Letters to the Editor

History and Anzac Day

SIR: I have always followed the practice of holding my peace when criticised in print, but have also always held that the exception to this was clear misrepresentation of my views, deliberate or otherwise. Mervyn Bendle’s piece (“Gallipoli: Second Front in the History Wars”, June 2009) constitutes such an occasion and I hope you might give me a few lines of print to correct it.

Bendle has never met me, heard me speak nor, clearly, ever read anything I have written (and with all due modesty there is quite a lot of the latter out there). If he had, he would know that lumping me in to some form of collective Left among academic historians is bizarre were it not actually rather funny. I doubt that I have ever agreed with Professor Marilyn Lake on anything, and that certainly includes the lines lifted from her two pieces on Anzac Day that Bendle quotes.

For the record, and since he seems not to know, I would generally be regarded professionally as a “small c” conservative historian, one with a decidedly unfashionable and “non-theoretically informed” approach to the discipline, who has spent his entire career working in the highly unfashionable field of military history (not social history, but stuff dealing with operations, command, administration, doctrine and organisation), and who has spent his career at that hotbed of anarcho-syndicalist tendencies, the Australian Defence Force Academy. All of which makes me a funny sort of Leftist.

As to the comments ascribed to me from the article by Stephen Matchett in the Australian (April 25–26), these whilst literally correct are taken out of the context of a lengthy discussion between us, only bits of which could appear in the article cited, and even less of which Bendle reproduces. Again, for the record then, let’s be clear about a couple of things. I do indeed deplore the carnival that attends solemn aspects of Anzac Day commemoration, which is why I no longer go to the National Dawn Service at the Australian War Memorial—I grew sick of people chatting on mobile phones, kids running about unsupervised, and a general “event” atmosphere that has come to permeate that occasion. In my old-fashioned view, it is just wrong, and these days I prefer to attend the small service with the young servicemen and women I teach at ADFA.

I am equally sick of people whingeing about the works being undertaken by the Turkish authorities on the Gallipoli peninsula (a site I have visited several times, including conducting a staff ride with US officers whom I taught in the US Marine Corps’ education system some years back), and would not wish the Anzac Day excesses of recent years on the good citizens of Villers-Bretonneux (a place I have also visited while walking the battlefields of the Western Front). These would not be necessary in the first place if Anzac Day had not become an “event” for politicians and tourists, and this frankly has very little to do with gaining an understanding of the campaign or the experiences of Australian, British, New Zealand, French, Indian, Newfoundland and above all, Turkish, combatants. Put simply, if you don’t want the Turks to widen the roads, don’t all go there at the same time.

Pointing out that the armies of the settler-dominions of the empire shared a number of characteristics (something that their British contemporaries fully appreciated), or that historians in Canada ascribe many of these “unique” characteristics to the CEF in the same manner as Australians writing about the AIF is scarcely the stuff of a concerted “Leftist” attack on Anzac Day, or anything else for that matter.

Finally, I need no lessons in patriotism (nor, clearly, in history) from Mr Bendle. I generally detest the tendency of politicians to wrap themselves in a khaki-coloured flag while seeking photo opportunities with Australian soldiers (dead or alive), but as a member of a family with three generations of Australian soldiers in its number, I do not need to be reminded about sacrifice, or its relativities, by Bendle or by anybody else.

Jeffrey Grey,

Professor,

Humanities and Social Sciences,

Australian Defence Force Academy,

Canberra, ACT.

Don’t Criticise Our Criticisms

SIR: I was bemused to read Dr Mervyn Bendle’s recent piece, “Gallipoli: Second Front in the History Wars”, in which he memorably puts the “rant” into Quadrant. Dr Bendle criticises an unlikely group of historians—not all of whom would answer to the label “Left”—alleging an “assault on the Anzac legend”. His fundamental error is to confuse honest, critical, constructive engagement in interpreting Australia’s military history with a disdain for those who served and for the importance of “Anzac” (and all that it means) for the nation.

Why “academics” should be derided for offering criticism of Anzac eludes me—though I don’t and have never had a permanent academic job. Surely being able to criticise, qualify or contest this idea is exactly the freedom that sacrifice in war has won? But I’ll let those lumped in with me speak for themselves. Allow me to contest Dr Bendle’s allegations relating to my own work.

