Across this landscape of disappearance, black mothers cry for their children

This week has been one of profound grief across the breadth of this country

This week began with the grief of black children crying for their mothers and it is ending with the grief of black mothers crying for their children. This is not how it is supposed to be, and yet it is what Australia continually tells us is the reality. As Archie Roach sang in ‘Song for Elijah’, dedicated to 14-year-old Elijah Doughty who was killed by a white vigilante in Kalgoorlie in 2016, the “tears keep on falling”.

On Monday night, Sarah Rubuntja and Cecily Arabie, spoke of their mother Ms R Rubuntja on national television through the ABC’s Four Corners investigation into disappeared Aboriginal women. Ms Rubuntja had been advocating to end violence against black women; footage shown by the programme showed her travelling down to Canberra to stage a sit-in in memory of her lost sisters.

“She was an amazing woman. Her house was filled with love, kindness and amazing kids everywhere. She was just that type of person where she cared for kids you know. And we’d all sleep with her even though there was no space to sleep in,” Cecily said.

ABC’s Indigenous affairs reporter Bridgette Brennan said that Ms Rubuntja’s home was a safe space, a place for women who had been victims of violence. But tragically, Ms Rubuntja died in 2022 by violence, and despite her strong advocacy, not just in her community, but nationally, her death was met with a devastating silence.

It is a silence that has meant 315 First Nations women have been disappeared, murdered or died in suspicious circumstances since 2000. That is just the number compiled by Four Corners so in reality it is probably much higher. Numbers never tell the full story, and the Tangentyere Women’s Family Safety Group, for which Ms R was a founding member, have been vocal in their claims that they are not just statistics. “We are human!”, Shirleen Campbell says in the programme. That number - 315 - took my breath away. Behind every number there is a woman who was deeply loved, and whose loss is still deeply felt. Behind every number there is a story that has been silenced.

Four Corners also investigated the death of Aboriginal woman Roberta Curry, a 28-year-old mother of three, who had spent years trying to keep safe from her violent ex-partner, only to be met with devastating state-sanctioned apathy from the police services, who did not protect her but instead claimed she was ‘unreliable’. She called triple zero three times, only to be largely ignored. The police told her to stop calling, “you obviously don’t want us here”, and Roberta never called police again. Her sister Julieanne Raymond said that news of Roberta’s death took her ability to breathe: “I just felt like I couldn’t even breathe. I felt like my heart [was] going to stop.”

And then, in Queensland, the children of Constance May Watcho, who had disappeared for ten months before being found in dehumanising circumstances in a busy recreational area in 2018, in a waterfront, expensive Brisbane suburb, cried for their mother, and their younger siblings who would never get to know her. The inquest into Constance’s death is continuing but I want to raise their voices here:

“Orlyn says he found out about his mum's death from police, moments before they held a press conference.

"They just told me what they found and just [said] 'We think it's your mum,' and [they] just said it's going to be on the news in 30 seconds. I hung up the phone," he says.

"I cried and went quiet for months."

The discovery of her mother's body was shattering for Constance's daughter Rose, who began questioning whether a thorough search of the area had ever been carried out by police.

"My mother was found 200 metres from the last place she was seen, in a place where a lot of people walk by. That part of the investigation I feel wasn't conducted properly," she says.

"I do see a lot of things on the news — white women going missing [and] getting found, a proper investigation into what happened. It's not like that with my mother."

But as we heard the stories of disappeared Aboriginal women, as we heard the testimony of their children for their mother, we also heard of another black mother who stood strong for her son.

15-year-old Cassius Turvey was killed while walking home from school, in his uniform in a Perth suburb on October 13th. Five days later, with his family by his his side, he tragically passed away from his injuries. His mother Mechelle Turvey, even in her grief, has been outspoken for her son. And yet, it is only this week that there has been any news on this tragedy.

As The Guardian’s Indigenous affairs reporter Sarah Collard wrote today:

“(Cassius) was such leader and I think that is so important for our youth, black and white we need to lift them up and empower them,” (Mechelle said).

“His best mates … all the children at Cassius’s high school, they’re all heartbroken. They’re all hurt. They’re feeling anger as well. I know, we are.”

She said she was frustrated that police, apart from taking a brief statement from Cassius the night he was admitted to hospital, did not take a further statement from him before he died.

“We did not hear from any detectives, no police. Nothing. For five full days. That was their opportunity. That was their window,” Turvey said.

Cassius’ death has led to an outpouring of mourning from Aboriginal families all across the country. Aboriginal children should be safe walking in public space. Cassius should be here. Instead, what we have across this landscape of disappearance is the overwhelming grief of black mothers who cry for their children. And this week, we have all cried for Cassius.

Megan Krakouer, an Indigenous rights advocate who continually fights racist violence and stands with communities across the country, has organised a nation-wide vigil for Cassius next Wednesday. In WA Today she said:

“It’s unacceptable what’s happened with young Cassius,” she said.

“Vigilante groups are becoming more and more common, whether reported or not reported, I’ve heard it too often in the community.

“In this situation a young boy, respected in the community, loved by many, has lost his life.”

Krakouer hoped the estimated 25 vigils planned nationwide would unite people in solidarity for Cassius and spread a message of compassion and empathy.

“This has touched the lives of so many brothers and sisters, black, white and brown right across the country,” she said.

The violence of this settler-colony which deems the lives of black women and children disposable and unworthy of justice and mourning, was suffocating this week. But I found solace in the words of Uncle Archie. At the inquest into Constance May Watcho earlier this year, I listened to ‘Song For Elijah (Wrap Their Arms Around You) every single day, as I drove into the city.

I leave his words here in the hope they provide comfort to others:

“I hear a mother crying in the wind.

Never gonna be the same

His tears keep on falling

Across this sacred ground

Death whispers in the trees

We hear those ancestors calling

Let them wrap their arms around you

Let them wrap their arms around you.”

You can donate to the family of Cassius Turvey here.

And search ‘Vigil for Cassius Turvey’ on Facebook to find where you can attend a local vigil in your area.