North by Southeast Residency: Michelle Eistrup in Busselton #1, Part 2

Michelle Eistrup is currently working with the community of Busselton, as part of the Spaced North by Southeast program.

Michelle Eistrup is a visual artist, who works primarily in video, photography and sound.  She grew up in Jamaica, Paris and New York, and presently resides in Denmark with her family. Her practice explores the history, legacies and denial/absence of colonialism, through four overarching themes: African diaspora identity and expression; politics of recognition; dynamics of isolationism; and embodied rites and rituals.

Here, Michelle shares an update from Busselton.

January to March 2018

t is difficult to describe the last two months, as it has been extremely intense with activity, reflection and I have in a way been in survival mode. The exhaustion I felt when I came home only extended to me how much had been going on in these last two months that ended up feeling like six months. The closeness and relationships I have built with people slowly and intensely along the way have also contributed to my perception and understanding of the environment and its communities. People are living with very different perceptions of their reality, and these are based on their economy, family history, ethnic groups, and social background. This determines what type of access they will have to the Busselton environment, and how they see their social environment.  The entire question of whether or not people can bridge the gap is based on multiple factors of access to these resources, for the most part.  There are those people who break out of the normal social conventions, because they have dared to challenge them in one way or the other, and therefore end up carving their own path and destiny.

I think that it is important to attempt to put questions to a social environment that not everyone is comfortable in talking about. Otherwise you will not be able to step out of the quagmire. If you don’t take chances in asking the difficult questions, you will not grow in your understanding. Moreover, learning demands that you step off the edge of a cliff sometimes, instead of only treading where there is stable land. In the history of British colonialism people have been made to believe that these questions can only be asked and answered by specific groups. This might be tied to the idea of a class system. The divide and conquer mentality also bears repercussion in terms of who can say and speak what, and where you should go and not go.

And so yes, I am a Black woman with a Jamaican background and upbringing, but I believe there are comparisons out there with the aftermath of colonialism, especially extended to the British that has repeated itself in many other contexts within some parts of the Caribbean and Africa. The difference is that in Western Australia, the environment is especially raw/sore as if you are stepping off right after and into a history of slavery and genocide. So by asking questions about people’s perceptions, their answers too will be linked forcefully to their own sense of power and empowerment in their community, or the lack of such a power or representation. The fragmentation that exists is a direct result of this brutal force that has been inflicted into many people’s lives, and continues to bear the reciprocities that people continue to live with in the best way possible. But nightmares still exist and they are reoccurring. So there were days where after I had listened to people- all I could do was go to the beach and stare at the water—where there were moments where I could only speak on mundane things—such as what kind of cows do you have –and listen to small forms of talk here and there.

People’s stories in my project are very powerful, and they really made me reflect on resilience. People have had to survive and forego the odds in the best way possible.  Furthermore, the fragmentation has caused people to create their own groups based on their own feelings of not fitting in to the accepted norm, and this alternative route becomes a form of survival and empowerment.

Many of the participants in this project have made a huge effort to share their stories and some have even made the leap to question their own lives- including myself. Perceptions of the other when turned on the individual’s body taught lessons of unrevealed racism within this environment. Once you begin on this type of journey and reflection, is there one right way to do it? I do not think so.

The thing is that loss; pain, joy and longing take up space in both the body and mind. And you need to give yourself fully to understand, that being in control is not necessarily a part of this process. And at the same time, the institutional forces and official communication wish you to stay in control. Even nature itself is regulated big time.

I grew up in Jamaica. Here this form of precision was not enforced as harshly as I now understand that it must have been in Western Australia. There is a type of propriety that even extends into the landscape, and there is a morality that is constantly there as inflection of right and wrong. For instance, just think of the load of road signs: don’t speed—you are too tired take a break - Falling branches  - Watch out etc. etc.

