Gorenpul-Dandrabin Understandings of the Archaeological Record on North Stradbroke Island and Peel Island, Southeastern Queensland

NARRATING THE PAST IN THE PRESENT: Gorenpul-Dandrabin understandings of the archaeological record on North Stradbroke Island and Peel Island, southeastern Queensland.

Annie Clarke

A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements of a Bachelor of Arts with Honours Degree in the School of Social Science, The University of Queensland.

October 2011

DECLARATION

This thesis represents my original work undertaken for a Bachelor of Arts Honours Degree at The University of Queensland, completed during 2011. The interpretations expressed in this thesis are my own unless otherwise indicated. This material has not been submitted either in whole or part, for a degree at this or any other university.

………………………… Annie Clarke 28 October 2011

SUPERVISOR’S CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read the final draft of this thesis and it is ready for submission in accordance with the thesis requirements as set out in the School of Social Science policy documents.

………………………… Dr. Anne Ross 28 October 2011

Cover photo: Members of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin community participating in archaeological excavation on Peel Island. ii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DECLARATION...... i SUPERVISOR‘S CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL...... i TABLE OF CONTENTS...... iii LIST OF FIGURES...... v LIST OF TABLES...... v ABSTRACT...... vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS...... vii CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION...... 1 Problem definition...... 1 Research design...... 3 Research questions...... 4 Thesis Outline...... 5 . CHAPTER TWO LITERATURE REVIEW: ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE PRESENT-PAST.. 6 Introduction...... 6 Structuring the past: recognition of power in communication...... 7 Social and political dimensions of research...... 10 Holistic and integrated approaches...... 12 Conclusion...... 17

CHAPTER THREE INTRODUCING NORTH STRADBROKE ISLAND AND PEEL ISLAND.. 18 Introduction...... 18 Environmental setting...... 19 Archaeological research...... 20 Historical setting...... 21 Industry and development...... 22 Aboriginal living heritage ...... 22 Conclusion...... 25

CHAPTER FOUR METHODOLOGY AND METHODS...... 26 Introduction...... 26 Social constructivism...... 26 Phenomenology...... 26 Aims and methods...... 29 Ethnography...... 29 Sampling...... 29 Interviews...... 31 Conclusion...... 31

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CHAPTER FIVE RESULTS...... 32 Introduction...... 32 Emic and etic understandings of archaeology...... 32 Archaeology supporting an Indigenous ontology...... 35 Collaborative archaeology...... 39 Part of a bigger picture...... 42 Conclusion...... 44

CHAPTER SIX DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION: MORE THAN ARCHAEOLOGY..... 45 Crystallising the themes raised by informants...... 45 Time: past, present, and future...... 48 Archaeology of the Gummingurru stone arrangement...... 49 Conclusion...... 51

APPENDIX A EXAMPLES OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL DATA FROM NORTH STRADBROKE ISLAND AND PEEL ISLAND...... 52

REFERENCES...... 54

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1. Map of Moreton Bay...... 4

Figure 2. Map of Quandamooka, showing Gorenpul-Dandrabin place names that relate directly to Quandamooka Law and knowledge (Moreton and Ross 2011)...... 23

Figure 3. Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owners participating in community

archaeology on Peel Island...... 36

Figure 4. Member of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin community doing archaeological analysis of Peel Island midden materials in The University of Queensland Archaeology laboratory...... 37

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1. List of informants...... 30

Table A1. A sample of archaeological data gathered through excavation...... 52

Table A2. A sample of archaeological data gathered through survey...... 53

ABSTRACT

We only come to know the past by virtue of its relationship to the present (Andrews and Buggey 2008; Bender 2006; Lucas 2005; Squair 1994:99-102). Thus interpretations of the past are inherently political. As postprocessual and postcolonial discourses have settled into the discipline it is now widely acknowledged that there is not one true past, but there are in fact many pasts, culturally and historically constituted. The multiplicity of pasts is described by Nabokov (2002) as a ‗forest of time‘. It is these ‗alternative‘ ways of understanding the archaeological record that are the focus of this thesis. I use a social constructivist and phenomenological methodology to explore the way Indigenous people generally, and Australian Aboriginal people in particular, understand the archaeological record that nests within their cultural landscape, using data from the archaeological research on North Stradbroke Island and Peel Island, Moreton Bay, southeastern Queensland, as my case study. I focus on Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owners‘ understandings and uses of the archaeological data generated in these projects as a way of illustrating the social, cultural, and political context of archaeological research. I conclude that understandings of the past and the uses of information about the past are shaped by people‘s values, priorities, and experiences in the present, and also by hopes and imaginations for the future.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are several people who have supported me throughout this Honours year. I have so much respect and gratitude towards the following people, thanking them does not seem enough, but it is a start.

Thank you first to informants interviewed for my research. Your cooperation and thought- provoking comments formed the foundations of this thesis.

A special thank you to my supervisor, Dr Annie Ross, who inspired and guided me in my labour to produce these pages before you. Thank you for your honesty and patience, for your generosity and company.

Thank you to Lily Moult who sat beside me during our weekly Honours meetings and provided support and ideas.

Also thank you to my friends and family for their constant distraction and humour.

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CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION Problem definition Different cultures relate to and understand their pasts in different ways and often use their pasts for different reasons (Grounds and Ross 2010; Nabokov 2002). There is nothing original about this idea; since the dawn of postprocessualism it has been widely acknowledged that there is not one true past but many, all socially and historically contextualised (Bender 2006; McGuire 1992; Thomas 1996, 2000; Zimmerman 2006). Godwin and Weiner (2006) have argued, however, that archaeologists do not explicitly acknowledge in their methodology the culture-specific situation of the work they produce. They call for greater acknowledgement of the social and political dimensions and consequences of archaeologists‘ interpretive tasks, particularly the Indigenous social, cultural, and spiritual dimensions within which Australian pre-contact archaeology is constituted (Byrne 1991, 2002, 2003; Ellis 1994; Sullivan 1993, 2008). This thesis focuses attention on the ways of knowing, being, and doing through which Aboriginal people use archaeological evidence to understand their pasts, for if we are to acknowledge the social and political dimension and consequences of research, as called for by Godwin and Weiner (2006), we must first have a better appreciation of how Traditional Owners understand and use the archaeology of their country.

The origin of this project began in my undergraduate degree as I was struggling to balance ‗hard‘ science with ‗soft‘ humanities. Before I outline the questions I ask in this project I begin by sketching my personal journey through my undergraduate degree as a precursor to what is to come: a greater awareness of Indigenous knowledge and in turn a greater awareness of archaeology‘s taken-for-granted assumptions and inherent biases.

Throughout my undergraduate education I have been taught that archaeology is the study of the past through the material traces left by a past people (Fagan 2007; Price 2007). Archaeology is the science of the human past, studying the changes and continuities in human culture over time and space. The scientific method and the theory of evolution form the baseline epistemologies of archaeological research. We evaluate, critique, and analyse our data to ensure that our hypotheses are accurate.

My faith in archaeology as an objective science, however, slowly unravelled when I took an Introduction to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Approaches to Knowledge course (ABTS2020) in my final semester. In this course I was asked to come to class with an open mind and to accept that I knew nothing. Although I had an understanding of social and

1 economic behaviours of Aboriginal culture, as patterned in the archaeological record, in this course I had to learn Aboriginal culture all over again, except this time from an Aboriginal perspective. I was confronted by a different way of knowing, being, and doing. In the process the course made me more aware of my own way of knowing, being, and doing. The scientific discourse of archaeology, with its emphasis on sites and chronology, is institutionalised in a Western scientific paradigm (Nicholas and Hollowell 2007; Sullivan 2005). A scientific paradigm is the ‗natural‘ or ‗normal‘ way of seeing and reasoning the archaeological record. In the ABTS2020 course, however, it became apparent to me that this discourse of science and evolution in archaeology is ontologically and epistemologically different from the holistic, living, experiential, unquantifiable, and performance-orientated ways of knowing that are characteristic of many Australian Aboriginal people. The methodological tool kits used by archaeologists and Aboriginal people to interpret, explain, and even conceptualise the archaeological record are different (cf. Phillips and Allen 2010). And if archaeologists and Aboriginal people have different ways of understanding the archaeological record, it follows that archaeological interpretations are not neutral or apolitical, but are contingent and subjective (Creamer 1990; Diaz-Andrew 2007; Gathercole and Lowenthal 1990; Kehoe 1998; Rowlands 1998; Smith and Jackson 2006; Trigger 2006).

Towards the end of my undergraduate education I came to realise that, while archaeology is the study of the past, because this study occurs in the present, archaeology is as much about the present as it is about the past (Andrews and Buggey 2008; Byrne 2003); hence the title of my thesis: Narrating the Past in the Present. This was adapted from Andrews and Buggey‘s (2008) discussion about the problems of constructing Western notions of ‗authenticity‘ in a living, and therefore continually changing, Aboriginal cultural landscape. In light of my educational ‗journey‘ I argue that Australian Aboriginal archaeological sites are privileged spaces in which to enter the Aboriginal world. With this privilege comes a certain degree of ‗unlearning‘ and ethical responsibility. Recognition of the multiple stakeholders and multiple realties that are held in heritage places has caused a shift in the way (non-Aboriginal) researchers position themselves vis-à-vis the social, cultural, and political context of research (Smith and Wobst 2005; Smith, L.T. 1999). My project is part of this shift. Exploring Aboriginal understandings of archaeology will go some small way toward demystifying the political space of research.

Research design I focus my attention on the way the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people of North Stradbroke Island, southeastern Queensland, understand the archaeology that nests within their cultural landscape. The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people are part of an amalgam of Traditional Owners who together are known as the people of Quandamooka (Moreton and Ross 2011). Quandamooka refers to the land and waters of Moreton Bay, including North Stradbroke Island, Moreton Island, and Peel Island (Figure 1). There have been extensive archaeological excavations, archaeological surveys, and cultural heritage assessments throughout the Moreton Bay region since the 1960s. In this thesis I link the archaeological projects conducted on Peel Island and North Stradbroke Island with the Gorenpul-Dandrabin understanding of archaeology as a window into the past.

I take an ethnographic approach in my exploration of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people‘s understandings and uses of archaeology. I also weave in wider Indigenous1 literature to support the ethnographic evidence of Gorenpul-Dandrabin understandings and uses of archaeology. Throughout this thesis I draw on phenomenological and social constructivist methodologies to frame my research (see chapter four).

What emerges from the data is an appreciation of how the past can touch people‘s lives in the present. It does not matter if knowledge of the past is obtained via a focus on the ‗deep past‘ or the recent past; through ethnoarchaeological research or through cultural heritage management; or alternatively via mythology and stories of the Dreaming. The past is of interest to a great many people (Lilley 2005:95). Everyone has a view and a story of the past (Nabokov 2002), and archaeology is just one (albeit loud) voice that animates the past in the present (Davidson 1991). Indigenous understandings of archaeology challenge the traditional definition of archaeology as the objective study of material culture. Indigenous understandings of archaeology emphasise the immaterial and spiritual aspects of place, and conflate past, present, and future. I conclude that archaeological places are dynamic and multitemporal, and our understandings of archaeological places are subjective, intersubjective, politically, historically, and socially constructed, and always located in the present.

1 Throughout this thesis ‘Indigenous’ is used to refer to Indigenous cultures globally, while ‘Aboriginal’ refers to Australian mainland Indigenous peoples. While I recognise that there are different understandings of ‘Aboriginal’ and ‘Indigenous’ (Trigger and Dalley 2010), it is beyond the scope of this thesis to explore this definition.

Figure 1. Map of Moreton Bay region (adapted from Prangnell et al. 2010:141)

Research questions My research is a qualitative investigation into Indigenous understandings of archaeology, as one tool for reconstructing the past. I explore the value, use, and significance of archaeology as understood by Indigenous peoples as a way of further understanding the social, political, and cultural context of archaeology. With a special emphasis on how the lived present influences the way we narrate the past, I ask the following questions:

 How does our disciplinary framing shape research?

 How do ideas of the past and future exist in interpretations of archaeological data?

 What are the uses of archaeological data and their interpretations?

 How do Indigenous people and archaeologists experience heritage places?

Thesis outline In this chapter I have outlined the origins of my thesis research project and introduced the overarching theme of my research: that the present informs how we come to know and interpret the past. I have also introduced my case study of North Stradbroke Island and Peel Island and posed my research questions.

Chapter two provides the background theoretical literature to contextualise my research questions. I look at the impact of the institutionalised scientific discourse on the development of archaeology and on the relationships between archaeological and Indigenous epistemologies. The literature review highlights the influence of cultural heritage management (CHM) in redirecting the archaeology discipline to recognise Aboriginal ontologies. I also show how postcolonial and postprocessual themes of mutlivocality and reflexivity have introduced decolonising methodologies to the practice of a shared, community-based archaeology.

In chapter three I introduce my case studies: North Stradbroke Island (NSI) and Peel Island (PI). I outline the environmental background and provide examples of the archaeological information relating to NSI and PI. I introduce the current development pressures and past colonial history of NSI and PI to give a brief background to Gorenpul-Dandrabin perspectives on archaeology. Finally I outline Gorenpul-Dandrabin approaches to knowledge, with specific attention to Aboriginal Law, yurees (totems), and Dreamtime; these knowledge paradigms structure what and how Gorenpul-Dandrabin people ‗know‘.

In chapter four I explain my qualitative research methodologies of social constructivism and phenomenology and why they are useful in this project. I also explain my research method: ethnographic interviewing.

In chapter five I present a selection of my results. I weave in wider literature written by Indigenous people, Indigenous archaeologists, and non-Indigenous archaeologists to supplement and add depth to the themes that emerged from the interviews.

In chapter six I crystallise the themes raised in the previous chapter. I conclude that Indigenous understandings of the ‗past‘ are situated in a non-linear timescale and that this has implications for the way the past is used. Indigenous understandings of archaeology are culturally located and qualitatively different from the Western scientific paradigm. Hence any recognition of the social, cultural, and political context of research requires an appreciation of social anthropology and the present. I close by looking at the value of interpretations of the past that draw on both archaeological and Aboriginal methodologies.

