"We feel free and happy here, away from all the rules and interference of the intervention," says Morton, who is living in a tin hut at the camp, which does not have running water and where up to 70 people are living in tents and crude shelters, including the rusty shell of a long-abandoned vehicle. Eighty-three year-old Morton and other Alyawarr leaders first moved to Honeymoon Bore in July to protest against the neglected and overcrowded state of Ampilatwatja, where raw sewage was ankle-deep in some houses and over-flowing into the street. They were also upset about the forced takeover of their community store and lack of consultation with white officials sent to the community under the intervention. But as the protest fell on deaf ears they decided to make the walk-off permanent, abandoning Ampilatwatja, where a government-appointed business manager is living in a $500,000 home and office complex and where a sign has been erected outside the store with the names of people who have been ordered to work at the council or face cuts in their welfare payments. Morton objects to the intervention's income management, whereby half a person's Centrelink payments must be spent on food and other essentials.

"It's like the ration days all over again,'' he says. ''We have gone backwards. There's no incentive for my people to work. This makes me feel no good … it's about our pride." He says the only benefit Ampilatwatja has received from the $1.5 billion intervention is the building of a BMX bicycle track, which is now eroded and unsafe to use and which most residents did not want. Bicycles remain locked in a container. "We wanted grass for the football oval," Morton says, because the favoured sport is Australian rules. "They shut us out … they didn't ask us what we wanted." Morton says little work has been done to repair houses in Ampilatwatja, some of which are little more than tin shanties. This week sewage was flowing from an open hole there. Ampilatwatja, population 450, has not been allocated any new houses under a $672 million government housing program to build 700 homes built in 20 bigger remote communities across the territory.

But three kilometres away at Honeymoon Bore volunteers this week poured a concrete slab, and a $25,000 kit home donated by an Adelaide company arrived by truck and was expected to be erected in time for a traditional smoking ceremony opening tomorrow. Richard Downs, another Alyawarr leader, envisages up to 100 people will be living at the bore within two years, with wind generators and gardens and work for all in an indigenous "utopia" about 70 kilometres away from a clutch of disadvantaged out-stations that is called Utopia. "Our aim is to show that Aboriginal people can break the cycle of dependency, that we can look after ourselves on our country," Downs says. Plans for Honeymoon Bore include families making 3000 mud bricks. "When they are made, everyone will chip in and help build a mud-brick house for the family," he says. ''This will give my people pride in owning homes they built themselves as well and developing building skills and knowledge … we think with some hard work, sweat and tears we can create a special place."

Downs, 56, says his people's stand has attracted support from around Australia, including most unions, but no federal or NT government MP or minister has visited to listen to their complaints. Protest letters have gone unanswered. The Herald asked the federal Minister for Indigenous Affairs, Jenny Macklin, about the walk-off and complaints from the residents of Ampilatwatja. A spokeswoman said decades of government failure meant infrastructure in many indigenous communities around Australia, like Ampilatwatja, was in serious disrepair. She said work on a significant number of houses in Ampilatwatja was expected to begin in late April. Speaking with the drawl of a man who has spent all his life in the bush, much of it on the back of a horse, Banjo Morton says living in Ampilatwatja under the intervention was like being cattle in a yard. "We were being prodded and pushed around," he says. "We needed to get away from there, to build our own community and live the way we want to, on our country."