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Return to Uluru
A killing. A hidden history. A story that goes to the heart of the nation.
When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.
Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.
When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.
Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.
256 pages, Hardcover
First published February 22, 2021
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Mark McKenna
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August 31, 2022
Australian historian Mark McKenna examines colonialism, white supremacy, and religious hypocrisy that permeated the early history of his country. He does so by examining one cold case murder that occurred in 1934. In doing so, this perspective serves as a microcosm shedding light on many other cases of social and legal injustice that followed the settlement of this and other countries during the colonial era, replete with arrogance, racism, with the belief that the indigenous people whose land they were taking were mere lawless savages, pagans, with nothing to contribute to the building of the country. Their spirituality, tribal justice and culture were aspects of their lives to be ignored while driving them from their traditional lands.
The author learns about the skull of an Aboriginal man named Yokunna, stored among boxes of unidentified native bones in the South Australian Museum. He was shot in cold blood by iconic frontier policeman Bill McKinnon at Uluru 85 years earlier. McKinnon had a long and lauded career and was featured in stories as a romantic hero, travelling miles by foot and camel patrol as policeman and protector of the Aboriginal people in the hot, desolate centre and northern part of the country. His brutal treatment of prisoners was whispered about but not widely known. He was leading prisoners in neck chains, confessions beaten out of them when some escaped. Their crimes might have consisted of following tribal laws, which were ignored in by the 'whitefeller' justice system. Most did not understand English and did not know why they were being treated this way. Tracking the escaped fugitives to Uluru, the spiritual centre of the Anangu people, he discovered the unarmed Yokunna hiding there in a cave and shot him to death.
McKinnon was subject to a commonwealth inquiry and parliamentary review. Witnesses were questioned about his reputation for brutality and the murder, but he was exonerated and continued his career. It was very rare for a white settler to be charged for mistreating or killing a native, but a native faced the harshest punishment for crimes against white settlers. News reports about dangerous indigenous natives inflamed the small white population in central Australia, and rumours caused them to live in fear and to be heavily armed.
Bill McKinnon was a meticulous note-taker, and the author was given access to a lifetime of his journals and photos and other memoranda stored at the home of his now 80-year-old daughter. His family was unaware of his dark history, which McKinnon had always denied. Yokunna's murder reverberated with his family, tribe, and descendants through the years, and many moved away from Uluru in their sorrow. Ayers Rock ( now Uluru) had become a huge tourist attraction with the goal of many visitors was to climb the rock, assisted by a chain running to the top. The traditional owners, the Anangu, considered this to show disrespect for a place sacred to them. In an act of reconciliation, guardianship of Uluru and Kata Tjuta was returned to the tribal people, and in 2019 climbing Uluru was forbidden.
The author did an astounding job in researching the story, discovering formerly unknown journals and photos stored at McKinnon's daughter's home, studying original documents pertaining to the inquiries into McKinnon's brutality, and interviewing witnesses of events in 1934 and listening to their descendants' accounts. I wished the writing had been more linear in style. His scholarly, journalistic approach displayed little emotion but certainly raised emotion in the reader. He showed compassion toward McKenna's family and also the Anangu people.
The author learns about the skull of an Aboriginal man named Yokunna, stored among boxes of unidentified native bones in the South Australian Museum. He was shot in cold blood by iconic frontier policeman Bill McKinnon at Uluru 85 years earlier. McKinnon had a long and lauded career and was featured in stories as a romantic hero, travelling miles by foot and camel patrol as policeman and protector of the Aboriginal people in the hot, desolate centre and northern part of the country. His brutal treatment of prisoners was whispered about but not widely known. He was leading prisoners in neck chains, confessions beaten out of them when some escaped. Their crimes might have consisted of following tribal laws, which were ignored in by the 'whitefeller' justice system. Most did not understand English and did not know why they were being treated this way. Tracking the escaped fugitives to Uluru, the spiritual centre of the Anangu people, he discovered the unarmed Yokunna hiding there in a cave and shot him to death.
McKinnon was subject to a commonwealth inquiry and parliamentary review. Witnesses were questioned about his reputation for brutality and the murder, but he was exonerated and continued his career. It was very rare for a white settler to be charged for mistreating or killing a native, but a native faced the harshest punishment for crimes against white settlers. News reports about dangerous indigenous natives inflamed the small white population in central Australia, and rumours caused them to live in fear and to be heavily armed.
Bill McKinnon was a meticulous note-taker, and the author was given access to a lifetime of his journals and photos and other memoranda stored at the home of his now 80-year-old daughter. His family was unaware of his dark history, which McKinnon had always denied. Yokunna's murder reverberated with his family, tribe, and descendants through the years, and many moved away from Uluru in their sorrow. Ayers Rock ( now Uluru) had become a huge tourist attraction with the goal of many visitors was to climb the rock, assisted by a chain running to the top. The traditional owners, the Anangu, considered this to show disrespect for a place sacred to them. In an act of reconciliation, guardianship of Uluru and Kata Tjuta was returned to the tribal people, and in 2019 climbing Uluru was forbidden.
The author did an astounding job in researching the story, discovering formerly unknown journals and photos stored at McKinnon's daughter's home, studying original documents pertaining to the inquiries into McKinnon's brutality, and interviewing witnesses of events in 1934 and listening to their descendants' accounts. I wished the writing had been more linear in style. His scholarly, journalistic approach displayed little emotion but certainly raised emotion in the reader. He showed compassion toward McKenna's family and also the Anangu people.
October 22, 2022
Najlepszy reportaż jaki przeczytałem w tym roku
May 7, 2021
I read this book at Uluru and nearby Watarrka, in a strange COVID-world tourist experience. In some ways this was the perfect place - I was surrounded by the intensity of emotions which McKenna describes so well about this place, and I was able to see more and understand more of what was around me than if I had not. In some ways it was not - Uluru is an intense experience, and I found it hard to concentrate on the book for long periods of time. It also left me struggling to seperate my feelings about the book from my feelings about the experience, so take that as you may.
McKenna has written a very compelling tale here. Taking a single incident, whose consequences have reverberated down the years, McKenna unpacks competing visions of the "centre".
McKenna spends a lot of time in the 1930s. The book brings not only the central character of McKinnon to life, but also a supporting cast including Olive Pink, Ted Strehlow and Peter Severin. This period is viewed largely from the perspective of the Settlers, moving into country they feel fiercely about and yet do not well know or understand. The relationships with, and impact upon, the people who have lived here for centuries is hotly debated.
McKenna has worked with Anangu to understand and reconstruct the impact of the shootings upon Anangu in the region, including a period of withdrawal from Uluru, just as settler society was discovering the remarkable formations. Uluru - and Kata Tjuta - has such an impact when you see them. This is more of an ecosystem than a "rock", an entire place and community more than a thing. For Anangu, it is part of life, of Tjukurpa, a system of such significance it can't easily be summarised. A place which has been central to lives and responsibilities for millennia, which suddenly a bunch of interlopers arrive at, with no understanding or learning to support their engagement. McKenna captures these different perspectives very well, and largely without judgement, allowing the sense of pioneering bushman to sit alongside the shattered and persistent Anangu.
Without giving too much away, McKenna also uncovers the way that history can see more than contemporaries often can. In unpicking the incident, future generations (i.e. Us) have access to more perspectives than the enquiry at the time did. Partly this is the way that archives reveal truths hidden at the time, partly this is because we have made some progress in listening.
If you spend time at the excellent cultural centre at Uluru, it is not hard to realise that Uluru and Kata Tjuta are joined by a third sacred site in most Anangu depictions of the area. This is Atila, or Mount Connor, currently on land owned by the Severin family, and accessible only by a tour run by the Uluru family. The book provides enough to find this set of relationships intriguing, and for it to remind you that tourism always obscures as well as reveals.
