Of course, when polite society talks of inherited guilt, it no longer refers to Matthew 27: 25 (“Let his blood be upon us, and on our children”). These days a Jewish blood curse, imposed for the crimes of the high priest Caiaphas, isn’t congenial to liberal sensibility. But this is no principled stance against guilt by ancestry.
For it’s OK in such circles to describe a far greater crime, the awesome genocidal catastrophe of Australia’s European colonisation, using the same logic. Like the Sanhedrin, certain historical figures - colonial governors, the NSW Corps, pastoralists, “gentleman settlers”, magistrates, Chief Protectors and miners - may have done the deed itself. But moral blameworthiness is somehow delinked from causal responsibility, then transferred across generations. A metaphysical guilt taints each descendant of ‘white aggression and racism’ for ‘what he or she has done to others’. On Sorry Day, and in Sorry Books, non-Indigenous people are invited to imagine themseves as ”white”, then express contrition for the past behaviour of fellow “white people”.
Of course, the völkisch basis of inherited responsibility may be downplayed. For the ANU historian Ann Curthoys, non-Indigenous Australians bear guilt as ‘the beneficiaries of the colonisation process’. But cui bono? is, to say the least, an unorthodox way to determine moral responsibility (I’ve been pointed to the awful Susan Brownmiller as a rare proponent). And quite how the entire non-Indigenous population – rather than some small subset of it - has benefited from the death and dispossession of others is left unargued. Like the children’s messages scrawled in the Sorry Book above, Curthoys’s portrayal obscures the actual causal process of settler colonialism. The Australian genocide, in its initial high-impact decades, involved the British state assuming radical title, then distributing land to graziers and farmers, an expropriation that often required the application of violence, interweaved with disastrous smallpox epidemics. By scattering historical focus away from these propertyholders and state elites, and towards a putative “white people”, Curthoys’s account harmlessly distributes the guilt of perpetrators across time, till both all and none are to blame.
It does, however, helpfully proclaim that the “black armband” and “white blindfold” people are two sides of the same coin. For both groups, the central problem of Australian historiography is the moral status of “white” people:
Looked at more closely, the contest over the past is perhaps not between positive and negative versions, but between those which place white Australians as victims, struggling heroically against adversity, and those which place them as aggressors and perpretrators, bringing adversity upon others.
Curthoys’s predictable stance is that both positions are, in a sense, true: at least both are “narratives, stories about the past which make sense to those who tell and receive them.” A more useful response, surely, is that both versions are false.
Tags: Aboriginal Australians, nationalism, postmodernism, Sorry Day
May 31, 2010 at 3:22 pm |
I agree with you on certain points (particularly this: “By scattering historical focus away from these propertyholders and state elites, and towards a putative “white people”, Curthoys’s account harmlessly distributes the guilt of perpetrators across time, till both all and none are to blame”), but on the whole I disagree. The biggest problem is that I think you’re setting up a bit of a straw man of Sorry Day (“non-Indigenous people are invited to imagine themseves as ‘white’,” – invited? By who?). Anyway, here are a few disconnected points.
1. I’m not sure if you’re suggesting that settler Australia as a whole hasn’t benefited from the dispossession of the Indigenous population. Whether or not this requires guilt is another question, but from your comments above it seems like you doubt it at all, which is surprising to say the least.
2. More important than the debate around settler benefit is the non-debate over Indigenous disadvantage. Sorry Day refers to the Stolen Generation specifically, but in practice it refers, as I think you assume in this post, to the general disadvantage and hardship inflicted upon the Indigenous population of Australia. These are not just particular events that occurred before we were born or even before our parents or grandparents were born, but refers to a system of colonisation which is still being felt in very real ways by the Indigenous community today. The most relevant point of Sorry Day is not to commemorate past atrocities but to point out that over two hundred years after the first fleet, Aboriginal people are still systematically disadvantaged.
3. Do you think the government should have apologised as they did? There is a distinction there between a government apologising and a nation apologising; I wonder what you make of it.
4. ‘Sorry’ does not always imply guilt. In its many different connotations for Sorry Day, I believe one of the strongest is mirrored in one of the Sorry Book quotes you display above: “I’m so sorry for your suffering.” Sorry Day is at its most potent when the feelings it encourages are empathy and sympathy, rather than guilt, pity or personal culpability. And I think that is one of the crucial reasons for Sorry Day’s existence, as so many Australians are still so absurdly misinformed not only about the history of colonisation of Australia but the current circumstances in which you find yourself if you are happened to be born with Indigenous heritage. This misinformation – fuelled as it was by John Howard’s stubborn attachment to the notion that ‘we’ in the present are not responsible for past actions – is surely one of the biggest causes in the persistence of such disadvantage.