I can't count the number of times I heard people here speaking of the beauty of this environment, and then thinking wow…  hardly anyone has spoken about the fragility and brutality lying right below the surface. At the same time, what is natural beauty? And what is controlled natural beauty? And where do the two divide? Is a swamp less beautiful than a vineyard? It is all a question of perception and aesthetics.

The history of the European settlement must have impacted this construction and gaze. Farmers have had to control the bush and the animals or they would take over the pastoral land of grazing.  The bush is still very present, the natural chaos and order that exists imposes itself on the created landscape. That is why sharks are also very present in the water, since they are no longer killed. Some speak about this fact, others prefer not too. But the beach becomes a danger space as well. Interestingly enough I did not see any shark signs. After all, tourism is a big industry in this area of the world.

I have learned a lot by having the opportunity to step into people’s homes, where elements are not constructed, but actually reveal true remnants of life, with deep memories displayed on the wall.  When this kind of trust is given to you, it is your responsibility to handle it in the best way possible.

Thank yous

Mike Clark, who is one of the assistants at ArtGeo, the Busselton’s Art Center that hosts my residency, will assist me in my filming and photographic projects. Mike suggested that I visit one of the old settlements and milk farms by the Tuart forest. It has a history. There was an advertisement placed in the British newspapers asking people to come and join in creating this dairy village. Many people came but the logistics were much more difficult than people anticipated, as the land needed to be cleared and nothing was in place, so some left and others stayed and made a go of it. This settlement is not far away from one of the first settler-homes…. Layman’s home called Wonnerup.

In the past month, all the previous residents have vacated the community and so it is the aftermath of this departure that I am observing.

One cannot escape the fact that every time you encounter nature there is some warning sign that has been put up there to make you aware of the danger present. So don’t imagine any casual strolls through it

DANGER 1080 POISON BAITS laid in this area. NO TRAPPING OR SHOOTING. Secure livestock and Domestic animals.

DANGER mining operations no unauthorized entry KEEP OUT

WARNING. Underground telephone cables in this vicinity BEFORE DIGGING OBTAIN CABLE LOCATION DETAILS BY RINGING.

OVERNIGHT CAMPING and sleeping in a vehicle is prohibited and restricted in public area in the City of BUSSELTON

WARNING watch for REVERSING VEHICLE

DISEASE RISK AREA

I don’t have an animal, or a gun, not planning to dig a hole—no just want to take a walk and photograph. This too presents a problem as I must look on the ground and wear noisy clothes so that I do not step on a snake out there… and I don’t understand what does it mean exactly that this is a disease risk area? Lord, I am too much a FOREIGNER—here, .not understanding the codes exactly. So the danger factor is high out there! And it’s more than likely that if you have located a beautiful natural landscape you want to get to….sorry, there is also a fence to prevent your intrusion. The government seems to be unconcerned with the fact that pedestrians have limited access these hotspots. Maybe if there was more of an attempt to integrate humans with their environment through natural paths and walking areas without too much concrete, signs would not be necessary and nature lovers would explore more. I spoke to a hobby photographer in the supermarket who told me of his encounters with fences and how he hops over them, we also talked about the notions attached to neighbours’ rules and the morality of private property, of what is owned, and what is free. It is possibly the same kind of hidden history that is entangled with the question of morality versus ethics inherent in contrast between the morality the herders, settlers, and fences versus the open ended, nomadic existence? “Morality” or “settler-morality” is an aspect or code that seems to be a central question. These warnings seem to date way back to the early settlers. There is a sign that was issued for the department of native welfare—this was meant for Nyungar people living in Busselton.

The courtroom in Busselton stands as a bastion/stark reminder of law and order. I had a great interview this week, which clarified that this was a small and petty charge court. Normally, for more serious crimes people were sent to Albany or Perth if this was needed. However, while looking at some documents at the Wonnerup estate, there was a distinct difference in the kind of fines that were given to settlers and Aborigines. Charles Bussell, one of the first Busselton’s settlers (hence the town’s name), was only fined a shilling and discharged for the manslaughter of Cummangoort, an aboriginal child, whereas three months imprisonment wad given to two Nyungar men, Bomke and Bale, for stealing flour.

