The drums of war

On 25 April 2021, I published an internal all-staff Anzac Day message. I did so as the Secretary of the Department of Home Affairs, which is responsible for Australia’s civil defence, and its resilience in wartime. The message was titled ‘The Longing for Peace, the Curse of War’.

I warned that while we rightly lament the folly of war, the greater folly would be to seek to wish it away, while others are still prepared to wage it in order to achieve their ends. I wrote of hearing the ‘drums of war’. I observed that free nations have to work for peace, while preparing for war. These observations attracted some interest, locally and internationally, including in The Times, The Washington Post, The Economist, and the Global Times. The Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs called me ‘a real troublemaker’. I must have hit a nerve.

In the four years that have since passed, war has broken out in Europe, Israel has been attacked by Iran and its proxies, commercial shipping has come under attack in the Red Sea, China has begun to conduct rehearsals for a military attack on Taiwan, and North Korea has intensified its threats against South Korea. Despite all of this, in Australia, as we rightly commemorate on Anzac Day the tragedy of past war, we remain indifferent to the risk of future war in our ‘sheltered land’.

This complacency is not unique to Australia. Preparing for war requires deliberate and collective discourse, and concerted national action. Free nations are becoming less able to execute this foundational function of state. Our societies are turning increasingly inwards, and are becoming atomised. Social media, fractured political communication, and the breakdown of traditional party systems are generating and accelerating these trends.

Free peoples are increasingly focused on personal fulfilment or personal anxiety, or both. We pay less and less heed to the dangers of the real world, in favour of the pleasures and conveniences of the curated world. Unless an invader looms, there is an active aversion to thinking and speaking about war.

The governments of free nations are increasingly seen not as economic stewards and national protectors, but as service delivery organisations, whose task is to provide social benefits and supplement household budgets. Some might cynically see advantage in this state of affairs. It is easier to provide benefits than to demand sacrifices.

In Australia, in the absence of resources such as an inter-generational report on defence and national security (that would look out, say, 20 to 40 years) and independent bodies such as a defence equivalent of the Productivity Commission, there are no processes or structures to enable citizens to become properly informed.

Political leaders have, with some notable exceptions, limited expertise or experience in defence or national security affairs, while military and civilian leaders in the field are invisible, unlike the governor of the Reserve Bank, whose pronouncements on the economy are carefully assessed and interpreted.

For all of that, there is no justification for engaging in a moral panic over whether Australians today still possess the ‘Anzac character’, where in the face of danger one simply gets on with doing with what needs to be done. If Australians had to fight for our liberty, sovereignty, and way of life, we would once again turn up.

That includes the Zoomers of Gen Z. However, there’s the rub. Turning up would not be in issue. The problem would be the lack of preparation. If Australians turned up to fight untrained and unprepared, and lacking adequate arms, many would perish that needn’t, and the day might yet be lost, but not for lack of valour.

In these ever-darkening days, we need a modern-day John Curtin. A socialist, he wanted to lead on social reform and improve the lives of the working class and the poor. However, history set him a different task. As prime minister, he had to meet the challenge of mobilising a nation and fighting a war.

He knew that government would have to lead and set the direction, and address the particulars, while the people would have to serve and make sacrifices. He also knew that in order to rally the nation, he had to speak of war in sober, precise and often technical terms, and at length.

In 1941, Curtin was intellectually and morally equipped to undertake this task because he had not waited for the storm to break. In the 1930s, as Labor leader, he had spoken honestly, grimly and presciently about what needed to be done. He had mastered the detail, and thought about the contingencies.

Ninety years on, the drums are beating once again. Lest we forget.

This article was published by The Strategist.