How the tragic death of a surfing hero led a community to take action

First Nations people are taking their lives at double the rate of non-Indigenous Australians. With the power of the ocean, survivors and family members impacted by suicide are fighting to change that.

It was 8am on a spring Saturday when Amber Hamer’s plans came crashing down.

For months, she had monitored the maps, observed the direction of the wind, and hoped for waves big enough for a surfing competition to honour her late father.

Amber is standing at the same beach her father brought her to the day she was born.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“The ocean will always remind you that you’re not in control,” she said.

Amber was standing at the same beach her father brought her to the day she was born.

Amber is a toddler sitting in the arms of her dad Eric. He is shirtless and wearing shorts — Amber as a baby with her father Eric Mercy.(Supplied: Amber Hamer)

With her younger brother, James, by her side, she remained cool and calm — just like the ocean was, as they called off the annual Naru Surf Gathering competition.

James is wearing a purple tee with the words 'Naru Surf Gathering'. Amber is standing next to him by the cliffside — Amber and James discussed the next steps after cancelling the surf competition.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“Everything is challenged, like most things in life, but we have to push on,” Amber said.

The previous day, carloads of families had arrived at Saltwater National Park, south of Taree, filled to the brim with camping gear, surfboards and smiling kids.

Three boys are standing at the back of a ute with the window open. They have three surboards next to them leaning on the car — Kids were excited to reconnect with friends and family.(ABC News: John Gunn)

A young girl is wearing a wetsuit with the Aboriginal flag in the middle with the words NARU. She is next to a surfboard — Young surfers couldn’t wait to carve up some waves at Saltwater National Park.(ABC News: John Gunn)

The anticipation of winning the surfing title wasn’t the only attraction; it was the warm feeling of mingling with mob from different parts of the country, too.

Behind the smiles and hugs, buried beneath the surface, was a tragedy rarely spoken about.

Like Amber, many people here, including children, had been touched by it.

This empowering grassroots event was about the strength of connection, because its origin started with a heartbreaking loss.

WARNING: First Nations readers are advised that this article contains the name and image of someone who has died. All readers, please take care when reading; this story references suicide.

The legacy of ‘Naru’

Amber’s bond with the ocean runs through her bloodline, but her love for surfing is a gift from her father, Eric Mercy.

“Dad was just obsessed with surfing,” the proud Biripi, Worimi and Bundjalung woman said.

Eric is standing in front of the the beach holding a white surfboard. He is wearing a wetshirt and shorts — Eric Mercy spent a lot of time surfing on Bundjalung country in Coffs Harbour.(Supplied)

Eric is standing in front of a house holding up a surfboard. On the ground in front of him is 7 surfboards he made. — Eric started shaping surfboards out of a shed in 1989 under his label ‘Naru’.(Supplied)

Eric is carving up a wave in a black and blue wetsuit and white long surfboard — Eric competed in surfing competitions across Australia and overseas.(supplied)

Eric was a Bundjalung man who grew up on Gumbaynggirr Country in Coffs Harbour.

He didn’t fit the mould of Australian surfing culture in the 80s and 90s, but this was his driving force in nurturing the next generation of surfers.

He shared his passion with others, shaping surfboards out of a shed under his label “Naru”, which stems from the Gumbaynggirr word for water: “Nalu”.

From ocean awareness workshops to surfing camps, he was known for his “big heart” and “passion for the younger crew”.

The graphic includes three polaroid photos of Eric Mercy with big groups of First Nations children — Eric Mercy made surfing an accessible sport through surf camps he ran for local kids.(ABC News Graphics: Lindsay)

Eric captained one of Australia’s first all-Aboriginal surfing teams, “The Originals”, which took him to the mecca of surfing — Hawaii — in 1995, where he represented Australia on a cultural tour.

Eric Mercy captained one of the country’s first all-Aboriginal surfing teams: ‘The Originals’(supplied)

The image is a black and white montage of four newspaper clippings from the 90s about Indigenous surfers. — Eric Mercy was part of a growing cohort of talented First Nations surfers in Australia(ABC News Graphics: Lindsay)

But this trip changed his life after a friend on the same tour was killed in a hit-and-run accident.

Eric returned home never the same, and two years later, he took his own life.

The end of a white surfboard with beige border and small Aboriginal flag — The ocean was a special bonding place for Amber and her Dad.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“As soon as I heard the tone of [mum’s] voice, I knew he was gone,” Amber reflected.

Amber is looking out into the ocean while holding her surfboard. She is wearing a beige hat with stripey overalls — This is same beach that Amber’s dad brought her to the day she was born(ABC News: John Gunn)

“The reality of never seeing my dad and never speaking to him again was foreign to me and that took a very long time to process.”

What followed were more deaths in the family, compounding the trauma and grief.

“We went from having somewhat of a normal childhood to going to funeral after funeral,” Amber said.

