At 8.30am on Friday morning David Connolly was sworn in as the 24th Administrator of the Northern Territory. It should have been a moment which brought Territorians together. Instead, it has deepened a divide that has been building for weeks.

As an Aboriginal woman, a mother, and a long-time resident of the NT, I have watched this appointment unfold with growing concern. The role of Administrator is meant to be politically neutral, dignified and steady. It carries the authority of the Crown and a salary of $377,000. It is not symbolic. It matters.

Yet this appointment was a captain's pick by the Chief Minister. Not a consensus choice. Not a unifying figure. At a time when the Territory needed someone who could bring people together, an exclusionary choice was made instead.

For weeks, the community has pleaded with both the Territory and federal governments to reconsider. An open letter signed by concerned Territorians urged the Prime Minister to rescind the appointment and review the process. Four Labor MPs and three crossbenchers walked out of Parliament. Marion Scrymgour called it an "appalling pick" and said Mr Connolly was "not fit to be Administrator".

Why? Because of his own words. Social media posts mocking Welcome to Country. Claims that Indigenous people are "fast-tracked" through services. Comments trivialising sexual assault. Jokes about domestic violence. Remarks labelled racist and denigrating of women. Even after an eleventh-hour apology, women's advocates said the position was untenable.

This role requires impartiality, restraint and respect. Those are not abstract ideals. They are foundational in a jurisdiction where racial tension, domestic violence and deaths in custody are not theoretical debates but lived realities.

So on Friday morning, community members gathered peacefully outside Parliament House to continue to plead our case. Around 100 people. Families. Elders. Children.

My 16-year-old daughter was among them. She is in Year 12 at a Darwin school and is currently studying protest as a social construct and good citizenry. She is learning about democracy, about civic participation, about holding governments to account. It felt important that she attend a peaceful protest and see democracy in action.

Instead, she saw mounted police. She saw hordes of officers lining the entrance. She heard shouts of "not my Administrator" as the red carpet was rolled out. And she watched as a beloved Larrakia Elder, Uncle Eric Fejo, was manhandled and violently arrested.

From eyewitness accounts and footage, Uncle Eric calmly stepped onto the grass, hands by his side, stating he had a right to walk on his own land. He did not raise his voice. He posed no threat.

Two officers refused to engage, warning him not to take another step. Moments later he was forcibly taken, pushed backwards and dropped into a paddy wagon. There are grave concerns about a possible head injury.

My husband moved calmly toward the vehicle to check on Uncle Eric's wellbeing. He was shoved back. Others were pushed. My daughter, standing in a public space, was barged by a police horse.

She came home shaken and distressed.

This is not happening in a vacuum. Last year, Kumanjayi White, a 24-year-old Warlpiri man, died after being restrained by off-duty police in an Alice Springs Coles. Police are investigating themselves. The family's calls for an independent inquiry were rejected. We are still waiting for answers.

My daughter has grown up in the NT. She knows Kumanjayi Walker was shot and killed by police in Yuendumu. She hears the rhetoric directed at Indigenous teenagers. She understands deaths in custody remain at crisis levels nationally.

When one of us is taken into custody, we do not rest easy. As I write this, a roster of supporters sits outside Palmerston watch house, a facility that has itself been condemned, waiting and worrying, asking the same question we always ask: will they come back out?

What do we tell our children? That democracy is healthy, as the new Administrator suggested?

That strong views are a sign of strength? Or that when we speak up, we are met with horses and handcuffs?

We do not want to raise a generation too frightened to protest. In a world where it is increasingly dangerous to speak truth to power, where bombs are thrown at rallies and police clash with protesters in our cities, we need courage, not silence. But courage cannot mean accepting intimidation as normal.

The appointment of David Connolly has already divided this community. Today, police presence escalated that division into fear.

As a mother, I am left asking: how can my daughter feel safe here? How can she believe in democracy when she sees Elders arrested for walking calmly on their own land?

We will not be silenced. But nor will we pretend that this is what respectful leadership looks like.

Our children are watching.

Jade Ritchie is a Gooreng Gooreng woman with over two decades of experience across government, community and the private sector. She has formerly worked in various roles in the NT Government and is a Director of the Indigenous Literacy Foundation.