Britain," Race and Class, 27, no. 3, 1986, pp. 1-19. 10. Clint Wilson and Felix Gutierrez, Minorities and Media: Diversity and the End of Mass Communication, Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1985, pp. 147-148. 11. Mary Ann Weston, Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth Century Press, Greenwood Press, Westport, CT, 1996, p. 163. 12. Hartmann and Husband, p. 148. 13. Here I invoke the term "political correctness" in the spirit in which it is problematized by Noam Chomsky in Year 501: The Invasion Continues, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1993. 14. Pico Iyer, "The Masks of Minority Terrorism," Time, 3 September 1990, p. 60. 15. President of the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women Glenda Sims made a similar point in a public meeting in Regina, Saskatchewan, on February 18, 1991. She commented that the term "reverse discrimination" placed emphasis on "reverse," presumably because those who see it this way have no objection to "discrimination." 16. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes," p. 35. 17. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes/' p. 36. 18. Johan Galtung and Mari Ruge, "Structuring and Selecting News," in The Manufacture of News, eds. S. Cohen and J. Young, Constable, London, 1973, pp. 62-72; Philip Schlesinger, Putting "Reality" Together: BBC News, Constable, London, 1978; Ian Baker, "The Gatekeeper Chain: A Two-Step Analysis of How Journalists Acquire and Apply Organisational News Priorities," in The News in Focus: The Journalism of Exception, ed. P. Edgar, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1980, pp. 136-158. 19. Herbert Gans, Deciding What's News, Vintage, New York, 1980, p. 206. 20. Gaye Tuchman, Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality, Free Press, New York, 1978, p. 184. 21. This section draws heavily on Valerie Alia, "The Rashomon Principle: The Journalist as Ethnographer," in Deadlines and Diversity: Journalism Ethics in a Changing World, eds. Valeria Alia, Brian Brennan, and Barry Hoffmaster, Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, 1996, p. 104. 22. John O'Hara, "Getting in on the Action," Cinema Papers, July 1984, pp. 31-33. 23. Tuchman, p. 83. 24. James Carey suggests that why and how are what we most want to get out of a news story and are least likely to receive or what we must in most cases supply ourselves. According to Carey, the why element attempts to make things sensible, coherent, explicable. It satisfies our desire to believe that the world is driven, at least some of the time, by something other than blind chance. See James Carey, "The Dark Continent of American Journalism," in James Carey: A Critical Reader, eds. Eve Stryker Minson and Catherine A. Warren, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, MN,1997.

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25. Ben Bagdikian, The Effete Conspiracy: And Other Crimes by the Press, Harper and Row, New York, 1972; Ben Bagdikian, The Media Monopoly, Beacon Press, Boston, 1983, p. 194; Gans, pp. 144-145; Edward Herman, "Gatekeeper versus Propaganda Models: A Critical America Perspective," in Communicating Politics: Mass Communications and the Political Process, eds. P. Golding, G. Murdock, and P. Schlesinger, Leicester University Press, Leicester, 1986, pp. 171-195; Schlesinger, pp. 79-80, 104-105; Roger Bolton, "The Problems of Making Political Television: A Practitioner's Perspective," in Communicating Politics: Mass Communications and the Political Process, eds. P. Golding, G. Murdock, and P. Schlesinger, Leicester University Press, Leicester, 1986, pp. 93-112; Edgar Herman and Noam Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media, Pantheon, New York, 1988; John Soloski, "Sources and Channels of Local News," Journalism Quarterly, Winter 1989, pp. 864-870. 26. Edward S. Herman and Robert W. McChesney, The Global Media: The New Missionaries of Corporate Capitalism, Cassell, London, 1997. 27. Herman and Chomsky, p. 305. 28. James Winter, Common Cents: Media Portrayal of the Gulf War and Other Events, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1992; John Pilger, Distant Voices, Vintage, London, 1992; Barbie Zelizer, "CNN, the Gulf War, and Journalists' Practice," Journal of Communication, Winter 1992, pp. 66-81; Josiane Jovet, "Technology as Mystification in the Gulf War," Media Development, October 1991, pp. 39-40; Ernest Larsen, "Gulf War TV," Jump Cut, 31, 1991, pp. 4—10; St. John Kettle and Stephanie Dowrick, After the Gulf War: For Peace in the Middle East, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1991. 29. Chris Masters, "The Problem Is More with Ourselves," New Journalist, December 1989, pp. 20-21; Philip Knightley, "Crusaders or Muckrakers?," The New Journalist, 1989, pp. 4-5. 30. Clem Lloyd, "British Press Traditions, Colonial Governors, and the Struggle for a 'Free' Press," in Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, eds. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz, University of Queensland Press, St. Lucia, Brisbane, 1999, p. 19. 31. Communications Update, "Right of Reply: Opposing Camps Take up Position," July 1989, pp. 10-11. 32. Sally Frances Reid and Russell G. Smith, "Regulating Racial Hatred," in Trends and Issues in Crime and Criminal Justice, no. 79, Australian Institute of Criminology, Canberra, February 1998, p. 4. 33. Reid and Smith, p. 5. 34. Reid and Smith, p. 3. 35. Reid and Smith, p. 6. 36. Gans, pp. 290-299. 37. Graham Murdock and Peter Golding, "Capitalism, Communication and Class Relations," in Mass Communication and Society, eds. J. Curran, M. Gurevitch, and J. Woollacott, Edward Arnold, London, 1977, p. 13; James Curran and Jean Seaton, Power Without Responsibility: The Press and Broadcasting in Britain, Fontana Paperbacks, Glasgow, 1981. 38. Stuart Hall, Chas Crichter, and Tony Jefferson, Policing the Crisis, Macmillan, London, 1978. 39. Hall et al., p. 58; Herman and Chomsky. 40. William H. Melody, "Communication Policy in the Global Information Economy: cWhither the Public Interest?," in Public Communication: The New Imperatives, ed. Marjorie Ferguson, Sage, London, 1990, p. 29. This point is also stressed by Herman and McChesney. 41. Hall etal.. pp. 59-60. 42. David Bowman, The Captive Press, Penguin, Ringwood, 1988, pp. 179-214; Paul Chadwick, Media Mates, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1989, pp. 228-239.

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43. Australian Parliament, News and Fair Facts: The Australian Print Media Industry, Report from the House of Representatives Select Committee on Print Media, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, March 1992, pp. xxxi-xxxv; Communications Update, Media Ownership Summary, February 1999. 44. Susan Forde, "The Development of the Alternative Press in Australia," Media International Australia, no. 87, 1998, pp. 114-133. 45. Communications Update, Media Ownership Summary, February 1993. 46. Anita Heiss, "Koori Women Prepare for Beijing," Horizons—Community Aid Abroad, 4, no. 1, Winter 1995, pp. 16-17. 47. John Henningham, Looking at Television News, Longman Cheshire, Melbourne, 1988, pp. 85-102, 118-119; Geoff Turner, "Frontline Ethics: The Australian Media's Siege Mentality," Australian Studies in Journalism, no. 3, 1994, pp. 24-38. 48. Baker, "The Gatekeeper Chains." In addition, a study by Carolyn Varley in 1995 revealed that around half of a sample of Australian newspaper editors who responded to a survey claimed that they displayed the Code of Ethics in their newsrooms. It is significant that only 11 of the 50 editors contacted responded to the survey questionnaire. The study of Herald and Weekly Times journalists also suggested that half of those surveyed thought that the code did make a difference to their approaches to reporting, while half believed the code did not affect their practices. See Carolyn Varley, "Paper Ethics: In-House Codes of Ethics and Conduct for Australian Newspapers," unpublished Masters thesis, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, 1995, pp. 73, 101. 49. See two articles by Michael Meadows: "People Power: Reporting or Racism?," Australian Journalism Review, 9, 1987, pp. 102-112; "Getting the Right Message Across: Inadequacies in Existing Codes Make Imperative the Development of a Code of Conduct for Australian Journalists Reporting on Race," Australian Journalism Review, 10, 1988, pp. 140-153. 50. Bowman, p. 190; Chadwick, pp. 240-242. 51. Brian Brennan, "Codes of Ethics: Who Needs Them?," in Deadlines and Diversity: Journalism Ethics in a Changing World, eds. Valeria Alia, Brian Brennan, and Barry Hoffmaster, Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, 1996, p. 119. 52. Bowman, p. 6. 53. Hall et al., p. 60. 54. This discussion was drawn from a number of sources, including Hartmann and Husband; Tuchman; Hall et al.; Stuart Hall, "The Rediscovery of 'Ideology': Return of the Repressed in Media Studies," in Culture, Society and the Media, eds. M. Gurevitch, T. Bennett, J. Curran, and J. Woollacott, Methuen, London, 1982, pp. 56-90; Stuart Hall, "Ideology and the Modern World," an address by Stuart Hall, La Trobe University, Melbourne, Media Centre, Department of Sociology and Department of Legal Studies, 4 April 1983; Herman and Chomsky. 55. Tom Wolfe, cited in Barbara Myerhoff and Jay Ruby, "Journalism," in ,4 Crack in the

Mirror: Reflexive Perspectives in Anthropology, ed. J. Ruby, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 1982, p. 13. 56. Myerhoff and Ruby, p. 13.

57. William Hoynes and David Croteau, "The Chosen Few: Nightline and the Politics of

Public Affairs Television," Critical Sociology, 18, no. 1, Spring 1991, p. 32. This U.S. study examined the range of guests on 865 editions of the U.S. television current affairs program Nightline. The researchers concluded that by certifying some speakers, excluding some political perspectives, and including others, the program performed a key role in legitimating, limiting, and certifying some ideologies over others. 58. Michael Meadows, "A Sense of Deja Vu: Canadian Journalism Educators Ponder Their Future," Australian Journalism Review, 14, no. 2, 1992, pp. 100-113. 59. See comments on professionalism in John Henningham, Looking at Television News;

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John Henningham, "Why and How Journalists Should Be Professionalised," Australian Journalism Review, 11, 1989, pp. 27-32; Stephan Millett, "An Opportunity for the Profession," Australian Journalism Review, 11, 1989, pp. 62-66; Mark Pearson, "Education for Journalism and for Law: Common Issues and Challenges," Australian Journalism Review, 11, 1991, pp. 105-114. 60. Pearson, p. 107. 61. Varley, p. 88. 62. Henningham, Looking at Television News, pp. 86-87. 63. Thomas E. Patterson, "Irony of the Free Press: Professional Journalism and News Diversity," paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Political Science Association, September, Chicago, Illinois, 1992, p. 1. 64. Daniel Hallin, "The Passing of the 'High Modernism' of American Journalism," Journal of Communication, 42, no. 3, Summer 1992, pp. 14-25. 65. Bruce Robbins, Secular Vocations: Intellectuals, Professionalism, Culture, Verso, London, 1993, pp. 29-33. 66. Robbins, p. 34. 67. Wilfred Carr and Stephen Kemmis, Becoming Critical: Knowing through Action Research, Deakin University Press, Geelong, 1986, pp. 7-8. 68. James Carey, "The University Tradition in Journalism Education," Carleton University Review, 2, no. 6, Summer 1980, pp. 3-7. 69. Said, p. 389. 70. Robbins, p. 39. 71. Robbins, p. 41. 72. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes," p. 46. 73. Bruce Robbins, "Othering the Academy: Professionalism and Multiculturalism," in PC Wars: Politics and Theory in the Academy, ed. Jeffrey Williams, Routledge, New York, 1995, pp.292-293. 74. One Victorian provincial newspaper, the Kilmore Free Press, printed this in an opinion column: "They reckon there's no money to create jobs and assist the genuinely unemployed, but there seems to be plenty of handouts for the anti-smoking lobby, the radical greenies, the boongs, the poofters and their like." See Communications Update, March 1992, p. 8. 75. Supporting voices included those of then federal Aboriginal Affairs minister, Robert Tickner, in 1991. He identified the media as playing a central role in the process of reconciliation with a need for journalists to have better training in dealing with Aboriginal issues and higher levels of employment of Aboriginal journalists by mainstream media. See CourierMail, 15 June 1991. 76. Australian Parliament, Off the Record—Shield Laws for Journalists' Confidential Sources, Report by the Senate Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Affairs, Canberra, October 1994. 77. Kerner Commission, p. 366. 78. Kerner Commission, p. 366. 79. Paul Fisher and Ralph L. Lowenstein, Race and the News Media, Praeger, New York, 1967, p. 3. 80. Thorn Lieb, "Protest at the Post: Coverage of Blacks in the Washington Post Magazine," paper presented to Minorities and Communication Division for the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication, National Convention, Portland, Oregon, 1988, p. 9; Vernon Stone, "Trends in the Status of Minorities and Women in Broadcast News," Journalism Quarterly, Winter 1989, p. 293; Trace Regan and Hochang Shin, "Minority Journalists in Ohio: A Study of Their Job Satisfaction," paper presented to Minorities and

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Communication Division for the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication, National Convention, Portland, Oregon, 1988. 81. Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, pp. 57-58. 82. Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, p. 57. 83. See the proceedings of three public conferences, two held in Perth and one in Brisbane: Alison Bunbury, John Hartley, and Steve Mickler, Telling Both Stories: The Media and the Recommendations of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, Murdoch University, Centre for Research in Culture and Communication, Perth, 1993; The Media and Indigenous Australians Conference, Brisbane, 1993. 84. Peter Kerr, "The Black Deaths Inquiry: A Question of Truth," Antithesis, 6, no. 2, 1993, pp. 44-49; Deaths in Custody Watch Committee (Qld), personal communication, 1995; see also John Walker and David McDonald, The Over-Representation of Indigenous People in Custody in Australia—Trends and Issues in Criminal Justice, Paper No. 47, Australian Institute of Criminology, Canberra, August 1995. 85. Patricia Search, "The Rhythm and Structure of Multicultural Communication," Media Information Australia, no. 69, August 1993, p. 66. 86. Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, p. 7. 87. Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, p. 118. 88. Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, p. 205. 89. Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, pp. 359-366. 90. Diana Plater, "Guidelines on Reporting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Issues," in Signposts: A Guide to Reporting Aboriginal, Torres Strait Islander and Ethnic Affairs, eds. K. Eggerking and D. Plater, Australian Centre for Independent Journalism, Sydney, 1992, p. 29. 91. See case studies discussed in Michael Meadows, "People Power" and "Getting the Right Message Across." 92. Phil Cohen and Carl Gardner, It Ain't Half Racist, Mum, Comedia, London, 1982, p. 90. 93. Cohen and Gardner, p. 94. 94. Francis Jupurrula Kelly and Raelene Napurrula Kennedy, "Warlpiri Media Association Media Questionnaire," Yuendumu, 4 December 1987; Plater, pp. 31-33; J. D. Ovington, Uluru (Ayers Rock—Mt. Olga) National Park Filming Guidelines, Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service, 1988; Chips Mackinolty and Michael Duffy, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner in Arnhem Land, Research and Communications Branch, Northern Land Council, Darwin, 1988. 95. Jim Tully, "A Code of Ethics for Journalists Reporting on Race Relations," in Between the Lines: Racism and the New Zealand Media, eds. P. Spoonley and W. Hirsch, Heinemann Reed, Auckland, 1990, pp. 143-144. 96. Mackinolty and Duffy. 97. Ovington, pp. 1-4. 98. Interview with Ross Watson, Brisbane, 1988. 99. A local history of the West End-South Brisbane area, for example, was compiled in 1988 as a response to EXPO 88 and the disruption it meant on local communities. In addition, work by the Brisbane History Group has documented the Aboriginal presence in Brisbane from colonial times. 100. Federation of Australian Radio Broadcasters, guidelines on the portrayal of Indigenous Australians on Australian commercial radio, 1999 (www.aba.gov.au/what/program/codes). 101. Errol Simper, "TV, Radio Slow to Develop Code: ABT," The Weekend Australian, 18 March 1992, p. 8. 102. Federation of Australian Commercial Television Stations, Code of Conduct, 1999 (www.aba.gov.au/what/program/codes).

