Anzac's Dirty Dozen (38 page)

It would seem that if various commentators from a retired air marshal, the children of world war veterans and the director of the Australian War Memorial have spoken in concert, the MDC has misjudged Australians' willingness to accept the endless commemoration of the two world wars. While the great majority of those who attended the meeting and who responded to the forum's website support the existence and the work of existing commemorative institutions, notably the Australian War Memorial, there is a definite and vocal move against the creation of further monuments to war. Soon after, the Report of the Anzac Centenary Commission reached a similar conclusion. It had commissioned social research which found that ‘there was no particular need seen for a new permanent memorial to be established to mark the 100th anniversary of Anzac Day'.
²³

The fate of the world war memorials is not yet decided. Thanks to some energetic work in alerting ordinary citizens of
their nature and likely impact, and some effective counter-lobbying by some of the members of the forum, the memorials' fate is a great deal less certain than it was. This also, therefore, suggests that concerns over the paramountcy of war in Australian history as a whole might be less acute than Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds feared. Perhaps the ultimate failure of the lake war memorials proposition – as I believe it will fail – will come to be seen as the turning point in Australia's love-affair with war.

What do we make of all this? We have a fairly clear disjunction between the way many Australians view their military history (essentially uncritically) and the way many historians regard it (dismayed by the way official agencies have fostered an unbalanced view of Australia's history). We see that one aspect of the Australian historical experience – war – increasingly tends to crowd out or overwhelm all other aspects, even though many other parts of Australia's history are worthy of attention and empathy. We find that when a small group in Canberra propose to erect monolithic new memorials to the world wars, large numbers of the children and grandchildren of those who served in those wars go to some trouble to oppose the idea. We find that despite official support for the memorials, large numbers of ordinary Australians (that is,
not
historians) turn out to public meetings, submit comments to websites and write to newspapers complaining that there is more to Australia than war and that a memorial duplicating the existing Australian War Memorial is not needed or wanted.

So, is war the most important single thing to have happened in Australia's history? Three years away from the events that will happen at Anzac Cove on 25 April 2015, the prospect of treating Australian military history in proportion seems to hang in the balance. On the one hand, assuming that the push from government, the media, populist publishers and authors to celebrate Anzac will not abate, we can probably expect to see the myth
entrenched. On the other hand, if more historians and their readers and viewers take a more critical approach to military history, try to keep it in perspective and show that other aspects of the Australian historical experience are compelling, significant and important, then perhaps 2015 will see Australian history in better shape.

Journalist Paul Kelly wrote on Anzac Day 2011 that 25 April is said to have become ‘entrenched as the authentic national day', describing the annual AFL match at the Melbourne Cricket Ground as ‘an open-air shrine'. But he also looked forward to 2015, to an Anzac Day that is ‘a muscular event, strong enough to tolerate different views, on guard against too much emotionalism and intellectually honest about the history'.
²⁴
We can certainly hope so.

Further reading

K. Inglis,
Sacred Places: War Memorials in the Australian Landscape
, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2008.

Lake War Memorial Forum, website, <
www.lakewarmemorialsforum.org
>, (accessed 26 September 2011).

M. Lake & H. Reynolds (eds),
What's Wrong with Anzac? The Militarisation of Australian History
, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2010.

Parliament of Australia, Joint Standing Committee on the National  Capital and External Territories,
Inquiry into the Administration of the National Memorials Ordinance 1928
, 2011, <
www.aph.gov.au/house/committee/ncet/memorials/subs.htm
>, (accessed 26 September 2011).

EPILOGUE

Every page of this book challenges some of the more grievous misconceptions of this nation's military past. Yet the list is not exhaustive. There remain fables left untouched, and conflicts left uncovered. As long as modern-day Australian nationalism, our sense of self, and collective identity are sourced from the imagery of past military conflicts, we will continue to draw what we need from the past without worrying too much about actually occurred.

