Faithfully sitting in that one comfortable well paid job and for a very prolonged length of time, is our die hard character of Australian folklore; the gate keeper.

Yes, that mystical creature you may come across sitting out in the remote Aboriginal communities, quietly chipping away at their chores, watching quietly as to who comes into the community and who goes. Some Anglo Australian Managers have sat in communities for enormous lengths of time, never seriously challenged, never asked to do much, just sitting there waiting and watching. The eyes and ears of Australians modern day institutionalise government keeping a watchful eye on its minority black citizens. You remember those black people, they once were free to roam within their own country, hunt wild game, and speak their own languages. That lifestyle ended a little over two hundred years ago, and now the descendants of those original black people have to be confined in what are now known as communities.

So what is a Gate Keeper?

The term “Gate-Keeper” in Australian society is a white person who secures a position in an Aboriginal community, and/or an Aboriginal organisation, and basically sits on their back-side for two decades or more. They do what their duty statements tell them to do nothing more nothing less. Along the way they approve and sanction work for outsiders within the community/organisation that appeals to them. Only loyal Aboriginals who do to thy bidding get just rewards from our Gate-Keeper, strong voiced locals who talk out about community issues are quickly labelled as “trouble-makers” and are pretty much shunned from all events within the community.

Over the years I have met a few of these larger than life characters and generally speaking my reaction towards them has not changed in over 30 years. Some of the ignorant remarks that come out of their mouths seriously contradicts an individual who has spent over a decade or more living in a community with a few hundred black people. It never surprises me the ignorance of these remote community Managers. My favourite comment of all time was; “Oh so nice to meet you George, and how long are you staying again?” I absorb this and interpret it as, “I hope you’re going to piss off soon.” And that pretty well sets the stage for the duration of my short stay.

Day two; the community Managers big dinner invite. Its 7PM; I am washed and shaved. A quick walk down to the largest modern dwelling in the community, past the late model Toyota Prado, a quick squiz at the $50,000 boat parked in the yard (who buys an expensive boat and parks it in the middle of the bloody desert?) and then a quick knock on the front door. “Oh look dear, it’s George from um err up the road apiece…..yeah. Come on in George!” Upon entering you notice just about every white person from Ringer Soak to Rabbit Flats sitting in the lounge room staring at you. When this part happens I feel a little like Jesus Christ making a second come-back as I walk into the room. Introductions are made, and of course I will pretend by the nights end that I still remember all the names, which of course I never do for one reason or another. Then there is the massive pre-dinner yarn session, pretty much identical to the last 20 community dinners I had, yes, real Ground Hog Day stuff. Dinner has been served. “Mmmmm oh yeeeahhhh yes yes very nice!” That is all you hear for about 15 minutes. Sounding much like a sick Porno flick, “mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm so gooood!” It tastes like crap, all and sundry know it. I usually leave after the dinner session, because I know all these white guys will feel a little bit guilty that they have to drink a few beers in front of the visiting darky. That’s alright by me, because if the conversations this bad when they’re sober, what the hell would it be like when they’re all tanked up?

About 10am the next morning it is with no surprise that most of the men from last night’s dinner are up outside the local café, wolfing down the greasiest looking burger you could ever imagine. Don’t let the fact that I’m standing here embarrass you guys, get that bastard of a burger into you old boy, for I do can identify with last night’s suffering. That’s alright, I too shall join in with a massive double stacker and knock that edge off with some crusty old fries. My mission here was to work and enjoy it, not nibble cheesy carrot dips at the local Gate-Keepers house all night.

Has any Aboriginal people out there ever had the pleasure of trying to apply for a well-paid job out at a remote community? I’ll bet if we were to swap notes, the adventure would be almost identical. The hoops an educated and qualified Aboriginal has to jump through to get a job in white fella managed community, is to be rather blunt, an epic task. You get the impression that the hoops are designed to keep you out and away from your community brothers and sisters. That same old cliche always seems to raise its head, division amongst the people, divide them so as to rule them.

Living and working out at a remote community? You pretty much have to be act submissive like a hungry dog begging its master for some tucker. That hungry old camp dog runs after its master and falls down at his feet, cocks his mangy old leg up and in some rare instances, lose a little of its bowel control. So why is it any different with white Managers in the control of black people who come and go from communities? Look at today’s communities. Look at the high unemployment. Look at the anti-social issues. And then take a long hard look at all those non Indigenous Managers who have passed through those gates in the past 25 years. What have they achieved for the locals? The managerial belly-aches are all the same, “Oh I really tried hard to make young Fred and those other boys do some work, but they just can’t keep up with the momentum of it all.” First of all, Europeans rounded all the Aboriginals up as recent as the 1950’ and 60’s, then herded them into concentration style camps, later to be known as communities. Aboriginals did not live like that originally, so don’t expect any brownie points if they still refuse to live like that now. It is not a life-style choice for today’s Aboriginals, it is a colonial Australian policy forced onto them a number of years back. The correct term is Terra-forming, eugenics, and assimilation, the making of one culture merge with another more dominant culture.

Go to some of the websites of the various Aboriginal organisations from around Australia and see how many of the locals sit within the hierarchy that actually makes the decisions. Perhaps start with all the Indigenous media organisations and see what is represented as opposed to who actually calls the shots on the ground. You will be surprised at how we are misrepresented and how poorly paid our people are in these organisations. Don’t be fooled by pictures of old Aboriginal men and women who sit on the governing committees, these are not paid positions. Committee members may get a very small sitting fee or a fuel voucher, very little of anything else. The Gate-Keeper Managers will post pictures of committee members up on their respective websites to make it appear to any outsiders that there is a massive all black commitment to everyday media in their organisation; when the sad fact of the matter is, nothing is going on at all.

Control. It’s all about control. There is no Pandora’s Box at the end of the rainbow for Aboriginal people, just more little white lies. Gate-Keepers are a part of this system of control.

Disclaimer:  This BlogSpot is to be viewed in the researched opinion of its author only, and is not intended to humiliate or offend any individual, organisation, corporation, or government entity. The view is written in the jest of a point of view expressed solely for the purpose of a freedom for speech.