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103. Community Broadcasting Association of Australia, Community Broadcasting Codes of Practice [Radio], 1999 (www.aba.gov.au/what/program/codes). 104. Special Broadcasting Service, The Greater Perspective: Guidelines for the Production of Television and Film about Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders, SBS, Sydney, 1990. 105. Special Broadcasting Service, SBS Codes of Practice, July 1999 (www.sbs.com.au/ code.html). 106. Special Broadcasting Service, Annual Report, 1998-99. 107. Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Codes of Practice, 1999 (see www.abc.net.au/ corp/codeprac.htm). 108. According to Aboriginal broadcaster Rachel Perkins, working in the mainstream is essential: "It's good for us to produce our own media because we know who we are. We can transmit our identity in a true form in the ways that we want to." The ABC set up its Aboriginal Programs Unit in 1987, and broadcaster Frances Peters explains that one of the first questions to be addressed by it was: "What is Indigenous filmmaking?" As a result, the regular program produced by the unit, Blackout, features no presenters or narrators. Production methods demand community accountability and recognition of cultural protocols. This, according to Peters, ensures its Indigenousness. See Rachel Perkins, "Aboriginal Television," in Film Policy: An Australian Reader, ed. A. Moran, Institute for Cultural Policy Studies, Griffith University, Brisbane, 1994; Frances Peters, "The Black Film Unit at the ABC and Aboriginal Filmmaking," in Film Policy: An Australian Reader, ed. A. Moran, Institute for Cultural Policy Studies, Griffith University, Brisbane, 1994. 109. The Age Code of Conduct, Melbourne, October 1998, p. 5. 110. Varley, pp. 57-58, 70. 111. Australian Broadcasting Authority, Investigations into programming issues, Quarterly Reports, 1999 (www.aba.gov.au/what/program/codes/index.htm#investigations). 112. Australian Broadcasting Authority, Investigation into Certain Stories Broadcast 11 April 1994 and 20 April 1994 by Brisbane TV Limited (Btq 7 Brisbane), Sydney, 1995, p. 12. 113. Australian Broadcasting Authority, p. 16. 114. Graham Orr, paper on racial equality delivered to a seminar conducted by Victorians for Racial Equality, 13 September 1987, p. 10. 115. Australian Press Council, Annual Reports, 1976-1997. A searchable database is available at the website (www.austlii.edu.au/au/other/apc). See also the Australian Press Council's website (www.presscouncil.org.au). 116. Orr, p. 10; Meadows, "Reporting or Racism," pp. 107-109; Meadows, "Getting the Right Message Across." 117. Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes," p. 43. 118. Marcia Langton, "Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television ": An Essay for the Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aboriginal People and Things, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1993, pp. 34-35.

8 Reconciliation

The circulation of racist ideologies, whether overt or inferential, has created and continues to create divisions in Australian society. An increasingly narrow range of ideas and assumptions compete for legitimacy through Australian cultural institutions, such as the news media, created and perpetuated by cultural practices like journalism. Alternative views tend to be systematically marginalized or ignored. But it is not a conspiracy. It is part of the common sense of everyday existence, which imposes, by consent, limits upon ways of thinking. That there are alternatives is difficult for some to accept because of the patient and systematic reinforcement of dominant ideas through powerful cultural institutions like the media. But alternatives do exist—alternative ways of thinking, alternative ideas and assumptions that might allow the reinterpretation of events, and alternative ways of "imagining" and maintaining culture. From the time of the first European contact, Indigenous people have been represented in terms of non-Indigenous ideologies—variously as the exotic Other, the noble savage, the ignoble savage, a dying race, welfare-dependent, the drunk, the activist, the threat to existing order, the invisible. Weston's study of media images of Native Americans over a 70year period revealed a remarkably similar pattern.1 Few, if any, of these images are the product of Indigenous people themselves, although it is mistaken to see Indigenous people as inactive agents in the process of identity construction.2 Nevertheless, a pattern of indifference in the representation of Indigenous people emerged in the earliest explorers' journals, was perpetuated in the colonial press, and essentially continues. In some ways, the colonial press took a bolder approach to Indigenous affairs than is the case with modern media. While informed

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by ignorance, racism, and paternalism, there was nevertheless a more robust and open debate. Despite all the limitations, perhaps a broader range of possibilities existed. However, there is an overall absence of acknowledgment of the existence of diversity within and between Indigenous communities, along with an absence of Indigenous voices in stories about themselves. Indigenous communities' varied use of their own media reveals the extent of this diversity, so invisible in the mainstream media.3 The way in which Indigenous communities in Australia have negotiated new technologies to create their own culturally relevant media offers a critique of mainstream media and, thus, mainstream Australia. Indigenous media activity is both a cultural process and a product, with Indigenous people drawing on multiple sets of experiences in the process of identity construction.4 Media are powerful sources of information about the world—particularly so where race relations is involved. In this book, I have sought to identify journalism practices at work in media representation of Indigenous people from the time of first contact and at a variety of moments—the 1988 Australian bicentenary, the saga of Cape York Peninsula spaceport, debate around the 1992 High Court Mabo decision, and the "everyday" reporting of one protest rally within the context of a 20-year span in the coverage of Indigenous affairs. Each offers a different approach in order to enable a closer examination of the way in which journalists and journalism construct reality for us within a context of the emergence of modern Australian journalism. Each of the case studies reveals an underlying inferential racism: a naturalized representations of events with racist premises inscribed in them as unquestioned, commonsense assumptions about the world.5 In each of these instances the role of journalism, as a set of cultural practices, was that of cultural leadership— securing consent for a preferred version. In each of the case studies, the news media fulfilled a role in legitimating particular ideas and assumptions about Indigenous people. Despite the relatively powerless position of Indigenous people in Australian society, in each of the instances they were represented as a threat to the established order. There were some alternatives offered, but none could be said to have seriously challenged this overall image. In each of the examples, Indigenous people were effectively marginalized so as to de-power their opposition to preferred interpretations of events: that in Australia 1988 was a year to "celebrate"; that the Cape York spaceport was a development project that would benefit all Queenslanders; that the native title decision would disrupt Australian society; or that everyday street protests can unproblematically be labeled as "racist violence." The mass media and journalists are discredited within the Indigenous community in Australia. The experiences of minorities in other developed countries like the United States and the United Kingdom have provoked similar responses. What many of these instances have in common is the observation that there is minimal contact between marginal groups and the mainstream media—and journalists are largely unaware that there is a problem.6 In Australia, publicly funded

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media outlets such as SBS and ABC television news and current affairs services are potential exceptions. However, in some respects, these appear almost as ideologically and organizationally constrained as their commercial counterparts. 7 T H E CASE STUDIES In many ways, the examples I have alluded to in this book reveal the problems that journalists have in reporting race relations. Most reporters show little or no awareness or understanding of Indigenous culture, and they seem content to continue to use familiar, dominant frames to position their stories. When journalists enter the domain of Indigenous communities, regardless of whether these are in central Sydney or in central Australia, they seem loath to accept that they are in a different culture. It is like visiting another country. Canadian media worker John Rowlandson made this comment after observing Canadian journalists attempting to come to terms with the state of a remote Ojibway village in northern Ontario during a visit by South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu in 1990. Most journalists visiting another nation would at least be aware that particular cultural mores exist, with many being prepared to go out of their way to accommodate these. Why is it so difficult for journalists to apply the same degree of respect to cultures in their own backyard? Perhaps familiarity does breed contempt. The colonial experience—represented through the early journalism from first contact—set up a way of thinking about Indigenous affairs that is remarkably persistent. Certainly there have been some important shifts in the past two centuries, but Indigenous people still find themselves largely excluded, physically and symbolically, from equal access to the services and privileges most non-Indigenous people take for granted. Perhaps most disappointing—although not surprising—is that local media institutions show little or no initiative in attempting to discover and report what issues really concern Aboriginal Australia, and there is, in fact, little incentive to do this with powerful elite interests promoting their preferred version. During the bicentenary, television news workers had easy access to information because of their symbiotic relationship with accredited sources like the federal government, the police, and the Australian Bicentennial Authority. The bicentenary event represented a chance to deal with some of the unreconciled differences between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people. Just as the High Court decision on native title in 1992 may, too, have held the key to such a resolution, both were effectively swamped by powerful vested interests. Of all the case studies, the newspaper representation of Aboriginal concern about the Cape York spaceport proposal is the clearest example of the omission of context, as well as an extraordinary example of the almost total omission of Aboriginal voices. Indigenous people were framed throughout within strict ideological limits—either as nonexistent or as a threat to the development project. There was virtually no opportunity for alternative constructions. The small overall number of stories is an indication of the emphasis given to Indigenous

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concerns. But within that sample, the fact that Aboriginal people were able to speak for themselves on a handful of occasions is revealing. The powerful ideological construction of Aboriginal people by newspaper journalists meant that Indigenous voices in opposition were rendered mute for the first five years of the seven-year span of the spaceport project, despite the fact that in some of the north Queensland Aboriginal communities involved, Aboriginal people make up around 90 percent of the population. When the specter of land rights emerged in 1990, Aboriginal people were finally allowed to speak, albeit ideologically constrained within the framework of conflict and dissent. But the first Aboriginal person quoted, in 1989, was one who supported the project—the only Aboriginal person to do so in the stories examined. It is difficult to speculate what might have influenced the journalist concerned to construct a description of an Aboriginal man, Wampoo Kepple, as a "product of the natural environment."8 Aboriginal people were unable to voice their objections in the face of the dominant viewpoint that the spaceport represented progress and that all Queenslanders would benefit. One explanation might be that journalists were unaware of opposition or unable to contact Aboriginal sources. This is contradicted by the appearance of several voices in opposition in the Aboriginal newspaper, Land Rights News. While some Indigenous people were given an audience, overall such sources proved elusive to reporters employed by Queensland Newspapers. As Weston discovered in her study of Native Americans and the press, "it was often the loudest, most aggressive sources whose messages were reported. Too seldom, did journalists look beyond the loud voices to investigate independently."9 Journalists, through their reporting practices, effectively supported the preferred version: that the spaceport proposal was one that should be supported and that Indigenous opposition was unjustified. Coverage of the aftermath of the High Court's Mabo native title decision in mid-1993 both reflected the level of debate in the community and raised the issue to the top of the public agenda. But how it was represented is the crucial issue. The judgment represented a crisis for the status quo.10 Certainly, eloquent Indigenous spokespeople were allowed to speak on several occasions as the Native Title Bill was negotiated. The handful of regular Indigenous sources made important contributions to public debate, but there were many others whose views were as significant but who were effectively denied media access. As a result of journalists' obsession with conflict as a news frame, the status of dispossessed urban and regional communities remains an unresolved mystery to audiences who relied on Queensland Newspapers as their source of information. As a result, the myths surrounding Indigenous communities remain and may, in fact, have been reinforced by the largely stereotypical representation I have documented here.11 The disparate response to the native title decision from within the Indigenous community seems to have come as a genuine surprise to some journalists. Perhaps it is at this fundamental level that Australian journalism has failed to establish a dialogue with Indigenous culture.

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Is it any wonder, then, that Indigenous people's continuing negative perception of mainstream media in Australia and other places has been one of the primary forces that has driven the emergence of various forms of Indigenous newspaper, radio, and television production around the globe. The inability of mass media to fulfill the cultural information needs of Indigenous communities—to provide a first level of service—is another.12 The interaction between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in Australia remains problematic, based from first contact on opposing ideologies concerning issues such as property ownership and the relationship to land.13 The ideological construction of Aboriginal people from first contact with Europeans, through the "virulent racism"14 of the colonial press, until contemporary times helps to explain, in one sense, the nature of the continuing level of media debate over native title. And the tenor of media representation that gained momentum in the news media from mid-1993 is evidence of its enduring nature. Journalists covering the High Court judgment had great difficulty in coming to terms with the meaning of the decision and how to interpret responses to it. In eight weeks of torrid debate, journalists grappled with notions of identity and authority, perhaps missing an opportunity to advance the unresolved differences between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australia. Rather than seeing the decision as representative of an opportunity for establishing a dialogue with Indigenous Australia, journalists revealed a willingness to rely on sources focused on creating conflict and fear. Throughout the coverage, the systematic privileging of non-Indigenous sources meant that the native title debate was quickly framed as a problem—a threat to the status quo. The powerful voices of the mining, pastoral, and business sectors quickly gained control of the agenda, with journalists apparently willing participants in this process. Opportunities for genuine information exchange were squandered time and time again as journalists persisted with predictable sources—with predictable outcomes. The lack of Indigenous voices was again evident here, suggesting a continuation of trends revealed in the two previous examples—coverage of the bicentenary and the Cape York spaceport. One positive element that did emerge was the number of different Indigenous sources journalists sought out. While overall they preferred the regulars with "the loudest voices"15—such as Charles Perkins, Ray Robinson, and Paul Coe, who would always guarantee a headline—there were other Indigenous voices, heard for the very first time in some cases. The problem for journalists here was that because they had not tapped into this resource before, they seemed genuinely surprised at the diversity of opinion that emerged. As this crucial moment in Australian history unfolded, journalists found it difficult to make sense of the possibilities thrown up by the native title decision. A consistent reversion to the safety of the familiar frameworks, such as conflict and fear, revealed more about the shortcomings of Australian journalism than about the issue with which it purported to be dealing. It revealed a reliance on dominant sources for news and

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an uncritical acceptance of the existence of institutional racism in Australian society. The final case study suggests a continuing struggle by journalists to make sense of Indigenous claims for social justice, but it also reveals the possibilities when an informed individual attempts to contextualize what appears to most to be an isolated event. It is in the realm of the everyday, routine coverage of events that stereotypes are reinforced. This is the almost daily news fare that sees journalists falling back into familiar frameworks to explain the images they reconstruct and present as news. The protest rally in Brisbane at the end of January 1996 was not a large event, but the television coverage it received epitomized the problems journalists have in understanding and interpreting Indigenous affairs. Both network television news bulletins examined adopted essentially the same approach—driven by the availability of pictures with little or no explanation of the "why" and "how" of the events they portrayed.16 The desperate attempts to squeeze every bit of drama from the story saw the commercial news journalists creating reality by "imagining" that Indigenous people had turned on them—almost like a re-creation of a frontier confrontation as seen through colonial eyes. The frontier that day, it seemed, was George Street in central Brisbane, but it was a television news crew that had provoked the "attack." Coverage of the same set of events by Queensland's daily newspaper revealed significant discrepancies. Context for the rally and protest published in the Courier-Mail and a subsequent commentary by newspaper journalist Marcus Priest revealed a struggle over meaning taking place. However, the fact that it was not taken further in the newspaper's editorial pages suggests that it was more of an aberration than a "commonsense" response. It did not fit the accepted framework of reporting on Indigenous affairs. Despite its transient existence, however, the newspaper coverage of the protests revealed that in the same space used by television news it was possible to include information that attempted to answer the "why" and the "how" questions. Albeit still driven by the event itself, the series of newspaper stories demonstrated that alternative approaches to reporting Indigenous affairs are possible within mainstream journalism and that one individual—with appropriate institutional support—can make a difference. The trends that emerged from the analysis of two Queensland newspapers' coverage of Indigenous affairs 20 years apart are reminders of the need to continue to monitor the media's performance. Overall, the prominence of Indigenous affairs' stories in these media has diminished in the past two decades, with their placement now further away from the principal news pages. The CourierMail has seen a decrease in the proportion of negative stories, while this has increased in the Cairns Post over the period in question. While the actual number of stories about Indigenous issues has doubled for both newspapers since the 1970s, the proportion of stories that cite community sources remains at the same low level: around one-third of the stories in the Courier-Mail and about 40 percent of those in the Cairns Post. This should alarm journalists, because it suggests that they remain loath to make contact with sources who are central to

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the stories they write, tending to prefer non-Indigenous sources for such stories. The outcome of this is obvious, and it is a sad indictment on Australian journalism that the level of dialogue between the media and Indigenous people remains at this low level at the beginning of the twenty-first century. A 1998 study of journalists' use of sources in coverage of plans to weaken the Native Title Act in the wake of the 1996 High Court's Wik decision in Australia's national newspaper The Australian revealed an even lower level of Indigenous sourcing. It paralleled trends in Canada's national newspaper, the Globe and Mail, in its coverage of the signing of the first modern-day treaty in British Columbia in 1998. In both cases, Indigenous people made up around one-fifth of the number of sources used over a two-month period. Although this analysis in itself should not be taken in isolation, it nevertheless indicates a pattern of behavior—a "structure of attitude and reference"—that perpetuates ways of thinking about Indigenous people and their affairs.17 FRAMING INDIGENOUS AFFAIRS If news media text is examined in context, another "text" or discourse revealing the limits on the interpretations of events—a particular structure of attitude and reference—emerges.18 Through the patient and systematic repetition of dominant ideas and the systematic omission of alternatives, the news media fulfill a hegemonic cultural role that is clearly shown in the examples here. Through the "strategic management" of information using journalism routines that favored certain accessible sources, ideas, and assumptions, journalists were able, consciously or unconsciously, to legitimate particular versions of events. The frames in which the stories were contextualized proved too difficult to redefine for those who sought out alternative versions. Indigenous people were faced with essentially the same problem: engaging, negotiating, and using the news media as a means of "maintaining, defending, and developing the . . . ideological front."19 They were relatively powerless in attempting to redefine the nature of the prevailing views that, through the images and representations, achieved a consensual legitimacy. The case studies are aligned closely in many respects: the continuing focus by journalists on conflict as a primary news value; a lack of contact between Indigenous people and media representatives; the omission of examples of cooperation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, of context, and of Indigenous voices; and the absence of critiques of media practices themselves. Most of the stories examined here unsuccessfully attempt to deal with ideas of Indigenous identity, revealing ideologically constrained responses to this. It should not be surprising, then, that the extremist statements by the political party, Pauline Hanson's One Nation—particularly its simplistic comments about Indigenous people—gained such a following, regardless of the veracity of their often malevolent claims. One of the catchphrases used by the party, dutifully reproduced largely uncritically by the Australian media, was an assertion that all

