Adam Bandt (Melbourne, Australian Greens) Share this | Hansard source

I rise to speak on this very sad motion of condolence for the legendary Uncle Jack Charles. He was a Boon Wurrung, Dja Dja Wurrung, Woiwurrung and Yorta Yorta man. He was born in Naarm, at the Royal Women's Hospital, on 5 September 1943, making him, as he said, a Melbournite.

Jack Charles was taken from his mother's arms. His mother lived on the Cummerangunja Mission on the Murray River, but, growing up, her existence was denied. At the age of two, Uncle Jack was placed in a Salvation Army home in Box Hill. At the home, where he was held until he was 13 years old, he was, as he put it, 'whitewashed'. He was regarded as, in his words, 'an item of interest' because he was the only First Nations person. He said the feelings of rejection and isolation were intense. He was told that he was an orphan and it was denied that he was an Aboriginal.

Uncle Jack Charles leaves no heirs, but he leaves us with his story. That's his legacy. Uncle Jack was a powerful storyteller, and his life is a powerful story of someone who was a warrior for his people. Uncle Jack was an elder, a lawman and an icon of Melbourne's inner north. He was an actor, a musician, a potter, a film star, a national treasure and an icon, and we have lost a legend. Uncle Jack was routinely seen—as the previous speaker noted—on the streets of my electorate of Melbourne. While drinking a latte at Friends of the Earth cafe on Smith Street in Collingwood, members of the community would approach him to thank him for his inspiration. He created deep impressions and lasting memories. He brought to life the story of this country, of his country, of his experiences of Collingwood and Fitzroy, and the experiences of First Nations peoples.

Uncle Jack bore the racism and embodied the resilience of his people. He was cheeky in the face of power—the power of the state—to deny his liberty, his culture and his existence. Uncle Jack was just one of the Stolen Generations. He was lied to, told that he was an orphan and that he wasn't Aboriginal, and that he should be glad for what white people had given him. He was incarcerated and abused. He was bashed and raped at the hands of the state, by men of the church, in institutions which claimed to protect him. He endured a state sanctioned effort to wipe out First Nations people.

Yet, despite these challenges, he radiated sunshine; he radiated joy. And he spoke with the deep tones which carried the voice of an ancient culture and people. He became, according to himself, a 'Robin Hood of the streets'—robbing the rich for the poor, feeding an addiction to deal with his trauma. Yet, by his life's end, he had become a giant, appearing on everything from the Archibald to Playschool to his own stage plays and international film. He became a leader for his people and an advocate for the imprisoned and the addicted. He was the subject of colonisation, and he became the object of adulation. We must cherish his memory and fight for his cause.

It was quite a life—a true king, a warrior and a storyteller of the highest order. He was incredibly funny and deeply serious. He resonated like a voice from the other side of time. He demanded that we understand the history of the warriors of the First Nations and that we understand how they fought and will continue to fight for justice, for truth and a say. At 15, he met Don Bradman. Years later, he would play the role of Eddie Gilbert on the ABC, the First Nations fast bowler who twice bowled Bradman out for a duck. He had numerous incredible stories which he would share on street corners—like surviving Pentridge, a run-in with Chopper Read, or finding out the identity of his father in 2021.

It was in 1970 that Uncle Jack Charles first found the theatre. He described it as a true love, being able to, in his words, be born again. By 1971, he would co-found Australia's first First Nations theatre company. He named it Nindethana, meaning 'a place for corroboree' or 'ours'. Uncle Jack would feature in film and TV and on stage, but it was not until later in his life that he really found his voice. As he put it in the film Bastardy about his life, jail and white powders cost him many roles. He treated the pain of his upbringing with heroin and funded his addiction with burglaries. He described them as 'rent collecting' from the land which he owned. Many of the mansions which he collected rent from sit within the Kulin nation and sit upon his ancestral country, in a land which has never been ceded.

He described the challenges of being a gay First Nations man in the 1950s and 1960s. He said:

In those days, you had to keep it dark because it was illegal.

He went on to say:.

I remember the days when the police were going around to the tea rooms or the public toilets as cadets to be blooded up, blood up and bash the poofs … Thankfully, they did it at night and I'm dark, so they never saw me.

Jack underwent metamorphosis to become, as he put it, 'an old reprobate'. He beat his addictions. He trained as an elder and started visiting with First Nations people in prisons. In his words, he went 'from a rogue and a vagabond to a person of note and a role model', as he told the National Portrait Gallery when his iconic image was submitted to the prize. By 2016, he would be Victorian Senior of the Year. Most recently, he was named Elder of the Year by NAIDOC.

As I mentioned, staggeringly, it was not until 2021 that Jack truly discovered who his father was or who his ancestors were. Uncle Jack's ancestors came from Tasmania, where his five times great-grandfather Mannalargenna was a leader of the Pairrebeenne/Trawlwoolway clan. His ancestor was conned into convincing those of his people who hadn't been killed or married into white society to move to a death camp on Flinders Island. We all need to know these histories and we all need to know who we are and where we come from. As Uncle Jack said:

It is never too late to learn who you are.

Uncle Jack's life shows us why we need a treaty. He told Senator Lidia Thorpe a treaty would mean 'we could be treated seriously'. I know that Uncle Jack's passing means a lot for Senator Thorpe, who he counted as a friend. Uncle Jack's life shows us why we need truth. First Nations people have suffered and lost so much. The least we can do is listen. There have been thousands of massacres since colonisation. There have been thousands of stories like Uncle Jack's childhood. We cannot heal and move forward until we take the time to listen. Uncle Jack's story shows us why First Nations deserve truth telling in this country. For too long, First Nations people have had their children stolen and their country ruined and have been denied the most basic rights by the Crown, by the Commonwealth, by the states and by the citizens of Australia. We have been uniquely and unapologetically racist towards the people who've inhabited this land since time immemorial. We have not paid the rent. Treaty, according to Uncle Jack, means First Nations people can be treated seriously. In his words, 'We can seek an audience as leaders in our own right and our dreaming, our desires, can be realised. We need a treaty to have a voice in parliament.' He said, 'If you want to move on, you have to be honest with yourself.'

My condolences and deepest respects to his community, to the people of my area who loved him so deeply, to the theatre community of Melbourne, to all who had the pleasure of his company or the company of his stagecraft, and to all the young people he mentored and those he inspired. We extend our sorrow at your loss. As his family said:

We are so proud of everything he has achieved in his remarkable life … may he be greeted by his Ancestors on his return home.

Vale, Uncle Jack, vale.

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