Leaving the Kokoda Track

Although this isn’t the US where fear of not “supporting the troops” is enough to close down political debate, under John Howard the lionisation of the Aussie digger reached new heights, and we have seen few indications that this will change soon. So before I have a look at the hallowed place of the mighty digger in our history, I’d like to lay out my qualifications.

I’ve never experienced the fear and doubt of a war, but I’d like to think I have an idea of what military service means to the country and to a family. My paternal grandfather was a digger – he served in the Somme in World War I, and amongst other injuries got a dose of German mustard gas there. My maternal grandfather was a digger – he saw combat in the Pacific in World War 2. My father served in the RAAF in wartime, too. (I won’t get into the uncles, and can only guess what service my great-great grandfathers must have performed in the Prussian army.) To my regret, this tradition of service ended when the Australian Army rejected me thanks to poor sight in my left eye (I was 18).

There’s no question Australia’s soldiers have fought with distinction in many wars and theatres across the globe. They have done us proud. But have we become too proud of this tradition? Grateful thanks is one thing, hero-worship quite another, and if we haven’t crossed the line between them we are certainly pretty close. Although this self-indulgence is relatively harmless as national vices go, it worries me a little. It’s backwards-looking, and mythologizes a stereotype of a man that is less and less relevant in the 21st century. We all admire the bravery and spirit of the men at Gallipoli, but would any of us want our sons to experience that? After all, we focus on the larrikinism and acts of derring-do, but not so much on the boredom, terror and hideous violence that these men endured – and inflicted on their enemies. Is it such a loss that men of my generation never had the opportunity or obligation to go overseas and shoot a stranger? Perhaps my character would be stronger for the experience if I had. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to sleep for the night terrors. (I’m sure there was a lot of that amongst the survivors of Gallipoli, something else that the folk-histories would never mention). In any case, it’s time for a new national ideal of manhood that is less soldierly, even less of a larrikin*, but encompasses some different values besides courage under fire. Worldliness, thoughtfulness, compassion, entrepeneurship – these are some values that would serve a modern Aussie better than the ability to survive an artillery barrage with his sense of humour intact.

Of course, it’s much easier said than done to create a new national model to aspire to, but we have to start somewhere. Why not the Kododa Trail?

Australia is doing its damnedest to preserve the Kokoda Trail as a hiking track for the adventurous and a monument to the diggers who fought and died there. There’s nothing ostensibly wrong with this, and I have a lot of respect for those that have done this arduous walk with a desire to pay their respects and relive a little bit of our history. I have pondered myself whether I would be up to the test. We are in danger, though, of forgetting that this part of the world isn’t ours, no matter how hard we fought for it 60 years ago. When we feel that the actions of the diggers there give us the right to decide what the area’s current residents do with the land, we have passed from paying our respects into outright sanctimony. The owners of the land are blocking the track in protest, since they stand to miss out on $100 million of mining proceeds if Australia succeeds in torpedoing the project that would destroy part of the area.

A mine is an ugly thing, and when billions of dollars are involved, it gets even uglier. I was a little discomforted by this line in the Age article:

Frontier Resources’ managing director, Peter McNeil, spoke with village chiefs before yesterday’s blockade and helped villagers prepare placards.

No doubt, the villagers are getting some help from mining company lobbyists in organising their protest. That doesn’t change the fact that it is indeed a high horse we are riding here. When we can’t comprehend that the exploits of Australian soldiers do not invoke feelings of reverent awe in poverty stricken Papua New Guineans, it’s time to have a closer look at our relationship with the legend. We are asking them to sacrifice a brigher future for their children at the Alter of the Digger. Either we must make it up to them, or we need to look for inspiration somewhere else.

* I also scratch my head at those who in the same breath praise the irreverent digger larrikins and complain about the drunken hoons doing burnouts in their suburban street or ruining their day at the footy. These are two sides of the same coin.