Explore Australis's Northern Territory

The Sacred Site: Ayers Rock

By Netanya Stutz
This article was printed in Abroad View magazine fall 2004

“We shouldn’t be here,” I thought, as guilt twisted knots in my stomach. Aborigines had walked barefoot, carrying spears across this very spot for 60,000 years.

Around the campfire our sleeping bags fit into a perfect circle, unifying our ethnically diverse Outback tour group. Our leader, Rory, sat with his guitar over his dusty knee and played Pink Floyd. He told us stories of Australian history while we talked about our own lives. An orchard of stars and incomprehensible nothingness spread out beyond our campsite. I discovered myself simultaneously lost and found.

The more Rory spoke, the less I wanted to hear stories about how Aborigines were considered wild animals in parts of Australia until the 1970s and how Aborigine throwing contests were used as a form of entertainment in pubs. Relegated to trailer parks and expected to contribute to the economy, Aborigines were often described by white Australians as lazy drunks who squandered federal money.

My group knew the stories. They had seen the signs, posted in the village by Aborigines, urging visitors not to climb Uluru—the monolith unjustly known worldwide as Ayers Rock (A name given to it in 1873 by the English-born explorer William C. Hosse, who led an expedition to northwestern South Australia and the Northern Territory. After climbing the rock, he named it after then Chief Secretary for South Australia Sir Henry Ayers.).

Uluru is a true geological wonder, a rock that stands more than 1,000 feet high with a circumference of more than five miles. It’s also a symbol of utmost religious and cultural significance for Aborigines who lived there for thousands of years. Its importance to the Aborigines is akin to that of Notre Dame for the Parisians or the Wailing Wall for Israelis.

Doing his best to act as a neutral party while providing direction, Rory illustrated a point for all of us. As we sat in his van, he took his wallet from his pocket and placed it on the dashboard. “If I put this here,” he said, “and asked all of you not to touch it, who would?” Nobody raised a hand. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because it’s wrong,” somebody suggested.
“Why is it wrong?” Rory pressed. Answering his own question, he began, “Because I asked you not to. By not touching it, you are showing me respect.”

He obviously felt strongly about the issue, yet he could not force anyone not to climb what was now deemed Australian government property. Rory continued, “The Aborigines have asked you not to climb Uluru, but the choice is up to you.”

I saw no choice; climbing was not an option. I didn’t know why anyone would want to climb.
Two-thirds of my group chose to go. They wanted to see the view.

I had been in Australia for six months, and this was my first insight into Aboriginal exploitation. It baffled and disgusted me that a country of patriotic, amiable people could allow and ignore such injustice.

I wanted to start an education campaign across the country and reach out to every disheartened native. I wanted to see Australia as the perfect country I once thought it was. AV

Netanya Stutz was a graduate student at Boston University, where she was working toward a master’s degree in advertising. Originally from Palo Alto, CA, she attended the University of Michigan and then returned to San Francisco to work in sales at the height of the dot com era. After the economic demise, she spent time working and volunteering in Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain and France.