Geoff Shaw pops a beer, enjoying the simple freedom of drinking one on his porch on a sweltering mid-February Saturday morning in Australia’s remote Northern Territory.
“For 15 years I couldn’t afford a beer,” said Shaw, a 77-year-old Aboriginal from Alice Springs, the territory’s third largest town. “I’m a Vietnam veteran, and I can’t even afford a beer.”
Mr Shaw lives in what the government considers a “regulatory zone”, an Aboriginal town camp where from 2007 until last year it was illegal to possess alcohol, part of a series of measures race-based interventions in the lives of Indigenous Australians.
Last July, the Northern Territory let the alcohol ban lapse for hundreds of Aboriginal communities, calling it racist. But little has been done over the years to address the serious underlying disadvantage of the community. When alcohol returned, crime broke out in Alice Springs believed to have been caused by Aboriginal people. Local and federal politicians reinstated the ban late last month. And Mr. Shaw’s taste of freedom was over.
From powerhouses in the nation’s capital to ramshackle settlements in the outback, the turmoil in the Northern Territory has revived even older conundrums. Australia itself, about race and control and the open wound of discrimination.
For those who believe that the country’s largely white leadership shouldn’t dictate Aboriginal decisions, the rollback of alcohol prohibition recreates the impact of colonialism and disenfranchises the populace. community. Others argue that the benefits, such as reductions in domestic violence and other harms to the most vulnerable, may outweigh the effects of discrimination.
For Mr. Shaw, limitations are simply a distraction – another support for communities that, to address problems at their root, need funding, support and being heard.
“They have nothing to offer us,” he said. “And they’ve had 15 years to solve this problem.”
Alcohol restrictions prohibit anyone living in Aboriginal township camps outside Alice Springs, as well as those in more remote Indigenous communities, from buying takeout. The town itself is not covered by the ban, although Aboriginal people there often face increased scrutiny when trying to buy alcohol.
One recent day at Uncle’s Tavern, in downtown Alice Springs, patrons – most of them non-natives – drank from beneath lamp-lit palm trees. In this town of 25,000 people, it seems that everyone has a friend, relative or neighbor who has been the victim of an assault, break-in or vandalism.
As night fell, Aboriginal people walked the deserted streets separated from the pub’s patrons by a fence of tall black bars, like something out of a prison. . Sometimes, outsiders pressed against the bars; Children ask for food, adults ask for cigarettes or alcohol. The gate of the tavern was open, but there were unwritten barriers to those outside.
Many Aboriginal people come to the city to receive basic services from the remote communities where they live, in conditions akin to those of a developing country. Some Indigenous leaders in and around Alice Springs attribute the spike in crime to these visitors.
During the day, they are often the only ones sitting in public spaces, with nowhere to escape the scorching heat. An Aboriginal visitor to Alice Springs, Gloria Cooper, said she had traveled hundreds of miles for medical treatment and was camping in a nearby dry creek bed because she couldn’t afford a place to live. your welfare income.
“There were a lot of people in the creek,” she said. “Lots of kids.”
The origins of the 15-year alcohol ban were a national media storm that erupted in 2006 over a number of well-publicized and pictorial allegations of child sexual abuse in the Northern Territory.
Many accusations were later found to be unfounded. But just months before the federal election, the conservative prime minister at the time used them to justify a series of draconian measures based on race. Among them are restrictions on alcohol, along with mandatory income management for welfare recipients, and restrictions on the rights of Indigenous peoples to manage the lands they own.
Now, the debate has flared up again at another political moment, as Australia begins to discuss constitutionally respecting a “voice before Parliament” — an Indigenous body that will advise on policies affecting Aboriginal communities.
Opponents used the Alice Springs debate to argue that the proposal distracts from the real problems facing Indigenous communities. Advocates say such an agency would allow for more consultation with affected residents and prevent the issue from escalating.
Indigenous leaders say the roots of dysfunction in their communities have deep roots. The lack of employment opportunities exacerbates poverty, which in turn exacerbates domestic violence. The skyrocketing rate of Indigenous incarceration has left parents locked up and children adrift. Government control over Aboriginal life, imposed without consultation, has caused outrage and despair. Add alcohol to the mix, and the problems only increase.
Cherisse Buzzacott, who works to improve the health literacy of Indigenous families, said: “We have never had our own choices and decisions, our lives have been dominated by others. control. Because of this, she added, people in the most disadvantaged communities “have no faith that change can be changed; they have no hope.”
Some Indigenous leaders oppose the alcohol ban on this grounds, arguing that it continues a history of control over Aboriginal communities. Others say their own contributions to the community show why general bans are unfair.
“Some of my crowd, some are workers and some just sit around and have no work,” says Benedict Stevens, president of the Hidden Valley town camp, using the colloquial term for a aboriginal group. “And what I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be fair if we workers couldn’t go home for the weekend, relax, have a few beers.”
Before the alcohol ban lapsed last year, a coalition of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal organizations forecast that a sudden free flow of alcohol would cause a sharp increase in crime. They called for expanding restrictions to give affected communities time to develop individual transition plans.
The predictions have proven to be correct. According to Northern Territory police, commercial break-ins, property damage, domestic violence-related assaults, and alcohol-related assaults all increased by around or more than 50% between 2021 and 2022. Australia does not analyze crime data by race, but politicians and Aboriginal groups themselves have attributed the increase in large part to Indigenous peoples.
“This is a preventable situation,” said Donna Ah Chee, executive director of one of these organisations, the Central Australian Aboriginal Congress. “It It is Aboriginal women, families and children who are really paying the price,” she added.
The organization is among those calling for the resumption of the ban as an immediate step while long-term solutions are developed to address the underlying causes of harmful drinking. Ms. Ah Chee said she views the policy as “positive discrimination” in protecting the most vulnerable.
What Indigenous leaders on all sides of the debate have agreed on is the need for long-term strategies to address the complex disadvantages faced by Indigenous communities.
William Tilmouth, an Aboriginal elder, said problems in Alice Springs were caused by decades of not listening to the natives. The answer will be found when “politicians and the public look beyond alcohol,” he added. What they will find are people with voice, strength and solutions waiting to be heard.”