CHAPTER TWO LITERATURE REVIEW: ARCHAEOLGOY AND THE PRESENT-PAST The meanings we produce are always in the political present, and always have political resonance. Interpreting the past is always a political act (Johnson 2010:110).

Introduction Archaeology has come a long way from its beginnings as a pastime for adventure-seeking and artefact collecting aristocratic men (Griffiths 1996). The once familiar antics of Treasure- Fame-and-Fortune-Seeking-Individuals, such as the infamous Giovanni Bettista Belzoni (1777-1822), a circus strongman turned tomb robber, have long been put to rest, save in the imaginations of Tomb Raider enthusiasts (Nichols 2011). It is now timely to consider the historical roots and future directions of archaeology and its practice in the 21st century. This chapter traces the theory and practice of archaeology from its colonial foundations to its place in ‗post-colonial‘ society today. In Australia, the development of archaeology over time is closely related to the changing relationships archaeology has had with the wider community and particularly Traditional Owners of the land being studied. This attention illustrates the influence of the present on the constructions of the past.

I begin this chapter by investigating some of the troubling historical aspects of archaeological practice and theory in Australia, specifically during the 1960s and 1970s. Concerns over archaeologists‘ disregard for the social context of their work and the ethical responsibilities of working in communities serve as a point of focus for efforts in transforming the discipline (Byrne 1996; David 2006; Ellis 1994; Lilley 2005, 2010; Lydon 2008; McBryde 1994; McNiven and Russel 1998, 2005; Ross 2008; Ross and Coghill 2000; Smith and Jackson 2006; Watkins 2005). The development of holistic and integrated approaches, namely the growth and definition of community archaeology and public archaeology, is summarised. I highlight the influence of cultural heritage management (CHM) in redirecting the discipline of archaeology to recognise other ways of knowing, being, and doing. I then outline the character of these new directions by reference to the social and political dimensions of research, particularly aspects of reflexivity and multivocality, and the importance of an open dialogue between archaeologists and non-archaeologists. Both of these groups have been instrumental in developing decolonising methodologies in the discipline. An historical perspective on archaeology and an understanding of the current social movements in archaeology are necessary to appreciate why an interest in Aboriginal understandings and uses of archaeology by archaeologists has come about, and why it is important.

Structuring the past: recognition of power in communication Archaeology, as cultural practice, is always a politics, always a morality (Shanks and Tilley 1987:212) At heart, archaeology is a colonialist endeavour. It is based on, and generally perpetrates, the values of Western cultures. Privileging the material over the spiritual and the scientific over the religious, archaeological practice is solidly grounded in Western ways of knowing the world (Smith and Wobst 2005:5). That the past is political is not a revelation; this is in large part due to the influential ideas of French social theorist Michel Foucault (1979). Indeed, ‗it is a ubiquitous point within the Indigenous literature‘ (Smith and Waterton 2009:141). Recognition of the power and politics embedded in the archaeological discourse are crucial to understanding the uses (and abuses) of the past and of archaeological data (Gathercole and Lowenthal 1990; Grounds and Ross 2010; Lovata 2007; Smith, G.S. 2006).

The practice of archaeology is, by and large, an outcome of the colonial enterprise. During colonial expansion, anthropology and archaeology developed as a means of organising — ‗understanding and controlling‘ — ‗Europe‘s encounter with widely different cultures‘ (Gosden 1999:16). As Europeans settled the ‗new world‘ and bonded with the new exotic landscape, it was important to develop sustaining nationalistic identities. Appropriating pasts, therefore, was a key to creating a sense of self-image and legitimising the settler‘s place in foreign landscapes distant from the European homeland (McNiven and Russel 2005). An interesting excerpt from opposition Labor leader Arthur Calwell in 1963 taken from the book Claiming a Continent (Day 2005:342) gives a snapshot of the rather naïve mission of developing a national identity:

To no other nation in the world has the opportunity been granted for the sole possession and development of a sea-girt land mass by a single people. To no other nation has it been given to unite their will and destiny upon an empty land of such vast extent ... Fortunately for us, there is a continent awaiting our conquest, and its name is Australia (emphasis added). The idea of claiming an empty continent was pervasive early on in Australia. Within this ‗conquest‘ discourse the Aboriginal voice was excluded. Aboriginal images and artefacts were appropriated as the ‗common property of post-settler nations, freely available for use as symbols in the construction of nationhood‘ (Sissons 2005:8). During this time, archaeologists classified and conceptualised the past into bounded and fixed sites in time and space (McNiven and Russel 2005; Smith and Burke 2005). In the process, the meanings of objects, places, and people were transformed (Byrne 2005). This way of structuring the past, as linear and progressive, reflects the events, philosophies, and ideas of development and modernity at this 7 time (Smith, G.S. 2006). Uncritical archaeological discourses such as that practised during the 1960s and 1970s, and the use of terms such as ‗prehistory‘ and ‗relics‘, are criticised today for focussing on the deep past, simultaneously silencing a shared history of entanglement and the changing nature of culture, and thus subverting Indigenous claims to the past (Allen and Phillips 2010; Byrne 2002, 2003; David and Denham 2006; Harrison 2005; Ireland and Lydon 2005; Moser et al. 2002). The perpetuation of a Eurocentric understanding of the past that imposed European theories of progressivism and evolutionary schemes onto Australia relegated contemporary Aboriginal people to the ‗Stone Age‘ (Bates 1993; Ellis 1994; McBryde 1994). Hence archaeology practised at this time joined the complicit legitimisation of a ‗social order permeated by racism, classism, and gender bias‘ (Franklin 1997:38). In this way, archaeology is said to have been complicit in colonialism (McNiven and Russel 2005).

The pan-narratives that are characteristic of archaeology as practised early on in the discipline promoted a history of humankind that assumed objectivity. These narratives downplayed local, internal cultural complexities. Despite the legal recognition of all Indigenous Australians‘ rights via the referendum in 1967, these old discourses and images of Aboriginal people as lacking complexity still find currency in some circles today (Grounds and Ross 2010; McNiven 2011; Merlan 2005).

McNiven‘s (2011) investigation into the interpretation of the Gwion Gwion (Bradshaw) rock paintings of the Kimberley demonstrates how discourses of dispossession and disenfranchisement of Aboriginal people are still active (see also McNiven and Russel 2005). Between 1994 and 2006, a high profile political debate occurred over the origins of the Gwion Gwion paintings, often referred to as the ‗Bradshaw debate‘. Some participants in the debate denied the ability of the ancestors of modern Kimberley Aboriginal people to have created the sophisticated Gwion Gwion rock paintings; instead they argued that such elaborate images must have been created by an advanced pre-Aboriginal ‗race‘ (Bradshaw 1981:60 cited in Parker et al. 2007; Walsh 1994). These colonial tropes are still manifest in concepts such as: ‗progressivism,‘ ‗antiquation‘, ‗migrationism‘, and ‗diffusionism‘ (McNiven and Russel 2005). McNiven (2011) highlights how defunct archaeological theories, such as the trihybrid model, continue to find traction in conservative governments and with non-professional researchers (see also Grounds and Ross 2010). The ‗Bradshaw debate‘ also exemplifies how archaeology can become a political tool. By conceptualising Gwion Gwion rock art as a ‗missing link‘ in the development of Homo sapiens sapiens generally, the colonisers sent their own ‗roots down into the continent‘s past‘, thus inserting themselves into the past by constructing a national identity of longevity (Byrne 1996:82). Appropriating pasts has served 8 the purpose of legitimising and normalising European colonisation of Australia, and sustained rather than challenged the contemporary social order (Shackel 2004; Tilley 1989).

Australia, as a ‗post-settler‘ nation, has a dark and often uncomfortable history. Archaeology, as with all social sciences and disciplines, works within the social milieu of the time. I say this not as a way of destabilising or criticising archaeology, but to acknowledge the historical and present political and social landscape and realities of the discipline. Understanding the development of archaeology and the politics inherent in cultural practice is necessary for understanding the positions people take on knowledge and data, why people may be resistant to such data, who may use these data, and what their uses may be.

Confronting the socio-political nature of archaeology, as McNiven (2011) and others (Grounds and Ross 2010; Zimmerman 2006) have done, has had the effect of transforming the way in which many archaeologists ‗think about, practise, and advocate‘ the discipline (Franklin 1997:37). Indigenous and human rights movements have radically shifted the representations of Indigenous peoples by giving ‗greater audibility to an unmediated Indigenous voice in the contemporary world‘ (Sissons 2005:8). The growing communication and alliances between Indigenous communities and archaeologists is transforming the discipline of archaeology as we know it (Allen and Phillips 2010). Specifically, archaeology is recognised as a discipline with responsibilities to the public (Meskell 2002; Nicholas and Hollowell 2007; Nichols 2011); archaeologists are story-tellers of the past (Bender and Smith 2000; Joyce et al. 2002; McGimsey 1972; Smith G. 2006), and as story-tellers we need to recognise that our story is not the only story. Stories are always contextually bounded (Bender 2006). They are reflective of the social policy, education, economics, science, technology, communication, and many other factors that inform our understanding at any given point in time. In a very real sense, then, all archaeology is public archaeology (Nichols 2011). Consequently, archaeology needs to be cognisant of the fact that there are ways of understanding and interpreting the past other than those seen in the academy or in the mainstream practice of the archaeology discipline (Zimmerman 2006). Where appropriate, the discipline of archaeology has become inclusive of these different views and values, especially when decisions as to the management of cultural heritage places are being made (Colwell-Chanthaphonh and Ferguson 2008; Ferguson et al. 1997).

Social and political dimensions of research Archaeologists are more than chroniclers of the past. They are part of the medium through which the past is channelled to the present and future. Like it or not, or ready for it or not, they are public archaeologists and keepers of the past with all its blemishes. Archaeology tells the story of the multi-coloured tapestry of our life on this planet. Presenting the past in context is critical to telling that story (Smith G. 2006:134). I have already outlined certain colonial tropes institutionalised early on in the archaeology discipline. The colonial agenda and its relationship with archaeology serve as an example of the way the past may be presented. The past is always interpreted in the present (Andrews and Buggey 2008). It is to this relationship between the past and the present, and the influence of CHM in recognising and implementing this connection that I now turn.

The past is of interest to a great many people from a great many backgrounds (Lilley 2010; Nichols 2011; Swidler et al. 1997:7). Due to the fact that archaeologists are not often closely connected to the archaeological record they study, except in certain simulated situations (Hall et al. 2005) or if investigating their own history, archaeologists can only ever have an etic perspective on the past (Langton 1981). That is, we can only investigate the past from the outside. On the other hand, Indigenous people who are part of the culture that created the archaeological record, who live with the archaeological record and have oral histories that situate the archaeological record within a local cultural landscape, have an emic perspective of their past. That is to say, they have an understanding of archaeology from the inside. Yet both accounts of the past – the etic and the emic – are bounded by the present. This presents an interesting juxtaposition of interpretations. My study, and the qualitative understandings it seeks, goes some way towards exploring these different positions and understandings.

Archaeology does important work in asserting the past and in defining what constitutes valid forms of evidence; this necessarily requires professionals to take responsibility for the effects of their research in the present (Allen and Phillips 2010; Ireland and Lydon 2005). Because of the objective language or archaeology, and a typical focus on materiality, the ‗interpretive task of the archaeologist is sometimes unrecognised, or perceived to be minimal, as if the evidence will speak for itself‘ (Ireland and Lydon 2005:10). Consequently oral history and narratives held by Aboriginal people that animate the material culture and give objects their meaning in the here and now are often undervalued or overlooked (Bradley 2008; Byrne 2003, 2005; Nabokov 2002). The exclusion of other, ‗alternative‘, forms of evidence and values may be a source of hostility between these two ways of knowing (Gathercole and Lowenthal 1990;

Zimmerman 1994). This is especially apparent in CHM when what is at stake is not just the legitimacy of stories, but the physicality of places in the future.

In CHM, where most archaeologists are employed (Ulm et al. 2005), it is important to have an understanding of Indigenous knowledge in order to assess the significance of places (Byrne et al. 2001). Having a balanced significance assessment that incorporates archaeological values as well as the Indigenous values is important in the design and implementation of appropriate and successful cultural heritage management plans (Pearson and Sullivan 1995). Failure to understand Indigenous values risks stakeholders being silenced when important government decisions about heritage are made.

Until recently, the practice of CHM has been dominated by a positivist archaeological paradigm that frames the past as static and objective, ultimately leading heritage practitioners to seek an ‗authentic‘ Indigenous heritage that codifies Western stereotypes of the Indigenous past (Ellis 1994; Godwin 2005; Prangnell et al. 2010; Ross et al. 2010). Heritage significance in the Indigenous worldview, however, is not a static list of places occupied in the past, but is intimately connected to personal experiences and negotiations that take place in the present — and that will continue to be part of the future. Therefore a significant place in the Indigenous paradigm may be, and often is, different from what is deemed significant in the archaeological paradigm. For example archaeology tends to privilege the tangible material culture while Indigenous people tend to privilege the wider natural environment. Consequently, privileging an archaeological discourse to the neglect of the Indigenous discourse may lead to flawed significance assessments and undesirable management solutions for Indigenous people (Ellis 1994; Godwin 2005; Godwin and Weiner 2006; Smith, L. 2006).

Since the 1960s, in an effort to counter this silence, an unmediated Indigenous voice has been injected into academia (e.g. Gunstone 2009; Moreton-Robinson 2004; Nakata 2007; Smith, L.T. 1999). The Indigenous voice has also entered applied archaeology (e.g. Langford 1983), breaking the ‗structured way of seeing‘ (Hajer 2005:203) or dominant archaeological discourse. This can be seen as CHM moves away from creating ‗dots on a map‘, instead adopting a cultural landscape approach (Smith and Burke 2005; Strang 2008), and replacing a focus on objects and sites as ‗dead‘ – from the past – with recognition of the current connection people have with places and material culture; a connection that imbues life into places and objects (Bates 1993; Bradley 2008; Prangnell et al. 2010; Ross 2008; Ross et al. 2010; Sullivan 2008).

