Indigenous identity fraud has emerged as a pressing cultural and political challenge in Australia, undermining Aboriginal sovereignty and distorting public understanding of Indigenous identity and Culture, past, present and emerging. In recent years, a number of settler Australians with no proven, even disproven Aboriginal heritage have falsely claimed Indigenous status for personal, financial, or ideological gain. This trend represents more than mere cultural appropriation; it constitutes a contemporary form of colonial violence that weaponizes identity against Aboriginal communities (Moreton-Robinson, 2015). On the Central Coast of New South Wales, the phenomenon has coalesced around a fabricated “GuriNgai” identity – a self-declared Aboriginal group lacking any legitimate descent or community recognition. The rise of the so-called GuriNgai exemplifies how opportunistic individuals can manipulate identity frameworks and public ignorance to insert themselves as “Traditional Owners”, and “bloodline custodians” of Country they have no lawful or cultural claim to. This article examines the GuriNgai case in depth as a window into the broader issues of Indigenous identity fraud and what some scholars term “settler conspirituality” (Day & Carlson, 2023). In doing so, it explores how false Indigenous claims intersect with environmental activism, New Age spiritualism, and far-right conspiracy narratives. The psychological and cultural harms inflicted on legitimate Aboriginal communities are analyzed, alongside the complicity of local media and government institutions in enabling such fraud. Further, the historical and legal context of Indigenous identity verification in Australia is discussed, including current gaps in policy and possible reforms. By integrating scholarly research and community perspectives, this article underscores the urgency of safeguarding Indigenous identity through strengthened, community-led verification processes and legal protections.

Background: The Fabrication of a “GuriNgai” Identity

Colonial Origins of the Term: The term “Kuringgai” (later stylized as GuriNgai by claimants) has its roots not in any traditional Aboriginal self-designation, but in colonial-era misinterpretation. In 1892, amateur ethnographer John Fraser published a revisionist compendium of Aboriginal languages in which he invented the term “Kuringgai” to refer to a supposed cluster of tribes around the Sydney region (Troy, 1993). This label had no basis in the actual language or clan identifiers used by Aboriginal peoples of the area; it was a colonial construct reflecting European attempts to categorize Indigenous groups without consulting them. Nevertheless, the term persisted in some historical and bureaucratic records. Mid-20th-century anthropologist Norman Tindale later incorporated “Kuringgai” into his influential but imperfect tribal maps, which gave the term a veneer of legitimacy despite its dubious origin. Contemporary linguistic research has since clarified that Guringay (with a “y”) was a historical language spoken in parts of what is now mid-north-coast NSW, but it was not a broad tribal name for the Sydney or Central Coast region, and its invocation as “GuriNgai” in the modern context is misplaced (Lissarrague & Syron, 2024). In short, “GuriNgai” as a distinct Aboriginal nation is an artefact of colonial nomenclature rather than an authentic identity inherited from pre-colonial times.

Emergence of the GuriNgai Claimants: The late 20th century saw the resurrection of this colonial term by a group of non-Indigenous Australians who began self-identifying as the “Guringai” or “GuriNgai” people. Over the 2000s, these claimants established a presence across Sydney’s Northern Beaches, the Hornsby Shire, and the Central Coast, asserting themselves as Traditional Owners of those areas. This self-declared GuriNgai group is composed entirely of individuals with no verified genealogical links to the Aboriginal families of the region, and who are not recognized by any established Aboriginal community or elder network (Darkinjung Local Aboriginal Land Council [LALC], 2022). In many cases, these individuals “discovered” their supposed Indigenous ancestry late in life, often based on tenuous family fables, DNA tests, or misappropriated histories. For example, prominent figures in the group have laid claim to the legacy of Bungaree – a well-known Carigal leader from the 19th century – alleging themselves to be his descendants or custodians of his clan’s lands. Local Aboriginal leaders have strenuously rejected these claims as spurious. In a 2020 joint letter to the NSW Government, a coalition of seven Aboriginal Land Councils (including Darkinjung and Metropolitan LALCs) formally denounced the self-identified GuriNgai as “illegitimate people… who claim to be ‘Guringai’ but have never proved their claims, ancestral connections or traditional linkages to this country in accordance with legal requirements” (Darkinjung LALC, 2022, p. 2). This statement underscores that the claimants failed to meet even the basic “three-part test” of Aboriginal identity widely accepted in Australia – namely, proof of Aboriginal descent, self-identification, and community acceptance (AIATSIS, 2023).

