Race, Colour and Identity in Australia and New Zealand

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Race, Colour, and Identity in Australia and New Zealand Docker, John. University of New South Wales 9780868405384 9780585356167 English Australia--Ethnic relations, Australia--Race relations, New Zealand--Race relations, Biculturalism--New Zealand, Multiculturalism--New Zealand, Australian aborigines--Ethnic identity, Asians--Australia--Ethnic identity. 2000 DU120.R215 2000eb 305.8 Australia--Ethnic relations, Australia--Race relations, New Zealand--Race relations, Biculturalism--New Zealand, Multiculturalism--New Zealand, Australian aborigines--Ethnic identity, Asians--Australia--Ethnic identity.

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Race, Colour and Identity in Australia and New Zealand John Docker is adjunct senior fellow in the Humanities Research Centre, Australian National University. One of Australia's leading public intellectuals and cultural theorists, he has published widely in a variety of fields, from Australian literary and cultural history to media studies, cultural studies, history of journalism, historiography, postmodernism, and post-colonial and diaspora theory. His books include Australian Cultural Elites (1974), In a Critical Condition (1984), The Nervous Nineties (1991) and Postmodernism and Popular Culture: A Cultural History (1994). From 1993 to 1998 he held a fellowship from the Australian Research Council for research on ethnic and cultural identities. He is currently completing his latest book, Adventures of Identity. Gerhard Fischer is Associate Professor of German Studies at the University of New South Wales. He has published widely in the areas of modern European literature, drama, theatre, the social history of migration and on World War I. His collaboration with Mudrooroo on the Heiner Müller play Der Auftrage resulted in Mudrooroo's The Aboriginal Protesters Confront the Proclamation of the Australian Republic on 26 January 2001 with a Production of 'The Commission' by Heiner Müller, which was well received at the Festival of Sydney in 1995 and subsequently toured in Germany.

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Race, Colour and Identity in Australia and New Zealand Edited by John Docker and Gerhard Fischer

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A UNSW Press book Published by University of New South Wales Press Ltd University of New South Wales Sydney 2052 Australia www.unswpress.com.au © John Docker and Gerhard Fischer First published 2000 This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be addressed to the publisher. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Race, colour and identity in Australia and New Zealand. ISBN 0 86840 538 8. 1. Aborigines, Australian Ethnic identity. 2. Biculturalism New Zealand. 3. Multiculturalism New Zealand. 4. Asians Australia. 5. New Zealand Race relations. 6. Australia Race relations. I. Docker, John, 1945 . II. Fischer, Gerhard, 1945 . 305.800993 Printer Griffin Press, Adelaide

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CONTENTS

Preface

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Contributors

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Part 1: Introduction

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1 Adventures of Identity John Docker and Gerhard Fischer

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2 An Uneasy Conversation: The Multicultural and the Indigenous Ann Curthoys

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Part 2: Aboriginal Identity

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3 Reconciling Our Mothers' Lives Jackie Huggins, Kay Saunders and Isabel Tarrago

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4 Tropical Hundreds: Monoculturalism and Colonisation Deborah Bird Rose

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5 Warlpiri Graffiti Christine Nicholls

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6 Mis-Taken Identity: Mudrooroo and Gordon Matthews Gerhard Fischer

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Part 3: Asians in Australia/Australians in Asia

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7 Asians in Australia: A Contradiction in Terms? Ien Ang

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8 Community Formation and Taiwanese Immigrant Identity Li-Ju Chen

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9 A Feminist Perspective on 'Australia in Asia' Jan Jindy Pettman

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10 Looking for Father-Right: The Asian Values Debate and Australian-Asian Relations Kathryn Robinson

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Part 4: Biculturalism and Multiculturalism in New Zealand

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11 The Ambivalence of Borders: The Bicultural and the Multicultural Vince Marotta

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12 Chronicles of Evasion: Negotiating Pakeha New Zealand Identity Sarah Dugdale

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13 Exploring Disallowed Territory: Introducing the Multicultural Subject into New Zealand Literature Nina Nola

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14 Colonialism Continued: Producing the Self for Export Stephen Turner

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Part 5: Whiteness

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15 Migrancy, Whiteness and the Settler Self in Contemporary Australia Susanne Schech and Jane Haggis

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16 Duggaibah, or 'Place of Whiteness': Australian Feminists and Race Aileen Moreton-Robinson

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17 Construction of Whiteness in the Australian Media Peter Gale

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18 'Talkin' up Whiteness': A Black and White Dialogue Wendy Brady and Michelle Carey

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Index

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PREFACE The pictures on the cover of this book are four of the nearly three hundred 'photo puzzles' which make up an exhibition project by German artist Frank Aumüller, entitled C.I.A. (which stands subversively not for Central Intelligence Agency but for Cité Internationale des Artistes). During his residency at the Cité Internationale in Paris from 1992 to 1993, Aumüller took photos of the residents and visitors who passed through this pre-eminent, international meeting place in the world of contemporary art. He then cut up the photos and re-assembled the pieces, transferring and re-arranging them from one to another. The resulting 'identity puzzles', which recalled passport photos as much as 'mugshots' or computer-generated 'identikits', revealed a surprising collection of freshly created individuals displaying a mixture of facial features, of race and of gender. In a sometimes subtle, gentle and humorous way, sometimes with a more sinister, ominous and threatening appearance, the puzzles constituted an unusual portrait gallery, an assemblage of multiracial and multinational, constructed personalities of often ambivalent gender and unfathomable ethnic origin. Aumüller's installation was shown at the Goethe-Institut in Sydney in JulyAugust 1998 as part of an international interdisciplinary conference devoted to the topic of Adventures of Identity Constructing the Multicultural Subject. As convenors of this event, we could not think of a better project to create a visual surrounding, or theatrical backdrop, to the presentation and discussion of scholarly papers which, from a variety of perspectives, research interests and theoretical premises, explored the often conflicting and contradictory, multidimensional issues of identity formation in post-modern societies.

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The conference brought together scholars from four continents as part of the 1998 pre-Olympic cultural festival, SeaChange. Nearly sixty papers were presented over three days, and the animated yet friendly debates which ensued, no doubt furthered by the convivial atmosphere of the host institute, presented a convincing testimony to the urgent topicality and the vitality of the current international debate on matters relating to migration and multiculturalism, to questions of race and ethnic and cultural diversity, to the politics of identity and recognition. The present book is one of two publications arising from this conference. The second collection will focus on European aspects of the discourse on identity; it will be published in 2000 by Stauffenburg Verlag Tübingen under the title: Multicultural Identities Theories, Models, Case Studies. Both books should ideally be read together as two volumes devoted to different regional and historical aspects of the one universal theme. As convenors, we owe a debt of gratitude to the persons and institutions who helped to fund the conference, which was organised as a co-operative venture between the Department of German Studies at the University of New South Wales, the Humanities Research Centre at the Australian National University in Canberra, and the Sydney GoetheInstitut. We would like to thank in particular the director of the Humanities Research Centre, Professor Iain McCalman, and the Centre's Programs Officer, Leena Messina, whose organisational skills were largely responsible for the smooth operation of the event. We likewise wish to thank the director of the Sydney Goethe-Institut, Ute Gräfin von Baudissin, and her staff, who not only provided financial support and the beautiful venue but who also agreed to host the Frank Aumüller exhibition. A vote of thanks is further owed to the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG, German Research Council), who supported the visit of scholars from Germany. As editors, we would like to thank Frank Aumüller, who gave permission to use his 'puzzles' for the cover of our book, and Robin Derricourt and his staff at UNSW Press, who showed an early and enthusiastic interest in this project. A special gratitude is owed to our copy-editor Roderic Campbell for his customary diligence and hard work under very trying circumstances. Finally, our thanks go to all the contributors and participants who contributed to the success of our conference and who submitted their essays to make this book possible. JOHN DOCKER (CANBERRA) AND GERHARD FISCHER (SYDNEY)

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CONTRIBUTORS IEN ANG is professor of Cultural Studies and director of the Research Centre in Intercommunal Studies at the University of Western Sydney, Nepean. Her work on Asian identities in Australia emerged out of the ARC Large Grant project 'Reimagining Asians in Multicultural Australia' (199597). DR WENDY BRADY, from the Wiradjuri Aboriginal nation, is associate professor and director of the Aboriginal Research and Resource Centre at the University of New South Wales. In 1991 she was awarded the inaugural Jessie Street Award for her 'Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Women in Management Program'. Dr Brady has been involved in higher education and Aboriginal higher education for twenty years. She is currently president of the History Council of New South Wales. MICHELLE CAREY holds a Bachelor of Arts from Swinburne University and a Master of Letters in Gender Studies from Sydney University. For the last several years Michelle has been primarily concerned with the applicability of white race deconstruction theories to the Australian situation and their ability to challenge the maintenance of white race power in invader societies. LI-JU CHEN is currently writing her Ph.D. thesis on Taiwanese immigrants in Melbourne, at La Trobe University. Her research interests are Chinese nationalism, Chinese diaspora and multiculturalism.

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ANN CURTHOYS is Manning Clark professor of History at the Australian National University. She has written widely on many aspects of Australian history, including indigenous, women's, media, and political history, and also on questions of national identity, historical writing, and the representation of history in museums. She is currently writing a book on the 1965 Freedom Ride in New South Wales, and is working with Susan Magarey and Marilyn Lake on a history of women's liberation in Australia. JOHN DOCKER is a well-known writer and public intellectual. Currently an adjunct senior fellow at the Humanities Research Centre at the Australian National University, he was an ARC research fellow for a number of years, during which he researched 'ethnic and cultural identities' for the book he is completing, Adventures of Identity. SARAH DUGDALE is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Auckland. Her research interests are in postcolonial/post-settler studies and in New Zealand literature. She is currently working on a study of contemporary Pakeha society in the novels of Maurice Gee. GERHARD FISCHER is associate professor of German Studies at the University of New South Wales. He had published widely in the areas of modern European literature and theatre, on topics in the social history of migration and on World War I (Enemy Aliens, 1989). His collaboration with Mudrooroo on the Heiner Müller play Der Auftrag (documented in The Mudrooroo/Müller Project, 1993) resulted in a new play, The Aboriginal Protesters Confront the Proclamation of the Australian Republic on 26 January 2001 with a Production of 'The Commission' by Heiner Müller, which was highly commended at the 1995 Festival of Sydney and subsequently toured in Germany. DR PETER GALE is a lecturer in Australian Studies and teaches various subjects on 'racism in contemporary Australia' in the Unaipon School at the University of South Australia. He has also taught in the Department of Sociology at Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia. Dr Gale has presented and published papers both nationally and internationally over the past two years as part of a post-doctoral research fellowship at the Centre for International and Cross-cultural Studies and the Institute for Social Research, within the University of South Australia, exploring representations of the 'racism debate' in national and international media.

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JANE HAGGIS is a senior lecturer in the Department of Sociology, and associate director of the Centre for Development Studies, at Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia. She has published articles on gender and imperialism and is currently co-editing a special issue of Feminist Review. She has, with Susanne Schech, published several articles on the social construction of whiteness and Australian identity and has recently completed the book Culture and Development: Critical Perspectives. JACKIE HUGGINS is a member of the Bidjara and Birri Gubba Juru people. She is deputy director of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Unit at the University of Queensland, a member of the National Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation, and was co-commissioner for Queensland for the Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families. A well-known historian and author, she has published an acclaimed biography of her mother, Auntie Rita (1994), and most recently a book of essays, Sister Girl (1998). VINCE MAROTTA is a research fellow at Monash University and is completing his doctorate at La Trobe University on modernity and the stranger. He has conducted research and has published in the areas of Islam and human rights, multiculturalism, cultural difference, urban theory and social theory. DR AILEEN MORETON-ROBINSON is a Geonpul Joondal from Quandamooka (Moreton Bay, Queensland). She lectures in Women's Studies at Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia. Dr Moreton-Robinson is politically active and publishes in the areas of race, native title, whiteness and feminism. She has conducted research in indigenous communities and has worked as a consultant for a number of government departments and indigenous community-based organisations. CHRISTINE NICHOLLS is a senior lecturer in Australian Studies at Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia, where she also teaches courses on indigenous Australian art and languages. Previously, she was principal education officer, Bilingual Education (Aboriginal Languages), in the Northern Territory Department of Education; and she worked for almost a decade as the principal of Lajamanu School, in the Tanami Desert, Northern Territory. She is a regular reviewer of indigenous art exhibitions for the Adelaide Advertiser.

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NINA NOLA is completing a doctoral thesis on multicultural writing in New Zealand at the University of Auckland, where she is also tutoring in the Department of English. She has been a cultural advisor and script consultant for two film productions, and she has lectured in both New Zealand and Australia on ethnic minority identity formation, tying together her interests in feminist, multicultural and film studies. JAN JINDY PETTMAN is director of the Centre for Women's Studies at the Australian National University. Her publications include Living in the Margins: Racism, Sexism and Feminism in Australia (1992) and Worlding Women: A Feminist International Politics (1996). She is coeditor of the new International Feminist Journal of Politics. KATHRYN ROBINSON is a senior fellow in Anthropology in the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at the Australian National University. Her major research has been concerned with the development of the international nickel mine in Sulawesi, Indonesia. She has also published extensively on women in Suharto's Indonesia, on international labour migration, and on traditional architecture in Sulawesi. Her publications include Stepchildren of Progress: The Political Economy of Development in an Indonesian Mining Town (1986), 'Love and Sex in an Indonesian Mining Town', in K. Sen and M. Stivens (eds), Gender and Power in Affluent Asia (1998), and Living Through Histories: Culture, History and Social Life in South Sulawesi (with Mukhlis Paeni; 1989). DEBORAH BIRD ROSE is a senior fellow in the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at the Australian National University, where her research focuses on systems of ecological knowledge. She is the author of Nourishing Terrains, Australian Aboriginal Views of Landscape and Wilderness, Dingo Makes Us Human (winner of the 199293 Stanner Prize), and Hidden Histories (winner of the 1991 Jessie Litchfield Award). She has worked with Aboriginal claimants on land claims and in land disputes, and has worked with the Aboriginal Land Commissioner as consulting anthropologist. She writes on social and ecological justice, most recently concentrating on frontier culture, and indigenous and settler ecologies.

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KAY SAUNDERS originally trained as an anthropologist, and is now a reader in History at the University of Queensland. Her most recent books include Aboriginal Workers (1995), Paul Hasluck (1999), and Australian Masculinities (1997). Previously a council member of the Australian War Memorial (199497), the Australian National Maritime Museum (199496), and director of the National Australia Day Council (199296), she is currently the premier of Queensland's advisor on women's policy and heads the Queensland government's Cultural Advisory Council. In the 1999 Australia Day honours list she was appointed a Member of the Order of Australia. SUSANNE SCHECH is the director of the Centre for Development Studies and senior lecturer in the School of Geography, Population and Environmental Management at Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia. As well as publishing several articles on the social construction of whiteness and Australian identity, and the book Culture and Development with Jane Haggis, she has published articles on gender and Australian aid policies. She is currently working on a project looking at the use of information technologies by development NGOs. ISABEL TARRAGO is an Aranta woman from the Queensland-Northern Territory border. She was educated at the University of Queensland and the Kelvin Grove College of Advanced Education. She has held many senior positions in the federal and Queensland public services, and is currently the premier of Queensland's advisor on women and reconciliation. STEPHEN TURNER is a research fellow in the Department of English at the University of Auckland. He has published articles on enlightenment and empire in Eighteenth Century: Theory and Interpretation, Cultural Studies, and in Voyages and Beaches: Discovery, Empire and the Pacific, 17001850 (1999). Specific problems of settlement are addressed in a contribution to Quicksands: Foundational Histories in Australia and New Zealand (1999). He has recently completed Stories of Unsettlement, a mixed genre work of cultural criticism set in the New Zealand context.

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PART 1 INTRODUCTION

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1 Adventures of Identity John Docker and Gerhard Fischer Einig zu sein, ist göttlich und gut; woher ist die Sucht denn Unter den Menschen, dass nur Einer und Eines nur sei? Friedrich Hölderlin, 'Wurzel alles Übels' 1799 1 Kalapani, black waters, a cross across the seven seas With blood, betrayal, grief that never cease . . . Satendra Nandan, Lines Across Black Waters, 19972 I The fashionable discourse on multiculturalism and identity seems to be a characteristic feature of what is described as the post-modern and post-colonial condition.3 Just like some of the terms of this discourse intellectual catch-all words such as hybridity or globalisation which appear to suggest the 'flavour of the month' in cultural studies, the prevalence of investigations into the meaning of identity within contemporary cultural theory is seen as related to historical, economic and cultural developments towards the end of the twentieth century, which are interpreted as indicative of a new, possibly revolutionary quality, from which hitherto unheard-of perspectives emerge with regard to an understanding of the human condition. The phenomena in question might be the result of long-term shifts in international relations, such as the continuing process of decolonisation along with a renegotiation of political arrangements between the nation-states of the Old World and

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the countries of (several) New Worlds. They may relate to current turbulences in global migration patterns, the coming into being of new diasporas and groups of homeless refugees caught up and uprooted in the wars and the economic disturbances of the late twentieth century. They may refer to dramatic recent developments like the implosive disappearance of the 'Soviet Empire' (that is, of the Second World), along with the failure of its economic system, perhaps the sea-change of the last decade of the old millenium, which has finally opened, or so it seems at least from our vantage point of 1999, the way to an unfettered, capitalist, one-world economy based on an unprecedented global exchange: the free circulation of capital, commodities, services, people, signs, informations and ideas. Or they might refer to technological breakthroughs, which would signal a similarly new, as yet undefined potential for the development of humanity. To name only one instance: what is called the digital revolution, in its perplexing multitude of applications from bio-genetics to global communication via the internet, is believed to be influencing human and other life on the planet at the dawn of the twenty-first century much more dramatically, and comprehensively, than, by comparison, the avant-garde sectors of the Second Industrial Revolution, which began its course in Europe and North America a hundred years earlier. There is little doubt that, for example, the worldwide applications of new technologies in the field of biogenetic engineering, from in-vitro fertilisation to inter-species transplants, will create a tremendously innovative potential for ventures in identity formation, just as the simulated play of virtual identities communicating in cyberspace will. Yet, as philosophers such as Charles Taylor remind us, the discourse on identity is as old as modernity itself. In his influential essay, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition, Taylor discusses the origins of the concept and the discourse on identity in Western society. 4 In particular, he points out the close, dialectical relationship between a notion of 'inwardly derived, personal, original identity' and the 'vital human need' for the public recognition of that identity within a given society. In pre-modern society, thus Taylor's illuminating thesis, identity was unproblematic. It was 'socially derived' and linked to, or 'fixed by one's social position' within a society defined by clear and rigid hierarchical demarcations. In Hegel's famous parable, both 'master' and 'servant' mutually acknowledged their interdependence; there was no doubt about their respective self-identification even if, in the dynamic course of history, there was an inbuilt emancipatory impetus that drove the servants to free themselves and to overcome their masters. In other words, in pre-modern European society, you were awarded recognition for what you were; your sense of self was expressed by your rank in society, it was not in question. Only with

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the 'collapse of social hierarchies' characteristic of the decline of the ancien régime and with the concomitant 'massive subjective turn of modern culture' do we witness the beginning of the development of a new concept of identity, one that is linked to notions of originality, authenticity, dignity, self-fulfilment and self-realisation. Taylor traces the origins of the modern European discourse on identity to Rousseau ('le sentiment de l'existence') and to Herder ('Jeder Mensch hat sein eigenes Mass, gleichsam seine eigene Stimmung, aller seiner sinnlichen Gefühle zu einander'). To discover and to develop this individual sentiment the peculiar measure that is every person's own sense of autonomy and individuality becomes thus the project of the subject in modernity. Distancing himself from what he criticises as 'the overwhelmingly monological bent of mainstream modern philosophy', Taylor adopts a communitarian position, which insists on the importance of a communal process of identity formation and recognition, stressing the 'dialogical character' of the human condition. A sense of identity is being developed through communication with 'significant others' (George Herbert Mead), and this identity needs to be confirmed by being recognised. My discovering my own identity doesn't mean that I work it out in isolation, but that I negotiate it through dialogue, partly overt, partly internal, with others. That is why the development of an ideal of inwardly generated identity gives a new importance to recognition. My own identity crucially depends on my dialogical relations with others . . . Yet inwardly derived, personal identity doesn't enjoy this recognition a priori. It has to win it through exchange, and the attempt can fail. What has come about with the modern age is not the need for recognition but the conditions in which the attempt to be recognized can fail. 5 It is perhaps a renewed sense of this potential for failure that lies at the heart of the discourse on identity in the late 1990s, at least in Australia and New Zealand, and if the present collection of essays is a reliable guide. Both countries, like Taylor's native Canada, are modern and post-modern at once. They are colonial (with regard to the treatment of their indigenous populations) and (as former British colonies) simultaneously post-colonial. They are settler and immigrant societies, with a multicultural population from all parts of the globe. Their common political heritage the distinctive constitutional mould of Westminster-style liberal, parliamentary democracy marks their traditional link to the Old World of European Enlightenment and to the West; yet, they are also distinctively part of the New World 'discovered', 'explored' and 'developed' by colonising Europeans. As the international reponse to Taylor's essay shows6, the issues he describes are not exclusive to the multicultural, settler-colonial nations

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like Canada, the United States, Australia and New Zealand; but it seems as if these societies allow the peculiar problems of the contemporary identity discourse to be presented in sharper focus. The numerous, interconnected aspects of what might be called the post-colonial and multicultural project in Australia and New Zealand can be seen as layers of a discourse which is at one and the same time a quest for identity and a struggle for recognition. There is, first of all, the basic question of how to negotiate the universalist, egalitarian demand of the liberal-democratic state and its foremost principle, based on the rule of law, of equal treatment of all citizens (regardless of colour, creed, sex, ethnic or geographic origin) on the one hand, and the call for recognition of cultural specificity on the other. A 'politics of difference', in Taylor's term, is needed to complement the 'politics of universalism'. 7 There is, secondly, the realisation of competing and sometimes contradictory claims and demands for recognition put forward by different groups, presented simultaneously in the same public arena. The interests of indigenous people and of groups of immigrant minority settlers need to be acknowledged both in relation to each other as much as in relation to the majority group of settlers and their descendants. The 'post-colonial project' in countries like Australia and New Zealand implies the development of the whole of society as independent and free, unencumbered by the limiting influences of cultural and social hegemony exerted by the ex-colonial master society, regardless of whether these influences are the result of still-existing direct links to the former home country or whether they are the product of neocolonial conditions manufactured by the descendants of the original settlers, who are clinging to familiar colonial notions of 'home'. Most importantly, the post-colonial question involves the perceived need for what is called 'reconciliation', that is, coming to terms with a history and the continuing legacy of oppression, dispossession, discrimination, forced assimilation, of attempted genocide. This project of Vergangenheitsbewältigung, of a nation's Trauerarbeit, of restitution to make amends, as far as this is possible, for the crimes of the past and the neglect of the present, is nowhere near yet complete. Thus, we experience a plethora of overlapping, competing and unresolved contradictions: colonial versus postcolonial, old settlers versus new settlers, indigenous people versus invaders, majority versus innumerable minorities, white against black or coloured, the search for a collective, inclusive or 'national' identity (in an era of post-national globalisation) vis-à-vis the search for individual and personal or group identity, based on ethnicity, language, country of origin, or religion. All these struggles are played out on the same but rather less-than-level playing-field: social antagonisms, class and gender differences continue

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to play decisive roles in the game of identity recognition. What seems to characterise the perception of these issues in the 1990s is perhaps a sense of the overwhelming complexity of it all, as well as of the tremendous speed with which the material as well as the ideological conditions of cultural production are changing. At the end of the century, we seem to witness a proliferation of symptoms of new anxieties and uncertainties, new dissolutions of borders and concepts, a fuzziness as well as a dynamic of socio-economic developments within 'hypercomplex', 'polytextural' and 'heterarchical' cultural environments. 8 II Taylor's is one of the many stories admirable in its communitarian communicative way that the West tells about itself: the achievement of individual autonomy and identity, respecting the autonomy and identity of others, within an ideal political formation, the modern nation-state in cooperation with other nation-states. In this teleological story, the West is benefactor to the nations and to those societies which are not (or not yet) properly nations. The West represents the future, the project of the subject in modernity, for it answers to what the West knows is universal 'vital human need': the West always knows on behalf of humanity what is humanity. The West tells the rest of humanity that the past is something to be freed from, it is mere ascription of identity by hierarchy. The West has shown the way in developing an autonomous, original, free subject in free relations with others. This unfinished project of modernity, wherein the subject finds self-realisation and self-fulfilment, cannot be found in what the West's own past might have valued or in what other societies or communities or groups in the world might value: finding and expressing identity within and through kinship, tradition, ritual, customary law, inherited wisdom, sacred mythology, active cosmology, secret knowledge. Narratives are irrepressible. There are the favourite stories the West likes to hear about itself, but there are other stories that the West would perhaps prefer not to hear, especially stories that feature the difficulties that lie in the way of its ideal self-definition that is, as the finished project of history, modernity, humanity itself. Such discomforting stories, also evoked and analysed in this volume, relate how it is the foundational narratives of the West itself, and of the psychopathology of whiteness, which are the key problems for humanity, particularly in the historical experience and phenomenology of settler-colonial societies across the globe, from South Africa to Australia and New Zealand to the United States and Canada. Such narratives relate to histories far longer than the Enlightenment and within which the Enlightenment has had to try and take effect. Rebellions by the colonised, in the name of the Enlightenment ideals of Liberté Egalité Fraternité, were put down by

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the European colonisers with the greatest savagery. The colonised, believing or trying to believe and act on the rhetoric of the European colonisers that such Enlightenment ideals are universal for humanity, have been continuously betrayed. 9 III A recurring motif in the essays in this collection challenges the determinedly secular cast of Enlightenment and postEnlightenment thinking on identity and history. In what we might call a new anti-colonial theology, an approach inspired by Edward Said's interpretation of the biblical Exodus story, foundational Judeo-Christian creation myths are recognised as powerful shaping forces in European and, consequently, world history. In his essay 'Michael Walzer's Exodus and Revolution: A Canaanite Reading', Said suggests that the Exodus story is dangerously seductive. Exodus has an inspiring vision of freedom for one people; a vision that is yet premised on defeat and even extermination for another, the Canaanites, those who already inhabit the Promised Land, a land which by divine command and prophecy is to be conquered and occupied and its inhabitants defeated and removed, or subjugated and excluded from the world of moral concern. Said sees the displaced and dispossessed Palestinians as the present-day Canaanites of the Middle East. He also draws attention to recent world history, in which Exodus inspired the Puritans in New England to conquer and slay native Americans or it inspired the South African Boers to trek across southern Africa claiming the land theirs by divine right, for they are Africa's Israelites fleeing persecution by the British Pharoah.10 Said's Canaanite reading has moved other writers to extend his insights in relation to areas of the world colonised by Europeans. Ella Shohat, for example, seeks to explain why Americans consistently reveal themselves to be so much more sympathetic to Israel and Zionism than to the plight of the Palestinians, victims of victims. Americans see similarity with Israelis in relation to British colonialism, the British Pharoah, against which both fought. Americans admire the New Israeli Man in the Promised Land, just as they admire in themselves the New American Man as Adam charged with a civilising mission in the Promised Land of the Americas, a covenanted land of abundance to which they have rightfully come. Like Adam, the New Man of the New World is historically innocent. In each case, Shohat suggests, the presence and civilisations of the indigenous inhabitants, the Palestinians and Sephardi and Oriental Jews in Israel and the native Americans in North America, are ignored or held to be of no account. Both Americans and Israelis position themselves as victims of British colonialism who had yet gloriously opposed and thrown off Britain in anticolonial struggle: how then can they see themselves as colonialist as

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well, as having their own victims? 11 In The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism, Regina M. Schwartz argues that the Exodus story authorises a victimological narrative, the belief that earlier bondage and persecution and suffering justifies later conquest of land and redemptive violence against others; a violence held always to be morally justified against those peoples in the way of the Promised Land or already in the Promised Land.12 The influence of the story of Exodus in settler-colonial societies around the world is being increasingly discussed in terms of Said's, Shohat's, and Schwartz's readings. Deborah Bird Rose and Ann Curthoys, for example, have initiated a 'Canaanite conversation' about Australian history. Rose suggests that, while Exodus is a foundational narrative for the way the Puritans identified New England as the New Canaan America as a society born in prophecy white Australia as a settler-colony is shaped more by a myth of expulsion from the British Eden conceived as the motherland. Curthoys feels that white Australian history reveals the uneasy workings of both the story of the fall and expulsion from Eden (a primal wound in the white Australian psyche, of rejection by the mother), and the story of the exodus from the British Pharoah and settlement in a new land far from British Pharaoh's shores, where a newworld society and independent national narrative could be created. For Rose and Curthoys, white Australians see themselves in foundational ways as victims, aware always of their own suffering and hardship and defeats, and so cannot view themselves as victimisers, as responsible for the suffering and hardship and tragedy they inflict on others, those they displace, dispossess, disadvantage: the Australian Aboriginal peoples as Canaanites.13 In these terms we might also see the Maori peoples of New Zealand as Canaanites. In The Curse of Cain Schwartz argues that the Old Testament narratives have been, and are influential in modern Europe and the West in the secularised form of nationalism. Schwartz identifies many moments in the Old Testament stories where collective ethnic, religious and national identities are defined negatively, over and against others. Monotheism stimulates such violent identity formation, accompanied by hostile exclusion or marginalising of the foreigner, the stranger, the impure.14 In the history of the West and in world history, monotheism intersects with the iconic date of 1492 a date which spelled disaster for Europe as well as the Americas: the time when Muslim Spain came finally to an end in the defeat of the Moors in Granada in the early months of that fateful year, when the Jews of Spain (those who had not become conversos and marranos) were expelled a few weeks later by proclamation of the Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella, and when Colombus sailed for the New World. The year 1492 was a catastrophe for Europe, because it

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enforced a notion of the nation-state as ideally unified in ethnicity, religion, culture, and claimed purity of blood. It enforced monological notions and passions that to this day make anti-racist thinking, and acceptance of the multicultural and of multi-ethnicity, so difficult in the societies of Western as well as Eastern Europe. The year 1492 is also a crucial date for Europe's relations with the rest of humanity, in the history of colonialism and, persisting into the contemporary era, designated perhaps too confidently as post-colonial. Ella Shohat points out that the Reconquista had begun in the eleventh century with the fall of Toledo and had been completed in the surrender of Granada in January 1492, followed almost immediately by the edict of expulsion against the Jews. The gradual institutionalising of expulsions, conversions, and killings of Muslims and Jews in Christian territories prepared the ground, Shohat feels, for subsequent similar conquista practices in the New World: in a fearful continuum the conquistadors of the Americas were the direct heirs to the Reconquista in Spain. The constant campaigns against Muslims and Jews, as well as against heretics and witches, provided a repertoire of gendered racial discourse which could be immediately applied in the Americas, in the developing Spanish and Iberian empires. The conceptual and disciplinary apparatus that was being turned against Europe's immediate or internal others, in the Crusades (which were usually accompanied by anti-Semitic pogroms in Europe itself, especially in Germany and France) and the Inquisition, were projected outward against Europe's distant or external others. Just as the Muslims and Jews were demonised and diabolised as drinkers of blood, cannibals, sorcerers, devils, savages, so too were the indigenous Americans and Australians, the Black Africans and Pacific Islanders. The practices of the Inquisition, where Muslims and Jews were either killed, expelled, or forced to convert, were extended to the New World: the indigenous peoples were officially protected from massacre only after they had converted to Christianity. Like the Jews and Muslims in Christian Spain who remained, the indigenous peoples of the Americas had to make allegiance to Catholicism, had to become conversos. 15 On the other hand, conversion did not automatically guarantee safety: the continuing pressure by European settlers, who saw themselves as pioneers following their 'manifest destiny' to claim and occupy the land for themselves, meant that there was no respite from persecution. Extending the boundaries of 'the frontier' meant that ever more indigenous people became dispossessed, marginalised, reduced to fringe-dwellers, wards of state welfare agencies, deported to places of internal exile, mission settlements and reservations. For many centuries since the tumultuous events of 1492, Europeans have assumed they have a positive contract with world history. By this

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contract, wherever they go in the world, and despite the little time they may have been in a new place, and despite themselves having been victims of colonial contempt and violence (the Irish and the Americans seeing themselves as historical victims of the same oppressive British Pharaoh), they are not aliens or outsiders from distant continents but the immediate rightful settlers: with the confidence to do immediate injury to those already there or not from Europe or not from the right part of Europe those they consider barbarous, low, other. We might in this sense refer to post-1492 colonising Europeans restlessly wandering and conquering as 'possessive' nomads. 16 They are not customary wanderers, who in history prefer mobility as their human condition and basic economic strategy. Rather, such colonising Europeans are possessive nomads who come across or set out for a new land, which they will conquer and replace in population and whose institutions and economy they take over. Alternatively, they create their own systems of pastoralism, agriculture, commerce, and cities. Here in these new lands is their new home. Yet, while they do not think of themselves as heimatlos, they do fear that what they have done to others will be done to them, that they might suffer invasion, conquest, loss of their lands, massacre, disease, war, defeat, humiliation, exile. Yet such would be outrage, injury to their souls, for the new land is their home: they have made it their home by right of possession and productive usage, by imagination and narrative, by developing a distinctive national culture, through the establishment of institutions, and by way of a history of inevitable suffering and tragedy. It remains one of the bizarre ironies of post-1492 history that colonising Europeans, as they spread across the globe, consequently always see themselves as threatened victims. Indeed, the status of victim is perhaps the most desired moral position in the world today (as if the pathos of being a victim is in itself a moral position). IV The year 1492 as iconic date also brings into question certain aspects of 'post-colonial theory' itself when it is considered, or puts itself forward, as canonical, as a new imperium of cultural theory. The settler-colonies established by Europe around the globe are still in important respects colonies, not 'post-colonies'.17 Ella Shohat suggests that the term post-colonial is dubious spatially and temporally. In a totalising way it collapses into the one term and history very different national-racial formations as between settler-colonial societies like the United States, New Zealand, Australia, and Canada, and societies like Nigeria, Jamaica, and India. Situating Australia and New Zealand alongside India as, together, post-colonial simply because they were both colonies equates societies dominated by white settlers with a society

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composed of an ex-colonised indigenous population. The term 'post-colonial' also, Shohat feels, risks reintroducing a new teleology, a unified history, announcing a new epoch the post-colonial. When, she asks, did this new era begin? 'Post-colonial' elides differences between early independence won by settler-colonial societies as in the Americas, New Zealand, Australia, in which Europeans formed their new nation-states in non-European territories at the expense of the indigenous peoples and nation-states whose indigenous populations struggled for independence against Europe, winning it, for the most part, much more recently with the twentieth-century collapse of European empires. Further, she asks, how does the term apply to situations in the world, as with the Palestinians, or with indigenous peoples in Australia or New Zealand or the Americas, where there are continuing anti-colonial and antiracist struggles? Are they now to be marginalised by post-colonial theory as pre-postcolonial? Shohat concludes her critique by suggesting that the term 'post-colonial' should perhaps have more modest ambitions in the world, be deployed more contingently and differentially. It need not be considered the single and primary term of a new epoch and theoretical discourse, but can be used alongside other terms such as 'anti-colonial', 'neocolonial', 'postindependence', where every term is provisional and inadequate. 18 The continuing force of the monocultural consequences of 1492 within Europe and the histories affected by Europe also asks us to question another aspect of canonical post-colonial theory: the optimistic, if not utopian and millenarial vision of the contemporary world as so globalised, so diasporised, that it can be characterised in its totality as hybrid and mixed, as ever hybridising and mixing, so that historical desires for (in Hölderlin's phrase) 'only one and one only', in terms of nationalism or cultural or ethnic purity, must necessarily be disappearing. Against such idealising of hybridity and such a historical assessment we might pose the experience of the 1990s: the resurgence in Europe and around the world of racial thinking, ethnic cleansing, violence towards she or he who is designated the stranger, desired purity of faith, the continuity of particularist communities; the frequent incidence of ethnic and racial murder and massacre; the expulsion of undesired populations (reminiscent of the terrible expulsions of Moors and Jews in Spanish history). Contemplating such reassertion of ethnic hatreds in the 1990s, Hans Magnus Enzensberger felt compelled in his polemical essay Civil War to pronounce a pessimistic verdict on humanity's past and future. In apocalyptic mode, Enzensberger warns that with the events of the Balkans, the violence in Somalia, the renewal of neo-Nazi attacks on Turkish and other people considered Ausländer in Germany, humanity is returning to a permanent state of civil war, the primary form of all collective conflict,

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the venting of hatred on the people you know, one's immediate neighbour. Humanity is returning to its primordial origins in unreason and particular, warring identities. In Enzensberger's metaphysics of history, the story of humanity is conquest and pillage, expulsion and exile, slavery and abduction, colonisation and captivity, and he can forsee only catastrophe in the new millennium. 19 For Enzensberger, history has failed Hegel's desire for a narrative of progress. In Hegel's view, the historical stage when the servant forces freedom from the master was reached with the French Revolution, where every citizen was guaranteed the recognition of his fellows, and emancipation and equality were achieved, or achievable, for all. In Enzensberger's view, the ending of the Cold War has not delivered hope of the spread of Enlightenment ideals of reason, for in the new world order humiliation and resentment try to force recognition through violence that is endlessly destructive and self-destructive. Enzensberger sees this history of regression, of negative dialectic, as the unfolding of the story of Cain and Abel.20 V From another perspective, the idealising and totalising in canonical post-colonial theory of hybridity, and its accompanying utopian vision of a hybrid diasporic world, has been critiqued from within post-colonial theory in relation to the history of Indian diasporas. Vijay Mishra has protested against the 'homogenization of all Indian diasporas' under the template of hybridity in the writings of Salman Rushdie, so that the 'new diaspora' of Indians in metropolitan societies like Britain, America, Canada, Australia and New Zealand has been fetishised, while the old diaspora has suffered in such theory an 'amnesia disavowal'. Mishra wishes to restore memory of the historical experience and phenomenology of the older, indentured labour diaspora, which began as part of the British imperial movement of labour to its colonies following the end of slavery. Historically there is, Mishra feels, a radical break between such relatively self-contained older diasporas and the new Indian diasporas evident from the mid to late twentieth century in the metropolitan centres of the empire, the New World, and the former settler-colonies. Where there is commonality is that diasporas often construct fictions of the racial purity of the homeland as ways of compensating for a 'loss occasioned by an unspeakable trauma' the loss of the motherland, the forced removal from the mother as a consequence of crossing the kalapani, the black waters. Such trauma is shadowed by another fear deep within: that they will be expelled from the host society when no longer found useful. Mishra suggests that it was because of this kind of retreat into 'discourses of ethnic purity', involving an assertion of the centrality of an imagined purity of faith, that The

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Satanic Verses and its author were seen as a massive threat to metropolitan diasporic communities. These communities, as in provincial British cities, desired exclusivism and separatism and ethnic absolutism under pressure of the white racism directed against them, even while they led lives that could not be enclosed and separate. Such communities do indeed lead contaminated, border, hybrid lives, but they desire a purity of religious consciousness, and, precisely because of the swiftness of communication in the globalised world of electronic bulletin boards on the internet, they attempt to influence the homeland society towards a politics of ethnic absolutism. 21 For Mishra, what has been missing from post-colonial diaspora theory in general 'is a theory of the sacred'. Mishra suggests that the way the Many (difference, the hybrid) is celebrated in The Satanic Verses as well as by Homi Bhabha in The Location of Culture creates a kind of 'aesthetization of the diaspora', which has been regarded as an absolute by postcolonial theory, yet which was, and is incomprehensible to the Muslim Indian diaspora in Britain attempting to reassert the centrality of the sacred, the One. Mishra worries that in the writings of Rushdie and Bhabha hybridity as a description of post-modern existence is being conflated with hybridity as prescription.22 Such aesthetic celebration of hybridity overlooks how much living in diaspora can involve continuing trauma, mourning, melancholia, and 'sheer unhappiness'.23 Vijay Mishra's observations of the different histories of Indian diasporas is part of a more general literature attempting to evoke the importance of diaspora in modernity and post-modernity, in writers like Paul Gilroy and the Boyarins.24 The surge of interest in the theory of diaspora in such writing attempts to cut across the generalities and totalisings of canonical post-colonial theory. As James Clifford argues in a synoptic essay, part of his book Routes, 'diaspora' was once a term that referred primarily to the Jewish, Greek, and Armenian dispersions. It now refers as well to contemporary situations that invoke the experiences of the immigrant, expatriate, refugee, guest-worker, exile, and ethnic community. Diaspora, associated with minority and migrant populations, is involved with experiences of transnational identity, of memory and longing across space and time. It defines itself against, or is in entangled tension with the claims to autochthonous origins in a particular land and landscape of indigenous peoples. Spatially, diaspora collides with the claims to unity of the nation-state, for diaspora communities maintain allegiances and connections to a homeland or to dispersed communities elsewhere. Diasporas continuously cross borders, continually invoke collective identifications and identities that traverse and go beyond the nation-state's desire for narratives of assimilation or self-sufficiency. Within a nation-state diasporas are, Clifford argues, necessarily cosmopolitan, combining skills in

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community maintenance, adaptation, accommodation, with resistance to co-option, assimilation, discrimination, exploitation and exclusion. 25 Diaspora embraces the arts of exile and coexistence: a people maintaining its own distinctiveness in relations of daily converse with others. Diasporas live in the tensions of loss and hope, old and new, tradition and novel possibilities, the dystopic and utopic. Diasporas exist in the shadow of suspicion, vulnerability, disaster.26 In the phenomenology of diaspora, then, displacement and exile can be suffering and loss, and opportunity for surprising self-fashioning; surprising to oneself and to others. In diasporic consciousness, time is a substance, to borrow a term from Spinoza: a substance thick with idea, desire, and fear. Diasporas can be influenced by societies of origin to perform ideological and political work on their behalf. Diaspora communities can be subject to desires for power by those who wish to control them, with attendant internal relations of majority and minority, centre and margin, othering and exclusion; of hierarchy, power and exploitation. Such pressures to conformity are imbricated with the ways diasporas can actively support multiculturalism in a host society while just as actively supporting nationalism and ethnic absolutism in a claimed society of origin.27 The experiences of diaspora have complex relations with the history of colonialism. Diasporic communities can experience racist hostility, disdain and contempt from a majority society. But in the history of settler-colonies diasporic communities whether European or Asian are migrants in a more general sense just like the migrants of the majority society; that is, they are colonisers in relation to the colonised and they can be perceived by the colonised as another set of invaders, not brothers and sisters on the margins, not the fellow oppressed and dispossessed. Yet they can also be perceived by the colonised and indigenous as fellow subjects of racism, creating commonalities, the attraction of outsiders to fellow outsiders, the stranger (the indigenous made a stranger in her or his own land) to the stranger from elsewhere.28 The poetics of diaspora are indeed intricate and tortured. VI As the essays in this volume show, the different narratives we have sketched out form the backdrop to a remarkable spectacle of identity construction and performance which we experience in Australia and New Zealand during the last years of the twentieth century. Most of these essays are developed from papers originally presented at a conference in 1998 entitled 'Adventures of Identity', held at the Goethe-Institut in Sydney a beautiful sandstone building in a leafy suburb of this cosmopolitan city by the sea. The idea for the conference emerged from a lively, not to say agitated email conversation in 1996

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between the authors of this introduction, wherein we sent emails back and forth discussing the possible implications of public allegations that certain writers and painters in Australia who claimed to be, or were held to be indigenous were not indeed so. Thinking about particular controversial cases led us to speculate more generally about the ways ethnic and cultural identities in settler societies are chosen and performed, shaped and constructed. Finally, we emailed to each other are we mad enough to try and organise a conference on such motifs, and call it 'Adventures of Identity'? We decided that we were mad enough, and put out a call for papers to scholars around the world interested in diverse situations and questions of 'race', migration, and identity, a siren call we hoped would be appealing and even seductive. The brochure read as follows: Scholarship on issues of multiculturalism is often, and traditionally, informed by a ruling binary opposition between an imagined unified entity called 'society' (e.g. Australian, German, American society, etc.) and an imagined isolated monad called 'the immigrant' (or die/der AusländerIn, the ethnic, the Spanish-American, etc.). While it cannot be denied that 'the immigrant' might be involved in states of anomie, alienation, 'homelessness', the concept of the immigrant might also be understood as, and complicated by, an understanding of his or her involvement in various and cross-cutting relationships and experiences: in particular, in continuing diaspora relations, in relations with an ethnic community and in participation within a 'mainstream' society. These relationships, with regard to the question of constituting or constructing identity and subjectivity, might offer experiences of centre and margin, of hierarchy and mobility, of marginalising, purging, exclusion, tolerance, integration and recognition in particular terms. These relationships offer the opportunity to the individual to invent, to construct or to perform identity in a myriad of new connections, combinations and possibilities. It might also be possible to think of an 'adventure of exile': as a voluntaristic or as an involuntary departure towards new identity, or as a mixture of the two. Exile can offer the opportunity to be an outsider in relation to the conventional, to conformity; it can provide opportunity for both pain and pleasure. The exile as outsider can make intellectual and aesthetic journeys that are wayward, unusual, challenging, eccentric, irritating, unsettling. In migrant and multi-ethnic and multi-cultural societies, as in New World societies of the last several centuries, people, far from the societies that knew them, can release the repressed, can 'perform' a ventriloquism of new identities, can construct new biographies and genealogies of and for themselves, can have 'adventures of identity', can become 'imposters' and 'impersonators' something that intellectuals, artists and writers in general, in presenting a public personality and identity to the world (in Foucault's phrase an 'author-function'), have frequently been drawn to at least since the eighteenth century. In the societies of Europe, the question of identity is also on the agenda of social critics and cultural theorists. Five decades after World War II

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and after the more recent collapse of the 'iron curtain' that constituted a seemingly impenetrable border between East and West, the demographic make-up of the 'Old World' is changing again. Commentators have only just begun to explore the socio-cultural effects caused by the post-war migration movements, by the largely successful integration of displaced persons, or by the more recent and yet unresolved influx of asylum-seekers and refugees ('political' and/or 'economic' alike) from around the world, all of which constitute challenges to traditional notions of identity within Fortress Europe. As European nation-states are giving way to as yet unknown supra- or post-national formations, and while simultaneously old nationalisms and ethnic-cultural particularisms can be seen as on the rise again, the contradictions between the old and the new, propelled forward by the ever increasing pressures of the global market economy, will no doubt affect the processes and the outcomes of identity formations in the multicultural communities of the New Europe at the impending turn of the century/millenium. The conference its full title was 'Adventures of Identity: Constructing the Multicultural Subject' did indeed attract scholars from around the world in a variety of disciplines. When we came to organise contributions for this volume (a second one with a focus on Europe is to follow), it became clear that the essays and concerns were as much about 'race', including the curious psychology and sociology of whiteness, as about the multicultural and migration. This was not something we had anticipated. When we wrote the original call for papers, we shared a perhaps naive but nevertheless widely held optimism regarding an essential consensus about the multicultural future of Australia and New Zealand. In retrospect, we were overly confident that a rational political discourse à la Taylor would be possible and would give legitimacy to the 'multicultural agenda' put forward by government bureaucrats. Multiculturalism, after all, needed only to be 'managed' properly and to be 'sold' to a public who could not but be impressed by the apparent benefits of 'cultural diversity as a national asset'. In 1997 the White Australia policy seemed to belong to a distant past. Important (albeit long-overdue) court rulings which affirmed the claims of the country's indigenous population to recognition of their right to ownership and custodianship of the land also presented cause for cautious optimism that something like 'reconciliation' might be achievable in a not too distant future. Subsequent events in Australia in particular in the wake of the return of a conservative coalition government and the rise from seemingly nowhere of a new, right-wing party, the One Nation party (Pauline Hanson), along with the renewed debate and public focus on unemployment and immigration (especially from Asia), indigenous land rights, and the 'plight' of the supposedly forgotten 'average' (that is, white) Australian and New Zealander showed that the question of race and colour had been by no

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means resolved. Thus, in ways we had not originally imagined, the volume began shaping itself around the staging of conversations between 'race' and the multicultural, colonialism and migration, post-colonial theory and diaspora theory. The contributions retain the non-canonical freshness of the papers presented to the conference itself, yet representations of 'adventures of identity' in the writing of the essays have frequently emerged as etched with the sombre, with pathos, the sad and heartrending. Some of the essays mix analysis with story and autobiography or analysis proceeds by story and autobiography and so represent a kind of intellectual adventurousness that is in tension with traditional Western ideals of impersonality of address. In some essays, as well, it became clear that an antipodean perspective can suggest different chronotopes of critique and awareness. From the perspective of ancient continuing indigenous cultures, Aboriginal or Maori, many millennia old, or from the perspective of Canaanite critique of the foundational biblical stories that reach back to the ancient Eastern Mediterranean, what is usually referred to as the Old World looks very different. Given such antipodean phenomenology of time and space, the Old World of Europe appears like a new addition to far older world histories, so that even the iconic date of 1492 looks recent. 29 To see 'Europe' and 'the West' in relation to far older world histories is to question Europe and the West's authority as history and humanity's necessary future, natural telos, repertoire of desires, modes of identity. Notes 1 Friedrich Hölderlin, 'Wurzel alles Übels', in Werke und Briefe, Vol.1, (hrg. von Friedrich Beißner und Jochen Schmidt), Insel Verlag, Frankfurt/Main, 1969, p.36; cf. Friedrich Hölderlin, Selected Poems and Fragments, trans. Michael Hamburger, Penguin, London, 1998, p.18. 2 Satendra Nandan, Lines Across Black Waters, CRNLE/Academy Press, Adelaide and New Delhi, 1997, p.9. 3 For an overview, cf. the collection by Elisabeth Bronfen, Benjamin Marcus and Therese Steffen (eds), Hybride Kulturen. Beiträge zur anglo-amerikanischen Multikulturalismusdebatte, Stauffenburg, Tübingen, 1997 (with contributions by Benedict Anderson, Fredric Jameson, Edward W. Said, Homi K. Bhabha, Iain Chambers, Stuart Hall, Cornel West, Elisabeth Bronfen and Benjamin Marcus.) See in particular the introduction by Elisabeth Bronfen and Benjamin Marcus, 'Hybride Kulturen. Einleitung zur anglo-amerikanischen Multikulturalismusdebatte', pp.1-30. 4 Charles Taylor, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition, Princeton University Press, 1992, pp.24-73. In the following two paragraphs, all quotations refer to this edition (pp.34, 26, 31, 26, 29, 30, 32). 5 Taylor, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition, pp.34-35. 6 cf. the response to Taylor by Jürgen Habermas, 'Anerkennungskämpfe im demokratischen Rechtstaat', in the German edition of Charles Taylor, Multikulturalismus und die Politik der Anerkennung, S. Fischer, Frankfurt/Main, 1993, pp.147-96. 7 Taylor, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition, pp.38, 39.

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8 cf. Peter Fuchs, Die Erreichbarkeit der Gesellschaft. Zur Konstruktion und Imagination gesellschaftlicher Einheit, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt/Main, 1992. 9 cf. Gerhard Fischer (ed.), The Mudrooroo/Müller Project: A Theatrical Casebook, New South Wales University Press, Sydney, 1993. 10 Edward Said, 'Michael Walzer's Exodus and Revolution: A Canaanite Reading', in Edward Said and Christopher Hitchens (eds), Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship and the Palestinian Question, Verso, London, 1988, pp.161-78. 11 Ella Shohat, 'Antinomies of Exile: Said at the Frontiers of National Narrations', in Michael Sprinker (ed.), Edward Said: A Critical Reader, Blackwell, Oxford, 1992, pp.121-43, here pp.140-41. 12 Regina M. Schwartz, The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1997, pp.55-62. 13 Deborah Bird Rose, 'Rupture and the Ethics of Care in Colonized Space', in Tim Bonyhady and Tom Griffiths (eds), Prehistory to Politics: John Mulvaney, the Humanities and the Public Intellectual, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1996, pp.199-200, 203-05, and Ann Curthoys, 'Expulsion, Exodus and Exile in White Australian Historical Mythology', Journal of Australian Studies, no.61, 1999, pp.1-18, and also in Richard Nile and Michael Williams (eds), Imaginary Homelands, University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, 1999. 14 Schwartz, The Curse of Cain, pp.x-xi, 6-10, 16-17, 95, 121-22, 140-41, 158-59. 15 Ella Shohat, 'Staging the Quincentenary: the Middle East and the Americas', Third Text, 21, 1992-93, pp.67-70. cf. Stuart Hall, 'When was ''the post-colonial"? Thinking at the Limit', in Iain Chambers and Lidia Curti (eds), The Post-Colonial Question, Routledge, London, 1996, pp.249-51. 16 For the notion of possessive nomadism, see Harry Berger Jnr, 'The Lie of the Land: The Text Beyond Canaan', Representations, 25, 1989, pp.119-38, here pp.135-36. 17 cf. Ann Curthoys, 'Identity Crisis: Colonialism, Nation and Gender in Australian History', Gender and History, 5, 2 (1993), pp.165-76. 18 Ella Shohat, 'Notes on the "Post-colonial"', Social Text, 31/32 (1992), pp.99-113. See also Anne McClintock, 'The Angel of Progress: Pitfalls of the Term "Post-Colonialism"', Social Text, 31/32 (1992), pp.84-98, and John Docker, 'Rethinking Post-colonialism and Multiculturalism in the Fin de Siècle', Cultural Studies, 9, 3 (1995), pp.409-26. 19 Hans Magnus Enzensberger, Civil War, trans. Piers Spence and Martin Chalmers, Granta Books and Penguin, London, 1994, pp.11-13, 30-31, 47, 49, 54, 58, 124. See also Gerhard Fischer (ed.), Debating Enzensberger: Great Migration and Civil War, Stauffenburg Verlag, Tübingen, 1996. 20 Enzensberger, Civil War, pp.37-38, 104. 21 Vijay Mishra, 'The Diasporic Imaginary: Theorizing the Indian Diaspora', Textual Practice, 10, 3 (1996), pp.42147. See also Vijay Mishra, '(B)ordering Naipaul: Indenture History and Diasporic Poetics', Diaspora, 5, 2 (1996), pp.189-237. 22 Vijay Mishra, 'Post-colonial Differend: Diasporic Narratives of Salman Rushdie', ARIEL: A Review of International English Literature, 26, 3 (1995), pp.7-45. 23 Vijay Mishra, 'Mourning Becomes Diaspora', in Jacqueline Lo, Duncan Beard, Rachel Cunneen and Debjani Ganguly (eds), Impossible Selves: Cultural Readings of Identity, Australian Scholarly Publishing, Melbourne, 1999, pp.47-68. 24 Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, Verso, London and New York, 1993; Daniel Boyarin and Jonathan Boyarin, 'Diaspora: Generation and the Ground of Jewish Identity', Critical Inquiry, 19, 4 (1993), pp.693-725. See also Jonathan Boyarin and Daniel Boyarin (eds), Jews and Other Differences: The New Jewish Cultural Studies, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1997.

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25 James Clifford, 'Diasporas', Cultural Anthropology, 9, 3 (1994), pp.302-38, reprinted in J. Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century, Harvard University Press, Cambridge Mass., 1997, pp.244-77. See also Edward Said, 'Reflections on Exile', Granta, 13, 1984, pp.159-72, and Edward Said, Representations of the Intellectual: The 1993 Reith Lectures, Vintage, London, 1994, ch.3, 'Intellectual Exile: Expatriates and Marginals', pp.35-47. 26 In Australia diaspora communities such as the Greek or Jewish support multiculturalism as government policy and social practice, while demonstrating or revealing their support for nationalism and ethnic absolutism in Greece and Israel. cf. Docker, 'Rethinking Post-colonialism and Multiculturalism in the Fin de Siècle', pp.415-18, 422. See also Eleni Varikis, 'Gender and National Identity in fin de siècle Greece', Gender and History, 5, 2 (1993), pp.27072. 27 Vijay Mishra, 'The Diasporic Imaginary: Theorizing the Indian Diaspora', p.424, comments ironically on Indian diaspora people in the United States supporting tolerant pluralism in the West while agitating for a narrow sectarianism in India itself. 28 cf. Simmel's 'The Stranger' in The Sociology of Georg Simmel, ed. and trans. Kurt H. Wolff, The Free Press, Glencoe Ill., 1950, pp.402-08, though this brilliant essay refers to the situation of 'the stranger' in Europe, not in European settler-colonial societies. 29 cf. Janet Abu-Lughod, Before European Hegemony: The World System A.D. 1250-1350, Oxford University Press, New York, 1989.

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2 An Uneasy Conversation: The Multicultural and the Indigenous Ann Curthoys In Australia there have been for a long time two distinct yet connected public and intellectual debates concerning the significance of descent, belonging and culture. One revolves around the cleavage between indigenous and nonindigenous peoples, and especially the status of indigenous claims deriving from a history of colonisation. It is about land, health, heritage, housing, intellectual property, identity, education, 'stolen children', and much else as well. The other debate centres on the immigrant, and his or her challenge to Australian society at large. It focuses on the nonBritish immigrant and the notion of multiculturalism, and is about cultural diversity, ethnic politics, and immigration policy. In this chapter I develop the argument that these two debates can neither be conceptualised together nor maintained as fully distinct. As a result of the public debates on both indigenous and immigration policies triggered by independent member of parliament Pauline Hanson in 1996, they converged and interacted in the later 1990s to a greater degree than at any time in the previous two centuries. Yet their conversation remains uneasy. 1 This was evident even on the occasion where I delivered the paper on which this chapter is based. A three-day conference entitled 'The Future of Australian Multiculturalism', it had two sessions where indigenous and multicultural discourses were designed to meet: one entitled 'Reporting Hanson: the Media and the Resurgence of Racism' (I return to the question of Hanson and her impact later), and the other called 'Ethnicity and its Others', in which my paper was included. The intentions of the organisers to promote discussion of the

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gap I have been referring to, with a view to bringing the two debates closer together were very clear. Yet their aims were not realised. The publicised indigenous speaker did not come, nor did her replacement; they clearly did not feel this to be 'their' conference. And it was not. There was neither the welcome from the indigenous owners of the region, nor the acknowledgement of their custodianship of land, that have become commonplace in many academic and other conferences in Australia today. One of my co-speakers, Angela Chan, in her paper described indigenous claims for land as a specific aspect of cultural diversity; that is, in her view, multiculturalism remained the dominant paradigm through which to view issues of culture and belonging. Despite the excellent intentions of the organisers, the failure of the conference session to bridge the gap between indigenous and multicultural discourses indicated the continuing power, in both indigenous and multicultural communities, of the history of separate discourses and distinct mechanisms of bureaucratic control. 2 The Nineteenth Century This dissonance has a long history. In the nineteenth century the language and, therefore, the meanings of debates were somewhat different, though not as different as perhaps some present-day Australians would wish. In place of the indigenous there was the 'native' or the 'black' or the 'Aboriginal', and in place of the multicultural what was called the 'Chinese Question'. Throughout the century public debates about the native or the Aboriginal, on the one hand, and the Chinese Question, on the other, rarely met. I should know: I once wrote a Ph.D. looking for exactly these connections and failed to find them. I investigated the relation between Aboriginal peoples and settlers, and between British and non-British immigrants, in New South Wales from the coming of self-government in 1856 until the early 1880s, the time of the development of a Protection policy towards Aborigines, on the one hand, and the reemergence of restrictions on Chinese immigration, on the other.3 The Aboriginal section of the thesis examined the last stages of open conflict in New South Wales as the British settlers invaded and took up the northern parts of the colony in the 1850s and early 1860s, and then the long period of indifference in the 1860s and 1870s, in which seeing the rapid destruction of Aboriginal communities and decline in Aboriginal population their own arrival had brought the settlers assumed the Aboriginal people would soon die out. I also looked at the emergence of a policy of greater government intervention and control through rationing, missions and reserves when it became clear that an Aboriginal population would be around a good while yet. Throughout this period in New South Wales, and the same

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argument can be made for the history of Aboriginal non-Aboriginal relations more generally, I saw a story of racial hatred and contempt on the part of the British settlers, closely bound with the desire to claim and develop the land, and the associated need to justify the fact and process of colonisation itself. It was tempered only a little by alternative voices within colonial society, who, although supporting colonisation, were concerned by the destructiveness of the process. 4 The section of the thesis that looked at the Chinese traced Chinese immigration to New South Wales from the goldrushes to the early 1880s. In response to the large numbers of Chinese who came in the late 1850s and early 1860s, the other goldrush miners, largely immigrants themselves from Britain and other parts of Europe, demanded a stop to Chinese immigration. Men of various European nationalities combined to keep the Chinese out. The antiChinese riots at the Lambing Flat goldfield in 1861 were truly a multicultural event, with a German band leading the parade and miners of many European nationalities participating.5 Restiveness on the goldfields had an impact on the wider community. While pastoral employers wanted Chinese immigrants, seeing them as a source of cheap or at least readily available labour, general community unrest was such that both houses of parliament, even the pastoralistdominated Upper House, passed legislation restricting Chinese immigration. Chinese migration dropped off for some years, tensions subsided, and the restrictive Acts were accordingly repealed in 1867. In the 1870s the number of Chinese immigrants gradually rose again; again the pastoralists and large employers supported Chinese immigration and again the middle and working classes objected, with much talk of 'invasion', 'inundation', 'swamping', and 'overwhelming', and repetition of the belief that Chinese would not assimilate. It seemed to me that the opposition to the Chinese, while most intense in times of direct economic conflict and high rates of immigration, was underpinned by a belief in the superiority of the European and the inferiority of the Chinese: that is, by racial ideas of an increasingly explicit kind. Those who supported Chinese immigration, especially the pastoralists, were scarcely less racist than their opponents; it was simply that they could see in Chinese immigration economic benefit for themselves. As one of their number put it in the Legislative Assembly in 1879, 'If they could get an inferior race to do the dirty work, let them do so by all means'.6 Yet this pragmatic view, embedded in an assumption of hierarchy rather than social equality, was not to prevail. In the second half of the nineteenth century the objection to Chinese immigration spread to all the Australian colonies, and came to apply not only to Chinese but to non-European immigrants generally. As on the goldfields, the desire for racial exclusiveness was not confined to those of British origin, but

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was supported by many of continental European origin, who were themselves generally welcomed and included. Germans were especially sought after and respected colonists, even receiving assisted passages to the colony of Queensland in the 1870s and 1880s. Their acceptance was based on the idea that Britons and Germans were of common racial 'Teutonic' stock, and that the Germans would assimilate easily to British political and cultural institutions. It was the non-European, the non-white, that was to be excluded. One of the first acts of the new nation in 1901 was the passing of legislation solidifying and codifying existing exclusionary legislation; the Immigration Restriction Act of 1901 became the basis of a nationwide White Australia policy, designed to put an end to nonEuropean immigration for ever. 7 In other words, the common feature of the Aboriginal and Chinese situations in the nineteenth century was clearly colonial racism, in one case justifying the taking of land and in the other being a cause for keeping that land for Europeans. In both cases, a strong sense of British and European racial superiority was expressed and reinforced, and the conviction that coloured races were inferior to whites was confirmed. Yet these two historical interactions and public debates were conducted almost entirely without reference to one another. I looked in vain for texts newspapers, magazines, whatever in which the two situations were somehow discussed together, perhaps developing a common justification for British and European possession and development of the continent. They were not. The two debates were entirely separate, parallel and analogous rather than openly related. There was little if any evidence that colonial experience and thinking in one situation was transferred to the other. No common racial ideology covering both situations was articulated. I did find two examples, both of them expressed at the height of debate on Chinese immigration in December 1878. Their meaning could not have been more different, and they prefigure much more recent debates and ideas. The first, a speech at an anti-Chinese meeting in Newcastle, expressed the common conviction of racial right and superiority mixed with fears of economic competition: This country had been entrusted to them as a portion of the British race, to be handed by them down to their descendants in a better condition than when they received it. They had found it in the possession of a benighted race, and had improved it; and it behove them men, women, and children, to hand this colony to the next generation fair and unspotted by pagan immoralities . . . If John Chinaman came of a race like their own, the danger would not be so great; but he was an alien and a blackleg, and did not come into the market on equal terms with the white man.

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The second, a letter signed 'Observer' in an evening newspaper in Sydney, was a very rare critique of both antiChinese feeling and white settler assumptions of their right to land: The aborigine would indeed have a better case against the Anglo-Saxon than the Anglo-Saxon has against the Chinese. The aborigine never intruded himself into the Anglo-Saxon's country, and therefore he could say with perfect justice that the Anglo-Saxon had no right to his land. But can the Anglo-Saxon maintain this position against the Chinese? Everyone knows he cannot. Then why object to his presence? On the score of demoralising and disturbing existing society, you have no right to protest, for you are simply reaping the just reward of your conduct to the aborigines. You have no right to do a thing today and object to someone else doing the same thing tomorrow. 8 The Twentieth Century These were rare voices indeed, and the existence of two quite separate public debates continued well into the twentieth century. At the same time, as Castles, Kalantzis, Cope, and Morrissey have noted, the parallels between immigration and indigenous policy became even stronger than they had been in the mid-nineteenth century period I examined in such minute detail.9 In the first half of the twentieth century one group was kept 'out' by confinement to reserves and fringe settlements, the other by immigration policies which literally excluded them. Where Aboriginal people were to be kept out of the towns and cities, non-Europeans were to be kept out of the country altogether. These exclusions were justified in similar ways: in both cases the argument was that these groups could not assimilate into mainstream British-Australian society. Nevertheless, despite these parallels in discourse, policy and practice, the two cases continued to be rarely spoken together. White Australia did not address its racial others in a united or coherent discourse, but rather in separate registers at different times. Major changes affecting both indigenous and non-European peoples came in the post-World War II period. In the Aboriginal case, there was increasing talk at an official and bureaucratic level of the desirability of assimilation. Where Aboriginal people had been declared 'stone age survivors' and 'a dying race' some decades before, now they were regarded in official policy as able to be assimilated. This had two dimensions, being on the one hand a biological policy, envisaging the loss of distinct identity through intermarriage and mixed-race children; on the other, it was a social and religious policy of making Aboriginal people think, act, and worship in the same way as white people, and thus lose their identity as a distinct people. The removal of children is now the best-known dimension of this attempt to turn Aboriginal people into non-Aboriginal people; it was a policy aiming (among other

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things such as ensuring a supply of domestic labour) to destroy Aboriginal identity through re-education of children in white institutions and foster homes. This was not a wholly popular policy at the time. Aboriginal communities, of course, opposed it bitterly. Opposition came also, and for quite different reasons, from white, rural town-dwellers, who did not wish to mix with Aborigines in any way, going to great lengths to exclude them from schools, hospitals, swimming pools, and the like. Governments spent considerable time and effort trying to persuade recalcitrant citizens of the value of an assimilation policy; the whites for their part largely continued to practice various forms of social, economic, and cultural exclusion, and saw assimilation as neither possible nor desirable. 10 'Assimilation' was the official goal for continental European immigrants as well. They, too, were to absorb Australian culture as their own, though the methods for achieving this were to be less drastic than for Aboriginal families and communities. Their numbers, relatively small until the late 1930s, grew dramatically with the mass migration programs following World War II. From 1947, under agreement with the United Nations international refugee organisation, over 170,000 refugees, mainly from Eastern Europe, arrived in five years. These were later joined by migrants (two million between 1946 and 1970) from many parts of Europe, encouraged to migrate as labourers for the expanding manufacturing and construction projects of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. These immigrants from continental Europe were labelled 'new Australians' and were officially welcomed on the basis that they would assimilate. Ethnic community cohesion and cultural difference was frowned upon. With assimilation in their case believed to be relatively easy, given a common European racial and cultural heritage, the character and identity of Australia and Australians was not at stake. Some anxiety on the part of officials in charge of immigration policy was justified, given an isolationist Anglo-Celtic community protective of its identity. Hostility to continental Europeans their languages, their cultural difference was, however, tempered by the economic expansion and low unemployment of the period.11 At the same time, a new discourse of anti-racism developed. After the Holocaust, policies based on ideas of racial superiority and exclusion were questioned across the political spectrum. Where assimilation policy in relation both to indigenous people and to immigrants had been led by government with international and economic considerations in mind, anti-racism was the product of grassroots political activism. In the 1950s and 1960s there was in many quarters, especially amongst the growing middle class with increasingly cosmopolitan aspirations, a developing support for the idea of human rights, racial

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equality, and non-discrimination. Opposition to racial discrimination had strong international support from the United Nations and other agencies, and developed in Australia particularly in response to events in South Africa and the United States. From the later 1950s anti-racism strengthened in relation to both indigenous and immigration issues. 12 Yet just as racist discourse rarely thought 'indigenous' and 'immigrant' together, so anti-racist discourse and activism occurred in two separate realms. The two campaigns for equality and cultural respect arose in different contexts and were argued by different people, without much relationship to the other. Thus, on the one hand, there developed a strong movement demanding full citizenship rights for Aboriginal people and genuine racial equality. Contributors to the movement included Aboriginal activists, and non-Aboriginal anthropologists, Christians, and liberal and leftwing activists, especially communists. In response to growing pressure from many quarters, discriminatory legislation was removed in the early 1960s. Aboriginal people gained uniform voting rights in 1961 at the federal level, and many discriminatory provisions, such as the right to drink and purchase alcohol, were removed from State legislation at around the same time. A fear of being labelled racist internationally, and a new-found desire for formal racial equality, also underlay the success of the Referendum of 1967, which gave the Commonwealth government constitutional powers on Aboriginal affairs, and the passing of the Land Rights Act of 1976, which provided a framework for land claims by indigenous groups in the Northern Territory.13 At around the same time the long-standing policy of exclusion of immigrants on the basis of race, the White Australia policy, came under critique and, finally, to an end. Opposition had been expressed by intellectuals in the Immigration Reform Group, whose pamphlet Control or Colour Bar? in 1960 influenced bureaucrats and politicians on both sides of politics. There was also some student activism against the policy, especially in Melbourne. With international considerations in mind, and a change in prime minister from R.G. Menzies, an avid supporter of the policy, to Harold Holt, who was much more pragmatic, the policy officially came to an end in 1966.14 Yet these changes were believed to be cosmetic only; few Asian immigrants were expected to take advantage of the liberalised immigration laws. Public discussion on the incorporation of immigrants into Australian society was focused on continental European immigrants. In response to political campaigns from non-British ('ethnic') migrant communities and their allies, the 1970s saw a critique of assimilationist thinking in relation to immigrants that paralleled the critiques from Aboriginal activists and their allies. The formerly popular idea that European immigrants ought to assimilate to the 'Australian way of life'

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with its decidedly British inheritance came to be seen as insensitive to cultural ties and connections, and ultimately impossible. There was less talk of assimilation to a pre-existing norm, and some growth in respect by Anglo-Celtic Australia for the idea of maintenance of cultural difference within a shared liberal-democratic political system. Such ideas came to be called 'multiculturalism'. Jean Martin in her landmark text, The Migrant Presence (1978), was probably the first to trace the emergence of this idea. Using Foucault's conceptual framework on the relations between truth and power, she looked at the dominance of the assimilationist paradigm in the 1950s and 1960s, at the emergence of a notion in the late 1960s of migrants as 'problems' or at least 'people with problems', and, finally, at the idea that ethnic groups were, and should be pressure groups with rights to power and participation. Her book ended with a stress on cultural identity. 15 Thus, multiculturalism in its early phases was mainly a response to the presence of continental European immigrants, and at first had rather little to do with immigrants of Asian descent. The relaxation of immigration laws from 1966 slowly took effect. Migration from Asia, which had reached 5 per cent of intake by the early 1970s, stepped up with the refugee migration from Vietnam from 1975 and continued at a higher rate subsequently. The presence of these immigrants, whose significant numbers signalled the effective end of the White Australia policy, took some time to influence multicultural debate, where the focus remained on the continental European. Immigrants from the countries of Asia finally did became a focus for public discussion in the so-called 'Blainey debate' of 1984, when historian Professor Geoffrey Blainey argued that the rate of immigration from Asia was too high for public sensibilities. Bitter opposition accompanied this revival of public advocacy of a racially based immigration policy. The debate was now between those who sought controls on the numbers of Asian immigrants entering the country, and those who thought immigration matters ought to be debated without reference to such distinctions. In this concern with numbers, protection of Australian cultural tradition and social fabric, and the danger of 'swamping' the existing society, immigrants of Asian descent now occupied a place in public debate not too dissimilar from that occupied by Chinese in the nineteenth century. The anti-Asian sentiment of the 1980s, however, never reached the popular extent antiChinese sentiment had achieved a century before.16 An Uneasy Conversation Begins In the 1980s, as multicultural discourse became ever more powerful, parallels between indigenous and multicultural issues were at last drawn in official, intellectual and public arenas. The two sets of concerns were now seen to be connected by a national ideal of cultural diversity.

