Uncle Parry: Walking Two Worlds, Speaking One Truth
This article was developed alongside Uncle Parry Agius, whose insights and lived experience guided the story from start to finish. We’re grateful for his involvement and his trust in allowing us to help share his journey in his words.
Uncle Parry Agius has spent his life moving between 2 worlds: Black and white, community and government, culture and industry. A proud Aboriginal man and Elder with ancestral ties to 6 Nations across South Australia, he’s the founder of Linking Futures – a Supply Nation-certified business and TSA Riley’s South Australian partner for Aboriginal engagement. He co-leads the consultancy with construction professional Simon Jackson, and together they’ve built a reputation for helping organisations move beyond process to build real, respectful partnerships.
When Uncle Parry joined our South Australian team for a cultural engagement session hosted by Andrea Murphy, he came armed with the truth. He walked us through the history of coercion and control, and the systems that disempowered Aboriginal people for generations. And he made clear how those legacies still show up today.
What followed was a challenge to all of us – to let go of control, to stop arriving with answers and start listening. To understand that real engagement requires humility, trust and power-sharing. And that self-determination means Aboriginal people designing and delivering their own solutions, on their own terms.
My grandmother said, ‘You’ve got to get educated’
Uncle Parry’s journey began with some wise words – “My grandmother said, ‘You’ve got to get educated,’” he recalls. That simple instruction set him on a lifelong path of learning, not just through formal systems, but through lived experience, culture and connection. It was the beginning of what he now calls ‘walking 2 worlds’ – navigating both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal systems, carrying cultural knowledge into formal structures, and helping others understand how to move between them.
In 1979, he volunteered with the Aboriginal Legal Rights Movement. That early exposure to community advocacy sparked a career in service, and before long, Uncle Parry was working in remote Aboriginal towns across South Australia. “My first posting was to Ceduna as a community development person… I worked with Anangu people in Yalata, Maralinga. I was there for the handover ceremony of the Maralinga lands from the government to the communities.”
Then he stepped away briefly, “I went to university for 3 years before returning to Port Augusta to work with the Commonwealth.” There, he became regional director, overseeing programmes for Aboriginal people including childcare, social housing and community services.
Eventually, Uncle Parry took on one of the most demanding and sensitive portfolios of his career. “I was Manager of the Native Title Unit within the Aboriginal Legal Rights Movement from 1995 to 2008. In 2008, I created South Australian Native Title Services and became its first CEO. I was there until 2012, 17 years in total”. That role took him deep into Country, land rich in story and power, where intuition often guided action. “Some places, your whole body just tingles with warnings.”
I’ve drunk all my water – now I want yours too
Speaking to our team, Uncle Parry held up a bottle of water, “Imagine this is all you have left. You’re holding the last bottle in a vast, dry land, and I come to you and say, ‘I’ve drunk all the other bottles – now I want yours too.’” It was a powerful way of describing what colonisation really meant. Aboriginal people weren’t simply dispossessed – they were expected to ‘share’ what little remained to them, often under terms that denied their sovereignty.
Uncle Parry said that in the early days of colonisation, some settlers admired the depth of knowledge Aboriginal people held about the land. “They were builders, they managed water, they built dams, they ran nurseries, they did environmental projects.” But that admiration didn’t last.
By the mid-1800s, Australian state governments introduced Protection Acts, controlling nearly every part of Aboriginal life. From the 1880s, each state set up a protection board to enforce them. “They created missions with superintendents to manage Aboriginal lives,” Uncle Parry said. “People needed permission to leave, work, marry – even to practise culture.”
Missions quickly became a cheap workforce for the pastoral and domestic industries. “Our money was put into the bank, and a white person told us how to spend it,” Uncle Parry said. “They’d let you buy flour, sugar, tea. Nothing more. We couldn’t build wealth; we couldn’t plan a future.”
Later came assimilation, when governments introduced exemption certificates that allowed Aboriginal people to leave missions and access work, housing or basic rights. “To get away from the protection system and its control, you had to sign a piece of paper that said you were of sober habit, of good character and industrious.”
Once granted, the exemption meant the state no longer recognised a person as Aboriginal. And over time, many in their own communities didn’t either. Some families, hoping for better lives for their children, encouraged them to take the exemption. “Mothers and fathers said to their kids: ‘Don’t you stay here – you go and leave and do the best you can.’” But when they tried to return years later, they found they were no longer welcome. “That’s another trauma,” he said, “The community pushed them away.”