May 31, 2010 at 10:55 pm |
I agree with Daniel’s comments. For me Sorry Day is about acknowledgement of the past. About admittting and accepting that the Stolen Generations and other past injudices were committed, and in acknowledging them taking a step forward in resolving resulting issues. I don’t see it as an issue of responsibility and guilt so much as admmittance of it occuring, and that it was not a positive thing.
June 1, 2010 at 5:16 am |
Thanks for the comments, guys. Zoe seems to agree with Dan’s point 4, so I’ll start from that and work backwards.
I’m in favour of expressions of empathy and commiseration. Maybe I’m confused, but I seem to remember that even Howard, without an inch of goodwill, eventually submitted to that – something like “sincere and deep regret”. But I’m less interested in what the creators of Sorry Day intended it officially to mean, than I am in what it turns out to mean for people generally. And it seems impossible to deny that “sorry that X occurred” often slides into “sorry for doing X.” This is no misrepresentation of mine. Keep in mind that the people running the Sorry Book website have chosen the above messages as somehow exemplary. The misunderstanding of these children (that Sorry Day involves “white people” apologising for “what we did to black/brown people”) is not fortuitous or accidental. Similarly, it’s not through ignorance or innocent error that children at Anzac Day commemorations always speak of the AIF having fought for democracy and freedom. Who “invites” them to do so?
I have no problem with state apologies, though given the NT Intervention, the verboten subject of reparations, and the rest, one must wonder at its sincerity or utility.
The remedying of present-day disadvantage (a weasel term, you’ll agree!) is, it seems to me, not very well served by Sorry Day, at least not a Sorry Day where participants use the terms of racial collective responsibility. And it will be difficult to stop ordinary people using these terms to understand the past while historians continue gleefully to do so. On the other hand, compassion seems worthwhile if politically not that useful. But I certainly wouldn’t want to argue against it. I’m well aware that the genocidal effects of colonialism don’t all lie in the past, but don’t think the structural position of Indigenous people in contemporary Australia is well captured by the idea that Aborigines constitute an internal colony. Australia isn’t an ongoing, active settler colonialism like Israel.
The question of “benefit” from colonisation is hopelessly difficult, and not at all useful in understanding, describing or overcoming the effects of colonisation. If it’s not taken as a mere metaphor, then any criteria you impose on the list of beneficiaries will rapidly be shown to be arbitrary. If a woman of Irish ancestry doing backyard piecework in 1880s Melbourne can be said to have benefited, then so may the Chinese, Indian and South-Sea Islander families receiving remittances from diasporic coolies, goldminers or plantation workers. If displaced people emigrating from postwar Europe can be said to have benefited, why not a contemporary Mexican drinking soft drink from a cheaply-purchased aluminium can manufactured from Australian-mined bauxite? No, if the history of neoclassical economics teaches us anything, it’s that utility as a theoretical concept should be marked “wrong way: go back!” Better to stick with rigorous questions: like who expropriated whom, who got the surplus product, who brought the smallpox (a controversial topic!), who took the children, who opened the missions and who fired the guns. And in all cases, “settlers” or “white people” is not a correct or useful answer.
June 1, 2010 at 6:32 am |
Hello all, I’ve found reading this most interesting, perhaps mostly because I’ve been doing research recently into the history of land use in the Geelong area, trying to go back as far as possible to the earliest European landowners. Of course, I haven’t written a thing in my reports about colonisation or Indigenous occupation, for this is not what the clients are after and I’m not an archaeologist. But I must admit it has rankled with me a little as I read about the these pastoral pioneers’ barley growing and sheep rearing, that I’m not getting the full picture about the real history of the land.