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Through the concept of cultural diversity, indigenous and ethnic community demands could be seen as part of the same spectrum. On some occasions the interests of indigenous and multicultural pressure groups coincided, as in the advocacy by both of multilingual education programs. Furthermore, there was a growing notion in liberal 'progressive' thinking that British Australians might be challenged by, and learn something from indigenous people on the one hand and immigrants on the other. What Anglo-Celtic Australians had to do was learn to see themselves as just one ethnic group among many. Australians who defined Australia by its Britishness were now seen as the principal enemies of policies of cultural diversity. The ideal of cultural diversity reached new prominence and acceptance in the 1988 bicentennial slogan of 'Living Together'. The bicentennial planning objectives were to 'celebrate the richness of diversity of Australians . . . to encourage all Australians to understand and preserve their heritage'. 17 In this conception the multicultural now included the indigenous, seen as one element in a mosaic of diverse cultures sharing the Australian continent. Throughout the society, cultural institutions were encouraged by government, ethnic community organisations, and by individuals within the institutions themselves to re-examine their practices to encompass more fully the principles of cultural diversity. In July 1989 the Commonwealth government launched its 'National Agenda for a Multicultural Australia', which covered a range of social justice, language, cultural, and citizenship issues. Specific plans were developed for a wide range of institutions. Strategies for collecting institutions such as libraries, galleries, museums, and archives, for example, were published in the Plan for Cultural Heritage Institutions to Reflect Australia's Cultural Diversity, in 1991, which emphasised the working together of institutions and communities.18 Most collecting institutions began to include promotion of cultural diversity as a major item of policy, though in many cases implementation lagged far behind. Questions of indigenous heritage were included under the general framework of 'cultural diversity', though with recognition of certain special and distinct issues, such as the return of skeletal remains to Aboriginal communities. This tendency towards inclusion of the indigenous within the multicultural was not confined to policy-makers, public commentators and official utterances. In academic discourse indigenous people and immigrants were seen as the joint objects of Anglo-Celtic ethnocentrism, as similarly excluded from the benefits of mainstream Anglo-Celtic Australia. The notion of orientalism, drawn from Edward Said, was influential, as scholars began to look for distinctive Australian forms of knowing the other. For some literary critics, the immigrant and the indigene became one or almost one, the excluded other, as in this

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formulation from Sneja Gunew and Kateryna Longley: 'Aborigines and those migrants who have come from places other than England or Ireland' are 'the outsiders, the marginalised'. 19 For others, such as Bob Hodge and Vijay Mishra, the application of Said's Orientalism was confined to the Aboriginal, leading them to define an Australian cultural phenomenon they described as 'Aboriginalism'. They treated 'migrant writing' as a distinct phenomenon but see it, along with Aboriginal writing, as part of post-colonial literary endeavour in Australia.20 The analogy between Aboriginal and Asian immigrant experience was strong amongst the historians, Raymond Evans, for example, stressing that both Aboriginal people and Chinese immigrants had suffered defeat at the hands of whites in 'a battle for vital economic assets'.21 In the sociology of immigration and ethnicity, studies of Aboriginal cultures and Asian and Pacific communities began to be included alongside the longer-standing interest in immigrants from southern Europe.22 Yet these analogies and inclusions were extremely awkward. Indigenous people protested against being incorporated within the 'multicultural', at being seen as just one ethnicity among many. Indigenous people stressed again and again that their situation was profoundly different from that of everyone else in the country Anglo-Celtic or not, recent nonEuropean immigrant or sixth-generation descendant of English immigrants. They were the original occupiers of the land, and had particular and distinct connections to it still. They had been dispossessed and institutionalised, and had their culture and kinship relationships attacked in the most direct and brutal manner. Their particular relation to the land was not replicated by any other group, a position that took on greater meaning with the passing of two key legal judgements in the 1990s, known as the Mabo and Wik decisions, which together recognised native title in land for the first time. Another critique of the unity-in-diversity model came at the level of theory. The application of Said's notion of orientalism to the Australian situation was seen to have been simplistic, suppressing the differences between various others and especially the different ways in which they were known. In the cultural realm John Docker critiqued that form of literary criticism which equated the situation of the non-Anglo-Celtic ethnic and the indigenous writer. He especially opposed the way in which Sneja Gunew, the leading theorist of multicultural discourse, applied Said's notion of the other to immigrants from Europe and Asia. As he put it, When 'the native' becomes 'the migrant', and 'Europe' or 'the West' becomes 'Australian society', something goes askew and awry. A critical

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discourse and language engaging with (largely European-migrant) ethnicity has been curiously crossed with a critical discourse and language concerned with race, the colonized. 23 In a similar vein, Ghassan Hage criticised anti-racist sociology which essentialised 'the victimness of the victim', and recommended a move towards the study of triangular Anglo-ethnic-Aboriginal relations.24 This approach would investigate how Anglo-Australians are changed by their interactions with both Aboriginal and ethnic communities, and would also illuminate the ways Aboriginal and ethnic communities influence each other. Other scholars, such as Peter Read, undertook studies of 'migrant' attitudes to Aboriginal people and issues. These are important intellectual developments, yet formulations such as Hage's have their own problems, given the important presence of the British migrant, who fits none of these categories, the significant differences in situation between European and nonEuropean immigrants which the category 'ethnic' suppresses, and the high levels of intermixture between people in all these groups, so that they blend into one another to an important degree, making such categories diffuse and unstable. While academics thus puzzled over the relationship between the indigenous and the immigrant, and how their differences and similarities might be conceptualised, the surprising degree of public support for Pauline Hanson and the political party she created, One Nation, forced another kind of rethinking of some of these issues. The equation of indigenous and immigrant situations was made more by an angry, white majority populism than by cosmopolitan or academic critics. One Nation attacked both indigenous people and non-European immigrants, and in both cases returned to assimilationist criteria for social inclusion. An interesting feature of this debate is that, in it, Australians from continental Europe, at whom policies of multiculturalism were primarily addressed, were generally placed, both by themselves and those of Anglo-Celtic origin, on the 'inside' rather than the 'outside' of Australian society. The categories 'migrant' and 'ethnic', so popular in the 1970s as examined by Jean Martin and into the 1980s, were thoroughly fragmented into constituent parts. 'Race' had disrupted 'ethnicity' more profoundly than at any time since the nineteenth century.25 Australia in the Twenty-First Century: Colonial or Post-Colonial? The Hanson-led resurgence of racism, and what might be termed popular assimilationism, has forced considerable rethinking about Australian culture. In place of a conception of the multicultural that

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includes the indigenous, regarding indigenous people and cultures as just one example of a general and pervasive cultural diversity, it is now clear that it is the multicultural that needs to be incorporated into a wider framework. That wider framework is the conceptualisation of Australia as both a colonial and a post-colonial society or, more accurately, a society which is colonising and decolonising at the same time. A vast literature now proclaims Australia as post-colonial, but it cannot yet be described in this way even though it does have some post-colonial elements. Ken Gelder and Jane Jacobs's recent Uncanny Australia: Sacredness and Identity in a Postcolonial Nation, for example, sees Australia as post-colonial and identifies the new racism as 'postcolonial racism'. 26 Yet this formulation will not do, for it suppresses recognition that Australia is in many ways a colonial society still. The term 'post-colonial' may refer to a critique of colonial forms of power and discourse, or, if describing a type of society, then to those former colonies, such as India, or Indonesia, or Malaysia, that gained political independence after World War II. But in relation to settler societies like Australia and New Zealand there is no parallel or clear moment of decolonisation.27 From the point of view of the aforementioned post-colonial nations, Australia is, to quote Theresa Millard, 'the last country in the region to be decolonised, the place where the story didn't end happily, where the colonisers didn't go home'.28 In settler societies decolonisation is a very slow process that continues today. The creation of an Australian nation separate from Britain beginning with colonial self-government in the 1850s and continuing still in the debate over whether Australia should sever its ties with the British monarchy and become an independent republic has been a long and protracted process. So, too, has the process of internal decolonisation, beginning perhaps in the post-war period and continuing very slowly, unevenly, and haltingly today. In this context 'decolonisation' means the moving away from policies of control of indigenous peoples developed in the interests of the nation state, towards policies of self-determination. While such moves are evident in the creation of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, the Land Councils, and other forms of indigenous decision-making they are limited in their scope. Furthermore, the resumption of land that is important for indigenous peoples for mining and other projects is just one example of the continuation of colonial and colonising processes. The continuing presence of colonialism has implications for all immigrants, whether first-generation or sixth. All nonindigenous people, recent immigrants and descendants of immigrants alike, are beneficiaries of a colonial history. We share the situation of living on someone else's land. The incompleteness of decolonisation means that

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indigenous people and Asian immigrants, while they share a common experience of racial hostility and being defined outside the nation, at the same time occupy significantly different places on the colonial-post-colonial spectrum. The twin processes of colonisation and decolonisation mean there are now jostling against one another in public life several different discourses on race. Survivals of the discourses of colonialism protectionism, segregation and assimilationism compete with more identifiably post-colonial discourses such as racial and ethnic equality, cultural diversity, human rights, self-determination, and sovereignty. The desire for protection of, and required assimilation to a given Australian identity and 'way of life' sits alongside desires for a culturally plural society and for closer, not more distant, associations with the peoples, cultures and societies of Asia. One book, published in 1998, on racial debate in Australia expressed this idea in its title. Two Nations was clearly a riposte to the singular aspirations of One Nation, but also indicated that Australia was deeply divided on the questions of race and assimilation. Robert Manne in the Foreword noted that the right blamed the depth of the division on 'political correctness', the suppression by cosmopolitan élites of open debate on questions of race, culture, immigration and Aboriginal policy; and the left, on 'economic rationalism', a program of economic deregulation which had led to economic hardship for many, who were now looking for a scapegoat for their troubles and finding it in Aboriginal people and Asian immigrants. 29 Perhaps both analyses have some truth. Psychologically, too, non-indigenous Australians demonstrate elements of both a colonial and a post-colonial mentality. Post-colonial mentalities are evident, as indigenous peoples point to, and others acknowledge a history of invasion and dispossession, racial exclusivism, and a desire for whiteness, in order to think and move beyond the colonial past. Colonial mentalities, however, are also evident in the difficulty many Australians of British descent have in acknowledging a history of land-taking, massacres, and child removal, much preferring to see themselves as the historical victim. Their liking for, and ready identification with stories of defeat is surely indication enough of that. From the convicts to Gallipoli, from the pioneers to the prisoners-of-war, they see themselves as victims of hostile nature and of other nations.30 So keenly aware of being, themselves, displaced from their countries of origin, many non-indigenous Australians have fiercely taken on their new country as home. Theirs is an attachment born, not of centuries of occupation and attachment, but of relatively recent feelings of being securely located, safe, centred, belonging. The notion of 'native title' is taken as a suggestion that white occupation is illegitimate, and Aboriginal land claims are taken as leading to either a literal

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or a metaphorical loss of land, a suggestion of the illegitimacy of white Australians regarding Australia as home. Pauline Hanson, who articulated the growing hostility to Aboriginal claims to land, put it succinctly: I am fed up with being told 'This is our land.' Well, where the hell do I go? I was born here, and so were my parents and children . . . I draw the line when told I must pay and continue paying for something that happened over 200 years ago. Like most Australians, I worked for my land; no-one gave it to me. 31 Ethnic communities also contribute to the idea of Australia as home, with their own versions of historical victim narratives, telling a story of persecution or economic difficulty in their country of origin, experiences of racism and rejection after arrival, and the gradual building of a new life and making a contribution to Australian society at large. The persistence of the structures and mentality of colonialism has implications for the ideal of multiculturalism that have yet been little recognised. While some ethnic organisations and pressure groups have acknowledged the distinctiveness and importance of Aboriginal claims, most have not; multicultural discourse at large remains remarkably inattentive to the colonial features of current Australian life. It contains only the slightest recognition that the direct descendants of those who actually perpetrated the original acts of colonisation, while they have particular responsibilities, do not carry the burden of the colonial past alone. As long as multiculturalism continues to fail to recognise the continuing power and salience of colonialism, the latter will continue to exercise its power, and the former will remain an aspiration rather than a condition of life. Notes 1 I wish to thank Ghassan Hage for inviting me to deliver the paper on which this chapter is based, and John Docker for his assistance with the ideas and argument contained in this chapter. 2 Paper for panel, 'Ethnicity and its Others: NESB-Aboriginal-White Relations', at the conference, 'The Future of Australian Multiculturalism', University of Sydney, 9 December 1998. 3 Ann Curthoys, Race and Ethnicity: A Study of the Response of the British Colonists to Aborigines, Chinese and Non-British Europeans in New South Wales, 1856-1881, Ph.D. thesis, Macquarie University, 1973. 4 See Henry Reynolds, This Whispering in our Hearts, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1998; Robert H.W. Reece, Aborigines and Colonists: Aborigines and Colonial Society in New South Wales in the 1830s and 1840s, Sydney University Press, Sydney, 1974. 5 Ann Curthoys, Race and Ethnicity, pp.350, 2. Chris Connolly, 'Miners' Rights', in Ann Curthoys and Andrew Markus (eds), Who are our Enemies? Racism and the Working Class in Australia, Hale and Iremonger, Sydney, 1978, ch.4.

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6 The speaker was Onslow, reported in the Sydney Morning Herald, 6 March 1879. 7 See Gary P. Freeman and James Jupp (eds), Nations of Immigrants: Australia, the United States, and International Migration, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1992, ch.1. 8 David Gardner, speaking at an anti-Chinese meeting in Newcastle, 28 December 1878, reported in the Newcastle Morning Herald, 30 December 1878; and 'Observer', letter in the Evening News, 21 December 1878. 9 Stephen Castles, Mary Kalantzis, Bill Cope, and Michael Morrissey, Mistaken Identity: Multiculturalism and the Demise of Nationalism in Australia, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1988, ch.3. 10 Heather Goodall, Invasion to Embassy: Land in Aboriginal Politics in New South Wales, 1770-1972, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1996. 11 Freeman and Jupp (eds), Nations of Immigrants, ch.1; Castles, Kalantzis, Cope, Morrissey, Mistaken Identity, ch.2. 12 Jennifer Clark, '''The Wind of Change" in Australia: Aborigines and the International Politics of Race, 19601972', International History Review, 1998, pp.89-117. 13 Bain Attwood and Andrew Markus in collaboration with Dale Edwards and Kath Schilling, The 1967 Referendum, or When Aborigines Didn't Get the Vote, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra, 1997. See also Bain Attwood and Andrew Markus, '(The) 1967 (Referendum) and All That: Narrative and Myth, Aborigines and Australia', Australian Historical Studies, No.111, October 1998, pp.267-88. 14 Sean Brawley, 'Slaying the White Australia Dragon: Some Factors in the Abolition of the White Australia Policy', in Nancy Viviani (ed.) The Abolition of the White Australia Policy: The Immigration Reform Movement Revisited, Griffith University, 1992; James Jupp, Immigration, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1991, ch.7 ('The end of White Australia'), pp.82-94. 15 Jean Martin, The Migrant Presence: Australian Responses 1947-1977, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1978. 16 Geoffrey Blainey, All for Australia, Methuen Haynes, Sydney, 1984; Andrew Markus and Merle Ricklefs, Surrender Australia? Essays in the Study and Uses of History, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1984. 17 Quoted in Castles, Kalantzis, Cope, Morrissey, Mistaken Identity, p.5. 18 Plan for Cultural Heritage Institutions to Reflect Australia's Cultural Diversity, Department of Arts, Sport, Environment, Tourism, and Territories, Canberra, 1991. 19 Sneja Gunew, Kateryna O. Longley (eds), Striking Chords: Multicultural Literary Interpretations, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992, p.xv. Quoted in John Docker, 'Rethinking Postcolonialism and Multiculturalism in the Fin de Siècle', Cultural Studies, 9, 3 (1995), p.414. 20 Bob Hodge and Vijay Mishra, The Dark Side of the Dream: Australian Literature and the Postcolonial Mind, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1990, p.27. 21 Raymond Evans, 'Keeping Australia Clean White', in Verity Burgmann and Jenny Lee (eds), A Most Valuable Acquisition, McPhee Gribble/ Penguin Books, Ringwood, 1988, p.173. 22 Gill Bottomley, Marie de Lepervanche and Jeannie Martin (eds.), Intersexions: Gender/Class/Culture/Ethnicity, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1991. 23 Docker, 'Rethinking Postcolonialism and Multiculturalism in the Fin de Siècle', p.415. 24 Ghassan Hage, 'The limits of "anti-racist sociology"', UTS Review, 1 1 (August 1995), p.79. See also Ghassan Hage, White Nation: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1998.

25 Ann Curthoys and Carol Johnson, 'Articulating the Future and the Past: Race, Gender and Globalisation in One Nation's Self-Construction', Hecate, 24, 2 (November 1998), pp.92-111.

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26 Ken Gelder and Jane M. Jacobs, Uncanny Australia: Sacredness and Identity in a Postcolonial Nation, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1998, pp. 16-17. 27 See Ann Curthoys, 'Identity Crisis: Colonialism, Nation, and Gender in Australian history', Gender and History, 5, 2 (1993), pp. 165-76. Also Ella Shohat, 'Notes on the "post-Colonial"', Social Text, 31/32, 1992. 28 Theresa Millard, 'Australia's Future "sunny side up"', Amida, October 1997. 29 Robert Manne, 'Foreword', Two Nations: The Causes and Effects of the Rise of the One Nation Party in Australia, Bookman Press, Melbourne, 1998, p.7. 30 Ann Curthoys, 'Expulsion, Exodus and Exile in White Australian Historical Mythology', Journal of Australian Studies, no.61, 1999, pp.1-18. See also Deborah Bird Rose, 'Dark Times and Excluded Bodies in the Colonisation of Australia', in Geoffrey Gray and Christine Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism, Monash Publications in History, Melbourne, 1997, pp.97-116. 31 Pauline Hanson, The Truth: On Asian Immigration, the Aboriginal Question, the Gun Debate and the Future of Australia, P. Hanson, Ipswich, Queensland, 1997, p.4.

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PART 2 ABORIGINAL IDENTITY

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3 Reconciling Our Mothers' Lives Jackie Huggins, Kay Saunders and Isabel Tarrago This chapter began as a presentation made at the 'Women and Human Rights, Social Justice and Citizenship' international conference held at the University of Melbourne on 30 June 1998. The session was chaired, at our joint request, by Ann Curthoys. During the presentation the three speakers remained on the dimly lit stage and each moved forward when it was her turn to speak. Points made in the talk were illustrated by accompanying slides. Sometimes there was a blank wall to demonstrate that what was being spoken about was not recorded by the camera, or the evidence had been deliberately destroyed. Both the presenters and the audience found the event extremely moving. The speakers were, it should be recorded, disappointed that so few white feminists chose to hear the presentation. The audience consisted of the indigenous delegates to the conference, some of the European-American delegates, as well as European-Australian feminists Ann McGrath and Anna Haebich even allowing for the number of competing sessions, this did not amount to a gesture of support by European-Australian delegates. Sir Gustav Nossal, the deputy chair of the Council for Reconciliation attended the session and asked to address the audience. He remarked that this talk was an important milestone in the road to reconciliation and also lamented the relatively poor attendance. We felt strongly that this presentation attempted to confront the issue of the history that we share and that divides black and white Australians.

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Introduction JACKIE HUGGINS This presentation was born out of a special tree-planting ceremony conducted at Kay Saunders's home in Highgate Hill in Brisbane in 1997. In attendance were Kay, her daughter Erin and future son-in-law Jaysen; Isabel and her daughter Avelina; and myself and my son John Henry and my sister Ngaire. I told Kay that on the first anniversary of my adored mother Rita's commencement back to the Dreamtime, my sister Ngaire's family and my family would be planting trees and flowers to commemorate her wonderful life and, in a sense, experience the 'letting go' of the intense grief built up over a year of not having our beloved mother at our side. Some close friends also joined the commemoration at around 9 a.m. on 27 August 1997. We gathered for the ceremony at the back of Kay's house, where a lovely running pond and a proud lion statue glares across the beautifully sculptured lawn that Jaysen had made. he knew that the way to a woman's heart is through her mother's garden. Kay and I share the same birthday of 19 August and the proud lion symbolised us on that day, as proud Leos. I might also add that Rita, my mother, and my brother and my son are also Leos; so you can imagine what it was like when we were all under the same roof, and the positioning that took place to rule the roost! John and I unfortunately, or should I say fortunately, have exactly the same relationship my mother and I shared, and he is only reaching his teenage years next month! Rita and Elizabeth (Kay's mother) were remembered on that special occasion by the closest people around them. Even though Jaysen never met either woman, he was paying homage to two special grandmothers. Elizabeth loved Erin dearly and Rita would have loved Jaysen too. As we moved back inside the house, Jaysen began to talk about his

The wedding of Paul Hilder and Judith Sanderson, Charters Towers, 1967, with Mrs. Catherine Grant Hilder, Jaysen's paternal grandmother (far right)

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own paternal grandmother, Catherine Hilder, who came from the same country as my father. He knew little about her and believed she was Aboriginal. When he and Erin went up north in search of her, he found some resistance to his search, although he did find photographs of her which clearly show her origins. As we all sat in the magnificent lounge in Kay's bourgeois, old Queenslander, sipping tea and real coffee from fine china and nibbling on lemon biscuits, the power of storytelling began. Now blackfellas sometimes think that they are the only ones who can spin a good yarn, but what happened that day in many ways changed my view on that topic and confirmed the intersections between us as mothers, daughters and friends. We had always wondered why we three women had bonded when at face value we are as alike as chalk and cheese. But what we were to find was our shared histories, our shared repressed memories, and the journeys our mothers took in their separate ways to bring us together. Mapping the Lines KAY SAUNDERS At first glance, this whole project might seem to be easy and clear-cut. A narrative would consist of tracing the three women's lives and discussing their differences and departures. Two of the mothers were indigenous women, both under the Act but under differing degrees of surveillance, coercion, and institutionalisation, and both intersecting with the European-Australian community as ambiguously defined offspring and servants. The other woman was white and her life might seem to share with theirs only a similar region of birth, and a husband who had served overseas in the second Australian Imperial Force. The connection between these lives might superficially appear to be only through the daughters, enabled by those changes that occurred after the Referendum of 1967 and more specifically by the developments from the mid 1980s, when some indigenous people were encouraged to undertake tertiary studies. But the history that the mothers and daughters share is not only their interest in Aboriginal culture and history but also the complex, historical webs of lines that cross and cut, and then diverge sharply, only again to touch, swerve, and collide. What we are discovering and this will be a long and difficult process is that, although our class and racial identities seem to be so different, there are many things we unexpectedly have in common. Our own lives and those of our families share elements of equivalence. Our historical landscape has caught us all in its intricate mazes; at some points we meet across the plains and gorges. Our convergence might be fleeting and unknown. Sometimes the connections are deep and profound and at others we

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are thrown apart seemingly with no possibility of encounter, let alone dialogue. Such is the story of indigenous and non-indigenous Australians: we inhabit the landscape on different terms, under different cultural premises, and for different purposes. Our collective lives mark out the stories of invasion, attempted conquest, conflict, curiosity, convergence, disdain, cooperation, and abiding friendship across this ancient terrain. Topsy Daley, Isabel Tarrago's mother, and Elizabeth Walsh, my mother, were born in adjacent country, the beautiful and harsh Channel Country basin Topsy in the open plains and Elizabeth in the tiny mining town of Kuradila. Their family's lives, though never connected, were both lived for a time in Duchess, the transport, recreational, and provisioning centre for the district. In the first decades of the twentieth century before copper was discovered at Mount Isa, Duchess or 'the Duchess', as it is always known was the hub of the pastoral and mining frontiers that swayed around the Channel Country. But Topsy was the daughter of an Aranta woman named Puppa (or Maggie in her intersections with the white population) and Arthur Daley, a Scottish water-engineer, and Elizabeth was the daughter of Elizabeth and Peter Walsh, of Scottish and Irish origins, who were seeking their fortunes on the goldfields; so these two women inhabited different and separate worlds. Yet Elizabeth saw and remembered an elderly Aboriginal couple who lived by a creek on the goldfields, and wondered aloud about the fate that had brought them there. During this same period, in 1921, Rita Holt, Jackie's mother, a Bidjarra woman, was born a little further away, in the Carnarvon Gorge, inland from Rockhampton. Like Topsy, she had a white father and an indigenous mother. Rita's life was torn apart when she and her parents and siblings were taken into custody by the police and sent away to Cherbourg Reserve, outside Kingaroy, in 1928. Rita's maternal grandmother was sent to Woorabinda Reserve, and the family never saw her again. When we came to think about how we could research and write up this complex project one of the things that struck us most strongly was how well we could document the lives of Topsy and Rita. Our project offers an alternative to the conventional wisdom in our profession which declares that the lives of the dispossessed, the poor, and the disinherited are difficult to chart with any degree of accuracy. We know that Topsy worked on cattle properties (such as Glenormiston, owned by Malcolm Fraser's family), and later for Bob Katter senior, the noted pastoralist and politician, finishing her career as the housekeeper for Sir James Foot, the managing-director of Mount Isa Mines. Rita's life was also well-documented; for, as an inmate of an Aboriginal reserve, her

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life was monitored, directed, and controlled by bureaucrats. Like a prisoner-of-war captured by an enemy, her life was no longer her own. As well as these documentary records which existed for the two women, they both had extensive oral histories constructed about them. Jackie wrote her mother's biography in a book called Auntie Rita, highly acclaimed as an innovative breakthrough in undertaking the biography of an indigenous person. 1 I also interviewed Rita, and she was one of the most fascinating and perceptive of informants, being able both to talk about her own life as well as place it into a wider historical framework. On the other hand, those white women who become privileged through marriage, at least in convertional terms, may in fact disguise themselves and hide from our scrutiny, fearing rejection, ridicule, and disrespect. Elizabeth, my mother, who married into one of Queensland's leading conservative political families, had done everything she could to hide and destroy the records of her life. The more she became a member of the seemingly secure middle-class, the more she hid evidence of her origins, of being born in a tent by lamplight in a wild mining town in a remote part of a vast State. She dropped only the occasional hint about her early life and destroyed most of its records, leaving no cache of photographs, letters, or diaries. She allowed no oral history, refusing to be an informant for an oral history of the 1940s homefront of Queensland, even though by this time she was living in an upper middle-class household with two servants. Hidden Lines ISABEL TARRAGO My grandfather, Arthur Daley, was a Scottish water-engineer who worked on many cattle properties and settled at Glenormiston Station with Puppa, my grandmother, until her death. He moved around the districts of my grandmother's homeland in the late nineteenth century. At this time the Aboriginals Protection and Restriction of the Sale of Opium Act 1897 was passed in Queensland, setting up the system that placed indigenous people onto the reserves. This operated as an internal prison system within the wider society; it stopped Queensland Aboriginal people from moving across their country and centralised their residence in fringe settlements so as to provide a ready labour force for the cattle industry. As the only man with the skills to maintain the water supply for the animal stock, my grandfather was in an entirely different position, having paramount authority over the management of the station. Rather than living in the whites' quarters, however, he chose to live in the camps with my grandmother, and provided the group with food and shelter. Over time my grandfather and grandmother became very close, and his life became segmented

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between these two worlds. My grandmother and grandfather never legally married but it was understood that they were a couple. The local police did not make any moves to enforce the protection provisions of the Act, which forbade black-white sexual relationships. My mother was born under a coolabah tree on old Glenormiston Station. My grandmother died giving birth and, as my grandfather was out on the road doing his work, the old women took my mother and cared for her. At this time my grandfather got very sick and my grandmother's family cared for him also. He was treated with bush medicine and was taken into the widows' camp. Arthur never remarried and never made another relationship. It is evident that he had become culturally an Aboriginal man; he spoke the language and understood the traditional law, and so was accepted as one. Yet he still worked as an engineer throughout the early years of the twentieth century, staying on at Glenormiston. At this time the property was owned by a woman who was an aunt of the former prime minister, Malcolm Fraser, and a liberal employer. By the 1920s the effects of the Aboriginal protection legislation had been well-established in the far northwest, and Aboriginal camps had been established on the fringe of townships like the Duchess and Dajarra. It was my family members that Elizabeth talked about: the camps were across the river at Dajarra and Duchess. These townships were the centres for cattle industry exports as well as for goldmining. Despite the strictures of the White Australia policy, these remote communities were multi-racial and remarkably tolerant. At this juncture in the Gulf Country the lives of indigenous and non-indigenous peoples frequently intersected, both at work and recreation. At the bush races everyone from the station manager to the stockmen and women, railway workers, miners, publicans and barmaids, Chinese market-gardeners, Afghan camel-drivers, and retail owners all came together. KAY SAUNDERS My mother's mother, Elizabeth Duff, was born in Charters Towers in 1896, the daughter of Catherine (née Noonan) and Hugh Duff, whose family were Scottish Catholics or Jacobites, the descendants of a small, distinguished clan. As young women, Elizabeth Duff and her sister Catherine worked as barmaids in the Duchess. Here Elizabeth met Peter Walsh, the eldest son of John Walsh and Rosanna Walsh (née McGlynn), both born in rural Ireland. Peter was prospecting for gold on the outskirts of the Duchess goldfields. In 1916 Elizabeth married Peter Walsh, and the early years of their married life were spent living in a tent on the goldfields. A few months after they married their eldest son arrived; then, at the end of World War I, Elizabeth. Nine more children were to follow, two girls and seven boys. Peter Walsh and his

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growing family moved after a few years to Mackay, where Peter worked for the Queensland Railways, employed as a navvy and later a ganger (or supervisor of a small work-group). The sons later worked on the sugar mills at Mackay and owned a modest cane-farm. The family followed a particularly Irish mode with several of the boys never marrying, staying with their parents until their parents died, well into their eighties. My unmarried uncles Desmond and Bernard always remained 'boys' in family speech; the only time they ventured from their parents' control was when they were in the Australian military forces in Papua New Guinea in World War II. My mother rarely spoke of her early days in the tents of the goldfields, but when she did she spoke of the harsh life for the women, trying to raise families in makeshift dwellings that would be washed away when the wet season hit with fury over summer. The keeping and cooking of food, without the use of stoves or refrigerators, was always fraught with danger. Men drank away their earnings, leaving children starving. Fighting in the streets, pub brawls, and casual prostitution were rife, following the patterns of earlier goldmining settlements, where women were few. For the women who followed their husbands to the goldfields, or who, like my grandmother Elizabeth and her sister Catherine, became barmaids, the life was incalculably difficult: enduring predatory men and a harsh and unfamiliar landscape. Elizabeth Walsh senior, like her namesake daughter, suffered severe migraine headaches, brought on with some frequency by having had too many children, by hard and brutal living conditions, and by a husband who drank heavily. Although she left the goldfields as a small child, Elizabeth remembered an elderly Aboriginal couple known as Old Tom and Mary, who wore tattered European clothes and lived by a creek. Their living conditions were no different from the whites around them except that they lived in a wattle-and-daub hut instead of a tent. Watching them, she often wondered who they were and who they were related to. As an adult my mother often speculated about Old Tom and Mary and, though she rarely talked of her own life, she thought aloud about the fate that had brought them to this intersection with the rapacious miners on the Duchess. Endlessly she pondered various scenarios, all terrible and tragic. In fact, until I went to the University of Queensland in 1966 I had never heard anyone but my mother worry about the fate of the indigenous peoples. She quite frequently would say, 'We did a terrible thing. We stole their land and we took everything away from them. And for what? For our own greed.' At the age of seven Elizabeth's life changed irrevocably. Accompanied by her grandmother Catherine Duff, she was sent down to the home in Brisbane of her Aunt Catherine, her mother's sister.

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Unlike her sister, burdened with children and rural poverty, Aunt Catherine had married 'well', to an enterprising young businessman named Oswald Englander. Oswald's father was German, a cultured man of wide learning in music and literature; his mother was Irish, a music student who had met her future husband while a student in Germany in the late 1880s. By the 1920s, Oswald had established a paper-manufacturing business named Paper Box, which operated in the inner-city area of Spring Hill, Brisbane. At the end of her life my mother let it slip that Catherine had tricked Oswald into marriage by claiming a pregnancy. Tragically, she was never to have any children and her niece Elizabeth became her surrogate daughter. Aunt Catherine, who, as her husband became more affluent tried to assume the persona of a great lady, also tried to hide those years on the Duchess.

Elizabeth Walsh in 1925 with her aunt Catherine Englander (top), and with Oswald Englander (bottom)

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Later in the 1950s, when I was a child and when Oswald went bankrupt and the spectre of poverty and disgrace dominated their lives, both Catherine and Elizabeth suffered bouts of intense madness and violence, largely directed towards me. My mother would say when she spoke, an event that only occurred once or twice over several months that she belonged to no one; that she had been 'given away' or 'sent away' or that she had been traded by the poor sister to the wealthy sister; that she was an object traded, fought over. With her holidays spent with her family in a rough shack in Mackay, where she was taunted by her envious siblings, she moved across the class divide, ill-atease. Never fully relinquished by her birth family, she stood between two worlds a stranger and outsider in both. Awkward in a house filled with antiques and paintings, and lacking any one to play with or talk to except her grandmother, who was equally uncomfortable amidst this sudden elevation to material splendour and comfort, Elizabeth felt displaced. Why had she been chosen? Surely the oldest girl in a large family was destined to be her mother's mainstay? And wasn't Edna the one who was the beauty, with her fine nose, dainty figure, and green eyes? Later on Elizabeth would often refer to herself as Charlotte Vane, the plain, dumpy spinster played by Bette Davis in that classic film, Now Voyager. She feared she was to be, like the fictional character, the unmarried spinster providing comfort for demanding relatives in their old age. I always worried when my mother called herself 'Charlotte' when I was a small child I knew I was in for a bumpy ride! JACKIE HUGGINS The Tindale genealogies list my great-grandfather as Albert Holt, a prosperous, white station-owner from the Wulurdargle Station, south of Springsure, central Queensland. Norman Tindale was an anthropologist who conducted research on Queensland reserves in the 1930s and 1940s. Although some of the information is inaccurate, it is the only recorded written information on the births and family histories of the inmates at the time. His genealogies show that Albert had a relationship with a 'full blood' woman called Maggie, which produced my grandfather, also named Albert Holt, who then had fourteen children, Rita being born in the middle of this family. She had a brother Albert: we Murris are sure big on producing sons with the same Anglo names. Now it has been rumoured in my family that the Holts came from a politicised family from the United Kingdom before taking up pastoral leases in Queensland. People have asked me why I haven't wanted to track them down yet I'm a historian after all; so it should be easy for me. But it's akin to having to find your adopted parents and I haven't felt the time is right or that I even want to know about them.

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There is something still inside of me grieving and until that is resolved I'll continue not to know about my white history. By the year 2001 I thought I'd make myself a promise to find out. Why 2001? Well a little about the significance of 2001 later. The Work of Class and Race ISABEL TARRAGO At the age of eight years my mother Topsy Daley was taken from the camp to take up duties in the kitchen at Barkly Downs Station, cooking and cleaning pots and pans for the station hands as well as for the manager and his family. She stood on old crates of wood to reach the bench to prepare meals and wash up the dishes. Her day started very early in the morning before dawn and finished late. Topsy always wanted to return to the camp to sleep, but the manager and his wife were afraid she would run away and not return. An Aboriginal Act was also enforced in the Northern Territory and Aboriginal groups were controlled by managers of cattle stations to work for them in return for food, tobacco, and shelter. When Topsy did escape to the camps, she was recaptured and forced back to the station homestead, where she was locked in the kitchen pantry at night. She was also beaten by the manager's wife with a thorny branch my mother showed me the scars on her body. However, this did not stop her from running away. Around the age of sixteen Topsy was taken to Kalara Station to care for the manager and his wife and children. By this time she had established her competency with household management. Though she was always illiterate, she watched the manager's wife cook from a recipe book and copied what she did. She could also speak five languages, including English. With all these various skills she was soon in high demand as a worker in the pastoral industry between Roxbourgh Downs Station and Glenormiston Station. She finally settled in the camp at Glenormiston to become the head cook for both station homestead and camp work. She was noted as one of the best cooks in the Channel Country and her services were in high demand. Despite her varied skills she did not earn any money. KAY SAUNDERS Both Topsy and Rita, being under the Act, had their life and work controlled by the state. Elizabeth had no such restrictions. Yet, it was she who lacked the self-autonomy and dignity that both Topsy and Rita came to enjoy as their skills and broad competencies increased. Having become a white equivalent of a 'stolen child' at least in its psychological features, with all that sense of dislocation, alienation, anxiety, and fear Elizabeth entered her adolescence even more fractured than she had been in her childhood. So as not to be identified as a

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Elizabeth Walsh on her wedding day, 1944

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Rita Huggins (far left) in 1937, with (left to right) Superintendent Semple, Wallace McKenzie, Mrs Semple, Miss George, Jack Denelin and Willie McKenzie, (courtesy of McKenzie collection)

Rita Huggins (left) in 1948, with (left to right) Jimmy Holt and Elizabeth McKenzie (courtesy of McKenzie collection)

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Roman Catholic, the religion of her parents, she was sent to Windsor State Primary School, leaving at fourteen. Rather than go to high school, she simply continued her music and elocution lessons. With a maid and a cook in the house she never had to engage in any sort of household duties. Her aunt had determined that, as befitting her status as a genteelly brought up young girl, she should aspire to be a lady. As such, she would never go out to work for a living, nor learn any useful accomplishment that might provide her with workplace skills. By the mid 1930s such an attitude was already old-fashioned, for other young women of a similar class could become a teacher or a private secretary, at least until marriage. With much persistence, Elizabeth wore her aunt down on this vital point and was allowed to undertake professional dressmaking classes at the age of eighteen. But since she did not have the autonomy or training to run her own business and was not allowed to work as a seamstress for someone else, it was a hollow victory. When her hopes of freedom through work were shattered, she had a nervous breakdown. The only time in her life she engaged in paid employment was in 1942, when she volunteered to go to work in a clothing factory making army uniforms. She was so shocked by the conversation of the other women who, she told me, admitted they had 'been intimate' with American servicemen, that she left after two weeks. Her aunt was vindicated. Was not the world of work coarse and brutalising? Were not working women unladylike and vulgar? Better the sheltered life amongst the Japanese, Indian and Chinese antiques her uncle collected; better to play Liszt and Chopin and do embrodiery totally useless, though not decorative given her plainness of manner and features. JACKIE HUGGINS From the end of the nineteenth century through to the 1930s, the effects of economic depression and drought, resulting in the decline of the Queensland rural economy, increased competition for employment. Relocating Aboriginals onto reserves effectively removed them from opportunities to participate in an already-depressed labour market. Instead, their labour was closely managed by superintendents and police, who, without any consultation with Aboriginal peoples, arranged positions for them on the stations. In the late 1930s and 1940s control of their work was made law under the Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders Preservation and Protection Acts, 193946. These Acts empowered the minister, acting through a system of superintendents and local police, to arrange the provision of poorly paid forced labour, to hold back any funds they might earn, and to supervise spending. The Acts essentially legislated a system of enslaved labour.

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Aboriginal women were sent to work as domestic servants and nursemaids on station homesteads and, in some cases, as stock-workers at the station. This began when they were thirteen and fourteen years of age, and in some cases younger. Domestic service was a cruel time for my mother, as it was for so many women of her generation. The working relationship was of the master-slave order: the men were addressed as 'boss', the women as 'mistress'. Many women endured appalling treatment, including beatings, being locked up in cells, subjection to sexual abuse. It was an experience that stood in gruesome contrast to the loving companionship they had known among their own people. Mother was very reluctant to talk about the regular beatings she received from one white mistress. I stumbled on this fact accidentally when my aunty told of my grandparents' attempts to get Rita out of the way of this mistress before she killed her. Of course, there were the rare exceptions when the white employers treated their workers with respect. Despite what my mother had to endure, she still had time to speak generously of those families who were kind to her, displaying a graciousness and lack of bitterness I, growing up as a young Murri woman, could never understand. I see her forgiveness of those actions now as a pillar of strength, not weakness because they broke the mould when they made our grandmothers and mothers. After Rita received her certificate of exemption from the Act in 1946, she was able to roam the country. Five years later, she married my father Jack Huggins, after whom I am named. Jack was a free man who enjoyed life to the fullest in his home town of Ayr, north Queensland. His life was a direct contrast to my mother's. He was never put onto a reserve and he basked in his freedom, which showed in his confidence and seeming equality with nonAboriginal people. He was a famous footballer and lifesaver, and, as Mum later put it: 'As with all good-looking Black men, Jack attracted white women to him in droves. He had a string of white lady friends chasing him, but it was this little black duck who eventually won his heart.' 2 The story goes that Rita and Jack had three children of their own, of whom I am the middle, just like Rita was, herself. Jack died in 1958 from injuries sustained as a prisoner-of-war on the Burma-Thailand railway. Mother simply adored my father, speaking about him every day. There was no one else good enough, so it seemed, and she never remarried. We moved to Brisbane when my father died so that Rita could be around her extended family networks. She was never one to be a loner, for she loved people regardless of colour, creed, race, or status. She could mix it with the best of them. I know she has made her mark on my life.

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Rita and Jack Huggins on their wedding day

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Conclusions ISABEL TARRAGO As Topsy's daughter, I have gained and maintained the strength of knowledge from her personal life. She was a woman who expected and demanded achievements from people. Her working relationships were concerned with housekeeping and caring for children initially. Then she was given more autonomy and respect. She showed how competent Aboriginal women workers were, across a range of responsibilities.

Topsy Daley with an employer, ca 1920

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Later, she worked with all political parties to ensure that they had the understanding of Aboriginal people's lives in particular, that they are usually hard-working people, who have an intimate knowledge of the bush. She was a proud, traditional woman who had deep concerns for her people, whose lives had been disrupted by colonialism. Her heritage and culture were central to her life and she would often say, 'Out there are the bones of my people'. This is where her ashes lie in the homeland she loved and cherished. KAY SAUNDERS Like my mother and my great-aunt Catherine, I too have spent a lot of life hiding parts of myself and my personal history. It is very difficult to admit that the women in your close family were both violent and mad. Being born into the Church of England, safely in the middle class, I was schooled by my father to be proud of his distinguished family: of his links, through his father's mother Louise Bass, to the explorer, Surgeon George Bass; of his grandmothers' valiant struggles in the Women's Christian Temperance Union in their home town of Cambridge; of their fights alongside other determined women in the Women's Social and Political Union; of his father's days at Cambridge University; of his mother's brother's distinguished career as a Conservative Party Cabinet member and wealthy businessman. But what of the shame of my mother's origins: a Roman Catholic, whose father was a harddrinking Irish miner and railway navvy, who never fought for King and Empire and whose brothers had to be conscripted to fight in the Pacific campaigns; whose uncle was German and collected heathen idols and never sang Gilbert and Sullivan but sang always in German and Italian, the languages of our recent enemies? On the other hand, when I met Rita Huggins in 1985, I simply adored her with all the fervour of an abused and needy child. She called me and my daughter, Erin Evans, her 'little lambs'. And, indeed, we were the little lost lambs without a good shepherd to guide and sustain us, two lambs without a large, loving family. Before my mother died she became extremely violent and was made a ward of the state. On the morning she died I rang Aunty Rita and Jackie and went over to their place. Aunty Rita wanted me to stay until after the funeral, but a deep and abiding guilt consumed me and I could not. Clearly, I loved Aunty Rita she was the mother I always wanted. Although I never at that time spoke of my childhood, Aunty Rita understood far better than I then did the traumas of madness, alienation, and deep loss. Only because of her and Jackie and Isabel could I ever utter the words I now say; could I ever try to understand the forces that drove my mother Elizabeth and my aunt Catherine to madness. For both women the terror of discovery meant they lived lives of shame and deceit. I have been

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Kay Saunders as a child, with her mother Elizabeth Saunders, great-aunt Catherine Englander and June Duff, 1950

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able to reclaim their sorrows, their fears, and their deceptions and weave them into historical landscapes. Their lives, once twisted with pain and concealment, can endure now the scrutiny of exposure. Alongside the stories of Topsy and Rita they can live in death as they never could in life. What we have shown is that, despite our apparent differences, we own a large part of our lives together, that the destinies of the invaders and the indigenous peoples are interwoven into complex patterns; that, whatever our pasts, we share our future together. When my daughter and son-in-law went to Thailand for their honeymoon and went to the Thailand-Burma railway, they cried for John Henry Huggins, who suffered alongside his white compatriots, who shared both the best and the worst of our enjoined histories. JACKIE HUGGINS What you have heard is an entire history of Queensland in this century, defining its regional, racial, ethnic, gender, and class structures: the politics, industries, role of the state, involvements in two world wars, education, racism, and the social mores. All told in a very personal way by three women who we thought at the beginning of the exercise could not be further apart. Isabel and I are bonded by race, gender, and class: but then in creeps 'invader' Kay, who shares that most intimate part of her life she seldom acknowledges. Where is all this heading? Is it all a part of the healing that needs to be confronted by so many of us in this country? Are we being honest and open exposing ourselves which is really not what white middle-class girls are expected to do when Aboriginal women are constantly asked to justify and explain their positions? Are we at a point that we can share our stories and respect one another's point of view? One of the key steps to reconciliation is understanding and accepting the history of our shared experiences as Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and peoples of the wider community. We have here attempted to share just a little part of ourselves with you today, so that we can personally reflect on what we have in common and on the intersections that we might have with one another. In Australia this requires, not only the wider community redefining itself in order to deal with the oldest living culture in the world, but also that everyone identify what changes can be made to enhance the human rights of indigenous peoples everywhere. As for me, I am working on the Documents of Reconciliation with my co-convenor, Sir Gus Nossal and our magnificent committee. This document must deal with the legacies of our history. It must recognise the rights of indigenous peoples as citizens of Australia and their distinctive place as the First Australians. Reconciliation will be achieved

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when there is a significant change in the behaviour of all Australians, a goal that we must advance to the year 2001, the date for termination of the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation. We are very optimistic despite the hard road ahead. Right now we have thousands of people standing up to be counted alongside indigenous Australians. While there were rare dissident voices found in colonial times, today the growing people's movement flourishing around Australia gives us hope, the oxygen of life. I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you and to acknowledge my mother, as a sign of strength. Notes 1 Jackie Huggins, Auntie Rita, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1994. 2 Huggins, Auntie Rita, pp.51-52.

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4 Tropical Hundreds: Monoculturalism and Colonisation Deborah Bird Rose States seek to make the objects of their power 'legible', James Scott contends. States seek to standardise and unify, and, in implementing a system of universal interchangeability, they erase the particular and the local. Legibility consists in measures or metrics through which the state achieves the standardisation necessary for a synoptic view. The resultant levelling generates disaster, as Scott explains: After being abstracted from systems whose interactions defied a total accounting, a few elements were then made the basis for an imposed order. At best, the new order was fragile and vulnerable, sustained by improvisations not foreseen by its originators. At worst, it wreaked untold damage in shattered lives, a damaged ecosystem, and fractured or impoverished societies. 1 Recent work on the cartographic endeavour in Australia has demonstrated the process of levelling to achieve legibility with respect to claiming, exploring, mapping, and naming land and sea.2 There is also, of course, a voluminous and rapidly growing literature on indigenous histories under New World regimes of colonisation which demonstrates similar propositions with respect to eradicating, classifying, ordering, and assimilating the peoples of New World expansionism.3 As well, there is an emerging counter-literature that seeks to reclaim the local and particular across the survey grids of colonised space.4

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In this chapter I explore some of the links between the 'cartographic eye' and the anthropological eye in the colonisation of north Australia. 5 Through an exploration around the edges of a real world case study which arises out of the disaster of being 'seen' by a state, I will reflect upon some of the surveyors, missionaries, and anthropologists who mapped the region of my study. Their maps take me into Old World myths of remnants, wandering tribes, lost homelands, and wholeness. I find powerful resonances with the Biblical story of the Exodus, and, like other scholars who examine this story from a post-colonial perspective, I am captured by the power of these myths/stories in secular societies.6

Legibility arises out of a desire for order, and order is itself a cultural product. For over two thousand years, Western traditions of linear and structural logic, understanding and knowledge have depended on models of space and time that are abstracted from the world, and uncluttered by the particular.7 Rationality condenses abstractions and alienations into images of beautiful structure; it thus signals one of the great sites wherein the Western world fixes its dreams and myths of order. To create order is to promote loss, and this site is thus inseparable from myths of loss. There is a gap between mapped legibility and the world that is being levelled. Put your eye to the peep hole and you see a beautiful pattern; let one twist of the world engage with that pattern and you see fragments in free fall.

My starting point in considering these issues is my work with indigenous participants in the infamous Wagait dispute. This dispute caused horrible pain to almost everyone involved in it. Indeed, one lawyer referred in private to the trail of wounded souls left in the gutter beside every cul de sac of the dispute. To write about it in detail is impossible: this could cause more pain, and inflame more passions, perhaps even provoke more violence. Many crucial documents are confidential, and others which may not be in confidence legally are still morally conscribed. In spite of many impossibilities, I hope that it may be possible to prod the edges of this event. In this native title era such cases help us to remain alert to the waves of disaster that emanate from practices of order, and particularly from anthropologists' efforts to 'see' like states. In 1976 the Australian federal government passed legislation enabling land rights in the Northern Territory the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act 1976 (Cwlth). Under the terms of the Act, only unalienated crown land could be claimed. An Aboriginal land

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commissioner (who was a Federal Court judge) was authorised to conduct an inquiry to determine if there were any 'traditional owners' for the land under claim. One of the early claims was to areas near the Finniss River; the 700 square kilometres under claim were divided into oddly shaped parcels of land, most which were sets of rectangles against which the twisting boundary of the Finniss River made a sharp contrast. The claim was labelled the 'Finniss River Land Claim', and there were competing groups of claimants. On one side were the people labelled 'Marranunggu', on the other side were the Kungarakayn people in company with Warrai people. The Marranunggu group had a problem of credibility: it is undisputed that there is an area south of the Daly River labelled 'Marranunggu', and there is a regional consensus that it is a Marranunggu homeland. I will return to a more detailed account of this group later; for now I want to lay out the parameters of the problem, and for this purpose I will continue to refer to the people labelled 'Marranunggu' as Marranunggu people. These people were said by some anthropologists and by some Aboriginal people to be 'migrants'. The inference was that some Marranunggu people had 'drifted' north and taken up country that had been 'emptied' by other people's northern drift. The migration theory became accepted social fact in this case for reasons that are extremely complex (political, economic, and cultural factors, as well as divergent histories of knowledge and the problematics of communication in multi-lingual interactions were all part of it). I will examine the impacts of Anglo-Australian maps and myths in generating unquestioned acceptance of a scenario (migration) that was vigorously denied by the Marranunggu people themselves. 8 The migrant scenario rests on an implicit theory of culture and society that is monocultural in the extreme. There are two essentialist propositions: first, that language and tribes are inseparable, so that if you see languages moving through space, there must be tribes also moving in space; second, that tribes are in their essence fixed in place, so that if you see languages that are out of place, you see tribes that are out of place. In the Finniss River Land Claim the anthropological research had started off with the view that the two principal anthropologists could adequately work with the two claimant groups. At the last minute the Marranunggu people pulled out of this arrangement, as they believed that their claims to rightful ownership were not being taken seriously and that their knowledge was being appropriated by a claimant group whose actual knowledge of the place was minimal and whose intentions, they increasingly thought, were hostile. Peter Sutton took on the task of assisting them, with only ten days in which to prepare a claim book that would go before the Aboriginal land commissioner. Sutton,

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too, believed that the people were migrants, and he argued the case in a closed session, because he did not want to offend Marranunggu sensibilities. His argument was, of course, not that migration disqualified them as traditional owners, but rather that their roots were so firmly fixed in the country under claim that they did indeed qualify as traditional owners within the terms of the Act. The claim was heard by Justice Toohey, and to his great credit he accepted a number of new propositions. His decision, thus, had the effect of expanding the principles by which people may fulfil the criteria for traditional ownership set out in the Act, benefiting not only the people labelled 'migrants' but also those dispossessed people labelled 'urban'. Justice Toohey accepted the validity of the theory of migration, and at the same time accepted the Marranunggu people's evidence concerning their rights and responsibilities with respect to the country under claim. He found them to be traditional owners of the portion of the claim area to which they had asserted ownership (Area 1 and the southwest corner of Area 2). The other group was successful in respect to their claim to Areas 3, 4, and 5. 9 Contestations between Aboriginal groups in the land claim had a further dimension, however. The areas under claim adjoined or lay near to the Wagait Reserve, which had been established for Aboriginal people in 1892 and, under the 1976 Aboriginal Land Rights Act, had been converted to Aboriginal freehold title without having to go through the land claim process. The Northern Land Council had the statutory responsibility of determining ownership of the Reserve, and it was clear that Justice Toohey's findings would provide some important guidelines for future Land Council determinations. The parcels of land that the Marranunggu people successfully claimed were directly adjacent to the Reserve. On the face of it, it would be difficult to argue that Marranunggu people were not traditional owners of the land immediately to the south of this arbitrary line, now that in law they were decreed to be traditional owners of land immediately to the north of it. The infamous Wagait dispute entered my life in late 1992 with a phone call from the Northern Territory lawyer David Dalrymple. David told me that the Marranunggu people were looking for an anthropologist. Twice the Northern Land Council had rejected their statement of traditional ownership over part of the Reserve, and twice they had rejected the Land Council's findings. After the second Land Council rejection, Marranunggu people appealed to the Federal Court. Justice Olney heard the appeal and ordered the Northern Land Council to conduct a new hearing of the matter (Majar v NLC 1991). David explained that the general consensus was that the Marranunggu people were migrants, but that they themselves denied any such migration, claiming that their ancestors had been in that country 'since time immemorial'.

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'Okay', I said. 'I'll meet with them. They can interview me and see if they want to work with me, and I can interview them and see if I want to work with them.' The fight for the Reserve was only concluded in 199395, when the Northern Land Council's appointed committee investigated the matter and made firm recommendations to the Council. Although the committee did not support the whole of the Marranunggu claim, it did recommend that a good portion of the Reserve be returned to them on the grounds that they were the traditional owners. The committee did not make a finding about whether they were migrants or not; it concluded that the evidence was inconclusive. As I began working with the Marranunggu people in preparing for the Committee's investigations, I found that the presumption of migration was so pervasive that it seemed to have structured the reading of the evidence itself. Given that the Marranunggu people themselves said that they were not migrants, it seemed to me that the first order of business would be to take seriously their account of themselves. How would the evidence look if we assumed from the start that the Marranunggu people did have an accurate understanding of their own history (that is, that they were not migrants, but rather that they and their ancestors had been in the country 'forever')? To ask this question is to enter a Euro-Australian domain of maps, myths, and desire.

Until 1911 the area we now know as the Northern Territory was part of South Australia. By the mid-nineteenth century settlers were moving north into central Australia, but the far north remained less accessible and far less known. The government planned to establish a permanent settlement and, to that end, land had been sold unsurveyed and unseen to overseas buyers. 10 Explorations and a trial settlement at Port Essington had been undertaken already, and in 186869 the government decided upon a new expedition under the South Australian surveyor-general, G.W. Goyder. His mission was to survey future towns and allotments. In less than a year his team surveyed four future towns (Darwin and three others), as well as surveying allotments over an extent of 665,886 acres.11 Goyder was a leader of strong principles. His grand-daughter, Margaret Kerr, says that he 'had been brought up in a household where scholarship and religion were an essential part of life'. He grew up able to 'recite chapter upon chapter of both the Old and New Testaments without faltering, and . . . was teaching his own children to do the same. Looking up to an Omnipotent Being was natural to him.'12 Goyder's attitude toward blacks was benign for his day, and scrupulously fair in one sense. He did not want to have to take the law

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into his own hands, and therefore he wanted as little contact with the Aboriginal people as possible. Goyder stated that his team had surveyed four major Aboriginal districts. He had no doubts that his work would result in the country being improved, and he worked to maintain peace between his party and the natives. 13 Given his knowledge of Scripture, he may have realised the parallels between his work and the great Biblical narrative of Godgiven possession: Moses led Israel out of bondage in Egypt, and into the wilderness where they became a new people in covenant with their own God YHWH. They remained in the wilderness for forty years, and Moses died before the people entered the 'promised land'. After the death of Moses the servant of the Lord, the Lord said to Joshua son of Nun, Moses' attendant: 'My servant Moses is dead. Prepare to cross the Jordan, together with all this people, into the land that I am giving to the Israelites. Every spot on which your foot treads I give to you, as I promised Moses.' (Josh. 1: 13) And these are the allotments of the Israelites in the land of Canaan that were apportioned to them by the priest Eleazar, by Joshua son of Nun, and by the heads of the ancestral houses of the Israelite tribes, the portions that fell to them by lot, as the Lord had commanded through Moses for the nine and a half tribes. For the portion of the other two and half tribes had been assigned to them by Moses on the other side of the Jordan. (Josh. 14: 13) While Moses was still alive, however, the tribes drew lots for their various allotments; they thus began to divide up the land before they had even conquered it, and the land as a whole can be understood as God's allotment to Israel.14 The promise was of congruence and proximity: the land, the people, and their God would dwell and flourish together. Weinfeld compares ancient Israelite and Greek traditions of settlement and finds an identical model underlying both traditions. In Plato and in Homer, as in Joshua, the leader is instructed to divide conquered land into lots. The ancient model appears to have relied more on numerical consistency than on geometric purity (probably in part because the ancient model was intended for use rather than for sale). Plato, for example, advocates that the leader should 'divide up both the city itself and all the country into twelve portions . . . And he must divide the citizens into twelve parts.'15 Joshua, of course, sought with the oversight of God to ensure that the land would be allocated amongst the twelve tribes of Israel. Goyder was given the task of surveying according to the English 'hundreds' system then prevalent in South Australia. His teams surveyed blocks, and the blocks were grouped into sets called 'hundreds'. The numerous hundreds and the abstract purity of the system of

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blocks, as revealed on the survey maps, together illustrates perfectly Scott's argument that states erase the particular and produce the legibility that makes possible a synoptic view. Peter Wells, the surveyor-general of the Northern Territory in the 1960s and 1970s, described the techniques in some detail: When working on the boundaries, a survey party would normally be spread out in a line about 600 to 800 ft long, depending on the density of the scrub and timber. At the head of the line would be the axemen or labourers, clearing the way. This would involve chopping down all trees and scrub in a line about 2 ft wide. The axemen maintain the line by sighting back along the clearing and lining up pegs already placed or being positioned by the surveyors . . . Next would probably come the chainmen, marking and measuring along the boundary . . . Most of the blocks were 320 acres or 160 acres, being one mile by 1/2 mile or 1/4 mile square, the boundaries being on or very near to the four cardinal bearings . . . These blocks were mostly surveyed in sections of eight, in a two-mile by two-mile square, surrounded by a one-chain road. Little concession was made for the shape of the land. When the hills were too rough, whole areas of blocks were left out, but the shape of those adjoining the hills was maintained. Rivers seemed to be the one topographical feature where the shape of the blocks was changed, the river or sea frontages being surveyed as irregular lines. 16 A survey plan looks coherent because it is geometrical; it appeals to our standards of conviction. But such maps are not innocent shapes; they are cultural products with a genealogy and a purpose. They level the terrain conceptually, wiping out the particular and producing on paper interchangeable units that the state can sell, lease, allot or otherwise dispose of. Remember that some land in the north had already been sold. These newly surveyed blocks were designed for the speculative real estate market. From 1869 to today settlers and state authorities have gone about trying to consolidate the lots into useable areas of land, and Aboriginal people have gone about trying to protect themselves and secure their livelihoods in the face of ongoing radical change. The various tenures (pastoral lease, grazing licence, Aboriginal reserve, farms, and unsurveyed crown land) created an unsystematised mosaic of opportunistic uses and tenures, which was confusing to all concerned, and created the arbitrary tenures that after 1976 would make Aboriginal land claims like that of the Finniss River Land Claim possible. One of the early settler families in the area (1920s) was the Sargent family, themselves migrants from Canada. After World War II the Sargent family properties were taken over by one of the sons, Max Sargent, and Max became wellknown to the Marranunggu group, on whose land he and his family ran cattle. He was the de facto husband

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of one of the Marranunggu women and the father of her children, among whom are some of the key protagonists in the dispute. Goyder also entered the Marranunggu group as a name (if not more). One of the ancestors, Elsie Goyda or Guda is said to have been named for him (probably named for someone who was named for him), and the Marranunggu presumption is that their ancestors knew and interacted with the surveyors.

The ancient Biblical model of allotments rested on the sacred number twelve. From allotment to exile, however, the number of tribes diminished 17, and the loss of those tribes haunts European Christian thought. Passions collect around the idea of homelessness, absence, chosenness, and return. Loss sustains a desire for wholeness: the lost will be found, the found will return, congruence will be restored. Certain Anglo-Israelite historians of the nineteenth century developed a fascinating account of the mystery of the lost tribes. In their view, the tribes are alive and well, and living in northern Europe and North America. The tribes are said to have migrated across the Caucasus marking their passage with a trail of place-names (Tribe of Dan: Danube, Macedonia, and so on). The tribes settled and flourished in various countries: Dan-mark, Jut-land (Judah), Svae-dan, Goth-land and Scot-land (Gad). The result of migrations is that this resettled Israel became 'the legitimate heir of the ancient Davidic sceptre of authority'.18 The philology which supports this 'history' is imaginative. The Canadian British Israelite Haverman derives the term 'British' from the Hebraic b'rith (covenant) and ish (man). Thus, the British are the true covenant people; Abraham was the first Britisher.19 Many American Israelites contend that the moral centre of European Israel has shifted to America. Indeed, one of the Marranunggu spouses held to similar beliefs, and loved to quiz me. 'Debbie, do you know why the original American flag had thirteen stars?' 'Yes. Because there were thirteen colonies.' 'No! Because America is the place for the gathering of all thirteen tribes of Israel!' 'Debbie, did you know that Aborigines are part of the tribe of Dan?' Cautiously I replied, 'No.' 'Yes! Because only Dan is said to have had ships, and there's no other way to get here!' At this point the car I was driving skidded off the road with a flat tyre, and I rested my reeling brain. Dreams of lost and found peoples are closely linked to conspiracy theories (freemasons, communists and Jews are favoured targets). Such theories, Aho reminds us, tell a story that claims to make sense of disaster.20 The central assumption is that apparent disorder is actually part of a design. In my view, the so-called conspiracy theories are closely allied

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to the kind of thinking we know from the Bible as the remnant motif. The term 'conspiracy' tends to demonise these theories, and I will confine myself to the term 'remnant theory', which I use to refer to a theory of history based on the conflict between good and evil, in which the good is saved through the survival of a fragment. Remnant theory is situated in the midst of destruction, and offers a history in which nothing that matters is ever lost, for all that appears lost will be recuperated. As Hasel explains, from a remnant the whole can be recuperated. 21 The remnant theory of history pervades the Bible and is expressed both in myth (the Flood is an example) and in history (the Babylonian exile is an example). The pattern is that destruction occurs, a small portion of the people survives (usually those who are most obedient to God), and this surviving remnant contains the seeds of future recuperation. We see this plainly with the British Israelites: The remnant theory rescues loss from oblivion by asserting that there is continuity, and that the remnant contains the good. The New Israel is continuous with the purest members of the Old (destroyed) Israel. It seems to me that contemporary states generate compelling reasons for people to search for patterns in the fragments and remnants produced as the state disrupts, erases, re-invents, and subjects to geometric models the living dynamism of the world. Remnant theory collects fragments of disorder, and claims for them an ongoing order. The order constructed out of disaster is not hidden (as the rationale for state practices often is), but rather is situated in plain view (Jut-land = Judah). All that is required is that the connections be made. Much remnant theory activity consists in finding keys that will unlock the patterns of connection. Remnant theory is bolstered by being in dialogue with contemporary systems of universalising knowledge. For remnant thinker and enlightenment thinker alike, everything in the world is part of one big story. Wherever Europeans go they meet others who are remnants of their own (sacred or secular) story. Anthropologists encountered Australian Aborigines and saw the remnants of a hunter-gatherer way of life which had been superseded in the West. Other Europeans saw lost tribes, or even more fanciful remnants.

In north Australia none was so steeped in theories of remnants and secret keys as Fr Kristen of the Jesuit mission to the Daly. In 1886 a group of Jesuit missionaries had trekked out to the Daly River to make contact with the wild savage. They intended to bring to the wilderness the civilising influence of the cultivated garden, and to the savage the civilising influences of agricultural labour, Christian marriage, and salvation.

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By 1886, however, the Darwin hinterland had already been occupied by settlers from a variety of cultural origins; there were Macassan trepangers and other international traders, as well as surveyors and administrators; there were small-scale miners, both European and Chinese, as well as large-scale mining ventures; there were telegraph operators and government drillers; there were agriculturalists, pastoralists, and buffalo shooters; there were Chinese gardeners, police and drifters; there were plantations; there were commercial fishermen, Chinese and European, and croc shooters; there were explorers, naturalists, and other adventurers with a variety of motivations. Aboriginal people had access, not only to the standard tobacco, flour, sugar and tea, but also to alcohol and opium. They were subjected to at least one notorious massacre, the Coppermine massacres of 188485. 22 They had access, not just to one set of international ideas and ideals, but to many sets, and they had ample opportunities to play the different groups off against each other, and to sample for themselves a range of ways of living.23 Since settlement there has been a massive loss of Aboriginal population coupled with an Aboriginal diaspora.24 During the Jesuits' years in the Daly region (188699) Aboriginal people came into the region and into the mission (often only briefly), where their presence was recorded in the daily diary.25 They came from north, south, east, and west, and at least some members of most of the groups in the area were recorded by the missionaries. It has not been possible to identify individual Marranunggu ancestors in the Jesuit records, but people labelled Marranunggu were at the mission, and at times were key figures. They planted gardens, received instruction, and were subjected to the social engineering aspirations of the Jesuits.26 The Jesuits saw that numbers were dropping, and they also worried about 'tribalism'. Accordingly, in 1895 they announced a program to 'merge' some of the remaining tribes: For several months the Marenungo and Cherite [Djerait] tribesmen have been working at the station and gradually in this way preparation is being made for their union with the Wangarr [now usually known as Malak Malak] tribe which is that of our region. As the same can be said of the Ponga-Ponga [Kuwema] tribe the time is not far distant when these different tribes will be able to receive proximate preparation for conversion.27 Fr Kristen was an Austrian, like many of the missionaries, and was a scholar and a writer. His most significant contribution is the manuscript he produced while he was in South Australia recuperating from nervous exhaustion. Fr Kristen expounded a mystical view of language and a deeply felt sense of shared humanity with his Aboriginal protégés. His work is, by turns, lucidly analytic, oddly comparative (he juxtaposes lists

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of Malak Malak, Greek and Hebrew words), intensely compassionate, and wildly enamoured of conspiracies. Fr Kristen held the view that many of the key white men, including the government resident and the chief of police, on the frontier were freemasons and, thus, parties to a global conspiracy. In his view, they were recruiting and corrupting Aboriginal men. He offers a wild discussion of freemasonry: The children of Israel became Canaanites not only in customs, sacrificing to Molloch [which, of course, Fr Kristen will relate to Malak Malak, the language of the area of the Daly where the Mission is located], but their language also turned into a deplorable corruption of Hebrew chaste language . . . Phrases and newly stamped words . . . [bear the character of freemasonry and] . . . as they are sure signs of corruption in language, so also they are signs of moral perversion, deliberate unopenness; deliberately leading into error . . . The Kingdom of heaven, a white Freemason would tell what that means; in Mallac enmel means firmament, heaven. Enmul or 'enmil-djirmil' means 'uterus'. For a European, who knows God and Christ, such an explanation would be downright blasphemy and blasphemous misuse of God's word. But a wild ignorant Black from the bush cannot be charged in such a way. The principle of wrong interpretation was planted into him by authority in early youth, and he heard nothing better; by white Government authority he had heard the same; therefore we missionaries appeared to him a sort of curious or perhaps cranky people. 28 Fr Kristen asks: did Aborigines learn freemasonry from white settlers, or did Aborigines themselves invent freemasonry, in which case they must have exported it to Europe in earlier centuries? He concludes that the latter hypothesis must be correct, and thereby seems to confirm his own marginal wackiness. But conspiracies, remnants and diffusion speak to issues that clearly are far from peripheral. Remnant theory articulates brokenness whilst seeking wholeness. It thrives on obscurity, even as it promises that the world will be made legible. The same structural vision of wholeness is foundational to Enlightenment concepts of universal knowledge. Whether one looks to a conspiracy of freemasons or communists, or whether one looks to a universal theory of knowledge (as reason) or of life (as evolution), one perceives a structure that claims to encompass and order a totality.29 These theories are also practice, and they produce their self-perpetuating dynamic, as Scott shows: the simplification which produces legibility constructs the conditions for ensuing disasters.30

The desire for wholeness is well-illustrated in Tindale's map of tribal boundaries. On this map, solid lines indicate tribal boundaries, dotted lines indicate boundaries that may be less certain than solid lines, the line

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with triangles indicates the circumcision boundary, and the line with circles indicates the subincision boundary. Tindale was attempting to establish order in a situation in which it was clearly lacking. 31 Early maps for the Darwin hinterland, for example, show that the Larrakia people are always identified with Darwin and its adjacent territories, but beyond the Larrakia the maps become contradictory and confusing. Tindale undertook a monumental effort, and his map reflects both field-work and archival research. It should also be said that for any given area, detailed contemporary research reveals inaccuracies in the map, and anthropologists almost invariably caution against taking it as a perfect piece of evidence. One can read Tindale's map in two complementary ways. One reading focuses on the completeness of the terrain being described. In this plan of tribal Australia there is no empty or vacant land. Irrespective of what rights, interests and duties might be signalled by the congruence of group and terrain, it is clear that there is no land that is without people with rights and duties. This point is brought into further analysis by Gelder and Jacobs in a discussion of the more recent mapping effort by Davis and Prescott. Gelder and Jacobs argue that: 'With a map of Australia that is so bountiful, so complete, so full of Aboriginal territory, any cartographers who come along afterwards in the wake of Tindale as Davis and Prescott do can only leave their own mark by rubbing at least some of that fullness out'.32 Another way to read the map focuses on it as a snapshot of anthropological knowledge. On this reading, anthropological knowledge is complete. There are no gaps, and no fragments that do not fit. The map presents a whole picture of space in which time is frozen. There are no guidelines for how contemporary peoples relate to the map, or for how people accommodate spatial organisation to the exigencies of life, although it is well-known that adjustments are always being made.33 Tindale's map, thus, stands as a benchmark; but as its relationships to time, people, and life in a changing world are hidden, it is primarily a benchmark only of anthropology's role in the state project of the legible ordering of tribes, territories, and boundaries. Colonisation and intellectual investigation merge in this monocular synoptic view. In the area of the Wagait Reserve the Djerait tribe is located to the west and the Kungarakayn to the east. Marranunggu is south of the Daly. The line between Kungarakayn and Djerait became a crucial line for Kungarakayn people in their land rights statements of claim, as they defined their western border along precisely this same line. The Marranunggu statement of claim took in a portion of the area Tindale defines as Djerait and a portion of the area he defines as Kungarakayn.

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It will be helpful if I pause here to note that there is not at this time a surviving group of people who call themselves Djerait. The Marranunggu people count Djerait people among their ancestors, and their genealogies thus link them to people whose home country was, according to almost all documentary sources, in the region of the Reserve. The links between Marranunggu and Djerait certainly go back to the Mission days, and may well be part of a much earlier tradition. 34 To return to wholeness, Tindale's monumental work includes a verbal description of the boundaries of each tribe, as well as alternative spellings for the name, and a list of references to the name. The verbal descriptions indicate some areas of uncertainty. For example, Tindale notes that the Norwegian explorer Knut Dahl (a remarkably acute observer) stated that Djerait territory did not extend to the coast, and that the coastal zone was for Worgait or coastal people.35 Dahl's account accords with contemporary knowledge of the coastal zone. Moreover, when one draws Tindale's verbal descriptions onto his map, the lines do not match. Unlike the map, the verbal descriptions produce gaps. One such gap is located in the area labelled Kungarakayn. The territory is verbally defined as extending westward from the headwaters of the Adelaide River to the western side of the Table Top Range divide.36 The gap lies exactly in the area that Marranunggu people say is theirs. Somewhere between verbal description and cartographic representation a decision appears to have been made against precision and in favour of completeness. The result of this desire for legibility, produced in the name of scientific method and bearing the marks of its authority, was the literal erasure of the space where Marranunggu people located themselves.

The desire for wholeness finds its expression in the idea that migrating tribes fill space to replace absent or declining tribes. This notion is implicit in much of the material generated around the Wagait dispute, and can be seen in a brief example concerning a surveyed township (which never came into being beyond the plan stage). In 1913 the surveyor Cummins visited the Daly River with the task of re-surveying the area and determining and surveying a site for a new town. According to Cummins, the Administrator of the time, Dr Gilruth, wanted 'to get away from the very commonplace nomenclature of the Territory such as Dead Horse Point and Chinaman Gully' and therefore suggested using native names. Cummins chose the name 'Maranunga' for the town because it was 'the most euphonic of the names I had heard here'. He defines it this way: 'This is the name of a scattered tribe who seem to have intermingled with the other tribes on the river and also extended as far as Anson Bay'.37

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The town never happened, but the repercussions of the surveying and naming exercise erupted into the lives of Marranunggu people several generations later. During the preparation of claim materials for the Finniss River Land Claim, the anthropologists Robert Layton and Nancy Williams consulted extensively with W.E.H. Stanner, whose unparalleled ethnographic expertise concerning the Daly region dated to the 1930s and 1950s. Stanner was asked to comment on the Cummins map, and his response was taken seriously enough by the Aboriginal land commissioner to be quoted. The fact that the township planned for the Daly in 191314 was to be called Maranunga, although it was clearly upon Mulluk Mulluk Territory, is an enormously important clue. Its highly probable meaning is that by 1913 the Mulluk and Madngella were regarded as finished and the Maranunggo were looked upon as the most important tribe that was left. 38 As we have seen, Cummins was not taking a census; he chose the name for its melodious sound. He did not suggest that the Marranunggu were replacing other tribes; very much to the contrary, he saw them as widely scattered, and intermingled with others. In brief, he saw multicultural mingling, where Stanner saw monocultural replacement. Stanner's later monocular vision seems to rest uneasily with the 'internationalism' which, in the 1930s, he took to be the signature feature of the Daly River Aboriginal peoples: 'All my evidence points to the fact that the relation between tribe and territory in this country is a most unusual one the strongest conditioning factor of social life being not so much the ''nationalist" as the "internationalistic"'.39 How seductive, it would seem, are the myths, dreams, and maps with which we anthropologists try to understand the others of our encounters. And how damaging is our expertise when the anthropological eye becomes so enmeshed in colonisation that it starts to 'see' like a state.

Joshua summoned all Israel, their elders and commanders, and magistrates and officials, and said to them: 'I have grown old and advanced in years. You have seen all that the Lord your God has done to all those nations on your account, for it was the Lord your God who fought for you. See, I have allotted to you, by your tribes [the territory of] these nations that still remain, and that of all the nations that I have destroyed from the Jordan to the Mediterranean Sea in the west.' (Josh. 23: 25) The land of Canaan was the home of people who for narrative purposes can be classed as Canaanites. The multicultural quality of Canaan means that a single, encompassing term cannot do justice to its social reality, but in terms of colonisation the term is totally appropriate. The

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singularity of these people lay in the fact that they occupied land that was now promised to others, was even now being divided up without their knowledge, and from which they would soon be evicted (if not utterly destroyed) as part of God's plan for establishing His covenanted people in land that was to become theirs. Regina Schwartz, in her influential study The Curse of Cain, contends that part of the legacy of monotheism is the vision that links conquest and exclusivity. Exodus can be read as a story of liberation and deliverance, and this narrative strand has inspired countless struggles for freedom. Equally, it can be read as a story of dispossession. 40 This latter is the story about 'creating a people through the massive displacement and destruction of other peoples, of laying claim to a land that had belonged to others, and of conducting this bloody conquest under the banner of divine will'. The violent legacy of this myth, Schwartz contends, is that it 'advocates the wholesale annihilation of indigenous peoples to take their land'.41 The story posits a relationship between inhabitant and invader such that the invader does the work of God, while the inhabitants hinder the work of God. God's promise of land for his people sets the parameters within which Canaanites are represented as the aggressors and Israel is the victim. In this way, the inhabitants' defence of their homelands is turned around and represented as aggression against Israel. The point is made clear in Exodus (23: 33): 'They shall not remain in your land, lest they cause you to sin against Me' (my emphasis). This inversion of the relation between conqueror and conquered underlies the mythology of many settler societies.42 Several scholars have shown that a victimological narrative links Israel's sufferings in Egypt to God's promise of the land. Curthoys takes up this analysis in relation to white settlement of Australia, and suggests that the sufferings of the invaders authorise a monstrous pitilessness toward the suffering of others.43 Similar narratives seem to have fuelled passions in the Wagait dispute. Kungarakayn people fixed their dreams on the Wagait and presented a triumphal narrative of return. Out of the bondage of institutionalisation and Australian national policies of assimilation, they would regain their promised land and regenerate themselves as the people whose existence the colonising nation had so vigorously sought to eradicate. The Marranunggu people were metaphorical Canaanites in this scenario they were illegitimate occupiers of the land. However, they too were offered the possibility of triumphalism. They were told again and again that they had only to return to their proper homeland south of the Daly in order to recuperate themselves as a whole people in a properly designated place.

