By Maria Millers

For many the long-stablished story of the Gallipoli landings and to a lesser extent the Western Front remain the defining moments for our country. Just minted as a new nation in 1901, but still very British, our other achievements were put aside to lay the foundations of our national identity based on our participation in a war that ended up costing us so much in human terms: the injured and damaged, the toll on families and the disruption to our society

So why then have we not given the same importance to other aspects of our history? After all, the coming together of six British colonies as a new nation was an enormous achievement. Equally impressive were the pioneering social reforms that this newly federated nation was able to achieve ahead of many other countries: from granting women the right to vote and stand for elections, to social reforms like the old Age pension in 1909.Significant industrial and welfare reforms followed establishing Australia as ‘a path breaking new nation.’

Instead we have been made to accept war as a defining moment of our entry into nationhood.

War correspondent Charles Bean was most influential in creating the myth we have come to accept uncritically. His writing was often far from the reality of what it was like on the ground or mud at Gallipoli and the Western Front and he wrote what he thought the public back home wanted to hear. His writing also reflected the opinions of Officers in the AIF and the politicians back home.

But as political historian Benedict Anderson once said, national identity is a product of the imagination, and the stories we choose to tell ourselves about our past are the ones that define us. We have created an idealised sanitised version of a tall, khaki clad man with a slouch hat against a backdrop of some defining war image.

Yet among the first ‘Anzacs’ there were also Indigenous Australians, Australians of German descent, and Asian Australians. Some 1000 Indigenous Australians are thought to have served in the AIF, on Gallipoli and the Western Front. And 3000 Australian women enlisted in WW1 as nurses, doctors and in other supportive roles.

Another contentious issue is that our reflection of our military history never acknowledges the unspoken wars: The Frontier Wars between settlers and the Indigenous. The official Anzac story however has been nurtured and elevated to the status of a national myth. And myths are always preferred to historical accuracy.

The first Anzac Day march took place in 1916 and was very much about recruiting for the ongoing war. The first Dawn Service was in 1920 and by 1927 Anzac Day became a public holiday in all states and territories.

The horrendous loss of life in WW1 impacted on Australian society in so many ways. In a country of around 5 million 62000 had lost their lives. The ongoing focus on the moment of battle ignored the post war suffering of this huge number of men (and women) who returned shell shocked, wounded, disabled and disfigured. Equally impacted were the families who cared for them.

But politicians soon realized that there was political mileage in promoting the Anzac story, particularly when there was an unpopular war to prosecute. Prime Ministers from Hawke, Howard through to Gillard and Rudd have all used the Anzac story for political reasons.

Not that there was no criticism about what some called ‘legislated nostalgia’ that came to surround Anzac Day and its commemoration. Writers like George Johnston and playwright Alan Seymour challenged this approach to our military history.

Seymour’s play revolves around a father son conflict. The son, Hughie a university student refuses for the first time to attend the dawn service which traditionally was then followed by a day of drunkenness, illegal gambling and the inevitable brawls and public vomiting.

Alf his father has served and is an embittered man. This play which was so controversial back in the 60s is eerily relevant as it looks at so many issues we still grapple with today: immigration, health services, substance abuse, family violence and the recent rise of jingoism that has crept into our commemoration of Anzac and other wars we have been involved in.

Similarly, writer George Johnston in his autobiographical novel My Brother Jack brings us face to face with the reality for those tens of thousands who made it back alive, but damaged, Who can forget his description of the hallway of the Meredith home: a gas mask on the hall stand, sturdy walking sticks, artificial limbs propped up against a wall and the inevitable wheelchair, all powerful symbols of the impact of the war on those who served. And these were just the obvious physical injuries and not the mental ones that haunted so many then as well as those from recent conflicts such as the Vietnam War.

In the 1960s and 70s some Australians returning from the Vietnam War felt, as attitudes to the war changed, that their service during a decade of conflict 1962- 1972 was not appreciated by the public and that they were excluded from the Anzac tradition. They chose not to participate in Anzac Day events until October 1987 when a special Welcome Home Parade was held. Tragically 523 had died, 3000 were wounded and many still carry psychological wounds.

A more recent commentary comes from Iraq and Afghanistan veteran James Brown in his book Anzac’s Long Shadow where he argues that Australia is spending too much time, money and emotion on our obsession with the Anzac legend at the expense of current serving men and women. He dismisses any suggestion that criticism of the Anzac myth is ‘unaustralian.’ And he pulls no punches in calling out the clubs, charities and corporations that exploit the Anzac theme for commercial gain.

The term Anzackery was coined by historian Geoffrey Serle to draw attention to inflated rhetoric that has built up around Anzac Day celebrations. He would have found it disturbing to see how a jingoistic tone has crept into the commemorations. Add to that the ever-expanding range of Anzac merchandise from badges, oven mitts, Tshirts, poppies and other kitsch mementoes and Gallipoli cruises. It is hoped that some of the proceeds flow to making life easier for the veterans.

Myths and legends reflect the values of the societies in which they exist and at the core of the Anzac tradition is the belief that nations and men are made in war. This prevents us from asking important questions about who we are and what kind of society we want to live in.

Many Australians, while respectful of our war dead, are uncomfortable with the way we now remember them. Families will always mourn their loved ones and respect memories of their ancestors without the need for exaggerated sentimentalism.

Australia is a very different country today and choosing Gallipoli as the foundation moment for our nation is fraught with problems of leaving out so much of our rich and complex history from the national narrative. We should also remind ourselves of the reality of all wars, so vividly expressed in the following poem by Wilfred Owen:

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

Notes: Latin phrase is from the Roman poet Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”