Failed Legal Claims and Public Endorsement: The lack of any credible Indigenous lineage did not initially prevent the GuriNgai claimants from gaining footholds in institutional and public settings. In 2013, individuals from the group lodged a Native Title claim over areas of the Central Coast under the name “Awabakal and Guringai people of Newcastle and the Central Coast.” This claim did not succeed – it was eventually withdrawn due to insufficient evidence of continuous connection to land – but it signaled the group’s aspirations to be legally acknowledged as Traditional Owners (Courtman, 2020; Darkinjung LALC, 2022). Throughout the 2000s and 2010s, various local councils, schools, and media outlets inadvertently lent credibility to the GuriNgai mythos. Some councils invited self-styled GuriNgai elders to perform Welcome to Country ceremonies or to sit on advisory committees, assuming they were the appropriate cultural representatives for the area. Local newspapers and community magazines occasionally profiled these individuals as Aboriginal elders or custodians, often uncritically repeating their lineage claims. This institutional silence or complicity enabled the GuriNgai narrative to entrench itself in the public sphere with relatively little scrutiny for years. It was not until sustained pressure from legitimate Aboriginal organizations – including formal complaints and public “truth-telling” campaigns by affected Aboriginal families – that authorities began to act. By 2020, the NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service removed or corrected signage in some national parks that had erroneously labeled those areas as “Guringai Country,” and government agencies were instructed to cease engaging with the false claimants in any official capacity (Metropolitan LALC, 2020; Darkinjung LALC, 2022). These measures marked important victories for Aboriginal communities in reclaiming the narrative of whose Country it is. However, the broader phenomenon of settler Australians race-shifting into Indigenous identities (Watt & Kowal, 2019) remains a significant concern beyond this single case, with parallels in other parts of Australia and internationally. Ethnohistorian Circe Sturm (2011), for instance, has documented waves of “ethnic switching” in North America (so-called “Pretendians”), wherein thousands of white Americans have begun claiming Native identities – an alarming trend that mirrors what is unfolding in Australia’s context.

In sum, the GuriNgai identity fraud on the Central Coast did not emerge in a vacuum; it is situated at the nexus of colonial history, opportunistic social movements, and gaps in policy. Understanding how and why this false identity was constructed provides a necessary foundation to analyze its deeper implications and the forces that sustain it.

Settler Conspirituality: Where Far-Right Environmentalism Meets False Indigeneity

The activities of the GuriNgai group on the Central Coast exemplify what scholars have termed “settler conspirituality” – a fusion of conspiracy thinking, new-age spiritualism, and settler self-indigenization (Day & Carlson, 2023). In the Australian context, settler conspirituality has been observed especially within anti-government and anti-science movements (such as anti-vaccine and anti-5G campaigns) that paradoxically appropriate Indigenous themes. Day and Carlson (2023) note that settler participants in these movements “co-opt Indigeneity to ‘nativise’ themselves to an imagined white settler utopia where they have freedom to operate with impunity” (p. 14). In other words, some members of the far-right and survivalist fringe seek to cloak themselves in a form of Indigeneity as a strategy to reject the authority of the state while claiming a deep spiritual connection to the land.

