They have given the government an excuse to walk away from a promise to conduct a referendum "recognising" prior Aboriginal occupation over Australia. It's a proposal, like so many gestures on Aboriginal affairs, of some symbolic significance but devoid of any capacity to make an actual difference to the lives of Aborigines in the cities, the towns and the remote settlements.

It became clear that the Aboriginal grassroots completely lacked enthusiasm for the project, despite great top-down spending on public relations folk, facilitators, celebrities and expensive functions for opinion-formers. Nor was there any manifest buy-in in non-Aboriginal Australia, even among those who sympathise with Aboriginal aspirations.

Even more importantly, it became clear that any referendum proposal, even one without any legal or constitutional meaning, was likely to fail, and to actually set back Aboriginal advancement.

The lack of will was aggravated by the lack of enthusiasm for the Referendum Council and its works and pomps, despite generous government funding and the enthusiasm of successive prime ministers since Kevin Rudd's time.

The Aboriginal side of the equation has salvaged some dignity by adopting an obviously losing position, upping the ante for government, and putting back on the agenda some items that were there 30 years ago. Talk of a makarrata, or treaty process, were proceeding in the early 1980s, but was allowed to wither when people allowed themselves to be distracted by another set of baubles apparently on offer: Labor's promise of national land rights legislation. Like all all-eggs-in-one-basket solutions since – ATSIC, reconciliation, native title, deaths in custody and stolen children inquiries, intervention, tough love and rote learning – the latest magic never quite did the trick.

There was never a moment in the history of Aboriginal affairs where there was not a prominent statesman telling Aboriginal leaders that "now is not the time" for whatever is wanted. Generally, the best national strategy for Aboriginal politicians is to have a big ambit claim, if only to have something less to settle for.

But there's never been a time like this, with a Prime Minister lacking any ambitions or ideas in Aboriginal affairs, and having, in any event, no credit in the bank with voters that might be used in any bold actions. And with significant forces, on the left and right of mainstream politics, and within as well as without the Aboriginal body politic, just waiting to pounce on him or it.

It may even be, down that track, that observers will see the Uluru statement as the moment when it seemed there was no longer a popular or political will for government energy, activity and money on Aboriginal advancement.

Even a quixotic gesture from Malcolm Turnbull, promoting a referendum on a question Aborigines made clear they do not want, would be fraught with danger. It might lose. Indeed, the odds are that it would.

But it became clear that even the process of having a referendum would be disastrous – in a way that mimicked some of the risks said to attend a plebiscite on same-sex marriage. It would "permission" a barrage of critical comments about the state of play in Aboriginal affairs, including frankly racist and hate-filled statements. It would excite a debate – along the lines pioneered by Pauline Hanson in 1996 – in which it would be alleged that Aborigines, far from being disadvantaged, were getting special privileges, benefits and rights that "ordinary" Australians did not enjoy. The shock jocks and some of the Murdoch columnists would see in the campaign evidence of their latest bête noire – identity politics – and demand its suppression. We would have fake news galore.

There would be others – including some from the left of politics or the grassroots of Aboriginal politics in cities, towns and remote settlements – who would argue that the referendum needed to be seen as a sort of opinion poll on current directions in Aboriginal affairs, and thus to be opposed. If the politicians, federal bureaucrats and Aboriginal fat cats were so much in favour of the proposal, and so likely to praise themselves and to see themselves vindicated if it succeeded, it should be opposed, it would be said.

There were already claims that any referendum, even on mere recognition, could create different classes of citizens, breaking down fundamental principles of modern bureaucracy. Just how this could be when other democracies – such as the United States, Canada and New Zealand, or even in the constituent parts of Britain – have formal treaties creating rights in particular groups has never been quite clear. (It has likewise never been clear to me how this theory of the necessity of absolute equality for all can be seriously maintained by people of political philosophies that, in relatively recent history, were used to justify denying votes to women, to men without a certain amount of property, or to natives, or classes of residents of a different skin colour.)

The 50th anniversary of the passage of the referendum allowing Aborigines to be counted in censuses, and to be the subject of special federal legislation, went by in an orgy of congratulation about how nearly 91 per cent of the population voted yes. The pleasure is increased by the myth that this referendum by itself conferred citizenship on Aborigines, or somehow marked the end of legal discrimination, or represented a moment when Aborigines were invited into the Australian family – perhaps, heaven forbid, even into the local RSL.

The referendum was a good thing, but I remember well that it was not very popular in many rural parts of Australia, particularly in areas, such as where I lived, where there was a substantial Aboriginal population. It was then remarked that the more regular the contact between non-Aborigines and Aborigines, the more likely that there was a no vote. This was not because the average rural working man or woman had a better knowledge or understanding of Aboriginal people. Rather, they benefited socially and economically from the inequality. The ultimate perversity of this, of course, is that apparently reasonable people insist that the status quo not be disturbed less some outbreak of prejudice actually worsen the situation of those on the bottom of the heap.

