Woven Threads, Living Stories: A NAIDOC Reflection

^{My finished product}

Happy NAIDOC Week! NAIDOC stands for National Aborigines and Islanders Day Observance Committee. As the name suggests, it was originally marked on a single day, and since 1975 has grown into a week-long celebration held each July.

This year marks the 50th anniversary of NAIDOC. It has its roots in protest movements seeking recognition and rights for Indigenous peoples and has since evolved into a celebration of culture, resilience and leadership. The theme for this year is “The Next Generation: Strength, Vision & Legacy.” As a teacher, this theme resonates deeply with me. We must ensure that the next generation is equipped with the knowledge, skills and tools to preserve and adapt their culture. I pay my respects to Elders past and present for the work they have done, and continue to do, in guiding and teaching the younger generations.

NAIDOC Week is also an opportunity for non-Indigenous members of the community to learn more about culture and Country. When I saw a weaving workshop advertised, I decided to go along and learn a little about this ancient craft. Ronnie Jordan ran the two-hour session at the Botanic Gardens with a couple of enthusiastic young people who clearly enjoyed sharing their cultural knowledge. I was humbled by their generosity.

Weaving is an example of complex technology, not only in the act of weaving itself, but also in the selection, processing and dyeing of materials such as grasses, reeds and even bark. Preparations like splitting, soaking and finding the right pigments are essential to how the final product takes shape. Weaving is used to make mats, baskets, bags, ropes, bowls, nets and fish traps. Weavers not only know how to create these items, but also how to repair them.

Both Indigenous men and women weave. They pass on knowledge through their hands, connecting with both people and Country. Each weaver develops their own distinctive style, which others recognise. It’s even possible to tell where an object comes from based on the plants used and the time of year it was harvested.

For our workshop, we used raffia that Ronnie had dyed using natural seeds, fruits and plants. We sat in a circle, began the process together, and continued at our own pace. I caught on reasonably quickly, perhaps because I knit and crochet, both of which rely on repeated patterns and maintaining even tension. As Ronnie walked around, she’d occasionally call out, “Exhale,” noticing that many of us were so focused we were holding our breath. After a while, the chatter died down and we settled into a meditative flow state.

The first time I saw Aboriginal women weaving was in Maningrida, in West Arnhem Land. They sat on the veranda of the local arts centre, their hands moving rhythmically as they wove baskets with intricate designs. It was mesmerising. I bought a small basket as a souvenir and carried it carefully all the way back to Sydney. I still regard it as one of the most beautiful objects in my home.

After two hours, our weaving was still very much in its infancy. We were encouraged to take some raffia home to continue. Not wanting to appear greedy, I took what I thought was a fair amount. It wasn’t nearly enough. Once home, I continued weaving late into the night until I ran out of coloured raffia. I had made a small mat, larger than a coaster, smaller than a placemat in about five hours. It gave me a new appreciation for handwoven baskets, and I now understand the price tags attached to them.