McKenna notes the trend for settler communities to treat the Centre increasingly as a place of spiritual solace, rather than wildness to be tamed, and he clearly has some misgivings about this. Neither are the perspectives of the owners and carers of the country, and both can be leveraged to deny ownership and control to the traditional owners. I am probably more positive than McKenna about the tourism industry at Uluru, however. While not without problems, the comanagement of the Park allows a growing control by the Anangu of this country they remain responsible for. The 2019 closure of the climb was clearly a turning point for this, a moment when Anangu exerted their control over how we experience Uluru. McKenna is scornful too, of the sunrise/sunset parking bays for tourists, despite these being key ways that the Anangu exert protection over the parts of Uluru not to be photographed. Much of the infrastructure at Uluru herds tourists in ways that facilitate cultural respect, a development I see as a positive. Their is clear contempt at times from Anangu for the photography obsession of tourists, or as McKenna's points out "the picture people". But by creating places for this - and places where stopping is forbidden - the Anangu protect the site. Through the cultural centre, and the free lectures in Yulara, they introduce outsiders to a basic understanding of where they are. This is tourism on Anangu's terms, and I found it very impressive. (This is not to deny the 'Disneyland' elements of many resort activities at Yulara, deliberately built away from Uluru, and managed commercially. I can see how this split however - the creation of a tourist zone - has enabled Anangu management of Uluru and Kata Tjuta. Even the omnipresent 'didg' was, in my experience, always accompanied by a lecture explaining it was a Northern Australia424n instrument never part of local culture, signalling a shift, ever so slowly, towards understanding).
I was a kid, just old enough to pay attention, when Uluru was returned to Anangu. I remember the catastrophising, although was thankfully unaware of the threat of arson that McKenna reports from the local authorities at the time. Thirty-six years later, none of the predictions have come true. Uluru is a tourist centre, Yulara the fourth largest population centre in the NT, somewhere more accessible than it has ever been. I could hear a few grumbles - all from older Australians - while there. A ludicrous group who suggested that the art gallery prices would be halved "for non-tourists". There were the occasional wistful but respectful travellers remembering when you could camp by the rock, but these also came from those who understood that that had come with violation, as well as freedom. Instead, we have an excellent welcoming into cultural basics that weren't available at that time.
But back to the book - McKenna's book captures the sense of the importance of this site for Australia. The importance of Central Australia to our history and our present, as a place where sovereignty has never been ceded, and much of the national imagination resides. He is ambiguous about the future, but I am more hopeful. Uluru may be our country's heart, but it may also be, if we are lucky, our future.
McKenna has written a very compelling tale here. Taking a single incident, whose consequences have reverberated down the years, McKenna unpacks competing visions of the "centre".
McKenna spends a lot of time in the 1930s. The book brings not only the central character of McKinnon to life, but also a supporting cast including Olive Pink, Ted Strehlow and Peter Severin. This period is viewed largely from the perspective of the Settlers, moving into country they feel fiercely about and yet do not well know or understand. The relationships with, and impact upon, the people who have lived here for centuries is hotly debated.
McKenna has worked with Anangu to understand and reconstruct the impact of the shootings upon Anangu in the region, including a period of withdrawal from Uluru, just as settler society was discovering the remarkable formations. Uluru - and Kata Tjuta - has such an impact when you see them. This is more of an ecosystem than a "rock", an entire place and community more than a thing. For Anangu, it is part of life, of Tjukurpa, a system of such significance it can't easily be summarised. A place which has been central to lives and responsibilities for millennia, which suddenly a bunch of interlopers arrive at, with no understanding or learning to support their engagement. McKenna captures these different perspectives very well, and largely without judgement, allowing the sense of pioneering bushman to sit alongside the shattered and persistent Anangu.
Without giving too much away, McKenna also uncovers the way that history can see more than contemporaries often can. In unpicking the incident, future generations (i.e. Us) have access to more perspectives than the enquiry at the time did. Partly this is the way that archives reveal truths hidden at the time, partly this is because we have made some progress in listening.
If you spend time at the excellent cultural centre at Uluru, it is not hard to realise that Uluru and Kata Tjuta are joined by a third sacred site in most Anangu depictions of the area. This is Atila, or Mount Connor, currently on land owned by the Severin family, and accessible only by a tour run by the Uluru family. The book provides enough to find this set of relationships intriguing, and for it to remind you that tourism always obscures as well as reveals.
McKenna notes the trend for settler communities to treat the Centre increasingly as a place of spiritual solace, rather than wildness to be tamed, and he clearly has some misgivings about this. Neither are the perspectives of the owners and carers of the country, and both can be leveraged to deny ownership and control to the traditional owners. I am probably more positive than McKenna about the tourism industry at Uluru, however. While not without problems, the comanagement of the Park allows a growing control by the Anangu of this country they remain responsible for. The 2019 closure of the climb was clearly a turning point for this, a moment when Anangu exerted their control over how we experience Uluru. McKenna is scornful too, of the sunrise/sunset parking bays for tourists, despite these being key ways that the Anangu exert protection over the parts of Uluru not to be photographed. Much of the infrastructure at Uluru herds tourists in ways that facilitate cultural respect, a development I see as a positive. Their is clear contempt at times from Anangu for the photography obsession of tourists, or as McKenna's points out "the picture people". But by creating places for this - and places where stopping is forbidden - the Anangu protect the site. Through the cultural centre, and the free lectures in Yulara, they introduce outsiders to a basic understanding of where they are. This is tourism on Anangu's terms, and I found it very impressive. (This is not to deny the 'Disneyland' elements of many resort activities at Yulara, deliberately built away from Uluru, and managed commercially. I can see how this split however - the creation of a tourist zone - has enabled Anangu management of Uluru and Kata Tjuta. Even the omnipresent 'didg' was, in my experience, always accompanied by a lecture explaining it was a Northern Australia424n instrument never part of local culture, signalling a shift, ever so slowly, towards understanding).
I was a kid, just old enough to pay attention, when Uluru was returned to Anangu. I remember the catastrophising, although was thankfully unaware of the threat of arson that McKenna reports from the local authorities at the time. Thirty-six years later, none of the predictions have come true. Uluru is a tourist centre, Yulara the fourth largest population centre in the NT, somewhere more accessible than it has ever been. I could hear a few grumbles - all from older Australians - while there. A ludicrous group who suggested that the art gallery prices would be halved "for non-tourists". There were the occasional wistful but respectful travellers remembering when you could camp by the rock, but these also came from those who understood that that had come with violation, as well as freedom. Instead, we have an excellent welcoming into cultural basics that weren't available at that time.
But back to the book - McKenna's book captures the sense of the importance of this site for Australia. The importance of Central Australia to our history and our present, as a place where sovereignty has never been ceded, and much of the national imagination resides. He is ambiguous about the future, but I am more hopeful. Uluru may be our country's heart, but it may also be, if we are lucky, our future.
April 9, 2021
The book started out, it seemed, with discussing yet another event of frontier violence, meted out to Aboriginal people in Australia. However, this event, the shooting of an Aboriginal man in Central Australia in 1934, it turned out, was pivotal in the relationship between the traditional owners of that part of the country, the Anangu with Uluru and its surrounding country. The incident spoke volumes of how white Australia came to regard the centre of the continent and its custodianship of that place. This book is well-paced and exciting, contains a wealth of fascinating primary material research, and is so deeply moving. The rock stands sentinel to the tens of thousands of history that has taken place on it and all around it, and McKenna's book captures a slice of that history and its contemporary meanings to the people whose lives were touched by that event in 1934.