I have published twenty-odd books, including books about Australians at war, such as Tarakan: An Australian Tragedy, Alamein: The Australian Story, Quinn’s Post, Anzac, Gallipoli and (later this year or next) Men of Mont St Quentin and Bad Characters. I have worked as a professional military historian for almost thirty years (for twenty of them as Principal Historian at the Australian War Memorial, not an organisation known for harbouring apostates of Anzac). I have commentated at Anzac Day marches in Sydney and in Canberra for about ten years and have never been accused of undermining respect for those who march. Mine is perhaps a pretty poor sort of undermining; or perhaps Dr Bendle has got me wrong.

Dr Bendle specifically criticises me for several supposed errors; first, for my having the temerity to criticise populist writers such as Peter FitzSimons and Les Carlyon. How this is necessarily of the Left I do not understand; perhaps Dr Bendle seeks to cultivate the lurking anti-intellectualism that dogs debate in Australia. But I do not resile from those criticisms. The shallow, simple-minded nationalism of too many populist writers who give short weight in fat books deserves to be condemned.

Second, he takes issue with my views on whether the recent idea of a 1942 “Battle for Australia” is justifiable. Dr Bendle may disagree with my view on whether Japan actually planned to invade Australia—and I would challenge him to produce evidence that I’m wrong—but he is quite mistaken to allege that I wish to “compel Australians to accept that their country’s role in the Second World War was minor and even inconsequential”. I clearly do not believe that that war was anything but an event of great moment in Australia’s relationship to the Western world. (It seems odd to be schooling Quadrant on this subject, but that might suggest how pernicious the parochial “Battle for Australia” idea has become.)

Even so, I don’t see how my contesting the idea of a “Battle for Australia” necessarily amounts to an “attack on Anzac”. (I’m no revisionist, either. I’m merely reiterating what used to be the accepted orthodoxy, before the Johnny-come-lately idea of a Battle for Australia was invented, in the mid-1990s—ironically, in the wake of Paul Keating’s celebrated kissing of the ground at Kokoda in 1992.) Dr Bendle seems to mistake an argument about the conduct of Australia’s wars as implying a disdain for those who served. It’s an easy slur and one I refute.

In Invading Australia (and in pieces I published while developing the ideas it expresses) I made clear several arguments that rather undercut his critique. Far from deriding the idea of Australia’s part in the Second World War, I explicitly wrote of those who served:

It needs to be said very clearly and explicitly that in criticising the idea of a Battle for Australia I am in no way diminishing the sacrifice or achievements of those Australians who served and suffered … As I have repeatedly said, those who risked and gave their lives for the Allied cause in 1942 deserve the highest praise.

I argue that while the “Battle of Australia” is bogus, Australians ought to pause to remember this war and:

all of those Australians who helped to fight Nazism and fascism in Europe and militarist aggression in Asia … not … a “battle” that did not actually occur … The sacrifices of all Australians in the Second World War helped to ensure that Australians inherited the society we cherish today. That seems to be a legacy of much greater significance and one worth remembering.

I believe that it is perfectly possible to critically interpret Australia’s wars or take issue with the self-appointed guardians of the Anzac legend, with a profound sympathy for those affected by those conflicts. All my work bears out that contention.

But the damage that Dr Bendle’s article might do is profound. His claim of an “attack by the intelligentsia on the Anzac tradition” strikes a worrying note. The idea of Anzac belongs to all Australians. In a free society no idea, however sacred, should be above criticism, comment and challenge. The scholars whom Dr Bendle attacks have all made strong contributions—much more than his—to making Australian military history a vibrant, healthy discipline. To attempt to curtail criticism because he disagrees with it is to be deplored as deeply reprehensible for a pluralist society.

As Dr Bendle himself says, “the Anzac legend is far too precious to be left to the mercy of these ideologues”. Indeed. But Anzac does not need to be protected from analysis. It is vigorous enough to bear any amount of interpretation and re-interpretation, and Australia as a society can happily hold many different ways of understanding it. Those Dr Bendle criticises will I hope continue to do so; as will I.

Peter Stanley,

Director, Centre for Historical Research,

National Museum of Australia,

Canberra, ACT.

The Chattering Classes

SIR: Peter Ryan (June 2009) is correct in that the Spectator gave the world its “chattering classes”, but the epithet was coined by former editor Frank Johnson, not Auberon Waugh.

John Dorman,

Carnegie, Vic.