Anyway, I think I need to read this a few more times to get a proper grasp of your argument, Nick (you know how my simpler brain struggles to understand all your smartness and stuff). But a couple of things that have struck me:
1. Not only is compassion worthwhile, Nick, it is crucially important. You say that compassion is not politically that useful. I say that compassion for the situation of Indigenous people, combined with proper understanding of our past and how we have come to this, is the only way that political change will occur with any positive effect. Guilt is certainly in no way helpful, and doesn’t make sense, and it is frustrating to see children picking up such a message, but at least we’re getting somewhere don’t you think? At least those kids have learned something about the history of this country and the reason for Indigenous disadvantage – at least they have developed some understanding and compassion. Though it may be misguided and we obviously have far to go as a nation (understatement), I think it is encouraging to see such a development.
2. Your final paragraph referring to Ann Curthoys: I was wondering if you could explain further what you mean about both versions being false. If you argue that the more useful response is that neither is completely true and therefore they are both false, it then seems to me that you are arguing it is useless to search for any historical truth at all – unless you find the WHOLE truth. But perhaps I’ve misunderstood. I do tend to get rather unnaturally excited at debates over historical truth
June 1, 2010 at 7:13 am |
Hey, Fi. I say that compassion is unlikely to be politically useful because I can think of no historical example where compassion (by some people for another) has produced any kind of progressive political change. Change may occur, though, when people become aware of common interests, whereupon they have an incentive to fight together for a goal. It’s recognition of that common interest, rather than compassion per se, that I think should be fostered. (Note that I’m only speaking of a political arithmetic here: compassion does have other values. I think it’s a Good Thing that, since the 1970s, academic historiography has dealt with this stuff, and that kids get taught the horror of Australian colonisation).
As for the last paragraph from the post: it’s not that I think either version is a little-bit true. They’re both wholly false, as is any Volkgeschichte (history of the race). In general I’m a philosophical realist, and strongly opposed to postmodernism and epistemological relativism, so I believe some versions of history are more true than others. It is possible asymptotically to approach the WHOLE truth by eliminating error, but impossible to reach it.
June 1, 2010 at 1:10 pm |
This is where I wish wordpress would allow me to quote comments in my response. This could get unwieldy!
Maybe I’m confused, but I seem to remember that even Howard, without an inch of goodwill, eventually submitted to that – something like “sincere and deep regret”.
Yes, but that was in his position as Prime Minister, which was a wishy-washy position from my point-of-view, as the government is the only body that can effectively actually apologise for deeds done rather than to express sympathy (which of course as you point out, was not really sympathy at all).
And it seems impossible to deny that “sorry that X occurred” often slides into “sorry for doing X.”
Yes. But I still think you’re giving too much weight to the idea of Sorry Day as being one of collective white guilt. This is not what it is for me, and I do not believe I’m isolated in that view.
Better to stick with rigorous questions: like who expropriated whom, who got the surplus product, who brought the smallpox (a controversial topic!), who took the children, who opened the missions and who fired the guns. And in all cases, “settlers” or “white people” is not a correct or useful answer.
This is a pretty simplistic and narrow view of what actually occurred. The nature of racism and colonialism are such that overt actions of aggression and oppression are rarely the most common expressions. These are insidious forces that do not often find themselves being controlled by such easy and definable targets as state protectors and heads of the Rum Corps. It is not as simple to charge the proponents of colonialism as it is to put violators of war crimes on trial. These are modes of discourse, of thinking, of ideology that are widespread and far-reaching. You can find them both in religious organisations and religious individuals; both in mandatory detention laws and in individual policemen in the Northern Territory; both in systems of education and in educators; both in football commentators who claim Indigenous footballers are “magic” and the forces which dictate that the only career path open to many young Indigenous boys is to kick a football around.
Once we have tracked down all the individuals who fired the guns, so to speak, does the systemic exclusion, oppression and disenfranchisement of Indigenous people stop? In the case of colonial and racist attitudes, self-perpetuating systems which often infect the minds of those it seeks to oppress, the question of “who” very quickly becomes unhelpful.
I can think of no historical example where compassion (by some people for another) has produced any kind of progressive political change.
I’m not sure if this is the sense of political change that you’re using, but wouldn’t you say an organisation like Amnesty International uses compassion pretty much as its political bread and butter? How else do they assemble such huge letter-writing campaigns (which do achieve some sort of tangible change – like freeing political prisoners or changing laws)? Because the letter writers feel they have a common interest?
In general I’m a philosophical realist, and strongly opposed to postmodernism and epistemological relativism, so I believe some versions of history are more true than others.
