Mike Gillam, Alice Springs News

Like the parade of Coober Pedy blower trucks, emus create wonderful silhouettes in a landscape of prevailing flatness. That line of dead shrubs, low rounded hummocks catches my eye. One moves slightly, and there it is, up periscope, the largest male still accompanied by the adolescents of the previous year, confirms their emu identity.

It’s mid-winter and while there are solitary emus and a few couples, most are in groups between six and eight, youngsters following in the footsteps of their father, inculcating the rhythms of life.

Taking photographs through a vehicle window is usually tolerated but a person disembarking is treated with healthy suspicion and images of emus running away the likely outcome. I’ve heard stories about their dangerous kicking prowess and shovel-shaped beak.

I’d note a likely difference between a “parade” of wild emus as opposed to slightly psychotic and unhappy individuals held in captivity or those accustomed to demanding a snack at roadside stops. There is also corroborated evidence of women being monstered by captive emus, notably males with dubious intentions.

That said, emus are incredibly curious and in my experience, standoffish and gentle. On occasion, I’ve inserted myself into a group, following at a respectful distance but even when they’re strolling, I struggle to keep up. Often enough the dominant male accepts that I pose no threat to his mob, occasionally bong, bong, bonging to make sure I know my place.

On a recent trip to Coober Pedy I spent several days following emus. My methods are simple and relatively effective. I drive very slowly and stop often so as not to startle or threaten the group. Some are instantly spooked while others are curious enough to approach the car especially if I wave my bright green beanie out the window.

Occasionally, I get out of the car very slowly, camera with wide zoom in one hand and perform a slow dance, one arm extended high, hand cocked like an emu head, before lying on the ground and switching to my dying cockroach routine. Maintaining a low and non-threatening profile, I gyrate and wriggle in a slow circle, keeping arms and knees bent.

I often make kissing sounds to further endear myself to the audience. This works for me and I manage to photograph a semi-circle of curious emus watching my performance, although they keep their backs to the sun so I have to deal with the problem of lens flare. The boldest emus come within a couple of metres.

After a few minutes my fans get bored and continue foraging. Do some groups practice synchronised shitting? Certainly it’s not unusual to find a staggered line of emu “pancakes” revealing the exact number of family members that just passed by.

For closer examination I collected samples from such a line of eight, straight down the centre of a dirt road. I was intrigued by the number, variety and small sizes of insect prey and plant material present, it was as if the emus were trying to restore the scarified road surface with useful seeds and manure.

According to Wikipedia, “the Tasmanian, Kangaroo Island and King Island subspecies were going extinct by the 1800s due to hunting pressures. The surviving and widespread Dromaius novaehollandiae was once abundant in the eastern states but as a result of farming, land clearing and hunting is now mostly restricted to the inland”.

The Australian emu is the third-tallest living bird after its African ratite, relatives, the common ostrich and Somali ostrich (Wikipedia). To clarify, emus achieve a maximum height of just over 1.9 metres ie. slightly taller than cassowaries which are much heavier at 72 kg versus 37 kg.

For this essay and its sequel, I’ve intertwined, juxtaposed and mangled several themes which is my inclination. Where possible I like to reveal an artist who exemplifies the subject. While sculptor Dan Murphy has created brilliant works inspired by emus, his subject palate is very broad whereas Centralian activist Robin Laidlaw was undeniably part emu, you could say it was his wildlife totem.

There are a great many anecdotes that could and should be told with Robin (above, with friends) at the centre of it all, ably supported by others of comic genius such as Dave Oakes.

The 1980s and 90s were tumultuous years for Alice Springs with property developers pursuing a glittering city of the future, one powered by high rises, resorts and casinos and yes, palm trees. To a large extent, the NT Government and Alice Springs Town Council, bereft of anything approaching a regionally inspired vision, meekly endorsed the plans of the boom time adventurers.

That period witnessed the destruction of heritage buildings and sacred sites and triggered the involvement of performing artists in the public protest movement, a creative push-back led by Robin Laidlaw.

Now, in the 2000s, Governments still conceal their monumental neglect behind a mirage of jobs and economic development, while giving away assets to resource pirates, green lighting and even subsidising the short term agendas of property developers and corporates.

Within the rebel encampment, performing arts leader Laidlaw perfected the art of taking the piss while I dutifully wrote submissions and tried to persuade.

Time passes and very little has changed except that Laidlaw has been laid to rest at a young age and I stopped writing submissions long ago. There’s little doubt in my mind who was most successful in shifting public opinion! The need for protest has never been greater and Laidlaw’s example might yet motivate others.

Robin’s dedication as a teacher on remote communities, his inspired leadership and epic contribution to the performing arts and civic activism in Alice Springs are deserving of a film, a book and a song or two.

This article appeared on Alice Springs News on 17 July 2025.