The interplay between archaeology, CHM, and identity necessitates a socially engaged practice. The colonial agenda has been replaced by a socially responsible practice that presents a balanced and credible account of the past. It is no longer acceptable to write up ‗plain language‘ reports of the results of scholarly research as the only means of communicating archaeology to Traditional Owners (Jameson and Baugher 2007). A socially engaged archaeology means more than just presenting archaeology to the public:

It is now about reaching out to members of the community and making them stakeholders in the archaeological discourse. It is a way of making archaeology an integral part of a community‘s heritage (Shackel 2004:14). Public engagement serves as a turning point in the practice and relevance of archaeology.

Holistic and integrated approaches Past injustices that perpetuate etic images of Aboriginal identity and Aboriginal pasts have been criticised for the way they legitimate the privileged place of Europeans in Australia and the subjugated position of Aboriginal people (Smith, L.T. 1999). Today, the recognition of the social, cultural, and political context of research has caused a shift in the way researchers position themselves (Lippert 2006; McBryde 1995) signified by the proliferation of holistic and integrated archaeological approaches such as that of Indigenous archaeology, public archaeology, and community-based archaeology (e.g. Atalay 2008; Cole et al. 2002; Greer et al. 2002; McDavid 2001; Moser et al. 2002; Prangnell et al. 2010). In these emerging forms of archaeology the ethos is of a responsible and accountable research framework that is self- consciously critical of an archaeological enterprise that propagates Eurocentrism.

Collaborative community-based archaeology is one methodology used in recent archaeological practice that is replacing ethnocentric approaches with a more liberated, democratic discipline; democratic in the sense that it is inclusive of epistemologies that are contrary to, even challenging of, the often privileged Western scientific understanding of the world (Zimmerman 2006). In this methodology, archaeological knowledge is shared with descendent communities and the public at large in the spirit of making archaeology relevant and transparent (Nichols 2011; Watkins 2005). Community archaeology is influenced by CHM; both are guided by postprocessual constructivist themes of reflexivity and multivocality (Hodder 2008; Smith and Waterson 2009).

If we accept that objectivity is a chimera, that in fact all constructions are contingent on our own subjectivities and ‗preunderstandings‘ (see chapter four) (Guba and Lincoln 2000), then we need to be more aware of how we construct the world around us, including our past. Thus

12 a reflexive approach is essential to understanding and unpacking the taken-for-granted assumptions of the archaeology discipline. Influenced by postmodern and postprocessual movements, reflexivity is embraced as a transformative approach (Hodder 2003a).

Smith and Burke (2005) reflect on the transformative nature of CHM. Traditional CHM, according to Smith and Burke (2005), is inflexible and Eurocentric. The practice of CHM in the late 20th century, they argue, privileged a scientific and archaeological discourse and worked independently of local concerns and Indigenous worldviews (cf. Byrne 1991; Ellis 1994; Sullivan 1993). As cultural heritage professionals have recently reflected on the damage ‗dots on a map‘ do in subverting Indigenous worldviews, heritage managers now espouse a different approach to ‗management‘ (Atalay 2008; Byrne 2005; Ross 2008). An approach that seeks to ‗join the dots‘ and represent heritage sites as they are experienced and known — in places, as part of a cultural landscape — is gaining ground as many professionals work within the framework of best practice to recognise the value places have and the way value is ascribed by stakeholders (Smith and Burke 2005). The development of a socially and politically conscious CHM practice has been produced by on-going reflexivity (Bender 2006; Moser et al. 2002; Weiner 2011).

Reflexivity is, therefore, important as a means of staying relevant. This is especially important in the applied field (as in CHM) but it is also important in academic research. For example Bradley and Kearney (2005) reflect that it is inappropriate to use structural frameworks when working with Aboriginal people. To stay relevant and true to the people with whom they were working, Bradley and Kearney had to discard traditional notions of objectivity and adopt a poststructuralist approach. Poststructuralism allowed Bradley and Kearney to subvert traditional dichotomies of subject/object and knower/known and in their place emphasise relationships and agency. A constructivist and phenomenological approach is used by Bradley and Kearney as a way of exploring alternative ways of being and knowing that are different from traditional Western scientific understandings. While Western science classifies the environment and species according to morphological and evolutionary similarities, the Yanyuwa in the Gulf of Carpentaria look at the world differently (Bradley et al. 2006). The Yanyuwa classify the world according to kin relationships: Objects may be classified into groups based on their physical and evolutionary similarities, but they may also be grouped according to similarities in habitat, their place in the kinship system, their mythological importance, their utility as food or tools, their potential danger to humans, their ecological relationship to other environmental features, or even according to the Yanyuwa expression of their own identity and self-realisation (Bradley et al. 2006:1).

Thus in the Yanyuwa world view the natural and cultural environment are one. The Yanyuwa world view is not able to be reduced to structures and fundamental statements. Reflexivity and phenomenology are the key to the recognition of ‗alternative‘ paradigms.

The move towards reflexivity has taken place ‗in the increasingly ethically-conscious halls of academy, but also in local, national and international heritage management committees‘ (Hodder 2003a:56). Archaeology sits on the fence, straddling both the natural sciences and the social sciences, making reflexivity in archaeology important, but also difficult. Reflexivity calls on archaeologists to recognise their position, and thus their partial knowledge, and to question their taken-for-granted assumptions, and from this recognise other, multiple positions (Hodder 2008).

Multivocality refers to the recognition of values, agendas, and interests that are different from, even challenging to, archaeology, yet are valid cultural perspectives and sources of evidence that enrich and augment the knowledge and understanding of the past (Byrne 2005; Godwin and Weiner 2006; Greer et al. 2002; Smith and Burke 2005; Smith and Waterton 2009). Multivocality extends to the recognition that archaeologists are no longer the primary stewards of the past, nor the only authoritative voices upon which archaeology is interpreted. Archaeology extends to communities that are culturally affiliated with their pasts and are simultaneously represented and studied by those interested in their pasts (Zimmerman 2006). As mentioned earlier, in CHM the development of appropriate significance assessments is contingent upon the ability of practitioners to recognise the multiple values of place (Byrne 2005; Byrne et al. 2001). Valorisation of archaeological significance over Indigenous significance leads to flawed management plans, and can become a source of hostility.

These themes of reflexivity and multivocality fundamentally shift the practice of archaeology. By recognising the biases implicit in archaeology, recognising the multiple discourses that animate the past, and incorporating stakeholders in the interpretation of the archaeological record, a more socially engaged archaeology is created. A socially engaged archaeology strengthens the relationship between archaeology and the public (Nichols 2011).

This development in archaeology has been influenced by the Indigenous archaeological literature. Indigenous archaeology is defined as ‗archaeology conducted with, for, and by Indigenous peoples‘ (Nicholas and Andrews 1997). As highlighted above, when archaeology dominates the representation of the identities of others, the discipline often distresses minority groups by subverting their world views and making it difficult for them to assert their rights over their past … and future (Ireland and Lydon 2005:17; McNiven 2011; Smith, L. 2006). 14

Community archaeology is about reversing this practice. In this approach to archaeology Indigenous people and archaeologists work together to interpret the past, making interpretations responsive to Indigenous expectations of archaeology by placing their histories in the present and destabilising traditional Western notions of ‗objective‘ histories, distanced from contemporary peoples (Watkins 2010:53). Thus the literature on community archaeology is instructive in promoting the concept of ‗living culture‘. The very nature of living culture celebrates the closeness that exists between objects and people and challenges collections of relics as ‗decontextualised fragments‘ that distance people from their heritage (Ireland and Lydon 2005:8; Prangnell et al. 2010; Ross 2008, 2010). Thus integrated approaches serve to enrich the practice of archaeology, shaping research designs and outcomes in creative and often unexpected ways (Cole et al. 2002; Moser et al. 2002; Smith and Wobst 2005). For example, Bradley‘s (2008) paper When a Stone Tool is a Dingo foregrounds Indigenous approaches to material culture through post-structural theory, demonstrating that an Aboriginal significance of heritage lies in the complex connections between people, places, and living heritage, rather than in the material evidence per se.

Bradley (2008) champions the central place of ethnoarchaeology in his research. He highlights the need to be aware of the sociality of things and the intimate and ‗entangled‘ relationships between objects and human behaviour. This conceptualisation of material culture challenges old notions held by archaeologists where material culture is typically seen as discrete objects, and the goal of archaeology is merely to specify the processes that lead to the creation and placement of objects in the landscape. His poststructural approach ‗tackles sociality and emotion in understandings of the past and embraces multiplicity of meaning to explain the tangible heritage of human groups‘ (Bradley and Kearney 2006:183). For example, in the paper When a Stone Tool is a Dingo Bradley (2008) narrates a car trip through Yanyuwa country accompanied by Yanyuwa elders. Bradley listens to the Yanyuwa elders speak the many names of places, and observes a Yanyuwa elder crying, speaking, and singing to country (cf. Rose 1996). Bradley‘s (2008) paper is significant in that it represents peoples‘ connections between places and living heritage. Peoples‘ relationships with places and material culture are not necessarily based on technological function (see also Ross et al. 2003). In the case of the Yanyuwa people, their relationship with material culture is a relationship of power, kinship, and emotion. Stone tools, rather than being valued only as utilitarian tools, are valued as sources of identity, in this case being the fat of the singer‘s grandfather, who is the Dingo creator being.

Archaeologists are now more than ever recognising a need for sensitivity in archaeological practice and data production given the ‗umbilical link between historical geography and self- image‘ (Nabokov 2002:132). In recognising this link, landscapes are framed as ‗a product of a complex interaction between a symbolically and historically constituted human social world and material environment‘ (Godwin and Weiner 2006:124). This is grounded in the phenomenological notion of a ‗place world‘. Nabokov (2002) articulates the way of American Indian history whereby the past, and therefore identity, is anchored in place:

From Spirit Mountain to these Blythe figures, we‘d coasted over a hidden Mohave world whose intermingling of dream, story, geography and history remains a blank to most of us. From Avikwame (Spirit Mountain) to AviKwahath (South Mountain) in Arizona to AviKoovoTut (Monument Peak) just southwest of Parker Dam, this habitat and history sank deep into the Mohave psyche. Their supernatural precursors and human forbears had created it, their songs and narratives continued to claim it (Nabokov 2002:129). Likewise Kearney (2005), in her study of engagement with the Yanyuwa, conveys that place is a powerful concept from which identity is founded and in which memory resides. ‗Memory places‘ is an expression that refers to ‗spots of cultural-historical significance‘, where primacy is given to remembering and experiencing on a personal level and where time and place from a Western perspective collapse (Nabokov 2002:130; see also Lavers 2010).

Representing the emic view, Yanyuwa people‘s lived reality and complex relationships with the landscape through their traditional knowledge, is a step forward from the etic view of material culture, and demonstrates how archaeology has changed over the past 20 years (Allen and Phillips 2010:27). Indeed, as Roberts and Hemming (2005:49) remind us: ‗the discipline of archaeology has long been guilty of imposing its own systems of categorisation around concepts such as time, space and culture‘. Social archaeologists call for the rapprochement of anthropological and archaeological perspectives in contemporary Aboriginal heritage (Byrne 2002, 2006; Godwin 2005; Godwin and Weiner 2006; Smith and Wobst 2005; Zimmerman 2006):

Social archaeology is often seen to breach the disciplinary boundaries of orthodox method and practice, increasingly blurring the line between anthropology and archaeology — disciplines long held to be separate (Bradley and Kearney 2006:184). The acknowledgement of a ‗multiplicity of meanings‘ in poststructural social archaeology is linked to recognising the different values or ‗angles of perception‘ that Aboriginal people place on material culture and the ‗angles of perception‘ held by the archaeologist (Bradley 2008). Godwin and Weiner (2006:125) invite archaeologists to recognise Aboriginal

16 stakeholders‘ different value systems, grounded in different ontological positions, to become a part of the survey rather than only making an adventitious comment upon it. Thus, legitimate collaboration often means archaeologists are required to alter their methodologies to involve alternative, Indigenous values, agendas, and interests, otherwise ‗missed‘ when looking through a Western empirical and positivist lens (Prangnell et al. 2010; Ross and Coghill 2000; Ross et al. 2003; Ross et al. 2010). An integrated approach, therefore, necessitates a perspective that actively encompasses different worldviews, often adding layers of complexity to archaeological understandings (Thomas and Buggey 2008). In order to do this, however, a nuanced understanding of how Indigenous people understand archaeology is needed.

Conclusion The very development of archaeology as a discipline is the story of events, philosophies, and ideas about structuring the past (Smith L. 2006:124). Archaeology has changed a lot in the past 20 years (Hodder 2001, 2003b). These changes are reflective of changing Australian identity, social goals and political times. During the 1960s and 1970s much of Aboriginal people‘s past and identity were colonised or appropriated by white specialists and experts. Over a number of decades now Aboriginal people have become vocal about the colonial complicity of archaeology. Since the rise of postprocessualism, it is now well recognised that archaeological research does not take place in a vacuum. The postmodern and Indigenous movements have fundamentally changed the way we conduct research. As we settle into the 21st century the ethical consciousness of researchers is arguably greater than it has ever been before, with many (even most) altering their methodologies to incorporate epistemologies other than Western scientific ways of knowing. Social archaeologists call for the explicit recognition of the social, cultural, and political contexts of research. To answer this call, I explore Aboriginal understandings of the archaeology of North Stradbroke Island (NSI) and Peel Island (PI). In the next chapter I introduce the archaeological and environmental significance of NSI and PI, the historical and urban development background of NSI and PI, and I provide an overview of the Aboriginal community‘s understanding of these places.