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people should be treated "equally," regardless of their racial background. This is, at face value, a reasonable and commonsense statement—but within this discourse of equality is an assumption that Indigenous people have received "unequal" or "special" treatment—a powerful ideology that is highly influential in framing the dominant ideas and assumptions about Indigenous people in Australia. As Steve Mickler's work with the governmentality of Indigenous people in Western Australia has shown, it is the ways in which journalists seek out sources that confirm and highlight deviance that needs to be investigated. Antiracist argument based on the principles of equality, propriety, and accountability of government and the nondiscrimination of citizens based on race, ethnicity, and culture are also claims to legitimacy made by extremist politicians and talkback radio hosts. The central debate in Australia and in many other countries is around land rights. In writing about attitudes toward the return of Uluru (Ayers Rock) in central Australia to the traditional Anangu (Pitjantjatjara) custodians, Whittaker highlights this as an example of the uncertainties surrounding land rights—is it "land being lost" or "land won back"? He concludes: Both sides in the argument. . . make it possible for land rights supporters to argue for elevating Aboriginal peoples to equal status, providing justice for past dispossession, acknowledging their rights to decide their own future, ensuring the survival of their traditions and religions, and standing witness to their inalienable rights, like those of all Australians. Similarly, land rights opponents evoke equality and democracy to proclaim rights for all Australians and to suppress the privileges of some over others; and consequently, they are prone to define land rights as land "losses."20 To break this chain, Mickler suggests applying a "practical ethics" that must distinguish governmental contexts from those of Aboriginal specificity—an argument, in other words, for the right of Aboriginal people to be "ordinary" as far as governmental relations are concerned. Within the discourse of equality, exceptions that are argued—like the return of land—must be those that create sameness rather than uniqueness. Thus, claims for special consideration and entitlements should be seen as those that end the exceptional and abnormal state of denial of what are essentially sovereign entitlements for Aboriginal people. In this way, issues like Aboriginal sovereignty—or native title—can be argued as a move to end exceptionalism rather than creating it.21 The need for the establishment of a dialogue between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people remains, it seems, an important albeit elusive goal. The case studies in this book suggest a continuation of the modus operandi of Australian journalists with respect to Indigenous issues from first contact. Institutional racism seems forever to lurk just below the surface, needing little inducement for it to emerge. 22 Journalistic practices have to change, and until journalists themselves recognize this it will remain the central problem. The Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance—the Australian Journalists' union—has only just begun to address such important professional issues, but its impact remains limited, if only be-

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cause of its limited resources. The Alliance in 1997 introduced an award for excellence in media coverage of Indigenous affairs as part of its prestigious annual Walkley Awards: recognition of journalistic excellence by Australian journalists. 23 This gesture alone has probably done more for promoting the need for critical reflection on journalistic practices in relation to the coverage of Indigenous affairs than any of the clauses of the Journalists' Code of Ethics. The 1998 review of the Code of Ethics was a positive step, although the process itself was probably more valuable than the actual code it produced. But despite these moves, and as this study has suggested, journalists have a continuing difficulty in negotiating the cultures they seek to represent. It is as if they are able only to deal with disruptions to the everyday, rather than reflecting the everyday itself, as they claim to do. Moves to reinvent the image of journalists in Australia have yet to gain wide acceptance, both within the industry and by media audiences. News industry restructuring in Australia over the past few years has resulted in essentially a reorganization of the existing ways of doing things. There have been some advances—short, in-service training courses in important areas like ethics and subediting do take place, but details of the programs are sketchy.24 Despite the best efforts of a core of dedicated practitioners, there has yet to be a coherent national approach to journalism education, particularly in relation to cross-cultural awareness, nor is there any widespread admission that problems exist. It was not until early in 1997 that Australian journalism education programs began to receive the first materials produced by a federally funded project aimed at raising awareness of Indigenous affairs among journalism students. 25 Media organizations must be encouraged to be a part of this process. Without a change in the environment in which journalists work, there seems little hope of a significant shift in reporting practices. The 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody recommended the establishment of an annual award that would encourage quality reporting of Indigenous affairs. Until 1997, just one national award existed—the Louis St. John Johnson Award—and this was funded by a private trust in Western Australia. It is encouraging to see the Journalists' Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance now recognizing this as an important aspect of professional development. At the Alliance's 1999 annual Walkley Awards ceremony, Chief Reporter with the Courier-Mail Tony Koch received two significant awards related to his efforts in covering Indigenous affairs. In his acceptance speech, Koch made it clear that more needed to be done in this critical area by other senior journalists and newspaper editors. He urged those in positions of influence with media organizations to look more closely at the human rights issues affecting Australia's Indigenous peoples. 26 Journalism courses, too, have a key role to play in offering education that goes beyond the narrow realm of the reporter in a reconstructed newsroom. In short, journalism education's links to the academy might be usefully reviewed and strengthened to ensure that students' experiences are not confined to a long string

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of journalism-specific subjects that serve primarily to narrow their knowledge base—and their employability. Journalism courses within the tertiary sector in Australia remain enigmatic in how they imagine their relationship with the academy. Many remain associated with the tertiary sector under sufferance, while others have adapted the very best elements academic programs offer and incorporated these into a journalism major or a degree. The move toward "professional" content in journalism courses in Australia dates back to the apprenticeship-diploma syllabuses early this century. A quarter of a century ago, an inquiry into the nature of academic training for journalists in Australia recommended that the best way of achieving this was to study disciplines from which journalism had emerged: history, literature, political science, and sociology.27 This advice is as useful today as it was then. North American thinking, too, seems aligned with this approach. Canadian journalism academic Stuart Adam is critical of the narrow conception of the journalist as a reporter, arguing for the need to use disciplines like history, philosophy, literature, political science, and English to provide students with the skills of journalism. This throws into question the appropriateness of journalism itself as a basis or a medium for education. Adam describes journalism as a set of practices that entails expressing a judgment on the importance of an issue, engaging in reporting, adopting words and metaphors, solving a "narrative puzzle," and assessing and inteipreting information.28 He argues that the first step is to develop a theory of journalism by investigating it as a method of expression and communication that takes place in a variety of different settings, arguing that this approach does not "eliminate" mass communication or the mass media from study but "locates" them.29 A second step, according to Adam, is to incorporate elements of academic culture into journalism education. This would not weaken them but, rather, the converse. Thus journalists, in doing work, take part in a sequence of processes, and their ability to do this effectively and efficiently mirrors the standard and nature of their education and training. The thrust of Adam's argument is that the fields of journalism—professional practice, ethics, communication and society, communication theory, law, for example—need to be integrated as different approaches to the same subject.30 Approaching this from a slightly different angle, Earl Winkler argues that journalism could be seen as performing two basic functions: informing people about ideas necessary to their roles as citizens and providing a wide range of perspectives on the life of the community and on the society's place in the world.31 Neither of these functions tends to be satisfactorily dealt with in the coverage of Indigenous affairs that I have outlined here. Hackett and Zhao argue that what is needed is "journalism for a sustainable democracy." This is a challenging task—rethinking "traditional" ethics along with structural and financial reforms to "reduce the dominance of commercial logic and corporate power within media systems." But how to do this without introducing State control? Their solution: "Change will come from increasingly media-literate audiences; social movements mobilizing to improve the perilous state of our species and planet and the alternative media often associated

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with these movements; and from journalists themselves, especially younger ones who have less of a stake (or future) in the dominant corporate media and their regime of objectivity."32 A final element in the process of reconciliation—if there is to be one—is to enlist Indigenous media. Although included as a recommendation in the 1991 Royal Commission report, there is little evidence to suggest that mainstream journalists are aware of the existence of an extensive Indigenous media network across the country. A system of satellite-linked community radio and television stations covers Australia, from urban centers like Brisbane to remote communities like Ernabella in the central Australian desert. Despite difficult conditions and an ad hoc approach to funding and training, many of these communication centers provide a first level of service for their communities. Apart from word of mouth, these small information hubs run on a shoestring budget and have become the primary source of information about Indigenous affairs for the communities they serve.33 The National Indigenous Media Association of Australia (NIMAA) secretariat coordinates much of this sector-wide activity but has reported little contact from journalists on any basis since its establishment in 1993. The wealth of information available there remains denied to mainstream audiences. Is this evidence of good media management? Countries like Canada and New Zealand have accepted, through their broadcasting legislation, the need to enshrine "employment opportunities, fair representational practices and aboriginal, multicultural/multiracial and community/constituency groups."34 This does not prevent misreporting of Indigenous affairs, but, like other legislative frameworks, it at the very least suggests a framework within which the idea of citizen is made. Perhaps the most important single element is the Indigenous media sector itself and the perspectives it offers its audiences. It might have begun with the handwritten Flinders Island Chronicle in 1836, but it has progressed to include a wide range of media technologies, including national newspapers, a nationwide network of community radio stations, and an interactive compressed videoconferencing network owned by Indigenous communities in central Australia. Given the continuing reluctance by mainstream media to move away from its narrow perspective on Indigenous affairs, it seems highly probable that we will have to rely on the Indigenous media sector to fill the enormous information gaps. It should be a salutary lesson. Perhaps, too, we need to be constantly reminded of the unsuitability of mainstream television, in particular, as an effective medium of communication. Environmentalist David Suzuki has used television as a communication medium for around 30 years, but he concludes that it has been largely a failure in effectively spreading the message of the ecological threat to our planet to all but a converted minority. As a personality, David Suzuki is recognized globally through the power of television, but, he argues, few know the crucial details of his message. Television informs its audiences in a way that is disconnected from the past. Television assumes a global monoculture rather than recognizing the extraordinary cultural diversity that exists on our planet. We receive small, isolated bits of

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information, which by themselves are meaningless. This lack of context is television's greatest weakness, Suzuki warns, especially in the age of the "information glut." But it is not all bad news. Suzuki has had success at the local level in raising awareness of the importance of the environment. Locally produced videotapes, for example, have proved to be an effective tool in spreading environmental and other political messages.35 The importance of basing communication systems on regional and local structures is apparent in Indigenous communities, too, where media are already playing an increasingly important role in cultural and linguistic maintenance and regeneration. REIMAGINING IDENTITY Mainstream media reporting tends to privilege a definition of Aboriginality that is framed in terms of little first-hand contact with Indigenous communities. As a result, the notion of what it means to be Indigenous remains trapped by ideas and assumptions about what "Indigenous" means in terms of non-Indigenous culture. "Commonsense" interpretations of issues and events prevail, with Indigenous people largely unable to escape a journalism-generated mythology that usually frames them as problems. As this study has shown, the possibilities for individuals to make a difference does exist, but these attempts to establish a dialogue remain the exception. The usual, commonsense, day-to-day journalism that reinforces the stereotypes I have identified in this study has a powerful influence on the way audiences frame Indigenous people. The ease with which racist ideas based on ignorance can gain credibility through widespread media coverage is evidence of the limited influence of what might be called exceptional journalism. The overall effect is to limit the opportunities for Indigenous people to renegotiate their identity through access to mainstream media. If, as Edward Said suggests, no one today is purely one thing,36 then all identities like "Asian," "Muslim," "Aboriginal," "Torres Strait Islander," and so on must be seen as dynamic. Aboriginality thus becomes a starting point as opposed to an ideologically constrained idea that defines people in terms of whether they are exclusively white, black, Western, Oriental, and so forth. Survival is about making connections—cultural connections. And it is when Indigenous people have control of the means of production that a dynamic notion of Aboriginality—one that involves Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal culture interacting—can be identified. The 150 or so Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander groups working in community radio across Australia represent an enormously heterogeneous group— and this is reflected in their programming choices. Other Indigenous groups produce just a few hours of Murri or Koori or Noongar or Nyoongar programming each week and must negotiate access to existing urban or regional community radio stations, run primarily by non-Indigenous people. But, at the very least, there is some dialogue between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people in these spaces.37 Tom O'Regan explains that at the central Australian Warlpiri commu-

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nity, Yuendumu, for example, two apparently incompatible forms of video exist side by side—the imported Western fictional genre from video-hire services and community-based programs. He suggests: "In societies or communities existing simultaneously in 'two cultures' this persistence of 'traditional' and 'modern' systems of information circulation may, in fact, be quite common. It may be achieved and maintained relatively un-problematically."38 We need to accept that there are views of the world different from the mainstream and that until media and journalism can acknowledge and accommodate this, Indigenous people will continue to seek alternatives. As Rowlandson observed of journalists attempting to cover Archbishop Tutu's 1991 visit to the northern Ontario Native community of Osnaburgh: "The fact was that they didn't understand that they had left Canada and entered a different culture."39 Indigenous media responses have come about partly because of the nature of mainstream media messages, and they have the potential, at least, to subvert the notion of mass communication to suit local and regional needs. It is through an increasing range of information technologies, along with a "strategic and knowledgeable occupation of them," that Indigenous communities in Australia and elsewhere are redefining notions of identity.40 Part of this identity is pan-cultural, linking Indigenous people in Australia and other countries in a global struggle for social justice. This global linking is critical if Indigenous media are to move beyond the local, giving them access to a wider audience to get the right message across. The process also enables a diverse range of local cultural identities to be strengthened and maintained. Thus custodians such as the Warlpiri in central Australia or the Jagera people in southeast Queensland are able to employ diverse ways of using media as a "strategic management of cultural goods" to advance this continuing process of cultural definition and redefinition. The very reason for the existence of such regular Indigenous publications as Land Rights News, Land Rights Queensland, and the Koori Mail is counterhegemonic—a challenge to dominant ideas and assumptions about Indigenous people and their affairs.41 Indigenous broadcast and interactive media, too, seek actively to challenge dominant ideas—from those about race to colonialist interpretations of the relationship to land. This perhaps tells us more about mainstream media and its limited frameworks for analysis. While simply "being Indigenous" may not ensure that a media producer will make "better" representations, unless Indigenous people have greater access to the means of production, a range of possible representations is excluded. Echoing the words of Maori filmmaker Barry Barclay: perhaps we will know what an Indigenous program is when Indigenous people get the opportunity to make more programs. Suggestions that merely "being Indigenous" will solve all problems assume that all Indigenous people are the same, with a common, unvaried culture.42 Indigenous media producers have demonstrated the possibilities of resistance to dominant ideas and assumptions about them and their affairs. This entails a complex interweaving of resistance and submission, opposition, and complicity.43 The nature of broadcasting within Indigenous communities might be a

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valuable lesson for non-Indigenous people in "how to electronically recuperate public discourse and reconstitute public space in ways that will bear upon the future of . . . society."44 The example of the "invention" of Aboriginal television might suggest a theoretical response to our own problematic interaction with mass communication—a reconciliation of sorts.45 What is apparent from all of the work being done with Indigenous media producers around the world is that Indigenous media production is concerned with the process of identity construction.46 The strategic use of media technologies presents the opportunity for counterhegemonic processes to operate, challenging dominant ideas and assumptions about the world by effectively displacing them—or, at the very least, coexisting with them. If a National Indigenous Radio Service—launched in 1996—had been operating from 1988 on, how might the meaning of the bicentenary have been renegotiated? What other perspectives on the Cape York spaceport or on the native title debate might have been possible? How might an established Indigenous broadcasting network or videoconferencing between communities have contributed to quashing the often racist hysteria surrounding debate of the High Court's native title decisions? What effect could Indigenous perspectives on the notion of identity have in educating non-Indigenous people? Although the answers to these questions remain speculative, with the existence and growth of alternative media systems they will become increasingly more difficult for Australian journalists to ignore.47 CONCLUSION There is a need to reexamine the way in which the work of journalism is done in Australia. Adopting an ethnographic method suggested by Valerie Alia— learning from people rather than studying them—might be a good place to begin to reexamine the ways that continue to frame Indigenous people and their affairs in narrow and predictable ways.48 There needs to be more wide-ranging debate on this by journalists and their audiences. Some of the work investigating the context for the emergence of modern Australian journalism has only just begun.49 We must reject the predictable excuse of it being "navel-gazing." In this age of information technology, it is becoming easier for audiences to bypass traditional information channels by using sources such as the Internet, regardless of the questionable veracity of much of what it offers us. Information is a commodity, being bought and then sold off to the highest bidder. Commercial media operations exist to sell audiences to advertisers. Ethics seem to come in a poor second when news values like conflict are so readily exploited as a way of increasing sales—and profits. The practices used by Australian journalists in reporting on race relations revealed in this book suggest that many already accept this approach to information management, consciously or unconsciously, as part of their modus operandi. Media practitioners wield extraordinary power, despite protestations that they merely "reflect reality." Journalists shape public opinion