Beersheba and Afterwards

SIR: Having been a horseman; having attended the Warminster School of Infantry in which battle tactics were a main subject; having edited an army newspaper and dealt with war observers and correspondents, I always felt that the Beersheba affair had been slightly romanticised under Mervyn Bendle’s principle (June 2009). Obviously I reckoned not with the ad hominem people.

However, I have recently discovered Sand, Sweat and Camels, an account of the Imperial Camel Corps in Egypt and Palestine by Brigadier George Furner Langley CBE DSO etc. (1891–1971), who commanded it. When he was unable to finish the book due to ill health, his wife Esmée completed it.

Langley wrote that at the time of the famous Light Horse charge, the Desert Mounted Corps was intent on destroying the Beersheba–Gaza railway. The Camel Corps advanced on Beersheba in stages by night, along with the Artillery and the London and Welsh Infantry. At dawn on the final day they attacked the Turkish positions.

The Australian Light Horse, having ridden thirty-four miles through the night (and presumably rested during the day, as the charge was in the evening), finally swung in from the east side and with a wild yell jumped the remaining manned Turkish trenches and galloped on into the town to prevent the enemy smashing wells to deny water for the very thirsty horses and camels. The allies took 1500 prisoners and suffered fifty-three killed and 144 wounded. That the Turks had intended to retreat is suggested by the fact that not only were railway trucks loaded with explosives booby trapped, but that such devices were everywhere, even down to a bottle of beer!

Langley’s account however does makes military sense and perhaps explains the light casualties; never mind the idea that the Turks were shooting high, no soldiers would be so stupid. Most likely the final charge was of a relatively short distance and the men disposed as Fowler wrote; fifty yards between squadrons and four yards between horsemen (not as the photo shows). It must have been an impulsive movement such as you would expect from the kind of men who now seem to be a vanished race.

Langley describes the astonishing subsequent push northwards to Damascus under Generals Allenby and Chauvel:

It took exactly fourteen swift and dramatic days to destroy the enemy who had resisted us for four years … As a military overthrow so sudden and absolute, historian Gullett considers that this is without parallel in the history of war … Our prisoners amounted to 80,000 men … Practically every gun, all transport and every plane and aerodrome had been put out of action.

How the Camel Corps—now 5th Light Horse as it was not camel country up north—and all the others, issued with real swords at last, swept the enemy aside on the road to Damascus is an account which should be required reading for fireside warriors and should be placed alongside Gallipoli. Not so, Mr Bendle?

My father was in the region at the time. I have now obtained his war records from the AWM. His first stop was Cairo’s Abbassia Barracks, HQ of the newly formed Camel Corps. This wasn’t surprising, seeing that he had been a camel driver when he enlisted at Adelaide. He became a military policeman and sailed for Marseilles to end up at Le Havre. Being drunk and AWOL more than once, he was court martialled. He caught the pandemic flu in May 1918 and was discharged to England in 1919.

Murray Mitchell,

Bairnsdale, Vic.

Teaching and Research

SIR: I read with interest the comment by Judy Scrivener (Letters, November 2009) on James Allan’s article “Our Misgoverned Universities” (October 2009). I wish to pick up the final comments of Ms Scrivener (a final-year law student) where she states:

Mr Allan raises the very real scenario of universities employing those talented at “grant grabs” without the quality that ultimately will impact on a university, that being, turning out educated, well-rounded professionals.

There can be no doubt that a primary goal of a university is to turn out well-educated individuals, but in making that comment within a letter that found much to criticise in the current grant mindset of universities, there is a suggestion that Ms Scrivener sees universities as primarily teaching institutions. It may be that I am reading too much into her comments; nevertheless, it is important to occasionally reaffirm that a university is a research and learning institution. Keeping this fact at the forefront of the minds of university strategic planners and students is always important.

The public expects universities to carry out certain tasks. Such things as finding cures for diseases, exploring the maths and science that will take us into the next century and beyond, digging up the past and unearthing history come to mind. Such research requires long periods of uninterrupted time in which to concentrate on a problem. This is what a university is there to provide, not only to the academic but, in my opinion, also to the student. Such research cannot be carried out in a teaching environment akin to that of a high school, for the simple reason that that form of teaching is a full-time job. The method of teaching at university is specific to a research-driven environment. In addition, both the academic staff and the student cohort have a responsibility to efficiently deliver research outcomes.

