By Bill Day
Maningrida is a town of about 600 on the coast of Central Arnhem Land in the Northern Territory, servicing about 1500 people. Although the town is mainly Aboriginal, remnants of the old colonial administration remain in managerial positions.
The Maningrida Progress Association (MPA), which operates the community-owned businesses in the town, was controlled by an entrenched group of paternalistic balandas (whites) until almost a year ago, when members of the Aboriginal community organised an election campaign to seize control. After the successful elections, the new committee promised to make the association more accountable.
For the convenience of the community, hours were extended in the store. Fresh crabs and other bush tucker began to be sold, and a chef was employed to liven up the greasy "Hasty Tasty" kiosk, which often used to run out of food by midday and had been losing money. Sales doubled.
A popular alcohol-free disco opened in the abandoned town hall. At the bakery, weevil-infested flour was dumped and new lines planned. Equal pay became MPA policy, with privileges for the balandas, like free videos, withdrawn.
For five months after the historic election, the general manager and his cronies, who lived and socialised apart from the Aborigines who employed them, worked grudgingly for the new committee. However, the general manager did not follow decisions by the new committee. He claimed half a million dollars had been lost from the store through "shoplifting".
When the general manager was dismissed, the remaining balandas took "stress leave", arrogantly presuming that the committee would be unable to operate the businesses without them. Aborigines ignored their departing bosses' order not to report for work the next day, and people with management experience came forward to help.
One of those elected to the new committee was Jack Phillips, a balanda married to a Maningrida woman, who had been a member of the Waterside Workers Federation for 27 years. "It wasn't as if those who walked off the job were on strike", says Jack. "These old colonials were aiming to hold on to their privileged positions by sabotaging a movement for self-determination. For example, they refused to give the committee the security codes for the computers to balance the tills."
Jack, who has been involved in Aboriginal rights campaigns since the Gurindji strike in the '60s, also denies the dispute was racial. "I'm a balanda", he said, "and I am accepted as part of the community".
Rumours were spread amongst MPA creditors in Darwin that the store would be unable to pay debts, and the MPA was swamped with anxious callers. When the freezer was mysteriously switched off during the night, police took 500 kilos of frozen meat to the dump, although they had no authority to do so. Break-ins were not investigated, and a community truck was ordered off the road because of a small crack in the corner of the windscreen.
After their "stress leave", when it became clear that the community meant business, the balandas who returned were told they were no longer needed. However, 10 weeks after his dismissal, the general manager and three others were still in their houses plotting a comeback. Because the occupied houses, owned by the MPA, were needed by the association, 23 landowners signed a statement revoking the ex-managerial staff's permits to be on an Aboriginal reserve.
Reggie Wuriejal, the principal landowner, was shocked when the police refused to enforce the order and the Northern Land Council flew in a consultant from Darwin to determine if "the signatories knew what they were signing". It appears that control of permits ultimately belongs to the NLC.
"Self-determination means nothing at Maningrida", Reggie told the ABC news. "We don't even have the power to say who comes on our land."
Tensions came to a head on December 18, when a special general meeting was called by the required five signatories, collected by the general manager. Although under the outdated and rigged constitution only eight members make a quorum for a general meeting, on the day of the meeting more than 200 people from the community gathered to vote on a no confidence motion in the committee.
Inside the hall, the elected president was barred from conducting the meeting, which was dominated by the presence of two burly policemen who had made their views known in the preceding weeks. Senator Bob Collins was also present to lend his authority to the old clique. Collins began his Territory career at Maningrida, which he represented in the NT Assembly from the 1970s.
Two cartons were placed in front of the hall — one with a red sticker for the no confidence vote (stop) and the other green for the yes vote (go). This simple idea from the committee was confused when the colours were turned away from the voters. Collins aggressively spoke for the no confidence vote, defending his mates, and helped the police scrutinise the farcical count of squares of unmarked white paper. A police officer stood in front of the "yes" box, hiding it and telling those who complained it was "for their own good".
By the time the votes were deposited, most people were thoroughly confused as to what they were voting for in each box. Despite the intimidation and the lack of a secret ballot, the results were 94 for the committee and 120 against. After the meeting, the reinstated balandas appointed their own interim committee and business has reverted to its previous routine. The disco has closed, and Jack Phillips has been sacked.
Fearing rigged elections, due in a few weeks, five members of the ousted committee flew to Darwin recently to get legal advice and give media interviews. They now hope to call another special meeting, with observers, for a genuine vote in a truly open election.
The delegation has called for an inquiry into the allegations. "We are ready to fight for self-determination because we want real control of our own affairs", said Reggie Wuriejal.