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and continue to play a problematic, largely negative role in mediating race relations in Australia. There are exceptions, but they remain overwhelmed by the rule. But while the ideologies that influence journalistic practices are pervasive, they are not inviolate. We need to begin the process of developing communities that understand that race need not be a determinant of the evaluative structures that organize the distribution of life chances. As Hackett and Zhao conclude: "To think and talk about the world differently is to begin to change it."50 We can make a difference, as Renate Holub argues: In spite of various struggles we undertake against domination, our bodies move, none the less, in immense privilege, inordinately saturated with material and cultural goods, technology and consumer products, on a scale incommensurable with that which governs the practices of everyday life for millions of people. While we do not choose the place where we were born, we can choose the places and ideas deserving of our energies.51 If we are content to live in a society divided by the irresponsible circulation of often baseless racist and ignorant opinion, the response is simple: we do nothing. But if our vision for the future suggests the need for some form of reconciliation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, then we have some challenging work to do. It is crucial that we continue to examine the relationship between communication and the "distribution of life chances," along with the most promising ways of using journalism to highlight and sever the links between race, class, and status. 52 1 have argued that journalism and journalists have played, and will continue to play, a critical role in this process. If this is so, then it may be time for journalists to consider reclaiming their role as the guardians of freedom of expression within the legal and philosophical traditions of the public sphere. 53 Unless journalists are prepared to reorient their practices and to address their problematic relationship with disenchanted audiences, Indigenous or non-Indigenous, they seem destined for a continuing role as the discredited information brokers of the new millennium. NOTES 1. Mary Ann Weston, Native Americans in the News: Images of Indians in the Twentieth Century Press, Greenwood Press, Westport, CT, 1996. 2. The notion of Aboriginal agency is developed in Bain Attwood, The Making of the Aborigines, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1989. It is evidenced, too, in the long Indigenous involvement in print media in Australia. See Michael Rose, For the Record: 160 Years of Aboriginal Print Journalism, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1996. 3. Faye Ginsburg, "Indigenous Media: Faustian Contract or Global Village?," Cultural Anthropology, 6, no. 1, 1991, pp. 92-112; Tony Dowmunt, Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, BFI Publishing and Channel Four Television, London, 1993; Donald R. Browne, Electronic Media and Indigenous Peoples: A Voice of Our Own, Iowa State University Press, Ames, IA, 1996. 4. Helen Molnar and Michael Meadows, Songlines to Satellites: Indigenous Communica-

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tion in Australia, the South Pacific, and Canada, Pluto Press, Sydney. 2000. Marian Bredin also makes this point with regard to Native broadcasters in northern Canada, in "Transforming Images: Communication Technologies and Cultural Identity in Nishnawbe-Aski," in CrossCultural Consumption: Global Markets, Local Realities, ed. David Howes, Routledge, London, 1996. 5. Stuart Hall, "The Whites of Their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media," in Silver Linings: Some Strategies for the Eighties, eds. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1981; Andrew Jakubowicz, Heather Goodall, Jeannie Martin, Tony Mitchell, Lois Randall, and Kalinga Seneviratne, Racism, Ethnicity and the Media, Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, 1994; David Hollinsworth, Race and Racism in Australia, Social Sciences Press, Katoomba, 1998. 6. Wilfred Wood, "Black Voices in the Media: An Interview," in White Media and Black Britain: A Critical Look at the Role of the Media in Race Relations Today, ed. C. Husband, Arrow Books, London, 1975, p. 31. 7. Allan Ashbolt, "Bagging the Town Criers: Dix and the ABC," Meanjin, no. 1, 1981, pp. 299-306. 8. Courier-Mail, 10 September 1989. 9. Weston, p. 164. 10. Mick Dodson, "Towards the Exercise of Indigenous Rights: Policy, Power arid SelfDetermination," Race and Class, 35, no. 4, 1994, p. 71. 11. These issues are dealt with in different ways by the following authors: Athol Chase, "Empty Vessels and Loud Noises: Views on Aboriginality Today," Social Alternatives, 2, no. 2, 1981, pp. 23-27; Marcia Langton, "Urbanising Aborigines: The Social Scientists' Great Deception," Social Alternatives, 2, no. 2, 1981, pp. 16-22; Diana Eades, "You Gotta Know How to Talk . . .: Information Seeking in South East Queensland Aboriginal Society," in Cross-Cultural Encounters: Communication and Mis-Communication, ed. J. B. Pride, River Seine Publications, Melbourne, 1985; Ian Keen, Being Black: Aboriginal Cultures in ''Settled" Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1988. 12. Michael Meadows, "The Way People Want to Talk: Media Representation and Indigenous Media Responses in Australia and Canada," unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, Griffith University, Brisbane, 1993; Eric Michaels, Aboriginal Invention of Television Central Australia 1982-1985, Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, Canberra, 1986; Helen Molnar, "Remote Aboriginal Community Broadcasting in Australia—Developments and Priorities," paper delivered at the AEJMC Conference in Boston, 7-10 August 1991; Helen Molnar, "Communication Technology in the Pacific: In Whose Interest?," Australian Journalism Review, 10, 1991, pp. 137-147. 13. Tom Jagtenberg and Phillip D'Alton, Four Dimensional Social Space, Harper, Sydney, 1992, p. 478; Nonie Sharp, "Native Title: The Post-Mabo Landscape," Arena Magazine, no. 8, 1993, p. 5. 14. Dennis Cryle, "Snakes in the Grass: The Press and Race Relations at Moreton Bay 1846-47," in Brisbane: The Aboriginal Presence 1824-1860, ed. R. Fisher, Brisbane History Group Papers, no. 11, 1992, pp. 69-79. 15. Weston, p. 164. 16. James Carey, "The Dark Continent of American Journalism," in James Carey: A Critical Reader, eds. Eve Stryker Minson and Catherine A Warren, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, MN, 1997, p. 162. 17. Michael Meadows, "A 10-Point Plan and a Treaty," Queensland Review, 6, no. 1, 1999, pp. 50-76. 18. See Edward Said's works, Orientalism, Vintage, New York, 1979; Culture and Imperialism, Vintage, New York, 1993.

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19. Antonio Gramsci, A Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916-1935, ed. David Forgacs, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1988, p. 380. 20. Elvi Whittaker, "Public Discourse on Sacredness: The Transfer of Ayers Rock to Aboriginal Ownership," American Ethnologist, 21, no. 2, 1994, pp. 327-328. 21. This case is argued powerfully in Steve Mickler, The Myth of Privilege: Aboriginal Status, Media Visions, Public Ideas, Fremantle Arts Press, Fremantle, 1998. 22. This was particularly in evidence during the 1996 Federal Election campaign, with several conservative politicians revealing their penchant for racist comment. Perhaps more disturbing is the fact that the issue of racism was not deemed to be an important election issue by the media. Apart from reporting comments from a range of Liberal and National Party candidates—and the often hypocritical rebukes by their political masters—the media quickly returned to focus on more mainstream issues like leadership, the economy, health, etc. 23. The Walkleys were established in 1956, with five categories, by Ampol Petroleum founder Sir William Gaston Walkley. Since then, winning stories have chronicled Australia's history, people, and events. In 1998 the awards entered their 43rd year of celebrating excellence, this time with 31 awards, including the coveted Gold Walkley and the Most Outstanding Contribution to Journalism award. To ensure that the awards maintain their preeminence as Australia's most prestigious journalist accolade, the custodian of the Walkleys—the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance—completed a review in 1997. This process focused on all areas of the awards, including eligibility, categories, and judging (www.walkleys.com). 24. While the ABC has conducted some cultural-awareness training for staff for a number of years, the commercial media sector remains effectively devoid of such programs apart from a handful of isolated cases where such training has been organized by concerned Indigenous affairs journalists themselves. This has been the case with the Courier-Mail in Brisbane since a change of editorship in 1995, but the practice is far from widespread in the industry. 25. The Media and Indigenous Australians Project (MIAP) was funded primarily by the federal Department of Employment, Education and Youth Affairs and involved journalism educators and Indigenous people developing a range of curriculum materials for use in Australia's 21 journalism education programs. 26. Tony Koch made these comments at the 44th Walkley Awards ceremony held in Brisbane on 2 December 1999. 27. Liz Fell, Journalism Education Project, Canberra, Committee to Review Australian Studies in Tertiary Education, 1987, p. 10. 28. G. Stuart Adam, "Thinking Journalism . . .," Content, July/August 1988, p. 9. 29. G. Stuart Adam, "Journalism Knowledge and Journalism Practice: The Problems of Curriculum and Research in University Schools of Journalism," Canadian Journal of Communication, 14, no. 2, 1989, p. 73. 30. Stuart Adam has extended on these ideas, particularly on notions of theorizing journalism, in his monograph, Notes Towards a Definition of Journalism: Understanding an Old Craft as an Art Form, The Poynter Papers, no. 2, The Poynter Institute for Media Studies, St. Petersburg, 1993. 31. Earl Winkler, "The Unbearable Lightness of Moral Principle," in Deadlines and Diversity: Journalism Ethics in a Changing World, eds. Valerie Alia, Brian Brennan, and Barry Hoffmaster, Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, 1996, pp. 15-17. 32. Robert A. Hackett and Yuezhi Zhao, "Are Ethics Enough? 'Objective' Journalism versus Sustainable Democracy," in Alia et al. (eds.), Deadlines and Diversity, p. 58. 33. See the summary of a 1998-1999 investigation into the Indigenous media sector, Digital Dreaming, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, Canberra, 1999; Molnar and Meadows, Songlines to Satellites. The important role of Indigenous community radio was demonstrated in an audience survey for Brisbane-based station 4AAA Murri

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Country. See Michael Meadows and Kitty van Vuuren, "Seeking an Audience: Indigenous People, the Media and Cultural Resource Management," Southern Review, 31, no. 1, 1998, pp. 96-107. 34. Lorna Roth, "Cultural and Racial Diversity in Canadian Broadcast Journalism," in Alia et al., Deadlines and Diversity, pp. 59-84. 35. David Suzuki, personal communication, Griffith University, Brisbane, 16 April 1997. 36. Said, Culture and Imperialism, p. 407. 37. Molnar and Meadows. 38. Tom O'Regan, "TV as Cultural Technology: The Work of Eric Michaels," Continuum, no. 32, 1990, p. 80. 39. John Rowlandson, Wawatay Native Communications Society, interview, 3 April 1991. 40. Ginsburg, 1991; Bredin, p. 176. 41. Land Rights News clearly identifies itself on page 2 of each issue as the national voice of the land rights movement, while the Koori Mail, within its many-faceted philosophy for existence, highlights the need for a Koori perspective and the "promotion of the overall wellbeing of Aboriginal Australia," along with "the Koori Mail philosophy," Koori Mail, 6 June 1991, p. 4. The newspaper seeks to do this variously through "unbiased coverage" in an effort to "improve understanding between Koori and gubba [a non-Aboriginal person]," according to the editorial, Koori Mail, 6 June 1991, p. 2. 42. Stuart Hall makes this point in relation to black filmmaking in the United Kingdom in "Cultural Identity and Cinematic Representation," Framework, 36, 1989, pp. 68-81. See also Marcia Langton's excellent monograph, "Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television": An Essay for the Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aboriginal People and Things, Australian Film Commission, Sydney, 1993, pp. 27-28. 43. Bredin, p. 176; Jesus Martin-Barbero, "Communication from Culture: The Crisis of the National and the Emergence of the Popular," Media, Culture and Society, 10, 1988, p. 462. 44. Lorna Roth and Gail Valaskakis, "Aboriginal Broadcasting in Canada: A Case Study in Democratisation," in Communication for and against Democracy, eds. Marc Raboy and Peter A. Bruck, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1989, p. 233. 45. Eric Michaels, "Constraints on Knowledge in an Economy of Oral Information," Current Anthropology, 26, no. 4, 1985, p. 510. 46. Ginsburg, 1991, p. 105; Bredin, p. 176. 47. The National Indigenous Media Association of Australia (NIMAA) launched the National Indigenous Radio Service in Brisbane on 25 January 1996. It enables broadcasting by satellite to a potential 150 community radio stations across Australia. 48. Valerie Alia, "The Rashomon Principle: The Journalist as Ethnographer," in Deadlines and Diversity: Journalism Ethics in a Changing World, eds. Valerie Alia, Brian Brennan, and Barry Hoffmaster, Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, 1996, p. 104. 49. Ann Curthoys and Julianne Schultz (eds.), Journalism: Print, Politics and Popular Culture, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999. 50. Hackett and Zhao, p. 58; Oscar H. Gandy Jr., Communication and Race: A Structural Perspective, Arnold, London, 1998, pp. 236-237. 51. Renate Holub, Antonio Gramsci: Beyond Marxism and Postmodernism, Routledge, London, 1992, p. 189. 52. Gandy, pp. 238, 245. 53. Stuart Adam, "Thinking Journalism . . .," p. 5; James Carey, "Afterword/The Culture in Question," in James Carey: A Critical Reader, eds. Eve Stryker Munson and Catherine A. Warren, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, MN, 1997, pp. 308-339.

Appendix 1: Notes on the Research Methods

DISCURSIVE ANALYSIS Quantitative methods such as content analysis use particular methods to achieve particular ends, as Bernard Berelson himself acknowledges: "Content analysis is a research technique for the objective, systematic, and quantitative description of the manifest content of communication."1 The requirements of content analysis specifically rule out analysis of communication content, stressing the need for "objectivity" in category definition. Further requirements specify a systematic selection process, both in terms of data gathered and the reasons for gathering, knowing when to count, and, finally, quantification of the relative emphases and omissions.2 The existence of a multiplicity of meanings and their relationship to social struggle—including a struggle for meaning—was important for my project. Teun van Dijk identifies the need to examine the semantic significance of the text—its implications and irrelevances, for example—as well as what he terms "news schema" such as headlines, story introductions, key events, context, history or background, quoted passages, and comments (including letters to the editor and regular columnists). This includes, of course, omissions from the text, which might be more revealing in some cases. Van Dijk's discursive method includes an examination of the text's style and rhetoric—why particular choices are preferred over other possibilities, for example—in terms of the "cognitive, social, political, and cultural context."3 A combination of the two techniques—empirical investigation and discursive analysis—enables a "deeper" analysis. Thus empiricism can be used to begin analysis. Interpretation with "verifiable facts" takes it further: "Literary-critical, linguistic and stylistic methods of analysis [discursive analysis] are . . . more useful in penetrating the latent meanings of a text, and they preserve something of the complexity of language and connotation which has to be sacrificed in content analysis in order to achieve high validation."4

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Both quantitative and qualitative research methods rely on a "long preliminary soak" either to define categories or to enable selection of representative data to be more intensively analyzed. Both produce and employ evidence, but a discursive approach is able to fulfill several key research functions: identifying detail in a text on which interpretation of meaning is based; outlining relevant supporting or contextual evidence; taking into account material that either disproves or modifies hypotheses that emerge; and indicating why one reading of material or data is more appropriate than another.5 The case-study method already discussed by Stuart Hall complements Michael Real's approach. Real describes a case-study methodology as one where a researcher "selects a problematic expressed in a text (or texts) and then subjects the text to ethnographic description, exegetical clarification, and critical examination in the search for a full understanding of its social origins, meanings, and consequences."6 Interpretation of a text must occur within culture and as such must take account of social and historical meaning—that is, it must move beyond "manifest content" to the "social foundations of rhetoric." The point of contact is the media text itself— within discourse. With such a research approach, detection of the recurrence of a critical dimension of significance is possible—in this case, the portrayal of Indigenous people, racist or otherwise—using them as indicators from which inferences are then drawn. Discursive analysis allows researchers to take account of emphasis: "Position, placing, treatment, tone, stylistic intensification, striking imagery etc. are all ways of registering emphasis. The really significant item may not be one which continually recurs (identified by content analysis), but the one which stands out as an

exception from the general pattern—but which is also given, in its exceptional context, the greatest weight."7 The challenge lies in meeting the basic demands of empirical analysis without being misdirected by its tyranny of method.8 The aim of this study was to find out why the content is as it is, rather than the mere fact that it is. Presenting as much of the evidence as is possible enables other readings, ensuring the need for the research process to be as thorough as is theoretically possible. THE CASE STUDIES To provide a contextual framework for this analysis, I gathered material for each of the case studies to construct ethnographies—accounts of the political, social, and historical context in which the three chosen events took place. I adopted Foucault's notion of discourse—the "familiar, yet enigmatic groups of statements . . . autonomous but not independent" in this sense. The resulting discursive order enables access to contextual information in order to examine the conditions of emergence of such statements. This methodology encourages access to a wide range of discursive practices (statements) as part of the analytical framework—media text, primary and secondary research materials, journalistic practices, and so on. All of these elements contribute to the nature of the representations under investigation. For this study, media news and current affairs stories were analyzed as a discursive formation. Michael Real describes this kind of critical interpretation (exegesis) as anything but arbitrary. It is not simply a matter of practically applying one text or discourse to another purpose: "The traditional scriptural technique of textual exegesis goes beyond the immediate ethnography to identify precisely the literary genre of a work,