August 12, 2021
Another extremely valuable work from this historian. Mark McKenna shows everything about Uluru in a different light. He starts by recording criminal events from the 1930s occurring on the site. There was a strange intermingling of a humanitarian, legal and police investigation into the death of one aboriginal at this time. I found this first part terrible to read, treatment of Aborigines was so brutal but so approved. The history focuses on a character and experiences of a leading police figure of the day, Bill McKinnon.
McKenna then moves on to explain his decisions re his source material , this was most interesting. He discusses at length the importance of Uluru to all Australians.
McKenna then moves on to explain his decisions re his source material , this was most interesting. He discusses at length the importance of Uluru to all Australians.
June 28, 2021
I confess I am not in any way knowledgable (or frankly even that interested) in Aboriginal culture, but that does not mean I have no sympathy for their cause, or that I have no wish to learn about them. This book was a small gesture that way, I guess.
When it became no longer legal for tourists to climb Uluru, I was, despite the inevitable knee-jerk reaction most of my fellow conservatives probably felt, entirely on board with the idea. I'm no fan of pagans, but I am most certainly a fan of religious freedom and cultural respect, therefore the idea of stupid tourists with their selfie-sticks and mobile phones no longer being able to conquer this great rock, so sacred to Indigenous Australians, seemed entirely right and more than a little satisfying.
I figured this book was going to centre around that event, and so I did not even read the back properly when I chose it for my next read. Turns out, the book only somewhat loosely follows the event described above. It's actually much more a history book, which makes sense as McKenna is a professor of History at Sydney University.
The story actually follows the events surrounding the covered-up murder of an Aboriginal man by Bill McKinnon, a white police officer, in the 1950s. I shall not spoil any of the revelations, but suffice to say the investigation (very commendably researched and executed by McKenna) makes for some pretty compelling reading. I also liked the compassionate way he approached the destruction of this popular man's reputation where his surviving family were concerned. That, to me, was what kept this whole book from feeling too much like a vicious character assassination (despite the fact McKinnon had done something very wrong, and ought to have faced justice, the book's bristling hatred for him was sometimes a little too on the nose for me).
I can't quite bring myself to give it four stars, but I also cannot say it isn't an important book.
When it became no longer legal for tourists to climb Uluru, I was, despite the inevitable knee-jerk reaction most of my fellow conservatives probably felt, entirely on board with the idea. I'm no fan of pagans, but I am most certainly a fan of religious freedom and cultural respect, therefore the idea of stupid tourists with their selfie-sticks and mobile phones no longer being able to conquer this great rock, so sacred to Indigenous Australians, seemed entirely right and more than a little satisfying.
I figured this book was going to centre around that event, and so I did not even read the back properly when I chose it for my next read. Turns out, the book only somewhat loosely follows the event described above. It's actually much more a history book, which makes sense as McKenna is a professor of History at Sydney University.
The story actually follows the events surrounding the covered-up murder of an Aboriginal man by Bill McKinnon, a white police officer, in the 1950s. I shall not spoil any of the revelations, but suffice to say the investigation (very commendably researched and executed by McKenna) makes for some pretty compelling reading. I also liked the compassionate way he approached the destruction of this popular man's reputation where his surviving family were concerned. That, to me, was what kept this whole book from feeling too much like a vicious character assassination (despite the fact McKinnon had done something very wrong, and ought to have faced justice, the book's bristling hatred for him was sometimes a little too on the nose for me).
I can't quite bring myself to give it four stars, but I also cannot say it isn't an important book.
May 6, 2023
"Return to Uluru" is about an old Australian cold case that had national ramifications for the aboriginal people. It is a fairly solid historical crime novel that is impeccably researched and brings the truth of the murder of Yukunanna to light.
At the same time this book just didn't do much for me. Most of the time was spent focused on murderer Bill McKinnon and his career. There are plenty of topics in this book that were touched on but never analyzed in any depth. This is a book that tells you what happened without expounding on the circumstances that made the event possible.
The last two chapters were my favorite, but they were so cluttered with white savior/white guilt mentality that they got on my nerves. There are passages that felt like they were added just so the author could say 'look, not all white people are as bad as McKinnon.'
I am not sure what to say about this book other than it is factual and tells a story that needs to be told. I can't help but relate the events in this book to events in my own community. This is the story of a cop lynching a Black man and the society that enabled him. It happened before and will continue to happen as long as antiblack racism is a global issue. And the somewhat upbeat ending McKenna was trying for feels flat and insulting.
That being said, you should read this book. It is a story that needs to be heard.
At the same time this book just didn't do much for me. Most of the time was spent focused on murderer Bill McKinnon and his career. There are plenty of topics in this book that were touched on but never analyzed in any depth. This is a book that tells you what happened without expounding on the circumstances that made the event possible.
The last two chapters were my favorite, but they were so cluttered with white savior/white guilt mentality that they got on my nerves. There are passages that felt like they were added just so the author could say 'look, not all white people are as bad as McKinnon.'
I am not sure what to say about this book other than it is factual and tells a story that needs to be told. I can't help but relate the events in this book to events in my own community. This is the story of a cop lynching a Black man and the society that enabled him. It happened before and will continue to happen as long as antiblack racism is a global issue. And the somewhat upbeat ending McKenna was trying for feels flat and insulting.
That being said, you should read this book. It is a story that needs to be heard.
November 20, 2022
"Powrót do Uluru" zaczyna się o opowieści o jałowym pustkowiu, gdzie pierwsi biali osadnicy prześcigali się w odnalezieniu "środka Australii". Autor opera się na skrupulatnie prowadzonych dziennikach policjanta Billa McKinnona - bohatera, odkrywcę, obrońcę Aborygenów, legendę który przemierzając tysiące kilometrów na wielbłądzie patrolował centralne i północne tereny. Jednak McKinnon miewał też ciemną stronę - brutalnie traktował tubylczych więźniów, którzy nie rozumieli brytyjskiego prawa, przez co łatwo można było nimi manipulować i zastraszać. Policjanta kilka razy oskarżono, ale ostatecznie zawsze zostawał całkowicie oczyszczany z zarzutów. W 1934 r. zastrzelił Aborygena Yokunnunę przy górze Uluru. Pomimo szczegółowego dochodzenia, nadzorowanego przez władzę, po raz kolejny został oczyszczony z zarzutów. W tamtym czasie nieliczni biali zostali pociągnięci do odpowiedzialności za zabicie lub złe traktowanie Aborygenów. Za to rdzenni mieszkańcy Australii zawsze byli skazywani na śmierć. W świadomości białych zrodził się mit o niebezpiecznych i nieokrzesanych tubylcach nad którymi można zapanować tylko siła. Policjant Bill dożył w spokoju sędziwego wieku i do końca zaprzeczać temu co się stało pod Uluru. Również rodzina nie była świadoma jego mrocznej historii. Jednak zabójstwo Yokunnuny odcisnęło piętno na jego plemieniu i potomkach. Współczesnie góra Uluru stała się ogromną atrakcją turystyczną. Powstała cała obsługująca turystów infrastruktura, a celem podróżnych było wyjście na szczyt. Plemienni opiekunowie góry uznali to za brak szacunku dla nich i wierzeń, tradycji. Chęć zysku i uzależnienie od turystów to współczesne metody ucisku i wykorzystania rdzennej ludności Australii. Jednak w 2019 r. w akcie pojednania piecza nad Uluru została oddana Aborygenom.
