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(A)manda Parkinson

@idunnonews

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Kind soul
Photojournalist. Producer, Writer, Curator
Larrakia Country
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Pretty stoked our work ‘Blak Matriarch’ exposing the NT’s child removal laws has earned a place in @headonphotofest this year. This work was deeply personal for all three of us - model, designer and photographer. Massive privilege to work collaboratively with all involved. Thank you @MumRed for trusting me with this work. by @idunnonews
I’d known I was in labour since 2am - I’d done this before, I knew exactly what it felt like. But I was told to wait, and to try Panadol and a hot shower. I was 39+3. I had to go in. By the time we arrived, I could barely talk through the pain, but I was still forming “full sentences” - so I was told to take a seat and wait. I couldn’t sit down. I begged my husband to get someone. When a midwife finally came back, she said maybe she should check where I was at. She laid me on a flat bed meant for ultrasounds, not birth: “the head’s right there!” Minutes later, my daughter was born on the floor, because there was nowhere else to go. She was fine. No resuscitation needed - though there was none in that room if she had. I later found out there’d been too many births that day and no room free. What I can’t get past is that no one told me the truth. For weeks after, I had nightmares. My husband would wake me because I was crying in my sleep. I kept replaying those minutes. I’m a nurse. I studied midwifery. I’ve delivered babies myself. Even on my second baby, I still wasn’t believed - maybe it wasn’t disbelief at all, just a system with no beds to put me in. The midwife who cared for us afterwards was wonderful. But the system she’s working in doesn’t seem built to see what this day means to the woman in front of them. We’re not coming in sick - we’re coming in for one of the most significant days of our lives. I filled out a feedback form 12 weeks later, once I could bring myself to. I never heard anything back. 🗣️ @mene_ashmore 📸 @idunnonews #maternitymatters #ourbirthourvoice #darwinnt #darwinmums by @idunnonews
Shot! #fyp #aboriginal #model #fashion #alwayswasalwayswillbe by @idunnonews
H U N T E R: a part of cultural law that acknowledges the balance between human and country. Shooting Lucas Schober’s breakout collection Busted Up was a real privilege. It felt so familiar having drawn from Larrakia country, it almost felt like home. A local Karama kid his work explores the blues, adversity and resilience of black men living on Larrakia country. It attempts to reflect the day to day life of mob who share unique landscapes, skies and waterways. It was a perfect collection to bring into the editorial because of that reason. Gakinga (magpie goose) is a migration bird known to the top end, its arrival to the Northern Territory symbolises the begining of balnba (wet season). When we see them it serves as a sign to begin preparation for the pending monsoon, while its fatty stores and delicate meat become part of the season’s menu. There is something oddly Territorian about a goose perched precariously on palm, ledge, roof or fence. An image I tried to replicate in this shoot. Dangalabba for some Larrakia families is a totem, it is sacred, and on this country the apex predator is king. We all know and live with him, revering his existence. To take these photos I too had to lurk in the water like Dangalabba, getting eaten alive by sea lice poised in an ambush position that my abs were ill prepared for. Working with the models I wanted them to think about their relationships to the animals or hunter. The way they move. The way they exist in country. Having Lucas on set also meant we got to try somethings I would never be brave enough to do without the designers approval. Massive congratulations to Lucas for this debut collection, it is brave and clever and a diligent showcase of our beautiful Top End. Models: @jakepowers.0 @yvonne__rankin @brother_nelsonn Designer: @lucas_schober_art Assistants: @alanaholmberg & @ziziaverill Shot for @guardianaustralia & @piceditor.theguardian.au by @idunnonews
G E N O C I D E: The United Nations Genocide Convention defines genocide as acts committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group. So what do we call it when a government continues to remove Black babies from their families, kin and Country? It is an act of genocide. In the Northern Territory, Aboriginal children are almost 12 times more likely to be removed from their families than non-Indigenous children. Despite around 90% of children taken by the NT government being Aboriginal, only about 16% are placed with kin. These numbers are not abstract. They are babies who belong with Mothers, Sisters, Aunties, Grandmothers, Families and Country. This collection of photographs carries layers of story, the personal experiences of the model, the designer’s deep connection to this place and the work she is creating today. And behind the lens, I am also fighting to keep a baby out of the system. Our stories found a home in this frame. And what binds us together is a refusal to accept systems that continue to separate Black children from their families, culture, Country and kin. When governments dismantle and defund Aboriginal organisations while continuing to invest in incarceration, detention, policing and security, the future of Black children remains deliberately insecure. But Indigenous knowledges have always taught us something different: The future is everyone’s responsibility. Imagine if we all carried that responsibility with the strength, love and power held by this 19-year-old as she holds the future in her hands. What kind of future could we build then? CJ you are the future. What a privilege it is to witness you, to stand beside you, and to learn from you. @mumred_the_label thank you for trusting me with your stories, with your concept, with your designs. I can’t wait to see what we can create next. by @idunnonews
