You may not know Mervyn Bishop’s name, but you certainly know his work. He took the ultra-famous photo of Vincent Lingiari and Gough Whitlam at Wattie Creek, NT, in that defining moment when the Prime Minister of Australia poured earth into the right hand of the representative of the Gurindji people, saying “I want to give back to you formally, in Aboriginal and Australian law, ownership of this land of your fathers” (pp. 102-104). This was on 16 August 1975, and marked the start of the Reconciliation process between Black and White Australia. Mervyn Bishop, the only Aboriginal photographer there, took the first picture and that image lives on to this day.

Historians are taught never to take an image at face value and this is a wonderful instance: the photograph that we see has endured for over 50 years and will doubtless live on as long as Australia exists. But the actual ceremony had taken place some minutes earlier, under a shade shelter. However, the light was poor and Mervyn asked that Lingiari and Whitlam repeat it in the sunshine. The event was thus enshrined, but the photo reminds us that we never quite see reality, only its representation.

Representation and interpretation have been key factors in Mervyn’s life. Because he is of Aboriginal descent, he was often the one chosen to represent Aboriginal society, but by the same token viewers sometimes read too much into his work. A striking example is his famous 1971 image of a child being rushed into a hospital by a religious nursing sister (p. 85-87); the child was White and had swallowed some prescription pills, but some writers interpreted the image as that of a Black child being taken to a home as part of the ‘Stolen Generation’. Mervyn was not amused, though he probably cheered up when that image was awarded a prestigious photographic award on purely artistic grounds. He has in fact had a great career with numerous awards, as this book explains very well.

Mervyn is a superb photographer and his images have an immediacy which instantly draws you in. The composition, lighting etc. are doubtless carefully worked out, but none of that is obvious to the viewer who just feels part of the scene. One of my favourite images seems totally spontaneous: a young actor, about to put on his makeup, looks out at us from his mirror on which is written CONTACT MAFIA RE D.M.D., as if to say “well, what do you think?’ (pp. 70-71). The viewer’s response is “Can you explain this message?”. The actor happens to be Barry Humphries in 1968, but that is not the point; you feel you are there and you want to discuss it.

Other images are equally inviting: a middle-aged couple proudly show photographs of a young man (p. 166); you want to know more about him. Mervyn’s being Aboriginal enabled him to document a fast-vanishing lifestyle with empathy and grace. The final image, of young boys at a waterhole (p. 208) is beautiful but can also be seen as an ethnographic record, as is the portrait of an old man at Yuendumu in 1974 (pp. 196-197).

The biography is written by Tim Dobbyn, who has known Mervyn for most of his life, for his parents Daphne and Alan Dobbyn had mentored him in various ways, most importantly by getting him an interview with the Sydney Morning Herald, which opened many doors, and through simple friendship. They hosted his wedding reception: Mervyn had married a young lady of English background, who had not bothered to tell her mother he was Aboriginal. Her mother was pretty annoyed but was eventually coaxed by Alan Dobbyn into attending the reception where she soon became “the life of the party” (p. 83).

Tim Dobbyn lives in the USA, where he has worked as a journalist. As a result, his work is very clear and factual – telling it like it is – but also gives useful background details, particularly on the intricacies of Black-White relations in Australia at a time of change. Today it seems ludicrous that your life should be determined by the colour of your skin, but that was literally deadly serious in those days.

Mervyn, born 1945, was fortunate in that his Black father had served in the Australian Army (he wasn’t allowed to go to a pub with White men, even though he had been prepared to die for them) and was exempted from the worst of petty racism. Mervyn was able to attend high school in Dubbo, with accommodation subsidised by the Anglican Church, and made many good friends there. He was the only Black.

The biography starts with a road trip to Mervyn’s birthplace of Brewarrina?home of the famous fish traps and a traditional meeting place for Morowori/Murri and Ngemba people. En route we get to know Mervyn, who comes across as a man of great charm, and some idiosyncrasies: he owned “a perfectly good mid-sized SUV, with a roo bar” but preferred to let Tim drive a less useful rented car, on the grounds he wasn’t about to have his “new car covered in insects and dust” (pp. 20, 23). And so they drove, visiting old friends and revisiting places of memory. It is absolutely charming and we get to know and – to an extent – understand Mervyn’s life and achievements.

The book is very well produced but I am slightly annoyed by the cover photo, which is cropped by about a third. It is an image of a busload of Aboriginal children on a school outing in 1974. The full view shows that some children are enjoying themselves, others are bored or cranky (pp. 98-90). In the foreground of the full picture are two children: the one on the viewer’s left is interested by what is going on – he makes me think of Mervyn as a youngster, full of hope and curiosity. But the child on the right – and thus on the book’s cover – is scowling and possibly worried. Given its date, some viewers may read this image as suggesting that the scowling child is somehow being mistreated, because he is Aboriginal. Maybe he was, but we should be allowed to see the event as it was actually portrayed. Apart from this cavil I strongly recommend this book as informative, well-written and memorable. Tim Dobbyn spent five years of his life writing it and I warmly thank him for it.

Author: Tim Dobbyn
Publisher: Ginninderra Press
ISBN: 9781761897889
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This book review is supported by the Copyright Agency’s Cultural Fund.
Related story: Author interview – Tim Dobbyn