On the Central Coast, self-proclaimed GuriNgai figures have been prominent at rallies and community actions that blend environmental rhetoric with conspiracy claims. For example, members of the group (including a local personality, Jake Cassar) have appeared at protests against 5G telecommunications towers, COVID-19 vaccination mandates, and even renewable energy projects like wind farms – causes typically championed by an unlikely alliance of far-right activists and alternative spiritualists. By presenting themselves as “Custodians of Country” during these events, they lend an aura of Aboriginal authority to otherwise fringe protest movements, despite lacking any mandate from actual Aboriginal communities (GuriNgai.org, 2025). This pattern reflects how New Age environmentalism and Indigenous spirituality can be misappropriated to serve reactionary agendas. The GuriNgai adherents espouse a superficial love of Mother Earth and “traditional wisdom,” yet they often oppose genuine environmental measures (e.g. renewable energy installations or conservation developments) if those conflict with their conspiratorial worldview. Their concept of “caring for Country” is thus selectively deployed – it is less about following authentic Aboriginal custodial practices and more about validating settler grievances (such as distrust of government projects or technology) under the guise of Indigenous sanction.

Crucially, the GuriNgai movement reframes Indigeneity not as a lived system of kinship, law, and cultural obligation, but as an accessible spiritual experience or personal identity available to anyone who “feels connected” to the land. This resonates with global trends noted by researchers: in the era of DNA tests and identity fluidity, a growing number of individuals are treating ethnic identity as a personal choice or lifestyle (Watt & Kowal, 2019). The performative Indigeneity of the GuriNgai group – bolstered by social media, staged ceremonies, and pseudo-academic justifications – aligns with what anthropologist Eva Marie Garroutte once called the “DIY identity” phenomenon. By donning Aboriginal symbols, adopting Aboriginal-sounding names, or performing counterfeit “Smoking Ceremonies,” these settlers construct a spiritual persona of Indigeneity that is decoupled from the hard realities of Indigenous community belonging and law. Sociologists have observed similar behaviors in North America’s “Pretendian” cases, where non-Natives fabricate tribal affiliations to gain moral authority or material benefits (Teillet, 2022; Shawanda & Maracle, 2023). In both cases, the fraudsters often claim to be guided by an ecological or healing mission – they position themselves as wisdom-keepers or environmental prophets – even as they distort or appropriate sacred Indigenous knowledge.

One disturbing aspect of settler conspirituality is how it dovetails with far-right nativist narratives. The conspiracy-minded wing of the environmental movement (sometimes called “conservative conservationists”) uses green rhetoric to mask anti-government and anti-immigrant sentiment. Within the GuriNgai cult, there are hints of an exclusionary nativism: by claiming to be the “original” sovereign owners of a territory (despite being white), they invert the usual racial hierarchy of far-right nationalism. They essentially argue that they (white Australians claiming ancient ties) have more right to local land and voice than recent non-white immigrants or even other Australians, all the while sidelining true Aboriginal peoples. This logic creates an imagined community of “native” settlers who feel entitled to decide environmental and social issues free from state oversight or Indigenous oversight. It is, as Day and Carlson (2023) put it, a settler fantasy of indigenization that feeds into broader far-right aims. By elevating themselves as the spiritual authorities of the land, the GuriNgai proponents can justify defying government regulations (viewing them as illegitimate on “their” sovereign land) and can lend credence to conspiracy theories (since they claim access to ancient or hidden knowledge). In sum, the intersection of New Age spiritual ecology with far-right conspiracism in the GuriNgai saga illustrates how settler colonial impulses adapt to the 21st century: settlers attempt to reclaim Indigeneity as an identity and ideology that validates their anti-establishment positions. This is a dangerous development that subverts genuine Indigenous sovereignty and twists environmental discourse toward regressive ends.