Autor w sposób skondensowany przedstawia informacje, prosto i logicznie choć nie zawsze chronologicznie. Włożył mnóstwo pracy w ukazanie nam historii zabójstwa Yokunnuny z różnej perspektywy. Udało mu się oddać sens miejsca jakim jest Uluru dla Aborygenów. "Powrot do Uluru" to wycinek mało znanej historii Australii, okraszonej zdjęciami, które dodają autentyczności, pobudzają wyobraźnię. Niektóre tematy jak np. odbieranie dzieci czy tematy tabu w rdzennej kulturze zostały tylko dotknięte, a szkoda bo łączna się w wątkami i mogłyby dać szerszy wgląd w historię. Najbardziej chwalę za przypisy pod tekstem, generalnie za stronę formalną, bo tak właśnie powinien wyglądać prawdziwy reportaż!
@moze_booka
Autor w sposób skondensowany przedstawia informacje, prosto i logicznie choć nie zawsze chronologicznie. Włożył mnóstwo pracy w ukazanie nam historii zabójstwa Yokunnuny z różnej perspektywy. Udało mu się oddać sens miejsca jakim jest Uluru dla Aborygenów. "Powrot do Uluru" to wycinek mało znanej historii Australii, okraszonej zdjęciami, które dodają autentyczności, pobudzają wyobraźnię. Niektóre tematy jak np. odbieranie dzieci czy tematy tabu w rdzennej kulturze zostały tylko dotknięte, a szkoda bo łączna się w wątkami i mogłyby dać szerszy wgląd w historię. Najbardziej chwalę za przypisy pod tekstem, generalnie za stronę formalną, bo tak właśnie powinien wyglądać prawdziwy reportaż!
@moze_booka
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June 13, 2021I honestly did not know how to rate this book. While reading it, I came across this quote from Franz Kafka. So appropriate, given the theme to this amazing book!
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading does not wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?”
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading does not wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?”
January 23, 2024
A heartbreaking story, both of the murder of Yokonunna and the continued exploitation of Uluru/the aboriginal people.
This was a very thoughtful analysis, explaining to whitefellas what blackfellas have known for generations. The desecration of Uluru did not start when this event occurred in 1934, nor did it end when climbing was prohibited in 2019. It reminds me of bear lodge in Wyoming, how non-indigenous people can see such a monument, know its importance, and feel anything but reverence. I’m glad this story has been told.
This was a very thoughtful analysis, explaining to whitefellas what blackfellas have known for generations. The desecration of Uluru did not start when this event occurred in 1934, nor did it end when climbing was prohibited in 2019. It reminds me of bear lodge in Wyoming, how non-indigenous people can see such a monument, know its importance, and feel anything but reverence. I’m glad this story has been told.
July 30, 2021
3.5 stars
I wanted to read this as I was intrigued that the author (an Australian Historian) began with a starting point of wanting to write about the history of central Australia and Uluru (formerly known as Ayers Rock and part of all Australian tourist campaigns!) but it evolved into the cover-up murder of an Aboriginal Man, Yokununna by a police officer, Bill McKinnon in 1934.
McKinnon is one of those white men that is part of the Anglo-mythology of taming the great frontier of Central Australia. A man who lived and worked in this isolated part of the country at a time of violent conflict with the Aboriginal people (who often couldn’t speak or understand English), as they had only had contact with Europeans since the later part of the 19th century.
This follows the events surrounding what was the inhumane treatment of four Aboriginal men who had chains put around their necks and walked in heat as one of them had killed another Aboriginal man under their "law". They didn't recognise "whitefella law" and when they escaped, they were violently hunted down, resulting in the death of Yokununna.
The research and investigative unearthing of primary sources by the author (as well as McKinnon’s own meticulous journals, notebooks and photos buried in his daughter’s garage!) was fascinating as a reader. The author is very objective but compassionate in his telling, not shying away from the brutality the Aboriginal people experienced as Europeans moved onto their country also but conscious of the impact his research would have on McKinnon’s family (daughter and grandsons) when he uncovered the truth about their father/grandfather– it wasn’t accidental but cold-blooded murder.
I think this is a very important book for all Australians to read and I would definitely recommend watching the footage on YouTube of the youngest of the four men who was filmed in the 1980's as an old man describing what happened in 1934 in his Aboriginal Language with English translations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TN2I...
PS. Joanne, fellow book reader, you will read this in one sitting!
I wanted to read this as I was intrigued that the author (an Australian Historian) began with a starting point of wanting to write about the history of central Australia and Uluru (formerly known as Ayers Rock and part of all Australian tourist campaigns!) but it evolved into the cover-up murder of an Aboriginal Man, Yokununna by a police officer, Bill McKinnon in 1934.
McKinnon is one of those white men that is part of the Anglo-mythology of taming the great frontier of Central Australia. A man who lived and worked in this isolated part of the country at a time of violent conflict with the Aboriginal people (who often couldn’t speak or understand English), as they had only had contact with Europeans since the later part of the 19th century.
This follows the events surrounding what was the inhumane treatment of four Aboriginal men who had chains put around their necks and walked in heat as one of them had killed another Aboriginal man under their "law". They didn't recognise "whitefella law" and when they escaped, they were violently hunted down, resulting in the death of Yokununna.
The research and investigative unearthing of primary sources by the author (as well as McKinnon’s own meticulous journals, notebooks and photos buried in his daughter’s garage!) was fascinating as a reader. The author is very objective but compassionate in his telling, not shying away from the brutality the Aboriginal people experienced as Europeans moved onto their country also but conscious of the impact his research would have on McKinnon’s family (daughter and grandsons) when he uncovered the truth about their father/grandfather– it wasn’t accidental but cold-blooded murder.
I think this is a very important book for all Australians to read and I would definitely recommend watching the footage on YouTube of the youngest of the four men who was filmed in the 1980's as an old man describing what happened in 1934 in his Aboriginal Language with English translations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TN2I...
PS. Joanne, fellow book reader, you will read this in one sitting!
July 15, 2023
Jest to bardzo ciekawy wgląd w Australię, o której chyba najwięcej czytałem wcześniej w Tomku w Krainie Kangurów. Nie jestem pewien co do wydźwięku i tempa całej książki. Śmierć Aborygena Yokunnuny stanowi tu oś tematyczną prześladowań rdzennych mieszkańców przez białych osadników. I praca wykonana przez autora aby ją wyjaśnić robi wrażenie, jednak momentami jest wrażenie, że pewne rzeczy zostały zrobione z tezą. Jest to bardzo ciekawa lektura, jednak jak wspomniałem są problemy z tempem. Mniej więcej w połowie miałem wrażenie, że co tu zostało więcej do powiedzenia. Potem się poprawia zwłaszcza jak dochodzą wątki teraźniejsze.
Na uwagę zasługuje też momentami mocno poetycki język opisujący dziedzictwo kulturowe Australii.
Generalnie 3,5/5.
Na uwagę zasługuje też momentami mocno poetycki język opisujący dziedzictwo kulturowe Australii.
Generalnie 3,5/5.
