"Leader dies in custody".

The West Australian desert town of Warburton was in mourning yesterday over the death in custody of its former Aboriginal community chairman, who was arrested on Australia Day for allegedly drink-driving. Ian Ward, a 46-year-old father of five and one of the last nomads born in the Gibson Desert, died the following day after collapsing in the back of a security van during a 915km journey to jail in the goldfields city of Kalgoorlie-Boulder. Major Crime Squad detectives are investigating.

Mr Ward was being driven by contractors for the Department of Corrective Services, who noticed he had collapsed as they neared their destination. Mr Ward's nephew Andrew Johns said his large family was gathering in Warburton to remember a man who lobbied for his people's native title rights. "We are very sad today," Mr Johns said. The family understands Mr Ward died of a heart attack in hot conditions in the back of the van. "It is a long way to go and very hot," he said.

Police had stopped Mr Ward last Saturday at 9.30pm in his remote home town of Warburton, about 1500km northwest of Perth in the traditional Ngaanyatjarra lands between the Gibson and Victoria deserts. He was charged with one count of drink-driving and taken to the lockup in Warburton. Mr Ward was driven 570km to the courthouse in Laverton, where he appeared on Sunday morning and was remanded in custody. Police say he was being transported to the nearest jail - the Eastern Goldfields Regional Prison 352km away - when he collapsed.

Mr Ward was being transported by Global Solutions Ltd, having been picked up in Laverton at 11.40am, police say. He was being taken in the rear of the GSL security van. As the van neared Kalgoorlie, he was found to have collapsed. He was conveyed to Kalgoorlie Regional Hospital, where he died a short time later.

Outraged human rights groups have demanded a public inquiry.

Marc Newhouse, from The Deaths in Custody Watch Committee in Western Australia, said: "It is obvious that there is systemic discrimination, racism in the administration of justice in WA and we want a public inquiry into that."

The Corrective Services Minister in Western Australia, Margaret Quirk, cried openly during a TV interview about the case.

The security van where Ian Ward died

"I think we are negligent and I regard myself personally responsible, even if I am not legally responsible," she said.

The two security guards have been suspended.

The coroner's report recommended the use of air transport for prisoners from the remote parts of Australia.

The dead man's family is reportedly considering whether to sue the transport company.

Other news sources cite that Mr. Ward was given only a 350 ml bottle of water and a frozen meat pie for the duration of the journey.  There were no stops along the way, no bathroom or air breaks.  Some cites report that temperatures inside the van reached upwards of 57 degrees Celcius (@ 135 degrees Fahrenheit). 

http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Aboriginal-Heatstroke-Security-Van-Death-Prisoner-Dies-In-Western-Australia/Article/200906315305990

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The rally is a positive sign, illustrating public outrage.  But, it remains symbollic at best, as the hypocritical reparations continue. 

While Ian Ward's death is a tragedy-- a man who basically received a dealth penalty for a traffic violation and was treated worse than sheep or terrorists in terms of transport and adequate care during detention-- it is only the tip of the iceberg.  The Aboriginal people are in no way better off than during the colonial wars, 200 years ago.  If anything, they are worse off, having no country, no culture, and no community.  Ian Ward's death is one, compared to the half million Aboriginals who suffer daily. 

Take the headlines just released: 

Remote community not in quarantine despite nation's first swine-flu death

The remote Aboriginal community of Kiwirrkurra has not been placed in quarantine and health officials will wait until next week before travelling to the settlement despite the swine-flu related death of a 26 year-old man from the community.

 http://www.thewest.com.au/ 

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Today's Aboriginals are the Zombie Nation.  Dead men walking, they live in camps.  They live on welfare.  While some find work, most do not pursue trades or careers.  Many are addicted to alcohol, huffing, or other drugs. 

Aboriginals move slowly through the city, the Black Zombies.  There is no other way to describe them.  Silent, slow moving.  Often just sitting and staring at the ground or walking down the street in the manner of an 90 year-old woman.  One methodical step at a time. 

