Clarrie Isaacs, my old mate Today is the first anniversary of the unexpected death from natural causes of my friend Clarrie Isaacs. He was 55. We had been friends for about fifteen years. Clarrie was an Perth Aborigine and a champion of indigenous rights. I had first met him when I was an observer at a hearing for the Aboriginal Deaths in Custody hearings. We took an instant shine to eachother.
Clarrie once told me that one of the things he liked about me was that I was never afraid to disagree with him. Indeed, throughout our long friendship disagreement often seemed to be a hallmark of our conversations, but by no means always. He would telephone me at any hour for advice, or to sound out some idea he had conceived, or sometimes simply to find out information relating to Aboriginal history and custom. I had learned quite a lot of things from my exposure to archaeology in the early 1970s and my time working with Aborigines in the Western Desert in the 1980s; and through my later university research and Aboriginal language studies. In 1993 I was responsible for showing him for the first time some significant but little known Aboriginal sites in the Perth area. There are many things that modern urban Aborigines do not know. He was astonished to learn of many things I told him and usually adopted them into his own cultural baggage. However, I was never an active supporter or contributor to his many political protests. If I attended them it was always independently. Usually I would make a private photographic record and later type up some impressions that same evening.
Clarrie’s political savvy had much to do with his trade unionism when he worked for the Western Australian Water Authority between 1974 and 1989. He became a union rep for the Miscellaneous Workers’ Union (Water Supply Section) and ultimately its President. Of significance was when he was sponsored by the union movement to attend a variety of courses at Clive Cameron College in the eastern states during the early 1980s. Clarrie was very proud of these experience and was fond of introducing them into conversations when he felt the need to establish his credentials. Long after he left the union, he still maintained his Labor links. He was adept at using the racial card to force union support of some of his objectives to the extent that in his later years he began to wear his welcome out with them.
Clarrie also had a strong social conscience, and this trait undoubtedly owes its origins to his mother Elizabeth Isaacs. She had been involved with the Aboriginal Advancement League in the 1950s and operated a soup kitchen for itinerants. She received an MBE for her charity work. On a couple of occasions Clarrie and I visited her in a nursing home. She was very frail when I met her. She died on 6 August 1996. Clarrie, his Mum and his grandfather are now in the same grave at Karrakatta Cemetery.
There were seven children in the family including “Clarence”: Marlene, Alice, William (Bill), Alice, Charles (Charlie) and June. Their dad was Charles Isaacs, a non-Aboriginal former soldier who supported his wife in their charity work.
There were also a large number of children fostered through the Isaacs household, and Clarrie viewed them as siblings too. Many were non-Aborigines. In adult life as an unpaid Justice of the Peace, some of these people turned to him for assistance. As far as I understand, he never sent anyone away. This was a factor in keeping him poor. Often he would part with his last dollar to help out someone in need.
He was very proud of his JP appointment, but was frequently at loggerheads with the police and the JPs’ association, whom he viewed as stooges for the police. Clarrie became notorious for challenging minor matters he interpreted as a miscarriages of justice or police abusing correct procedure. He went boldly where others feared to tread and this caused resentment. Generally he regarded the police force as a corrupt organisation, and suspected there was police involvement with an arson attack on his house in 1998.
At the time he was facing trumped up charges of “corruption” involved with his establishing bail for one of his foster siblings. The police evidence cited the inclusion of an old truck which they claimed was unregistered, but apparently was - in South Australia. The matter dragged on for a long time, but the police evidence against him was flimsy and he eventually escaped conviction - plus he kept his JP status. There is a game often played in the WA justice system whereby people who annoy it can be kept dangling on charges for years.
Clarrie rang me a few days after the fire and from what he told me, I assumed the damage was not very great. Then he rang me a week later and I deduced he was actually not coping very well at all. I went to his Koondoola house that afternoon with one of my sons to see the damage first hand. The situation was worse than I thought, but by no means impossible for a family of “handymen” to do something about.
He had painted political signs alleging the fire was the result of racism. These were hung in trees in the front garden. Someone complained to the local council, and Clarrie said he then had a visit from a ranger who inquired if the council could demolish his house. The insult had upset him greatly and the ranger was sent packing.
I and my sons swung into gear on the following weekend with a high pressure hose, chain saw and other equipment to began some fundamental repairs and make the house habitable. When we finished my boys remarked how he looked a lot happier. I think he had indeed been finding the whole business a bit overwhelming.
Privately, I was concerned that might become depressed to the point where things might still become too much for him. He had not had much help from anyone until we stepped in. His front yard signs certainly radiated hostility, and I think suggested to people that he was a bit unbalanced. He probably was at times, but the signs to me seemed no more than the sort of radical statements he had built his activist reputation on. He rarely missed an opportunity to deliver a political message.
Later, a few other people helped him with rewiring and painting, but there were not many. My boys also reworked the plumbing and replaced the hot water system. But a lot of people had turned their backs on him. Last year at his funeral there were many hundreds claiming him back as their best friend.
During my long association with Clarrie I think saw a side of him most people didn’t. My written observations could fill a book. I feel that I had a positive influence on him, perhaps even tempering some of his radicalism. Even so, there are a few aspects about his life dating from the early 1990s I would like to examine more closely.
So now Clarrie has been gone for year. The Aboriginal political scene in Perth has been much quieter since he died. Above all, he was a good friend to me, even though we disagreed on many things. I have a mind to visit his grave today with some wildflowers.
© MMIV Paul R. Weaver.
About the writerCheck out the index of my "common-man" monologues about survival in 21st century Australia – plus a little history occasionally. An original essay is added most days.
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