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I stated that the Wagait dispute was formally brought to closure by a committee appointed by the Northern Land Council to hear the evidence. Their finding in favour of the Marranunggu was based on their conclusion that the evidence for migration was inconclusive. When one considers the popular and entrenched acceptance of the migration scenario, and the myths, dreams, and longings that had been marshalled around the Kungarakayn narrative, this conclusion stands as a major gain. Let me state briefly the main terms of Marranunggu people's account of themselves, bearing in mind that there are many ways in which groups can define themselves. These Marranunggu people are members of the Mak Mak (whitebreasted sea eagle) clan, and they speak a form of Marranunggu which they describe as light and racy, in contrast to the heavier clan-lect of another Marranunggu clan, Pultjarrk (wedge-tailed eagle). 44 In fact, my use of the term 'speak' is somewhat misleading, as the first language of most of the members of the white-breasted sea eagle clan is Marrithiel, another language from south of the Daly. Earlier generations of Marranunggu men got Marrithiel wives, and the women brought their relations with them, so that in the Marranunggu camps such as Max Sargent's stock camps in the 1950s the main spoken language was Marrithiel. English, Marranunggu and other languages were spoken, and the older generation also spoke Djerait. These people have Marranunggu, Marrithiel and Djerait ancestors. They assert that their relationship to their country exists today through several factors: their ancestral links to the place, their knowledge and care of the place, the reciprocities between them and the place. The Wagait and adjacent areas are full of their ancestors' burial sites, their own and their ancestors' conception and birth sites, and a myriad of sites and tracks of history, ritual, Law, and future people. According to Ian Green, the linguist who has worked most closely with the Mak Mak Marranunggu people, and who is an expert on the languages of the Daly region, the term 'Marranunggu' is polysemous. It refers to three main dialects, of which only one, the Warrgat (Marra Warrgat) dialect, is commonly referred to as Marranunggu. The 'Marranunggu', then, are actually a particular clan (Mak Mak) of a particular dialect (Warrgat). Very recent linguistic analysis that was not available at the time of the Finniss River Land Claim suggests that there were three to six varieties of Warrgat, of which Mak Mak is one. Warrgat shows considerable influence from Northern Daly languages (probably Djerait, perhaps also Malak Malak and Kuwema).45 Marranunggu people can see the 'problem' of speaking a language that probably has its origins elsewhere (they speak English, too, of

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course), and they take this fact as evidence that they are multicultural and that they have a complex history. They accept that much of the complexity of their history is lost to contemporary knowledge, but they assert uncompromisingly that a simple scenario of migration and replacement cannot account for their relationship to their Wagait homeland. Justice Toohey resolved the issues into a question of the Aboriginal meaning of traditional ownership: was traditional ownership to be understood as a 'static' relationship between people and land (the Kungarakayn view that these relationships never change), or was it to be understood as a dynamic one (or subject to change, as would be necessary if the 'migrant' Marranunggu were to be included). 46 His decision showed the wisdom of Solomon in finding that each model had validity in particular historical contexts. My excursion around the edges of this event enables an examination of some of its hyper-dynamism. We see desire slipping into narratives at unexpected junctures; we see how the inadequate focus of the monocular eye rides the currents of Western dreams and myths. In my exploration of histories, I find that both models contain stasis as well as dynamism, but that they rest on radically different models of social change. One view relies on a remnant theory of history. Remnant thinking is central to the Exodus story: God saves the remnant of Israel not destroyed by Pharaoh, and from it builds a new relationship between God, Israel, and Canaan. Similarly, for the Kungarakayn: the claimants were the remnants of a people cruelly damaged in conquest, and the 1976 Aboriginal Land Rights Act was their opportunity to recover themselves. The model of change was thus a model of destruction, survival, and recuperation; it positioned the Kungarakayn as a core of connection snatched from the disaster of their history. In contrast, the Marranunggu claim emphasised hybridity and multiplicity. The early efforts to press Marranunggu history and identity into a monocultural frame obscured this point, and set the conditions whereby non-compliance with monocultural norms was taken as evidence of non-legitimacy. Against a colonising desire for congruence, Marranunggu offered hybridity. Against a colonising desire for singularity, Marranunggu offered multiplicities: languages and ancestors from a broad region. Against a colonising history of destruction and recuperation, Marranunggu offered a history of diasporic 'internationalism', intermingling, adaptation, and multiple continuities. In 1980 there was no place for such a history in the discourse of traditional ownership, and by 1993 the major discursive gain was the destabilisation of the certainty surrounding the migration scenario. It is not surprising, then, that one of the most powerful pieces of evidence which the Marranunggu people were able to offer to the

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Wagait Committee was Goyder's 1869 map of the four Aboriginal 'districts' he surveyed. With professional precision he marked Aboriginal names on the map in the approximate location of the territory to which he understood them to apply. 47 Across the area that would later become the Wagait Reserve he marked 'Warnunger'. The term is as close an approximation to Marranunggu as one might expect from an Englishman trained primarily in maths, maps, and the techniques of the geometric survey. He may have misspelled it, but he put it in the right place. Acknowledgments I thank the members of my post-colonial Biblical criticism study group for their valuable advice on this paper, and Dave Rose for his careful proofreading. Notes 1 James Scott, Seeing like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1998, p.352. 2 For example, see Paul Carter, The Road to Botany Bay: An Exploration of Landscape and History, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1988; Paul Carter, The Lie of the Land, Faber & Faber, London, 1996; Simon Ryan, The Cartographic Eye, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996. 3 See, for example, Andrew Lattas, 'Savagery and Civilisation: Towards a Genealogy of Racism', Social Analysis, No.21 (1987), pp.39-58. 4 William Least Heat Moon, PrairyErth (A Deep Map): An Epic History of the Tallgrass Prairie Country, Mariner Books, 1999 [reissue]. 5 Ryan, The Cartographic Eye. 6 See, for example, H. Berger 'The Lie of the Land: The Text Beyond Canaan', Representations, No.25 (1989), pp.119-38; Roland Boer, 'Home is Always Elsewhere: Exodus, Exile and the Howling Wilderness Waste', Last Stop Before Antarctica (forthcoming); Ann Curthoys, 'Expulsion, Exodus and Exile in White Australian Historical Mythology', Journal of Australian Studies, no.61, 1999, pp.1-18; John Docker, 'Spinoza and Mr Bloom Interpret Exodus', Adventures of Identity (forthcoming); Deborah Rose, 'Rupture and the Ethics of Care in Colonised Space', in T. Bonyhady and T. Griffith (eds), Prehistory to Politics John Mulvaney, the Humanities and the Public Intellectual, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1996, pp.190-215; Edward Said, 'Michael Walzer's Exodus and Revolution: A Canaanite Reading', in Edward Said and Christopher Hitchens (eds), Blaming the Victims, Verso, London, 1988. 7 See, for example, Val Plumwood, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature, Routledge, London, 1993; J. Ring, The Political Consequences of Thinking: Gender and Judaism in the Work of Hannah Arendt, State University of New York Press, Albany, 1997; Scott, Seeing like a State. 8 There are in existence reports stating that senior Marranunggu people (now all deceased) did state that they had come from elsewhere. I do not here attempt to assess how these statements might have come about. I would note that in the actual land claim evidence (that is, before the judge or before a duly authorised committee, and in the presence of lawyers) the Marranunggu position has remained unchanged from 1980 to 1993-94, and remains unchanged as I write. 9 Justice Toohey, Finniss River Land Claim: Report by the Aboriginal Land Commissioner, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1981, p.41.

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10 Margaret Kerr, The Surveyors. The Story of the Founding of Darwin, Rigby Ltd, Adelaide, 1971, p.10. 11 Kerr, The Surveyors, p.174. 12 Kerr, The Surveyors, p.145. 13 Kerr, The Surveyors, p.173. 14 Summarised from Norman Habel, This Land is My Land. Six Biblical Land Ideologies, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, 1995, pp.54-74. 15 M. Weinfeld, The Promise of the Land: The Inheritance of the Land of Canaan by the Israelites, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1993, pp.22-23. 16 Kerr, The Surveyors, pp.100-101. 17 Many authors note the difficulty of sustaining coherence between the arbitrary number of twelve and the unruly genealogical and political fortunes of the Israelites, for example: C. De Geus, The Tribes of Israel: An Investigation into Some of the Presuppositions of Martin Noth's Amphictyony Hypothesis, Van Gorcum, Assen (Netherlands), 1976; see also Habel, This Land is My Land. 18 J. Aho, The Politics of Righteousness. Idaho Christian Patriotism, University of Washington Press, Seattle, 1990, p.101. 19 Aho, The Politics of Righteousness, p.107. 20 Aho, The Politics of Righteousness, pp.3, 88. 21 G. Hasel, The Origin and Early History of the Remnant Motif in Ancient Israel, Ph.D. dissertation, Vanderbilt University, 1970, p.209. 22 Andrew Markus, From the Barrel of a Gun. The Oppression of the Aborigines, 1860-1900. Victorian Historical Association, Melbourne, 1974, p.18; H. Pearce, 'Pine Creek Heritage Scheme Report', Ms Report to the National Trust of Australia, 1982, p.72. 23 In more recent times, the Daly is of particular interest to anthropologists because W.E.H. Stanner carried out fieldwork there in the 1930s. During World War II the anthropologists R. and C. Berndt visited the region and collected some stories and songs deriving from the early mission. There have been several anthropologists working in the area in recent years, and Dr Ian Green has carried out a major linguistic study. There has also been one major claim to land under the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act 1976 (Cwlth): the Daly River Malak Malak Land Claim Peter Sutton and Arthur Palmer, Daly River (Malak Malak) Land Claim, Northern Land Council, Darwin, 1980. 24 In the first few decades of settlement, Aboriginal populations dropped by about 95 per cent, according to an estimate for an adjacent region made by Ian Keen, The Alligator Rivers Stage II Land Claim, Northern Land Council, Darwin, 1980. Only at the end of their stay did the Jesuits acknowledge, or perhaps realise, the extent of the disaster they were witnessing. 25 See also Deborah Rose 'Signs of Life on a Barbarous Frontier: Intercultural Encounters in North Australia', Humanities Research, 2, 1998, pp.17-36. 26 As I discuss in greater detail elsewhere, the Jesuits attempted to take control of the indigenous marriage system, and one of the key women of the mission, Helen Paiyi, over whose initiation and marriage terrible battles were waged, was a Marranunggu woman. Helen Paiyi appears to have been a member of one of the other Marranunggu clans, but her name was given to one of the Marranunggu claimants with whom I worked (Linda Paiyi). See Deborah Rose and Linda Ford, 'The Way We Are (Working in Flux)', in E. Greenwood, K. Neumann, and A. Sartori (eds), Work in Flux, University of Melbourne History Department, Melbourne, 1995, pp.10-19.

27 Journal 19.9.'95, quoted in G. O'Kelly, The Jesuit Mission Stations in the Northern Territory 1882-1899, B.A. honours thesis, Monash University, Melbourne, 1967, p.60a, footnote 67. 28 A. Kristen, Aboriginal Language, Ms, 1888, pp.195-99. 29 Feminist critiques of universalising theory clarify the structured dynamic whereby

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order produces disorder (summarised in M. Mellor, Feminism and Ecology, Polity Press, Cambridge, 1997). In brief, because one cannot remove one's self from the system under examination one can only examine the system as a participant, and because one is a part of the system the whole remains beyond the possibility of one's comprehension. An objectivity which requires the erasure of self can thus only produce fragmented knowledge, even though it claims to produce a whole knowledge. 30 Scott, Seeing like a State, p.352. 31 Norman Tindale, Aboriginal Tribes of Australia: Their Terrain, Environmental Controls, Distribution, Limits and Proper Names, Australian National University Press, Canberra, 1974. There is a voluminous literature on the term 'tribe', and on the notion of boundaries; for recent contributions, see Peter Sutton, Country: Aboriginal Boundaries and Land Ownership in Australia, Aboriginal History Monograph 3, Aboriginal History Inc., Canberra, 1993; Francesca Merlan, Caging the Rainbow; Place, Politics and Aborigines in a North Australian Town, University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu, 1998. 32 Ken Gelder and Jane M. Jacobs, Uncanny Australia; Sacredness and Identity in a Postocolonial Nation, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1998, p.57. 33 For example, see Nicholas Peterson, 'Rights, residence and process in Australian Territorial organisation', in N. Peterson and M. Langton (eds.), Aborigines, Land and Land Rights, Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, Canberra, 1983, pp.134-45. 34 This point was not made with clarity in the Finniss River Land Claim hearing because at that time the Marranunggu people did not fully understand that their statement of claim on the simple basis of having been there 'forever' would be rejected by all concerned. Nor were they aware of Tindale's placement of Djerait and Kungarakayn people in the area they knew to be theirs. In short, they had no idea of the myths, maps and dreams they were up against. 35 Tindale, Aboriginal Tribes of Australia, p.223. Many observers have noted the similarity between Worgait (Wagaij) and the name of the Reserve. 36 Tindale, Aboriginal Tribes of Australia, p.229. 37 Surveyor Cummins, Commonwealth Archives, Item F9 105/37, 1913. 38 Toohey, Finniss River Land Claim, p.12, para.88. 39 Quoted in Sutton and Palmer, Daly River (Malak Malak) Land Claim, p.35. 40 For example, see Marc Ellis, Toward a Jewish Theology of Liberation, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, 1988. 41 Regina Schwartz, The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1997, pp.57, 62. 42 For example, see Richard White, 'Frederick Jackson Turner and Buffalo Bill', in J. Grossman (ed.), The Frontier in American Culture, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1994, pp.7-65, in particular his analysis of the Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. 43 Curthoys, 'Expulsion, Exodus and Exile in White Australian Historical Mythology'. 44 The linguistic differentiation here is primarily in pronunciation. Such distinctions are well-attested by linguists, particularly in areas with high population densities and high linguistic diversity. 45 This information was presented by Dr Ian Green in the context of the Wagait dispute. It was not available during the Finniss River Land Claim. 46 Toohey, Finniss River Land Claim, p.20. 47 Larrakia is where one would today expect it to be, as is Woolnah. Mieyah remains obscure.

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5 Warlpiri Graffiti Christine Nicholls Working at Lajamanu By 1991 I had spent half of my adult life living and working at Lajamanu, a Warlpiri Aboriginal settlement in the Northern Territory. So my own 'adventure of identity' has been at least to some extent grafted onto, or interwoven into the following analysis of Warlpiri graffiti. And that also explains why I don't think that I should write myself out of the story. I was certainly more than a 'bit player' in the dramas which unfolded at Lajamanu over those years and, like everyone else there, Aboriginal or non-Aboriginal, a highly factional player too. But then, the stakes were high and they still are: nothing less than the survival of Warlpiri group identity, autonomy, and ways of thinking and being, or, alternatively, a fate tantamount to sociopolitical, cultural and linguistic genocide. The discussion about Warlpiri graffiti which follows is the result of my interactions with Warlpiri people over almost a decade of living (198291) at Lajamanu, in the Tanami Desert of the Northern Territory of Australia. Lajamanu is home to more than 700 Warlpiri people. The land is held by the Warlpiri people, having been returned to them in 1976 by the federal government. When I arrived at Lajamanu in 1982 there were about 30 non-Warlpiri living there, and by the time I left in 1991, approximately 100. The increase in the number of non-indigenous residents can be attributed mainly to the marked improvement in the economic status of a minority of Warlpiri as a result of the rediscovery of gold on their lands, and the re-establishment of a

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large goldmine near Yaturlu Yaturlu ('The Granites') by the North Flinders Mining Company (which has been controlled by the Normandy group since 1996), and a smaller goldmining operation at Tanami. This resulted in large amounts of royalty money being paid regularly to a minority of Warlpiri people. In turn, this attracted nonindigenous profiteers who came to trade in second-hand cars and the like. Lajamanu is more than 600 kilometres from the nearest town of any size (Katherine). The climate is harsh and mostly very hot and dry, with temperatures sometimes exceeding 50°C in summer. Additionally, 'third world' health problems, which have been largely conquered in less remote parts of Australia (trachoma, leprosy, otitis media, tuberculosis, for example), persist. This is largely because of the inhospitable climate and environment, poor living conditions and a lack of adequate medical and other services which are taken for granted elsewhere in Australia. During the time that I lived there, communication with the outside world was very difficult as there was no telephone; instead, there was a two-way radio which operated during business hours on weekdays. Twice-weekly a mailplane visited, as well as a weekly truck which brought in supplies from Katherine, except during the 'wet season' floods, which would sometimes cut the single-lane unsurfaced road for months. Initially I held the position of Lajamanu School's first teacher-linguist. In practice this meant that I worked with Warlpiri who were setting up the school's bilingual education program in Warlpiri and English. Learning the language was therefore a requirement of the job. Later, in 1984, I was promoted to the position of principal of Lajamanu school. On average, there were 200250 Warlpiri children enrolled in the school. A sizeable group of people including myself worked together very closely, for many years, on what was to become a highly political project, to which we were all passionately committed the development of a bilingual Warlpiri-English program for the children in the school. For most Warlpiri people, their linguistic identity as Warlpiri speakers is of the utmost significance, differentiating them not only from non-indigenous Australians but from other indigenous groups as well. As a result of colonisation Warlpiri linguistic identity has become subjugated and thus a site of struggle. The older people in particular are permanently and actively engaged in contestations around the question of Warlpiri language maintenance, both with agents of the dominant culture (for example, governments) and sometimes with their own children, who on occasion feel inclined to give up the unequal struggle. In many respects Warlpiri efforts around the question of language maintenance are regarded as a metaphor for a broader post-colonial struggle. 1 This battle is being played out once

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again as I write these words. In December 1998, in a top-down, nonnegotiable decision, the Northern Territory government, supported by the federal Coalition government of John Howard, decided with the stroke of legislative pen to abolish all of the Territory's hard-won bilingual programs in indigenous languages, including the program at Lajamanu. The establishment of Lajamanu's bilingual program in 1982 was the point where the relatively uneventful (up until then, anyway) 'narrative' of my own rather privileged life connects with, or maps on to, the exponentially more stressful lives of the Warlpiri, in ways that it has become impossible to turn my back on. It also needs to be emphasised that I went to Lajamanu to work in education, not as a researcher. Hence, my knowledge of the graffitiwriting practices of Warlpiri people and the range of Warlpiri responses to the seismic shock of colonisation and its continuing aftermath, and Warlpiri attitudes in the more general sense, has arisen largely from informal contact rather than from formal interviews, questionnaires, and so on. For non-indigenous people employed by the state and working on Aboriginal settlements, political neutrality is not and probably never has been an option. The fact that, early on, I was obliged to take a political, indeed, factional position based on my own stance towards, and relations with, the Warlpiri is demonstrated by the following story. Not long after I took up the position of principal of Lajamanu School in 1984, I was approached by a group of older Warlpiri women, highly respected and recognised by Warlpiri men and women alike. This delegation of elderly women requested that I participate with them in a yawulyu ceremony. Yawulyu is a religious ceremony restricted to women, involving the painting of body designs on the upper body, including the back, arms, chest and breasts. It is accompanied by a performance of singing and dancing in which the activities of Jukurrpa (Dreaming) ancestors or beings are ritually re-created. At first I was hesitant, but the old women continued to press me, so eventually I participated willingly, feeling honoured by the invitation. It was my hope that my actions would perhaps contribute in a modest way towards overcoming the alienation of the school from the community, which was all too apparent at the time I arrived at Lajamanu an alienation graphically and tellingly symbolised by the remnants of the high barbedwire fence surrounding the school grounds, which had originally been erected by 'Native Welfare' 2 for the chief purpose of keeping the Warlpiri children in, and their family and other community members out.3 The yawulyu ceremony in which I participated rather nervously on that first occasion took place on a weekend, some kilometres away from the main part of town, in a ceremonial area reserved for 'women's business', in other words, a place considered off-limits for men.

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In the middle of the ceremony the white sergeant of police stationed at Lajamanu drove his police truck straight into the middle of the ceremony (which no Warlpiri man would ever dream of doing), took note of what I was 'up to', and fixed a prolonged gaze upon my breasts, on which had been painted sacred designs locating me as belonging to the Yarla (Yam) Dreaming of the Napurrurla and Nakamarra skin groups. After taking a good long stare at me, and ignoring everyone else there, the police sergeant drove away at breakneck speed, skidding the police van as if scandalised by what he had just seen. My intuition that the policeman could not wait to tell others about 'the incident' was accurate. The sergeant sent messages through to the Katherine Regional Office of Education on his two-way radio, informing them of my allegedly shocking and inappropriate behaviour. Several other written complaints from white residents of Lajamanu were also relayed to the Education Department. The letters sought my immediate removal from the position of principal of Lajamanu School. Included among the letters was one written by the deputy principal of Lajamanu School at that time, who wrote urging my dismissal forthwith on the grounds that I had 'exposed [my] breasts in public' and 'danced naked with the natives while adorned with tribal paint' (the allegation of nakedness was quite untrue), and while this was 'not quite a felony it is certainly conduct unbecoming for the Headmistress of a school'. 4 The complainants succeeded in portraying my involvement in a religious ceremony as being on a par with participation in a sexual orgy. In this they were backed by key (white male) officials from the Education Department. In fact, it is salutary to note that, both at that time and later, the chief complainants were the white men living on the settlement, although their wives mostly supported them. Not long after 'the incident', in response to the complaints, which only came from a small minority of the nonindigenous community members, who themselves at that point constituted less than 5 per cent of the total population of Lajamanu, the minister of Education of that time, the Honourable Tom Harris, chartered a plane to Lajamanu in order to question me about my not-quite-felonious activities. After speaking first with the complainants, the minister asked me whether or not it was true that I had 'danced without my gear on for the natives'5 and whether I had 'displayed my breasts in public as part of a native rite'.6 The minister's verbal re-presentation of what had taken place served to sexualise my role in a ceremony which was the structural equivalent of attending church or synagogue. As part of his 'evidence' the minister alleged that several white men at Lajamanu had seen me around the settlement without my top on. I responded that I did not wish to discuss the matter further, except insofar as it was quite untrue that several white men had ever seen me around town only partially

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clad. After a short homily from the minister in which he made it quite clear to me that such behaviour on the part of a principal of a Territory school could not, and would not be tolerated, the shortish interview was terminated and he boarded his charter plane back to Darwin, without speaking to any Warlpiri people about their views on the matter. The fact that no Warlpiri person was interviewed is, I believe, by far the greater injustice: at least (in theory) I was given a chance to defend myself to the minister. The total cost to the taxpayer of the investigation of the 'incident' must have been in the vicinity of $5000. In retrospect the affair has a Monty Pythonesque quality. Crapanzano identifies the 'humorous tale of entry' as a standard element in ethnography, or even, in its own right, a genre or sub-genre of anthropology. 7 The most famous example of this is probably Geertz's description of a Balinese cockfight (1973). Crapanzano makes the following observation about this as a phenomenon: The hero, the anthropologist, is cast stereotypically as a naif, an awkward simpleton, not at all sure of his [sic] identity, often suffering from some sort of exotic malady, who is caught betwixt and between worlds. We could see him at Goethe's Roman Carnival. He is no longer in his own world, and he has not yet mastered his new world the world he will constitute through his ethnography.8 Unlike Geertz at 'his' village cockfight, which was also raided by police, I was not present at the yawulyu as an intruder, as Geertz describes himself9, but at the invitation of the Warlpiri. Yet I was in my own way equally naive, albeit not in quite the same way as many of the 'stock characters' whose highly edited personae we encounter via their ethnographies. What I really had little inkling of at the time was the extent to which certain understandings around race and gender generated by my own social structure are backed and enforced by the dominant social order. Nor did I comprehend the lengths to which some representatives of that dominant social order would go to defend those tenets of belief, including the application of vicious sanctions to those who either could not, or would not operate within that particular discursive framework. When I left Sydney to go to Lajamanu in 1982, I realised that I was embarking on 'an undertaking of uncertain outcome', a potentially 'hazardous enterprise', and even, I fervently hoped, an 'exciting experience'.10 But what I had no way of understanding at that time was how my perspective on this country's dominant social order, and my own ways of thinking about and being in the world, would shift so dramatically and irreversibly. The greatest shock and revelation for me at Lajamanu, both then and even now, was the interventionist and predatory behaviour of some of the whites, and not anything that the Warlpiri did.

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Warlpiri Graffiti: An Overview Graffiti (literally, 'little scratchings') inscribe social and cultural space, usually in unauthorised ways. Graffiti also usually constitutes some kind of claim on that space, the exact nature of which eludes definitive analysis. Graffiti is an integral part of the cultural landscape in all of the Warlpiri settlements. Most young Warlpiri contribute to the popular and omnipresent Warlpiri graffiti genre which 'speaks' from many a wall at Lajamanu, Yuendumu and Willowra, but particularly from the exteriors of school buildings. This particular graffiti genre, which can be glossed broadly as 'autograph' graffiti, typically consists of the writer's name or initials, followed either by the words 'Only One In Lajamanu/Yuendumu/Willowra/Nyirripi', or alternatively by, 'X - One and Only', sometimes abbreviated to X - OAO. Over a ten-year period, from 1982 to 1991, the greatest proportion of Warlpiri graffiti I collected fell into this category. Examples include (please note that all names have been changed) the following MARY SIMPSON NAKAMARRA ONE AND ONLY or, with just the writer's initials HRJRJ OAO or, alternatively JONNIE JAPANGARDI ONLY MYSELF There are also dozens of more elaborated versions of this basic formula, for example RONNIE JONES JUNGARRAYI ONE AND ONLY FROM LAJAMANU NORTH OF TANAMI THAT'S ME JUNGARRAYI Within this genre, bragging about one's personal innate superiority, prowess or talent, or that of one's group, is not considered to be off-limits, for example

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JNJ RNJ WE ARE THE BEST GOT THAT SUCKERS Such graffiti can be classified according to their communicative functions, which in the words of Durmüller are 'naming of self and other; self-identification, self-assertion, self-advertising'. 11 Warlpiri 'autograph' graffiti can be further subdivided into graffiti which asserts individual identity more aggressively than suggested by Durmüller, for example RAELENE NAPANGARDI ONE AND ONLY 'OAO' LOVES NO FUCKEN USERS OR ASSHOLES SO YOU MOP CAN ALL GET FUCK12 Most Warlpiri graffiti defy easy categorisation into discrete, mutually exclusive genres. Sometimes the message of an individual graffito is complex and may be interpreted at more than one level, sometimes in multiple ways: such as the above graffito, which is also an example of Warlpiri 'disclaimer' graffiti. It fits into the largish category of Warlpiri graffiti in which the writer rejects soapy, romantic love and it also dovetails neatly into the Warlpiri graffiti genre of taunts and insults. Another subdivision of this ubiquitous 'autograph' graffiti genre is that of the graffitist asserting the self as celebrity. Typically, girls cast themselves as musical stars of stage and screen LUCY NAKAMARRA known as DOLLY DOLLY ALWAYS NELLIE NAPURRURLA known as OLIVIA NEWTON ELOISE NANGALA known as RENEE GEYER while the boys invariably fantasise and project themselves into the personae of sporting, particularly Australian Rules football, heroes, for example CLIVE JAPALJARRI AS PAUL COUCH FOR GEELONG NO. ''7" "A.F.L." """

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Warlpiri 'autograph' graffiti extends beyond the assertion of individual identity to graffiti asserting collective identity based on family and kinship bonds, and sometimes even pan-Warlpiri identity, and occasionally territorial identity based on exclusion of 'the non-Warlpiri other'. Assertion of group, family or kinship identity accounts for the next-largest type of graffiti collected. For example B.R.N. R.R.N. G.R.N. ONLY THREE BEST SISTERS IN LAJAMANU There are numerous other examples which consist of longer strings of names, either written out in full or, more commonly, represented as initials, normally with a caption at the end connecting them, for example JRJ PPJ NPJ RDJ LMJ Only Five Best Brothers in Yuendumu Other typical examples within this sub-genre include 'Only Fourteen Best Sisters' (cousins, sisters-in law, and so on, preceded by fourteen sets of initials usually displayed in the form of vertical listings) or the more aggressive, in-yourface approach of Only Six Brothers OK Suckers You can all get fuck While it is not possible to canvas all Warlpiri graffiti genres exhaustively in this chapter, one other is worth commenting on here. This is the graffiti genre which equates person with place and its related sub-genre, graffiti which asserts territorial identity. There is a plethora of graffiti on the Warlpiri settlements in which person is equated with place, often associating the person with a highly specific tract of Warlpiri land, for example Roy Japanangka of Parnta Outstation OK Got That

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or simply Elaine Napurrurla Barton of Willowra Furthermore, visitors or temporary residents to the Warlpiri settlements apparently feel equally compelled to assert their own territorial identity in strong terms, for example HENRY CLARK OF RINGER SOAK BLACK SOIL WARRIORS The above, notwithstanding its echoes of Mad Max, a movie worshipped by Warlpiri and Jaru adolescent boys alike, speaks to the fact that the young man's homeland in the heart of Jaru country in Western Australia, is situated on a distinctive black-soil plain. The boy makes it clear that he is not 'of' Warlpiri country or soil. Deborah Bird Rose has described 'country' as 'the non-negotiable base line' 13, cutting across more recent constructions of 'imagined community'14, constructions which have been imposed by the colonisers. The idea of the individual being constructed as a spatial or socio-spatial rather than psychological being, borne out by many graffiti examples which fall into this category, signals the continuation of a conception of self markedly different from that which predominates in white Australia. Graffiti and Subjectivity: Analysing the Graffiti of Young Warlpiri 'What sort of coding has produced this subject?'15 The notion of subjectivity I am deploying here concerns the expression of self and/or the representation of the self or the self's viewpoint or perspective via discourse. It is premised on the understanding that subjectivity is a structure and a strategy which is largely realised linguistically. According to this view, subjectivity is deeply embedded in linguistic expression. It is therefore possible that subjectivity may be glimpsed (at least) through the window of discourse provided by graffiti. While, ultimately, the subjectivity of Warlpiri adolescents may not be recoverable via the graffiti or any other means, perhaps one can work towards understanding it by establishing what it is not.16 Unlike the graffiti of young, middle-class whites of roughly the same age, Warlpiri youths have no problems about staging themselves or their immediate relatives as 'the best' or even the 'one and only'. Self-praise is a classical rhetorical device utilised by Warlpiri people of

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all ages, but especially by the older people, who in the past were deeply socialised into its uses. It may be explicated as an enduring Warlpiri 'structure of the long run'. 17 Until the advent of the graffiti at Lajamanu such positive selfassessment seems to have been an entirely oral genre. The concept of a healthily self-confident evaluation of one's personal and social self-worth is naturalised and entrenched among Warlpiri people of all ages, and serves as a reminder that cultural norms regarding what constitutes an appropriate level of modesty are not universal but culturally specific. Young Warlpiri never write graffiti in the 'confessional mode' which is standard practice for other young Australian graffitists of the dominant culture. Young, white middle-class graffitists mostly locate themselves as existing outside of the parameters of established kinship structures, or, when they do place themselves within those kinship structures, it seems that there is little comfort to be derived from them.18 The dominant impression is that these young people mostly perceive their kinship structures to be oppressive and/or dysfunctional, for example My step-father has just chucked me out of home because we didn't get on I'm so unhappy because my mother didn't even so much as protest. Now I'm looking for somewhere to live any suggestions? And another typical example I came to uni thinking I would meet a lot of people and make heaps of friends, perhaps even find a soulmate, but I have never been so lonely in my entire life. People are so self-obssessed, they're just locked in their own little boxes. Austudy isn't enough to live on and I don't have any friends. I'm so disillusioned I'm going to leave uni. (both examples from Flinders University, Women's toilets in Social Sciences South Building, Flinders Campus, June 1996) In fact, the 'confessional mode', or the self-reflexive gesturing of so-called 'private' consciousness may be strongly connected to, or perhaps even an offshoot of psychoanalysis, the powerful and pervasive impact of which ought not be underestimated. Closely related to the notion of 'the confession' is the accompanying notion of the split subject, wherein the unconscious 'subject' may be reached by the linguistic explorations conducted by the conscious subject. However, the influence of psychoanalysis and its related 'techniques of the self', to use Foucault's phrase19, seems to have almost totally bypassed young Warlpiri, who thus far have avoided assimilation to such ways of thinking about, and performing the self. This psychological version of the subject as (private) 'consciousness' with interior rooms or divisions which can sometimes cause personal anguish has not permeated Warlpiri thinking to any significant extent. Indeed, the culture-specificity of the Freudian model of mind and

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psyche is discernible in its dominant metaphor 20, which comes from Western-style architecture. As David Malouf has written in an entirely different context: One observes in Freud's description of how the mind works how essential architectural features are, trapdoors, cellars, attics etc. What I mean to ask here is how far growing up in the kind of house I have been describing may determine, in a very particular way, not only habits of life or habits of mind but the very shape of the psyche as . . . people conceive it, may determine, that is, how they visualise and embody such concepts as consciousness or the unconscious, public and private areas of experience, controlled areas and those that are pressingly uncontrollable or just within control.21 The majority of the young Warlpiri writing the graffiti I have collected and discussed here were not brought up (at least, not in their early years, or not until relatively recently) in houses. Most spent their formative years in humpies, lean-tos, or bough shelters. In all of these constructions one can see the outside at all times, for a circumference of 360°. There are no closed or secret places in these dwellings and in each case there is no more than one 'room', if such a word can be used in this context. While the precise effect that such an upbringing may have on consciousness and subjectivity may be difficult to gauge, it is difficult to repudiate the notion that it would, and does affect their formation. In the graffiti of Western youth examples abound in which the original graffitist outlines a problem, personal, political, philosophical or otherwise. Often one or more other people respond with witticisms, aggression, or gratuitous advice. I found many examples of this in the course of my research, including the following example located in the women's toilets, Sturt Buildings, Flinders University, which remained there for the duration of 1994 and for most of 1995 Why do you see so many smart men with dumb women but you never see smart women with dumb men? to which a different hand had responded Because all the smart women are lezzos, that's why! In OctoberNovember 1996 the following 'dialogue graffiti' appeared in the 'Ladies' Restroom' at the University of Adelaide Library. Each individual quote is marked by an asterisk (*): * Pauline Hanson is a narrow-minded self-righteous bigot who is stuck in the generation that believed in the White Australia Policy. How dare she

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claim to be representing the majority of Australians! * She gets my vote! * Why? * Pauline Hanson needs a bullet! Perhaps one of her pro-gun friends could provide it? * Don't you believe in free speech? * There is a difference between free speech and blatant racism. * She has a few valid points but she swamps them with so much racist shit, proving she's just a loudmouthed fuckhead fishing for cheap votes. Most of the contributors apparently hold strong views on this subject. The graffiti of young Warlpiri Australians is not opinionated in this way aggressive perhaps, but not characterised by 'personal opinion'. The latter difference can not be simply explained away by the fact that the young Warlpiri have less formal Western education than their nonindigenous Australian peers. Bourdieu explains the widespread pretension to 'personal opinion' in the AngloEuropean context: One has to consider not only the reinforcement by the educational system and the media but also the specific social conditions which produce the 'opinionated' habitus. It can be seen that the claim to the right of 'personal opinion' and distrust of all forms of delegation . . . have their logical place in the disposition system of individuals whose whole past and whole projected future are oriented towards individual salvation, based on personal 'gifts' and 'merits', on the break-up of oppressive solidarities and even the refusal of onerous obligations, on the choice of systematically privileging the private and the intimate, both at work and 'at home', at leisure and in thought, as against the public, the collective, the common, the indifferent, the borrowed. 22 The graffiti of young, white, middle-class Australians is not only strongly personalised and often highly opinionated, but most often written in the first person singular, active voice.23 The often-conflicted or -divided self evinced in such graffiti is presented overwhelmingly through the conduit of the pronominal 'I', an echo of the assumption of the existence of an underlying inner life, of a very real concept of an interior self.24 The constant, repetitive use of 'I' and 'me' strongly contrasts with most Warlpiri graffiti examples, such as these R.N.B.D.

M.N. BURNS

YOU MOB

D.J.R.B.

ONLY 3

ALL

ONLY 2

SISTER-IN-LAW

LITTLE

LOVERS

ALL BACK TO YOU

SLUDS

HERE

SLUD

NO SLUD25 BESIDE US In Warlpiri graffiti the subject is more often than not positioned

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through the indexicality of the first person plural ('we' or 'us'), or through the second-person register ('you' either singular or plural including the 'you mob' of Aboriginal English). If subjectivity is also to be grasped in relational terms, the nature of the relationship between the locutionary agent and those she addresses is very different in the case of young graffitists of the dominant culture compared with young Warlpiri. It would appear that Western youth, like their elders, have an irresistible urge to proselytise, to spread the gospel on virtually every subject, whether that be religion, health, the environment, politics, human rights, sex, or whatever. This is clearly evident in their graffiti. The need to offer gratuitous advice, to persuade or convince others to alter their thinking or change positions on 'issues' seems to be enshrined in Western consciousness. This also constitutes a particular ideological position. Most Warlpiri, whether young and old, interpret this tendency as extremely 'pushy' or even 'predatory' (for example, personal communication, Jeannie Herbert Nungarrayi to Christine Nicholls, January 1991) and as tantamount to an attack on the personal autonomy of others. By comparison, young Warlpiri lack what could be described ironically as the 'evangelical gene'. Both the young Warlpiri and the young whites have been produced historically as specific and differentiated subjects. In each case, the agent is situated in discourse very differently. The Warlpiri subject is mostly situated within the extended family, and always mediated by the kinship system. The sense of self or identity evinced by the Warlpiri graffiti is almost invariably group-defined. The emphasis is on connection, kinship and engagement with others through language, even when this is expressed in aggressive language. Even in the 'one and only' graffiti genre, there is a sense that young Warlpiri are protesting too much. Warlpiri graffiti is never an expression of the isolation, loneliness, separation, alienation or putative gulf between human beings as is evinced in a good deal of the graffiti of young, white, middle-class Australians. Conclusions Emerging as perhaps the critical difference between young Warlpiri and other adolescent Australian graffitists who are members of the dominant culture is the very different 'coding' of their subjectivity. Different conceptions of the self, personal identity and the other inform the respective messages, which is not to claim that the groups have nothing whatever in common. The graffiti of young non-Aboriginal people of roughly the same age exhibit high levels of self-absorption, concern and fear about personal appearance, social and sexual identity and relationships, worry about personal 'social capital', and an endless fascination

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with the individual, creative and (supposedly) unique self. The dominant image which middle-class Western youth present of themselves via their graffiti discourse is that of afflicted individuality which is driven to perpetually occupy centre-stage. The individualistic, introspective musings which contribute to the 'cult of the self' so evident in 'Western' cultures are almost completely absent from the Warlpiri graffiti. What is also clear from the graffiti of young white Australians and other young whites of Anglo-European origin is that there are strong links between notions of subjectivity and sexuality, undoubtedly a legacy of Freud's work in particular and the influence of psychoanalysis more generally. Indeed, it is worth noting just how entangled in sexuality Western (post-)modern conceptualisations of 'self', 'identity' and 'subjectivity' have become. It seems that deconstructing, analysing and dissecting one's personal, emotional and psychical states holds little interest for young Warlpiri. In fact, ideas about 'personal growth', 'self-concept', self-development or self-exploration, or enhancing and developing new facets of the self as if it were a diamond or another precious gem which, given the necessary attention, may be honed to perfection, but in reality rarely measures up, are nonexistent. In other words, the perceived necessity to work on, and 'manage' the self as a kind of 'ongoing project', which permeates the thinking and therefore the graffiti of many young white Australians, remains foreign to young Warlpiri. In the place of the Western obsession with the minutiae of one's individuality and with the individual 'personality', there is a strong sense of the Warlpiri self as a social being, that is, an abiding sense of Warlpiri and kinship identity. While individuality (as opposed to 'individualism') is at times strongly asserted in the Warlpiri graffiti, it is against a social background of extended kinship relations, which, despite everything, remains the backbone. The interpersonal rhetoricity 26 of the Warlpiri graffiti does not suggest a Western, highly individualised (post)modern subjectivity. Young Warlpiri continue to 'perform the self' quite differently, despite the 'commonsense view' that their graffiti represents a major rupture with 'tradition'. So, returning to earlier considerations about the extent to which thus far Warlpiri epistemological structures are surviving the onslaught of the colonisers, or the latter group's 'adventures' if you like, it would seem that there is room for cautious optimism. Of course, the big question is, for how long can the Warlpiri keep at bay these continuing predatory incursions of the dominant culture and of global capitalism? Theirs seems at best to be a holding operation, and that is a very risky business indeed. Beside the hand that history has dealt the Warlpiri, my own 'adventure of identity' seems slight indeed.

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Notes 1 There is currently a debate occurring in Australia over whether or not the situation of indigenous Australians continues to be colonial or has become post-colonial, or some kind of admixture or juxtaposition of both. This is too large a question to address here succinctly, although coming to terms with that question is to some degree implicit in this chapter. See Bill Thorpe, 'Postcolonialism in intellectual discourse', in Colonial Queensland, Perspectives on a Frontier Society, University of Queensland Press, St Lucia, 1996, pp.2-25, for a discussion about the applicability or otherwise of the term 'post-colonial' in the Australian context. 2 'Native Welfare' is the name used by Warlpiri to refer to the Welfare Branch, which administered the Warlpiri and other indigenous Territorians as wards of the state from the time of first 'settlement' (between the late 1940s and early 1950s) until 1974. 3 Personal Communications: Maurice Luther Jupurrurla, Sadie James Napurrurla, Liddy Nakamarra, Peggy Rockman Napaljarri, Paddy Patrick Jangala, Jeannie Birrell Napurrurla, Juntiyi Japaljarri, Lorna Napurrurla, Pingiya Nampijinpa, inter alia, beginning April 1982. 4 Letter from Arthur McLaughlin, deputy principal of Lajamanu School, 1984, to the Katherine Regional Office of the Northern Territory Education Department. 5 The Honourable Tom Harris, MLA, Northern Territory minister for Education, interviewing Christine Nicholls at Education Residence 31, Lajamanu, mid-1984. 6 The Honourable Tom Harris, MLA, Northern Territory minister for Education, interviewing Christine Nicholls at Education Residence 31, Lajamanu, mid-1984. 7 Vincent Crapanzano, 'Hermes Dilemma: The Masking of Subversion in Ethnographic Description', in James Clifford and George E. Marcus (eds), Writing Culture, the Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, University of California Press, Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1986, pp.51-77. 8 Crapanzano, 'Hermes Dilemma', p.69. 9 Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, Basic Books, New York, 1973. 10 cf. definitions of 'adventure' in the Macquarie Dictionary and the Oxford English Dictionary. According to the latter, 'adventure' in its contemporary usage 'a novel or unexpected event', or 'a risky undertaking', closely associated with travel was first introduced in 1510, that is, in the late Renaissance, around the same time that the great global colonising seafaring 'adventures' began. 11 Urs Durmüller, 'Research on Mural Sprayscripts (Graffiti)', in Multilingual Matters, No.48 (1987), p.282. 12 There is no distinction between 'p' and 'b' in Warlpiri, and this is often reflected in their English spelling, for example, Mop = Mob. 13 Deborah Bird Rose, 'The Saga of Captain Cook: Morality in Aboriginal and European Law', Journal of Aboriginal Studies 2, 1984, p.30. 14 cf. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Verso, London and New York, 1983. 15 Gayatri Spivak, Outside in the Teaching Machine, Routledge, London and New York, 1993, p.19. 16 Christine Nicholls, Nicknaming and Graffiti-Writing Practices at Lajamanu, N.T.: A Post-Ethnographic Sociological Fiction, Ph.D. thesis, Macquarie University, 1998. 17 See Ferdinand Braudel, 'Histoires et sciences sociales: la longue durée', in Annales, Economies, Sociétés 13, 1958, pp.725-53.

18 The graffiti used for comparison was from Flinders University of South Australia, where the overwhelming majority of students in annual statistical surveys from 1994 to the present described themselves as coming from 'middle-class' backgrounds (see Nicholls, Nicknaming and Graffiti-Writing Practices at Lajamanu, N.T., for more details). 19 Michel Foucault, 'Politics and the Study of Discourse', Ideology and Consciousness, 3, 1978, pp.7-26.

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20 The other significant trope used alongside the Freudian notion of the psyche, owing more perhaps to archaeology than to Western architecture, although perhaps most closely related to contemporary Western medicine and medical science, but crossing the borders of all, is the idea of a complex 'self' deeply buried in the unconscious, which may be unearthed or brought to light by the linguistic explorations or probings of one's own or another conscious mind. The image of 'excavating' or 'digging' into the unconscious mind (a minefields?) suggests simultaneous pain and aggression or, at the least, activity of a predatory nature. 21 David Malouf, 'The First Place: The Mapping of a World', in K. Goodwin and A. Lawson (eds), The Macmillan Anthology of Australian Literature, Macmillan, Melbourne, 1990, p.302. 22 Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction. A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London, 1984, p.416. 23 E. Benveniste, writing of pronominal forms (in his Problems of General Linguistics, translated by Mary Elizabeth Meek, Miami Linguistics Series Number 8, University of Miami Press, Coral Gables, 1971, p.220), states that 'their role is to provide the instrument of a conversion that one could call the conversion of language into discourse. It is by identifying himself as a unique person pronouncing I that each speaker sets himself up in turn as the 'subject'. If this is indeed the case, an examination of the pronominal forms privileged by Warlpiri speakers, both when they use the vernacular and when they use English, indicates that the true subject of Warlpiri discourse is not so much the 'unique person' as 'the person as defined by a network of kinship affiliations' that is, in terms of being a part of 'we', 'us' or differentiated in precise ways from 'you'. 'One and Only' may in fact, therefore, be a way of speaking back to the perceived tyranny of kinship affiliations. 24 Or Husserl's 'transcendental ego'? 25 There is little or no distinction between 't' and 'd' in Warlpiri, and this is often reflected in Warlpiri spelling, for example, Slud = Slut. 26 See Geoffrey Leech, Principles of Pragmatics, Longman, London, 1983.

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6 Mis-Taken Identity: Mudrooroo and Gordon Matthews Gerhard Fischer In 1988 the Australian Aboriginal author Colin Johnson changed his name, following the example of Aboriginal poet Oodgeroo (previously Kath Walker): I was talking to Oodgeroo Noonuccal . . . and she . . . said seeing that we are writers why not the paperbark tree? 'Oodgeroo' means paperbark in the Noonuccal language and 'Mudrooroo' means paperbark in the Bibbulmum language which is my mother's people's language. 1 In 1988 the taking of a 'working totem', in the sense of a writer's 'trademark', was also a political gesture. It was meant, ironically, as a 'bicentennial event', an act of public protest against the official celebrations of the beginning of the European invasion of Australia. Thus, Colin Johnson stressed his Aboriginality and confirmed his commitment to the Aboriginal movement by adopting an Aboriginal name. He became Mudrooroo Narogin, the family name that refers to his birthplace in Western Australia.2 Subsequently he adopted as his legal name Mudrooroo Nyoongah, the name of the Aboriginal people of the southwest of Western Australia, while his nom de plume was shortened to Mudrooroo, the name that now appears on the covers of his books. To complicate matters even further, already in 1964, prior to the completion of his first novel, Mudrooroo had contemplated a name change when he thought of publishing Wild Cat Falling under an assumed name.3 It is perhaps no surprise that an author with such a history of re-inventing himself, whose work has appeared under three

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different names (Colin Johnson, Mudrooroo Narogin, Mudrooroo), should be concerned with the issue of identity. But was the taking of a new name a 'reverting' to the author's 'Aboriginal name', as the biographical note in the 1990 edition of Wild Cat Falling suggests? 4 In 1996 Mudrooroo made headlines when he became one of several writers and artists whose Aboriginal identities came under scrutiny.5 Although he has not provided a great deal of autobiographical information, there is no ambiguity in his claim concerning Aboriginal ancestry through descent on his mother's side: I've always been aware of my black heritage. This awareness came from my mother: the Bibbulmum people are matrilineal so the female line is very very important to us. It was from my mother that I got most of my culture and also most of my complexes one of the latter was not being white. . . . If you're an Aboriginal then you're discriminated against since the time you were born. This discrimination becomes part of your psyche . . . Because of the policies at the time, you lived in terror of being taken away from your parents. This is exactly what happened to my brothers and sisters and eventually what happened to me. It's what we call the 'stolen generation'.6 Research into Mudrooroo's family history undertaken by his older sister, Betty Polgaze (née Johnson), reveals that their father was born in Sydney to an Irish immigrant mother and an American immigrant father of Black-American descent, from North Carolina.7 Their mother's family were white settlers from England whose residence in Western Australia dates back to 1829. There seems to be no trace of 'Aboriginal blood' in Mudrooroo's family. Born Colin Johnson in 1938, his belief in being Aborigine must be assumed to be based on his experiences as a boy of 'darker' skin colour growing up in a small and isolated agricultural settlement near Narrogin, southwest of Perth. The father died a few months before Colin was born. The separation from his mother at the age of nine and his subsequent upbringing in a Christian Brothers' orphanage were apparently not the result of the government policy of enforced separation of Aboriginal children from their families. According to his sister and brother, it was due to their mother's destitution during the hard times of the Depression and during World War II. There seems to be no evidence to suggest any involvement by the Department of Native Affairs when the fatherless boy was sent to Clontarf Boys' Home by order of a police magistrate. Given the fact that Mudrooroo has not challenged his sister's findings in order to 'set the record straight', as he has been asked to do, it seems safe to assume that the basic facts of the family history of Mudrooroo as documented by his sister are correct.

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Mudrooroo faces several dilemmas. On the one hand, his brother and sister feel hurt by his aloofness and by what they regard as a famous writer's rejection of his biological family; they have difficulties in coming to terms with his 'imagined' family history. Furthermore, Mudrooroo's disinterest regarding his family 'roots' stands in stark contrast to the emphasis placed in his writing on kinship, family links and traditions as key features of Aboriginal identity, as well as on the important theme of the 'return' to the 'spiritual roots of Aboriginality' by being 're-connected' with the family. 8 The tracing of their family histories is of particular importance today to the many Aborigines who were taken away as children and who are searching to re-establish lost family and community links. The writer's reluctance to recognise his own 'natural family' is thus met with little sympathy and understanding by many Aborigines. Mudrooroo also faces severe criticism from Aboriginal organisations and spokespeople representing Aboriginal community groups, who have asked him to 'prove' his Aboriginality.9 This, of course, raises the ugly spectre of suspicions of inverse racism, with overtones of precedents in Australian history (or elsewhere) of classifying people on the basis of their (real or imagined) 'purity' or 'mixture of blood'. The policy of enforcing 'proof of Aryan descent' (Ariernachweis) in Nazi Germany comes to mind as a horrifying example. The controversy about Mudrooroo's background raises fundamental issues concerning the vexed problem of identity in colonial and post-colonial societies, and it does so in stark and potentially disturbing alternatives. The question 'Who is an Aborigine?' is certainly not easy to answer. It is one of those questions that open up a minefield, in a discourse on ethics and moral philosophy, on history and political practice, psychology and the law. The currently accepted 'definition' of an Aborigine, for instance, includes a triple requirement, namely that a person be of Aboriginal descent, identifies as such and is recognised by their Aboriginal community to be so. This seems to be straightforward enough. But what if there is a conflict, if a section of the Aboriginal community challenges the claim of a person to be of Aboriginal descent? What if there is demonstrably no Aboriginal descent by blood line? And what if, as in Mudrooroo's case, the contested claim concerns a person whose public role as an Aboriginal writer has until recently never been disputed, but who has been highly regarded for many years as one of the most important and innovative Aboriginal authors? Issues on a purely pragmatic level of political or legal practice seem no less difficult. The fact that there are certain jobs or awards, for instance, which are reserved for members of specific groups on the basis of their particular identity and community affiliation leads to consequences which involve considerations not just of equity and eligibility.

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Thus, Mudrooroo's position as head of Aboriginal Studies at Murdoch University (from which he resigned in 1996) and his acceptance of a prize for Aboriginal writing have been questioned. But was he not appointed to the position and awarded the prize because of the excellence of his published work? And is this work now all of a sudden 'less Aboriginal' than it was before Mudrooroo's family background was discovered? Or is it now of less literary value? The question of the identity of the writer and of his or her public persona is only one feature of the debate but an important one. Not surprisingly, the controversy regarding Mudrooroo's background has reminded commentators and correspondents of the notorious Darville/Demidenko affair. 10 In that case, too, the debate was about racism, albeit in the different context of allegedly anti-Semitic attitudes regarding the depiction of Ukrainians involved in the Holocaust. In Mudrooroo's case there were similar accusations of 'fraud'. One academic commentator suggested that 'if the allegation was true (namely that there is no trace of Aboriginal descent in Mudrooroo's family), it would have a greater impact on literary circles than last year's revelations that prize-winning author Helen Demidenko had fabricated Ukrainian origins'.11 This critic apparently believes that Mudrooroo's work would be devalued if the author was not of Aboriginal descent. One would imagine that the achievements of an author with the established literary credentials of Mudrooroo, with three decades of involvement in Aboriginal cultural politics and in Aboriginal writing, including publication of the first Aboriginal novel, would be beyond such ankle-biting criticism.12 It seems patently absurd to suggest that, in the mid-1960s, Mudrooroo wilfully 'fabricated' an identity to advance his career, or to accuse him of being a 'career Aborigine'.13 In 1996 such language foreshadows the appearance of Pauline Hanson and One Nation on the scene of Australian political culture: it points to the ugly, racist underbelly of a society that is struggling to come to terms with the tectonic cultural shifts in a post-modern world. A comparison of Mudrooroo's case with another case of mis-taken Aboriginal identity may help us to further understand the issues involved in this difficult question. The story of Gordon Matthews, An Australian Son (also published in 1996), is in many ways similar to Mudrooroo's.14 Matthews was given away by his mother for adoption at birth and brought up in an affluent, middle-class British-Australian family. His 'olive' skin made him acutely conscious of his racial 'difference' from the early days of his childhood. He became the target of 'taunting' and 'labelling' while attending school in London and Melbourne. As an arts student at the University of Tasmania, Matthews decided to identify as an Aborigine, following a (white) university lecturer's suggestion that Aboriginal descent was the most likely explanation for his skin colour, a

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suggestion Matthews himself had often contemplated already. As Matthews explained, it was a decision born out of a number of motives: 'a need to belong' and to 'feel complete and fulfilled', the 'pride' to identify with the 'longest continuous culture on earth', the incentive of 'a Commonwealth Aboriginal study grant' as well as a feeling of having 'earned the right to be Aboriginal' after the many experiences of being 'tagged Aboriginal by others'. 'Being referred to as a ''coon", an "Abo" or a "boong" was as familiar to me as breathing, the same as it was for most indigenous Australians.' But there was also the recognition that, while the matter of identity was foremost in his mind, declaring himself an Aboriginal involved a 'leap of faith'. 15 Subsequently, Matthews became a diplomat (the first Aborigine in the Australian foreign service). He was accepted by the Canberra Aboriginal community and involved himself actively in Aboriginal policies, soon becoming an important spokesperson for 'his people'. His imagined identity, however, abruptly fell apart when, after a long and painful search, he found out that his natural father was in fact Sri Lankan and that he was not of Aboriginal descent at all. Matthews's moving story of his search for his biological family, the account of his self-discovery and his attempt to come to terms with his dual identities truly constitute 'an act of catharsis', for the reader of An Australian Son no less than for the author himself.16 Not the least difficult part of this experience is what Matthews describes as his 'de-Aboriginalising'. When he finally decided to out himself as a non-Aborigine, telling his friends, Aborigines and others, as well as colleagues and superiors in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Matthews was fortunate enough to find only generosity and support. His Aboriginal friends, in particular, accepted the public declaration of his Sri Lankan descent with calmness and sympathetic understanding. 'Your status may have changed, but you'll always be one of us', they assured him.17 There are some interesting and enlightening as well as disturbing parallels in the stories of Mudrooroo and Gordon Matthews. Both decided to identify as Aborigines in their early twenties after they left the familiar environments of their youth and struck out on their own, Matthews as a university student in Hobart and Colin Johnson as a budding writer in Melbourne. In both cases, the decision to identify was part of an attempt to 'find a meaning in life' and a 'completeness' which answered a 'need to belong'. In both cases, a period of intense soul searching in which the issue of race played an important role preceded their taking of an identity. 'I . . . am for the first time committed to a race', Mudrooroo was quoted as saying by Mary Durack, and 'Now, for the first time, I could actually claim a race', wrote Matthews. And while each made a conscious decision, both young men realised

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clearly that their newly confirmed identity was the final outcome of a long process of social construction. 'I had never chosen to be "black",' Matthews wrote. 'As far back as I could recall, it had been other people who had questioned my racial background and suggested that I must be Aboriginal. I had been tagged Aboriginal by others.' One of these others and the person finally responsible for Matthews's decision to identify was an Australian university lecturer of European descent Dick Rutenberg (thus his name in Matthews's book). Rutenberg was convinced from the outset that his student was Aborigine, owing to his skin colour. 'My instincts don't often let me down. I reckon you must have Aboriginal blood', he told Matthews. 18 Similarly, Mudrooroo became an Aborigine, or was made one, because of the reactions of people around him during his childhood and youth: growing up as a 'coloured boy' in East Coballing and Beverley, Western Australia, as an 'orphan' at Clontarf Boys' Home, and as a juvenile offender at Fremantle Gaol. Even if official prison records would not have identified him as Aboriginal, it is unlikely that fellow inmates and guards would have thought of him as anything but another of the many 'black fellas' who made up (and still do today) a disproportionate number of the population of the prisons of Australia. It was after his time in Fremantle Gaol that Mudrooroo first met Dame Mary Durack, a prominent member of one of the leading families of Western Australian society, who for a brief period invited him into her home in Perth. It was the philanthropic Mary Durack who encouraged and helped Mudrooroo to write and publish Wild Cat Falling, which came to be universally regarded as 'the first novel by any writer of Aboriginal blood to be published in Australia'.19 That Mudrooroo was considered and treated as a 'native boy' by the Durack family is clearly evident from Dame Mary's introduction to the novel. She went out of her way to emphasise that he was 'part Aboriginal' ('his features would not have betrayed him') and to stress his supposedly non-Aboriginal qualities his high IQ, he was 'dependable', he was 'not lazy', and he had not 'inherited the typical instability of the out-camp people'. But, despite their surprise at what they considered 'untypical' characteristics, the Duracks felt no need to probe into the background of their charge. It was simply 'instinct': an unquestioned assumption and agreement with the apparently obvious social-racial convention of the time carried the day. In the final analysis, the imagined physical evidence of 'the native' determined for Mary Durack the identity of the young man: 'He showed little obvious trace of native blood, but he had, what most of the darker people have lost, the proud stance and sinuous carriage of the tall, tribal Aboriginal'.20 Adam Shoemaker has commented on the 'almost eugenicist tone of Durack's words'.21 It is not surprising that Mudrooroo thought of

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himself as an Aborigine under such circumstances. He had become an Aborigine because society had declared him to be one. In a very real sense, it was Mary Durack who made him into what he was to become, an Aboriginal writer. In exactly the same way, Dick Rutenberg suggested to Gordon Matthews to claim an Aboriginal identity. That their mistaken identities came about as the result of the philanthropy of liberal, well-meaning European Australians should provide food for thought. In more ways than she could have thought possible, Mary Durack was right when she described in the concluding sentence of her introduction to Wild Cat Falling Mudrooroo's 'story as an unconscious appeal and an imperative challenge to the society that breeds his kind'. 22 There are, of course, important differences in the biographies of Gordon Matthews and Mudrooroo. Above all, it is essential to remember that the question of Mudrooroo's identity is intimately linked to the construction of a literary identity: it is part of the biography of an author of fiction. Matthews's writing is clearly identifiable as a biographical report even though it contains fictional elements, such as changed names. Thus, we are entering another minefield here, namely the critical distinction between fictional and biographical reality, and the need for literary and social critics alike to insist on a strict separation of the two. However, in this particular case, where the fictional material seems to merge with the biographical in the construction of a public persona that is, in the formation of what is essentially a literary as well as a contemporary-historical identity this methodological caveat seems all but impossible to maintain. An equally crucial difference lies in the fact of Matthews's adoption and his subsequent search for his biological family. Mudrooroo, on the other hand, seems to have broken off contact with his own family, probably as early as 1958, after his release from Fremantle Gaol. The fact that he finds it difficult to re-establish contact seems to suggest that there is a part of his past which he prefers not to approach. The pivotal part of this unexplored history may well be his unexplained relationship to his mother. It is interesting to note that, in an interview with Shoemaker, he avoids answering a direct question regarding his mother's role in his being 'given up' as a nine-year-old into the custody of the Christian Brothers. Instead, Mudrooroo blames 'a decision of the state' for being separated from his mother.23 This, however, does not seem to agree with an earlier self-portrait at the time of the publication of his first novel, when he was asked by Mary Durack for information she could use in writing her foreword to the book. The biographical note supplied by Mudrooroo in 1964 reads as follows: Date and place of birth, Narrogin, 21st August, 1938. Lived in Beverley until nine. Orphanage until 16 years of age (neglected child). My mother,

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I think, came from Narrogin, and is, I think, still alive in Perth. My father is a blank a cipher. 24 The mention of the 'neglected child' and the writer's uncertainty about his mother being alive, seen together with his refusal to contact his family, may well suggest a deep-seated anxiety and a continuing trauma concerning the separation from his mother. Here, too, there is a clear parallel with the story of Gordon Matthews, whose emotional turmoil with regard to the unresolved relationship to his birth-mother, particularly the fact that he found it difficult to 'rationalise' the circumstances of this 'abandonment', constitute one of the very painful episodes of self-enquiry in his book. In the case of Mudrooroo, a possible explanation might be that the formation of his personality has been profoundly affected by the memory of being a fatherless child, who, at the age of nine, felt abandoned by his mother. The construction of an Aboriginal identity for his mother together with an explanation of the role of the state and its policy of removing Aboriginal children, and particularly half-caste children, from their families, might then be seen as a defensive psychological strategy. It would exonerate the memory of the mother and offer some kind of protection against the trauma of a childhood experience that would otherwise be very hard to bear. Thus, the memory of the mother becomes transformed, fitted out with details that never existed in reality, and then this projected image of the mother as an Aboriginal victim becomes the real mother, whose image is used by the author in the construction of his own and his family's identity. There are literary clues as well. Mudrooroo's traumatic, unresolved relationship with his mother also seems to play a role in his fiction, as suggested, for example, by the treatment of his female characters. As Shoemaker has remarked, 'Mudrooroo's overall depiction of females both European and Aboriginal is predominantly negative'. He adds: 'In Mudrooroo's fiction, women are generally either absent, are secondary, supporting characters or are one-dimensional (often sexual) objects'. The writer's trauma would help to explain not only the 'negative' portrayal of women in his fiction, but also his condescending remarks about 'Black female literature'.25 Mudrooroo's ironically titled 'Bicentennial Gift Poem' offers another clue to the writer's construction of a literary identity by tracing the traumatic memories of his childhood. It is a beautiful and enigmatic piece of writing, part of a longer 'performance poem' entitled 'Sunlight Spreadeagles Perth in Blackness. A Bicentennial Gift Poem': I wish to remember the secret word dreamt at my initiation. I wish to feel again the burning of that burning yet again. I want the storm to renew

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my childhood. I want the river to return my canoe and the blue-skinned crabs from which I sucked the white meat from the claws of my undoing. I want to be more than a twitch in King Willy's arm. I want to say YES to the very leaf which aims its touch at my head making my totem tremble in some hidden space men know and keep alight until the time comes to be soaked in the sodden downpour streaking the red with the deadly white phantoms arriving to mingle with the Nyungar people while mouthing out platitudes of awful spite in too many messages containing the promises of brickbats on King Willy's forehead. 26 The poem presents yet another literary self-portrait, but in contrast to the letter of 1964 and the interview in 1990, here it is the mother who appears as 'a blank'. She is absent in the search of the lyrical I, while references to a mysterious 'King Willy' suggest a gesture of insurrection and revolt, of violent revenge and repressed aggression. The gesture is directed against an authority (or father-like) figure in order to perhaps 'undo' a process described as the persona's childhood 'undoing'. A part of this figure may have been derived from the traumatic memory of the 'tyranny' at Clontarf Boys' Home.27 The text also recalls the persona of 'Mr. Willy', a white wood-cutter who appears on the fringe of the rural West Australian settlement featured in Wild Cat Falling and who becomes, for a short time, a kind of replacement father for the young protagonist. He, in turn, is replaced by the figure of the old Aborigine at the end of the novel, who becomes his 'spiritual father' and who brings about the hero's 're-connection' and the 'return to his spiritual roots of Aboriginality'.28 With reference to the Bicentennial, the 'King Willy' figure might also refer to a kind of European superfather, who is held responsible for a larger process of social disorientation and dislocation, such as the 'mingling' of 'white phantoms' and 'Nyungar people'. The important point here is that the identities are not clearly established. They are fleeting, changing phantoms and ghosts, the nightmarish realisations of past dreams, memories and wishes. While the 1964 letter and the 1990 interview acknowledge the existence of the biological mother, a mother figure does not play a role in the search of the persona to retrace and to affirm the memory of childhood in the poem of 1988. How then can one reconcile the poetic 'wish to remember' the seemingly unretrievable roots of Aboriginality with Mudrooroo's statement in which he claims that awareness of black heritage and culture stem from his mother? The one unequivocal and decisive message of the 'Bicentennial Gift Poem' is the expressed will to confirm Aboriginal identity and belonging. As Heiner Müller (a German writer with whose work Mudrooroo is familiar and with whom he shares an interests in ghosts and a preference for the poetics of memory) would have said, a text knows more than its

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author. 29 But a text may also contain 'white spots', like those pointing out the areas of terra incognita on the maps of the early voyagers and discoverers. Perhaps the exploration of these uncharted, 'white' areas on the literary portrait of Mudrooroo's dreaming of his childhood might help unravel the mystery of an enigmatic author. In Mudrooroo's recent anthology, Pacific Highway Boo-Blooz, there are some references to the issue of identity which can be read as a lyrical response to the debate regarding his identity.30 'Orphan Blooz', one of the more overtly autobiographical pieces in the collection, shows an aggressive response by a persona confronted about his past. The poem affirms the refusal to accept being pinned down, as it were, by biological determinism. There is also a triste admission that alternative identities might have been possible in the past. But the poem ends on a note of defiance; the speaker insists on the ultimate importance of a past social construction of an identity that had been imposed upon the lyrical persona. The reference to a 'bruised childhood' underlies the shocking, final rejection of the claim of the persona's family to the identifying power of blood relationships: Do you believe sick does not mean weird Psychotic is when the bruises of childhood beckon I could've been this or that But oh for mum and dad and Sister Kate Well, I've got news for you, woman Sister Kate and Brother Johnny They made me as I am They were weird and they made us weird So fuck you and your mum and dad Another poem, 'Simple Shit', attests to the author's continuing project of literary self-construction, as a person 'excreting' words: This simple shit, I give to you Excreted out of my brain Smelling rank, or sometimes sweet Every morning and evening it flows In lumps of words Simple shit, simple words They need the earth to cover them Seeds, they grow to become part of the psyche Of what we want and wish to be The following poem in the collection, 'Skyline', raises the question of the writer's identity again, this time by addressing the issue of 'copyright' the author's fragile and always shared ownership of his words

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and his work in a post-modern world which is littered as much as dominated by the ubiquitous 'trade mark' icons of the global economy. In the capitalist 'one world' that is 'owned' by multinational corporations, what can one individual do to protect his own claim to be the owner of himself and of his creation? The very skyline lights up with Coca-Cola (Registered Trade Mark) signs And all that I see is not mine Should I take a rifle (Registered Trade Mark: Remington) And shoot them out, one by one, two by two Then find myself in the courthouse sprawled Not for terrorism, but for copyright infringement What am I to do, but acknowledge my antecedents Own part of this poem, bar the acknowledgements Collect my few royalties and think I'm smart For belittling the government ... You know, it's all too much for me, mate I'm just a country bloke with a Roadrunner (Registered Trademark) Tearing straight towards this country vision That big old Queenslander and that sweet sugar smell Yeah, babe, that sweet burnt sugar smell Mudrooroo's final, self-ironic and self-depreciating gesture of the 'man from the country' a very Kafkaesque figure, incidentally, albeit in a distinctly Australian setting who is seen here withdrawing from the city into the bush, from the synthesised syncopations of post-modern city life to the simpler rhythms of country blues, is an image that runs through the whole collection of 'country poems' in Highway Pacific Boo-Blooz. It presents yet another self-portrait of the literary artist but one with several masks, all of which appear ironically filtered in the collection of poems. The persona may appear as the man 'on the road' cruising down the highway and giving free rein to his aggressions and frustrations, as the sentimental 'country singer' bemoaning a lost love relationship that is recalled by a now empty house and a broken-down four-wheel-drive vehicle, or as the tough-talking 'redneck' downing bottles of beer with the mates in the pub. But the Aussie 'country bloke' also seems to appear as the post-modern reincarnation of the romantic poet, who having fulfilled his dream of a big house in the country to share with his new 'babe' is hoping to find solitude and solace in the contemplation of memories: Sadness, Sweeping Gladness Sorrow blocks the day before and after Words betrayed and worlds forgotten In the sunlight of this my afteryears ...

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In this my afteryears the grass grows on the mudflats The kangaroo of my being stops and turns Bends, old grey body, a friend of better years Feeling at ease in my big old Queenslander 31 The poet playfully indulging in a piece of Alterslyrik the persona's self-ironic projection of himself as an old man, seemingly at peace with himself and the world presents yet another surprising facet of the virtuosity of Mudrooroo's poetry. It culminates in a metaphorical affirmation of the writer's Aboriginal identity and existence 'the kangaroo of my being'. Here, Mudrooroo confirms the surprising leaps and bounds in a literary-biographical journey towards selfdiscovery. His recent poems provide unmistakable evidence that an intrinsic part of Mudrooroo's identity is an Aboriginality that the author cannot and will not deny. Mudrooroo has responded to the debate about his identity in an essay entitled '"Tell them you're Indian": an afterword'.32 Here, an equally multi-faceted and contradictory picture emerges. On the one hand, Mudrooroo acknowledges the social construction of his identity as an Aboriginal writer and the role played by Mary Durack. Borrowing a term from the Native American writer, Gerald Vizenor, he states that his 'identity as a crossblood was established in 1965' by a process he calls 'textualisation': I had been textualised by Mary Durack and given a race which did not affect my being in the slightest, but did affect my work when I went on to write my novel which was about a part-Aboriginal youth and which was edited into publishability by Mary Durack. According to Mudrooroo, having 'been officially designated the native,' there was no choice but 'to go along with that', even though 'a textualisation of identity' went against his 'whole grain'. An alternative identity might have been provided by Mudrooroo's Irish ancestry (the mother is not mentioned in the essay) and by his experiences in the Irish Catholic orphanage at Clontarf, where he was 'acculturated by the likes of Basher Doyle and his cronies'. This could have been an attractive alternative as it would have offered a literary pedigree of famous Irish modernist authors (Mudrooroo mentions Joyce and Beckett), but it was made impossible by the 'racism' of Durack and 'members of the dominant culture'. As it was, Mudrooroo accepted his 'textualisation', not the least because his own biographical experiences made it easy for him to identify as an Aborigine: An early history similar to that of those Aborigines I knew: taken away from parents, ending up in gaol, being taken in hand by white philanthropists and

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sent to the Aboriginal Advancement League in Melbourne for my own good; then, in the 1970s, becoming part of the Aboriginal protest movement, and so on. It was easy also because he could accommodate his mis-taken identity within the existentialist philosophy which he had adopted for himself while living in Melbourne in the early 1960s. From the perspectives of Sartre or Camus, one might indeed sympathise with a writer who presents himself as the 'crossblood' and who 'exists at the edges of identity', or with an 'identity always open to doubt'. The 'crossblood', in Mudrooroo's interpretation, is 'the existentialist par excellence' whose 'authenticity' rests on 'doing rather than being'. Mudrooroo concludes: 'Whatever my identity, it rests on my history of over fifty years, and that is that'. 33 At the same time, however, Mudrooroo insists that the 'brittleness'34 of all contemporary Australian Aboriginal identity construction needs to be acknowledged, that the issues involved in his own particular identity formation are not only peculiar to crossbloods such as himself but to today's Aboriginal culture in general, and urban Aboriginal culture in particular. With reference to the Hindmarsh Island bridge affair, noting the contradictions within a sociocultural environment in which traditions are invented rather than being passed down, Mudrooroo formulates a radical proposal to understand Aboriginality as part of a post-modern Australian culture: It is a matter of debate whether 'culture' as a formal entity did survive in heavily settled areas . . . What is often put forward as Aboriginal culture of a particular area is but a pastiche collected from various books written by Europeans. Thus we are in the realm of the postmodern and a complicity of interests between liberal white Australians and certain 'Aborigines' to fashion a culture which is filled with contradictions. It is only from these contradictions that an indigenous culture can be constructed rather than any redress to the notion that a primordial indigenous culture is alive and well in Australia. There is no room here to discuss or to even touch upon the implications of Mudrooroo's critique, both with regard to Australian cultural politics or scientific, anthropological or sociological discourses on Aboriginality. To Mudrooroo himself, the consequences that stem from a renewed reflection upon his own status must be based on the acknowledgement of such contradictions. What needs to be recognised is the peculiar situation of the 'crossblood' whose 'mixed bloods', as Gerald Vizenor puts it, 'loosen the seams in the shrouds of identity'. While Mudrooroo defends his decision to have 'engaged in a politics of the body' and insists on the role that he has played as an Aborigine

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('my part in the Aboriginal struggle'), he categorically rejects the absurdity of having to claim for himself a racial identity. The story of his background and the controversy regarding his Aboriginality has shown him that identity is, indeed, 'a fragile thing and can be taken away, just as it can be given'. In the final analysis, to Mudrooroo as a postmodern critic of Australian society, identity is 'as much pastiche as any other contemporary structure'. True to himself as the writer who has been given the privilege of 'creating identities in language' and as the existentialist who needs to continually re-invent himself through his own 'doing', Mudrooroo has discovered the opportunity of a new departure that has become possible by the revelations of the winter of 1996: I regard myself as having become a new person, belonging to a new group which came into genetic being with the arrival of the first Europeans and the coming to birth of their offspring. The perspectives opening up to this new person promise new insights, which are waiting to be transformed into literary material. Thus, one of Mudrooroo's recent projects was a trip to the United States: I will be travelling to North Carolina. This is to check up to see if there is any genealogical information on my grandfather who is supposed to be from there. It will be interesting if he turns out to have been a slave . . . This would give me some entry into the 18th century when slavery commenced as a full time business in Europe . . . As it is there are so many contradictions in the 18th century that somewhere there must be a play lurking. 35 Where does all this leave Mudrooroo and Gordon Matthews? In Matthews's case, the process of 'de-Aboriginalising' had a happy ending, at least with regard to his professional career and his relationship to the Aboriginal community. The fact that the formal policy requirements for entry into the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade were strictly adhered to was of considerable help. Thus, Gordon Matthews, who was hired as a diplomatic trainee on the basis of his assumed Aboriginal background, also possessed the necessary academic qualifications and skills which made it possible for him to pass the stringent entry procedures that applied to all candidates. When his real identity was revealed, his employment and career were insured, and any potential embarrassment was avoided. With regards to his role in the Aboriginal community, it proved that Matthews's personal characteristics, his involvement in Aboriginal affairs, his friendships and his work and social network, and perhaps his willingness to share his feelings with members of the Aboriginal community, made it comparatively

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easy for his Aboriginal friends to come to terms with Matthews's changed circumstances. They had no difficulties identifying with Matthews's particular experiences of growing up, of wanting to belong, and of wishing to finally establish his true identity. The solidarity of the Aboriginal community thus constituted an important confirmation to Matthews's realisation that he would not simply cease being an Aborigine, that he could not 'unlearn' the 'fundamental experience' of his Aboriginality. 36 In the case of Mudrooroo, the matter is more difficult. Can one be an Aboriginal writer and not of Aboriginal descent? Will he be able to continue to write 'Aboriginal novels'? Is proof of kinship via biological ancestry necessary to claim an ethnic literary identity? Are a similar skin colour and the resulting social experiences of segregation and discrimination, of 'labelling', 'role- and type-casting' sufficient to allow for a bona fide declaration and performance of Aboriginality? Clearly, the existential experiences of the young Colin Johnson and Gordon Matthews were of a kind that affected their whole person, body and soul. Their predicament about their identity was, and continues to be, indelibly inscribed onto their bodies, by the colour of their skin. I don't think that the authenticity of both Mudrooroo's and Matthews's experience in 'growing up black' can be denied. Neither can one deny their considerable achievements in acquiring an Aboriginal consciousness by way of learning, through contacts and friendships with other Aborigines, and by study and research, which for both of them became part of their careers. Mudrooroo's merits as an author of Aboriginal novels, poetry and plays, and as an Aboriginal literary theoretician and critic should be evaluated on the basis of his work alone. To demand that Mudrooroo declare his 'non-Aboriginality' because of a non-existing 'bloodline' would indeed be racist: it would amount to a wilful re-stigmatisation, and it would be akin to following in the footsteps of Mary Durack, thirty years later and without the redeeming benefit of her philanthropy and charity. There remains the issue of Mudrooroo's family and of the opposition against him by members of the Aboriginal community. Does the example of the road Matthews took provide a solution for Mudrooroo's dilemmas? Clearly, the question of community recognition may prove more intractable for the West Australian author. If he intends to continue with his career as an Aboriginal writer it appears that he might need to come to terms with the concerns of members of the West Australian Aboriginal community. Another difficult process of reconciliation seems to be called for. Beyond that, and perhaps after this might have been accomplished, an honourable, and time-honoured solution could suggest itself: adoption. It is a solution which Hans Magnus Enzensberger, in his essay on what he calls our 'global

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civil war', has defined as an ethical, practical, achievable solution that acknowledges the limits of our responsibility as well as our potential to help. 37 Ironically perhaps, the principle of adoption, based on the voluntary consent and desire of all parties concerned, could provide the framework of a cultural as well as legal process which would 'undo', at least to some small extent, the horrible consequences of the racist policies that constitute such a shameful and hurtful part of Australian history, then and now. In the case of Mudrooroo, it is even possible to consider that this process has already begun: fellow Aboriginal writer Ruby Langford 'Ginibi', who came out in defence of Mudrooroo in the controversy, has publicly proclaimed him as 'a spiritual brother'.38 Perhaps Mudrooroo might also, in time, come to 're-adopt' his own biological family. As an author, he eventually might find confronting his own family history an irresistible challenge. There may be a novel, a play, or at least a story lurking there somewhere in that past, too. Notes 1 Mudrooroo in an interview with Liz Thompson, in Aboriginal Voices. Contemporary Aboriginal Artists, Writers and Performers, compiled by Liz Thompson, Simon Schuster, Sydney, 1990, pp.55-57, p.55. 2 In fact, his birthplace is East Coballing, near Narrogin, an isolated rural settlement some 160 kilometres southeast of Perth. 3 cf. the article by Patsy Millett (daughter of Mary Durack), on Mudrooroo and her mother, 'Identity Parade', Bulletin, 27 August, 1996, pp.74-75, p.74. 4 Colin Johnson, Wild Cat Falling, Collins/Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1990 (Imprint Edition). 5 See Victoria Laurie, 'Blacks question ''Aboriginal" Writer', Weekend Australian, 20 July 1996, p.3. There have been a number of newspapers reports detailing similar cases. See, for example, Richard Guilliatt, 'Black, white & grey all over', Sydney Morning Herald, 11 April 1997, which discusses Mudrooroo, Archie Weller, Marlo Morgan, Leon Carmen (aka Wanda Koolmatrie), and Elizabeth Durack. See also the discussion regarding the identity of the late Kevin Gilbert, in Gordon Briscoe, 'The Struggle for Grace: An Appreciation of Kevin John Gilbert', Aboriginal History, 18, 1 (1994), pp.13-32, as well as responses to this article in the same issue, pp.33-48. Most recently, a similar debate has erupted concerning Roberta Sykes, following the publication of the first two volumes of her autobiography, Snake Dreaming. I have not included a discussion of the Roberta Sykes story in the present article because her very complex and powerful book deserves special attention (which it will doubtless receive). 6 Mudrooroo as quoted in Liz Thompson, Aboriginal Voices, p.55. 7 Victoria Laurie, 'Identity Crisis', Australian Magazine, 20-21 July 1996, pp.28-31. 8 cf. Adam Shoemaker's comment on the protagonist of Wild Cat Falling, in Adam Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1993, p.11. 9 Laurie, 'Blacks question "Aboriginal" Writer'. In this context it must be said, regrettably, that Mudrooroo himself seems to have been to some extent responsible for the criticism brought against him. He has repeatedly criticised other Aboriginal authors, notably Sally Morgan, describing her as 'young, gifted and not very black' and her bestselling novel My Place as a 'sanitised version of

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Aboriginality'. cf. Mudrooroo Narogin, Writing from the Fringe. A Study of Modern Aboriginal Literature, Hyland House, Melbourne, 1990, pp.149-50. Adam Shoemaker (Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.88) has pointed out the contradictory position inherent in Mudrooroo's criticism of other Black Australian writers: 'The problem stems from treating Aboriginality . . . as a quantifiable entry almost as a racial signifier which has unfortunate resonances. In places, Mudrooroo seems to fly perilously close to the cultural determinism which elsewhere he labours so hard to destroy.' 10 cf. John Docker, 'Debating Ethnicity and History: From Enzensberger to Darville/Demidenko', in Gerhard Fischer (ed.), Debating Enzensberger: 'Great Migration' and 'Civil War', Stauffenburg, Tübingen, 1996, pp.213-24. 11 Roger Martin, Shaun Anthony, 'Author's identity crucial: academic', West Australian, 24 July 1996, p.3. 12 Mudrooroo is regarded by many critics as one of Australia's important writers. Adam Shoemaker (Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.1) has offered this summary of Mudrooroo's literary achievements: 'His seven novels, one novella, three books of poetry, three plays and one critical study have established him as not only the most prolific, but also by far the most wide-ranging Aboriginal author'. Since this assessment, another book of poetry, Pacific Highway BooBlooz (University of Queenland Press, St Lucia, 1996), and a new novel, The Undying (Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1998) have appeared. 13 cf. letter by Beatrice Faust, Weekend Australian Focus, 3-4 August 1996. 14 Gordon Matthews, An Australian Son, Heinemann, Sydney, 1996. 15 Matthews, An Australian Son, chapters 11 and 12. 16 In an introductory note to his book, Matthews writes: 'The book was an act of catharsis. I wrote it to make peace with myself'. 17 Matthews, An Australian Son, p.208. 18 Quotes taken from Wild Cat Falling (p.xv) and An Australian Son, pp.75, 76, 71. 19 See back cover note of 1990 Imprint edition of Wild Cat Falling. Shoemaker (Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, pp.16, 17) rightly expresses astonishment that this kind of racial determinism can still be found on the cover of the book more than twenty years after its original publication. 20 Wild Cat Falling, p.viii. 21 Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.16. 22 Wild Cat Falling, p.xviii. 23 Mudrooroo in an interview with Adam Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.154. 24 Quoted by Patsy Millett (daughter of Mary Durack), from a letter by Mudrooroo to her mother, in 'Identity Parade', p.75. 25 Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, pp.60, 61. 26 Published in Aboriginal Voices, p.56. The full text of the poem is in the Journal of the South Pacific Association of Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies, 36 (1993). 27 cf. Interview with Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.154. 28 Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, p.11.