If our contemporary social and psychological need to venerate the concept of ‘Anzac' continues – as both a national day of celebration and a wider anchor of what it might mean to be an Australian – then the Allied invasion of Turkey in 1915 will persist as the birthplace of the Australian military tradition. Similarly, as long as the name and connotations of ‘Anzac' are evoked so regularly, and used so widely to re-affirm the ties between Australians and New Zealanders, then the origins of the relationship will be glossed over in favour of modern warm and satisfying feelings of military kinship reflected backwards. Whenever we feel anxious about the moral legitimacy or practical utility of the conflicts in which we have found (and still find) ourselves, then we will fall back into the comforting solace of having been tricked, coerced or blindly stumbled into other people's wars. There is no guilt, no recrimination and no need for reflection under this mistaken interpretation. In much the same way, the social, ideological or intellectual need to include Australian women within the Anzac fable, and a
general refusal to accept Australian military experiences within a global context, will continue the distorted historical representation of female involvement in the nation's wars. The same sort of thing might be said of the impact of Hollywood imagery, or more agenda-driven interpretations of specific conflicts like Vietnam, which continue to resist or retard detailed and realistic analyses of the experience of Australian troops abroad. As long as Anzac imagery remains heavily focused on ‘diggers', mud, trenches and bayonets, then the experiences and contributions of those who fought at sea – and in the air for that matter – will remain underrepresented.

The contemporary Anzac legend has become an idealised representation of the values most of us aspire to, or even imagine we possess simply as part of the label ‘Australian'. It continues to prompt popular interpretations of real historical events that may only have a tenuous connection to fact. The archetypical Anzac is physically imposing, mentally stoic, yet mercurial in spirit. He is rough around the edges, but has an unflappable sense of fair play, natural justice, and deep democratic urges. He fights hard but plays by the rules. He is distinct insofar as he is an eager volunteer with no desire to kill, but rather resigned to do his terrible duty by his nation and his mates. He is not a conscript, for compulsion is too close to reluctance. He is, unfortunately, far too often let down by the incompetence of his military and political leaders. His mistakes, such as they are, are not really his. He may be uneducated and unruly, but he is nonetheless clever. Perhaps he had to be, coming from the bush? He is always white. Essentially masculine, ‘he' cannot comfortably be a ‘she' – despite the degree the legend is often twisted in an attempt to make such an accommodation. Those who fail to fit this mould, or fail to celebrate it, run the risk, perhaps, of seeming un-Australian.

So long as such stereotypes exist, so long as such nonsense
drowns out the more complex and less idealised reality, then deeper understandings of Australians in war, their actions as human beings in extraordinary circumstances, and the purposes, conditions and reasons for their sacrifices, will remain difficult to grasp. The power of such ill-informed imagery has real, identifiable and ongoing effects. The indomitable, glorified Anzac image pushes politicians, policy-makers and the public alike to sprout the flawed preconceptions that Australian troops invariably ‘punch above their weight'. Such chimeras are dangerous foundations for historical interpretation, not to mention contemporary decision-making at all levels.

At a deep and fundamental level, the power of Anzac and the dominance of military history within the national ‘story' tends to subordinate, subsume and suffocate the non-military aspects of Australia's past. And there are many: we were one of the first nations in the world where all men and women had the vote, for example, and we have always enjoyed, in general terms, remarkably high levels of education, health, political and social freedoms, and high standards of living for such a young country. There are countless inspiring and heroic slices of the Australian historical saga that do not require war-oriented myth-making – or its associated exaggeration, sanitation or fabrication. Some readers will find it ironic that the authors of this volume, mainly people who earn a living as military historians or professional historians with at least a passing interest in military affairs, are the first to concede this point. Australia and Australians are far more than the sum of their military past.

There is no doubt that the myths and misunderstandings addressed in this book fulfil important social needs. That they are untrue may seem largely beside the point. But they
are
not true – and we should not forget it. Such ideas are historical fiction, not history. As far as the authors of this book are concerned, accuracy,
impartiality, attempts at rational objectivity – what might be called the search for ‘truth' – matter. They are important. They mean something worthwhile. They fill a social need as well, perhaps even a higher one.

