Journal articles on the topic 'Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander linguistics and languages'

Much of the literature on Torres Strait Islander, as well of Aboriginal, education begins from the assumption that oral traditions and cultures have a profound effect on educational achievement. But how easy is it to plot Islanders on an oral/literate continuum (cf. Goody, 1978)? The purpose of this paper is a critical examination of a sociolinguistic model designed to describe Torres Strait Islander and Aboriginal peoples in terms of oracy and literacy by Watson (1988). As part of her attempt to explain mathematics education as it relates to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, her continua attempt at an analysis via a theoretical framework built on socio-demographic and linguistic differences between orate and literate traditions. Watson (1988, p.257) suggest that, “...there exists the same type of continuum linking use of Torres Strait Islander languages and English.”

Abstract There were over 200 distinct languages in Australia at the time of European settlement. Today less than 40 of these are still being passed on to new generations, and all of these are under threat of extinction. Aboriginal people are struggling to adapt themselves to the massive European presence without losing their identity. The greatest threat to Aboriginal languages is the physical, economic and social situation in which their speakers find themselves. Language maintenance will not be possible without social maintenance and this in turn is a political issue. The most important factor will be the success of Aboriginal people in gaining control and self-reliance in their communities. The government can help by assisting in a program of self-determination where Aboriginal people participate at least equally with others in decisions concerning priorities and funding, and in addition by educating non-Aboriginal people to the value of the Aboriginal part of our cultural heritage. Aboriginal teacher education is of primary importance with the goal of schools with Aboriginal control where Aboriginal teachers develop the curriculum and the pedagogy. It is in this context that bilingual education can be put to best use. Bilingual education is of great importance but it must be used not just to assimilate Aboriginal children more easily into English and Western schooling but to have Aboriginal languages and English used together in a coherent educational program where the children become strong in two languages and in the academic and cultural skills they need for contemporary life. Like education, media has the potential for strengthening Aboriginal languages and oultures as well as for destroying them. The outcome will depend on the extent to which Aboriginal people themselves can control what is broadcast and printed.

Abstract Although a minority of Indigenous Australians still use their heritage languages, English has been largely adopted by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as their medium of communication both within and beyond their communities. In the period since English first reached Australia in 1788, a dialect has emerged, drawing on English, contact language, and Indigenous language sources, to enable Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander speakers to maintain cultural conceptual continuity while communicating in a dramatically changed environment. In the perspective of Cultural Linguistics it can be shown that many of the modifications in the lexicon, grammar, phonology, and discourse of English as used by Indigenous Australians can be related to cultural/conceptual principles, of which five are illustrated here: interconnectedness, embodiment, group reference, orientation to motion, and orientation to observation. This is demonstrated here with data from varieties of Aboriginal English spoken in diverse Australian locations.1 The understanding of Aboriginal English this gives has implications for cross-cultural communication and for education.

This article considers the YouMeUnity Report proposal for the inclusion of new language provisions in the Australian Constitution as part of a package of reforms for the constitutional recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The article outlines the important symbolic and substantive effects of recognising language rights in the Constitution. The article explains how the recognition of a national language and the recognition of minority languages are conceptually distinct — promoting a national language is aimed at promoting national unity and enhancing the political and economic participation of individuals in the state, whereas protecting minority languages is aimed at recognising linguistic diversity, enriching the cultural life of the State, maintaining connections with other nations, and recognising language choice as a basic human right. The article argues that there is a strong case for minority language recognition, and in particular, the recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages, in the Australian Constitution, but warns against the recognition of English as the national language.

Indigenous1 children living in the more remote areas of Australia where Indigenous languages continue to be spoken often come to school with only minimal knowledge of English, but they may speak two or more local languages. Others come to school speaking either a creole, or Aboriginal English, non-standard varieties which may sound similar to English, which gives them their vocabulary, while differing in terms of structure, phonology and semantics and pragmatics. This paper begins with a discussion of the linguistic contexts the children come from and the school contexts the children enter into before moving on to discuss a potential role for some use of translanguaging techniques in the classroom and discussing the potential benefits and advantages these may have. 1The term Indigenous is used respectfully to refer to all people of Australian Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent. Indigenous languages and Australian Indigenous languages are used to refer to the languages of both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders following NILS3 (2020).

The language ecologies of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities in Queensland are characterised by widespread language shift to contact language varieties, yet they remain largely invisible in discourses involving Indigenous languages and education. This invisibility – its various causes and its many implications – are explored through a discussion of two creoles which developed in Queensland: Yumplatok (formerly Torres Strait Creole) and Yarrie Lingo. Although both are English-lexified and originate in Queensland, they represent different histories and different trajectories of awareness and recognition. The Yumplatok discussion emphasises issues arising from speakers’ own attitudes, including Sellwood’s own lived experiences. The Yarrie Lingo discussion highlights issues arising from its creole–lexifier relationship with (Standard Australian) English. Finally, this paper examines a recently published government language report, highlighting the ways that Indigenous creoles are marginalised: this marginalisation exacerbates their invisibility in mainstream discourse.

The influence of dialect on child speech assessment processes is important to consider in order to ensure accurate diagnosis and appropriate intervention (teaching or therapy) for bidialectal children. In Australia, there is limited research evidence documenting the influence of dialectal variations on identification of speech impairment among Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. The effect of dialect on the identification of speech impairment was therefore investigated in seven eight-year-old Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australian children living in Townsville, Queensland. Up to eighty words were transcribed from a connected speech sample and phonological patterns were analysed using contrastive analysis. The number of participants identified with a speech impairment decreased when typical characteristics of Australian Indigenous Englishes (AIE) were used as the target reference rather than Standard Australian English (SAE).

Abstract This article presents a corpus-driven sociolinguistic study of Redfern Now – the first major television drama series commissioned, written, acted, directed and produced by Indigenous industry professionals in Australia. The study examines whether corpus linguistic keyword analysis can identify evidence for type indexicality (social demographics, personae) and trait indexicality (stance, personality), with particular attention paid to the potential indexing of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander identity. More specifically, the study’s goal is to retrieve and analyse words that are associated with varieties of English in Australia, and with Australian Aboriginal Englishes in particular. To this end, a corpus with dialogue from Redfern Now is compared to a reference corpus of US television dialogue. Results show that Redfern Now features the use of easily recognisable and familiar words (e.g. blackfella[s], deadly; kinship terms), but also shows clear variation among characters. The case study concludes by evaluating the use of keyword analysis for identifying indexicality in telecinematic discourse.