I don’t necessarily think that postmodernism disallows the notion that some versions of history are more true than others. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and get my can opener for this batch of worms that recently arrived…
June 1, 2010 at 1:52 pm |
I still think you’re giving too much weight to the idea of Sorry Day as being one of collective white guilt. This is not what it is for me, and I do not believe I’m isolated in that view.
Of course you’re not isolated, as I’ve already admitted. But you can’t simply ignore that other idea, or pretend it’s unrelated.
The nature of racism and colonialism are such that overt actions of aggression and oppression are rarely the most common expressions. These are insidious forces that do not often find themselves being controlled by such easy and definable targets as state protectors and heads of the Rum Corps. It is not as simple to charge the proponents of colonialism as it is to put violators of war crimes on trial.
As I’ve already suggested, the most damaging aspects of Australian settler colonialism was not overt violence – it was the expropriation of land, its distribution to graziers and their setting up of pastoral production that was most disruptive to Indigenous societies. Neither that, nor smallpox, which was responsible for most of the deaths, is very visible. These were long-term structural processes which involved changing the forms of subsistence available to Aboriginal people, behind their backs as it were. These processes did not have names or faces. Nonetheless we can reliably point to them as causes.
Once we have tracked down all the individuals who fired the guns, so to speak, does the systemic exclusion, oppression and disenfranchisement of Indigenous people stop? In the case of colonial and racist attitudes, self-perpetuating systems which often infect the minds of those it seeks to oppress, the question of “who” very quickly becomes unhelpful.
I am eager to ignore the “who” and understand the history as a “process without a subject”, as the saying goes. It is those who I criticise who’ve invented the imaginary agent, “white people”, who must bear moral culpability. Yes, I’ve pointed to the historical figures who seem to have causal responsibility, but only with the aim of identifying the social forces and broader processes they respresent.
I’m not sure if this is the sense of political change that you’re using, but wouldn’t you say an organisation like Amnesty International uses compassion pretty much as its political bread and butter?
You probably wouldn’t like to hear my view about that sort of thing :p
I don’t necessarily think that postmodernism disallows the notion that some versions of history are more true than others.
Of course, there are many breeds and creeds of postmodernist. I was referring broadly to Foucault’s argument that truth (at any given moment) is the outcome of a balance of social forces, for which view it is impossible to talk about a gradation of truth.
June 2, 2010 at 2:20 am |
Also, in response to this:
This is a pretty simplistic and narrow view of what actually occurred. The nature of racism and colonialism are such that overt actions of aggression and oppression are rarely the most common expressions. These are insidious forces that do not often find themselves being controlled by such easy and definable targets as state protectors and heads of the Rum Corps. It is not as simple to charge the proponents of colonialism as it is to put violators of war crimes on trial. These are modes of discourse, of thinking, of ideology that are widespread and far-reaching. You can find them both in religious organisations and religious individuals; both in mandatory detention laws and in individual policemen in the Northern Territory; both in systems of education and in educators; both in football commentators who claim Indigenous footballers are “magic” and the forces which dictate that the only career path open to many young Indigenous boys is to kick a football around.
Our point of contention wasn’t whether the effects of colonialism/racism were diffuse and included modes of speech, everyday behaviour and attitudes. That fact is plainly true. The question was whether we could talk effectively of “who benefits?” I believe I demonstrated in my next-to-last post that we couldn’t.
Perhaps you’re suggesting that anyone who, say, uses racist turns of phrase or practises so-called “microagression”, is benefiting somehow? This can only be a metaphorical usage.
At any rate, I will point to what I think is the Foucauldian provenance of this thinking. It seems to go something like this (forgive me if I’m misrepresenting):
(1) The effects of racism/dispossession/marginalisation are dispersed throughout the society, penetrating even stuff like football commentary.
(2) Because it shapes people’s vocabulary and everybody behaviour, racism/dispossession/marginalisation forms part of their very self-identity.
(3)Because racism/dispossession/marginalisation is therefore “performed” and reiterated by almost everyone as part of their social existence, it cannot be localised in any particular social forces.
In contrast, I think the situation of Indigenous Australians is a glaring illustration of the inadequacy of this thinking. Power radiates out from certain points (the state and propertyholders) and is applied at certain concentrated points, where the people are oppressed.
June 3, 2010 at 2:35 pm |
Just marking that I’m definitely coming back to this, I’m just snowed in marking at the moment, and have had quite enough of dissecting arguments as a result!
June 13, 2010 at 2:45 pm |
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