“Language identifies who we are as Aboriginal People,” says Theresa Sainty slowly, her eyes smiling. “It signifies our membership in a community, where we are from, our Country.”
Theresa is a Pakana woman with strong ancestral connections to Tasmania’s north east. Her mother was born on Flinders Island, growing up there and on the remote outpost of truwana/Cape Barren Island. Descended from Pularilpana (Pollerrelberner), Theresa explains, “Pularilpana, along with several other Aboriginal women, was abducted from the north east in the early 1800s and sold off for a life of servitude between sealers on the islands in Bass Strait. She eventually partnered with sealer Edward Mansell – a union that saw the continuation of the family’s Aboriginal bloodline.”
Life on the remote north east islands forms an important part of Theresa’s ancestry. In the early 1800s the British discovered the rich bounty that lay amid the wild Furneaux Group. The gluttonous sealing trade exploded, sending shockwaves not only through the seal population but through local Aboriginal tribes. The abduction of Tasmanian Aboriginal women was common and settlements grew dependent on their labour. Heartbreaking reports of the time indicate that their treatment was often akin to slavery, or worse.
Theresa herself was born in the winter of 1958. “It had only been a few years since the Cape Barren Island Reserve was closed and many families, including mine, were forced to leave. My Aboriginal grandmother, her partner and two teenage children all ended up in Queenstown, chasing the work out on the west coast. My mum eventually married a local.”
“Having left Queenstown when I was only three years old, I really don’t have any memory of my birthplace,” continues Theresa. “It’s a bit sad really. But for so many reasons, not knowing the original name of the place known as Queenstown since 1895 is even sadder.” She continues, “It’s one of many gaps in our language knowledge. To date, the nearest place name to Queenstown is timkarik, a name recorded as ‘the district north of Macquarie Harbour’, including Strahan.”
Despite Theresa’s lack of connection with her birthplace, recollections of her childhood are filled with warmth and family. “Most of my childhood was spent in Invermay in Launceston,” smiles Theresa. “We were a close family and lived with my great-grandparents and aunty for a long while in a small two bedroom house. Mum and us four children all shared one small room. I recall that house very fondly… the bone handled knife that served as a lock on the door and the endless boiling of water in the copper. Funny memories, really. I even remember flour and water being mixed together to create a paste for the wallpaper.” Theresa adds, “We lived in other places in Launceston too, but whenever we moved there was always family around.”
“Looking back,” says Theresa wistfully, “I wish I knew how important those times were. Back in the seventies when all the grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins were around there were so many stories about the old times on the islands. Some were really quite scary too. As a young girl I remember blocking my ears so I didn’t have to hear the ghost stories about the mutton bird (and other) islands anymore.” She adds, “But now I wish I’d listened more carefully. I wish I could recount those stories and all the words wrapped up within them.”
As a young woman, Theresa began her working life as a spare parts assistant at General Motors Holden in Launceston. However her career quickly became wrapped firmly around her Aboriginal heritage. “I initially commenced as a volunteer at the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre (TAC),” she explains. “But by the mid 80s I was working there as a legal secretary, and by 1997 had moved across to the palawa kani Language Program.”
“Those times were amazing really, very energising,” says Theresa thoughtfully. “Those were the days of reclaiming land… there was always a campaign on the go. I have lots of memories of time spent at pinmatik/Rocky Cape, connecting with culture and advancing the land rights movement. Hundreds of community members would turn up, we’d be sleeping in cars and camping out, and then there were lots of marches all over the place too. Most of all, I remember we were always together.” Laughing she adds, “Inevitably these things always happened in winter too, when it was freezing!”
Theresa recalls an overarching feeling of fighting for a common goal, “We were very much fighting for our rights at the time,” she explains. “For things like equal housing and for not getting locked up for menial ‘offences’ such as being drunk and disorderly. It was quite exciting at times too. There were times when camps would be shot at and when the TAC office would receive bomb threats. There were many times too when the police would turn up, and also times when they simply didn’t show at all – that was sometimes even scarier.” She muses with a grin, “I don’t think I was very brave. Sometimes I’d offer to be the one to stay home and just look after the kids.”
Theresa’s lived experiences wander through significant Tasmanian Aboriginal milestones. “Of course there was the reclaiming of putalina (Oyster Cove) in 1984 and then finally the returning of the title of piyura kitina (Risdon Cove), putalina and other areas of land to the Aboriginal community in 1995. Both are ancient and enduring places that are important parts of our cultural landscape.” Theresa also shares insight into the protection of Preminghana and its many sites of significance for Tasmanian Aboriginal people. “Back in the 80s, the petroglyphs would sometimes be defaced. It was heartbreaking. You could kind of pick when things might be stirred up,” she sighs. “It was always when something was playing out in the media.”
Before long, Theresa’s career led her into a role within the Aboriginal Education Unit at the Department of Education. “I spent 12 years working there,” she nods. “From Cultural Officer to Acting Manager and Senior Project Officer Culture and Curriculum, I really enjoyed it. It could be challenging at times of course, but I am proud of the many excellent curriculum resources we developed for schools and of the strong relationships we built in the community. We ran some amazing camps for Aboriginal students… with Elders and knowledge holders teaching canoe building, shell stringing and out mutton birding on the islands too. At the same time I was also working as a language consultant as much as possible – I’ve always been passionate about keeping language alive for future generations.”
