Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Demolitions in the Joh era

To continue my posts of iconic buildings of Brisbane's history, here is an essay written in 2007 on the demolition of buildings during Joh Bjelke-Petersen's reign as premier. I have provided endnotes throughout, and a full reference list will be provided with the final post.

Part 1 of 3
‘All we leave behind is the memories’(1): Demolitions and political protests in the era of Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen

I was born in Penrith, west of Sydney, in 1982. In 1990, my family moved to Bundaberg to start a new life. Although I was only eight years old, it didn’t take me long to realise that many of country Queensland’s inhabitants were right-wing National or Liberal supporters. I vividly remember Dad’s argument on the front lawn with Toby, the neighbour from across the street. Toby thought that John Hewson and his proposed GST were a great idea. He was trying to convince my father, who was unemployed due to low job availability in a country town and was looking after a wife and two kids, that the GST would somehow be of benefit to our family. Toby had one of those ‘I fish and I vote’ stickers slapped on the rear end of his station wagon.

I had heard the name ‘Joh’ muttered by locals on several occasions — usually coupled with adoration for the man. I had very little idea of who he was, and I certainly wasn’t aware that in the same year as my birth, he had been involved with the demolition of Cloudland Ballroom, some four hours away in Brisbane. Once I had moved to Brisbane and, perhaps more significantly, begun to associate with the arts community, my eyes became fully open when it came to Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen and his ‘midnight demolitions’.

Johannes Bjelke-Petersen became the ‘accidental’ Premier of Queensland when Jack Pizzey, then Premier and leader of the Country Party, dropped dead of a heart attack in 1968, aged 57. Also 57, Bjelke-Petersen had been described as ‘a representative of the younger generation of Country Party Ministers’, and was elected unopposed as their leader. He was also Queensland’s Police Minister.(2)

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

It didn’t take Bjelke-Petersen long to settle into his role as rogue dictator. Not a supporter of political protests, on 14 July 1971 he declared a month-long State of Emergency to coincide with the visit to Queensland of the all-white South African Rugby team, the Springboks. The aim of this State of Emergency was to prevent the game, to be held on 24 July, from being disrupted by anti-apartheid protests. Three hundred peaceful demonstrators were met with an equal number of police officers as a result — with the only violence seemingly stemming from the police force.(3)

Not only did Bjelke-Petersen’s ‘quest for autonomy’(4) apply to public protests and street marches, it also carried over into business. In 1985, with regards to the striking South East Queensland Electricity Board (SEQEB) employees, the Premier proved ‘how little input cabinet had in the decision-making process’(5) when he declared that ‘you have to override the people for their own good’.(6) The SEQEB dispute began when the government introduced contract labour; the Electrical Trades Union responded with mass strikes, which resulted in blackouts affecting all of Brisbane and much of south-east Queensland. A State of Emergency was once again declared, and eventually Bjelke-Petersen approved the sacking of 900 workers and stripped them of their superannuation entitlements. The sacked workers were subsequently replaced with non-union workers who were required to sign no-strike clauses.(7)

Despite the constant allegations of corruption, Bjelke-Petersen was re-elected seven times as Queensland’s Premier. The corruption of the government was repeatedly denied, and instead the public were told about the state’s booming economy.(8) Around the same time that Bjelke-Petersen set his sights on the Prime Ministership, the Fitzgerald Inquiry was launched. The inquiry was in response to a series of news articles about high-level police corruption. A number of politicians were charged, and Bjelke-Petersen eventually resigned on 1 December 1987 after unsuccessfully attempting to sack his ministers when they voted to dismiss him.(9) He was charged with perjury, and his trial resulted in a hung jury. (It was later revealed that the jury foreman was the leader of the Queensland National Party’s youth wing.)

Of course, Sir Joh was most notoriously known for authorising the demolition of some sixty city buildings during his time as Premier. These were not just any old buildings — most of them were significant buildings of Brisbane’s heritage.(10) As a result, Brisbane soon became known as ‘the demolition capital of Australia’.(11)

Of all the buildings demolished between the mid 1970s and late 1980s, two stick in the minds of people more than the others — the Bellevue Hotel and Cloudland Ballroom. The Bellevue was located on the corner of George and Alice Streets in the city centre, and was the temporary home for out-of-town parliamentarians.(12) Until just after World War Two, it had been regarded as one of the most prestigious hotels.(13) In 1973 the government had planned to redevelop the block for state office use, but pressure from the National Trust and members of the public resulted in a temporary reprieve. (Although, in 1974 it was deliberately transformed into an eyesore when the government ordered that its decorative verandas be removed.)(14)

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

Then, early one April morning in 1979, Joh sent the Deen Brothers in with police protection to bring the Bellevue Hotel down. The public had gotten wind of the plan, and as a result 700 people turned up to protest.(15) In the words of Terry Gygar, a Liberal Party member at the time:

