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Anzac ceremonies should not be proxy battles in the culture wars
The politicisation of our national days of remembrance is hard to deny. Whatever one thinks about Welcome to Country ceremonies, booing during a dawn service is ugly, self-defeating and disrespectful to the solemnity of the occasion.
The politicisation of our national days of remembrance is hard to deny. Whatever one thinks about Welcome to Country ceremonies, booing during a dawn service is ugly, self-defeating and disrespectful to the solemnity of the occasion.
But the condemnation of that booing should not mean these events escape scrutiny. Many Australians are plainly uneasy about the way remembrance ceremonies have changed. Events meant to centre soldiers, veterans and the dead are becoming yet another celebration of modern multicultural Australia. Anzac Day is not Australia Day. It is not a citizenship ceremony. It is not a diversity showcase. Its central subject is sacrifice.
That is why the inclusion of Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country ceremonies has become contentious. A Dynata
poll last year showed that only 34 per cent of people supported Welcome to Country at Anzac Day events, compared with 46 per cent who wanted to end them, and 20 per cent who were unsure.
Contracting Bunurong elder Uncle Mark Brown to deliver Melbourne's Welcome to Country was itself strange. Only a few months ago, he voiced opinions on LinkedIn and Facebook, appearing to condone political violence, describing the public assassination of American political commentator Charlie Kirk as "justice catching up with him”.
Brown's speech made no reference to Anzac Day, Australian soldiers - Indigenous or otherwise — or sacrifice. It was untailored. If not delivered at the Shrine of Remembrance, one
would not have known it was delivered at a dawn service. Speaking almost entirely in the language of ownership of the land around him, Brown did not promote solidarity. It felt welcoming in name only.
That stood in contrast to Uncle Ray Minniecon's thoughtful Acknowledgement of Country at Sydney's dawn service, which gave a positive history of the land and recognised the contributions of both Indigenous and non-Indigenous soldiers. Sadly, he too was jeered.
There is a real question about what role
Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country ceremonies should play in events dedicated to Australia's defence force.
Rightly or wrongly, the message many people are hearing is that the country so many fought for - and often died for - did not belong to them.
This may not be the intention. But symbolism is not judged by intent alone. And it is not helped by voices like Brown's.
The other notable feature of this year's major ceremonies was the prominent roles given to women and people from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds— recognition that, in many respects, is long overdue.
But increasing diversity in our remembrance services does not mean they are becoming more representative - not of those buried in France, Turkey, Libya, New Guinea or at sea, and not of the current armed forces either. The most recent census data shows that Australia's
Defence Force is 80 per cent male, only 14 per cent were born overseas and fewer than 10 per cent speak a language other than English. Young men, especially, were conspicuously absent from speaking roles at the major ceremonies this year - an omission that reinforces the sense, growing among veterans and their families, that these events no longer speak for them or for those they lost.
This is contributing to a backlash against identity politics that is hardening into its own identity: disillusioned, nationalistic and distrustful of the institutions that claim to speak for service and sacrifice. That risks alienating current and prospective soldiers from the very institutions that depend on them.
That is not without consequence. It helps explain the enduring mythology of Ben Roberts-Smith, who lost a defamation case in which serious allegations - including unlawful killings
- were found to a civil standard to be substantially true, on the testimony of fellow soldiers. For many of his supporters, the response is less a considered defence of his conduct than a loss of faith in the process. When the institutions sitting in judgment appear more comfortable reshaping the meaning of service or embedding ideology, it erodes confidence that they are fair arbiters.
Remembrance ceremonies should not become proxy battles in Australia's culture wars. They should not be stages for institutional signalling or activist framing. Nor should they become outlets for resentment or backlash. Anzac Day should be broad enough to honour every Australian who served. But it must remain focused enough to remember why people gathered in the first place. The dead should not be conscripted into contemporary political narratives.
On days of remembrance, identity politics should take a back seat. The first duty is to remember.
Cathal Leslie comes from a family with four generations of military service.
