Why I love libraries. Why we need to respect authors. And why you should read Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia
On August 1, by invitation I spoke at a Copyright Agency event as part of the Australia Pacific Library and Information Conference on the Gold Coast. I spoke about my passion for libraries, about the need to respect the work of authors via copyright, and my latest project Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia. Here are my notes from that event…
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I love libraries. I know that’s not an extraordinary thing to say as an author– of course authors love libraries; they’re a keeping place for our books, libraries are venues for us to meet our readers and librarians spruik our work to their communities. But libraries are more than that to me. They are modern day, man-made sacred sites to me – I feel at peace in libraries, I feel at home, I feel cocooned by the words of writers who want to change the world through literature, just like I do. I think libraries should be respected, valued and acknowledged more for the cultural institutions they are and what they provide to community members.
And of course, I love libraries because they are places where I go to write.
I wrote Not Meeting Mr Right and Avoiding Mr Right in my local, the Bowen Library, Maroubra. I remember thinking at the time how much libraries had changed from the quiet place they once were, to one of energy and sharing – students doing projects together, people being tutored in languages I didn’t understand, kids having story time with toys to be borrowed.
To be honest, I didn’t really appreciate the new noisier space when I was trying to write the great Australian novel. I actually complained once or twice until I found I could book a quiet room for two hours at a time, and I could even take a coffee and some raisin toast in with me. People could eat in libraries – what next? I thought.
I loved working in that space. There were days when I had tears rolling down my cheeks laughing at my own jokes on the pages of Avoiding Mr Right about Peta Tully who would astral travel of a night having sexual encounters in her sleep along the way, while filling the important role of DG of DOMSARIA of a day time. DOMSARIA was the Dept of Media, Sports, Arts, Refugees and Indigenous Affairs. I wonder what people thought looking into the fish bowl as I wrote and entertained myself. Or if they even noticed me at all.
I worked on the edits of my novel Tiddas in the writer’s room inside the QWC at the State Library of QLD. I sat in kuril dhagun Indigenous Knowledge Centre and wrote thousands of words for my novel Our Race for Reconciliation. And I spent a lot of time going through microfiche and writing notes in Cowra library for Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms. I then took that research and those notes and wrote 20,000 words in libraries (and cafes) in Barcelona – as you do.
I was role modelling in a remote community a few years ago and of a night we would all sit around and talk – there was no phone or internet coverage. We went around the group and said what we wanted to be in our next lives. People were shocked that I said I wanted to be a librarian. But all the librarians I’d ever met were happy! It was only a few weeks after a conference with teacher librarians that I left academia. And although I’m not a librarian now, I spend a lot of time in libraries, and I am happier for it. J
I’m on the board of the State Library of QLD and it is an inspiring role to have, and an amazing place to be. I know this isn’t the place to say which library is the best is the country – however…
I’ve done a lot of author talks in libraries and the daytime events are particularly interesting to me. I’ve realised through those events that when I retire I want to just spend my mornings in the library, listening to the visiting author, having a cup of tea and a big piece of madeira cake.
Respect Creators
Libraries to me are like the writer’s heaven – one where we feel at home, safe, protected, valued. And so I’m really looking forward to the digital innovation (Flex) that the Copyright Agency is introducing because it will help ensure fair payments to authors. We need to be valued in actually currency as well.
When people don’t pay to use the work of writers, or what I like to call cultural creators, that punishes us and disrespects the work we do. The question I am always asking people is: when was the last time you went to work and didn’t get paid? I’d like to hear of a new movement of consumers – let’s call them “The Respecters”. If we think about pirating movies, a respector would pay for what they watch, because, particularly in cases like Game of Thrones, they know exactly what they’re getting. Great quality, expensive television with compelling story-telling, a well written script, amazing acting, extraordinary digital effects – a journey to another world – escape.
It’s no different to paying the creators of Australian literature. I’m sure you know that.
If you are already a Respecter, which I’m sure everyone in this room is, then I want to say Mandaang guwu – that’s Wiradjuri for thank you.
Finally, here’s a novel idea from a novelist.
When people shirk at paying writers I suggest they try to write a poem themselves, or a novel, or a community history – that they should spend the time trying to be the creator. They should try sitting in front of a blankscreen for a change and then maybe they’ll come to see that it isn’t easy to create even average material – and it’s a hell of a lot harder to create the really significant works that challenge, transform, entertain, engage and move their readers to think, to act, and even, to read more.
Why you should read Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia
Which leads me to a work that I think does all of that. Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia which is an anthology of over 52 life stories written by people from remote communities, cities, and boarding schools and even from inside prison; and from schoolchildren, university students and grandparents. The anthology includes recollections of growing up Aboriginal in Australia by educators, journalists, academics and activists.
This collection mirrors the society that Aboriginal people live in and engage with every day, so there are motivational and uplifting stories alongside those on suicide; words on feminism and sexuality, as well as football and theatre. Role models and religion and road trips. We are diverse peoples and that’s exactly what growing up Aboriginal means today in Australia.
The authors in my opinion were very generous and courageous in baring their personal and family histories, their pain and heartache, their experiences of racism so that others can learn about what it means to grow up as a First Nations person in a country where they are often viewed and treated as second-class citizens, and sometimes even worse than that.
From Nukunu to Noongar, Wiradjuri to Western Arrernte, Gunditjamara to Gumbaynggirr and many places in between, their experiences will speak to the heart – sometimes calling for empathy, oftentimes challenging stereotypes, always demanding respect.
Anthologies provide a platform for many voices as opposed to just one, and in this case, while it highlights similarities, it also showcases the diversity of our experiences, the diversity of our voices, and our current situations.
As I mentioned there are 52 different contributors – over 50% are female, the youngest is 13 years old, the eldest in her 70s.
Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia demonstrates that we are resilient. We are generous in sharing some very difficult and personal stories. That we want others to understand our lives and lifestyles. That we are a community of people with strong family and community values. That we are strong in identity, and we are proud.
I have received many tweets, and Instagram tags saying that this is should be mandatory reading, of course I agree with that. But let’s be real and know that that’s not going to happen. So, while I’m here in the home of the ‘happy people’ can we agree that it should at least be in every library, and most definitely every university library, in Australia?
Mandaang guwu, thank you.