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the comparative life situation from which it emerged, and the intention of the original author. This it does by comparing the work with closely parallel works and placing it carefully in time, place, and purpose."9 Questions of what is not included in such a discourse or whose interests are being served, for example, emerge from a subsequent critical response. The legitimating role of the media is a crucial notion in applying this particular analytical technique. Media produce discourses: "structures of meanings in linguistic and visual form."10 Thus an analytical approach that considers media as a discursive formation seems appropriate in order to fulfill the research aims. By examining media text in context, a different discourse emerges. In the three case studies, I have organized the analyses according to significant themes that emerge from the discursive examination. Examples include the juxtaposition of "violent protest" and "celebration" in the bicentennial case study; the omission of Indigenous voices from the Cape York spaceport coverage; and the construction of identity and citizenship in terms of newspaper coverage of the High Court's native title decision. Omission is a central theme. Television N e w s and the Bicentenary This case study examined seven days of all prime-time Australian television news and current affairs coverage of bicentennial-related events involving Aboriginal people and Torres Strait Islanders. This included all relevant material broadcast by commercial television channels Nine, Seven, and Ten (then Channel 0), the ABC, and SBS. The study covered the period from 21 to 28 January 1988 and included monitoring of Aboriginal radio programs broadcast on Brisbane community radio station 4ZZZ. The limits of the television sample were set largely as the result of a decision by Aboriginal broadcasters to establish an east-coast radio landline network for that particular period. In all, 11 community radio stations across Australia contributed to the broadcast on 26 January.11 The landline project, paid for through public appeals for support, operated for 10 days (18-29 January). It featured a live networked broadcast between 5 P.M. and 6 P.M. each day during that period, except for "invasion day," when the broadcast duration was 10 A.M.-6 P.M.. The Cape York Spaceport The sample of stories was selected from the Queensland Newspapers Information Service (QNIS) data base. All stories concerning the spaceport proposal and Aboriginal involvement published by Queensland Newspapers were collected through the Queensland Newspapers database, QNIS. Stories were accessed using combinations of the search words Aborigines, Aboriginal, Cape York, spaceport, and space base. In all, 65 stories published between 1986 and 1992 were collected for analysis. It should be mentioned here that on several occasions the QNIS data did not agree with the published material because of edition differences. Library microfilm versions of the stories were used for the final analysis where discrepancies existed. In addition, I gathered background material from the files of the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland and the Australian Conservation Foundation. Both groups were involved in campaigns against the spaceport development and have had considerable contact with Aboriginal people on the Cape. An Indigenous perspective of this

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event is well represented through news releases, interviews, and background papers supplied to the groups concerned. Information relating to specially convened conferences on Cape York was also made available as a resource for providing a contextual framework. I made extensive use of Land Rights News as a valuable source of Indigenous views about the spaceport proposal. The Courier-Mail and The Sunday Mail published almost five times as many stories about the spaceport and Cape York without mentioning Aboriginal issues than those that did. Since the demise of The Daily Sun late in 1991, the newspapers were chosen as the sole source of stories for this study because they are Queensland's only remaining state-wide metropolitan newspapers. The Native Title Debate This analysis involved examining all stories published in June and July 1993 by Queensland Newspapers—the Courier-Mail and the Sunday Mail—that dealt with the chosen case study, the High Court's native title decision. I chose that particular period because it was a time when the issue of the impact of the native title decision was raised to the top of the political agenda in Australia. The then prime minister, Paul Keating, took personal charge of the issue and engaged in dialogue with a range of Indigenous community representatives. It was a time when powerful vested interests clashed over the meaning of the High Court decision and its implications for Australia as a nation. Queensland Newspapers' publications were chosen for the reasons I have already outlined in the previous case study. It enabled an examination of how a particular framework for writing about native title emerged. It also enabled an investigation of the implications for the practice of journalism in reporting race relations. Reporting the Everyday—the Brisbane Rallies This entailed a range of methodologies—content analysis, focus group discussion, and discursive analysis of newspaper and television news stories. For the content analysis, I used a constructed week methodology and applied it to two 5-year periods—1975-79 and 1991-95. Constructed week sampling entails taking one day for each month of the years selected. This meant, for example, choosing a Monday in January, a Tuesday in February, a Wednesday in March, and so on until the selected period was covered. This approach yields results that are statistically as valid as more intensely focused approaches.12 The summary of the findings of this study is based on content analysis of around 1,200 stories. Items were coded according to a range of criteria based on a previous study of the media representation of multiculturalism.13 These included prominence (page number), type of story (news, fea-

ture, editorial, column), focus of story, tenor of story, whether stereotyping was present, and identification of recognizable public figures.

Three focus-group discussions were conducted by research assistant Kitty van Vuuren and myself and entailed groups of between five and nine people, who were asked to nominate key issues they saw as important. These issues were listed and refined into broad categories to enable a more focused discussion. All focus group discussions were audiotaped and transcribed for analysis.

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The final stage of this process involved a discursive analysis of the news stories published by the Courier-Mail and several Brisbane television stations for the period in question. All stories were either photocopied (newspaper) or recorded and transcribed (television). They were analyzed using the approach summarized at the start of this appendix.

NOTES 1. Bernard Berelson, Content Analysis in Communication Research, Hafner Publishing, New York, 1971, p. 18. 2. Berelson, pp. 16—17. 3. Teun van Dijk, "The Interdisciplinary Study of News as Discourse," in A Handbook of Qualitative Methodologies for Mass Communication Research, eds. K. B. Jensen and N. W. Jankowski, London, Routledge, 1991, pp. 111-116. 4. Stuart Hall, "Introduction," in Paper Voices: The Popular Press and Social Change, ed. A. C. H. Smith, Chatto and Windus, London, 1975, p. 15. 5. Hall, p. 15. 6. Michael Real, Supermedia: A Cultural Studies Approach, Sage, Newbury Park, 1989, p. 72. 7. Hall, p. 15. 8. Preben Sepstrup, "Methodological Developments in Content Analysis," in Advances in Content Analysis, ed. K. E. Rosengren, Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1981. 9. Real, p. 771. 10. Hall, p. 18. 11. Helen Molnar, "Indigenous Use of Small Media, Community Radio, Braes, and the Tanami Network," paper delivered to "Enhancing Cultural Value: Narrowcasting, Community Media and Cultural Development," CIRC1T, 4 December 1993, p. 16. 12. Daniel Riffe, Charles F. Aust, and Stephen R. Lacy, "The Effectiveness of Random, Consecutive Day and Constructed Week Sampling in Newspaper Content Analysis," Journalism Quarterly, 70, no. 1, 1993, pp. 133-139. 13. Philip Bell, Multicultural Australia in the Media: A Report to the Office of Multicultural Affairs, August 1991.

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Appendix 2: Recommendations Concerning the Media Reporting of Indigenous Affairs

Source: Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. National Report. Overview and recommendations by Elliott Johnston. Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1991. Recommendation 205: • that Aboriginal media organisations should receive adequate funding, where necessary, in recognition of the importance of their function; and • that all media organisations should be encouraged to develop codes and policies relating to the presentation of Aboriginal issues, the establishment of monitoring bodies, and the putting into place of training and employment programs for Aboriginal employees in all classifications. Recommendation 206: • that the media industry and media unions be requested to consider the establishment of and support of an annual award or awards for excellence in Aboriginal affairs reporting to be judged by a panel of media, union and Aboriginal representatives. Recommendation 207: That institutions providing journalism courses be requested to: • ensure that courses contain a significant component relating to Aboriginal affairs thereby reflecting the social context in which journalists work; and • consider, in consultation with media industry and media unions, the creation of specific units of study dedicated to Aboriginal affairs and the reporting thereof. Recommendation 208: • That, in view of the fact that many Aboriginal people throughout Australia express disappointment in the portrayal of Aboriginal people by the media, the media

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industry and media unions should encourage formal and informal contact with Aboriginal organisations, including Aboriginal media organisations where available. The purpose of such contact should be the creation of a better understanding, on all sides, of issues relating to media treatment of Aboriginal affairs.

Appendix 3: Selected Recommendations Concerning the Media Coverage of Race Relations

Source: Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission. Racist Violence: Report of the National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia. Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1991. Recommendation 46: • That the media strive for more balance in the reporting of race-related issues and avoid sensationalist coverage of these issues. Recommendation 47: • That the media avoid the unwarranted introduction of race or ethnicity into a story, and particularly the unnecessary use of ethnic-specific labels in reporting on suspected or convicted criminals. Recommendation 48: • That media organisations establish clear policies or guidelines for the reporting of incidents of racist violence which encourage sensitivity to the potential impact of such reporting. Recommendation 55: • That the Press Council develop standards for reporting issues relating to race and ethnicity which are based on those adopted by the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal for the electronic media. Recommendation 56: • That the Ethics Committee of the Australian Journalists Association develop a detailed Code of Practice for journalists reporting issues relating to race and ethnicity and ensure observance of that Code by members of the Association.

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Recommendation 57: • That the Office of Multicultural Affairs and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission establish community-based training programs to ensure that people from Aboriginal and ethnic communities can acquire skills to help them to proceed with complaints about what they perceive to be racist or unfair reporting and to have a greater input into media agendas. Recommendation 59: • That media organisations develop and implement policies to encouragement and advancement of Aboriginal and non-English-speaking background journalists within the industry. Recommendation 60: • That the training of journalists at tertiary institutions include education in and awareness of cultural and inter-racial issues and that people of Aboriginal and nonEnglish speaking background be involved in the development and teaching of such curricula. Recommendation 61: • That awareness of cultural and inter-racial issues be included in the training of cadet journalists. Recommendation 62: • That, where possible, media organisations allocate journalists to specialised rounds covering Aboriginal and ethnic affairs.

Appendix 4: Statement of Principles for Media Reporting on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Issues

Source: The Media and Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders: Statement of Principles, Department of Communication and the Arts, Canberra, 1994. The Principles 1. Publishers and broadcasters should not distribute material that: • Is likely to incite or perpetuate hatred against; • Vilifies; • Is likely to incite serious contempt for; or • Severely ridicules a person or group, for the reason that the person or group is/ are Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islanders. 2. Broadcasters or publishers should avoid prejudicial or pejorative references to, or gratuitous emphasis on, because he or she is an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander. 3. Media reports about an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander should have regard for the cultural practices of that person and his or her people, through seeking advice from the appropriate source. The bereavement practices of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are region specific, and strict protocols should, as far as possible, be observed in relation to reporting on, and depicting, recently deceased people. 4. Care should be exercised in depicting problems encountered by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities to achieve a balanced approach that does not unduly emphasise negative aspects to the exclusion of positive developments (e.g.

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description of problems could usefully include efforts being made by people themselves to resolve them). 5. To provide for balance in reporting on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander issues, where material is published and broadcast that: • Reports on a negative aspect of an Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander person or group; and • Draws attention to that Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander person or group, The publisher/broadcaster of the material should give the person, group, or other parties an opportunity to reply to the material, and should cause the reply to be published/broadcast. 6. The portrayal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the media should facilitate an understanding of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures among all Australians, and contribute to the maintenance of indigenous cultures and traditions. 7. Appropriate training programs should be developed in consultation with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to assist nonindigenous journalists and program makers implement these principles.

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Index

ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation): Code of Practice, 183, 184, 197, 215; coverage [of bicentennial events (1988), 76, 81, 142,180, 181; of Brewarrina "riot" (1987), 49; of Mabo decision (1992), 5]; Indigenous participation, 51, 121,178, 183; initiatives to promote positive images of Indigenous people, 6; public journalism in 1940s, 41; 1.30 Report [coverage of bicentennial events (1988), 73, 76, 77, 80-81; Ransom-Pilger interview, 85-86] ABC TV News: coverage [of bicentennial events (1988), 76-78, 81-83, 84; of Brisbane Aboriginal protests (1996), 151-153, 156-158; of Mabo decision (1992), 115]; on spaceport opposition at Hummock Hill, 110 Aboriginal deaths in custody, 7, 71, 73; Brisbane Aboriginal protests (1996), 151, 153. See also Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody Aboriginal Development Commission, 69 Aboriginalism, 18 Aboriginality, 17-18; chosen and imposed identity, 19; as defined by nonIndigenous people, 19; federal government definition, 19; Langton,

Marcia, on, 19-20; and media, 123, 148, 188, 206 [version (1988), and bicentennial news discourse, 87] Aboriginal Land Act, 157 Aboriginal Land Rights Movement, see Land rights Aboriginal languages: attack from mainstream culture and media, 51; on Cape York, 96; in 1788, 39 Aboriginal Law Bulletin, 117, 118, 141 Aboriginal "March of Survival" (Australia Day, 1988), 71, 72; community radio coverage, 81-83 Aboriginal people: absence of Aboriginal representation, 44; acknowledgment of extreme disadvantage, 19; attitudes towards surviving Aboriginal people, 40; boycott of Sydney media, 73, 77; cannibalism claims, 40; construction of early European ideas on, 33-34, 37, 39; criminal justice system, involvement in, 49; disease and alcoholism, 40; "dispersal" of, 41^12; enduring stereotypes, 40; exclusion from equal participation, 50; ignored by The Bulletin, 41; Mansell on, 76; media [production, involvement in, 50; misrepresentation, origins of, 36];

234 "persistent indifference" to, 34; representation, 42-44; resistance, 4, 8-9, 40, 207-208 Aboriginal provisional government, 126 Aboriginal reconciliation, see Reconciliation Aboriginal sovereignty, 70 Aboriginal tent embassy, 4, 77, 78 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, see ATSIC; Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Heritage Protection Act, 103 Aboriginal women: early representations, 40-41; Indigenous Women's Network, 171; institutional bias, 171 Aborigines Progressive Association, Australia Day protest (1938), 70 Actors Equity, 172 Adam, Stuart, 204 Advertisers, and media, 5, 6, 208 African Americans: and media (Gandy), 20; media representation, 45, 176, 177; misrepresentation in early press, 39 Age (Melbourne): Kirby article (1988), 87, 184; reference to Aborigines as "bygone" people (1881), 42 Ahern, Mike, 97 Alcatraz Island, 52 Alia, Valerie, and ethnography, journalist as cross-cultural guide, 166, 208 Alice Springs, 44, 70. 103, 108, 180 American Civil War, 42 American Declaration of Independence (1976 Bicentenary), 67 American journalism: Nord on development of, 34; subservience to dominant ideologies, 167 American quincentenary (1992), 67, 68; Native American response, 70 American Revolution, 16 Americas: native people and racism, 36; struggles ignored by media, 36 Anangu (Pitjantjatjara), 202 Anderson, Benedict, "the imagined community," 13 Anthropology: Muecke on, 18; racist ideologies, 17 Anti-Discrimination Board of New South Wales, 168 ANZAAS, 95 Arapahos, 37

Index Arizona, Hopi-Navajo land "dispute," 53 Armstrong, David, 69 Arrernte people, 44 Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication, 175 Atrocities: Keating's International Human Rights Day speech (1992), 9; "racialized public discourse" as legacy, 21 ATSIC (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission): Hanson on, 2; Mabo Judgement, 120, 124, 125, 131; Peninsula Regional Council, 3, 115; public misconceptions on Mabo, 118 Attwood, Bain: Aboriginal and settler Australian identity, 3; construction of Aboriginal identity, 18 Aurukun, 131 Australia: bicentenary, see Australian bicentenary; European invasion, 4, 3 3 34; Fischer on native title and "break up" of Australia, 128; Hawke on Australian democracy, 82; overseas reporters' observations, 77; press traditions, 35; Reconciliation, 195-209; Tickner on ignorance of Australian history, 129; twentieth-century press images of Indigenous populations, 50 Australia Day (1988), 67; Aboriginal march of survival, 71, 72, 81-83; Boggo Road jail uprising, 74-75, 87; as celebration of Sydney Harbour, 71; community radio link-up, 72; as day of mourning and protest, 70; Hawke's address on "rectification and reconciliation," 70; "Invasion Day" versus "Australia Day," 72, 79, 83; TV coverage, 71-88 Australian: article on proposed Cape York spaceport (1992), 94; Mabo as "blackwhite watershed," 115; native title opinion poll (1993), 119,201 Australian Associated Press (AAP), 106, 186 Australian bicentenary (1988), 9,67-88; Aboriginal boycott of local media, 77; Aboriginal people outside framework of celebration, 78; Aboriginal perspective, omission of, 73-74; Aboriginal sources, treatment of, 77, 79-80; battle over meaning, 67-69; media [coverage of Indigenous concerns, 71, 88; Indigenous