29 Mudrooroo's play The Aboriginal Protesters Confront the Proclamation of the Australian Republic on 26 January 2001 with a Production of 'The Commission' by Heiner Müller is a 'commissioned' play 'around' the Heiner Müller play, Der Auftrag. I have known Mudrooroo since our collaboration on this project in 1989. cf. The Mudrooroo/Müller Project. A Theatrical Casebook, ed. Gerhard Fischer, UNSW Press, Sydney, 1993. 30 In the following, references are made to four poems, all in Pacific Highway Boo-Blooz: 'Orphan Blooz', p.14; 'Simple Shit', p.46; Skyline', p.47, and 'Sadness, Sweeping Gladness', p.53. 31 See the poem 'English Lit' in Pacific Highway Boo-Blooz (p.30) as an ironic contrast to this self-stylised image.

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32 The essay is published in a collection edited by G. Cowlishaw and B. Morris, Race Matters. Indigenous Australians and 'Our' Society, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1997, pp.259-68. The reference to Gerald Vizenor is taken from Shadow Distance: A Gerald Vizenor Reader, Wesleyan University Press, Hanover, N.H., 1994. 33 For a discussion of the importance of existentialist thought in Mudrooroo's fiction, see Shoemaker, Mudrooroo. A Critical Study, pp.22, 23. 34 The term is taken from Paul Gilroy, who uses it in the context of a discussion of 'essential black identity'. cf. Paul Gilroy, Small Acts: Thoughts on the Politics of Black Culture, Serpent's Tail, London, 1993, p.3. 35 Quoted from a letter to the author, dated 19 January 1997. 36 Matthews, An Australian Son, p.211. 37 cf. Hans Magnus Enzensberger, Civil War, trans. by Piers Spence and Martin Chalmers, Granta Books and Penguin, London, 1994, p.67. 38 See letter 'The right to be a Koori writer', by Ruby Langford 'Ginibi', Australian, 7 August 1996, p.12. Langford 'Ginibi' seems to misunderstand one point in the debate, however. She writes in her letter of support for Mudrooroo: 'If his own family disowns him, I'll claim him as one of mine'. It is rather Mudrooroo who until now seems to have 'disowned' his biological family.

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PART 3 ASIANS IN AUSTRALIA/AUSTRALIANS IN ASIA

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7 Asians in Australia: A Contradiction in Terms? Ien Ang The late 1990s have seen the publication of not one, but two edited collections with the generic title of Asians in Australia. 1 Both books single out a particular group of people amassed as 'Asians' whose presence in Australia seems to merit special consideration. Otherwise, why dedicate whole volumes to it? The issue of 'Asians in Australia' continues to be one that is historically complex, ideologically loaded, and politically and culturally sensitive. The above two collections focus on themes which have preoccupied Australian governments and public commentators alike in the past few decades: the macro-sociological themes of migration dynamics and settlement patterns of 'Asian' immigrants into the Australian social, economic and cultural environment.2 'Asians' in this context are defined first and foremost as those born in an Asian country, in accord with the way the Australian census categorises the population. Using this definition, an estimated 4.9 per cent of the total population could be categorised as Asian by 1991, more than eight times as many as in 1966. By 1996 the estimated proportion of the Australian population born in Asia is reported to have increased to 6.2 per cent.3 What these figures clearly reveal is a strong and steady rise in the number of Asians in Australia in the past thirty years, and it is this very rise so bluntly stated through these objectivist statistics that has intensified the politicisation of 'Asians in Australia' as a theme in public debate. But these statistics are rubbery figures given the flexibility and ambiguity of the meaning of the term 'Asia' and, as a consequence, who counts as 'Asian'. As a geographical entity, Asia is an artificial construct

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with uncertain boundaries, especially on its western front, where its border with 'Europe' has never been firmly established by European geographers, from whose meta-geographical imagination the very idea of 'continents' had sprung. 4 Significantly, then, people from what is called 'West Asia' (including Turkey, Cyprus, Lebanon and the Middle East) are sometimes included in the broad category of Asians in Australian public discourse, sometimes not.5 Today, in the popular imagination at least, Asians are generally associated only with those coming from East, Southeast and (to a lesser extent) South Asia, reflecting what Lewis and Wigen call an 'eastward displacement of the Orient' in the global geography of the latter half of the twentieth century.6 Lewis and Wigen go on to remark that 'Oriental peoples' have come to be defined 'by most lay observers as those with a single eye fold'.7 This betrays the inescapable racialisation of Asians in the dominant cultural imaginary: the lumping together and homogenisation of a group of people on the basis of a 'discourse of race'. In Australia, as elsewhere, commonsense notions of 'Asianness' are inevitably associated with some notion of race, even though contemporary official discourse (such as that used in the census) generally avoids the use of explicitly racial categories. As Jon Stratton and I have argued elsewhere, since the early 1970s, when the infamous White Australia policy was finally fully abolished, a so-called 'non-discriminatory' immigration policy was introduced and a policy of multiculturalism established, the discourse of race was repressed in Australian discussion about population and immigration in favour of a discourse of ethnicity, in which people were categorised in arguably less contested and contestable terms such as 'birthplace' or 'language spoken at home'.8 Thus, the census distinguishes between 'Vietnamese', 'Chinese', 'Malaysian', 'Lebanese', 'Fijian', 'Japanese', 'Korean', or 'Filipino', as well as 'British', 'New Zealand', 'Italian', or 'German': the racial term 'Asian' (or 'white' or 'European' for that matter) is emphatically not used (in sharp contrast, for example, with the united States). However, this repression of race in official discourse has not prevented the regular eruption of racialist and racialising voices into the public sphere. Thus, Asians are regularly and often unthinkingly, taken-for-grantedly, talked about en masse as if they were a single, homogeneous group.9 In most cases this proto-racial rendering is harmless enough, signalling no intended racist othering. In some historic instances, however, racialist reference to Asians is made explicitly to problematise and question the legitimacy and desirability of their status as residents of Australia. The most recent example is that of Pauline Hanson and her One Nation Party, a white populist political movement which swept the country in the years 199698. Hanson denies being a racist, but has not stopped claiming that Australia is being

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'swamped by Asians' and that the influx of immigrants should be halted a code message that there are already 'too many Asians' in the country. Hanson's sudden surge to popularity rocked the nation, rudely awakening many Australians to the virulent persistence of xenophobic forces in their midst they had thought were long extinct. Yet it illuminates the fact that the issue of 'Asians in Australia' is profoundly entangled in the continuing significance of race in the Australian cultural imagination. This is an uncomfortable message for a nation that has attempted very hard, in the past few decades, to erase its legacy as an explicitly and self-consciously racist nation-state. Let's put this in a broader historical frame. The issue of 'Asians in Australia' must be seen as an intense site of symbolic contestation in contemporary Australia, which points to larger issues pertaining to the changing role, status and viability of the nation-state as we enter the twenty-first century. Of course, each nation-state has to deal with the myriad sociological complexities which have inevitably arisen with the entry of thousands of new migrants that have very different cultural practices, experiences and values. Some of these issues are discussed in the two edited collections I have referred to above, in relation to Asian immigration into Australia. My focus here, however, will not be on the actual social reality of Asians in Australia today, but on what 'Asians in Australia' stands for, symbolically, for the present and future of the Australian nation as an 'imagined community' in transition, struggling to adapt to the changing environment and requirements of a globalising world. What the so-called Hanson phenomenon highlighted is the profound unease experienced by a significant part of the population with the far-reaching social and cultural changes of the past few decades. These were not just changes effected by the liberalisation of immigration policies since the 1970s, which enabled many migrants from Asian backgrounds to settle into the country; they are associated more generally with the changing status of nation-states in an increasingly globalised world. Globalisation the increasing interconnectedness and interdependence of the world as a result of intensifying transnational flows of goods, capital, information, ideas and people has decreased the capacity of national governments to control and maintain territorial sovereignty. It is a process which has had a deep impact in Australia, where governments since the early 1980s have been determined, through rigorous neo-liberal economic policies, to open the country up to the forces of the global capitalist economy. 10 The significance of Pauline Hanson, who was swept to federal parliament in March 1996 but lost her seat in the 1998 election, lies not so much in her influence on the formal political process, but in her articulation of everyday, ordinary Australian fears and anxieties which official

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politics has been unable, even unwilling to address and represent. 11 The fears and anxieties reveal a deep concern about the real and perceived loss of control over the nation as globalisation marches on. As Hanson herself has warned, 'Unless Australia rallied, all our fears will be realised, and we will lose our country forever, and be strangers in our own land'.12 Hanson's One Nation Party has made announcements against big business, the United Nations, cosmopolitan élites and other symbols of globalism, but by far the most controversy has been raised by the way she has directed her fear and resentment against those she believes will rob her from her country: Aboriginal people and Asians, and their supporters in the intellectual and political élites. Not surprisingly, critics have routinely accused her of 'racism'. But the moral(istic) critique of racism doesn't take account of the deeper, more pervasive sense of identity panic that underlies her call for the nation to be 'one'. Just before the October 1998 elections I spoke with a middle-aged woman, wife of a senior manager, during a university function. The deeply commonsensical nature of Hanson's worldview was brought home to me when this woman said, with some timidity, 'But we do have to be one nation, don't we?' From her perspective, this longing for 'oneness' seemed perfectly natural, and who would blame her, in a country where the ideology of homogeneity and assimilation has been so actively pursued as a national project until only thirty years ago? If Hanson and her supporters feel anxious, then, I would argue, it is not so much about race as such, but with the uncertainty about the future that race represents: both Aborigines and Asians put the moral and economic future of the nation in doubt, and, consequently, the white (Anglo-Australian) sense of entitlement and 'home'.13 The projection of a multiracial future for the nation is articulated with the growing sense of insecurity amongst many ordinary Australians as the process of globalisation continues apace. The fact that this is a global development, not just affecting Australia alone, is generally lost in popular discourse, resulting in a sense of local/national victimisation unchecked by a clear understanding of the larger dimensions of change and transformation that are subsumed under the umbrella term 'globalisation'. One important aspect of globalisation is that it has exposed and intensified 'the deep tensions between global migrations and the sovereign borders of the 190 members of the United Nations'.14 As the Indian American anthropologist Arjun Appadurai has observed: The isomorphism of people, territory, and legitimate sovereignty that constitutes the normative character of the modern nation-state is under threat from the forms of circulation of people characteristic of the contemporary world.15

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The symbolic significance of 'Asians in Australia' should be read in the light of the disjuncture of people, territory and sovereignty that globalisation has effected on the nation-state of Australia. In this sense Australia is going through a process of partial unravelling a painful process, to be sure similar to many other nation-states with a large influx of migrants. But the way in which this process is experienced and worked through in Australia is particular to its history, especially its history as a white settler nation in the far corner of Asia, a product of European or, more specifically, British imperialism. Asians Out/Asians in The rise of Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party has demonstrated that the old sentiments of 'White Australia' the notion that Australia should be a pure European nation, particularly of people of 'British stock' still linger in the contemporary Australian unconscious. It is important to remember that the idea of a White Australia was foundational to the establishment of the new nation-state of Australia in 1901. As Janeen Webb and Andrew Enstice remark, 'The twin concepts of Australian Federation and a White Australia of pure British stock became inextricably linked in the popular imagination'. 16 Indeed, racial and cultural homogeneity was seen as a necessary precondition for the newly imagined community of the Australian nation, and the desire for homogeneity inevitably implied the exclusion of racial/cultural others.17 Owing to Australia's geographical location, these 'others' were generally imagined as coming from the 'near north' that is, Asians. Indeed, one of the most salient motives for the unification of the five separate colonies into a federated Australia was the common desire of the colonies to develop more effective policies to keep out Chinese immigrants.18 The Chinese, who came to Australia from 1848 onwards, were increasingly resented because they proved to be highly efficient, hard-working and economically competitive. This was experienced as a threat to the livelihood of the European settlers, who were themselves recent arrivals in the antipodes, and were still struggling to make a living in a new and barely developed environment. Webb and Enstice put it this way: Where Aborigines had been dismissed quite early as incapable of being absorbed into a European economic model, the Chinese were vilified for the very efficiency with which they fitted in. Cultural and racial differences were merely convenient ways of identifying and attacking what from the point of view of the individual European immigrant trying to establish a sound economic base was soon perceived as the economic enemy.19 If anti-Chinese sentiment in nineteenth century Australia was born of economic anxiety, the solution to 'the Chinese problem' then was

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an aggressive politics of exclusion an exclusion which was legitimated through the language of race. Australia was emphatically appropriated 'for the White Man', as the masthead of the Bulletin had it until as late as 1960, when this was deleted. Ever since the goldfield days, white Australians were afraid of being 'swamped by Asians', as Pauline Hanson puts it today. This fear could be repressed or at least held at bay as long as self-protective policies could be maintained which would secure keeping Australia white. 'The ideology of race', observes historian Luke Trainor, 'met the needs of many elements of Australian society' during this period. 20 Following the introduction of the Immigration Restriction Act (Cwlth) in 1901, which formed the basis for what came to be known as the White Australia policy, the number of Chinese and other 'coloured' people (or, to use another term of exclusion, 'nonEuropeans') in the country dwindled significantly, a trend not reversed until the final dismantling of the racially discriminatory immigration policy in the early 1970s, when a 'non-discriminatory' policy was finally introduced.21 Interestingly, just as they were about one hundred years ago, economic considerations are pervasive in justifications for today's determined elision of race as a marker of distinction in immigration regulations. However, in contrast with one hundred years ago, today the official rhetoric states that it is important to include Asians rather than exclude them; this is because of the rise of Asian capitalism and the progressive integration of Australia's economy into the Asia-Pacific region. In this respect, the radical symbolic shift from White Australia to Australia as a 'multicultural nation in Asia' (to use former Prime Minister Paul Keating's famous phrase) was a matter of Realpolitik: in a postcolonial, globalised, capitalist world cosmopolitanism (the cultural habitus of 'free trade') is not just more chic and sophisticated, but simply more likely to enhance Australia's economic well-being than xenophobia, the cultural appendix of 'protectionism'.22 But these pragmatic considerations influenced strongly by changing global conditions and geopolitical relations had a profound impact, not only on how Australia saw its own place in the world (it finally had begun to recognise and accept its geographical location), but also on whom it considered welcome within its borders (that is, it finally relinquished its racially discriminatory immigration policies). The fact that this was a dramatic sea change in the history of the young nation cannot be overstated. This turnaround, which took place over the course of the century, has been succinctly canvassed by Freeman and Jupp. I quote them at length: Precisely because it was small and relatively insignificant on the world stage, Australia was able to maintain a racialist control policy until

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relatively recently. Defended militarily by Britain and then the United States, Australia's geographical isolation was its real defence until World War II. It could ignore its location in the Asian Pacific region because its economic, political, and cultural ties were with Europe and North America. White Australia was an embarrassment, but it caused few serious consequences. [However] . . . with Britain's entry into the European community and the emergence of Asian capitalism, Australia has had to rethink its position. One reason that is often advanced as a justification not only for a non-discriminatory immigration policy, but also for a multiculturalism at home, is that it is an essential component of good trading relations with rising Asian economic giants (Garnaut 1989). How far these changes of attitude have gone to relax Australian policy is hard to say; in their public utterances officials imply they have little choice given the sensibilities of their Asian neighbours. 23 The overhaul of immigration law in the early 1970s represented a radical break in the official national discourse, not just on who could now formally be included in 'the Australian people', but also on the nation's preferred self-image. The symbolic importance of this break for the redefinition of the nation's imagined community cannot be underestimated. It was accompanied by the production of a new national narrative, which tells the reassuring story that Australia has now relinquished its racist past and embraced a non-racist and non-racial national identity. Raymond Evans et al, for example, remark: 'Today, the concept of ''White Australia" is an anachronism in multicultural Australia. It is an embarrassment, and difficult for 1990s Australians to understand.'24 However, embarrassment is hardly a productive effect if one is to come to terms with what could be described as a major change of direction in the life of the nation: it signifies a tendency to disavow, rather than confront and come to terms with the nation's past. Instead, this past is reduced symbolically to a childhood sin, as it were, which doesn't have anything to do with the mature Australia. As a result, the central importance of racial discrimination in Australia's very historical constitution as a nation-state is now often simply discarded as 'racist'. But the rise of the One Nation party makes it all too painfully clear that the embarrassment about the past is not universally felt across the whole country. Indeed, one could reasonably speculate that this embarrassment is confined mostly to the educated urban middle and upper-middle classes, whose moral and cultural orientation has converged with the 'regime of value' that has become dominant in the post-1960s international Western world.25 This regime of value favours equality for all, tolerance and cosmopolitanism; it celebrates the enrichment derived from cultural diversity, and, in general, it raises the sentiments of a universalist humanism to the ideal standard of moral virtue. Within this regime of value, the White Australia policy was irredeemably morally

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wrong and therefore embarrassing a belief likely to be felt most acutely by the liberal intelligentsia, for whom antiracism has become an article of faith. Indeed, the backlash against 'political correctness' in terms expressed by both Pauline Hanson and conservative Prime Minister John Howard suggests that this belief is not shared across the whole spectrum of the population. Hanson has insisted, rather querulously, that 'the people of Australia were never consulted' about Asian immigration and multiculturalism. As she said in one of her speeches, 'Australians are tolerant but their patience is being sorely tested by their politicians who have never allowed a full and open debate on immigration and multiculturalism'. 26 This expression of populist resentment speaks to the great divide that has grown between 'the élites' and 'ordinary people' on this issue.27 When Hanson argued against the 'special treatment' of Aboriginal people and against immigration (especially of Asians) and multiculturalism, and at least implicitly in favour of a return to the 1950s (when the White Australia policy was firmly in place and when Australians were still encouraged to feel proud and lucky about their country's status as a far-flung outpost of Europe), we can read her appeal culturally as a refusal to submit to the dominant regime of value, which discredits the past and offers an alternative, progressivist national narrative from which she and her supporters feel alienated. It is not surprising, given Hanson's fear-driven concern for Australia's future, that One Nation's first policy document was on immigration policy. The populist paranoia and distrust is evident in this passage: The government's unspoken justification for immigration and the result of the policy will lead to the Asianisation of Australia. Our politicians plan an Asian future for Australia. As the then Immigration Minister, Senator Bolkus said, on 6/12/1994: 'We cannot cut and should not cut immigration because it would jeopardise our integration with Asia.' Do we need to change the ethnic/racial make up of Australia for trade? Trade comes and goes, but our identity as a nation should not be traded for money, international approval or to fulfil a bizarre social experiment.28 It is interesting to note here Hanson's resistance to the discourse of economic opportunism in favour of an idealistic, if reactionary, discourse of national identity, harking back to the notion of a separate, sovereign, White Australia as the common destiny for the nation, which was defined explicitly against the threat of a possible 'Asian invasion'. This notion of national identity was hegemonic, in the Gramscian sense of being almost universally accepted as commonsense and as naturally right and good, until well into the 1960s. Its establishment was backed by an overwhelming consensus which brought

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together white Australians of all classes; it was a key aspect of what journalist Paul Kelly called 'the Australian Settlement'. 29 However, the move away from the idea of White Australia during the 1960s was based less on a broad, national, popular will than on the result of political pressure from activist intellectual groups such as the Immigration Reform Group, who called for a gradual relaxation of the racially discriminatory policies of the government. In the end, the abolition of the White Australia policy was almost exclusively a matter of strategic governmental decision-making, not underpinned by national popular conviction but by 'wide-ranging élite consensus'.30 In the new post-colonial world of East and Southeast Asia the White Australia policy was increasingly seen as untenable, 'especially at a time when Australia was trying to find friends and allies there'.31 The admission of many migrants from Asian countries after 1966 (when the first, crucial immigration reforms were quietly introduced) represented a qualitative turnaround of magnificent proportions, a historical shift which completely overturned Australia's crucial and long-standing self-definition as a 'white nation'. From one moment to the next, as it were, Australians were expected, without much positive explanation, to ditch their entrenched national self-conception, which governments and political leaders of all persuasions had so passionately promoted for decades. The matter came to a head with the Indochinese refugee crisis in the mid to late 1970s. As Peter Lawrence remarks, the admittance of thousands of Vietnamese 'boat people' from the mid 1970s onwards 'forced many [Australians] to accept that the days of Australia as a purely white European outpost were finally over'.32 Australia simply had 'no alternative', observes Jamie Mackie in an overview article on the politics of Asian immigration, other than to take in its fair share of Indochinese refugees as it needed to work closely with the ASEAN countries while the international world was attempting to achieve a solution to the refugee problem.33 In short, the opening up of Australia to non-European especially Asian new settlers and its dramatic implications for the nation's ethnic and cultural make-up was in an important sense a not-quite-intended consequence of international pressure; it was a sign of the impact of globalisation, of the increasing interdependence and entanglement of nations and states in a transnational world system. There was no public debate, nor had any consensus been reached over these developments. There was, at most, a grudging acceptance a submission to powerlessness in the face of overwhelming, external influences. Indeed, one of the most prominent elements in the history of immigration in Australia has been the persistent unease on the part of policy makers and others about adverse 'public opinion', and the perceived need not to 'alarm' the general public by letting 'too many'

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refugees and other (Asian) immigrants in. In other words, the Australian people were constructed as generally incapable of coping if the changes were introduced too rapidly a 'fact' corroborated by opinion polls which regularly asked people whether 'too many' Asians were allowed into the country. 34 Politicians were ever mindful of a possible electoral backlash and, therefore, generally avoided exhibiting active political leadership on the issue. As a result, as Nancy Viviani has observed, 'politicians and bureaucrats became hostage to their own reinforcement of an adverse and divisive contest of public opinion'.35 As no credible narratives were presented to people so that they could come to terms with these developments, those who were feeling uncomfortable were left to themselves to try and understand why the beloved, old 'white Australia' should be abandoned and why, for that matter, their political leaders had abandoned them. By the 1990s government officials simply sang the praises of 'cultural diversity' and 'tolerance', and ignored popular disquiet, which was regularly evidenced in opinion polls and popular controversies (such as the 1984 Blainey affair and John Howard's 1988 claim that Asian immigration levels were 'too high'). But so fundamentally changing the style in which a nation is imagined, without the consent of the people, is a tricky business.36 Consent, here, should not be defined empiricistically in terms of a referendum of sorts about the abolition of the White Australia policy. Buci-Glucksmann, in summarising Gramsci's theory of hegemony, distinguishes between passive and indirect consent and active and direct consent. While the latter involves the participation and continuous engagement of the masses, the former implies a bureaucratic, repressive relation between leaders and led, corporate integration of the led, and a reduction of democracy solely to its legal aspect.37 One does not have to adhere to Gramsci's Marxian romanticism to recognise that popular consent to the new, multicultural and multiracial Australia as it has emerged since the 1970s was much more passive than active, more indirect than direct. Active and direct consent, after all, cannot be taken as given; such consent has to be produced, created, fought for through careful ideological work, through cultural education and persuasion. While governments have certainly undertaken some of this work through, for example, multicultural education in schools, the encouragement of multicultural festivals and the organisation of so-called 'harmony days', the cultural effectiveness of much of this work remains doubtful especially as these government-sponsored efforts tend to overlook the everyday experiences of the white majority.38 The populist suspicion of 'ordinary Australians' against 'the élites', as expressed by Pauline Hanson and her followers, is a manifestation of a failure of strategic leadership to engage in the production

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of consent, in the cultural struggle for a re-imagining of the nation away from White Australia and in the direction of a multicultural/multiracial Australia. To put it differently, the ideological work necessary to actively disarticulate racism and nationalism (where the two were previously so firmly connected and popularly supported) and to win consent from the population at large for this disarticulation has remained undone. 39 I would suggest that this is one crucial reason why the presence of Asians in Australia remains, for better or worse, an object of anxiety, and why 'Asians in Australia', as a theme, can still become so easily, and so repeatedly, a focus of white populist anger and resentment. In One Nation's immigration policy statement, this is how the anger is expressed (please note the strategic use of statistics here): 70 percent of our immigration program is from Asian countries. Consequently Australia will be 27 percent Asian within 25 years and, as migrants congregate in our major cities, the effect of Asianisation will be more concentrated there. This will lead to the bizarre situation of largely Asian cities on our coast which will be culturally and racially different from the traditional Australian nature of the rest of the country. In a democracy, how dare our government force such changes on the Australian people without their consent and against their often polled opinion.40 Hanson can be so self-righteous here because she feels she can rightfully speak from a position of entitlement, itself an enduring product of white settler, colonial history. Ideologically, the White Australia policy was not just a declaration of racial exclusivism, it was also a claim of symbolic ownership. The very act of establishing procedures to ensure the maintenance of a 'white Australia' through explicitly discriminatory immigration criteria designed to keep non-Europeans out was a form of power to control who is or is not entitled to live on this island-continent. Implicit in this statement of power, then, was a sense of territorial entitlement, a self-declared authority to appropriate and own the land a claim to what Ghassan Hage calls a 'governmental belonging' to the nation: that is, 'the belief in one's possession of the right to contribute (even if only by having a legitimate opinion with regard to the internal and external politics of the nation) to its management such that it remains "one's home"'.41 Hanson herself put it more straightforwardly: 'Of course, I will be called racist but, if I can invite whom I want into my home, then I should have the right to have a say in who comes into my country'.42 The important point here, however, is not so much Hanson herself, whose One Nation party may soon lose political clout. What is at issue here is the more deepseated and long-term cultural structure of feeling which determines who has

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symbolic ownership of 'Australia' a structure of feeling only made explicit by Hanson but arguably a much more general implicit motivator of the national consciousness. Of course, the moral quandary of white appropriation of the land is most dramatised in relation to Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders, the indigenous people of the country, whose increasing assertiveness in claiming their rights as the original inhabitants of the land has destabilised white Australians' sense of entitlement. In this regard, the sense of uncertainty so prominently featured during the native title debate which raged around the same time as Hanson's rise to prominence must be related both to the uncertainty with regard to the materiality of land claims and, more symbolically, to the uncertainty of one's own legitimacy as occupiers of the land. Ann Curthoys argues that 'beneath the angry rejection of the "black armband" view of history, lurks a fear of being cast out, made homeless again, after two centuries of securing a new home far away from home'. 43 This clarifies Hanson's repeatedly made, emphatic statement that 'I am indigenous, and "indigenous" means "native of the land". I am Australian as much as any Aboriginal.'44 It is the white claim on Australia as home which needs to be upheld and defended in the face of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander resistance. As to Asians, however, the relationship is different. As the exclusion and expulsion of Asians was central to the very formation of the modern Australian nation, their increasingly visible presence today, especially in the large cities, is still deeply associated with the foreign, the strange, with alien otherness. While Aboriginal people are now more or less reluctantly recognised as belonging to Australia, Asians can never acquire the same status, so it would seem. In a recent speech, Hanson restated her opposition to what she sees as the 'Asianisation' of Australia by saying that 'If we were to have too many of one race coming in that weren't assimilating and becoming Australians, it would take over our culture, our own way of life and our own identity, and that's what I'm protecting'.45 Here, Hanson exemplifies the continuing force of the hegemonic assumption that 'Australian' culture/identity and 'Asian' culture/identity are mutually exclusive, antagonistic categories: the two cancel each other out; they are a contradiction in terms. One cannot, in this view, be Asian and Australian at the same time. While Hanson has always been careful to leave some space open for racially Asian people provided that they assimilate into Australian culture, she is adamant about the incompatibility of Asian and Australian cultures. In this sense, Hanson is a cultural racist, or 'culturalist'46: an 'Asianisation' of Australia would, therefore, inevitably mean its de-Australianisation. In a clear reference to her fear of being Asianised, Hanson once sketched a future in which Australian farmers

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can no longer stay in business. She asked, ominously, 'Will the Government then import even basic crops, perhaps rice, to get us more used to it?'. 47 Beyond the Politics of Numbers 'Too many of one race': we are returned here to the politics of statistics, the very vehicle of establishing what is 'too many'. Critics of Hanson, including the Immigration minister, Philip Ruddock, have been quick to point out that her figures are incorrect. Thus, in response to the 'Hanson phenomenon', Ruddock's Department of Immigration published several fact-sheets and a brochure 'Dispelling the myths about immigration'.48 In this brochure the minister responds to questions such as, 'Why do we take in people who don't speak English?', 'Why do we see so many foreign faces in Australia?', and 'Is Australia being swamped by Asians?' To the last question, the response is a reassuring 'No': 'Only about 5 per cent of Australia's population were born in Asia'. It goes on to say that 'if immigration levels and selection processes remain about the same, the proportion of Asian-born people is projected to be about 7.5 per cent in 2041'. In other words, the suggestion is that we are not being 'Asianised', that the number of Asians coming into this country is much lower than Hanson claims. Thus there is, so we are implicitly told, no need to be afraid of being 'swamped by Asians'. The provision of 'objective' information such as this is of course wellintentioned. However, the danger of this kind of statistical skirmishing is that it may actually confirm the assumption that 'too many' Asians would be a problem in Australia. But how much is too many, and who has the authority to determine how much is too many? Indeed, the constant repetition of the question whether there are 'too many' Asians or not, as in opinion polling practices for example, only legitimises the framing of the issue in this way. As a consequence, the issue of 'Asians in Australia' is reduced to a politics of numbers, in which the voice of Asians themselves is completely absent. In this discourse of reassurance, Asians are reduced to the status of objects to be counted; they are excluded from active participation in a conversation which implicitly takes it for granted that the overall whiteness of Australian identity should not be jeopardised, not now nor in the future. Asians can come in, but in moderation, because they are never to be allowed to dilute the nation's predominantly white racial/cultural identity. Ruddock tacitly agrees with Hanson on this, just as they are effectively in agreement about their authority, as white Australians, to speak for the country as a whole. To illuminate the restrictiveness of the discursive field in which the problematic of 'Asians in Australia' is being debated across the cultural political spectrum, we can contrast this discursive consensus with the

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radically oppositional voice of someone like Eric Rolls, historian of the Chinese in Australia. While Rolls remains within the discursive frame of economic advantage, he provocatively argues for more Asians in Australia, because only such an increase of the Asian population would secure the country's future: We need to increase immigration by Chinese and other Asians. They do not drain our resources, they generate their own businesses to Australia's profit. Australia will have little chance in the next century unless we are at least 30 percent Chinese and Asian. Then we will be able to accept where we are and prosper accordingly. Our new people will generate our future. 49 The question here is not whether Rolls is right or wrong. The question is: how many Australians today would feel threatened about such an imagined Eurasian future for the nation? The fact that voices such as Rolls's are virtually unheard in the public discourse suggests that the issue of (too many) 'Asians in Australia' remains cast as an uncomfortable problem in the national imagination, condensing fears and anxieties too difficult to contemplate. As we enter the twenty-first century, however, the nation-state's power to determine its racial make-up will become ever more anachronistic. As Alistair Davidson remarks, 'the world becomes increasingly a place of multi-ethnic states, with up to 30 per cent of the population coming from other societies'.50 The important task, here, is to deconstruct the very desire for 'one nation' a modernist ideology which can no longer be sustained in a post-modern, globalised world. In this context, any sense of national unity cannot be based on a sense of common history and collective memory, or a sense of racial kinship, a sense of 'Australian family'. What is at stake, then, is a reconfiguration of Australian nationalism, from its earlier, racially exclusionary form the nation as 'one' to a new, inclusive, and open-ended form: the nation as a porous container of multiple, criss-crossing, intersecting flows of different peoples and cultures.51 In such a nation (often described in hardly adequate terms such as 'multicultural' and 'culturally diverse') the task is to develop viable ways of 'living together' in which differences cannot be erased, only negotiated; where notions of belonging have to depend, no longer on allegiance to a given 'common culture' (undergirded by racial sameness), but on the process of partial sharing of the country, a process that will necessarily imply give and take, mutual influencing, and ongoing cultural hybridisation.52 As long as acceptance of such processual and open-ended nation-building is not forthcoming, 'Asians in Australia' will remain a contradiction in terms.

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Notes 1 Christine Inglis et al (eds), Asians in Australia. The Dynamics of Migration and Settlement, Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, 1996; James Coughlan and Deborah McNamara (eds), Asians in Australia. Patterns of Migration and Settlement, MacMillan Education, South Melbourne, 1997. 2 It is remarkable in this respect that the two collections mentioned have virtually the same subtitle (see note 1). 3 Cited in Jamie Mackie, 'The Politics of Asian Immigration', in Coughlan and McNamara, Asians in Australia, p.13. 4 Martin W. Lewis and Kären E. Wigen, The Myth of Continents. A Critique of Metageography, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1997. 5 Jon Stratton, Race Daze. Australia in Identity Crisis, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1998, pp.59-61. 6 Lewis and Wigen, The Myth of Continents, p.55. 7 Lewis and Wigen, The Myth of Continents, p.55. 8 Ien Ang and Jon Stratton, 'Multiculturalism in Crisis: The New Politics of Race and National Identity in Australia', Topia. Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies, 2 (Spring 1998), pp.22-41. 9 The other group generally described and talked about as a separate 'race' is Aboriginal people. I do not have the space to go into their very different history of racialisation here, though it is of course of central importance to an understanding of Australia's contemporary crisis of national identity. 10 See, for example, John Wiseman, Global Nation? Australia and the Politics of Globalisation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998. 11 While Ms Hanson lost her seat in parliament at the 1998 federal elections, the fact that her party received around 8 per cent of the primary vote indicates that what she represents to the nation will not simply go away. 12 Pauline Hanson, quoted in Marian Wilkinson, 'Who's Afraid of Pauline Hanson?', Sydney Morning Herald, 12 September 1998, p.43. 13 Ann Curthoys, 'Expulsion, Exodus and Exile in White Australian Historical Mythology', Journal of Australian Studies, no.61, 1999, pp.1-18. 14 Wang Gungwu, 'Migration History: Some Patterns Revisited', in Wang Gungwu (ed.), Global History and Migrations, Westview Press, Boulder, Colorado, 1997, pp.1-22, here p.16. 15 Arjun Appadurai, 'Sovereignty without Territoriality: Notes for a Postnational Geography', in Patricia Yaeger (ed.), The Geography of Identity, The University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, 1996, pp.40-58, here p.43. 16 Janeen Webb and Andrew Enstice, Aliens and Savages, Fiction, Politics and Prejudice in Australia, Harper Collins, Sydney, 1998, p.140. 17 See on this issue Jon Stratton and Ien Ang, 'Multicultural Imagined Communities: Cultural Difference and National Identity in the USA and Australia', in David Bennett (ed.), Multicultural States. Rethinking Difference and Identity, Routledge, London, 1998, pp.135-62, here pp.147-51. 18 See Andrew Markus, Fear and Hatred: Purifying Australia and California 1850-1901, Hale & Iremonger, Sydney, 1979; Eric Rolls, Citizens, University of Queensland Press, St Lucia, 1996. 19 Webb and Enstice, Aliens and Savages, p.131. 20 Luke Trainor, British Imperialism and Australian Nationalism, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1994, p.89.

21 For a concise history of Australian immigration, see James Jupp, Immigration, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1991. 22 See, for example, Meaghan Morris, 'Ecstasy and Economics', in Meaghan Morris, Too Soon Too Late, History in Popular Culture, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1998, pp.158-94.

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23 Gary P. Freeman and James Jupp, 'Comparing Immigration Policy in Australia and the United States', in Gary P. Freeman and James Jupp (eds), Nations of Immigrants: Australia, the United States, and International Migration. Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1992, pp.1-20, here pp.18-19 (emphasis added). 24 Raymond Evans, Clive Moore, Kay Saunders and Bryan Jamison, 1901 Our Future's Past, Macmillan, Sydney, 1997, p.188. 25 For the concept of 'regime of value', see John Frow, Cultural Studies and Cultural Value, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1995. 26 Pauline Hanson The Truth, On Asian immigration, The Aboriginal Question, the Gun Debate and the Future of Australia, Ipswich, Queensland, 1997, p.20. 27 For some analyses that put the 'Hanson phenomenon' in Australia in historical, political and social context, see, for example, the essays in Geoffrey Gray and Christine Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism. Howard, Hanson and the Race Debate, Monash Publications in History, Clayton, Vic., 1997. 28 Pauline Hanson's One Nation, Immigration, Population and Social Cohesion Policy Document, July 1998, p.11. 29 Paul Kelly, The End of Certainty, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1992, p.2. 30 Nancy Viviani, The Indochinese in Australia 1975-1995: From Burnt Boats to Barbecues, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1996, p.8. 31 Mackie, 'The Politics of Asian Immigration', in Coughlan and McNamara, Asians in Australia, p.19. 32 Peter Lawrence, Australian Opinion on the Indo-Chinese Influx 1975-1979 (Research Paper No. 24), Centre for the Study of Australian-Asian Relations, Griffith University, Brisbane, April 1983, p.26 (emphasis added). 33 Mackie, 'The Politics of Asian Immigration', p.27 (emphasis added). 34 For a short overview, see Mackie, 'The Politics of Asian Immigration', pp.13-18. 35 Viviani, The Indochinese in Australia 1975-1995, p.11. 36 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, Verso, London, 1983. 37 Christine Buci-Glucksmann, 'Hegemony and Consent', in Anne Showstack Sassoon (ed.), Approaches to Gramsci, Writers and Readers Publishing Cooperative Society, London, 1982, pp.116-26, here p.119. 38 For a further discussion on these matters, see Stratton, Race Daze. See also Ghassan Hage, White Nation, Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1998. 39 For a theoretical elaboration of the concept of (dis)articulation as used here, see Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe, Hegemony and Socialist Strategy, Verso, London, 1983; see also Jennifer Daryl Slack, 'Articulation', in David Morley and Kuan Hsing Chen (eds), Stuart Hall: Critical Dialogues, Routledge, London, 1996. 40 Pauline Hanson's One Nation, p.11. 41 Hage, White Nation, p.46. 42 Hanson, The Truth, p.7. 43 Curthoys, 'Who were the Nomads?', in Jolly (ed.), Governing Bodies. 44 Quoted in 'Leader flees as police and protesters fight', Sydney Morning Herald, 23 July 1998. 45 Quoted in 'Leader flees as police and protesters fight', Sydney Morning Herald, 23 July 1998.

46 Stratton, Race Daze, p.64. 47 Quoted in Wilkinson, 'Who's Afraid of Pauline Hanson?', p.43. 48 http://www.immi.gov.au 49 Rolls, Citizens, p.599. 50 Alistair Davidson, From Subject to Citizen, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1997, p.6. 51 Graeme Turner, 'Two faces of Australian nationalism', Sydney Morning Herald, 25 January 1997. 52 See Morris, 'Ecstasy and Economics', in Morris, Too Soon Too Late, p.209.

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8 Community Formation and Taiwanese Immigrant Identity Li-Ju Chen This chapter is based on my ethnographic research about Taiwanese immigrant organisations in Melbourne between 1996 and 1997, with reference to Australian Chinese community newspapers from mid 1994 to 1997. 1 I am interested in exploring various forces affecting the regrouping process among the Taiwanese in their new social location. In the following, I will suggest that the Taiwanese community has been formed as a result of the dialectical relationship between 'where they are from' and 'where they are at'.2 'Where they are from' is not understood as a static set of references drawn from an essentialised past, but as dynamic forces constantly renewed and contested through the 'astronaut' mode of migration prevalent in the Taiwanese migration to Australia. However, the 'where they are from' cannot be transplanted in an intact way into their new social setting, 'where they are at'. Australia's multicultural construction of 'ethnic community', and the 'Chinese community' in particular, confines the way these immigrants can articulate with 'where they are from'. In addition, the construct of the de-territorialised 'Taiwanese' nation-state3, which extends its reach beyond its geographic boundaries to its overseas 'subjects', also involves regulating their articulation with 'where they are from'. Immigrant organisations and the Chinese community newspapers have both been arenas of hegemonic contention, in which the forces of 'where they are from' and 'where they are at' have converged and made competing claims for the Taiwanese immigrants' identities and allegiances.4

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I will start with the context within which the 'astronaut' mode of migration came to prevail among the Taiwanese migrating to Australia. Following this, I then discuss how the construct of the de-territorialised 'Taiwanese' nationstate and Australia's official multiculturalism have constrained the ways in which 'where they are from' can be articulated by these Taiwanese in their new location. The dialectical relationship between 'where they are from' and 'where they are at' has been translated into processes of community formation among the Taiwanese in Melbourne, something which will be demonstrated in my ethnographic analysis. I will conclude with some remarks on the implications of the Taiwanese case for studies of migration and identity, and nationalism. Demographic and Socio-Economic Characteristics of the Taiwanese in Australia In a basic sense, the presence of Taiwanese migrants is a matter of state concern for the development of Australian capitalism. 5 Between the late 1980s and the early 1990s, Taiwan was one of the nations targeted by the Business Migration Program (BMP). This program was designed to attract people with business and entrepreneurial skills who could contribute their capital and expertise to commercial ventures that would benefit the Australian economy. It became the major channel for Taiwanese migration to Australia. Nearly 80 per cent of Taiwanese migrants came under the BMP program during this period. However, business opportunities were not the primary factor motivating the Taiwanese to migrate to Australia. For many Taiwanese immigrants, emigration to Australia provided an opportunity to have their children grow up in a less competitive educational environment, while at the same time receiving world-class education. It also served as a means of having their families enjoy a bourgeois suburban lifestyle, and of securing their assets should Taiwan ever be taken over by the People's Republic of China. The Taiwanese population in Australia increased more than fivefold between 1986 and 1991, from 2041 to 13,025; by 1996 the estimated total being 19,069.6 About one-fifth of Taiwanese immigrants settled in Melbourne. The majority of principal migrant applicants were middle-aged, male, and owners of medium or small businesses. They ranged from those with barely enough capital to start anew in Australia (owing to the lack of transferable assets, and a limited knowledge of the English language and the business culture in Australia) to those who, though not quite global entrepreneurs, had plenty of business linkages with Taiwan.7 Owing to the perceived difficulties of economic incorporation into Australia, the majority of those owners of medium and small businesses settled their families in Australia and

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returned to Taiwan to carry on their business. This 'astronaut' mode of migration referring to their constant back-andforth movements between Australia and Taiwan, between their families and business has been employed by these Taiwanese business migrants to accommodate the desire or need to maintain a middle- or upper-middle class lifestyle. The 'astronaut' mode of migration enables these immigrants to keep themselves updated and engaged in 'where they are from', while at the same time establishing themselves in their new location. The Tension between 'Where They Are from' and 'Where They Are At' The spatial mobility involved in the 'astronaut' mode of migration has generated concerns among Australian immigration policy makers about whether these 'astronauts' would ever make a commitment to their newly adopted country. This concern was most keenly felt with regard to their perceived failure to contribute to the Australian economy. 8 They were often criticised as 'opportunists', who bought their way to Australia by abusing the Business Migration Program. For the 'Taiwanese' state, however, these 'astronauts' are seen/constructed as an 'extension of national power'.9 Because Taiwan lacks formal diplomatic relations with most countries, these emigrants are expected to act as grass-roots diplomats, facilitating economic, cultural and political relations between Taiwan and their host country. As a consequence, the Taiwanese state has been involved in facilitating cyclical migration through various mechanisms and strategies legal, juridical, political, economic, cultural and educational in an attempt to claim these astronauts' identities and allegiances. In addition to the recognition of dual nationality and the granting of political participation and other legal rights, the Taiwanese state has also established a high-ranking government institution, namely, the Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission.10 The institution was set up to extend the state's influence beyond its geographic boundaries in an attempt to gain the cultural and political loyalties of its dispersed populations, as well as to take advantage of their economic potential in the service of the development of Taiwan's economy. The efforts made by this institution include: 1 regular visits of Taiwanese officials in order to display the state's concern for the well-being of its overseas subjects, publicise the state's policy concerning its overseas subjects, promote investments, and stimulate proRepublic of China (ROC), other-than-People's Republic of China (PRC) nationalism; 2 the establishment of government agencies in the major cities where its overseas subjects concentrate (to create a sense of solidarity

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among its overseas subjects through enhancing networking and cooperation among 'Chinese' organisations, sponsor cultural activities to maintain Chinese traditions and values, and conduct the regular observance of state celebrations and ceremonies); 3 support for the establishment of Chinese language schools (providing both financial aid and the provision of teaching materials) to promote a common language, and inculcate a certain value system and ideology; 4 exchange programs to foster cultural, economic, and political ties with its overseas subjects; 5 the creation of a reward system to extend its networks of patronage and clientele; 6 the circulation of newspapers, magazines and video tapes (to disseminate its political doctrines). I call this whole set of efforts the discourse of Hua-Qiao (overseas Chinese). The construction of the de-territorialised Taiwanese nation-state certainly opened up a space for these Taiwanese 'astronauts' to continue engaging in nation-building processes in Taiwan, but it was also a way of regulating the traffic between Australia and Taiwan, encouraging a certain kind of involvement which rules out other alternatives. The discourse of Hua-Qiao serves a particular vision of the 'Chinese' nation, in which the ruling party (the Chinese Nationalist Party, or KMT) in Taiwan claims to represent the only legitimate Chinese polity against the PRC. This vision of the 'Chinese Nation' echoes the dominant political doctrine in Taiwan during the era of the 'Great China Ideology' between 1949 and 1987, when everything from the structure of the polity to cultural discourses was oriented towards the recovery of mainland China, and modelled on Chinese sovereignty as a nation-building project. The term Hua-Qiao, which fashions an image of 'Chinese Sojourners' with a strong patriotic commitment to their 'homeland' and the legitimate Chinese state, is constructed as a totalising category to incorporate any person of Chinese descent residing outside the Chinese territories (China and Taiwan) into the 'Chinese' polity. Thus, Taiwanese immigrants constitute only a small group among many other migrants of Chinese descent to whom the discourse of Hua-Qiao is directed. The discourse of Hua-Qiao sits at odds with Taiwan's political transformation since 1987, which has involved restructuring state-building to represent the interests of people in Taiwan rather than those of the 'whole China'. 11 Since 1993 in particular, 'Taiwanisation' has been explicitly articulated as a new state discourse and practice, which includes a series of state-led Taiwanese consciousness-raising

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movements to create a new 'imagined community', whose boundaries no longer extend to mainland China. 12 Within the context of Taiwanisation, 'Taiwanese' has replaced 'Chinese' as a new national identity to encompass four major ethnic groups in Taiwan 'mainlanders', Hokklo speakers, Hakka speakers and Aborigines.13 'Love Taiwan', 'Identify with Taiwan', and 'Taiwan first' which used to be seen as rebellious slogans against the 'Great China Ideology' are now appropriated by mainstream politicians to transform Taiwan into a new 'imagined community'. In addition, the first made-in-Taiwan president14 came into power in 1996, following the slogan 'putting roots in Great Taiwan, and developing it as a new Middle Kingdom'. Although reunification with mainland China remains the state's policy, the processes of Taiwanisation have substantially undermined the discourse of Hua-Qiao underpinned by the 'Great China Ideology'.15 For those who constantly travel between Taiwan and Australia, who are therefore continuously exposed to Taiwanisation, it is particularly confronting to be lumped together with other Chinese migrants into the category of Hua-Qiao. They started to name themselves Tai-Qiao (overseas Taiwanese), juxtaposed in relation to Hua-Qiao. For them the discourse of Hua-Qiao represents an outdated 'Great China Ideology', which no longer has currency in Taiwan. The continuously active involvement of those Taiwanese immigrants in the contested national histories of Taiwan enables them to have a more dynamic, historically and structurally informed account of 'where they are from'. This dynamic account of 'where they are from' is, however, reduced to an essentialised version of 'ethnic cultures' within the framework of Australia's official multiculturalism. In Australia's official multicultural narrative, the term 'ethnic cultures' seen as a primordial feature of groups rather than as a result of long-term social processes refers to perceived 'objective characteristics' of groups, such as language, food, and folkloric practices.16 This account of 'ethnic cultures'/'ethnicity' is fetishised as 'cultural difference' to be celebrated, as well as being privileged as the organising principle for immigrant classification a principle from which the notion of an ontologically given 'ethnic community' is derived. This mode of categorisation serves as a convenient 'rational bureaucratic strategy for the management of non-rational forms of association', whereby the place of 'ethnic immigrants' can be administratively located with regard to access to state migrant services.17 Taiwanese immigrants are administratively lumped together with other migrants of Chinese descent into the category of the 'Chinese Community'. Within this category the contested national histories of Taiwan which have conditioned, and continue to mediate the ways Taiwanese immigrants relate to 'Chineseness' have no place.18 This categorisation becomes particularly

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problematic when we take into account the 'astronaut' mode of migration, which is enabling the Taiwanese immigrants to keep updated and actively engage in the national histories of Taiwan. Ethnographic Analysis The predominant principle of social categorisation in post-war Taiwan during the era of the 'Great China Ideology' was structured in terms of a division between 'Taiwanese' and 'mainlanders'. The term 'mainlanders' is used to refer to the two million or so civilian and military refugees who came from mainland China to Taiwan with the Chinese Nationalist government in 1949, after it lost power to the Chinese communists in the civil war. The suspicion that the 'Taiwanese', the six million pre-existing Han Chinese population in Taiwan, were not 'Chinese' enough after fifty years of Japanese colonialisation resulted in a series of state-led 'Chinese-ising' campaigns. 19 These campaigns were a central feature of the nation-building processes in Taiwan before 1987, when the 'recovery' of mainland China remained the primary national goal. The suppression of Taiwanese 'difference' was a key component of the nationbuilding processes. These included a ban on colloquial Taiwanese (Hokklo and Hakka) and Japanese, and the imposition of Mandarin as the language of everyday communication and the medium for education and mass communication. Reinforced by a number of institutionalised differentiations between Taiwanese and mainlanders in the economic, political and social spheres, this division had produced a commonly held perception that the mainlanders constituted the privileged social group and the Taiwanese, the subordinate.20 This division came to influence re-grouping processes after migration to Melbourne. The Mandarin Association, established in 1978 by a small group of former overseas students from Taiwan, was considered by some recent Taiwanese immigrants as a club for mainlanders rather than for the Taiwanese.21 The division between Taiwanese and mainlanders was by no means the only cultural baggage these immigrants brought over to their new social setting. Their experiences of living in a politically repressive regime also affected their attitudes towards politics. They were not used to expressing their political opinions openly, and they did not like to choose sides if they could avoid it. For instance, the same group of recent Taiwanese immigrants mentioned earlier was also reluctant to join the Taiwanese Association, which was labelled as a pro-Taiwan independence club and therefore considered 'too political'.22 Only after a series of meetings with the members of the Taiwanese Association, where they were made to believe that the Taiwanese Association was designed to pursue the interests of the overseas Taiwanese community, did they decide to join. This was in October

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1995. Previously, the Taiwanese Association had a membership of only thirty families; after these meetings, its membership increased to 120 families. Although the division between Taiwanese and mainlanders continued to mediate their re-grouping experiences in Melbourne, I noticed that the term 'Taiwanese' started to be articulated differently by these immigrants. Informed by the state-led Taiwanisation campaigns within Taiwan, in which 'Taiwanese' has been transformed from a subcategory into an encompassing national identity, some members of the Taiwanese Association started to promote the idea that this Association welcomed as members anyone from Taiwan or any person who would identify with Taiwan, and that the division between Taiwanese and mainlanders should be rejected since 'we are all Taiwanese'. This created an atmosphere favourable to the expansion of the Taiwanese Association. By 1997 its membership had increased to more than 200 families. The Taiwanese Association was also very keen to network with Taiwanese immigrant organisations in other parts of Australia, as it was believed that there were common interests shared by all Taiwanese immigrants. Although it did not want to antagonise other Chinese organisations, it was criticised for its 'separatist' tendency as it was seen to overassert its 'Taiwanese specificity' and keep itself aloof from Hua-Qiao affairs. The tension between the assertion of Taiwanese specificity and the discourse of Hua-Qia has seemed to increase over the past two years, with Taiwanese specificity becoming a source of pride confirmed/informed by the processes of Taiwanisation in Taiwan. Two examples illustrate the increased tension. A proposal was made by the Taiwanese Association to move the Chinese Community Cultural Centre from Melbourne's Chinatown to Box Hill, which has become an important location where the majority of Taiwanese immigrants do their shopping and hold social gatherings. This Centre was established in Melbourne in 1988 as the 'Taiwanese' government agency to increase the influence of the discourse of Hua-Qiao among the local 'Chinese Community'. 23 It was felt that this shift would make the Centre more accessible to Taiwanese immigrants. Since the Centre was funded by the Taiwanese government, it was argued that the welfare of Taiwanese immigrants should be given priority over that of other groups. However, the director of the Centre decided it would not move, arguing that any move should only happen with the agreement of the other thirty or so 'Chinese' organisations in Melbourne.24 Disappointed with the decision, some members of the Taiwanese Association decided to seek direct contact with Taiwanese officials in Taiwan who were sympathetic to their position and could influence the decision. So far, the

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Centre remains in Chinatown; however, this instance demonstrates how the processes of community formation among Taiwanese immigrants in Melbourne are closely connected with 'where they are from', through their attempt to introduce forces of 'Taiwanisation' into the Melbourne Chinese community. The tension between the discourse of Hua-Qiao and the assertion of 'Taiwanese specificity' by the Taiwanese immigrants is an ongoing issue. Another instance of this phenomenon took place in 1997, during the establishment of the Taiwanese School in Melbourne. The school has a strong Taiwanese flavour. It clearly distinguishes itself from other Chinese schools in two ways. First of all, the languages taught in the school are categorised as 'Taiwanese' rather than 'Chinese'. Mandarin, the only language taught at the moment, is seen as one of the four Taiwanese languages (with Hokklo, Hakka, and Aboriginal). Secondly, 'Chinese-oriented' textbooks referring to those edited by the Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission are rejected in the school. The Taiwanese School decided to compile its own textbooks for students to learn about Taiwanese culture, and to have a clear Taiwanese identity, which could not be obtained from textbooks underpinned by the discourse of Hua-Qiao. 25 This attempt was confirmed by the education reform movement undertaken in Taiwan in 1997, a key component of which was the revision of history textbooks in order to locate Taiwan at the centre, rather than the margin of Chinese history.26 Taiwanese immigrants found themselves confronted with the multicultural construction of the 'Chinese Community' in regard to where they were administratively located in relation to access to state migrant services. When the principal of the Taiwanese School tried to register with the Ethnic Schools Association of Victoria, he realised that there was no category for 'Taiwanese languages'. The recent promotion of the standardisation of ethnic-language teaching by the Ethnic Schools Association made it even harder to address Taiwanese specificity. In order to obtain funding from the Ethnic Schools Association, the Taiwanese School had to either work out a way of getting recognition from the Association about its 'Taiwanese' difference or compromise by adopting the multicultural categorisation in which 'Taiwanese' difference has no place. This instance has led the members of the Taiwanese School to realise that it is impossible to directly transplant their 'Taiwanese' experiences to the new social setting, 'where they are at'. Conclusion By living their lives across national boundaries, the Taiwanese immigrants are simultaneously involved in the nationbuilding projects of both Taiwan and Australia.27 This is, however, not often recognised within a rigid settler/sojourner dichotomy underlying the legalistic

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and sovereignty-oriented framework prevailing in the studies of migration and identity. Nor can their experiences be easily included into the concept of diaspora, once the existence of the de-territorialised Taiwanese nation-state is considered. As discussed, the Taiwanese state has endeavoured to extend its influence beyond its geographic boundaries to its dispersed populations and, through this, redraw the concept of territory. As Basch and others have pointed out, 'to see oneself in a diaspora is to imagine oneself as being outside a territory, part of a population exiled from a homeland', while in the schema of the de-territorialised nation-state, one can never live outside the 'territory' since 'wherever its people go, their state goes too'. 28 Nevertheless, one has to remember that the construct of the deterritorialised nation-state is intrinsically precarious. In addition to the fact that it is dependent upon changing political circumstances in a territorial 'homeland', its underlying transnational and de-territorialised logic is at odds with the prevailing international framework of sovereign nation-states, within which exclusively cultural/national loyalties are demanded. In this case, the discourse of Hua-Qiao has been carefully managed within the confines of multiculturalism in order to find its way into the Chinese communities in Australia. Multiculturalism provides some space for the discourse of Hua-Qiao so long as Hua-Qiao is masked by an 'ethnic' face, because the maintenance of one's 'ethnic identity' is legitimate and consistent with Australian citizenship so long as it is combined with an overriding commitment to Australia. The convergence of these two dominant statist discourses in constructing Taiwanese immigrants' identity in terms of an 'ethnic identity' or 'Chinese-ness' means that immigration from Taiwan to Australia involves the Taiwanese immigrants in becoming more 'Chinese' than their counterparts in Taiwan. This discrepancy/contradiction between 'where they are at' and 'where they are from' puts these Taiwanese transnationalists in an awkward predicament, as the construction of Taiwanese immigrants' identity informed by Taiwanisation involves rejecting an all-embracing Chinese ethnicity buttressed by the Chinese nationalist construction of the discourse of Hua-Qiao. Nor can a Taiwanese form of 'Chinese-ness' be expressed within a framework of multiculturalism that lumps the Taiwanese immigrants into an essentialist category of the 'Chinese Community', which replaces the troubled national histories of Taiwan in favour of an essentialist version of a single 'Chinese Community'. In this case, the predicament related to spatial mobility is not recognised by triumphant narratives of transnational mobility, according to which human actors are said to be independent of spatial constraints, and therefore transcendent of national boundaries.29 Transnational mobility expressed through the 'astronaut'

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mode of migration places the Taiwanese immigrants in a double bind created by the intersection of Australian multiculturalism's construction of Chinese ethnicity, and the Chinese nationalist construction of the discourse of HuaQiao. Notes 1 I use the term 'Taiwanese immigrants' to refer to those who emigrate from Taiwan to Australia. Nevertheless, it remains a contested identity position; some of them prefer to be called Hua-Qiao (overseas Chinese) rather than TaiQiao (overseas Taiwanese). I will discuss this in the following sections. 2 Ien Ang, 'Migration of Chineseness: Ethnicity in the Postmodern World', in David Bennett (ed.), Cultural Studies: Pluralism & Theory, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 1993, pp. 32-44, and Paul Gilroy, 'It Ain't Where You're From, It's Where You're At . . .', in Third Text, 13, 1991, pp.3-16. 3 The contested national histories of Taiwan (the Republic of China, ROC) and its ambiguous political status makes the 'Taiwanese' nation-state a problematic term, which will be explored in the following discussion. 4 For a more detailed discussion on the concept of 'hegemony', see Linda Basch, Cristina Blanc-Szanton and Nina Glick Schiller, Nations Unbound, Gordon and Breach, USA, 1994, pp.10-15. 5 Christine Inglis, David Ip and Chung-Tong Wu, 'Settlement Experiences of Taiwanese Immigrants in Australia', Asian Studies Review, 22, 1 (1998), pp.79-97, and Pookong Kee, 'Taiwanese migrants in Australia', in Guotu Zhuang (ed.), History and Perspective on Ethnic Chinese at the Turn of the Centuries, Nanyang Research Insitute, Xiamen University (forthcoming). 6 cf. Inglis, Ip and Wu, 'Settlement Experiences of Taiwanese Immigrants in Australia', p.81. 7 Christine Inglis and Chung-Tong Wu, 'The ''New" Migration of Asian Skills and Capital to Australia', in Christine Inglis (ed.), Asians in Australia: the Dynamics of Migration & Settlement, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1992, pp.193230, here, p.218. 8 Astronaut migrants were often criticised for not setting up 'proper' businesses which would create employment for Australians; it was claimed that, instead, they were only interested in 'speculating on properties, driving prices up, and depriving average Australians of their dreams of owning even humble, standard homes': see Inglis, Ip and Wu, 'Settlement Experiences of Taiwanese Immigrants in Australia', p.92. 9 Chin-ju Chang, 'Emigration Steps Out of the Shadows', Sinorama, 15, 11 (1990), pp.14-15. 10 The Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission is one of the legacies of the Republic regime brought to Taiwan by the Chinese Nationalist government after losing power to the Chinese communists in 1949. For more details see Yenghui Lee, Overseas Chinese Policy and Overseas Nationalism, 1912-1949, The Institute of National History, Taipei, 1997; and Kua-wee Yen, A Study of the National Policy towards Overseas Chinese of Republic of China since the 1970s, Long-wein Publisher, Taipei, 1991. 11 For instance, the Democratic Progress Party (the DPP) was legitimised after the lifting of the martial law and the ruling party (the KMT) was going through a process of transformation from a so-called 'mainlander' party into a 'Taiwanese' party. For a more detailed discussion, see Sechin Chien and Jenn-hwan Wang, 'March Towards a New Nation State? The Rise of Populist Authoritarianism in Taiwan and its Implications for Democracy', Taiwan: A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies, 20 (1995), pp.36-42. 12 Although the unification with mainland China and a stance against Taiwanese independence remain the 'Taiwanese' state's national policy, its attempt to return to the United Nations and other international organisations under the title of

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Taiwan, or Taipei, would appear to imply de facto status of an independent Taiwan; for a more detailed discussion, cf. Chien and Wang, 'March Towards a New Nation State?', p.26. 13 'Mainlanders', Hokklo speakers and Hakka speakers all belong to the Han Chinese ethnic group. The last two groups migrated to Taiwan in the seventeenth century, and the first came with the Chinese Nationalists after 1949. Whether this classification of four 'ethnic' groups gives a more accurate description of the ethnic structure in Taiwan than the antagonistic division between 'mainlanders' and Taiwanese is arguable; for instance, it is claimed that the former classification often becomes a convenient means for political mobilisation which does not always recognise power relations between (that is, Aborigines and the other three Han Chinese groups), and within (that is, different class positions) different groups. See Isle Margin, No.8, July 1993, Tang-Shen Press, Taipei, pp.82-101. 14 The first direct presidential election in Taiwan was held in 1996, and Mr Teng-hui Lee, classified as 'Taiwanese' (as distinct from 'mainlander') won the election. 15 Although the Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission remains, its budget has been largely cut. Many legislators in Taiwan who endorse 'Taiwanisation' as a new nation-building project (particularly those from the Democratic Progress Party) constantly question the discourse of Hua-Qiao, arguing that the Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission should be abolished. See Elaine Chen, 'Redefining the Position of the Overseas Chinese', Sinorama, 11 (1993), and Kua-wee Yen, A Study of the National Policy towards Overseas Chinese of Republic of China since the 1970s, Long-wein Publisher, Taipei, 1991. 16 Thomas Hylland Eriksen, Ethnicity & Nationalism, Pluto Press, London, 1993, p.37, and Suvendrini Perera, 'Response to Ien Ang', in David Bennett (ed.), Cultural Studies: Pluralism & Theory, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 1993, pp.45-50. 17 Beryl Langer, 'Globalisation and the Myth of Ethnic Community: Salvadoran Refugees in Multicultural States', in David Bennett (ed.), Multicultural States: Rethinking Difference and Identity, Routledge, New York, 1998, pp.16377, here p.169. 18 cf. Langer, 'Globalisation and the Myth of Ethnic Community', pp.163-77. 19 Although Aborigines are occasionally considered 'Taiwanese', they are only given a very marginal position in this Chinese-oriented social classification. In most cases, they simply do not exist. cf. Allen Chun, 'From Nationalism to Nationalizing: Cultural Imagination and State Formation in Postwar Taiwan', The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs, No.31, 1994, pp.49-69. 20 Liao argues that the classification of the 'Taiwanese' as an 'ethnically bounded "we-group"', as opposed to the mainlanders, disregards specific migratory experiences and genealogies within each group; see Ping-hui Liao, 'Rewriting Taiwanese National History: The February 28 Incident as Spectacle', Public Culture, No.5, 1993, pp.28196, here p.290, and Mou-quay Cheng (ed.), Ethnic Relations and National Identity, Institute for National Policy Research, Taipei, 1992. 21 According to my ethnographic research, members of the Mandarin Association include not only 'mainlanders' but also 'Taiwanese'. 22 The Taiwanese Association was established in 1994. Its stated aims were: to pursue the interests of the overseas Taiwanese community; to develop supportive social networks among Taiwanese immigrants; and to facilitate integration of second-generation Taiwanese immigrants into the wider Australian society. Two reasons contribute to the fact that the Association was labelled as a pro-Taiwanese independence organisation. First of all, the title of the Association has been used by pro-Taiwan independence immigrant organisations in the United States of America since the 1980s. Secondly, the pre-existing members of the Association had close connections to the Democratic Progress Party, whose platform had a strong 'Taiwanese' flavour.

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23 The Centre holds monthly meetings with pro-ROC Chinese associations (in contrast to pro-PRC associations) to organise welcoming dinner parties for officials from Taiwan, to celebrate national holidays significant for the ROC polity, and to promote 'Chinese culture'. 24 Because the Taiwanese Association constitutes only a small group among many other Chinese organisations, its members tend to feel that they are disadvantaged when operating within the framework of Hua-Qiao as they cannot exert much influence on the decisions made on behalf of Hua-Qiao. By contrast, the Mandarin Association does not seem to have problems in this regard. 25 However, it is difficult to put the idea into practice. Can the school survive financially simply by relying on having Taiwanese students? If it needs to have more students from other Chinese communities, can it insist on its 'Taiwanese specificity'? 26 For a more detailed discussion, see Jeng-Shen Doo, 'The Birth of A New Historical Perspective', Contemporary, Taipei, No.120, August 1997, pp.20-31. 27 This transnational perspective on the Taiwanese migration to Australia comes from Basch, Blanc-Szanton and Schiller, Nations Unbound. 28 cf. Basch, Blanc-Szanton and Schiller, Nations Unbound, p.269. 29 Aihwa Ong and Donald Nonini, Ungrounded Empires, Routledge, New York, 1997.

