INTERVIEW: ‘In My Blood It Runs’ follows an Indigenous child in Australia as he faces an uncertain future
Photo: The story of Dujuan is at the center of the new documentary In My Blood It Runs. Photo courtesy of POV / Provided by The 2050 Group Publicity with permission.
The new POV special on PBS follows Dujuan, a young Indigenous child living in Australia’s Northern Territory. Filmmaker Maya Newell documents Dujuan’s journey from childhood to adolescence and the many trials and tribulations he undergoes along the way.
There are many engaging cultural stories in this TV documentary, including Dujuan’s rich understanding of his cultural heritage and his talents as a healer and speaker of three languages. However, there’s also some difficult realities present as well, like when the young man falls behind in his schooling and gets in trouble with the police.
For Dujuan’s family, one of the most important aspects of his upbringing is his mastery of not only western education but also the stories and principles of his Indigenous background. As Dujuan struggles having one foot in either world, Newell’s camera is nearby, documenting his journey and also allowing the young man’s point-of-view to take over the narrative.
In My Blood It Runs is a powerful document of the ongoing conversation in Australia concerning the schooling of Indigenous children. Intertwined within this educational debate are other present-day issues. For example, at the time of filming, Newell discovered that of all the children incarcerated in the Northern Territory, 100 percent were from Indigenous communities. There are also scenes in the TV special that connect this story in Australia with the experiences of the African-American community in the United States and the continued fight for worldwide justice.
Recently Hollywood Soapbox exchanged emails with Newell, producer Rachel Naninaaq Edwardson and William Tilmouth, who is film adviser, Arrernte leader and chairperson of Children’s Ground. Questions and answers have been slightly edited for style.
How did you find Dujuan, and were you immediately convinced his story would work as a documentary?
TILMOUTH: We tell our stories in paintings, song, dance and film. This film shows us that consultation and collaboration work. Both parties wanted to do it. Dujuan wanted a film about him, and the film team had to give away any prescribed story that they had to allow families to have ownership and control and to tell them how they should be doing it. The process gave them agency and produced a very strong film. The film team put aside ego, professionalism [and] learnings, and tried to relearn a new way. This was the vehicle in which the family told their story. They drove it where they wanted it to go. I am quite proud of it actually.
NEWELL: In My Blood It Runs sits on the back of long-term relationships for a number of our team members. For me, around a decade ago, I had the privilege to be invited by elders and families at two NGOs, Akeyulerre Healing Centre and Children’s Ground in Mparntwe / Alice Springs, to make films alongside them about the empowering work families are doing to educate their children in language, culture and identity. I sat with elders as they recorded songlines for their grandchildren for fear they may be lost, witnessed kids visit their country for the first time, and heard children speaking confidently and fluently in their first, second, or third languages.
But I was shocked to learn that our mainstream education system perceives these same children as failures at school. And it’s no surprise, when in Australia as in many western countries, First Nations children are primarily only taught in English, and their successes are measured by western values. Rarely do we see or value the inner lives of First Nations children growing up as they navigate the rich and complex bi-cultural society they are born into.
So In My Blood It Runs is built on the foundation of many years [of] working and grew organically from these relationships. I met Dujuan, Megan and Carol on multiple trips to Country where we made internal education films about learning Arrernte language and knowing the land. Then about three years ago, I was on a Ngnagkere (traditional healing) camp, and Dujuan bounded up and started telling me articulately about the world as he saw it. What an intelligent, charismatic, witty and cheeky kid! He really wanted to be in a film, and we we set about asking the hard questions of if a film for the public was possible … who should make it? How should we make it?
With the guidance of advisers William Tilmouth, Felicity Hayes, Mk Turner, Mrs. Abbott Perulle, Amelia Turner, Jane Vadiveloo we layed out a structure of community control around the project to provide a sense of trust in our intentions and vision. Rachel Naninaaq Edwardson, [who] is one of our creative producers, but also a First Nations filmmaker from Alaska, gave critical guidance on the consultation model that ensured that those in the film had [an] ongoing say on the ways in which they were represented.
