Archive

When the MV Tampa entered Australian waters in 2001, the ensuing row over its 433 Afghan passengers ignited renewed debate about immigration, citizenship and national identity. The Howard government’s subsequent re-election on a platform of border protection and security coincided with the centenary of the first substantial legislation passed by the newly constituted Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia. The Immigration Restriction Act (1901) was the centrepiece of the White Australia Policy and reflected the new nation’s desire to regulate the composition of its population and culture, free from British interference. This collection of essays, authored by some of the country’s foremost academics in law, history and politics, commemorates that anniversary. It is a timely publication, and demanding in its persistent consideration of what the Australian national project has been and what it could be in the twenty-first century.

Richard Broinowski, a retired senior diplomat who has served in seven legations, three as ambassador, has long been interested in matters nuclear, as this excellent work demonstrates. Broinowski traces Australian nuclear developments from the early days of World War II to the most recent developments under Prime Minister John Howard. In the process, he chronicles Australian nuclear ambitions, from the early flirtations with acquiring a nuclear weapon and its related strike capability, to the later development of uranium exports.

Loyalty and love she lavished free
On lowly friends and well-born,
Like Murdoch, Melba and like me,
She was marvellously Melbourne

The ‘she’ is actress Coral Browne (1913-1991); the ‘me’ is Barry Humphries; the quatrain is from Humphries’ eulogy – or elegy – A Chorale for Coral, which was ‘Very Privately Printed’ in 1992 after her funeral. In his memoirs More Please, which came out the same year, Humphries recalls listening to Browne ‘in the forties’ on the Lux Radio Theatre. In his subsequent autobiographical volume, My life as Me (2002), he recounts how she ‘had come to England to further her theatrical career in the early fifties ... and she was not only a marvellous actress but an infamous wit and the author of many legendary exchanges’.

The Australian Constitution contains no aspirational statements of national possibility or sweeping vision of collective virtue, but the founders did not intend the Constitution’s meaning to remain fixed. It was to function as a prism of our national self-understanding, and its elaboration and development should aim, in the words of Alfred Deakin, to ‘enable the past to join the future, without undue collision and strife in the present’.

Greg Craven, professor of Government and Constitutional Law at Curtin University, attempts to steer a delicate course: to rescue Australia’s founding document from irrelevance and scorn; and to preserve it from the impatient hands of reformists. Although he is more interested in demonstrating the Constitution’s resilience than in exploring in detail the contours of our constitutional democracy, Craven raises important questions about the legitimate roles of the judiciary and parliament, the future of federalism and the prospects for an Australian republic. He writes with zeal and obvious enthusiasm, and, while his rhetorical extravagance is often distracting, his discussion is never dull.

No doubt there is a diverse readership for a book about the geological evolution of Australia. In fact, the last comprehensive text intended for experts was The Geological Evolution of Australia and New Zealand (1968), by D.A. Brown, K.S.W. Campbell and K.A.W. Crook; and nothing of major scope for a lay audience has appeared for a longer time. In the past forty years, of course, the subject has advanced enormously in a general sense, not the least being the revolution in our understanding of the mobility and interactions of the outer shell of the Earth through the processes labelled ‘plate tectonics’. Our specific geological knowledge of Australia has also progressed significantly.