A large crowd had gathered around the building. There was a cordon of police. They had thrown up a barbed…a mesh wire fence around it. And then the Deen Bros arrived, rolling through like an armoured division, straight through the crowd. People were knocked sideways. Police were dragging people out of the way. Parking meters were knocked over. Traffic signs were bent and twisted on the road. It looked like Stalingrad.(16) 

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

Those in the coalition who were opposed to the demolition, like Terry Gygar, were treated by Joh and his close Country Party colleagues as disloyal and radical.(17) According to local artist Lachlan Hurse in an interview:

…much of the opposition to the demolition of the Bellevue came from people who supported Bjelke-Petersen (particularly members of the Liberal Party) or who had stood on the periphery of the street march movement and hadn’t necessarily offered much support to those who were actively defying the government…They had distanced themselves from the radical opposition, and now were crying about how bad Bjelke-Petersen was, but still hanging on his coat tails.(18)

Continue to Part 2.


Endnotes
1. Deen Brothers demolition company motto, quoted in J Carniel, ‘Cloudland, Stronzoland, Brisbane: Urban and ethnic development in Little Italy’, Crossings, vol.11.2, October, 2006, viewed 22 April 2007, <http://www.asc.uq.edu.au/crossings/11_2/index.php?apply=carniel>.

2. E Whitton, ‘Mr Bischof and Mr Bayston’, in The Hillbilly Dictator: Australia’s Police State, Crows Nest, 1989, p.17.

3. Whitton, ‘The Jewel in the crown’, in The Hillbilly Dictator, Crows Nest, 1989, p.22.

4. R Wear, ‘Introduction’, in Johannes Bjelke-Petersen: The Lord’s Premier, St Lucia, Brisbane, 2002, p.xv.

5. Wear, ‘The Premier and cabinet’, in Johannes Bjelke-Petersen, St Lucia, Brisbane, 2002, p.139.

6. The Joh Tapes on Leadership, Brisbane, 1988 (videorecording), quoted in Wear, ‘The Premier and cabinet’, p.139.

7. Wear, ‘The Premier and cabinet’, p.140.

8. Wear, ‘Introduction’, p.xv.

9. Whitton, ‘Decline and fall’, in The Hillbilly Dictator, Crows Nest, 1989, p.138.

10. R Fisher, ‘“Nocturnal demolitions”: The long march towards heritage legislation in Queensland’, in J Rickard and P Spearritt (eds), Packaging the Past? Public Histories, Melbourne, 1991, p.55.

11. P Spearritt, Demolishing Brisbane, Brisbane, 2002, viewed 19 April 2007,  <www.brisinst.org.au/resources/spearritt_peter_demolish.html>.

12. ibid.

13. Fisher, ‘“Nocturnal demolitions”’, p.55.

14. ibid, p.56.

15. Spearritt, Demolishing Brisbane.

16. T Gygar, quoted in ‘Bellevue Hotel’ (Rewind program transcript), Sydney, 2004, viewed 19 April 2007,  <http://www.abc.net.au/tv/rewind/txt/s1218262.htm>.

17. Spearritt, Demolishing Brisbane.

18. L Hurse, interview conducted by email, 2 May 2007. 

Lottery of Life

I consider myself to be someone who always tries to make sure I’m always aware of world issues, particularly those relating to poverty in developing nations.

As a white, educated person who has a stable job and a mortgage in a Western nation, I recognise that I am privileged. Regardless of how ‘tight’ things might get at times, ‘tight’ for me generally means that perhaps I have to choose regular food over organic for a week, or that I maybe I won’t go and see that band I’d like to see for the third time. And while I do at times support charities that conduct cancer or other health research because of a personal connection to it (such as a family member or friend who may have suffered ill health), I make a conscious effort to ensure that the majority of the financial assistance I do give to charitable organisations goes to those who work in developing nations. Why? Because in many cases, people living in those places barely have access to medical treatment for malnourishment, let alone access to cancer treatment. At least being in Australia, a wealthy nation in comparison to many, we generally have unrestricted access to free health care. Yes, sometimes there’s a waiting list, but by and large if you have a life-threatening illness such as cancer you do get treatment.

The Lottery of Life campaign for Save the Children, which I found on the My Modern Met blog, really illustrates just how vast the differences can be between those living in Western countries and those living in developing nations. We really are in a position of advantage here, which means that we are also in a position to help.

Images: Save the Children

If you’re considering donating to a charity this Christmas, please do think about one that works in less fortunate nations than your own.

Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Festival Hall (part 2)

After much delay (sorry about that!), here is the second part to my essay about the history of Brisbane's Festival Hall. And, secondly, apologies for not responding to comments - for some reason I wasn't getting the notification emails, but I've fixed that now.