I started reading ‘The Protectors - A Journey Through the Whitefella Past’ by Stephen Gray. It is totally and utterly devastating, and as a black person you don’t feel comfortable after reading his description of the past, which is so very recent, and stepping out into the streets of Busselton. At the same time, people are extremely friendly, so the dichotomy is kind of schizophrenic. If you look at the landscape and travel a bit, I cannot but agree there has been an unparalleled near extinction of Aboriginal people in the Western Australian areas I have seen. The absence is so distinct you cannot be in any way be uncertain of it.  I have been and travelled to many post-colonial societies in Western and Eastern Africa and the Caribbean, and I have never seen so many white colonizers (British/white Australians) dominate the environment. The travel down to Northcliffe through Nannup reiterated this point, and to me it is shocking— the place could be a small town in Britain- there is absolutely no difference- and I am guessing that I will see a more varied migrant population in Britain than I am finding here. As a Jamaican it is just mind blowing—and bizarre to be absolutely honest…

My Aunt reminds me that of course this is literally the same as it was in USA, and the population of Native Americans who were also killed. And in Jamaica the Arawak Indians also died when they came into contact with the Spanish in 1600’s. I guess this has always been the contingency for overtaking another country or continent. And Black people, Indians, were a part of a commercial forced migration. Destroy or be destroyed must have been the motto for war and land ownership. This reality is depressing to say the least. I guess what I am reacting to is the rawness of the spoils, and what this reality looks like.

I was prepared that the settler was the prime mover here, and the focus would be on the recent occupancy of British settlers. Northcliffe museum is in the middle of town across from a gas station, it is reminiscent of some a film scene - a mix of American grocery store and something else—but definitely with a feel of the outback. An elderly lady with her adorable dog stood attending the entrance of the museum. She was very friendly, and informative. A man who I later found out was the carpenter stood talking to them about how they could change the look of the displays in the museum. As I entered I was struck by the notion that museums that preserve history tend to have the same look about them. In one room, there stood an old schoolroom, with Australian flag and children's desks. In another room there were basins, the washroom. Finally I stumbled in a room full of geological rocks and the collection of Mr. George Garner, a wonderful display of all the stones he had dug up over the entirety of Australia, New Zealand and Tasmania. My reaction to the display was immediate… this was something that could really work visually in the project I had been cogitating/reflecting about it over the last couple of days. 

Set up a possible photo shoot at the museum using the collection of geological rocks that had come out of Western Australia. This could be amazing. I realize that there is a real need for healing in this landscape- as there is a real disconnect with the past, and yet there are people who have been working hard to extract and focus on the geological beauty of this world/place. Could this be the way to commence healing—or to make the connection? Could I possible appropriate and reuse this collection as a way to extend or to find a route to an atonement/apology—the sorry to the Aboriginal people came in 2008, but it can still be discussed/argued whether this apology was wholehearted or halfhearted. I am still wrestling with the fact that I know that Aboriginal people of different groups, live in other parts of Australia, however it is here where all is lush and green, that there has been an eradication of their presence. It is a small trickle.

Could this collection be recreated into something cosmic, and could a connection be drawn to the underground caves of the western region that are breathtaking. Could slow drips of water and salt mold this landscape- and could it be a possible method to address the pain hidden and present in this atmosphere. After all the earth governs us all even though we would like to make ourselves believe that humans are in control, and yet we are interconnected bodies that are constantly linked and dependent on one another. Maybe there should be a sign for every Nyungar person that was killed, and this should be placed in the sign landscape of Busselton so the memory does not slip by and get replaced so quickly.