December 19, 2023
Pesymistycznym akcentem rozpoczynając - znów jestem zdołowana, podminowana i zawiedziona, bo oto kolejna rewelacyjna książka przeszła niezauważona. I to z mojego ulubionego gatunku - literatury faktu. Tak nie można! Moje serce krwawi. A podobno Polacy kochają reportaże! Owszem zapewne to i prawda - o ile mówimy o reportażach wydanych przez dwie jedyne-wydające-w-Polsce-literaturę-faktu-oficyny. Naprawdę, wbrew temu co można by stwierdzić patrząc na ogromne wypełnione po brzegi działy z reportażem w księgarniach - miłośnicy tego gatunku wcale nie żyją jak pączki w maśle. TL;DR jakość i ilość nie zawsze idą w parze. Tym bardziej więc należałoby docenić te nieczęste wydarzenie kiedy na naszym rynku pojawia się naprawdę solidnie udokumentowany i pasjonująco napisany reportaż. A taką pozycją właśnie jest „Powrót do Uluru” autorstwa australijskiego profesora historii Marka McKenny. Już na wstępie uspokajam czytelników stroniących od literatury true-crime - to nie jest tego typu książka - pomimo, że jako taka faktycznie była reklamowana. Wychodząc od historii zamordowania Aborygena Yokunnuny przez białego policjanta - wybitnie antypatycznego typa - Billa McKinnona McKenna przypatruje się bliżej australijskiemu interiorowi - zarówno z perspektywy historycznej, społecznej i geograficznej. Opisy przyrody - czerwonej piaszczystej ziemi, suchego klimatu i z rzadka występującej fauny - są tak obrazowe, szczegółowe i “żywe”, że lektura “Uluru” funduje błyskawiczną i darmową podróż do Australii. Najbardziej jednak doceniam pozycję McKenny za obszerne zaprezentowanie w polskiej literaturze faktu raczej rzadko poruszanego problemu rasizmu i kolonializmu w interiorze. Autor jak na historyka przystało solidnie przyłożył się do zadania i dogłębnie, bazując na sporej ilości źródeł, przyjrzał się rozkwitowi i późniejszej historii rasizmu w Australii. A jest to historia pełna przemocy, okrucieństwa i niesprawiedliwości - jakże ważna i naganna, a niestety w przeciwieństwie do innych świadectw europejskiego i amerykańskiego imperializmu - praktycznie nieznana.
Ciężki, ale doskonały i istotny reportaż, który zasługuje na wszystkie najbardziej prestiżowe nominacje i nagrody literackie.
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Ciężki, ale doskonały i istotny reportaż, który zasługuje na wszystkie najbardziej prestiżowe nominacje i nagrody literackie.
instagram | facebook
December 13, 2022
What an amazing book - read it from start to finish in one go. So much to learn and understand.
March 12, 2023
A good introduction to what the author claims is a turning point in the relationship between aboriginal Australians and European colonizers. What I found disappointing however is that more time is spent following 1 white man rather than the many possible aborigines and the history of their oppression. But it was interesting to learn and I watched the original testimonials described in the text.
January 3, 2025
Sięgając po tę książkę, zupełnie nie wiedziałam, czego się spodziewać. Oczywiście wiem, czym jest i gdzie znajduje się Uluru, ale moja wiedza dokoła góry była nikła.
Marc McKenna stworzył opowieść o australijskim interiorze i jego kolonizacji osnutą wokół tej zagadkowej góry. Każdy inselberg to ciekawostka, która przyciąga oko ludzkie i ma szanse stać się miejscem kultu, jak to miało miejsce w Australii.
Ciąg dalszy: https://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot....
Marc McKenna stworzył opowieść o australijskim interiorze i jego kolonizacji osnutą wokół tej zagadkowej góry. Każdy inselberg to ciekawostka, która przyciąga oko ludzkie i ma szanse stać się miejscem kultu, jak to miało miejsce w Australii.
Ciąg dalszy: https://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot....
August 30, 2022
This is one of the hardest reviews I have ever had to write. The reason is because Mark McKenna is a good writer and there are at least 3 plot threads which are absolute dynamite, The problem is none of these threads are expounded upon enough to leave the reader feeling satisfied.
Return to Uluru is about Australian Policeman Bill McKinnon and his killing (or murder?) of an Aboriginal man named Yokununna. Ultimately, I think McKenna wanted to shine a light on this killing and prove it was a murder. However, there is not enough material here to make that statement. There is a plot line about the extreme racism Aborigines face in Australia. As an American, I knew very little about the subject. Unfortunately, I don’t feel much more enlightened.
Another example is McKenna’s interviews with the descendants of McKinnon. His way of talking with them shows he is both committed to his work but compassionate at the same time. I could have read a whole book by McKenna on just these meetings but here we just get a chapter and then it’s over. I was left wanting so much more. Unfortunately, in a bad way, not a good way.
I would read another book by McKenna because I can see a skilled writer with a keen eye. However, Return to Uluru is not focused enough to be a must read.
(Note: This book was provided to me as an advance copy by Netgalley.)
Return to Uluru is about Australian Policeman Bill McKinnon and his killing (or murder?) of an Aboriginal man named Yokununna. Ultimately, I think McKenna wanted to shine a light on this killing and prove it was a murder. However, there is not enough material here to make that statement. There is a plot line about the extreme racism Aborigines face in Australia. As an American, I knew very little about the subject. Unfortunately, I don’t feel much more enlightened.
Another example is McKenna’s interviews with the descendants of McKinnon. His way of talking with them shows he is both committed to his work but compassionate at the same time. I could have read a whole book by McKenna on just these meetings but here we just get a chapter and then it’s over. I was left wanting so much more. Unfortunately, in a bad way, not a good way.
I would read another book by McKenna because I can see a skilled writer with a keen eye. However, Return to Uluru is not focused enough to be a must read.
(Note: This book was provided to me as an advance copy by Netgalley.)
July 27, 2023
Baaardzo dobry i ciekawy reportaż historyczny (może wręcz esej?) o losach słynnego morderstwa dokonanego na świętej dla ludów aborygeńskich gorze Uluru w australijskim interiorze. Trudna (jeśli mało zna się ten temat), mocna i ważna książka. Fajnie, że wyszła tak pięknie przetłumaczona po polsku!
February 27, 2022
3.5, rounded up, because, while the story is valuable, worthwhile, and certainly important for the author, unfortunately said author is not up to par. Something, then, of a valiant failure.
January 9, 2023
A phenomenal book on the historical cold case of the shooting of a Pitjantjatjara man at Uluṟu in 1934, and the intergenerational legacy and storytelling of such traumas. The disturbing discussion of the settler violence of frontier life within the NT ranging from the Coniston Massacre, the 1934 police shooting and the reverence of police as “tamers” of a “Wild West” can be linked to a number of contemporary parallels, which greatly emphasises the importance of the pending referendum of the Voice to Parliament (which is briefly touched on in the book resultant from the 2017 Uluṟu Statement from the Heart). Truthtelling is a critical part of any reconciliation, and McKenna’s reflection of the entire case and his role in investigating its legacy is a fantastic work of historiography.
September 4, 2022
When Mark McKenna started to write a history of Central Australia, he had no idea what he would uncover.
One incident in 1934 - the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by whit policeman Bill McKinnon, and ensuing Commonwealth inquiry - stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
While only a little over 200 pages, this well researched and informative book looks at one incident in a chequered past between Indigenous and white Australians.
One incident in 1934 - the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by whit policeman Bill McKinnon, and ensuing Commonwealth inquiry - stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
While only a little over 200 pages, this well researched and informative book looks at one incident in a chequered past between Indigenous and white Australians.
June 3, 2025
Książka na ciekawy i ważny temat, która niestety nie zapadnie mi w pamięć.
October 4, 2021
This is a short but dense historical novel about Uluru focused on the murder of an Aboriginal man in the 1930s by a white constable. Even though it relays historical events, McKenna's writing is very accessible so if this kind of book isn't usually your thing, I urge you to give it a go.
The book sheds light on many of the tensions in Australia around colonialism and also on some of the abhorrent ways in which Aboriginal Australians have treated and disregarded (though I'm not sure any book could fully capture the depth of it).I had the absolute privilege of experiencing Uluru and Kata Tjuta a few years ago. McKenna says 'the centre was not a place so much as a presence....one that reminds us we are not at the centre of things.' His description captures well how it felt to be so near something so sacred and meaningful. I think Australia, like many countries, has a long way to go before we can truly say that we embrace and respect Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples, their connection to land and their culture. In the meantime, I will continue to try to educate myself and learn what I can by embracing cultural opportunities where I can and reading important historical accounts such as these.