The colonial history of Australia necessitated contact between nineteenth and twentieth century dialects of English and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island languages. This has resulted in the emergence of contact languages, some of which have been identified as creoles (e.g. Sandefur 1979, Shnukal 1983) while others have been hidden under the label of ‘Aboriginal English’, exacerbated by what Young (1997) described as a gap in our knowledge of historical analyses of individual speech varieties. In this paper we provide detailed sociohistorical data on the emergence of a contact language in Woorabinda, an ex-Government Reserve in Queensland. We propose that the data shows that the label ‘Aboriginal English’ previously applied (Alexander 1968) does not accurately identify the language. Here we compare the sociohistorical data for Woorabinda to similar data for both Kriol, a creole spoken in the Northern Territory of Australia and to Bajan, an ‘intermediate creole’ of Barbados, to argue that the language spoken in Woorabinda is most likely also an intermediate creole.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to explore how one tertiary enabling programme designed for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students uses a specifically designed pedagogy which goes beyond a focus on discrete academic skills to help students develop the resilience and knowledge about learning they need to be successful in tertiary learning contexts. Design/methodology/approach – A narrative methodology is used to explore how graduates analysed and evaluated their experience of the course. Findings – The stories show that for these students, resilience is a dynamic and multifaceted construct. Strength, confidence and resilience for these students come from seeing and valuing the strength and resilience that already exists in Indigenous people and Indigenous knowledge systems and using this as a basis for developing their own resilience. Originality/value – This focus on resilience can provide a transformative experience for students who have largely been marginalised from the mainstream educational system, assisting them to build the crucial “cultural capital” required to be successful in their tertiary studies, while reinforcing the strength and knowledge they already bring with them. Through this process students are offered a way of navigating the higher education landscape on their own terms.

Purpose When providing professional development for teachers, certain factors should be considered and included to ensure it is effective and enhances teacher practice and outcomes for children in their classes. While this is achieved in many curriculum areas, there has been little written about effective professional development for teachers in relation to Aboriginal education in Australia, enhancing teacher confidence in meeting the needs of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. This paper aims to describe a study concerned with the ongoing development of a professional learning framework empowering primary school teachers to infuse Aboriginal ways of seeing and being into their classroom practice. Design/methodology/approach Design-based methodology, using semi-structured interviews with teachers, allowed for iterative amendment and improvement of the professional learning experiences. A description is provided linking the elements of successful professional development for teachers to the implementation of this study’s professional learning. Findings Key findings are that if the elements noted in the literature pertaining to successful professional learning for teachers are included, change in practice does take place and is sustained, to the benefit of the children they teach. This study demonstrates the vital importance of ongoing collaboration and support for teachers undertaking professional development if they are going to change practice in the longer term. Originality/value The pedagogy described in this paper goes beyond content to an Aboriginal way of teaching children through modelling and how this can be infused into teaching practice.

This paper argues that the public relations sphere needs to have better understanding and more representation and acknowledgment of Indigenous women’s contemporary experiences and contributions. Indigenous Australian women experience multiple oppressions, such as Eurocentric and patriarchal control and, within the broader areas of Indigenous, women’s, and feminist public relations scholarship, their voices are largely absent. To address these issues, this paper, based on Indigenous women’s standpoint theory and an Indigenous yarning method, presents the narratives of five Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women employed in public relations. These narratives reflect experiences of marginalization by the Australian mainstream culture of whiteness and patriarchy; they also suggest the incidence of work induced mental distress for the women participants. This study of female Indigeneity within public relations aims to promote understanding of intersectional identities, the long-term effects of whiteness and racism, and may suggest how public relations can play a role in decolonizing efforts.

Abstract The mental health of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander males in Australia is often misunderstood, mainly because it has been poorly researched. When analyzing the quality of life of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander males, it is crucial to consider the associated factors that have directly and indirectly contributed to their poor health and wellbeing, that is, the effects of colonization, the interruption of cultural practices, displacement of societies, taking away of traditional homelands and forceful removal of children (assimilation and other policies). The displacement of families and tribal groups from their country broke up family groups and caused conflict between the original inhabitants of the lands and dislocated Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander tribal groups. These dislocated Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were forced to reside on the allocated government institutions where they would be (allegedly) protected. Whilst in the institutions they were made to comply with the authority rules and were forbidden to practice or participate in their traditional rituals or customs or speak their own tribal languages. Additionally, the dispossession from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander traditional lands and the destruction of culture and political, economic, and social structures have caused many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to have a pervading sense of hopelessness for the future. The traditional customs and life cycles of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander males were permanently affected by colonization adversely contributing to mental health problems in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. In this article we aim to provide a better understanding of the processes impacting on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander males' social and emotional wellbeing.

Aboriginal English1, the language many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students bring to the classroom, represents the introduction of significant change into the English language. It is the argument of this paper that the linguistic, social and cultural facts associated with the distinctiveness of Aboriginal English need to be taken into account in the English language education of both Aboriginal/Torres Strait Islander and non-Indigenous students in Australia. The paper illustrates seven significant changes of expression which Aboriginal English has made possible in English. It then proposes a “responsive pedagogy” to represent a realistic and respectful pedagogicalresponse to the linguistic, social and cultural change which underlies Aboriginal English, drawing on current literature on second language and dialect acquisition and making frequent reference to materials whichhave been developed to support such pedagogy. It is implied that only with a pedagogy responding to Aboriginal English as it is, and to its speakers, will a viable English medium education for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people be enabled. 1Aboriginal English” is the term used to denote “a range of varieties of English spoken by many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and some others in close contact with them which differ in systematic ways from Standard Australian English at all levels of linguistic structure and which are used for distinctive speech acts, speech events and genres” (Malcolm 1995, p 19).

If the settler never came and the (Australian) continent developed herself, what kinds of conversations would we consider? Perhaps, we would highlight the fact that the Country and Island landscape did not have an estimated number of languages but significantly more than the speculated 250 (or “over 300”, or “hundreds of”) Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages across the island and continental landscape. It would be a given continuance that every year across the Country, and not just 2019 declared by the United Nations General assembly, as the year to celebrate the Indigenous languages. Perhaps the ways we define, discuss and distinguish these numerous, living languages would be very different from our current forensic approaches.

Abstract The right of Australian Indigenous groups to own traditional lands has been a contentious issue in the recent history of Australia. Indeed, Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders did not consider themselves as full citizens in the country they had inhabited for millennia until the late 1960s, and then only after a long campaign and a national referendum (1967) in favour of changes to the Australian Constitution to remove restrictions on the services available to Indigenous Australians. The concept of terra nullius, misapplied to Australia, was strong in the popular imagination among the descendants of settlers or recent migrants and was not definitively put to rest until the Mabo decision (1992), which also established a firm precedent for the recognition of native title. This path to equality was fraught and made lengthy by the fact that the worldviews of the Indigenous Australians (i.e. Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders) and the European (mainly British and Irish) settlers were so different, at least at a superficial level, this being the level at which prejudice is typically manifested. One area where this fact is particularly evident is in the area of the conceptualisation of property and especially the notion of land “ownership” and “use”. In this paper, we will focus on these terms, examining the linguistic evidence of some of the Australian languages spoken traditionally by Indigenous Australians as one means (the only one in many cases) of gaining an insight into their worldview, comparing it with that underlying the English language. We will show that the conceptualisations manifested in the two languages are contrasting but not irreconcilable, and indeed the ability of both groups of speakers (or their descendants in the case of many endangered Australian languages) to reach agreement and come to develop an understanding of the other’s perspective is reason for celebration for all Australians.