The ‘Anzac legend' is probably the most frequent phrase in
Anzac's Dirty Dozen
. This is unavoidable. The whole issue of myth-making in regard to the military heritage of this country is complicated by what has become our national ‘founding' story – the idea of Anzac. Like most national myths, Anzac is based on inspiring narratives, concepts and images about a country's past. It can represent what we want to unite us and affirms a set of selfperceived national values. It contains symbolic meaning and often serves social and political purposes. In some respects Anzac fulfils what might be called a secular religious function. Importantly, it is based on, but does not necessarily reflect, historical fact. The Anzac myth involves fictionalised exaggerations of actual incidents. It commonly disregards inconvenient historical details, and subverts or reinvents the past to fit the legend. Prior to 1914, Australians saw themselves as part of the mighty British Empire and were proud of that fact. Concepts of Australian nationhood were complicated by shared imperial heritage as a Dominion and strong continuing connections with ‘the mother country'. To many early twentieth-century Australians, their country lacked one key experience, which to that generation mattered above all others: Australia had not yet, as a nation, faced a trial by arms.

From the first news of Australian participation in the British amphibious assault on the Dardanelles in 1915, Australians were told that their country had at last ‘come of age'. Deeds at Gallipoli, and later in Flanders and Palestine, filled a vacuum for the newborn nation. During the inter-war period, the idea of ‘Anzac' came to represent a distinct collection of values, both real and imagined. It embodied the perceived comradeship of frontline
soldiers, the rejection of conventional discipline, physical strength, egalitarianism, loyalty, self-sacrifice, courage and early twentieth-century Australian conceptions of masculinity. It was centred on success, not defeat. Even at its genesis, a marked strategic failure like Gallipoli was redefined as a triumph of endurance and a celebration of ‘Australian' virtues.

As part of the developing Australian national consciousness, the interwar period saw the glorification of the martial achievements of newly returned servicemen. The legend grew into an inescapable social force increasingly tied to the core of national identity. Its powerful symbolism permeated all aspects of life. It was reproduced in schools, championed by veterans' associations claiming to represent the body of men at the heart of the legend, and reaffirmed on 25 April each year at various memorial ‘shrines', large and small, in every Australian city and town worthy of the name. Even the word ‘Anzac' became sacred and legally protected under various Acts in 1920.

In times of crisis, turmoil or soul-searching, societies usually fall back on national traditions. For Australians, even now, it is Anzac. And the legend is getting stronger. The number of politicians invoking rousing Anzac rhetoric, the size of Anzac Day marches (despite the dwindling number of ‘traditional' veterans), the number of Australians on annual ‘pilgrimages' to Anzac Cove, flag in hand or draped over their shoulders – is evidence enough of this.

The authors of this book recognised from the beginning that the subjects we were taking on, and our conclusions, might set us on a collision course with the Anzac legend. At one level, we embrace this: legend should not substitute for history. It is a myth, and however powerful and pervasive, it has in fundamental ways obscured more about the past than it has revealed.

But at another level there is no collision. We are historians. In
no way do we seek to undermine the foundations of Anzac just for the sake of appearing subversive. Nor do we reject the idea that some social good can flow from the Anzac legend – despite the exclusive nature of its white, Anglo-Saxon, male and ‘macho' orientation. All we ask is that legend not be mistaken for history.

Let us conclude with the words of an official historian, someone who was there. Our book has examined key and thematic issues in Australian military history. It has applied an analytical torch to subjects more used to veneration and commemoration than to rigorous analysis. Yet in military history, critiquing a misinterpretation is not the same as criticising the participants. We do not minimise, undermine or forget the sacrifices made by Australian servicemen and women of years past. On the contrary, we honour them, but we do so with an objective recognition of their deeds. We honour them as rational, reflective people, ordinary human beings, not fabricated myths. Surely they are worthy of as much. As Charles Bean wrote of the real Anzacs, let us once again reaffirm that ‘nothing can alter now' what such individuals accomplished: