The Power of Protest: Unveiling Australia's Hidden History Through Posters
There’s something profoundly moving about holding a piece of history in your hands—especially when that history has been systematically silenced. That’s exactly what happens when you step into the Ray Jackson Doing Time with Penrith Miers Archive exhibition at Sydney’s Numbers gallery. It’s not just a collection of posters; it’s a visceral reminder of the relentless fight for Indigenous justice in Australia.
Personally, I think what makes this exhibition so compelling is its raw authenticity. These aren’t polished museum pieces; they’re battle scars from decades of activism. Wiradjuri elder Ray Jackson, a towering figure in Australia’s Indigenous rights movement, spent his life collecting these artifacts—posters from rallies, protests, and union meetings. His home in Waterloo wasn’t just a house; it was a living archive of resistance. And now, thanks to his granddaughter Madika Penrith and her partner Sam Miers, these stories are being shared with the world.
Why Posters Matter: The Unseen Language of Resistance
One thing that immediately stands out is the power of visual protest. Posters are often dismissed as ephemeral—mere tools for the moment. But if you take a step back and think about it, they’re so much more. They’re snapshots of collective anger, hope, and resilience. Each poster in this collection tells a story, not just about the event it advertised, but about the people who carried it, chanted beneath it, and fought for the cause it represented.
What many people don’t realize is that these posters are also a form of education. They’re history lessons written in bold colors and stark slogans. For instance, the Aboriginal Deaths in Custody Watch Committee posters—a cause Jackson dedicated much of his life to—aren’t just calls to action; they’re indictments of systemic injustice. They force us to confront uncomfortable truths about Australia’s treatment of its First Nations people.
The Legacy of Ray Jackson: A Life in Protest
Ray Jackson’s story is both inspiring and heartbreaking. As the founding secretary of the New South Wales Aboriginal Deaths in Custody Watch Committee, he was a relentless advocate for accountability. But what this really suggests is that activism is often a lifelong burden—one that comes at great personal cost. Jackson’s dedication to the cause didn’t end with meetings or rallies; it was woven into the very fabric of his life. His home, filled with these posters, was a testament to that.
From my perspective, Jackson’s legacy isn’t just about the battles he fought; it’s about the spaces he created for future generations. The Redfern Aboriginal Tent Embassy, where he was a regular presence, became a symbol of resistance and community. And now, through the Penrith Miers Archive, his work continues. Madika Penrith’s role as an archivist is particularly fascinating. She’s not just preserving history; she’s reclaiming it, ensuring that her grandfather’s—and her people’s—struggles aren’t forgotten.
The Nicky Winmar Statue Debate: A Modern Echo of Old Struggles
Speaking of reclaiming history, the ongoing debate over the Nicky Winmar statue is a poignant parallel. Winmar’s iconic gesture—lifting his jersey and pointing to his skin in defiance of racial abuse—is a powerful symbol of Indigenous pride. But what should happen to the statue itself? Should it remain a static monument, or should it evolve to reflect ongoing struggles?
In my opinion, this debate highlights a broader tension in how we commemorate history. Monuments are often seen as final statements, but history is never static. The Winmar statue isn’t just about the past; it’s about the present and future of Indigenous rights in Australia. Personally, I think it should be a living monument—one that continues to provoke conversation and challenge us to do better.
The Broader Implications: Protest as a Living Tradition
If you take a step back and think about it, the themes in this exhibition aren’t unique to Australia. Protest art, whether in the form of posters, statues, or street murals, is a universal language of resistance. What makes this collection particularly fascinating is how it connects local struggles to global movements. The fight for Indigenous rights in Australia echoes the battles of marginalized communities worldwide.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how these posters transcend their original purpose. They’re no longer just tools for mobilization; they’re artifacts of cultural resilience. They remind us that protest isn’t just about the moment—it’s about building a legacy. And in a world where Indigenous voices are still often marginalized, that legacy is more important than ever.
Final Thoughts: The Weight of History and the Hope for the Future
As I reflect on this exhibition, I’m struck by the weight of history it carries—and the hope it inspires. Ray Jackson’s posters aren’t just relics of the past; they’re blueprints for the future. They show us that change is possible, but it requires persistence, courage, and collective action.
What this really suggests is that the fight for justice is never truly over. It evolves, adapts, and finds new forms. The Penrith Miers Archive isn’t just preserving history; it’s keeping the spirit of protest alive. And in a world that still needs so much changing, that’s a powerful thing indeed.
So, if you’re in Sydney before 2 August, do yourself a favor and visit this exhibition. It’s more than a gallery show; it’s a call to action. Because, as Ray Jackson’s life reminds us, the work isn’t done—and neither is the fight.
