EJ Garrett is a Darumbal man who grew up in Rockhampton and Eidsvold and has maternal ties to the Wulli Wulli mob of the Burnett region. EJ is a storyteller with over twenty-five years experience in filmmaking, journalism and media, working with NITV, SBS, BushTV and more. Since moving back to Wakka Wakka Country in Eidsvold, Queensland, EJ has had the time and space to redefine his practice and his ongoing work to champion Blak voices and stories. In this conversation, EJ talks to black&write! Editor Intern and Wakka Wakka woman Ruby Ingra about the evolution of his storytelling journey.

RUBY INGRA: What led you to describe yourself as a storyteller rather than a filmmaker, director or producer?

EJ GARRETT: It’s sort of a recent thing. From a career perspective, you use labels to try to enhance your opportunities. Initially, I was a presenter and journalist, then a producer, writer, director. And then I realised, ‘Bruz, you’re just a storyteller, man. So, lead with that.’ I’m just a storyteller. It’s who I am now.

RI: You’ve had quite a long career with all these different facets. Can you tell me how your storytelling practice has progressed? Has your perspective on storytelling changed?

EJG: Absolutely, Ruby. I was a labourer most of my early years. I had this impression that Australians had a terrible perspective of Aboriginal people. But for me, First Nations people are so generous and caring and clever on a whole other level. You hear these stories: ‘Oh, Blak people were lazy.’ And that’s so far from the truth. I heard someone say, ‘They call us lazy because they didn’t want to pay us.’ And that’s not who we are.

The early part of my career was telling stories to try to convince mainstream Australia that we weren’t those things. We’re not a violent people. We’re not lazy. We’re not thieves. And then, I felt that mainstream Australia wasn’t listening. It got frustrating for me to keep telling the same story. We’re still doing it today. There are reasons why we get angry. Talk about colonisation, and you have to keep retelling people that. You produce content and people say, ‘Oh, you need to tell people about this, or the Stolen Generations, or the stolen wages.’ We’ve still got to repeat that story, which should have been told and embraced by Australia, as ugly as it is, so we can move on. So, I started telling my own stories for me and my people to remind us what a great culture we have. As human beings, we’re pretty deadly.

That was a big, big influence for me. And I’m really much more comfortable where I am. I don’t make as much money as I used to, and I don’t get the gigs I used to get, but I’m so much more satisfied with the work I’m doing.

RI: Does storytelling change people’s perspectives? Do you feel like that’s part of the reason why we tell stories? To pass down knowledge is one, of course. But then I feel there’s so much empathy and understanding to be gained from someone else’s story.

EJG: Story is everything. Money is a story. Our identity is a story. It is everything. The constructs that we exist in are built on stories. Land ownership is a story. We build systems around stories that we’re required to subscribe to. Australia is a story. Terra nullius is a story.

RI: Do certain stories dominate others? The white story versus the Blak story, the colonial story versus our old stories. Do you feel like people prioritise one story above the other? Is that why you had to keep retelling the same story?

EJG: Yeah, good question, Ruby. Our identity is based on the stories we were told and the stories that we tell. Australia has grown up with one story, and Aboriginal Australia has grown up with another. That’s why our identities differ. The constructs separating Australia don’t allow us to have deep listening, and sometimes we just don’t understand each other. I think it’s changing, though. That deep listening – First Nations people have a such a way of doing that.

RI: I do want to talk about the idea of deep listening. I think of it as a type of exchange, or trade. You don’t tell a story to thin air. Telling is giving, and listening is returning. For you, why is the deep listening exchange so vital?

EJG: I learnt this from another bloke who said that negotiation and communication are different. Not responding is a form of negotiation. But it’s not a conversation until there’s a response. We have so many forms of communication and energy we put out. There are non-verbal forms and then there’s speaking, writing, singing.

If the response isn’t received and understood, then you’re not effectively communicating. I used to work with this journalist who would always ring me in the mornings and say, ‘Well, what’s the story?’ I’d say, ‘Well, I don’t know yet.’ He’d say, ‘No, you need to know what the story is before you go there and then get it.’

RI: That doesn’t make any sense!

EJG: A journalist is there for a specific reason: they need to know what image and angle to grab, and then they’re out. It took me a while to understand it as well.

RI: How does that differ for you now that you’re only telling stories for other Blackfellas? I guess you can’t go into something expecting a certain type of response or angle anymore?

EJG: Yeah, that’s right. It’s a bit broader for me now. There has to be a topic, because you can’t just roll and roll. You’ve got to have an idea of what the story is, but it’s not being told by me. I’m not going in there with detailed questions. I just go in there with prompts to keep us on topic, which allows the talent to explore that topic, then I capture that. Me and my son used to do a series called Elders Voices online – it was something we did on our own. We asked Elders about topics like violence, love, relationships.

RI: It’s interesting as well, thinking about reciprocity – it almost sounds like you’re coming in as the listener first rather than as the storyteller first.

EJG: Yes, so true. ’Cause these Old Fullas, they’ll take you a long way. I think it helps them visualise and understand their narrative. They’ll take us on a journey, then bring us back to answer the question. It’s for us as well. It helps me understand myself. I have to stay in tune with myself to not get impatient. To stay inquisitive. To trust the process. And to create a safe space to allow that.

RI: Recently, I was having a yarn with one of our Wakka Wakka Elders, who felt listening skills are being forgotten by our young people these days. People don’t listen to their Elders as much as they used to.

