Why Invasion Day is different this year, and how to look after yourself

Please be advised this article mentions acts of genocide and features images of people who have passed away, and antiquated racial language.

This year, Invasion Day is different. The world as we know it is burning. Over the past decade, global temperatures have risen, fuelling a surge in catastrophic wildfires, such as the devastating infernos currently engulfing Los Angeles. 

According to Climate Copernicus, in 2024, ‘global temperatures exceeded 1.5 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels for the first time, breaching the threshold set by the 2015 Paris Agreement.’

This crisis is no accident. It is the result of hundreds of years of Eurocentric imperialism—a legacy of conquest, extraction, exploitation and denial, one that continues to prioritise profit over people, communities and land.

From the violent dispossession of Indigenous peoples from their homelands to the over-policing of our mob today, these systems—entrenched in imperialism and oppression—define our modern world. 

Through this, we are seeing an increase of fossil fuel-driven climate greed and injustice, the rise of the ultra-right, and the West’s bankrolling genocides—from Palestine to Sudan, Yemen, Syria, Congo, and Lebanon. There is also the winding back of Indigenous rights – escalating class divisions, and economic collapse, all compounded by the enduring impacts of the pandemic.

The pervasive harms of settler colonialism are no longer confined to the longstanding struggles of Indigenous peoples, they are felt across the globe, exposing the interconnectedness of oppression and the urgent need for collective action.

In 2024, we witnessed hundreds of thousands proudly taking to the streets across continents, as a movement of global momentum and solidarity grows. In Australia last year, Melbourne alone hosted around 61 pro-Palestine protests on Sundays, with many more throughout the week, garnering thousands upon thousands each week, a testament to widespread public dissent against the coloniser’s playbook of domination and control.

Many are coming to the realisation that issues across the globe, from the Middle East to here in Australia, are not fleeting election bungles, or momentary political failures, but the culmination of centuries of systemic harm.

In so-called ‘Australia,’ our mobs have long highlighted the harms of colonisation. Many have poured their life’s work into thesis after thesis explaining these interwoven injustices, while many others have spoken out on the steps and in the halls of parliament, year after year, which have often fallen on deaf ears.

Day of Mourning

The first Day of Mourning. From the left is William Ferguson, Jack Kinchela, Isaac Ingram, Doris Williams, Esther Ingram, Arthur Williams, Phillip Ingram, Louisa Agnes Ingram OAM holding daughter Olive Ingram, and Jack Patton. The name of the person in the background to the right is not known at this stage. Provided by AIATSIS Collection HORNER2.J03.BW.

The January 26, 1938, Day of Mourning held 87 years ago, stands as one of the earliest organised acts of Indigenous resistance. On this day, a group of Aboriginal organisers led under the Aboriginal Progressive Association (APA), and allies gathered in Gadigal lands in Sydney to mark the 150th anniversary of British colonisation with a silent protest. A powerful statement against the narrative of celebration surrounding Australia Day.

Caption: Civil rights movements | National Library of Australia (NLA)

Despite educating settlers for free since the First Fleet, and the ongoing discussions and evidence presented in public discourse to date; this racist nation, who overwhelmingly voted ‘no’ and turned its back on Indigenous people in a failed referendum, desperately cling to a lie. 

A refusal to face the truth of our collective histories.

Instead, we’re forced to sit with a manufactured sense of nationalism, celebrated with BBQs, rather than confronting what this moment here and across the globe demands.

Each Invasion Day, while others focus on vision boards and resolutions, mob strategise rallies and seek ways to care for ourselves and kin amidst the racial violence.

Every year, Indigenous communities ask: What exactly are we celebrating?

• The killing and dispossession of the world’s oldest continuing cultures?
• Systemic inequity condemning First Nations communities to poorer health, higher incarceration rates, and shorter life expectancies?
• A colonial legacy that still denies us a seat at the table, treaty-making, and our most basic human rights?

How can we look after ourselves amongst all this?

