A Fair Go on Australia Day!
Forced Adoption Says Otherwise
Australia prides itself on being the land of the “fair go,” a place where mateship and decency reign supreme. It’s a story we tell ourselves, from the local pub to the parliament floor — a story of rugged individualism, resilience, and compassion. But what happens when the fair go isn’t so fair? What happens when silence becomes complicity, and the systems we trust to protect us become the ones doing harm?
I’m not here to take a swing at your pride or your love of this country. In fact, I’d argue that real pride comes from facing hard truths, not sweeping them under the rug. So, while you’re firing up the barbie and cracking open a cold one this Australia Day, I want to ask:
If Australia is truly the land of opportunity, why have we been so willing to deny that opportunity to some of our most vulnerable?
Forced adoption isn’t just a relic of the past — it’s a scar that runs through the heart of our nation. And while it’s tempting to look away, to shrug it off as history, we owe it to ourselves to ask:
What kind of Australia do we want to leave behind?
Is the “Fair Go” a Myth?
Australians love a good underdog story. From sporting legends to bush battlers, we celebrate those who fight against the odds, stick by their mates, and triumph with grit and heart. It’s a comforting narrative — one that lets a country founded on colonial violence wrap itself in a cloak of righteousness.
But here’s the thing:
When it comes to forced adoption, the ideal of fairness crumbles. Between the 1950s and 1980s, tens of thousands of unmarried mothers were coerced or outright forced to give up their children. Their circumstances were dismissed as shameful deviations from the norm. The same society that claims to value family above all else sanctioned the destruction of it in the name of social conformity.
So, where was the “fair go” for these mothers? Where was the mateship for their children?
Forced adoption wasn’t just a policy — it was a practice steeped in bigotry. Women, particularly those who were young, poor, or otherwise vulnerable, were stripped of their agency and made to bear the brunt of societal shame. Their suffering was rationalized as necessary for the “greater good” — the “placement” of their children into “respectable” families.
Adoptees, meanwhile, were left to navigate a life of fractured identity, their heritage erased and their autonomy dismissed. In a nation that celebrates ancestry and the idea of “knowing where you come from,” adoptees were denied the very rights most Australians take for granted. They were expected to be grateful for the families they were placed into, no matter the trauma that came with their separation from their biological roots.
The Irony of National Identity
Australians are quick to cut down arrogance with our famous “tall poppy syndrome,” a cultural tendency to level the playing field. Yet this supposed humility coexists with a deep-seated arrogance — a belief in the inherent rightness of the colonial, patriarchal systems that shaped this country. Forced adoption was one such system, operating under the assumption that the state knew best, that certain families were inherently superior, and that the voices of the vulnerable could be ignored.
The irony is glaring. A country that prides itself on resilience weaponized that same value against birth mothers, expecting them to suppress their grief and “move on” for the good of everyone else. A nation that claims to cherish family bonds facilitated their destruction. A people who view themselves as egalitarian endorsed policies that dehumanized and exploited the powerless.
The Cost of Denial
Perhaps the most damning aspect of this history is the ongoing refusal to fully reckon with it. The 2013 national apology for forced adoption was an important step, but it has not been followed by the systemic changes or reparations that true accountability demands. Instead, society continues to sideline the voices of adoptees and birth mothers, preferring to focus on narratives that sanitize or outright deny the horrors of the past.
This denial is not just harmful to the individuals directly affected; it undermines the integrity of the nation itself.
How can Australians claim to value fairness, resilience, and equality while turning a blind eye to the injustices in their own backyard?
How can a country build a better future if it refuses to confront the darkest corners of its history?
A True “Fair Go”
If Australia is to live up to its ideals, it must start by listening to those who have been silenced. Adoptees and birth mothers do not need platitudes or hollow apologies; they need systemic change, reparations, and recognition of their lived experiences. They need a society that values their voices, even when those voices make others uncomfortable.
This isn’t about blame — it’s about honesty. It’s about understanding that the same systems that once separated mothers from their babies are still shaping our society today. And whether we like it or not, those systems impact us all. This isn’t just about adoptees or their families — it’s about the kind of people we choose to be and the kind of nation we want to become.
So, as we stand under the Southern Cross this Australia Day, let’s ask ourselves:
Is this truly the land of the fair go?
And if it isn’t, what are we going to do about it?
