“They do not listen because they do not have to.” This quote from Yunupingu sets the scene for Megan Davis’s thought-provoking Quarterly Essay. As Megan writes, that quote “succinctly summed up the problem” that has led to this year’s referendum. And it resonated powerfully with me, an Aboriginal woman who has spent the past two decades working on the frontline of family violence, witnessing and personally experiencing the silencing of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women.

Twenty years ago, I was instrumental in establishing Djirra together with a small group of like-minded Aboriginal women and men. I took on the role of inaugural CEO, and the passion and determination that fuelled me then remains to this day. Djirra is a specialist Aboriginal community-controlled organisation based in Victoria. Our team of around 100 work every day with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who experience or are at risk of experiencing family violence, predominantly women and their children.

In my twenty years on the frontline of Aboriginal women’s safety I have seen and heard a lot. But before I elaborate on what those two decades have taught me – and the lessons that, I believe, might be drawn from them for those considering whether or not to support the Voice – it is important for me to say that I do not speak on behalf of anyone other than myself.

My authority to do what I do comes from being an Aboriginal woman with my own lived experience and the trust and confidence Aboriginal women place in me. My CEO title carries little weight in my Aboriginal world, but it makes sense and opens doors in the world of many reading this. I take my responsibility seriously, and it is with that in mind that I offer a deeply personal and considered response to Megan’s essay. These are my own views, but I cannot deny that they are informed by my work.

I speak my truth here as an Aboriginal woman, knowing that I am exposed. This is not unusual in my work, but I am extremely conscious of the elevated hatred that has descended on all of us at this critical time as First Nations people: the extremist views, the white supremacy, the lateral violence – all of it not just attacking our personal safety, but also making media and social media platforms unsafe. Truth hurts, it’s uncomfortable, but it must be spoken, written and heard.

Djirra’s work is holistic, providing frontline legal, counselling and case management services, as well as our signature early intervention and prevention programs. Aboriginal women and their children who come to Djirra are seen, believed and respected. There is no test of cultural integrity, no doubting and no judgement. Through our work we keep Aboriginal women and their children’s experiences and lived reality visible. We are fearless and unapologetic in our advocacy and continuously look for ways to break through the structural silencing and be heard. And let me tell you, that is not easy, with Aboriginal women’s lived reality too often rendered all but invisible.

This can be seen in the National Plan to Reduce Violence Against Women that has guided work in this area for many years. This “mainstream” plan has not made a difference for Aboriginal women. During the twelve years of its existence – and over my twenty years as Djirra’s CEO – I have only seen rates of violence against our women increase.

Reader, let me ask you two questions: Do you know that we have been advocating for many years for a standalone, self-determined National Plan to End Violence Against First Nations Women – one that does not apply a one-size-fits-all approach or render us invisible? Do you know that there is currently a Senate inquiry into missing and murdered First Nations women? It’s very likely you don’t, and there’s a reason for that.

It has always been us, First Nations women, who have done the heavy lifting, who have been vocal and fervent, never silent, about the violence we experience from individuals from many cultures and backgrounds. We have not been silent about the systemic violence and racism we experience from government agencies and service providers, which sees our kids taken at alarming rates, our people achieve the abhorrent, heartbreaking record of being the most incarcerated people in the world, and our women’s safety not prioritised and their lives compromised.

We continue to be silenced and disbelieved, but never silent. There’s a difference.

Megan writes that “the need for the Voice is best articulated by Aboriginal people who have experienced voicelessness.” I don’t disagree, but I would make that point slightly differently and say that the need for the Voice is also best articulated by Aboriginal people who have been silenced and disbelieved.

This, too, has been my lived experience. In my twenty years working in family violence, I have been sidelined, shut out of important conversations and excluded. That is because what I have to say represents the real experiences of Aboriginal women and children. Because what I have to say makes some people uncomfortable. Because what I have to say is about Aboriginal women leading and determining for ourselves.