One final comment...I read this on Kindle but I think a hard copy would have been better so you could really view and absorb the illustrations, photographs, and historical documents included throughout.
The book sheds light on many of the tensions in Australia around colonialism and also on some of the abhorrent ways in which Aboriginal Australians have treated and disregarded (though I'm not sure any book could fully capture the depth of it).I had the absolute privilege of experiencing Uluru and Kata Tjuta a few years ago. McKenna says 'the centre was not a place so much as a presence....one that reminds us we are not at the centre of things.' His description captures well how it felt to be so near something so sacred and meaningful. I think Australia, like many countries, has a long way to go before we can truly say that we embrace and respect Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples, their connection to land and their culture. In the meantime, I will continue to try to educate myself and learn what I can by embracing cultural opportunities where I can and reading important historical accounts such as these.
One final comment...I read this on Kindle but I think a hard copy would have been better so you could really view and absorb the illustrations, photographs, and historical documents included throughout.
December 27, 2021
An actual shooting at Uluru is the basis of this cold case murder story recounted in Return to Uluru by Australian historian Mark McKenna. Beginning with the significance of the arid desolate outback of central Australia, it contrasts white experience to the Indigenous spirituality of the land. Constable McKinnon shot an indigenous man in an Uluru cave in late 1934 and despite a questionable record of treatment towards blacks, was cleared of murder despite two enquiries and a parliamentary review. McKenna uses Uluru as a portent into understanding the treatment of our first nation peoples and the tragic record of so-called white man’s justice. He contextualises the cruelty, religious hypocrisy and the failure to comprehend the significant cultural law of tribal justice. With an overarching comprehensive analysis, great photographs and original documents, comes an easy to read four-star must-read rating. The broader ramifications of this historic event and link to the Uluru Statement from the Heart are also noted, as is the family experience of dealing with an Australian icon who encapsulates the myth of white settlement.
March 14, 2025
,,Brutalność i niesprawiedliwość strzałów do Yokununny wydawała się plugawić świętość tego miejsca. W obliczu transcendentności Uluru to, co dotąd w środkowej Australii było normą, stało się nagle wyjątkiem - obrazą człowieczeństwa. (...) Tak oto jedne z pierwszych szczegółowych rysunków i zdjęć Uluru powstały, by udokumentować zastrzelenie Aborygena. I znów, to biały człowiek przyszedł dokonywać pomiarów w interiorze kontynentu".
Jeśli mielibyśmy opierać się na wiedzy encyklopedycznej, moglibyśmy powiedzieć po prostu, że Uluru, znany też jako Ayers Rock, to monolit ukształtowany z arkozy. Dodać do tego można, że znajduje się on w utworzonym w 1958 roku parku narodowym Uluru-Kata Tjuta na Terytorium Północnym w Australii. Ta uchodząca za jedną z najciekawszych australijskich atrakcji turystycznych formacja skalna jest jednak przede wszystkim istotnym miejscem dla Aṉangu - rdzennej ludności Australii. Aṉangu wierzą bowiem, że teren ten został stworzony przez ich przodków a oni sami mają za zadanie go chronić i o niego dbać.
Spełnianie tych powinności nie jest jednak możliwe w sytuacji, gdy rdzenna kultura i wierzenia są sukcesywnie wypleniane przez kolonizatorów. W ,,Powrocie do Uluru" australijski historyk Mark McKenna pochyla się nad ,,drobnym", w perspektywie całej historii, epizodem, jakim była śmierć Aborygena Yokunnuny w jaskini Uluru w roku 1934. Sprawa uznana początkowo za wypadek, wraz z upływem lat zaczęła nabierać nowego znaczenia a cały proces odkrywania prawdy dobitnie ukazał bezkarność potomków kolonizatorów, ich niezaspokojoną chęć utrzymania władzy i jednoczesne spychanie na margines rdzennej kultury, traktowanej jako gorszej.
Książka McKenna składa się z czterech części. Pierwsza, będąca wprowadzeniem do całej historii, ukazuje zachłanność odkrywców, którzy swoimi poczynaniami starali się wpisać na karty historii. W tej części autor wyjaśnił też, co kierowało nim w czasie pisania książki, wytłumaczył jak musiał przewartościować pierwotne założenia i pomysły po zapoznaniu się z materiałami źródłowymi.
Druga część to historia Billa McKinnona - policjanta, który rozpoczął pościg za grupą Aborygenów, odpowiedzialnego za śmierć Yokunnuny. Część trzecia to w dużym skrócie opis zmagań rdzennej ludności w odzyskiwaniu swoich ziem, walki o uznanie kultury i obyczajów. Ostatnia część książki jest z jednej strony podsumowaniem sprawy i pracy autora, z drugiej - fragmentem, który spina dotychczasowe historie w jedno.
Sam autor w podziękowaniach określił swoją książkę ,,monografią jednej chwili z tego [tj. Billa McKinnona] życiorysu". Można się zastanawiać i poddawać w wątpliwość słuszność wykonanej przez historyka pracy - czy rzeczywiście to osobie przyczyniającej się do prześladowań rdzennej ludności należy się upamiętnienie w książce? Czy nie jest to kolejny przykład skupienia uwagi na oprawcach i pozostawiania faktycznych ofiar w cieniu? Jak możemy przeczytać, sam autor nie czuł się dobrze z tym, że postać policjanta stała się kluczowa w ukazaniu sprawy. To, czemu się tak stało, wiąże się nierozerwalnie z dostępnością źródeł, na których dostępność i zasobność nie mamy niestety wpływu. W tym miejscu warto wspomnieć o innej nęcącej McKenna kwestii, pokazującej też dokładnie, z jakimi bolączkami muszą mierzyć się osoby opisujące sprawy z przeszłości, jednocześnie dającej przykład jego profesjonalizmu i stawiania prawdy na pierwszym miejscu.
• Splot sprzyjających wydarzeń zaprowadził autora do krewnych policjanta, którzy z chęcią podzielili się wiedzą o życiu oddanego ojca i kochającego dziadka - w ich perspektywie osoby idealnej, całkowicie różniącej się od sylwetki mordercy. McKenna stanął więc przed olbrzymim dylematem, którego głównym punktem były wahania, czy wskazanie ciemnych punktów w ,,idealnym życiorysie" nie doprowadzi go do niechęci rodziny a tym samym - utraty wartościowego i wiele wnoszącego materiału źródłowego
W książkach w których głównym tematem jest opisanie cierpienia innych ludzi, w tym dotyczących rdzennej ludności, autorzy mają tendencję do grania na emocjach czytelników. Ku mojemu zadowoleniu w ,,Powrocie do Uluru" takie zjawisko nie występuje. McKenna pisze rzeczowo i konkretnie. Nie szczędzi oczywiście opisów tragedii z jakimi musieli mierzyć się Aborygeni, dokładnie punktuje zachowania ludności białej, zarówno mieszkańców Australii na przestrzeni lat, jak i turystów, skupionych na własnej przyjemności, mających nie tylko Aṉangu, ale również ich kulturę i wierzenia za nic. Autor stawia jednak na fakty, ukazanie trudnej i skomplikowanej historii a nie emocjonalny rollercoaster.