Index coverage, 72-73; reliance of on police sources, 76; role of in, 87, 196, 197, 199, 208, 215]; race as news value, 78; racism as issue, 84; Ransom-Pilger interview, 85-86; rumored "uprising," 74-75; Sydney march, 71, 72, 81-83; violence and conflict as news value, 73-79, 84 Australian Bicentennial Authority: political wrangles, 68-69, 71, 79, 81; rhetoric, 87, 197; suppression of alternative discourses, 87 Australian Broadcasting Authority (ABA), 48; finding against Channel 7 (1995), 185, 186; record of complaints on racism, 171,176,181,184 Australian Broadcasting Corporation, see ABC Australian Broadcasting Tribunal, complaint on cannibalism claims, 93 Australian Community Relations Office, 42 Australian Conservation Foundation, 3, 215 Australian Consolidated Press, 41, 170 Australian Journalism Education Association, 175 Australian Journalists' Association, (AJA), 48, 171, 172, 175; Code of Ethics (1998), 176; history of AJA's Code of Ethics, on race, 179; incorporated into MEAA, 179, 182, 184; withdrawal of support for Australian Press Council (1987), 187 Australian Labor party: on land rights, 69; in Queensland, 21; on treaty, 69, 118, 127 Australian Mining Industry Council (AMIC), in native title debate, 119-121, 124, 126, 132, 163 Australian National Opinion Poll, 44-^t5 Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service, 180 Australian Press Council: clauses on media racism, 186; complaints [on "cannibalism" article, 47; on People Timm incident (1986), 45-46; on racism, record of, 171, 187, 176]; make-up, 186187; and "public interest," 46; Statement of Principles, 47, 179 Australian Senate, 67; inquiry into satellite launching facilities, 108; Native Title Bill, 115, 122 Australian Space Office, 94, 95

235 Balderstone, Sir James, 134, 137 Banks, Joseph, representations of Aboriginal people, 20, 37 Bannocks, 37 Barbour, Ronald (editor of Kahtou), on racism in mainstream media, 53 Barclay, Barry, 207 Barunga Statement (1988), 76 Bayles, Tiga, Eva Valley land summit, 121 Beckett, Jeremy, 17 Bellair, Sol (ATSIC Deputy Chair), 124, 132, 133, 140 Berelson, Bernard, 213 BHP, 129 Bicentenary, see Australian bicentenary Bidjara Aboriginal Housing and Land Company, 125 Big Country, A, 180 Bjelke-Petersen, Sir Joh (Queensland Premier), 91, 93-94, 97-99, 101, 109 Blainey, Geoffrey, 136 Boggo Road jail: Aboriginal "disclaimer," 74-75; rumors of Australia Day "uprising" (1988), 74 Bonner, Neville (Jagera elder), 8, 127, 139, 140 Boomerang, and white Australia policy, 42 Borbidge, Rob (Queensland National Party leader), 124, 130, 133 Bosch, Henry, 133-134 Bosnia, 167 Bostock, Lester, 182 Botany Bay, 33, 67 Brennan, Brian, on "corporate behavior," 171 Brennan, Frank, 88; on High Court native title decision (1992), 123, 127, 141 Brennan, Gerry (High Court judge), 130 Brewarrina, reporting of "riot" (1987), 49 Brisbane, Murri community, 8; arrival of press, 35; bicentenary protests, 72-74, 82, 83; CBD native title claim, 123-124; Commonwealth Games (1982), 45; Musgrave Park, 45; protest rallies (1996), 153-158,200 Britain, origin of Australia's press traditions, 35,77, 173, 165, 181, 185 British Columbia, 201 Broadcasting Services Act, 184 Broome, Radio Goolarri, 36

236 Brown, Dee: on media complicity in coverups, 37; on myths of American West, 36 Brown, Wallace, 125, on national consensus and native title, 126 Brunton, Ron, 131 Buchanan, Cheryl, 83 Buchhom, Richard, 185 Bulletin, The: on Aboriginal people, 41; "Australia for White Man," 41; Home, influence of, 41; Lawson on, 41; and public journalism, 41; racist stereotypes, 41 Burgmann, Verity, 88 Burnham Burnham, 80 Butler, George (manager Radio Rum Jungle), report on Eva Valley station Indigenous land summit (1993), 120-121 Buxton, Thomas Fowell, 4 CAAMA (Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association), 8, 70 Cairns: Aboriginal reaction to People Timm incident (1986), 45-^6; CYSA meeting with traditional landholders, 95; Indigenous people on mainstream media, 7, 46; planned legal seminar, 102 Cairns Post, 147-152, 200 Calgary Herald, 35 Campbell, Graeme, 127 Canada, 50, 58; Federal Centenary (1967), 67, 201, 205, 207; media [coverage of Oka uprising (1990); and visible minorities, 51]; Native people [languages of under attack, 51; and media, 50-51 ]; vast "empty space," 54 Canadian Association of Journalists, 57 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, see CBC Canadian Human Rights Commission, 56 Canadian journalism, influences, 35; Native journalists in mainstream, 51 Canadian Royal Commission on Newspapers, 175 Canberra, 72, 118, 133 Cannibalism, 40,47-48, 92-93, overt racism, 165 Cantley, Roland, 106 Cape York Land Council, and Cape York Peninsula land use agreement, 3, 102, 104,106,107,122,125,132

Index Cape York Peninsula: as "empty place," 91; Indigenous population, 21, 88; Indigenous presence, 93,96, 97; land use agreement, 3, 142; media representation of Aboriginal opposition to spaceport, 10; population, 92; proposed spaceport, 9 1 111; "seldom visited expanse," 99 Cape York Space Agency (CYSA), 94; Cairns meeting with traditional landholders, 95; wound up, 97, 107 Cape York spaceport, 10; Aboriginal and conservationist opposition, 92,94-98, 100-111; Aboriginal culture invisible, 101; fear and conflict as news values, 103; feasibility studies, 93, 94; land rights, 103-105; media coverage, 91-111 [omission of Aboriginal voices from, 92, 104-108, 110-111, 197]; portrayed as threat, 110, 111, 196-199,215-216; support for, 96, 97, 100, 102 Carey, James, 174 Carnarvon National Park (Qld), native title claim, 125 Carroll at Seven, coverage of bicentennial events (1988), 73, 76, 77, 81 Casey, Ron (2KY announcer), Broadcasting Tribunal findings against, 48 Cattlemen's Union, and Cape York Peninsula land use agreement, 3 CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation), coverage of Tutu's Osnaburgh visit, 55; Native participation, 51 CBS, 86 Central Australian Aboriginal Media Association (CAAMA), 8, 70 Chamber of Mines, campaign against land rights, 44-45 Channel 7, coverage of bicentennial events (1988), 71, 81, 82, 84, 215 Channel 9, complaints on Cape York cannibalism claims, 92-93, 215; coverage of (1988) bicentennial events, 81, 83, 84, 86 Channel 10, Australia Day coverage (1988), 82,156,215 Charlton, Peter, on Mabo and reconciliation, 124 Chase, Athol, on omission of Indigenous people from Empty Places documentary, 92

237

Index Chase Manhattan Bank, 133 Cheyenne, Sand Creek massacre (1864), 37 Chinese: Channel 9 reference, 92; Saw's (1988) Sunday Mail article, 47; stereotypes in The Bulletin, 41; Telegraph reference, 99 Chomsky, Noam, 77, 167 Christianity, early interpretations of nonEuropean societies, 37-39 Citizenship, 5, 9 Civil rights, U.S. demonstrations, 44 Clark, Manning, 67 Clarke, Arthur C , 95 Coalition of Aboriginal Organisations Working Party (on native title), 115, 121, 122 Coe, Paul (NSW Aboriginal Legal Services Director), 125, 139, 140, 199 Coercion, Gramsci on, 11 Colonialism, dispossession and rewriting Indigenous history, 16; and racism, 16 Colonial press: Aborigines [Age reference to, 42; framed as problem, 43; representation of, 41-44]; contribution to climate of racial conflict, 42; legitimating dominant ideas on Indigenous people, 43; perpetrator of "white supremacy," 41; popularizing racist scientific theories, 42; in Queensland, 21; silence and omission, 163,195-196, 199 Columbus, Christopher, 33, 35 Comalco, 130, 131, 133 Common sense: and hegemony, 11; and journalists, 172; media role in providing simplistic explanations, 7; in native title debate, 135; in news coverage [of Australian bicentenary (1988), 73; of Brisbane protests (1996), 159, 160]; and racism, 195 [and inferential media racism, 196, 200, 202; routine practices and racist structures, 7] Commonwealth of Australia, inauguration (1901), 5 Commonwealth Games (Brisbane, 1982), Aboriginal protests, 45, 73 Community Aid Abroad, 120 Community Broadcasting Association of Australia (CBAA), Code of Practice, on issue of race, 182

Community Radio and Television, as challenge to dominant ideology, 8 Compact of Understanding, 70 Compensation: Barunga statement on, 76; and dispossession, 123; for extinguishment of native title, 119; Goss on, 125 Compton, Jim (Native American journalist), 51 Consent: and hegemony (Gramsci), 11; manufacturing consent [Hall, 10; Said, 12]; and media, 10, 14, 196 Cook, Captain James: Aboriginal people, descriptions of, 20, 37; Natives, judgement of, 38, 104, 126; omission of sympathetic factual material, 37; voyage of discovery, 37 Coronation Hill, 108 Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation: attempts to forge new relationship, 6; call for positive media images, 6, 118, 129, 140; vision of, 4 Courier-Mail, 74; on Brisbane CBD native title claim, 123-124; column for Aboriginal speaker, 178, 181, 200, 203, 216, 217; Cairns Post reporting Indigenous affairs, 148-151; coverage [of Brisbane protest rallies (1996), 153-160; of native title debate, 116, 123-140; of proposed Cape York spaceport, 91, 94, 96-111]; on compensation, 124, 126; Mabo and "average Australians," 127 Court, Richard (WA Premier), 119, 128 Cree, opposition to James Bay Hydro development (1991), 51-52,56 Criminal Justice Commission (CJC), 185 Cronau, Peter, study of mining industry native title opinion poll (1993), 121 Cultural McCarthyism, 130, 134, 135, 136 Cultural resistance, by "subordinate" peoples, 8-9 Culture, 13-14; "a constitutive social process" (Williams), 13; "lived practices" and "practical ideologies" (Hall), 13-14 Current Affair, A, 11, 81, 86 Daily Sun, The (Brisbane), 216 Dampier, William, description of Aborigines, 37 Darwin, 97, 180

238 Darwin, Charles, racism congruent with notions of evolution, 16 David, Dan (Mohawk, journalist): on Canadian media workers and Native issues, 51; on media coverage of Oka (Kanesatake) uprising, 57 Dawson, Sir Daryl (High Court judge), 129, 138 Deaths in custody, Aboriginal, see Aboriginal deaths in custody Deemal, Francis (Cape York Land Council coordinator), 104 Defamation and Racial Vilification laws, in Australia, 168-169 Department of Aboriginal Affairs, 20 Department of Transport Communication and Arts (Appendix 4), 222-223; Statement of Principles for Reporting Indigenous Issues in Australia, 181 Discourse, Foucault on, 14 Discursive formation, analysis, 213-215, 217; Foucault on, 14 Dispossession: and compensation, 123; of Indigenous people, 3 [history of, rewritten following, 16]; Grassby on, 42; media defense of, 42; Reynolds, Henry, on, 40; Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody on (1991), 70; and spiritual damage, 40 Dodson, Mick (former ATSIC Social Justice Commissioner), 5, 125, 140 Dodson, Pat (chairperson of Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation), 115, 118, 140 Donnelly, Kevin, 136 Dower, John: on racism, 16; on stereotypes, 2 [use of racial, 16] Drummond, Doug (Federal Court judge), 134 Edinburgh, Duke of [Prince Phillip] (international president of World Wide Fund for Nature), 103-104, 109 Edmonton Journal, 35 Einfeld, Marcus (Federal Court judge), 130, 138 Endeavour River, 104 Enlightenment, the, and origins of racism, 15-16 Ernabella, 205

Index Eskimo, see Inuit Ethnic Australians, perception of media misrepresentation, 49 Ethnocentrism, 15, 16 Ethnography, 166 Eva Valley Station: documentary on, 121; Indigenous land summit (1993), 120 Ewing, Geoffrey, 131 Eyre, Edward John, ethnographic accounts of Aboriginal people (1840s), 39-40 Fairfax Group, 170 Farnham, John (Australian of Year, 1988), 82 Federation of Australian Radio Broadcasters (FARB), Code of Practice on reporting issues of race, 181 Federation of Commercial Television Stations (FACTS), Code of Practice on reporting issues of race, 181, 182, 185 First Fleet (1788), 4, 19; arrival in Sydney, 33, 67; re-enactment projects, 71, 87 First Nation peoples, 54, 70, 166. See also Native Americans Fischer, Tim (Federal National Party Leader), 127, 130, 131, 136 Fitzgerald Inquiry, 167 Flaherty, Robert, documentary film Nanook of the North {\92\\ 52 Flinders Island Chronicle (1836), 39, 205 Fogarty, Lionel, 154 Foley, Gary, 75, on rumored Australia Day violence (1988), 76-77, 79, 82 Fort Robinson, Cheyenne massacre, 37 Foucault, Michel, 14 Foundation for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Research Action (FAIRA), 79, 108 France, press traditions, 35 Frankfurt School, Said on, 10 Franks, Arnold, 140 Fraser government, 68 Fraser Island, 130 Freedom from Hunger, 120 Freedom of Information Conference, 177 Freedom's Journal (1827), 39 Free Press, Hall on, 11 French Language Press (Canada), coverage of Native American issues, 53 French Revolution, 16, 36

Index Gandy, Oscar H., Jr.: contested and negotiated meaning of race, 15; failure of media on minority audiences, 20; on identity, 1; media reproduction of racism, 19; on racial categories, 15, 18 Garrison, William Lloyd, and Liberator, 39 Gazette (Sydney), 35 Genocide, Lattas on, 17 Gerrymander, Queensland, 21 Gitlin, Todd, on "media frames," 12 Gladstone, 110, 133 Globe and Mail, The, 54; Oka uprising, coverage of, 56-57; reporters Platiel, York, 56, 201 Gold Coast Bulletin, 94 Goss, Wayne (Queensland Premier), 102, 104, 119; on compensation and native title, 125; on "crazy ambit claims," 126, 130, 154 Gove Peninsula, Yirrkala petition to veto mining, 4 Governmentality, and Indigenous people in Queensland, 21; in Western Australia, 202 Graham, Mary, 14-15 Gramsci, Antonio, 10-13; founder of Italian Communist Party, 11; consent and coercion, 11; Cultural Writings, 12; hegemony as "cultural resource management," 13; interpretation of Marxism, 13 Grand Banks, 33 Grassby, Al (Community Relations Commissioner), on media and Indigenous Australians, 42 Grey, George, ethnographic accounts of Aboriginal people (1840s), 39 Gulf War, 168 Gurindji, 4 Hackett, Robert A., 204, 209 Hall, Stuart: "articulation," theory of, 11; construction of cultural identity, 18; on culture and ideology, 13-14; editorial comment as device, 48; ideological production and media, 12; on ideology, 10-12; manufacture of consent, 10; meaning of "free press," 12; on media [production of dominant ideology, 172, 215; media and "preferred meanings,"