Week 3

Adjusting to this environment is a slow process, its steady pace reveals the intricacies of the people and life around me. This week has begun with a constant stream of meetings during which I have met a number of people who are involved in one way or another in the struggle of Nyungar people in the Busselton area. Tuesday morning at a cafe my newest advocate and aid Jacqui Malone brought Gloria Hill to meet me. A brown woman quite small in stature, thinly built, small bones, walks in to this newly renovated luxury spot on the bay front. Gloria’s step is confident, and has a quick paced answer/response to all questions that I might have. She reminds me of women I have seen and really noticed in Port Antonia, Jamaica; hill women who have a twinkle in their eye, a great sense of determination and an answer to all that has passed in life. I do my best in going through my background, upbringing, and my family history with her to give her a little insight into where I am coming from and why I am here. Somehow we strike a very good tone from the beginning and I am pleased with that. She describes her own background and history, in relation to where she went to school. She reveals she was taken away from her parents when she was very young and placed in a Catholic mission where she was treated well and she went on to work in the area. She bears no grudge and appears to bear all that she has witnessed with a great deal of pride and no-nonsense attitude. At the moment she is responsible for parenting her grandchild, a young girl of age 12. I will come to meet her later in the week. Gloria has an immense pride in her granddaughter’s artistic talent and school accomplishments.

At the moment, I am reading Stan Grant’s Talking to my Country. The title has two meanings, one is of course, that he is talking to all Australians, the other is that country means other Aboriginal people. In this novel he confronts his history and the past. How he and other people were treated as inferior and through a racial terminology. I have seen these same ways of discounting one’s presence and mind in so many other stories of colonialism. I can see some of the same remnants of this attitude also in Denmark. It is as if one has to wash away all one’s being to be assimilated into the dominant culture. I am not certain that Danes are always conscious that this is what’s happening, however it was very much a part of the entire system of discrediting and debasing people of color. Basically, get rid of your pride and sense of being, and just make sure that you feel shitty about being who and what you are. I am so relieved that I grew up in Jamaica, and from a young age it was instilled in me pride about who I am- It comes off possibly as brash and self assured in an environment such as Western Australia. Everything is read into what people do not necessarily say or do. But small manners and gestures are encountered in the meet and greet with others. Anyhow Gloria and Jacqui are wrapped in a small conversation, which I am lucky to be a part of and it is the stories, and tragedies that exist around Wonnerup estate. It touches upon all the tensions that exist between the Nyungar people and those early ’settlers ’ or invaders as I have come to like putting it. History is somehow always comes to glorify the event of the pioneer and invader. Anyhow, traces of history of the Nyungar people in Busselton are also becoming extinct. And yet very little has been done to commemorate or even acknowledge their loss in this day and age. Based on the reality you see, many Australians prefer to say to a foreigner such as myself, that Aboriginals are based in the North, in the red land area. This idea is false as they were very present here too before they were exterminated and eliminated. Let me not beat around this bush; one should be straightforward in this deduction. The case of the Wonnerup massacre is an example, of such bloodbath that occurred when the death of the George Layman let loose the rampage of other whites to hunt down Nyungars in a lynching party and where women, men and children were shot down like animals. There is no visibility around this history - this massacre - no museum, no retreat, no memorial—its invisibility is below the very covers of this surroundings - it layers every contact - as it is recorded deep within the Nyungars mind from Busselton.

There is nothing but the bizarre to experience - when an entire population has been wiped out and displaced - there is nothing but more apparent in this atmosphere. My first ceremony and it is cold, and wet, and empty. This does not seem to a joyous occasion—the tent that has been set up, which is quite big keeps flying off by the tug of the wind. The mothers that sit and watch are all quietly observing the surroundings. The elders that are there have also jobs to do are also watching. The ease does not seem to be there instead it seems almost contrived and forced. The one joy of the occasion is the children - they seem to be deemed the brightness in all of this atmosphere, all seem to invest their love there…and this is what I register as they come up and present different dances that they have been studying and learning with very little clothing in this freezing weather, but they do not divert- they stay focused on this task.