Indigenous students in urban secondary schools in the Northern Territory are faced with barriers to their success in learning, in the education race. Amongst these is the question of language studies. Like all students, they must study English as a separate subject, they must study all other subjects using English as the language of instruction, and they must study a second language, a language other than English (LOTE), as a component of their Junior Secondary Studies Certificate. Most schools offer Indonesian and some are able to offer a broader choice. For the Indigenous student, social justice demands an addition to this range. It is illogical and unfair that schools, in some cases with up to 30 per cent Indigenous students, do not include Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages in their programs. It is also shortsighted of schools to ignore the opportunity to provide these students with a subject area in which their culture is dominant.

Traditional languages are a key element of Indigenous peoples’ identity, cultural expression, autonomy, spiritual and intellectual sovereignty, and wellbeing. While the links between Indigenous language loss and poor mental health have been demonstrated in several settings, little research has sought to identify the potential psychological benefits that may derive from language reclamation. The revival of the Barngarla language on the Eyre Peninsula, South Australia, offers a unique opportunity to examine whether improvements in mental health and social and emotional wellbeing can occur during and following the language reclamation process. This paper presents findings from 16 semi-structured interviews conducted with Barngarla community members describing their own experienced or observed mental health and wellbeing impacts of language reclamation activities. Aligning with a social and emotional wellbeing framework from an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander perspective, key themes included connection to spirituality and ancestors; connection to Country; connection to culture; connection to community; connection to family and kinship; connection to mind and emotions; and impacts upon identity and cultural pride at an individual level. These themes will form the foundation of assessment of the impacts of language reclamation in future stages of the project.

Remote Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander schools and communities are diverse and complex sites shaped by contrasting geographies, languages, histories and cultures, including historical and ongoing relationships with colonialism, and connected yet contextually unique epistemologies, ontologies and cosmologies.This paper explores the history of Anangu (Pitjantjatjara, Yankunytjatjara, Ngaanyatjarra and Ngaatjatjarra) populations, including the establishment of incorporated communities and schools across the tri-state remote region of central Australia. This study will show that Anangu have a relatively recent contact history with Europeans and Anangu experiences of engagement with colonisation and schooling are diverse and complex.By describing historical patterns of population centralisation and decentralisation, I argue that schooling and broader education policies need to be contextually responsive to Anangu histories, values, ontologies and epistemologies in order to produce an education approach that resists colonialist social models and assumptions and instead, works more effectively towards a broader aim of social justice. Through assisting educators and policy makers to acquire a clearer understanding of Anangu histories, capacities and struggle, I hope to inform a more nuanced, contextually responsive and socially-just consideration of the provision of Western education in the tri-state region.

There are now significant numbers of children who speak a language other than English when they enter the formal school system in Australia. Many of these children come from a language background that is entirely different from the school language. Many Indigenous children, however, come from creole-speaking backgrounds where their home language may share features with the school language whilst remaining substantially different in other ways. What often makes this situation more challenging is the tendency to view creole, rather than as a different language, as a kind of deficient version of the standard language. Children entering the school system with a creole thus often encounter considerable difficulties. In addition, teachers who are not trained in teaching creole-speaking children may not recognise these difficulties. This paper explores some of these issues in the Australian context with reference to home languages such as Kriol and Torres Strait Creole (TSC) as well as minority dialects such as Australian Aboriginal English (AAE), and discusses possible resolutions.

There is widespread agreement that Indigenous students’ cultural knowledge is desirably incorporated into curriculum and pedagogical practice. Classroom research shows Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander learners can use the cognitive tools of their cultural community to engage with school science. We looked towards our own practice as teacher educators to investigate the question: how can pre-service teachers explore how Indigenous cultural knowledge can be used more productively in mathematics and science classrooms? Teachers across Australia are now regulated by the National Professional Standards for Teachers (NPST). Teacher education is now regulated by the National Graduate Teacher Standards (AITSL 2011). Standard 1.4 requires that graduating teachers are able to “demonstrate broad knowledge and understanding of the impact of culture, cultural identity and linguistic background on the education of students from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander backgrounds”. Standard 2.4 requires that graduating teachers “demonstrate broad knowledge and understanding of and respect for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander histories, cultures and languages”. In this paper we present an account of our present understanding of capacity building practises, which are those pedagogies that draw on Indigenous students’ cultural resources: cultural disposition, community knowledge and cultural capital. A key purpose of the presentation is to emphasise the socially negotiated, cultural and embedded nature of meaning-making in science education and how this can be made more apparent given the current focus on implementing the National Professional Standards for Teachers and the new Australian Curriculum.

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander activists and researchers agree that print media discourses surrounding First Nations people(s) in Australia remain negative and stereotypical. However, how these discourses are constructed in language – and therefore linguistic practices which should be avoided – has so far received minimal attention. Analysing a purpose-built corpus of Australian newspaper articles, this study uses the corpus linguistic technique of collocation analysis to identify relevant discourses and examines the linguistic construction of one discourse that had not yet been identified: cooperation. It finds that although notions of cooperation are ostensibly positive (and therefore contrast with discourses identified in previous research), this is often undermined by syntagmatic processes which demote agential Aboriginal participants to prepositional phrases. Prepositions are often neglected in corpus linguistics and in critical discourse analysis, making this an important finding.

While stylistics has successfully integrated the study of language use in film and television, relatively little research has tried to systematically classify the functions of television or film dialogue – i.e. to taxonomise its range of potential stylistic functions such as characterisation or the creation of consistency. Most stylistic research has also focussed on traditional US (Hollywood) or European narrative mass media, rather than culturally-diverse or Indigenous-authored film and television. This article aims to make a contribution to both of these under-examined fields by offering a case study of the stylistic functions of Australian Aboriginal English lexis in three successful Indigenous-authored television series. The three series ( Redfern Now, Cleverman and Mystery Road) are all important for the television canon and were broadcast in Australia as well as exported internationally. Using an existing corpus with dialogue from these series as repository, this article illustrates the different functions of Australian Aboriginal English lexis in its surrounding text by critically examining multiple dialogue extracts from the three narratives. Quotations from Indigenous screen creatives are interwoven with the analysis where relevant. We argue that such lexis fulfils many functions beyond characterisation and demonstrate the significance of communicating culture and identity in Indigenous-authored drama. The study has implications both for the stylistic analysis of the multiple functions of television/film dialogue and for the study of narratives that feature significant creative involvement by marginalised, subjugated, colonised, or otherwise historically excluded communities – including but not limited to Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait islander people(s) in Australia.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to work with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (ATSI), it is expected that non-ATSI health-care professionals become culturally aware; however, participants’ perceptions of the relative merit of cultural awareness training (CAT) formats is uncertain. Design/methodology/approach The authors compared undergraduate students’ perceptions of an asynchronous online format with onsite delivery formats of CAT using a mixed-method design. Students from five successive cohorts (n = 64) in an undergraduate programme were invited to complete a post-training survey which gathered quantitative and qualitative data. Findings Whilst feedback was positive regarding both formats, the onsite format was preferred qualitatively with several valuable learning outcome themes emerging from the results. These themes included; “perceived benefits of self-evaluation of students’ own culture whilst learning about Aboriginal culture”; “encouraging to be provided with scenarios, examples and exercises to enhance cultural awareness” and “engagement with the interactive facilitator approach”. There were differing views about the benefits of learning the history of oppression which warrant further research. Research limitations/implications Results may be applicable to undergraduate allied health students who participate in clinical immersion placements (CIPs) who participate in Aboriginal CAT. Practical implications Given the changing dynamic in education forced by the COVID-19 pandemic, more resources may need to be directed to improving online training and possibly combining formats in course delivery. Social implications The strength of the study is that the authors achieved a response rate of 100%, thus the results are highly significant for the sample. This sample represents 41.3% of chiropractic students who attended CAT and CIPs at this university over the course of 9 years, thus the results could be generalized to chiropractic students who participated in these types of placements. Originality/value To the best of the authors’ knowledge, this is the first study to compare student perceptions of different formats of Aboriginal CAT for final year chiropractic undergraduate students in Australia.