Zarzutem, który mam do powyższego tytułu, to potraktowanie po macoszemu kwestii zaangażowania Billa McKinnona w proces odbierania dzieci od rodzin i umieszczania ich w ,,ośrodkach wychowawczych". Rozumiem, że skąpy opis mógł wynikać z małej dostępności źródeł, szanuję autora za to, że wolał napisać za mało, niż wymyślać niepopartą niczym historię. Z drugiej strony, przez taki sposób ukazania, temat ten rozmył się w toku narracji. Nie jestem jednak pewna, czy oderwana od właściwej treści dygresja miałaby sens. Drobniejszym zarzutem, wynikającym już z osobistych upodobań, jest zbyt wiele opisów przyrody występujących na początku książki. Warto jednak przez nie przebrnąć, bo wbrew pozorom mają one znaczenie dla późniejszego rozwoju wypadków.
,,Powrót do Uluru" nie jest książką w całości wyjaśniającą skomplikowaną naturę relacji mieszkańców Australii, nie oddaje ona w pełni tematu kolonizacji, nie wyjaśnia wszystkiego w kwestii problemów z jakimi musiała (i musi nadal) mierzyć się rdzenna ludność. To pozycja dotycząca konkretnego epizodu, który tylko pokazuje jak bardzo złożony jest to temat. Jest to jednak książka napisana rzeczowo i przystępnie, pozwalająca poznać temat, który u nas dalej nie cieszy się zbyt dużą popularnością. Na mnie wywarła ona duże wrażenie.
Jeśli mielibyśmy opierać się na wiedzy encyklopedycznej, moglibyśmy powiedzieć po prostu, że Uluru, znany też jako Ayers Rock, to monolit ukształtowany z arkozy. Dodać do tego można, że znajduje się on w utworzonym w 1958 roku parku narodowym Uluru-Kata Tjuta na Terytorium Północnym w Australii. Ta uchodząca za jedną z najciekawszych australijskich atrakcji turystycznych formacja skalna jest jednak przede wszystkim istotnym miejscem dla Aṉangu - rdzennej ludności Australii. Aṉangu wierzą bowiem, że teren ten został stworzony przez ich przodków a oni sami mają za zadanie go chronić i o niego dbać.
Spełnianie tych powinności nie jest jednak możliwe w sytuacji, gdy rdzenna kultura i wierzenia są sukcesywnie wypleniane przez kolonizatorów. W ,,Powrocie do Uluru" australijski historyk Mark McKenna pochyla się nad ,,drobnym", w perspektywie całej historii, epizodem, jakim była śmierć Aborygena Yokunnuny w jaskini Uluru w roku 1934. Sprawa uznana początkowo za wypadek, wraz z upływem lat zaczęła nabierać nowego znaczenia a cały proces odkrywania prawdy dobitnie ukazał bezkarność potomków kolonizatorów, ich niezaspokojoną chęć utrzymania władzy i jednoczesne spychanie na margines rdzennej kultury, traktowanej jako gorszej.
Książka McKenna składa się z czterech części. Pierwsza, będąca wprowadzeniem do całej historii, ukazuje zachłanność odkrywców, którzy swoimi poczynaniami starali się wpisać na karty historii. W tej części autor wyjaśnił też, co kierowało nim w czasie pisania książki, wytłumaczył jak musiał przewartościować pierwotne założenia i pomysły po zapoznaniu się z materiałami źródłowymi.
Druga część to historia Billa McKinnona - policjanta, który rozpoczął pościg za grupą Aborygenów, odpowiedzialnego za śmierć Yokunnuny. Część trzecia to w dużym skrócie opis zmagań rdzennej ludności w odzyskiwaniu swoich ziem, walki o uznanie kultury i obyczajów. Ostatnia część książki jest z jednej strony podsumowaniem sprawy i pracy autora, z drugiej - fragmentem, który spina dotychczasowe historie w jedno.
Sam autor w podziękowaniach określił swoją książkę ,,monografią jednej chwili z tego [tj. Billa McKinnona] życiorysu". Można się zastanawiać i poddawać w wątpliwość słuszność wykonanej przez historyka pracy - czy rzeczywiście to osobie przyczyniającej się do prześladowań rdzennej ludności należy się upamiętnienie w książce? Czy nie jest to kolejny przykład skupienia uwagi na oprawcach i pozostawiania faktycznych ofiar w cieniu? Jak możemy przeczytać, sam autor nie czuł się dobrze z tym, że postać policjanta stała się kluczowa w ukazaniu sprawy. To, czemu się tak stało, wiąże się nierozerwalnie z dostępnością źródeł, na których dostępność i zasobność nie mamy niestety wpływu. W tym miejscu warto wspomnieć o innej nęcącej McKenna kwestii, pokazującej też dokładnie, z jakimi bolączkami muszą mierzyć się osoby opisujące sprawy z przeszłości, jednocześnie dającej przykład jego profesjonalizmu i stawiania prawdy na pierwszym miejscu.
• Splot sprzyjających wydarzeń zaprowadził autora do krewnych policjanta, którzy z chęcią podzielili się wiedzą o życiu oddanego ojca i kochającego dziadka - w ich perspektywie osoby idealnej, całkowicie różniącej się od sylwetki mordercy. McKenna stanął więc przed olbrzymim dylematem, którego głównym punktem były wahania, czy wskazanie ciemnych punktów w ,,idealnym życiorysie" nie doprowadzi go do niechęci rodziny a tym samym - utraty wartościowego i wiele wnoszącego materiału źródłowego
W książkach w których głównym tematem jest opisanie cierpienia innych ludzi, w tym dotyczących rdzennej ludności, autorzy mają tendencję do grania na emocjach czytelników. Ku mojemu zadowoleniu w ,,Powrocie do Uluru" takie zjawisko nie występuje. McKenna pisze rzeczowo i konkretnie. Nie szczędzi oczywiście opisów tragedii z jakimi musieli mierzyć się Aborygeni, dokładnie punktuje zachowania ludności białej, zarówno mieszkańców Australii na przestrzeni lat, jak i turystów, skupionych na własnej przyjemności, mających nie tylko Aṉangu, ale również ich kulturę i wierzenia za nic. Autor stawia jednak na fakty, ukazanie trudnej i skomplikowanej historii a nie emocjonalny rollercoaster.
Zarzutem, który mam do powyższego tytułu, to potraktowanie po macoszemu kwestii zaangażowania Billa McKinnona w proces odbierania dzieci od rodzin i umieszczania ich w ,,ośrodkach wychowawczych". Rozumiem, że skąpy opis mógł wynikać z małej dostępności źródeł, szanuję autora za to, że wolał napisać za mało, niż wymyślać niepopartą niczym historię. Z drugiej strony, przez taki sposób ukazania, temat ten rozmył się w toku narracji. Nie jestem jednak pewna, czy oderwana od właściwej treści dygresja miałaby sens. Drobniejszym zarzutem, wynikającym już z osobistych upodobań, jest zbyt wiele opisów przyrody występujących na początku książki. Warto jednak przez nie przebrnąć, bo wbrew pozorom mają one znaczenie dla późniejszego rozwoju wypadków.
,,Powrót do Uluru" nie jest książką w całości wyjaśniającą skomplikowaną naturę relacji mieszkańców Australii, nie oddaje ona w pełni tematu kolonizacji, nie wyjaśnia wszystkiego w kwestii problemów z jakimi musiała (i musi nadal) mierzyć się rdzenna ludność. To pozycja dotycząca konkretnego epizodu, który tylko pokazuje jak bardzo złożony jest to temat. Jest to jednak książka napisana rzeczowo i przystępnie, pozwalająca poznać temat, który u nas dalej nie cieszy się zbyt dużą popularnością. Na mnie wywarła ona duże wrażenie.
April 12, 2021
This is an extraordinary book on a number of levels.
