Kinship, Culture, and Care: Community-Led Solutions for First Nations Children

First Nations Kinship and Child-Rearing Traditions

Paloma Cesare: Welcome back to this week's content. Today, we’re going to really dig into kinship, culture, and care—especially for First Nations children in out-of-home care. Agnieszka, this is something we’ve touched on in earlier episodes, but today let’s take a closer look at what collective kinship really means in First Nations communities.

5b8776d2: Yes, Paloma, and it’s such a powerful contrast to the Western nuclear family model, isn’t it? In First Nations communities, the concept of “mob”—that big extended web of kin, not just mum, dad, and siblings—has always been the foundation for raising children. The idea that, really, everyone in the community has a role to play. You hear people say, “We all grow up with our mob because it takes all of us.” It’s not just a saying; it’s daily lived reality.

Paloma Cesare: Yeah, and this community approach isn’t just unique to Australia. We see similar traditions elsewhere, like Ailan Kastom in Torres Strait Islander families. There, a child can be raised by “culture parents” within their extended family—there’s no loss of kin or language group. Even internationally, like in Aotearoa, the Māori practice of whāngai lets children be brought up by other whānau, but always within their kin group, so links to family and culture are never lost.

5b8776d2: Right. But all these beautiful kinship practices have been so disrupted by colonial policies and, well, the legacy of the Stolen Generations. Statutory removals, especially through the twentieth century, forcibly removed up to 30% of First Nations children from their families. And you know... I’m always shocked by how those interventions didn’t just break up immediate families—they interrupted whole community systems of care that had been there for generations.

Paloma Cesare: It's been devastating, and you can still see it, honestly, in how overrepresented Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children are in out-of-home care today. Those systemic removals didn’t value or understand the strength of collective care. There was this one case I worked on when I was in Vancouver—there was a young girl, part of a refugee community, whose extended family stepped in to keep her in her language group when her mum got sick. Watching how the whole network came together reminded me so much of First Nations kinship here, and just how foreign that must feel to people trained only in Western family systems.

5b8776d2: Exactly! Where Western systems look for a single carer—usually biologically related, and preferably the ‘clean’ nuclear set-up—collective kinship says, “No, care is more than that. It’s a network, not a household.” I mean, even aunties, uncles, sometimes even close ‘non-blood’ community have responsibility. We can’t keep seeing that model as a ‘last resort’ or somehow riskier. That assumption has done so much harm.

Paloma Cesare: I couldn’t agree more. And it changes things for social workers, too, right? If you can understand those diverse, rich kinship systems, you suddenly see so many more strengths in a family network. As we talked about in last week’s episode, it’s not about just managing risk, it’s about supporting connection and identity. But, wow, the statutory system is still slow to catch up, isn’t it?

5b8776d2: Oh, definitely too slow. But that’s why these next steps—new models, new ways of practicing—really matter. Let’s talk about one of those, shall we?

Innovating Care: The Minintitja Care Model in Menindee

5b8776d2: Okay, so, the Minintitja Care Model—this is a real standout example. It came out of community innovation in Menindee on Barkindji country, NSW. The Department couldn’t find one carer for a sibling group of four, so the community said, “Let’s do it our way.” They brought in multiple family members as primary and designated carers, all close kin. I love this because it’s not just ‘allowed’ kids to stay on Country, but it’s validated a way of caring that’s been practiced for, well, millennia.

Paloma Cesare: Yeah, and it’s genuinely trauma-informed and culturally grounded, isn’t it? The siblings could stay deeply connected with their culture, identity, and community. And it’s flexible—more than just one or two adults, but a whole wraparound of support. There’s even a Grandmother who provides respite care, not just for the kids but also for the carers themselves.

5b8776d2: When I met some of these families at a Kutanya cultural camp, the energy was…amazing. I remember the kids just lighting up at the chance to see their mob. They were with different carers during the week, but when the whole group came together at camp or community events, they weren’t just ‘kids in care’—they were fully part of the Barkindji mob. That belonging, it’s… it’s so powerful, beyond anything you can create through paperwork or placement orders.