“It was hard to hear the phone ring and not know what the conversation would be on the other end.”

Out of the heartache, a special bond was born between Amber and James.

Amber is a young child standing next to her little brother and their dad is standing to their left. They are all smiling — Amber and her brother James with their dad, Eric Mercy(Supplied: Amber Hamer)

Amber is wearing a white acket standing next to her brother James who is wearing a purple shirt that says Naru — Amber and her brother James have been navigating hurdles together since they were young. (ABC News: John Gunn)

“Mum was processing her grief and going through the motions, so I appreciated having my brother there because he was someone to work through it and surf with,” she said.

“I’d keep an eye out for him, and he’d keep an eye out for me.”

James Mercy is standing next to his mum and his sister Amber. They are all smiling at the camera a fig tree in the background — James and Amber with their mother Val Saunders (middle).(ABC News: John Gunn)

In 2017, on the 20th anniversary of Eric’s passing, the siblings started Naru Surf Gathering to honour their father and tackle the taboo around mental health.

“There is stigma talking about when you’re struggling or life’s getting too hard, but having these conversations is important,” Amber said.

“If this had been here when Dad was around, maybe it would have helped keep him here for a bit longer.”

Eric’s death is a stark reminder of the suicide statistics haunting Australia.

Over the past 15 years, the suicide and self-harm rates of First Nations people have steadily increased.

The latest statistics show this cohort are taking their lives at more than double the rate non-Indigenous Australians.

I’m not only Aboriginal; I’m a human being too

Back on the camping grounds under the canopy of an old fig tree, Aunty Veronica Saunders sat down to reflect on her life.

At first glance, her trauma is well hidden.

Smiling from ear to ear, her warmth radiates to everyone she meets.

Aunty Veronica is sitting on a white outdoor chair. She is wearing a rainbow coloured tie dye dress — Aunty Veronica Saunders is a strong matriarch because of the battles she has defeated.(ABC News: John Gunn)

Aunty Veronica’s work as a teacher, nurse, and advocate for children in the out-of-home care system demonstrates her deep love for her community.

As she unpacks decades gone by, she talks about one of the toughest chapters in her life.

Aunty Veronica Saunders reflects on the toughest chapters of her life and how she overcame them( ABC News: John Gunn)

“I wanted to die; I didn’t want to be here anymore,” she reflected.

The 65-year-old grandmother attempted suicide twice.

“I felt alone. I felt like there was no-one there for me.”

The strength that Aunty Veronica embodies today stems from overcoming battles — some as early as childhood.

She still remembers the fear in her mum’s voice when the “welfare cars” visited Purfleet Mission. Hiding quietly under the stairs as they inspected the house, she was terrified of being taken, like those before her.

“Mum would tell us to hide or run down the bush, and she’d sing out and tell us when to come back. That was scary because my mum was part of the Stolen Generations,” she said.

Life under the NSW Protection Act has created lifelong trauma that Aunty Veronica and many other First Nations people are still battling with today.

“It’s too hard to talk about but it was horrible some of the things we went through,” she reflected.

“I regularly see someone (a psychologist) because they’re still taking away our kids, they’re still treating us like second-class citizens, and sometimes that makes me feel like I’m a nobody.

“I’m not only Aboriginal, I’m a human being too,” she said.

Family, country, and the support of a psychologist at her local Aboriginal Medical Service (AMS) helped her heal.

Aunty Veronica is wearing a tie dye dress. She is standing at the beach with children playing in the background — Spending time on Country is how Aunty Veronica looks after her mental health(ABC News: John Gunn)

“I go to the beach every day, sit down for a few hours and listen to the waves,” she said.

“Even after what I’ve done, I realise I am a strong woman. I’m still here for my kids, my grandkids and my community and that’s all that matters.”

As children’s laughter echoed in the background, she remembered life before technology and social media, where Country was the classroom, and Elders were the teachers.

“The way I was brought up by my Elders made me feel stronger,” she said.

“I want our kids to have those values and beliefs so they feel good about who they are.”

Lessons on Country

Naru Surf Gathering was a glimpse of the years Aunty Veronica reminisced about.

There wasn’t a device in sight, and phone reception was patchy.

Signs, usually in English, were swapped to the Biripi language.

Five young children are sititng in a row looking straight ahead. One child is looking to camera smiling — Children gathered around the campgrounds to listen to Elders share stories.(ABC News: John Gunn)

Sitting around the campground, stories of the “old days” and highlights from across the weekend were shared.

Uncles made public service announcements like: “Collect your rubbish, you’re on sacred lands,” followed by “Anyone got any teabags? The aunties have run out.”

Visitors near and far visit the national park for picnics and good surf, but for the Biripi people, this has always been a special gathering place.