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9 A Feminist Perspective on 'Australia in Asia' Jan Jindy Pettman My aim in this chapter 1 is to elaborate a critical international feminist perspective on 'Australia's' relations with 'Asia', by bringing into conjunction usually separate literatures, and politics: international relations/Australian foreign policy, and feminist critiques of national identity, inter-state relations and globalisation processes. The chapter will trace gender its presumed absence, and constitutive presence in the Australia-Asia debate, and suggest feminist strategies and sites for further interrogation of this debate. International relations (IR) and foreign policy studies, including Australian studies, routinely ignore women, gender relations and feminist scholarship. As well, feminist interventions in the Australia-Asia debate around IR/policy domains remain both minimal and marginal, compared with more visible feminist positions on Australian nationalism, indigenous issues and the republic.2 While recognising cultural studies and post-colonial writings on Australia-Asia, the particular frame for this chapter is the discipline of international relations and official/policy pronouncements on foreign policy and (military) security. Beginning with IR enables me to make several moves: 1 locating the 'turn to Asia' in contemporary international political/economy the 'rise of Asia', the end of the Cold War, and intensifying globalisation processes, 2 drawing out the constitutive connections between foreign policy and national identity, and

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3 contesting the statist and Asianist representations of Australia-Asia and regional political identities, before going on to a feminist critique and reconstruction of this 'turn'. IR and Its Others IR is amongst the most masculinist and Westocentric of the disciplines. 3 IR is remarkably disinterested in identities and difference, despite its disciplinary claim to 'know' others and, indeed, the world. This has begun to change in recent years, in the face of the unexpected 'new world disorder'. Still, mainstream IR and its policy-academics overwhelmingly deploy a neo-realist focus on inter-state relations, rational/national self-interest power politics and military security; or international political economy in its states-and-markets or occasional world system manifestations.4 Systems or structural relations dominate the discipline; states become unitary actors, and differences within states, including gender differences, disappear into the 'domestic' realm. The discipline defines its place in the in-between of states. Its favourite narrative is the sovereignty story, which tells of a coincidence of territory, authority, population and identity, and the presumed primacy of citizenship. This has the effect of grounding identity within the territorial unit, and reproducing the nation-state, while simply presuming the hyphen between the nation and the state.5 The nation provides both the identity and the legitimacy/alibi for the state. In the process, the state comes to represent, and replace, 'the people'. This construction of state-nations homogenises states, and constructs powerful dichotomies between us and them, the inside and the outside, the domestic and the foreign. Universalist pretensions further naturalise the particular understandings and interests behind these dichotomies. The inter-state system, modernity, capitalism are all seen to spread inevitably through the world (the violence of colonialism and imperialism soften in this apparently benign spread), replacing indigenous knowledges and polities, which are no longer seen to matter in IR. A refusal to examine either coloniality or its ongoing effects feeds the deployment of racialised international identities like 'the West', 'the Third World', 'Asia', which guide state practices and inter-state relations. In the process, binaries of identity/difference are reproduced along bounded and racialised lines. Both state and regional identities are essentialised, culturalised and set against each other in a way that effectively denies both the centuries of (unequal) interaction and mutual constitution of these international identities, and the continued driving force of anti-colonial nationalism in Asian states.6 This functions to reproduce older readings of difference, and encourages complicity with new orientalisms that replicate

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the boundary between Asia and the West, them and us even though Asians, too, participate in the new orientalism. Making Foreign/Policy IR is closely associated with the global exercise of United States power 7, and reflects and reinforces its universalising pretensions and practices. So, too, foreign policy is deeply implicated in the construction of national identity and difference. Despite its usual refusal to entertain issues of identity, IR/foreign policy is a site for nationstate identity-making. Recent critical and post-structural moves in or around IR have (belatedly) introduced notions of identity as contested, contingent, multiple, intersecting; though, like feminist critique, they circulate on the edges of IR, rarely affecting/infecting the core.8 Some pursue particular linkages between foreign policy and national identity. For example, David Campbell mobilises a Foucauldian analysis of 'the ways in which US foreign policy has interpreted danger and secured the boundaries of the identity in whose name it operates'. He asks, 'What functions have difference, danger and otherness played in the constitution of identity of the US as a major player in world politics?', and asserts that 'the boundaries of a state's identity are secured by the representation of danger integral to foreign policy'.9 Understanding foreign policy as 'a political practice central to the constitution, production, and maintenance of American political identity' is useful for any critical analysis of international relations.10 So is the notion of a discursive economy, which enables us to explore questions such as how people invest in certain representations of 'reality'. Useful, too, are recognitions that the state, and the nation, are never complete, but always in process, contested and unstable, and that they are in part constituted through their constitution of others.11 In this context, 'the constant articulation of danger through foreign policy is thus not a threat to a state's identity or existence: it is its condition of possibility. While the objects of concern may change over time, the techniques and exclusions by which those objects are constituted as dangers persist.'12 This approach suggests something of what is at stake in the Australia-Asia debate, too. It illustrates the interactive, mutually constituting foreign policy/danger-national identity nexus, which can be translated into the ways Australia-Asia operates, and the need for threat/danger in the external world to consolidate both authority to the state and identity to the nation. Australia's Asia As a settler-state, Australia's identity has always been problematic, uneasy in its lack of the usual national and indigenous claim that 'we have been here forever'. Australia has long been defined against Asia,

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with cultural and political identifications on the other side of the world. In the new federation and century the White Australia policy became the quintessential emblem of the exclusion of others consolidated alongside 'protection' policies which also excluded indigenous people from an emerging Australia. The racialisation of Australia as white, European and preferably British played alongside feelings of displacement, of being far from home, on the edge of threatening, 'teeming' Asia. It constructed another binary: history versus geography. World War II effectively demonstrated the dangers of Australia's geographic location. After a brief internationalist moment under the post-war Labor government, the Cold War and the Menzies (conservative) government reasserted classical IR statist power politics that were dependent on the construction of threats and external danger. These politics necessitated the seeking-out of like-minded (and bodied) allies and powerful protectors to stand between 'us' and the racialised and threatening 'them'. Thus, Australian foreign policy defined both national interest and identity in ways that further consolidated Australia as white and Western. The post-war progressive dismantling of European colonial power removed Australia's European buffer in Asia. Fears of 'the North' and the 'yellow peril' were compounded by perceptions of the 'communist menace' a combustible mix. In response, Australia pursued military forms of Asian engagement. Australia was the first ally to join the United States of America in the Korean war, and a staunch ally of the United States in Vietnam. But defeat in Vietnam and consequent United States reaction threw doubts on the United States of America acting as Australia's insurance policy against Asia. It then became necessary for Australia to deal more directly with Asia. This move was reinforced by new social movements at home, and the official declaration of non-racial immigration and citizenship policies in the early 1970s. Increasing numbers of immigrants and refugees from Asian states and the declaration of Australia as 'a multicultural nation' 13 were called upon to prove that 'Australia' had changed, and was genuinely seeking more neighbourly relations with Asia. However, the driving force behind Australia's increasing Asian engagement since the 1980s has been the dramatic international reconfigurations of wealth, power and identity, brought about by the rise of the so-called East Asian dragons and representations of them as the engine-room of global growth, propelling Australia's accommodation with, and acceptance within Asia, for fear of being left out/left behind. Similarly, the end of the Cold War and the removal of the Soviet threat undermined the previously strategic organising device for international affiliation. In combination, these factors (or, rather, their discursive effects) came to mark a shift in priorities to 'economics' over

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political/military security calculations. Crucial, too, were intensifying globalisation processes, the coming to dominance of 'the market' and of hyper-liberal (or 'economic-rationalist') rhetoric and policy. These materialised in dramatic financial deregulation and opening up the economy, in order to become more internationally competitive. 14 These shifts have generated profound anxiety and resistance in Australia, not unrelated to the actual pain of restructuring, including high unemployment, reduced welfare supports, and increased casualisation of labour. In many cases, the resistance is also related to the perceived reversal in international power relations, which saw Australia losing out to 'the dynamic (and threatening) character of the rise of the East'15, and the normal hierarchy of world affairs turned upside down. This in turn has generated a fear that Australia would be either excluded from, or dependent on Asian wealth and power: that 'Australia's dependence on booming Asian economies is constructing it as an appendage to Asia', or as 'a bit on the side'.16 These fears have been fed by a continuing perception of Asia and Australia as both different and incompatible which effectively erases the presence of Asians already in Australia. This suggests that Australia-Asia is ideally about Australia in Asia, and not about Asia in Australia.17 Australian Labor Party leaders through the late 1980s and 1990s stressed the need for a more inclusive national identity, as a necessary precondition for 'acceptance' into the region's fora and collaborations. So, Keating argued the case for the republic as evidence to 'the region' that we had grown up and cast off the maternal (British) apronstrings. But the imaginative work involved in this attempt to become accepted by 'Asia' led to some peculiar identity gymnastics, demonstrated in Labor Foreign Minister Evans's declaration of Australia's aim to move from being 'odd man out' to 'odd man in' Asia18 (while not elaborating on what was so odd about the him).19 Such gendered imagery is frequently deployed to indicate shifts or dangers in inter-state or regional relations. The gendered language embedded in regional identity debates signals changing power relations. One commentator, Gabriel Lafitte, represented the reversal in power relations in the face of Asian success as recasting Australia from 'elder brother' to 'little brother struggling to catch up': If the classic orientalist imagery of Asia was decidedly feminine in its confessions of receptiveness, passivity, mystery, treachery and unpredictability, the new image is decidedly masculinist. The new Asian tigers are rising fast, unshackled by maternal environmental or labour laws, thrusting into new markets. The secret of their success is that their leaders . . . work as a phalanx, united in brotherhood against the world.20 The 1996 election of the conservative Howard government saw a

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cooling of admonitions to change. In his first trip to the region as prime minister, Howard repeatedly declared that Australia was not a part of Asia. Once again, though, external international events upstaged Australian policy: the Asian economic crisis, triggered by the devaluation of the Thai baht in July 1997 and the subsequent flight of capital which so endangered Southeast Asian economies, brought the very bases of the Asian miracle into doubt. 21 This crisis precipitated Australian fears of contagion and danger. The government moved quickly to distance itself from Asia, arguing that Australia was not part of Asia, that we are economically and socially quite different, and should not be identified with 'them'. The crash led to a crisis in Australia-Asia too, as the promise turned to peril Asian danger in another guise. While some continued to argue that the fault lay with foreign speculators and the ungoverned nature of casino capitalism, others responded with something approaching glee perhaps 'they' didn't have what it takes to engage in international wealth and politics, after all.22 What explained success now explained failure. The positive associations given Asian values (as in 'Confucian capitalism') were quickly translated into the negative (crony capitalism, corruption, and almost feudal misunderstanding of the requirements of global capital). Both success and now crisis become culturalised, 'othering' Asia for better or worse, praise or blame, again reproducing essentialised, and racialised, difference.23 Such statist and oriental-Asianist constructions perpetuate the invisibility of differences within Asian states, and connections across state borders including those that might link Australia and Asia. They preclude asking questions about the social costs of the 'miracle', like who pays for success, and for the crash? and what does gender have to do with all this? Australian IR's Asia A selective analysis of mainstream Australian IR and foreign policy texts reveals two dominant tendencies.24 The first is the personification of the state as a singular male actor, calling up a unified national interest, and erasing most people, including women. The second reflects the 'new agenda' in IR, with a wider definition of security, including development, environmental threats, drugs, illegal immigrants and human rights issues. Despite substantial feminist writings on these issues, women only occasionally appear within the new agenda, for example, as recipients in development assistance, in health, education or population policies.25 In the 1994 Defence White Paper Defending Australia women appear only as a problem in their comparatively early departure from employment in the Australian defence forces. A critical collection on the 1994 Defence White Paper includes several contributors who

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address gender. 26 But it is still a very rare Australian IR or foreign policy text that has even a single feminist contribution. Two recent IR/Australian foreign policy collections are devoted to themes familiar from official discourse, including celebrating the shift from 'battlefield to marketplace', and from threat to opportunity.27 The end of the Cold War marks the aim of 'redefining national power in terms of competitiveness and trade performance'.28 Proximity to the world's most dynamic region is seen as 'giving Australia encouragement' in its struggle 'to become an Asia-Pacific, if not an Asian, nation'.29 Asia moves from being the problem to being the desired/required solution. There is no sign of 'women' in one of the two collections (McGillivray and Smith), and only a single mention in the second (Cotton and Ravenhill), in a sentence referring to anxieties about a growing fragmentation in Australia, 'a fragmentation encouraged, for instance, by multiculturalism, the women's movement, and a long overdue recognition of Aboriginal claims'.30 These collections participate in as well as report on the shift from military/political to economic security, from threat to promise (though with threat behind the promise31), from Australia against Asia to Australia with/in Asia. They reinforce the Labor message Australia must re-orientate, and seize the chance (note Keating's 'if not here, where'?32). This re-orientation is presented as normatively desirable, ethically preferable and appropriate, in keeping with our new, more inclusive, more multicultural, more cosmopolitan selves.33 However, we must take care not to slip up or be caught up with, or fall back into old ways and there are always those who might sabotage our new way. But, however, desirable the Asian turn is, the realpolitik driving it is self-interest in responding to a particular constellation of power, economy and culture summed up in terms of 'the Asian miracle' and 'globalisation'. Interestingly, we can see in such commentaries both a disavowal of culture, and its recovery. The turn to economics, and especially the representation of marketisation and globalisation forces as inevitable and irresistible, suggests a kind of economic determinism, a 'beyond history-and-politics'. At the same time, a very different image of world order, of huge competitive civilisational blocs, comes into view.34 True, Australia is seeking closer relations with Asia but ambivalence and anxiety is often close by. And the ways in which these relations are represented once again reinforce the binary us/them, Australia/Asia, West/orient.35 The trick then becomes paying attention to detail and cultural clues, to negotiate the divide successfully. Asia's Asia? Asian difference reproduces the distance between us and them. Talk of

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'cultural sensitivity' can become complicit in reproducing reified, culturalised Asian values. It removes the possibility of asking questions about which Asia, and which Asians, are important in Australian engagements. As well, culturalising and homogenising states and regions obscure the extent to which both Asian miracle and Asian crash are played out, not in disembodied space but on actual bodies, including women's, and children's, bodies. 36 In the 1980s and 1990s, the 'Asian miracle' boosted cultural self-confidence among East and Southeast Asian state élites. Particular Asian state identities were reconfigured in part through dis-identification with 'the West', reproducing 'Asian difference' and emphasising 'Asian values', or 'the Asian way'. This neo-orientalism was played out through complex identity dynamics. Crediting Asian values with responsibility for economic growth and dynamism appeared to legitimise and necessitate authoritarian rule. In the process, the politics of identity disappeared once again. Chua Beng Huat traces the culturalisation of economy and politics in Singapore, including the introduction and then the abandonment of teaching Confucianism in schools, and the process by which those transformations deemed necessary for development in the 1970s were valorised as 'essential cultural traits' a decade later.37 Some state élites, notably in Singapore and Malaysia, have been especially assertive regarding both Asian values and Asian difference. Australia's function as agent/proxy of the West is evident in their pronouncements. The former prime minister of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew, famously scorned Australia's loss of moral fibre and competitive capacity by warning that it could become 'the white trash of Asia'. The prime minister of Malaysia, Mahathir Mohamad, has frequently castigated Australia, both for its pretensions to Asian-ness and its failures as a nation/civilisation. Asian state élites, too, need to construct others and make them foreign, both to underwrite their own post-colonial state identities and to discipline national selves.38 Dissent becomes a crime against both state and culture: feminism and other forms of democratic or radical opposition are contaminated, Westoxified.39 In this process, important points of convergence in political economy and values between Asian and Australian political élites are disguised40, as are the costs of Asian growth including to those who organise and struggle for workers' rights, women's rights and democratic rights, for example, often at considerable expense and danger to themselves.41 Gendering Australia-Asia 'Asian values' are a vivid example of the centrality of gender roles and gendered subjectivities in constructing both inter-state difference, and state identities and citizen obligations. Previous examples suggest that

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gender dynamics infuse identities, political subjectivities and power relations between states, too. Representing states in terms of 'the single male actor' equates power and agency with masculinity; further, gender and sexuality are used to signal hierarchies among men, and states (as the Lafitte quote above indicates). So, we need ask what is obscured in Australia-Asia by refusing to take women and gender relations seriously? 42 Feminist scholars have revealed the close and mutually constitutive relations between gender and nation, and are now addressing sexuality and nation, too.43 Women are caught up in the symbolic uses made of them, as mothers of the nation, as markers of difference, and in times of nationalist conflict, as those (along with children) for whom men must fight. Women as reproducers may be subjected to particular demands or penalties. The Singapore government, for example, encourages educated women to marry and have children, while prohibiting foreign domestic workers from marrying Singaporean citizens, and deporting those found pregnant in compulsory pregnancy testing. Women are routinely constructed as helpmates and supports for men, families and the state urged to remain 'feminine' while also expected to labour outside the family and underwrite economic growth. Representations of the good wife/mother facilitate the process by which feminism is made foreign, unruly, disloyal. They also make women available for exploitation by family, state and capital, as national carers and as cheapened labour44, but in such a way that the gendered impact of both growth and crisis is obscured. Coming Across? At the same time, 'traditional' femininities appear to favour 'Asian' men, who can trump those 'Western' men who have reportedly lost control of 'their' women. In Asia, it is claimed, women are still women and men are still on top.45 In this context, the international sex trade takes on other kinds of meanings. Asia remains the repository of authentic femininity, of the kinds of sex-and-service which men should expect of women. This is particularly marked on the bodies of those women who serve United States military personnel, in the camps around the huge American bases in South Korea and Okinawa, and until recently around American bases in the Philippines. Filipina feminists of GABRIELA, for example, mobilised against the surveillance, and abuse, of Filipinas and utilised an explicitly international critique in representing base sex as part of the denial of Philippines sovereignty. Now, Filipinas travel across state borders as hospitality workers most of the sex workers in Okinawa are Filipinas. This reveals an international political economy of sex, and is one aspect of a substantial international transfer of reproductive labour from poorer South and

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Southeast Asian states into richer states. 46 These forms of international traffic in women feed into particular state representations, and reputations, especially implicating women from Thailand and the Philippines.47 Australia does not permit labour migration or participate in the overseas contract worker system that transports so many women through transnational circuits. However, there are now reports of Thai women overstaying temporary visas and working in brothels in Australia as, effectively, bonded labourers. At the same time, the trade in 'mail-order brides', mostly from the Philippines into Australia, bears the marks of a potentially lethal combination of sexism, racism and culturalism. The overrepresentation of Filipinas as victims of spousal murder and serious assault in Australia reflects both gender and international inequalities. 'The violence can be understood at one level as male violence against women, however, it is also mediated through . . . the relationship between first world men and what they understand to be Filipino women.'48 Recent publicity to Australian pedophiles operating in the Philippines also contributes to the ugly Australian/sexual predator image both reflecting and reproducing colonial, racialised sexual fantasies and international sexploitation. And, of course, a significant number of Australian men travel to Thailand for 'exotic' sex, leading Chris Berry to ask whether this is 'what they mean by ''Australia in Asia"?'49 What becomes evident here is that the more familiar gender/class/race/culture mix needs be supplemented with nationality, too. Formal citizenship or residence rights determine which women can move across state borders, and who can stay, work, access benefits and become citizens. Immigration including labour migration controls and regulations are the business of states, rigorously exercised in the name of state sovereignty even as controls against the entry of capital are lifted. At the same time, states are identified in terms of gendered stereotypes which can affect how women from these states are perceived, and treated. These stereotypes also affect national identity and reputation internationally. Some of the fury directed against the Singapore hanging of Filipina domestic worker Flor Contemplacion was generated by the felt national humiliation of the Philippines being constructed as a nation of servants, and 'its' women seen as sex workers and mail-order brides.50 Looking for Sex, Gender and Feminist Interventions Interrogating national gendered representations offers fascinating ways of approaching and thinking about the gender dynamics of volatile power relations in the region. Gendered imagery and language abound in contested national identities and inter-state relations. They also offer

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insights into the confusions and anxieties that attend changing power relations. So, Krishna Sen and Maila Stivens note that: Asian leaders seem preoccupied with issues of national identity and women's and the family's role in producing that identity . . . Issues of family, gender, home, masculinity, femininity and sexuality are central sites for the cultural expression and reworking of ideas of the 'modern' and the expression of worries about the costs of development and modernity. 51 While feminist analysis is rarely deployed in readings of the main game in Australia-Asia, there are fascinating feminist IR writings which pursue gender in international identity politics and in reconstructing state authority regimes and shifting global political economy, which could be pursued in the context of this chapter. For example, Jongwoo Han and Lily Ling argue that authoritarianism in East Asian capitalist developmental states is highly gendered. However, they reject popular constructions of Confucian and Western masculinity as binary opposites, seeing rather a convergence of 'Western masculinist capitalism with Confucian parental governance': 'A hybrid "hypermasculinized" state results that glorifies aggression, achievement, control, competition, and power in the name of national reconstruction'.52 This state works in close relation to global capital, whilst also recovering from the emasculation of orientalist discourses applied to East Asia in colonial and recent post-colonial times. Han and Ling trace three interrelated discourses in the West that have contributed to orientalising East Asia the 'opening up of Asia', modernisation theory, and Cold War security, in each case with an underlying imagery of conquest, rape, and penetration. These discourses effected the familiar feminising of the East, and the related privileging of the West as actor, ravisher and saviour. With East Asia rising, the gender attributes shift, resulting in the construction of the hypermasculine, development state as saviour/father. 'Society' is feminised, and women's self-sacrificing virtue, modesty, and hard work, are called on to nurture first-born sons, the corporations, and the state. Masculinising East Asian states also involves the re-assignment of gendered traits to the West. In the face of East Asian success, a story of Western decline is mobilised: the West is now emasculated, feminised, unruly, dissolute, immoral. The West no longer exemplifies energy, reason, thrift, hard work, self-control, competition and strength. These (manly) qualities have now moved East, facilitating the Asian miracle. (The problem of imputing 'new' qualities with essentialised, cultural tradition has already been alluded to in Singapore's case.) Thus, national identities and changing inter-state relations are recast through association with feminine or masculine characteristics though there are clearly competing masculinities at work here, too. So,

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we must attend to feminist IR writings that unearth and deconstruct the particular kinds of masculinity deployed in statecraft, and in power politics and wealth-making, internationally. 53 The gendered costs of growth, crisis and restructuring overlay and rework unequal gender and class relations in Asian states. Particular forms of work and of pain become motivation for women organising, both within states and across state borders. Here transnational links have been boosted by regional and international conferences, especially Vienna, Cairo and Beijing. Australian women and women's non-governmental organisations have been active players in these exchanges, and in transnational campaigns for example, against sex tourism and especially child sex, and child pornography. Tracing these politics reveals linkages across the Australia-Asia divide, and fudges its boundaries. This also reminds us that we cannot assume who 'Australian feminists' are in these exchanges. So Filipina Australian feminists work with other Australian feminists, and with those in the Philippines, on issues such as mail-order brides. These campaigns have forced a small but remarkable shift in state policy. The Australian government has legislated to prosecute Australian citizens for sex crimes against children while overseas. It also now requires those being sponsored from the Philippines as a fiancée or spouse to view a video informing them of their rights and of available support in Australia. These are minor victories in the continuing struggle to gender AustraliaAsia. They signal feminist sites and alternative circuits in the borders of Australia-Asia. Here, the work of feminists and other critical analyses of the Australia-Asia debate disrupt and rewrite the real and imaginary relationship between Australia and Asia, both in popular discourse and in IR as a discipline. Notes 1 My thanks to Tasha Sudan for her careful comments on this chapter. 2 Exceptions include Jan Jindy Pettman, 'Gendering International Relations', Australian Journal of International Affairs, 47, 1, 1993, pp. 47-62; and 'Questions of Identity: Australia and Asia', in Ken Booth (ed.), Community, Identity, Security, Lynne Reinner, Boulder (forthcoming); Christine Sylvester, 'The White Paper Trailing', in Graeme Cheeseman and Robert Bruce (eds), Discourses of Danger and Dread: Australian Defence and Security Thinking after the Cold War, Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, 1996, pp. 134-49. See also Ien Ang and Jon Stratton, 'Asianing Australia: Notes towards a Critical Transnationalism in Cultural Studies', Cultural Studies, 10, 1, 1996, pp. 16-31; Kuan-Hsing Chen, 'Not yet the Postcolonial Era: The (Super) Nation-State and Transnationalism of Cultural Studies', Cultural Studies, 10, 1, 1996, pp.37-70. 3 Cynthia Enloe, Bananas, Bases and Beaches: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics, Pandora, London, 1990; J. Ann Tickner, Gender in International Relations, Columbia University Press, 1992; Jan Jindy Pettman, Worlding Women: a Feminist International Politics, Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, and Routledge, 1996; Jill Steans, Gender and International Relations, Polity Press, Cambridge, 1998.

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4 David Sullivan 'Sipping a Thin Gruel: Academic and Policy Closure in Australia's Defence and Security Discourse', in Cheeseman and Bruce, Discourses of Danger and Dread, pp.49-107. 5 Jan Jindy Pettman 'Nationalism and After', International Studies Quarterly, 42, 3, 1998, pp.149-64. 6 Ang and Stratton, 'Asianing Australia: Notes towards a Critical Transnationalism in Cultural Studies'; Mark Berger, 'Yellow Mythologies: the East Asian Miracle and Post-Cold War Capitalism', positions, 4, 1, 1996, pp.90-124. 7 It is often claimed that 90 per cent of IR academic jobs are in the United States of America, which also dominates the international production of IR graduate students, and of journals, including those like Foreign Affairs with a substantial foreign policy and defence readership. 8 Jill Krause and Neil Renwick (eds), Identities in International Relations, Macmillan, Basingstoke, 1996; Pettman, Worlding Women; Phillip Darby (ed.), On the Edge of International Relations: Postcolonialism, Gender and Dependency, Pinter, London, 1997; Steans, Gender and International Relations. 9 David Campbell, Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1998, pp.5, 7, 3. 10 Campbell, Writing Security, p.8. 11 Geoff Eley and Roland Suny (eds), Becoming National: A Reader, Oxford University Press, 1996; Pettman, 'Nationalism and After'. 12 Campbell, Writing Security, p.13. 13 Multiculturalism can be understood as a migrant labour management strategy, as well as a response to 'ethnic' mobilisation and claims for recognition. cf. Masao Myoshi, 'Borderless World? From Colonialism to Transnationalism and the Decline of the Nation-State', Critical Inquiry, 19, 4, 1993, pp.273-96. See also Crane's elaboration of economic nationalism as an aspect of national identity: 'the imagined economy, the thing to be protected, is now articulated in terms of global capitalism', in George Crane, 'Imagining the Economic Nation: Chinese Responses to Globalization', ISA conference paper, Minneapolis, 1998, p.29. 14 Note the predominant tendency to represent globalisation as inevitable, a nonpolitical compulsion: J. Mittelman (ed.), Globalization: Opportunities and Challenges, Lynne Reinner, Boulder, 1995; Jan Aart Schotle, 'The Globalization of World Politics', in J. Baylis and S. Smith (eds), The Globalization of World Politics, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997, pp.13-30. 15 Berger, 'Yellow Mythologies: the East Asian Miracle and Post-Cold War Capitalism', p.100. 16 Chris Berry, A Bit on the Side: East-West Topographies of Desire, EMPress, Sydney, 1994, p.10; see David Halperin, 'Review: A Bit on the Side', UTS Review, 1, 1, 1995, p.140. 17 Which might account for recent media attention and hysteria at the arrival of 'boat people' even though only 279 people arrived illegally in Australia by boat between July 1998 and April 1999: Canberra Times, 26 April 1999, p.7. See also Ien Ang, 'The Curse of the Smile: Ambivalence and the 'Asian' Woman in Australian Multiculturalism', Feminist Review, 52, 1996, pp.36-50; Indrani Ganguly, 'Can We Be Australian? Third World Women in a First World Society', Hecate, xxiii, ii, 1997, pp.13-34. 18 Gareth Evans, 'Managing Australia's Asian Future', The Monthly Record, October 1991, pp.656-66. 19 'Given the weakening of Australia's 'Western' position and that power is no longer necessarily associated with whiteness and masculinity, the persistent figuration of Australia as a 'white man' seems particularly problematic': Wanning Sun, 'From Metaphor to Irony: Orient(alis)ing the Self in Australian News of the Other', UTS Review, 3, 2, 1997, p.150. 20 Gabriel Lafitte, 'ReOrientations', Arena Magazine, September 1994, pp.13-15.

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21 'The Asian currency fiasco is more than a financial problem, it is an identity crisis' for Asian states too: Crane, 'Imagining the Economic Nation: Chinese Responses to Globalization', p.27. 22 Some Australian commentators 'savoured the sense of superiority yet again': Alison Broinowski, 'Asianisation and its Discontents', Meanjin, 57, 3, 1998, pp.440-452, here p.443. 23 Hence the need for critical and situated interrogation of globalisation processes and state responses: see, for example, Arif Dirklif, 'Critical Reflections on "Chinese Capitalism" as Paradigm', Identities, 3, 3, 1997, pp.303-30; Jongwoo Han and LHM Ling. 'Authoritarianism in the Hypermasculinized State: Hybridity Patriarchy and Capitalism in Korea', International Studies Quarterly, 42, 1998, pp.53-78. 24 My thanks to Tony Burke, who undertook this review. 25 For example, Gareth Evans and Bruce Grant, Australia's Foreign Relations in the World of the 1990s, Melbourne University Press, 1995. 26 Cheeseman and Bruce, including George, Sullivan and Sylvester, Discourses of Danger and Dread. See also Rod McGibbon, 'Engaging with the Asia-Pacific: Australian Foreign Policy in the Pacific Century', Ph.D. thesis, Australian National University, 1997; Anthony Burke, 'Security: An Australian Genealogy', Ph.D. thesis, Australian National University, 1998. 27 Mark McGillivray and Gary Smith (eds), Australia and Asia, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1997, p.222; David Goldsworthy, 'An Overview', in James Cotton and John Ravenhill (eds), Seeking Asian Engagement: Australia in World Affairs, 1991-1995, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1997, p.23. 28 James Cotton and John Ravenhill, 'Australia's "Engagement with Asia"', in Cotton and Ravenhill, Seeking Asian Engagement, pp.1-16, here p.4. 29 Cotton and Ravenhill, 'Australia's "Engagement with Asia"', p.6. 30 Anthony Milner, 'The Rhetoric of Asia', in Cotton and Ravenhill, Seeking Asian Engagement, pp.32-45, here p.36. 31 See also Stephen FitzGerald, Is Australia an Asian Country?, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1997, on the urgent need to engage with Asia, especially China, before it's 'too late'. 32 cf. Keating: 'Unless we succeed in Asia we succeed nowhere', quoted in David Walker, 'Cultural Change and the Response to Asia: 1945 to the present', in McGillivray and Smith, Australia and Asia, pp.11-27, here p.23. 33 Stephen Frost 'Negotiating Asia', UTS Review, 3, 2, 1997, pp.23-35. 34 He loosely connects with Fukuyama's 'end of history', and with Huntington's 'clash of civilizations', both of which operate as powerful metaphors for our time in IR/US foreign policy joined now by Kaplan's 'the coming Anarchy'. See Cindy O'Hagan and Greg Fry (eds), Metaphors for our Time: Contending Images of World Politics, ANU/Allen & Unwin (forthcoming). 35 Berger describes Australian approaches to Asia as resting on 'overdetermined cultural/racial explanations . . . which overlook the hybrid character of the history of the region', 'Yellow Mythologies: the East Asian Miracle and Post-Cold War Capitalism', p.92. 36 Haleh Afshar and Carolyne Dennis (eds), Women and Structural Adjustment Policies in the Third World, Macmillan, London, 1992; Isabella Baaker (ed.), The Strategic Silence: Gender and Economic Policy, Zed Books, London, 1994; Krishna Sen and Maila Stivens (eds), Gender and Power in Affluent Asia, Routledge, London, 1998. 37 Chua Beng Huat, 'Culturalisation of Economy and Politics in Singapore', in R. Robison (ed), Pathways to Asia, Allen & Unwin, 1996, pp.87-107, here pp.92-93. 38 Loong Wong and Beverley Blaskett, 'Manipulating Space in a Postcolonial State: the Case of Malaysia', in Joseph A. Camilleri, Anthony P. Jarvis, Albert J. Paolini

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(eds), The state in Transition: Reimagining Political Space, Lynne Reinner Publishers, Boulder, Colorado London, 1995, pp. 173-188, here p.183. 39 Kumari Jayawardena, Feminism and Nationalism in the Third World, Zed Books, London, 1986. See also Lenore Lyons-Lee, 'Negotiating Difference: Constructing the Limits of Feminist Political Intervention', Ph.D. thesis, Australian National University, 1998, on the delicate political space within which the Singapore organisation AWARE operates. 40 Loong Wong, 'Touchy Neighbours: Australia's Muddled Relationship with Malaysia', Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 22, 1994, pp.172-89; Richard Robison, 'Looking north: myths and strategies', in Robison (ed), Pathways to Asia, pp.3-28; Nancy Viviani, 'Australia and Southeast Asia', in Cotton and Ravenhill, Seeking Asian Engagement, pp.149-69. 41 The accusation of back-turning and complicity is especially evident in regard to East Timor, where an estimated 200,000 people have died since 1975. Note Alison Broinowski on the fall of Indonesia's ex-President Suharto :'The gamble on Suharto as Australia's sugar-daddy in the region had not paid off', Broinowski, 'Asianisation and its Discontents', p.445. 42 cf Stivens: 'In the flurry of writing about the new rich and the newly affluent of Asia, astonishingly little attention has been paid to gender relations in contemporary East and Southeast Asia', 'Theorising Gender, Power and Modernity in Affluent Asia', in Sen and Stivens, Gender and Power in Affluent Asia, pp.1-35, here p.2. 43 Pettman, Worlding Women; Nira Yuval-Davis, Gender and Nation, Sage, London, 1998; V. Spike Peterson, 'Sexing Political Identities/Nationalism as Heterosexism', International Feminist Journal of Politics, 1, 1, 1999. 44 Laura Hyan Yi Kang 'Si(gh)ting Asian/American Women as Transnational Labour', positions, 5, 2, 1997, pp.40737. 45 Katherine Moon, Sex Among Allies: Military Prostitution in US-Korean Relations, Columbia University Press, New York, 1997. Note that a crucial ingredient in many Asian states is militarism, whose particular impacts on women are documented in feminist IR and peace research more evidence not admitted to the main Australia-Asia defence, security or regional politics debates. 46 Jan Jindy Pettman, 'Women on the Move: Globalisation and Labour Migration from South and Southeast Asian States', Global Society, 12, 3, 1997, pp.389-403. 47 Note a report of March 1999 that Hong Kong customs officials were directed to ask each Thai woman (but not Thai men) arriving in Hong Kong if she was a prostitute. 48 Chris Cunneen and Julie Stubbs, Gender, 'Race' and International Relations: Violence Against Filipino Women in Australia, Institute of Criminology, Monograph No.9, Sydney, 1997, p.119. See also Kathryn Robinson, 'Of MailOrder Brides and "Boys' Own" Tales: Representations of Asian-Australian Marriages', Feminist Review, No.52, 1996, pp.53-68, and chapter 10 in this volume, by Kathryn Robinson. 49 Berry, 'Yellow Mythologies; the East Asian Miracle and Post-Cold War Capitalism', p.9. 50 Anne-Marie Hilsdon 'The Contemplacion Fiasco: the Hanging of a Filipino Domestic Worker in Singapore', in Anne-Marie Hilsdon et al (eds), Gender Relations and Human Rights in Asia and the Pacific, Routledge, London (forthcoming). 51 Stivens, 'Theorising Gender, Power and Modernity in Affluent Asia', in Sen and Stivens, Gender and Power in Affluent Asia, pp.17, 24. 52 Stivens, 'Theorising Gender, Power and Modernity in Affluent Asia', p.54. 53 Enloe, Bananas, Bases and Beaches: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics; V. Spike Peterson and Anne Sisson Runyan, Global Gender Issues, Westview Press, Boulder, 1993; Pettman, Worlding Women; Marysia Zalewski and Jane Parpart (eds), The 'Man' Question in International Relations, Westview Press, Boulder, 1998.

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10 Looking for Father-Right: The Asian Values Debate and Australian-Asian Relations Kathryn Robinson Australia, a Part of Asia? In Australia, as the twentieth century moves towards its close, we are in the midst of a public debate about Australian national identity much of it taking as a reference point the emergence from a Eurocentric, colonial worldview (for example, the republican debate). 1 Particularly in the term of the former Labor government under the prime ministership of Paul Keating, there was increasing rhetoric about Australia's place in the Asia-Pacific region. This asserts Australia's 'Asianness' as being due to its geographical proximity to Asia and recent connections to the developing capitalist economies of the region, rather than by reference to history for example, contact with Asia since even before the earliest days of white settlement. Australia's Asian debate has been dominated by the neo-liberal economic discourse as Australia realigns its place in the system of world trade: there is an opportunistic character to much of the debate.2 For example, commenting on (then-prime minister) Keating's upcoming visit to Malaysia in early 1996, Greg Sheridan, foreign editor of the Australian newspaper, wrote: Keating's cast of mind is essentially holistic . . . (h)e is preoccupied with the linkages. Australia's push into Asia, the republic, economic modernisation all these themes are united in the question of national identity and pursuing an identity into the 21st century.3 Australian claims to Asianness have not been readily acceded to by

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our Asian neighbours. For example, in a 1996 speech delivered in New Zealand, entitled 'The reality of a resurgent Asia', the Malaysian prime minister, Mahathir Mohamad, stated: Asians are Asian not because of ethnicity but because they belong to a geographical entity. Perhaps it is the Europeans who group them together. But they do feel a vague sense of unity and they can easily identify with each other, especially in the presence of Europeans. 4 Mahathir Mohamad also asserts a geographic referent for 'the idea of Asia', but firmly rejects claims by settler colonials to be part of that entity. There have been powerful changes in recent decades in how Australia relates to Asia in terms of 'the national imaginary'.5 Travel to Asia, and a high-profile Asian presence in some urban neighbourhoods are now commonplace experiences for many Australians. This is a far cry from the post-World War I years, when Australia was still part of the British Empire, comfortably Anglo, and when young Australians making their pilgrimage overseas headed straight for London on ocean liners which made brief stops at exotic ports like Aden and Gibraltar. In the 1950s I was educated about my place in the world by the map showing 'Australia's Neighbours' in the Australian Junior Encyclopaedia.6 The centrally located image of Australia was flanked to the northwest by India, and then by Africa and Europe. To the north was New Guinea, the lone representative of the Asia-Pacific region, which was otherwise represented by America. There was no Southeast Asia, no China. The omission of Southeast Asia and of what are now the island nations of the Pacific is even more remarkable considering that these were the theatres of war from which my father and his generation had just returned.7 But Australia has a new-found relationship with Asia, and the role of Asia in the national imaginary has been fuelled by an increase in the volume of 'real relations' with Asia. Australia and Asia are linked in what Hannerz8 has called the 'global ecumene': the global order is constituted, not just at the level of the economic, or the cultural, but also in terms of interpersonal relations. These real social relations have the power to disrupt and challenge elements of the taken-for-granted in everyday life; hence, they become elements of contemporary debates about Australian identity the Australian way of life, values and sensibilities. The purported loss of our Australian way of life, the defence of a unitary Australian culture (such as the argument that migrants should speak English), and the doomsday scenario of 'us' being swamped by 'them' in the next century have become the focus of complaints by

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Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party and its supporters. The electoral successes of the One Nation Party have put these issues at the centre of current political debate; but, as well, such issues have not been far below the surface in media coverage of events concerned with the consequences of the increased volume of social integration with Asia. This chapter takes up the textual fate of the Malaysian 'prince' who, in 1992, kidnapped his children from his divorced Australian wife and her new Anglo-Australian husband. 9 The media coverage of this incident framed 'Asian identity', 'Asian Values', 'the Asian way of life' and, of course, Islam, in terms of purported Australian values. But the resonances with anxieties about our changing way of life were not always negative. Some reports transformed the Malaysian father into a 'Boys' Own' hero, defening 'father-right' against the onslaughts of the Australian Family Court. In particular, his case was championed by angry men who resent their perceived loss of rights in decisions of the Family Court relating to child support payments to divorced spouses and to custody of children. In July 1992 the headline 'Malaysian Prince Vanishes With Two Little Aussies' appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald.10 According to the story, the prince 'kidnapped his two children from their Australian mother who had custody during an access visit'. The background to the story was that a Malaysian national who had been married to an Australian kidnapped his children from his divorced wife, who had been awarded custody in 1986 by the Australian Family Court, taking them from Australia to Malaysia by a clandestine route. Kidnappings of children by an estranged foreign-born parent occur frequently, but no other cases have attracted this degree of publicity. In this case the Family Court lifted the customary ban on publicity in such cases in the hope that the attendant media coverage would aid in the recovery of the children. Also, the mother and her new husband worked in the media and in public relations, and used their professional skills to good effect. At the level of popular debate, this case brought into play contested notions of family values, foundational to the presumed cultural gulf between oriental Malaysia and occidental Australia. The tropes of earlier media coverage of events involving Australia and Malaysia were available to fuel this debate. The 'Problem' with Malaysia It is significant that the kidnapping parent was a Malaysian. The case emerged against a background of a series of incidents, beginning with the hanging of convicted Australian drug traffickers Barlow and Chambers in Malaysia in 1986. The case for commuting their death penalties to custodial sentences had been unsuccessfully taken up by the Australian government, in particular the then-prime minister,

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Robert Hawke, who publicly referred to differences between the Australian and Malaysian judicial cultures, describing the Malaysian judicial system as 'barbaric'. 11 Further tension developed between the Australian and Malaysian governments in the early 1990s concerning the ABC television series 'Embassy'. The Malaysian government argued that Ragaan, the fictional Southeast Asian nation represented in the series, was an evocation of Malaysia, its dictatorial prime minister a negatively constituted clone of Mahathir Mohamad. Ragaan was clearly located by the 'imaginative geography' of orientalism; with eastern potentates, submissive veiled women, sexual disorder and political disorder lurking below the surface.12 The dramas of disordered Ragaan provided a backdrop for the rational, democratic, humane actions of the Australian Embassy staff. The actors who played the citizens of Ragaan were not Southeast Asian; many of them were Australians of Southern European descent (including the well-known Australian actor Lex Marinos) reinforcing the blurring of differences between 'others' in an orientalist trope. Concern about negative stereotypes of Malaysia also emerged in 1992 with the making of the film Turtle Beach. Controversy arose over a scene in which coastal villagers in peninsular Malaysia stoned to death Vietnamese refugees as they landed on the beach. The incident has no basis in known history, and does not occur in Blanche d'Alpuget's book, on which the screenplay was based.13 The producer defended his 'dramatic licence' in 'making a piece of entertainment which had a very strong subtext on the plight of refugees in the world'.14 The film contained several deviations from d'Alpuget's book. D'Alpuget herself wrote: The book opens with the 1969 riots, for these riots framed Malaysian politics in the 1970s. The film also opens with the riots but does not explain their significance. Inevitably this leaves cinema goers with the impression that Malaysians are bloodthirsty an impression that is reinforced later in the notorious massacre scene on the beach.15 She nonetheless expressed an appreciation of the film, citing the different character of the medium from the potentially more complex form of the novel. She concludes, in a comment which echoes the sentiments expressed by the producer Matt Carroll16 (who has a very negative view of Mahathir Mohamad's Malaysia, presumably as a consequence of Carroll's involvement in a television series on the Barlows-Chambers hanging): The Australian news media got itself in a lather of indignation over the 'inaccurate' massacre scene. But it is all inaccurate. None of it is real. As no newspaper report of an event is ever accurate as anybody who has

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ever worked as a reporter will admit. However, the film is true emotionally and artistically, I think. 17 This tolerant view of the artistic licence allowed in the making of the film fails to take account that the deviations from the novel take the form of orientalist tropes. Artistic licence found its expression in stereotypes. This imaginary construction of a world with a dictatorial and illiberal regime, with little regard for personal freedom and shadowed by the spectre of Islamic fundamentalism, was available for the interpretation of events surrounding the sorry outcome of what is otherwise a sadly mundane story: another bitter and contested custody battle following the breakdown of a marriage. In this case the protagonists were no ordinary couple, but, according to the press reports, a 'prince' and an Australian girl who had relinquished her life as a 'princess' by divorcing him. A Custody Case Becomes a National Struggle The earliest press reports of the kidnapping of the children had an orientalist cast. Mr Gillespie, the second husband of the children's mother, Jacqueline Gillespie, stated that his wife was fearful of not getting the children back 'because Islamic law will be biased against her'. Invoking an alleged sentence, of six strokes of the cane, by an Islamic court for leaving the 'prince', Mr Gillespie said, 'for my wife, living in a fundamentalist Islamic society as a member of a royal family was like going back three hundred years. It was very brutal and repressive.'18 Mrs Gillespie also alleged that her daughter was in danger of being subjected to female circumcision. Statements by the Gillespies in support of their demands for the government to intervene to secure the return of the children invoked the children's Australian citizenship, and the obligation this implied. Their statements, and most of the press commentary, presumed the superiority of Australia as a rational, ordered and modern society. The Australian Family Court was the bastion of rationality and good judgement, as opposed to the Malaysian Islamic courts, which were presented as inherently biased and unable to arrive at a fair decision.19 The legitimacy of the father's claim was questioned, based on his citizenship of a backward feudal society. The birth father 'Raja Bahrin's ''abduction" was angled in the Australian media as a flagrant abuse of Australian family law and maternal rights'.20 These accounts drew on an ill-informed and negative stereotype of Islam as an illiberal and brutal religion, and emphasised the presumed power and status of the 'prince' in a society which still operated on feudal principles.21 Raja Bahrin (a minor noble connected to the sultan of the state of

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Trengganu) was constantly exoticised, usually referred to as 'the prince'. 22 In these public commentaries the race issue was submerged; the children were constantly referred to as 'the Gillespie children', thus erasing their Eurasian identity. No reference was made to Mrs Gillespie's 'mixed race' background she is the daughter of an Australian mother and a Chinese father. Her public persona was the Aussie girl who relinquished her life of luxury as a 'princess' in an exotic locale, to seek her desired goal; in her own words, to be a 'station wagon Mum'.23 On 16 July Mr Gillespie claimed 'the prince' 'would be regarded within the fundamentalist Islam community as a hero, rescuing his children from the infidels'.24 The September issue of the Australian Women's Weekly25 had the cover line 'Living Every Woman's Worst Nightmare' emblazoned across a picture of Jacqueline Gillespie, holding a child's toy, with framed photos of the children in the background. The interview with Jacqueline Gillespie drew on images of harems, beatings and sexual cruelty. The Gillespies were adept at promoting these available orientalist images in the media in the service of their cause. Islam As 'Un-Australian' Responding quickly to the initial tenor of newspaper reports on the abduction and the slightly hysterical tone of outrage expressed in some media reports (for example, a reference to the 'thief prince'26), Harold Crouch, an Australian political scientist whose expertise encompasses Malaysia, published an article in the Melbourne Age. Sympathising with the plight of the mother, he expressed the hope that 'the mother's agony does not set off a round of counter-productive Malaysia bashing and Islam-bashing in Australia'.27 His comments were somewhat prophetic, but his words of caution had little influence on subsequent media reporting. Crouch explained the relation between civil law and Islamic law in Malaysia, noting that the Islamic courts, which operate at state level in Malaysia, have limited jurisdiction in matters relating to the observance of religion and family matters, including adultery, inheritance, marriage, divorce, and the custody of children. He pointed out that the courts do discriminate against nonMuslims, with a mother losing custody rights if she is no longer a Muslim, or if she remarries. In media interviews, Raja Bahrin challenged the story of the six strokes of the cane and criticised the fact that his children had been baptised as Christians following his ex-wife's remarriage to Gillespie. The Malaysian Law minister was reported as saying that under Malaysian law Mrs Gillespie had surrendered custody because she had converted to Christianity.28 Raja Bahrin's comments at his first press conference after surfacing in Malaysia with the children, in which he explained that it was God's will that he had taken the children in

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order to secure their life as Muslims, was widely reported in the Australian press. But this statement, rather than being presented as a highly culturally inflected view, a simple statement of his obligations under Islam, was generally represented with a negative tone, picking up only the fundamentalist tenor of such remarks. Crouch concluded that: Public emotions are likely to be aroused in regard to the present case . . . because the case involves Islam . . . It would be extremely counterproductive if Australia managed to convey the impression that we consider their legal system to be unfair in comparison with our own, that Islamic law is inferior to secular law and that Malaysian fathers have less claim to their children than Australian mothers. 29 His counsel, from the point of view of a knowledgeable 'insider' was ineffective, however, in stemming the tide of negative reports which pandered to orientalist tropes, and drew on the already circulating negative images of Malaysia, and of Islam (especially 'fundamentalist Islam'). In general, the Australian media reported uncritically every negative comment which the Gillespies made, about Islam and Malaysia. Crouch's column was followed a few days later by a piece in the Age written by Pamela Bone, who came straight to the point: I believe that the children and especially the little seven year old girl Shahirah, have a better chance of a happy life being brought up as Anglicans in Australia than as Muslims in Malaysia and if that makes me ethnocentric or culturally elitist so be it.30 Bone justifies her position in terms of an assertion of a secondary status for women under Islam, compared to the position of Australian (Anglican) women, rejecting the claims to the contrary by 'Australian Muslim women', whom she cites. Responding to Crouch's question concerning how we would respond in the reverse situation, if an Australian man had kidnapped his children to ensure they were not brought up as Muslims, she writes: We should feel, in that case, that the Australian father is acting just as wrongly as the Malaysian father, in forcing his children to accept an alien culture. If we don't, it is because, rightly or wrongly, we perceive that Christianity, at least in the way it is practised in this century, is a more benign religion than Islam. Here Bone echoes the calls of Mr and Mrs Gillespie, who repeatedly emphasised that the children were Australian citizens, with Australian birth certificates, who had the right to expect action on their behalf from their government:

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The Gillespie children are Australian citizens. If they have been taken to Malaysia . . . the Australian government should do all it diplomatically can to have them returned. They have been taken in defiance of an order of an Australian court. It should not be open to a court in another country to overturn that order. It emerged, however, that the children were in Australia in defiance of an order of a Malaysian court, and that the mother had illegally removed them from the country of which they were, at that time, citizens. The Malaysian authorities claimed the children as Malaysian and, furthermore, as ethnic Malays (because of their patriline) who were required to profess the Islamic faith. In their view Mrs Gillespie had relinquished her rights to the children by failing to bring them up in the Islamic faith. 31 I don't know what Pamela Bone would have made of that, but she does make it clear that in her opinion Australian beliefs and values, the Australian way of life are superior to things Malaysian. She concludes her article: 'We do not have to apologise for our culture. With all its imperfections this is a free and tolerant society. Sometimes, however, it is necessary to question what we are being tolerant of.' Both 'positions' in the argument claimed the children as their own, as either 'little Aussies', or as Muslim Malays, and worried over the loss of culture and identity which they would experience through being estranged from their culture. The manner of coverage of the abduction by the Australian media very much focused on issues of the conflict between religious and cultural systems of the two countries. The elements of conflict between Islam and Christianity were, according to Loo and Ramanathan, the reason for the case becoming a page one story, not the usual fate of custody disputes.32 Noting the negative evaluations of Malaysia surrounding the television series 'Embassy' and the film Turtle Beach, they comment: The judicial, religious and intercultural complications of the Raja Bahrin-Gillespie dispute gave journalists a wide range of treatment options for the story. By choosing to focus on Jacqueline's hatred for Raja Bahrin and her denigration of Islamic values and customs, journalists may have effectively triggered their readers' stereotypes of Islamic culture.33 Malaysia's difference from us is emphasised in reports utilising orientalist tropes, rather than by reflection on similarities in our heritage as a consequence of both being former British colonies. This bias in the representation of Malaysia was protested by a visiting Malaysian academic in a letter to the Sydney Morning Herald, noting that Malaysia follows the Westminster model of parliamentary democracy, and that its legal system is based on British common law.34

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The ambivalence which many Australians feel about the limitations of our geographical location on the fringes of the culturally alien Asian world were expressed in some of the news coverage of the trail followed by Raja Bahrin in clandestinely removing his children from Australia. Many of the initial stories focused on the issue of the abuse of Australian legal processes, in particular the custody order of the Family Court. There were calls for the Australian government to respond to this abuse of its processes with the strongest action, some letter-writers going so far as to call for retaliatory action, including boycott of Malaysian products. 35 Such a course of action was extremely unlikely, given the economic significance of Malaysia to Australia: it had eclipsed Britain as a trading partner.36 An editorial in September 1992 in the Malaysian newspaper Berita Harian argued that the Australian press was 'purposefully blowing up the issue, distorting facts and belittling the Malaysian legal system, and tarnishing the purity of Islam by accusing Islam of avenging Jacqueline for having divorced Raja Bahrin. This is a family matter . . . and should be resolved by them: the two governments should not be involved.'37 A 'Boys' Own' Tale These negative images did not, however, exhaust the representational possibilities afforded by orientalist stereotypes. When the father reemerged in Malaysia, there were pictures of him with the children in newspapers and on television happy family shots.38 Some newspapers recounted the 'heroic' efforts that the 'prince' went through to reclaim his children, showing an admiration for the military-like planning of his escape and avoidance of authority.39 For example, one story carried the headline 'Prince of Escape' in an arcane typeface printed over a picture of a mosque, evocative of the adventure video game 'Prince of Persia' (the same story was published in the Sydney Morning Herald, however, with the heading 'Say Goodnight and Goodbye').40 Through such representations the 'prince' was rescued from the negative orientalist stereotype, restored as the loving father the wily strategist overcoming all odds to be reunited with his children. Thus, another stereotype was brought into play: Malaysia as a place where father-right was still respected, as opposed to Australia, where there is an erosion of father-right. This view, of the erosion of father's rights, particularly arises in relation to the custody and child support rulings by the Family Court. In an interview published in Australia in May 1993, Raja Bahrin said he did not want to return to an Australian court. 'I'm not going to get a fair go. I have not had a fair go in the Family Court, so I certainly won't get a fair go now.'41 In May and June of 1993 several letters from Australian men were published in Malaysian newspapers in support of

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Raja Bahrin's actions. They were from organisations such as the Non-Custodial Parent's Support group, the Men's CoFraternity, and the Divorce Law Reform Association. 42 It emerged that the Australian man who was later jailed for assisting Raja Bahrin in his escape was a man who had lost his own children through divorce. In the early part of 1993 the story again hit news headlines, following an announcement by the Australian government that it would seek Raja Bahrin's extradition from Malaysia.43 Both sides in the conflict had adeptly exploited the media: the Gillespies utilising orientalist images and Raja Bahrin countering with occidentalist images. In an interview in the Sydney Morning Herald Raja Bahrin was asked about the children's relations with his second wife. He replied that he had been amazed at how quickly his daughter took to her stepmother. He quoted his daughter saying: 'Nobody in Australia gives me this kind of attention. She is there when I got [sic] to bed, at home when I come home from school.'44 At this time Raja Bahrin published a letter in an Australian newspaper requesting men who were dissatisfied with the Family Court to contact him, and thanking 'all the Australian fathers who have been supportive' of his case.45 The ABC radio news broadcast him saying he had been contacted by many Australians disaffected by the Family Court.46 Australian men wrote to the Australian press, making these connections. The television journalist Ray Martin flew to Malaysia to interview Raja Bahrin for '60 Minutes'. In his introductory piece to camera Martin argued that the father had not had an opportunity to put his case, stressing his right to be heard.47 This positive publicity challenged the image of a demon who had kidnapped his children, to take them back to a life of Islamic fundamentalism, with that of a sentimentalised father reclaiming his rights. At the same time Who Weekly ran a similarly sympathetic interview.48 The Gillespies successfully won an injunction to ban an interview with the children in the same issue. The ban extended to publication of photographs of them in Malaysia (ensuring any counter-messages were not available in public debate). The magazine appeared with the sections where the children had been directly quoted blacked out (evocative of the censorship regimes of Indonesia and Malaysia).49 The editor of Who Weekly magazine was quoted in the Australian saying that the blacked-out quotes 'were pretty dramatic. They made it clear that the kids are fairly happy in Malaysia.'50 There have been constant petitions by Jacqueline Gillespie to the Australian government to intervene at a diplomatic level to secure the return of the children, or at least some orderly access to the children. The most recent of these attempts occurred soon after the election of

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the Howard Liberal government in 1996, but there has been no public reporting of a change in the situation. Asian Values and the Patriarchal Family Manuel Castells addresses the emergence of 'resistance identities' as a result of the 'dissolution of former legitimizing identities'. 51 The quest for 'father-right' can be read as a response to the dissolution of a personal identity as a consequence of the decline of patriarchalism, which Castells identifies as part of the dramatic social transformation of the 'information age' in which we now live.52 This, Castells argues, is partly a consequence of the women's movement but is also due to changes in the global economic order, including the 'massive incorporation of women into paid work'.53 Men who are angry about the erosion of father-right express envy of the apparent certainty and immunity from the destabilising global processes offered by religious fundamentalism, or at least by the assertion of fundamental/primordial identities based in religion. In a curious twist, there were reports in 1998 of One Nation courting the votes of men disaffected from the Family Court, the party taking its policy on family law issues from the organisation 'Lone Fathers'. A representative of another divorced men's group, the Men's Rights Agency, commented that One Nation was attracting strong support from men opposing the allegedly feminist line in family law.54 The public airing of the Jacqueline Gillespie-Raja Bahrin family tragedy became part of an Australian-Asian values debate, exhibiting the qualities of fear and desire identified by Hamilton.55 Asia is having its own 'Asian Values' debate, as the nations of Asia take their positions in a post-colonial global order. In its official manifestations, in countries like Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia, it has involved discussion about the nature of democracy, that 'differing societies may implement differing views of the relative importance of social order versus individual rights'.56 These supposedly autochthonous values are usually defined by contrast with an assumed body of values which define 'the West' (such as individualism) and Western social conditions (such as family breakdown and anomie).57 In these Southeast Asian countries ruling élites have asserted a unique core of values rooted in putative history, which claim the patriarchal family as a cornerstone of these values and of social stability. This model of paternal authority is an important ideological underpinning of authoritarian rule. In Singapore, for example, there has been a stress on an inherited Confucian 'essence', which encompasses an idea of a patriarchal family.58 In Malaysia Mahathir Mohamad has stressed the unique qualities of the Malays, strongly rooted in their Islamic religion: in this vision, the Malay family, and women in their role as mothers, are fundamental to an Islamic

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modernity. 59 For Suharto's New Order, the system of government was described as a 'family system', with the role of the president mirroring the assumed pivotal role of the patriarch in the domestic sphere.60 Thus, family values form a crucial part of 'legitimizing identities' in those states, those which are 'introduced by the dominant institutions of society to extend and rationalise their domination vis à vis social actors'.61 As Emmerson notes, the political leaders who espouse these values do not necessarily live their own lives in terms of 'Asian values'.62 The fear is that Western values will permeate the rest of the population, leading to political instability, while the élite can handle such ideas. Australia's Asian values debate has in part taken up these Southeast Asian tropes, in that for some sectors of Australian society, Asia is seen as a world of stronger family values, where there is support for patriarchal family values, which are seen as under threat in Australia.63 As Emmerson comments, the figures in the debate are the two straw men of ultra-orientalism and ultra-universalism.64 The men who experience disempowerment in contemporary Australia embrace this image of Asian values as part of a resistance identity, 'generated by those actors that are in positions/conditions devalued and/or stigmatized by the logic of domination, thus building trenches of resistance and survival on the bias of principles different from, or opposed to, those permeating the institutions of society'.65 And, indeed, family values prove to be an area which is resistant to claims of universalism in international legal debate. There is less international cooperation on family law issues than in, for example, criminal law, where international agreement on right and wrong is more readily achieved. Only fifty-three countries have signed an international convention on child abduction (drafted at the Hague Conference on private international law in 1980). Malaysia, along with all Islamic and Asian nations, has not signed the convention.66 The fundamentalist claims of the Asian values debate provide a discursive space in which a different world can be imagined. But these positions, staking out differences between the West and Asia, often draw on tropes which are more imaginary than real, and ignore contradictions at the heart of the binaries between 'us' and 'them'. That this binary divide is purportedly rooted in cultural values gives it moral force. In the case of the Gillespie kidnappings, a family tragedy provided crucial elements a struggle for parental rights, and a debate about the cultural rights of children with claims in two cultures, in particular the supposed clash of Christian and Islamic values to unsettle many taken-for-granteds about collective and personal identities in contemporary Australia. The intractable elements of this family dispute have been woven into the positionings of Australians caught in the rapid transformations of the second half of the twentieth century.

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Notes 1 See Paul Behrendt, 'Aboriginal sovereignty, Australian republic: a catalogue of questions and answers', in Gerhard Fischer (ed.), The Mudrooroo/Müller Project, New South Wales University Press, Kensington, 1993, pp. 147-54. 2 A rather sad example of this was the reponse of the then-deputy prime minister, Tim Fisher, to the 1998 tsunami disaster in Papua New Guinea, which was a human tragedy of major dimensions. When asked by journalists whether Australia would assist in the relief effort, he responded that we would, of course, as they are our trading partners. 3 Greg Sheridan, 'The Malaysia Connection', Australian, 14 January 1996. 4 Extract from the speech delivered by the prime minister of Malaysia, the Honorable Dato Seri Mahathir Bin Mohamad, at the official opening of the New Zealand Asia Institute, University of Auckland, 28 March 1996, entitled 'The Reality of a Resurgent Asia', ASEAN Digest. A Newsletter of ASEAN Missions in Wellington, No.30, April-May, pp.7-8, here p.7. Singapore's former prime minister, Lee Kuan Yew, another strong advocate of 'Asian Values', has scolded Australia for not being 'Asian enough'. See Christopher Lingle, Singapore's Authoritarian Capitalism. Asian Values, Free Market Illusions, and Political Dependency, Edicions Sirocco, S.L., Barcelona and The Locke Institute, Fairfax, VA, 1996, p.47. 5 Annette Hamilton, 'Fear and Desire: Aborigines, Asians and the National Imaginary', Australian Cultural History, No.9, 1990, Special Issue: Australian Perceptions of Asia, pp.14-35. 6 Charles Barrett, The Australian Junior Encyclopaedia, The Australian Educational Foundation, Sydney, 1956, volume 3. 7 As a young adult, returning from the typical young Australian pilgrimage overseas, which by the 1970s focused on a trek through Asia, I was astounded on attending an Anzac Day march in Sydney (in 1976) to realise that the out-ofthe-way places which I had adventurously sought out (places like Ambon, Tawau, Tarakan, Sandakan, Surabaya) and also places I knew as the exotic subject of ethnographic accounts (like Biak and Guadacanal) were proudly emblazoned on the banners carried by the returned soldiers in the march. 8 Ulf Hannerz, 'The Global Ecumene as a Network of Networks', in Adam Kuper (ed.), Conceptualizing Society, Routledge, London and New York, 1992, pp.34-58. 9 I have previously written about this case in: Kathryn Robinson, 'Of Mail-Order Brides and "Boys' Own" Tales', Feminist Review, No.52, Spring 1996, pp.53-68. 10 Tony Hewett, 'Malaysian Prince Vanishes with Two Little Aussies', Sydney Morning Herald, 14 July 1992, p.1. 11 Tony Mitchell, 'Orientalism in Ragaan: Embassy's Imaginative Geography', Meanjin, 52, 2, 1993, pp.265-76, here p.272. 12 Mitchell, 'Orientalism in Ragaan', p.272 13 Blanche d'Alpuget, Turtle Beach, Penguin Australia, Ringwood, 1981. 14 Louise Williams, 'Too Much Hot Water: "Turtle Beach" Producer Matt Carroll Sets Off a Diplomatic Storm But He Stands By His Film', Who Weekly, 11 March 1992, pp.26-27. 15 Blanche d'Alpuget, 'From Novel to Film: The Transformation of Turtle Beach', Sydney Papers, Autumn, 1992, pp.107-103, here p.108. 16 Williams, 'Too Much Hot Water', pp.26-27. 17 d'Alpuget, 'From Novel to Film', p.113. 18 Hewett, 'Malaysian Prince Vanishes with Two Little Aussies', p.1.

19 Aihwa Ong has commented, in relation to the practice of divorce in Malaysia, that, even though Islamic law valorises men's rights in the children over women's, in practice custom (adat) usually prevails and judges award women custody, reflecting the customary belief that children should remain with their mothers. She also says that the Islamic revival in Malaysia in the 1980s was accompanied by demands

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by middle-class women for new Islamic family laws to protect their rights in regard to divorce. Islamic judges were ordered to implement the new laws nationwide (from 1988). She comments that this law must seem like 'another instance of state inroads on the power vested in men by Islam'. Jacqueline Gillespie's loss of custody of her children in Malaysia would appear to be related critically to her leaving the Islamic faith, to which she had converted, and re-embracing Christianity. See Aihwa Ong, 'State Versus Islam: Malay Families, Women's Bodies, and the Body Politic in Malaysia', in Aihwa Ong and Michael G. Peletz (eds) Bewitching Women and Pious Men. Gender and Body Politics in Southeast Asia, University of California Press, Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 1995, pp.159-94, here pp.165, 178. 20 Sankaran Ramanathan and Loo Giap Seng, 'Australian and Malaysian Newspaper Coverage of the Gillespie Dispute', Australian Journalism Review, 15 (2), 1993, pp.63-68, here p.65. 21 In a television interview ('A Current Affair'), a representative of the Malaysian government was asked about the case, rather than allowing him to present a point of view. The interviewer (Jana Wendt) focused on the 'six strokes of the cane' story and the threat of female circumcision to the little girl, invoking a negative and threatening image of Islam. 22 Eric Loo and Sankaran Ramanathan address the Australian media's simplistic labelling of Raja Bahrin as a 'prince'. They point out that he is entitled to this honorific by virtue of his membership of the patrilineage but he is not in a direct line of descent from the sultan of Trengganu. They comment that 'despite his honorific, Raja Bahrin does not live like a member of the royalty in Kuala Trengganu'. See 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', Media Information Australia, No.70, 1993, pp.3-9, note 1. 23 Quoted in Susan Duncan, 'Abducted Children's Mother Speaks Out: "Why I Had to Escape My Life With A Prince"', Australian Women's Weekly, September 1992, pp.8-11, 13, here p.10. Jacqueline Gillespie published a book entitled Once I was a Princess in 1995 (Macmillan Australia), which represented her life as a member of a feudal aristocracy. After the publication of the book, her ex-husband criticised her use of the royal title, which, he said, had no currency in Malaysia (Nick Cater, 'She's No Princess', Sunday Telegraph, June 1995, p.7). The image of herself as a princess seemed central to the particular representation of the cruelty and savagery of her husband and the society he came from, and the implication that Malaysia could not provide a suitable life for a pair of 'Aussie kids'. 24 Deborah Cornwall, 'Govt Offers Aid to Aust Mother', Sydney Morning Herald, 16 July 1992, p.5. 25 Australian Women's Weekly, September 1992. 26 A Channel Ten report, cited in Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Baahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.5. 27 Harold Crouch, 'Abduction Case Calls for Sensitivity', Age, 17 July 1992. 28 Deborah Cornwall, 'Govt Has Deserted Children Family', Sydney Morning Herald, 22 July 1992, p.3. 29 Crouch, 'Abduction Case Calls for Sensitivity'. 30 Pamela Bone, 'Children of a Lesser Court', Age, 20 July 1992. 31 See, for example, Cornwall, 'Govt Has Deserted Children', p.3. 32 Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.3. 33 Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.4. 34 Dr Baharudin Yatim, 'Malaysia's Westminster Model', Letters to the Editor, Sydney Morning Herald, 6 August 1992.

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35 Ramanathan and Seng, 'Australian and Malaysian Newspaper Coverage of the Gillespie Dispute', p.65. 36 Greg Sheridan. 37 Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.7. 38 One of the earliest interviews after his return to Malaysia was on Radio National's 'Law Report', where reporter Jon Faine was very sympathetic in his approach to Raja Bahrin, treating him as the loving father. Interview with Prince Bahrin Shah, 'Law Report', ABC Radio National, 28 July 1992. 39 See, for example, Adam Connolly, 'Bold Kidnap Dash', Daily Telegraph Mirror, 9 October 1992, p.7; for an earlier report in this vein, see Tony Wright, 'How Prince Fooled Our Coast Patrol', Sydney Morning Herald, 30 July 1992, p.1. 40 Penny Debelle, 'Prince of Escape', Newcastle Herald, 9 January 1993, p.37; Penny Debelle, 'Say Goodnight and Goodbye', Sydney Morning Herald, 2 January 1993, p.33. 41 Margaret Harris, 'A besieged prince defends his case', Sydney Morning Herald, 15 May 1993, p.23. 42 Ramanathan and Seng, 'Australian and Malaysian Newspaper Coverage of the Gillespie Dispute', p.68. 43 Cameron Stewart, Scott Henry and Michelle Gunn, 'Gillespie Abduction: Prince Sought', Australian, 8-9 May 1993, p.1. 44 Harris, 'A besieged prince defends his case', p.23. 45 Raja Bahrin Shah, 'My Case For All', Letters to the Editor, Weekend Australian, 16-17 October 1993. 46 ABC Radio National, News broadcast, 19 October 1993. 47 '60 Minutes', 'The Prince Speaks Out', Ray Martin interview with Raja Bahrin Shah, Channel 9, 16 September 1993. 48 The coverline was 'Why I stole my children': 'Stolen Children', Who Weekly, 24 May 1993, pp.28-33. 49 Elizabeth Gleik, '[Title blacked out]: Idin and Shah Gillespie talk for the first time about the bitter custody battle their parents are fighting', Who Weekly, 24 May 1993, pp.34-35. 50 Jake Young, quoted in Australian, 17 May 1993, cited in Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.5. 51 Manuel Castells, The Power of Identity (The Information Age: Economy Society and Culture; Volume II), Blackwells, Malden USA and Oxford UK, 1997, p.356. 52 Castells, The Power of Identity ch.4 esp. pp.133-38. 53 Castells, The Power of Identity, p.135. 54 Bettina Arndt, 'Hanson courts lone fathers, the jilted voters', Sydney Morning Herald, 7 September 1998, p.9. 55 Hamilton, 'Fear and Desire: Aborigines, Asians and the National Imaginary', p.18. 56 Donald K. Emmerson, 'Singapore and the ''Asian Values" debate', Journal of Democracy, 6, 4, 1995, pp.95-105, here p.96. 57 See, for example, the discussion of Singapore in Christopher Lingle, Singapore's Authoritarian Capitalism, especially ch.2, 'The Singapore School', pp.37-60.

58 See, for example, Geraldine Heng and Janadas Devan, 'State Fatherhood: The Politics of Nationalism, Sexuality, and Race in Singapore', in Aihwa Ong and Michael G. Peletz (eds) Bewitching Women, Pious Men: Gender and Body Politics in Southeast Asia, University of California Press, Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 1995. 59 Aihwa Ong, 'State Versus Islam: Malay Families, Women's Bodies, and the Body Politic in Malaysia', in Ong and Peletz (eds) Bewitching Women, p.183. For an explication of the political thought of Mahathir Mohamad, and his positing of an

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East-West divide, a specific core of 'Asian Values', see Khoo Boo Teik, Paradoxes of Mahathirism. Intellectual Biography of Mahathir Mohamad, Oxford University Press, Kuala Lumpur, Oxford, Singapore and New York, 1995. 60 Kathryn Robinson, 'Indonesian National Identity and the Citizen Mother', Communal/Plural, 3, 1994, pp.53-68. 61 Castells, The Power of Identity, p.8. 62 Emmerson, 'Singapore and the "Asian Values" debate', p.102. 63 See also Robinson, 'Of Mail-Order Brides and "Boys' Own" Tales'. 64 Emmerson, 'Singapore and the "Asian Values" debate', p.99. 65 Castells, The Power of Identity, p.8. 66 Australian, 8 July 1993, cited in Loo and Ramanathan, 'Soured Relations: Australian and Malaysian Press Coverage of the Rajah Bahrin-Gillespie Custody Dispute', p.6.

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PART 4 BICULTURALISM AND MULTICULTURALISM IN NEW ZEALAND

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11 The Ambivalence of Borders: The Bicultural and the Multicultural Vince Marotta The existence of social and cultural boundaries, in a period which has been depicted as 'post-modern', has become increasingly difficult to contemplate and theorise. This is particularly the case in the area of ethnic studies. Increasingly, scholars within this discipline have tended to view 'culture' as internally fragmented and fluid. This has led to studies which tend to over-emphasise the inhibiting and destructive nature of boundaries. The existence of cultural boundaries, especially those which are enforced by the host society, are said to hide universalistic practices because they impose particular identities at the expense of others. As a consequence, a theoretical position has been articulated which not only questions the existence of social and cultural boundaries but also makes them less relevant in a post-modern world. What is sometimes left out of this account, however, is the ambivalent nature of boundaries. This ambivalence is clearly captured by the German philosopher and sociologist Georg Simmel. He has argued that the human condition should be understood in terms of its propensity to transcend and erect boundaries. Social and cultural boundaries, according to Simmel, define who we are, but do not necessarily limit us. This idea allows Simmel to paradoxically conclude that 'we are bounded in every direction and we are bounded in no direction'. 1 Boundaries are ambivalent because they are both constructive and destructive; they provide the conditions to construct an identity because they establish difference between self and other, and they can also provide the grounds to suppress and exclude the identity of the other.

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In the literature on ethnicity and culture there has been a tendency to celebrate those individuals who are located at social and cultural borders. The underlying premise in these accounts is that a hybrid identity fosters creativity and empowerment. 2 This position firstly presupposes that the identity of the self, before it becomes hybrid, is unproblematic; secondly, this borderless experience ignores the ways in which the hybrid self can have negative unintended consequences on the other. In addition, the transition from a monocultural to a hybrid self is perceived as relatively smooth and good in itself. The crossing of cultural borders is supposed to enhance both the individual's quality of life and the society in which that experience takes place. While it may be a truism to say that our identities have always been hybrid, what is left out of this account is the inherent ambivalence of cultural and social borders. This chapter, drawing on the debates within New Zealand and Australia, illustrates the ambivalence of boundaries by making three pertinent points. In the first instance, I argue that it is not only the maintenance, but also the transcendence of boundaries which may deny and repress the identity of others. Secondly, boundaries are also constructive because they allow the creation of a self-identity. Finally, the blurring of social and cultural boundaries is not always synonymous with a positive social and cultural experience. I want to explore these points by briefly examining the discourse of biculturalism in New Zealand and multiculturalism in Australia. Within these discourses there has been a specific body of work which has questioned the rigid nature of culture through its construction of a bicultural and multicultural self. This work tends to over-emphasise, both explicitly and implicitly, the destructive nature of boundaries and thus celebrates the positive experience of being multicultural or bicultural. Before we address these issues, however, a brief overview of the history of migration to New Zealand is necessary. It is only by examining this history that one can throw some light on the way New Zealand has related to and conceptualised the non-British other. Immigration and New Zealand Between 1850 and 1870 the sole source of immigrants to New Zealand was the British Isles. New Zealand, like Australia, became a colony where Britain's unwanted labourers and those perceived as 'undesirables' were sent. New Zealand was not particularly attractive, however, to the better educated upper classes or the aristocracy because there was little incentive to move from a comfortable life to an unpredictable and inhospitable colony. British immigrants consisted mainly of agricultural labourers, common labourers and domestic servants, while a smaller percentage consisted of miners, carpenters and blacksmiths.3 During this period New Zealand was competing with other

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more advanced colonies and ex-colonies such as Canada and the United States of America for immigrants from the United Kingdom. Although New Zealand was not always the first choice of British settlers, certain places such as Otago and Canterbury did flourish. The Scottish immigrants were particularly attracted to provinces such as Otago because many of their kin had settled there. Between 1850 and 1870 the main concern of the South Island and northern provinces, such as Auckland, was to attract appropriate settlers to work the land. The possibility of obtaining non-British immigrants, however, was not seriously considered. In fact, after the discovery of gold in 1861, there was a fear that a flood of immigrants would undermine Otago's Scottish character. In order to reduce the possibility of this occurring, the New Zealand government imposed an immigration tax on 'undesirables' or 'race aliens'. Unlike British immigrants, who were brought out under the Assisted Passage Scheme, non-British immigrants had to pay their own fares as well as incur a tax on arrival. An increase in immigration, according to the New Zealand government, would become the basis for strong economic growth, but it was also used as a military tactic in the Maori wars. The Act of 1858, to regulate the disposal and administration of waste lands of the crown in New Zealand, not only delegated considerable powers to the provincial government but also declared that it was desirable to encourage naval and military settlers throughout the North Island. According to the premier of New Zealand, Alfred Doment, 'these settlers could maintain the boundaries of settlements against tribesmen, retain and develop the ground won by the Imperial troops, and when required assist the Imperial troops'. 4 By 1863 this scheme had broken down and the war with the Maoris had been reduced from a grand affair to a guerilla campaign. During the 1860s there was extensive coverage in British newspapers of the Maori wars and, as a consequence, New Zealand became a less attractive settlement. Immigration declined, with a drop from 35,000 in 1863 to 860 to 1869.5 Another contributing factor to the decrease in immigration was the attraction of other ex-British colonies such as the United States and Canada. Both New Zealand and Australia, during this period, experienced a sharp decrease in British immigrants. A constant fear of the provisional government was the effect the introduction of 'foreigners' would have on the colony. This fear of the other resulted in several Acts being introduced between 1870 and 1899. The Asiatic Restriction Bill of 1879 and the Chinese Immigrants Act of 1881 became the first steps towards a White New Zealand Policy. Nonetheless, the difficulty in securing labourers for railway construction caused the central government of New Zealand to re-consider the possibility of introducing 'alien' and 'foreign' labour. During the

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1880s the only 'foreigners' were the Chinese on the goldfields, who were seeking their fortune and then leaving. Although the central government of New Zealand was hesitant about allowing non-British immigrants into the colony, their presence was still evident. By 1871, 3000 Chinese still remained, and between 1870 and 1880, there were 3000 Germans, 4600 Scandinavians, and a small inflow of immigrants from Italy and France, who settled in both the South Island and the North Island. There was a bias towards the Scandinavians and Germans because, according to government officials, they seemed to assimilate more quickly to the 'British way of life'. 6 In the 1890s New Zealand experienced a depression and, as a consequence, there was a reduction in the intake of immigrants and an exodus of disillusioned settlers to Australia. The emphasis now was on settlers with capital so that they could develop the land, rather than on labourers. The depression once again ignited xenophobic attitudes towards 'Asians'. According to British labourers in New Zealand, the 'Asians' were flooding the employment market and stealing their jobs. By the turn of the twentieth century immigration was seen as closely associated with a rise in unemployment and a threat to the 'racial purity' of the British population. In response to this fear, New Zealand's immigration policy between 1900 and 1914 continued its responsibility towards the British Empire by accepting greater numbers of Britons. This policy was only resumed in 1920, when once again New Zealand played its part for the British Empire in the settlement of Britain's ex-servicemen. The support for a White New Zealand Policy continued with the 1920 Immigration Amendment Bill, which discouraged the immigration of non-Britons. After the 1940s the non-British world had a more direct influence on New Zealand than it had had in the past, but the overall bias was still in favour of Britons. For example, between 1945 and 1971 there were 90,082 assisted migrants entering New Zealand and 76,673 were from Great Britain and Ireland.7 A new group which did make its mark on the immigration figures was the Pacific Islanders. The intake of these 'non-Britons' may be associated with the fact that they did not necessarily conform to the British/foreigner distinction or 'race alien'; a great majority of Pacific Islanders came from New Zealand-controlled territories and were considered New Zealand citizens. By 1976 this 'ethnic' group (which included New Zealand-born and immigrants) reached 61,000.8 However, the tide began to turn against British immigration and Pacific Islanders in 1974, when controls were put in place to restrict the free flow of immigrants. This was a response to the high unemployment rate and worsening terms of trade caused by the so-called OPEC crisis. The Pacific Islanders, because of their visible differences, became the convenient scapegoat

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for some of the economic problems facing New Zealand. 9 In the 1970s both British and Irish nationals were required to obtain an entry permit and for the first time since 1840 a real distinction was made between Britons and New Zealanders. Nevertheless, as McKinnon argues, a distinction still existed between 'European' and 'nonEuropean'.10 In 1987 the Labour government introduced the Immigration Act, which reflected its desire to have a more internationalist and non-discriminatory immigration policy. As a result, by the end of the 1980s the total percentage of migrants from Europe and America fell from 54 per cent to 29 per cent. The main increase came from the Pacific Islands, which increased its share from 22 per cent to 37 per cent, whilst the share of Asian countries rose from 20 per cent to 31 per cent. The largest Asian groups in 1991 were the Chinese (45,000) and Indians (30,000), followed by Cambodians (5000), Filipinos (4000), Sri Lankans (3000) and Vietnamese (2000).11 Since 1991 the net migration from North and South Asia has almost doubled. This recent influx of Asian immigrants has made many New Zealanders anxious. The anxiety concerning the 'Asian invasion', and the role of Maoris within New Zealand society, has at times expressed itself in the debate on whether to describe New Zealand as multicultural or bicultural. The Politics of Biculturalism and the Bicultural Self The role of indigenous groups, in particular, has become central to the debate over the cultural composition of New Zealand. New Zealand has been described as both multicultural and bicultural. To describe New Zealand as multicultural is to argue that it is made up of many ethnic groups besides Maori and Pakeha (a Maori term for European descendants) and thus deny the unique importance of Maori people. Those on the left have argued that multiculturalism is a smokescreen which allows the Pakeha dominant group to hold onto their power and wealth and avoid dealing with Maori-Pakeha relationships.12 On the other hand, to describe New Zealand society as bicultural, according to liberals and conservatives, is unfair and hence undemocratic because it singles out Maoris, who are simply one of many minority groups. New Zealand scholars have maintained that a new self has emerged out of the experience of biculturalism. Andrew Sharp argues that being bicultural allows for the development of a broader knowledge and fosters a greater understanding of one's own social reality and the social and cultural world of the other.13 Other observers argue that dual or multiple ethnicity, which combines the Maori and the Pakeha, undermines the 'binary oppositions' or the either/or identity which is the basis of the 'Western' conception of personhood. According to

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Thomas and Nikora, this hybrid identity is seen by 'some Westerners as dishonest and threatening'. 14 Moreover, John Ritchie maintains that by adopting a bicultural identity it allows him to live between two worlds and gain a better understanding of his Anglo self as well as his non-Anglo other.15 Finally, the term Pakeha has been made popular by Michael King, who has written several books describing the emergence of a new type of national identity. Traditionally, according to King, to be Pakeha has meant that one is detached and coldly rational. Pakeha was a person who had lost the appreciation for magic and was out of step with nature. King illustrates that this view of the Pakeha culture was misleading and has put together personal accounts, mostly by males, of stories highlighting the emergence of a new Pakeha identity. This identity, King believes, has a greater affinity with Maori culture.16 As the preceding comments suggest, there is a particular self in New Zealand which can embrace the different elements of two cultures and synthesise them to form a new identity. This bicultural self, compared to the monocultural one, is more tolerant, more understanding, wiser, freer and more at peace with itself. The assumption is that the social and cultural borders between Maori and Pakeha should be dissolved because it allows for an enriched and broader experience. This bicultural self is reminiscent of Gadamer's notion of 'fusion of horizons'.17 According to Gadamer, commensurability is always possible because cultures are not hermeneutically sealed and they can always adopt more inclusive viewpoints. Cultural horizons are always able to incorporate different horizons to achieve a wider, more unifying 'fusion of horizons'. Thus, a bicultural self fuses the cultures of Maori and Pakeha to construct an in-between hybrid perspective. Multiculturalism and the Multicultural Experience Multiculturalism in Australia is both a government policy and a debate over the desirability of cultural ethnic pluralism. While the discourse on biculturalism in New Zealand has highlighted the importance of the indigenous group in conceptualising the bicultural experience, the Aborigines in Australia have played a marginal role in the discussion of a multicultural subjectivity. Although there has been an extensive body of work which has focused on the multicultural identity, I would like to concentrate on the work of particular Australian scholars who clearly demonstrate the theme I want to examine. An essay by Chandran Kukathas, which takes a more conservative view of multiculturalism, explores the idea of a multicultural identity.18 Kukathas identifies two forms of multiculturalism in Australia: cultural and structural pluralism. He prefers the former because structural pluralism tends to give minority groups 'preferential treatment'.19 Kukathas

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argues cultural pluralism is more consistent with a version of national identity which encompasses 'a shared history and political institutions but no common ethnicity or character'. 20 For Kukathas, the less one emphasises the essential character of national identity the more one can incorporate other ethnic identities. Kukathas has implied that Australia's identity should take on a hybrid multicultural form because there is not one particular culture that can define this self. John Lechte and Gillian Bottomley, in their paper 'Difference, Postmodernity and Image in Multicultural Australia'21, also theorise a new identity based on the multicultural experience. They question the conventional view that ethnic cultures are fixed in time. For Lechte and Bottomley, 'there is no "pure" culture in practice . . . a pure culture is, at best, an idealisation, and at worst, simply idealist'.22 They argue that the policy of multiculturalism initiated by politicians advocates cultural pluralism where the identities of cultures in Australia are homogenous and fixed. In contrast, Lechte and Bottomley argue that 'the multicultural [is] a way of being in the world'. They perceive the multicultural self as an ontological state. It captures both the instances of interweaving between one culture and another while acknowledging that culture is practice and is retranslated, reconstructed in the meeting between the Anglo self and non-Anglo other. Bottomley observes how identity and one could also include ethnic and racial identity has been understood 'as sameness', which 'requires an Other who is different, a drawing of boundaries that excludes challenges', and 'a refusal to recognise the dissonances within those boundaries'.23 This passage highlights the perception that boundaries become the source of exclusionary practices and suppression. The existence of boundaries negates all that is fluid and contingent. The multicultural experience, for Lechte and Bottomley, renders boundaries and borders unstable. Thus, while the hybrid experience, for Kukathas, and Lechte and Bottomley does away with essentialism, Kukathas does not want this experience to be the basis for destroying certain legal and institutional boundaries constructed by the host society. For Kukathas, the multicultural experience can do without cultural boundaries but not social and political boundaries; whereas the multicultural, for Bottomley, acknowledges the difference within ethnic identity as well as across sexuality, gender and class. The 'multicultural' here refers to an 'openness' and a 'process' rather than closure and exclusion. It destabilises the social and cultural boundaries which both the host and the migrant culture erect around themselves. The Problematic Nature of a Bicultural and Multicultural Experience Although the hybrid experience, as I have re-constructed it in this chapter, has generally been perceived as positive, there are conceptual

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and theoretical problems underlying this in-between identity which need to be addressed. Firstly, commentators who explicitly or implicitly use the notion of a bicultural experience or self assume that Pakeha and Maori identities are homogenous. To postulate a Maori identity may imply that there is an authentic Maori culture which can be located in the customs and traditions of the Maori people. This ignores the process by which this culture acquires authenticity. 24 In addition, the term 'Pakeha' has sometimes been used with political and social connotations, which more conservative New Zealanders are reluctant to accept. For some, to be Pakeha means to be aware of the inequalities that exist between Maori and Pakeha and to imagine a future where power is shared equally.25 Others perceive it as a term used by 'guilty liberals' who are trying to rectify the wrongs of the past. Some scholars, while more sympathetic to the concerns raised by the label 'Pakeha', find the category idealistic and stress that there is little empirical evidence that such an identity exists in the wider community. The label has been criticised because it tends to draw attention away from the structural inequalities which Maoris experience towards the personal transformation of individuals.26 Finally, some scholars have commented that the word 'Pakeha' is class- and gender-specific because it refers specifically to a male middle-class experience.27 These problems highlight the underlying contestability of a Pakeha subjectivity. It is clearly not a monolithic nor unified identity because, not only does the category have both a political and cultural dimension which different groups either support or dismiss, it is also resisted by the very same people it pretends to describe. This weakens its explanatory force because the identities which one is drawing on to form this new hybrid experience are themselves contentious. Those who construct a bicultural self imply that cultural boundaries have become porous, while simultaneously holding a position which assumes that Maori and Pakeha cultures are fixed and bounded. Unlike the bicultural experience, the notion of a multicultural identity, as expressed by Lechte and Bottomley, does not fall into the trap of essentialising those cultures which make up the multicultural self. Nevertheless, at the empirical level does the multicultural self reflect the experiences of those who define themselves, or are defined by others, as 'Anglo-Australians'? Hugh Mackay has argued that many so-called Anglo-Australians are uncomfortable with this hybrid form of identity. Australians are resisting, or anxious about the multicultural or hybrid nature of Australia's identity28 and harking back to a past which is monocultural, stable, conservative and racist.29 The rise in Australia of the One Nation Party, which supports a return to the White Australia Policy and advocates conservative policies on the economy and the family, may seem to support this argument.