Part 2 of 2 
‘It alters your DNA somehow, seeing music like that…’

(Brad Shepherd, interviewed by Noel Mengel in the Courier-Mail 9 August 2003, on seeing Slade at Festival Hall in 1974)

Festival Hall: The ‘community’

Although the physical building of Festival Hall could not create a ‘sense of community’ in itself, one was temporarily created each time an event was held there. The rituals, experiences, groups and identities formed were unique to the community of individuals who were sharing a musical experience. This has been described by Lawrence Grossberg in his analysis of the cultural formation that results from rock music: ‘A configuration of practices that form a particular structure of unity which transcends any single group’s relation to the practices. The configuration allows certain practices to exist and to have power within its boundaries’ (Grossberg, 1992, p.398). In other words, people who came from different backgrounds, locations and social circumstances became united temporarily through their mutual appreciation for the music. This is further enhanced by the people coming together to experience a rock performance event (such as those held at Festival Hall) in a physical location.

All of the participants interviewed for research purposes in July–August 2005 agreed with Grossberg’s analysis to some extent. When asked whether Festival Hall had a sense of community about it, the Courier-Mail music writer Noel Mengel replied, ‘Not really, since every show is different and every crowd is different’, thereby saying that any sense of community or ritual came along with the people, and not the physical location itself. Later, he went on to say that , ‘The reputation is down to the acts and people’s pleasant memories’. Overall, Noel felt that, despite Festival Hall being considered a triumph in the 1950s, it wasn’t a building worth saving for its aesthetic qualities: ‘The building and architecture were dreadful. Hot, hard seats, except for the lucky few in the balcony, which was a superb place to see and hear music’.

A second interviewee who wished to remain anonymous, felt the same way. ‘I think it drew together various communities depending on what was on there at the time, but I wouldn’t say the place itself had a “sense of community” about it.’ He felt that there were other, perhaps less recognised, venues in Brisbane that had contributed equally (if not more so) to live music in the area. Just like Noel, he said, ‘It was really up to whoever was playing/performing there to try and generate a sense of atmosphere. I don’t think “festering hole” itself contributed much apart from a sense of history and an overall grunginess which suited certain bands’.

Another anonymous interviewee agreed with the other interviewees' sentiments that Festival Hall’s sense of community stemmed from the people that gathered there: ‘I believe communities often form temporarily when people come together to share an experience’. However, they did say that the building’s rich history and quirks contributed to the overall concert-going experience. When asked whether its reputation could be attributed to the people and music or the actual building, they replied, ‘A bit of both, but probably more so the building, which was more of an accidental rock venue than created by design…a sense of community can exist in other places — because of the people who gather there and the bands they go to see’.

Of course, the building’s various communities were never more prominent than when there was a ‘Last-gasp attempt to save Festival Hall’ (Dullroy, Courier-Mail, 2001, p.11). After unsuccessful attempts at heritage listing the building (and a final concert, Michael Franti, taking place on 9 August), on 14 December 2003 Festival Hall was sold to Devine Limited. According to Noel Mengel, ‘The rites of passage for young rock ‘n’ rollers in Brisbane these days takes place somewhere in the Valley or at the Livid Festival, but for generations of fans they happened at one place, on Charlotte Street at Festival Hall — usually bathed in sweat’ (Mengel, Courier-Mail, 2002, p.5). Supporters of saving Festival Hall attempted to remind the public of the days of the Bjelke-Petersen government, when many heritage listed buildings and live music venues were demolished (Sommerfeld and Dullroy, Courier-Mail, 2002, p.18). The local music community became closer than ever before, united by their fight to save a place they thought retained Brisbane’s place on Australia’s concert map.

Local band Powderfinger was one of the many groups that joined the fight. In addition to playing one of the very last shows at Festival Hall before its closure, they recorded their music video for the song ‘Like a dog’ there as a kind of homage to the venue. The black-and-white video featured the band playing in the Hall inside a boxing ring while a boxing match was taking place, combining the two things that Festival Hall was originally built to house in the 1950s — live music and boxing. To Powderfinger fans (and even those that weren’t), the essence of the venue was encapsulated through the blood, sweat and raw energy of the band and crowd.

Festival Hall: The (non-existent) future

Construction is now well underway for Festival Towers, a new high-rise building comprising around 350 residential apartments, as well as retails outlets. In a rather half-hearted attempt to give the public a tangible reminder of the ‘good old days’, a Walkway of Fame will adorn the footpath on the corner of Charlotte and Elizabeth Streets, where Festival Hall once stood. The next generation will need to find their live music elsewhere — whether it be at the smaller club venues like the Zoo, the Arena and the Tivoli; the large, sterile, arena-style venues such as the Brisbane Entertainment Centre or the Convention and Exhibition Centre; or on the travelling outdoor festival circuit (made even more unlikely since the disappearance of the Livid Festival after 2003).