Psychological and Cultural Harms to Aboriginal Communities

The proliferation of false Aboriginal identities like the GuriNgai has profound psychological and cultural impacts on legitimate Aboriginal peoples. First and foremost, it is experienced as an attack on identity and belonging. Aboriginal identity is not a casual label; it is deeply tied to family lineage, community relationships, and responsibilities to Country. When outsiders falsely appropriate this identity, it is a form of identity theft that strikes at the heart of how Aboriginal people define themselves and each other. Community leaders across Australia have expressed alarm at the rise of “fake Aborigines,” warning that these imposters sow confusion, mistrust, and resentment in both Indigenous and non-Indigenous spheres (Nimmo, 2022). Elders have described the phenomenon as a continuation of colonial erasure: just as past policies tried to eliminate or assimilate Indigenous peoples, these new frauds seek to replace authentic Aboriginal voices with counterfeit ones, effectively silencing the true custodians of culture.

One major harm is the miseducation of the public and of younger generations. For years, the GuriNgai claimants disseminated a false narrative of local Aboriginal history – for instance, promoting the myth that a singular “Guringai tribe” was the original people of the entire Central Coast and northern Sydney region. In reality, that area was and is home to multiple clans (such as the Darkinjung, Gayamaygal, Awabakal, among others) with distinct identities. By convincing schools, councils and media of their invented narrative, the imposters effectively rewrote history in the public mind, leading to textbooks, brochures and signage that perpetuated inaccuracies (Metropolitan LALC, 2020). Legitimate Aboriginal descendants found themselves having to prove their own heritage and correct false stories about their ancestors, a burden which is both exhausting and traumatising. As Indigenous scholar Leanne Bamblett (2013) notes, “our stories are our survival” (p. 5) – cultural continuity depends on accurate transmission of stories and knowledge through generations. When false storytellers insert themselves, they disrupt this transmission, threatening the survival of authentic stories. The cultural harm here is not only theoretical: it has real consequences in identity loss, as younger Aboriginal people may begin to doubt family histories or become uncertain about who their true community is amid conflicting claims.

Psychologically, Indigenous individuals often report feelings of anger, grief, and violation when confronted with cases of identity fraud. Many have likened it to a form of stolen valor or as if sacred regalia has been stolen and tarnished. The Jean Teillet report on Indigenous identity fraud in Canada – which echoes experiences in Australia – affirms that “Indigenous identity fraud causes harm. This is uncontested… every expert… insisted that misrepresentation matters” (Teillet, 2022, p. 36). Aboriginal people carry intergenerational traumas from colonisation, and identity is a critical part of healing and resilience. For outsiders to then falsely claim that same trauma (e.g., by fabricating tales of having Stolen Generation ancestors or surviving abuse) is, as one expert put it, “heinous” – it retraumatises communities by exploiting their pain for personal sympathy or advantage (Teillet, 2022, p. 37). In the GuriNgai case, some imposters have indeed co-opted Indigenous trauma narratives, portraying themselves as victims of historical injustices that never actually befell their families. This not only invalidates the real suffering of Aboriginal families but also triggers new distress, as actual survivors see their life stories mimicked by charlatans.

Another harm is the erosion of trust within and between communities. Indigenous communities often operate on trust and mutual recognition – you know who is “rightful” through kinship networks and reputational integrity. The introduction of convincing frauds can lead to witch-hunts and paranoia, where even legitimate members might face invasive questioning about their pedigree (Bennett, 2019). For example, fair-skinned or urban-raised Aboriginal people (who are no less Aboriginal by blood) may find themselves unfairly suspected of being “fake” because imposters have made the public cynical. This makes it harder for real Aboriginal people, especially youth, to confidently embrace their identity (Bennett, 2019). It effectively raises the bar of proof and scrutiny that Aboriginal people have to meet to be “believed,” which is a psychological burden not placed on members of the majority society regarding their identities.