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The multicultural experience may expose how cultures are porous, but for some cultural or social groups, cultural boundaries are still important for the construction of their self-identity. Elley found that although second-generation Turkish immigrants often speak of a dual identity, they still perceive themselves as 'Turkish with a difference'. In other words, they still have a strong commitment to remaining within the Australian Turkish community and to its values and norms. 30 This reaction by the young Turkish people tends to exemplify the ambivalent nature of boundaries. The blurring of boundaries between an Australian and Turkish identity provides these young Turkish people with an enriching experience, but they also seem to want to maintain certain cultural boundaries, which allows them to distinguish themselves from their Anglo-Celtic peers. Thus, while a hybrid identity fosters an enlightening experience and blurs the boundaries between two cultures, it is not always embraced when these young people mix within their own ethnic community. During these times, the identification process becomes exclusionary and boundaries are erected so that the difference between the self (Turkish) and other (Australian) is maintained and reinforced. In his survey of a multicultural community in Melbourne Markus also found the existence of dual identities.31 Markus surveyed 981 people and, although he found evidence of dual identities amongst Southern Europeans, Turkish, Indochinese, Indians, Sri Lankans and those from Pakistan, there were still substantial numbers identifying with their ethnic community. Out of the 487 respondents born outside of Australia, 22 per cent identified as Australian, 17.7 per cent saw themselves having dual identities, and 60.4 per cent identified with their own ethnic group. Markus's research does not undermine the argument that multiple ethnic identities exist and, as a consequence, cultural boundaries have become more porous. But neither does his research suggest that cultural boundaries have declined in importance. As the above responses illustrate, there is still a strong commitment to maintaining those cultural boundaries which reinforce one's ethnic identity. Moreover, if we accept that Australia's collective identity is, or should become multicultural, we would have to ask the question multicultural for whom? I am not suggesting that I support the monocultural self of Australia's past because this self was, and is both racist and sexist, but the very act of trying to destabilise cultural boundaries can make older cultural boundaries re-establish and re-invent themselves. While the multicultural experience does dissolve the cultural and social boundaries which the monocultural self has constructed, this hybrid self still requires the existence of these very same boundaries to constitute its identity. In other words, the only way that the hybrid subject can differentiate itself from the monocultural self is through social and

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cultural boundaries. An in-between identity can only manifest itself through boundaries. The boundaries which the monocultural and the hybrid self maintain, however, are qualitatively different. For example, those which the monocultural self are said to uphold are generally seen as destructive, while those which the in-between self implicitly supports are seen as constructive. Hybridity, I would argue, does not necessarily do away with boundaries, it only re-defines them. Those who accept the existence of a hybrid identity also tend to assume that the transition between cultures is unproblematic and they ignore the effect that the crossing of borders has on the non-Anglo culture. Although I agree with recent criticisms which question a concept of 'culture' that is unified and homogenous, nevertheless 'culture', for some groups, does encompass a certain worldview, which may be difficult to embrace if one is not from that culture. As one philosopher has argued, 'fundamental moods, which the members of a culture share with each other, constitute therefore an impassable barrier to effective understanding with men and women of alien cultures'. 32 These 'moods' are intangible; they refer to the way a particular culture experiences and makes sense of the world. This is particularly evident, according to Perrett33, in the tension between the non-individualistic dimensions of the traditional Maori view of the self with the individualistic assumptions of Pakeha liberalism. In some cases those who theorise a bicultural experience tend to ignore the incommensurability of cultures. This does not mean that we cannot communicate across cultures, but it does mean that difference is not necessarily dissolved once meaningful communication with the other is achieved. Moreover, the hybrid identity constructed by the discourse of biculturalism and multiculturalism may only be possible when the other is assimilated within the self's frame of reference. An example of this is when institutions try to become bicultural34 or multicultural. In New Zealand the incorporation of Maori values and customs within existing institutions does raise some interesting questions about what happens to 'Maori culture' once it is appropriated into mainstream Western institutions. Some have argued that bicultural institutions allow employees to adopt a 'bicultural perspective', but this comes at the cost of the colonisation of the Maori life-world.35 What this suggests is that the life-world or 'fundamental moods' of the Maoris for instance, that non-explicit, takenfor-granted notion of the world based on a 'distinctive Maori knowledge' of their world and their identity has been undermined by those very institutions which were supposed to maintain their culture. If we accept this interpretation, then a biculturalism which tries to blur the boundaries between self and other, and this could also be said about multiculturalism, could potentially diminish those very same identities which it is

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trying to foster. The mitigation of cultural boundaries, especially between the Anglo self and the non-Anglo other, may foster new experiences and a new self, but they may come at a cost for those who are embraced by the host society. If identity can be understood as relational, then a 'Maori identity', however we define it, is undermined when one tries to dissolve the distinction between self and other. The idea of a bicultural and multicultural experience implies that the distinction between self and other is less clearly defined because the hybrid experience renders boundaries fluid. Consequently, being situated in an in-between, borderless zone may lead to creativity, but it also leads to new forms of power relations, misunderstanding and unease. Conclusion The hybrid experience has destabilised the boundaries between the Anglo self and the non-Anglo other, and it has allowed particular individuals to reconstruct their identities. At this level the problematicisation or removal of boundaries is said to have some positive outcomes for example, greater tolerance of difference. However, as I have argued here, the removal of cultural boundaries may suppress the identity of the other, while trying to foster and celebrate this very same identity. One has to be careful not to treat borders as if they are inherently oppressive. One needs to give special recognition to those boundaries which are the products of human action. Boundaries which the Anglo self and the non-Anglo other construct around themselves may be seen as exclusionary, but they should be respected if they are socially constructed and not imposed upon individuals. 36 Bottomley comes close to acknowledging this by asserting that 'a shared language, religion and other cultural forms' can be a site for struggle and boundary maintenance, but also a rich source of creativity.37 Respecting the cultural boundaries of others seems to be increasingly difficult in a social world where boundaries are seen as easily crossed. Those who theorise a hybrid identity need to be aware of the inherent contradictions of boundaries. If this is ignored then there is a real possibility that the freedom of the other to maintain and construct their identity, through the use of social and cultural borders, may be denied. 'Post-modernity', as an intellectual position, questions the universalistic tendencies underlying the 'modernist project'. This 'post-modern turn' has developed an intellectual culture in the area of ethnic and cultural studies which accepts and embraces difference and argues that social and cultural identities are fluid and contingent. As a consequence of perceiving the social world and this social world is usually Western as contingent and fluid, there has been an increasing intolerance of social and cultural boundaries. This has led to studies which have provided an insightful and critical

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analysis of the exclusionary practices of hegemonic cultural identities, but it has also led to studies which premise their research on a one-dimensional view of social and cultural boundaries and thus neglect the dialectical nature of boundary constructions. Notes 1 Georg Simmel, 'The Transcendent Character of Life', in Donald N. Levine (ed.) Georg Simmel on Individuality and Social Forms, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1971, pp.353-74, here p.355. 2 Ulf Hannerz, 'Borders', International Social Science Journal, No.154 (1997), pp.536-48. 3 Wilfred David Borrie, Immigration to New Zealand: 1854-1938, Highland Press, Canberra, 1991, p.39. 4 Doment as quoted by Borrie, Immigration to New Zealand, p.21. 5 cf. Borrie, Immigration to New Zealand, p.26. 6 cf. Borrie, Immigration to New Zealand, p.123. 7 Malcolm McKinnon, Immigrants and Citizens: New Zealanders and Asian Immigration in Historical Context, The Printing Press, Wellington, 1996, p.39. 8 cf. Mckinnon, Immigrants and Citizens, p.40. 9 Reg Appleyard and Charles Stahl, south Pacific Migration: New Zealand Experience and Implications for Australia, CPN Publications, Australia, 1995, p.78. 10 cf. McKinnon, Immigrants and Citizens, p.43. 11 cf. McKinnon, Immigrants and Citizens, pp.46, 51. 12 Richard Mulgan, Maori, Pakeha and Democracy, Oxford University Press, Auckland, 1989, here p.8. See also Richard Mulgan, Democracy and Power in New Zealand. A Study of New Zealand Politics, Oxford University Press, Auckland, 1989, and Richard Mulgan, 'Multiculturalism: A New Zealand Perspective', in Chandran Kukathas (ed.), Multicultural Citizens: The Philosophy and Politics of Identity, Centre for Independent Studies, Canberra, 1993, pp.75-90. 13 Andrew Sharp, 'Why be Bicultural?' in Margaret Wilson and Anna Yeatman (eds), Justice and Identity: Antipodean Practices, Allen & Unwin, Wellington, 1995, pp.116-33, here p.121. 14 David Thomas and Linda Nikora, 'Maori, Pakeha and New Zealander: Ethnic and national Identity among New Zealand Students', Journal of Intercultural Studies, 17, 1/2 (1996), pp.29-40, here p.38 15 James Ritchie, Becoming Bicultural, Huia Publishers, Wellington, 1992. 16 Michael King, Being Pakeha, Hodder & Stoughton, Auckland, 1988 and Michael King, Pakeha: The Quest for Identity in New Zealand, Penguin, Auckland, 1991. 17 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, Continuum, New York, 1994, here pp.307, 374-75. 18 Chandran Kukathas, 'Multiculturalism and the Idea of an Australian Identity', in Chandran Kukathas (ed.), Multicultural Citizens: The Philosophy and Politics of Identity, Centre for Independent Studies, Canberra, 1993, pp.143-58. 19 cf. Kukathas, 'Multiculturalism and the Idea of an Australian Identity', p.151. 20 cf. Kukathas, 'Multiculturalism and the Idea of an Australian Identity', p.151.

21 John Lechte and Gillian Bottomley, 'Difference, Postmodernity and Image in Multicultural Australia', in Gordon L. Clark, Dean Forbes & Roderick Francis (eds), Multiculturalism, Difference and Postmodernism, Longman Cheshire, Melbourne, 1993, pp.32-37. 22 cf. Lechte & Bottomley, 'Difference, Postmodernity and Image in Multicultural Australia', p.26. 23 Gillian Bottomley, 'Identification: Ethnicity, Gender and Culture', Journal of Intercultural Studies, 18, 1 (1997), pp.41-50, here p.44.

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24 Alan Hanson, 'The Making of the Maori: Culture Invention and Its Logic', American Anthropologist, Vol.91 (1989), pp.890-901, here p.898. 25 Paul Spoonley, 'Pakeha Ethnicity: A Response to Maori Sovereignty', in Paul Spoonley (ed.), Nga Take: Ethnic Relations & Racism in Aotearoa/New Zealand, Dunmore Press, Palmerston North, 1991, pp.154-170, here p.158. 26 Jennifer Lawn, 'Pakeha Bonding', Meanjin, 53, 2 (1994), pp. 295-304, here p.298. 27 Paul Spoonley, 'Constructing Ourselves: The Post-colonial Politics of Pakeha', in Margaret Wilson and Anna Yeatman, (eds), Justice and Identity: Antipodean Practices, Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, NSW, 1995, pp.96-115. 28 Hugh Mackay, Reinventing Australia: The Mind and Mood of Australia in the 90s, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1993. 29 cf. MacKay, Reinventing Australia, p.163. 30 Joy Elley, '''I see myself as Australian-Turkish": the identity of second-generation Turkish migrants in Australia', in Rahmi Akclik (ed.), Turkish Youth in Australia, Australian-Turkish Friendship Society Publications, Melbourne, pp.55-76, here pp.63-64. 31 Andrew Markus, 'Identity in an Ethnically Diverse Community', People and Place, 1, 4 (1993), pp.43-50. 32 Klaus Held, 'Intercultural Understanding and the Role of Europe', The Monist, 78, 1 (1995), pp.5-17, here p.8. 33 Roy Perrett, 'Individualism, Justice, and the Maori View of the Self', in Graham Oddie and Roy W. Perrett (eds), Justice, Ethics and New Zealand Society, Oxford University Press, Auckland, 1992, pp.27-40, here p.30. 34 Edward Taihakurei Durie, 'Justice, Biculturalism and the Politics of Law' in Margaret Wilson and Anna Yeatman (eds), Justice and Identity: Antipodean Practices, pp.33-34. 35 Jeff Sissons, 'The Future of Biculturalism in Aotearoa/New Zealand', in Social Science and the Future of New Zealand, University of Otago Press, Otago, 1989, pp.15-24, here p.17, and Jeff Sissons, 'Tall Trees need deep roots: Biculturalism, Bureaucracy and Tribal Democracy in Aotearoa/New Zealand', Cultural Studies, 9, 1 (1995), pp.6173. 36 Alan Wolfe, 'Democracy versus Sociology: Boundaries and their Political Consequences', in Michele Lamont and Marcel Fournier (eds), Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1992, pp.309-26. 37 cf. Bottomley, 'Identification: Ethnicity, Gender and Culture', p.45.

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12 Chronicles of Evasion: Negotiating Pakeha New Zealand Identity Sarah Dugdale Using three of the thirteen 1 adult novels of distinguished New Zealand writer Maurice Gee, I begin an exploration of the 'Adventure of Identity' currently being experienced by the dominant white/settler or Pakeha culture in New Zealand. But rather than an adventure, which implies something active, even exciting, the journey being undertaken by the post-settler population of New Zealand is, for many, more an anxiety about identity. This anxiety remains partially submerged, often obscured by cultural assumptions and attitudes, but is revealed in a number of unexpected ways. This chapter begins the uneasy endeavour of reading the anxiety of contemporary Pakeha New Zealand identity as it is reflected in these works. Without diminishing the agency of indigenous New Zealanders, it does not seem unreasonable to wonder about the effects the processes of post-colonisation, of writing the colonised back onto the page, may have had on settler societies like New Zealand. Uneasy questions about identity and belonging, key tropes in the discourse of postcolonial literature, have undeniably forced this, the dominant sector of New Zealand society, into a process of renegotiating their identity. The silences and omissions are as interesting as those manifestations of more overt cultural assumptions and expections, as there appears to exist a state of mind, a cultural condition, that is distinctly antiintellectual and anti-risk. The evasionary tactics of avoidance and denial are the manifestation of a distinctive cultural expression, which appears to have discouraged and even disabled individual endeavours to articulate this uneasy site. This is clearly observed in the wider community of

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middle New Zealand's resistance to acknowledging the shift to their authority resulting from an official policy of biculturalism, or the increased momentum towards encouraging a multicultural society. An anxiety does exist and, although it sits below the surface, it threatens to react in a manner not dissimilar to the 'Pauline Hanson phenomenon', which perplexed and embarrassed many white Australians. Fear of a backlash by the growing numbers of disenchanted, disenfranchised white New Zealanders is a real concern on the agenda of the current Race Relations Conciliator, Dr Rajen Prasad. 2 But how does one affirm a displaced, though dominantly empowered culture? To many non-indigenous New Zealanders, anxieties behind the shifting authority of their origins have remained purely intellectual conjecture and appear, on the surface, to have only minimally touched their lives. But at least one major effect of this uneasiness can be located within the very public engagement with identity politics that has ensued over the use of the term 'Pakeha'. It has been the persistent desire of white New Zealanders throughout their short history to signal themselves as having evolved away from Britain and the lexicons of 'settler', 'British' or even the catch-all 'European', when locating themselves as of New Zealand, but a consentient replacement has not been so readily uncovered. Debate resulted in a large number of white/settler New Zealanders choosing to identify themselves as 'Pakeha', that is, as authentically New Zealanders, non-indigenous but not tau iwi, not 'foreign', either. Problems of legitimacy and authenticity remain, of course; but, while the more political or theoretical understanding of these issues may be only nominally appreciated by the majority of the population, the term is generally agreed to have passed into common parlance. There remains a degree of resistance to this term, amply clear in anecdotal if not official evidence, with individuals resenting the use of a non-European word and the adoption of a Maori term (and one with unsubstantiated origins) to define their identity. Unfortunately, in the latest census, 1996, where 59 per cent of the population identified themselves as 'European or Pakeha', respondents were not offered any way to signal a choice and so, statistically, the movement by non-indigenous New Zealanders towards establishing a specific sense of identity away from the historical terms of colonisation has not been monitored. This is to be lamented, as we know how many people are of Dutch or German or Irish descent, and how many of Samoan, Tongan or Maori descent, but not how many 'officially' identify as 'nativised-white'. Perhaps because of the complexity of this search for authenticity, issues of the post-settler belonging have been ignored. When looking for a way to set some parameters to this study, which has at its core an attempt to understand and articulate contemporary

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Pakeha culture, I sought an author who thoroughly identified as belonging to this cultural enclave, and who recognised some of the silences and the gaps particular to this group, and who used them to signify the cultural moment in his works. And finally, I wanted someone who had published consistently throughout this period of contemporary history when assumptions about identity and belonging were beginning to be challenged and changed. Maurice Gee fitted the bill par excellence. As his comments in the popular magazine North and South show, he is conscious of the precariousness of his own positioning. I'm not a philosopher or sociologist. My opinions and views are no more profound than the next person's. Outside the act of writing I am just another citizen with all sorts of interests that don't relate to my writing. For example, no Maori characters appear in my books. This is not because I am not interested. I'm enormously interested in what's happening in New Zealand at the moment. But it fails to light me up as a writer . . . The whole middle-class thing. That's my territory 3 Beginning his publishing career in the early 1960s and publishing regularly since then (with his latest novel released in March 1998), Maurice Gee's career effectively spans the period most affected by the evolving discourse of postcolonialism. Gee started publishing in the period when anti-colonial nationalistic literatures and ideas of a comparative Commonwealth literature first emerged; he has continued to the present day, when debates which attempt to exclude the writing of the post-coloniser from the enclave of post-colonial literatures have encouraged new ways of reading the post-settler narrative. His novels unapologetically position the 'Pakeha' subject at the centre of the text. They critique the enduring myth of New Zealand as 'Godzone' (or 'God's Own' country), and unobtrusively examine the anxieties of contemporary Pakeha society. Occasionally returning as far as the late 1800s4, he most regularly revisits specific times and sites significant to Pakeha New Zealand and their search for stability and security. The 1930s and the Depression, the post-war 1950s with its legacy of conformity, and the economic and social upheavals of the 1980s have become Gee's most favored playgrounds. All are significant periods of social disruption and determination within Pakeha New Zealand's short history. Mimicking middle-class Pakeha New Zealand itself, his novels rarely engage directly with issues of colonisation. They do not deal with aspects of dispossession or racial conflict, nor with issues of greed or guilt. Instead, they offer a representation of middle New Zealand covering almost a century of European inhabitance, and at the core of this comfortable world is a distinctly uneasy society. The novels offer a

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subtle but consistent engagement with the manifestations of a legacy of a settler ahistoricism and the resultant layering of evasions and denials within the culture of this sector of New Zealand society. In many ways Gee's works are themselves symptomatic of the problem. Trapped within the limitations represented by his realist prose and complacent characters, they expose some crucial gaps and silences yet remain largely uncritical of the omissions. He demonstates the discomfort, but resists the inevitable polarisation of stepping beyond the present moment and taking it further. Preferring to represent that which he knows best, Gee does not attempt to imagine a condition of resolution, if there is one, for the current discomforts of Pakeha positioning. By choosing a novel from Gee's early, middle and later works, the settler-subject's continuing need to re-negotiate its own idealised construction of origins is examined and, to use Alan Lawson's words, a 'duality of authority and authenticity' is acknowledged. 5 The significance of this uneasiness, which is forced below the surface by the foregrounding of other issues, is signalled primarily through the denial of its existence. But anxiety about identity continues to resonate from below the surface as this cultural reading of Maurice Gee will show. The three novels to be discussed here predicate a reading of Pakeha New Zealand's anxiety of identity by signalling evidence of an endemic culture of evasion. Games of Choice, written in 1976, was Gee's fourth novel.6 A novel that places the disintegration of a 'more or less average middle class family living in suburban New Zealand'7 at the centre of the narrative, it simultaneously and quite self-consciously places an awareness of the re-historicisation of self and nation centrally, too. Belated and generally inadequate efforts to articulate anxieties and discontents within the Pratt family become almost a parable for the limitations of the mythically informed, determinedly ahistorical condition that is settler New Zealand in this period. The novel emphasises the nature of the settler cultural condition in a number of ways: by challenging accepted historical interpretations of settlement and contemporary assumptions of national well-being, and by highlighting evasions and denials of the past. Assumptions about New Zealand as a classless society are at the core of the novel, yet the distance between Kingsley Pratt and his wife and Bart Somers constitutes one fracture, and a similar distance exists between the university-educated Kingsley and his working-class father, Harry Pratt. The persistence of a sentimental attachment to historical assumptions about British values is observed in Bart Somers, with his mimicry of Victorian speech, dress and attitude. There is a naivety in his belief that history is about fact and settlement is about civilising, which reflects a rather

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arrested or belated sense of cultural positioning and an evasion of the shifts that were occurring outside of Pakeha New Zealand's insular world. As a number of facts about colonisation undergo re-examination, the affectations and dishonesties behind the myths of settlement are exposed. Bart, an amateur historian, gives a talk to the local historical society. Here, 'his snobbishness had come to the fore. How fortunate it was, he said, that Hardinge's streets should have been named by an English gentleman' (Games of Choice, p.45). When asked, he admitted to knowing the history of Kingsley's streetname but had omitted it from the main body of the talk. He had felt the case of Tapper distasteful as he had drowned while fording a nearby river, and was thought to have been drunk at the time. It disturbs me to think of a man like that having his name perpetuated. May I quote Alfred Domett on the subject? This is from his report to the Provincial Secretary. He complains of having to be 'constantly reminded of the existence of obscure individuals (ruffians possibly and runaway convicts) whose names get attached to the places they happen to be the first to pitch upon, and almost render the places themselves distasteful, however favoured by nature.' (Games of Choice, pp.4647) Significantly, as his assumptions about the coloniser's integrity are exposed as unreliable, ideas about his own integrity shift through his association with Kingsley's wife, Alison. His role as the 'civilised saviour' who will assist her escape from the uncouth and common Kingsley must compromise his image of himself, despite their careful consideration of the situation. Removing Kingsley to the golf course for a round while Alison prepares to leave him, he tries to explain, 'Alison wanted to speak with [the children] alone. It seemed reasonable to me. I'm sorry about the deception.' But as Kingsley points out, 'The rot's setting in. She's got you compromising. You'll never be the same again.' (Games of Choice, p.131) The novel offers up a reading of Pakeha culture which examines an uneasiness at the continued significance of an essentially imported value system to the contemporary situation with its increasing awareness of cultural displacement. While some values and assumptions are shown to be mere affectations, others are seen to have fostered the ability to evade shifts in authority and deny discomfort. This systematic evasion of trouble or displeasure earned New Zealanders the epithet of 'passionless people' from a contemporaneous social commentator, Gordon McLauchlan. 8 Primarily interested in just 'getting on with it' and not worrying about potentially disruptive or disturbing detail nor seeking any depth of intellectual understanding or emotion, the alleged lack of engagement signalled the evolving culture of evasion.

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The novel reflects the charge of shallowness on a number of levels. Kingsley's children's antagonism towards each other is summarily dismissed by his wife as 'sibling rivalry'. It is a term she had 'discovered' seventeen years ago and used ever since (Games of Choice, p.9) and, although Kingsley finds it 'hard to understand that a woman so clever, so devious, so cool, should be so silly', it is much easier to ignore its fatuity than to expose the numerous tensions beneath their own and the children's disputes. Similarly, as he recognises the end of his marriage, by turning it into a series of clever and occasionally cruel anecdotes, '[h]e had been on the point of transforming his past into something he could live in comfort with' (Games of Choice, p.103). When his habit of romanticising his father's working-class background and experiences in the 1930s Depression begin to elicit feelings of pity and guilt, '[e]vasions were necessary, to keep some calm of mind . . . To avoid quick guilt, a quick shift of ground was necessary.' (Games of Choice, p.60) Although Kingsley recognises the distances between Malcolm Otley's daughter and himself, he is unable to resolve his distaste at the reality of his father's working-class habits. He finds it difficult to recognise his connection to this old-man survivor and attempts to deny it. 'Firmness he had, of a wavering kind; and a tenacity in dreaming. But he looked on himself as a sport in the line.' (Games of Choice, p.78) The importance of being able to connect the past and the present is a significant and recurring concept in Gee's novels, and the inability of most characters to either see or achieve this, a major theme. It leaves his main characters, like Kingsley and Noel Papps, from my next choice, Prowlers (1987), 9 with the knowledge of a deficiency and recognition of their own shallow and evasive sense of self. The manifestation of a more general cultural condition, this 'slipperiness' becomes a signifier for this dominant sector of a society experiencing a displacement of authority and authenticity. The suppression or effacement of the indigene within the text, and the concomitant desire for an indigenised settler culture becomes a key anxiety behind the novels. In Gee's eighth novel, octogenarian Sir Noel Papps reviews his life and realises that all his achievements, his certainties, his faith in the claiming and naming of things, are ambiguous, full of inconsistencies and evasions. The novel's 'realist' narrative dismisses assumptions of a shared common life, exposing numerous inconsistencies of detail. A self-reflexive reading of itself emphasises the instability caused by gaps and shifts in the authority of the protagonist within the narrative structure. As a young man Noel Papps, the scientist, had regarded language as a transparent means of describing external reality. Yet his descriptions increasingly betray an artist's sensibility and the novel ends with Papps waiting for Halley's Comet, 'in a scientific spirit, but with

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senses readied and imagination primed' (Prowlers, p.234). It is acknowledged that '[h]e embellishes', worse, 'he invents' 10, and with knowledge of the selectiveness of his memories, the authority of his 'realistic' representation is undermined. Leslie Monkman11, using Stephen Slemon's strategy for examining post-colonial discourse12, suggests that in 'the fractured space of colonialist transplantation and intervention', the belief that language can adequately capture and contain the world is deeply flawed. Monkman suggests that, set apart from secure linguistic, psychological and cultural traditions of the old world, this 'linguistic scepticism', which becomes the subtext of Prowlers, destabilises reader assumptions and adds to the post-settler's awareness of his unsettled cultural positioning. For Noel Papps the scientist not only is the authority of science and language questioned and the authenticity of his vision challenged but, by extension, all his earlier assumptions about the colonising mission are displaced. Recognising his part in a past that was full of mistakes and 'full of the fixing up of mistakes', he sees that New Zealand has not been immune to the greed and foolishness it sought to leave behind. Mark Williams, in Leaving the Highway, suggests that for Papps, 'once begun, the business of "developing" the "unreconstructed" world that existed before European habitation, has a mechanical inevitability'.13 In a now-famous quote from the novel, Papps identifies his role in the context of a settler society committed to the rules of capital and development. I've done as much as anyone to turn this South Pacific wilderness into the giant dairy farm and sheep run and slaughter-house of today. First the settlers and soldiers, raw encounter, gaining and getting, then politicians rationalising theft, then men like me with our improvements. I'm not ashamed, I'm not proud either. That is the way it was. Who comes after? I can't identify them properly. The entrepreneurs and the urban peasants ... That putting up, money and buildings both, 'developing'; and that ripping down and 'ripping off' . . . We have gangsters and Wall Street men, and footpads, hunting packs and there are fights in the streets with real knives. And the original owners are acting up. They want back what was theirs and I don't blame them. I don't really blame anyone. Except myself, at times, and not very hard, for not understanding it and being glad to be past it all. (Prowlers, pp.204205) Although Papps recognises that he had been 'too sure of himself, too complacent, and things had got out of kilter again' (Prowlers, p.218), he does not wish to look further. Williams points out, '[t]he deeps in history or in the self are too terrifying and too large in scale for him, so he makes do with games, gestures'.14 Papps comes to recognise his evasions, describing himself as 'shallow, shifty, a kind of

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Aral Sea in my emotions' (Prowlers, p.94). He later accepts these evasions as 'something very human', and perhaps, something germane to the culture in which he resides. Evasion was part of the texture of life; behind the processes of 'development' and wealth creation has always lain the other reality of greed and destruction. Papps resists engaging with this, although he recognises that the myth of 'destiny' that lay behind the process of 'gaining and getting' had become the glue that holds this society together. Immersed in the process of wealth creation the community is distracted from the loss of certainty involved in this cultural transplantation, and Papp's ongoing reluctance to scrutinise or criticise the 'developer', Phil Dockery, reflects this culture of evasion. Attempting to connect the past and the present, the novel uncovers the pervasiveness of this avoidance at a time when, paradoxically, a new ideology of 'progress' and wealth creation arrived to overshadow increasing uncertainty about historical and cultural authority. Political and economic shifts, from a mixed economy toward full marketcontrol, distracted most of the population from the unease and insecurity of historical and cultural re-negotiations. Issues of Maori sovereignty have effectively been ignored by much of the population of middle New Zealand as issues of personal economic instability have dominated internal debate about Pakeha positioning. Middle New Zealand entered a period of extreme discomfort and, since the mid 1980s, political, cultural and economic issues have become deeply intertwined. The new rhetoric of 'user-pays' saw the politicians of middle New Zealand seek to redress past wrongs and shift the burden of reconstruction from the state to local and tribal institutions. Despite the sense of resolution achieved by some of the beneficiaries of large tribal claims to the Waitangi Tribunal, history may find that these attempts at 'full and final settlement' read as further evasion of the legacy of settler colonisation. Noel Papps recognises the need to re-negotiate his own idealised construction of origins and acknowledge the instability of assumptions about authority and authenticity, but his evasions are an account of a post-settler society continuing to resist engagement with the more complex effects of colonisation. Uneasiness about questions of identity and belonging, while not overtly a part of the narrative, are manifest in the wilfully slippery evasion of issues and resistance to the wholesale re-evaluation of Pakeha positioning. The novel signalled this at a time when major economic upheavals had, for much of the population of Pakeha New Zealand, displaced the debate over issues of identity and belonging. Finally, I conclude with a brief look at Gee's latest novel Live Bodies (1998) 15, which won the top literary award in New Zealand for 1998.

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This novel is a major change from Gee's previous work as it shifts the focus away from 'Gee's territory', middle New Zealand, to the search for identity for a new New Zealander, the Austrian Jew Josef Mandl. As one reviewer suggests, Gee has found a way to simultaneously celebrate and lament those non-conformist, non-British Europeans (Jews and Dutch and Germans) 'who tried to add some cosmopolitan colour to Kiwi life in the years after World War II . . . In more than one sense this is the story of the "making of a New Zealander".' 16 A novel about displacement, it is a celebration of re-positioning, which discusses issues of history and memory, identity and belonging, not from the perspective of unsettled middle New Zealand, but from that of the new migrant who comes into a culture of evasion. For the first time Gee offers a view of middle New Zealand from the outside looking in. Mandl's efforts to learn the language of the place and, later, to know his own life more fully, presents a unique view of contemporary Pakeha New Zealand, which disrupts the dominant culture's insular understanding of itself. Describing the ignorance of wartime officials regarding the events of the Anschluss, the novel challenges the complacency and self-satisfaction of many New Zealanders. Specifically an account of New Zealand's anti-foreign, anti-Semitic prejudices, it interrogates assumptions of cultural superiority which had attempted to exclude the newcomers. Kenny, Mandl's son, anglicises his name at the suggestion of his future father-in-law, to make it less 'foreign', less different, as insurance for his daughter. Spence also suggests that Mandl should try and see it as 'a kind of adapting': 'It's like saying, "Thank you, Leighton, for letting us stay"' (Live Bodies, p.237). The distrust of foreign accents, foreign-sounding names and foreign cuisine, the insistence on the superiority of the staple Kiwi fare all reflect the insularity of the culture. The tasteless white bread and lack of decent coffee, cheese or wine that Mandl endures in the Wellington of the 1950s all signalled a young culture, as unsophisticated and insubstantial as Mandl's 1930s Vienna was dense and refined. Yet, while this relative simplicity suggests to Mandl the possibility for fresh growth, as a cultural site it simultaneously offers him the opportunity to evade and deny the depths which make him who he is. Mandl decides to stay on in New Zealand after the war despite being detained as an enemy alien for its duration. For him, Vienna has too much history, too much complexity and too many memories. On revisiting it many years later he 'saw that Vienna had tried to scrub away what must be remembered', but that 'in the sewers, something was sleeping' (Live Bodies, p.240). In contrast, the little wooden town 'smeared over the hills' he had observed from Somes Island suggested a land with little history and offered freedom from all the complex layerings of myth and memory his Vienna was entwined in. Joseph Mandl

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has little interest in this new land's history and nor is he obliged to have. Unlike Vienna, its history failed to resonate in the little wooden city and the locals he encounters appear neither familiar nor concerned with it. Wellington offered a place in which to re-invent himself and Mandl works hard to rid himself of his accent and unfamiliar speech and, as was expected, to assimilate himself into this new place. Mandl had become like the other immigrants from Europe, 'putting aside their largeness, making their narrow start; saving their inner wealth for a day that was still far off' (Live Bodies, p.83). They had seen that business was where the refugee would succeed, providing the goods they had taken for granted but which New Zealanders had not yet felt the need of. Fine wines, elaborate furnishings, rye bread and delicate pastries would find a place alongside the utilitarian and the endless scones and pikelets, and significantly, many of these same commodities the wines and cheeses now signal to New Zealanders that they are on the way to achieving a maturity and unique cultural identity within the global economy. A new generation of New Zealanders is beginning to see how their paths have been increased by multiple migrations and perhaps this new generation is beginning to embrace this multiplicity as relief from the unease of a distant colonial past. But multiculturalism does not foreclose on the anxieties of a settler past, although recognition of New Zealand's complexity is a necessary part of a new cultural awareness that encourages the displacements of the past to be constituents celebrated in the combined social existence of the nation. Near the end of his life Mandl is jolted out of his complacency by Kenny's 'betrayal of all he has done'. It sends 'him scurrying backwards looking for some other place to hide' and, after a lifetime of avoiding it, Josef Mandl journeys back in order to find the weight and the depth he needs to make some sense of his life. Never fully comprehending his part in the changing shape of Europe, his children were also never very aware of having an Austrian, much less a Jewish dad. He had 'produced anecdotes and left them to find the larger history for themselves' (Live Bodies, p.23). Vienna had remained foreign and distant to his New Zealand children and grandchildren and so the detail and emotion of his memories are a surprise to his daughter. Suddenly she must re-think her life in New Zealand and reposition the Holocaust, not as the unimaginable horror which had occurred in a far-off place in a far-off time, but as an event contained within the narratives of her own life. Mandl's journey through the past corresponds with his granddaughter's more painful one through a misdiagnosed repressed memory of sexual abuse and the two run curiously in tandem thoroughout the novel. While Recovered Memory Syndrome is a topical issue which reflects the anxieties of the times, scepticism about its validity

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reverberates particularly across those cultures that by some kind of special necessity must re-negotiate their pasts. In the novel all memory all efforts to revisit the past is signalled as unstable and uncertain; and queries as to which memories, negotiated and revised, come to dominate, and why, increase this skepticism. As Mandl asks, does negotiation of the past produce a better 'truth'? Does it assist in the healing process and help to remake oneself whole? Julie, her memories and the truth confused, is unable to put the past behind her and must constantly revisit its painful wounds, while Mandl ends proclaiming 'self', with a healthy curiosity about the future, having decided not to dwell too long there. Mandl had chosen to remake his life in Wellington after the war, conscious that the Vienna he had known no longer existed. His efforts to learn the idioms, identify and establish a place for himself there form the basis of the novel. Mark Williams points out, 'Language helps Mandl put himself and his world together' 17, and offers to the dominant culture a look at itself which is both critical and sympathetic. But how many New Zealand men will recognise themselves in Mandl's description? Often when I'm with New Zealand men, chatting away, I'm all right for a while, I can do the necessary tricks, but then I grow tired of it and I'm not with them any more, even those I like. I cannot sustain the jocular tone, or so the friendly insult or pretend deep interest in shallow things, and cannot keep on smiling while they earbash me. So I take refuge in my foreignness, I make my courteous good-byes; and they, understandably are pleased to see me go. I can feel them unbutton as I slide out the door. I'm not upset by it. I'm simply relieved to have a means of retreat. (Live Bodies, pp.25657) Similarly, how many New Zealanders will appreciate the joke of the Berliner, Willi Gauss, a fellow intern on the Somes Island Detention Camp during the war. Gauss betrayed his friends and provided the authorities with biographical details on all the interns, Nazi and Jew alike, including on Mandl, despite Mandl's friendship and loyalty. Many years later Mandl finds out what Gauss had said about him. 'Mandl is good-natured and well-meaning but lacks intelligence and strength of will. He is easily led. Politically he is naive, mistaking wish for deed. In Vienna he was a member of a Stalinist anti-Trotskyist youth group, but is ruled by self-interest and will betray his so-called beliefs for personal advantage . . . Mandl will become a good New Zealander,' Willie says. After all the bad things he had written he must have enjoyed telling them where I belonged. (Live Bodies, p.262) This story of an Austrian Jew reflects an image of middle New Zealand that sits uneasily upon those others we have grown comfortable

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with. With its images of a rudimentary culture almost smothered under a narrow and displaced sense of cultural superiority, Live Bodies challenges the materialism of God's Own country. Mandl tries to face the evasions of his past. He recognises how he shapes those memories as he goes and, knowing the unreliability of it all, instead of dwelling there too long he joins them to the combined molecular entity he has become. In the journey towards knowing the position of the settler society more openly, the novel encourages an effort to position these conflicting images as a multiple layering of factors which inform what Mandl calls 'social existence', a culture conscious of its own evolution. For the first time Gee appears to offer a vision for recovery from the anxieties of displacement. He appears to suggest that by incorporating other ways of seeing, by acknowledging the past but resisting being overwhelmed by it, and by engendering a curiosity about the future, middle New Zealand may resolve its unease. But, in revisiting Europe, Gee continues his neglect of Maori in the discourse of Pakeha positioning. By failing to engage with the key cause of postsettler anxiety, the challenge by Maori to Pakeha authority and claims of authenticity, he perpetuates the massive cultural evasion of middle New Zealand. And by submerging this within the displacements of a multicultural society, the need to re-negotiate the position of the contemporary settler culture in officially and historically bicultural New Zealand is again denied. In conclusion, as this brief look into three novels has shown, Maurice Gee takes middle New Zealand on an adventurous journey of identity, past the safety of a realist representation of a world of assumed common experience and into the uneasy territory where inherited ideas of authority and authenticity are regularly challenged. Gee examines the settler-subject's need to re-negotiate its own idealised construction of origins but, while he acknowledges the gaps that exist in understanding this position, he has predominantly offered a representation of the past and the present that consistently excludes engaging with the core issues of identity for middle New Zealand. That we can see the gaps and are aware that the stories and their vision are incomplete becomes part of the uneasy endeavour of Pakeha New Zealanders' efforts to know themselves. As chronicles of evasion, these novels reflect the uneasiness of the settler position and the limitations of trying to articulate what it might mean in the contemporary moment. Notes 1 The Big Season (1962), A Special Flower (1965), In My Father's Den (1972), Games of Choice (1976), Plumb (1978), Meg (1981), Sole Survivor (1983), Prowlers (1987), The Burning Boy (1990), Going West (1992), Crime Story (1994), Loving Ways (1996), Live Bodies (1998). 2 Discussion with Dr Rajen Prasad, in the Auckland office of the Race Relations

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Conciliator, June 1998. See also the article by Peter O'Connor, 'Pakeha and Proud', New Zealand Journal of Social Studies, 5, 2, October 1996, pp.11-14. 3 Quoted from an article by Cate Brett, 'The Gee Genius', North and South, September 1995, p.99. 4 Maurice Gee, Plumb, Faber and Faber, London, 1978. Note that the Plumb Trilogy was reprinted by Penguin (New Zealand) under one cover in 1997. 5 Alan Lawson, 'Postcolonial Theory and the ''Settler" Subject', in Essays on Canadian Writing, No.56, Fall 1995, pp.20-36, here p.23. 6 Maurice Gee, Games of Choice, Faber and Faber, London, 1976. 7 Bill Manhire, Maurice Gee, Oxford University Press, Auckland, 1986, p.26. 8 Gordon McLauchlan, The Passionless People: New Zealanders in the 1970s, Cassell, New Zealand, 1976. 9 Maurice Gee, Prowlers, Viking, Penguin Books (NZ), Auckland, 1987. 10 Mark Williams, Leaving the Highway: Six Contemporary New Zealand Novelists. Auckland University Press, 1990, p.183. 11 Leslie Monkman, 'From Plumb to Prowlers: Maurice Gee's Octogenarians', Australia and New Zealand Studies in Canada, 3, 1990, pp.9-22. 12 Stephen Slemon, 'Reading for Resistance in the Post-Colonial Literature[s]', in Hena Maes-Jelinek, Kirsten Holst Petersen and Anna Rutherford (eds), A Shaping of Connection, Dangaroo Press, Aarhus, 1989, pp. 100-15, here p.109. 13 Williams, Leaving the Highway, p. 187. 14 Williams, Leaving the Highway, p.185. 15 Maurice Gee, Live Bodies, Penguin Books New Zealand, Auckland, 1998. 16 George Moore, 'Hard being new Kiwi', in Sunday Star Times, Revue, 8 March 1998, p.5. 17 Mark Williams, 'Review of Live Bodies', Landfall, 196 (Spring 1998), p.315.

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13 Exploring Disallowed Territory: Introducing the Multicultural Subject into New Zealand Literature Nina Nola In her recent exploration of gypsy culture, Bury Me Standing, Isabel Fonseca pinpoints nostalgia as the essence of gypsy song. The gypsy deployment of nostalgia in this context is intriguing because a distinguishing feature of gypsies is that they have no home, and, as Fonseca suggests, 'perhaps uniquely among peoples, they have no dream of a homeland'. 1 To dream of the homeland, however, is a function of the gypsy of the modern world: the migrant. The migrant is, as Salman Rushdie suggested, before himself becoming perhaps the most infamous migratory figure of the contemporary world, 'the central or defining figure of the twentieth century'.2 The migrant is also a characteristic figure of the colonial world, fractured into groups representing the hegemonic centre, and groups which are constituted as problematic: extraneous to the dominant, transposed Anglo-Celtic culture, in the New Zealand model. In this chapter I shall refer to two writers whose work exemplifies the difficulty of establishing a recognised multicultural voice within New Zealand literature. Both have their origins in cultures other than the dominant AngloCeltic group, but resist being seen as 'problematic'. Neither Dalmatian New Zealander Amelia Batistich nor DanishFrench Huguenot New Zealander Yvonne du Fresne see themselves as outside the New Zealand literary landscape but as being able to participate with varying degrees of intimacy and privilege within it. At the same time both authors take issue with the ways in which historically their work has been received and, in so doing, raise vital questions about the mechanisms and tensions which underlie the formation

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of New Zealand literature from the late 1940s and early 1950s to the present day. The dynamics of this process of engaging with, and adding to the literary 'mainstream' the body of work that comprises predominantly white, AngloCeltic, male New Zealand voices reveals a subtext to the narratives of their writing lives (and publishing histories) as well as to the express intentions and thematic concerns of their fictions, which both authors shared with me. It was the complexity implicit in this subtext editorial, publishing and marketing issues which complicated how the authors saw themselves, and how they were perceived by others which provides a major research interest for my study. 3 My selection of Amelia Batistich and Yvonne du Fresne as two authors whose work can be defined under the rubric of multicultural writing in New Zealand in English was made on the basis of a number of evident similarities in their situations as writers. Both have been relegated, I argue, to a marginal position in New Zealand literature, and yet both have enjoyed a considerable degree of reader support and popularity. For both writers New Zealand including its interaction with Maori, on which both authors focus is a hybrid of their own inherited culture and an Anglo-Celtic European society. Furthermore, neither writer appears to have negotiated a literary reputation with which they are comfortable, straddling the margins of New Zealand literature. My interest in these two writers as representing an untapped source for multicultural literary critique also reflects the significant body of work both have produced. Both Amelia Batistich and Yvonne du Fresne are acutely conscious of the tensions attendant on the migrant condition. The diversity of their approaches to their subject matter emerges as at least as significant and interesting as the 'migrant consciousness' they share. Amelia Batistich halts her narratives at crucial turning points so that, contrary to the assumptions often contained in negative reviews of her 'easy resolutions', the idea that such resolution might never be achieved is emphasised. Yvonne du Fresne, on the other hand, repeatedly attempts to resolve the tensions in the seesaw identity of her character Astrid Westergaard by giving equal weight to Danishness and New Zealandness. As the daughter and granddaughter of Dalmatian migrants, I found in Amelia Batistich's writing the first sense of myself as a New Zealander of Dalmatian ethnicity at the centre of a work of fiction. Her first collection, An Olive Tree in Dalmatia and Other Stories (1963), is a gallery of family portraits. It includes figures who might have been my paternal grandfather, one of the early gumdiggers, or my grandmother the bride my grandfather returned to Dalmatia to claim, who became his co-worker on the scrub-covered wasteland that was to

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become the prosperous family orchard in Auckland. In 'The Road Back' from Batistich's second collection, Holy Terrors and Other Stories (1991), I discovered a clever literary exploration of the psychic trauma attendant on migration, especially for women migrants a concern highlighted also in du Fresne's fiction. Here was a precursor to my mother, a post-World War II migrant from the former Yugoslavia, thrust into an alien environment, desperately trying to make sense of the country that was to become her new home. It seemed to matter little that Tereza in the story tried to find 'the road back' at the turn of the century, while my mother was still making the same effort to come to terms with her identity in the early 1990s after nearly forty years of being a naturalised New Zealander. In Stella Barich and Ketty Parentich, the protagonists of Batistich's two novels, I saw versions of myself as a young adult clinging to vestiges of Dalmatianness, while claiming adamantly to be an Aucklander. In Astrid Westergaard, the New Zealand child of Danish descent around whom Yvonne du Fresne's negotiation of a New Zealand identity pivots, I discovered a child to whom I could relate as an outsider, on the margins of 'New Zealand' society. As it is for most children from ethnic minority cultures in New Zealand, life for Astrid is punctuated by dislocations between home and school, between private and public, individual and communal experience. Astrid's effort to succeed both within her grandparents' originating cultures and, beyond these, in the dominant Anglo-Celtic provincial world in which she tries to find a place represents a quintessential conflict of the migrant experience. Both authors take advantage of the privilege of distance to focus on their various communities with a critical, yet ultimately subjective eye. At the same time both writers are implicated in the communities which they critique. Although it would be crudely reductive to present them simply as representative 'types' of, and spokespersons for the Dalmatian and Danish communities in New Zealand, it is nevertheless strongly arguable that the intensity of their own concern with issues of identity and the very fact of their writing and the publication of their work legitimates the Dalmatian and Danish presence in New Zealand literature. These categories are themselves constructions of the interaction between the early migrants from Europe, and colonial New Zealand. The term 'Dalmatia', and Amelia Batistich's description of her family and extended community as 'Dalmatians', refers to an older nomenclature which is today a contested site of identity, especially in New Zealand. In no other country in which migrants from that part of the world have settled has the name 'Dalmatia' as much significance as it has in New Zealand, particularly in Northland and Auckland, and also to Northland Maori. 4 The Dalmatia of her parents to which Amelia

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Batistich refers is as much a nostalgic construction of the early gumdigging migrant community in Northland as it is a product of her fictional treatment of this regional homeland of Croatia. Similarly, the Denmark which provides Astrid Westergaard with her heroines, and with a mythology superimposed on the New Zealand landscape, is itself as much a product of the mythology reproduced by Yvonne du Fresne's paternal grandparents, who migrated to New Zealand in the 1870s, as it is du Fresne's own responses to these richly suggestive tales. Exploring by turns her Danish, and Danish-French Huguenot heritages, du Fresne reinvests 'Denmark' with a number of meanings, depending on the particular set of characteristic traits she explores. Critical responses to Amelia Batistich's work, spanning fifty years of increasingly complex and diverse kinds of literary criticism, have rarely attributed to her the complexities and deliberate strategies I identify in my re-reading of her fiction. Similarly, in criticism of Yvonne du Fresne's work, there is often a refusal to acknowledge that her fictional world might be a deliberate attempt to formulate an alternative mythic interpretation of New Zealand experiences. There exists a general dearth of critical engagement with the work of both writers, particularly the intersections between Anglo-Celtic experience in New Zealand and that of other European ethnic minorities in the country. This is disallowed or, at least, highly sensitive territory in the contemporary literary and cultural environment, where there is little place for a discussion of New Zealand literature which does not comfortably fit within the 'bicultural mapping of the national imaginary', as Sneja Gunew and Anna Yeatman have described the legislated biculturalism of New Zealand society at the present time. 5 The currency of the terms 'bicultural' and 'multicultural' fluctuates with the increasing momentum of Maori claims for redress of wrongs resulting from failure to honour undertakings in the Treaty of Waitangi. The terms also carry politically charged meanings for those, mainly identified as non-Maori, who are opposed to such claims. While recognition of the pluri-ethnic composition of New Zealand society may have been the aim of multiculturalists in New Zealand prior to the new Maori renaissance in the 1970s, once Maori began to become a cohesive political and cultural force in negotiations with governments in the 1980s, the myth of New Zealand as a monocultural society gave way to the equally selective categorising of the country as a binary partnership of two peoples. A recent collection of essays edited by Stuart Greif, Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand: One People, Two People, Many Peoples?, explores the difficult issues in this debate. Ranganui Walker supports biculturalism because he considers multiculturalism an ideology antithetical to the Maori cause, explaining that 'the reduction of Maori to a position of one of many minorities negates

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their status as the people of the land and enables governments to neutralise their claims for justice'. 6 Ramesh Thakur, on the other hand, defends multiculturalism by arguing that 'groups which are neither Maori nor European [Pakeha] are frozen out of the debate on the identity and future of the country and disenfranchised with respect to the politics of multiculturalism'.7 The polarisation of debates between competing bicultural and multicultural ideologies in New Zealand in the 1990s is predicated on the dynamics of Maori sovereignty, and the success of reparation claims. In order to shift the balance of power in both the political and cultural spheres from the domain of British-descendant colonisers towards that of the tangata whenua, the nation's energy seems to be directed toward one goal: a fully functioning biculturalism. Biculturalism in New Zealand is envisaged by policy makers as a partnership between the country's first inhabitants the first migrants, Maori and Pakeha. The constitution of the group 'Pakeha' is open to debate; but it is highly pertinent to this study that European migrants from countries other than Britain, such as the Dalmatians and the Danes, do not in general feel that the term, or the bicultural partnering it describes, includes them. Other migrants such as Asians and Pacific Islanders, as Thakur's comment above implies, are still further removed from being represented in the bicultural model. A prescriptive rather than descriptive definition, official biculturalism in New Zealand marginalises ethnic minority groups who do not see themselves represented under the umbrella term 'Pakeha', while at the same time presupposing a homogeneous 'British' culture as the binary opposite to Maori. While supporters of biculturalism promote a dual organisation of New Zealand before they consider any suggestion of multicultural policy could become appropriate, others, like the Race Relations Conciliator, Dr Rajen Prasad, take a different approach: 'I don't think it's as simple as saying, "First achieve biculturalism, then we'll look at multiculturalism." One can't wait for the other.'8 After waiting fifty years for New Zealand literary institutions to read her work for the diverse expression of New Zealand experiences it describes, Amelia Batistich was finally awarded the Queen's Service Medal in 1997 for community service. It is unclear, however, whether the award was made in recognition of the contribution she has made to her ethnic minority community, or to the literary community, or to New Zealand society in general.9 As the recipient of, among other awards, a Leading Writer's Scholarship in Arts and Letters in 1991, Yvonne du Fresne has also received institutional support for her fiction. Both authors in recent years have also received official recognition. On the face of it, this recognition might indicate that significant shifts have occurred in the culture from the 1960s to the 1990s; a closer study

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would suggest otherwise, however, since there has been little critical engagement with the crucial multicultural issues which lie at the core of their work or of the work of other ethnic minority writers in New Zealand. Resistance to the challenge of multiculturalism has left both authors on the margins of the canon. In other areas of the arts, such as drama and film, there appears to be a greater tolerance of, and receptivity to treatment of cultures other than those represented in the bicultural model. Broken English (Croatian, Chinese), an internationally popular feature film, and plays such as Tzigane (Romanian) and Krishnan's Dairy (Indian) were all performed in mainstream rather than fringe theatres, and were enthusiastically received, although the level of multicultural debate which they aroused was superficial. The accessibility of the visual media and performance art might go some way to explaining the commercial viability of such productions, as opposed to the risks publishers need to take with books such as Amelia Batistich's Holy Terrors and Other Stories a collection intended to represent the best of her stories and Yvonne du Fresne's most recent novel, Motherland. While enjoying considerable grassroots popularity, both authors have been sidelined by the aggressive nature of the publishing (and publicity) machine which dictates a best-seller or a 'politically correct' and timely book, such as Alan Duff's What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?, published the same week as Motherland. One of the central difficulties critics seemed at least initially to encounter, without overtly addressing this dilemma, was that both authors look to a 'motherland' other than England. Born at a time when nations were believed to have relatively fixed identities, and when British Empire red dominated the world map, Batistich and du Fresne both emphasise the allegiances of their Dalmatian and Danish characters to their own homelands, in opposition to the dogmatic majority view of Britain as the natural, originary 'home' of all New Zealand settlers. To the discomfort of many a reviewer both authors also create an alternative folklore for New Zealand, incorporating distinctive elements of myth and legend from their own cultures. More contentious still is their willingness to align aspects of Maori life and culture with Dalmatian or Danish life and culture. Such identifications are felt by non-Maori reviewers to undermine Maori sovereignty, and the significance of Maori voices in literature, because they detract from an appropriate bicultural response to contemporary New Zealand life. Ironically, it is precisely writers who themselves struggled against the monocultural mainstream including Maori author Patricia Grace who acknowledge the example of Amelia Batistich as the first New Zealand-born writer from an ethnic minority to be published in this country.

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Batistich herself initially looked to Australia, and particularly the Bulletin, for her literary models, although in the 1940s, when she began writing, there was little sign of any migrant presence in the literature of that country. Judah Waten's Alien Son was yet to be published; but, with its appearance in 1952, David Carter argues, Waten 'made the category of migrant writer in Australia a site of meaning and value'. 10 Participating in the formation of an Australian literary tradition, Waten added with his collection of linked stories featuring a Jewish family the term 'migrant writer', defining a position from which writers working in Australia could articulate their perspectives of Jewish or Italian or Russian 'Australianness'. As in New Zealand, in Australia writers were intent on creating a tradition to which they could belong, in order to claim their place in the 'nation-building' exercise of establishing a canon, or at least to legitimate their presence. Unlike Australia in the post-war 1950s, New Zealand did not experience a massive influx of migrant workers, whose cultural needs and questioning of identity were served by writers such as Waten. Antigone Kefala was one of the migrants in the 1950s who struggled to find a sense of place in New Zealand but who felt rejected by the country's exclusionary monoculturalism and eventually escaped it. Born in Romania to Greek parents, Kefala lived in three countries and learnt three languages before settling in Australia, where she felt, after New Zealand, 'totally liberated'.11 Three early stories were published in New Zealand before she established herself as a Sydney-based writer, but her oeuvre draws upon her New Zealand years as a major formative experience: 'New Zealand forced you to be more analytical about issues'.12 After the publication of her prose and poetry in the early 1970s, Kefala was appointed Multicultural Arts officer of the Australia Council, where she was a prime mover in affirmative multicultural policies, and 'annoyed them with [her] attempts to claim migrant rights'.13 Following Kefala's appearance in print, writers such as Maria Lewitt and Anna Couani in the 1970s, and George Papaellinas, Rosa Cappiello, Zeny Giles, Brian Castro, Ania Walwicz and Con Constan in the 1980s broadened the scope of migrant writing in Australia. With the introduction of journals dedicated to publishing multicultural writing, such as Manfred Jurgensen's Outrider, and the publication of multicultural writing anthologies and bibliographies largely instigated by Sneja Gunew, migrant writers in Australia at last began to find themselves in legitimised literary territory. The emergence of the field of migrant writing in Australia, along with the institutional networks established by Kefala and others, raises many questions pertinent to the theoretical basis of a study of New Zealand literature as well. In asking what comprises Australian literature, critics in Australia challenged the constitution of terms such as

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'Australian', 'migrant', and the newly coined 'migrant writer'. The category 'Australian' assumed the dominance of Anglo-Celtic migrant groups, while 'migrant' was reserved to signify any ethnic group other than the Anglo-Irish, whose presence composed the core of Australian literature and culture. Excluded from this discourse were the Aborigines, whose small numbers were easily lost in the debate over access to cultural production and, increasingly importantly, arts funding. A casualty of, and resistant to official multiculturalism in the Australian model, Aborigines remain as ill-served in the arts as in politics much as biculturalists in New Zealand fear the Maori would become under an official multicultural system. With multiculturalism implemented as official government policy, and seemingly embraced by a significantly immigrant Australian society, the category 'migrant writing' today remains very substantially underrepresented in proportion to the migrant population. Just who can be read as a 'migrant writer' and who in the literary community, or outside of it, is served by multicultural policies, are questions central to multicultural literary criticism. As a category, 'migrant writing' refers to writing which appears to revolve around an alternative signifying system to the dominant Anglo-Celtic organisation of Australian, and New Zealand society. It also suggests the physical migration of the writer to Australia or New Zealand, so that Batistich and du Fresne, both of whom were born in New Zealand, can not strictly be considered to be 'migrant writers'. In Australia third- or fourth-generation Australians such as Anna Couani who denies that she speaks as a migrant writer, but insists that she speaks about migrants are catalogued as migrant writers. 14 Couani is also labelled a feminist and experimental writer, according to the interests of her critic or anthologiser. As the above indicates, what is interesting in the Australian situation is that the establishment of multicultural discourse as a field has made possible, subsequently, a wide variety of kinds of reading. A similar variety of critical readings would undoubtedly be possible, in New Zealand, for ethnic minority writers like Batistich and du Fresne. Some of their work, for example, might be read as an instance in the development of the form of romance in New Zealand, or in the context of 'mainstream' debates about realism and post-modernism. A particular concern might be the intersections in their writings of fiction and autobiography. Similarly to the Australian example, a study of Batistich and du Fresne in terms of multicultural literary criticism would serve to broaden and to re-negotiate the discourse which is known as New Zealand literature. An adoption of critical multiculturalism would contribute to a rethinking of the way New Zealand literature is conceived and of the ways in which authors such as Batistich and du Fresne have been

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signalled as marginal to it. Multiculturalism could thus be seen as a liberating ideology in literary criticism, able to shift in balance of power, in cultural terms. While it can be argued that institutionalised multiculturalism in societies such as Australia, Canada and the United States is once again exclusionary, reinscribing prejudice and reinforcing a process of assimilation that it initially set out to deny, this stage of the debate has not yet been reached in New Zealand. While, perhaps, 'post-multiculturalists', like post-colonialists, can be seen scrutinising the wreckage of the multicultural literary movement elsewhere, I believe that in New Zealand there is still life to be found in the multicultural body. That the migrant literary voice is not nearly as evident as migrant census figures would suggest, is one of the many complex issues explored by multicultural literary theorists in Australia. The most significant voice in the emergence of multicultural literary discourse in Australia is that of Sneja Gunew, who in 1992 anthologised, with Kateryna Longley, a collection of literary essays and criticism which recorded a decade of endeavour in this area. Striking Chords: Multicultural Literary Interpretations was the first critical collection of its kind in Australia, and included theoretical discussion, author statements, studies of specific authors, and 'subversive rereadings', along with selected bibliographies. In their introduction the editors identified the exclusions, operating in the formation of internal national histories, which their collection aimed to challenge: 'Those who don't fit into the dominant historical narrative, who are not assimilated, either exist as boundary markers, token figures, or are consigned to the margins and thus either to invisibility or to permanent opposition'. 15 Striking Chords attempts to rewrite the historical narrative of writing produced in Australia, questioning the institutional reference to 'Oxbridge-endorsed British culture and literature', and theorising the future of an inclusive indigenous Australian literature comprising a diversity of voices and languages. Sneja Gunew's contribution to the Melbourne University Press series 'Interpretations' (a series introducing recent theory and critical practice) two years later, propelled multicultural literary criticism closer to the centre of literary discourse in Australia. Framing Marginality: Multicultural Literary Studies (1994) is predicated on the dialogue consolidated in its predecessor, Striking Chords. Gunew acknowledges at the beginning that 'the work on which this book is based has taken place over fourteen years', and that 'the shape of this book existed a decade ago, before there were debates conducive to its publication'.16 Signalling the coming-of-age of the discourse of multiculturalism in Australia, Gunew introduces the historical context with a discussion of the development of an awareness of 'migrant writing', as Waten's Alien

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Son was read, to the classification which has superseded it 'ethnic minority literatures'. The latter is a term more suggestive of the multiplicity of voices and speaking positions adopted by non-Anglo-Celtic writers in Australia, while at the same time it signals an awareness that the politics of minority and majority discourse presuppose a binary relationship at the centre of any discussion of mainstream, 'major' literature, and the literature which contests it. Tracing the development of a critical discourse which, at the time Batistich and du Fresne started writing, had not yet begun in New Zealand, Gunew explores contemporary theoretical perspectives as they impact on the socially proscribed ethnic minority writer. She also explores the intersections of feminist, post-colonial and post-structuralist theories of subjectivity with ethnic minority literatures. Of these, she sees the most important as the post-structuralist approach to a literature which, prior to the 1980s in Australia, was deemed to be uncomplicated and unproblematic 'simple, warm and lively', as the work of Batistich has been described. Informing all of Gunew's extensive work in the area of multicultural literary criticism is an acute consciousness that the writers themselves ask for no special category of their own, or assistance, other than to be granted a place within an extended concept of Australian literature. Just who does the 'granting' who holds the key to the master narrative of Australian, or New Zealand literature is a question which must be asked. By posing such questions, Gunew destabilises the fundamental assumptions on which writing achieves the institutional status of 'literature'. The leap between Striking Chords and Framing Marginality is substantial. While the earlier text assumed little or no knowledge of the complexities inherent in addressing multicultural writing, the latter presupposes familiarity with theories informing what had become a global discourse of multiculturalism. Much as the Anglo-American feminists of the 1970s, such as Susan Gilbert and Sandra Gubar, explored the lives of nineteenth century women writers in order to scrutinise the conditions under which they wrote, and the social forces acting upon them which dictated what women could or should not write, Striking Chords established the dynamics of the field of ethnic minority writing while maintaining a focus on authors and the texts themselves. In The Madwoman in the Attic 17, Gilbert and Gubar propose the palimpsest as a model which could be applied to re-readings of early women writers who attempted to write the unwritable to step out of their confined roles and address public, sexual, or political issues. By writing a publishable text while commenting on taboo subjects in codified language, women writers of the nineteenth century, such as Emily Dickinson, could 'struggle free from social and literary confinement through strategic redefinition of self, art, and society'.18

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The palimpsest as a model, and its implied subversive tack when applied to women writers reclaimed by contemporary criticism, could also be applied to the writing of Batistich and du Fresne. This would assume, however, that their texts have gained an established place within New Zealand literature. Both Batistich and du Fresne, however, have overtly presented their fiction as focusing on characters from minority groups, in writing about their unique perspective of New Zealand life. At the same time, neither author writes Dalmatianness or Danishness into existence in New Zealand literature as the sole aim of their writing: both authors use their families and their cultures as their subjects to explore identity in the broader New Zealand context. Complicating this picture are the stories about other ethnic minorities which Batistich was commissioned to write early in her career, and which see her stepping out of the confines of her Dalmatian subject-matter. Batistich's position as a Dalmatian New Zealand writer is further complicated by the fact that a considerable portion of her work features characters from the dominant Anglo-Celtic culture, but this aspect of her work has been ignored as far as her critical reputation is concerned. Another kind of palimpsest, the palimpsest identity proposed by Zygmunt Bauman as a model for the twenty-first century, fails to adequately account for the extended meditation on the desire for an identity that is constructed from the inside rather than imposed from the dominant culture, which can be found at the centre of the fiction of Batistich and du Fresne. Bauman proposes a series of experimental 'new beginnings', which allows the subject to constantly recreate herself one of the dimensions of post-modern uncertainty he draws on but such an approach does not accommodate the momentum in Batistich's texts towards assimilation, and in du Fresne's texts towards reconciliation. Indeed, Bauman himself seems to qualify his palimpsestic notion when he claims: [W]hile making oneself an identity is a strongly felt need and an activity eloquently encouraged by all authoritative cultural media having an identity solidly founded and resistant to cross-waves, having it 'for life', proves a handicap rather than an asset for such people as do not sufficiently control the circumstances of their life itinerary. 19 From this perspective, Batistich's and du Fresne's participation in a shared desire to 'make' an identity allows them to project into their characters Dalmatian and Danish identifying features of their own choosing. Du Fresne's handful of first published stories, in which she mirrored the subject matter and style of English writers before she found her 'Danish' voice, add to the complexity of her position in relation to

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New Zealand literature. The various speaking positions which du Fresne adopted before inventing her central character, Astrid Westergaard, and the diversity of voices and subjectivities which Batistich explored, particularly in her commissioned work for School Journal, could fruitfully be analysed by the application of post-structuralist criticism, as well as through feminist and post-colonial critiques. These are the critical frameworks within which Framing Marginality extends the field of multicultural literary interpretation beyond the more empirically based perspective that Striking Chords provided. There have been few comparisons of the two authors only superficial, teasing references to the otherness which they both explore, without extended analysis, or a suggestion of the importance of this work in relation to the contemporary bicultural organisation of New Zealand literature. Only Margot Schwass's master's thesis 'Between Two Worlds: A Study of Migrant Writers in New Zealand' (1985), compared the two authors' works in some detail. Schwass's premise that Batistich and du Fresne are primarily short-story writers, and more successful at shorter forms of fiction, underlies her extended reading of their work according to how she sees it fitting into the development of the short story in New Zealand fiction. (It should be noted that at the time Schwass wrote her thesis, both authors had published one collection of stories and one novel.) Adopting a rubric of 'migrant writing', within which she discusses their work, Schwass acknowledges the flexible narrative techniques of the two authors, and tries to analyse them, but perhaps because a significant discourse of multiculturalism was not available at the time judges their analyses as inhibited, discordant and ultimately unconvincing. Reducing Batistich's approach to one of 'gentle optimism' and du Fresne's to 'wry humour', Schwass falls short of exploring the complex mechanisms at work in these texts, focusing as they do on the question of identity. At the same time her thesis acknowledges in their work 'new tones, new cadences, new rhythms, new harmonies and dissonances'. 20 The Oxford History of New Zealand Literature in English also makes reference to Batistich and du Fresne in general commentaries on the development of the short-story form, and the novel, in New Zealand fiction. It fails to indicate, however, how the two authors individually, or collectively, extend the limits of New Zealand literature. Lydia Wevers's subsection, 'Writing as Other; Other Writing (1960s and after)', in her chapter on the short story does not refer to Batistich's significant publishing history between the years of 1948 and 1960, nor the influence of her work on other writers. Lawrence Jones, also in the Oxford History, does not differentiate between novels featuring

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European immigrants written by ethnic minority writers or their descendants, and mainstream writers. The second edition of the Oxford History (1998) added Amelia Batistich to the bibliography an omission in the first privileging her writing on her Dalmatian heritage. The scant coverage of both authors in both editions reflects the status of ethnic minority literatures in New Zealand. Interestingly, a commentary from the vantage point of another set of cultural interstices, such as Canadian critic William H. New's Dreams of Speech and Violence: The Art of the Short Story in Canada and New Zealand, acknowledges that Batistich and du Fresne, along with the Italian, Renato Amato with whom Schwass also bracketed the two authors 'control the language by which immigration turns from a record of a physical move into an act of relocating the imagination'. 21 While in the Canadian study Amato has been labelled a 'migrant writer', his posthumous literary reputation seems to be residing more comfortably within the mainstream of New Zealand literature, in spite of Maurice Shadbolt's memoir of the author included in The Full Circle of the Travelling Cuckoo. This collection of the short stories of Amato selected by Shadbolt himself and Ian Cross is presented in Shadbolt's short biographical and critical contribution as positioned unarguably within international literary discourse. Amato's is not 'migrant literature' as Shadbolt insists even though Shadbolt acknowledges that the migrant status had some bearing on how Amato's work appeared to New Zealanders. Instead, Amato's writing is described as 'intelligently cool and extremely controlled' fiction which exhibits 'at times an almost dismaying detachment'.22 Crediting Amato with a deliberate stance which he could not imagine to be a feature of migrant writers, Shadbolt conflates several assumptions about what 'migrant literature' could be. Assumptions about the characteristics of migrants such as the Dalmatians and Danes (as Scandinavians) have appeared frequently in New Zealand written by authors outside these two ethnicities; both Batistich and du Fresne wanted to contrast superficial images of their fellow Dalmatians and Danes with images produced from within these ethnicities. I have deliberately returned the debate to the reference of the other, to the margins, so that it is not the centre, or the established dialectic of New Zealand literature with which these authors enter into dialogue, but with other potential systems of reading which acknowledge the validity of Batistich's and du Fresne's claims for diversity, and my readings of this diversity. I am not advocating that these two authors remain 'outside' New Zealand literature, but that a critical engagement with them introduces the possibility of new critical positions. Neither do I wish to suggest that Batistich and du Fresne can be seen as homogeneous in my coupling of their names and comparison

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of their work. The juxtaposition of their individual voices allows an alternative critical lexicon to be constructed, which I suggest could, and indeed should be incorporated into the vocabulary of New Zealand literary criticism. A repositioning of these two authors might shift the parameters of New Zealand literature as a diverse whole. Notes 1 Isabel Fonseca, Bury Me Standing: The Gypsies and Their Journey, Vintage, London, 1996, p.5. 2 Salman Rushdie, 'Introduction', in Günter Grass, On Writing and Politics 1967-1983, Secker and Warburg, London, 1985, p.x. 3 This chapter is part of a larger doctoral research project undertaken at the University of Auckland, entitled '''All the Same Different": Amelia Batistich and Yvonne du Fresne, Representing Otherness in Multicultural New Zealand 1948-1998'. Amelia Batistich has published, along with more than 300 short stories in periodicals and journals, two collections of short stories and two novels, one of which was also published in translation in the former Yugoslavia. Her works referred to in this chapter are her first collection of stories, An Olive Tree in Dalmatia and Other Stories, Paul's Book Arcade, Auckland, 1963, and her second collection, Holy Terrors and Other Stories, Vintage, Auckland, 1991. Yvonne du Fresne has published three collections of short stories and three novels, the most recent of which was Motherland, Penguin, Auckland, 1996. 4 With the formation of the Republic of Croatia in 1990, the coastal region of Dalmatia within its borders was renamed Southern Croatia, in an expression of new nationalist fervour. Andrew Trlin and Martin Tolich give a comprehensive account of the impact of the secession of Croatia from the former Yugoslavia on the identity of Dalmatians in New Zealand in their chapter 'Croatian or Dalmatian: Yugoslavia's Demise and the Issue of Identity', in Stuart Greif (ed.), Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand: One People, Two Peoples, Many Peoples?, Dunmore Press, Palmerston North, 1995, pp.217-54. In a letter to the editor of the New Zealand Listener (14 February 1981, p.12) Amelia Batistich explains her perception of, as she describes it, 'the Dalmatian-Croatian argument': First, your earlier correspondent A. Culav (December 13) is correct when he says that Dalmatia is the coastal province of Croatia (in Yugoslavia, I add). What he does not say is that the name Dalmatia predates the coming of the Croats by nine centuries at least, and that the people who live on that coast have been known as Dalmatians through all the vicissitudes of history conquerors, invaders, allcomers have never taken their name from them. (Dalmatia is in the Bible, as Archbishop Franich reminded us when he visited Auckland from Yugoslavia some years ago.) Now I am not saying we are not Croats. We are by race, culture and religion one and the same people for long centuries now, but Dalmatia is a barren, mountainous strip of coastline. Inland Croatia is a fertile plain. The very character of the Dalmatians has been shaped by their geography. Somehow they subsisted through the blood-soaked centuries on rock and sea. They were used to a harsh existence, and it was this very fact that made them look on the gum-lands of the north of New Zealand as a new promised land. It also explains the fishing interests they were later to take up, the winemaking, and a lot else besides.

