Reflections from an Open Book intern: Maya Hodge

The Open Book: Australian Publishing Internship is a six-month internship program aimed at increasing cultural diversity in the Australian publishing workforce. Maya Hodge was this year’s Melbourne-based intern; she shares her reflections on the pilot program and the future of First Nations publishing.

Since I was a little girl, books have been my escape; they have broadened my imagination and ability to see beyond my small town. Each page I turned held magic that transported me from daybreak to dusk. Growing up in Mildura—the north-west point of Victoria—many young people are struggling to receive the same kind of support as in metropolitan areas.

To pursue my dreams, I left Mildura in what felt like a mad dash to the city. After VCE, I was lucky enough to be accepted into my preferred tertiary course in art history and curating at Monash University. Not many young Aboriginal kids get this chance, and I wanted to make my family proud. My aspiration as a fresh-from-the-country student was to become a big-shot curator. As many find, through study and experience, reality sets in and your perspective shifts for the better. When my first essay returned with a D, I remember calling my mum in tears, thinking I had failed, when she said to check the grade. It meant ‘distinction’. At age 18, I had already felt defeated and had expected to fail. I was awarded co-winner of the Mildura Indigenous Writers Award a year later for one of my poems. From there, my love of writing was reinvigorated and grew into something that has aided me in difficult times. Understanding that our words are powerful, I wanted to support the voices of young fullas in any capacity.

Pathways such as the Open Book internship can be positive reinforcement for aspiring young writers, publishers and editors in their careers and that our stories have always been important. Applying for the internship was something I did not foresee for myself but felt called to as a writer, reader and now aspiring editor. During this internship, I created connections with excellent editors and mentors and experienced a brief but stark understanding of how this particular industry operates. As time wore on, it confronted me how publishers were behind in working with First Nations people. Each office I stepped into held no space for Aboriginal employees. Not only was I confronted by the lack of representation, but I was also confronted by how I felt as an Aboriginal woman in these spaces. Considering most of the books I pick up in the new release section of a bookshop are written by First Nations women, none of our women had been working behind the scenes. Even if they did, I would not expect the same level of comfort as other white employees.

White workplace culture is inherently racist. In a meeting, a managing editor called an Aboriginal sensitivity reader ‘slack’. For a lot of mob, work does not finish after 5pm. We have kin to care for, fundraising for funerals and marches to organise, court hearings for deaths in custody to attend, family to support and babies to feed. Sometimes we do not have time to do sensitivity readings on time. Nor do we wish to do them for organisations who otherwise have no connection with our communities. Wearing quandong earrings around the office will not suffice. What I took home with me at the end of each day was a deep sense that this industry is not ready to uplift our stories unless they recognise the significant amount of dismantling that needs to occur. In a recent Conversation article on the need for more Indigenous editors, Sandra Phillips writes, ‘The industry’s culture needs to change to effect sustainable, meaningful and continuous improvement.’ This change is achievable but, more often than not, the cost is our energy and our sacrifice. Instead of hope the industry will change we have leaders like Phillips to guide and support us mob.

First Nations-led publishing houses will protect our stories’ future without the unbalanced power dynamics of the mainstream industry. According to the 2022 Australian Publishing Industry Workforce Survey on Diversity and Inclusion, less than one percent of the publishing workforce is First Nations. We are the oldest storytellers on this planet, with an enduring history of being on the receiving end of racism within publishing. No wonder we are wary of entering into spaces such as these. Simply publishing First Nations authors does not mean these spaces are working to actively dismantle how publishing has a history of causing harm to many communities worldwide. Conversations such as these are vital in investigating systems of racism in this industry; change needs to happen systematically to create the beginnings of reform. Internship programs can help, but if these conversations are not happening at a high level, then nothing will ever change.

I have consciously decided to re-evaluate ties to institutions that do not wish to serve First Nations communities. In turn, if we work in these spaces, we deserve to receive respect and understanding. The past couple of years have taken a toll on us in every area of our lives. Coming back into the workforce has been simultaneously exciting and exhausting. What is more exhausting is experiencing white fatigue again. White workspaces are, for the most part, culturally unsafe for our people for several reasons; we’re often the only black face in the office, which is isolating, and the power dynamic between the level of white superiors to culturally diverse employees is nonexistent. Expectations are that we work harder and across departments.

I see a future with more First Nations-led publishing houses, programs and editors, and in partnership with mainstream publishing houses. Initiatives and organisations such as Bright Light are enabling young people to have conversations about privilege, anti-racism, sovereignty and equality; Magabala Books is Australia’s leading First Nations publishing house celebrating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voice; and black&write! is a national project which supports First Nations writing and editing. I want to see support in carving out more spaces such as these.

As I wrote this article, I was anxious to write honestly, with my heart, in sovereignty and respect for First Nations authors I love and who should be shown that same love by big publishing houses, because I feared repercussions. I have had to tell myself that our strength is our integrity and truth-telling. The publishing industry needs us more than we need them; we bring our knowledge, culture and connections that they will never be able to obtain without us. As a young Aboriginal woman fatigued by white mainstream industries, this article is an insight to inspire change and transparency.

I also recognise that a select few are doing the work, and like any industry in so-called Australia, there is still so much more to do. I write this reflection rooted in my family and community values, inspired by the incredible First Nations writers, editors and publishers across this country who continue to champion the power of our storytelling. We have earnt it. Open Book is a program I believe will continue to support our people in these spaces, but they must be met halfway by those in charge within publishing. That little girl from Mildura, and the next generations, deserve to keep reading and adoring books, knowing they are respected, uplifted and protected if they wish to step into this world.

Maya Hodge is an emerging writer and curator based on the lands of the Kulin Nation. Her writing and poetry have been published by Hardie Grant, Cordite Poetry Review, and Overland. Last year, Hodge was selected as a runner-up for the SBS Emerging Writers Competition.

Image credit: Jalaru Photography

Category: Features