With yet another Aboriginal death in police custody, the lethal intersections of colonial violence, racism and ableism have never been more obvious

In today’s post, Jane Chen highlights the intersecting processes, cultures and systems across healthcare, social policy and the law that marginalise, disable and criminalise some people by design. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains the name of a Warlpirri man who has died.

Five years ago, on 6 June, tens of thousands of us marched in capital cities across so-called Australia, to protest Aboriginal deaths in custody, and as part of a global Black Lives Matter rally cry. This year, on 6 June, we marched once again — to demand justice for Kumanjayi White.

The story of Kumanjayi White’s death is, shamefully, a familiar one. On 27 May, Mr White — a Walpiri man from Yuendumu — died in police custody at a Coles supermarket in Mparntwe. He was loved by his family, who have shared that he was “living away from his community, in town, in supported accommodation because of his disabilities”. He was confronted on suspicion of shoplifting, reportedly assaulted a security guard, and stopped breathing after being restrained. (I borrow this wording from media headlines, noting that, until investigations conclude, reporting cannot imply that a causal link between the restraining and the death.)

In some cruel twist of irony, on 25 May 2020, George Floyd too died in police custody, outside a grocery store in Minneapolis. He was apprehended on suspicion of purchasing cigarettes with counterfeit money, reportedly acted “real erratic”, and stopped breathing after nine minutes of Derek Chauvin’s knee pressing down on his neck.

I want to be clear: we do not have to look to police brutality in the US, or its Black Lives Matter movement, to see the patterns of injustice that have culminated in Kumanjayi White’s death. David Dungay Jr. also cried that he could not breathe. Ms Dhu complained of pain and was examined by a doctor, but was discharged back to police custody with a conclusion of “behavioural issues”. Tanya Day sustained a traumatic brain injury, which went unnoticed by officers, whilst in a cell.

The 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal deaths in custody makes it evident: Indigenous families, communities and activists have been sounding the alarmthe alarm for decades now. Lessons from abroad only add to what experts — such as Dr Amy McQuire, Tabitha Lean, Alison Whittaker, Associate Professor Amanda Porter and Latoya Rule — have been asking us to witness all along.

Some people get to be victims. Some people get to be innocent until proven guilty. Some people get to be treated with dignity even whilst criminalised. Others — well. Others go unseen, are treated as disposable, and get blamed for their own demise.

Why is ‘I can’t breathe’ disbelieved?

In her intersectional analysis of the wrongful deaths of George Floyd and Barbara Dawson, Mollow (2023) asks a critical question: “Why is ‘I can’t breathe’ disbelieved?’ She argues that police, legal and medical systems collude to dehumanise and justify violence against gendered, disabled, Black bodies.

In the case of Mr Floyd, bodycam footage shows four police officers dismissing his embodied reality of pain, claustrophobia and psychological distress. He was also recovering from a bout of Covid-19. Chauvin’s defence later attempted (unsuccessfully) to claim that his death was caused by a cardiac arrhythmia, caused by pre-existing health conditions and use of illicit substances.

Barbara Dawson was a 57-year-old Black woman seeking treatment for abdominal pain, in Florida, when she was assessed but ultimately dismissed by doctors. When she refused to leave, hospital workers sought assistance from police. Audio recording captures an officer reprimanding her as she collapses in the car park. Unconscious, she is judged as “non-compliant”. Officially, Dawson is recorded as having died from a pulmonary embolism, and being “excessively overweight”.

In both cases, authorities did not acknowledge, let alone respond with care to, a Black person’s medical needs. In both cases, in attempts to absolve wrongdoing, they then sought to attribute their deaths to undocumented disabilities.

“Why is ‘I can’t breathe’ disbelieved?’ Closer to home, this is a question that we have also asked before. As investigations into Kumanjayi White’s death proceed, this is a question we must ask again.

We need to pay attention to these intersecting systems of violence

Kumanjayi White’s death shows us how coloniality, race and disability collide.

This is not a new insight: we know about the higher rates of disability, unique barriers to disability services, and multiple disadvantages that First Nations people face. There is growing attention on the needs and experiences of Aboriginal people with disability, and how policy must change and respond. 

But to better understand this intersection, and the crisis of Aboriginal deaths in custody, we must look beyond the effects of institutional failures on individuals. We need to focus on how they are always operating, in processes, cultures and systems that implicate everyone. We cannot lose sight of the interconnectedness of the structures that disable, indignify and deprive by design — not by exception.

We need to continue interrogating healthcare, social policy and the law — which do not only treat disabled people differently, but in fact, can determine how we classify bodies as healthy, desirable or productive in the first place. We must consider how different mechanisms of policing, surveillance and detention allow us to disbelieve and impair some, but trust and empower others. We can’t ignore how ableism has been inherent in colonial processes of nation-building — and how, in turn, colonial violence continues to be disabling.

We cannot stand by and allow government policies and systems, and its institutions of power, to continue treating Blak lives as though they do not matter. Now more than ever, we must pay attention.

Author: Jane Chen. Jane is a PhD candidate in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne.

Content moderator: Sue Olney