Daniel James on the children of the Intervention

We spoke with elders, community workers, the police and the children at the center of these stories. And what we found is that a lot of the trouble in Alice Springs can be traced back to one thing. On the last night that we were there, Daniel reflected on his experience writing this essay for the October edition of the Monthly. Next week, Daniel and I will be back with our usual programming. But now here's Daniel James reading Children of the Intervention. It's Friday, January tenth.

Yet when talk turns from her art and the glowing reminiscences of her grandchildren to the state of things in Alice Spring in twenty twenty four, and the myriad of intertwined events, contemporary and historical, that have led to this point, she gets angry, real angry that this, she refers to, is the state between listlessness and chaos that has overcome

her town, a place now almost unrecognizable to her. She is tired the pace have changed, The erosion of civility and openness in a place that has always had its problems can't be tolerated anymore. She has tried. She established a grandmother's group to patrol Alice Springs in the wake of the intervention, to assist and look after kids wandering the streets. But now the crime the poverty and the racism in all its guisers are all too much. Kids are running a muck in a town rife with fetal

alcohol spectrum disorder, drug and alcohol abuse, and boredom. A generation that can't see any prospects, no way forward. They are jaded and angry, and they're not interested in the social contract. Playing by the rules in posed on them hasn't worked, and they've had more rules dictate their lives than most. They are the children of the intervention. Arni Pat will head south to Adelaide by the year's end, unlikely to return. It's a sad end for the community

she has spent a lifetime serving. The thea she refers to is the government territorian and federal, but mainly federal. It was the tear that used its powers to override the Aboriginal people, families and communities of the Northern Territory. It was the level of government that set the army in and suspended the Racial Discrimination Act, making the knife that was the intervention cut deeper. There was nothing refined

about what was imposed on the people here. The bipartisan support that saw any semblance of self determination obliterated in the Northern territory was decided upon a political class during the Howard era, so far removed from the lives it would impact. This is where so much of the anger was directed, because that's where so much of the stems

from from the outside. The town is the ultimate real world example of the great Australian silence, that cloak that shrouds all when the problem becomes too big, too hard, out of line with the tanned bronze and odsy blue image we've pained for ourselves. I came to Alice Springs determined not to be swayed by the meati's betrayal of a lawless and out of controlled town, a place where curfews have been the only way to arrest the havoc

wreaked upon the streets by youth crime. I came expecting to hear those stories, but I also anticipated speaking to people who are willing to defend their patch, the place where they grew up and raise their family. What I heard was to spare anger and distrust. The spike in crime, theft, aggravated burglaries, home invasions, assaults goes a long way to explaining the tense atmosphere. There's an undertone about the place from afar. Alice Springs is a whirlpool of myth and truth.

Chaos is how Alice spread of the past few years was described to me by nt Australian of the Year, Blair McFarlane, someone instrumental in solving the petrol sniffing crisis that played the territory for decades. He describes the town with competing interests but few solutions, a regional center. We're on the surface nobody can readily explain what's going on, but deep down everyone knows what's happening and has theories

about as underlying causes. The theorizing isn't spoken about in public in meetings of the citizenry, thoughts and feelings become pent up and are blurted out in the safe confines of their gated social media communities. Taking a look at local Facebook pages, it's easy to see why Alice Springs seems brooding. The following posts, the most recent I read upon my arrival in town, are from a page that describes themselves as action for Alice Springs. Absolute disgrace to

see caretakers of the land destroy Alice Springs. These indigenous people have no respect for any other race themselves. Another one read it's easy fix, just get the shotgun out and put a few way over their heads. Waste of a cartridge. There are thousands of more posts along these lines, racist, hateful, and angry, as scary and horrific, as many of the instances of crime have been, everyone I spoke to acknowledges that what's being committed are crimes of poverty. There are

no master criminals here. Most of the kids get caught and know they're going to get caught. They're sent to detention and watchhouses and then released to invariably reoffend because that's all they know to do. Plus, as a sixteen year old fresh added don Dale US Detention Center told me, the food is good in jail. The intervention through thousands

of Aboriginal Territorians under welfare overnight. The abolishment of the Community Development Employment Projects Program, a work for the dole type arrangement that allowed flexibility and a potential career path, particularly for people in remote community, was a huge disruptor. Now it's all badged as enhanced income management and cashless welfare cards. McFarlan explains how the cards created a link

between poverty and youth crime. Before the intervention, a hungry kick could go to any adult and the adult would have cash in their pocket, even if it's only five bucks. That's all you need, and that's all you give a kid. But now you've only got a car with all your money on it, you're not going to give that to a hungry kid. So those kids used to be able

to get a feed anywhere anytime. They were held up by the sort of social net in that way, but the welfare card unraveled that net, and so the kids are now hunting for themselves and breaking in and stealing food. To live on welfare in Australia is to live below the poverty line. In cities and suburbs. That results in thousands barely keeping their head above water. In the Northern Territory, to live below the poverty line is to drown. Poverty

runs deep here. The cost of living here is astronomical, and it becomes more expensive the more remote you are. Ten dollars for two liters of milk, thirty dollars for five hundred grams of mints. Capitalism's models of supply and deman don't work in this expanse. The supply chain is so vast factors impacting upon the price of things are beyond people's control. This is why Aboriginal people from all over Australia have come to well Springs as economic refugees.

