I wasn't taught anything about the “Magnificent Seven” of Palm Island at school.
Zip. Zero. A missing page from our nation's history book.
I studied Ned Kelly, other bushrangers, explorers in the interior who toiled and fought against all odds. Of the Australians – as in the Eureka Stockade – who fought against the shocks, they fought against dislocation, oppression and discrimination.
But I was never taught about The Magnificent Seven.
Seven Indigenous men were arrested in June 1957 at gunpoint in the dead of night at the infamous “Aboriginal Settlement” on Palm Island, 70 kilometers north-east of Townsville.
Their so-called crime? Demanding to be treated with dignity, respect and equality.
The seven are part of our nation's story. Our story.
But they are not the story this nation wants to tell.
In 1914, the Queensland government established what they called an Aboriginal settlement on Palm Island. It soon gained a reputation as one of the toughest Aboriginal settlements in Australia.
Thousands of First Nations people in Queensland were forcibly removed and moved to the island – effectively in exile – after they were deemed “troublemakers”.
As well as 'troublemakers', people were sent to Palm Island for offenses such as being drunk, unemployed, being outside an Aboriginal reserve, soliciting wages, being considered 'half-castes' or simply being a nuisance.
Their removal and exile was under the Aboriginal Opium Protection and Restriction Act 1897 – more commonly referred to as the 'Act'.
From 1918 to 1972, nearly 4000 people from more than 40 different tribal groups were gathered on Palm Island. Their lives were subject to the dictatorial control of a succession of overseers. A rigid work regime, police brutality and constant surveillance were accompanied by poor quality rations and shelter.
The settlement bell was rung every morning at 8am, which was the signal for all to line up for parade and the allotment of work for the day. Anyone missing was punished with deprivation of food. At 9:00 p.m. every night, the bell rang, signaling the power cut.
Residents, including children, were confined to segregated, wire-fenced “dormitories” officially designated as “Industrial Schools”. Certain streets and areas were for “whites only” and residents were even forced to greet all whites.
By June 1957 they had had enough. Quite appalling working conditions on the island, unpaid wages and the authoritarian and racist management of the settlement.
One resident – Albie Geia – was threatened with deportation from the island after being accused of disobeying a supervisor. He refused to leave, and the community rallied around him.
Geia and six others led the community in a 5-day strike. They were: Geia, William Thaiday, Eric Lymburner, Sonny Sibley, Bill Congoo, George Watson and Gordon Tapau.
Armed Police reinforcements rushed from the mainland to quell the disturbance, raiding the homes of strike leaders. The seven “leaders” and their families were rounded up and marched aboard a launch at gunpoint before being deported to other Aboriginal settlements and banished from the island forever.
The leaders of the strike came to be known as the “Magnificent Seven”.
Today, Palm Island – known to locals as Bwgcolman – is literally and metaphorically breaking free from the shackles of a dark history punctuated by angst and negative commentary to be a welcoming paradise.
As the tide flattens the water in Coolgaree Bay, I sit down with Alf Lacey, mayor of the Palm Island Aboriginal County Council.
He passionately describes Bwgcolman as one of the most unique communities in the country that has overcome many challenges to carry on the steadfast legacy of the elders of the past.
Nowadays, Palm Island has a population of over 2500 people. It is a hive of activity. Local businesses and community organizations dedicated to creating a better future for Bwgcolman. Its administration is led by an all-Aboriginal County Council, determined to write its own narrative.
Bwgcolman is transforming from an island once declared “the most violent place on earth outside of a combat zone” to a community focused on a prosperous future.
In addition to the 5-member Board, the non-profit, community-controlled Palm Island Community Company provides human services, community capacity building, and economic development programs on the island.
The council has also developed a masterplan that balances cultural, tourism, commercial, retail and recreational opportunities for the community. Developing walking experiences, accommodation and reintroducing cultural events are seen as a way to build sustainable economic enterprises.
Upgrading infrastructure, revitalizing the city centre, building new homes and investigating a home ownership model for residents are also on the Council's priority list.
Last year the Council set up a night patrol to engage with young people who wander at night. Earlier this year, it was backed with a $1.3 million commitment from the federal government.
The island is boldly moving forward.
As I cross the island, chatting to locals in shops, in the park, on the beach and on the streets, several people ask me if I'll be back later this year for the 20th anniversary of Cameron Mulrunji Doomadge's death in custody. .
There's a time in November when the Island will come together to honor and remember the popular 36-year-old father, who died in 2004.
I remember watching the events unfold from afar.
Doomadge was arrested by Senior Sergeant Chris Hurley for being a public nuisance.
Forty-five minutes later, he died in the Palm Island police cell from severe internal injuries, which were later compared in court to those of a plane crash victim.
I remember watching the media as it unfolded. The pain and frustration of the community looking for answers. Their response and then the Queensland government declared Palm Island a state of emergency and flew in riot police.
(Sergeant Chris Hurley was eventually acquitted of manslaughter.)
Segregated conditions on the island were only lifted in the 1970s, and the last vestiges of the notorious Aborigines Protection Act were finally abolished only in 1984.
A memorial to the Magnificent Seven stands proudly next to where the mission bell once rang, not far from the island's ferry terminal. With the names of the brave men and their families who stood up for the rights of all Palm Islanders during Strike '57, it reiterates their cry: Go For Broke!
As my short stay on Palm Island draws to a close, the words of Dr Robert Blackley, who works at the island's Joyce Palmer Aboriginal Health Service, put my experiences into perspective.
“We always say: Palm isn't going anywhere.”
“The history of sending people here thinking Aboriginal people would die and we never did and we are a strong Bwgcolman community.”
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