Land Back 🖤💛❤️ I was raised knowing that every single issue we face as a people comes from the dispossession of our land. We are a diaspora on our own country. Right now, the CLP Government has some of the most arbitrary, punitive and racist policies in effect - policies designed to disproportionately marginalise and oppress Aboriginal people. Yesterday, I had five staunch, beautiful Black women stand against the inhumanity. Against the indignity. **We do not serve the colony.** Across this so-called nation, there are invisible lines dividing us. We, as Mob, live a different reality. A different world. In Darwin, those lines become starkly visible. We set out yesterday to capture them. The lines are obvious. So capture them we did. Beautiful Blak women - walked the streets adorned like the queens they are - cheered by their countrymen and ignored by invaders on their land. We captured the two worlds. I’m so proud of these girls. Every one of them has had to overcome trials and tribulations stacked up unfairly against them. They are strong. They are proud. They are the future. And the future is Blak Talent: @cecilyjrankin @jadene_01 @narawi.mills @yvonne__rankin @mytherine_pagee 📸: @idunnonews by @idunnonews
P R O C E S S: the art making part of photojournalism. Some photos are years in the making. They begin with inspiration, but I want to make images about more than aesthetics. For three years, I’ve been developing a series for Country to Couture exploring the relationships between Larrakia Country’s land, sea and sky. I draw many of my editorial shoots before I photograph them. It is how I process light and composition together. I drew this photograph in 2023. I didn’t know it would take another three years to make it. Honestly, my knowledge, technical skills and confidence meant I didn’t feel like I could pull it off. And three years ago I don’t think I could have. I struggle with imposter syndrome. In some ways, it pushes me to work harder, to plan, draw, study, practise and test my craft over and over. It can also leave me hypercritical and deeply sad about my photographs. So this image sat in my sketchbook and my mind for three years. The idea wasn’t fully formed. I knew I wanted to make it, but I didn’t yet understand why beyond the aesthetics. Then a small person came into my life, whose mum has shared stories and knowledge of Jingili Country with me. She taught me about the night sky, the Seven Sisters and the Morning Star, who the sisters catch and place into the sky. Suddenly, the photograph made sense. It brought together connections to kin with femininity, motherhood and maternal care. The process of making it wasn’t simple. It took planning, direction and patience from the model. The light painting made me nervous. In some ways you have control, and in others you have none. It’s trial and error, and there was plenty of error. There were moments I wondered if I could deliver the image I had imagined. But I was working with someone I’ve photographed many times before. We trusted each other. It became a collective effort, with everyone committed to the outcome. And now, at this moment in my life, this photograph feels precious. Sometimes a photograph has to wait until you understand why you need to make it. That is the process. by @idunnonews
R E A L T A L K: Let’s talk about what I’ve learned as a white photojournalist working in First Nations spaces. It’s uncomfortable. It should be. Because no matter how technically proficient you are, you do not carry millennia of knowledge and culture. That changes everything about how an image is made. Photography isn’t neutral. The person behind the lens has the power to frame, define and sometimes extract. As a white photographer, I can’t separate myself from the history of a medium shaped by white aesthetics and colonial ways of seeing. But I can challenge it. 1. Working alongside First Nations photographers has taught me to often step aside. They carry culture, knowledge and storytelling stretching back through the oldest continuing cultures on earth. Standing beside that changes the way you make images, sometimes it means you don’t make images. 2. You learn to see light differently. Stop treating brown skin as something to “correct”. Put the flash down. Embrace warmth. Lean into the reds. Let skin exist with Country rather than neutralising it to satisfy an idea of what a “clean” image should be. The camera has spent a long time getting brown skin wrong. We don’t have to keep helping it. 3. Put your preconceptions about composition aside. Collaborate. Let people move. Let garments dance. Take the risk that doesn’t follow the rules you were taught. Most importantly, relinquish control. 4. Consent is more than permission to press the shutter. Agency means the people in front of your camera have a voice in how they’re represented. Listen when someone directs you. Accept criticism without defensiveness. Remember that good intentions don’t erase the fact you are occupying space. I have spent 5 years working alongside many of these models, designers, photographers, stylists and artists. Every year I walk away in awe of the talent, power and grace. I’m still learning. I want to stay humble. I want to keep listening. I want build black photographers up. I deeply appreciate those who have for years now have not only invited me but included me in this space. Follow them: @jalaruphotography @marleymorganphotography @benjaminwarlngunduellis @jimblah by @idunnonews
