On 2 March 1950, my grandmother, Roslyn Jean Eckford, was born to two proud Aboriginal parents, Jack and Ruth Agnes Eckford. At the time, Aboriginal people were not counted by the nation that governed them. Excluded from the constitutional population count, we existed outside the numbers that shaped representation, resources, and political power. Present, but largely invisible.
My Nanny grew up as the only Aboriginal girl in her classes. Difference was never subtle. Racism was not an event so much as an atmosphere - learned early, absorbed daily, rarely questioned by those who benefited from it.
In the summer of 1970, my mother was born - three years after the 1967 Referendum. The vote did not suddenly deliver equality, as history is often simplified to suggest. What it did was allow Aboriginal people to be counted and gave the Commonwealth power to make laws about us. Recognition arrived late, partial, and conditional.
My mum (photo 4) is from Goodooga, a small town in north-west New South Wales, close to the Queensland border. She is a proud Euahlayi/Kooma woman. Her childhood was spent travelling across Country in a bright orange caravan, passing through the Snowy Mountains, learning place by feeling it shift beneath her.
They settled in Cootamundra after my Nanny suffered a nervous breakdown. Cootamundra sits near the former Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls - an institution built to remove Aboriginal girls from their families. Growing up in its shadow, my mum learned early that identity is not philosophical. It is practical. It is something you defend simply by continuing to exist as yourself.
On 26 January 1972, four Aboriginal men drove from Redfern to Canberra. They parked, unfolded a tent, and placed it on the lawns opposite Parliament House. My uncle Michael was one of them. The structure that followed, later named the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, refused to disappear because the injustice it named never resolved itself.
It is still there.
So are we (continued in comments)
Six years ago, I graduated Year 12 in a small country town - Toowoomba, Queensland. I’d spent most of high school wanting to be anywhere but there. I was loud, opinionated, and restless... all things that didn’t quite fit the mould of a “cool girl.” ⠀
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Back then, I couldn’t have imagined where that stubbornness, that refusal to stay small, would lead me.⠀
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Last night, I stood in a room full of women who refuse to stay small too. Being recognised as Advocate of the Year alongside the incredible Nicole Yade, CEO of @womens.girls.emergency.centre was more than an honour - it was a moment of deep gratitude. For the women who came before me. For my nanny, who taught me what strength looks like when the world gives you nothing but your own hands. For my ancestors - women who fought with nothing but grit and love, so that I could have the audacity to stand on stages like this one.The women in that room, every one of us, are pushing toward the same horizon: autonomy, power, sovereignty over our bodies and our stories.⠀
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Big things are coming from @heyjunehealth . Watch us very closely!
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Big love <3 ✊🏽⠀
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Front cover of Forbes 30 Under 30. Proof that when Australian women trust you, you build something worth listening to.
Grateful to my people. Grounded in where I’m from.
Still just getting started. Thank you @forbesaustralia #forbes
on a fateful melbourne sunday evening, 26 april @justinpjtrudeau@ketelford and a room full of future writers walk into a bar. they laughed, they cried, they traded stories, learnt a few things and walked out a little more certain we’ll figure it out together. thank you for always creating space for important perspectives @missingperspectives x @phoebesaintilanstocks