One of the first things you'll first notice when picking it up is just how well this is made - quality materials and binding alongside very well produced illustrations and photographs. Sadly this no longer a standard among publishers so Black Inc should be congratulated.
The story itself is incredibly powerful and really reaches into the sordid and tragic history of race relations in Australian history. It unfolds like a detective story, including challenging incidents totally lacking in humanity but also pivotal moments when a more generous and embracing humanity really shines through.
Very readable and recommendable.
One of the first things you'll first notice when picking it up is just how well this is made - quality materials and binding alongside very well produced illustrations and photographs. Sadly this no longer a standard among publishers so Black Inc should be congratulated.
The story itself is incredibly powerful and really reaches into the sordid and tragic history of race relations in Australian history. It unfolds like a detective story, including challenging incidents totally lacking in humanity but also pivotal moments when a more generous and embracing humanity really shines through.
Very readable and recommendable.
June 15, 2021
This is a book of great importance to the national understanding of Australia’s frontier history. It gives a glimpse into the injustices experienced by First Nations people in central Australia, the contrast in commonwealth and cultural law, and the vastly different perspectives of our country’s past. But most of all, quoting McKenna himself, this compelling story is a mere ‘eyeblink in Uluru’s history’ (pg. 173). One small part in the ‘truth-telling’ of the cultural and spiritual centre of Australia and the nation as a whole (pg. 185).
July 13, 2021
For anyone interested in the convoluted mess that is the history of Australia, this is well worth reading. A micro history examining the 1934 murder of Yokununna at Uluru by a policeman explores the challenges of understanding frontier conflict, racism, reconciliation and the politics of Aus history. There are some powerful primary sources unearthed in this piece - both from the perspective of Anangu and non-Indigenous peoples.
December 15, 2022
Niezwykła skała w centrum Australii dzisiaj przyciąga tysiące turystów. Jednak początek jej popularności związany jest z historią pewnego morderstwa.
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Dzisiaj - obok opery w Sydney, kangurów i koali - jest symbolem Australii. Jednak w świadomości białych mieszkańców kontynentu funkcjonuje dopiero od drugiej połowy XIX wieku. Uluru, dawniej zwana Ayers Rock, to jedno z najbardziej niezwykłych miejsc na Ziemi.
Niezwykła i tragiczna jest też współczesna historia tej skały opisana przez australijskiego dziennikarza Marka McKennę w książce "Powrót do Uluru" (tłum. Tomasz S. Gałązka).
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W 1872 roku brytyjski podróżnik Ernest Giles opisał ją jako pierwszy. "Zadziwiający kamyk" - zanotował. Kilka miesięcy później William Gosse, jako pierwszy biały człowiek, wspiął się na ten kamyk i nazwał go "Ayers Rock", Wzgórze Ayersa, upamiętniając w ten sposób ówczesnego premiera Australii Południowej. Dla Gosse’a był to "najwspanialszy twór natury". Rzadko wspomina się, że towarzyszyli mu Afgańczycy - Kamran, Jemma Khan i Allanah. Skąd Afgańczycy na antypodach?
Pochodzący z plemienia Patanów mężczyźni od lat 60. XIX wieku przybywali do Australii na trzyletnie kontrakty. Szacuje się, że w sumie w podboju piaszczystego interioru pomogło białym ponad 800 Afgańczyków. Z czasem przybysze założyli własne firmy przewozowe. Gosse pewnie nigdy by nie dotarł do robiącej piorunujące wrażenie skały, gdyby nie azjatyccy przewoźnicy.
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Historia Australii przez ponad setkę lat opowiadana była tylko z jednej perspektywy: białych mężczyzn, którzy wzorem osławionych przez westerny osadników z "Dzikiego Zachodu" próbowali uczynić sobie niegościnną, australijską ziemię, poddaną. Było to zadanie o wiele trudniejsze niż w Stanach Zjednoczonych - australijscy "szeryfowie" musieli patrolować terytoria o powierzchni nawet kilkudziesięciu tysięcy kilometrów.
Najsłynniejszym z nich, bohaterem prasowych reportaży i inspiracją dla niejednej powieści przygodowej, był Bill McKinnon...
Więcej o świetnym reportażu Marka McKenny - https://wyborcza.pl/7,75517,29199526,...
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Dzisiaj - obok opery w Sydney, kangurów i koali - jest symbolem Australii. Jednak w świadomości białych mieszkańców kontynentu funkcjonuje dopiero od drugiej połowy XIX wieku. Uluru, dawniej zwana Ayers Rock, to jedno z najbardziej niezwykłych miejsc na Ziemi.
Niezwykła i tragiczna jest też współczesna historia tej skały opisana przez australijskiego dziennikarza Marka McKennę w książce "Powrót do Uluru" (tłum. Tomasz S. Gałązka).
---
W 1872 roku brytyjski podróżnik Ernest Giles opisał ją jako pierwszy. "Zadziwiający kamyk" - zanotował. Kilka miesięcy później William Gosse, jako pierwszy biały człowiek, wspiął się na ten kamyk i nazwał go "Ayers Rock", Wzgórze Ayersa, upamiętniając w ten sposób ówczesnego premiera Australii Południowej. Dla Gosse’a był to "najwspanialszy twór natury". Rzadko wspomina się, że towarzyszyli mu Afgańczycy - Kamran, Jemma Khan i Allanah. Skąd Afgańczycy na antypodach?
Pochodzący z plemienia Patanów mężczyźni od lat 60. XIX wieku przybywali do Australii na trzyletnie kontrakty. Szacuje się, że w sumie w podboju piaszczystego interioru pomogło białym ponad 800 Afgańczyków. Z czasem przybysze założyli własne firmy przewozowe. Gosse pewnie nigdy by nie dotarł do robiącej piorunujące wrażenie skały, gdyby nie azjatyccy przewoźnicy.
---
Historia Australii przez ponad setkę lat opowiadana była tylko z jednej perspektywy: białych mężczyzn, którzy wzorem osławionych przez westerny osadników z "Dzikiego Zachodu" próbowali uczynić sobie niegościnną, australijską ziemię, poddaną. Było to zadanie o wiele trudniejsze niż w Stanach Zjednoczonych - australijscy "szeryfowie" musieli patrolować terytoria o powierzchni nawet kilkudziesięciu tysięcy kilometrów.
Najsłynniejszym z nich, bohaterem prasowych reportaży i inspiracją dla niejednej powieści przygodowej, był Bill McKinnon...
Więcej o świetnym reportażu Marka McKenny - https://wyborcza.pl/7,75517,29199526,...
July 11, 2023
The first part of this book focusses on Bill McKinnon, a NT policeman who was a hero in his own eyes. He was involved in the shooting of Yokununna, an Aboriginal man in 1934. At this time, Australia was blighted by violence and racial prejudice against the Aboriginal people.
In the later part of this book, when Mark McKenna was completing his research, the Anangu were "allowed" to return to Uluru, their home. He was able to speak to relatives of McKinnon and Yokununna and uncover new details about the incident.
There is growing hope that all Australians will respect their spiritual connections to Uluru. Recent events held there resulted in the significant Uluru Statement Voices from the heart.
A killing. A hidden history. A story that goes to the heart of the nation.
When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.
Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.
In the later part of this book, when Mark McKenna was completing his research, the Anangu were "allowed" to return to Uluru, their home. He was able to speak to relatives of McKinnon and Yokununna and uncover new details about the incident.
There is growing hope that all Australians will respect their spiritual connections to Uluru. Recent events held there resulted in the significant Uluru Statement Voices from the heart.
A killing. A hidden history. A story that goes to the heart of the nation.
When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.
But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.
Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 102 reviews