Opening image: Thomas and Jordie making the most of a blustery afternoon on Wadawurrung Country. Photo Ferne Millen

“Hope is Like Energy, Hope is Contagious": Thomas Mayo on Activism, the Ocean and What Happens Next

It’s a blustery, sunlit afternoon on Wadawurrung Country. A great cackle of cockies screeches in from the east and there’s a straight springtime southerly blowing wild. Down at the point, all you can hear are the sounds of wind spray, jumbled-up ocean and an occasional big whoop emanating from the surf.

 

The swell is helter-skelter — deepwater blues flicked white out to the horizon line — but there’s still two blokes, keen as mustard, mucking about with a foamie in the shorebreak. A peaky little set rolls through and one of them turns and goes. His mate’s hooting him on, he’s paddling hard, and slowly but determinedly, he makes his way to his feet. Then he’s up and away — skidding across the white water, arms stretched out and up to touch the sky. You can make out his grin from a hundred metres away.

 

These are not just any two blokes. Thomas Mayo — writer, organiser extraordinaire and powerful advocate for First Nations justice — is getting a surf lesson from local legend Jordie Campbell — proud Munna Munna man and 12-time Victorian Indigenous surfing champ who spearheads the award-winning Indigenous Aquatics Program at Surfing Vic. The pair of them walk out of the water, flecks of saltwater and laughter flying everywhere, and make their way up the beach, holding the red foamie fast again the wind.

 

Thomas Mayo has spent a lifetime on the sea, way up north in the Top End, but launching a large piece of finned foam into a chilly southern roller is a profoundly new experience.

 

“I've grown up loving the sea. I'm a Torres Strait Islander. That's my mob,” he says. “The sea, as we call it in Torres Strait language, is malu. It's how our families are able to visit each other across islands. It's our source of food and our spirituality. It means everything to us. I grew up in on Larrakia Country in Darwin and everything that we enjoy is close to there. We've got the reefs and our traditional foods from the sea.

 

“When I’m on the sea, on a reef, standing on the bow of the dinghy, looking for turtles and dugongs — it just makes me feel like I'm home. Fishing and hunting and doing our traditional stuff out there, that’s what I love.”

Thomas speaks of Australia, and our place in the world, in saltwater terms — as akin to the intricate ecology of a tropical reef, an extraordinarily complex web of life where everything is connected. Photo Tāne Sinclair-Taylor

Thomas looks out at the raging Southern Ocean, which is getting wilder by the minute, and grins: “But you don't tend to go out in the surf in Darwin. Well, there isn't any and everything wants to kill you — crocodiles, box jellyfish, tiger sharks, and all the rest. So, it was a lot of fun to go out there today. I was just worried that I would drown. But fortunately, my great brother Jordie was right there with me. I also managed to stand up, so I'm pretty happy.”

Jordie’s surf lesson is an unexpected delight, but it’s not the reason Thomas has journeyed so far south. He’s been on the road for weeks, travelling from Boorloo/Perth to Nipaluna/Hobart to connect with local communities, share some big thinking about reconciliation and provoke important conversations about First Nations’ justice. Everywhere Thomas goes, he asks this question — in the wake of the failed Voice to Parliament referendum, what should we do next? And then he charts a path forward, a thoughtful and incisive roadmap designed to open hearts and grow community connection.

Everywhere he goes, he speaks about the importance of learning from the past and the power of the people to create systemic change. And here, on the southern edge of the continent, from a salt-bleached picnic table out the back of the surf carpark, he sits up very straight and speaks of hope.

“You can't be an activist unless you can imagine that the future can be better,” Thomas exclaims. “To be an activist, you must be somewhat of an optimist. But that optimism, that hope, is something that is important to activism in itself. Hope is like energy, hope is contagious. You can pass that energy on, and that's how you ultimately build movements and affect change.”

Thomas is no stranger to a life in motion on the road. He spent six years travelling to the farthest-flung reaches of the country, growing grassroots support and campaigning for the Uluru Statement from the Heart to be recognised, following the then-Turnbull government’s rejection of this momentous proposal — “the most powerful public document that anyone in this nation has ever produced” — in 2017. His journey continued in 2022-23 as a powerful and eloquent public face of the Yes campaign — two years and hundreds of speeches, rallies and town hall meetings, fronting what must have felt like a million press conferences and engaging in literally tens of thousands of conversations with people from all walks of life about why voting Yes to an Indigenous voice in parliament was the first step towards a better future for all of us.