The new apartment building signifies a shift to postmodernism in several aspects. The most obvious is the loss of the rich cultural history that was represented by Festival Hall. One could also argue that ‘declassed’ consumers are re-inhabiting the city area by living in the apartments — although these people may appear upper-class to the majority, to themselves (and each other) they are not living in the building merely as a status symbol. Instead, these people believe that by living in an inner-city environment, they will be able to ‘consume and commodify’ freely. 

The public culture site that was once Festival Hall is no more. It has been replaced by something that opposes the very essence of what the majority of bands that played there stood for — corporate culture, virtually inaccessible to the general public, except for the handful of the upper-class who choose to live there. But, as conveyed in the sentiments of the interviewees, the music, communities and spirit that came along with Festival Hall will go on. The people will find another venue and, when they do, a whole new generation of music fans will create their own live music community.

Bibliography

‘The bleachers have gone…’,  Telegraph, 22 April 1959, p.39.

‘Brilliant styling in new hall’,  Telegraph, 22 April 1959, p.38.

‘Brisbane’s new entertainment centre: The £300 000 ultra modern Festival Hall’,  Courier-Mail, 28 April 1959, page unknown.

‘Color in design’, Telegraph, 22 April 1959, p.40. 

Curran, James, Morley, David and Walkerdine, Valerie ed. 1996, Cultural Studies and Communications, Arnold, London.

De Certeau, Michel 1985, ‘Practices of Space’, in Blonsky, Marshall ed., On Signs, Oxford, Basil Blackwell.

Donald, James 1995, ‘The city, the cinema: Modern spaces’, in Jenks, Chris ed., Visual Culture, Routledge, London, pp.77–95.

Dullroy, Joel 2001, ‘Last-gasp attempt to save Festival Hall’,  Courier-Mail, 6 December 2001, p.11.

Frow, John 1995, Cultural Studies and Cultural Value, Oxford University Press, New York,

Grossberg, Lawrence 1992, We Gotta Get Out of this Place: Popular Conservatism and Postmodern Culture, Routeledge, New York.

Harvey, David 1990, ‘Postmodernism’, The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change, Polity, Cambridge.

Marx, Anthony 2001, ‘Festival Hall in heritage listing row’,  Courier-Mail, 25 July 2001, p.31.

Mengel, Noel 2002, ‘The day the music died, no doubt’,  Courier-Mail, 24 August 2002, p.5.

Mengel, Noel 2003, ‘Hall of fame’,  Courier-Mail, 9 August 2003, p.4.

Mirzoeff, Nicholas ed. 1998, The Visual Culture Reader, Routledge, London.

Morris, Meaghan 1998, Too Soon Too Late, Indiana University Press, Bloomington.

Rowbotham, David 1959, ‘A spacious hall: Perfect acoustics’, Sunday Mail, 29 March 1959, p.7.

Sommerfeld, Jeff and Dullroy, Joel 2002, ‘Festival Hall set for wrecking ball’,  Courier-Mail, 27 April 2002, p.18.

Wilson, Bob 2003, ‘Projects turn focus back on city centre’,  Courier-Mail, 26 February 2003, p.7.

Iconic buildings of Brisbane: Festival Hall

Last night I was having an interesting conversation on Brisbane's history with tearing down iconic buildings (often under the cover of darkness during the Joh Bjelke-Petersen era, with the help of the Deen Brothers). Over the years I've explored the history of Brisbane's buildings a little bit, so I wanted to share one with you here about Festival Hall.

Unlike the buildings torn down during the reign of Joh, Festival Hall disappeared only a few years ago from the city centre. When I began my research for this particular essay, I interviewed some locals who had connections to the venue. I expected to find that people would be far more opposed to the demolition of the building, but, as you will read, most instead felt that the 'atmosphere' of Festival Hall could exist elsewhere, and it wasn't the building itself that mattered so much.

This essay was written in 2005, and will be presented in two parts. Full references will be given at the end of part two. The appendix refers to interviews that I conducted at the time.

