On the wall of the Queensland Museum in Meanjin (Brisbane) are the following words:
“Since 1862, Queensland Museum Network has acquired cultural material, Secret and/or Sacred Objects and ancestral remains from across Queensland, the Torres Strait Islands and the Pacific. It is acknowledged that some past practices of the Museum and its staff were not respectful of, and did not understand the significance and cultural importance of, objects and human remains.”
With these words, there is an acknowledgement that these objects, and most particularly, human remains, were taken often because of their ‘curiosity’ value, with little or no consideration of the impact of their removal on the communities to which they belonged.
The acquisition of First Nations cultural material started with the removal of spears and a shield by the Cook expedition in 1770.
From there, it continued on until well into the 20th century.
As the colonisation of the continent progressed and the Frontier Wars claimed more and more lives, there was a steady demand for cultural material and human remains.
Human remains taken, often in questionable circumstances, to be part of a collection or to further scientific research.
Another item in a collection was an artefact of a culture that was ‘disappearing’.
An attempt to capture some of the culture of a ‘dying’ race.
Or part of a growing trade in cultural objects and human remains.
Human remains were just an acquisition, a specimen. The term reflects an objectification of what were once people, ancestors.
No thought of their humanness or where the person originated from.
No thought that they were once people who were loved, were part of families, part of communities.
Skeletal remains for study.
This widespread practice of removal of ancestral remains in Australia was carried out in the 19th and 20th centuries by a range of medical officers, anthropologists, ethnologists, amateur collectors, missionaries — even phrenologists — in an attempt to explain human biological differences.
Often to support the now disproven and discredited ideas of eugenics and other racist theories.
Many were placed in museums, universities and private collections in both Australia and overseas.
And this is where many of them remain today.
And it was not one or two remains.
Consider that there are about 2000 Aboriginal remains in Victorian institutions alone.
As The Age journalist Jack Latimore wrote in March this year: “The remains of nearly 2000 Indigenous people are being held by the Victorian Government in various institutions, prompting calls from traditional owners for their return to the Aboriginal community.”
And there are more in collections in other states and overseas — in boxes, drawers or in other storage systems.
There is an increasing acknowledgement that these cultural materials and ancestral remains need to be returned to Country. To be accorded the dignity of returning home.
As local Elder Uncle Bobby Nicholls explained: “The remains aren’t at rest until they are ceremonially buried on Country.”
But the process of repatriation is slow and painstaking.
Often there is uncertainty about where the ancestral remain were taken from, which part of Australia, which community.
And often, descendants’ requests for the return of ancestral remains and cultural objects have fallen on deaf ears.
Sometimes, these requests have resulted in a review of what materials are in collections and the appropriateness of continuing to hold on to them.
The Grassi Museum in Leipzig, like the Queensland Museum, is examining its past policies of acquisition and collection.
“We have the responsibility to work through the role played by the museum in the colonial context of injustice, taking into account the violent dimensions of the genesis of the collection.”
The Grassi goes on to explain: “They [the ancestral remains] were brought to museums for research purposes in the context of colonial collecting. We have a responsibility to critically engage with this history and enable the repatriation of ancestors. For us, repatriation means initiating and carrying out these returns together with the descendants of the deceased.”
Working with Yawuru and Karajarri traditional custodians from Roebuck Bay in Western Australia and Ngarrindjerri Elders from South Australia, the Grassi repatriation of the remains of ancestors has occurred.
Occurred with ceremony, respect, care and love.
Coming back home. Being put to rest on Country.
After many years of discussion, in August last year, the Grassi Museum also returned four culturally significant heritage items collected by Lutheran missionaries and sent to Germany in 1840.
After over 180 years, a kathawirri (sword), tantanaku (club or bark peeler), wirnta (spear) and wikatyi (net), came home to the Kaurna people of South Australia.
Were welcomed back — a part of the Kaurna people’s story.
And as recently as April this year, the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology in Cambridge, UK, returned four spears taken by Lieutenant James Cook and his crew. Known collectively as the Gweagal Spears and taken when Cook’s ship, HMB Endeavour, arrived at Kamay (Botany Bay), the spears have been passed over to, and are now in the care of, the La Perouse Aboriginal community.
Another story from the past comes together with a story from the present and shapes the story of the future. A homecoming, a welcoming back, a coming back to a place of belonging.
A tangible connection to ancestors, to culture, to Country.
The basis for the removal of cultural materials and ancestral remains since those first spears and shields were taken in 1770, and the underlying attitudes that have shaped the past collections policies of museums, institutions and other collectors, are now the subject of critical review both within Australia and overseas.
It is this review that is now underpinning the crucial importance of careful, considered and respectful repatriations.
Repatriations that recognise this is bringing people — ancestors — and other culturally significant objects back home to where they belong.
To read one man’s story of the restoration of ancestral remains, visit your local library and borrow Riding the Black Cockatoo by John Danalis.
— Paul Karp, The Guardian