In the shadow of a national referendum that echoed a resounding "no" to constitutional change, the state of Victoria presses forward with its own vision of the Voice reconciliation, a treaty with its First Peoples, embodied in the newly tabled Statewide Treaty Bill. Publishedon September 9, 2025, this legislation promises to enshrine the First Peoples' Assembly as a permanent entity, rebranded as Gellung Warl ("tip of the spear" in Gunaikurnai language), granting it unprecedented advisory powers over government decisions. Proponents hail it as a "reset" in relations, a chance to "reckon with the past" and empower Indigenous communities in health, education, and justice. Yet, as the ink dries on this historic bill, a stark question lingers: At what cost, and to whom? With Victoria's coffers strained to the breaking point, net debt ballooning toward $194 billion by 2029, this treaty arrives not as a beacon of unity, but as a lightning rod for outrage. It risks funnelling hundreds of millions into structures that may entrench a new elite, while the grinding disadvantages faced by everyday Aboriginal Victorians persist unchanged.
The federal Voice to Parliament referendum of October 2023 was a seismic rejection: 60.06% of Australians, including 54.15% of Victorians, the lowest "no" vote of any state, deemed the proposal too divisive, too vague, too disruptive to the egalitarian fabric of the nation. Polling showed fears not of racism, but of a parallel system that could prioritise one group over others, complicating governance without clear gains. Victoria's treaty, critics argue, is the state-level phoenix rising from those ashes: a permanent assembly with access to cabinet meetings, briefings with the police chief, and scrutiny of all legislation through mandatory "Statements of Treaty Compatibility." No veto power, they assure us, much like the Voice, but the optics are eerily similar. Opposition Leader Brad Battin has called it a "Voice in disguise," insisting that Closing the Gap initiatives in health, education, and justice don't require such bureaucratic fanfare. Why, then, ignore the people's verdict and double down?
The financial ledger tells a tale of excess that borders on the surreal. Since 2016, successive Labor governments under Dan Andrews and Jacinta Allan have poured at least $380 million into treaty negotiations, consultations, and the Yoorrook Justice Commission, a truth-telling body that branded colonisation "genocidal." Add $36.8 million in capital costs from 2026-2029, and the tally climbs. But the real kicker? Gellung Warl's operational budget: $3 million this year, surging to $23.8 million in 2026-27, then stabilising at over $70 million annually from 2027 onward, with a locked-in 2.5% yearly increase immune to cuts without legislative overhaul. By 2030, the total spend on this treaty apparatus could exceed $660 million, a figure that doesn't include speculative compensation claims or the broader $776 million in Indigenous programs over the decade. For context, that's enough to fund 10,000 hospital beds for a year. And this in a state where corporate insolvencies spiked 71% year-on-year as of March 2025, earning Victoria the grim moniker of "bankruptcy capital."
Victoria's fiscal house is not just disordered; it's teetering on collapse. The 2025-26 budget forecasts a razor-thin $600 million surplus, masking a $10 billion general government deficit and $16 billion non-financial public sector shortfall. Net debt, already the nation's highest per capita at over $167 billion, is projected to hit $194 billion by 2029, 25% of the state's gross product, while interest payments alone will devour $11.7 billion over the forward estimates, up 68%. Ratings agencies S&P and Moody's loom with downgrade threats, which could spike borrowing costs further, forcing tax hikes on an electorate already reeling from cost-of-living pressures. Federal Liberal MP Jason Wood didn't mince words: "Having Labor in power is sending Victoria bankrupt," he thundered, slamming the treaty as a "spending spree" atop blowout megaprojects like the Suburban Rail Loop. In this cauldron of austerity, $70 million a year for an advisory body, serving just 1% of the population (66,000 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Victorians per the 2021 census), feels less like justice and more like burning money.
Beneath the dollars lies a deeper critique: efficacy, or the lack thereof. The treaty's preamble waxes poetic about "unacceptable disadvantage" and "intergenerational trauma," committing the state to never repeat "past injustices." Gellung Warl will oversee truth-telling in schools, a First Peoples Institute for leadership training, and control over events like NAIDOC Week — woke aims, to be sure. But will it close the gap? Indigenous incarceration rates in Victoria remain triple the non-Indigenous average; life expectancy lags by eight years; and youth suicide rates are a national disgrace. Critics like Battin argue that direct investments, better schools in Geelong or Shepparton, targeted health clinics, would yield faster results than a layer of elite oversight. The Productivity Commission has praised Victoria's process as "leading," yet even it notes governments' struggles with genuine power-sharing. And on X, the chatter reflects this divide: supporters celebrate a "new era," while detractors decry "excess red tape" and "hidden costs" for a body of 33 unelected members wielding cultural and infrastructural sway.
Herein lies the rub: the treaty's true beneficiaries may not be the disadvantaged families in Greater Bendigo's trailer parks, but an emergent class of New Class elites who command press conferences and policy earlobes. The risk grows of a self-perpetuating bureaucracy, insulated from the very communities it claims to serve. Echoes of the federal Voice debate resurface: a mechanism that amplifies voices at the top while the bottom rung, those grappling with housing insecurity or addiction, sees little uplift. Some warn it entrenches division, questioning representation for diverse clans and the "undermining of parliamentary sovereignty." In a state where just 0.7% identified as Indigenous in 2011, rising to 1% by 2021, the maths of equity demands precision, not pageantry.
The Greens and others will likely ram this through the upper house, bypassing Coalition opposition. Once law, every bill will bow to treaty compatibility, a subtle shift that could ripple through budgets and bylaws for generations.
So, should Victoria spend $660 million on this spear's tip? The outrage is justified: in a teetering economy, it's a luxury we can't afford, a gesture that empowers the articulate few over the silenced many. True self-determination blooms not from advisory thrones, but from accountable action, more GPs in remote clinics, apprenticeships in Shepparton, detox beds in Bendigo. Anything less is not reconciliation; it's renovation for the elite, paid by a public already stretched thin. As Victoria hurtles toward fiscal cliffs, perhaps it's time to ask: Whose spear are we sharpening, and at whose expense? The referendum's "no" wasn't a rejection of justice, but a plea for justice that unites, not divides.