Jefa Greenaway
architecture in the age of treaty
Architect Jefa Greenaway. Photo: Peter Casamento
Interview by Peter Salhani | photography by Peter Bennett, Peter Casamento
When Melbourne-based architect Jefa Greenaway, a Wailwan / Kamilaroi man, asks students to pick the buildings designed by Indigenous people, they invariably get it wrong. “It’s not about aesthetics, but relationships to people, to country, to place,” he says. Jefa talks to Sparkkle about his blended heritage and the role of architecture in Reconciliation.
Where did you grow up?
I was born in Sydney (on Gadigal lands), grew up on the Central Coast of NSW, Darkinjung Country, across the road from the ocean. It was an idyllic childhood of sun, sand and water. When I was about 10, my family moved to Kulin Nation Country in Melbourne.
What was your journey into architect like?
I had quite a circuitous journey into architecture. It started with my ability to draw – that immediacy of mind to hand. Manual dexterity with quickness of thought, and a curiosity about how things fit together. But my first love was politics. I was studying political science when I realised there is a strong correlation between politics and planning and architecture – a form of cultural expression. So I enrolled in architecture and for a while studied both simultaneously, and also worked in an architectural practice. It was an intense time – a real fermentation in the design culture of Melbourne. It was also when I first delved deeply into my Aboriginal heritage, largely through connecting with the Indigenous cohort on campus.
Bringing visibility and voice to the heart of RMIT’s Melbourne campus. Ngarara Place was a collaborative project between Greenaway Architects and Indigenous landscape designer Charles Solomon, with decal artwork by Aroha Groves. Photo: Peter Casamento
A cultural awakening?
Yes, because I never grew up on Country, and having a bicultural experience with a German mother shaped my early life. But as I got older my connection to Indigenous culture deepened. At uni in the early 90s there was a lot of activism with significant figures on campus like Gary Foley and Prof. Marcia Langton AM. It was a powerful time.
What drives your work?
Empowering Indigenous voices, looking at design equity – how we shape our places and spaces in the Age of Treaty. How the wisdom in over 3,000 generations of knowledge systems relates specifically to place, design and cultural expression. Bigger ideas than purely architecture have driven me for over twenty-five years.
This interior by Greenaway Architects for the Lowitja Institute (a national Indigenous research body) includes furnishings by Alyawarre woman and artist Minnie Pwerle. The institute is named for the trailblazing Indigenous rights activist, Dr Lowitja O'Donoghue AC CBE DSG, whose portrait is seen on the timber screen. She was the first trainee Aboriginal nurse at Royal Adelaide Hospital, and went on to be appointed the founding Chairperson of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC). Photo: Peter Casamento
Is your practice overtly political?
Indigenous architecture is political by its very nature. We think more carefully about our contribution. We operate in a social contract that demands we improve the environments we’re working with. That means not contributing to unsustainable outcomes or further biodiversity loss. I’m optimistic because it feels like there’s a growing appetite to engage meaningfully and embrace the diversity of who we are as a nation through design.
what does indigenous architecture look like?
I do this thing at university where I show a lot of slides of different pieces of contemporary architecture and ask the audience to pick which are designed by Indigenous people and which aren’t. Almost invariably the work they think is designed by an Indigenous architect isn’t, and the work they think isn’t Indigenous designed, actually is! It’s clearly not about aesthetics, but relationships to people, to Country, to place.
Chadstone Townhouses in Melbourne by Greenaway Architects connects to Country and engages with topography, materiality and prospect. Photo: Axoim
“Indigenous people have always been the architects, the engineers, the ecologists.”
What do Aboriginal cities look like?
In southwest Victoria the World Heritage-listed Budj Bim cultural landscape has a sophisticated aquaculture system that used the volcanic eruption and harvested lava stone to create permanent settlements, stone houses. These predate the Pyramids. Indigenous people have always been the architects, the engineers, the ecologists. It’s interesting that the sustainable development goals of the United Nations align with Indigenous knowledge around caring for Country and protecting the landscape.
An open forum for Indigenous and non-Indigenous design practitioners, educators and students on respectfully representing Indigenous culture in their work.
What gets you going each day?
Knowing there’s a shift towards Reconciliation in unique and distinct ways, not in the old box-ticking model. And being a father of two, I have a sense of urgency. We need to step up as a generation and show the young ones that we haven’t left them to solve all the problems that lie ahead.
What does Reconciliation look like?
It’s more than just political. Healing Country is important. To put your feet on the ground and connect viscerally to this Country and the various nations that exist on it.
“Indigenous culture is not homogenous, it’s a rich mosaic.”
How can architecture help?
It starts with understanding Country, in all its diversity. On the Aboriginal map of Australia there are over 250 distinct language groups and nations, 600 distinct dialects. Indigenous culture is not homogenous, it’s a rich mosaic. To understand the Country of a project, including the specifics of place and the stories that seek to be told, architects need to engage with the deep wisdom of traditional custodians and knowledge keepers. With their imprimatur we can embed those stories into place-making, to authentically enrich design and cultural outcomes.
How can they do that?
Through conversation and deep listening. By facilitating mutual benefit and reciprocity with Community. By not privileging the artefact of design, but the journey and process of co-creation. The Australian Indigenous Design Charter (link at end of interview) is a useful tool and good starting point for design practitioners wishing to engage with culture.
Koorie Heritage Trust in Federation Square, Melbourne, by by Greenaway Archietcts and Lyons is a sharing place and a keeping place for over 60,000 cultural items. Photo: Peter Bennett
“you can’t aspire to that which you can’t see.”
