Suchergebnisse

This article explores how the Enlightenment values of reason, freedom and progress has shaped and continues to shape the social welfare practices of Australian society. It demonstrates how the idealisms of colonialism cemented the universal narrative of progress into the very framework of civilisation, mapping the government's quest for perfection in light of its founding as a place of correction, a penal colony for Great Britain. Through an analysis of progress' manifestation into the realm of institutionalisation, it questions the very validity of Enlightenment sentiments and its latent paradoxical nature as a rationale for freedom, yet simultaneously, confinement and restriction. Using the development of the Female Orphan School Parramatta, from an early colonial orphanage to a mental asylum, it unlocks the possibility of modernity acting as a form of cannibalism, ironically consumed in destroying its own inherent structures and ideals through the practical manifestations of its ways of thinking. Drawing upon the work of Nietzsche and Baudrillard, the denunciation of metanarratives such as progress, is unveiled through an analysis of history's relativity. The postmodern conception of individual truth, Foucault's professing of discourse, gives rise to the notion of history as a product of contemporary society's knowledge, rather than an objective reflection of the past.

Di Yerbury, a collector of Australian art for 30 years, started collecting Indigenous art in the mid-1980s as CEO of the Australia Council of which the Aboriginal Arts Board was part. She has since built one of Australia's best-known private collections of Indigenous art. In 1992 she donated 25 Aboriginal artworks to Macquarie University, whose Vice-Chancellor and President she has been since 1987, to celebrate its Silver Jubilee, starting Macquarie's own Indigenous collection. Works from the combined Yerbury/Macquarie collections, displayed annually in the Macquarie University Art Gallery and elsewhere on campus, were the basis of a travelling exhibition to mark the Sydney Olympics in 2000 and the planned (later deferred) Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) in 2001. In October 2002, the second international conference of ICOM's UMAC opened at Macquarie with an exhibition from the collections and a floor-talk by Yerbury on which this paper is based. The term 'From Dreamtime to Machine Time', is borrowed from Trevor Nicholls whose series of paintings with that theme represented Australia in the 1990 Venice Biennale. The paper relates aspects of Australian history from the time of Creation, viewed through the eyes of some of the very diverse Indigenous artists represented in the collections. ; Di Yerbury colecciona arte Australiana hâ cerca de 30 anos, tendo iniciado a sua colecçào de arte indìgena em meados de década de 80 quando era presidente do Conselho Australiano, do qual a Direcçâo de Artes Aborigènes faz parte. Desde entâo, Yerbury reuniu urna das mais reputadas colecçôes privadas australianas de arte indigena. Em 1992, por ocasiào do Jubileu de Prata da Universidade de Macquarie (Nova Gales do Sul), da qual é Reitera desde 1987, Yerbury doou 25 obras aborigènes à Universidade. Esta doaçâo deu inicio à colecçào de arte aborigene da Universidade de Macquarie. As obras da colecçào Yerbury/Macquarie estâo permanentemente expostas na Galeria de Arte da Universidade, bem corno em outros locais do campus, tendo constituido a base de urna exposiçâo itinerante por ocasiâo dos jogos olimpicos de Sydney em 2000. A conferência anual do Comité Internacional do ICOM para os museus e colecçôes universitârias (UMAC) iniciou-se com urna visita à colecçào, guiada por Di Yerbury, na qual este artigo se baseou. A expressâo 'From Dreamtime to Machine Time' [em traducaci literal 'Do Tempo do Sonho ao Tempo da Maquina'] é de Trevor Nichols, um dos artistas que representou a Australia na Bienal de Veneza de 1990. Este artigo traça os principais aspectos da história australiana desde a època da 'criaçâo', através dos olhos de alguns dos artistas representados na colecçào Yerbury/Macquarie.

This article focuses on the role Manning Clark played in popularising a critical reading of Australian history, especially between the early 1970s and his death in 1991. It also discusses Clark's influence on Paul Keating, Labor Prime Minister from 1991 to 1996. Finally, it explains the antipathy of Australian conservatives towards Clark; largely in light of Clark's views concerning 'civilisation', British 'heritage' and the dispossession of Aboriginal Australia.

This article focuses on the role Manning Clark played in popularising a critical reading of Australian history, especially between the early 1970s and his death in 1991. It also discusses Clark's influence on Paul Keating, Labor Prime Minister from 1991 to 1996. Finally, it explains the antipathy of Australian conservatives towards Clark; largely in light of Clark's views concerning 'civilisation', British 'heritage' and the dispossession of Aboriginal Australia.