People from remote bush communities have arrived seeking relief and access to services, housing, and the labor market that they can't get anywhere else. Like in the early colonial days in the glowing embers of first contact, the displacement of traditional owner groups and their forts, encroachment onto the land of others has in itself resulted intension. Lateral violence is prevalent here and is thought to be responsible for some

of the brawls and fights in recent years. Resentment, the loss of any sense of self determined nation, and alcohol are a toxic combination. Most simply see it as an alcohol problem. Foreign tourists may not notice any of this. The troubles aren't printed on the brochures, and the town is in the burning wreck. Chaos is sometimes like that, still anominous. It isn't always fires and crashing windows.

desert air. The town I visited in the past is long gone. It's still a bustling civic center, and the traffic from the highway and other materials rolls through the day. In this part of the world, all roads lead Towell the Springs, but that distinct. This is where we landed. Let's make the most of it. Feel with bars full of backpackers and tourists has vanished. There's a glood of houses on the property market, at least two hundred listed a fact. Local real estate agents are trying to hush up.

People might start asking why night spots have closed and the ones that remain are more or less empty. That couldn't care less demeanor has been replaced by a caution. People are watchful and reserved it makes a rife hunting ground for cynical politicians looking to make a point. Last year, the year of the doomed referendum on the Voice to Parliament, the political class with Metior in tow, once again descended

on Alice Springs like fly in fly out workers. The town became a political tumble dryer, used to churn up the news cycle with stories of crime waves, alcohol and drug issues, betraying a place in the heart of Australia that was only just clinging on to civilization. The argument went that the Voice would do nothing to help the people of Alice Springs and Central Australia. The problems were

too complex for a distant, constitutionally enshrined Canberra Voice. No real alternatives were tabled as solutions, just outrage and stagnation. Many locals resented the spotlight. Others thought the cavalry were on their way again. But from an Aboriginal perspective, it was another case of being spoken about, not spoken too. They felt like specimens picked up, held against the light and examined from every angle. And for what. In the

years since, nothing has changed. It was a cold intervention. The Voice is now just a distant memory. The people in the town camps are dismissive of it. Their problems are real and present. In twenty twenty four, the effects of the hot Intervention of two thousand and seven to twenty twenty two are still deeply felt. Reminders of it are everywhere. The signage in front of the Charles Creek town Camp, erected in the early days of the army's

incursion in mt still stands. It warns of the penalties for domestic violence, sexual abuse, being caught with alcohol, and so on. The placards are directly outside family homes, and they bring great shame to the men and women of the camps and embarrassment to the children. White kids don't have to deal with the same humiliation. The intervention is

the ultimate exemplar of the top down approach. It's the worst way to plan and implement policy, and it results in a road of trust between government and Aboriginal communities, making it impossible to achieve the long terms social and economic improvements the intervention ostensibly sought to bring about. The picture is bleak, there's no getting around it, but there is good here. It resides in the generosity of the

people I've spoken to. They have shared their time and stories, and they have made themselves vulnerable in their despair and anger. They want a way forward out of the mess imposed on them, but they need help from the same systems and apparatus that obliterated their independence, sense of self, and a generation's future. So much of the anger lives in

that realization. For every trial the Intervention may have saved, there are now thousands across two generations who have been shaped by its shock waves, forced into dark places, a place where self determination is seen as the good old days. The old people who fought to reign control of their lives are now mostly gone. They were part of the generations that could have woven perspective into the current dismay, but they can't help navigate what's happening here from beyond

the grave. As for the children of our springs, there are many whose parents are themselves children of the Intervention. This is the only world they've known. The chances of breaking the cycle are slim. The sad reality may be that the world will have to wait until the children of the Intervention, if they make it, become elders themselves.

A generation valued by black and white Australia, The survivors of what is happening here, may, in the decades to come, have merge to caution us not to come this way again. To deprive people of their independence and their ability to move beyond their appointed station, To thrust them onto welfare, and then blame them for what ensued is careless, cruel,

and unforgivable. Their children and grandchildren will thank them for their wisdom and their strength, and they will come to know us here in twenty twenty four, more than we are willing to know ourselves.