A faculty of law is part of the university and therefore has such research obligations. The research carried out by law faculties today goes far beyond commenting on cases and current issues before the courts. A snapshot of the type of research carried out can usually be gleaned from the websites of law faculties. There may have been a time in the early history of the university when the research role of law faculties was not as prominent as it now is, but that time has passed (see James A. Brundage, The Medieval Origins of the Legal Profession, University of Chicago Press, page 251). This is the reason why so much emphasis is placed on research in the academic employment interviews Ms Scrivener attended as a student representative.

Students should expect their lecturer to cover the assigned course materials but should not be surprised and should not “freak out” if they do not stick like glue to a course outline or examinable material. In such a research-intensive environment, the student must take responsibility for his or her own learning; the vast nature of the topics being studied at university cannot be covered in a lecture theatre. In law, we traditionally talked of students “reading law”. This emphasised that students had a significant responsibility for their own education. In order to do this, and in order for research to be carried out efficiently at a university, students must arrive at university with the basic skills necessary for independent learning. This is not achieved by hot-housing students in their school years or merely training them to do well in the HSC.

In recent years not only have research expectations risen but so too has the teaching load of academics. That increase in teaching load may be reflected in face-to-face hours or in student numbers. But some of the increase is due to changes in teaching methodology, teaching and general administration and student expectation. Perhaps to some extent that expectation has been fuelled by universities holding themselves out as centres of teaching excellence, which is likely to be further fuelled if universities go down the road of appointing teaching-only positions. There is also technology which gives students access to their lecturers twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Ultimately we are going to have to leave it to the community and industry to judge whether the teaching methods adopted and the pastoral care now being provided by universities to students are resulting in “well-rounded” graduates with the knowledge and skills required by the market. But what is the impact on the academic? In my experience, it has become difficult to find those blocks of time to carry out research in one’s working day. In fact, the extent to which Australian universities continue to have good research outputs is testament to their staff, because many are doing that research in their own time. It would be interesting to know the percentage of academic staff in any institution who regularly take their annual leave. Even when leave is taken, I suspect it is often used to catch up on research.

There is a price to be paid for this. If the university cannot provide academics with research time they will start to leave or work at university part-time and perhaps only teach at postgraduate level. It is difficult to argue with a colleague’s decision to leave if they are working long hours at university and still not doing what they came to do, and are offered their academic salary and more in the marketplace for working a fraction of the hours they put in at university. It is also becoming more difficult to encourage good students who are considering an academic career and who are completing postgraduate degrees overseas to come back to Australia once they have been introduced to the research culture of some overseas universities.

For the student the result is that they will not be taught by these people, and in a true research environment the best teachers are those who are active in research. It follows that universities must carefully consider the workload implications of every teaching and administrative innovation.

One can then see the reason for the “grant grab”. It is true many of us can do our research without vast sums of money, but the attraction of some grants is that you can use it to “buy out” teaching responsibilities and that provides some uninterrupted time to do that which brought academics to universities in the first place: think.

G.J. Tolhurst

(via e-mail)

Balance in Education

SIR: Reading William Briggs’s article on the AEU (June 2009) I was reminded of a four-year-old I know who returned from childcare telling her mother that the government had taken the children away. After a few confused minutes her mother realised that the child was referring to the Aboriginal “stolen generations”, about which she had learnt at childcare. When her daughter asked what the “government” was, the mother, a little dumbfounded at the prospect of explaining the West-minster system to a four-year-old, simplified by saying that Kevin Rudd was the Prime Minister at the head of the government. It was with grim satisfaction that I learnt that the girl rose the next morning saying, “Mummy, Kevin Rudd took the children away.”

This story serves to highlight how difficult it is to teach such complicated subjects in a balanced way. The result is that teachers often take the easy path and just present one point of view. As a third-year university student, let alone a school kid or four-year-old, I find it hard to grapple with such AEU tropes as postmodernism, post-structuralism and constructivism, or the morality of the “stolen generations”.

I was lucky to have excellent teachers who did not take the easy route and presented the difficult arguments. Such as when the history of the Dismissal was taught, arguments supporting both Sir John Kerr and Gough Whitlam were presented, allowing us to come to our own conclusion. The class was certainly divided.

As long as the Left controls such an important institution as our free public education system, we cannot hope for a knowledge nation.

Rob Turnbull,

Hunter’s Hill, NSW.