This paper analyses the militarisation of Australian history and culture thesis with specific reference to the increasing popularity of Anzac battlefield tourism. I argue that the militarisation thesis contains ontological and epistemological flaws that render it incapable of understanding the multifaceted ways in which Australians experience Anzac battlefield tours. I then argue that in order to study how Australians both at home and overseas respond to the upcoming Anzac Centenary researchers will need to deploy an empirically-grounded and multidisciplinary framework. I demonstrate how proponents of militarisation: (1) ignore the polymorphous properties of Anzac myths; (2) are complicit with constructions of 'moral panics' about young Australian tourists; (3) overlook the reflexive capacities of teachers, students and tourists with respect to military history and battlefield tours; and (4) disregard the complex and contradictory aspects of visits to battlefields. My counter-narrative relies both on Stuart Hall's work on popular culture and empirical studies of battlefield tourism from myriad disciplines.

Since the introduction of multiculturalism as a public policy in 1973, the peopling of Australia by migrants from many different countries has become a celebrated national narrative. One place where this story has been told is in the nation's museums. Yet the aims and content of Australia's early migration exhibitions, which were among the first in the world, remain unrepresented in the relevant literature. They also remain disconnected from later exhibitions and museums of migration, when in fact they had a profound influence on them. This thesis asks: whose stories were told in Australian exhibitions of immigration history? And how did they change? To explore these questions, this thesis weaves a history of key exhibitions across institutions. A combination of archival research and interviews with museum curators reveals the complex ideas, decisions and circumstances that shaped these displays. The broader historical and political developments surrounding the opening of the Migration Museum in 1986, the Powerhouse Museum in 1988, the Australian National Maritime Museum in 1991, the Immigration Museum in 1998 and the long gestation of the National Museum of Australia from 1980 until 2001 provide the vital context for the exhibition analyses. A survey of the literature relating to multiculturalism, migration history and museums in Australia locates the chosen exhibitions within wider debates about ethnicity, identity, concepts of heritage and the role of national museums. I argue that we can understand museum exhibitions about migration in Australia between 1984 and 2001 as operating within two broad and internally variable phases. The first phase, "inventing the nation of immigrants", was characterised by a radical, revisionist and unashamedly multicultural challenge to standard national narratives; the second, "democratising the nation of immigrants", by a more conservative and inclusive approach that, in an attempt to include all Australians in the migration story, distanced itself from political controversy. ...

Australian history has generated intense political and historiographical interest in recent years, as historians, politicians and public commentators weighed into captivating and divisive contests over the nation's past. Commemorations, museums and school syllabuses became sites of great public interest and contestation, powerful reminders of the politics of collective memory. While such discussions continue to stimulate argument and analysis in scholarly articles, opinion pieces and public commentary, little is known of their impact on the wider community. What do so-called "ordinary Australians" think about the nation's past? Are the historical questions it raises also debated in our sports clubs, living rooms and community centre kitchenettes? Does that historical concern reach out beyond opinion pages or academic journals, and across the garden fences that Tom Griffiths wrote about in relation to historical practice?

The word 'dynasty' evokes images of hereditary rulers, striding dusty castle corridors where their families have ruled for centuries. It might also suggest dominant political families, like the Kennedys, in republican settings like the United States of America. The term can, however, also be used to describe prominent families in other fields, such as business or the law, where a succession of individuals from one family have scaled the heights of their profession. A number of such families have lived and worked in Australia, and their stories are captured in the biographies told in the Australian Dictionary of Biography and the associated People Australia websites. This essay explores the stories of two families who might be thought of as Australian legal dynasties: the Stephens and the Streets. Between them, these two families produced across several generations four chief justices of New South Wales—and one person who turned the job down—as well as at least four other judges, and numerous successful barristers and solicitors.

The word 'dynasty' evokes images of hereditary rulers, striding dusty castle corridors where their families have ruled for centuries. It might also suggest dominant political families, like the Kennedys, in republican settings like the United States of America. The term can, however, also be used to describe prominent families in other fields, such as business or the law, where a succession of individuals from one family have scaled the heights of their profession. A number of such families have lived and worked in Australia, and their stories are captured in the biographies told in the Australian Dictionary of Biography and the associated People Australia websites. This essay explores the stories of two families who might be thought of as Australian legal dynasties: the Stephens and the Streets. Between them, these two families produced across several generations four chief justices of New South Wales—and one person who turned the job down—as well as at least four other judges, and numerous successful barristers and solicitors.

As a component of the Australian Army, the Militia numbered over 300,000 men at its peak and fought in several successful and complex campaigns in the South-West Pacific Area (SWPA) during the Second World War. Notwithstanding its size and achievements, the Militia has been overshadowed by analysis of the Second Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and it remains poorly represented in Australia's Second World War historiography. The 'Militia' has been inadequately understood and interpreted. It represented both a status and organisation during the Second World War that was markedly different from its pre-war incarnation and the post-war Citizen Military Forces. As Australia's only wartime fighting organisation that comprised conscripted men, the Militia was inherently political. Among both the army and public, perceptions of the Militia were affected by the presence of conscripts and contentious views of conscription even though it comprised an increasing number of unrestricted volunteers in the latter half of the war. Despite instances of bonding in battle, relations between the Militia and the AIF were strained at an organisational level throughout the war. Focusing on the experience of its 59 standard infantry battalions and drawing on a wide range of official and private evidence, this thesis charts the operational employment of the Militia, its relationship with the AIF, the perceptions of commanders at various levels and the tension provoked by the army encouraging men to opt for unrestricted service. Providing an integrated analysis that has previously been lacking, this thesis also examines broader issues associated with the Militia including political and social debate over conscription along with representations of the Militia in the press and official and unofficial histories. In according the wartime Militia its first detailed analysis, the thesis explores the relationship between a partly conscripted force in an army and society with a celebrated volunteer ethos.

