How does it feel to carry on your father’s legacy while creating your own?
The first time someone asked me that, I thought it was weird. I thought, “How am I making my own legacy?” But what I’m doing is laying the foundation for the next generation, whether it be my children, my grandchildren or my great-great grandchildren. There’s a foundation of understanding around what Mabo means.
I was told by one of my uncles that it’s about following your own Tagai, which is to follow your star to your destination. How do you define that? It’s up to the individual. Just knowing that we carry a legacy of what my dad did but doing it our own way.
What was the impact of the landmark court case?
The decision that came down in 1992, for me, was powerful. What Dad wanted had come to fruition. It took him a long time and one of my regrets is that he wasn’t here to see the decision. One year, when I celebrated with my children, the clouds gathered and the sound of thunder was rolling and I said, “That’s Ata [grandfather] moving the furniture away. He’s going to dance. He’s going to celebrate because he won.”
We should celebrate as a united front, not a divided front. My dad was fighting for all of Australia, not just for his land. He was fighting to change a 200-year-old law that took away the rights of many peoples, not just Torres Strait Islanders. Mabo Day gives us a platform to say, “Yep, he did it for us and to celebrate this day as ours.”