In finding new ways to commemorate Anzac Day, we should learn a lesson from the rise of the Gallipoli pilgrimage.
Two-up used to be illegal - playing it now helps us remember the spirit of larrikinism and anti-authoritarianism central to the Anzac myth.
As trans-Tasman borders re-open and in the wake of the Christchurch attacks, Anzac Day gains new meaning and presents new challenges – just as it has always done.
Amid the trauma and boredom of war, soldiers turned to reading — often magazines they wrote themselves.
The prime minister calls it “our most sacred day”, but numbers at Anzac Day dawn services fell by 70% from 2015-2019.
Beautifully directed, powerfully acted, Peter Weir’s Gallipoli still captures the devastating emotional toll of war, 40 years after it first premiered.
When the honour of Australia’s revered soldiers is questioned, so, too, is the national self-image. But war is an ugly business, and we pay a price for tethering it so tightly to our identity.
As Spanish flu ravaged the world in 1919, Australians found novel ways to commemorate Anzac Day, and they will do so again this year.
There is no weapon more visceral than the bayonet. It encourages an intimate form of killing, and during WW1, Australia troops plunged, parried and stabbed with great vigour.
At Gallipoli this Anzac Day, thousands of Turkish youth will re-enact a march that stopped the Anzac advance in 1915. The march has taken on new significance in Turkey since an attempted coup in 2016.
As tens of thousands of injured soldiers filled the UK’s overwhelmed hospitals, the scale of World War I became all too apparent.
Australians boast of our warrior participation in every major war since 1899, and in every modern Olympiad since 1896.
In 1960, historian Ken Inglis wondered if Anzac functioned as a secular religion in Australian society. In 2017, we can confidently answer: yes, it does.
Like Australia, China traditionally commemorates those who served in war in April each year, and increasingly they do it via social media.
The Gallipoli campaign has, in recent years, increasingly become part of the culture wars in Turkey associated with the rise of political Islam.
The 20th anniversary of the massacre at Port Arthur again raises pressing questions about ways of remembering the tragedy.
Might the rise of heritage tourism and the increasing ease of international travel lead to more of Australia’s military experiences overseas being better understood?
Gallipoli has become an enduring symbol of World War I’s futile carnage. But the campaign did have a purpose.
For those who were there one hundred years ago, Gallipoli was not the stuff of legend that it later became, but a site of regret and despair.
Henry Moseley, one of the outstanding young scientists of his generation, was shot and killed in the trenches of Gallipoli. But his death helped change the way that scientists are used in wartime.