NAIDOC Week is one of the few times each year when Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples come together to celebrate our cultures, histories, resilience and achievements. It is a time to honour those who came before us, recognise the leaders walking beside us and inspire those who will follow.

This year carries even greater significance as we celebrated 50 Years of Deadly, marking half a century of recognising the strength of our people and the generations who carried us through adversity so we could stand where we do today.

It should be a week filled with pride.

Yet for many Aboriginal people, it can also become a reminder of one of the greatest challenges we continue to face within our own communities: Lateral violence.

It is an uncomfortable conversation, but one we can no longer avoid.

Sometimes the harshest criticism Aboriginal people receive does not come from outside our communities. It comes from our own mob.

Too often, when someone steps forward to represent community, deliver a speech, receive an award, start a business, take on a leadership role or simply share their story, they are met with whispered criticism instead of encouragement.

Those conversations rarely happen face to face. They happen after the event has finished, around kitchen tables, in phone calls, through text messages, on social media and behind closed doors, where words quietly chip away at a person's confidence, credibility and sense of belonging.

Many of us know exactly what that feels like.

For some, the fear of being judged by their own people is enough to stop them from ever putting their hand up. Others continue anyway, carrying the weight of knowing that visibility often comes with scrutiny from those they hoped would stand beside them.

That should concern all of us.

This is not about suggesting we should never challenge one another. Accountability has always been part of our cultures. Our Old People corrected us with care because they wanted us to grow stronger. They held us to high standards because every person carried responsibility to family, community and Country.

Lateral violence is something entirely different. It does not seek to strengthen. It seeks to diminish. It replaces guidance with gossip. It replaces encouragement with jealousy. It replaces truth telling with quiet resentment.

If we are honest, it has become one of the greatest barriers preventing many of our own people from stepping into leadership.

We know where it comes from. Colonisation disrupted our governance systems, fractured families, displaced communities and forced our people to compete for limited opportunities. The impacts of those policies continue to echo through our communities today.

Understanding that history matters. Accepting it as our future is not the way forward.

Our Ancestors did not fight for survival so that we would become another obstacle standing in the way of our own people. They fought so we could walk freely. They fought so our children could dream bigger than they ever had the opportunity to. They fought so future generations could access opportunities that once seemed impossible.

Every Aboriginal person who chooses to step forward carries a responsibility that extends far beyond themselves.

When an Aboriginal woman stands behind a lectern, a young girl in the audience begins to imagine herself standing there too.

When one of our mob builds a successful business, they show our young people that economic independence belongs to us as much as anyone else.

When an Aboriginal person takes a seat at the decision-making table, they create space for another to follow.

That is why representation matters. Not because it is about individual recognition. Because it creates collective possibility.

Our young people are always watching. They are watching how we celebrate one another. They are watching how we speak about one another. They are learning whether leadership is something worth striving for or whether it comes at the cost of belonging.

What lesson are we teaching if every person who steps forward becomes a target for criticism from their own community?

If we genuinely want stronger communities, stronger organisations and stronger futures, then we must create more space for our people to lead, not less.

Supporting one another does not mean agreeing on everything. It means understanding that another person's success does not diminish your own.

There is room for all of us.

As we celebrate 50 Years of Deadly, perhaps the greatest question we should ask ourselves is not whether we are honouring our achievements, but whether we are honouring each other.

Being deadly has never been about individual recognition. It has always been about community. It has always been about walking together. It has always been about leaving the path wider than we found it.

Our Old People carried us through some of the darkest chapters of our history because they understood that nobody walks alone.

That same responsibility now rests with us.

The greatest legacy we can leave the next generation is not another speech about leadership. It is showing them what leadership looks like.

So when you see one of our mob putting themselves out there, clap the loudest. Encourage them. Stand beside them. Celebrate them.

Because if we truly believe in 50 Years of Deadly, then the greatest way we can honour that legacy is by lifting one another up instead of pulling each other down.

That is what being deadly has always meant.

And that is the legacy the next generation deserves to inherit.