Remembering all our dead
Australians are obsessed by those who died in wars. But what about those who died in the conflicts of early Australia, asks Martin Ball.
Another Remembrance Day. Another year of poppies and solemn speeches remembering the Armistice that ended the Great War on November 11, 1918. But after 86 years, what is it that we remember? And are there things that we are choosing to forget?
The traditions of Remembrance Day go back to 1919, when a two-minute silence to honour the fallen was observed on the first anniversary of what became known as Armistice Day. After World War II, the name was changed to Remembrance Day to widen the commemoration to those killed in both world wars.
Through the 1970s and '80s, Remembrance Day seemed to lose some of its significance, and the two minutes' silence fell into disuse. But in 1997, following a similar move in Britain, governor-general Sir William Deane issued a proclamation urging Australians to observe one minute's silence at 11am on November 11 each year.
This reinstituting of Remembrance Day observance is part of a wider social phenomenon of increased interest in Australia's military heritage. The Australian War Memorial has become the most popular museum in the country, and Australians young and old are visiting battlefields and cemeteries in Turkey and France as part of their tourist itineraries.
Successive prime ministers have encouraged us to remember the 100,000 Australians who "laid down their lives to defend this country", echoing Billy Hughes' claim at the Versailles Peace Conference that he stood there for "60,000 Australian dead".
Put that way, they are emotional figures, terrible figures. But beyond the rhetorical impact, the fact is that Australia's wartime losses have been comparatively smaller than most other nations in the past 100 years.
Even in the Great War, in which Australian soldiers suffered a very high casualty rate, the overall losses as a proportion of its population were lower than most other combatant nations. Australia lost 12 killed per 1000 - lower than its empire allies New Zealand and Britain for example (15 per 1000), and far lower than Germany (27 per 1000) and France (33 per 1000). Nevertheless, after the war Australia built the largest memorials of any nation in the world to commemorate its dead. And the curious thing is, we are still building them.
In 1993, 75 years after the Great War ended, prime minister Paul Keating oversaw the entombing of the Unknown Soldier at the Australian War Memorial. Last year John Howard took his turn, opening a new war memorial at Hyde Park Corner in London.
It is right and proper to honour those who have died in sacrifice to the nation, but Australia's eagerness to commemorate and memorialise seems to indicate a certain anxiety. What is the reason for this pathology of remembrance?
At the time of the Great War, it was perhaps understandable that even if the scale of Australia's loss was less than other nations, the significance was magnified because of the youth of the nation. As Les Murray says in his poem A brief history: "We are the Australians. Our history is short."
That anxiety should no longer trouble Australia, yet we continue to focus on events that happened a long time ago, and a long way away. Why is this? Perhaps it is that by casting our memorialising gaze overseas, we can ignore the complex history of interaction and conflict at home.
To quote Murray again: "Deep down we scorn the Aborigines for not having provided us with the romantic vision of a remembered war." Maybe it is time to start remembering this. Maybe it is time to recognise the legacy of conflict that has marked our whole history, not just our expeditions abroad.
Professor Geoffrey Blainey argued more than 20 years ago for the Australian War Memorial to acknowledge the history of domestic armed conflict, and his call has since been echoed by many of the nation's most eminent historians. It is incumbent on the Council of the Australian War Memorial, and the politicians who influence its decisions, to take responsibility for this.
Any such exhibition or display should not be dedicated to sensationalist accounts of spurious massacres. It need not concern itself with debates over whether there were black wars.
An "Australian Gallery" could simply provide sober details of the armed conflicts that were part of the nation's frontier history, and made victims of settlers and indigenous defenders alike.
Australians are now proud to consider the Turks as honourable enemies who fought bravely to defend their homeland from invasion. Why can't we do the same for those who died on our own soil?
Why are we encouraged to wear black armbands for the 100,000 dead in the 20th century, but to take them off for the countless thousands who died in the 18th and 19th centuries?
The issues of the Great War are long since resolved, because we had the courage to remember them. The tensions of Australia's white settlement remain, because we have chosen to ignore or forget them.
The vice-regal proclamation encourages us to remember "the sacrifice of those who died or otherwise suffered in Australia's cause in wars and conflicts".
So at 11 o'clock on the 11th day of the 11th month, let us remember those who died at Gallipoli, at Fromelles, at Sandakan and Long Tan. But let us also remember the brave warrior Yagan of the Swan River, the resourceful Pemulwuy of the Eora. Let us also honour the many forgotten victims of the conflicts that marked Australia's early modern history.
It is time to forget the names we know, just for a little while, so we can learn the names of those who for too long have gone unremembered.
Martin Ball is an honorary research fellow at the Australia Centre of the University of Melbourne.