This year, especially as we approach a federal election, we know we will be used as a political football for white leaders seeking votes. With this, comes even  more Black and brown labour, exploitation and exhaustion.

It’s ironic I was invited to write this article on self-care while navigating the relentless demands of being a Black woman in a society built upon my erasure.  

The delicate balancing act between running an Aboriginal owned business, caring for my own family and kin, helping to organise protests and rallies, and still attempting to prioritise my own well-being can feel like an impossible task.

So, how on earth do we even begin to care for ourselves when the vibes aren’t just off—they’re absolutely terrifying?

Last year, after attending pro-Palestine, I sat along the Birrarung Marr river, sobbing, convinced the river carried our mobs’ collective tears.

We sovereign people of these lands, have no choice but to return to our practices and look after ourselves. As Audrey Lorde writes, ‘not out of indulgence, but as an act of survival and resistance’.

Returning to our practices is a way of reclaiming what was stolen. Of reminding ourselves of our ancient identities, cultures, our continuing connection to Country/knowledge, which holds power that no system of oppression can erase. 

Sometimes it’s as simple as asking how have I honestly cared for myself? It’s not a twelve-step program—it’s not a program at all. It’s the quiet, gentle stillness, finding peace in the spaces between, like sitting on the banks of the river.

Caption: Author Caroline Kell. (Author Provided)

Some non-exhaustive tips:

1. Honour your own voice and intuition and your own practices: You are sacred and sovereign, you carry immense knowledge and power. The colony seeks to paint us as uncivilised, savages, a problem to be solved, to distance us from what we inherently know about ourselves. If you feel strong enough, take the time to simply tune into your needs, take gentle steps to honour these needs. Some days that may not be possible, and that’s okay—it’s okay to find healthy distractions, and ‘do’ rather than ‘ponder’ when needed.
2. Acknowledge the many complex and painful emotions that arise: Sitting with this truth can be deeply painful, and powerful. It’s important to recognise there is nothing wrong with you, these feelings are valid. It is heavy carrying the burden of racial violence and systemic injustice, deeply tied to ours and our families’ lived experiences.  
3. Remember,  we are a people of abundance, with a wealth of knowledge/practices in our toolkit, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach: Each time we ground ourselves in our nourishing traditions, whether through connecting with family, your Elders, taking a bushwalk on Country, making up our families curries and stews, enjoying a belly laugh with mob, engaging in ceremony, storytelling, or embracing stillness, we disrupt the colonial narrative that seeks to diminish us. It helps to carve out space for these practices, even amidst the demands of colonialism/capitalism.
   And make no apologies for doing so.
4. Seek support and community: Reach out to your supports, don’t do it alone, seek out the people and communities who hold you with softness and care. Healing is not done alone. It happens relationally and with trusted professionals, too. As mobs, we all know this to be true, but at times we can be a proud community. We’ve had to be for our survival, I get it. I, too, have had to dig deep and ask for help many times throughout the years. Each time it gets easier, I promise. 
5. There is immense power in small nourishing acts: Often the neoliberal world prioritises grandeur, but on the days when we can’t even muster up a shower because we feel overcome with grief and loss, it’s the small acts that matter. A glass of water, a good song, a cry, a walk, a phone call to a friend, a cuddle. These things might feel insignificant or simple but are deeply transformative. Return there often as you need.

Self care, like many things, has been co-opted by whiteness and wellness fads. In my workshops, I often hear, ‘This doesn’t belong to us’ to which one of us almost always responds, ‘Working endless hours does not belong to us.’

Caption: (Author provided)

What helps me personally, is when I reframe this. It’s not just self-care. When we take gentle steps to heal for ourselves, to make time for ourselves, we do this to better support the collective. 

As Professor Chelsea Watego reminds us, looking after yourself as blackfulla is a radical act. A reminder that you are still here – we are still here—despite everything.

Caption: Caroline Kell at the 2024 Invasion Day Rally. Photo by Benny Clark (Gunai, Kurnai, Djap Wurrung).