EJG: People come to me and say, ‘Look, we want to tell an Elder’s story! We need to capture their story!’ My response is: you need to sit with them Old People. That’s where the story is. It’s timing, it’s energy. If you don’t have the time to sit with that Old Person, in that space, and allow the stories to arrive, then it’s not your priority. You might feel you’re losing something. You’re losing time or missing out on something else. But you sit with them Old People and just sit. Then them stories will come.

They’re very wise, them Old People. It’s been my experience they will only share if they feel you’re the right person and it’s the right time.

RI: Intimidating, sometimes.

EJG: It is! But I’m so used to it. I gravitate to Old People now. Maybe because I’m becoming one.

RI: Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything!

EJG: A few weeks ago, I had a big grey beard and my wife, Lillian, hated it! But I was telling her I’m practising to be an Elder-in-Residence!

You know, them Old People talk about sitting in the sun in the morning with a cup of tea or a smoke. They just sit there for hours. You might think that’s wasting time. But that’s existing. No distractions, only your thoughts.

RI: I get caught up with that too. I feel like I’m wasting time if I’m not doing anything.

EJG: Them Old Fullas, they knew: existing is being. But young people like yourself who come in with this strong sense of identity are gonna take storytelling further than we ever could. We came to this space trying to understand our identity in a country that didn’t understand it either, but you guys come in with this strength of identity. I’m excited by what’s going to happen in the future. You’ve got to pick up that battle and run with it. It’s going to be great.

RI: I’m interested to hear more about your take on the difference between oral narratives and written narratives.

EJG: I love the structure that broadcast production brings. You’ve got to have structure, but that just allows you to practise your art. There still has to be a framework and model. They’re tools, just like a camera or a computer. You still have an audience who expects a certain format to make it accessible. It’s the world we’re in, isn’t it? Digital formats are just going to be so much more reliable and have longevity. But that oral storytelling, we’re so good at it. It’s something that shapes our existence. I love Blackfella stories and how we tell them. Every family’s got a good storyteller, and we all know it. My family’s got great storytellers.

RI: Yeah, it does.

EJG: They just yarn, and I love that. I love just sitting with mob. You know what I really love? There’s no expectation to talk. Small talk isn’t a priority. Mob just sit there like, ‘Yeah, where was you last night?!’ It’s more spontaneous, more organic. You don’t know what’s going to get talked about!

When you listen and you watch, there’s a way that First Nations people talk to make you feel better. Sometimes they’ll mention a family member of yours and talk about what a good person they were. That’s not for that person. That’s for you. I love that. Family and community know who you are and where you’re from. They know you’re not perfect, but they don’t bring those imperfections up ’cause they have this love and care for community. It’s funny, isn’t it? They’d rather not talk than upset you with words.

RI: What was it like moving back to Country, shifting your community, in a sense?

EJG: This thing time, hey, just got much more of it. There’s a rhythm to regional and remote communities. There’s five hundred of us here. Sometimes you won’t see people for weeks, but that’s okay. It’s normally an external influence that changes the rhythm of a small community. Generally, people just want to live in harmony. And this is home. This is where I was born. People know me. And it’s so comfortable.

I’ve been thinking about how I used to go to a Corroboree group up in Rocky as a child. I’ve got this seed of an idea to recreate one of the songs and dances that I was taught by this old fella and woman up there. They’ve passed now, of course. Time out here allows that thinking. The living is difficult. You can get very hot, or you’re stuck in with rain. You don’t have your Uber or Uber Eats. Sometimes you won’t even get any bread because it’s sold out. But the time and existence allowed is so much gentler. The opportunity to sit with yourself, that’s always important. From a Blackfella’s perspective – from my own perspective as a Blak man – connecting back to family, to Country, you’re really connecting back to yourself.

Recently, I’ve found myself a bit uncertain of my path. It’s interesting; I’ve had this long career but felt lost – but that’s alright. I’m where I’m supposed to be, with the opportunity to create my own path. It’s a struggle at first. You question your ability and decisions. I suppose that’s what lost is, isn’t it? Regret that you’ve taken the wrong direction, but honestly, it’s a real positive. You’ve taken yourself to where you’ve never seen anyone else go.

RI: It’s that perspective thing, isn’t it?

EJG: Perspective and timing. Believe in timing. Them Old People did, and they understood it completely. They didn’t rush. Imagine getting to that stage of your life where you understand time and moment and people. The right time to say the right thing to the right person. I’ve been so lucky to have that experience a few times – I value it very highly.

I’ve got a bad habit, though, from living this way. If I’m yarning with someone and they open the door – just a crack onto something interesting about their life, I’ll go for it!

RI: That type of curiosity about people is what led you to your work, though.

EJG: Yeah, you’re right. It’s something I never actually realised until I started working in the industry. I had this natural affinity with people and inquisitive mind about their lives. ’Cause that’s what storytelling does. Storytelling gives a real strong sense of self-awareness. You have someone in front of you asking, enquiring and niggling, and you start to understand yourself a lot better.

See, that’s what I do, Ruby. I want to help people with their story. It’s an honourable pursuit. It’s unselfish. You remove most of your ego from that process. You want to do a good job, but you’re creating the space and the resources for that person to tell their story the best way they can.

I think that’s why it’s so powerful. That’s why stories exist in our world. It helps us understand each other and ourselves.

^{Image courtesy of Joshua Lee via Unsplash}