"You don't tend to go out in the surf in Darwin," says Thomas, laughing. "Well, there isn't any and everything wants to kill you — crocodiles, box jellyfish, tiger sharks, and all the rest. So, it was a lot of fun to go out there today." Photo Ferne Millen

This time, he’s been travelling in the fine company of his new book, Always Was, Always Will Be, which he began writing in the aftermath of the failed Voice referendum.

“I went home broken-hearted. I had some time with my family, went out fishing and doing the things that I love,” he says. “But I had the question asked a lot, and pretty quickly — what's next, Thomas? How do we find hope from here? What can we possibly do?

“It felt like we were set to go backwards then because the proponents of the ‘no’ case were using the referendum as an excuse to say that there shouldn't be any recognition at all. No acknowledgements to Country, or welcome to Country. They wanted to cancel treaty processes. I felt it was my duty to write this book. I knew people needed it.”

Always Was, Always Will Be is essential reading for anyone who’s asked, “What happens next?” Part history lesson, part activist handbook — it amplifies powerful stories of hope and leadership, traversing complex cultural and political terrain, and confronting Australia’s long history of injustice head-on. But most of all, it’s a clarion call for hope and action in these uncertain times.

Today, as the world spins and turns in new and dangerous ways, as our climate heats up and the headlines fill with a litany of division, atrocities and the blunt consequences of unchecked human greed, Thomas Mayo’s message is more important than ever.

“Politics matter,” Thomas writes. “Politics is in everything we do, even when we choose to do nothing.” Here in Australia, as we prepare for our next major collective decision about the future, in the form of a federal election, his practical roadmap of actions could not be more timely. The last section of Always Was, Always Will Be is essentially the concise beginnings of a toolbox for change, a collection of important things to learn and real-world actions for people to pick up and make their own.

“I'm an organiser,” Thomas explains. “I want people to have the tools they need to get out there and exponentially build a movement. The last part of the book is that practical part. There's resources for people, but there's also a formula to achieve justice and recognition for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, to help people understand where they fit into this. Just because the referendum failed doesn't mean our campaign is over. You don't win every campaign. So, we continue.”

Thomas speaks of Australia, and our place in the world, in saltwater terms — as akin to the intricate ecology of a tropical reef, an extraordinarily complex web of life where everything is connected. For the reef to thrive, every living thing must play its part. But if this fine ecological balance is broken, and some things act in their own interests, taking more than their share, then the ecosystem will ultimately fail. We are all connected. We are all a part of nature, not separate from it. Thomas believes that collective community action is a way to restore this balance.

“Whether it's about sea Country or freshwater Country, jungle or forest Country, there are a lot of similarities in Indigenous culture about sharing, and about caring for Country,” he says. “The reef analogy that I use is something that comes from Indigenous understanding — how everything's got its place, and everything has its importance to each other. Whether you're from saltwater Country or desert Country, you're actually still linked. How we look after that Country matters for all of us.”

Thomas leans back into the wind. He looks out across the slow-moving water of the creek, a pack of kiddoes fanging it past us on their treadlies, the late arvo sun on the moonah leaves and the great scudding clouds flying high above us. He speaks of hope. He speaks of the future, and what must happen next.

“My biggest dream is that we have a nation where there isn't this gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people anymore — that our children should enjoy the same opportunities and the same expectations of a good life. I don't think it's too much to ask for. But the only way that we are going to achieve that is if people find some vigour in their support and their advocacy. It starts with understanding, yourself, and then having the courage to put your arm around others and help them to understand as well.”

Thomas Mayo travelled to Wadawurrung Country to speak about his book Always Was, Always Will Be. He was formally welcomed to Country by Wadawurrung man Ash Skinner at a special community event — featuring Aunty Fay Muir, Julie Saylor Briggs and Jordie Campbell — coordinated by the Surf Coast For Reconciliation Group.

Opening image: Thomas and Jordie making the most of a blustery afternoon on Wadawurrung Country. Photo Ferne Millen

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