Paloma Cesare: And the process wasn’t just symbolic, right? The community worked with the Department to get all the carer checks done, but the process respected the care model. It was streamlined—still, culturally appropriate and still trauma responsive. Sometimes, I think, people imagine flexible, community care is somehow ‘less safe,’ but in practice, these kids got access to better health care, stability, and real continuity in their sibling relationships.

5b8776d2: That’s it. And being at the camp, you could see the benefits. The kids had their routines, they flourished emotionally, and their connections to ancestors, Country, and language were real, lived experiences. The emphasis was always on healing through culture, not just through therapy or case notes. There’s data now, even if it’s early days—kids being more affectionate with each other, more settled, saying 'I love you' instead of just bickering. That’s something statutory systems struggle to measure, but it matters so much.

Paloma Cesare: It really does. And honestly, it just shows what’s possible when you lead with community, not just compliance. I mean, we’ve seen models like the Mockingbird Family approach adapted in non-Indigenous contexts, but the Minintitja model is from the community, for the community—and I think that’s where the magic happens.

5b8776d2: And it really shifts the narrative—care is not just about placement, but about sustaining lifelong, cultural relationships. It’s not perfect, there are still challenges, but the core is about children belonging to their mob, not just a house.

Barriers, Reflections, and the Road to Self-Determination

Paloma Cesare: But, of course, there are real barriers—statutory carer checks, all those Western-centric placement guidelines. Like, if you don’t ‘fit’ the white nuclear model, suddenly you’re seen as riskier, not as eligible. I’ve seen families rejected as carers for things like overcrowding or minor past indiscretions, without the bigger context being recognised or appreciated. The result? We keep defaulting back to non-Indigenous placements, which almost undoes what self-determination is supposed to be about.

5b8776d2: Absolutely, and this is where the Minintitja Care Model shows what can happen when the community actually leads. Even though there were bureaucratic hiccups—getting those carer approvals for multiple adults, for example—the outcomes have been so much better for those kids. They’re more connected to their siblings, their mental health is more stable, and they’re living in ways that are meaningful and safe in their own cultural terms, even if it’s not always visible to, you know, government metrics.

Paloma Cesare: And it’s so much about inclusion. I think about my dad, moving to Rockhampton—he didn’t speak English, had no community, and was always feeling like an outsider. That experience of othering, it’s so hard to shake. So when I see placements for First Nations kids being made without community authority or voice, it just sets off all the same alarms. Without genuine inclusion, we just repeat harm, even if it’s ‘well-intentioned’ from a systems point of view.

5b8776d2: Yeah, and, I mean, it’s not just about having a seat at the table—it’s about having real power in those decisions. Community-driven models are still too rare, and there are major hurdles, but the trend is clear: when communities design solutions, outcomes improve. But governments have to step back and let that happen, with the right resourcing and a willingness to re-think what ‘safe’ and ‘best interests’ look like in a cultural context. I keep saying, the ‘white way isn’t the only way.’ There’s no one-size-fits-all model here.

Paloma Cesare: Exactly. And that’s why policy can’t just be about shifting forms or ticking new boxes—it’s about inviting and trusting community expertise. I really hope future statutory practice follows the direction of models like Minintitja, with practical, not just symbolic, self-determination. Because belonging—real, lived, messy belonging—that’s what changes things for children and, honestly, for carers too.

5b8776d2: Well, that feels like the heart of it. There’s still a lot of work ahead, but the solutions are there—led by and with First Nations communities. Let’s keep building on that, hey Paloma?

Paloma Cesare: Definitely, Agnieszka. Thanks for reflecting with me today, and thank you to everyone listening. If you want to go deeper, check the resources in our show notes and come back next week. Take care, Agnieszka!

5b8776d2: Thank you Paloma, and thanks everyone—see you next time!