Delivered by Jonathon Malone – Cultural Heritage Coordinator, Western Kangoulu People
Waddamooli / Gudamooli
Good morning everyone.
Thank you for the warm introduction, and thank you to the Rockhampton Regional Council and the NAIDOC Committee for the invitation to speak with you today. It’s a privilege to be here, gathered with community, leaders, creatives and allies during this important week on the national calendar.
I want to begin by acknowledging the Darumbal people, the Traditional Custodians of the lands where we meet today. I pay my respects to their Elders—past and present—and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people here today.
Strength, Vision and Legacy
The theme for NAIDOC 2025—“Strength, Vision and Legacy”—calls us to reflect on the journey of our people. On the shoulders we stand on. On the communities we shape. And on the futures we are building—whether we are doing that through our governance, our service, our leadership, or our creativity.
Today, we’re joined by powerful voices who embody this theme—poets like Mellissa Mills, Dany Keily and Sala Mkola, and visual storyteller D Harding. These artists do more than express—they preserve. They reframe. They honour our story and add new chapters to it.
Their words and images hold the same weight I felt growing up with the poetry and activism of my own Aunty—Oodgeroo Noonuccal, born Kathleen Ruska, my grandmother’s sister. A trailblazer. A truth-teller. A woman who understood that the power of a single verse could move a nation—or at least, remind it of what it tried to forget.
So, I’d like to share some of my own journey now—and speak about the strength, vision and legacy that has shaped me.
Family Foundations
My story starts with strong people. On my mother’s side, I was guided by my grandmother Vivian Ruska, and of course, Aunty Oodgeroo, who taught me that cultural knowledge and political courage were intertwined. From a young age, I understood that the fight for land, for voice, for recognition—wasn’t something we inherited with trauma, but with purpose.
My mother, Dr. Valerie Cooms, carried that legacy forward with fierce determination. A founding member of the Foundation for Aboriginal and Islander Research Action—FAIRA, she has spent her life at the forefront of land rights and cultural policy. She is a former Member of the National Native Title Tribunal, and today she serves as a Professor at the Australian National University, continuing to educate and empower the next generation of Indigenous scholars and leaders.
From my father’s side, I inherited resilience and vision. My Uncles Hedley Malone and Edgar ‘Nature’ Hatfield were quiet giants—men of principle and hard work. My father, Patrick Malone, was born in a house in Coorparoo where his mother worked as a domestic servant. He spent his early years living in the Cherbourg dormitory, and later with his uncle Mully. After leaving Cherbourg, he made his way to Rockhampton, where he worked on the railway alongside Uncle Hedley, earning his place the hard way. He went on to serve in the Australian Army as a soldier, and later pursued a path in government and national advocacy. He became a National Aboriginal Conference member for Central Queensland, and eventually led Indigenous broadcasting at the ABC. Even now, Dad and I continue to work together—bringing people back to Country, restoring identity, and building legacy not just in policy, but in practice.
A Life Between Worlds
I was born here in Rockhampton, but like many Aboriginal kids, my childhood followed the work of my parents—and the mission to serve our people. We lived in Cunnamulla where Mum worked as a nurse with Fred Hollows, and Dad transferred within the State Government. We moved to Woorabinda, and eventually Brisbane.
I spent much of my young life moving between Brisbane and Canberra, with time back here in Rockhampton during my teenage years. And wherever I went—be it the kitchens of community houses, the community gatherings at Musgrave Park, or the frontlines of protest at the Aboriginal Tent Embassy in Canberra—I witnessed the fire of Aboriginal resistance and the strength of community leadership. I saw how these sacred gathering places weren’t just symbols—they were action points, classrooms, and sanctuaries. From grassroots to government halls, our people were building legacy every single day.
Returning to Central Queensland
In 2008, I returned to Rockhampton with purpose. I wanted to walk alongside my father’s people in Central Queensland and help shape a future grounded in culture, law, and leadership.
I now serve as the Cultural Heritage Coordinator for the Western Kangoulu People, working through our organisation, Lumburra Bimbi. My role involves overseeing cultural heritage management, supporting site protection and monitoring, and ensuring respectful engagement between Traditional Owners and industry—particularly across infrastructure and resource development.
Alongside this, I’m also a director and owner of Aboriginal businesses in environmental services and labour hire, creating culturally safe workplaces and career pathways for our people. Because economic empowerment is a cornerstone of real, long-term self-determination.
The work is not easy—but it is necessary. Every meeting, every map, every employment contract signed, every artefact recorded—it is all part of a bigger picture. It’s about us being in control of our story, our economy, and our Country.
Looking Around, Looking Ahead
Here in Rockhampton and across Central Queensland, I see the legacy of those who came before us shining through the work being done now—in Native Title Prescribed Bodies Corporate, in community-controlled health and education, in cultural arts organisations, and even in the simple, dignified act of our people going to work each day, teaching their children who they are, and holding space in a system never built for us.
We must also continue to honour the creative backbone of our identity—our storytellers, dancers, visual artists, poets, musicians and knowledge holders—without whom our culture cannot survive, let alone thrive. Their work connects us across generations, across landscapes, across trauma, and joy.
Closing Thoughts
As a father of two teenage daughters, I think often about what kind of legacy I am leaving—not just as a professional, but as a man, a son, a father, a community member. I teach my children, my nieces and nephews, about our family’s legacies, but also about the Elders of every place we live, work, and walk through.
It’s our obligation to carry the stories forward, to speak their names, to live with integrity, and to shape the world we want to hand over. And as we look forward, we must be intentional about succession planning—equipping our young people with the tools, knowledge, and opportunities they need to take their place. That’s how we enhance our aspirations—not just for today, but for generations to come.
Strength, vision and legacy—it lives in all of us. It lives in this room.
Let’s walk forward together with it.
July 2025