CHAPTER THREE INTRODUCING NORTH STRADBROKE ISLAND AND PEEL ISLAND

Introduction The literature on the history and practice of archaeology reviewed in the previous chapter highlighted the different epistemologies of Western scientific knowledge and Indigenous knowledge; archaeology in the past worked independently of Indigenous understandings and this became a source of contestation. However over the past 20 years archaeology has become more inclusive of ‗alternative‘ understandings. In this chapter I expand on these different epistemologies by outlining the different knowledges pertaining to North Stradbroke Island (NSI) and Peel Island (PI), Moreton Bay. I do not privilege one way of knowing over another, but merely show by example where the differences lie. This is a necessary first step in navigating the different epistemologies and ontologies that make up the social, cultural, and political contexts of archaeological research.

Moreton Bay is located in the extreme southeast corner of Queensland (Figure 1). NSI is a popular holiday and tourist destination and as such it has been a focus for rapid urban expansion, industry development, and archaeological investigations. McNiven et al. (2002:1) describe coastal southeast Queensland as ‗one of the most intensively studied archaeological regions of Australia‘. PI, located west of NSI, has also been the focus of archaeological study (e.g. Prangnell 1999, 2002; Ross and Coghill 2000; Ross and Duffy 2000; Ross and Tomkins 2011).

The Moreton Bay region is the traditional country of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin, Noonucal, and Nughi people, collectively known as the people of Quandamooka. In this chapter I outline the environmental setting, the archaeological knowledge, the historical setting, the industry and developmental pressures, and Aboriginal knowledge of NSI and PI. The information presented in this chapter illustrates the scientific approach of archaeology. Contrastingly, the Gorenpul- Dandrabin people have an intimate relationship with the environment, shaped by the Dreaming and closely linked to their identity.

Environmental setting To understand the archaeological story of NSI and PI it is first necessary to have an understanding of the ecology and geomorphology of the bay. Environmental context is used by archaeologists as a backdrop to interpret past economic behaviour.

NSI, together with South Stradbroke Island and Moreton Island make up the eastern boundary of Moreton Bay (Hall 1999). At 38km long and 12km at its widest point NSI is one of the largest sand islands in the world. With the exception of the small rocky outcrops at Point Lookout, Main Beach Quarry, and Dunwich, NSI is composed entirely of sand deposited over millions of years by ocean currents and wind patterns and supports. The sandy soils support depauperate wallum forests characterised by rare and uncommon species of fauna and diverse flora (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004). The vegetation on the island is known to trap sand and thereby stabilise the dunes (Hesp 2008).

NSI is home to a number of perched and window freshwater lakes and wetlands with great scientific and Aboriginal significance (Moult 2011). There are a range of intertidal and marine habitats associated with NSI, including coral reefs, rocky and sandy shores, mangrove forests, and seagrass beds. Moreton Bay to the west of NSI provides a productive food-rich shoreline, once described as a ‗seafood supermarket‘ (Hall 1982:80). The bay provides a habitat for dugong, bottle-nosed dolphins, around 400 different fish species, turtles, and numerous kinds of molluscs and crustaceans (Barker and Ross 2003; Hall and Hiscock 1988).

The island was once linked to the mainland. Between about 85,000 BP and 10,000 BP, the floor of Moreton Bay was exposed as dry land, with rivers flowing across its surface. Approximately 18,000 years ago, at the height of the last glacial, the eastern coast of the Moreton region was roughly 30-40km seaward of its present position (Hall 1999:171). Subsequent melting of Pleistocene ice caused a gradual landward transgression of the sea until about 6,000 years ago, when sea levels came close to their present position (Hall and Hiscock 1988:7); the present coastline was fully established by 3,500 BP (Hall 1999).

Analysis of geomorphological data is an essential tool used by archaeologists to reconstruct coastlines (Bailey and Craighead 2003; Beaton 1990; see also Bird et al. 2002; Bourke 2005; Bourke et al. 2007; Jerardino 1997; Waselkov 1987). Specifically, the transgressing sea is used to predict the archaeological visibility of coastal middens and to predict the types of environment, and thus the types of resources used by local people at certain points in time. The environmental setting for NSI (and Moreton Bay generally) informs archaeologists‘ interpretations of the Moreton Bay archaeological record. 19

Archaeological research Before industrial development on NSI, hundreds of Aboriginal shell middens existed across the island (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004). Shell middens are some of the most common pre- contact sites in Australia. They are valued by archaeologists as sites to study past settlement patterns and food gathering strategies (Bowdler 2006; Waselkov 1987). As such, over the past four decades the Moreton region has been the focus of a myriad of ‗public‘ and ‗academic‘ archaeological activities. While some of these studies have been published in academic journals and local history books (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004), other data are only available in consultancy reports and unpublished theses (e.g. Prangnell 1999). I have collated examples of the accessible data into two tables: excavation (Table A1 – appendix A) and survey activities (Table A2 – appendix A). I present age determinations, excavation methods used (where relevant), and material recorded. These data provide examples of the archaeological paradigm used to understand the past history of NSI and PI: a paradigm that focuses on material culture and chronology.

The archaeology of NSI and PI contributes to the understanding of Australian ‗prehistory‘ (Hall 1987) by creating data used to determine the antiquity of coastal occupation, the influence of climate change on people, and hunter-gatherer economic and social practices. Archaeological sites on NSI are predominately located around the coastal rim of the island (Prangnell et al. 2010). Due to the actions of industrial development and sand extraction since the 1960s, however, hundreds of sites have been destroyed or disturbed (Durbidge 1984; Ponosov 1965; Prangnell et al. 2010). The interior of the island contains relatively little archaeological evidence and no archaeological sites have ever been found in the Banksia- dominated areas of NSI (Prangnell et al. 2010).

Arguably the most significant archaeological site in the region is the shell midden at Wallen Wallen Creek on NSI‘s west coast. This site contains the earliest recorded evidence for human occupation in the Moreton region (Hall and Hiscock 1988; Neal and Stock 1986; see also Ross and Duffy 2000). Archaeological research suggests that Wallen Wallen Creek was occupied for at least the past 20,000 years, during which time the Aboriginal subsistence economy was based primarily on coastal and open marine resource harvesting (Hall and Hiscock 1988; Neal and Stock 1986; see also Moreton and Ross 2011). Traditional archaeological interpretations argue that the spatial and temporal changes in the archaeological record of the coastal zone in Moreton Bay indicate an intensification of production from 1200-1000 years ago (Hall 1999; Lourandos 1997; Walters 1989). Hall and Hiscock (1988) propose that (1) there was a change from the exploitation of terrestrial and 20 aquatic environments to an exclusively aquatic coastal subsistence strategy at this time and (2) an increase in the discard of cultural material after about 2000 BP. Recently the idea of intensification has undergone scrutiny by Ulm (1995, 2002) who emphasises the ability for discard behaviour, post-depositional and preservation factors, sampling, and site visibility to skew interpretations of shell middens (see also Ross and Duffy 2000). Despite the debates over the nature and timing of occupation, the high number of shell middens recorded on NSI indicates the importance of marine and intertidal resources in the subsistence strategies of the past (and present) occupants of the bay.

Historical setting The first encounter between Europeans and Aboriginal people in Moreton Bay occurred in 1803 with the expedition led by Matthew Flinders (Carter et al. 1994). Flinders estimated that 300 Indigenous people inhabited the island at this time (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004).

In the early years of European settlement, NSI was home to a Benevolent Asylum (1866- 1946), a Quarantine Station (1854-1869), a Lazaret (1891-1907), and an Aboriginal Catholic Mission (1843-1940). These sites of contact or encounter have been studied by Evans (1970), Goodall (1992), Prangnell (1999) and Walker (1997).

Aboriginal use of Peel Island, 2km to the west of Dunwich, ceased when the island was used by colonial and state governments to isolate and incarcerate persons considered by society to be unfit (Prangnell 1999). During the 19th and 20th centuries PI housed a Quarantine Station (1873-1906), an Inebriates Asylum (1910-1913), and a Lazaret for the segregation of sufferers of Hansen‘s disease (leprosy) (1907-1959) (Prangnell 2002). The island was abandoned by Europeans in 1959 and is now managed as a national park; visitor access to the island is limited (Prangnell 2002).

Industry and development As with most places in Australia, NSI experienced dramatic industrial and economic developments during the post-war boom years (>1945). Commercial and recreational fishing began in the 1940s, oystering began in 1876 and expanded during the 1950s, and hardwood forestry, which commenced in the 1940s, continues to the present day. The dominant industry on NSI today is sand mining. Mineral sand mining, which began in 1956, extracts ilmenite and rutile (which together are used to produce titanium), zircon, and silica sand (used in making glass). The mines are a source of economic wealth for the area. In 2002 Consolidated Rutile Limited produced minerals worth $88.1 million (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004:107). Mining, however, has dramatically altered the island by clearing large areas of fragile wallum forest and 21 swamp areas. Intensive mining has lead to the degradation of habitats, increased sedimentation and decreased ecological productivity in the area (Barker and Ross 2003; Prangnell et al. 2010). Current Queensland government policy is for mining to end by 2019, with mining in the region generally to be phased out by 2025 under the North Stradbroke Island Protection and Sustainability Act 2011. It is expected that tourism will come to dominate the local economy, with visitor numbers projected to rise to 400,000 annually (Durbidge and Covacevich 2004). The Queensland Parks and Wildlife Service manages some recreation areas on the island and the national parks of the bay under the Recreation Areas Management Act 1988 and the Nature Conservation Act 1992. Other recreation areas, such as Brown Lake (or Bummeira) are managed by Redland City Council (cf. Moult 2011).

Today NSI has a permanent population of 3000 people. The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people are increasingly vocal about the industries that threaten the fragile ecosystems of the bay, and cause change to the social fabric of the island (Ross et al. 2011).

Aboriginal living heritage The Quandamooka story outlined in this thesis is the public story sanctioned by the Gorenpul- Dandrabin people, specifically the Moreton family. This story, therefore, may differ from other Aboriginal stories about Quandamooka. It is beyond the scope of an Honours project to include more than one family‘s story of connection to country. The following information is the intellectual property of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people.

Quandamooka refers to the land and waters that are occupied by Gorenpul-Dandrabin, Nughi, and Noonuccal people (Figure 2). As recently as July 2011 the Federal Court of Australia recognised Quandamooka people‘s native title rights and interests over the land and waters on and surrounding NSI, and some islands in Moreton Bay (National Native Title Tribunal 2011). The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have a complex system of belonging to the land, underpinned by their ontology and related epistemology and protocols. According to Gorenpul-Dandrabin knowledge, their ancestors have been living in the region known as Quandamooka since the beginning of time (Moreton and Ross 2011; Ross and Duffy 2000; Ross and Tomkins 2011). In the Dreaming the Law, the land, the waters, and the animals were created by the actions of various creator beings. At the end of creation the creator beings took the form of the land or the form of creatures that still live in various special places in the landscape (Moreton and Ross 2011; Moult 2011; Prangnell et al. 2010).

Figure 2. Map of Quandamooka, showing Gorenpul-Dandrabin place names that relate directly to Quandamooka Law and knowledge (Moreton and Ross 2011:60).

While there are many stories that relate to the creation of geographical features and social laws, perhaps the best known public story is that of the Rainbow Serpent, also known as Kabool. During the Dreaming, Kabool was a very powerful and very large snake that travelled across country, carving the land, creating life, and imparting Law to animals and people. Kabool now rests in special water places. The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people therefore have a close connection to all the ecosystems of Moreton Bay, as these ecosystems are the creation and habitat of important creator beings. Scarred trees and tracks around significant creeks and waterways, including travel routes of creator beings, remain as a physical reminder of past events and traditions (Moreton and Ross 2011).

This understanding of the past and the present comes through people‘s knowledge of the Law that was given to them by their ancestors in the Dreaming (Coghill, L. pers. comm. 2009). The Law is not questioned. The Law is likened to an unwritten contract where correct behaviour between people and country was established from the beginning of time. The Law lives on through the actions, performances, and oral traditions of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people (Coghill, S. pers. comm. 2009). The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have a responsibility to keep the Law by managing the land and waters that were created by creator beings (Moreton and Ross 2011; Prangnell et al. 2010; Ross et al. 2011).

Responsibilities to the biota of Moreton Bay are imparted in response to each person‘s given yuree (Moreton and Ross 2011), or totem. Rose (1996:28) defines totems as being a ‗three- way relationship between the people, the species, and the country … [where the people‘s] own well-being is inextricably linked with the well-being of their totemic species‘ and, by extension, to the land and sea. Knowledge about a yuree and its habitats forms the intellectual property of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people. The Law asserts that a person cannot eat any of his or her yurees, and anyone who wishes to hunt or collect those species must first ask permission from the keepers of the yurees (Moreton and Ross 2011). Responsibilities to yurees include carrying out appropriate ceremonies, respecting taboos, and physically managing resources, through, for example, fire management or controlling weeds. In this way Gorenpul-Dandrabin Law ensures the protection and care of all plants and animals, and their habitats.

The people of Quandamooka value fishing, shellfishing, and marine hunting activities as principle subsistence activities (Ross and Tomkins 2011). Marine foods are shared according to an individual‘s responsibilities to kin; nothing is (or was) intentionally over-exploited lest the Law be broken and people‘s responsibilities to their yurees upset. In return for keeping the Law alive by caring for country, the country nourishes the people by giving health to the

24 spiritual, physical, and emotional self (Rose 1996; cf. Bradley 1997, 2001; Yanyuwa Families et al. 2003). The symbiotic relationship between people and country, mediated by Law, is the source of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people‘s identity.

One example of caring for country is the practice of making shell middens. As already mentioned, NSI is particularly vulnerable to attrition due to the low nutrient, unstable sands that make up the island. The vegetation on the island acts to stabilise the sand dunes and provide nutrients for the succession of plants (Hesp 2008). According to Gorenpul-Dandrabin Law, shell middens act in the same way. The deliberate deposition of shell material onto sand dunes provides a hard and stable ‗cap‘ to the dunes, which acts to stabilise the dune (Coghill, S. pers. comm. 2009). The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people tell me that they actively engineered the structure of the island by the deliberate placement of shell middens to protect the fragile soils. Consequently land management, kinship, yurees, subsistence, and Law, all come together and make up Gorenpul-Dandrabin people‘s connection to country and understanding of their history and their place in country.