Acknowledgement of CountryIn the spirit of reconciliation the Australian Council of TESOL Associations (ACTA) acknowledges the Traditional Custodians of country throughout Australia and their connections to land, sea and community. We pay our respect to their elders past and present and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples today. We acknowledge that the arrival of the English language to this continent impacted the traditional languages and cultures of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and celebrate the work to reclaim or maintain these languages. ACTA members teach English in addition to supporting the maintenance and development of First Languages, and encourage the acquisition and use of other languages – including First Nations Languages.

Acknowledgement of Country In the spirit of reconciliation the Australian Council of TESOL Associations (ACTA) acknowledges the Traditional Custodians of country throughout Australia and their connections to land, sea and community. We pay our respect to their elders past and present and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples today. We acknowledge that the arrival of the English language to this continent impacted the traditional languages and cultures of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and celebrate the work to reclaim or maintain these languages. ACTA members teach English in addition to supporting the maintenance and development of First Languages, and encourage the acquisition and use of other languages – including First Nations Languages.

Abstract This study employs small story theory (Bamberg, 2006; Bamberg & Georgakopoulou, 2008; Georgakopoulou, 2006, 2015, 2017) and narrative positioning analysis (Bamberg & Georgakopoulou, 2008) to explore stories that are told by interpreters of Aboriginal languages and Aboriginal Liaison Officers (ALOs) when they discuss how they do their work and the challenges they face when interpreting for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients in hospital settings. Findings indicate that the interpreters and ALOs draw on stories to contribute their understanding of complexities of interpreting for Aboriginal patients and do so through the multiple, shifting positions they attribute to themselves as other social actors in the stories they narrate. These positions are reinforced in the ongoing interaction but are also located across the dataset, illustrating that capital-D discourses or master narratives are invoked to frame the role, skills and attributes of the professionals in this study.

In February, whilst the Australian Federal Senate were debating dull three-letter acronyms such as VSU and GST, the Australian Prime Minister John Howard was attending to important issues such as producing a preamble for a nonexistent revised Australian Constitution. This seemingly harmless activity sparked enormous debate in the media regarding the linguistic representation of Australia and the Australian people. Language was the issue and everyone, it seems, fancied themselves as linguists. Howard's preamble became situated within an ideological debate concerning an equitable representation of people in Australia. The response to Howard's preamble has been varied, but generally quite negative, suggesting that it does not embody the views of all Australians or even recognise many aspects of a notion of 'Australian'. Consequently, newspaper editorials have been crammed with protests regarding the representation and exclusion of various groups, and the general white male Christian bias of this text. One of the more interesting comments came from Fr. Frank Brennan who expressed his disgruntlement at the grammatically and consequently ideologically passive representation of indigenous Australians. John Howard's preamble treats only Aborigines passively -- as objects, not subjects. ... Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders appear without ever making it into the subject of any sentence of the preamble. Brennan's comments refer to the fourth sentence of Howard's preamble. Since time immemorial, [our land] has been inhabited [by Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders] Indeed this reference to indigenous Australians is the only acknowledgement in the preamble of this group's presence in Australia. It is the passive version of the active sentence "since time immemorial Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders have inhabited our land". Considering that active sentences are more commonly used than passive constructions, the fact that Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders are referred to passively seems quite significant. Passivisation moves the agent of a sentence, which is usually found in the subject position, to an end of sentence by-phrase adjunct, replacing the agent with the patient in the subject position. This shift in focus causes agency to become unclear. The agent's increased distance from the verb removes the agent from the action, suppressing the direct involvement of the agent with the activity referred to by the verb. In the fourth sentence of Howard's preamble, the agency of "Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders" is obscured by the passive construction. This noun is distanced from the verb, not allowing the act of habitation to be directly ascribed to this entity. Instead, "our land" is given focus and importance by occupying the subject position. This choice of the passive reflects, to some extent, John Howard's and the Liberals' policies regarding the indigenous population of Australia. The political agency of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders has always appeared minimal in issues that affect this group of Australians such as the Liberals' Wik legislation. The apparently insignificant act of distancing the linguistic manifestation of this entity from the action denoted by the verb "habitation" perhaps perpetuates this politically suppressed agency and disempowerment. Yet Brennan makes the mistake of claiming that it is only Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders who have their focus as a political entity removed through their passivisation. Of interest in this text are the first two sentences in the preamble, which are also passives. ... [The Commonwealth of Australia] is constituted by [the equal sovereignty of all its citizens] [The Australian nation] is woven together of [people from many ancestries and arrivals] In these two sentences, the agents, "equal sovereignty of all its citizens" and "people from many ancestries and arrivals" are similarly concealed by layers of grammatical structure. The phrases referring to the Australian nation and Commonwealth are given dominion over the entities signifying Australians as individuals. The nation and Commonwealth are actually the result of the activity of "constituting" and "weaving", performed collectively by the Australian people, yet the grammatical positioning of these entities in the by-phrase adjunct distances them from the verb and therefore action, reducing the potency of their agency. The result is a failure to acknowledge the political and social role of individual Australians in the creation and composition of the Australian nation. Thus, ignoring group crossover, these two entities, Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders and the citizens of Australia are dealt with in a similar manner by Howard, as passive entities. Though the passive treatment of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders is perhaps unsurprising considering past and present Liberal party policy, the comparable grammatical manipulation of the latter sentences is not as predictable. Liberal philosophy revolves around the individual, with this singularity of thought generally influencing party politics and policy making. The emphasis in these two sentences is not on the Australian people, but the Australian nation which occupies the subject position in both sentences. Then what was Howard intending? Perhaps Howard's desire was not to support the politically passive nature of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders through a corresponding sentence construction. The lack of correlation between the latter two sentences and Liberal party policy would support this argument. However, another suggestion might lie in Howard's intended use for the preamble. Howard wrote this constitutional preamble considering its potential as a verbal document, habitually spoken not by one person, but by collectives in, for example, schools. This context coupled with the placement of "the Commonwealth of Australia" and "the Australian nation" in the subject position with the agency of the individual Australians grammatically suppressed, perhaps fosters a sense of nationalism. As members of a group ritually chant this text, no doubt concentrating on the Australian flag, they subdue thoughts of individuality and agency, focusing on the importance of nation and oneness. This collective voice is emphasised in the plural nouns used in the final line of the preamble, "in this spirit, we, the people of Australia, commit ourselves to the Constitution". Perhaps then, the passive choice of the latter sentences, like the first example, is politically significant after all, reflecting Howard's desire for a mild form of nationalism. If this is the case then, though protests concerning the usual suspects of race, gender and creed are legitimate, the more subtle political motivations behind such a potentially significant text should be examined more closely. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Felicity Meakins. "The Subject of Howard's Desire: Passive Sentences and Political Intention." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.5 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/howard.php>. Chicago style: Felicity Meakins, "The Subject of Howard's Desire: Passive Sentences and Political Intention," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 5 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/howard.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Felicity Meakins. (1999) The subject of Howard's desire: passive sentences and political intention. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(5). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/howard.php> ([your date of access]).

