Connection to Country - Post 5 of 6

First Nations Australians and Torres Strait Islander people should be aware that this website contains images, voices, and names of deceased persons.

Photos and story by James Roh

Post 5 of 6. The Dutjahn blog series shares the beauty of Australian First Nation Martu culture, traces the sandalwood used in the Pura x Dutjahn collection, and explores Pura’s partnership with K Farmer Dutjahn Foundation (KFDF). 

Clinton Farmer, Martu leader and KFDF Chairman, hosted members of the Pura team to connect with the community on Australian sandalwood lands, host a painting workshop, and discuss a shared vision for KFDF.

Without hesitation, Clinton, alongside community members Marshall and his son Maitlan, quickly jump out of the car and begin striking matches. Once lit, they place them in a clump of prickly spinifex grass, causing the vegetation to erupt into crackling flames and send large clouds of dark smoke into the air. Swapping matchsticks for tree branches, they drag the flames to other stands of spinifex. The fires gather momentum and spread rapidly, thanks to a steady western wind. 

Satisfied, they nonchalantly head back to the car and speed off down the road without looking back. The scene repeats at a new location. 

For people living away from Indigenous-managed lands, the sight of unattended fire may feel precarious, reckless even. 

Who will put out the fire? And for that matter, how will they put out the fire? 

In other parts of the world, such as the western half of the United States, wildfires are viewed as dangerous emergencies that are likely to quickly grow massive and destructive without immediate intervention. Helicopters, airplanes, and teams of axe-wielding firefighters are deployed at a moment’s notice to prevent the flames from spreading. 

However, on Martu ancestral land, known as Country, the situation is completely under control. It was done the “right way”—meaning that the trio had already carefully considered factors such as weather and dryness of the vegetation. The fire will take care of itself and eventually die down. 

What they are actually concerned with, however, is getting back to the previous fire location before dark so they can hunt for dinner.  

As Martu well know, turkeys are attracted to smoke. The smell signals that a fire has, in Clinton’s words, flame-grilled grasshoppers and other insects, making easy snacks for the birds. 

Fire sets off a series of highly beneficial chain reactions. So many, in fact, that they couldn’t be contained within just one conversation. Most Martu speak of how fire helps their ability to hunt, while others mention fire’s role in other ecological processes. 

Notable examples include:

-Some plants, including many types of eucalyptus trees, need fire in order for their seeds to germinate. 

-Naturally-occurring spinifex grass has a tendency to dominate the landscape, so Martu apply fire in order to keep it under control. This gives other vegetation, including valuable food sources, a chance to establish itself. Plus, the fresh tender shoots of new grass attract kangaroos, and, like the turkey, they are a staple source of protein for Martu. 

-Fire creates gaps in vegetation that prevent unintentional fires, such as those ignited by lightning strikes, from spreading too widely during the summer months when plants are too dry to burn safely. These types of fires are very hot and dangerous to the ecosystem.

-Burning allows Martu to locate each other from a distance since the clouds of smoke are easily visible from afar. 

The reasons go on and on. 

The truth is that humans play an integral role in the health of this ecosystem, and Indigenous people of Western Australia don’t need the affirmation of modern science to know this. Land management has always been a fundamental part of Martu culture.

“We have to keep this land and look after it because the Old People passed that responsibility on to us,” Clinton explains. "When we look after Country [...] the land looks after us."

Although the group made it look simple to burn Country, there’s a lot more to it than aimlessly striking a match and walking away. Knowing when and where to apply fire is a very nuanced skill that requires a deep connection with the landscape, an intimate familiarity that has been honed for tens of thousands of years by Martu ancestors. Fire, and other critical land management skills, are then transferred down to each subsequent generation. 

Without Indigenous land management, Country becomes sick and out of balance. Biodiversity crashes. Some conservationists believe that nature is better off left alone, but that ignores the fact that this ecosystem is fire-dependent and reliant on the roles that Martu and other traditional land stewards play. Martu and Country are not one without the other—a true symbiotic relationship. Indigenous burning practices also combat the effects of climate change by preventing and mitigating large-scale wildfires. 

This is why K Farmer Dutjahn Foundation is so focused on supporting youth rangers and other return-to-Country programming that empower the next generation to become future traditional owners. And since Martu no longer live nomadic lifestyles, but live in towns away from Country, these trips and opportunities to learn from elders are even more precious because they require intentionality and resources—a sharp contrast from the generations before who lived their entire lives on Country.  

In addition to cultural burning, youth rangers learn to plant seeds, hunt for bush food, and manage invasive plants and animals while protecting the native species. Together, these skills are paramount to the health of Country and Martu culture. 

“If you stop coming out here, it dies, and people die too,” Clinton says, explaining the urgency to educate the community before it’s too late. Country’s health depends on Martu and other Indigenous communities’ continued management. “The land is your university. It is your classroom. And our Old People are the teachers.”