Conclusion The Traditional Owners have a view of the environment that is qualitatively different from that of scientists and developers. Aboriginal knowledge is holistic. It has accumulated over generations of observing and living with country and it is passed down by tradition. Oral history is the principle way Indigenous knowledge is communicated (Nabokov 2002). Learning is a very social process — with knowledge being passed on at events of rites of passage and social gatherings. The Aboriginal story is personal and local. Gorenpul- Dandrabin knowledge is broadly constituted by a wide array of interdependent elements, all of which are contextual and come together to make up the ‗nourishing terrains‘ of the landscape and identity of the people (Moreton and Ross 2011; Rose 1996).

The archaeological history of NSI and PI, on the other hand, has been generated by a Western and scientific framework, guided by empirical measurements and abstract principles, taking data to be objective and real. Archaeologists frame their data in a linear and timed sequence of events, usually with a global or national perspective. My project is interested in how these two different ways of knowing come together in the interpretation and use of the archaeological record. In the following chapter I discuss the qualitative methodology and methods I employed to explore this interest.

CHAPTER FOUR METHODOLOGY AND METHODS Introduction Qualitative research methods complement quantitative methods. While science in archaeology is necessary to give hard evidence on which to infer the most logical story of past events, qualitative research ‗can go where quantitative methods cannot‘ (Padgett 2004:13). Qualitative researchers can address the chaotic, the dynamic — the human (Padgett 2004). Qualitative methods invite researchers to investigate ‗the overarching contours and the hidden crevices‘ of the meaning of archaeological sites and the social impact of storytelling (Basso 1996; Padgett 2004:4). The methodology that I use in this thesis is a mixture of social constructivism, phenomenology, and ethnography. In this chapter I explain what these methodologies are, how they are used to explore the various interpretations and uses of archaeological data from NSI and PI, and how they inform the methods I use.

Social constructivism The central tenet in this thesis is that knowledge is subjective. This is situated in a postmodern, social constructivist paradigm that recognises that there are multiple pasts and multiple truths (Bender 2006; Byrne 2005; Mahoney 2004; Zimmerman 2006). Social constructivist approaches acknowledge that the material world exists, but the way it is understood is a social construct (Greider and Garkovich 1994; Guba and Lincoln 1994; Pickering and Jewell 2008). To explore how people interpret and use archaeological data, I employ a social constructivist methodology that foregrounds people‘s negotiation with information and sanctions multiple interpretations of the past.

Social constructivism posits that knowledge does not arise from a vacuum, from ‗no-thing‘, but is located within an already ‗meaningful interpretive framework‘ (David 2002:7). Hence knowing is never passive (Schwandt 2003). As I explore the way people interpret and use archaeology, this point becomes vitally important. I recognise that people never passively consume archaeological data. Social actors (individuals and groups) actively and purposefully engage, create, seek, or ignore archaeological data. It is these multiple uses of archaeological data that interest me.

Phenomenology All knowledge, Immanuel Kant states, begins with experience (Kant et al. 1998). Phenomenology is the theory concerned with experience, and how our experiences and relationships with the physical world are contextualised in a person‘s sense of self.

Phenomenology‘s most important contribution to archaeology, it could be argued, is its framing of ‗place‘. While a detailed critique of the concept of ‗place‘ is beyond the scope of this thesis, in this section I briefly outline the development of the phenomenology of place with specific attention to its relevance to Australian archaeology. I emphasise the ideas of place that are part of the phenomenological discourse, and are specifically relevant to understanding people‘s use of archaeology, namely (1) place as superior to space and (2) place as event.

The founder of phenomenology, Edmund Husserl (1962 cited in Desjarlis and Throop 2011:88), was interested in recognising and questioning the taken-for-granted assumptions that form the ‗natural attitudes‘ that ‗assume there to be a world that exists independently of our experience of it‘. The phenomenology of perception is now well developed by significant philosophers, such as Jacques Derrida, Hands-Georg Gadamer and Maurice Merleau-Ponty. These philosophers foreground the relationship between the mind and the world. Because, according to the phenomenological ontology, nothing exists outside our experience or perception of it, because everything is interpreted through our cultural gaze and through our body, the world around us is said to be a ‗place-world‘ (Casey 1996:5). Places are the arena of stories, events, and gestures of social interaction. These stories, events, and gestures build upon each other. Time accumulates in place, therefore place is multitemporal (Desjarlais and Throop 2011; Hamilakis 2011). Hence when people look at places that hold the material traces of a past people, they are not simply looking at a site of historic activity, but a multitemporal arena of social activity. When using a phenomenological interpretation, archaeological sites are never static, cold, or placeless spaces; instead they are dynamic, poetic, and multidimensional places.

Over the past two decades phenomenology has entered archaeological inquiry (see Fisher and Loren 2003). The theoretical development of place in Australian archaeology began with Harry Lourandos‘ social archaeology (for a detailed critique of Lourandos‘ influence on Australian archaeology see the edited volume by David et al. 2006). Lourandos highlighted the sociocultural interactions and involvement between people and the way these dynamics played out on the land. These social relationships are central to understanding social change in Australian archaeology.

A key component of phenomenology is the way it conceptualises places as not simply physical, but as event — places are where things happen (Casey 1996; Godwin 2005; Godwin and Weiner 2006; Ingold 1992, 2000; Perkins 2001; Weiner 2011). In Aboriginal landscapes,

27 for example, the ‗footprints of the ancestors‘ are the actions of spirit beings that hold the Law of the people and hold events to be remembered. Put simply, places gather and protect:

Minimally, places gather things in their midst — where ‗things‘ connote various animate and inanimate entities. Places also gather experiences and histories, even languages and thoughts. Think only of what it means to go back to a place you know, finding it full of memories and expectations, old things and new things, the familiar and the strange, and much more besides (Casey 1996:12). It is the ability of places to gather that give them their power and agency. A gathering place, Casey (1996:14) says, has a ‗perduringness, allowing us to return to it again and again as the same place and not just as the same position or site‘. In this manner places defy time (Perkins 2001). People go to special places for their restorative properties. Also people go to places to keep places, and the Law they hold, alive. Conceptualising place as event allows one to experience the dynamism of places: the way space and time conflate in place, the generative and regenerative properties of place, and the way memories gather in place (Lavers 2010).

Archaeological sites and their associated material culture, in this framework, are not simply static fragmented representations of a past people. Conceptualising sites as ‗places‘ privileges the agency places have and the meaning places have for the people who visit them. Moreover, by unpacking notions of time, phenomenologists consider how the ‗past can touch people‘s lives‘, not only in the past, but still today (Harrison and Schofield 2009:9). Archaeologists who use phenomenology theory are therefore not simply interested in the ‗past‘, as something ‗over and done with‘ (Bender 2006:317), but consider how the past is used in the present — recognising the active role of archaeologists in contemporary culture, in creating a collective memory (a remembering) of past events (Haber et al. 2010; Harrison and Schofield 2009; Meskell 2002). By viewing places where time is qualitatively different from the usual growth and decline, linear schedule, but as having the potential to be timeless, archaeology then ‗fuses time, past, present, and future‘ (Lourandos 2011:84). Thus the phenomenology framework allows one to give attention on the process of doing archaeology in place. What do our constructions of the archaeological record tell us about ourselves? Phenomenology turns the analytical gaze away from the past and onto ourselves, to think about the relationship between the archaeological record, the cultural landscape, and people – past and present.

Consequently, while experience is of the moment, it is also grossly over determined via cultural, genealogical, ontological, and epistemological dimensions of ‗experience‘. This is referred to by Casey (1996) as ‗preunderstanding‘. Thus I use social constructivism in

28 tandem with phenomenology to give due attention to the political, ideological, and educational background and other forces at work in people‘s lives that predetermine people‘s experience and knowledge of places and objects through time.

A more ideational, as opposed to material, conception of the environment is now well developed in archaeology (Basso 1996; David and Thomas 2008; Feld and Basso 1996; Gosden 1994; Hamilton et al. 2006; Ingold 2000; Knapp and Ashmore 1999; Tamasari and Wallace 2006; Thomas 1996; Tilley 1994). Drawing on phenomenological methods which aim to ‗bracket all assumptions that come from [the researcher‘s] ... own cultural and theoretical heritage in trying to understand more fully a diverse number of cultural and experiential phenomena‘, the phenomenological paradigm is closely aligned with ethnography (Desjarlais and Throop 2011:88). Specifically for me, phenomenology is a useful framework that offers the theoretical space to explore other experiences and interpretations of places, even when these may not be my own. In the next section I outline the methods I use to gain empirical data on how people use archaeology.

Aims and Methods Ethnography Ethnography is part of the rich bricolage of methods used by archaeologists to aid the interpretation of material culture. The development of ethnography in archaeology is greatly influenced by the emergence of postprocessual approaches in archaeology and ethnographies of cultural heritage (Byrne 2002; Hamilakis 2011; Harrison and Schofield 2009). Originally used to develop analogy to animate and augment understandings of the material past, in this project I turn the ethnographic gaze on the ‗doing‘ of archaeology and the effects of archaeology on community ideas of the past. Archaeologists and Traditional Owners have different conceptions of the past and of archaeological sites (Downer 1997). To develop a multicultural understanding of archaeological places, and explore the meaning archaeological sites hold for Aboriginal people, ‗it is necessary to move toward an understanding of one another‘s worldview‘ (Swidler et al. 1997:12). Ethnography, ‗the art and science of describing a group or culture‘ (Fetterman 1989:11), is therefore the obvious research choice.

Sampling Informants for my study were sought on their ability to meet the following criteria:

 Traditional Owner who demonstrate connection to NSI and PI, and/or  Directly involved in the archaeological research of NSI and/or PI.

Each informant interviewed met at least one of these criteria, while one informant met both. I interviewed four people in total (Table 1). The small sample size gave me a manageable data set. Interviewees were selected following discussion with the gatekeeper2 who is a senior representative of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin community.

Table 1. List of Informants Informant 1 is a Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owner of NSI. He has a degree Informant 1 in archaeology from The University of Queensland. As both an archaeologist and (Gatekeeper) Aboriginal senior man, informant 1 brings a unique perspective to archaeology. INF01 He is the gatekeeper to my access to the community and ‗key actor‘ in informing me about Aboriginal perspectives on archaeology. Informant 2 is a Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owner of NSI. Formerly a Informant 2 primary school teacher, she now works in a museum. Her background in INF02 teaching means that she brings an interesting perspective to archaeology, specifically to the educational benefits of archaeology. Informant 3 is a Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owner of NSI. He has a degree Informant 3 in Environmental Science. With his Indigenous knowledge about country and INF03 Western knowledge of the environment, informant 3 brings an insightful and nuanced perspective to archaeology. Informant 4 is a senior lecturer in cultural heritage, historical archaeology, and Informant 4 theoretical archaeology. He is Deputy Director of The University of Queensland INF04 Culture and Heritage Unit and has an extensive background in Aboriginal and historical archaeology, and cultural heritage management projects throughout southeast Queensland.

While having a senior Traditional Owner and gatekeeper nominate the ‗right‘ people to interview on this subject was a strength in gathering people with appropriate knowledge, it was also a limitation. To keep the sample size manageable, only people from one family were represented (informants 1, 2, and 3 are siblings). Thus the Aboriginal views expressed in this thesis are representative of that family only and not necessarily representative of other Aboriginal people‘s views on the archaeology of NSI and PI. Because all stakeholders‘ views, perspectives, concerns, and voices are not apparent in this text, the results are biased. As argued earlier in this chapter, however, bias is unavoidable as objectivity is a chimera, ‗save in the imaginations of those who believe that knowing can be separated from the knower‘ (Lincoln et al. 2011:122).

The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people‘s perspective of reality is at the heart of this ethnography. However I also needed to compare the Gorenpul-Dandrabin view with an archaeologist‘s

2 Ethical approval for this study was provided by The University of Queensland School of Social Science Ethical Review Committee on 10 May 2011 (Clearance Number H3:2011).

30 perspective. Thus I also sought information from a senior archaeologist (other than my supervisor) who has been involved in archaeology projects on NSI and PI.

Interviews Interviews with my informants addressed one of two themes:

 The use and value of archaeology from a Gorenpul-Dandrabin point of view; or  The use and value of archaeological data from an archaeologist‘s point of view.

Semi-structured informal interviews were the preferred technique for discussing these themes. This interview method served a comparative and representative purpose, allowing me to cross- analyse between the archaeologist and Gorenpul-Dandrabin responses. Also, it gave me and each informant the opportunity to have an engaging conversation with the themes. Because my research was made explicit at the beginning of the interview, each informant had the power to shape the conversation in whatever way he or she felt was important, often diverting to other themes and topics that I had not expected, and from these new questions emerged. All the interviews incorporated the following generic open-ended questions:

 How do you interpret the archaeology on North Stradbroke Island and/or Peel Island?  How do you use archaeology?  Is archaeology important to you?

As well as interviews I used data from a field trip to the area in 2009. Although no formal interviews were carried out at this time, some informal conversation during this field trip provided extra content and information relevant to my research.

Conclusion Ethnographic analysis is inductive and iterative, building on observation and ideas throughout the study (Spradley 1979). In the next chapter I present a selection of my informants‘ responses. I use verbatim quotations to clearly represent the tone and point my informants‘ views. I have divided the informants‘ responses into a number of themes that illustrate the different way people think about archaeology and the surrounding landscape, and the different way people use archaeology. In addition, I weave in other sources of information, from Indigenous and archaeological literature, to create a synthesis, or whole, that tells a story of how people interpret and use archaeological data.