Week 4

I was advised to go back to the very beginning and to look at the records from the 1st surveyors of the land, such as Dutch, French, English and Chinese accounts. We discussed the layers of veneer that have been placed to create an illusory and possibly incorrect version of the new refugees that landed on the shores of Australia. Their plight was also a means of escape - whether it be from class, crime or poverty- a dream of a new life. The veneer are the stories that were written of the people they encountered - what did the surveyors say - and what was possibly not heard so that British government could make claim, how the history was written to suit the needs of the colonialist government.

I enter a round space filled with small green palm heads. A woman with blue eyes sits on the right, Rebecca Casey is her name, and she is kind enough to suggest a new contact in the Busselton area. Plus she comes with a good tip about the bush - these small palms.

Brett, his daughter Lilly, and Ron sit in a small semicircle in the sun. The conversation focuses on the questions I have had and which have yet to be answered. Finally some Nyungars are willing to help me with concrete answers, and yes, my understanding so far is not far off—for the most part. It is a relief to finally have this conversation in which the intimacy and exchange is finally there. I am so thankful to Soula to having introduced me to Brett Nannup and his mother the day before, and to Brett for extending his hand in friendship and allowing me access to his friends and family. The day before the time keeps getting extended, in a kind of a way that would have in Jamaica - you feel the atmosphere is right and good - you keep going and you do this because you feel the interest and need.

Brett, and Laurel Nannup, his mother and artist are seated. Coffee and cake wait. Brett gives an in-depth overview of his mother’s art, which is connected to personal narratives. Brett has dedicated his life to creating that wholeness which links him and his family to each other, it is really wonderful to experience, be inspired and to see this kind of love. At one point, there is a kind of funny experience; we go out into the yard, where he shows me this stone that he has been working on and carving into small spearheads. This stone seems very familiar, as I had just photographed this stone in the collection at the museum in Northcliffe. So I mention that I know this stone, and he turns around and looks a bit shocked at me. Reason being is this stone is pretty precious, and he has gotten a hold of it through another friend who has had access to it.  I keep feeling that it is somehow these small connections that are beginning to make sense in my journey.

So much has happened in this last week. A possibility to visualize a potential thread in the project is finally coming about. I have been looking towards nature as a possible method for healing - it seems obvious that this is needed, and it is only returning to it - that somehow the freedom presents itself as a tool for the spirit.

If the spirit of death and sadness remains from all these murders, what veneer is laid on the truth? So much can be borne by people, without one beginning to distance oneself from this oppression and the oppressor. I have no answers it is just guessing, and there are so many questions that are connected to one’s own displacement - and if your story is different from those around you, can you fit in? Will you be accepted? It seems the splitting of so many families has really created an enormous task in repairing the deep wounds that must be present. If it isn’t from the abusive existence, and trauma, then it is from the disconnection that is placed between you, the family, ancestral lore and tradition. After all if each Songline was to be carried on by specific families, and if I make the comparison to a Vodun family where each household was responsible for each deity - what happens when the family is split and the Songline has not been kept properly as the ancestral wishes demands? And what happens to the Songline that is then connected to a larger proportion with other families throughout Western Australia who have are also connected to one another? This is the question that Ron Bradfield brings up for me to understand and think about in rethinking this history.  

Moreover what happens to the spirit of the dead who have not found peace? If we consider the fact that tradition demands that the dead transcend through the caves in some form of burial ritual and are to be freed to a beyond. This realization comes about through another meeting I have with an elder, Wayne Webb, who has written extensively on this issue of the caves in Western Australia. So the question remains how and when will tourism balance their condition, since they are profiting by that lies within the caves? And what happens to the tradition according to which Nyungaar bodies still remain to be buried in the caves? I remember a case of an American Indian corpse that was held by an American somewhere, and where the community wanted the body returned so that they make the appropriate burial ceremony within the caves, the solution seems so relevant to the situation here. 

-Robyn Backen