We listened to those in the film, researched and drew on the incredible guidance from Screen Australia’s pathways and protocols, and other models of co-design that was developed by many artists of color and First Nations filmmakers who came before us, to build a model that was right for this film. This meant that those represented, the advisers and Felicity Hayes, the Traditional Owner of the Country we were filming on, were all involved in robust workshops at assembly, rough-cut and fine-cut stages.
Also significant in reinforcing this model of working was Aboriginal Australian creative producer Larissa Behrendt and non-Indigneous creative producer Sophie Hyde who really made space within the traditional structures of the industry for us to make this film in a different way. This was an incredibly rewarding process and also means that we are all very proud of the film we made together. And we are all very proud and hope it contributes to the long line of work in challenging the status quo of documentary filmmaking that has been led by First Nations communities, filmmakers and other filmmaker and communities of color.
I definitely grew into this film. I needed to be at least part on my journey of de-colonization and understanding of Arrernte worldview to even contemplate making this film.
Do you believe his story is indicative of institutional racism within Australia’s juvenile justice system?
NANINAAQ EDWARDSON: Yes. At the time of filming, 100 percent of children in juvenile justice centers in the state that Dujuan lives were, like him, Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander (First Nations people) even though First Nations people represented between 25-30 percent of that state’s population. This statistical overrepresentation is similar throughout all Australian states. Most of us know that institutional racism is not just proved with statistics. It’s anchored by historical truths that colonial economies like Australia and the U.S. were built on the back of three things: 1. theft of First Nations land; 2. exploitation (and attempted genocide) of First Nations people; 3. exploitation of resources taken from First Nations Lands. These three things form the genesis of oppression in colonized countries and the backbone of these countries’ economic structures leading to the institutions and industries we know today. In the case of Australia, commercial farming and mining industries are examples of this.
First Nations people in Australia have always resisted this oppression, and it has resulted in them being over-policed and subject to systematic policies of oppression, such as the forced removal of children. Dujuan’s life is woven into this history of resistance and this landscape of violence. As he says, ‘I was born a little Aboriginal kid, and that means I have a memory, a memory of Aboriginal people. In my blood it runs.’ That’s why this is an important film because it sits in a long history of films that bear witness to the resistance that First Nations peoples like Dujuan and his family have continued to express against the institutional racism present in the education system, health system, land, governance and economic systems that surround them.
We see this systemic racism in the well-intentioned but culturally unsafe classrooms Dujuan is required to sit in. We see it again in the welfare system, which is more of a punishment than a support, and we see it in the justice system in the Northern Territory, which is shown in the film to literally be responsible for inflicting state sanctioned violence against First Nations children.
So in this context when Dujuan, as most children in this situation tend to do, begins to act out — running away, skipping classes, stealing bikes — it’s easy to see these actions as a call for help. As adults watching on, it’s clear to see that a culturally responsive, inclusive and rehabilitative system’s response is needed. Instead, Dujuan’s largely youthful expressions of resistance and non-conformity attract heavy-handed responses that place him in opposition to society and are deficit driven. When combined with the speed that the systems (schools, welfare, justice) respond and criminalize his behavior, it’s enough to make your head spin. This is what institutionalized racism looks like.
The power of Dujuan’s story is that trauma and strength can coexist. I believe Dujuan’s is also a story of strength, hope and resistance. Maybe that’s because as a First Nations person I have found my own resilience to face the trauma of systemic racism by connecting the strengths of my own people. But mostly I believe it’s because underneath the reality of the institutional racism that Dujuan navigates is a deeper and more potent truth. It’s a truth that has the power to shift this landscape, turn around the statistics, deconstruct institutional racism and deliver equity. It’s the truth contained in the spirit, hearts and minds of the very people who the system marginalizes and attempts to disempower — the families and leaders of the communities where the Dujuans of the world come from. It’s the truth of identity and culture that feed strength and importantly resistance in the face of oppression. It’s there, on screen, in the family and community who hold and protect Dujuan, always grounding him in his identity and seeking to grow in him the resilience he will need to thrive.
How long of a time commitment did this film take?
NEWELL: About four years, but on the bed of a decade of relationships prior and also the critical support of two NGOs, Akeyulerre Healing Centre and Children’s Ground whose 20 years of work with the families onscreen contributed significantly to the trust needed to make this film.