CHAPTER FIVE RESULTS In the previous chapters I outlined the social, cultural, and political contexts of archaeology. In this chapter I introduce the results gained from the interview process. It is difficult to list the concepts raised by participants in an orderly case-by-case way; this is because in an Aboriginal worldview everything is interrelated. The overarching theme raised by Aboriginal informants, however, under which all the subthemes could be said to fit, is the connection or attachment Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have with country. As demonstrated in chapter three, this connection to country is mediated by Aboriginal Law and forms the Gorenpul-Dandrabin sense of identity. Thus archaeology is used by Gorenpul-Dandrabin informants as a tool to represent people‘s attachment to country. Four themes illustrate the Gorenpul-Dandrabin attachment to country as expressed in archaeology. These themes form the structure of this chapter. They are:

 emic (Aboriginal) and etic (scientific) understandings of archaeology;  archaeology supporting Indigenous ontology;  the nature of collaboration; and  part of a larger picture.

Emic and etic understandings of archaeology

Archaeology is the study of material remains from the past, which for Australian Aboriginal sites is largely the study of shells, stones, and bones. The information gained from studying these material artefacts is typically used to reconstruct the economy, technology, population growth and mobility, and interactions of people in the past (Hiscock 2008). Aboriginal intellectual capital on the other hand is more than shells, stones, and bones. While knowledge about the shells, stones, and bones is a part of Aboriginal knowledge, it is not all of it. Knowledge goes beyond the archaeology, and is contextualised within a broader holistic Aboriginal worldview that gives meaning to objects and places. In other words, a scientific approach to archaeology emphasises the etic, outside understanding of the past, whilst the Aboriginal way of knowing is an emic, inside, perception of reality:

INF03: Aboriginal intellectual capital of NSI includes the archaeological sites that have been studied by experts. Each Traditional Owner family owns a piece of knowledge about a piece of land. Uncle Charlie and Uncle Denis [the informant’s maternal uncles] have knowledge specific to particular sites and places. This knowledge is not framed in a scientific paradigm, but in stories: stories about spiritual places; the good and the bad history, old people, and our generation. 32

There is, therefore, a clear difference between the Aboriginal emic perspective of archaeology and the archaeologist‘s etic perspective of Aboriginal culture:

INF03: Many stories from Moreton Bay are connected to other places in the world. For example Uncle Denis talked to me about Adder Rock and its connections to other places. We have stories about [giant] Dora Dora [men] and [small] Junguri [people]. You call [the small people] Homo floresiensis or Australopithecines but we call them the Junguri. Non-Aboriginal people often see Australopithecines as a savage people from an old time; they see them as archaic. We on the other hand have our own stories about the Junguri. There were often intermarriages between humans and the Junguri, who at times lived in camps with Homo sapiens sapiens. Scientific research is trying to explain the relationship between Australopiths and Homo sapiens sapiens. Our own tried and tested science talks about it but it is not recognised in the Eurocentric concept of science. Aboriginal people look at archaeology as one cog within the complex Aboriginal world system. This ontology links the ‗soft‘ or the spiritual to the ‗hard‘ or physical sciences. INF03 continues:

People also know about the stars and how they form the basis of stone arrangements; bora rings line up with the stars. Because INF03‘s own perspective was learnt from his uncles and is located within a culturally meaningful Aboriginal framework, his perspective is emic. On the other hand, because archaeologists study the past from a scientific framework, they have an etic perspective. I am also aware that because I analyse informants‘ responses from the stance of an ethnographer, my perspective is also etic. A phenomenological and constructivist orientated research approach, however, compels the recognition of multiple realities. While accepting that we may never truly understand the nuances of the emic realities of others, we can still recognise and respect other ways of knowing.

Because the Gorenpul-Dandrabin understanding of archaeology is contextualised within an Aboriginal worldview which foregrounds attachment to country, it is important to recognise not only how Gorenpul-Dandrabin people talk about archaeology, but also how they talk about country. The Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have a symbiotic relationship with country that is not amenable to being contained in the logic of words and phrases. On the contrary it is felt with emotion and an individual‘s spirituality. This refers to the phenomological perception of experience, where places are not static and passive spaces, but are instead dynamic and responsive places full of meaning, memory, and power. Rose (1996) represents the meaning of country using a poetic discourse:

Country is a living entity with a yesterday, today and tomorrow, with a consciousness, and a will toward life. Because of this richness, country is home and peace; nourishment for body, mind and spirit; heart’s ease (Rose 1996:8). Using similar language, INF02 expresses the significance of Brown Lake on NSI:

Brown Lake holds memory for us. It is a sacred place. It is a special place. Just being here gives me health. Places are special not because of any spoken word or tangible object, but because of what Gorenpul-Dandrabin people experience when they go there. This is reflective of phenomenology‘s conception of place. Attachment is felt and experienced and not questioned or subsumed in monologues. INF02 holds special knowledge of Brown Lake; for example she is very aware of the mood of the lake and how it is responsive to the types of people (e.g. foreign or local, well-meaning, or malevolent) and their activities and proximity to the lake (Moult 2011).

Thus the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have a responsibility to manage NSI, to maintain Law, and concurrently to maintain themselves. If the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people stopped managing country it would in effect become a ‗wilderness‘, a place with no Law, and no reason (Rose 1996; Seton and Bradley 2004). Consequently, a large part of the Gorenpul-Dandrabin desire to protect country from mining and other urban expansions that may interfere with the health of country is their desire to protect their source of identity. This point will be elaborated below. However, before we can look at understanding the motivations for being involved in archaeology and CHM we must understand how knowledge is held.

Knowledge is local, and passed from generation to generation (Ross et al. 2011:52-53). As Barbara Tjikatu (2005), a traditional owner of Uluru-Kata Tjuta region articulates:

We hold our culture really strong in Uluru, it’s something that’s been given to us by our grandmothers, and our grandfathers from the past and it’s been held to from a very long time, and it’s something we hold today (Tjikatu 2005:77). INF03 acknowledged this aspect of knowledge in a similar way:

Other sites, like the shell middens on PI, are gendered. Gender specific tasks and responsibilities are part of our living heritage; the knowledge of people today that has been taught to us through many generations. Law is the scaffold that supports the way people maintain culture and manage the waterscapes and landscapes of country. Mary Pappin (2005), a Mutti Mutti women, attributes her position in the management of the Willandra Lakes World Heritage Area as a part of her exercising of her responsibility to her country, and keeping the tradition instilled in her from her mother:

Being there for the Willandra was something that my mother always did, and that’s why I’m here today (Pappin 2005:79). Thus when Aboriginal people talk about heritage, it is not bound into something that only exists in the past. Knowledge about the past, knowledge that includes archaeology and extends beyond archaeology to include palaeoecology, biology, and kinship etc. is knowledge for the future:

INF01: Creation doesn’t end. When you know the Law, you are committed to it and have obligations to continue it, to do ceremony. You act in the present from an understanding of the past. You act in the present to secure a future. Anthropologist Jeffrey Sissons (2005) takes heed of this when investigating the way people give new meaning to information:

Nowhere in the Indigenous world are cultural reappropriations regarded as returns to the past; rather they are always reimaginations of the future (Sissons 2005:11). Cultural reproduction in new historical and global contexts is also cultural change. This must be so because, while the symbols and practices that constitute the outward expressions of indigenous culture often have ancient precedents, their meanings are always contemporary and changing (Sissons 2005:15). For this reason archaeology, especially when it relates to cultural heritage, is simultaneously about the past and about contemporary extant cultural values.

Archaeology supporting an Indigenous ontology While there is an inescapable emic and etic perspective when interpreting archaeology, as outlined above, these perspectives do not preclude a complementary understanding of the past:

INF01: We have stories of people living and moving around on the landscape, stories of eating foodstuffs, stories that tell of an ancient landscape. Evidence goes both ways. For example the Polka Point [shell midden] site directly complements, gives hard core facts to people, that we have been eating fish for a very long time. Consequently, archaeology is used to support an Indigenous ontology. Archaeologists and Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have a shared agenda to learn from the past. Such collaborative projects foster positive relationships between archaeologists and Aboriginal people. For example Macfarlane (2005) celebrates Isabel McBryde‘s groundbreaking work:

Archaeology offers great capacities for connections to be made on many levels — between past and present, between different people, between people, place and objects (Macfarlane 2005:xxv). The director of the National Museum of Solomon Islands, Lawrence Foana‘ota (2010), takes the same view. Archaeology in Solomon Islands has made connections between the

35 archaeologists and local people, both transforming the discipline‘s (with improved legislation and collaboration) and the local communities‘ understandings of the past:

The Indigenous populations that inhabit the various islands in the archipelago appreciate and understand more the unique diversity of their culture, language, history and folklore, partly because of the work of archaeology (Foana‘ota 2010:189-191). A similar experience occurred on PI in Moreton Bay. INF01 recalls how community archaeology on PI (Ross and Coghill 2000; Figures 3 and 4) changed people‘s ideas of archaeology, from suspicion to confidence:

The Peel Island archaeological project was really great because it was a positive experience for the community. Before the project most people did not even know what archaeology was and didn’t really like it. But because the project on Peel Island included the community, people’s perception of archaeology and of study changed. At the time I thought, ‘you beauty, people like archaeology’. This response really captures the ability of archaeology to transform non-archaeologists‘ perceptions of academia. Because archaeological fieldwork is so hands-on and located in people‘s ‗backyards‘, it has the potential to change not only people‘s perception of archaeology, but study as well (Nichols 2011). Collaborative archaeology brings people from different backgrounds together over a shared aim to learn from and about the past. This point about archaeological sites being sites of encounter between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people will be elaborated in chapter six.

Figure 3. Gorenpul-Dandrabin Traditional Owners participating in community archaeology on Peel Island (Photo Annie Ross).

Figure 4. Members of the Gorepul-Dandrabin community doing archaeological analysis of Peel Island midden materials in The University of Queensland Archaeology laboratory (Photos Annie Ross).

Archaeology that supports an Indigenous ontology is analogous to the wider movement of reconciliation (Merlan 2005) and precipitates a more liberal archaeology. For example Aboriginal archaeologists acknowledge Isabel McBryde as a groundbreaker in her cultural heritage research which strengthened the importance of sites to the public:

It was [Isobel McBryde’s] research that has assisted in the recognition of archaeological importance complementing our oral traditions ensuring that Aboriginal history and archaeology [are] not overlooked or forgotten in academia or within the Aboriginal communities. [McBrydes’s] contributions to non-Aboriginals coming to understand our Aboriginal heritage was the forerunner to current discussion within the people’s movement for reconciliation (Bancroft 2005:47-48). Thus archaeology that works in and with this ethical space, particularly applied and community archaeology, has the potential to be a positive experience for the public. When projects are based on a good reputation with the various publics, and can positively contribute to local community spirit, and when directors make concerted efforts to present the results to the public, the future of archaeology is ‗bright and encouraging‘ (Foana‘ota 2010:182).

As mentioned earlier, the community archaeology on PI was an opportunity for Traditional Owners to access the archaeologists‘ culture. Thus an important aspect of archaeology is that it is a space that propagates cross-cultural understandings. Australian Aboriginal archaeologist Dave Johnston (2005:51) concurs with this view of a socially responsible archaeology:

We [Isabel McBryde’s former students from ANU] want Australian archaeology to continue to grow strongly. The education benefits of

archaeology in raising an awareness of Australia’s Indigenous people’s heritage and culture are enormous. The benefits that archaeology provides indirectly, such as the empowerment of our people through the utilisation of archaeological results and knowledge, remain a positive factor, one that I believe far outweighs the negative connotations that may still linger regarding archaeology (Johnston 2005:51) Thus archaeology can be a source of empowerment for people:

INF01: The Wallen Wallen Creek archaeological site is invaluable in teaching our own children, who have been reprogrammed in the white education system, to be proud of their heritage. Children growing up in today’s society can feel embarrassed or ashamed for being black. But through archaeology we can celebrate our history, say ‘it is magical and we have not lost it’. INF03: Archaeology is important in terms of what it does in teaching both cultures about each other. For example, it was not until 1967 that we were classified as humans, before that time people thought of us as fauna. Mungo man and Mungo women educate others about us as modern Homo sapiens sapiens. In this sense, archaeology finds evidence that is beneficial in breaking down barriers. Lake Mungo proves to people that we have been here for a very long time, and we are going to be here for many years to come. Thus archaeology is beneficial in raising an awareness of Aboriginal culture and heritage in the mainstream white community. However this is not as romantic as some would believe. Archaeology is often criticised for the way, like taxidermy, it distances people from the past; what Lucas (2005:113) calls ‗archaeology as autopsy‘. This approach to archaeology recontextualises the living cultural heritage of people as static, linear moments of heritage in time. INF02 dislikes archaeology for this very reason:

AC: I am aware that the National History Curriculum in education advocates the linking of archaeology to Aboriginal understandings of history. How do you think students find the balance between archaeology and Aboriginal understandings of the past? INF02: I don’t know. There is a real danger here of perpetuating the myth that ‘real Aborigines’ are stone-age people, who live in desert regions and walk around with a dead wallaby slung over their shoulder, often stopping on their walkabouts to stand on one leg. I recently gave a series of talks at a friend’s school to years four and five students. I was invited in to speak because teachers had concerns that their students were unable to connect what they had learned about ‘the Aborigines’ with real live everyday Aborigines. I was asked questions by the students that were in this vein: ‘What clothes do you wear when you go to Straddie? How did you parents raise you to live in the wild? What is your favourite bush tucker?’ And it always amazes me that our food is ‘bush tucker’. ‘Do you carry your stone axe with you?’ I see many school programmes about us so stuck in the past, with teachers unable or unwilling to tackle current issues or lacking the skills to incorporate Aboriginal people into everyday studies of society etc. It is easier for schools

to pick up artefacts and concepts about Aborigines from the long ago time and present this as the only view of Aboriginal people. Then people get caught up in physical appearance and what we should look like, and generally just stereotyping according to these studies – how does that help our children and their identities? I have absolutely no use for archaeology and have no interest in it. Archaeologists, too, are aware of the way these essentialist images enter public discourses (Grounds and Ross 2010; Harrison and Williamson 2004; McNiven 2011; Nichols 2011). To some degree these essentialist images have been fed by an archaeological spotlight on prehistory, that puts the archaeology of the recent Indigenous past in the shade (Byrne 2002, 2003; Harrison and Williams 2002). This spotlight has been drawn back by Indigenous archaeologists who ask for socially responsible practice and relevance:

We would love to see the presence of an active field and research school focussing on research that addresses Indigenous community priorities. It would lead the way in correct and effective consultation, producing mutually beneficial results and in the process extending an awareness amongst the public of the richness of Indigenous culture and heritage (Johnston 2005:51). Partnerships that work with the local community during the design and implementation of research and public projects, and that incorporate Aboriginal voices within the interpretation of the archaeological record, are now becoming more common (Phillips and Allen 2010). Collaborative archaeology has been beneficial in the way it reflects on the appropriateness of methodologies and practices, in turn producing a more nuanced understanding of the past, representative of and useful to today‘s dynamic multicultural nationhood.