Abstract Background Use of epidemiological research in policy and practice is suboptimal, contributing to significant preventable morbidity and mortality. Barriers to the use of research evidence in policy include lack of research–policy engagement, lack of policy-relevant research, differences in policymaker and researcher practice norms, time constraints, difficulties in coordination, and divergent languages and reward systems. Approach and outcomes In order to increase policy-relevant research and research uptake, we developed the output-orientated policy engagement (OOPE) model, in Australia. It integrates a foundational approach to engagement with cycles of specific activity focused around selected research outputs. Foundational elements include measures to increase recognition and valuing of policymaker expertise, emphasis on policy uptake, policy awareness of the research group’s work, regular policy engagement and policy-relevant capacity-building. Specific activities include (i) identification of an “output”—usually at draft stage—and program of work which are likely to be of interest to policymakers; (ii) initial engagement focusing on sharing “preview” evidence from this output, with an invitation to provide input into this and to advise on the broader program of work; and (iii) if there is sufficient interest, formation of a researcher–policy-maker partnership to shape and release the output, as well as inform the program of work. This cycle is repeated as the relationship continues and is deepened. As well as supporting policy-informed evidence generation and research-aware policymakers, the output-orientated model has been found to be beneficial in fostering the following: a pragmatic starting place for researchers, in often large and complex policy environments; purposeful and specific engagement, encouraging shared expectations; non-transactional engagement around common evidence needs, whereby researchers are not meeting with policymakers with the expectation of receiving funding; built-in translation; time and resource efficiency; relationship-building; mutual learning; policy-invested researchers and research-invested policy-makers; and tangible policy impacts. A case study outlines how the output-orientated approach supported researcher–policymaker collaboration to generate new evidence regarding Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cardiovascular disease risk and to apply this to national guidelines. Conclusion Output-orientated policy engagement provides a potentially useful pragmatic model to catalyse and support partnerships between researchers and policymakers, to increase the policy-relevance and application of epidemiological evidence.

Welcome to Volume 51.2 of The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education. This is our second volume since our shift to being an open access journal. We are very pleased that AJIE has recently been accepted into the Directory of Open Access Journals and was awarded the DOAJ Seal for best practice in open access. DOAJ is an extensive index of diverse open access journals internationally and their aim is to increase the visibility, accessibility, reputation, usage and impact of quality, peer-reviewed, open access scholarly research journals globally. We are also excited that since the journal became open access in August 2022 there has been over 20,000 views of whole articles and over 24,000 views of abstracts on our new open access website. This is a larger volume of AJIE than usual, and we thank the authors and reviewers for their contributions. You play a vital role in ensuring the quality of the journal. We would also like to thank Michelle James for her detailed and astute copyediting for the journal. Special thanks to Senior Publications Officer Sonia Nitchell for her continuing work on importing the large AJIE archive onto the new platform. The first suite of articles in this volume focuses on the early childhood context with articles by Locke and Webb providing us with insights into the inclusion of Indigenous knowledges and perspectives in early education and care settings in the first paper and how Aboriginal educators integrated their cultural knowledge and experiences to develop Aboriginal children’s skills in the second. In a South Saami context, Kroik explores preschool teachers’ identity as linguistic role models by means of analysing their own descriptions of language learning. In Canada, Schroeder et al. demonstrate the importance of making curricula relevant to Indigenous children by including content that is culturally relevant and developmentally appropriate. The interrelationships between language, identity and culture from Māori kaumātua (elders both male and female) and whānau (parents and extended family members) from Aotearoa (New Zealand) is explored by Berryman et al. The second suite of papers take us into the context of schools. Johnson and Flückiger explore the important role for Aboriginal Education Workers in remote Australian communities, while Goodall et al. draw on student and teacher memories of the early days of Indigenous-controlled adult education provider Tranby Aboriginal Co-operative Ltd. The paper by Guenther et al. analyses My School data for Very Remote Aboriginal schools, showing how the Remote School Attendance Strategy school attendance results compare with similar non-Remote School Attendance Strategy schools. Their findings raise ethical and accountability concerns about the Remote School Attendance Strategy, which they argue lacks evidence of attendance improvement, and which potentially causes harm. Whitau et al. also examine school attendance but in relation to Western Australian Aboriginal young women and the links between racism, teacher–student relationships, and peer connectedness, and how these were related to participant attendance and engagement at school. Moore et al. discuss the Whole of Community Engagement (WCE) initiative, which sought to identify barriers and enablers in Aboriginal students’ pathways to post-compulsory education in six remote communities in Arnhem Land and central Australia. They describe the features that led them to characterise the initiative and the remote community and school context as intercultural and complex. Also in relation to the Whole of Community Engagement initiative, Moore et al. propose an intercultural perspective as a refinement to the both-ways approach to remote education. Osborne et al. focus on aspirations of students, their families and communities at Nyangatjatjara College an independent Aboriginal school distributed across three campuses in the southern region of the Northern Territory. Macdonald and Gringart present a new measurement instrument, the Multi-Dimensional Student Perceptions of School Questionnaire (MSPSQ), validated with a moderate-sized sample of Indigenous and non-Indigenous secondary students in Western Australia. The next suite of papers has an international focus with papers from Canada, Aotearoa (New Zealand), Brazil, and Tonga. Stavrou and Murphy explore tensions surrounding Indigenising school mathematics in a Western Canadian prairie province conducted with three Cree elementary school teachers while Denston et al. examine teachers’ perceptions and experiences of a collaborative case study to adapt a literacy approach originally designed for an Aotearoa (New Zealand) English-medium context. Ioris et al. explore the main trends and pending gaps related to indigenous education in Brazil while Fonua et al. shares the stories of 26 successful Tongan science learners who participated in talanoa (open discussion without an agenda) about their engagement, enjoyment, and success in secondary and university science education in Aotearoa (New Zealand). The final papers in this volume shift to the university context with Hogarth exploring a small pilot study conducted at a Queensland university examining how academics perceive the inclusion of Indigenous Knowledges within institutional and professional contexts and initial teacher education programs. Forsyth et al. speak to the importance of employing Indigenous methodologies when conducting Indigenous research to improve dental and medical health outcomes for Indigenous peoples. Hook and Jessen reflect on the contentious nature of non-Indigenous academics teaching Indigenous Studies and draw on student survey data to illustrate the conflict between their pedagogic practices, student expectations and the structural impediments to their teaching aims. Smith et al. also provide a personal reflection on the higher education context by discussing the need to have institutional conversations about coloniality, institutional racism and white fragility within tertiary institutions. The final paper in this volume by Gibbs et al. explores the relationships between racism, cultural resilience, and educational engagement and academic outcomes for Aboriginal tertiary students. They highlight that cultural resilience and support is critical to Aboriginal student success within universities. Racism continues to be particularly important to address because, as the 2022 Australian Reconciliation Barometer recently highlighted, experiences of racial prejudice have increased for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people over the last two years and certainly there is much work needed to improve relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. We hope you enjoy reading the articles in this volume and hope the articles lead to further dialogue and discussion about Indigenous educational success both in Australia and internationally. Bronwyn Fredericks, Martin Nakata, and Katelyn Barney

