The Poetics of (Re)Mapping Archives: Memory in the Blood

Abstract

Approaching the ArchiveIt is the fever in the archive after all, the same fever that drives the hoarding (the holding) which might drive an attempt to touch something of the event. To feel this drive to touch is to be haunted by a possibility of something beyond (before, within) the archive. It is here that we contemplate whether or not that which we were approaching is actually approaching us. (Hawkes 206)I remember . . . it was twelve years ago. My cousin and I approached SA Link-Up on behalf of my Nanna in search of a missing-narrative and the possibility of answers beyond what we knew. She had important questions about her childhood and removal from her family and community; and important questions about the State-orchestrated domestic-placements and movements of her mother, the beloved spectral-matriarch of our family.There was paperwork and interviews, and within a few months our Link-Up Case Worker presented us with an almost two-inch-thick, ring-bound file; the unexpected shock- representation of Nanna's life recorded under the Aboriginal Protection Board and the State Children's Welfare Department, between the years 1938 to 1947. My cousin and I sat facing each other in quiet disbelief. Records in hand, our Case Worker took us through the files. She began with codes of confidentiality regarding the blanked out sections, then prepared us for the already-vetted and tagged pages deemed 'most sensitive,' all the while counseling us to deal with the inevitable affect.I sit between almost 200 pagesfile-note archivesa portion of Nanna's lifeunder State controlwith tight throat my heart pumpsmemory-in-the-bloodI catch my breath-sharpand hold it.I remember . . . the level of surveillance was overwhelming. Claustrophobic. We needed air and tea. We opened the office door and tried to breathe. Shaken by the sheer volume of material, thick and weighty, solely about Nanna, I read the words: Committed to Institution till 18 years, Charged 'Destitute,' I shook my head in disbelief, thinking . . . but she belonged with her family and community who mourned her . . . she was taken against her will, it's not what her mother or grandparents wanted.I slid the files to Nanna across the dining table in the pulsating-heart of her home where everything happened: her kitchen. I repeated our Case Worker's words and highlighted what was deemed 'most sensitive,' despite the potency of the entire document. I remember . . .I remember the impact of reading handwritten letters from both Nanna and my great grandmother to the Department or the Protection Board.I turn the pages and there she isperfect old-school cursiveso familiarnever-before-spoken-of lettersall formal-pleading-politeto Inspectors, State-Ladies, Protectorsyearning forMother. Home. Justice.in every pageyearning.Within 24 hours this material-archive had been transformed with her shock, shame and rage. She ripped out 25 of the 188 pages; all references to a particular reformatory institution, gone . . . all references to acts of absconding, gone . . . all references to psych reports and her behavior, gone. To me, this act of tearing, of record-expulsion, exposed so much . . . the institutionalised abuse and control, the strict 'domestic training,' a life-lived under threat and punishment, and her failed attempts to find home reported officiously as serial 'abscondings.' Trauma. Separation. Shame. State issued dog-tags. Exempted from family, country and birth- right identity: for the record, no longer Aboriginal.Dear Madam [Half-Caste Quadroon],I have the pleasure in advising that the Aborigines Protection Board has granted UNCONDITIONAL EXEMPTION to you and the members of your [Quadroon-Octoroon] family, from the provisions of the Aborigines Act.You are now regarded in law as citizens of the ordinary white community, and I trust you will do your best to justify the confidence reposed in you by the Board. …