I have a deeply personal interest in change. I feel strongly that a successful referendum could be the game-changer that we so need. Cynical supporters of the “No” campaign talk about the change that’s needed “on the ground.” They politicise Aboriginal women and their children’s safety. We have become a political football in this debate, something I find both disgusting and disheartening. They talk endlessly about the need for “practical change.” Whatever do they mean by that? Is the change that we Aboriginal women seek and advocate for not “practical”? What could be more “practical” than saving Aboriginal women’s lives?

Many of us have laboured for years to bear witness to what’s happening “on the ground” and show the way forward. We have the solutions. We know what will make a difference. But we are not heard. We are not heard by those who need to listen, because, as Megan quotes Yunupingu, those who should be leaning in to hear our solutions “don’t have to.”

If they were listening, here’s some of what they might hear.

The political handballing of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander issues between the federal and state governments must stop. It’s time for national leadership to address the violence against our women and children, the high rates of child removal, the poor and unacceptable health status of our people and the high incarceration rates. It’s time for our people to have a say in the policies and decisions that affect our lives. It’s time.

Governments have long masked inaction through tokenistic symbolism that does not result in real change. As Megan writes, “Symbolic gestures matter until shit gets real.” Shit has been “real” for our women and children since colonisation began.

Governments have controlled Aboriginal people through what Megan describes as “regulatory ritualism,” another phrase that resonated deeply with me. As she explains, regulatory ritualism is “the acceptance of institutionalised means for securing regulatory goals while losing all focus on achieving the goals or outcomes themselves.” I gave the Reconciliation Oration for the City of Melbourne earlier this year, and I spoke to this idea, though I didn’t name it as such. I shared the perpetual cycle of key dates we go through year after year, from 26 January to the tabling of the Close the Gap report in parliament, to Reconciliation week, to the Sixteen Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence – all without seeing any real change.

In many ways, we as Aboriginal people may have become stuck in this cycle of government-imposed regulation and almost complicit in this regulatory ritualism, not by choice but because it’s the only way we are able to elevate our voices. We participate in the inquiries and imposed government reviews and evaluations; some sit on the hand-picked advisory committees. Twenty years of living each year in the same way, knowing what’s coming, is enough for me to say that something has to change.

We see this regulatory ritualism played out time and again through fickle and uncertain government funding patterns. Funding responsibility for Djirra and other Family Violence Prevention and Legal Services has shifted so many times without consultation – or engagement – that even to attempt a brief summary here is impossible. What I will say is that so much money goes unnecessarily – and unacceptably – into establishing new bodies, or to expanding government departments to administer and oversee funding of our services. It’s money that does not hit the ground, money that keeps bureaucrats employed in high-paying roles, money that does not support services that give priority to Aboriginal women’s safety.

Then there’s the introduction by government and policy-makers of new ideas that mask the control and further regulation of us. You may have heard of “co-design” pitched as a way of working together to achieve a self-determined outcome. I am not convinced, especially given that the power imbalance between government and First Nations people remains.

I can honestly say that in decades of doing this we have been saying the same things over and over again, and we’ve seen very little change. We have made hundreds of recommendations to governments that are filed away and never considered. There has to be a better, fairer and more dignified way.

A successful referendum could break this pattern of regulatory ritualism, giving us a real and different kind of “voice,” one that cannot be taken away by a change in government, an opportunity to speak that does not depend on the benevolence of white people working in the bureaucracy or white systems to offer us that “voice.” It would be a voice that takes into account the unique and diverse cultures and experiences of First Nations people. They will finally listen because they “have to.”

So, yes, I want change. Yes, it’s time to make a difference. Yes, it’s time to be heard. Yes, it’s time for truth. Yes, it’s time for a more equitable future. Yes, this could be a new chapter, not the last word. Yes, this is about trust. Yes, it’s time for others to take responsibility and carry some of the load and feel privileged in doing so.

For me, it’s yes.

Antoinette Braybrook is the founding CEO of Djirra, an Aboriginal community-controlled organisation providing support to Aboriginal people experiencing family violence. She is also co-chair of Change the Record and played a key role in the campaign for a National Plan to End Violence Against First Nations Women. Between 2011 and 2022, she was the inaugural elected chairperson of the National Family Violence Prevention Legal Services Forum.