239 12]; on news production, 169; racism and humor, 47-48 Hand, Gerry (Aboriginal Affairs Minister), 76,77 Hanson, Pauline, 2, 201; One Nation Party [Asian concerns with, 3, 150, 168, 201; political fortunes of, 2] Harper, Elijah (former Ojibway-Cree chief), stand on Meech Lake Accord, 56 Harris, Stephen, on compensation for dispossession, 123 Hawke, Bob (Australian Prime Minister): Australia Day address (1988), 70, 76; on democracy, 81, 108; on treaty, 69-70, 88 Hawke government: election (1983), 68,69; on land rights, 69; on treaty, 69 Hegemony, 11-13; and Aboriginalism, 18, 169; Aboriginal voice counterhegemonic (Beckett), 17; as common sense, 11; "cultural resource management," 13; as intellectual and moral leadership, 13; "lived system of meanings and values" (Williams), 11; and media [mainstream, 8; working in, 11; and texts (Hall), 12]; relations of power, consent, and authority, 11 Henderson, Gerard, on native title, 125 Herald and Weekly Times, 187 Herald and Weekly Times Professional Practice Policy, 184 Herbert, Shane, on media coverage of native title debate, 128 Herman, Edward, 77, 167 High Court of Australia: crisis for status quo, 198, 199, 208, 215, 216; decision on Murray Islanders' land claim (1982), 116; "judicial revolution," 122, 123-125, 128-130, 135, 141, 196, 197; media [coverage, 21, 115-116; reaction, 6; and sources, 201, 208]; native title decision [Mabo (\992), 1, 10,37; Wik{\996), 1]; on terra nullius, 21,93, 103, 111, 117, 142, 163 Hippocrates, Cratis, 10 Hobson, Isaac (Cape York community representative), 96 Hodge, Robert, on Aboriginalism, 18 Holding, Clyde (Aboriginal Affairs Minister), 69 Holland, press traditions, 35

240

Index

Hollingworth, Peter (Archbishop of Brisbane), 130 Hollows, Fred, 136 Holt, Lillian, on "collective healing," 17 Holub, Renate, 209 Hope Vale, Aboriginal community, 157 Hopi: -Navajo land "dispute," 53; relocation dispute in ignored by press (1980s), 44 Home, Donald, 41 Howard, John (Opposition Leader, Prime Minister), on "cultural McCarthyism," 130,134, 136 Hughes, Robert, 67 Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission: Cairns complaints on coverage of People Timm incident (1986), 46, 168, 176; on media practice, 178, 186; Report of the National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia (Appendix, 3), 220-221 Hummock Hill, 110 Hydro-Quebec, 51

205; growth, 10; influence, 9; means of cultural production, 8; Radio [4AAA, 121; 4ZZZ programs, 215; Rum Jungle, 120]; reframing Aboriginality, 20; as solution to racial stereotyping, 6 Indigenous Peace Plan (Canberra, 1993), proposed native title rights, 118 Indigenous people(s): in Australian society, dispossession and continuing presence of, 3; framework for reporting Indigenous affairs in Australia, 35; and ideological frames, 12; "imagined" [by nonIndigenous people, 9; in Queensland colonial press, 21]; marginalized, 196; and media [dominant images of in, 20; framing of, 19; noncooperation with mainstream, 7, 58, 73, 77; portrayal of in, 43, 44, 58]; and Queensland governmentality, 21; resistance to cultural domination, 9; social

Identity: Aboriginal, and Western philosophical examinations of race, 15; Australian cultural, and Indigenousness, 3; in Courier-Mail Cairns Post study, 148-149; formation of, 7; Gandy on, 1; Indigenous, 19 [and nation building, 6 7 68]; and media, 206-208; and race, 14; and racism, 18; role of, 1. See also Aboriginality Ideology, 10-14; "articulation" (Hall), 1112; frameworks of understanding, 11; in media, 172 [during native title debate, 136]; as struggle [ideological, over representation, 50; as social, 12] Imperialism, and racism, 16 Indian Rebellions (United States), ignored by media, 37 Indians, see Native Americans Indian Wars (United States), use of racial stereotypes, 16 Indigenous media: in ABC, 51, 178, 183, 196, 198, 205-207; Awaye, ABC Radio Indigenous arts program, 121; coverage [of Australia Day march (1988), 81; of bicentenary (1988), 72-73]; demands for control of Indigenous images, 4; enterprises, 8-9; establishment, 4; Flinders Island Chronicle (1836), 39,

Indios, 33 Injinoo-Cowal Creek, 111 Innu: experience of mainstream media, 54; objections to military test flights, 53 Institute of Public Affairs, 69, 131 Institution of Engineers Australia, 93 International Convention for Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, Australia signatory to, 1 International Decade of World's Indigenous People, 9 International Year of World's Indigenous Peoples (1993), 9, 117, 123 Inuit, 51-52, media image of, 53 Inuktitut, 51 Invasion (of Australia), 33, 36; Invasion Day, 70, 72, 79, 82, 83 Italy, 173

disadvantage, 3; stolen children, 3;

struggle to reclaim identities, 19; urban,

construction of as "problems," 12

Jagera People, 207 James Bay, Cree opposition to hydro development (1991), 51 James Cook University, 116 Jawoyn People, 120 Johnston, Elliott (Commissioner, Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody) on reporting of Aboriginal people and issues, 177, 218

Index Jones, Alan, 137 Jones, John Lee, 138, 140 Journalism/journalists: Aboriginal culture, unfamiliarity with, 75; Aboriginal figures, accreditation and failure to identify, 77, 80, 199-200; codes of ethics, 179-184; colonial practices, 2 1 22; common sense, 7; conflict as primary news value, 201; as "crosscultural guide" (Alia), 166, 196; cultural role, 88; day-to-day, 206; decontextualization, 6, 80-81; dialogue with Indigenous culture, 142, 197-201; education, 203-205; emergence of modern journalism (Nord), 34-35; and "facts," 167; ideological role, 172; institutional roles, 170; "managing symbolic arena," 169; and Native American issues (Mander), 52-53; need for recognition of cultural diversity (Weston), 58; "New Journalism," 172; objectivity, 164; practices reinforce and stereotype culture (Weston), 5; professionalism, 164, 168, 171, 172-176;

public, and The Bulletin, Telegraph, 41; and racial vilification legislation, 168;

reporting on Hanson, Pauline, 201;

representation of Indigenous people, 4-7; self-censorship, 164, 167, 171; and

stereotypes of popular culture (Weston),

50; "structure of attitude and reference,"

6, 201; "structured overaccessing," 169;

"structured subordination" to sources, 170; "for sustainable democracy," 204;

sources [symbiotic relationship with, 79, 138-140, 148, 152, 167; use of, 75-77, 79-80]. See also Media; News

Kahtou (Vancouver Native newspaper), 53 Kanakas, 42. See also Melanesians Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), title to traditional owners, 45, 180 Katherine, 120 Katter, Bob Jr., 129 Keate, George, voyages to South Pacific, 38 Keating, Paul (Australian Prime Minister): acknowledges "two centuries of atrocities," 9; and native title [debate, 116, 118, 125, 130, 131, 138, 140,216; and political agenda, 6] Kennedy, Edmund, 94

241 Kennett, Jeff (Victorian Premier), 119 Kepple, Wampoo, 100, 106, 108, 198 Kerindun, Tony (Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation spokesperson), 140 Kerner, Otto, 176 Kerner Commission (National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders): on media, 176; on representation of African Americans in press, 45 Kernot, Cheryl, 132 Kimberley Lands Council, and anti-land rights lobby, 44 King George Square (Brisbane): Aboriginal protest (1988), 82, 83; Aboriginal rallies (1996),151,153-155 Kirby, Justice Michael, Age article, 87 Koch, Tony, 203 Koori(s), 15; Murri/Koori Radio, 78, 181, 182, 206; visual representation, 43, 70 Koori Mail, 207 Kuuku Ya'u People, and proposed Cape York spaceport, 92, 95, 96, 102, 104, 107 Land rights: Aboriginal movement for, 4; ANOP poll (1985), 69; anti-land rights lobby (1984), 44; Australian protests (1960s), 44; Barunga statement, 76; and Cape York spaceport, 97,98,101-108, 110-111; "common sense," violation of, 159, 198; Duke of Edinburgh on, 103104; Hawke government on, 69; Holding on, 69; Labor Party on, 69; Murray Islanders' High Court action (1982), 116, 117, 142, 148, 155; Northern Territory government anti-land rights campaign, 45; UN criticism of Australian Government, 1; West Australian opinion poll (1985), 44-45. See also Native Title Land Rights Act (Northern Territory), government attempts to weaken, 45 Land Rights News, 95, 105-106, 109, 198, 207 Land Rights Queensland, 207 Langton, Marcia, 3; on Aboriginality, 1920, 123; on Indigenous control of images, 4; on media coverage of Ranger uranium mine approval, 44; social justice banished from public rhetoric, 142, 188 La Perouse, 78, 79; Count de, 38 Lattas, Andrew: on class and racist literature, 16-17; genocide, 17

242 Lavarch, Michael (federal attorney general), 134, 138 Lawson, Sylvia, on The Bulletin, 41 Lee, Tony (member National Native Title Tribunal), 122 Lennon, Mia, 100 Libel, 168 Liberalism, 13 Liberal Party, 130, 131,136 Liberator, 39 Lincoln, Abraham, 37 Lloyd, Clem, on influences on Australian journalism, 35 Lockhart River, Aboriginal community, 93, 96, 97, 106 London Missionary Society, 38 Louis St John Johnston Award, 203 Louis XVI, 38 Loyalty Islands, 42 Lynham, Paul, 76 Mabo, Bonita, 128, 138 Mabo, Eddie, 116, 126, 133 Mabo, Eddie Jr., 128, 138 Mabo, Mario, 140 Mabo decision, see High Court of Australia, native title decision (1992). See also Native Title MacBean, John, 48 Maddock, Professor Kenneth, 131, 141 Mander, Gerry: on dominant media images of Native Americans, 52-53; on reporting of Native issues, 52 Manitoba, Legislature vote on Meech Lake Accord, 56 Mansell, Michael, 17, on Aboriginal sovereignty, 75-76, 78, 80, 82; on Mabo, 117 Marxism: Classical, 11; Gramsci on, 13; Said on Western, 10 Mason, Sir Anthony (Chief Justice of High Court), defense of native title decision, 129 McCrann, Terry, 126 McGuinness, Padraic, 117 McMullen, Jeff, 92 Media: advertisers, influence of, 5-6; audience, construction of, 6; Australia, "imagining," 9, 142; codes of ethics, 179-184; "common sense" and

Index reproduction of racist structures, 7; complaints and enforcement, 184; and context, 151-152; cultural institution, role as, 88; cultural management, 19; decontextualization, 6-7; and democracy, 167; frames, Gitlin on, 12; "freedom," 167-168; and hegemony, 11-14; Indigenous people [demands of, for control of representation in, 4; dissatisfaction of, 7, 44-46, 49-55, 73, 77, 150; exclusion of, 163; framework for reporting on, 147; misrepresentation of, 4-7, 36, 50-55]; minorities, failure on (Gandy), 20; Native Americans, coverage of, 50-58; native title debate, role in, 141; omission, 10; ownership, concentration of, 6, 164, 169, 170; as primary source of information, 91, 116, 141, 164; professionalism, 172-176; race [relations, 150-151; representation of, 176-188; and self-regulation, 45-49, 168-169]; racism, and inquiries, 176178, 181; "reflecting reality," 147; regulatory bodies, 48 [inadequacy of, 49, 184-187. See also Australian Broadcasting Authority; Australian Journalists' Association; Australian Press Council]; role of, in twentieth century, 50; and social justice, 142; sources ["structured subordination" to, 170; symbiotic relationship with, 79, 138-140, 148, 152, 167; use of, 75-77, 79-80]; "structured overaccessing," 169; text(s) [and hegemony, 12; Pillai on, 12, 201, 215; "preferred meanings" (Hall), 12]; violence and controversy, focus on, 44. See also Indigenous media; Journalism Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance (MEAA), 179, 180,202-203 Medina, Brett, 140 Meech Lake Accord, Native rejection of, 56 Melanesians, 42 Melbourne, 72, 87, 136, 184 Mercer, Colin, on "politics of identity," 86 Meriam people, 116, 117 Messagestick, on People article (1986), 46 Mickler, Steve: "practical ethics," 202; study on Sattler, Howard, 49; on talkback methods, 49 Midnight Oil, 180

Index Miles, Chris, 68 Miller, Perry, 54 Minorities: David on, 51; inability to speak out, 20; media misrepresentation of, 4 9 50; representation in Canadian media, 53 Mishra, Vijay, on Aboriginalism as hegemonic system, 18 Missisippi River, 33 Mitchell, Chris, 150 Mohawk, and Oka (Kanesatake) uprising, 51,55-57 Moloney, John, 84 Montreal, 56 Moore, Marie, 86 Moreton Bay Courier, 41 Morgan, Hugh, 117, 129-130, 131 Morning Chronicle (London), 47 Morris, Alwyn (Mohawk, Olympic kayaker), on media: coverage of Oka uprising (1990), 51; ignorance of historical context, 51 Morris, Anthony, on media coverage of native title debate, 128 Morris, Brian, 138 Moses, Chief Ted (Cree UN representative), on Oka uprising, 56 Moss, Irene (Race Discrimination Commissioner), 131, 138 Muecke, Stephen, on anthropology, 18 Multiculturalism, defense of, 3, 87, 147 Munro, Lyle (Aboriginal Unity Organisation), 75, 77, 79-80, 84 Murdoch, Rupert, 170, 187 Murray Islanders, 116, 117, 128; High Court [action seeking confirmation of traditional land rights (1982), 116; Mabo native title decision (1992), 93, 115, 136 Murri Community, in Brisbane, 8, 15; Murri/Koori Radio, 78, 181, 182, 206 Musgrave Park (Brisbane): Aboriginal media center (1982), 45, 83; protest march (1996), 156, 181 NASA, 94 National Aboriginal Communications Society (NACS), 51 National Film Board of Canada, "Challenge for Change" program, 52 National Indigenous Media Association of Australia (NIMAA), 205

243 National Indigenous Radio Service, 208 National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia: on media practice, 178; recommendations (Appendix, 3), 220221 Nationalist Discourse, and Indigenous claims for autonomy, 68 National Media Forum, 181 National Native Title Tribunal, 122 National Nine News, 77; coverage of Brisbane protests (1996), 151-158; rumored Australia Day Boggo Road Jail uprising, 74, 83 National Party, 124, 127, 131 National Press Club, Hawke's speech (1988), 70 National Union of Journalists (NUJ), Code of Conduct, race relations guidelines, 179-180, 183 National Working Party on Portrayal of Women in Media, 170 Native American Public Broadcasting Consortium, 52 Native Americans: American quincentenary, 68, 70; culture, mainstream, impact of, 51; film images, 52; land rights, 56-57; languages, 51; media [coverage in 1960s and 1970s, 44; mainstream, participation in, 51-52, 58; and representation, 50-58, 195, 198]; political activism in 1970s, 52; press images of, 19; Royal Commission into Native Affairs, 56; stereotyping of, 43 Native journalists: in mainstream, 51; and Native media, 58. See also Barbour, Ronald; Compton, Jim; David, Dan; Wagamese, Richard Native Title: Commonwealth Discussion Paper, 116, 119, 125; compensation, 119, 125; High Court's decision in media (1992), coverage of, 115-116; Indigenous voices, omission of, 138-140, 163, 196, 198-201; "judicial revolution," 122; debate, 115-143 [framing of, 10, 124, 127-129]; opinion polls, 119-121; political agenda, 6; Queensland Newspapers' role in constructing, 116, 123-143; race and racism in, 129-130, 133, 135-138, 139, 141; ramifications for Indigenous/non-indigenous relations,

244 142; and reconciliation, 118, 122-124, 135, 141, 142; unresolved issues, 117. See also High Court of Australia on native title; Land Rights Native Title Act, amendments (1998): criticized by UN, 1; goes into effect (1 January 1994), 122, 151, 157, 201 Native Title Bill, passed by Australian Senate (1993), 115, 121, 122, 130, 198 Navajo: press ignore relocation dispute (1980s), 44; U.S. intervention in HopiNavajo land "dispute," 53 New England, 34 Newfoundland, 33 New Hebrides, 42 New Journalist, 171 News: Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal sources, treatment of, 80; Aboriginal protest march (1988), coverage of, 8 1 83; confrontation and violence, 73, 78, 159; construction of, 155-156, 158; definition (Nord), 34 [preferred, reproduction of, 79]; as "frame" (Tuchman), 167; Indigenous concerns, coverage of, 71, 88; media ownership, concentration of, 164; newsroom organization and production processes, 48, 49, 163-164 [Hall, 169]; professional ideologies, 166-168; reporting "the everyday," 10; structured overaccessing," 169; and truth and "objectivity," 13; values, 169, 171 News Ltd, 170,187 New South Wales: Brewarrina "riot" (1987), 49, 125; documentation of early dealings with Indigenous people, 39 New Zealand, 34; Indigenous access to media, 142, 180,205 Ngcobo, Loretta, 164 Nicaragua, Indians, 36 Noble Savage, 38, 40, 44, 58, 195 Noongar(s), 206 Noonuccal, Oodgeroo, 138, 140 Nord, John Paul: definition of "news," 34; emergence of modern journalism, 34-35 North America, role of twentieth-century press in constructing images of Indigenous populations, 50, 172, 175 Northern Cheyenne, trek (1878), 37 Northern Territory, 44; government antiland rights campaign, 45, 75, 76, 103;