Part 1 of 2 
‘It alters your DNA somehow, seeing music like that…’

(Brad Shepherd, interviewed by Noel Mengel in the Courier-Mail 9 August 2003, on seeing Slade at Festival Hall in 1974)

Introduction

Way back on April 27 1959, Brisbane received what some would call an extraordinary gift — a £300 000 hall that was, in the opinion of journalists, ‘an outstanding example of modern architecture and engineering’ (Courier-Mail, 1959, p. unknown). The development of this new multi-purpose entertainment venue ensured that Brisbane did not fall short of the rest of the country when it came to seeing big-name musical acts. Had it not been for Festival Hall, Brisbane residents may have been bypassed by the likes of Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, Morrissey, Nirvana, and even Cinderella on Ice in the decades that followed. And, although by the 1980s and ’90s venues of comparable capacity were being established in the region, no new building could undo the rich cultural history surrounding that of the ‘original’. However, to use a common cliché, ‘all good things must come to an end’. The public culture site that was Festival Hall is currently in a state of corporate culture — that is, the Devine industrial corporation now controls the land on which the building once stood. Eventually, the upper class will inhabit the new high-rise apartments in a complete reversal of the site — from public culture to high culture.

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

Festival Hall: The building

The construction of Festival Hall was distinctly modern in what it signified for the people of the Brisbane region. Originally home to a stadium used exclusively for boxing — consisting of not much more than a ‘ringside, outer ringside and bleachers’ (Telegraph, 1959, p.39) — the site on which Festival Hall was built symbolised that Brisbane was progressing. Although it would still house boxing matches (boasting a £2000 American-style ring first imported for the 1956 Olympic Games in Melbourne), the new Festival Hall consisted of a stage (large enough to accommodate 120 musicians), an orchestral pit, and ‘modern’ facilities for both the general public and the boxers, artists and musicians.

The general feeling towards this new development was that it would put Brisbane ‘up there with the rest of them’ in terms of the live music entertainment circuit. It would unleash unprecedented possibilities for the general public to experience not only classical music, but international performers of popular music. This development also meant that the economy of Brisbane would grow, with countless jobs created as both a direct and indirect result of Festival Hall’s construction.

The residents of Brisbane were proud of their new entertainment centre, and they were equally proud of its visual appeal. French grey glazed tiles, lime-coloured zincaneal awnings, a marble chip terrazzo and textured brick work were some of the modern features contributing to Festival Hall’s aesthetic appeal (Telegraph, 1959, p.40), One of the most obvious modern features of the Hall was its 6000 seating capacity. By employing this manner of seating for patrons, audience members became individuated subjects. That is, although there could be up to 6000 people in the Hall at any given time, each audience member was separate in themselves and positioned in an individual manner — by their designated section, row and seat number. This culturally regimented system is one that was employed in the Hall until its destruction. Of course, there were times when the floor area of Festival Hall was transformed into a more communal space, when it was a general admission standing area or dance floor for certain popular music events (from about the 1970s onwards). Although audience members remained individuated subjects by their own personal experiences in the collective environment, the obvious physical barriers had been removed.
It was only during the 1970s that Festival Hall’s architecture really started to come ‘alive’. That is, it developed its own distinctive character. As described by an anonymous interviewee, ‘As the years rolled on, it became dirtier, smellier and more “rock”’. Had it not become a haven for witnessing rock acts such as Led Zeppelin and the like, Festival Hall is likely to have remained a ‘clean’ and sterile venue devoid of  any ‘real’ atmosphere, and its architecture, although distinctly state-of-the-art for the 1950s, would simply have dated. Instead, the Hall captured a little bit of essence from each of the performances that were held there — from the worn seats, cracked brick work and musty smells to the scuffs on the stage and holes in the dressing room walls. As if almost by accident (and as a direct result of the collective experiences of the bands and patrons), Festival Hall became a grungy, dirty rock venue — the way they all should be, of course.

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

Festival Hall: The public culture site

Like many modern sites, Festival Hall had a contradictory nature about it as well. While it was a symbol that Brisbane was progressing as a city, many bands that played there over the years were those who stood against precisely that form of industrial progress and the ‘loss of human “spirit”’. This type of progress — that of the rich getting richer and the poor, essentially, getting poorer — was critiqued by numerous performers who are widely known for their lyrics conveying anti-capitalist ideas, such as Michael Franti, Midnight Oil, the Ramones, U2 and Ben Harper. To many of these bands, industrial progress would inevitably lead society to the point of self-destruction and the loss of the individual. By visiting this symbol of progress and filling it with their anti-corporate, anti-establishment messages, they were indeed contributing to the contradictory nature of modernity. Furthermore, this was then inverted once again by the selling of T-shirts and other merchandise at a premium price in the foyer.

By Festival Hall acting as a representation of the contradictory nature of modernity, it was supplying a site of resistance — a place for ‘human subjects to make their mark’. (De Certeau, 1985, p.136) ‘[Michel de Certeau] sees the site of human subject formation at those points where resistance and play occur, where the characteristics of the human subject are not to function within a system, but to deflect and to resist functionality through counter-practices of nonconformity.’ Therefore, according to de Certeau’s model, audience members at Festival Hall were participating in an act which conveyed messages of anti-progress and promoted individuality (which could be somewhat achieved by the creation of individuated spaces within the communal environment). Likewise, visiting performers were actively participating in this site of resistance by playing at the venue (with its symbolic representation of industrial progress), and thereby contributing to the local Brisbane economy.