The 1967 referendum was ultimately not contentious, at least among the majority urban population, because everyone was assured that it would make no practical difference in their lives. Since then, a good deal of Aboriginal gesture politics and symbolism has depended upon its proponents likewise agreeing not to frighten the horses. It was precisely because the politicians' "constitutional recognition" was intended to be devoid of any capacity to legally empower Aborigines to do anything new, individually or collectively, that it was an official campaign, with handpicked members of the non-Aboriginal great and good, along with an array of the most able, articulate and non-threatening Aborigines.

Yet the switch to calls for some form of formal recognition, manifested by a constitutional advisory council (with no actual legal power) and by talk of a treaty-making makaratta process, as well as a truth commission, is not in fact very revolutionary. Almost certainly, it creates no legal rights, whether among Indigenous individuals, Aboriginal groups or Aboriginal nations. If it conveys some status, and perhaps some psychologically desirable recognition and acknowledgement, it is not something that could be taken to the bank, used in court, serve as the basis of a compensation claim or served for lunch. Indeed, it might not even have the hope conveyed by the (as it turned out empty) promise of Rudd's "sorry" statement. In this sense, it can be dismissed now as too radical, or too ambitious, but, in time, can be seen as hardly threatening at all.

But even for that to happen, there would need to be a lot of work done. Primarily in the non-Aboriginal community, but, just as importantly, in Aboriginal communities. The Referendum Council and the recognition campaign could serve to represent all of the vices of top-down policies and politics, whether in Aboriginal affairs or elsewhere, that have so bedeviled modern Australian politics.

Recognition demands did not come from out of the Aboriginal community, but were foisted upon them by an anointed but unelected leadership most noticeable for lacking any sort of followership. Good ideas and good policies need to be argued, debated, compromised, fought over and made to be part of the conversation in the pub, at the barbecue and the public square. It must have champions at every level of the conversation. It must, probably, also have enemies – but if they are shock jocks, discontented and uneducated people, or Murdoch polemicists, these must be engaged, debated and used to keep the discussion alive relevant and urgent.

Real political change, even at the symbolic level, is never achieved by clever legal strategies, discussion papers, functions with celebrities or any meetings mediated by facilitators.

The whole 10-year process of preparing the population for an anodyne constitutional recognition was reminiscent of the way political staffers dream up some nation-building "announceable" breakthrough: a stunt in the form of a media press release and public relations stunt, which only collapses quickly under its own weight once deficiencies become obvious, interest groups weigh in, and prime ministers lose courage, resilience or patience.

It is sometimes forgotten that there were two supposedly uncontroversial referendum proposals put to the electorate in 1967. The other was supposed to sever the constitutional link, or nexus, between the size of the House of Representatives and the Senate. All the parties, initially at least, agreed we should have smaller electorates – which is to say more members of the lower house. But the constitution said the senate must have, more or less, half the number of members of the lower house. This then required complicated sums, as each state needed to have the same number of senators, which needed to be an even number, and so on.

It had bipartisan support, but, suddenly, the Democratic Labour Party saw an opportunity to get some publicity for itself and ran a highly populist campaign alleging that the proposal represented a Canberra power grab, likely to produce more politicians to misrepresent us. The proposal foundered with all hands, with 60 per cent of citizens voting no.

Peter Reith exhibited much the same opportunism in masterminding the sinking of four referendum proposals in 1988 – proposals that the Coalition originally supported. As Turnbull said last Saturday, "history would indicate that, to succeed, not only must there be overwhelming support but minimal, or at least tepid, opposition".

But those at Uluru – or most of them – must also have realised that the referendum was doomed not only because there was already more than tepid opposition. It was also a reflection of the fact that there has never been more than lukewarm support for the symbolic proposition from the nation's political leaders.

To be sure, one can always find the prime minister, or opposition leader, saying more or less the right thing at some carefully staged function. But, like speeches for Anzac Day or Australia, there has never been any substance, or bite, in the rhetoric, or encouragement in the thought that the political establishment was prepared to risk some skin in the exercise. The work, and the risks, were have been for others. If those, white or black, they send into the trenches won't fight very hard, it might be because they realise there are no reinforcements on hand, no medics or helicopters, and no spare ammunition.

The paradox is that it's non-Aboriginal Australians, rather than our first peoples, who stand to gain more from recognising their place in our Commonwealth. But we await an inspirational leader who can take on the task. Like a republic, a constitutional cause with which it could be harnessed, it waits another day and a chieftain with an infusion of courage and character.

Jack Waterford is a former Canberra Times editor. jwaterfordcanberra@gmail.com