The behaviour of climbers at Uluru is the story, not the closure

When I visited Uluru last month, the ugly politics surrounding the imminent climb closure was at its peak in the media. But what I discovered most strongly on the ground was that the decision to close the climb has remained largely uncontroversial.

The decision was made nearly two years ago and came about in part because visitors were increasingly respecting Traditional Owner requests not to climb. And although climbing numbers are higher at the moment — due to the nearing closure and increased media attention — most climbers I spoke to either supported the closure or had no opinion either way.

The eroded, pale trail that leads up the steep rock face is clearly unsafe, reportedly slippery, and many have died attempting the climb (at least 37 known). The lives of rangers and other rescuers are also regularly put at risk when they have to climb to assist people suffering heat exhaustion, asthma attacks, heart attacks and other illnesses and injuries.

During my two week visit, I heard many climbers voicing concerns when they came down: “I got to a point where it just didn’t feel right,” said one man. “The railing is too low,” said another, “I couldn’t get a grip on it.” “It’s just insane that people are allowed up there”, I heard repeatedly. Most climbers were as amazed as I was that the climb has stayed open for so long.

Many I spoke to found it hard to articulate why they were climbing. “Because it’s there,” one man told me. “Because it’s become a thing,” said another.

“Don’t you have respect for Traditional Owners, the Anangu people?” I asked. “Yes, but…” was often the only answer many could give.

“The only reason I’ve seen for not climbing is that it makes Aboriginal people a little bit upset,” said one woman. But anyone not seeing the cultural, safety and environmental information displayed prominently at the bottom of the climb, at the cultural centre, at the resort, in printed brochures, provided on daily ranger talks, by every tour guide, on government and other websites, on social media, pretty much everywhere, is choosing to be blind.

What I witnessed from the base of the climb on most days was often brazenly disrespectful, dangerous, and just bizarre. People would walk up, read the sign asking them not to climb, then head through the gate and up they would go, proudly taking selfies along the way. Some even snuck under fences, defying rangers and risking fines, when the climb was closed for the day or due to strong winds.

I watched a woman knitting for hours in a car, her husband asleep next to her in the driver seat, while she took in the spectacle of people scrambling up the rock. It was like a scene at a medieval execution, complete with bloodthirsty crowd eager for someone to die painfully as they attempted the climb.

I witnessed a seventy-something Japanese woman take more than an hour to crawl down just a few metres of rock. I spent hours hugging another older Japanese woman at the base, unable to understand her acute distress until her missing relative emerged from the climb. The elderly woman, who spoke no English, had also been climbing earlier, I heard. But she became so distressed on the way up that other climbers had urged her to go down.

I saw an unaccompanied child half way up the steep rock face crawling back and forth from one side of the railing to the other. I watched many adults pass the child and keep climbing, until eventually the child started moving down with an adult who emerged from the top of the climb.

Climbers I spoke to were often horrified by what they had witnessed. One man said he saw a young boy, around four years old, “being naughty” on the way up. So his parents had tied a rope around his waist and dragged him up the rest of the way. I was later told that this was a regular occurrence.

Others talked about parents yelling at young children who were not keeping up, and about kids having full blown panic attacks but still being forced to climb. “The kids kept screaming that they didn’t want to go further but the parents kept dragging them!”

I was told about young children wandering alone at the bottom for hours while parents climbed. I saw babies in backpacks bobbing all the way up the sharp incline. I witnessed one terrified teenager screaming that she didn’t want to climb, while her father kept saying “you will be fine” as he pulled her up the rock.

And I wondered as I watched in horror each day, if the reluctance of many young people and toddlers was not just about fear of the climb. But about their instincts telling them to respect others, to respect local Aboriginal people and First Nations people generally, to respect the environment around them.

I also met many who, like me, were grappling with how to respond to the heightened level of disrespect on display. “Why would I even think of climbing when people who have been here for thousands of years have asked me not to. Why?” said one woman. Another stood at the bottom of the rock shouting “respect” to the bewildered climbers.

One of the most heartening conversations I overheard went like this:

Kid: daddy why don’t you climb?

Dad: I don’t need to climb up there.

Kid: but daddy why don’t you.

Dad: because i want to be respectful.

Some arrived at Uluru undecided on whether to climb. “If they don’t want people to climb why don’t they just close it now?” one man said to me. But after I explained the respectful closure process and the reasons climbing was not a great idea — I had learned well after hearing so often — he quickly knew he wasn’t a climber.

And although the climbers were loud and highly visible, there were many more visitors who just wanted to spend time with/at Uluru learning about the local culture, the history, the country, the truth. People for whom the recent words of Sammy Wilson, a senior custodian of Uluru, will resonate:

“We don’t live in fenced-off squares. It’s time they came here in return and learned about our place and the way we see it — circular country.”

The closure of the Uluru climb on 26 October is not controversial. It is a sensible, respectful (and largely respected) decision, and one that was long overdue.

When we talk about Uluru — about the place, the people, the country — the voices that now need to be front and centre are those of the local Anangu people:

Over the years Anangu have felt a sense of intimidation, as if someone is holding a gun to our heads to keep it open. Please don’t hold us to ransom…. This decision is for both Anangu and non-Anangu together to feel proud about; to realise, of course it’s the right thing to close the ‘playground’.

The land has law and culture. We welcome tourists here. Closing the climb is not something to feel upset about but a cause for celebration.

Let’s come together; let’s close it together (Sammy Wilson 2017)