An aerial view of Saltwater National Park — Saltwater National Park is on Biripi Country, a few kilometres south of Taree, NSW.(ABC News: John Gunn)

Deep within the park are cultural sites where women would come to have their babies and boys would go through their initiation process.

The trees are sacred too — one that bends like an arch has witnessed marriage ceremonies over the decades, and another called “the tree of knowledge” towers over the camping ground like a protector in times of need.

Everyone here, including young kids, knew about these ceremonial sites.

“You feel so at peace at this place, you know the ancestors are here, you can feel them,” Aunty Veronica said.

The cheeky bush turkeys roaming freely around the grounds are part of the family, known to some as “the old ancestors”.

“We still talk about our Elders, and we try and keep them alive because they were so special to us,” she said.

On the banks of the lagoon, carrying the weight of a group of young children was a venerable tree.

A group of children are climbing an old tree on the edge of a lagoon. There is splashes from the water sprinkling over the kids — The giggles of children could be heard across the campground as they played by the lagoon.(ABC News: John Gunn)

One after another, they launched off a rope and somersaulted into the water as hours passed.

Breaking barriers

It was nearing the end of the Naru Surf Gathering when one of Australia’s much-loved NRL players arrived.

Everyone gathered in anticipation under a large marquee to hear how he overcame a struggle that almost cost him his life.

Preston Campbell is running with a football in his arm dodging a Melbourne Storm player — Preston Campbell during a Cronulla Sharks vs Melbourne Storm in 2001.(Supplied: AAP)

A Daly M Award-winner, Preston Campbell was at the height of his career in the early 2000s.

Away from the stadium lights, cameras, and roaring action, the proud Gamilaroi man was struggling with depression.

Preston is sitting on a chair with a NRL football beside his face. He is wearing a black tee with a feather in the Aboriginal — Preston reflects on the journey he took to improve his mental health(ABC News: John Gunn)

“I did my best to keep it undercover and it’s one of those things that is so ‘sinister’, we don’t want people to see that we’re suffering,” he said.

“You put so much energy into [hiding] it and it was tiring.”

A coaching staff member helped Preston get professional support, but that wasn’t the only challenge he had to confront.

“Talking to people outside that counselling room was probably the hardest thing for me,” he said.

“Mum and Dad didn’t realise I attempted to take my own life.”

While Preston has overcome that chapter of his life, he uses those lessons to empower others to look after their mental health.

It looked like he was running a footy skills clinic, but it was quite the opposite.

For the first round of activities, footballs were passed to each member of the group, with the directions changing every couple of minutes.

There was one rule: you’re not allowed to talk.

Preston is standing in the background while two boys are playing football. Preston is wearing a black tee shirt and khaki shorts — From kids to adults, everyone joined in on the fun while reflecting on their mental health (ABC News: John Gunn)

A young boy is about to catch a football. He is looking with immense concentration in his eyes. He is wearing a purple tee — The game ‘Tongue Toss’ was a lesson in talking about your struggles and letting go of mistakes(ABC News: John Gunn)

Taking away the fundamental communication skills even impacted the group’s most talented footy players.

“It’s about helping people understand that being uncomfortable is normal. Once they realise, they can do it, they start to grow confidence,” he said.

As the Sun’s rays pierced over the group, everyone hot and sweaty after the game, gathered under the tent to debrief.

You can hear the wisdom and strength in Preston’s voice that can only come from defeating a difficult time.

Preston is facing the crowd and is wearing a black shirt that says 'live above the line' — The crowd listened quietly as Preston talked about the power of communicating with loved ones.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“The point of the game is to help you realise you need people on your team. In life, we isolate ourselves so much, and sometimes we don’t even realise it,” he said.

It was a lesson that resonated with 16-year-old Biripi teen, Warner Saunders.

Warner is wearing a Rabbitohs jersey and a hat with the Aboriginal flag on it. He has black hair and brown eyes — Warner Saunders says spending time out on country with his friends is one way he looks after his mental health.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“It can get overwhelming sometimes so it’s very important to look after your mental health,” he said.

Four Aboriginal teenagers standing in a row. The second last child is holding a footy with the words 'state of mind' on it — Some of the teens that participated in the state of mind mental health workshop(ABC News: John Gunn)

“I try to talk and stay close to people I feel safe around. When I’m out on Country, it feels like I’m connected to something bigger, and it feels great being out here.

“You gotta look out for people because you don’t know what they’re going through. Just let them know, ‘it’ll be right,'” he said.

Preston asked the group what they found most difficult.

“No talking,” replied a few.

“That shows the importance of communication and the language we use,” Preston responded.

He shifted the conversation to address the use of the word “shame”, which could be heard when someone fumbled the ball.

“Shame was a punishment back in the day, a fear of disconnection,” he explained.

“A lot of people are stuck in shame, and they’re getting sick.”

In today’s context, he said sitting in “shame” after making a mistake hinders growth.

