Excerpt: This work appraises settler-colonial Australia’s strategic contribution to the transnational political traditions of what James Belich (2009) seminally called the global ‘settler revolution’. Specifically, this paper discusses settler Australia’s self-appointed role as sociopolitical ‘laboratory’ during the early decades of the twentieth century, after the settler revolution had entered a period of crisis elsewhere. The federal Commonwealth took this role seriously. The Torrens title, a mode of registering and transferring real estate that systematically erases all traces of prior ownership, the ‘Australian ballot’, identifying a specific settler-colonial form of democratic governance impervious to ‘Old World’ patronage, the constitutionally enshrined exclusion of Indigenous and exogenous alterities through the White Australia policy, and the Court of Arbitration were all institutional devices tested in Australia before being exported elsewhere. A cluster of interlocking political experiments, some older, some more recent, would coalesce in what Paul Kelly in another seminal intervention defined as the ‘Australian Settlement’ (1992). The Australian imperial nationalists loudly lamented the ‘Tyranny of Distance’ (see Blainey 1966), but in crucial ways ‘Australia’ was imagined as a globally relevant laboratory of sociopolitical experimentation precisely because of its assumed isolation. There is no laboratory without a controlled environment.


Abstract: Memorialisation in settler-colonial nations such as Australia is intensely political. It creates public symbols of people and events those in authority consider important and worthy of remembrance. Counternarratives of various marginalised others are silenced through processes of collective forgetting. In Australia, this forgetting has meant that colonial histories of exploration and discovery have been commemorated through ubiquitous explorer memorials. But these memorials represent a very selective account of settler-colonial history firmly based in the colonial fiction of terra nullius or empty land used to justify the British claim to Australia. This fiction is now being actively countered by social protests focused on memorials to explorers and colonial administrators. Furthermore, a trend to memorialise and commemorate the massacres of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as part of the colonisation process is overturning the myth that Australia was peacefully settled. In fact, truth-speaking is now recognised by Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians as an integral part of the reconciliation process. However, the truths spoken as part of the shared memorialisation of Aboriginal massacre sites by the Australian reconciliation movement are only partial, and may serve to perpetuate rather than interrupt what has historically been a resounding silence about colonial dispossession and violence.









Description: The concept of settler colonialism offers an invaluable lens to reframe early westerns and travel pictures as re-enactments of the United States’ repressed past. Westerns in particular propose a remarkable vision of white settlers’ westward expansion that reveals a transformation in what “American Progress” came to mean. Initially, these films tracked settlers moving westward across the Appalachians, Great Plains, and Rockies. Their seizure of “empty land” provoked continual resistance from Indigenous peoples and Mexicans; “pioneers” suffered extreme hardships, but heroic male figures usually scattered or wiped out those “aliens.” Some films indulged in nostalgic empathy for the Indian as a “Vanishing American.” In the early 1910s, westerns became increasingly popular. In Indian pictures, Native Americans ranged from devious savages, victims of white violence, and “Noble Savages” to “in-between” figures caught between cultures and “mixed-descent peoples” partnered for security or advantage. Mexicans took positions across a similar spectrum. In cowboy and cowgirl films, “ordinary” whites became heroes and heroines fighting outlaws; and bandits like Broncho Billy underwent transformation into “good badmen.” The mid to late 1910s saw a shift, as Indian pictures and cowgirl films faded and male figures, embodied by movie stars, dominated popular series. In different ways, William S. Hart and Harry Carey reinvented the “good badman” as a stoic, if troubled, figure of white masculinity. In cowboy films of comic romance, Tom Mix engaged in dangerous stunts and donned costumes that made him a fashionable icon. In parodies, Douglas Fairbanks subverted the myth of “American Progress,” sporting a nonchalant grin of effortless self-confidence. Nearly all of their films assumed firmly settled white communities, rarely threatened by Indians or Mexicans. Masked as “Manifest Destiny,” the expropriation of the West seemed settled once and for all. Our Country/Whose Country? offers a rich and expansive examination of the significance of early westerns and travel pictures in the ideological foundations of “our country”.