Collaborative archaeology INF03: Western science sees the landscape in terms of dots on the map, only looking at where the archaeological sites are. To us all sites and places are important. While sometimes understandings of the past are in concert, as outlined above, sometimes they are contrasting, largely due to epistemological and institutional dissonance. Archaeologists typically focus on sites on the basis that they yield information about a place. This is reflective of the quantitative, positivist paradigm that dominates ‗mainstream‘ archaeology and seeks boundaries and tangible evidence. Gorenpul-Dandrabin people, however, are interested in the landscape as a whole. This is reflective of two dialectic environmental discourses. Archaeologists (often affiliated with preservationist and conservationist paradigms) typically construct nature as something external to human society (cf. Milton 1999), thus separating natural from cultural heritage (Hannagan 2006:39; Sullivan 2005). Gorenpul-Dandrabin people, however, use an ecological and poetic discourse, and regard the environment as an ‗ecosystem‘ 39 that includes social and cultural practices. The central thesis here is that plants and animals (including humans and their associated cultural actions) and all other components of the landscape ‗form one linked and interwoven community in which change at one point will bring in its wake far-reaching changes at other points‘ (Worster 1977:199 cited in Hannagan 2006:43). Associated with this discourse is the belief that humans have the power and the responsibility to actively manage and develop environments:

INF03: Shell middens are strategically built as a way of environmental engineering; they shape the landscape, provide protection and give [the island] structure. INF01: The islands were physically created by people’s strategic placement of middens. For that reason you can’t look at shell middens in isolation from other sites, or in isolation from the natural and cultural environments. Thus the archaeological process of ‗singling out‘ sites and creating ‗dots on a map‘ can silence the living and multiple cultural values attached to place and practices acted on place by Traditional Owners (Hemming and Trevorrow 2005; Roberts and Hemming 2005; cf. Bourdieu 1984). Sullivan (2005) analyses this positivist framework and outlines the harm it does:

Using this Western methodology we can deal more easily with dead than with living sites and we tend to see sites as having one key value ... The methodology we use can inadvertently mummify or destroy [sites] by disregarding the less tangible and subtler elements of continuity which many of them have (Sullivan 2005:85). Also, Read (2005) reflects on the ‗mainstream‘ archaeology methodology:

Imposing Western archaeological quantitative and measurable values upon the Aboriginal world view ... risks monumentalising the physical heritage rather than acknowledging the values and practices of the culture which created them in the first place! (Read 2005:96). Living heritage is a fundamental way of representing Aboriginal intellectual capital in the heritage discourse. Often archaeological methodology does ignore Aboriginal intellect by representing objects as static images of the past (Bates 1993; Byrne 2005). Equally as often, however, as recognised by INF01 and INF03, the scientific framework is recognised as part and parcel of archaeological work and does not preclude other representations of the past:

INF01: Archaeology is about the study of material culture; our stories fill in the gaps. We have creation stories that encompass stories about the ice ages. We have our own interpretation, and science is complementary to them, sometimes filling in the gaps. INF04 recognises these epistemological and institutional binds, and welcomes them as they limit and focus the field, making the data amenable to analysis: 40

INF04: Multiple interpretations are always going to happen, and they all have their place and are valid. In my work as an archaeologist, I am bound to archaeological data and methods. Thus I am always seeking the most plausible interpretation that will fit the data. Nevertheless, collaborative archaeology has required a transformation in the way archaeologists think about and manage the archaeological record. Archaeologists often problematise the archaeological record as ‗disappearing‘; this is a reflection of conceptualising material culture as a proxy for the people who made or used them. Badger Bates (1993), an Aboriginal staff member of the New South Wales National Parks and Wildlife Service, views the archaeological evidence at Mutawintji (previously Mootwingee) National Park differently from the Western view:

To us, the history and spirituality of a place is more important than the art itself. If the art is destroyed by natural processes, this does not destroy the importance of the place to us, only to white people (Bates 1993:65). Disquiet over the loss of the material past is a reflection of Western society‘s preoccupation with a material past, often to the neglect of the intangible elements of the past. Sullivan (2005) acknowledges this as a trait of Western society:

A lot of our heritage work springs from a genuine fear we feel in the face of loss of the material world, as though by losing the monuments of the past we lose its most important attributes (Sullivan 2005:83). This same disquiet over the increasing loss of archaeology spurred Byrne‘s (2005) reflections on heritage management in South-East Asia: I was concerned to know how rapidly the archaeological record there was going down the drain in the face of booming economies of the time and rampant land development that accompanied them (Byrne 2005:83). However, Byrne‘s initial view that archaeological artefacts should be conserved under the logic that artefacts are valued as items of the past slowly unravelled and was replaced by a more subjective position that recognised local values and religious and economic priorities. Objects and places, when situated in local meaning systems and multiple discourses, are animated with their own ‗energy, volition and agency‘ (Byrne 2005:59):

The great majority of the population did not think of [artefacts] as the archaeological record ... I came to regard animism (and magic), archaeology, antiquarianism and nationalism as co-existing voices on the material past, sometimes competing with each other, sometimes complementary (Byrne 2005:54-55). Byrne (2005) captures the way in which, when working with communities with values and timescales that are different from, even challenging to, the ‗mainstream‘ archaeological 41 discourse, it is important to unpack one‘s taken-for-granted assumptions and incorporate other ways of being and knowing into research. Over the past 20 years a shift has occurred in archaeological practice, with living heritage and cultural landscapes now part of the CHM lexicon (Prangnell et al. 2010). As Sullivan notes, the changes that have taken place in archaeology have their origins in the 1960s:

All the archaeologists of Isabel [McBryde’s] generation have faced a loss of power and — some more willingly than others — have moved from centre stage as the interpreters of Australia’s human past. Many, like Isabel, have gladly helped in the creation of a new partnership role, and have been amply enriched by it (Sullivan 2005:92). McBryde‘s view is that it is not necessary for archaeologists or non-Aboriginal people to understand all the different interpretations of the past; we just have to respect and accept that there are different cultural values and different axioms (McBryde 1995; Read 2005). When situated in the applied field, archaeology is a space that fosters an awareness of these different worldviews and discourses (Bender 2006). On NSI, archaeology and CHM have become tools used by the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people to articulate their attachment to place. When places are found to have high significance they can be used to safeguard the future of places in the face of encroaching civil expansion. When used in this way, archaeology and CHM are not about returning to the past, but are part of a much larger picture: to articulate Aboriginal identity into the future.

Part of a bigger picture The destruction of the environment via increased urban and industrial development is a real threat to the economic stability of society and by extension to archaeology and cultural heritage. The way we conceptualise and respond to environmental problems is shaped by ‗intrinsically social processes of knowledge generation and communication‘ (Lockie 2004:29). It is well recognised that archaeology as a discipline is competently positioned to study change over long periods of time, giving an historical perspective to current social, political and cultural realities. Archaeology is therefore recognised by INF03 as an important tool with the potential to contribute to the development of successful and sustainable management plans:

[Archaeology] is the mapping out of Aboriginal people’s intellect. With that mapping out hopefully it will be a tool in land management practices to develop management that is not one sided, but is part of a holistic response to protect and manage the land and waters. While contemporary ecological degradation is perhaps not an obvious link to the practice of archaeology, in the Aboriginal framework, where knowledge is holistic and

42 connection to country is paramount, it is natural to consider how archaeology could be used as a tool in contemporary land and water management.

Archaeology and cultural heritage are influential in the way they give people a means to communicate attachment to place, and reason for why the environment should be protected. As mentioned earlier, Pappin (2005) has a personal responsibility to protect the Willandra Lakes. Cultural heritage gives her the intellectual space to make a claim over the protection of the Willandra Lakes, and for others to hear this claim:

When [Isabel McBryde] started talking about our cultural heritage [at the World Heritage conventions], and the preservation of it, it really took the words out of my mouth (Pappin 2005:79). Similarly, INF01 is thankful to Annie Ross for the way she has captured his understanding of places and re-articulates it in a way that other people, scientists and developers, can comprehend. INF01 identifies archaeology as a way of voicing his interests of the past and in the present:

For me studying archaeology was a way to become fluent in the language of the sciences. Archaeology is a way of bridging the gap, to talk to others from different cultures and understand each other. The value of archaeology then lies more in its social use. It’s a way of empowering people over a shared goal to understand history. When we do this we can make claims over the protection of important sites so they will still be there in years to come. Without effective communication of values and expectations, many voices will be left unheard. Thus archaeology and heritage practice, that recognises (or even, at times, privileges) Indigenous voices, breaks the cycle of Western domination by including the voices of typically marginalised and subjugated people. For example Roy Kennedy (2005) praises Isabel McBryde as ‗one of the greatest‘; her work is recognised as a ‗driving force‘ in acknowledging Aboriginal rights to place:

She has been one of the greatest persons that I have ever run into and I speak from my heart. For what she’s done, what that person’s done for us over the years in association with other people that have helped us in years to get up to where we are today (Kennedy 2005:81). Archaeology, therefore, is not simply the study of the past; in the Indigenous framework archaeology is part of a much larger picture. It is a means to articulate and protect Aboriginal identity and the nourishing terrains of country.

Conclusion The environment holds special significance for many Aboriginal communities across Australia. The data presented in this chapter show Aboriginal constructions of the environment and of archaeological sites may be qualitatively different from Western constructions of the environment and of archaeology (cf. Ross et al. 2011). In particular, in the Aboriginal framework country holds the resting places of many significant creator spirits. Archaeological places provide a physical link between the past and the present. These places symbolise environments that are in opposition to the industrial, built environment, and are physical markers on the land of a ‗pre-colonial life-way‘ (Weiner 2011:200). In this way archaeological sites are Aboriginal landscapes. Gorenpul-Dandrabin people, as well as other Indigenous authors cited here, engage with archaeology for what it does in promoting and educating others about Aboriginal history. In other words, archaeology and CHM are used by Indigenous people as tools to articulate their attachment to country. A beneficial result of this articulation is that it offers protection or management to some places in the landscape from future development. This is especially poignant for the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people where, to maintain Law and to maintain a sense of self (as understood in relation to an individual‘s yuree), it is important to maintain country. Consequently any exploration into the way Indigenous people understand archaeology and the past necessitates an appreciation of social anthropology and the present. In the next chapter I explore this further.

CHAPTER SIX DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION: MORE THAN ARCHAEOLOGY

Crystallising the themes raised by informants Aboriginal people have their own cultural perspectives on archaeology which sometimes sit comfortably with archaeologists‘ views and sometimes apart from archaeologists‘ views. While naturally there is going to be some seepage between these two cultural groups, for the purpose of analysis I segregated these two ways of knowing into the first results theme: emic and etic perspectives on archaeology. Discussions with my informants emphasised how a Western approach to archaeology really is an etic perspective on the past. The Gorenpul- Dandrabin people I interviewed have their own understandings of the past, situated in an emic, Aboriginal worldview. This emic Aboriginal posture looks at the world holistically, where everything is linked. This is a point of difference from the compartmentalised Western perspective. Gorenpul-Dandrabin people see archaeological sites in association with many other places that make up the cultural landscape. Within this cultural landscape there are tangible objects, tangible shells, trees, natural geography, and hydrology; and attached to these places are stories of the ancestors and spirits of those ancestors: the Old People. This is clearly different from archaeologists‘ perspective on sites and the past.

Archaeologists tend to be interested in ‗deep time‘ (Byrne 2005). We classify and bound sites and objects temporally and spatially. In the process of this classification we distance ourselves from the past on the presupposition that our tools of analysis are objective (Rowlands 1998). Archaeologists typically separate the cultural from the natural and the material from the ideological. This structuralist framework is embedded in the Western scientific paradigm3.

In the phenomenological framework, the cultural/natural landscape is referred to as a place- world (Casey 1996). The place-world is dynamic, and our understanding of the natural and cultural environment comes from our embodied experiences. Experience is, however, determined by socially and historically constituted knowledge. Thus there are multiple understandings of the archaeological record, sometimes complementary and sometimes conflicting.

The second theme of the results, archaeology supporting an Indigenous ontology, comes through in CHM and community archaeology. In this space both parties have a shared goal to

3 This snapshot of the ‘typical archaeologist’ is my own construction that has developed from listening to informants, and therefore should not be read as representing what every archaeologist thinks. Many archaeologists work with Aboriginal understandings of the world around them (see Bradley 2006; Byrne 2005).

45 learn about what happened in the past. For example my informants would often say they use archaeology to complement their own oral history. In effect the archaeology and oral history bolster each other. For example, the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people have stories of travelling through country — archaeology supports this. They have a symbiotic relationship with the natural world — historical records of dolphin commensalism support this (Hall 1982). The living heritage of Gorenpul-Dandrabin people includes hunting for shellfish and crabs — the exploitation of coastal economies in archaeology dates to the pre contact era. As INF02 poignantly articulates, however, sometimes what archaeology teaches is in opposition to what Aboriginal people believe. For example, the Gorenpul-Dandrabin people believe in a timeless, non-linear, non-progressive view of life. In contrast, the archaeological view seeks a chronological, uni-linear picture of life in time (Lucas 2005).