While Young Adult dystopian texts commonly manipulate expectations of time and space, it is largely in a linear sense—projecting futuristic scenarios, shifting the contemporary reader into a speculative space sometimes only slightly removed from contemporary social, political, or environmental concerns (Booker 3; McDonough and Wagner 157). These concerns are projected into the future, having followed their natural trajectory and come to a dystopian present. Authors write words and worlds of warning in a postapocalyptic landscape, drawing from and confirming established dystopian tropes, and affirming the activist power of teenage protagonists in cultivating change. This article examines the intersections between dystopian Young Adult literature and Indigenous Futurisms, and the possibilities for sharing or encoding Indigenous Knowledge through the disruption or revision of genre, where the act itself become a movement of activism and survival echoed in text. Lynette James acknowledges the “ruptures” (157) Indigenous authors have made in the genre through incorporating Indigenous Knowledge into story as an embedded element – not only of narrative, but of structure. Ambelin Kwaymullina, of the Palyku people of the Pilbara region of Western Australia, exemplifies this approach in her disruption or rupture of the dystopian genre in her embodiment of Indigenous Knowledge in the Young Adult (YA) text The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf. Kwaymullina centres Indigenous Knowledge throughout the trilogy, offering a powerful revision of key tropes of the dystopian YA genre, creating a perspective that privileges Indigenous Knowledge. This is most significantly identified through her depiction of time as a non-linear concept, at once realised narratively, conceptually, and structurally in the text. The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf, the first of a trilogy of novels in “The Tribe” series, presents a futuristic post-apocalyptic world, set 300 years after the Reckoning, a cataclysmic environmental disaster. The protagonist, Ashala Wolf, is one of a number of people with supernatural abilities that are outlawed by their government and labelled Illegals. As the novel begins, Ashala is being interrogated by the villainous Neville Rose, held in a detention centre as she plots to escape, free her fellow detainees, and return to the Tribe in the Firstwood. The plot draws from historical and contemporary parallels in Australia, yet part of the text’s subversive power is that these parallels and connections are never made explicit on the page. The reader is invited to become an active participant in coding meaning by applying their own understandings of the context and connections, creating an inter-subjective dialogue between reader and text, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous knowing. This article looks to the first novel in the trilogy as the key exemplifier of the disruption of genre and knowledge through the representation of time. It is in this novel that these concepts are established and realised most clearly, being predominantly from Ashala’s perspective as a direct descendant of Indigenous Australians, with the following two novels divided between Ashala, Georgie, and Ember as polyphonic narrative focalisers. Acting as an introduction to the series, The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf presents a foundation for readers to challenge their perceptions on both genre and knowledge. Kwaymullina entangles the two, imbuing knowledge throughout narrative and structure which in turn disrupts genre. In her revisioning of narrative through genre and structural focus of time as a non-linear concept, Kwaymullina puts into practice Conrad Scott’s argument that “the potential healing of moments or processes of crisis in Indigenous dystopias is never possible without a strategic engagement with narrative itself, and even the formal aspects of the text” (73).While the series fits the conventions of the dystopian genre, it has been more commonly identified as speculative fiction, or Indigenous futurism, as Kwaymullina herself defines her work. James notes the significance of acknowledging a text as Indigenous futurism, writing, “identifying a work as Indigenous futurism rather than simply as YA dystopia asks readers, critics, and scholars to adjust their orientation in ways that may radically alter both their perception and reception of it” (153). For the purposes of this article, I acknowledge the clear value and importance of identifying the text as Indigenous futurism, but also find value in the movements that define the shift from dystopian literature to Indigenous futurism, in its engagement with and recasting of dystopian conventions in the text. In embedding Indigenous Knowledge in her worldbuilding and narrative, Kwaymullina actively rewrites dystopian expectations and tropes. These notions would be expected or normalised when grounded in Indigenous futurism, but are regarded as a subversion and revision when read in dystopian fiction. The text engages directly with the specific tropes and expectations of dystopian genre—its significance in rewriting the spaces, narratives, and structures of the genre cannot be overstated. The employment of the dystopian genre as both framework and space of revision speaks to larger debates of the value of dystopian fiction in examining socio-cultural issues over other genres such as realism. Critics argue the speculative nature of dystopian fiction that remains linked to concerns of the present and past allows audiences to envision and experience their own transformative experience, effecting political change (Kennon; Mallan; Basu, Broad, and Hintz; Sypnowich). Balaka Basu, Katherine Broad, and Carrie Hintz argue that serious issues presented in fantastic futuristic scenarios “may provide young people with an entry point into real-world problems, encouraging them to think about social and political issues in new ways, or even for the first time” (4-5). Kerry Mallan notes the “ability of dystopian fiction to open up to readers a dystopian social elsewhere serves a double function: On the one hand, it offers readers an opportunity to reflect on their current existence to compare the similarities and differences between the real and the fictional; on the other, these stories implicitly exhort young people to take responsibility for their own lives and the future of society” (16). Drawing on these metanarrative structures with the interweaving of Indigenous knowledge increases the active responsibility for the reader. It invokes Nnedi Okorafor’s labelling of Indigenous Futurisms as “the most truthful way of telling the truth” (279), creating opportunities for the Indigenous and non-Indigenous reader to engage with narratives of a real apocalypse on invaded land. The dystopian setting and expectations form a buffer between reader and text (Basu, Broad, and Hintz 4), making the narrative more accessible to the reader without shying away from the embedded trauma, while drawing on dystopian fiction’s balance of despair and optimism (Basu, Broad, and Hintz 2).The stakes and value of dystopian fiction are heightened when engaging with Indigenous narratives and knowledge; as Claire Coleman (a Noongar woman from the south coast of Western Australia) notes, Indigenous Australians live in a post-apocalyptic state as “all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people alive today are the descendants of people who survived an apocalypse” (n.p.). James, quoting Uppinder Mehan, concurs, writing “these narrators are ‘survivors—or the descendants of survivors’ [162], not just of broken dystopian worlds or post-cataclysmic events but of the real historical legacies of slavery, conquest, and oppression” (157). Writing on Indigenous futurisms in dystopian and utopian fiction, Mary Morrison argues “people outside Western hegemonic power structures would likely be well-placed to transform the utopian imagination, to