When did you know it was time to stop recording, that you had followed Dujuan enough?
NEWELL: We were all very worried throughout the making of this film as Dujuan was a breath from being institutionalised and locked up in Dondale Youth Prison, the fate of too many young people.One-hundred percent of First Nations kids in the NT jails were Aboriginal at the time of filming. When Dujuan’s family took control and found a solution for him outside the systems meant to uplift him, it felt like an elegant out. We wanted to ensure that it wasn’t too ‘good’ because as his grandmother Margie says, ‘Dujuan is with us now, and he’s doing good. But he’s still an Aboriginal child growing up in a racist country, so we don’t know what the future holds.’ Taking this guidance, there’s a strength in the end of the film, but it does not gloss over the seemingly insurmountable challenges of institutional and structural racism that First Nations must face in Australia and around the world.
How aware are Australians of this issue impacting Indigenous children?
NANINAAQ EDWARDSON: As a First Nations person from North America, who has lived in and out of Australia for almost 15 years now, I have always been struck by the presence of Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islander ‘issues’ in mainstream media. It’s a matter of regular national debate and commentary in Australia, which is very different from our experience in the States.
Issues impacting First Nations People in the U.S. are rarely given media attention in the U.S. unless they directly affect the rest of the country or they reach a boil-over point, as we saw in the recent protests around the Dakota Access Pipeline. I can read all the papers and watch mainstream news in the U.S. for a year and never hear mention of our First Nations Peoples. In fact, I’ve met a number of Americans who didn’t believe that Iñupaiq people (my people) were ‘real’ people, informing me instead that they thought Eskimos had been made up for story books. Perhaps worse still, I’ve also met many Americans who believe ‘Indians’ don’t exist anymore as ‘they were all killed out in the Indian wars.’
But, it’s important to note that even though there is a strong media interest in First Nations stories in Australia, the conversations around First Nations issues are far too often driven by victim blaming, negativity and deficit depictions of the communities. This is because despite the efforts of highly regarded and accomplished First Nations journalists, academics and leaders in Australia, more often than not the stories that run in mainstream media are not framed by, written by or advised by First Nations people. This feeds into the systemic racism we spoke about earlier because it conveniently paints First Nations Australians as ‘helpless victims’ who need white systems and white interventions to save them. So while many Australians are aware of the issues impacting Indigenous youth, that awareness is often informed by simplistic perspectives or large corporate tabloid media interests that have lots to gain by feeding a story of despair about First Nations Australians.
NEWELL: I think there is a large majority of Australians who are hungry to learn more and understand how they can end extreme disadvantage and poverty in Australia, but unfortunately there isn’t the political will to [do] so. We need politicians to listen to First Nations communities and First Nations leaders who have laid out clear plans of how they can have agency over the decisions that affect them with the Uluru Statement from the Heart (https://fromtheheart.com.au/), Voice to Parliament, Truth Telling commissions and Treaty. Change is in the air, and the recent Black Lives Matter movement has led to a fresh focus on the structural racism that needs urgent change.
What do you believe Americans and others throughout the world can learn from this story?
NEWELL: I hope that they are able to see that the issues faced by Dujuan are universal. There are First Nations peoples in U.S. who are experiencing the same challenges of being assimilated into western culture and having their languages and cultures silenced. We need to challenge the stereotypes that exist about First Nations children and communities and interrogate our own biases to see that. … First Nations peoples love and care about their kids. They have the solutions and should be given agency over their lives, see the history that runs into these children and the weight that they must carry. Their languages and cultures are still fundamental to their well-being and need space to thrive, and that racism high and low is real and causes harm, and that it’s all our responsibility to actively challenge it within us, our families, friends, workplaces and media.
One strong reminder of the meaning of this film for audiences from William Tilmouth, one of the film advisers is: ‘We all have the ability to heal one another, but sometimes we just don’t use it.’
Take Action: We hope you can support Dujuan and his family’s goals for change in education reform, juvenile justice reform and anti-racism by visiting our site and taking action: www.inmyblooditruns.com/takeaction.
By John Soltes / Publisher / John@HollywoodSoapbox.com
PBS recently premiered In My Blood It Runs on POV. Click here for more information.