The social fabric of Aboriginal communities also suffers. Identity fraudsters sow division by creating splinter groups or “rival” councils that confuse governance and representation. In the Central Coast, the GuriNgai group often positioned itself in competition with established Land Councils and elders. This forced legitimate community leaders to divert time and energy to countering the imposters – energy that could have gone into positive community development. The sense of always being on the defensive, guarding the gates of identity, takes a toll on community morale. As sociologist Yin Paradies (2006) observes, Indigenous identities in contemporary Australia are already navigating complex tensions between essentialism and hybridity after centuries of colonisation and assimilation. False claimants add another destabilizing layer to this complexity, threatening to render Indigeneity so “fluid” that it becomes meaningless or perpetually contested. If “anyone” can eventually claim to be Aboriginal without challenge, then Aboriginal people fear the ultimate result would be a cultural hollowing-out – a scenario in which Aboriginality is treated as a public domain commodity rather than an ancestral birthright. Such an outcome would constitute a profound cultural harm, effectively replicating colonial dispossession under a new guise.

Media, Government, and the Challenge of Identity Verification

The case of the GuriNgai identity fraud also exposes how media and government institutions, often inadvertently, contribute to the problem. In the early stages of the GuriNgai group’s rise, local media outlets on the Central Coast and northern Sydney frequently ran human-interest stories featuring self-proclaimed GuriNgai elders. These stories — usually intended to celebrate Indigenous culture — failed to fact-check the credentials of their subjects. Newspapers and radio gave airtime to individuals simply because they presented themselves as Aboriginal cultural figures, complete with traditional titles like “Uncle” or “Aunty,” and compelling personal narratives. The lack of due diligence can be attributed in part to a well-meaning but naive ethos of “respect” in which journalists and officials are hesitant to question someone’s Indigenous identity for fear of being seen as racist or impolite. This created an environment ripe for exploitation. The GuriNgai claimants became locally famous as representatives of Aboriginal culture, which in turn led schools, councils, and even state agencies to consult them on matters of cultural heritage and land management (Metropolitan LALC, 2020). In effect, media validation led to institutional validation, forming a feedback loop that entrenched the false identity.

Government complicity was often a sin of omission rather than commission. Prior to 2020, there was no clear protocol in New South Wales for government bodies to verify the authenticity of someone presenting as an Aboriginal elder or knowledge-holder outside of formal Native Title processes. Local councils, for example, might rely on word-of-mouth or the presence of an Aboriginal-sounding organization name (e.g., a “Guringai Tribal Council”) as sufficient proof. In the Central Coast scenario, the imposters formed incorporated associations and companies with names suggesting Indigenous status, and some even obtained small grants or payments for delivering “cultural awareness” workshops and Welcome to Country performances. This not only diverted resources away from genuine Indigenous communities, but also gave a veneer of official legitimacy to the fraudsters. It was only after strong advocacy by legitimate Aboriginal bodies – such as the letter from seven LALCs to the NSW Premier – that the State apparatus began to pull back its recognition. The New South Wales government’s eventual removal of “Guringai” place signage and exclusion of the claimants from consultation roles (Darkinjung LALC, 2022) can be seen as an attempt to correct the earlier complicity. However, this reactive response highlights that existing government frameworks were ill-equipped to preempt such fraud.

At the core of the issue is the challenge of identity verification in a post-colonial society. Australia traditionally uses a Three-Part Definition of Aboriginality: descent (the person must have Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander ancestry), self-identification as Indigenous, and community acceptance as such (AIATSIS, 2023). In practice, the third criterion – acceptance by the relevant Aboriginal community – is the gatekeeping mechanism against false claims. Usually, Indigenous-run organisations (like Local Aboriginal Land Councils or community councils) issue “Confirmation of Aboriginality” letters to individuals who can demonstrate their descent and are known to the community. The GuriNgai imposters sought to bypass this safeguard by creating their own “community” structures. For instance, they established their own associations and anointed each other as members or elders, thereby simulating the appearance of community acceptance. Because they had no actual descent from the historical clans of the Central Coast, they could not obtain recognition from legitimate Darkinjung or metropolitan Sydney elders – so instead, they conferred legitimacy upon themselves. This reveals a loophole: if a group of non-Indigenous people coordinate to all claim the same invented Aboriginal identity and mutually affirm one another, they can create a self-referential “community” that outsiders might mistake as authentic. It is essentially a closed circle of validation that excludes genuine Aboriginal authorities. Such tactics make a mockery of the spirit of the three-part test. As legal scholars Mark McMillan and Cosima McRae (2015) observed, the very definitions of Aboriginality that were once used by colonial governments to control Indigenous people are now being twisted by some settlers to “repossess Aboriginal identity for personal, political, or institutional gain” (p. 235).