decolonize it” (11), acknowledging the significance in the intersection of genre and lived experience by author and character.Kwaymullina expands on this, noting that for Indigenous authors the tropes of speculative fiction are familiar lived experiences. She writes thatmany of the ideas that populate speculative-fiction books – notions of time travel, astral projection, speaking the languages of animals or trees – are part of Indigenous cultures. One of the aspects of my own novels that is regularly interpreted as being pure fantasy, that of an ancient creation spirit who sung the world into being, is for me simply part of my reality. (“Edges” 27)Kwaymullina affirms Coleman and James in her approach, writing “Indigenous people lived through the end of the world, but we did not end. We survived by holding on to our cultures, our kin, and our sense of what was right in a world gone terribly wrong” (“Edges” 29). The Tribe series demonstrates survivance, with Kwaymullina’s approach forming possibilities for intersubjective dialogues across genre. The concept is reinforced through Ashala’s repeated, joyful cries of hope throughout the text: “I live! We live! We survive!” (197, 200, 279, 391).Sara K. Day, Miranda A. Green-Barteet, and Amy L. Montz note dystopian literature considers possible futures from the outlook and failures of the present (8), arguing “the label ‘dystopia’ typically applies to works that simultaneously imagine futures and consider the present, essentially occupying a liminal space between these times” (Day, Green-Barteet, and Montz 9). This sense of liminality is heightened with the engagement of time from an Indigenous perspective; as Scott writes, “Indigenous dystopian fiction presents not only the crisis of the future but the ongoing crisis of the present time, and that which is still resonant from the past” (73). In “Respect, Relationships, Renewal: Aboriginal Perspectives on the Worlds of Tomorrow”, Kwaymullina notes that linear time can “become a tool of ideology, with colonial characterisations of Indigenous peoples as being of an earlier (less ‘advanced’) time through the use of terms such as ‘primitive’, ‘prehistoric’ and ‘prehistory’” (“Respect” 126).In shifting to a dystopian world where Australia as a colonised or invaded country is no longer recognised, but Country is still alive and read by those who live on it, Kwaymullina recasts the use of linear time as a tool of ideology to reaffirm Coleman’s argument that Indigenous Australians already exist in a post-apocalyptic state. She draws from the past and present and casts it into the future, while simultaneously recognising that all three are linked and circular—events are repeating and being relived. Kwaymullina depicts numerous parallels between the dystopian world and a post-invasion Australia, populating her world with references to detention centres; othering and distinct labelling of a vilified minority deemed a threat or aberrant to the majority colonising community; the name and title of the series’ central villain Chief Administrator Neville Rose in a clear reference to A.O. Neville, WA Chief Protector of Aborigines.At the outset, the government uses labels to separate and denigrate the Other—individuals with Abilities are called Illegals, distinct from Citizens, although they can apply for Exemptions if their Ability is deemed useful and passive. The terminology of Exemption draws deliberate connections to the Exemption Certificate Indigenous Australians could apply for from the Aborigines Protection (Amendment) Act 1943. The text consistently operates in modes of survivance, as Ashala and the Tribe redefine their world through a distinctly Indigenous perspective (Murphy 179). Ashala gains power through the tool used to suppress her by claiming and embracing this status, identifying her friends and herself as the Tribe and choosing a forest name emblematic of the totems that each Tribe member has a particular connection to (e.g. Georgie Spider, Ember Crow, Ashala Wolf). Continual parallels are drawn to Indigenous Knowledge: Ashala’s Ability is Sleepwalking, where she enters a state in dreaming where she can alter reality, a liminal space that suggests connections to the Dreamtime. While the land is no longer called or recognised as Australia, and the tectonic plates have shifted land mass, it remains Country, as recognised in Ashala’s relationship with the Firstwood. The Balance, the inherent harmony between all life, animate and inanimate, is a clear reflection of an Indigenous understanding, positioning it as the mainstream ideology.Kwaymullina weaves Indigenous knowledge through the text as demonstrated through narrative, key thematic concepts, and structure, disrupting the tropes of dystopian fiction in a manner that subverts genre and presents new possibilities for both reader and writer while presenting a shift to Indigenous Futurisms. As an organic by-product of this ideological framework, regressive or gendered tropes are re-envisioned as feminist and ecologically centred, ultimately conveying a sense of hope and survivance. Key tropes of YA dystopian fiction include a female teenager protagonist oppressed by her government, often initially unknowingly so embedded is she in the system, potentially profiting from it in some way. She is often introduced to the reader in a setting that the character initially reads as utopian, but is revealed to be dystopian and authoritarian in its construction. As identified by Ann M.M. Childs, a common dynamic in the genre that reinforces gender roles in heterosexual relationships see the protagonist introduced to the concept of rebellion or dissent through a male love interest already embedded in a resistance movement, at the cost of losing or betraying a female friend (188). Childs notes the protagonist may be resistant to the idea of rebellion, but after falling for the love interest, grows to genuinely care for the cause. Technology is depicted as advanced, alien or dehumanising, and both belongs to and represents the repressive society the protagonist seeks to escape and change. The natural environment is depicted in binary opposition, with characters finding resilience, freedom, and personal agency in a return to nature (McDonough and Wagner 157). Society will have attempted to restrict, destroy, or otherwise mine the natural world, but this attempt for control will inevitably fail or backfire. Initially the environment is displayed as a potentially antagonistic element, wild and dangerous; however, after the character escapes their confining world, it becomes an ally. In her employment of a perspective framed by Indigenous Knowledge, Kwaymullina subverts each of these established tropes, offering an alternative reading of conventions often embedded in the genre. Ashala is introduced as already entrenched in a rebellion that she is both leader and pivotal figure of. Inverting the dynamic outlined by Childs, she is love interest Connor’s motivation for rejecting the government and joining the Tribe: “You are the reason I came here, Ashala Wolf” (Kwaymullina 263). Kwaymullina dismisses Childs’ concern over the removal of female friendship in favour of heterosexual romance by centering Ashala’s relationships with Georgie and Ember as fundamental to Ashala’s well-being, where sistahood is a key paradigm of hope: “I carry my friends with me” (Kwaymullina 39). For Ashala and the Tribe, nature as exemplified through the Firstwood is Country, not only sanctuary but an animate being that Ashala speaks with, asks permission to live within, and offers protection and apology for the harm down to it by humans in the past. The privileging of environment, and reading all animate or inanimate beings as living, extends to challenging the nature/technology dichotomy. Even the static or sterile environments of the detention centres are recognised for their connection to nature in their construction from recycled materials: “Nothing ever truly ends, only transforms” (Kwaymullina 