Anzac's Dirty Dozen

by Craig Stockings

  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, , (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, , (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 E
mpire 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:

  The good and the bad, the greatness and the smallness of their story will stand. Whatever the glory it contains nothing can now lessen. It rises, and will always rise, above the mists of ages, a monument to great-hearted man; and, for their nation, a possession forever.1

  NOTES

  1 Australian military history doesn’t begin on Gallipoli

  Craig Wilcox

  1 Pooley to Maj. Sherbon, 12 November 1912, Mitchell Library, ML MSS 1261/3.

  2 K. Windschuttle, ‘The myths of frontier massacres’, parts 1–3, Quadrant, October–December 2000; and The Fabrication of Aboriginal History, vol. 1, Macleay, Sydney, 2002.

  3 K.S. Inglis ‘Anzac: The substitute religion’ (first published 1960), in his Observing Australia, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1999, ch. 3; and Sacred Places: War Memorials in the Australian Landscape, Miegunyah Press, Melbourne, 1998.

  4 D. Horner, Australia’s Military History for Dummies, Wiley, Brisbane, 2010, p. 71.

  5 Adelaide Register, 14 February 1921, p. 5.

  6 P. Kelly, ‘The next Anzac century’, Weekend Australian, 23–24 April 2011, Inquirer, p. 2.

  7 The Australian, 25 April 2011, p. 7.

  8 K. O’Brien & M. Peacock, ‘War Memorial battle over frontier recognition’, 7.30 Report, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 26 February 2009; Canberra Times, 23 December 2010, p. 5.

  9 J. Laffin, Anzacs at War, Horwitz, Sydney, 1982 (first published 1965), ch. 2; N. Bleszynski, Shoot Straight, You Bastards!, Random House, Sydney, 2003 (first published 2002), pp. 159–63.

  10 B. Beresford (director), Breaker Morant, South Australian Film Corporation, 1979; Bleszynski, Shoot Straight, You Bastards!

  11 For example E. Willmot, Pemulwuy, the Rainbow Warrior, Weldon, Sydney, 1987; P.W. Newbery (ed.), Aboriginal Heroes of the Resistance, Action for World Development, Sydney, 1999 (first published 1988), part 1.

  12 Notably I. Clendinnen, Dancing With Strangers, Text, Melbourne, 2003.

  13 J.H. Elliott, ‘The very violent road to America’, New York Review of Books, 9 June 2011, pp. 64–67.

  14 Two notable contributions have been H. Reynolds, The Other Side of the Frontier, James Cook University, Townsville, 1981, and P. Stanley, ‘Soldiers and fellow countrymen in colonial Australia’, in M. McKernan & M. Browne (eds.), Australia: Two Centuries of War and Peace, Australian War Memorial, Canberra, 1988.

  15 I. Keen, Aboriginal Economy and Society, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 2003, p. 264.

  16 A.W. Howitt, The Native Tribes of Southeast Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1996 (first published 1904), pp. 351–52.

  17 H. Allen (ed.), Australia: William Blandowski’s Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 2010 (plate first published 1862), p. 129.

  18 J. Connor, ‘The frontier war that never was’, in C. Stockings (ed.), Zombie Myths of Australian Military History, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2010, ch. 1; The Australian Frontier Wars, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2002.

  19 T.F. Bride (ed.), Letters from Victorian Pioneers, Government Printer, Melbourne, 1898, pp. 43, 151–53, 187.

  20 J. Grey, A Military History of Australia, Cambridge University Press, Melbourne, 2008 (first published 1990), p. 39; Horner, Australia’s Military History for Dummies, p. 49.

  21 The Australian, 26 June 2008, p. 3; Battle for Australia Commemoration National Council, ‘Battle for Australia’ website, .

  22 Sydney Herald, 16 July 1832, p. 2.

  23 See for example Sydney Morning Herald, 22 March 1858, p. 2; Argus (Melbourne), 19 July 1860, p. 5.

  24 Advertiser (Adelaide), 27 July 1860, p. 2.

  25 A. Jose, ‘Sydney and district in 1824 as described by a French visitor’, Royal Australian Historical Society Journal and Proceedings, 10(4), 1924, p. 222.

  26 Record of the Imperial Representative Corps Trip Australia and New Zealand 1900–1901, Army & Navy Cooperative Society, London, 1901, p. 44.

  27 D. Horner (ed.), The Battles that Shaped Australia, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1994.

  28 E.W. O’Sullivan, The Power of Mounted Riflemen, Age, Queanbeyan, 1894, conclusion.

  29 Report by Maj. Gen. James Bevan Edwards on local forces and scheme for organising Australia’s military forces, Qld Journals of the Legislative Council, 1889, 39(1), p. 779
.

  30 Evidence by Col. Stokes to Royal Commission into the NSW military service, NSW Votes and Proceedings of the Legislative Assembly, 1892, 7(52), p. 162.

  31 C.N. Connolly, ‘Manufacturing spontaneity: The Australian offers of troops to the Boer War’, Historical Studies, 18(70), April 1978, pp. 106–117; L.M. Field, The Forgotten War, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1979, ch. 1.

  32 Gov. Gormanston to secretary of state for colonies, 6 March 1900, UK National Archives, CO 280/403, f. 57 (microfilmed by the Australian Joint Copying Project).

  33 Nearly 5000 men joined Boer War contingents from late December to mid-1900 (C. Wilcox, Australia’s Boer War, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 2002, pp. 391–407); a net 6568 became citizen soldiers in 1900 (N. Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific, Sydney University Press, Sydney, 1976, p. 271); and more than 19 000 joined rifle clubs during the same year (Year-Book of Australia for 1900, pp. 626–33; Year-Book of Australia for 1901, pp. 601–609).

  34 Wilcox, Australia’s Boer War, pp. 102–108, 346.

  35 Gen. Carew to Maj. Poore, 19 June 1900, [UK] National Archives, WO 105/19, T/36/2.