–
I know you as Mum, a big group of people know you as Aunty. But who do other people know you as?
Hetti Perkins: I’m also kind of known as Mum to people I actually didn’t give birth to, which is lovely. That for me is something very special because it’s not so much a biological relationship but more of an emotional relationship. And aside from my very close extended family, I think I am best known for working in Aboriginal art and in an activist role. I feel that I’ve always tried to represent the voice of artists on a national stage if the opportunity was presented.
I remember when I was nervous about getting up to do a talk one time and my Dad, Charlie Perkins, said to me, ‘It’s not about you. If you get the chance to speak for your people… get up and you do it, and you do a good job!’ In some ways that is quite intimidating, but it’s also liberating because it isn’t about you, it’s about the work you can do for your people. That is the way I was raised.
The Art And Soul documentary series on ABC TV , the show I co-curated for the Venice Biennale in 1997 and Papunya Tula: Genesis and Genius, which was also exhibited at the Art Gallery of NSW in 2000… I’d like for people to see that those projects are part of a bigger strategy for the promotion of our peoples’ interest, collectively.
Madeleine Madden: I love that advice that Pop gave you and that you have passed on to us.
It kind of takes the fear out of it, it empowers you. And, you know, it’s what makes it all worth it – not some personal ambition or dream, it’s like the dream of the community.
In the public eye, Pop is seen as a fighter and really passionate and outspoken. But some people might know him best for his for his soccer career as well as his civil rights activism [achieving justice for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, including leading the Freedom Rides through NSW and becoming the first Aboriginal person to lead a federal department].
What was it like being in the spotlight when you were young, and how did that influence you?
Hetti: Myself and my younger brother and sister were very fortunate in some ways. We had a very strong mother, Eileen, who is still with us and will probably outlive us all! She supported Dad 100%, enabling him to do what he had to do and what he wanted to do.
When we were in Alice Springs and I was in primary school, the kids knew who my dad was and what he did, and they weren’t very complimentary about it – they would call him a shit-stirrer and things like that. That’s pretty confronting when you’re in the third grade. When we went to Canberra to live for a long time, the racism took a different form: it wasn’t sort of as personal and about Dad, but it was more schoolyard taunts about being a blackfella.
It’s interesting because if, say, I wore glasses I’d have been called ‘four-eyes’ or if I was a bit chubby it’d have been ‘fatty’ or whatever. But racism is different, it’s such an insidious thing. They try to make you feel that you are genetically a lower form of life.
Being black is something intrinsic to you and certainly, it was to me. Even though my mother is not Aboriginal, we grew up and still do feel 100% blackfella. I loved being a part of the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, and being with Dad, going to all the demonstrations, having people over and hearing them talk. What I remember most about it, is that some of the toughest activists were so gentle and kind to me, and extremely funny.
Growing up, there was a sense of unity, of collective action, and if there was in-fighting, people sorted their stuff out behind the scenes. I guess that has sort of changed, now, there are a lot more platforms for people to have their opinions, informed or otherwise, and share them widely. Back in the day, if you pardon my cliche, people earned the right to have an opinion and make a statement, because they had done the hard yards. They got off their arses, they were going to the demonstrations and meetings, doing things rather than sitting at home in front of a keyboard, spraying out about whatever was going on.
Maddy: Nowadays you feel like you are standing on the shoulders of giants, because back then people literally put their lives on the line, and risked their personal safety so that others could have opportunities.
A lot of people have wanted to know about the man Pop was, but I also think of Nanny Perks standing with him. It would have been very difficult for her marrying an Aboriginal man in the 1960s, as a white woman in this country.
Hetti: I remember talking to Mum about that. I said, you know, ‘A black, poor, young fella with uncertain prospects.. and you married him anyway’. She was, still is, deeply in love with Dad, and I think theirs is a great love story! They are two very well oiled parts of a synchronised unit.
Often Dad was under pressure, I see that now he could be volatile and angry, but he was always loving. We felt that we were the things that mattered most in his life. He simultaneously had a fire in his belly, a burning sense of injustice, and he just couldn’t swallow it. I think almost dying at quite a young age, with his kidneys and the transplant and especially the experiences he had as a child, he felt that he was given this chance and he wasn’t going to waste it, he was going to devote every energy to it. But as I said, he had Mum. And it wasn’t like ‘There’s Dad and he goes to work and we don’t really know what he does, just that he’s never here’. We actually knew that he was sacrificing time to do the work that he needed to do for our mob. We were ok with that because we also felt that we were part of that fight.
When you were young we all lived together with your Pop and Nanny, and you were exposed to a life where the politics and the personal were the same thing. At 13, you were the first teenager in Australia to deliver an address to the nation, which really sort of set you on a trajectory. From playing a cat in the preschool play or Dora the Explorer’s bestie in the forthcoming Paramount blockbuster, for me observing, your acting and activism has always seemed like a natural path.