By providing a central space in the heart of the city where literally thousands of people could gather, Festival Hall was clearly a public space (although, as discussed, it also had elements of corporate and industrial culture associated with it). Like many other cultural sites, Festival Hall contained a number of individual spaces within the public space itself. Of course, each individuated member of the audience came together to form the spectorial space, whereby each person is in the Hall witnessing the one cultural event (occurring in front of them on the stage). At the same time, audiences members could identify as members of specific groups — whether they be class related or connected to their musical preferences — resulting in a social space being created temporarily. In addition, an economic space was also created (both in and around the Hall) — via the exchange of money for entry or tickets, the wages paid to ushers and other employees, and the economic benefit reaped by surrounding businesses before and after the events (particularly clubs, bars, restaurants, public transport and taxi services).

James Donald discusses Simmel’s inference that ‘the metropolitan mentality is not a question of the self-creative versus the blasé, nor the individual versus the social’ (Donald, 1995, p.81). In other words, metropolitan sites such as Festival Hall are not simply about corporate power, nor are they simply about existing as a socially interactive environment. ‘He does not see in the metropolis only the manifestation of a power that oppresses the individual. Rather, he suggests how agency is here enacted with the field of possibilities defined by this environment: its space, its population, its technologies, its symbolisations. The city is the way we moderns live and act, as much as where’ (Donald, 1995, p.81). These public spaces present a range of possibilities that are determined by the building itself, its location, its surrounding features, and the way in which humans co-inhabit that space.

Image: John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland

Politics and the media: The immigration debate in Australia from the early 1900s to the present (part 2)

This is the second part of my previous post, with references listed at the end.

Part 2 of 2

The media: inciting racism?

It’s not just right-wing political parties that further intensify the ongoing immigration debate in Australia. In December 2005 the media played a key role in spreading the word about the Cronulla riots, in which white Australians clashed with Lebanese Muslims at Cronulla beach. ‘Then Prime Minister John Howard stated that he “did not accept that there is underlying racism in Australia”. Howard made this comment despite the prominence of images at the time of the riots that clearly depicted white Australians wearing T shirts saying “no Lebs”, chanting “Aussie Aussie Aussie”, and even people proclaiming “we grew here you flew here” and “go home”.’ (Due and Riggs 2008, p.211) In fact, most of the Lebanese Muslims subject to these taunts had not ‘flown’ to Australia, and their ‘home’ was here. Many Lebanese immigrants arrived in Australia between 1880 and the 1920s, and 1947 to 1975, with immigration continuing from 1976 until the present due to the civil war in Lebanon. Up to six generations of Australian-born Lebanese reside here. (Batrouney 2000) If ‘Australianness’ is determined by whether or not a person has been born here or the length of their family ties to Australia, I would be considered far less Australian than many Lebanese citizens. I am a first-generation British Australian with dual citizenship; however, as a white, English-speaking citizen I have never been subject to anyone telling me to ‘go home’.

Two years after the Cronulla riots, an investigation by the Australian Communications and Media Authority found that broadcasts by ‘shock jock’ Alan Jones on the day of the Cronulla riots were ‘likely to encourage violence or brutality and vilify people of Middle Eastern descent’. (Ricketson 2008) Jones’s 2GB colleague Brian Wilshire also had his say, telling listeners that ‘many of [the Lebanese] have parents who were first cousins, whose parents were first cousins, because of the culture — it’s not a religious thing, it doesn’t say this in the Koran — but it’s a cultural thing for some part of the world to have parents who are very closely related. The result of this is inbreeding, the result of which is uneducationable people, and very low IQ’. (Wilshire 2006)

One of Australia’s most outspoken media commentators on all issues relating to race and immigration is Andrew Bolt. In addition to having his say many times over on the Cronulla riots, Bolt uses his Herald Sun blog to vilify the Australian Muslim community (or pretty much anyone of middle-eastern descent), ‘ethnic gangs’ and Sudandese ‘immigrants’, as he refers to them (as opposed to ‘refugees’, which the majority of them are). Although he likes to poke fun at Pauline Hanson when he gets the chance (see Bolt March 2007), Bolt tends to use very similar language to her — ‘integrate’, ‘assimilate’ and ‘gang’ were all used in a single blog about the Sudanese community. (Bolt January 2007) It seems as though in Bolt’s opinion, any Sudanese people in Australia that are more comfortable associating with people from the same backgrounds as themselves can automatically be considered members of a ‘gang’. Because Bolt’s tirades are usually via his blog (although he sometimes appears on television as well), he is able to elicit similarly racist responses from his readers. Often he will say very little in his blog entry, instead opting for a simple link to a news article that is likely to draw hateful responses from his loyal online followers.