141). In “Learning to Read the Signs: Law in an Indigenous Reality”, Ambelin Kwaymullina and Blaze Kwaymullina write thatsince everything must interconnect and interrelate to survive, if a pattern is fixed in time, it loses its ability to dynamically connect with other patterns. To be temporally fixed is therefore to be isolated; frozen. In an Indigenous worldview, it is, in fact, an impossibility – for that which cannot move, cannot interact, and that which cannot interact is inanimate. And there is nothing inanimate in country. (200)This can be read as representative of Kwaymullina’s rupture or revision of dystopian tropes and genre. When tropes are read as static or absolute, they run the risk of freezing or limiting the knowledge encoded in these stories. By integrating Indigenous Knowledge, new patterns can emerge and interact, extending to the reader’s own understanding of genre, time, and epistemology. Kwaymullina’s revisioning of dystopian tropes through an embedded and celebrated Indigenous perspective culminates in the successful thematic, narrative, and structural expression of time as a non-linear concept. Kwaymullina and Kwaymullina acknowledge the division between the reductionist and linear perspective of time through a Western worldview in comparison to the non-linear perception from that of an Indigenous Australian worldview. They acknowledge that their expression of time is not to be read as representative of all Indigenous Australians’ perspective of time, but one informed by their own Country and upbringing. Kwaymullina and Kwaymullina write,in an Aboriginal worldview, time—to the extent that it exists at all—is neither linear nor absolute. There are patterns and systems of energy that create and transform, from the ageing process of the human body to the growth and decay of the broader universe. But these processes are not ‘measured’ or even framed in a strictly temporal sense, and certainly not in a linear sense. (199)This is enacted through the narrative structure of The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf. The text is set across four days, yet spans years, shifting through narrative in a non-linear manner and reflecting the Indigenous understanding of time as a circular, evolving concept. These four days act as the containers for the text, as Kwaymullina distinguishes the departure from linear time for the uninitiated reader by including headings and subheadings in chapter titles, marked as “Day One”, “Day Two”, “Day Three”, and “Day Four”, before the final section, “The Escape”. Within these containers, themselves marked linearly, narrative ebbs and flows across time and space, taking Ashala away from the Detention Centre to different moments from her past, spanning years. These ‘flashbacks’ are not presented in a linear fashion; the text revisits and repeats key moments of Ashala’s life out of sequence, providing an immediate focus on these seemingly past moments. This is key in shaping the reader’s understanding of “the patterns and systems of energy that create and transform” (Kwaymullina and Kwaymullina 199)—as Ashala revisits or rediscovers memory through time, perceptions of character, motive, relationships, and key plot points are changed and transformed. Meaning is formed through this relationship of narrative and time in a manner not possible through a linear structure. Over the course of the novel, Ashala and the reader find she’s chosen to give herself false memories to protect the Tribe and complete a master plan to defeat Neville Rose. As such, as the novel begins the reader, aligned with Ashala as narrative focaliser, is positioned to read key points through a flawed perspective. Connor is presented as an enemy and betrayer of the Tribe, while Ashala denies her feelings towards him. The reader is aligned with Ashala’s perspective—she has already fallen in love with Connor, but neither she nor the reader knows it due to the displacement of knowledge through narrative structure and memory. This also speaks to identity formation in the text—Ashala is herself, and not herself until the novel reaches full circle, and she and the reader have experienced multiple points of time. As Ember explains, “it’s not about losing small pieces of information. This stuff shapes your entire understanding of reality” (Kwaymullina 167). If the reader revisits the text with this knowledge, they find further value in exploring the non-linear, circular narrative, finding subtext in characters’ interactions and decisions. The disruption in the non-linear narrative structure is twofold: to reflect the representation of time in an Indigenous epistemology, further rewriting the genre; and to create an intersubjective dialogue. As such, the narrative structure creates a space of invitation to the reader. Rather than positioning Ashala as embedded and aware of her status as a custodian of Indigenous knowledge, the text places her as ingrained in Indigenous epistemology, but unaware of it. In this way, the text effectively invites the reader in, mirroring Ashala’s journey of (re)discovery. The non-Indigenous reader enters the text alongside Ashala, with Indigenous knowledge embedded subtly throughout the text echoed in Kwaymullina’s engagement with dystopian tropes, and integrated Indigenous epistemology. By the time Ashala meets the Serpent, her Grandfather, and has her ancestry explained to her, the reader has already been immersed in Ashala’s own way of thinking, an inherently Indigenous one; for instance, throughout the text, she acknowledges the value and interconnectedness of all beings, human and non-human, animate and inanimate. The text leaves space for the reader to be active in their own construction of meaning and knowledge by never using the terms “Indigenous” or “Aboriginal”, themselves colonial inventions employed to control and label. Instead, the reader is encouraged to engage in the metatextual intersubjective dialogue introduced by Kwaymullina to acknowledge Indigenous epistemology—but by way of her approach, Kwaymullina further encourages the reader to “forget Aborigines” (Healy 219) by centring knowledge in its own right, rather than in direct opposition to Western epistemologies. That is, Kwaymullina disrupts Western perspectives framing of Indigenous knowledge as “other”, altering expectations of the norm as non-Indigenous. As Kwaymullina writes, to conceive of time in a non-linear way is at once a great gift and a great responsibility. The responsibility is that our individual actions matter powerfully, radiating out across relationships and affecting all that might be thought of in a linear sense as past, present and future. But the gift is that the passage of linear time has never moved us so far that we cannot take meaningful action to heal the wounds of colonialism. (“Respect” 126-127)In The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf, Kwaymullina realises this gift and responsibility. By framing structural, conceptual, and narrative time through an Indigenous epistemology, Kwaymullina privileges Indigenous Knowledge and effectively subverts and revises the genre through the rupture of dystopian conventions. Possibilities of hope and healing emerge in the text’s construction of time and genre as spaces of growth and change are emphasised; like Ashala, the reader finds themselves at the end and beginning of the world at once.ReferencesBasu, Balaka, Katherine R. Broad, and Carrie Hintz, eds. Contemporary Dystopian Fiction for Young Adults: Brave New Teenagers. New York: Routledge, 2013. Booker, M. Keith. Dystopian Literature: A Theory and Research Guide. Westport, CT: Greenwood P, 1994. Bradford, Clare, et al. New World Orders in Children’s Literature: Utopian Transformations. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Childs, Ann M.M. “The Incompatibility of Female Friendships and Rebellion.” Female Rebellion in Young Adult Dystopian Fiction. Eds. Sara K. Day et al. 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