Compromise, compromise, compromise (title of poem read by Aunty Doris at the ceramics Triennale)
"I cried.
When Aunty Doris read the poem her son wrote in response to the bulldozing of their sacred site of the caterpillar dreaming. I imagined the hundred year old banyan trees in my grandmother's hometown being uprooted and my father weeping at the sight. It broke my heart.
How are we still so ignorant?"