Imaginary History

Revising history is not a new phenomenon; it is as old as history itself. The reasons for doing so vary, but one of the most common is to support a political agenda (often by denigrating the reputation of those previously in power, such as a dead king or his dynasty).

George Orwell was not the first to note the importance of history, but he was the most articulate at documenting its misuse. In his depressingly magnificent book Nineteen Eighty-Four he stated, “He who controls the past, controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.” Orwell also understood the power of changing the meaning of language to suit nefarious political purposes, a process he demonstrated in the language of “Newspeak”. Orwell showed that language could be controlled, changed and used to further the aims of the revisionists. Thus common terms were often reinterpreted to mean something different, or even the opposite of our normal understanding of them.

We have seen the revisionists attack Anzac courage and mateship, the achievements of the Australian explorers and pioneers, the nation-builders who conceived and completed projects like the Snowy River Scheme and the Ord River Dam and the development of our rich mineral resources, on which our economy and standard of living now largely depend since the collapse of our manufacturing sector. Yet the relentless and often fabricated revisions continue unabated and have long since penetrated the education sector from kindergarten to university level and all shades of political thought.

Were it not for Peter O’Brien’s comprehensive analysis of Dark Emu, Pascoe’s faux history would enter the mainstream uncontested and, thanks to the “Iron Law of Intended and Unintended Consequences”, a new round of spurious claims concerning the legitimacy of our Australian nation as a rightful sovereign state would begin. By taking the flimsiest of evidence and exaggerating it to monstrous proportions, Pascoe falsely builds a case that there was an Aboriginal “nation” that met the recognised criteria of what we call “civilisation”. His claim is that the Aborigines built the foundations of institutions that form a governable nation. What he cannot provide is any realistic evidence, so this is where Newspeak comes in. Rudimentary collections of plants near temporary camps (possibly from dropped seeds) become the Elysian Fields of an agrarian paradise of plenty. The paucity of evidence is no problem, as Pascoe can simply misquote explorers, distort, misinterpret, omit and invent anything he wishes in support of his purported Aboriginal idyll. The corollary is that he can also ignore whatever is inconvenient or does not support his fiction.

I think Dark Emu has been popular because it allows postmodern Australians to hate themselves and their wealth without leaving the comfort of their armchairs. That it will be read by children vulnerable to accepting what they are taught by politically motivated teachers is a real concern and one of the best arguments I can think of for home-schooling, or for more private schools with their own “truth, warts and all” curriculum.

It is worth noting, as Peter O’Brien points out, that if Pascoe’s tortured view of reality were to be accepted then the legitimacy of the ownership of large parts of Australia could be a bonanza for rent-seekers funded by those they sue. Perhaps that is Pascoe’s semi-hidden objective? And perhaps handing back their spears and boomerangs, ripping up all roads, tearing down all buildings, stopping their whitefella money and leaving them to re-establish their own version of Eden would be worth the price. What more could they want? I think Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World may give a clue.

The kiss of death for any book wishing to make the best-seller list is to categorise it as “scholarly”. Generally, this is a euphemism by a reviewer to praise the academic author for their studious toil in producing an obscure, boring, incomprehensible work that is unreadable and masked by extravagant prose designed to prove the author’s intellectual superiority. Well, Bitter Harvest is certainly scholarly, as it is thoroughly researched (much more so than the book it analyses), but it is none of the above. It is well written in a readable, flowing style that is quickly engaging. Given the subject matter this last facet is essential.

The subject lacks appeal to the general public, but it has an underlying theme which, when combined with its readable style, makes it worth the purchase price and the small effort required to read it. In a broader sense it is really the book that should have been written as the core of understanding how Aborigines lived before (and in remote parts for a century after) the arrival of Europeans. Peter O’Brien has checked Pascoe’s references and properly quoted them in context. His “Appendix: Journal Extracts” of a mere twenty-five pages is by itself sufficient to replace and invalidate a very high percentage of Pascoe’s Dark Emu fantasies. The rebuttal by Pascoe to Bitter Harvest, if such a thing is possible, should make fascinating reading.

Bruce Pascoe’s fairy tale of an Aboriginal Camelot that never existed is reputed to have sold 100,000 copies. I wonder how many of those purchasers will buy a book that debunks the false premises and fanciful fictions for which they paid their money, and how many would refuse to read a properly-researched book challenging their misconceptions?

Although it deserves to be more successful than Pascoe’s fictional history, any book written with the aim of critiquing another book is unlikely to exceed the sales of the first, no matter how true or good it is. I would recommend that Bitter Harvest’s core should be excerpted (without ever mentioning the Pascoe parable) and turned into a book called The True History of the Aboriginal Nomads. That is the book our children should be reading.

Pascoe was recently referred to the Federal Police (by a real Aboriginal person) for investigation concerning his claims to be Aboriginal. Should his Aboriginal genealogy turn out to be faked, it will be interesting to see how my taxpayer-funded ABC will deal with the situation. Just my little joke—we already know they have no need of reality, as they have an agenda to pursue.

Bitter Harvest: The Illusion of Aboriginal Agriculture in Bruce Pascoe’s Dark Emu
by Peter O’Brien
Quadrant Books, 2019, 240 pages, $34.95

Alistair Pope is a frequent contributor.