In December 2008 Gold Coast residents launched their own attack on the Muslim community, but instead of a riot it was a demonstration against a proposed new Islamic College at Carrara. Some 200 people were involved in the protest and, while violence wasn’t an issue, many of the methods used bore similarities to those employed during the Cronulla riots — people were ‘draped in Australian flags and shouting pro-Aussie slogans while Australian rock classics such as “Down Under” and “Great Southern Land” boomed across the parkland’. (Pierce 2008) It became clear that the protests were racially based when one of the opponents to the school was asked why they were not protesting against other religious schools such as those that are Christian-based. He responded that ‘Catholics aren’t a different culture. They are the same as us’. (Pierce 2008)

Only a couple of days after publishing the report about the Gold Coast protests, News Limited fuelled the fires further by printing an article with the title ‘Brisbane Islamic college bans Australian national anthem’ — something that was sure to incite outrage amongst countless Australians. Despite what was indicated in the alarming headline, the school had not banned the national anthem at all. It was true that the college did have a policy of not playing the anthem on Fridays, but this applied to all other songs as well, due to the fact that Friday is considered to be a Muslim holy day. It just happened that school assemblies had been moved from Monday to Friday, meaning that the anthem was no longer played during that time. Due to the pressure placed on the school as a direct result of the media coverage, the following day the title of the online news article was changed to ‘Brisbane Islamic college reviews national anthem ban’, and it was reported that the principal was reviewing the school’s policy on the matter. (O’Loan 2008)

Conclusion

Often the whole immigration debate can be difficult to comprehend. In fact, sometimes it is unclear why debate needs to occur on the subject at all. The Australia we know today was settled by foreigners who clearly did not assimilate with the cultural traditions and practices of the current inhabitants of the land. Instead, they introduced an entirely new way of life and, in the process, exploited and destroyed much of the original population. My parents migrated here as teenagers with their parents and families but, simply because they are white Europeans, they go unnoticed by the Andrew Bolts, Brian Wilshires, Pauline Hansons of Australia, as well as the rest of the right-wing media commentators and politicians. It is only those groups hailing from different cultural backgrounds to those of white Europeans that these prominent and highly influential people seem to have a problem with. Politicians and media commentators are regularly delaring to the public that Australia is home to a diverse and multicultural society — but it is often the same politicians or media commentators who are the first to voice their opinions when any of those other cultures become an apparent threat to our own.

References

Ang I 2003, ‘From white Australia to fortress Australia: The anxious nation in the new century’, in L Jaysuriya, D Walker and J Gothard (eds), Legacies of white Australia: Race, culture and nation, Perth.

Batrouney, Dr T 2000, Lebanese in Australia, Australian Lebanese Historical Society of Victoria, viewed 5 January 2009, <http://alhsv.org.au/resources_lebaneseinaus.html>.

Bolt, A 2007, ‘Hanson smart? Is the Pope a Muslim?’, Herald sun, 30 March 2007, viewed 31 December 2008, <http://blogs.news.com.au/heraldsun/andrewbolt/index.php/heraldsun/comments/hanson_smart_is_the_pope_a_muslim/P40>.

Bolt, A 2007, ‘Our Sudanese question’, Herald sun, 31 January 2007, viewed 31 December 2008, <http://blogs.news.com.au/heraldsun/andrewbolt/index.php/heraldsun/comments/our_sudanese_question>.

Due, C and Riggs, DW 2008, ‘We grew here you flew here’: claims to ‘home in the Cronulla riots, Monash University, viewed 30 December 2008, <http://colloquy.monash.edu.au/issue016/due-riggs.pdf>.

Hanson, P 1996, House of Representatives, Debates, vol.HR208, 10 September 1996.

Manne, R 2003, ‘The road to Tampa’, in L Jaysuriya, D Walker and J Gothard (eds), Legacies of white Australia: Race, culture and nation, Perth.

Markus, A 1979, Fear and hatred: Purifying Australia and California, 1850–1901, Hale & Iremonger, Sydney.

O’Loan, J 2008, ‘Brisbane Islamic college reviews national anthem ban’, Courier-mail, 5 December 2008, viewed 5 December 2008, <http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,24753104-952,00.html>.

Pierce, J2008, ‘Protestors rally against Islamic school’, Courier-mail, 2 December 2008, viewed 3 December 2008,  <http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,,24738950-5003402,00.html>.

Ricketson, M 2008, ‘Bureaucrats try to “censor” Alan Jones’, The age, 6 December 2008, viewed 30 December 2008, <http://www.theage.com.au/national/bureaucrats-try-to-censor--alan-jones-name-in-report-20081205-6slh.html>.

