Anzac Day and the birth of three nations

 
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By Ray O’Reill

Anzac Day, which recalls the horrors of modern warfare, marks the birth of modern national conscience in Australia, New Zealand and Turkey.  

Wednesday 25 April 2012

Death in the trenches

Every year, on 25 April, in services and commemorations, Australia and New Zealand remember the fallen in what is now called Anzac Day. On this day nearly a century ago, soldiers from both nations landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula in what is now called ANZAC Cove, but was then known as Ari Birun. As part of the Allied Forces, their mission was to scale the cliffs and take the high ground. The defending Turkish army had other ideas.

In the space of 24 hours, some 2,000 ‘diggers’, as they were known, were mowed down. By the end of the battle nine months later, more than 11,400 soldiers from the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (Anzacs) were killed – 2,700 Kiwis and the rest were Australians. This was a huge loss to nations with populations at the time of fewer than 5 million and 1 million respectively.

But it was the events of the first day of the Gallipoli Campaign (or Battle of Çanakkale), immortalised in the 1981 Peter Weir film of the same name, starring a young Mel Gibson, that set the course of the whole battle and eventual evacuation of the Anzacs in December 1915.

If you want to read more about these events, the book by David W Cameron, 25 April 1915, The Day the Anzac Legend Was Born, is a good place to begin, telling both sides of the story – the Anzacs  and Turkish – of what was to become a tragedy for all nations concerned but an ultimate triumph for Turkey and the then little-known army commander Mustafa Kemal (later given the honorific Atatürk, ‘Father of the Turks’) who had correctly anticipated where the Allies would attack and bravely held his position until their eventual retreat.

The legendary ‘victory’ cemented Atatürk’s reputation following the Ottoman defeat and, along with other military successes, enabled him to enter politics and construct a modern Turkish republic on the ruins of what was left of the Ottoman Empire. It also marked the birth of a separate national conscience in Australia and New Zealand, which were then dominions of the British Empire and largely regarded themselves as Brits.

Anzac Day is not only a rare example of a national day shared by two countries, it has also been woven into the conscience of a third, Turkey which, under Atatürk’s leadership, became a staunch ally of its former enemies, despite the cold-shouldering it has received from Europe over the decades. In 1934, he assured the first Australians and New Zealanders to visit the Galipoli battlefield since hostilities ended:

There is no difference between the Johnnies
And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side…

He finished his tribute with:

Your sons are now lying in our bosom
And are in peace
After having lost their lives on this land they have
Become our sons as well.

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All continents on the Western Front

 
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By Khaled Diab

It is time European countries acknowledged the part soldiers from their former colonies played in the First World War.

November 2008

A WWI graveyard in Ypres/Ieper. Photo ©K Diab and K Maes

A WWI graveyard in Ypres/Ieper. Photo ©K Diab and K Maes

Ninety years ago, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Great War that was supposed to end all wars finally ended, leaving some 20 million dead and another 20 million wounded. The horrendousness of the conflict is well summed up by Wilfred Owen in Anthem for doomed youth.

Rightly, the memory of the ‘lost generation’ who perished so pointlessly should be kept alive. Sadly, amid the carnage, a proverbial army has gone missing in action from the theatre of history, unrecognised and unmourned in the official narrative.

It is estimated that well over 600,000 soldiers from British and French colonies fought on the Western Front: 270,000 from the Maghreb in North Africa, 153,000 from the Indian subcontinent and 134,000 from West Africa. Colonial soldiers were also mobilised throughout the two empires, including more than 1.5 million from the Indian subcontinent.

Add to that, the smaller numbers from more than 50 different cultures who landed in Flanders Fields, even from such unexpected provenances as American Indians, the Inuit of Canada, the Maori of New Zealand and a smattering of Aborigines from Australia, even though they were not officially allowed to serve. That’s not to mention the enormous and shockingly treated Chinese Labour Corp.

Of course, we should not overlook the fact that the forces of the Central Powers were also hardly homogenous: Slavs, Danes, Francophones, Arabs, Kurds, Albanians, Jews and even Armenians who were simultaneously being butchered.

Despite the fascinating multiethnic and multicultural reality of the trenches, it is still conventional wisdom that the First World War was largely a European war fought by Europeans, with the aid of their western allies.

“This Eurocentric view of writing the history of the two world wars has excluded… colonised peoples as major participants,” writes Driss Maghraoui of the University of California in a study of Moroccan colonial soldiers.

A recent exhibition at Belgium’s In Flanders Fields Museum sought to set the record straight by shining a spotlight on the history and composition of these unknown and largely forgotten colonial forces.

Looking at some of the photos from the time, it seems almost surreal to see Sikhs sitting cross-legged praying in a wet and sodden field, kefiya-clad Algerian Spehis mounted on white steeds marching alongside an old industrial canal, or drinking tea on the ground outside a converted stable with Arabic script on the doors. The scenes are certainly outlandish to our eyes, but how depressing and alien must it have felt for the poor fellows who had to endure it?

In addition to the alien surroundings and hardships, soldiers from the colonies often had to endure massive prejudice. They were largely recruited from so-called ‘martial races’ – ethnicities believed to be warrior-like but lacking in intelligence and civilisation. Top of the heap, in British eyes at least, were the Sikhs.

In justifying his attempts to assemble an “armée noire”, the French general Charles Mangin, claimed that: “Africans are primitive and belligerent… they are exceptionally suited to becoming storm troopers at the front.”

The upshot of these racist theories was that colonial soldiers, especially black Africans, often provoked fear and mistrust among local populations, and this was not helped by bloodthirsty caricatures in the media.

The Germans took full advantage of this angst in their fear-mongering propaganda, but it backfired when some of their own fighters started to flee their positions when they heard that African soldiers were approaching.

Some saw through this prejudice and propaganda. A Belgian military doctor, Maurice Duwez described, in 1915, a unit that marched past him: “Arabs and Jews with bronzed skin… marching as nobly and erectly as cats.”

There was also resistance on racial grounds, with critics fearing that the mixing of races on the battlefield could lead to the weakening and even downfall of western civilisation. These concerns eventually led, in the latter years of the war, to France and Britain deploying most of their colonial troops outside the European theatre.

Then there was the fear that fighting shoulder to shoulder with their colonial masters might give ‘subject races’ ideas above their station, and lead them to revolt against colonial rule. In fact, many colonial soldiers regarded serving in the army as a good start on their own quest for independence and national development. Blaise Diagne, the first black parliamentarian in Europe, was fond of referring to the “school of the army”.

War-ravaged as Europe was, the soldiers’ experiences opened their minds to possibilities for their own countries. Dafadar Ranji Lal wrote in a letter: “When I look at Europe, I lament India’s lot. In Europe, everyone is educated.” He urged his family “to educate the girls as well as the boys for a better future”.

Chanda Singh, a Sikh lance dafadar, wrote to his wife: “Here, it is truly a free land… A man and a woman can go outside arm in arm and no one will say anything.”

Some of Singh and Lal’s words have survived. But little record remains of the thoughts and lives of other colonial soldiers, who were conveniently whitewashed out of European history and did not fit comfortably into the post-independence narrative of their native lands. Nine decades on, it is time for Europe to acknowledge the many debts it owes to its colonies, and for immigrant minorities to take pride in the achievements of their forebears.

A shorter version of this column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 11 November 2008. Read the related discussion.

This is an archive piece that was migrated to this website from Diabolic Digest

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