The steady click of clapsticks echoes around Anzac Square.
On a crisp, autumn morning, hundreds of veterans, dignitaries and school children stand silent at the state war memorial — a quiet haven in the heart of Brisbane's bustling CBD — to observe a ceremony that has been a decade in the making.
Queensland is unveiling its first monument dedicated to Indigenous servicemen and women, many of whom fought for a country that did not recognise them as citizens.
The ceremony is a fusion of cultural and military tradition and was organised by the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Dedicated Memorial Committee Queensland.
The anthem is sung, first in the Yugambeh language, then in English, accompanied by the yidaki (didgeridoo) and a military brass band.
Serving Indigenous defence personnel perform traditional dances, wearing white ochre and military uniform.
In the second row of the audience, Vietnam veteran and Gurang Gurang man Steve Collins watches in awe.
"I come from a time when there was no dancing or anything," he says.
"We were told that our culture was no good, and to see those young people dance … it was so good, and I'm very proud of those young fellas."
He and his brother, Wulli Wulli and Gurang Gurang man Noel Pope — also a Vietnam veteran — drove six hours from central Queensland to attend the service.
A time of division
The brothers grew up in the 1950s in Eidsvold, three hours inland from Bundaberg, during an era when the town was segregated under discriminatory laws that governed the lives of most Indigenous people across the country.
Raised by their grandparents after their mother's untimely death, the pair recall spending their early childhood in tents or makeshift camps on the outskirts of town.
Harkness Boundary Creek marks the threshold Aboriginal people were not permitted to cross after 6pm.
As children visiting the local cinema, the brothers would sit on one side of the theatre while their non-Aboriginal friends sat on the other.
Aboriginal people were not counted in the census until the 1967 referendum.
Prior to 1949, Indigenous people were not allowed to join the military, but many enlisted nevertheless, often lying about their ancestry to do so.
Steve and Noel were inspired to join the army by an uncle who served in the Korean War.
Noel says he felt compelled to defend the nation, but also his ancestors' country.
"So the military gave me the chance to serve, protect and defend, the same as my traditional mob. It was born into me."
An equal playing field
Steve was deployed to Vietnam in 1971.
He found that his upbringing in the scrub put him in good stead during long treks through the jungles of Vietnam.
"We used to stay out for about four weeks at a time, but I was used to that from staying out in the bush all the time," he says.
"Some blokes did it hard, and I just took it in my stride."
Noel soon followed in his brother's footsteps, landing in Vietnam the following year.
His military training took him by surprise, not because it was physically and mentally gruelling, but because for the first time in his life, he was treated as an equal.
"I soon learnt that, if you performed the best that you could, you were in the clique, so I worked really hard," he says.
"It changed me forever, as far as being accepted in society."
Returning from the war
Steve spent seven months in Vietnam, returning in November 1971.
Noel remained longer than most, staying on as part of a guard and escort platoon until April 1973, despite assurances from then-prime minister Gough Whitlam that all Australian troops would be home by the previous Christmas.
Both brothers struggled to reintegrate upon their return to Eidsvold.
For Steve, everyday sounds — such as a helicopter passing overhead — could transport him back to the Vietnamese jungle, to the pop of gunfire, the scratching of scrub hens, the cock-a-doodle-doo of roosters, and the smell of the rain during wet season.
It was only in the bushland surrounding Eidsvold that he and his brother found solace.
"Over here, it was a clean smell," Steve says.
"The noises were different — the birds, the kookaburras, would be singing out … it was peaceful and, over time, it healed me."
Noel says the community of Eidsvold has come a long way since the 1950s.
In recent years, he and Steve have held leadership roles at their local RSL, and he says people are "more accepting" of each other.
The brothers hope their military legacy, and that of so many other Indigenous veterans, will inspire future generations to overcome divisions.
"Regardless of whether you're Indigenous or non-Indigenous, we all have a heritage.
"We all have a part to play in protecting this land."
Watch this 7.30 story on ABC iview.