✌️ 🌸💗🌸 KUMANJAYI LITTLE BABY 🌸💗🌸✌️ by @idunnonews
F R E E D O M: the power or right to act, speak, or think without external hindrance, restraint, or control. While interviewing TO James Parry at the Batchelor evacuation centre he said the words that summarised the entire government’s response to this wet season’s disaster, but more specifically the treatment of NT’s climate refugees. “This is because we are Aboriginal people … I just want my freedom,” he told me. Honestly, he is right. His eyes welled during that interview with a pain for himself, but also his people. His home has flooded at least twice this year with the river recording never before seen heights. I watched him sign in at security and both of us be heckled while I took his photo from the public street. I watched women and children rattle locks on the fence where they can’t just walk to the shop out of the temporary evac centre set up 100kms from Darwin. I heard stories of confusion about what was happening, and fears about people wanting to go home to check on their things, see the damage, but also scared about returning to a community that is unsafe and will likely flood again in 6-8 months. But the first half of James’s quote “this is because we are Aboriginal” is a condemnation not just on the governments response, but on media, and the rest of this country that has still not paid attention to the horrors unfolding here. Communities continue to be trapped in an evac center they describe as a “prison camp” and now families are being forced home to conditions that are unsafe. NT Health advised the government against sending people back, yet 100+ residents were suddenly returned to Palumpa last week. This is an orchestrated apartheid, because I can tell you if my suburb in Darwin’s middle class Nightcliff was evacuated, there is no hope in hell it would look the same as this, or white people would be treated like this. Shot for @guardianaustralia/ @piceditor.theguardian.au by @idunnonews
B O A T P E O P L E: it was a phrase politicised in the late 90s and 2000s in Australia to forge anti-immigration policy under conservative governments. But it really means a refugee or asylum seeker that travels by boat, and it was popularly coined after Vietnamese refugees came to Australia in 1975/76 following the war. Over 1.4 million people attempted to seek asylum by boat with only between 400,000 and 600,000 making it ashore. Lam Tac Tam and his older brother, Lam Binh, were among the first to land in Australia, captaining a small fishing vessel bound for Guam, but with no map and little expertise at sea it was a doomed mission. That was until an Australian skipper in Borneo pointed them south. Photographing Lam in his home with his family was a great privilege. I learned of his deep and enduring love for this country, Vietnam and his beautiful Timorese wife. Together they built a family who all beamed with pride at their dad’s courage. We both share a love of Nightcliff beach, so photographing him at the place I call home, and it being the same place he first stepped foot onto, was particularly significant. I’m not sure what patriotism is, but as I grow into the photojournalist I want to become, and listen to the stories of my subjects, I know this place is built on brave souls. Read the full story at Guardian Australia. Thanks @esphotos1 and @piceditor.theguardian.au for the commission. by @idunnonews
U N P R E C E D E N T E D: “Unprecedented” is defined as something that has never happened, existed, or been known before. This wet season, Elders told me they had “no stories” for this kind of flooding. I heard the same words after Fitzroy Crossing in 23/24. But what gets translated into “unprecedented” in headlines carries a different truth on the ground. Yes, the scale is new, at one point almost 90% of the Territory was on flood watch. But this was not unknown. Report after report has warned that accelerating gas expansion would push the NT toward more frequent and devastating disasters. The UN has even described this trajectory as rendering the region “uninhabitable”, a climate sacrifice zone. This year wasn’t abstract. It wasn’t just about policy or projections. It was deeply human. I witnessed displacement that was heartbreaking. But what unfolded in the response was an apartheid. Flood recovery payments were delivered in full to predominantly white areas like Katherine, while many Aboriginal communities had up to 75% withheld. Some communities had to fight just to be recognised, despite being cut off, homes flooded, lives disrupted. Evacuation centres stripped people of agency. 10 foot fences turned “shelters” into places that felt closer to detention than safety. Meanwhile many communities were left to evacuate themselves, some waiting so long they had to be airlifted out, others forced to buy tents and live outside halls for weeks. Aboriginal aged care residents described as medically vulnerable were left in an open sided basketball court while an ex cyclone passed nearby. This is what climate collapse looks like in the Northern Territory. Not just rising waters, but the stark lines of race and class that shape who is protected and who is left behind. Now the waters recede. Communities return. And a new threat grows, gamba grass is spreading across saturated land, and is primed to burn 10x hotter than native grasses. So we wait. For the dry. And then for the wet again. Shot for @guardianaustralia by @idunnonews

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