Historical accounts show that hunger and the loss of land drove many of Australia’s first inhabitants to steal food; those thefts often led to reprisal killings, like those memorialized by the monument in Elliston.

Whether what happened in Elliston should be called a “massacre” strikes Jack as a moot point and an effort to “hush things up.” The dictionary definition of massacre does not require a specific number of dead, he noted, and he insisted that the benefits of bold reconciliation should not be discounted.

When we reached Elliston, it wasn’t hard to see what he meant. We sat together at a picnic table in the town’s main park with a pair of local officials. Jack and the two men had an undeniable rapport; it was clear they had been through a lot together to get the monument built.

A few minutes later, Jack yelled over to a young Aboriginal man, Robbie Pickett, who joined us as we finished our coffees. Robbie told me the process of overcoming resistance to the monument had changed how he and his people viewed Elliston.

“We feel a lot more at peace,” he said.

Jack agreed, declaring “a dark cloud has been lifted.”

Neither of them were bitter about the ugliness of the debate, which involved racist taunts and angry Facebook posts that intensified divisions.

They both said Elliston deserved praise for opening up the conversation in a public, transparent way that is rare in Australia, revealing both how far the country has to go, and how small towns can show the way.

“It is what it is,” Robbie said. He smiled. “We all just have to put our best foot forward.”

Right, I thought. When in doubt, go.