Historically, Australian law has been reluctant to police Indigenous identity claims through punitive measures. There is no specific criminal offense for falsely claiming Aboriginal identity, unlike in Canada or the United States where there have been instances of job termination or even fraud charges for people misrepresenting their minority status in academic or professional settings (Teillet, 2022). The absence of legal penalties in Australia means that, aside from moral opprobrium or community action, there is little to deter a determined imposter. They risk losing face if exposed, but not much else. This legal gap has prompted calls for reform. Some Indigenous advocates argue that severe and knowing cases of identity fraud (especially for material benefit) should be prosecutable, akin to fraudulently claiming benefits or credentials. In Canada, a recent “Pretendian” investigation report recommended exploring the criminalisation of egregious fraudulent claims and tightening verification processes in universities and public institutions (Shawanda & Maracle, 2023). While criminal law intervention in Australia might be a controversial step, there is growing agreement that at minimum, institutions must implement stricter vetting. The Jean Teillet report (2022) strongly recommends that decision-making power about identity be returned to Indigenous communities themselves, rather than left to bureaucrats or taken at face value. In practice, this means universities, employers, and government agencies should defer to Aboriginal community-controlled organisations (like Land Councils or prescribed bodies corporate) to confirm a person’s claim to Aboriginality (Teillet, 2022, p. 50). It also means improving record-keeping, such as supporting genealogical research and databases under Indigenous oversight to validate lineage claims in sensitive cases – all while being careful to respect privacy and avoid re-stigmatizing those Indigenous people who, because of historical removal or assimilation, may not have complete records.

Another aspect of the legal context is Native Title and cultural heritage law. As highlighted by the Darkinjung LALC (2022) submission, the Native Title Act 1993 (Cth) provides a rigorous process for recognizing Traditional Owners, but not every community has a native title determination, and not all valid Traditional Owner groups will succeed in court for historical reasons. In New South Wales, the Aboriginal Land Rights Act 1983 (NSW) fills some gaps by establishing Local Aboriginal Land Councils, which are statutory bodies representing Aboriginal people in various regions irrespective of native title status. However, imposters who are not members of these Land Councils (since membership requires proving Aboriginal descent) sometimes claim to represent an alternative traditional group outside the Land Council/Native Title framework. The GuriNgai group attempted exactly this, which led Darkinjung LALC to stress that where native title has not recognized a Traditional Owner group, the default cultural authorities should be those Aboriginal people organized under the Land Rights Act (Darkinjung LALC, 2022). In effect, the law needs to clearly delineate who speaks for Country in the absence of a court-certified native title holder: otherwise, self-styled groups will exploit the ambiguity. The Darkinjung and Metropolitan LALCs have lobbied the NSW Government to formally acknowledge LALCs as the appropriate consultees on cultural heritage matters unless a recognized Traditional Owner corporation exists (Metropolitan LALC, 2020). Such policy clarifications would deprive fraudulent groups of the opportunity to insert themselves as “stakeholders” in heritage consultations or development approvals.

Finally, it is worth situating the issue in a broader human rights context. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), to which Australia is a signatory, affirms that Indigenous peoples have the right to determine their own identity or membership in accordance with their customs and traditions (United Nations, 2007, Article 33). This principle implies that questions of who is (or isn’t) Indigenous should be answered by Indigenous community mechanisms, not by self-declaration alone. Identity fraud by settlers is a direct affront to Indigenous self-determination: it is essentially outsiders claiming the right to define themselves into an Indigenous community without that community’s consent. In the spirit of UNDRIP, Australian governments and institutions have an obligation to strengthen frameworks that respect and uphold the authority of Indigenous communities to verify and authenticate Indigenous identity. Doing so not only protects Aboriginal people from fraud and appropriation, but also fosters greater trust in intercultural engagements by ensuring that those who speak as Aboriginal representatives are who they purport to be.

