The untold story of Frank Roberts, Australia's own Rocky Balboa

Sydney Morning Herald

4 days ago

Listing the career highlights of Rhoda Roberts AO would take more space than this page allows. She's never been content to wear just one hat: the broadcaster, writer, actor, director and producer has been the Indigenous cultural adviser for the Sydney Olympics, Indigenous head of programming at the Sydney Opera House, creative director of the Sydney New Year's Eve celebrations and much more. Her portrait is even held by the National Portrait Gallery.
Despite all this, she says, 'I wouldn't call myself a leader.' So what do you call someone who helped found the likes of the Festival of the Dreaming, the World Indigenous Art Orchestra and the Aboriginal National Theatre Trust?
She shrugs off the question. 'You often hear people saying, 'Oh, my agent didn't call me', or, 'I was going to write that book, but I didn't get the grant'. Well, my motto is, if you work in this industry, just do it. If it doesn't exist, create it.'
The sheer breadth of Roberts' creative output comes partly from necessity. 'Working in the arts, the reality is you have to be multi-skilled to stay in the industry.'
Creating space for First Nations voices has been at the heart of much of her work. One of the reasons she is so committed to providing platforms for Indigenous stories is that many people today are finding their own historical connections to cultures they know very little about. Through ancestry websites and other technologies, someone who has never had lived experience with Indigenous communities can discover that they're part of that kinship.
Roberts is a Widjabul Wia-bal woman who grew up in Lismore. The white side of her family is from Ireland, 'but I wouldn't identify as Irish, even though I'm very proud of that Irish ancestry because I didn't grow up in County Tyrone. I don't know the country. I know the stories and elements, but I didn't grow up in that region.'
By forging new connections across Australia's cultural landscape, Roberts equips audiences with the tools not just to understand each other, but to rethink their own position and heritage within the history of the land.
'That's why I'm so proudly passionate about Indigenous art and culture, festivals, theatre, because we're bringing something different to the stage that should be part of the Australian vernacular.'
It's also the motivation behind her latest project, a one-woman show based on the life of a family member who rose to international fame but hasn't achieved the historical recognition he deserves.
In My Cousin Frank, Roberts takes to the stage to chart the life of Francis Roberts, the boxer who was Australia's first Indigenous athlete selected for the Olympic Games.
'We had this incredible individual. This is our Rocky,' Roberts says. 'Against all odds he made it to the Olympic Games. I mean, he couldn't even travel as an Australian citizen because it was before 1967.'
For the 1964 Tokyo Games, Frank had to obtain a British passport. He dined with Emperor Hirohito, but wasn't even recognised as a citizen in his homeland.
Rhoda Roberts was still a girl then, and Frank was just 'the boxing cousin'. She remembers him with dreadlocks in the early 1970s, but as time passed 'Honest Frank' fashioned himself into 'a dignified gentleman. That's how his teammates and everyone responded to him. He was truly a gentleman.'
Roberts was inspired by Frank's ethos. 'I remember being a bit in awe. He just had this belief in being a good human, really. And giving people opportunity. He was really aware of being a great parent, where you really try to do better. And I think that's what he did, he tried to do better all the time.'
My Cousin Frank isn't merely the story of an individual, but puts Frank's narrative within the larger network of family and community in which he lived. It makes for a welcome contrast to the heroic myth-making – 'one man who defied the odds to do things his way' – that often accompanies biographies of sportspeople.
TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO RHODA ROBERTS
Worst habit? Always feeling compelled to say yes.
Greatest fear? Never finding justice for the missing and murdered, with my sister's loss (the 1998 murder of Rhoda's twin Lois remains unsolved).
The line that stayed with you? My dad's advice: always remember something you heard that changes how you see everything, and pass it on. Never forget that silence can also have an impact, because you are listening more deeply.
Biggest regret? Not spending more time really listening when I was young.
Favourite book? Uncle Bruce Pascoe's Dark Emu. Such truth that has unpacked history, science and cultivation and given our culture value and us a new self-worth.
The artwork/song you wish was yours? Someone's Always Watching You by Aboriginal artist Digby Moran. What I love is it maps the estuaries of our Bundjalung waterways. There are many of his works, especially those fine diamond and chevron markings he did with toothpicks and highlighted old implements such as a stone axe showcasing the specific art style of our Bundjalung territories.
If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? Northern NSW pre-occupation of Australia to observe our incredible ancestors.
Roberts says that approach is partly due to her own position ('I'm coming from a First Nations Indigenous perspective, a female perspective, dealing with a very male-oriented sport') and partly because Frank's story stretches to places far beyond his sporting successes.
Frank grew up on the Aboriginal settlement Cubawee, near Lismore, but the year he represented Australia in Tokyo was the same year his childhood home was bulldozed.
'The first elite Indigenous athlete to join an Olympic team was my cousin Francis. And yet when he returns, he's treated as a second-class citizen. His home is reduced to rubble because the local council don't agree with the Aboriginal 'eyesore'. We were always and still are considered a problem,' Roberts says.
The historical policies and practices Frank faced have their place in My Cousin Frank, Roberts says, because their effects are still felt. 'History is not past because it shapes you. It's always in your presence. The historical stories we're told in high school through to the creation truth-telling we were told by our grandparents shaped us ... We're all moving on, but let's acknowledge it instead of having this cultural amnesia.'
Her cousin's story wasn't written to inspire guilt or shame in audiences, Roberts says, but to instil pride. 'I want them to walk away going, 'My goodness, here's our Rocky Balboa'. Out of a shanty. If this guy was from South Africa, he'd be celebrated worldwide. But he's from rural Lismore, from Cubawee.'
She's also been sure to include plenty of laughs. 'I swear to god, if more blackfellas got into comedy we would take over because there's always the cousin, the uncle, there's always the auntie with the scathing but satirical little comic timing at any event. We have a great humour, but it's only been possibly the last decade or so that Australians have actually seen that humour.'
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Like sport, humour is one of the great connectors, Roberts says. This year, certain corners of the country were getting their knickers in a twist over Welcome to Country ceremonies. Roberts herself was one of the originators of the modern practice and was responsible for coining the term. 'Why someone would fear a ritual by an Aboriginal, I have no idea, but we've seen it from leaders in this country down through to people who've never met a blackfella. How do we fix that? I think it's through humour and kindness, telling stories and showing that we love this country.'
The love Indigenous Australians feel for their country is typically missing from the mainstream narrative, she says, but it's everywhere. 'Always been ours. We love it. That's why we've never left, we've never emigrated en masse. We've gone through natural disasters, poverty, genocide, you name it. But we've never left and we never will.'