Rottnest Island is best known for its clear waters, undulating sandy dunes and friendly quokka, a furry marsupial about the size of a cat. But few visitors acknowledge its violent past.
Situated about 20km off the coast of Perth in Western Australia, the island was originally known as Wadjemup – or “the land across the seas where the spirits lie” – by the Whadjuk Noongar people, its custodians for tens of thousands of years.
Beneath this touristy haven lies Australia’s biggest deaths in custody site. Hundreds of men and boys were incarcerated there for almost a century and were buried in unmarked graves.
Their deaths are finally being honoured as Indigenous people gather from all over the state for a sombre commemoration.
Between 1838 and 1931, at least 4,000 Aboriginal men and boys were forcibly sent to the Rottnest Island Aboriginal Establishment. There, children as young as seven and men in their 80s suffered ill-treatment, disease and neglect.
At least 380 men and boys are buried in shallow graves on the island.
Aboriginal people have long campaigned for the history of the site to be acknowledged and told, says Whadjuk Noongar traditional owner of Wadjemup, Karen Jacobs.
“This is Australia’s biggest death in custody site and outside of Perth, even here, very few people know about it,” she says.
“Aboriginal lives had no value, absolutely no value at that time.”
This week hundreds of delegates from Albany to the Kimberley to the Central Desert have made their way to the island, to honour those lives lost and pay their final respects.
Jacobs says the island rests on Whadjuk land, so it was especially important that the local community honour those who were stolen from their communities and kin, many of whom never saw their home again.
“This is our largest sorry business. They’re someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s father, someone’s grandfather,” she says.
These commemorations have been decades in the making.
Recognition of the buried history of Rottnest has been slow and painful. In the 1970s the first human remains were discovered. Later, ground research revealed the scale of the burial ground, but generations of holidaymakers continued to pitch their tents on the grounds known as “tentland”, before the practice was finally banned in 2007.
“This is unfinished business and it’s 160 years overdue,” says Noongar musician, author and cultural adviser, Richard Walley.
The commemorations are bittersweet, he says, as the community comes together to share stories and recognise what was lost.
“It’s the same as a funeral process, there is that sharing but the emotions and the sorrow is very deep,” Walley says.
Many of the men and boys incarcerated were resistance fighters and warriors who battled encroaching settlers. Others were elders and knowledge holders whose removal from their communities had a devastating impact.
“They were a hindrance to the expansion of colonisation. They were the leaders and the governments of the day wanted them removed,” Walley says.
“This is truth-telling at its rawest and people need to understand the impact that colonisation has had on our people. That’s very important to know and understand, that it wasn’t a peaceful settlement. It was far from it. It was a brutal settlement,” he says.
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Doris Eaton has made the journey from Port Headland, about 1,600km away, to Wadjemup. She has long heard the stories about men and boys stolen from their lands and taken in chains to the island.
“We need to free their souls and that’s what we’re doing here. Their spirits can be free and they can go back to home,” Eaton says.
The Njamal and Pitjikarli elder says remembering their loved ones helps to reconcile the state’s painful past.
“You’ve got to tell the truth, the healing comes from that. We’ve all got to come together to share this pain, black and white, because we are all part of that difficult journey.”
Thousands of years ago, Wadjemup was connected to the mainland. It was a place of celebration and ceremony for generations of Noongar people, where families would come together for dance, funerals and community gatherings for both joy and sorrow.
“The island has always been recognised as a place of ceremony, spiritual healing and celebration … But a lot of our cultural practice was so just traumatised with settlement and [its use] as an offshore prison,” Jacobs says.
Herbert Bropho’s grandfather was taken to the island from the small town of Wyndham, 3,000km away in WA’s north. Bropho has sat with elders who have travelled from Wyndham to pay their respects. Throughout the week these stories have been shared between communities whose loved ones were imprisoned on the island.
“We’re here to recognise these men and all the families from each community area are coming down to pay their respects … If it wasn’t for these men that stood up and fought for us, we wouldn’t be here today,” he says.
Bropho, who is one of the cultural advisers for the Rottnest Island Authority, says too many people remain ignorant about the site’s true history.
“Many of these stories are never heard – the yarns about men who were jailed, those [who] ran away, those who married and many who died and never left the island.
“We don’t hear those stories but the truth is coming out and I hope that everyone listens to that truth,” he says.
The commemorations have been spearheaded by the Wadjemup Project through the Rottnest Island Authority that was set up in 2020 as an Aboriginal-led process to reconcile the island’s history through truth-telling, healing and honouring the former prison sites, including historic buildings such as the quad, that confined prisoners in its tiny cells.
The hope for many, including Karen Jacobs is that the site can once again be returned to Aboriginal stewardship.
“We need to return the island to its point of significance, which is all about celebration and spiritual healing, to return it back to the true focus and the significance of the island of Wadjemup,” Jacobs says.
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