The Australian Experience

When I taught a course on Australian history in the fall, I began by showing slides of Australia's two most recognized icons--Uluru (or Ayer's Rock) and the Sydney Opera House. They make an interesting pair. That extraordinary monolith, Uluru, not only serves as an image of the Outback, but, as an Aboriginal sacred site, of the culture of the first Australians. The Sydney Opera House on the other hand, a symbol of modernism in expansive mood, reminds us that Australia is also a highly urbanized society capable of producing its own monuments.

Americans visiting Australia--and quite a few do these days--sometimes come with expectations of finding a "last frontier" inhabited by Crocodile Dundee look-alike. A carefully framed tourist schedule can, up to a point, sustain the illusion, but a few days in Sydney or Melbourne will soon out you right. At first you might be struck by a sense of familiarity--what might be called the McDonald's syndrome--but Australia, however receptive it has been to America influences, is a very different society with a different history.

Two current issues dramatize the difference. It sometimes comes as a surprise to Americans to realize that Queen Elizabeth II is still, technically, the Head of State of Australia. At the moment Australia is agonizing over breaking this last link with Britain and what used to be Empire and converting itself into a republic. It is not as simple as it sounds, because it involves amending the Constitution which has always been a difficult process in Australia.

The other issue is that of reconciliation with the Aborigines. Australia was unusual in that when European occupied the continent in the wake of the founding of the penal colony of New South Wales in 1788, it was regarded, in legal terms, as being "terra nullius," that is to say, uninhabited. Thus the Aborigines were not deemed to have any claims to native land title, nor was there felt to be any need, as in North America and New Zealand, to negotiate treaties with the native inhabitants. Legally, Aborigines were invisible; dispossession could proceed without even the formalities of legal process.

All this changed in 1992 when the High Court of Australia dismissed "terra nullius" as a doctrine based on misinformation and found that it was possible for native land title to have survived. The Mabo decision, as it had come to be know, took its name from the principal plaintiff in the case, Eddie Mabo, who came from the Murray Islands off the coast of northern Queensland. The court upheld this particular claim to native land title, and indicated that mainland Aborigines could similarly argue a case for such title.

At first it was assumed that claims could only apply to Crown land (that is to say, land which had not been alienated). But in the Wik case the Court reinforced Mabo, finding that native title could co-exist with pastoral leases.

These two issues have dominated political debate over the last few years. For many, they are inseparable. For how can Australia take the final step to independence without accepting moral responsibility for the crimes committed against the original inhabitants and without achieving some measure of reconciliation with them?

Others--and I am not among them--dismiss what they call the "black armband" reading of history, seeming to regard Aborigines as just another ethnic community. They also express concern for the future of the pastoral and mining industries which they see as threatened by Mabo.

The conservative Howard Government, which came to power in 1996, has been seeking to neutralize the effects of Mabo by legislative means, and this is programmed to provoke a federal election later this year in which the race issue is likely to be prominent. It i a disturbing prospect.

The Republic, however, has taken on a life of its own with the recent holding of a Constitutional Convention, half elected by the people, half appointed by the federal government. This gathering, with its unique blend of practicing politicians and people from outside the political process, attracted much more interest than was expected. Politicians, so used to wheeling and dealing, suddenly found themselves having to come to terms with elected delegates who rejected the rigid constraints or parliamentary part politics, and who had come to debate issues, not seek political advantage.

It was soon clear that monarchists were decisively outnumbered, and the main issue became the procedure for choosing the Head of State. At present the Governor-General, the representative of the Queen, is appointed on the advice of the Prime Minister. The position is largely ceremonial, but the Governor-General has a constitutional role to play and can, in certain circumstances, draw upon the reserve powers of the Crown.

Some republican supported what has been called the "minimalist" position, which sought to placate those who feared the unknown by minimizing the changes in becoming a Republic: they wanted a "President" who would be appointed in very much the same way as the present Governor-General. Other republicans wanted to involve the people in the appointment of the Head of State, preferably by election.

Minimalists were not the only ones who saw danger in this: for would not an elected Head of State, able to claim a popular constituency, be tempted to politicize the position? All agreed that a President with executive powers, along American lines, was not appropriate. The tradition of responsible government, inherited from Britain, is too strong to countenance that.

The suggested outcome is some process of nomination which would involve the community, with the final choice being made by a two-thirds majority of both Houses of Parliament. Some such proposal for a republic is to be out to a referendum in 1999.

Australians have been much given to pondering the question of national identity. Was Australia "born" in 1901 when the colonies federated? Or in 1915 when Australian "diggers" (soldiers) landed at Gallipoli? Or was a sense of nationhood forged during the Second World War when a Japanese invasion seemed possible? Or does the onset of a multicultural society mean that nationhood and citizenship in any case need to be redefined?

These are important question, particularly given the likelihood that Australia may become a republic, either in the year 2000 when Sydney hosts the Olympic Games or in 2001 with the centenary of federation.

Yet Australians, however conscious we may be of the uniqueness of our culture, are often uncomfortable with the emotional expressions of nationalist sentiment which Americans take for granted. For example, we appreciate the practical need for a national anthem, but are not going to worry too much about learning is words. Our tradition tends to be ironic and skeptical; we tend to suspect that those who wave flags are trying to distract attention from other agendas.

But this ambivalence only seems to fuel out preoccupation with what being Australian means. Harvard students might sympathize with this obsession, for this obsession, for this institution continues to give rise to a huge literature analyzing the Harvard experience; The Crimson contributes to it daily.

All told, it's an interesting time to be dropping in on Australia. You might also have a good time there--which some would see as an essential part of the Australian experience!

John Rickard is the visiting professor of Australian Studies and the author of Australia: A Cultural History. He is happy to talk to any student with either a research or travel interest in Australia. His e-mail address is jrickard@fas.harvard.edu.