Robb, A 2006, Australia to introduce citizenship, media release Ref 114/06, Department of Immigration and Citizenship, 11 December 2006, viewed 20 December 2008, <http://parlinfo.aph.gov.au/parlInfo/download/media/pressrel/VFQL6/upload_binary/vfql62.pdf;fileType=application%2Fpdf#search=%22media/pressrel/vfql6)%22>.

Souter, G 1976, Lion and kangaroo — Australia 1901–1919… the rise of a nation, Fonatana, Sydney.

Tavan, G 2005, The long, slow death of white Australia, Scribe Publications, Melbourne.

Wilshire, B 2006, ‘Brian Wilshire: uneducationable’, Media Watch transcripts, viewed 30 December 2008, <http://www.abc.net.au/mediawatch/transcripts/s1574242.htm>.

Politics and the media: The immigration debate in Australia from the early 1900s to the present (part 1)

Following is part one of two of a brief paper written in 2009 discussing the Australian media's role in the immigration debate. A full list of references cited will be given with part two.

Part 1 of 2

Introduction

Up until November 2007 when John Howard’s reign as prime minister and Liberal–National Coalition leader finally ended, it seemed to many Australians (myself included) that we were seeing a resurgence of the old White Australia Policy, and the treatment of migrants often mimicked that which occurred over a century ago. Howard’s Liberal government had attempted to have the English test reinstated (this time written as opposed to oral), and also intended to ‘quiz’ potential citizens on what it means to be ‘Australian’; sporting achievements, mateship and history (presumably white) were proposed as topics. The test was cited in a media release by the Department of Immigration (2006, p.1 of 4) as ‘Helping migrants to integrate and maximise the opportunities available to them in Australia’. While the White Australia Policy was ‘legally’ stamped out by Whitlam in the 1970s (Ang 2003, p.62), this paper will explore how the ideologies that were present when it was implemented in 1901 are very much alive in the political and media sphere of contemporary Australia which, in turn, serves to further intensify an ongoing debate.

White Australia Policy — dead or alive?

The White Australia Policy had been introduced in 1901 after two Acts were implemented — the Pacific Islands Labourers Act 1901 and the Immigration Restriction Act 1901. The first was intended to prevent the introduction of Pacific Islander workers (and ensured the deportation of those already here), while the second restricted the type of people who could enter the country. This Act not only prohibited so-called ‘undesirables’, such as those who were insane, diseased or criminal, but also excluded anyone who could not pass a dictation test in the examiner’s chosen European language (that is, not necessarily English). After taking various measures to decrease, or at least hide, the country’s existing Indigenous population, it was now thought that minimising the numbers of people from non-European countries entering Australia would be in the nation’s best interest. The ultimate goal of the government at that time was to have ‘one people without the admixture of other races’. (Markus 1979, p.xii) The purpose of the Immigration Restriction Act 1901 was clear and simple, according to Australia’s first Attorney General: ‘In fact and in effect our colourless laws are administered so as to draw a deep colour line between caucasions and all other races’. (Souter 1976, p.88)

Every now and then someone in politics or the media rears their head and attempts to reinstate the ideologies of the White Australia Policy for their own personal agenda, even though it was dismantled several decades ago. The most prominent of these people was Pauline Hanson in the mid to late 1990s, who strongly believed that ‘[Asians] have their own culture and religion and do not assimilate’. (Tavan 2005, p.223) However, Hanson never once called into question (or even addressed) the fact that white Europeans had made every attempt not to assimilate with the original inhabitants of the land. She even claimed in 1996 that ‘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’. (Hanson 1996, p.unknown)

Coincidentally or otherwise, in 2001 the one-hundredth anniversary of the implementation of the Immigration Restriction Act 1901 was ‘celebrated’ with the introduction by the Howard government of the Border Protection Act 2001 — its aim described as to ‘keep Australia free of asylum seekers’. (Manne 2003, p.163) While the origins of this particular Act can be found in the early 1990s with the Labor federal government, it was John Howard’s Liberal party that ensured it became legislation. That same year (one month before the Act was officially instated) the Tampa scandal unfolded, when the Norwegian cargo vessel rescued 433 Afghans who were bound for Australia and, fearing for their health, attempted to unload them safely on Christmas Island. However, not wanting ‘queue jumpers’ to be allowed on Australian soil (or even in their waters), naval frigate HMAS Manoora transferred the refugees to their own vessel and detained them. (Manne 2003, p.164) Also in 2001 was the ‘children overboard’ affair, where Iraqi asylum seekers threw their children into the Indian Ocean as a strategic move to gain entry into Australia, of which John Howard commented, ‘I don’t want people like that in Australia’. (Tavan 2005, p.222)