Last month we took eight young people out to Atnarpa for three days on Country. Some of them hadn't been out bush since they were little kids. You could see it in their faces when we got there — something shifted.

The first day was just settling in. Lighting the fire, setting up camp, cooking together. No phones, no drama, just being on Country with their Elders. Uncle Terry showed the boys how to track, and Aunty Bev sat with the girls and told them stories about growing up on this land.

By the second day they were different kids. The ones who wouldn't talk in town were yarning around the fire. The ones who'd been fighting were looking after each other. That's what Country does — it reminds them who they are.

We did cultural activities in the morning and practical skills in the afternoon. The boys helped fix fencing and learned about the cattle work that happens on station. The girls did art with the Aunties and prepared bush tucker. Everyone ate together.

On the last night one of the boys — 15 years old, been in trouble with police since he was 12 — said to me: "Aunty, can we come back next week?" That's when you know it's working. He's not asking to go back to town. He's asking to stay on Country.

We've been doing these trips every month now. Three of those eight kids have gone back to school. Two got jobs. All of them are off the police radar. That's what happens when you lead with culture instead of compliance.

The funding for these trips comes from our NIAA grant, but it's never enough. Each trip costs about ,000 for transport, food, and supplies. Compare that to one night in detention at ,852. The maths speaks for itself.