"Listening with our whole selves": Being a storylistener
Nicole Curtin amongst other storylisteners at the 2019 Geraldton Language Party
I came along to the Geraldton Language Party because the idea sounded original and interesting. Storytellers would be ‘spinning their yarns’ but with a twist: they would be telling their stories in their Indigenous languages. I didn’t quite know what to expect but I definitely wasn’t expecting the night to be as emotional and moving as it turned out to be.
Early on Thursday morning, I left Perth and travelled north for 4 hours with my husband and young son. I was completing fieldwork for a research project looking at interactions between Aboriginal tourism hosts and their visitors, and the evening gifted me with an important insight on the importance of listening, not just with our ears, but with our whole selves.
Geraldton Language Party
Thursday 19th September 2019 at the Irra Wangga Language Centre (Bundiyarra Aboriginal Corporation).
5 storytellers
5 languages
40 storylisteners
Four years on, as I reflect on my experience of being a storylistener, even though the content of the stories has faded from my memory, the feeling of the night remains. The way that the location, although unfamiliar to many, invited us in. The way that the room held us. The gentle yet tentative conversations between strangers as we waited for the evening to start. The raw emotion in the room from a recent trauma.
Earlier in the week, a young Aboriginal woman was killed by a police officer. Black Lives Matter protests were held outside the Geraldton police station. Racism erupted. It was a stark reminder of the brutality of colonisation and the ongoing tragedy experienced by Indigenous communities as a result of the crisis of Indigenous deaths in custody. In solidarity with the grieving community, we gathered in peaceful resistance and remembrance:
“We thought long and hard about cancelling or postponing this evening. We talked at length with our storytellers, with our community, with our leaders, and we sought their guidance. We would never disrespect a family, or a community, in grief. And our community told us that it was okay for this to go ahead.
This is not a party any more. This is an acknowledgement, and a resilient persistence through celebration, of languages that can carry hope forward.”
With a collective deep breath in and long exhale, the storytelling began.
Hearing the sounds and tones of other languages that are totally unfamiliar to me was an embodied experience. The stories seemed to wash over the room, and it felt like everyone there could feel how precious and timely this experience was. Diverse languages that belong to diverse people and places together in the one setting. Each story in complete linguistic isolation to the next but somehow co-existing as a microcosm of languages and identities that are often unseen in our communities.
Language Party storytellers Godfrey Simpson (Wajarri), Maringi Querino (Māori), Peter Salmon (Warriyangga), Jacqui Cook (Gàidhlig) and Rosie Sitorus (Toba Batak).
The room felt cosy and intimate and the storytellers held the attention of the room in the palm of their hands. They seemed to be speaking from somewhere deep inside of them and they lit up when they were telling their stories in their languages. Even though we didn’t understand their words, it seemed as though the whole room was right there in their story with them following their intonation, their crescendos, their expressions that flowed through their bodies and emerged in their words and on their faces. Not understanding as we listened with our ears yet understanding when we listened with open hearts.
Storytellers Peter Salmon (Warriyangga), Jacqui Cook (Gàidhlig) and Rosie Sitorus (Toba Batak).
I especially enjoyed hearing the storytellers reflect on how important their languages are to them as others reflected on the more complicated relationships that they have with their language. It felt like a privilege to witness their stories and to hear a few of the storytellers talk about how they have had to fight to keep their languages strong, like Peter Salmon who is the last speaker of Warriyangga. There were moments of joy and humour, sadness and grief, and almost every emotion in between.
The Language Party sparked something in me and made me consider my own monogamous relationship status with the English language. As a non-Indigenous Australian, I grew up in a monolingual environment. My only experience of other languages was through Languages other than English (LOTE) classes at primary school which were brief and uninspiring. In fact, I hadn’t even been overseas and immersed in another culture first hand until 2014.
At my in-law’s house in idyllic Watergrasshill, County Cork, on my first trip to Ireland in Dec 2014.
My husband was born and raised in Ireland, and since going to The Language Party we have been talking about how we can incorporate some Gaeilge (Irish) in our household so that our sons also get to experience and know my husband’s heritage. Even though the time that we get to spend in Ireland is fleeting, the stories and sounds of my husband’s culture are present in our home and hearts.
My husband and sons welcoming my mother-in-law to Perth from Ireland in Sept 2022. This was the first time that we had been with her since the pandemic began in early 2020.
I would love to see Language Parties incorporated into festivals and other community events year on year. I can imagine that each Language Party would be a unique experience and a beautiful reminder of the diversity of people and cultures in our communities.
Being a storylistener is a commitment: to be present to each moment while the storytellers bring a part of themselves not often seen in our mainstream society to life. I have heard stories described as gifts. Being present to the stories, listening carefully and compassionately to the storytellers, and staying emotionally present as storytellers share parts of themselves is the gift that storylisteners can offer in return. And maybe we can continue this practice of storylistening, of truthlistening, into our everyday lives in hope of a more caring and cohesive society.
—Nicole Curtin
“Listening to other people tell their stories in their languages can become part of your stories as well. There’s a nice little circular feeling we can get when we enjoy these things together and share these things together.”