They have nowhere to go, so they are in no hurry. 

Aboriginals are generally an unattractive breed, and this may be their most fatal flaw.  Burdened with oversized facial features-- large cauliflower noses, lips extending into the cheek region, wild curly hair that, left on its own, does not "dred"-- it's more wavy and reminds me of Medusa, with wild snake locks.  Most Aboriginals I see are overweight and soft in the mid-region, with thin, spindly legs.  Large bellies and saggy breasts, showing through torn shirts.  Flat feet with rough bleached callouses, from years of going without shoes.  They do not smile, which is probably good, because they have so few teeth.  They do they make eye contact and always seem to look down. 

Their dress is chronically shabby:  baggy clothes, mismatched, strictly Salvation Army brand.  Bare feet, unkempt hair, they seem to bathe less, based on the prevailing odor.  They speak their language, not ours.

If Aboriginals were more aesthetically pleasing, we might care a bit more.  If they were more like the baby seal lion or the sweetly pathetic Christian children from Africa-- they might raise more sympathy and emotional attachment.   If they all looked like Brandon Walters ("Nullah" in Australia), people would be more inclined to help and interact. 

As it is, most live in a sorry state makes one recoil in disgust, fear, and shame.  They remain something that you want to avoid-- objectified and loathed.   I don't know.  I just don't see Native Americans in the United States (most certainly not in Vermont), so I've never come face to face with our history and its political ramifications.   

Do I speak only for myself?  Or, am I mirroring a greater perspective?  This seems, from what I hear, to be common.  Tourists will buy arts and crafts, but do not part with spare change for begging Aboriginals.  If they do part with change, it goes to the poor, white musicians and struggling artists.  Caring locals will train to be Primary Care Givers or Elementary Educators, but they don't have any Aboriginal friends and certainly not Aboriginal bosses.  Those that do work with the Aboriginals are either female or foreigners, like the Pakistani doctor.  Tourists self-impose curfews in Alice Springs and rural communities to avoid the unsavory lot. 

Aboriginals are trained in professions where they can assist other aboriginals and rarely offered oppotunities to advance in White Collar institutions.  Even their art-- which has skyrocked in popularity (and price)-- is so controlled by the white media companies that an artist is lucky to receive $100.00 commission from a picture selling for over $100,000.00. 

And, these are the few who rise and persevere.  Who realize the power of appearance and lifestyle-- to be aesthetically pleasing.  These are the aboriginals who choose not to drink or smoke.  They choose to attend college or to learn an artistic trade.  They are 2% from their entire Aboriginal population-- which is about 2% of the Australian population.   The rest are doomed.  In their shabby state, they are unsuitable to find employment-- barefoot and unclean, without the English language and uneducated, they couldn't even enter a building to apply for a job.  

But, there they are-- the Dean Men Walking.  The Zombie Nation.  Stripped of their land, identity, belonging, responsibility, culture, and spirit.  Stripped of their way of life, their history, heritage, their ancestry, their knowledge.  They don't belong to their land, and they don't belong to our society.   They remain strangers in a familiar land. 

Basically, most Aboriginals are homeless vagabonds who live in camps-- excuse me--  Communities.  Their "Communities" are named for them:  insulting, derogatory titles such as "11 mile" and "15 mile" (denoting distance from towns and cities). 

At night, when the sun goes down and the tourists scamper back to the safety of their lodging (I sure did), the Black Zombies emerge from behind trees and barren buildings.  Slowly-- one methodical bare foot at a time-- in small groups of 3 or 4 or 6-- the Black Zombies take over the streets, the city, the night.  Gathering on the hospital lawn or the city's mall.  Sitting on the bank of the dried-up river.  Staring at the ground, displaying their art on filthy blankets, speaking in their own archaeic language, which dates back 2000 generations (to the seven in Australia colonial heritage).  And some-- finally-- break into a giggle or a song--

but for the most, the remaining, they sit.  silent.  and wait.  

for the day that never comes. 

Baking to death in the intense heat of the White Man's prison.