The character of a country: Nick Dyrenfurth on ‘Mateship: A Very Australian History’

Nick Dyrenfurth’s Mateship: A Very Australian History (Scribe) explores with the evolution of Australian ‘mateship’ from colonial times to the John Howard era. It ‘provides a thoughtful cultural reading of the literature and history surrounding mateship, much of which will surely be contested’, writes reviewer Chris Saliba. He spoke to the author.

As Australia’s unofficial secular religion, mateship makes for an unwieldy subject. In one part of your book it is even described a ‘supernatural form of friendship’. What made you choose such a subject? Did you see in a gap in the literature that needed exploration?
My earliest political memories from childhood are of Bob Hawke, the Labor ‘mate’ who landed in the Lodge. I was fascinated by his blend of intellectualism and larrikinism. Then as a young man coming to some semblance of political maturity in the mid-to-late 1990s, I was fascinated by John Howard. Here were two politicians of differing ideological persuasions, each drawn to the same secular creed, each trying to place their particular stamp on it. I was particularly intrigued in the case of Howard. At precisely the same moment as his government was conspiring to destroy the Maritime Union of Australia, Howard was embarking on a personal mission to reinsert mateship into the heart of our national story by way of his proposed constitutional preamble. I thought to myself: what is going here? After a decade or so of research I now understand that it wasn’t that unusual for someone like Howard to sanctify mateship. That secret history needed to be written. There are literally hundreds of books devoted to Australian national identity but none—remarkably, in my opinion—which specifically deal with this eight-letter word that so dominates our history.    

Your history of mateship reveals much that would surprise contemporary Australians. For example, the use of mateship to try to win the ‘yes’ vote for the conscription referendum during World War I. Was there anything in your research that particularly surprised or fascinated you?
I was startled by two elements of colonial mateship. First, for almost the entire 19th century when Australians spoke about what it meant to be a mate they did so in a manner which bears no relation to the virtues and vices we commonly associate with the national mythology. Above all, mateship described a form of business partnership. Having a mate, particularly in the bush, was a pragmatic necessity. He—and it’s almost always a he—is simply a means towards making a buck. There’s nothing particularly altruistic or noble about boasting a mate. And colonial Australians really don’t talk about mateship as an abstract ideal as such.

Second, the speed with which this idea of mateship as an ‘ism’ or a practice becomes nationally and even internationally regarded as a key component of the Australian character is astonishing. It all happens within the space of a decade or so—the 1890s and early 1900s. It really is a testament to the power of the written word and the influence of the radical and labour movement press of the time.

Your book shows mateship as an exalted national myth with prosaic roots. The first mates were more economic partners than anything else, but later Henry Lawson wrote almost feverishly of mateship, as if he was trying to convince himself of its existence. Do you think there is a touch of anxiety about mateship—that it needs to be continually talked up to make sure it doesn’t cease to exist? 
I think there is more than a grain of truth to those suggestions. Lawson and the boozy bohemians of Sydney were very much projecting their blokey camaraderie onto the good burghers of the bush. Lawson was in fact criticised for this very tendency both when he wrote and later during the 1950s when a new spirit of critical inquiry was emerging within the literary world. It’s interesting too that mateship’s apotheosis during the 1890s and its rebirth a century later in the 1980s came during eras of economic turbulence when large swathes of the Australian population were either thrown out of work or doing it tough. So in times when mateship seems to be lacking in the population, we insist upon its prominence in our national story. In each decade we were also making sense of how globalisation influenced what it was to be an Australian in an increasingly interconnected world. As we were exposed to the cultural influences of the wider world, we insisted upon Australia’s distinctiveness.

Former Prime Minister John Howard tried to have the word mateship officially recognised as a national characteristic in the preamble to the constitution. Yet even people like Bruce Ruxton, state president of the Victorian branch of the RSL, said the move was ‘corny with a capital C’. Why do you think Howard came up against such fierce opposition if mateship is an agreed-upon national characteristic? 
On the one hand, my gut feeling is that a lot of people didn’t think Howard was doing it for the right reasons—that it was a diversion from the Republic debate designed to ‘wedge’ his opponents. On the other hand, those that did take him at face value—especially feminist critics—absolutely loathed mateship. It was the perfect political storm in that sense. I think many Australians who like and value mateship also felt uneasy with placing mateship on a formal pedestal. As someone whose politics leans to the left, I actually think it was a twin tragedy that the republic and the mateship preamble didn’t get up. That’s not a particularly fashionable thing to say in the circles I move in. But as a leftie, why wouldn’t you want a statement of egalitarianism and equality reflected in our supreme legal document?

Women and non-whites have historically been excluded from mateship’s embrace, but you point to these groups being more included in recent years. Do you think mateship will ever truly represent anyone who is not a white male, or is its history too strong?
I can understand why many Australians continue to feel uneasy about mateship. The baggage is hefty. Yet if you accept that Australia has changed for the better in many ways over the past four decades—we are more open, tolerant and diverse, and our male denizens have smartened up their act too—then I say take a second look at mateship. Its simple premise—in my view—is that we are together in this life. I think that’s a personal and national ideal worthy of our aspirations. Another reason for taking a second look is that, as my book shows, the meaning of mateship has changed many times over the years. Its original meaning was gender-blind and there is no reason to believe that we can’t return to that meaning.

What was the last book you read and loved?
Nonfiction: Ari Shavit’s My Promised Land: The Triumph and Tragedy of Israel (Scribe). If you want to truly understand the Israeli condition and conflict with the Palestinians, you have to read this clear-eyed yet passionate account written by one of the nation’s very best journalists.

Fiction: George Orwell’s Burmese Days (various imprints). Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm make a lot more sense after reading this. A deeply unhappy book that was a pleasure to read.

Category: Features