Index Indigenous land summit at Eva Valley station (1993), 120-121, 180 Northern Territory News, Mabo decision coverage (1992), 115 Nungar(s), 15, 150, 182 Nyoongar(s), 206 Nyungar(s), 15 O'Donoghue, Lois (ATSIC Chair), 125, 131,140 Ojibway, 51,55, 197 Oka (Kanesatake): David, Dan, on media coverage, 57; defined by The Globe and Mail, 57; issues leading to, 56; media coverage, 56-57; Mohawk uprising (1990), 51, 55-57; omission and suppression of Native perspective, 57; Sher, Julian, on, 57 Omeenyo, Eddie, 96 One Nation Party: Asian concerns with, 3, 150, 168, 201; political fortunes, 2. See also Hanson, Pauline Ontario, 55, 207 Opinion polls: ANOP poll on land rights (1985), 69; on native title, 119-121 O'Reagan, Tom, 206 Oregon Report into Journalism Education, 175 Orientalism, 18 O'Shane, Pat: Aboriginal people "defined, undefined, redefined," 20, 83; on oppression, dispossession, and disempowerment, 19 Osnaburgh, media coverage of Tutu's visit (1990), 55, 207 Owenadeka, on relationship between Native people and media, 50-51 Pablo, Gordon (Wuthathi Council Chairman), on proposed Cape York spaceport, 95, 96, 104-108 Pacific Islands, laborers to Australia, 42 Packer, Kerry, 170 Papua New Guinea, 91, 97, 98, 126 Patterson, Thomas, diversity and press freedom, 173 Pearson, Noel (Cape York Land Council spokesperson): on Cape York spaceport, 102, 106, 107; on native title debate, 122, 125,132,142 Peninsula Regional Council of ATSIC, and

Index Cape York Peninsula land use agreement, 3 Penthouse Magazine, Cree concerns with planned article, 51-52 People Magazine, Timm article (1986), 7, 45-46 Perce Nez, rebellion (1877), 37 Perkins, Charles (Aboriginal Affairs Department head), 75, 76, 84, 137-140, 199 Perth, 35,47,49, 150, 164 Philippines, press traditions, 35 Phillip, Captain Arthur, 33, 83 Pickering, Michael, investigation of cannibalism claims, 47 Pilger, John, 67; on Australian apartheid, 81; -Ransom interview, 85-86; Secret Country, A, 85 Pillai, Poonam, on media texts, 12 Pitjantjatjara People, and anti-land rights campaign by Northern Territory government, 45, 202 Platiel, Rudy (The Globe and Mail reporter), 56 Police, as sources, 76; symbiotic reaction to media, 79 Political correctness, 2, 135, 136, 165 Poncas, 37 Press: Council, see Australian Press Council; diversity and freedom (Patterson), 173; "free press," meaning of (Hall), 11; Indigenous people [coverage of, 44; images of, 50]; nation, concept of, 13; Native Americans [Canadian Frenchlanguage coverage of, 53; images of, 19; misrepresentation of, 39,45]; Queensland colonial press, 21; racism in, 41, 43, 195— 196; restructuring, in 1920s, 43. See also Colonial Press Priest, Marcus, reporting Brisbane Aboriginal protests (1996), 154, 156157,200 Prince Charles, 67 Progress, and white Australia policy, 42 Public journalism, 41 QSTV, warned by ABT on Aboriginal programming, 48 Quebec, 51-57; Oka uprising, 55-57 Queensland, 7, 10,20-21; background, 21; Brisbane Aboriginal protests (1996), 151,

245 155-157, 163; Cape York spaceport, 9 1 111; colonial press, 21,41-43; Fitzgerald Inquiry, 167, 170, 196, 198, 200, 207; Indigenous population, 21; native title debate, 116, 117, 119, 124-130, 132, 135, 136; pearling industry labor, 42; population, 20,45-48; racism in early press, 41, 43 Queensland government: and Cape York spaceport,93-95,98, 102, 104, 106, 111; and native title debate, 116, 127, 131, 132 Queensland Mining Council, 130 Queensland Newspapers, 10; on Cape York spaceport and Indigenous issues, 98, 106, 108, 109-111; Information Service, 215; native title debate, coverage of, 116, 123-140, 147, 198 Rabuntja, Wenten, and Hawke on treaty, 76 Race: Aboriginal identity and Western philosophical examinations of race, 15; definitions of, 20; Gandy on, 15; genesis of term, 15; stereotypes, 1; transition in meaning, 16 Race Discrimination Commissioner, 131 Racial Discrimination: Act (1975), 122, 168; complaints to Australian Community Relations Office, 42; Racial Hatred Act (1995), 169 Racial Stereotyping, see Stereotyping Racism: and Aboriginal women, 40; and anthropology, 17-18; in Australia, overseas reporters on, 77; and "common sense," 7 [and inferential racism, 196, 200, 202]; definition, 15; in early press, 41-43; humor, 4 7 ^ 8 , 92-93; and Indigenous identity, construction of, 1819; "inferential," in media, 136; managing ideas of, 188; and media [complaints and enforcement, 184-187; coverage of Indian issues, 53, 84-86; Indigenous affairs, reporting of, 147; industry changes, 182-183; and professional ideologies, 175; racism and reporting in, 188; and racist ideologies, 164-166,168169; reproduction of, 19 (Gandy); selfregulation of media, 45-48, 168-169]; National Inquiry into Racist Violence in Australia on media practice, 178; in native title debate, 129-130, 133, 135-

246 138; NUJ guidelines on, 179-180; origins of, 15-18; Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody on, 176 Radio 2KY, firing and reappointment of announcer Ron Casey, 48 Radio 4AAA Murri Country (Brisbane): relationship with Murri community, 8; weekly audience, 8 Radio 4ZZZ, 215 Radio 6PR, talkback host Howard Sattler, 49 Radio Goolarri (Broome), 36 Radio Redfern, 72 Radio Rum Jungle, 120 Rainbow Beach, 134 Ranger Uranium Mine: approval by federal government, 44; Langton on media coverage "Stone Age journalism," 44 Ransom, David, and Pilger interview, 85-86 Rationalism, 13 Real, Michael, 215 Reconciliation, 1; Cape York land use agreement, 3; "fair go" rhetoric, 5; Hawke's Australia Day address (1988), 70; and native title, 118, 124, 142, 195209; withdrawal of opposition support, 68. See also Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation Referendum on Aboriginal citizenship (1967), 19,20,83 Reid, John, 69 Reynolds, Henry: on dispossession and "ancient injustice," 40; in native title debate, 116,117,141,157 Robbins, Bruce, 174 Robinson, Ray (Aboriginal Legal Service head), 82, 129; media source, 133, 138— 140, 199 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, "noble savages," idea of precivilization, 36 Rowlandson, John (Wataway Communications Society worker), 55, 197,207 Rowse, Tim, "moral community" as dimension of "imagined community," 122, 123 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (1991): Concerning Media Reporting of Indigenous Affairs (Appendix, 2), 132, 151, 154,218-219; on dispossession and high rates of

Index Aboriginal imprisonment, 40; on media self-regulation, 168; recommendations, 205-208; on reporting of Aboriginal people and issues, 50, 176-178, 181,203, 205 Royal Commission into Native Affairs, 56 Said, Edward, 10; "contrapuntal reading," 12, 18, 206; manufacture of consent, 12; "structures of attitude and reference," 12, 18 Sandoz, Mari, on "great red hunter" and "bloodthirsty savage," 37 Saskatchewan Indian Federated College (SIFC), studies showing underrepresentation of Native news, 54 Sattler, Howard (6PR talkback host), 49; Mickler's study of, 49 Saw, Ron: cannibalism article (1988), 47; Press Council complaint on, 47 SBS (Special Broadcasting Service): Aboriginal issues, guidelines on reporting, 182; Indigenous people [initiatives to promote positive images of, 6, 182; participation of, 51]; Mabo decision (1992), coverage of, 6; Millennium program on Wuthathi opposition to Cape York spaceport, 92 178; racism, policy on combating, 183, 184, 197,215 SBS News, coverage [of bicentennial events (1988), 71, 73, 76-79, 81-84; of Mabo decision (1992), 115] Search (ANZAAS journal), articles questioning proposed Cape York spaceport, 95 Secret Country, A, 85 Seubert, Emilia (and Elizabeth Weatherford), on Native American participation in radio and television, 52 Seven National News, 11 Seven Nightly News: coverage [of bicentennial events (1988), 76, 79, 82, 84; of Brisbane Aboriginal protests (1996), 151,155-156]; gratuitous use of video footage, 185 ShelburneBay,93,96 Sher, Julian (President of Canadian Association of Journalists), on Oka uprising, 57

Index 60 Minutes, reference to Cape York as "an empty place" (1990), 92 Slavery, 16, 37; Melanesians in Australia, 42 Social evolutionism, 39 South Africa, 34, 36 Space Transportation Systems (STS), 97 Spain, press traditions, 35 Special Broadcasting Service, see SBS Spencer, Walter Baldwin, early cinematograph images of Arrernte people, 43-44 Stanner, W. E. H., on "history of indifference," 18, 34 Staten Island, 33 Stereotyping: in colonial literature, 1; Dower on Stereotypes, 2; in European exploration of Australia and South Pacific, 37-38; by Hanson, 2; in Indian wars, 16; by journalists and media, 6, 50, 141, 148, 149, 165, 206; and market, 6; in native title debate, 141; reinforced by Western science, 16; Weston on stereotyping of Native Americans, 5, 19, 43-44, 58; in World War II, 16 Stewart, Les, 140 Stolen children, 3 Structures of attitude and reference, 1, 6 Sunday Mail: coverage [of Cape York spaceport, 91-111; of native title debate, 116, 123-140, 216]; on racism, 48; and Saw [cannibalism article of (1988), 47; defense of, 47-48] Suzuki, David, on TV as communication medium, 205-206 Sweden, 173 Sydney: Aboriginal protests (1938), 4, 70; bicentennial events (1988), 67-88, 125, 159, 160, 197; First Fleet, arrival of, 4, 33; Keating's International Human Rights Day speech (1992), 9 Sydney Harbour, 71-77, 81, 83, 84, 86, 87 Sydney March (Aboriginal "March of Survival," Australia Day, 1988), 71, 72; community radio coverage of, 81-83 Sydney Morning Herald: poll [on compact (1987), 70; Salwick, on native title (1993), 120] Talkback radio: Aboriginal people [coverage of (WA study), 49; negative

247 representation of, 49]; Hanson, Pauline, darling of, 2; Mickler on methods, 49; "reflecting reality," 5 Tanner, Les (former Bulletin art editor), on racism in The Bulletin, 41 Tasmania, 35; Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre, 75-76 Technology: appropriated as tool of resistance, 8, 207-208; imagining and print, broadcast, and information technology, 13 Telegraph, Brisbane, Cape York Peninsula "a seldom-visited expanse," 99 Telegraph, Sydney, and public journalism in 1940s, 41 Television: news representation of Indigenous concerns during bicentennial events (1988), 68-88; Suzuki on TV as communication medium, 205-206 Temple Bay, 92,93, 95-97, 101 terra nullius: Australian Senate on, 67; as construction of European History, 34; declaration (1785), 21; and High Court decision (1992), 21, 93, 117, 142; in media (1988), 73, 79, 93, 117, 115; North American parallels, 54 Tharpuntoo Legal Service, 106 Thursday Island, 78, 109 Tickner, Robert (Aboriginal and Islander Affairs Minister), 103; in native title debate, 119, 120, 124, 125, 128, 129, 131,132,137 Timm, Vern, 45-46 Tompkins, Jane, on Perry Miller, 54 Torres Strait: Indigenous population, 21, 93; Islanders, 71, 78 [demands annoy Hawke, 81,84,92, 110] Torres Strait Islands Coastal Islands Act, passed by Queensland government, overturned by High Court, 116 Townsville, Aboriginal and Islander Media Association complaint against QSTV, 48, 106, 116 Treaty: Barunga Statement (1988), 76; Hawke on, 69-70 [government on, 69] Tuchman, Gaye, "news as frame," 167 Tuckey, Wilson, 132 Turkey Beach, 110 Tutu, Desmond, visit to Osnaburgh, 55, 197, 207

248 TVO Eyewitness News, coverage of bicentennial events (1988), 74, 75, 77, 81,82 Uluru (Ayers Rock), title to traditional owners, 45, 180, 181,202 Umpila people, and proposed Cape York spaceport, 93, 96, 97 UN Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, criticism of Australian government's amendments to Native Title Act (1998), 1 United Kingdom: media and minorities, 196; NUJ Code of Conduct on race relations, 179-180, 183, 187 United States: African Americans, media representation of, 165; American West, myths of, 36; Cape York spaceport, support for, 96; European discovery and settlement, 33, 35-37; "great red hunter" and "bloodthirsty savage" (Sandoz), 37; Indian population on European settlement, 33; journalism, early, 34-35; Kerner Commission, 176-177; media [complicity in extermination of Indigenous peoples, 37; and minorities, 196; studies (Patterson's), 173, 174; vehicle for state propaganda (Herman and Chomsky), 167]; "vacant wilderness," 54 Unmeopa, Santa, 154 Vancouver, 53 VanderLans, Loretta, Mabo article, 117 van Dijk, Teun, 213 van Vuuren, Kitty, 10, 216 Victoria, 119 Villaflor, George, 106 Virginia, 33 Wagamese, Richard (Calgary Herald journalist, Winspeaker columnist), 35 Walkley Awards, for stories on Aboriginal concerns, 50, 203 Wallis, Jim (Cape York Aboriginal spokesperson), 107; before Senate inquiry, 108 Warlpiri Community: dispute with ABC, 44; Media Association code of conduct, 180, 206, 207

Index Warumpi Band, 180 Watson, Ross, 82, 84 Watson, Sam, 124 Wave Hill Station, Gurindji people quit over exploitation, 4 Weatherall, Bob (of FAIRA): in media during bicentennial events (1998), 75, 79, 80, 82, 83; quoted on proposed Cape York spaceport, 103, 108 Weatherford, Elizabeth (and Emilia Seubert), Native American participation in radio and TV, 52 Weipa, 99, 130, 131 Wendt, Jana, 77 West, Dot (station manager of Radio Goolarri), 36 West Australian Chamber of Mines and Energy, 117; native title polls, 119-121 Western Australia, 35-36; Aboriginal veto on mining, 69, 121; govemmentality of Indigenous people, 202, 203; land rights [anti-land rights lobby, 44; opinion poll (1985), 44-45]; mining activity and native title, 122, 150, 165, 181; studies on media coverage of Aboriginal issues, 49 Western Mining, 129, 131 Weston, Mary Ann: on journalists and need for recognition of cultural diversity, 58; on media stereotyping, 165, 195; Native American journalists in mainstream and Native media, 58; stereotyping and media images of Native Americans, 5, 19,4344,58 Wharton, Wayne, 155 Whimp, Kathy, 115 White Australia Policy: in The Bulletin, 41; in Queensland colonial newspapers, 42 Whittaker, Elvi, 202 Wik decision, see Native Title; High Court of Australia Wik People, 130; protest at land acquisition for mining, 131, 134 Wilderness Society, and Cape York Peninsula land use agreement, 3 Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland, and Aboriginal concerns over Cape York study, 94, 95,99, 215 Williams, Raymond: on culture as "a constitutive social process," 13; on hegemony, 11

Index Willis, Arnold (Wuthathi Land Trust Chairman), 97 Wilson, Paul, 155 Windspeaker, 35 Winkler, Earl, 204 Women, institutional bias against, 171 Wounded Knee, 37, 52 Wuthathi: Land Trust, 97, 101, 102, 104, 105, 107; People (Cape York), 92, 93, 95; population figures, 96 Yamayti, 15 Yarrabah, Aboriginal community, 97; accord (1991), 97

249 Yellowstone, 37 Yirrkala People, petition to veto mining on Gove Peninsula (1960s), 4 Yock, Daniel, 154, 185 Yolngu, 15 York, Geoffrey (The Globe and Mail reporter), 56 Yothu Yindi, 118 Yuendumu, Warlpiri community, 44, 180, 206 Yunupingu, Mandawuy (musician, Australian of the Year), 118 Zhao, Yuezhi, 204, 209

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Michael Meadows worked as a print and broadcast journalist for 10 years before moving into journalism education in the late 1980s. His research interests range from the media representation of Indigenous people, through journalism practices, to Indigenous media production in Australia and Canada. He is an Associate Professor of Journalism at Griffith University in Brisbane, Australia.