Aqua nullius project

Interview with  Laura*, Project Lead

What needs to change?

At the heart of it, we need to centre Country in every decision and practice. Centring Country means ensuring that the land, waters, animals, and people all have a voice, so we don’t end up bulldozing precious habitat – like the creek project that destroyed the habitat of the eastern water dragon. In a system that truly centres Country, that dragon’s voice would carry weight, and we wouldn’t dismiss it in the name of progress.

We also need to replace hegemonic, one-size-fits-all science with Indigenous science, which has strong relational values and focuses on responsibility to Country. Finally, we must practice 'relational accountability', meaning we hold ourselves accountable to everyone and everything involved: the people, the place, the wider community, and the knowledge sources. This is an Indigenous way of doing science and policy that contrasts sharply with the Western norm of top-down imposing and controlling.

What are we doing about it?

I run two types of workshops. One set is for First Nations people, delivered in three parts: understanding aqua nullius, identifying how it morphs over time, and figuring out how to challenge it. That challenge depends on who is there and their role in nation and Country. We usually do on-Country sessions and share stories.

The other set of workshops is for non-Indigenous people in the water sector. We do 'positionality work', in which participants actively reflect on their own baggage and how they carry it into their professional roles. There’s also a truth-telling component – people hear about massacres around waterways, and the lasting health, economic, and social effects of aqua nullius on Indigenous communities. These sessions strike an emotional chord but are also rich in technical content, teaching folks what aqua nullius is and how to resist it in policy and practice.

Why you/us?

I am a 'water person' through and through. I’ve studied water for years, worked in public service, and earned a PhD focusing on Indigenous rights. My motivation comes from both anger – seeing how colonisation has ripped off our people – and optimism, because I know there is a better way forward that can benefit everyone. My role at Monash Sustainable Development Institute is to produce outputs that help transform water governance, but as I like to say, in truth they’re paying me to work for Mob and Country.

I can speak as the 'angry black woman', as a PhD researcher, and as a former public servant who knows how government works on the inside. That combination helps me speak plainly about the colonial project, while also understanding the constraints on public servants.

What was a pivotal moment or challenge?

One major challenge came right after the referendum. There was so much sadness and frustration in Mob communities that we had to scale back planned programs. It was 'sorry business time'. People didn’t want to engage with Western institutions, and I had to respect that. That forced a big pivot in scheduling and relationships.

Another pivotal moment was when I ran the accountability session six months after the non-Indigenous workshop. Only three out of about ten or twelve from one agency could come. Everyone wanted to be there, but the system wouldn’t give them time off. It was disheartening to see how rigid bureaucracy can be – “We’ve never canceled or rearranged (the competing event) before.” That tension highlighted the power of white supremacy and colonial systems that talk about changing but resist any real shift in practice or timeline.

What did we draw on to respond?

Persistence. Channeling anger. We leaned on Yindyamarra, a Wiradjuri principle that encourages going slow, being respectful, and moving through the world with honour. We also practiced relational accountability, ensuring everyone in the workshop was seen, heard, and responsible to one another.

What was the change, and why was it significant?

For the public servants in the workshops – most of whom were senior managers – it was a profound shift. They came face to face with how their daily work contributes to ongoing colonialism. By the end, some realised they could use their positions to disrupt old patterns. They retooled aspects of a major water conference (River Reflections), inviting me to speak and 'put the cat amongst the pigeons'. That bold move visibly impacted the conference attendees: farmers, cotton growers, and other stakeholders heard direct truth-telling about stolen land and water.

Unintended or not, this rippled into deeper relationships between participants. People formed a supportive cohort – some called it a 'solidarity group' or a 'community of practice' – to keep each other accountable. Even those who were initially skeptical acknowledged that Indigenous voices are more than just angry.

What other contributions and actors influenced outcomes?

At the Murray–Darling Basin Authority (MDBA), a manager who’d known me for years brought me in at the right time and convinced the agency to participate in training. Senior leaders within that agency grew supportive, and even took bold proposals to their board about addressing aqua nullius more firmly. Colleagues at the Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water (DCCEEW) were also pivotal in opening up discussion about how to manage water and consult with First Nations in more meaningful ways.

What was the result, and why did it work?

The result was a deeper, tangible shift in how some public servants approached policymaking and consultation. Several of them realised they could embed relational accountability in their day-to-day work. People asked for follow-up sessions, which we held. They made a place for truth-telling at major water gatherings. They took more care in scheduling town halls with communities, acknowledging the raw pain following the referendum.

It worked because we cultivated genuine relationships first, rather than jumping straight to transactional tasks. We spent time building trust, leaning on each other’s strengths, and being flexible. When you can show up authentically, hold space for truth-telling, and treat everyone – including non-human elements of Country – as partners, big shifts can happen.

What can we learn from this example?

Moving at the speed of trust is crucial. Western systems are often obsessed with deadlines and outputs, but genuine relational work doesn’t follow neat schedules. When we slow down, practice respect, and focus on relationships, people feel ownership and accountability. That’s when transformation takes root.

We also learn that co-becoming – adapting ourselves in response to Country and community – beats telling Country (and people) what to do. If we centre Country and Indigenous ways of knowing, we build solutions that serve everyone, not just a privileged few. And if we hold ourselves accountable to all relationships involved, we start to dissolve the colonial patterns that have governed our water for too long.

*Name has been changed for privacy reasons.