As protests against police brutality and racism have spread around the world in the wake of the death of George Floyd, two new films demonstrate the extremes of police dealings with Indigenous Australians.

The first, which surfaced earlier this week, is the now notorious mobile phone footage of a violent encounter between a New South Wales police constable and an Aboriginal teenager in Surry Hills, Sydney.

The second is Our Law, a documentary slated to premiere in this year’s digital iteration of the Sydney Film Festival, which focuses on Australia’s only Indigenous-run police station, in Western Australia.

Directed by Cornel Ozies, Our Law depicts the mutually respectful relationship forged between the Indigenous community and the officers who police it. Senior Sergeant Revis Ryder and Sergeant Wendy Kelly work a sprawling beat centred on Warakurna, a small town on Ngaanyatjarra land at the foot of the Rawlinson ranges some 330km west of Uluru.

Indigenous Australians have reason to distrust the Australian justice system in general, and the police force in particular. Guardian Australia’s Deaths Inside investigation, updated this week, counts 432 Aboriginal deaths in custody since the royal commission in 1991. This week, the family of 26-year-old David Dungay – a Dunghutti man who died while being restrained by five prison guards in 2015, after saying “I can’t breathe” 12 times – said they had been retraumatised watching footage of the killing of George Floyd, which sparked widespread protests in the US.

But the police station in Warakurna offers a story of hope. Ozies spent weeks in Warakurna (populated by less than 300 people) observing the officers going about their work: building trust, learning language, protecting and serving. 

“You could see straight away that Revis and Wendy were working beyond the badge,” Ozies tells the Guardian. “They really engaged with the community, and you could feel the love that went back to them. It was so much more than a passing relationship. It was family and in Indigenous community, if you are considered family, you are respected as family.”

Ryder is officer in charge at Warakurna. A former footballer with East Fremantle (his son Patrick is a noted AFL ruckman, currently playing for St Kilda), he’s also the local footy coach. He’s says he’s seen the video of the Surry Hills incident, and while he can’t officially comment on it, suggests things could have worked out very differently.

“Pushing people to the ground is because you’re not listening to each other,” he says. “[It] creates a barrier straight up doesn’t it? It’s going to make your job a lot harder. You have to get out there and have a talk. Find out what the problem is and then work with that person to solve the problem.” 

Policing in remote townships is very different to that in urban centres, Ryder admits, but when it comes to Indigenous communities anywhere, laying a foundation of trust must be the first priority 

“I get in a police vehicle and drive down to community at night and just talk to people to make sure everyone is OK,” says Ryder. “I stop and talk to people who are walking at night. I chat to any kids who are out at night. I might drive them home, then talk to their mum and dad. Basically, it’s just taking those extra few minutes to stop and interact and have a chat. It goes a long way to building rapport.” 

It wasn’t always that way in Warakurna, Ryder adds.

“When I first arrived, there wasn’t a lot of interaction, especially with the elders,” he says. “Now, three years on, they trust me and talk to me. Now I can attend a house in community and speak as a friend. They see past the uniform.”

Daisy Ward, a Ngaanyatjarra elder and resident of Warakurna, said the police and the community are “learning two ways together”. In the film, Ward is seen collecting and making bush medicine for Ryder’s sore back. “He helps us and our kids, so we want to give something back to him.

“The police before only came to the community to arrest people. Now Revis spends a little time to get to know us and that’s the best thing. If he has a warrant for someone, he comes and asks gentle, gentle way. He talks to the family and explains everything … Together we are making a good, working friendship in the community.”

Ozies points out that though both officers are Indigenous, they are outsiders to the Warakuna community. 

“Brevis and Wendy are both Noongar people from Perth. They had to learn language and learn culture in a place where English is the second or third language. But they did it and they equipped themselves with the toolkit you need to defuse and de-escalate, which leads to less arrests and the police having a better standing within the community.”

Since the making of the film, Kelly has left Warakurna to work in Kalgoorlie, a city where police and indigenous community relations hit rock bottom after the death of Indigenous teenager Elijah Doughty, who was run down and killed in 2016.

“It’s about going out into community every day, just touching base all the time,” says Kelly. “They know that if they get into trouble they’re going to be dealt with somehow. But because they know you and trust you, they are more accepting of that.

“I love going into community. I love the experience. But I’m a visitor. You have to show respect and listen – it doesn’t matter how long it takes. You have to explain and not just use police words. And you have to be truthful. There’s no need to be aggressive.” 

The contrast in policing protocol struck a personal chord for Ozies, an Indigenous filmmaker originally from Broome now living in inner suburban Annandale in Sydney.

“My brother currently serves in the WA police force and my stepmother served 25 years in the force, but I still have mistrust,” the director says. “I also have family who have been harassed and I’ve been harassed myself.”

Ozies recalls the day last year when he was stopped after dropping his son off at his local daycare centre and surrounded by police officers. 

“I asked why I had been stopped and they said it was because I fitted a description,” Ozies says. “I asked what the description was and they wouldn’t tell me. They detained me on the footpath while they background-checked me for outstanding warrants.” It happened in plain view of a cafe he frequents, managed by people he knows; the police, he says, never apologised. 

“Did they really stop me because they were looking for someone? Or was that just an excuse? It was very intimidating for me.”

Ozies knew to stay quiet and keep his cool. “They were pushing me, just to get a reaction. But what would have happened if I’d got vocal like that kid in Surry Hills? I could have been on the pavement as well.”

Watch Our Law on NITV on Karla Grant Presents on Monday 22 June at 8.30pm or purchase tickets to a sneak peek virtual screening at Sydney Film Festival, running online from 10 – 21 June 2020.