“We don’t grow while being shame, we stay in our comfort zone,” Preston said.

As some nodded and agreed, he shared some wise advice from his grandfather.

“You have to be like a creek, keep moving because what happens to water when it stays still? You become stagnant, very toxic,” he said.

“Things around it die like vegetation, no animals come there, it’s a very unhealthy environment.

“You gotta think of yourself as a creek or a river, constantly moving,” he explained.

Power of Vitamin Sea

Physically moving helped Bundjalung man Sam Wilson get through the grief of losing his best mate.

Growing up in the “surfy village” of Lennox Heads in northern New South Wales, there were only a couple of shops and a pub, which made surfing an important outlet to keep young people busy and away “from violence.”

But it took on a new meaning when Sam rode the wave of emotions after receiving heartbreaking news.

His best mate of 20 years had taken his own life.

Sam is holding a surfborad under his left arm as he walks into the ocean for a surf. He is wearing a tee with boardshorts — Sam says the signs his friend was struggling with his mental health were hidden.(ABC News: John Gunn)

“That last conversation haunts me because I now know what he was going through,” he said.

“He came to me and said, ‘Hey, Sam, I’d love to catch up with you. Maybe we could have dinner and cook some food?'”

“I never took him up on that and two months later we found out that he’d taken his life.”

Swept up in grief, Sam began to isolate himself.

Sam is looking out to the ocean reflecting on his friendship with his mate. He is holding a surfboard under his arm — Surfing helped Sam deal with the grief of losing his friend and a tool he uses to get through the tough days(ABC News: John Gunn)

“I was just in disbelief. I was tormented; I was angry with myself; I was angry with him and sad for his family,” he said.

Then a text came through from a mate: “The waves are good. What are you up to?”

“Friendships get you through hard times and it’s so important to talk, especially for boys,” he said.

Surfing had always provided a “natural dopamine hit,” even when he couldn’t express his feelings.

“Often you paddle out with a friend, and sometimes you don’t even talk. It’s weird, it’s not like other sports, but we’re all just experiencing it and living in that moment,” he said.

“I’ve never come out after a surf and felt worse, and I’ve had some shitty surfs.”

Surfs up

Surfers — young and old- spread across the shore — to hear Amber and James’s new plan.

Group of Aboriginal surfers of all ages are standing and sitting with their colourful surfboards — As the sun shined brightly, First Nations surfers gathered on the beach ready to embark on a group paddle.(ABC News: John Gunn)

A man and a young girl are walking into the ocean with their surboards. The man is wearing a wetsuit — First Nations surfers travelled from different corners of the country to attend the Naru Surf Gathering event(ABC News: John Gunn)

Four girls are paddling on their surfboards in the depth of the ocean while the sun beams in the background — Amber is leading a group of young girls on the paddle around the saltwater national park(ABC News: John Gunn)

With the ocean still flat and calm, it made the perfect opportunity for a group paddle around the cliff face to the other side of the beach.

A moment to catch a break from the frantic buzz of a competition and slow down.

The sun is beaming over the ocean with the edge of the national park cliff face at the forfront — Some of the surfers said the paddle around the cliff face gave them a ‘different perspective’ on life.(ABC News: John Gunn)

Some say Eric’s spirit could be felt out in the ocean.

“I know there’s been a few times where a wave will come, and I thought that’s Dad. I often feel very close to him out there,” Amber said.

And just as luck had it, the swell picked up just enough to break a few waves as the group came around the bend, making the home stretch back to the shore.

Two Aboriginal surfers are riding a small wave — Two surfers managed to ride a few small waves (ABC News: John Gunn)

A man is riding a wave. His surfboard has crashed through the wave but he has maintained balance. He is wearing a black wetsuit — Some managed to carve out decent waves as they paddle around the bend(ABC News: John Gunn)

Bundjalung pro surfer Melissa Combo riding a wave.(ABC News: John Gunn)

A young girl is jumping in the air at the end of the beach shore. She is wearing a pink swimsuit — Everyone felt the joy of the being in the ocean and the special memories that were made(ABC News: John Gunn)

This year’s Naru Surf Gathering looked different from those in the past.

But life is unpredictable, and the only certain thing is that there will be obstacles along the way.

With a little change in direction and a splash of perseverance, it shows destinations can still be reached — just in a different way.

[

Amber is wearing a black wetsuit and cap with 'Naru' written on it. She is a hugging a young girl — This year’s Naru Surf Gathering was a little different to those in the past but it’s one everyone won’t forget. (ABC News: John Gunn)

“We got to explore other amazing elements of connection with each other. Paddling around the headline was just phenomenal and something that will stick with us for a very long time,” Amber said.

“Dad would be really proud.”

Credits

Words and production: By Tahnee Jash

Photographs: By John Gunn and supplied.