How do you take risks?
By speaking truth. By pushing back and posing bigger questions to our project collaborators like: ‘what is your risk appetite for not doing this project in a way that is culturally responsive and inclusive?’ It’s inherently risky to challenge the status quo. Indigenous design is a political act by its very nature. But gone are the days of hanging a boomerang or a dot painting in the foyer. Our job is to engage deeper, to pivot towards celebrating that history for all of us. Why would we not sing from the rooftops 67,000 years of history?!
A game-changing moment?
In 2018 I curated an exhibition at the Koorie Heritage Trust called Blak Design Matters, the first national survey of Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander design. I realised how important it is not to simply think of culture as paintings and music. It’s graphic design, language and landscape, jewellery and furniture. It’s important these things are showcased, because you can’t aspire to that which you don’t see.
Exhibited in Blak Design Matters (2018) – Body Sculpture by Grace Lillian Lee. Photo: Courtesy Grace Lillian Lee
What challenges you?
The biggest challenge used to be working in isolation. In the early conversations people walked on cultural eggshells. Now there is a cohort emerging with a much stronger voice. Another challenge was communication. It’s critical to what we do, communicating in a way that people understand and orientating them to our purpose. I’ve had to grow into this. I do a lot of public speaking, but I’m actually an introvert, so I’ve had to learn to see it as knowledge story-telling and sharing something people connect with. I guess that’s why I teach, to pass on the stories.
Exhibited in Blak Design Matters (2018) – Nicole Monks, Marlu Collection for the Australian Design Centre. Photo: Boaz Nothman
“gone are the days of hanging a dot painting in the foyer.”
Blak Design Matters exhibition (2018) at the Koorie Heritage Trust in Melbourne. Photo: Courtesy Sibling Architecture
What does it mean to you to be a Kamilaroi man?
It’s pride. It connects me to my heritage, and links though time as well. My late father Bert Groves was a trail blazer in the struggle for Indigenous emancipation. He was a civil rights campaigner from the 1920s until he died in 1970. He was mentored by people like William Cooper, and in turn, he mentored people like Charlie Perkins and Gary Foley. He was there at the ‘National Day of Mourning’ in 1938. He signed up as a solider in the Second World War. He lobbied for ten years for the 1967 referendum for Aboriginal people to be counted as citizens of their own nation. And he died before being counted in the census. He grew up on an Aboriginal mission. His grandparents were First Contact – there at the Colonial interface. It only goes back four generations in my family. That’s astounding. I should also say that I equally embrace my mother’s heritage, having been an immigrant from Germany after WWII.
From Churinga, journal of the Aborigines’ Progressive Association (APA), which my father edited (with assistance by my mum, Renate). My father, Bert Groves was president of the APA at the time.
How do you work between two worlds?
We all wear many hats and swap them as needed. I draw on the best of both worlds within me to help traverse different experiences. When we’re working with Community, that sensibility comes out. It puts people’s minds at ease knowing they have an Indigenous person in the room. We can draw on the western system and language of architecture, but we put it in terms that Community relates to, respectfully. Often when you’re working with Community, you’re the least knowledgable person in the room. We often talk about ‘the thousand cups of tea’. Of listening and learning. It’s shifting from the transactional to a relational model; building connections through trust.
How do you connect to Country?
I remember doing a project in Tenterfield, Kamilaroi Country, where I stayed overnight. There was a restfulness, an intangible sense of being at ease, as distinct from other places where I’ve grown up, lived in or worked. Many people are disconnected from Country, but it follows you, it's within you. So, while we often aren’t physically on Country, we are always of Country.
“Sometimes you have to slow down to speed up. ”
How do you push through difficulty?
That’s a prescient question, with so many facing serious challenges through the pandemic, from mental health to losing a job, or being separated from family and place. It has also highlighted some of the inequities already at play in our society. It’s a moment to pause and reflect on what’s important in life. People are far more important than work. Sometimes you have to slow down to speed up.
The plan for Melbourne university’s new Student Precinct by Greenaway Architects is based on water phonology, and the ancient creeks that still traverse the site invisibly.
What’s next?
We’re working with the University of Melbourne on a new Student Precinct at the Parkville campus. In essence it is Reconciliation at scale. On the 2.5 hectare site are new and transformed buildings, stitched together through landscape. In cities and towns across Australia, we know that old creek lines have been converted into stormwater systems. And we know there is a creek line running under the campus where still today, an eel migration traverses those underground pipes. So the project will daylight those watercourses and tell the story of eel migration, a story of resilience and connection to Country. In culturally mapping the site, we incorporated the voices of four traditional owner groups as well as Indigenous staff, leaders and students representing 45 language groups. The project will be an exemplar of design embedding Indigenous voice, agency and opportunity. It’s the way practice should evolve, using a cultural heritage plan as an enabler.
Central amphitheatre of the new Student Precinct at the University of Melbourne’s Parkville campus. Image: Courtesy Aspect Studios
“There is much more that connects us than separates us.”
Is every person a cultural being?
The idea of culture is inextricably linked to people. Everyone is indigenous from somewhere if you go back far enough. A few years ago I convened a conference called Go Back to Where You Came From. It was a provocation about that deeper history, to challenge the binaries and borders we put up around difficult issues (like migration) as a falsehood. Ultimately we’re all seeking to find connection to our own heritage and stories and place. That’s what makes us human. There is much more that connects us than separates us.
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