Conclusion

The saga of the fabricated GuriNgai identity on the Central Coast of NSW illuminates the complex and damaging nature of Indigenous identity fraud in contemporary Australia. What might appear at first as isolated cases of individual misrepresentation are, in fact, symptoms of deeper structural and ideological currents – including the enduring legacy of settler colonialism and the rise of “conspirituality” subcultures. False claims to Aboriginal identity, as seen with the GuriNgai group, operate as a form of neocolonial violence: they reassert settler dominance over Indigenous land and story by co-opting the very identity of the First Peoples. This not only harms those communities through cultural theft and emotional trauma, but it also confuses the wider public narrative about whose knowledge and authority should guide environmental stewardship and cultural heritage in Australia. In the GuriNgai example, we saw how easily settler Australians could don the cloak of Indigeneity to advance agendas ranging from personal fame to far-right political activism. The intersections with environmental activism and new-age spirituality gave the fraud a seductive appeal to some, but ultimately it traded on and trivialized authentic Aboriginal relationships to land.

Protecting against such identity fraud requires both vigilance and reform. On one hand, Aboriginal communities and our allies must continue proactive truth-telling to expose imposters and educate the public – initiatives exemplified by community-led websites archiving evidence, as well as public statements from Land Councils setting the record straight. On the other hand, institutions must not leave communities to fight alone. There is a clear need for more robust, Aboriginal-led identity verification processes in government, academia, and other sectors. This could include standardized requirements that any claim of Aboriginal identity for official purposes (such as employment or consultation roles) be accompanied by documentation of community endorsement, verified through recognised Indigenous bodies. At the same time, reforms should be sensitive to not unduly burden or “police” genuine Indigenous people – a balance that Indigenous leaders themselves are best positioned to design. Legal deterrents could also be considered for extreme cases of willful fraud, especially where people have financially benefited or materially harmed communities by their deception. Comparative perspectives from Canada and the US suggest that consequences (like job loss or public censure) do have a role to play in discouraging would-be fraudsters (Teillet, 2022; Shawanda & Maracle, 2023).

Ultimately, addressing settler imposture is part of the larger project of decolonisation. As Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2021) reminds us, decolonizing efforts involve reclaiming control over Indigenous identities and narratives. In practice, this means centering Indigenous voices in any determination of who belongs to their people. It also means educating non-Indigenous Australians that Aboriginality is not an abstract spiritual commodity one can acquire through desire or distant ancestry – it is a living heritage, inseparable from community and Country. The complicity of media and officials in the GuriNgai case was a hard lesson that cultural sensitivity must be paired with due diligence; respect for Indigenous identity includes respecting the processes by which Indigenous communities affirm that identity. As Australia moves forward with initiatives like truth-telling commissions and debates about constitutional recognition, there is an opportunity to also shine a light on the less-visible injustices like identity fraud. The fight against Indigenous identity fraud is, at its core, a fight for integrity and justice: integrity of identity, and justice for Indigenous peoples whose identities are so often the target of colonial manipulation.

In closing, the Central Coast GuriNgai episode should serve as a cautionary tale and a call to action. If unaddressed, such falsifications risk replaying the very dispossession and cultural harm that Australia’s reconciliation efforts seek to remedy. However, by learning from this case – and by implementing community-guided safeguards – we can help ensure that Aboriginal identity remains in the rightful custodianship of those to whom it truly belongs. Only then can the relationship between settler and First Nations Australians be built on honesty, respect, and mutual recognition rather than on deception or misunderstanding.

JD Cooke.

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