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5 Sneja Gunew and Anna Yeatman (eds), Feminism and the Politics of Difference, Bridget Williams Books, Wellington, 1993, p.xv. 6 Ranganui Walker, 'Immigration policy and the Political Economy of New Zealand', in Greif (ed.), Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand, p.292. 7 Ramesh Thakur, 'In Defence of Multiculturalism', in Greif (ed.), Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand, p.271. 8 Noel O'Hare, 'The Brain Behind Race Relations', New Zealand Listener, 18 May 1996, p.23. 9 In 1995 Amelia Batistich was also made honorary president of the New Zealand Society of Authors (PEN), for her contribution to literature. 10 David Carter, 'Before the Migrant Writer: Judah Waten and the Shaping of a Literary Career', in Sneja Gunew and Kateryna O Longley (eds), Striking Chords: Multicultural Literary Interpretations, Allen and Unwin, Sydney, 1992, p.102. 11 Antigone Kefala, interview with the author, 8 February 1996. 12 Antigone Kefala, interview with the author, 8 February 1996. 13 Antigone Kefala, interview with the author, 8 February 1996. 14 Anna Couani, 'Writing from a Non-Anglo Perspective', in Gunew and Longley (eds), Striking Chords, p.97. 15 Gunew and Longley (eds), Striking Chords, p.xvi. 16 Sneja Gunew, Framing Marginality: Multicultural Literary Studies, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, 1994, p.vii. 17 Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1979, p.26. 18 Gilbert and Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic, pp.xi-xii. 19 Zygmunt Bauman, Postmodernity and its Discontents, New York University Press, New York, 1997, p.26. 20 Margot Schwass, Between Two Worlds: A Study of Migrant Writers in New Zealand, MA thesis, Victoria University, Wellington, 1985, p.117. 21 William H. New, Dreams of Speech and Violence: The Art of the Short Story in Canada and New Zealand, University of Toronto Press, Toronto, 1987, p.155. 22 Maurice Shadbolt, 'Memoir of Renato Amato', The Full Circle of the Travelling Cuckoo, Whitcombe and Tombs, Christchurch, 1967, p.16.

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14 Colonialism Continued: Producing the Self for Export Stephen Turner Ideas and images of self and place for peoples in the former white colonies of the British Empire have always been produced for others, that is, for a metropolitan market (in the first instance, the place where the white settlers came from). Lacking a self-sustaining critical mass of population or financial capital, the settler society was shaped by forces dictating that whatever is produced must also be exportable. This demand is not merely economic but cultural. In such places it determines the articulation of self, or identity. This essay is about the process, or possibility, of selfrecognition in a culture defined by export consciousness. First a caveat: former white colonies uncomfortably straddle the division between metropolis and margin. The identity of white settlers in particular is vexed, as a result, by weak self-consciousness. Yet the historical division of metropolis and margin will be seen to break down in the course of the following discussion, because an emergent global market means that we all now live in the same virtual space (mediated by different physical environments). This is a space in which a figure like Xena, the television warrior princess, is globally familiar although the country in which this program is produced, New Zealand, remains little known (in 'Xena' it is an unidentifiable fantasy land of swords and sorcerors). I will conclude with Xena. However, my main purpose is to describe an effect of the virtual space of the global marketplace a construction of information flows or networks of knowledge in terms of the metropolitan gaze. This unlocated virtual space is not

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countered by the margin, the usual site of resistance in colonial criticism, because the margin is now part of the same global awareness. And buying into that awareness is what counts as a measure of success in terms of local production anywhere. I will therefore talk about the metropolitan gaze and the marketplace as if they are the same thing. What happens when identity is experienced in terms manufactured for the consumption of others, that is, in terms of a globalising market which provides both economic and cultural capital? Colonialism in a place like New Zealand is not simply an obvious legacy of the past, not simply an object of historical or academic interest, but the lived experience of ongoing negotiation with the economic powers-that-be nowadays, the informal media-driven economy of America rather than the formal administration of the British Empire. Post-colonialism must in this sense be about the post-modern condition of capital. 1 Colonialism may always have been a market-led or capitalising force; however, the 'agent' of colonialism has shifted from being the nation state to being something like a multinational corporation (although some national self-representations still carry greater value than others). Colonialism is historically an earlier stage rather than a by-product or side-effect of capitalism. Settler societies, as original vehicles of colonialism, merely make the capitalising force of the metropolitan gaze, now all-pervasive, especially visible. Producing oneself in settler culture for a globalising market, that is, in terms that others can understand and consume, creates a condition of internal exile, where one is not quite at home at home, because the place is lived in, or settled, only as an object of metropolitan fantasy the desire evident in the ideas and images of the larger market (including ideas and images of peripheral places). Settlers first cast the metropolitan gaze upon the periphery, and now seek to escape it, or exploit it, for themselves. As agents of the gaze, however, settlers are left strapped of resources by decolonisation, shorn like sheep of an identity always dependent on marketing. This may seem an odd thing to say when Australians, if not New Zealanders, are increasingly confident about a home-grown international image, one that does not distort the place for others, but even Australianness, like Crocodile Dundee, is a received image of the acknowledgement or approbation of others, rather than the reality of a lived experience of place.2 To be properly 'Australian', Australia must first be put on the larger map as an identity that one can inhabit. The projected self-image of a national body, such as Australia or New Zealand, thus occludes differences readily felt by people living within its geographical boundaries. Every idea or image of self and place in colonised space (I refer to actors or agents within the virtual space of the market rather than directly to physical space) marks a corresponding concealment3, a

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disavowal of the cultural topography of the immediate neighbourhood (the peopled landscape). My premise is that ideas and images of colonised space consolidate an internal history of place, a history that is at once produced and hidden by the economics of attempting to tell one's story to others. This insight is enabled by my upbringing within a particular kind of colonial culture, the settler society of New Zealand. 4 If I wanted to recover the reality of the local, I might ask if it could be un-dubbed, whether the place and its peoples might be understood in terms that are local and lived as everyday experience. By 'dubbing' I refer to the laying down of a track (for instance a sound-track in a film) which at once covers over and translates the original, although I am suggesting that it is only via dubbing making the content of the local an object of conventional representation that the original difference of place is marked. I cannot, therefore, go on to say what the place and its peoples are really like. For I do not think a more authentic position is available to me, either as a viable self in the larger economy or as a site of local resistance (the nationalism of local, high-cultural criticism). But neither do I think my position in the world is reducible to a capitalised product, to images of New Zealand that others can understand and consume, although it has long been the business of New Zealanders to produce themselves and the place they live in according to this demand. The small local economy depends on appealing to an overseas market, on passing, like Lucy Lawless (the New Zealander who plays Xena), as an object of the desire of others. The larger world can have little idea what a New Zealander otherwise looks like. The contrast I want to establish here lies between an externalised identity, what I appear to others, even to other New Zealanders, and an internalised and affective history that continues to shape this necessary self-fashioning. In colonised space there lurks in every image of identity an unspoken history. Internal history is opposed to an external or 'official' history of settlement, which exists in the public domain. The conflictual internal history of New Zealand is thus a matter of accent a cluster of anxieties that shape the psychology of settlement rather than something that can be made positive historical knowledge. Filling out this history involves giving shape and form to nonpositive anxieties or instincts, the very content of the settler self (an affective history of contact with the place and its peoples would be the condition of this psychology). If an article in an anthology of this kind, restricted by convention to an international, academic and discursive mode, is not the place in which anxieties and instincts can be properly delineated, I can at least describe the process by which ideas and images of place establish a condition of internal exile, how they construct an internal history beyond public consciousness.

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For the purposes of my argument it does not matter whether ideas or images 5 of self and place are intended for external or internal consumption, for a high-cultural or popular audience (I focus, however, on popular culture for its pervasiveness and stark illustrations). It may be expected that images produced for an overseas audience will be modified to make sense, that such images must be couched in larger conventional terms of understanding. What proves surprising is the effect of reverse dubbing: the modified self in the image projected abroad is countered by the fabricated self at home. Necessarily dubbed by images of the local produced for overseas, the New Zealander is more curiously subject to internal exile by images of self and place for a local audience that require one to be a 'real' New Zealander (exactly what constitutes a New Zealander is the subject of anguished debate in New Zealand). Again, I doubt the authenticity of this equally 'produced' identity. Nor does the medium matter: any production of self or place in the public domain is subject to the same over-riding pressures. Most importantly, the effect of dubbing does not apply solely to white settler identity. The metropolitan gaze of the marketplace equally inflects the self-presentation of Maori and Samoan peoples, two other prominent groups in New Zealand. Whatever medium, whatever social group, it will be seen that the image is vested with an internal history, carved out in the very process of self-presentation or self-production. The local sensibility, given shape through the pressures of this process, provides images of self and place with colour, or affect, but is otherwise unidentifiable. Internal or affective history is the obverse product of an identity inhabited as dubbed. It is easiest to show the operation of the larger pressures of the metropolitan gaze in films familiar to, and intended for an international audience, for instance The Piano, Once Were Warriors or Heavenly Creatures.6 The international success of each of these films is due to the way in which local history and culture is mapped through recognisable conventions, whether romantic, gangster or psychological horror. This dubbing is a necessary aspect of film-making in a small country like New Zealand. A film which did not utilise broader conventions would no doubt be strictly unintelligible. This would suggest the possibility of a private language in film. The consolidation of conventions of intelligibility through the operation of something called the metropolitan gaze makes this impossible. More troubling for the production of local space is the difficulty of representing colonialism itself in terms of the economic forces-that-be. The history and culture of New Zealand is saturated with colonialism; but, given the point I have illustrated, through film language the pressures of colonialism itself, conceived as the operation of a metropolitan gaze, cannot be

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subject to representation. Such a society cannot by definition know itself in terms of its own making, and must collude in the concealment of local truths. Even when colonialism or post-colonialism is the ostensible subject of locally produced films, colonialism operates more significantly at a second level, that is, as the economic condition of image-making. 7 The framing of the content of each film ensures that it is subordinate to the fantasy, or desire, of the metropolitan gaze, a function of the image-making market (getting the most people to see it). Colonial desire that is, desire mediated by the metropolitan gaze or global market does not acknowledge differences of place beyond the possession of consumers. Colonialism is not so much in these films even as their explicit subject (local history is internal and concealed), but is a function of the forces which shape the production of the image for others. The result is a sense of self lived at home that has been produced for others abroad. Put differently, knowledge of self for those living in the export zone is received, that is, received from those others for whom it is in the first instance produced. It is always tricky for the New Zealander to produce the local in a way which meets the conditions of the larger market without self-knowingly misrepresenting the place. Thus, local truths are marked but concealed in the process of negotiation with the economic forces-that-be: in The Piano the affect and anxieties of the contemporary New Zealander are better registered by the Victorian Englishman Stuart (played by the actual New Zealander Sam Neill) than by the would-be-native Baines (the American Harvey Keitel); in Once Were Warriors the model for Maori resistance in a predominantly white society is not so much Maori culture, as the film implies, but black American culture, evident in the use of gangster conventions; in Heavenly Creatures the setting of suburban white New Zealand in the 1950s, actually experienced as one of claustrophobia and boredom, is contradictorily animated by Halloween-like effect. All of these films evince instances of dubbing, or decontextualisation for external consumption. However, to show how this process operates across different media I will take as my prime example a locally produced music video. My choice of a music video is not arbitrary because the global music channel for which it was no doubt intended (MTV) is exemplary of the metropolitan gaze. It is a video of the hit song 'How Bizarre' by OMC, featuring the Maori-Nuiean Pauly Fuemana ('OMC' ironically renders the poor and largely Polynesian Auckland suburb of Otara as the home of the Otara Millionaires Club). This song, indeed the whole album on which this song appears, has references which sit oddly in the local context of its production, while the video that promotes the song offers a curiously cross-cut image of

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Auckland. Thus, Pauly finds himself 'driving down the freeway in the hot hot sun', and is shown motoring up and down a boulevard lined with palm trees. 'Freeway' is a strikingly American word in New Zealand, where one most likely hears 'motorway'. It can only be said self-consciously, although the effect of speaking American English, especially if one is Polynesian, may be intended. The video is striking to the native Aucklander because it is not possible to drive very far along this seeming boulevard, which is actually the 2000 metre-long gateway to one of the city's horseracing courses. Auckland, altogether, has very few palm trees. The impression of a sunny boulevard, combined with Pauly's open-top chevrolet and Hawaiian shirt, transports the viewer to southern California (if not Honululu). In America, the biggest market for music, Fuemana can also be taken for Hispanic, which helps to sell his album. What is marked and concealed by the word 'freeway'? for one thing, the predominantly white context of brown music production in New Zealand. Part of the problem for white settler identity is that it is difficult to be critical of the way in which performers like Pauly Fuemana take advantage of decontextualising effects to promote their own identity. The accusation that local Polynesian (including Maori) culture looks more American than authentically local misses the point. Polynesians have little wish to appeal to an oppressive local white culture by appearing indigenous. Making it big on an international stage is for any Polynesian an implicit criticism of local conditions, which generally inhibit advancement, and brings the resistant attitudes implicit in Afro-American or Caribbean music to bear on New Zealand culture. Precisely because Polynesian culture has always been performed as authentic and indigenous for white settlers and tourists, Polynesians are happy to speak American. It defies a will to be authentic, if not indigenous, that is more white than brown. This means that passing for American may be good for the Polynesian yet bad, however necessary it may be, for the white settler. The necessary dubbing of culture at the hands of market forces is commonplace. New Zealand, being relatively small and isolated, is simply a vivid case. But I have been describing images which intentionally encompass an international audience. For the white settler at least it is possible to say that the price of Hollywood-size fame is a watered-down version of local people and place, a gain of individual stature or personality with a corresponding loss of cultural identity. The music analogy is helpful here: the more successful a singer or band may become, the more likely they are to be accused of losing touch with their roots, the articulation of which made them distinctive, and interesting, in the first place. Thus, New Zealand's most successful group, the now disbanded Crowded House, may be regarded

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as less distinctive to New Zealand than a less successful one, such as The Mutton Birds, even when Neil Finn of the former returns to Auckland and Don McGlashan of the latter moves his group to London. What is more surprising is that image-making or music-making intended solely for local consumption is similarly dubbed. It is not that here one finds an authentic New Zealand the reality of local people and place. Indeed, the immediate neighbourhood is marked and concealed even in the very process of its production. Again, economics work to produce a dubbed or manufactured sense of self, a cultural identity conceived as the national character (the Kiwi). The deregulated media environment of New Zealand (since the 1990s) means that local television must compete with much cheaper overseas product for screen time (it is cheaper to buy overseas television programs than to make one's own). For images of local people and place to be worth producing, programs must be competitively interesting. In practice, this requires the exaggeration of New Zealandness that images of local identity be simplified, reduced, or essentialised. It is not that local people think about their identity in essentialised terms (in fact, local identity is a vexed issue), and that this habit therefore needs public criticism, but that they are increasingly required by the media to think about themselves in terms of an essentialised identity. If local television is not patently inscribed as a product of New Zealand if it does not carry New Zealandness on its sleeve it will not be competitive, or at least regarded by television managers as such, and will not therefore be able to justify its funding (local program-makers more easily get subsidised funding if their proposed product is 'about' New Zealand rather than, say, Venice). The pressures of the medium, dictated ultimately by the larger marketplace, which provides cheaper alternatives, works to make a cartoon of lived local experience. More accurately, the demands of the media require that local people assume a singular version of potentially plural selves. A well-known local example from the 1980s would be 'That's Fairly Interesting,' a self-consciously dumb version of New Zealand's self-image (local television has more recently been innundated with programs that seek out New Zealanders in local habitats and identify them as Kiwi). Yet the problem should not be confused with the common criticism of the popular media that it dumbs-down its consumers. Here television is not so much producing a dumb version of identity as producing a new and arguably spurious conception of identity the Kiwi for the purposes of popular consumption. In the determined relation between the global and local media market, a relation defined by the metropolitan gaze, it is possible to see that increasing global awareness and local nationalism are twin effects of more general economic demand. The economy of the metropolitan

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gaze merely names the introversion of external pressures in local environments. The neo-colonialism of the metropolitan gaze might here deprive locals of an identity they can call their own. This is commonly regarded as a historical effect of colonialism, and one way of identifying colonialism at work. But settlers as historical agents of the metropolitan gaze are not deprived by it of an identity (whatever they think); rather the 'identity' they have is not adequate to the experience of the place in which they live. While this experience is rich and variegated, albeit conflictual, anything that amounts to local identity must be fit for export. New Zealanders do not need to tell each other they are Kiwi, yet they do so all the time, precisely because the integrity of their cultural identity is manufactured for others, and therefore uncertain. The actual insecurity of local white identity is at once marked and concealed by local television programming, which works to shore up the reality of local people and place. Local production is dominated by documentaries and sport. Documentary-making has formed a staple of the local film industry since it developed in the 1940s (a period of emergent nationalism). And documentaries remain New Zealand's dominant version of 'reality' programming (American-style talk-shows are not regarded as real), a way in which ordinary New Zealanders in their own environment may be featured as such. Local television is otherwise dominated by live sport, and sports-talk. The latter is the only kind of talk-show New Zealanders will embrace. Examples abound, for instance 'The Game', occasionally hosted by rugby league icon, Mathew Ridge. His exaggerated blokiness offers New Zealanders, men if not women, a popular but particular image of themselves. An intelligent rugby player on the field, he is more aware of differences than his projected self-image on television would suggest, but he happily allows himself to be dubbed for popular consumption. As a televisually produced self, he is no doubt more intense, more coherent and less liable to contradiction than he would be in the everyday world. Again, every image of local people and place betrays a concealed or congealed internal history. For instance, the comfortable homo-sociality of sports-talk offers men, even when women are present on the program, a safe haven from the threat of women's difference. In the televisual intensification of sports discourse, whose language and gesture is one of male bonding, there is refracted a settler culture in which men and women have historically worked in segregated spaces farm and kitchen, respectively encouraging a distinctive sexual separatism. Colonial history has dictated a collective enterprise underpinned by physical masculinity. While this internal pressure has always been present in settler society it is greatly amplified, made more evenly and consistently resonant, through the power of television. As a conduit of social desire television is charged by the metropolitan gaze. The

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process by which television buys into a reduction of identity both conceals and consolidates the conditions of its making in history. Local programming no more articulates the reality of lived experience than images of local people and place intended for external consumption. That an international audience may not see the same images as New Zealanders makes no difference to the production of local identity, because image-making remains responsive to the felt presence of the larger non-watching audience. Another way of saying what it is like living in the export zone of settler colonialism is that the New Zealander is a tourist at home. Local programming supports this insight. A significant amount of local production that isn't documentaries or sport, but which also constitutes 'reality' programming, is made up by local travel programs, a mix of advertising, infomercial and adventure. Mathew Ridge, as an iconic 'Kiwi,' features in several programs of this kind. 8 But this landscape for local tourists is not the same as a landscape that is lived in by locals. The result is that the country is made to feel like a landscape lived in by locals as tourists. The effect of television, or image-making more generally (obviously older than this medium), creates a looked-at rather than livedin land. For white settlers there has never been a lived-in land independent of images of people and place, but whatever purchase they have gained on the place beyond their own image-making is countered by the intensified global imperatives of the larger image market. They are more than ever subject to a tourist-land of their own making, one that they have helped to make, or make over. The countryside of local presenter-tourists like Mathew Ridge (and his on-screen soul-mate Marc Ellis) might just as well be the carefully staged nowhere of 'Xena, the Warrior Princess'. In 'Xena' New Zealand is thoroughly decontextualised, or dubbed. I have no objection to the geographical licence of light entertainment. My argument is that 'Xena' an international production which utilises the country (including cheaper labour) for export illustrates the production of local identity itself in a small place like New Zealand. If we consider a smaller place again, let us say Samoa, I would expect that even more vivid illustrations could be found for the same argument. The smaller the place the less it is able to produce images for its own consumption that are free of the external pressure of the metropolitan gaze. Although the place is dubbed or concealed on 'Xena' for external consumption, it is still possible to glean local history from the image. The place that is lived-in and not just looked-at can never be absolutely erased from an image. The program is coded by contextual clues, not just the context of place the landscape on view is not a cardboard backdrop but the context of local culture. Thus, Lucy Lawless may be regarded as the female counterpart, and semi-mythical self-presentation of the local Marlborough Man, the iconic Kiwi. The gender

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separatism I noted in sports-talk provides the local cultural context for the personality of Lucy Lawless, one that enables her to take on the character of Xena, and the status of an international lesbian icon. The image of an Amazonian woman, physically and mentally strong and, crucially, independent of the desires of men, withholds a history of strong New Zealand women. There is in this most obviously dubbed program a significant local truth about the conditions of the cultural topography, or peopled landscape, in a colonial setting. Colonialism demands an inversion of desire, a closetted body, because the desire of the metropolitan gaze can never be possessed in terms other than its own. The evident tendency toward camp-ness in Australasian cinema is, thus, a product of the will to self-representation in the terms of the metropolitan gaze. 9 It is a self-consciously ironic reflection of having to pass for others. The neo-colonialism of the gaze, inadmissable as such, is similarly registered by Lucy Lawless through her camp affectation as Xena. Lucy Lawless, considered as a New Zealander, is a classic example of the colonial condition. There is little critical gain in calling it the post-colonial condition, because identity in smaller places is as much as ever shaped by the metropolitan gaze of the larger marketplace (our awareness of this fact adds the 'post-' but changes little). Cultural identity in any culture which is wholly dependent on successfully exporting its goods remains a matter of passing for others, inhabiting a self-image (Pauly or Lucy) which is the exfoliation of an inverted or internal history. Nor can this history, and a more authentic self, be reclaimed by assuming control of the image media. External pressures operate even in the absence of a watching audience. The metropolitan gaze, like Bentham's panopticon, does not require international spectators to be actually watching local production for its image-making to be shaped by the desire of their gaze. There may be no alternative to internal exile, but acknowledging this condition at least helps to maintain a lived-in rather than looked-at sense of place. Learning to live with an identity for export is better than the denial of place involved in buying into it. I think it is better, more true, to embrace rather than bemoan the hollowness of this colonial identity. It is precisely the felt lack of identity that drives the manufacture of a spurious or artificial cultural identity in places like New Zealand. The resultant stereotyping of local character, thence regarded as standard-bearer of the nation, is as inadequate to local history as anything seen on 'Xena'. Notes 1 For settler societies post-modernism is hardly the 'end of history' (the popular thesis of Francis Fukuyama) but a moment at which colonialism itself becomes an object of export, whether as cultural heritage tourism, or as an academic concern. For an interesting discussion, which also shows the pressures of a metropolitan

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gaze see Simon During's 'Postmodernism or Post-Colonialism Today', Textual Practice 1, 1, Spring 1987, pp.3247. The gaze of a metropolitan academy is evident in the difference between this much reprinted article, whose argument was illustrated using Hollywood cinema, and an earlier locally published version ('Postmodernism or Postcolonialism?', Landfall, 155, September 1985, pp.366-80), whose examples were taken from New Zealand literature. 2 See Ruth Abbey and Jo Crawford, 'Crocodile Dundee or Davy Crockett? What Crocodile Dundee doesn't say about Australia', Meanjin 46, 2, June 1987, pp.145-52. Expanded in 'Crocodile Dundee or Davy Crockett?', Journal of Popular Culture, 23, 4, Spring 1990, pp. 155-75. 3 The idea of concealment was first suggested to me by Ian Wedde's address to a panel on tourism at the conference, 'Culture Shock/The Future of Culture', in Wellington, June 1998. 4 I consider settler colonialism as a gap in the field of post-colonial studies in an article which offers an extensive review of Nicholas Thomas's Colonialism's Culture: Anthropology, Travel and Government, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994. cf. Stephen Turner, 'Contesting Colonial Discourse: The Settler's Position', Pretexts: Studies in Writing and Culture, 7, 2, 1999, pp.259-72. 5 Idea' and 'image' are hereafter collapsed in the text as my examples are predominantly and most conveniently visual. The metropolitan gaze equally applies to non-visual media. 6 See my 'Once were English', Meanjin, 58, 2, 1999, pp.124-41, which describes the affect of dubbing in terms of settler anxieties and instincts, rather than its theoretical consequences for colonialist criticism. 7 A necessary concealment replicates problems of internal colonialism for Maori: for instance, the evident attempt in the locally produced Mauri, set in a small East Coast Maori community, to create an identifiable Maori viewpoint in a film whose success depends on attracting a white audience. 8 The samples his programs in this genre offer are called 'Ansett Time of Your Life' and 'Fresh-Up in the Deep-End'. 9 For a discussion of 'Antipodean Camp', see Nick Perry, Hyperreality and Global Culture, Routledge, London and New York, 1998, ch.1.

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PART 5 WHITENESS

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15 Migrancy, Whiteness and the Settler Self in Contemporary Australia Susanne Schech and Jane Haggis Migrancy, Whiteness and the Australian Landscape of Nation This chapter is a preliminary reflection on a feature of the life-history narratives we have collected as part of our ongoing study into the social construction of whiteness in contemporary Australia. We were struck by two things our respondents to date appeared to share: a willingness, even desire to conceive of Australia as a multicultural society in which 'everybody could be themselves' as one respondent put it; and an inability to articulate this in terms of nation beyond the repetitive, and somewhat anxious, sentiment that 'we should be all one country'. In microcosm, then, our respondents were caught in that same predicament noted by numerous commentators of contemporary Australian society more generally: how to bring an awareness of difference multicultural, indigenous into a vision of national community thought of as a unity of sameness or similarity. Sameness and incoherence seem to us connected to 'migrancy', in the sense that Iain Chambers uses the term. He explains that 'Migrancy . . . involves a movement in which neither the points of departure nor those of arrival are immutable or certain'. 1 Whiteness brings to this issue a focus on centring and power which is particularly useful in the Australian circumstance. The un-named axis of sameness/difference is the configuration and reconfiguration of forms of whiteness in Australia. The ways in which whiteness as an explicit racial identity operates in the Australian landscape of nation

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have perhaps been made more visible than they had been for some time by talk of the 'mainstream', 'battlers' and 'one nation' in contemporary political discourse. Whiteness allows a focus on the racialised character of the Australian social formation in ways which focus on the 'self' rather than the 'other', thus inverting how whiteness usually identifies itself through non-whiteness. In this chapter our aim is to explore the incoherencies emerging from our interview material in ways which might try and de-centre the white heart. Dominant Whiteness and the Settler Self Even eighth-generation Australians mark their origin from an arrival, so even the most continuous white lineage of belonging harks back to the fact of migrancy. This quality of always arriving connects to the ways in which 'home' has provided a lynchpin for establishing a dominant version of the white settler self. As Peter Cochrane has pointed out, 'home' for the Australian middle class and establishment was the imperial motherland, Britain. 2 The resonance of migrancy is compounded in Australia by the twinning of the always having arrived with the wilful forgetting of the nature of that arrival of colonial conquest and racism such that a sense of belonging and being at home was always reliant on a tension between awareness of arrival and skating over the nature of that arrival and its consequences. This need to actively cover up the story of arrival and conquest reinforced the need to have an external point of reference, Britain, for constructing a sense of being here. Christopher Koch begins his essay 'Crossing the gap' with a description of his travel to England in 1955, which was then 'still the traditional pilgrimage for your Australians. We were returning to a home we had never seen: to the cultural Blessed Isles.'3 In his essays and his novels, Koch speaks of the yearning for 'that centre 12,000 miles away' that gripped British Australians.4 He argues that this peculiar Australian situation 'produces a pathos of absence; so that the essential Australian experience emerges as one where a European consciousness, with European ancestral memories, is confronted by the mask of a strange land, and by a society still not certain of its style'.5 Incoherency in articulations of white, multi-generational Australian identities is the consequence. Migrant Whiteness The complicated ways in which some migrants are able to position themselves in relation to nation and to read themselves into and out of dominant whiteness is shown in the following interview extract. The interviewee (Paul) is a young male, who, at various points in the interview, celebrates immigration and multiculturalism, specifically including people he describes as 'Asian', and identifying himself as a member

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of this multicultural group (he is the son of a central European migrant). Interviewer: Are there ways in which Australian identity is related to whiteness? Being Australian, does it mean for you being white? Paul: Yes, it does. There are two major groups of non-white Australians, both of which have been here a very long time and we have had problems with. One is the Aborigines, who certainly are regarded as Australian and non-white, in general they are regarded as being backward . . . People express 'the Aboriginals are hopeless'. 'Give them enough Rough Red and that'll fix the Aboriginals', that sort of thing . . . And the other one is Asians. Interviewer: What sort of Asians? Paul: That's an interesting one . . . Most Australians when they say Asian they mean Chinese. And everyone has had a lot of dealing with that. The Chinese are very interesting because they have been here for so long. And I think that the only immigrants, the only black people that Australians are afraid of are the Asians. Because Asians are not only seen as different, there is just this curious fear/hate thing. The respondent begins with a notion of 'us' which is exclusively 'white', while at other times his notion of Australian includes nonwhite 'others' but only with the racial identifier attached. In the last paragraph the Chinese shift from being immigrants to the stereotypical Asian, to being black, and finally to an abstract object of fear and loathing. At the same time it is unclear, or ambiguous, as to whether the speaker includes himself in the 'Australians' who fear Chinese. Missing from our pilot study thus far is another group of Australians, the so-called 'Asian-Australians', who cannot read themselves easily into a white location within Australia. The work of William Yang and Ien Ang indicates another set of complex ambiguities, marginalities and experiences of home or homelessness, which our work is only just beginning to explore. 6 Where we find these trajectories of migrancy coming together conceptually is under the rubric of multiculturalism. As Davidson has argued, the policy of multiculturalism has been a strategy of managing diversity in a way which would not undermine or challenge the apparent coherence of dominant forms of whiteness.7 In that sense it has served to shore up the centre. On the one hand, multiculturalism opened up spaces at the margins within which 'being Australian' could be imagined differently, in ways which at least questioned the conventional images of national identity, as the work of artist Hou Leong demonstrates. By showing his body in the outfit of

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the celluloid 'Aussie hero' of Crocodile Dundee, Leong shows up the ways in which icons of Australian national identity are predicated on the white, male, Anglo body. 8 On the other hand, the limited acknowledgement of difference in the official policy of multiculturalism revealed the invisibility at the heart of a dominant whiteness that has shifted from an erstwhile self-identity as outpost of empire and 'Britishness' to trying to establish an identity based on an Australian 'home'. While others have their ethnic identity, and, like Leong, can dress up as Australians, Anglo-Australians 'have nothing to dress up as' on multicultural days at school. This complaint, voiced by Pauline Hanson in a radio interview in 1996, reveals one unintended effect of multicultural policy: whiteness emerges as a lack. Reworking of Dominant Whiteness The creation of a vocabulary about Australian society as multicultural occurred at precisely the moment at which the existing white Anglo-Celtic hegemony was being unsettled from within. This is evident in the re-articulation of a kind of urban, élite Australianness defined as cosmopolitan good coffee, fusion cuisine, urbane and trendy or 'cool'.9 This repositioning of Australian whiteness and its symbolic mappings mirrors the reconstruction of political economy, termed in the public debate as 'globalisation'. Economic restructuring during the 1980s and 1990s involved the deregulation and privatisation of the national economy. Notwithstanding the title of Keating's 'One Nation' program, Australia is now marked by wider disparities: the top end of town in the eastern seaboard cities having benefited greatly from financial deregulation and privatisation, while suburban and regional Australia suffered most of the pain of restructuring.10 A further aspect of the reworking of dominant whiteness, and another dimension of the globalisation project, was the attempt to reconfigure Australia's relationship with Asia.11 In Keating's political agenda, cutting the final symbolic links with Britain by becoming a republic also involved developing a fully independent profile in the Asia-Pacific region through closer economic integration.12 This so-called 'move into Asia' was another factor in demarcating a split in dominant versions of whiteness. The iconic bushman is relegated in this discourse, and marginalised even further by the discovery of indigenous art and culture as interesting and as a valuable commodity.13 At the same time, suburban Australians, the common people of Australian identity from at least the 1920s onward14, are figuratively pushed to the margins as, in fact, the suburban 'dream' is spatially configured where they find themselves at the cutting edge, as Nancy Viviani points out, of living difference.15

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Whiteness, Nation and Modernism Interestingly, the phrase 'one nation' comes up repetitively in our interview material. The same young man, Paul, who lauds migrant diversity as a well-spring of energy, talent and development in Australian society finds himself agreeing 'one nation' is a good slogan: For instance, I would like to see Australia with a common language. I think if we had more than one common language we head into trouble . . . In a truly multicultural place you sooner or later get problems because there is more than one language, and that's not desirable for Australia. I think that's where I like migration rules, because that shouldn't happen: no ghettos, one society. In a less articulate way a young working-class male expresses the same sentiment, in repeatedly stating that 'we should all just be one nation'. The issue here is that wherever these respondents are positioned in terms of class, ethnicity, attitudes to multiculturalism or racism, they can only think of the nation as a coherent unit of sameness. In speaking about national unity, respondents plug into contradictory discourses on identity and race. Their perceptions of others are not necessarily coherent. This is especially evident in the ways in which respondents speak about individual others in terms of their own life experiences, and the ways they speak about 'the other' in terms of the broader scheme of things, as illustrated in Paul's interview. There is a strong sense of wanting to acknowledge diversity and difference but also wanting to frame some kind of unity. The only vocabulary available to express this seems to be the modernist one of nation, language and culture. This is further illustrated in a classroom exercise with third-year sociology students, who were asked to locate themselves on a map published in the Australian to illustrate an article which criticised multiculturalism for not going far enough. 16 The map depicts Australia as an empty centre with a patchwork quilt of multiculturalism as its border. We may also note that this visual image ignores indigenous Australians, indicative of the ways in which multiculturalism as policy and concept failed to engage with indigeneity. Interestingly, the self-identified 'ethnic' students located themselves as part of the border quilt, the self-identified 'white' students on the stitches attaching the border to the centre. No one placed themselves in the centre. The selfidentified white Anglo-Celtic students saw the stitches as expressive of their desire to be part of a multicultural Australia, defined as proximity to, and acceptance of the multicultural other. They interpreted this as including indigenous Australians as 'the only true Australians'. All of the students 'felt' that being Australian

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was a part of their self-identity but they all, including the white students, had trouble articulating what this was in ways they felt happy with or that they felt reflected their sense of themselves and their (desired) relationship to place and nation. This echoes the incoherencies in the life-history interviews. In both the interviews and the classroom material, the idea of national unity as sameness reflects the modernist vocabulary of nation. 17 However, our respondents come unstuck when they use this vocabulary to try and articulate a sense of nation which reflects their acknowledgement of, and desire for, a multicultural Australia. What discourses of Australian national identity that exist today are incontrovertibly British in origin and content.18 A Post-White Citizenship? One response to the need to constitute a coherent sense of Australianness is obviously the nostalgic return to an imagined golden age, variously articulated by Pauline Hanson and John Howard. Our respondents, however, indicate another more 'liberal' rendering of a similar sense of a lack of a coherent national identity than that articulated by these more conservative commentators. Viviani's reconsideration in her recent book of her long-standing commitment to multicultural policies indicates how more liberal intellectuals have become disenchanted with multiculturalism and actually identify it as a causal factor in the 'rise' of racism in Australian public discourse.19 She holds multicultural policies responsible for making ethnicity the cornerstone of identity and argues instead that citizenship and equality should replace this emphasis as they can be shared by all Australians. Viviani does not question the ways in which Australia's claims to distinctiveness in terms of citizenship are caught discursively in the historical renditions of white Anglo-Celtic identity. Racialism and democracy were intimately linked in the early decades of the Australian federation, when inferior races were thought incapable of participating in a democratic polity. An inclusive citizenship does not, it seems to us, necessarily de-centre whiteness. Our respondents' repetitive call for 'one nation' becomes a call for core values, which, interestingly whether from Hanson, Howard, or liberal intellectuals like Viviani are traced from an imagined Anglo-Celtic or European past. The boundaries of the imagination are still Eurocentric, cemented together around a core of white traditions. We do not want to dismiss the internal difference inherent in these traditions, or belittle the extent to which Australian political and cultural thinking has challenged the imperial English claims to cultural superiority20, but we do like to suggest that in this discourse on 'core values' the centre remains relatively unaffected, hegemonic and homogenous. We can see this in the way

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the Wik debate panned out. The fear of a race-based election legitimised once again the dismissal of indigenous perspectives on political claims, such that we had the parody of post-colonial politics, where ageing middle-class white men determined the outcome. Without dismissing, in this case, the abilities of indigenous actors to shape a political agenda, ultimately a colonial and colonising agency won out. Further, the very vocality of indigenous voices has surely prompted the post-Wik comments by Hanson regretting the enfranchisement of Aboriginal Australians. To us this highlights the partial and precarious ways in which others, be they indigenous, ethnic, or whatever, have managed to participate in the construction of political discourse in Australia. Conclusion: De-Centring Whiteness Our depiction of the white settler self in this chapter as incoherent is hardly new as a way of conceptualising settlercolony societies. It is not so much the incoherency of self which is a problem for white Australians, but rather how that incoherency meshes with imagining nation as a unitary community. Thus far, both the incoherencies of the settler self and the imaginaries of nation remain caught within a racialised social formation predicated on whiteness. Our interviewees cannot find words to express their desire for 'one nation' taken for granted as essential in terms which accommodate their aspirations to multiculturalism, defined as a willingness to live with difference. Similarly, neither political discourse nor liberal intellectual discourse seems able to go beyond lineages of whiteness for their imaginings of nation. As Iris Young has pointed out, the very term 'community' relies on establishing sameness. 21 Stuart Hall suggests the angst over identity is misplaced.22 What is wrong, he asks, with a more relaxed attitude to identity as constantly changing and transforming, and to identity as strategic and positional? In Australian circumstances this would imply two things. On the one hand, the search for 'core values' currently always implicated in refiguring dominant whiteness would need to cease. On the other hand, it would require dismantling the edifices institutional and discursive which constantly reproduce whiteness as hegemonic narratives of identity, nation and self. Only then would whiteness become visible as something which is constantly being produced in specific historical, institutional and political contexts and not as some taken-for-granted, invisible, primordial or essential set of 'core Australian values'. Only with this de-centring of whiteness does it seem possible to imagine a situational politics within which the 'core', including forms of whiteness, become as negotiable as other ways of imagining self within contemporary Australian society. This clearly involves giving up any

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preconception of the shape of outcomes. Maybe a new 'core' would emerge, but we have no certainty that it would resemble the familiar cores of white, Anglo political imaginaries. In Hall's reflection on the need for identity, he remarks that what is required is 'not the so-called return to roots but a coming-to-terms with our ''routes"'. 23 Thus, the incoherency of our respondents may be a positive quality indicating the beginnings of a shift if not yet a full willingness to imagine self and others as 'always in transit'.24 Notes 1 Iain Chambers, Migrancy Culture Identity, Routledge, London, 1994, p.5. 2 See Peter Cochrane, 'Britishness in Australia', Voices, 1, 3 (1996), pp.63-74. 3 Christopher Koch, Crossing the Gap, Angus and Robertson, Pymble, NSW, 1987, p.1. 4 Koch, Crossing the Gap, p. 94. 5 Koch, Crossing the Gap, p.95. 6 cf. William Yang, North, Performance monologue presented at the Space Theatre, Adelaide, South Australia, July 1997; Ien Ang, 'The curse of the smile: ambivalence and the 'Asian' woman in Australian multiculturalism', Feminist Review, 52 (1996), pp.36-49. See also chapter 7 in this volume, by Ien Ang. 7 See Alastair Davidson, 'Multiculturalism and citizenship: silencing the migrant voice', Journal of Intercultural Studies, 18, 2 (1997), pp.77-92. 8 See Hou Leong, 'Photographic Essay: An Australian', in S. Perera (ed.), Asian and Pacific Inscriptions (Special Issue of Meridian, School of English, La Trobe University, Bundoora, Victoria), 14, 2 (1995), pp.111-20. 9 cf. Ghassan Hage, 'Anglo-Celtics Today: Cosmo-Multiculturalism and the Phase of the Fading Phallus', Communal/Plural, 4/1994, pp.41-77. 10 cf. Ann Capling, Mark Considine and Michael Crozier, Australian Politics in the Global Era, Addison Wesley Longman, Melbourne, 1998. 11 See Susanne Schech and Jane Haggis, 'Postcolonialism, identity and location: being white Australian in Asia', Society and Space, 16 (1998): in press. cf. also Stephen Fitzgerald, Is Australia Part of Asia?, Allen & Unwin, North Sydney, 1997, and Greg Sheridan (ed.), Living with Dragons: Australia Confronts its Asian Destiny, Allen & Unwin/Mobil Oil, North Sydney, 1995. 12 cf. Mark Ryan (ed.), Advancing Australia: The Speeches of Paul Keating, Prime Minister, Big Picture Publications, Sydney, 1995, p.41. 13 cf. Mary Eagle, 'Embrace the interior', Letters to the Editor, Australian's Review of Books, July 1998, p.32. 14 cf. Graeme Davison, Tony Dingle and Seamus O'Hanlon (eds), The Cream Brick Frontier: Histories of Australian Suburbia, Monash Publications in History, History Department, Monash University, Clayton, Victoria, 1995. cf. also Sarah Ferber, Chris Healey and Chris McAuliffe (eds), Beasts of Suburbia: Reinterpreting Cultures in Australian Suburbs, Melbourne University Press, Carleton, Victoria, 1994. 15 cf. Nancy Viviani, The Indochinese in Australia, 1975-1995: From Burnt Boats to Barbecues, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1996. 16 cf. Tessa Morris-Suzuki, 'Old Hatreds cloaked as concern', Australian, Monday, 7 July 1997, p.13. 17 cf. Stuart Hall, 'The question of cultural identity', in Stuart Hall, David Held and Tony McGrew (eds), Modernity and its Futures, Polity Press (in association with the Open University), Cambridge, 1992, pp.274-325.

18 This has not always been the case. For a discussion of a 19th century discourse on a bicultural or multicultural concept of Australian nationality and citizenship, see

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Gerhard Fischer, 'A Great Independent Australian Reich and Nation': Carl Muecke and the 'Forty-Eighters' of the German-Australian Community of South Australia', Journal of Australian Studies, 25 (November 1989), pp.85-100. 19 See Viviani, The Indochinese in Australia, 1975-1995. 20 See John Docker, 'Rethinking Postcolonialism and Multiculturalism in the Fin de Siecle', Cultural-Studies, 9, 3 (October 1995), pp.409-26. 21 Iris Marion Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference, Princeton, New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1990, p.302. 22 Stuart Hall, 'Who needs "identity"?', in Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay (eds), Questions of Cultural Identity, Sage, London, 1996. 23 Hall, 'Who needs "identity"?', p.4. 24 Chambers, Migrancy Culture Identity, p.5.

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16 Duggaibah, or 'Place of Whiteness': Australian Feminists and Race Aileen Moreton-Robinson Our society operates in such a way as to put whiteness at the center of everything, including individual consciousness so much so that we seldom question the centrality of whiteness, and most people, on hearing 'race', hear 'black'. That is, whiteness is treated as the norm, against which all differences are measured. 1 Race shapes white women's lives. In the same way that both men's and women's lives are shaped by their gender, and that both heterosexual and lesbian women's experiences in the world are marked by their sexuality, white people and people of color live racially structured lives. In other words, any system of differentiation shapes those on whom it bestows privilege as well as those it oppresses. White people are 'raced' just as men are 'gendered'.2 Researching Feminism and Race Duggaibah, which means 'place of whiteness', comes from the Jandai language spoken by my people. Universities in Australia are 'places of whiteness', where I can be assured that my identity will be racially constituted as 'other'. Yet, universities are also places where whiteness has been so deracialised that it is difficult to outline its substantive characteristics and trace its genealogy in theory and practice. However, reading different histories written about the women's movement in Australia, I have come to the conclusion that the dominant subject position 'middle-class white woman' has been historically constituted through a variety of discourses as the symbol of womanhood in Australian society.3 White women are represented everywhere in this history, but not as being privileged; instead, they are presented as being oppressed on the basis of their class, sexuality, age, sex, gender and ableness.

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In the following, my aim is to demonstrate that in the 1990s middle-class white, feminist academics continue to deny their white race privilege, while advocating an anti-racist practice. My analysis is based on a number of interviews I conducted with white feminists, and I begin by providing a brief description of the interviewees and the method. This is followed by an analysis of the interviews, which shows the different ways white feminists engage with, and deploy race through a particular subject position. Extending on the work of Giroux, I argue that until the social construction of whiteness is analysed in terms of how it is 'taught, learned, experienced and identified', dealing with race within Australian feminism will remain problematic. 4 In order to explore the way in which race shapes meaning and experience I interviewed a number of white feminist academics from three universities between November 1996 and February 1997. I was acquainted with most of the women through having been on the faculty at one of the universities and a postgraduate student in the other two universities. I selected the women on the basis of their feminist and anti-racist positioning and general political views.5 I chose to interview white feminist academics because it has been my experience that in Australia the feminist movement's presence is strongest in academia and the bureaucracy. The ages of the women ranged from the early thirties to mid fifties; all were middle class but some had working-class origins. They were predominantly single. Three women had migrated from England, one from South Africa, one from the United States of America, and another had been born in Canada but raised in South Australia. The remaining six women were born and raised in Australia. The women's status in academia varied. Three women were professors, two women were associate professors, while the rest were either at senior lecturer, lecturer or associate lecturer level. While the group was not representative of the white female population as a whole, it was to some degree representative of the small number of white feminists in Australia who write on race, advocate anti-racist politics and are members of the educated middle class. Thinking through the relationship between race and cultural difference prior to the interviews, I realised that in order to elicit in-depth and diverse responses my questions should be as general as possible. I was interested in the relationship between the interviewees' professional and personal practice, so questions were structured to move interviewees from their pedagogical practice and theory to life experiences as white feminists. I devised five questions, influenced by the work of Ruth Frankenberg on the social construction of whiteness and knowledge of the relations between indigenous women and white feminists in various textually mediated discourses.6

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Pedagogical Practice Universities are knowledge-production sites, where forms of knowledge are contested, accommodated, created, reconstructed and deconstructed. They are sites for producing oppositional, revisionist and authorised knowledges which enter public discourses 'in ways that may reinforce or unsettle our understandings of social problems, provide language for explaining or obscuring connections, and widen or foreclose conceivable political options'. 7 In asking white feminists how they gender their curriculum, I wanted to ascertain to what degree the subject position 'middleclass white woman' is centred in their pedagogical practice. All of the women interviewed stated that they gendered their curriculum, but in different ways. Five feminists structured their courses specifically on the social construction of white masculinity and femininity. Barbara teaches gender in law from her subject position of 'female, white, Anglo-Saxon' and tells her students that, while the law is constructed by males, no one speaks from a 'universal position'. Wendy teaches gender in political sociology. She claims that 'what I try to do is make gender a continuing theme throughout'. She does not deal with cultural or race differences even though 'it's been one of the issues that has been raised in class'. Lisa teaches subjects in which gender is the organising principle and in subjects in which only some aspects relate to gender. Peta teaches women's studies: 'So it's centrally about gender. Although I do try to put into place the whole notion of gender [inaudible] I accept the radical feminist position as a starting point; men and women are classified [inaudible] but I try and convey that manhood and womanhood is much more complex and overlapping than that'. Linda says she 'sees things through a gender lens' and genders her curriculum as it is 'to do with women in promotional positions'. For these feminists white women's gender is the primary difference acknowledged and engaged with; the universal subjects are white woman and white man. Whiteness is culturally central and normalised in their pedagogical practice. An unintended consequence is that the subject position 'middle-class white woman' is essentialised as the embodiment of true womanhood. That is, through the exclusion of other women, the 'white woman' becomes the universal standard for all women. The remaining feminists organised their courses around race, cultural difference, class and gender. Bernice teaches in a women's studies major, which is 'obviously gendered'. She also teaches a social science subject, in which 'instead of having just a chapter on women and, say, a chapter on Aborigines, I look at Aborigines throughout the text book and try and teach them that way'. Leanne states that gender 'is always an issue, often, usually in fact, a sort of key organising category in all of the teaching I do, but other questions of race and class

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are included'. Glenda teaches in a women's studies major and states that 'there are two ways we gender curriculum at university. One is generally in a lot of the courses, for example social sciences, history, Australian studies and cultural studies, [inaudible] and the other is that [inaudible] we offer a major in women's studies within the Arts.' Tina says she teaches in core courses 'to do with sociological perspectives on education, and so it's sort of social theory stuff where we are actually dealing with issues to do with class, gender and race'. These feminists attempt to teach about structural inequality and the intersection of race, class and gender differences; they are concerned with social structures which determine the characteristics and actions of individuals whose agency becomes unimportant. However, in the interviews they did not discuss or mention the relationship between knowledges, social responsibility and collective struggle which one would expect to find in an anti-racist pedagogy. Instead, they teach about the structural location of race in terms of racial oppression and do not engage with their whiteness or the subjugated knowledges of those who experience racial oppression. 8 Their pedagogy is inclusive of the race of 'other' but the perspectives from which they teach mask the subject position 'middle-class white woman' because whiteness is not discussed in terms of racial identity. Their pedagogy works to support white people's externalisation of race by restricting it to social structures and to 'other'. In denying whiteness as a racial identity, these teachers remove race from white agency in their analysis, thus diminishing their students' scope for selfreflection as part of an anti-racist practice. A decolonising pedagogical practice places importance on the relations between different knowledges, learning and experiences to understand differences and effect change.9 Some of the feminists interviewed sought to engage in a decolonising pedagogical practice, but the connection to social responsibility is missing. The idea is to convey to their predominantly white students that their respective positionings influence the way they interpret the world. What is not taught as being problematic is 'how whiteness as a racial identity and social construction is taught, learned, experienced and identified in certain forms of knowledge, values and privileges' and how this impacts on 'other'.10 The determinate connection between the lives of white feminist academics and white students in the centre, and the lives of indigenous women and indigenous students in the margins, remains invisible. The perspectives that supposedly acknowledge the 'other' in the margins privilege the subject position's need for self-display.11 In asking how feminists include cultural difference in their curriculum, I sought to ascertain whether this topic was included and how cultural difference was represented and interrogated. Some of those

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interviewed stated that they do not deal with cultural difference in their subjects. Linda, Peta and Wendy give priority to imparting knowledge that centres whiteness within the boundaries of white, male-dominated institutions. The subject position 'middle-class white woman' naturalised, unmarked and unnamed remains the centre of their gendered curriculum. The omission of issues concerning cultural difference in relation to other women reinscribes a hierarchy of white cultural values that is enforced and built into the power structure of their respective universities. Other feminists seek to transform their curriculum and decentre the subject position 'middle-class white woman' by including a discussion of cultural difference. Leanne incorporates gender, race, class and cultural difference within her literary and cultural studies curriculum, and includes texts by Toni Morrison, bell hooks and Gayatri Spivak. However, while Leanne incorporates cultural difference within her curriculum, she relies on overseas literature which does not disrupt the experiential knowledge of students in the Australian context. The 'other' remains external and, therefore, culturally safe for interrogation. Bernice looks at cultural difference at a particular point in the curriculum by utilising the first world versus third world dichotomy to teach about cultural differences, but this is predicated on an 'other' that is also removed from the Australian colonial context. The answers confirm the finding of Giroux that the subject position 'middle-class white woman' remains centred because the lives of indigenous women and women of colour in Australia are 'ignored as a cultural or pedagogical resource for learning about their histories, experiences, or the economic, social and political limits they face daily'. 12 Barbara, who teaches law, sees cultural difference in terms of its impact on the legal personality: One of the things I tend to do certainly in a first year subject, also I do it where the issue comes up in other subjects, there is this whole idea of legal personality which is one of those basics about who is entitled to claim legal redress and working with the idea that it isn't a natural concept. Law structures who is entitled to speak to it and in what contexts. In the last century for example, companies enjoyed a far greater degree of legal personality than women, and women's legal personality tended to be structured according to marital status and according to race. The primary referent here is the female gender (read 'white') although race (read 'black') is identified as a marker that also changes the relationship of the female to the law. For Barbara cultural difference relates to the way the law treats women. Although Barbara acknowledges race as a factor which shaped black women's legal personality, she renders invisible the race of white women by assuming

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that race does not shape the position of white Australian law on their marital status. Tina teaches sociology of education. She attempts to include cultural difference but gives priority to teaching on gender differences between white women and white men, which again centres the concerns of the subject position 'middle-class white woman'. In 'Sociological Perspectives on Education', she deals with sociological theories about race, class and gender oppression and how they relate to social justice issues. However, such perspectives do not make obvious the white cultural value systems upon which structural inequalities are built and reproduced in these former British colonies. As Carlson argues: 'In the twentieth century, white hegemony has been maintained less through the legal denial of rights and military force and more through control of popular culture and education'. 13 Most of the white feminists interviewed positioned cultural difference as referring to differences within or about the dominant white culture, thus marking an absent presence in relation to 'other'. Their perspectives on cultural difference reveal a limited capacity to identify the specificities of cultural differences based on knowledge about 'other' located within the subject position 'middle-class white woman'. The perspectives on cultural difference also provide insights about how the invisibility of whiteness works in white feminist pedagogy to normalise, naturalise and maintain its privilege while appearing to be culturally neutral. Self-Presentation, Identity and Sociality Sociality plays an important part in affirming or disrupting subject positions in cultural contexts. As such, intercultural intersubjectivity provides opportunities for encountering differences and similarities that may lead to the disruption of assumptions about 'other'. Ruth Frankenberg has found that white women who socialise and work with 'other' tend to advocate an anti-racist practice more than white women who remained socially distant.14 As the white feminists I interviewed subscribed to anti-racist politics, I was interested in ascertaining whether or not they socialised outside their racial group. All the women had contact with people from different cultural or racial groups. Four of the women had contact in their childhood: Leanne socialised with migrant children from her school, as did Carol, who lived in New Zealand; Susan lived next door to a Chinese family and spent time with them, as her mother suffered from mental illness and she found refuge in her neighbours' company; Wendy went to boarding school with Asian students. This limited contact with 'other' was the case for most of the other feminists with the exception of three: Tina, Glenda and Barbara, who

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had socialised or worked with people from different cultural or racial groups. Tina had been involved politically with indigenous women; Glenda had shared a house with Chinese and indigenous women, while Barbara had been active in the civil rights movement in the United States and had a continuing friendship with an Australian indigenous couple. However, outside their academic environment they socialise predominantly with white people. The scope for interacting with difference is a matter of choice. Intersubjective relations with 'other' in academia occur through research or teaching. Here the power relations between student and lecturer, or researcher and researched, centre white dominance through the social organisation of the academic structure and the learning and exercising of Western forms of knowledge. These white feminists have no imperative to step outside the beliefs, values and behaviours embodied in their own subject position 'middle-class white woman'. They live in urban environments which have been developed around invisible conveniences that give social preferences to whiteness in the location of municipal and other services. The design of suburbs and the naming of streets have been planned to serve white neighbourhoods and preserve their whiteness. As Sharon notes: I live in [deleted], which is middle class, white, orthodox, affluent, comfortable. So I meet absolutely nobody in my suburban community who is anything other than myself. The place where I meet the 'other' is in my research. The engagement with 'other' remains predominantly, for these women, a dimension of their work practice, with varying degrees of involvement. This reduces the opportunity for their experiential knowledges about 'other' to be interrogated. The experiential knowledge of their own subject position is not disrupted, although these women's academic training allows an empathetic reading of difference. Their anti-racist politics are restricted to ensuring they teach about race of the 'other' in some manner, do not condone racial hatred in their classrooms, and make racial oppression explicit as a social justice issue. However, the subject position 'middle-class white woman' is not deployed predominantly in any social or political activity with 'other' outside the confines of academia. When asked the question 'Do you see yourself as belonging to an ethnic or cultural group?', all the feminists were confident and certain that they were white and middle class, but they were ambiguous about different ethnicities. Their self-identification as white implies that they recognise their racial assignment because it is connected to a dominant white cultural system which exists as omnipresent and natural. Leanne identified herself as being white of Jewish, Anglo and Protestant Irish

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ethnicity, but she stated there is ambiguity in her family about how they define themselves. 15 Glenda identifies as white and Prussian, with Anglo links to the Irish and Scottish, while Lisa is 'an Anglo-Celtic middle-class Australian'. Sharon is 'Anglo-Saxon, white, I'm female, I'm in my 30s', and Carol is 'sort of white middle class'. Susan says: I wouldn't define myself necessarily as an upper middle class Anglo-Scottish Australian woman, even though that is what I would be. I would often see myself as an Australian, and I would be very aware of the class privileges I have had although they weren't altogether consistent. Barbara identified herself as 'obviously white, female and Anglo-Saxon'. Tina said she is a migrant from Britain who is a white feminist, and Peta belongs to a white English group that is privileged. While these feminists consciously acknowledged their whiteness, they did not discuss or mention what that meant in terms of their ethnic ancestry, identity and their anti-racist politics. It was taken for granted that they had options: they could claim a specific ethnicity, or be just white, and they could choose which of their European ancestry to include in their description of their identities. These white feminist academics were able to exercise their race privilege to choose or not to choose an ethnic identity because they are part of the white majority centre in Australian society. As Waters argues: 'The option of choosing among different ethnicities in their family backgrounds exists because the degree of discrimination and social distance attached to specific European backgrounds has diminished over time'.16 Ethnicity is a choice because there is no social cost involved in what are predominantly symbolic ethnicities. That is, the ethnicities of these feminists do not influence their lives unless they want them to; in effect their ethnicities are individualistic in nature. The problem with such a positioning on ethnicity is that it is easy to assume that all ethnic identities are in some sense interchangeable. Most of these white feminists, when consciously deploying the subject position 'middle-class white woman', did not recognise that their race privilege meant they were accorded choices which they perceived to be natural and normal. Whiteness as a racial identity that confers dominance and privilege remains unmarked and unnamed in a different way for at least three of the white feminists. Linda, who comes from South Africa, sees herself as white but not belonging to an ethnic or cultural group; rather, she constructs herself as an outsider. Wendy says: 'I don't see myself as belonging to an ethnic group particularly, and I don't see [pause] I suppose I don't really see ethnic differences in people'. Linda organises her identity around being different by not belonging, and Wendy sees herself as not belonging to ethnic groups because she does not see them. Both want to remove themselves from white racial

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superiority, one by individualising difference, and the other by invoking the notion of sameness. They both want to deny their racially assigned power. Bernice also denies her racially conferred privilege and dominance but in a different way to both Linda and Wendy. Bernice identified as being white and stated that she could claim she had 'Welsh blood' and 'Irish blood' but that they were not significant parts of her identity as she was 'straight down the line boring Anglo'. Bernice was the only woman interviewed who used 'blood' as a metaphor in terms of culture and ethnicity. Frankenberg argues that 'the blood metaphor . . . used is crucial, for it located sameness in the body precisely the location of difference in genetic or biological theories of white superiority. Further, of course, blood is under the skin, and skin has been and remains the foremost signifier of racial difference.' 17 Sameness is a way of rejecting the idea of white racial superiority and distancing race and racism from the subject position 'middleclass white woman'. The anti-racist politics of these white feminists appear to be more a case of a theoretical awareness of race and 'racism' that is disconnected from an anti-racist practice. Identifying Cultural Difference in Practice In answering my questions 'What does cultural difference mean for you in practice?' and 'How are you conscious of it?', a variety of responses was given, which indicated that cultural difference meant different things to different feminists. I expected to find that feminists who think that cultural difference means a different way of thinking, acting and behaving would be conscious of how these differences impact on their own behaviour in practice. I anticipated that they were conscious of how subjectivity is shaped by white culture because they had knowledge about, and challenged, patriarchy which would require in practice deploying different subject positions. The feminists who were most conscious of cultural differences had experienced the disruption of their subjectivity when socialising with 'other' or were raised in a household in which their mothers' mental illness dominated daily life. They understood that living with such differences in practice meant living with uncertainty and sometimes denial in uncomfortable and liminal spaces. For example, Susan had experiences of socialising with the Chinese family next door, where she spent a great deal of time because of her mother's illness. Susan says she learnt a great appreciation of cultural difference from the Chinese family. She learnt that there was a different way of dealing with conflict, which contrasted with her own family's pretension and denial. The scope for deploying a different subject position was broadened. Glenda was also raised in a household with a mother who suffered from mental illness. Glenda's childhood provided her with an

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insight into cultural differences because her mother was a manic depressive. She believes that this early training gave her insights about living with difference, which she drew on when she shared houses with women from different cultures. She claims that multicultural 'share houses': often break up on their own cultural difference with very different beliefs and different ideas on dealing with money, really different styles about talking about problems. Making it very complex [inaudible] it doesn't necessarily mean the houses break down any more or less than any other group of friends, we just can't talk about this easily, you don't have a way of saying in your culture stop it or I'll clop you. All share houses tend to implode but problems of diversity and difference are often read as if easily managed through tolerance and multiculturalism. In reality real tolerance of incommensurable difference is very hard to achieve. Then, who dominates matters a lot. Living with cultural difference means one has to deploy different subject positions in order to function within an environment where a variety of power relations exist. As Glenda notes, 'who dominates matters a lot' in these contexts; if one wants to work at minimising the oppression of others from a subject position of white privilege then one has to alter one's behaviour and attitude. Sharon also lived with cultural difference through a childhood of family discord between a Dutch mother and an Australian father: Cultural difference has been a part of my life. I have been aware of my own cultural difference from ever since I can remember, because I was born in Canada, but grew up in Adelaide, from a Dutch mother and an Australian father in a household where cultural difference was an area in great disputation [inaudible] so all disharmony tended to revolve around that issue, and all of the issues of gender therefore tended to get loaded onto issues of cultural difference. So I grew up with this consciousness of the other, leading to issues of power and the exercise of power gendered power being somehow caught up [in it]. Then I trained as a lawyer in university, I was conscious of otherness somehow disappearing off my horizon. While Sharon was aware of cultural and gender differences in her household as a child, as soon as she left home 'difference' became outside and beyond her experiences. Sharon's ability to experience otherness 'disappearing off her horizon' means that cultural difference only mattered in her life when it was unavoidable. She was able to feel culturally safe in her new context at university because her white race privilege gave her the power to be able to choose whether or not she interacted with the cultural difference of 'other'. Susan, Glenda and Sharon all have an awareness of changing their subject positions in relation

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to cultural difference but they speak from a dominant subject position located within the centre of white Australian society. Several of the remaining feminists acknowledged that cultural differences exist within the landscape of the university, but in their engagement with students and colleagues they do not alter their subjectivity to accommodate it. That is, they do not position themselves through the eyes of 'other' and change their behaviour accordingly, nor are any strategies in place for a reflexive anti-racist practice within the university landscape. In the words of Frye, 'the concept of whiteness is not just used, in these cases, it is wielded'. 18 Relating to Racism Racism is often represented and taught as a problem associated with people of colour in universities throughout Australia. In answer to the question 'What is your relationship to racism?', five of the feminists interviewed stated that they teach from the position that racism is not a white problem, and that they are not personally implicated. Leanne believes that she does not have a direct relationship to racism: I do not like it, but obviously I am someone who is not directly affected by it. I might get offended by it, but it is not as though I am an Asian or a black person except for this Jewish thing. Here leanne locates her personal relationship to racism as removed; racism is something in which she is not implicated. However, she knows that racism exists and she has a political commitment to eradicate it. She locates her anti-racism in pedagogical practice: 'So my relationship to racism then in terms of being a political person of one kind or another and my academic work, my intellectual work is to try and work against that'. Leanne's positioning is contradictory in that, on the one hand, she denies a personal relationship to racism but forms one in her pedagogical practice because this is the politically correct thing to do as a white feminist. She does not perceive herself as a racialised being who operates in racialised contexts; instead, her deployment of the subject position 'middle-class white woman' allows her to exercise the privilege of racial invisibility. She is able to have an intellectual relationship to racism which does not inform any altering of her subjectivity. Other white feminists located their relationship to racism through their academic work. Sharon believes her relationship to racism is one where academic engagement enhances her transformative potential as a white feminist. Her intellectual involvement with racism gives her inspiration, which enhances her personal development. However, racism here too is treated as something external to the subject position; it is something which one gets involved in by choice. Other feminists

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also implied that they had a choice about being involved in racism for moral as well as intellectual reasons. Barbara articulates her relationship to racism on ideological and moral grounds. At an ideological level she says she understands that the practice of racism is connected to loyalty to fellow whites, while at another level white superiority allows for the scapegoating of 'others'. Barbara stated: 'I suppose on a moral level is an understanding of it as evil, and I have no trouble using the vocabulary of evil myself. I am certainly not a religious person but there is evil and there is good, and they are thoroughly clear and distinct.' Barbara recognises at an intellectual level the dominance, pervasiveness and privilege of white culture. However, white people as a racial group remain invisible. Only the 'other' is visible; white culture is not perceived as being inscribed on white bodies. Barbara's claim to a personal relationship with racism is through her moral position, which allows her to be able to put distance between herself and other whites who are evil and racist. By implication, Barbara is not an evil person; therefore, she is not racist. Barbara deploys her own subject position as 'middle-class white woman' to signify virtue and purity. Susan acknowledges that her relationship to racism is ambiguous and contradictory. She recognises that she has a personal and political relationship with racism which occurs on several levels. She registers discomfort being in the subject position 'middle-class white woman' because she perceives racism as integral to white culture and recognises the difficulties in struggling to develop an anti-racist practice. She implies that an intellectual engagement with racism allows one to distance oneself from being personally located within racist practice, yet she acknowledges that she cannot escape white culture. Susan's relationship to racism reveals that, despite her consciousness of the pervasiveness of racism, she chooses to locate her anti-racist practice in an environment where her subject position will be safe, secure and invisible to her students. Susan's ability to make such a choice is part of her privilege as a middle-class white woman. Not all of the feminists interviewed restricted their anti-racist practice to analysing racism within certain areas of their curriculum at university. For example, Tina expressed her relationship to racism in the following way: It's understanding that I might not personally be involved in oppression, but I am a member of the group which has benefited from it [inaudible], so in terms of my own experiences as being [inaudible] discriminated against [inaudible] I guess I've got [inaudible] some of that as a woman. Now I've got to the stage where I have been doing a whole lot of work on policies recently in [inaudible] social justice areas, so some of that has been to do with Aboriginal pursuits, but I want to get back more to go

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back into schools. I am presently involved in a project to do with gender, racism and violence in schools, and we've been doing a lot of visits to schools we have been doing some professional development to try and stop racism and violence in the schools. Tina, like Susan, feels a certain discomfort with her subject position because, on the one hand, she understands that she benefits from the oppression of others, but the benefits that she accrues may not be because of her personal contribution to oppression which she experiences as a woman. Tina's discomfort is expressed in owning a part of the white centre and then disowning it. She then re-centures herself by saying she too is oppressed through her subject position on the basis of gender, despite her white race privilege. Most of the feminists positioned themselves as having an intellectual relationship with racism. It is an ideological and academic engagement seen as something that shapes the lives of 'other' rather than white experiences and choices. Teaching racism as the problem of 'other' fails to interrogate and locate white complicity. Intellectualising about racism allows the subject position 'middle-class white woman' to be professionally involved in academic matters but not personally engaged. Conclusion Why Race Matters Race does matter in shaping the meaning and experiences of the lives of white feminist academics. The feminists who participated in this study utilise race as a marker of difference, which is deployed in modes of thinking on race, gender and cultural difference. This illuminates the contradictory, inconsistent and complex deployment of the subject position 'middle-class white woman'. In discursive practices the subject position remains centred but is unmarked, unnamed and structurally invisible. White feminist academics located themselves as autonomous, independent individuals, whose anti-racist practice is orchestrated through an intellectual engagement based on objective, rational thinking and behaviour. They spoke with certainty and confidence from a subject position structurally located in a white cultural system which exists as omnipresent and natural yet invisible a cultural system which confers on white people certain privileges and dominance. The complex and contradictory positioning of white feminist academics on race demonstrates that their consciousness of structural inequality, without an interrogation of, and change in their own subject position results in intersubjective practice that centres whiteness and reproduces that inequality. Teaching race in terms of structural inequality more often than not results in reducing it to a biological category that has social consequences only for 'other'. By not naming and interrogating white race privilege in such analyses, race remains extrinsic to

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white subjects, who are intentionally and unintentionally complicit in racial oppression. Race remains extraneous to white feminists, and its relevance and meaning is depoliticised for those positioned as 'other'. In the lives of these white feminists sociality involves mixing predominantly with one's own race, thereby reducing the chances of evaluating one's anti-racist practices. The lack of sociality with 'other' reinforces the disparity in experience and meaning between women who are 'other' and white feminists, both in relation to systems of domination and regarding the depth of cultural differences. The knowledge about race these feminists have is predominantly through texts; it is an academic knowledge about women who are 'other'. If there is limited or no intersubjectivity between women who are 'other' and white feminists, then knowledge of the 'other' is restricted to imagination and theory. In imagining someone there is never resistance from the image: For you never find anything in an image except what you put there. You don't investigate or interrogate an image to find out about it; there is nothing to learn from it because it only contains what you posit as being in it. Objects of the imagination only exist insofar as they are thought of, and they can be destroyed by the simple act of turning away from them in consciousness. 19 Social distance between white feminist academics and women who are 'other' reduces the risk of disruption to, and interrogation of the subject position 'middle-class white woman'. Their white race privilege means there is no imperative for these feminists to inflect their sociality. For most of the white feminists, teaching race difference within academic institutions means including the literature of women who are 'other' in the curriculum without challenging the subject position 'middle-class white woman' in both theory and practice. Any intersubjectivity in university contexts between white feminist academics and 'other' is always problematised by the way in which white normality and otherness is invisibly retained, because the cultural values, norms and beliefs of 'others' are subordinated to those of the institution. In academic institutions, race privilege accords white feminist academics choices about altering their subject positions to accommodate the 'other's' cultural difference, but there is no imperative for them to do so. There is no imperative for them to acknowledge, own, and change their complicity in racial domination, because they want to perceive it as extrinsic to themselves. Their anti-racist practice, as an intellectual engagement, is evidence of their compassion, but racism is not a part of their interiority. Their extrinsic and almost extraneous relationship to race provides insights about why in theory and practice race matters more than white feminists know.

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Notes 1 Maureen T. Reddy, Crossing the Borderline: Race, Parenting and Culture, Rutgers University Press, New Jersey, 1994, p.12. 2 Ruth Frankenberg, White Women Race Matters: The Social Construction of Whiteness, Routledge, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1993, p.1. 3 See Kay Saunders and Ray Evans, Gender Relations in Australia: Domination and Negotiation, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Sydney, 1992; Ann Curthoys, 'Australian Feminism Since 1970', in Norma Grieve and Ailsa Burns (eds), Australian Women: Contemporary Feminist Thought, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1994, pp.14-28; Marilyn Lake, 'Between Old World ''Barbarism" and "Stoneage" Primitivism: The Double Difference of the White Australian Feminist', in Grieve and Burns (eds.), Australian Women, pp.80-91; Patricia Grimshaw, 'Women and The Family in Australian History', in Elizabeth Windschuttle (ed.), Women, Class and History: Feminist Perspectives on Australia 1788-1978, Fontana/Collins, Melbourne, 1980, pp.37-52; Katie Spearritt, 'New Dawns: First Wave Feminist 1880-1914', in Saunders and Evans (eds.), Gender Relations in Australia, pp. 325-49; Fiona Paisley, 'No Back Streets in the Bush: 1920s and 1930s Pro Aboriginal White Women's Activism and the Trans-Australia Railway', Australian Feminist Studies, 12, 25 (1997), pp.119-35; Dianne Davidson, Women on the Warpath: Feminists of the First Wave, University of Western Australia Press, Nedlands, 1997. 4 Henry A. Giroux, 'Racial Politics and the Pedagogy of Whiteness', in Mike Hill (ed.), Whiteness: A Critical Reader, New York University Press, New York and London, 1997, pp.294-315, here p.296. 5 The interviews were arranged after sending a total of twenty letters to feminist academics in Australian universities. The letter stated that I was interested in exploring how non-indigenous women, who teach in women studies programs, or who gender their curriculum, position themselves in relation to cultural difference. I used the term 'cultural difference' rather than 'race difference' in order to make my request less threatening to the women. I took this course of action because, in my experience, raising the issue of race in discussions with white women has usually led them to take a defensive or dismissive position. The letters were sent out at the end of the academic year seeking both the women's permission to conduct an interview, and a date and time. Fifteen women responded and twelve accepted. Five women did not respond to my letter. 6 Frankenberg, White Women Race Matters. 7 Jan Pettman, Living in the Margins: Racism, Sexism and Feminism in Australia, Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, 1992, pp. 131. 8 I use Patricia Hill Collins's definition of 'subjugated knowledges'. Subjugated knowledges are blocks of historical knowledge that are present but disguised, but not naively held although they may be made to appear so by those who control the knowledge validation in society. Subjugated knowledge is 'a particular local, regional knowledge. A differential knowledge incapable of unanimity and which owes its force only to the harshness with which it is opposed by everything around it.' See Patricia Hill Collins, Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness and the Politics of Empowerment, Routledge, New York, 1991, p.18. 9 cf. Chandra Talpade Mohanty, 'On Race and Voice: Challenges for Liberal Education in the 1990s', Cultural Critique, Winter, 1990, pp.179-208, here p.192. 10 Giroux, 'Racial Politics and the Pedagogy of Whiteness', in Hill (ed.), Whiteness, p.296. 11 See Michael W. Apple, 'Consuming the Other: Whiteness, Education and Cheap French Fries', in Michelle Fine, Lois Weiss, Linda C. Powell and L. Mun Wong (eds), Off White: Readings on Race, Power and Society, Routledge, New York, London, 1997, pp.121-28, here p.127.

