My music is a declaration of survival

My name is Nathan Bird; I am a proud Butchulla man and recording artist known as Birdz. I grew up in the small town of Katherine, Northern Territory, and ever since I was a young kid I’ve wanted to be a rapper.

I remember staying up late on the weekends just so that I could catch Rage play the standard half an hour of rap videos, before their programming would return to whatever was popular on the Australian charts at the time. Seeing artists like Ice Cube speak out against police brutality and racism on “Fuck The Police” is still one of the coolest things I’ve ever witnessed. It reminded me of my father and how his confidence would never break stride, no matter where he was or who he was with. Since that day, my passion for hip-hop has never wavered.

I took the values my family instilled in me and expressed them through music – it’s always been that way. I believe the inspiration in my music will always trace back to my family’s story somehow, because that’s my truth and that’s where I come from.

My father was removed from his family at a young age and placed in and out of institutions before finally being reunited with his grandmother on the Cherbourg mission as a teenager. Listening to him share his story, I often wondered how it’s possible for someone to go through what he did and still come out the other side so determined to win. He not only survived the restrictions forced upon him, he opened the very doors I walk through today. My parents worked tirelessly to ensure that I felt supported in every way possible to pursue my dreams, even if they weren’t the biggest rap fans themselves.

I believe the inspiration in my music will always trace back to my family’s story somehow, because that’s my truth and that’s where I come from.

Growing up, the racial divide in Katherine was so blatant it became normalised. If you had a wicked side-step and could catch a footy, you could be lucky enough to be offered a pass, but one that came with an expiry date as soon as you expressed pride in who you are. Looking back at my childhood, through the good and the bad experiences, I was fortunate to have a strong foundation of friends and family that supported me. I acknowledge that this wasn’t always the case for a lot of my peers. I’m forever grateful for the guidance my parents gave me – they’re the reason I am where I am today.

I remember talking to my father on the phone while watching Kevin Rudd deliver his 2008 apology to the stolen generations. Caught up in the emotions of the moment, we genuinely felt as if things were going to change for the better. During the speech, my father expressed a great a sense of relief, like the pressure had somehow been lifted, and we both became hopeful that this would be a significant turning point for Aboriginal people. Unfortunately, as time went on and we witnessed history repeat itself over and over again, Rudd’s words would slowly fade into obscurity until eventually their meaning was lost.

Fast forward to 2019, the rate of Indigenous children placed in out of home care has risen exponentially and is at its highest point in history. Aboriginal people continue to be over-represented in the prison system, and our life expectancy remains drastically lower than that of the non-Aboriginal population. On top of all this, it seems the only time governments preach respect for cultural diversity and inclusion is in the wake of a tragedy and in attempts to score votes. However, despite the odds we continue to march forward for the betterment of our people.

We’re positioned as crazy and uncivilized when we stand up and speak out against racism

We’re told that white supremacy no longer exists – that it’s confined to a “dark past.” A dark past that they refuse to acknowledge still permeates every level of society today. We’re positioned as crazy and uncivilised when we stand up and speak out against racism. We’re simply told to “get over it” and “move on.” The irony in being subjected to such ignorance is that we continue to be actively engaged in healing our own communities on a daily basis. We have been working to “close the gap” well before it became a government campaign.

My music is a declaration of survival, which is in itself a form of resistance against a system that is geared towards the ongoing dispossession of my people. My son’s spirit is testament to the beauty and strength of those that came before us. As a father, it’s my duty to pass on our family’s story and support my son in the same way my father supported me.