In mid-2006, John Howard, conservative prime minister of Australia, convened a national history summit. The purported objective of the occasion was a commonly agreed national approach to the teaching and learning of Australian history in schools, a controversial issue at that time. This chapter, based on the personal involvement of the author in the process, outlines the background to the summit, details the inside story of the occasion and explains the political background to the John Howard's hidden agenda in calling the 2006 history summit. This chapter discusses the events surrounding the Australian version of school history wars 2005-2007 as a memoir, but also as a study in high politics that deliberately emphasises the motivations and actions and roles of individuals, often quite obscure individuals, in the mechanics of political action and education policy formulation at the federal level.

When looking back into the first century of Australian history following white settlement we often rely on the records of musters, listings and censuses to provide information on individuals and communities. The first census of New South Wales in 1828 was little more than a directory of names of settlers and settlements, but both professional historians and genealogists regard it as invaluable. As the scientific principles of censuses were developed over the course of the nineteenth century the information collected became ever more important for social scientists and economists. In the twentieth century, professional historians in the UK and USA opened wholly new perspectives on society by looking to the census for records of common families who were not recorded in the newspapers or diaries of the time, and the community structures in which they lived. Unfortunately such innovations have not been possible in Australia. The individual records of most colonial and all Commonwealth censuses are not to be found in the libraries or archives. The destruction of original census records in Australia has been the result of misadventure and government policies reflecting great fear about the impact of popular privacy concerns on public compliance with the census operations. This paper explores the history behind the anomalous practice of destroying census records in Australia, and poses questions about the role of the census in the writing of histories of Australian people and Australian communities.

When looking back into the first century of Australian history following white settlement we often rely on the records of musters, listings and censuses to provide information on individuals and communities. The first census of New South Wales in 1828 was little more than a directory of names of settlers and settlements, but both professional historians and genealogists regard it as invaluable. As the scientific principles of censuses were developed over the course of the nineteenth century the information collected became ever more important for social scientists and economists. In the twentieth century, professional historians in the UK and USA opened wholly new perspectives on society by looking to the census for records of common families who were not recorded in the newspapers or diaries of the time, and the community structures in which they lived. Unfortunately such innovations have not been possible in Australia. The individual records of most colonial and all Commonwealth censuses are not to be found in the libraries or archives. The destruction of original census records in Australia has been the result of misadventure and government policies reflecting great fear about the impact of popular privacy concerns on public compliance with the census operations. This paper explores the history behind the anomalous practice of destroying census records in Australia, and poses questions about the role of the census in the writing of histories of Australian people and Australian communities.

It is a commonplace of much political and journalistic rhetoric that Australia as a nation possesses a "great tradition of cartooning and illustration" (NMA, 2003) as social and political commentary. One of the few authors to tackle the whole history of Australian cartooning - Vane Lindesay - certainly thought so, when he observed a distinctive "'Australian School' of black-and-white comic art" that had made Australia "an important world center" of graphic humor (1970:1). Himself a cartoonist, he saw in the "often wry, sometimes uninhibited, and always distinctive" sense of humor expressed in cartoons something uniquely Australian (2); something just as important for understanding the national character as other aspects of what Russel Ward had termed The Australian Legend (1958). Indeed, it has been said that "Australians often congratulate themselves for having the best caitoonists in the world" (Phiddian and Manning, 2013:7), and that Australians have a special appetite for political satire in graphic form.

In his Australia Day address in 2006, John Howard, the (then) Australian Prime Minister, called for a "root and branch renewal of the teaching of Australian History". This led, later in 2006, to a meeting in Canberra, sponsored by the Minister for Education, and held under the auspices of the Commonwealth Department of Education, of Australian Historians and a few History teachers. The purpose of this gathering was to make recommendations in response to a proposal to make Australian History compulsory in all Australian schools at some point. The summit concluded that Year Nine was a good point at which to implement such a course and a further group were deputed to draft a syllabus. That group reported late last year, just as the government changed. Now it appears that the approach favoured by the Howard Government will be abandoned. This paper analyses these events both in terms of the attempt to implement assert a socially conservative and economically neoliberal view of the world, while appearing to favour "objective narrative", and the deeper contradiction between politically driven syllabus construction and students' learning.