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12 Giroux, 'Racial Politics and the Pedagogy of Whiteness', in Hill (ed.), Whiteness, p.298. 13 Dennis Carlson, 'Stories of Colonial and Post Colonial Education', in Fine, Weiss, Powell and Wong (eds), Off White pp.137-48, here p.137. 14 cf. Frankenberg, White Women Race Matters, p. 167. 15 For a compelling analysis of the braiding of race and class, see Karen Brodkin Sacks, 'How Did Jews Become White Folks?', in Steven Gregory and Roger Sanjek (eds), Race, Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, 1994, p.78-102. A similar study has yet to be done in Australia. 16 See Mary Waters, 'Optional Ethnicities: For Whites Only?', in Margaret L. Andersen and Patricia Hill Collins (eds), Race, Class and Gender: An Anthology, Wadsworth Publishing Company, Belmont, 1998, pp.403-12, here p.404. 17 cf. Frankenberg, White Women Race Matters, p.144. 18 Marilyn Frye, 'On Being White: Toward a Feminist Understanding of Race and Race Supremacy', in Marilyn Frye (ed.), The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory, The Crossing Press, Trumansburg, New York, 1983, pp.11027, here p.115. 19 Elizabeth Spelman, Inessential Woman: Problems of Exclusion in Feminist Thought, The Women's Press, London, 1990, p.180.

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17 Construction of Whiteness in the Australian Media Peter Gale The 'Racism Debate' During the late 1990s Pauline Hanson became a central figure of media attention in what was commonly referred to as the 'racism debate' in Australia. Geoffrey Gray, Christine Winter and others argue that there has been a 'resurgence in racism' following the High Court rulings on Mabo in 1992 and a range of other publicly debated issues such as reconciliation, immigration and multiculturalism, all of which could be seen as encapsulated under the notion of 'race'. 1 Andrew Jakubowicz, Ghassan Hage and Jon Stratton along with many others explore the significance of Hanson both nationally and internationally.2 Jakubowicz contrasts the contradictory images of Pauline Hanson in the media and claims that, while White Australia was a myth, it was nevertheless a powerful one, which continues to have an influence on the notion of Australia as a non-racial, multicultural democracy.3 Stratton argues that Hanson reflects a 'new kind of racist', who espouses a kind of 'culturalism', in which some cultures are seen to be incompatible with 'Australia's national culture' and race becomes a signifier of national identity.4 Hage, too, focuses on the notion of 'white Australia' and on attempts by white nationalists to achieve recognition of their ideal of being essentially white.5 Analysis of Hansonism has also focused on media interest and commentary on Pauline Hanson and her One Nation Party and the background to such 'debates' surrounding Asian immigration, multiculturalism and land rights during the 1980s.6 This chapter examines

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this media discourse on race and in particular representations of whiteness associated with the racism debate exploring the juxtaposition between representations of Aboriginality and the social construction of 'whiteness' and 'white nation'. 7 It explores the oppositional binary between representations of 'black' and 'white' within a discourse on race. For example, earlier research on the reportage on race in the Northern Territory-based Northern Territory News (NTN) illustrates the oppositional binary between representations of Aboriginality on its front and back pages; while on the front page Aboriginality is represented as the other, the back-page sports section often features indigenous Australian Rules footballers and other indigenous sporting personalities.8 Henry Reynolds considers the significance accorded to indigenous sports stars, in relation to the question of equality and debate surrounding Wik and Mabo, and he argues that what is central to the notion that Australia is an egalitarian society is not whether Australia is 'uniquely egalitarian', but rather, the 'belief that it is'.9 Thus, the success of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians in different sporting arenas is heralded as an indicator of individual success, and of the level of racism in Australian society. However, Reynolds argues, underlying this general view in relation to the success or otherwise of indigenous people is a question of individual rights and group rights.10 Reynolds claims that Australians are comfortable with the idea of individual rights being expanded to encompass indigenous Australians, but recent public debate would illustrate a high level of anxiety over the notion that groups have rights because of a particular history.11 Reynolds concludes that equality, while it is seen as a desired national value, 'can be used as a weapon of assimilation, and it allows people to attack indigenous causes while proclaiming profoundly that they are not in any way racist they just believe in equality'.12 Pauline Hanson attracted unprecedented levels of media coverage between 1996 and 1998 following her now internationally infamous claim in September 1996 that Australia was in danger of being 'swamped by Asians'. While the sustained media presence can be seen to have been a significant factor contributing to the formation of Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party as a prominent minor party with a higher concentration of electoral support in rural centres, nonetheless, the analysis of media representations of Hanson is more complex than a simple comparison between the level of coverage accorded to different political leaders. As noted above, such representations can include often-contradictory images and the construction of oppositional binaries between black and white. Stuart Hall argues that regimes of representation in a culture, including the media, play a formative role in social and political life.13 Similarly, Teun van Dijk claims

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that the media play a significant role in the production and reproduction of racism. 14 However, Fairclough places a greater emphasis on the significance of the genre of reporting the news in media discourse.15 Such reportage can vary significantly within media discourse, with some programs and publications seeking to capture a wider audience and place a greater emphasis on entertainment in contrast with genres which engage more explicitly in political debate and critique. Contemporary newspaper publishing involves a tension between entertainment and the provision of information in the form of 'news'.16 However, these forms of reportage are not mutually exclusive. Some newspapers, or sections within a newspaper, place a greater emphasis on the former, some on the latter. For example, the front page of both tabloids and broadsheets seeks to capture the attention of the consumer through the use of headlines in large, bold type, along with images and colour. This form of coverage of what is presented as 'news' generally extends to the first section of a newspaper with the aim of capturing the attention and interest of the reader. It is significant that the way in which Pauline Hanson has been reported, and the associated use of images employed on the front page of a newspaper, often contrasts with, and is commonly contradictory to the commentary and analysis in other sections of the same newspaper. The latter is often highly critical of many aspects of Pauline Hanson and her policies and statements while the former often features what can be seen as images of Hanson as a political battler and as a popular nationalist. Further to this analysis of a discourse on race within the media is the relationship between representations of race and nation. Stuart Hall identifies this relationship as a new politics of 'representation' while Richard Dyer and Lola Young provide an analysis of representations of 'whiteness' in the West.17 Hall argues that a discursive approach to representation examines the rules and practices that produce meaning as discourse.18 Basing her work on an analysis of British film, Lola Young highlights how fear of the other is a common feature of contemporary film. Dyer, in his analysis of whiteness in film production in the United States, highlights the 'privilege' of whiteness in white Western culture; he argues that 'to apply the colour white to white people is to ascribe a visible property to a group that thrives also on invisibility'.19 Nonetheless, Dyer maintains that, while being visible as white remains a 'passport to privilege', a key theme to an emergent discourse of the 1990s is the idea of whiteness under threat, in particular to a notion of 'white masculinity'.20 Dyer concludes that extreme whiteness, as exceptional and marked, coexists with ordinary whiteness and that the image of 'extreme whiteness' acts as a distraction as ordinary whiteness can take comfort in not being marked as white.21 The narrative of race within the recent racism debate in the Australian

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media highlights the continued representation of an oppositional binary between whiteness and the other. Media reportage on what is identified within the media as the 'racism debate' of the late 1990s, in particular on issues of indigenous land rights or immigration, is constituted within a discourse on race which can be traced back to immigration debates during the 1980s and the media reportage on Mabo during the early 1990s. Based on the analysis of such reportage between 1992 and 1998, two significant themes are identified and discussed in the following section a narrative of fear and a narrative of assimilation. 22 A common theme within media reporting on native title centres around the notion of fear. Media discourse on the High Court judgement on Mabo during the early 1990s, and more recently over Wik, highlights what is seen as the concerns of farmers, pastoralists and miners, and draws on fears associated with past conflict between indigenous and non-indigenous colonial Australia in particular, conflict over land. For example, the headlines and visual representations associated with Mabo feature images and language of conflict and threat. While the High Court, Mabo versus Queensland, decision on native title on 3 June 1992 was given some prominence by the print media, including front-page coverage in the Australian, nonetheless, the High Court's decision attracted very little initial media attention up to the first Saturday in December, when the Australian accorded page-one and page-two coverage under the headline '10pc of land up for Mabo claims'.23 In this front-page reportage in the Weekend Australian the theme of fear and conflict was central. The page-two commentary under the headline 'Mabo leaves 10pc of nation's land up for claims by blacks' includes a map of Australia symbolically shaded in black and grey tones of colour to illustrate the existing and possible future claims.24 The map is superimposed over two representations of open, violent conflict between 'natives' holding spears and preparing for a violent confrontation with 'Europeans' on horseback armed with guns.25 This representation of conflict over land and of the threat to the nation in relation to the High Court judgement on native title reconstructs a message which has played a significant role in past and present, public and political debates over indigenous rights to land. The conflict being represented in this case is indicative of the way in which Mabo is represented as a crisis for the nation. The potently symbolic use of the map of Australia is further re-enforced through the written text of the report on page two. This begins with a quote from the chief executive of Western Mining, Mr Hugh Morgan, calling for a referendum on Aboriginal land rights, and warning that claims to sovereignty would increase 'at the national peril'.26 This example was among the first of many newspaper reports on the implications of the

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Mabo ruling by the High Court. Subsequently, the theme of conflict becomes a common feature of this reporting. Such representations not only construct a binary between black and white but also create a representation of conflict between indigenous and non-indigenous Australia. A second example of the theme of fear within the reporting on the High Court decision can be identified in a feature article in the Weekend Australian, which adopts the Hollywood thriller title of 'Cape Fear' as the headline to a story on mining on Cape Yorke peninsula in Queensland. 27 The metaphor of 'backyards' is symbolic of the way in which fear is a feature of the reporting on Mabo. Indigenous rights are presented as being out of control, and the icon of 'middle Australia', the treasured backyard, appears as allegedly under threat. The use of 'Cape Fear' as a sensationalist headline adds a further dimension by appropriating the narrative of a film which depicts an ordinary 'middle' American family living in fear as the target of a psychotic killer. The second common theme within the narrative on the racism debate is that of 'assimilating' race. This is commonly employed within a narrative on immigration, multiculturalism, reconciliation or, more recently, with the reportage on the 'stolen children'. The notion of racial assimilation is also consistent with what Muecke identifies as the three common features of a discourse on Aboriginality namely, the anthropological, the romantic and the racist.28 It is also reflective of the disciplinary constraints of 'Aboriginalism' as media reporting on indigenous issues draws from a discrete body of knowledge about 'Aborigines' and reproduces such knowledge.29 For example, during the extensive reporting on the recommendations of the Bringing Them Home report on the separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, and the government's wider public response to it, the reportage on the 'stolen children' was embedded in a discourse of race.30 While there was some debate on the use of the notion of 'genocide' to describe the removal of an estimated 100,000 indigenous children from their families, there was also prominent coverage of what was seen as the alleged benefits of past policies. One example of this reporting on the 'stolen children' is a front-page coverage in the Australian featuring John Moriarty, designer of the Aboriginal motifs on Qantas planes, who is described as running 'a successful design business based on Aboriginal motifs inherited from his Borroloola family'.31 While the text raises the question of genocide and notes that 'Mr Moriarty likens the plight of Aboriginal people to that of the Jews', the reportage also highlights the business success of Mr Moriarty, whose 'home in Sydney's affluent eastern suburbs' is attributed in part to his upbringing and education.32

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The reporting on the 'stolen children' is part of a discourse on race in which the assimilation of indigenous Australia is not the central issue but rather the way in which a policy of assimilation was pursued by past governments through the removal of indigenous children from their families. In many reports the debate focused on whether or not the children who were removed benefited from being assimilated into white Australia, albeit through institutional 'care', or more often, abuse. What is seen as a 'natural' advantage in education, employment, health and housing, which this kind of 'assimilation' is supposed to represent, is contrasted with a binary opposition of poverty, neglect, and an inferior life as an Aboriginal child in a 'full-blood' Aboriginal family. 33 Such binary representation 'naturalises' (that is, describes as 'natural') what is seen as an inevitable outcome of a racial hierarchy. It reproduces and constructs as 'normal' the narrative of assimilating race. Representations of Cathy Freeman provide examples of the way in which indigenous athletes are assimilated in order to present an image of Australia as a free, tolerant, egalitarian and multicultural society. In the 'lucky' country all, even the disadvantaged, can rise above their disadvantage and have the opportunity to succeed. If they don't, it is not the fault of the society, the collective, but of the individual. This representation of Australia is a feature of reporting on sport in Australian media, in which sport generally appears as an icon of tolerance and in which Australia is described as the land of opportunity. This contrasts with the discourse of the media on politics, as discussed above, which centres on division and conflict. Consequently, the often strident debate 'to keep politics out of sport' is reflective of the binary opposition between the egalitarian ideal which is seen in sport and the divisions within contemporary society which are interpreted as political. For example, in an article by Andrew Ramsey under the title 'Dream Run', Cathy Freeman is pictured with the Australian and Aboriginal flags along with the caption 'Cathy Freeman's obvious pride in her race and her country has been a public-relations triumph for the Aboriginal flag and for indigenous Australians'.34 The visibility of race is prominent and central in the reporting on successful indigenous athletes along with contrasting representations of the living conditions of non-assimilated Aborigines, often described as 'Third World'. Such binaries highlight both indigenous disadvantage and the possibility of success in the 'white world', as the opportunity is seen to be there for indigenous people. Pauline Hanson and Ordinary Whiteness Representations of Pauline Hanson in text and images in the media embody many different and at times contradictory meanings. Pauline Hanson appeals to a romantic and racist discourse, which can be identified as the myth of 'white Australia'. This notion of whiteness in

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Australia is associated with the history of the White Australia policy and the belief that Australia was once characterised by a homogenous white culture. It is also a discourse which seeks to maintain the position of white privilege. Among the many representations of Pauline Hanson in the media reportage of the 'racism debate' are representations of Hanson as both ordinary and extreme. She is commonly identified as tough and intolerant in relation to ATSIC or issues such as Asian immigration as well as 'foreign' ownership. However, Hanson is also represented as being the patriot, a popular nationalist and a true Australian; she is often photographed with Australian icons such as the flag, or with members of the RSL (Returned Services League of Australia) or kangaroos. Ann Curthoys and Carol Johnson discuss the contradictory images of Pauline Hanson and argue that such images help to explain her appeal. For example, in an article in the Australian by Belinda Hickman, Hanson is pictured at the Western Plains Zoo with a kangaroo while Hickman comments that her 'pro-shooters equality-for-all message . . . was swamped with applause'. 35 The association of what is seen as Australian in combination with a stand against Asian immigration, against the import of foreign goods and foreign ownership of Australian land and businesses, constructs a populist politics based on Australian patriotism. The reporting on such politics of division culminates in a binary opposition between support of free trade and foreign investment, and the jobs and future of ordinary Australians. The media narrative of Pauline Hanson as an ordinary white Australian thus appears as part of a contemporary popular nationalism which draws on a range of icons and symbols of past and present national identity. This is illustrated in an article by Nicolas Rothwell in the Weekend Australian Review section in May 1997, published under the headline of 'Pauline's People', in which Hanson is pictured talking to a 'Digger' adorned with medals on Anzac Day at an RSL club.36 While the date of publication bears no relevance to Anzac Day, the text represents Hanson as the patriot who loves her country, just as the Anzacs are believed to have fought for their country. In another example Pauline Hanson is represented as the politician of the people while also being described as 'Princess Di-like, as the impossibly glamorous, endlessly insulted queen of the hearts of Australia's mocked and disenfranchised majority'.37 In a similar way, following the Queensland election Hanson is accorded full-page coverage in the Age, in which she is pictured with Akubra hat in hand and seen as a political 'player in the main game'.38 At other times Pauline Hanson is represented as a woman who is vulnerable but also independent. Michael Gordon, in the Age, highlights the comments of Hugh Mackay's research on Hanson's level of

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support among older women as well as among some younger women, who see Hanson as 'standing up for what she believes in'. 39 In the theatre of politics Hanson is represented as an ordinary woman who is standing up for what she thinks is right, for her country, and for the disenfranchised, in contrast with 'a deep sense of mistrust of politicians on both sides; [and] a level of cynicism bordering on contempt'.40 Finally, Hanson is also represented as a mother, someone who is seen as both caring and providing security and stability among the vulnerable.41 Nonetheless, as a politician on the campaign trail Hanson combines the mandatory kissing of babies with the message that there would be 'no compromise' on her policies.42 When Hanson is represented as an ordinary Australian, supported by other ordinary Australians, including 'young people around the country who have placed their faith in the Hanson movement', she is transformed into a media figure which presents racism as acceptable.43 Such a figure is represented as the smiling face of racism, which spells out a notion of white privilege, seen as natural and as a part of being Australian in a land of opportunity. Nevertheless, it is this same figure which aims at maintaining the institutional structures and practices which disadvantage indigenous Australians and what are seen as 'ethnic' minority groups within contemporary Australian society. The imagery associated with Hanson acts as a mask for her politics of division and racism as it is clothed within an easily consumable narrative of popular nationalism. While Pauline Hanson is represented as an ordinary Australian, as the people's politician, her career is also described by many journalists as the result of a political accident. Nonetheless, the level of media attention accorded to her has given a voice to a narrative of intolerance which, apart from the regular radio 'shock jocks', had remained largely silent since the late 1970s. Extereme Whiteness Within a narrative of what can be identified as a threat to whiteness there are a range of sub-themes, including alleged threats to the national interest, to democracy and freedom, as well as a reference to Asian crime and corruption. Responding to diffuse notions of fear engendered by these threats, Pauline Hanson is variously depicted as patriot, messiah, or martyr. Illustrations of a Saint Pauline or of Hanson as a Statue of Liberty-figure, in an article by Nicolas Rothwell in the Weekend Australian, are examples of a saintly Pauline Hanson held up as a model of virtue and incorruptibility.44 In other representations the leader of the One Nation party appears as a messiah of the political right.45 Indeed, there are contrasting and often conflicting images of Pauline Hanson, where she is depicted as a

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popular political leader while also being the object of protest. 46 While appearing in the media as representative of the extreme political right, she is also seen as an ordinary Australian, in a notion strongly associated with a concept of whiteness.47 She is also pictured as a 'battler'48 and yet she is described as a political leader, with up to '48% of people' supporting at least some of her views.49 While Hanson is sometimes shown as a competent politician tapping into popular sentiment, she is also being identified as only the front person for the real power-brokers of the One Nation party.50 Such conflicting representations within the media discourse can be explained as being founded on a form of 'argumentation' in reporting the news.51 This particular journalistic practice combines the question for investigation with the presentation of 'evidence' on the question. In this way, common binaries are constructed for example, between an 'army of protesters' and 'Pauline's people', between 'the fury of the demonstrators' and 'racist rightwingers', between 'multiculturalism and native title', or between the 'politician' and 'people out there [who] are hurting [and] . . . feel insecure' or, alternatively, the 'patriotic Australian'.52 As such, media discourse commonly constructs a binary between what are identified as oppositional arguments, and Hanson is often represented as a political extremist and demonised while in another context she is represented as a messiah of the political right. Caricatures of Hanson have become a constant source of entertainment and political satire for the media, often highlighting some of her rather weird and amazing antics, such as the video recording of a 'posthumous' message to the nation, or the publication of her controversial manifesto, The Truth. Pauline Hanson as martyr is also a recurrent media image.53 Hanson is seen as the martyr for a political crusade which seeks to end the threat of a cultural invasion and to claim an elusive Australian heritage. She is depicted as a Saint Pauline 'who merely wants to maintain a central Australian identity, and stop multicultural programs funded at public expense'.54 Representations of Pauline Hanson as martyr may have been occasioned by her frequent assertions 'I love this country' or by her statement, in the Anzac tradition, that she would also 'die for it'. This is illustrated in a front-page article by John Stapleton and Dennis Shanahan in the Australian, in which Hanson is pictured delivering her address to the nation: 'Fellow Australians, if you are seeing me now, it means I have been murdered'.55 In similar prominent coverage Hanson is pictured with a gun at a military museum in Dubbo in an article by Don Greenlees, Michael Gordon and Belinda Hickman.56 Both articles represent Hanson as a political leader, in 'debate' with past prime ministers, and accorded the stature of national political leadership.

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Similarly, leading up to the 1998 Queensland election and the initial period following the election, Pauline Hanson and many One Nation candidates featured in the media, and in the Australian in particular. 57 However, amidst the prominence of such reportage there is also a critique which represents Hanson at the political extreme while also being vulnerable. Adrian McGregor in the Weekend Australian combines the images of Hanson as a politician of the people, and 'the most famous woman, if not person, in Australia today', with that of being seen as a vulnerable woman supported by her political adviser, David Oldfield.58 One of the common themes within the coverage of Pauline Hanson by the media is the question of racism. While repeatedly confessing her 'love for this country', Hanson advocates a politics of division. While attracting media attention through divisive statements, Hanson and the One Nation Party represent, and are often represented as propagating a politics of racism.59 Nonetheless, Hanson is often contrasted with media images of her opposition such as 'Hanson Haters'.60 While the representation of Pauline Hanson as political extremist is based on a critique of overt racism, such representations create a mask which hides the claimed privilege of ordinary whiteness. It also constructs such privilege as natural and reflective of the myth of the lucky country. In contrast with Hanson as the political extremist, John Howard and the policies of his Coalition government are being depicted as representing the political middle ground and, as such, are seen as reasonable, fair, and for 'all of us'. Within this media discourse on race, indigenous Australians have become further marginalised while there is a renewed emphasis on welfare for 'disadvantaged Aborigines' through education, health and housing along with a government policy of cuts to ATSIC (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island Commission) budget and programs. Furthermore, there is continued opposition to land rights and a shift in policy away from multiculturalism. Funding cuts to Aboriginal aid programs and to immigration are represented as 'moderate' under the shadow of the 'extreme', which openly and radically seeks to abolish Asian immigration, ATSIC and the Reconciliation Council. In his recent book on the representations of whiteness by whites in the West Dyer argues that the extreme is 'what whiteness aspires to and also . . . fears'.61 In the Australian media the language and images of Pauline Hanson naturalise the privileges of whiteness. However, representations of Hanson as being part of a camp of 'extreme whiteness' also act as a distraction as 'mainstream' Australia takes comfort in being white and adds distance between ordinary whites and the privilege of whiteness.

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Conclusion This chapter has explored the narrative on whiteness in the reportage on the racism debate in the Australian media. In particular, it has illustrated the significance of this narrative as part of an ongoing discourse on race which represents the privilege of whiteness as natural. Images of Pauline Hanson in the media are part of this Australian narrative on whiteness. However, media representations of Pauline Hanson include a range of contradictory images since Hanson is represented as both ordinary (as the popular face of 'middle' Australia) while also being seen as the extreme (as a representation of racism and intolerance). As a white woman and mother she is represented as caring and concerned, while also seeking to abolish public funding for Aboriginal Affairs and multiculturalism. Hanson is represented as a battler for ordinary Australia while also seen as occupying the extreme of the political right. Nonetheless, within the narrative of the racism debate in Australia in the late 1990s, as whiteness is represented as both 'mainstream' Australia and under threat, the extreme has moved to the centre and the privilege of whiteness is once again hidden. Within this narrative, John Howard and the Coalition government represent a liberal, moderate and tolerant Australia while also voicing opposition to the High Court judgement on Mabo, cutting funds to ATSIC and reducing the level of immigration. Representations of whiteness in the media are constituted within a discourse of race. A common theme within this narrative is fear and a politics of division. Representation of blackness is 'racialised' as the other and whiteness is represented as the mainstream. Media discourse continues to play a significant role in constituting the symbolic markers of an Australian national identity which aims at maintaining white privilege as being in the national interest and social inequality as natural. The challenge for oppositional voices as a competing discourse in contemporary Australia is to confront the politics of division and offer a more inclusive narrative on our national identity based on the strengths of cultural and linguistic difference. 62 The emergence of such a national identity is also fundamental for any meaningful engagement within the Asia-Pacific region. Notes 1 Geoffrey Gray and Christine Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism: Howard, Hanson and the Race Debate, Monash Publications in History, Clayton, Victoria, 1997. See also Philip Bell, '(Yet Another) Race Row Looms', Metro, No.109, 1997, pp.79-81. 2 Andrew Jakubowicz, 'In pursuit of the anabranches: Immigration, multiculturalism and a culturally diverse Australia', in Gray and Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism, pp.149-59. See also Ghassan Hage, White Nation: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1998; Jon Stratton Race Daze: Australia in Identity Crisis, Pluto Press, Sydney, 1998.

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3 Jakubowicz, 'In pursuit of the anabranches: Immigration, multiculturalism and a culturally diverse Australia', p.150. 4 Stratton, Race Daze, pp.13-14. 5 Hage, White Nation, pp.58-59. 6 See Merle Ricklefs, 'The Asian immigration controversies of 1984-85, 1988-89 and 1996-97: A historical review', in Gray and Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism, pp.39-61. See also Philip Bell, 'News Values, Race and ''The Hanson Debate" in Australian Media', Asia Pacific MediaEducator, No.2, January-June 1997, pp.38-47; Glen Lewis, 'The media and the Pauline Hanson debate: Cheap talk and free speech', Australian Journal of Communication, 24, 1, 1997, pp.9-22; Eric Louw and Eric Loo, 'Constructing Hansonism: A Study of Pauline Hanson's Persona In Australian Press', AsiaPacific MediaEducator, No.3, July-December 1997, pp.4-31; Michael Meadows, 'Perfect Match: The Media and Pauline Hanson', Metro, No.109, 1997, pp.86-90; Peter Putnis, 'The Nature of News Discourse: Towards a Hanson Case Study', Metro, No.109, 1997, pp.91-93. 7 See Ghassan Hage, White Nation, for a discussion on the notion of Australia as a 'white nation'. 8 See Peter Gale, Representations of Aboriginality and Tertiary Education in Contemporary Australia: Tensions and Contradictions between Equity and Indigenous Rights, Ph.D. thesis, Flinders University of South Australian, Adelaide, 1996. See also Peter Gale, 'Bulls, Buffaloes and the Spirit of the Territory: The Politics of Representation in Australia's Northern Territory', paper presented to The Australian and New Zealand Sociological Association Conference, Hobart, December 1996. 9 See Henry Reynolds, 'Racism and other national discourses', in Gray and Winter (eds), The Resurgence of Racism, p.32. 10 Reynolds, 'Racism and other national discourses', pp.29-38. 11 Reynolds, 'Racism and other national discourses', p.33. 12 See also Sut Jhally, and Justin Lewis, Enlightened Racism: The Cosby Show. Audiences, and the Myth of the American Dream, Westview Press, Boulder, Colorado, 1992. Jhally and Lewis survey audience reception of 'The Cosby Show' and highlight how viewers' were unable to perceive any connections between 'race' and class or articulate the idea of inequality of opportunity. 13 Stuart Hall, 'The Work of Representation', in Stuart Hall (ed.), Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, Sage Publications, London, 1997, pp.1-74. 14 Teun van Dijk, Elite Discourse and Racism, Sage Publications, California, 1993. 15 See Norman Fairclough, Media Discourse, Edward Arnold, London and New York, 1995. 16 Fairclough, Media Discourse, p.6. 17 See Stuart Hall on the politics of representation. See also Richard Dyer, White, Routledge, London and New York, 1997; Lola Young, Fear of the Dark: 'Race', Gender and Sexuality in the Cinema, Routledge, London, 1996. 18 Stuart Hall defines discourse as 'a group of statements which provides a language for talking about a way of representing knowledge about a particular topic at a particular historical moment', 'The Work of Representation', in Hall (ed.), Representation, p.44. 19 Young, Fear of the Dark, pp.152-54; Dyer, White, p.42. 20 Dyer, White, p.44. 21 Dyer, White, p.222.

22 Peter Gale, 'Constructions of "Whiteness" and the "racism debate": Representations of Australia in national and regional newspapers, 1996-1997', paper presented to The Australian Sociological Association Conference, Wollongong, December 1997. See also Peter Gale and Susanne Schech,

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'Globalisation, "Whiteness" and the construction of national identity in Australia: The "racism debate"', paper presented to Institute of British Geographers' Conference, London, January 1998. 23 David Solomon, Deanie Carbon and Fiona Kennedy, 'Aborigines rejoice as High Court ends terra nullius', Australian, 4 June 1992, pp.1-2. 24 Deanie Carbon and Peter Wilson, '10pc of land up for Mabo claims', Weekend Australian, 5-6 December 1992, pp.1-2. 25 Carbon and Wilson, '10pc of land up for Mabo claims', p.2. 26 Carbon and Wilson, '10pc of land up for Mabo claims', p.2. 27 Jamie Walker, 'Cape Fear', Weekend Australian, 24-25 July 1993, p.22. 28 Stephen Muecke, Textual Spaces: Aboriginality and Cultural Studies, New South Wales University Press, Kensington, 1992. 29 See Gillian Cowlishaw, 'Colour, Culture and the Aboriginalist', Man: The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 22, 1987, pp.221-37. See also Bain Attwood, 'Introduction', in Bain Attwood and John Arnold (eds), 'Power, Knowledge and Aborigines', Journal of Australian Studies, La Trobe University Press, Bundoora, Victoria, 1992, pp.i-xvi. 30 See Ronald Wilson, Bringing Them Home: Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families, Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, Sydney, 1997. 31 Tracy Sutherland, 'Never again, vows a victim', Australian, 21 May 1997, pp.1, 7. 32 Tracy Sutherland, 'Never again, vows a victim', Australian, 21 May 1997, pp.1, 7. 33 Sutherland, 'Never again, vows a victim', p.1. 34 Andrew Ramsey, 'Dream Run', in Australian, 6 August 1997, p.11. 35 Belinda Hickman, 'Gun-toting Hanson disarms faithful out west', Australian, 22 August 1997, p.4. See also Ann Curthoys and Carol Johnson, 'Articulating the Future and the Past: Gender, Race, and Globalisation in One Nation Discourse', Hecate, 24, 2, 1998, pp.97-114. 36 Nicolas Rothwell, 'Pauline's People', Weekend Australian, Review, 17-18 May 1997, pp.1, 4. 37 Nicolas Rothwell, 'Pauline's People', Weekend Australian, Review, 17-18 May 1997, pp.1, 4. 38 Michael Gordon, 'How Can They Stop Her?', Age, News Extra, 20 July 1998, pp.1, 4. 39 Gordon, 'How Can They Stop Her?', p.4. 40 Gay Alcorn, 'Pauline Hanson is colonising Tim Fischer's National Party: The Female Factor', Age, News Extra, 20 June 1998, p.4. 41 Gay Alcorn, 'Pauline Hanson is colonising Tim Fischer's National Party: The Female Factor', Age, News Extra, 20 June 1998, p.4. 42 David Penberthy, 'One Nation set to storm ballot box', Advertiser, 13 June 1998, p.7. 43 Cathy Pryor, 'Emerging Nation', Australian, 11 August 1997, p.10. 44 Rothwell, 'Pauline's People', p.1.

45 Mike Steketee, 'Messiahs of the Right', Weekend Australian, 3-4 May 1997, p.22. 46 Andrew Ramsey and Matthew Abraham, 'Fists fly as Hanson spreads doctrine', Australian, 12 June 1997, p.4. 47 See Michael Millett and John Seccombe, 'The Power of Pauline Hanson', in Sydney Morning Herald, News Review, 12 October 1996, pp.31, 34. 48 See Scott Emerson, 'The Hot Seat', Australian, 7 July 1997, p.12. 49 Millett and Seccombe, 'The Power of Pauline Hanson', p.31. 50 See feature article by Brian Woodley, 'Fellow Travellers', Weekend Australian, 31 May-1 June 1997, p.25, and the accompanying photo of David Ettridge and David Oldfield with the caption: 'It's their party: One Nation's David Ettridge . . . and David Oldfield'. 51 See Fairclough, Media Discourse, p.124. 52 Rothwell, 'Pauline's People', pp.1, 4.

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53 John Stapleton and Dennis Shanahan, 'Fellow Australians, if you are seeing me now, it means I have been murdered', Australian, 25 November 1997, p.1. See also Emerson, 'The Hot Seat', p.12; Kate Legge, 'Witch-Hunt', Weekend Australian, 13-14 September 1997, p.27; Jamie Walker and Leisa Scott, 'Pauline Hanson has made a video in case she is murdered . . . but is she already politically dead?', Weekend Australian, 29-30 November 1997, pp.2526. 54 Rothwell, 'Pauline's People', pp.1, 4. 55 Stapleton and Shanahan, 'Fellow Australians, if you are seeing me now, it means I have been murdered', p.1. 56 Hickman, 'Gun-toting Hanson disarms faithful out west', p.4. 57 Christopher Niesche, 'Rag-tag army on parade in the showground hall', Australian, 1 June 1998, p.4. See also Scott Emerson and Megan Saunders, 'ALP leads, Hanson soars', Weekend Australian, 13-14 June 1998, p.1; Richard McGregor and Scott Emerson, 'Hanson ruins PM's poll plan', Australian, 15 June 1998, p.1; Dennis Shanahan, 'Hanson hush subdues house', Australian, 23 June 1998, p.1, and Dennis Shanahan, 'Pauline Explained', Weekend Australian, 20-21 June 1998, p.1. 58 Adrian McGregor, 'Hanson ruins PM's poll plan', Weekend Australian, 13-14 June 1998, p.25. 59 Greg Roberts, 'Extremely Pauline', Age, 26 September 1997, p.A13. 60 Jamie Walker, 'Hanson Haters', Weekend Australian 12-13 July 1997, p.25. 61 See Dyer, White, p.222. 62 Stuart Hall, 'New Ethnicities', in J. Donald and A. Rattansi (eds), 'Race', Culture and Difference, Sage Publications, in association with Open University Press, London, 1992, pp.252-59.

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18 'Talkin' up Whiteness': A Black and White Dialogue Wendy Brady and Michelle Carey She hid her face behind the veil of non-identity, hoping that those who looked would not discover her true self. Romaine Moreton 1 WENDY BRADY This work has its origins in the way in which I observed white Australians' responses to Aboriginality as skin colour and not as culture and kinship. We, the indigenous people, need to decolonise our minds of the imposition of identity based on colour and return to an understanding of ourselves as people of Aboriginal nations now contained within a nation named by the colonisers as Australia. The colonisers, in turn, must transform their 'whiteness'. They must decolonise their minds and reject a worldview where all those who are not white are blak.2 To work in collaboration with one who is not blak enables not only myself but those who work with us to effect change, so that we may advance the process of decolonisation. This will enable us to accept difference as an elevation from denoting each, not by imposed categories of colour, but by culture, beliefs, worldviews, gender, sexuality and place. The impulse for this piece comes from wanting to make my written work reflective of the connections I make between myself and others, as well as what I read and I write. The two are inextricably linked. In my work I am personally committed to a collaborative approach to, and an understanding of a process of history that transforms our

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imposed identities and transcends the racial boundaries between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians. WENDY BRADY AND MICHELLE CAREY We accept that the pseudo-scientific concept of racial categories is a lie. What then do we make of a pseudo-scientific formula such as this? W=N+N (WHITENESS = NORMATIVITY plus NEUTRALITY) 3 Dyer argues 'white people colonise the definition of the normal'.4 We argue that white people also control the definition of whiteness. Within the context of Australian history whiteness has often stood for that which oppresses. To argue that this is normal and neutral is to accept that oppression is the status quo. Therefore, while we pay attention to problematising whiteness, we must also pay attention to problematising the supposed normativity and neutrality of whiteness. Constructing an idea of non-indigenous identity challenges the validity of the W = N + N formula, because it places whiteness within the historical continuum of colonisation. WENDY BRADY What is this identity called whiteness? Imposed identities based on skin colour have been with us for some centuries. The imposition does not, I believe, lie within an historical recognition of difference, but more so in charging difference with power, social and economic status coupled with confrontations over systems of belief, and pseudoscientific notions of who constitutes the so-called pinnacle of humanity and/or civilisation. These threads form the identities of different peoples around the globe, especially those who have been subjected to, or engaged in a process of colonisation. As I have written elsewhere: The classification of Aboriginal Australians commenced before we were seen by Europeans and once seen, we were categorised according to some pseudo-scientific criteria of race, beliefs, sexuality and intelligence. Our bodies and identification generally remain caught in those categories. Mary Pratt described European explorers', writers' and scientists' attempts to produce 'information' from their experiences in Africa in the nineteenth century. She then points out that they tried to 'interlock' these 'information orders' into categories of the 'aesthetic, geographic, mineralogical, botanical, agricultural, economic, ecological, ethnographic', and then attempted to make them appear as if they were a 'natural' pattern. These so-called 'information orders' were then used to produce 'European knowledges or disciplines' which were a product of European world views rather than some uncommanded natural phenomena.5

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In Australian society individuals carry the impact of colonisation in various forms. It surrounds us in the built and natural environment, in systems of communication, social structures, expressions of belief, interactions between ourselves and others, and within our bodies and minds. There is a multiple layering of identifiable and hidden manifestations of race, sexuality, gender, place, background and connection. These layers have come from our generational knowledge and from the imposed notions of who constitutes a grouping of people. Amongst indigenous Australians these layers contradict, or are more complex than, the often simplistic descriptors used to represent us as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people. So, if as an Aboriginal person I find myself dealing with an array of identities, what can be gleaned about those who are, for me, the other, who go under the general description of 'white people'? It should be for those who carry the 'knowledges or disciplines', as described by Mary Louise Pratt, to question the construction of their identity, to question the 'information' that has infiltrated their minds, attitudes and actions. The white others need to generate questions so that there can be a repositioning of their identity to form expanded understandings and action. No longer can they observe by standing back in conscious distance, but must engage in forming questions about this aspect of identity of theirs that is called whiteness. Race has become a predominant form of identification of difference, but it has been for the most part believed to be understood as applying to people other than those who are perceived as white within and outside of themselves. Is it so much that individuals who constitute the group called white see themselves as white, or do they resort to that identification as an 'outside' means of understanding themselves? In essence, there is a difference between being identified externally as white, and knowing oneself internally, as it were as white. In my teaching practice I have developed what is called the Icon Exercise, where students are asked to do a presentation explaining some aspect of their life through a display of symbolic representations from what they understand is their culture. They are then required to explain how these symbols reflect their identity. They cannot use written language on their icon display. Many students from dominant culture backgrounds often complain bitterly, declaring 'we don't have any!' (that is, culture), and 'this is unfair because students who aren't Australian can use all sorts of symbols!'. These are not isolated comments. They clearly indicate how deeply within members of a dominant group there is a sense of being at the centre and not being required to form an understanding of what constitutes their identity and culture. Needless to say it is a very powerful and, usually, most fulfilling experience for the lecturer/tutor and the students. As one student

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remarked to me: 'I never thought we had culture and just saw myself as Australian. That's ok when you're overseas, but I used to get jealous of friends who weren't Aussie [that is, Australians of non-Anglo-Celtic descent] because they had all this culture stuff. Now I know I do too.' For many who would declare themselves white when confronted by the challenges of human difference, it remains inexplicable as to what this white identity is; a fundamental understanding of themselves as white remains elusive. The tools for an exploration and understanding of identity, as difference rather than racial dominance, are not accessible or provisioned to the majority of the Australian population. Racialised difference has been the justification for enforced separation between peoples. Australia has engaged in such practice to an extent that the impact will reverberate for generations to come. The process of colonisation in Australia has brought with it the added burden of struggles for survival by indigenous Australians, not only of the body, but in recognition of identity. Classifications which emerged from racialised difference led to individuals and groups of people having to live their lives within categories based on skin colour which were defined outside of the self. For numerous indigenous Australians, there was a sense of 'unbelonging, that is, being not one or the other in their identity. You're not white enough to be white and your skin isn't black enough to be black either, and it really came down to that.' 6 From an Aboriginal perspective, degrees of whiteness and blakness were presented as categories into which indigenous people were forced, such as 'half-caste', 'quarter-caste', 'quadroon', 'octoroon', and so on. Those who were deemed to be more white than blak could, according to non-Aboriginal 'experts' and policy makers, be more easily absorbed into a society whose primary understanding of identity was blak and 'not blcak'. Ironically, in order to escape the threat of removal, Aboriginal children had to make themselves 'more black' than they were in reality: Every morning our people would crush charcoal and mix that with animal fat and smother that all over us, so that when the police came they could only see black children in the distance. We were told always to be on the alert and, if white people came, to run into the bush.7 In a submission to the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, Peter Read has commented on the removal of indigenous children in New South Wales. He stated that at the time of the establishment of the Aborigines Protection Board the government authority entrusted with the task of removing Aboriginal children from their families it was reasoned that Aboriginal people, described as a 'wild race of half-castes', were increasing in numbers and had to be 'diminished'. The

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authorities, Read explained, believed 'if the children were to be de-socialised as Aborigines and re-socialised as Whites, they would somehow have to be removed from their parents'. 8 The establishment of the Aborigines Protection Board caused some controversy at the time. According to one parliamentarian in 1883 in a government debate over the provision of funds for 'protection' of Aboriginal people in the colony of New South Wales, 'there were a number of children who were as white as any honourable member [of parliament]. Instead of grouping them altogether [sic], would it not be better to take those children from their mothers and train them at some institution specially provided for them?'9 These comments represent a commonly held view of Aboriginal identity by white society, in that the only relationship identifiable in indigenous society was colour, and in that the degree of blackness had some supposed correlation with intelligence or other qualities that were seen as a prerequisite for 'training into civilisation'. It is a view which has had far-reaching repercussions for the formulation of policies relating to indigenous Australians, even in present-day Australian society. Aboriginal Australians are the only group within Australia who, under government regulation, must prove identity in order to access certain rights or benefits. The regulation reads: An Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander is someone who is of Australian Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent; and identifies as an Australian Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander; and is accepted as such by the community in which s/he lives or has lived.10 A letter has to be produced from an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander incorporated organisation or community to support such claims. Those who fall within the category of white require no such documentation in order to be declared who they are. I am not moving towards an essentialist, biological understanding of race, as essentialist notions of race can drive those in colonised societies into impositions of systems of apartheid or assimilation. Whiteness is and is not skin colour. It is about cultural, biological and social forms of identification, as is Aboriginality. The difference here is that Aboriginality has to be proved whereas in contemporary Australia whiteness does not. (I will leave aside the White Australia policy, which was introduced at federation to exclude individuals from entering or residing in Australia who were classified as 'not white' or, on occasion, individuals who were deemed politically undesirable.) However, care must be taken not to form an understanding of whiteness as a 'not of a not', because it could be misinterpreted as an absolution of all that

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has been done by those in the 'name of white supremacy and colonisation'. 11 To an indigenous Australian, whiteness is visible and does have meaning. I feel the impact and observe the exercise and performance of whiteness on a daily basis. Aboriginal people have communicated their observations and experiences of whiteness. Strategies have been developed by indigenous people everywhere for dealing with those whom they understand as white, and with the practice of whiteness. Thus, the native Canadian writer Sakej Henderson asks of white people in North America: Why do they all cling to all these categories? Don't they have a belief in nature? Don't they know that nature is more power. They refuse to agree on anything, stating there is a right under subjective value to construct as many world views as they can think of . . . [which] means they/we never have to work together and work out methodological problems.12 One cannot dispel whiteness by setting aside what it is formulated to be, nor by setting aside what is understood as 'other', to merge all beings into a common identity of 'humanity'. One cannot set aside difference. It is visible and felt by all, and understood by some. There can be no colour-blindness because, in turn, it can become an inability to 'see' the imposition of power over those who are different. In coloniser countries the yearning for identity takes on a particular form. Amongst settler groups it is manifest as a feeling of inadequacy with regard to the culture of the 'home country'. Establishing symbolic, political, economic and cultural connections with their culture of origin is a consistent pattern of identity formation and maintenance among colonial settlers. In Australia this yearning manifests itself in what is termed the 'cultural cringe': a process of emulating European (British) cultural practices while denying much of what had emerged in the coloniser/colonised society. The boat- and plane-loads of people who 'returned' and 'return' to Britain and Europe seeking to view and sense that from whence all or a mixture of their ancestors came, is, for me, characteristic of this yearning. The returning settlers need to connect with the history and cultures which have formed them, in much the same way as displaced people have done for centuries. Ireland, for example, has waves of people who come to find their kinship connections. People are searching Europe and elsewhere for an understanding of the layers that constitute their identity. To have a sense of belonging to place and of connection through kinship is paramount for indigenous Australians. Non-indigenous Australians have by choice, coercion or for refuge come to this country of indigenous nations. For vast numbers of those who joined in the

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colonising process there was an opportunity to develop and continue for generations a sense of belonging and respect for the land. So much so that there have been engagements in struggles to ensure a retention of the 'wide brown lands' and a nostalgia or love for a real or fantasised landscape. Perhaps, though, the connection that is made is one which has for thousands of years been understood by those whose ancestors have walked this land for millennia, the ones called blak. MICHELLE CAREY In her autobiography If Everyone Cared, Margaret Tucker relates the contents of a personal letter: In 1975 I received a letter from Nancy . . . it said: 'I have one wonderful memory of your Mother . . . We went to Molly's home, as you describe, for a meal. Your mother was there. She was sitting in a straightbacked chair surrounded by children, dogs, noise and general family bric-a-brac. When we came in we went up to her and she said, 'Welcome to my home and my land.' She said it with such power and simplicity . . . She was a queen sitting in her chair and no one had ever said 'Welcome to my country' to us before. It made a deep impression on me. 13 We can only speculate on the full emotional depth of the impression that was left on Nancy as a result of being welcomed into Margaret's country. It is clear from her words, though, that she felt the need to acknowledge the impact it had on her. It is also clear that Nancy was prepared to set aside the power of her whiteness in order to recognise the power of Margaret's mother. Importantly, this does not seem to translate into Nancy feeling disempowered. Over the last ten or so years, the majority of scholarship dealing with whiteness, or white race power, has been generated in the United States. The relationship between whiteness and blackness has, by and large, been problematised in terms of white race dominance vis-à-vis African Americans. The manifestation of white race power vis-a-vis native Americans has received scant reference. The editorial in the most recent edition of Transitions refers to this: 'Although "race" has traditionally been considered the exclusive property of African Americans, more and more people are noticing that white Americans have one, too.'14 Within much of the American literature, it is argued that blackness serves as a boundary within which whiteness can be defined.15 Frankenberg asks: What is whiteness? It is in part, I would suggest, a mere mirroring of a mirroring, a 'not' of a 'not'. Whiteness comes to self-name, invents itself, by means of its declaration that it is not that which it projects as other.

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And there is thus a level at which whiteness has its own inbuilt complacency, a self-naming that functions simply through a triumphant, 'I am not that'. 16 In an Australian context pejorative stereotypes of Aboriginality provide the means by which white Australians construct concepts of the blak other as uncivilised. These constructs are symbolic reference points for determining the so-called civilised virtues and values of members of a perceived white race. However, where the Australian experience diverges from the North American paradigm is when blackness is equated with indigenousness. At this point the role of blackness in the identity formation for members of the invader society becomes more complex. It is therefore necessary to problematise the way indigenous identity serves as a boundary for defining white race identity within invader societies. Terry Goldie argues that within colonial settler societies like Australia the process of identity formation requires the paradoxical recognition and denial of Aboriginal identity.17 This is poignantly revealed in the tacit denial of Aboriginal people's unique spiritual connection with the land through a series of legislative obstructions towards achieving land rights18, and in the co-option of a concept of spiritual connection with the land by members of the invading society.19 This can be understood as being intrinsically linked with the profound psychological desire of members of the invading society to cultivate and/or maintain an emotional bond with the time, place and land they occupy. This process of identity formation can be described as one of 'indigenisation' the simultaneous recognition and denial of an indigenous identity forming the basis for members of the invader society to cultivate a pseudoindigenous identity.20 Elements of a real indigenous identity are incorporated by the pseudo-indigenous population while, simultaneously, the existence of the real indigenous population is denied. Thus, the status of the pseudoindigenous population as the 'real' indigenous population is assured. Undermining white race power in Australia requires the deliberate construction of a non-indigenous identity by members of the invader society. Contrary to the methodology advocated by the New Race Abolitionists in the United States of America, white race deconstruction does not strike at the heart of the maintenance of white race power in Australia. The New Race Abolitionists work from the premise that race constitutes a false basis for identity formation. There is an important conceptual difference between these Abolitionists and the Slavery Abolitionists of the nineteenth century: the latter did not challenge race as a means of categorising different groups of people, but did challenge the belief that one's race could provide the condition for their

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enslavement. Insidiously, the methodology prescribed by the New Race Abolitionists is the paramount expression of white race power in invader societies. Central to the New Race Abolitionists' methodology for undermining white race power is the belief that racial identity is only a social construction. It holds no validity as a means of categorising specific group interests. In a society such as Australia, where indigenous people fall well below all statistical indicators for determining social well-being with their shorter life-expectancy and higher infant-mortality rates, among other outcomes it is clear that, in a very literal sense, indigenous people are fighting for racial survival. 21 While categorising group interests within the language of the invaders to ensure their subjugated status may appear counter-productive, Koori scholar and activist Ian Anderson notes: Aboriginal identities are formed within the context of colonial relation . . . it would be unreasonable to expect Aboriginal people to 're-invent' their self-representation without any reference to the hegemonic language of race . . . Otherwise we would be expecting people to form identities in the context of an ongoing experience of cultural racism, and at the same time render the impact of such an experience totally without meaning.22 Claiming a shared racial identity describes the understanding and empathetic bond that exists between indigenous people as a result of their experiences in colonial (white) Australian society. Racial identity also describes the basis for collective struggle for cultural, physical and spiritual survival in the face of white domination. Disavowing the concept of racial identity invalidates the right of indigenous people to challenge white power. Hurtado and Stuart explain: [A] critical stage in overthrowing domination is when the subordinate group, which has been degrouped, begins to use its own norms and standards for positive identity formation and political mobilisation. When a previously degrouped group begins to fight back the dominant group steps up its restrictive controls. Therefore, it is not at all surprising that when there . . . [is an] . . . increasing awareness of how race is socially constructed . . . all of sudden race doesn't matter as we should all be color blind.23 In maintaining that racial identity is a social construction, New Race Abolitionists argue that white domination can be deconstructed through repeated acts of non-compliance with 'performing whiteness'.24 Abolishing a concept of white racial identity simultaneously provides the means by which white race dominance can be abolished.25 In critiquing the position of the New Race Abolitionists, Michaels writes:

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It is only because 'race is socially constructed' that the commitment to 'the abolition of whiteness' can make non-genocidal sense. To 'make white people cease to be' is not to kill white people; it is to destroy the fact of whiteness. 26 Taking into account the hyperbolic flourish with which Michaels describes the process of white race deconstruction, the degree to which he conflates the abolition of whiteness with a literal 'ceasing to be' points towards a specific kind of dislocation that results from having self-identity undermined. This begs the question: what option, apart from nonidentity, does white race deconstruction offer people who identify as white? Various observers have already sought to explain how the perceived loss of class, gender and other identity markers has led to the current resurgence of white pride and/or white supremacism.27 It is argued that, as women, people of colour, gays and lesbians and other minority groups have gained a greater degree of social, political and economic power, there has been a growing perception of disadvantage amongst members of the mainstream white group. Rapid social, political, technological and economic change over the last twenty years is also said to compound this. Resorting to white racial identity as a pivotal marker for self-identity is understood to offer a sense of certainty and stability in a time of turmoil. It is also a reclamation of power in the face of a perceived erosion of power. This analysis is useful because it locates the value of white race identity within a broader political, social and economic framework. In addition, it offers a crucial insight into the social and political ramifications of the dominant group experiencing an ontological and epistemological crisis. The deconstruction of identity provokes a defensive reflex. The reconstruction of identity inevitably involves a reclamation of power at the expense of those who are genuinely disempowered. In Australia the phenomenon of Pauline Hanson and her One Nation Party firmly illustrates this point. Overwhelmingly, Hanson's supporters take pride in their Australianness, which translates into a pride in their whiteness. Coming to think of yourself as a non-indigenous Australian requires an act of transcendence, a transformation of your sense of self.28 This idea is, in part, captured by Frankenberg, who describes how getting to know the black other has informed her sense of her own whiteness and her ability to contextualise her life experiences as an expression of white privilege and power. She writes: Memory, and one's sense of self, are continually (re)formed. Chains of events in life are such that each moment seems both to lead or even make the next, and to be remade by the moments that follow it. My childhood

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was then, if not literally relived, certainly reconceived in the context of my adult life. In this way, we may say my memories, my self, are (re)formed. 29 While the notion of reformation comes close to the idea of transformation, there is still a conceptual difference between the two ideas. Frankenberg's reformation suggests that, given the opportunity for new experiences and information, old stereotypes and preconceptions held about the black other will be challenged, and this may be linked to a rehabilitation of one's own white identity. Transformation, however, literally means to be changed, from one thing to another. In this instance, transformation means changing from a white Australian to a non-indigenous Australian. In her recent biography/autobiography, Dingo: The Story of Our Mob, Sally Dingo who is not an indigenous Australian documents the story of three generations of the Dingo family. The book is a collaborative effort, with stories being passed on by members of the Dingo family and with Sally incorporating her own experiences of marrying into an Aboriginal family. In part, the value of the book is the frankness with which Sally joins her own experiences of her white identity with her family's story. Her confusion, cultural dislocation, the major blunders and minor faux pas are indicative of two hundred years of white-imposed separation of indigenous and non-indigenous people. In the end, though, her family's willingness to share their stories and her willingness to learn from them transcends racial divides. The final sentence of the book says it all: 'I had learned so much more than I'd ever dreamed for myself'.30 WENDY BRADY AND MICHELLE CAREY In writing this we have come together, one blak, one white, and we bring our multiple layered identities that constitute blak and white to this work. When we observe whiteness, we bring the perspectives of indigenous and nonindigenous people to our critique. In sharing this experience and exchange of knowledge, not only do we draw greater understanding of the value of our differences, but we are also able to catch glimpses of the potential for a nation where such valuing would be the norm, while not being neutral. Notes 1 Romaine Moreton, 'Mask', This Callused Stick of Wanting, self-published, Sydney, 1995, p.36. 2 I am using the spelling blak as 'coined by Destiny Deacon to name her 1991 BLAK Lik MI Series': 'Blak and Blakness denote specifically indigenous Bla(c)kness; you could say that Blakness is contextual to do with being Black in Australia Aboriginality plus history'. cf. Rea quoted in Virginia Fraser, 'Dual Definitions', Visual Arts Program, Adelaide Festival, March 1996.

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3 Richard Dyer, quoted in Rebecca Aanerud, 'Fictions of Whiteness: Speaking the Names of Whiteness in US Literature', in Ruth Frankenberg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness: Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism, Duke University Press, Durham, N.C., 1997, pp.35-59, here p.36. 4 Richard Dyer, quoted in Rebecca Aanerud, 'Fictions of Whiteness: Speaking the Names of Whiteness in US Literature', in Ruth Frankenberg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness: Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism, Duke University Press, Durham, N.C., 1997, pp.35-59, here p.36. 5 Wendy Brady, 'Observing the Other', Eureka Street, January-February 1999, pp.28-30, here p.28. See also Wendy Brady, 'How many selves? True to one self, which self?', in Rea and Brook Andrew, Blak Babe(z) & Kweer Kat(z), Boomalli Aboriginal Artists Co-operative, Chippendale, Sydney, 1998. For the reference to Pratt see Mary Louise Pratt, 'Scratches on the Face of the Country, or What Mr. Barrow Saw in the Land of the Bushmen', in Henry Louis Gates, Jr (ed.), 'Race', Writing and Difference, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1986, pp.138-62, here p.144. 6 Ronald Wilson, Bringing Them Home: Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families, Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, Sydney, 1997: Confidential evidence, 210, Victoria, p.203. 7 Wilson, Bringing them Home, Confidential evidence, 681, Western Australia, p.26. 8 Dr Peter Read, in Wilson, Bringing them Home, p.40. 9 New South Wales Parliamentary Debates, 8 (3 January 1883 to 21 March 1883), p.598. 10 Quoted in a brochure on 'Abstudy', Department of Education, Training and Youth Affairs, Canberra, ACT, 1999. 11 Michelle Carey, Deconstructing Whiteness Constructing Non-indigenousness: Reconceiving White Racial Identities in Invader Societies, M.Litt. thesis, Department of Gender Studies, University of Sydney, 1998, p.5. 12 Sakej Henderson, 'Respecting indigenous World Views in Eurocentric Education', Voice of the Drum. International Summer Institute on Aboriginal Education. World Views, Policies and Programs, Brandon University, Manitoba, Canada, 1998, p.28. 13 Margaret Tucker, If Everyone Cared: Autobiography of Margaret Tucker, Grosvenor, South Melbourne, 1977, p.190. 14 Transitions 73: The White Issue (An International Review, Duke University Press and W.E.B. Du Bois Institute, Durham, N.C.), 7, 1, 1998, p.4. 15 Jamaica Kincaid, 'The Little Revenge from the Periphery', in Transitions 73: The White Issue, pp.68-73, here p.73. 16 Ruth Frankenberg, 'When We are Capable of Stopping We Begin to See: Being White, Seeing Whiteness', in Becky Thompson and Sangeeta Tyagi (eds), Names We Call Home: Autobiography on Racial Identity, Routledge, New York, 1996, pp.3-17, here p.7. 17 cf. Terry Goldie, 'The Representation of the Indigene', in Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffith and Helen Tiffin (eds), The Post-Colonial Studies Reader, Routledge, London, 1997, pp.232-36, here p.234. 18 cf. Aileen Moreton-Robinson, 'Witnessing Whiteness in the Wake of Wik', Social Alternatives, 17, 2 (April 1998), pp.11-14. 19 cf. Julie Marcus, 'The Journey Out to the Centre', in Gillian Cowlishaw and Barry Morris (eds), Race Matters, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1997, pp.29-51. 20 Goldie, 'The Representation of the Indigene', in Ashcroft, Griffith and Tiffin (eds), The Post-Colonial Studies Reader, p.234.

21 Gillian Cowlishaw and Barry Morris (eds), Race Matters, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1997, pp.1-8, here p.3. 22 Ian Anderson, 'I, the 'Hybrid' Aborigine', Australian Aboriginal Studies, 1/1997, pp.4-14, here p.11. 23 Aida Hurtado and Abigail Stewart, 'Through the Looking Glass: Implications of Studying Whiteness for Feminist Methods', in Michelle Fine, L. Powell, L. Mun Wong, and L. Weis (eds), Off White: Readings on Race, Power and Society, Routledge, New York, 1997, pp.297-311, here p.304.

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24 Frankenberg, 'When We are Capable of Stopping We Begin to See', in Thompson and Tyagi (eds), Names We Call Home, pp.15-16. 25 John Garvey and Noel Ignatiev, 'Toward a New Abolitionism: A Race Traitor', in Mike Hill (ed.), Whiteness: A Critical Reader, New York University Press, 1997, pp.346-49, here p.347. 26 Walter Benn Michaels, 'Autobiography of an ex-white man,' in Transitions 73: The White Issue (An International Review, Duke University Press and W.E.B. Du Bois Institute, Durham, N.C.), 7, 1 (1998), pp.122-43, here p.125. 27 cf. Lois Weis, Amira Proweller and Craig Centrie, 'Re-examining ''A Moment in History": Loss of Privilege Inside White Working-Class Masculinity in the 1990s', in Fine, Powell, Wong, and Weis (eds), Off White, pp.210-26. See also Phil Cohen, 'Labouring Under Whiteness,' Vron Ware, 'Island Racism: Gender, Place and White Power', and David Wellman, 'Minstrel Shows, Affirmative Action Talk, and Angry White Men: Marking Racial Otherness in the 1990's', all in Frankenberg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness, pp.244-82, pp.283-310 and pp.311-31, respectively. 28 Jackie Huggins, Kay Saunders and Isabel Tarrago, 'Following On Mother's Lines', paper presented at the conference on Women and Human Rights, Social Justice and Citizenship; International Perspectives, University of Melbourne, July 1998, and published as 'Reconciling our mothers' lives' in this volume (chapter 3). 29 Frankenberg, 'When We are Capable of Stopping We Begin to See', in Thompson and Tyagi (eds), Names We Call Home, pp.3-17, here p.8. 30 Sally Dingo, Dingo: The Story of our Mob, Random House, Sydney, 1997, p.229.

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INDEX A Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission 32 Aboriginal Land Rights Act (Northern Territory) 1976 27, 60, 62, 75 Aboriginal people arts 210 assimilation 25-26, 260-61 children, removal of 25-26, 260-61, 273-74 colour, categories of 273-74 definition 97, 274 identity 92, 97, 107, 271-72, 274, 278 land ownership, traditional 30, 75 land rights 33-34, 60, 62, 65, 126, 259, 277 languages 74, 80-81 media representation 257, 261 migration 61-63 racial equality 27 relations with non-Aboriginal people 21-23, 44, 271 reserves 42, 43, 51 as threat to white Australians 259 tribal boundaries 69-71 work 48, 51-52 Aboriginals Protection and Restriction of the Sale of Opium Act 1897 43 Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders Preservation and Protection Acts (1939-46) 51 Aborigines Protection Board 273-74 'Adventures of Identity' conference 15-18 Amato, Renato 215 Anderson, Ian 278

Ang, Ien 233 Anglo-Celtic Australians 26, 29, 31, 184, 235 Appadurai, Arjun 118 Asia economy 148, 150 national identity 150, 153 relations with Australia 146-47, 149 as a threat to Australia 146, 159-60 values 150, 168-69 see also names of specific countries Asian immigrants in Australia definition 115-16 percentage of total intake 28, 127 proportion of total population 115, 127 resentment towards 125, 126, 128 symbolic significance 117-19 see also Chinese immigrants in Australia; Taiwanese immigrants in Australia; Asians immigrants in New Zealand 179-81, 207 Asiatic Restriction Bill (1879) (N.Z.) 179 Australia British Empire, part of 159, 234 census 115, 116 colonial society 31-33, 272

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decolonisation 32-33, 270 ethnic minority literature 211-12 foreign policy 146, 148-49 immigration law 28, 121 immigration policy 28, 33, 116, 120, 123-25, 132, 146 international relations 146, 148-49 literature 209-12 national identity 158-59, 183, 219, 231-38, 277 post-colonial society 31-33 relations with Asia 146-47, 149, 159 B Bahrin, Raja 160-69 Basch, Linda 139 Batistich, Amelia 203-16 Bauman, Zygmunt 213 Berry, Chris 152 Bhabha, Homi 14 Bible 9, 64, 66-67 biculturalism, New Zealand 181-87, 206-207 Blainey, Geoffrey 28, 124 Bone, Pamela 164-65 Bottomley, Gillian 183, 184, 187 boundaries, social and cultural 177-78, 185-88, 271 Bourdieu, Pierre 90 Boyarin, Daniel and Jonathan 14 Britain, as motherland 9, 32, 232, 275 British immigrants in Australia 22-24 in New Zealand 178-81

Buci-Glucksmann, Christine 124 Business Migration Program 132, 133 C Campbell, David 145 Canaanites 8-9, 72-73 Carlson, Dennis 245 Carroll, Matt 161-62 Carter, David 209 Castells, Manuel 168 Chambers, Iain 231 Chan, Angela 22 child abduction 160-69 Chinese Community Cultural Centre (Melbourne) 137-38 Chinese immigrants in Australia 22-25, 119, 135, 139 see also Asian immigrants in Australia; Taiwanese immigrants in Australia in New Zealand 180 Chinese Immigrants Act 1881 (N.Z.) 179 Chua Beng Huat 150 Clifford, James 14 Cochrane, Peter 232 Couani, Anna 210 Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation 39, 58 Crapanzano, Vincent 83 Crouch, Harold 163-64 cultural diversity 29, 121, 124, 128, 243-45, 248-50, 270 Cummins (surveyor) 71-72 Curthoys, Ann 9, 73, 126, 262 D Daley, Arthur 42-44 Daley, Topsy 42, 44, 48, 54-55

Dalmatian immigrants in New Zealand 204-205 D'Alpuget, Blanche 161 Dalrymple, David 62 Daly River 67-68 Danish immigrants in New Zealand 205-206 Davidson, Alastair 233 Davidson, Alistair 128 Demidenko, Helen 98 diaspora 14-15 Dingo, Sally 280 Djerait people 70-71 Docker, John 30 Doment, Alfred 179 Duchess (Queensland) 42, 44 Duff, Alan 208 Duff, Catherine 44, 45 Duff, Elizabeth 44 du Fresne, Yvonne 203-208, 210-16 Durack, Mary 99-101, 106, 109 Dyer, Richard 258, 265, 271 E Elley, Joy 185 'Embassy' (television series) 161, 165 Emmerson, Donald 169 Englander, Catherine (née Duff) 44-47 Englander, Oswald 46-47 Enstice, Andrew 119 Enzensberger, Hans Magnus 12-13, 109 European immigrants in Australia 26, 27-28 in New Zealand 180, 207

Europeans as colonisers 10-11 influence on New World 10 as victims 11 Evans, Erin 40-41, 55 Evans, Gareth 147 Evans, Raymond 30, 121

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Exodus, Book of (Old Testament) 8-9, 73 F Fairclough, Norman 258 family, patriarchal 168-69 fathers' rights 167-69 feminists, attitudes to race 241 Filipina women 151-52 Finniss River Land Claim 61, 65, 72 Fonseca, Isabel 203 Frankenberg, Ruth 241, 245, 248, 276-77, 279-80 Freeman, Cathy 261 Freeman, Gary 120 freemasonry 69 Fuemana, Pauly 222-23 'Future of Australian Multiculturalism' conference 21-22 G Gadamer, Hans-Georg 182 Gee, Maurice 190, 192-201 Geertz, Clifford 83 Gelder, Ken 32, 70 gender in foreign policy 148-49 in industrial relations 148-49 and nation 151 in tertiary curricula 242-43 German immigrants in Australia 24 Gilbert, Susan 212 Gillespie, Jacqueline 160-69 Gilroy, Paul 14

globalisation 117-18, 123, 147, 149, 234 goldfields 23, 42, 45, 80 Goldie, Terry 277 Gordon, Michael 262, 264 Goyder, G.W. 63-64, 66, 75-76 Grace, Patricia 208 graffiti 84-92 Gray, Geoffrey 256 Green, Ian 74 Greenlees, Don 264 Gubar, Sandra 212 Gunew, Sneja 30, 206, 209, 211-12 H Hage, Ghassan 31, 125, 256 Hall, Stuart 237-38, 257, 258 Han, Jongwoo 153 Hannerz, Ulf 159 Hanson, Pauline immigration policy 21, 31, 117-18, 122, 124-26 indigenous policy 21, 31, 34, 118, 126, 237 media representation 256-66 racism 98, 116-22 Harris, Tom 82-83 Hawke, Robert 161 Heavenly Creatures (film) 221-22 Henderson, Sakej 275 Hickman, Belinda 262, 264 Hilder, Catherine 40-41 Hodge, Bob 30 Holt, Albert 47 Holt, Harold 27

Holt, Rita see Huggins, Rita (née Holt) Howard, John 122, 124, 265, 266 Hua-Qiao (overseas Chinese) 134-35, 137-40 Huggins, Jack 52-53 Huggins, Jackie 40-41, 47-48 Huggins, Rita (née Holt) 40, 42-43, 47, 50, 52-53, 55 Hurtado, Aida 278 hybrid identity 13-14, 178, 182-87 I identity Aboriginal 86, 92, 97, 107, 271-72, 274 Australian 158-59, 183, 219, 231-38, 241, 246-48, 277 deconstruction 279 hybrid identity 13-14, 178, 182-87 individual 4-6 Maori people 186-87 national 6 new Zealand 184, 190-201, 218-27 racial 278, 279 Immigration Act 1987 (NZ) 181 Immigration Amendment Bill (1920) (NZ) 180 immigration policy, Australia economic factors 33, 120, 132 non-racial 116, 146 public opinion 123-24 racially based 28, 120, 123, 125 Immigration Reform Group 27, 123 Immigration Restriction Act 1901 (Aust) 24, 120 Indian diasporas 13-14 indigenous people see Aboriginal people; Maori people international relations 144-46

Islam 162-69 Israelites 8, 64, 66-67, 73 J Jacobs, Jane 32, 70 Jakubowicz, Andrew 256 Jesuit missions 67-69

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Jews 10 Johnson, Carol 262 Johnson, Colin (later Mudrooroo) 95-109 Jones, Lawrence 214 Joshua, Book of (Old Testament) 64, 72 Jupp, James 120 K Keating, Paul 120, 147, 158, 234 Kefala, Antigone 209 Kelly, Paul 123 kidnappings by foreign-born parents 160-69 King, Michael 182 Kiwis 224-26 Koch, Christopher 232 Korean War 146 Kristen, A. 67-69 Kukathas, Chandran 182-83 Kungarakayn people 61, 70, 73, 75 L Lafitte, Gabriel 147 Lajamanu 79-83 Lajamanu School, bilingual education program 80-81 Land Councils 32 Land Rights Act (1976) (Aust) see Aboriginal Land Rights Act (1976) Langford, Ruby 110 Lawless, Lucy 220, 226-27 Lawrence, Peter 123 Lawson, Alan 193 Layton, Robert 72

Lechte, John 183, 184 Lee Kuan Yew 150 Leong, Hou 233-34 Lewis, Martin 116 Ling, Lily 153 Longley, Kateryna 30, 211 M Mabo decision 30, 256, 257, 259 Mackay, Hugh 184, 262 Mackie, Jamie 123 Mahathir Mohamad 150, 159, 161, 168-69 'mail-order brides' 152, 154 Malaysia 160-69 Malouf, David 89 Mandarin Association 136 Manne, Robert 33 Maori people identity 186-87 Maori-Pakeha relationships 181-82 politics 206 maps 69-71 Maranunga 71-72 Markus, Andrew 185 Marranunggu people 61-63, 70-71, 73-76 Martin, Jean 28, 31 Martin, Ray 167 Matthews, Gordon 98-99, 102, 108 McGregor, Adrian 265 McLauchlan, Gordon 194 Menzies, RG 27 Michaels, Walter Benn 278

migrant writers 30, 209-12, 214-15 Millard, Theresa 32 Mishra, Vijay 13-14, 30 missionaries 67-69 Monkman, Leslie 196 Moriarty, John 260 Moses 64 Mudrooroo (formerly Colin Johnson) 95-109 Muecke, Stephen 260 Müller, Heiner 103 multiculturalism Australia 21-22, 28, 34, 116, 128, 135, 182-87, 233, 236 New Zealand 181-82, 204, 206, 210-11 Muslims 10 N nation-state 10, 12, 144, 145 New, William H 215 'new' Australians 26 New Race Abolitionists 277-78 New Zealand arts 208 census 191 colonial society 218-27 ethnic minorities 181, 206, 207, 208 ethnic minority literature 214 films 221-22 immigration 178-81 literature 190, 192-201, 203-16 music groups 223-24 music videos 222-23 national identity 190-201, 218-27

television 224-26 Nicholls, Christine 79-83 Nikora, Linda 182 Northern Land Council 62-63 Northern Territory population 68 surveys 63-65 Nossal, Sir Gustav 39, 57

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O Olney, Justice 62 Once Were Warriors (film) 221-22 One Nation Party anti-Aboriginal sentiment 31, 118 anti-Asian sentiment 31, 116, 118, 160, 184 family law 168, 184 immigration policy 122, 125 media representation 257 racial identity 279 Oodgeroo (formerly Kath Walker) 95 orientalism 29-30 Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission 133 P Pacific Islander immigrants in New Zealand 180, 207 Pakeha identity 184, 190-201, 207 Maori-Pakeha relationship 181-82 Palestinians 8 palimpsest model 212-13 Perrett, Roy 186 Piano, The (film) 221-22 Polynesian culture 223 post-colonial theory 11-13 post-modernity 177, 187 Prasad, Rajen 191, 207 Pratt, Mary Louise 271-72 R race

attitudes to 241, 252-53, 257 as form of identification 272-73 in tertiary curricula 242-43 racism colonial 23-24 feminist relationship to 250-52 inverse 97 media, role of the 258, 265-66 opposition to 26-27, 245-48 Raja Bahrin-Gillespie custody dispute 160-69 Ramsey, Andrew 261 Read, Peter 31, 273-74 reconciliation 6, 57-58 refugees, Vietnamese 28, 123 remnant theory 67, 69, 75 Reynolds, Henry 257 Ridge, Mathew 225, 226 Ritchie, John 182 Rolls, Eric 128 Rose, Deborah Bird 9, 87 Rothwell, Nicolas 262, 263 Ruddock, Philip 127 Rushdie, Salman 13-14, 203 Rutenberg, Dick 100, 101 S Said, Edward 8, 29-30 Sargent, Max 65-66 Saunders, Kay 40-43, 44-47, 55-57 Schwartz, Regina 9, 73 Schwass, Margot 214 Scott, James 59, 65, 69

Sen, Krishna 153 sex tourism 151, 154 sex workers 151-52 Shadbolt, Maurice 215 Shanahan, Dennis 264 Sharp, Andrew 181 Sheridan, Greg 158 Shoemaker, Adam 100, 101, 102 Shohat, Ella 8, 10, 11-12 Simmel, Georg 177 Slemon, Stephen 196 Stanner, WEH 72 Stapleton, John 264 Stivens, Maila 153 Stratton, Jon 116, 256 Stuart, Abigail 278 Sutton, Peter 61-62 T Tai-Qiao (overseas Taiwanese) 135 Taiwan ethnography 136 politics 134-35 Taiwanese Association 136-37 Taiwanese immigrants in Australia 'astronaut' mode of migration 133 commitment to Australia 133, 139 immigrant organisations 136-38 motivation for migration 132 politics 136 population in Australia 132 Taiwanese School (Melbourne) 138

Tarrago, Isabel 40, 43-44 Taylor, Charles 4-7 Thakur, Ramesh 207 Thomas, David 182 Tindale, Norman 47, 69-71 Toohey, Justice 62, 75 Trainor, Luke 120 tribes, lost 66, 67 Tucker, Margaret 276 Turkish immigrants in Australia 185 Turtle Beach (film) 161-62, 165 U United States of America ally of Australia 146 British colonialism, victims of 8 foreign policy 145

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military engagements in Asia 146 race power 276 university curricula 242 V van Dijk, Teun 257 Vietnamese refugees 28, 123 Vietnam War 146 violence, ethnic 12-13 Viviani, Nancy 124, 234, 236 Vizenor, Gerald 106, 107 W Wagait dispute 60-63, 73-76 Walker, Kath (later Oodgeroo) 95 Walker, Ranganui 206 Walsh, Elizabeth 40, 42-45, 47, 48-51, 55 Walsh, Peter 44 Warlpiri people graffiti 84-92 kinship identity 86, 92 Lajamanu settlement 79-80 yawulyu ceremonies 81 Warrai people 61 Waten, Judah 209, 211-12 Waters, Mary 247 Webb, Janeen 119 Wells, Peter 65 Western society 7 Wever, Lydia 214 White Australia 119-25, 256

white Australians identity 231-38, 241, 246-48, 271-73, 279 relations with Aboriginal people 21-23, 44, 270-71 as victims 9, 33 White Australia Policy abolition 27, 28, 116, 120, 123-24 claim of symbolic ownership 125 introduction 24, 120, 146 morals of 121-22 and One Nation Party 184 whiteness, definition 271, 276-77 White New Zealand Policy 179-80 Wigen, Kären 116 Wik decision 30, 237, 257, 259 Williams, Mark 196, 200 Williams, Nancy 72 Winter, Christine 256 women in Asia 151-52 Islamic 163-64 and the state 151 'Women and Human Rights, Social Justice and Citizenship' international conference 39 writers, migrant 30, 209-12, 214-15 X Xena, the Warrior Princess 218, 226-27 Y Yang, William 233 Yeatman, Anna 206 Young, Iris 237 Young, Lola 258

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