Our democracy will be deficient until Indigenous children can imagine themselves in its future
I grew up in the 1990s, the daughter of a white Australian and a Torres Strait Islander.
Imperfect memories of my childhood are punctuated by things like Nelson Mandela’s release from prison, the Murray Islanders going to the high court, Eddie Mabo’s tombstone being desecrated, governments generally messing with our lives. I grew up with Pauline Hanson, and the vitriol that she legitimised, spilled over into the schoolyards I hid from. As an adult, when I’ve reflected on how I’ve come to do the work I do, interested as I am in the politics of childhood, these are the faded moments I recall. As an adult, when I’ve seen deeply controversial political moments take hold, I’ve always noticed the children at the heart of them: the children not thrown overboard, the children of the Northern Territory intervention, the kids of same-sex parents during the recent marriage equality plebiscite. Because though they are rarely seen and rarely heard, children are never far from the political struggles of a nation.