Our grandparents said: enough is enough
“Anyone know what happened in ’67?” Uncle Parry asked our team. “That’s when your grandparents and great-grandparents said to the states: enough is enough.”
He explained that many people misunderstand the 1967 referendum. It didn’t give Aboriginal people the right to vote – most already had that – but it changed the Constitution in 2 key ways. “It gave the Commonwealth the power to make laws for Aboriginal people, and we got counted in the census.”
Before that, the Commonwealth had no power to intervene in state-based systems like the Protection Acts. When the referendum passed, those structures began to crumble, and Aboriginal people began to reclaim autonomy. “So Aboriginal people said: you had your go. Now we’ll manage our lives, we’ll manage our way.”
This began a shift toward self-determination, but it wasn’t a clean break. Aboriginal people had lived under government control for generations, through missions, protection acts and policies that stripped away rights and independence. “The average education level was only grade 7, and Aboriginal people weren’t allowed to own land, they weren’t allowed to have a bank account.” Many were left without confidence, without wealth, and often without connection to family or Country. “Many of us had left the missions, been cut off from family, and couldn’t go back.”
Years of exclusion and disconnection left communities rebuilding from a place of deep disadvantage. “If we’d had the same opportunities earlier, we’d have been making better decisions for ourselves long ago,” he said. “That’s why the word ‘self-determination’ still carries so much power.”
The referendum marked the start of change – but the transition is still recent. Uncle Parry gestured to our team, “We’ve only had about 50 years of Aboriginal people able to make decisions for themselves and get educated and to be in a position to contribute alongside professionals like you.”
You want to fail? Do what you normally do
If Uncle Parry makes one thing clear, it’s that engaging with Aboriginal people takes preparation, humility, presence, and a different way of listening. It starts with understanding the depth of history carried into every conversation.
Aboriginal people are still recovering from that legacy of control and the right to self-determination is still new. If we don’t understand that, we can’t engage properly, “Engagement fails when you treat Aboriginal communities like just another stakeholder,” Uncle Parry told us. “If you want to fail, go ahead and do what you normally do.”
So how do we do it differently? Here’s what he said matters most.
- Start with internal action
“Once you have a RAP, put it into play. Engagement of Aboriginal professionals – even for a small project – leads to word of mouth and wider networks.” Capability is built through visible action, not just intention. - Do your homework
“If you're into research, have a look at the group. Find out who the leaders are – people who are known and respected.” For Uncle Parry, preparation matters. That means learning the family names, understanding local dynamics, and knowing the history of a place and its people. - Read the room – and find your allies
“You're going to meet people who still carry anger and bring the past with them,” he said. “But you grab the people who've got positive thinking and confidence – and help them become your ally.” Don’t ignore pain, but recognise who’s ready to build and stand with them. - Let go of control – and really listen
“You’ve got to let go of control. You’ve got to come in and listen, and you’ve got to be willing to be wrong.” Real listening isn’t just about hearing words. “I use the hairs on my body to feel the energy in the space,” he said. “That tells me what I can do and what I can't.” You need to be fully present – to notice what’s unsaid, sense the dynamics, and respond with care. - Make relationships reciprocal
“Build on your networks – protect them, make them work for you. And you work for them. Because it’s about give and take.” Engagement is not a transaction – it’s an exchange. If a community gives you access, you need to give something back. - Make space for Aboriginal leadership
“Self-determination means we decide, we design our solutions, and we deliver them. It’s about trusting that we know what’s best for our people.” Too often, industry turns up with answers already decided. “You come with your PowerPoint presentation, and you do your talk… and we’re sitting there, just being polite.” Real partnership means collaboration – not a one-way performance. - Use your position to create change
“You guys are in a space where you can create change. We can be a partner in that.” For Uncle Parry, it’s about recognising influence and using it well. As project consultants, we’re often in the room when decisions are made. That gives us the opportunity to guide projects that engage Aboriginal people early, partner meaningfully, and build outcomes that reflect shared priorities.
Our thanks
We’re deeply grateful to Uncle Parry for his time, generosity and truth-telling, and for walking with us as we learn.
TSA Riley is committed to doing the real work of reconciliation – not just through our Reconciliation Action Plan, but through the everyday choices we make about who we listen to, who we partner with, and how we deliver projects.
We’re learning all the time – through our work with Aboriginal organisations, the conversations we have with communities, and the ways we continue to educate ourselves and each other.
To Uncle Parry – and to all those who continue to guide us – thank you.