Because real pride doesn’t come from pretending we’re perfect. It comes from facing our flaws, owning up to our mistakes, and striving to be better. The “fair go” isn’t a given — it’s something we have to earn together. Only then can we begin to reconcile our past with the future we claim to want.
Let’s make “Advance Australia Fair” more than just a song. Let it be a call to action, a promise to the future that no one will be left behind, silenced, or erased again.
Do It For A Mate
Australia is a country built on mateship, a word we wear like a badge of honour. It’s our way of saying, “I’ve got your back,” whether you’re a friend, a neighbour, or just someone in need of a hand. But how often do we stop to think about what mateship really means? Is it just about sharing a beer, or is it about creating space for the hard conversations we’d rather avoid?
Forced adoption is one of those topics. It’s heavy, uncomfortable, and, for many, still shrouded in silence. But it’s also part of our shared history – a history that’s left scars on countless lives, from birth mothers to adoptees and beyond. So if we’re serious about mateship, about standing by each other, then maybe it’s time to start talking.
Here’s the thing:
This isn’t about assigning blame. It’s about creating a safe space where we can listen, learn, and begin to understand. It’s about sitting down with your friends, family, and mates and saying,
“Hey, let’s talk about this. Let’s figure out how we can do better.”
Because the truth is, forced adoption isn’t just a relic of the past – it’s a wound that’s still healing, and it impacts us all in ways we might not even realise.
So how do you start?
How do you open a conversation about something so fraught?
- Keep it Simple: You don’t need to be an expert to start talking. A simple “Have you ever thought about what forced adoption really means?” can be enough to open the door.
- Be Honest: Share what you know, what you don’t know, and what you’d like to learn. Vulnerability invites connection.
- Listen: This isn’t about having all the answers – it’s about creating a space where people feel safe to share their thoughts and experiences.
- Show Up: Mateship isn’t a one-time thing. Be willing to have ongoing conversations, even when they’re uncomfortable.
Why should you bother?
Why should you wade into something so complex and emotional?
Because that’s what mates do, they show up for each other, even when it’s hard. They dig beneath the surface, beyond the easy jokes and small talk, to confront the things that really matter.
So do it for a mate. Do it for the mothers who were silenced, the adoptees who are still searching for answers, and the families who are still trying to piece their stories together. Do it because real mateship isn’t about turning a blind eye – it’s about standing shoulder to shoulder and saying,
“We can do better.”
The first step is simple:
Start talking.
While adoptees and birth mothers now technically have access to records, the reality remains far from adequate. Many survivors still face systemic and personal barriers – records withheld by individuals within institutions acting on personal vendettas, exacerbating trauma and erasing accountability. True access is about more than documents; it’s about transparency and justice.
Education is a crucial piece of this puzzle, yet the gaps in Australia’s vocational education system highlight how far we have to go. Shockingly, the only mention of adoption in any vocational training curriculum is in a Certificate IV in Greyhound Racing. This glaring omission reflects a societal failure to address forced adoption’s enduring impact. See my career-defining, career-ending initiative as a professional vocational educator for nearly 25 years advocates for the inclusion of adoption and forced adoption training in vocational education with the assistance of HumanAbility [Integrating Adoption and Forced Adoption Training in VET].
To move forward, we must prioritize survivor-centred reform, including:
- The implementation of all 20 Senate Inquiry recommendations.
- Accessible, no-fault, no-fee discharges for adoptees.
- Accurate and respectful recording of birth certificates.
- Comprehensive educational reform to address the historical and systemic injustices of adoption.
Australia cannot claim to be the land of the “fair go” while institutions perpetuate harm and erase accountability. Real progress demands more than apologies – it requires systemic change, education, and collective action to ensure the mistakes of the past are never repeated.
A Glimpse into the Backlash
The resistance to discussing forced adoption isn’t just theoretical — it’s painfully real and often hostile. Below are screenshots of actual comments I received when attempting to advocate for change leading up to Australia Day. These reactions, though distressing, are a stark reminder of how deeply ingrained the denial and misunderstanding of these issues remain in our society.
This hostility underscores the urgent need for consistent public education and awareness, not just during symbolic times of reflection like Australia Day but as an ongoing national conversation. Without it, progress will remain out of reach, and the voices of those impacted by forced adoption will continue to be dismissed or silenced.