Closely aligned with the first two themes is the theme of collaboration. Collaborative archaeology or community archaeology was introduced in chapter two. As Indigenous voices have entered the archaeological discourse, both through academic publications (Atalay 2006; Watkins 2005, 2010) and through CHM (Ah Kit 1995; Ellis 1994), they have destabilised the power nexus between archaeology as science and archaeologists as the sole experts in archaeological interpretation (Smith and Waterton 2009; Smith and Wobst 2005; Sullivan 2005). It is now well recognised that archaeological sites have multiple stakeholders, each with a vested interest in the past (Castaneda and Mathews 2008; Zimmerman 2006). As such archaeological sites are sites of encounter. Collaboration has required archaeology to question a number of taken-for-granted assumptions, such as the idea that sites yield the most information, and the idea that the past can be objectively distanced from the present. Collaborative archaeology has transformed archaeology by championing new terms, such as ‗living heritage‘ (Ross and Ulm 2010) and ‗cultural landscapes‘ (David and Thomas 2005; Prangnell et al. 2010; Strang 1997, 2008). In recognition of today‘s multicultural nation, and in an effort to reverse archaeology‘s authoritative practices and discourses, archaeologists often use these new terms to animate the past (Byrne 2003, 2005) and to share heritage or history (McBryde 1995; Murray 1996, 2011). Community archaeology that fosters partnerships between archaeology and Aboriginal people has not only transformed archaeology, but also local people‘s idea of the past and of research in general (cf. Foana‘ota 2010).

Finally, Gorenpul-Dandrabin understandings of archaeology are part of a much larger picture of autonomy, sovereignty, empowerment, and emancipation. The use of archaeological information transcends original archaeological motivations and may be political. In this way, INF01 and INF03 seek archaeological information for what it offers people today. For 46 example, Lake Mungo is used, not as a way of returning to the past, but as a way of asserting identity in the present: ‗Lake Mungo proves to people that we have been here for a very long time, and we are going to be here for many years to come‘ (INF01). Archaeology, therefore, can be used to imagine or to secure a future.

Alternatively, INF02 has no interest in archaeology. She ignores archaeological information on the grounds that it misrepresents Aboriginal culture. Archaeology uses chronology to frame a sequence of events. Such timed chronologies (be it Pleistocene, Holocene, or prehistory, history, and absolute dates) present a particular view of time. These chronologies have greatly influenced traditional interpretations of the archaeological record and cultural change (Lucas 2005; Squair 1994; Thomas 1996). Cultural evolution and the corresponding typologies of ‗savage‘ and ‗civilised‘ can be used to show the ‗progress‘ of human achievement (Perkins 2001:84-102). These conceptual orders are often referred to as ‗totalising‘ narratives (cf. Althusser 1969; Bender 2006; Thomas 1994). INF02 specifically objected to the practice of totalising narratives in archaeology. She felt the archaeological image of Aboriginality bound her identity to something that existed in the past and therefore something that satisfied colonial ideas of barbarism (McNiven and Russel 2005; Nichols 2011). The truth of these representations in archaeological projects these days is unimportant; what does need to be taken seriously is the cynicism INF02 has about research and the message archaeology conveys to the public, specifically her message about time and archaeology being a product of colonialism. As such, the understanding and use of archaeology by Gorenpul-Dandrabin people always sits within a bigger picture of Indigenous concerns and priorities.

These four themes illustrate that knowledge of the past is inescapably bound in the present. ‗The past is only the past by virtue of its relation to the present‘ (Lucas 2005:55). Social constructivism states that knowledge is always situated and contingent. This has to be so because information is not passively consumed; information is actively created and contextualised in respect to what we know and how we come to know. Using a phenomenological framework that conceptualises places as multi-temporal events means we can explore the interplay between past, present, and future.

Time: past, present, and future Time is at the heart of archaeology (Lucas 2005). Time, however, is not a straightforward concept, but, in fact, is highly problematic, not at all made simple by the multiple ways of thinking about time. Archaeologists conceptualise the archaeological record in terms of a

47 sequence of events over time. While chronology is a very particular conceptualisation of time used in archaeology, there are other ways of viewing time (Bates 1993; Sullivan 2008). While I do not think that archaeology could ever, or should ever, abandon the notion of the conventional linear view of time, I do think that archaeology should be aware of other ways of conceptualising time. Recognising different time-scales is necessary when working with various cultural contexts.

The Gorenpul-Dandrabin time-scale is qualitatively different from archaeologists‘ time frames. Gorenpul-Dandrabin people see time as cyclical, even timeless. This is a characteristic of the phenomenological perception of time. In this framework the archaeological record is a palimpsest of multiple temporalities where variable periods of times and activities overlap and sometimes replace each other (Hamilakis 2011; Lucas 2005:37). My informants emphasised that their culture is living; the natural environment, synonymous with the cultural environment, is alive with meaning and movement. Because the cultural and natural environment are conceived as one, often material evidence and sites are not separated as being more or less significant than other places in the landscape. Hence, Gorenpul- Dandrabin people‘s understanding of archaeology challenges the ‗mainstream‘ definition of archaeology, as ‗the study of the past through the systematic recovery and analysis of material culture‘ (Bahn 1992:28), to include the study of the ideological, the metaphysical, and the unquantifiable. This is a methodological challenge for archaeologists.

Yet such conceptualisations of archaeology by Traditional Owners do not have to be problematic for archaeologists. The Gummingurru stone arrangement site illustrates the way in which Aboriginal significance can be incorporated into archaeological methodology. Far from hindering archaeological interpretations, Aboriginal understandings of Gummingurru enriched the archaeological interpretation of the site.

Archaeology of the Gummingurru stone arrangement In southeastern Queensland, north of Toowomba, there lies a 5ha Aboriginal stone arrangement, known as Gummingurru. During pre-contact times, Gummingurru was an Aboriginal Bora, a secret/sacred men‘s initiation site. It was one of a series of ceremonial places in the Bunya Mountains‘ cultural landscape catchment, within which the triennial Bunya feasts and ceremonial events occurred (Lavers 2010; Ross 2008). Following European settlement in 1871 the use of Gummingurru for ceremonial purposes slowly discontinued as people were forcibly moved into townships. Land around the site was bought, sold and developed. During the 1960s, Ben Gilbert, a direct descendant of the first European settler in

48 the area, arranged for the site to be recorded by the Queensland Museum and subsequently protected. In March 2008 the land was formally handed back to the traditional custodians. Today the site is open to the public and is used by the local Jarowair custodians as a place for reconciliation activities and public education about Aboriginal culture and settler relations (Ross 2008, 2010).

Within this history, the Gummingurru stone arrangement has undergone three major transformations. It is the interplay between these three phases of life at Gummingurru that makes the site significant for both the archaeologists investigating the site and the local Jarowair community. During the period when the site was first abandoned by Aboriginal people, a number of the stones were covered by soil creep or were moved to make way for fences. With the return of the site to the traditional custodians the site is being ‗revived‘ as Jarowair custodians bring buried stones to the surface and sometimes rearrange stones to make motifs clear. In this process several new designs have been (re)discovered. The patterns and motifs in the stone arrangement are today interpreted as representing: a turtle, a carpet snake, an emu, a bunya nut, and numerous large concentric circles, lines, and ‗starbursts‘ (Ross and Ulm 2010).

In 2009 and 2010, the positions of all 9368 stones on the site were recorded by archaeologists and marked on a map. Because Gummingurru is the largest and most complex easterly stone arrangement recorded in southern Queensland (Ross 2008), it has great research potential. Nevertheless, the archaeological research recognises the constant changes to the site that occur as a result of the ongoing ‗revival‘ — management and maintenance — of the site by the traditional custodians (Ross 2010). The significance of Gummingurru is being cognitively and physically transformed by the values and actions of the traditional custodians and archaeologists working together in the present.

Because the spatial arrangement of the site and therefore the interpretation of the site is continually being transformed, the site is said to be alive (Ross and Ulm 2010). The archaeological interpretation of the living site is in harmony with the living culture of the Aboriginal people who are the custodians of Gummingurru. In this way the Gummingurru stone arrangement actually incorporates a palimpsest of multiple events and timescales. Recognition of the multi-temporal nature of Gummingurru has important implications for assessing the significance of the site and for the management of the site today (Ross 2008).

Gummingurru is a case study that illustrates the way time — past, present, and future — comes together in archaeology. Such a phenomenologically orientated interpretation, that 49 conceptualises place as a series of events (Casey 1996), as a palimpsest of multiple temporalities (Lucas 2005), has been instrumental in assessing the significance and meaning of Gummingurru and in recognising the multiple constructions of the site. Moreover, the Jarowair community members are considered participants in the archaeological process of understanding the past. While the mapping of the site gave specific information about the site and the types of stones that make up the landscape, the Jarowair community gave their own perspective – a perspective which informed the archaeological interpretations. The local history and ‗memoryscape‘ provided by the Jarowair community, together with the archaeological data, provided a more comprehensive understanding of the site than would have been possible through scientific analysis alone. Gummingurru has become a touchstone of group memory and social cohesion. It is not only the archaeology of stone arrangements, but it is the heritage of the Jarowair custodians. Heritage, unlike traditional archaeology, is not objective or external to the mind. Heritage places are emotional and stir memories of the past. Clearly, any appreciation of the way Indigenous people conceptualise archaeology requires an appreciation of contemporary, extant cultural values that make heritage places special. To reconcile incorporating Indigenous understandings of the past into archaeological interpretations therefore requires greater appreciation of anthropology and the present.

Conclusion What can really by contributed is not resolution but perhaps, at times, just that extra edge of consciousness (Williams 1983:24 emphasis added).

The aim of my project has been to focus attention on the social, political, and cultural context of archaeological research. The message of the thesis is that there are different ways of understanding the past and the archaeological record that creates the past. When working with Aboriginal stakeholders, we must be cognisant of their understandings of archaeology and in turn our own implicit biases and the taken-for-granted assumptions that shape research.

This study was not exhaustive, but it was not intended to be so. In the end what I have done is added an ‗extra edge of consciousness‘ to the way archaeologists and Indigenous people narrate the past, and the different uses of the past. Archaeological places are sites of ‗transcultural encounters‘ (Hamilakis 2011:408), facilitating multiple ontological ‗coexistence, encounters, conversations, and dialogues, and also critical engagements and creative tensions between scholars and divers publics and social actors‘ (Hamilakis 2011:401-402). Naturally each group or individual will experience place and understand place in a way particular to their own body, lived experience, and preunderstanding. My study shows that Indigenous people see archaeology as a metaphor for culture. Archaeological sites in this framework are 50 dynamic and alive, representative of the Indigenous living culture. In this framework archaeological data are used by Indigenous people to secure a future rather than a returning to the past. Also, the Indigenous understandings of archaeology challenge the typical archaeological focus on material remains by including a focus on the spiritual, intangible, and ideational aspects of understanding. This is a methodological challenge for archaeology. The Gummingurru case study shows, however, that a confluence between archaeology and anthropology and an appreciation of the linkages between past and present can overcome these problems. If we are more aware of the way Indigenous people understand archaeology, then hopefully, at times, this will lead to a more productive communication between archaeology‘s stakeholders and a greater acknowledgement of the social, cultural, and political contexts within which our interpretive tasks take place.

APPENDIX A: EXAMPLES OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL DATA FROM NORTH STRADBROKE ISLAND AND PEEL ISLAND

Table A1. A sample of archaeological data gathered through excavation

Landscape Site Data Excavation methods and/or Material recorded References (cal. recovery techniques BP) Peel Island Lazaret 1200 Four 500 by 500mm pits Shell material, fragmented fish bone, dugong Ross and Midden excavated; bone, and hearths. Coghill 2000; 3mm and1mm mesh sieve; Ross and Duffy Sugar flotation and 2000; Ross and deflocculation of soil aggregates Quandamooka in a sodium bicarbonate solution 1996; Ross and Tomkins 2011 North Wallen 20,560±250 ≥3mm mesh sieve >2.5m continuous occupational sequence Neal and Stock Stradbroke Wallen containing five well-defined stratigraphic units 1986 Island, Creek containing shell midden, faunal remains, north eastern charcoal, and flaked stone artefacts coast

North Polka 3200 ≥3mm mesh sieve Stratified archaeological deposit Hall 1999; Neal Stradbroke Point Dense shell midden deposit at the top of the and Stock 1986 Island, sequence separated by a less dense strata, the north eastern lower stratum contains only stone artefacts and coast, hearth Dunwich

Table A2. A sample of archaeological data gathered through surveys

Landscape Background Methods Site/s recorded Material recorded References

Peel Island Conservation Interval transect 17 shell middens Shell material, mostly oyster and whelk, with some Prangnell Planning process systematic survey fish and dugong bone, and large amounts of 1999, 2002 surveys conducted strategy charcoal in 1993 and 1995 Scarred tree Old eucalyptus tree with large elongated scar on western side, 3m above ground Quarantine station Small scatter of whelk, cockle, and oyster shell, sites beer bottles, a salad oil bottle, and fragments of a dinner plate, row of wooden fence posts, and a trench Incidental site Wooden telegraph pole and remains of weather balloon Lazaret sites Water tank, horse skeleton. Four dumping areas containing bottles, ceramics, leather fragments, kitchen items, metal drums, glass, corroded bodywork of a Ford truck, machine, and building parts North Part of a personal Judgmental 86 sites on the Durbidge Stradbroke ‗expedition‘ across survey strategy ocean side and 13 1984; Island, Moreton region concentrating on sites on the western Ponosov Eighteen during 1963-1964 the Island‘s coasts side of the 18 Mile 1965 Mile Swamp Swamp

North ‗Problem Interval transect 29 shell middens Varying size, content (shell, bone, and stone Hall 1999 Stradbroke orientated‘ survey strategy artefacts), and depth. Date to post-contact period. Island east environmental coast impact assessment of a sandmining lease

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