There were possibly between 6-12 different languages indigenous to lutruwita (Tasmania). Remnants of those original tribal languages were recorded by Europeans – including the English, Dutch, French and even Scottish. Each tried to record words in the spelling system of their own language, often recording a variety of different spellings and frequently confusing their actual meaning.
Theresa has been instrumental in the linguistic research of the palawa kani Language Program since 1997. “From workshops held in the early 90s, the Tasmanian Aboriginal community agreed that there was not enough of any one original language on record, but that one language could be revived from combining all of them. This also reflected what has happened since the devastation caused by invasion. Surviving Aboriginal families became one statewide community and families shared language and knowledge they recalled from across lutruwita.”
“Together we had to learn the linguistic methods to enable language to be retrieved,” explains Theresa. “We were fortunate to have linguist Leo Edwardsson who trained Aboriginal language workers, and Dr Terry Crowley, who also spent time with language workers, and remained a ‘critical friend’ until his death. With no living speakers of the original languages remaining, we’ve had to methodically piece together knowledge from colonial records and from some limited recorded sounds spoken by Fanny Smith in 1899. It’s been a long and careful process to work through the various fragments we have.”
The Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre is responsible for the retrieval and revival of palawa kani. “We have had to look a lot further than just recorded wordlists,” continues Theresa. “Language is not just words, context is very important too. This is a long process of historical and linguistic research, and one that is guided by the Tasmanian Aboriginal community themselves. There are gaps of course, but those recorded histories that we do have are a gift. I really do think of them as a gift from our old fellas.”
“When we talk about the original Tasmanian Aboriginal languages that have been sleeping for some time, the first port of call is place names,” says Theresa. “To revive these names and to be able to say them out loud – often for the first time in over 150 years – is just fantastic. What better way is there to honour our old people and their legacy than by going to a place and being able to use the original name?”
“There were 14 or so original placenames adopted by the Nomenclature Board under the original Aboriginal and Dual Naming Policy of 2012. These original names are written in palawa kani and come ahead of the English name on all official signage, documents, maps and in publications,” explains Theresa. “Since then however, the Liberal government has changed the way in which dual naming is approached with their own policy. As a result we now have a ‘mish-mash’ of ‘Aboriginal place names’ written in the spelling of the recorder, without any linguistic checks. They are determined by mostly non-Aboriginal people, there is no Aboriginal self-determination in that process.”
“Languages are complex, and they evolve too,” continues Theresa. “They are living, breathing entities. The context can change over time and be completely different. Language pre-colonisation served a specific purpose… to share creation, kinship, sky country, sea country. It’s important to consider words from a community perspective and how they may have morphed over generations. I get goosebumps when I think about how that has happened.”
“We’re still uncovering words today,” nods Theresa. “Through all sorts of means. There’s a lovely story about payathanima, the Tasmanian Aboriginal word for wallaby. It was uncovered through words remembered through song – Aunty Ida West’s memories of that word in a particular song illustrated how language words change and are remembered over time”.
“There are lots of words related to cold and coldness and we see these vary according to who recorded them,” says Theresa. “Interestingly, while we see words for summer, winter and spring, there is no evidence of a word relating to autumn. I wonder if this because we only have one deciduous native here? My hypothesis is that our people didn’t need a word for autumn. Autumn is really a white man’s word for when the leaves fall from the trees. And that didn’t happen in our landscape.”
Theresa is currently in the final stages of completing a PhD exploring the revival of living languages. The awakening of sleeping languages and the decisions that need to be made around how a language should be translated, documented, spoken and taught are facing communities in other parts of the globe too. “The Beothuk language of Labrador, the Kernowek (Cornish) language and Euskera language of the Basque country, the oldest living language in Europe. There are certainly other places in the world facing similar challenges to us,” explains Theresa. “Indigenous language sovereignty is important and if we don’t do what we can now, the knowledge will be lost once again. It is the responsibility of this generation and those that have had access to and chosen to speak palawa kani. I’m giving a lot of thought as to how we can take what we’ve already done to make the transformation from a language program to a living language.”
Theresa’s vision for the future is wrapped around education. “My hopes are for palawa kani to be taught in schools and for there to be enough young Aboriginal people interested in becoming teachers of our language. I’d love to see more emphasis placed on Tasmanian Aboriginal culture and history –not just colonisation history – but for kids to be learning about why the reclaiming of land is so important and just how those events unfolded. It’s so important we continue to pass on our language and culture.”
“Language for me is legacy,” finishes Theresa. “It is part of who we are. While I didn’t grow up speaking this language, it now underpins a lot of who I am today. After more than two decades of work, we can honour the memory of the original languages of our ancestors. This is something I’ll continue doing for our community, along with our team of dedicated language workers. These words have been resting until now and the fact they are now back in use is truly beautiful.”
Find out more about Theresa and her work via Milangkani Projects.