Staff Papers
The Chamberlain and Mabo Papers: Case Studies of Personal Papers of National Symbolic Significance
Paper written by Adrian Cunningham and delivered by Kathryn Dan at the Australian Society of Archivists Annual Conference, Alice Springs, 25 May 1996
CONTENTS
One of the more striking traits of popular history is its tendency to
divide history up into arbitrary chunks of time such as decades and to
repetitively associate those chunks of time with human archetypes or actual
individuals who are seen to be representative of the essential defining
characteristics of their period. Thus, for the First World War we have the
archetype of the mud-encrusted soldier as trench warfare cannon fodder; for the
1920s there is the flapper; for the 1930s there is the unemployed battler; for
the 1950s there is the housewife with her Hill's Hoist; in the 1960s the
anti-war flower child; in the 1980s the yuppie; and so on. The identification
of particular individuals as icons of their period can add faces to the
archetypes. Thus the 1950s are seen as the Menzies decade and the 1960s the era
of the Beatles. Political leaders are of course ideal candidates. Whitlam seems
to sum up the 1970s in Australia, even though he was only Prime Minister for
three years. Likewise Bob Hawke can be seen to represent the 1980s and Paul
Keating the 1990s.
If we move beyond politicians, who are the icons for the last two decades in Australia? Perhaps the leading candidate for the 1980s is Alan Bond, whose high flying corporate shenanigans and winning of the America's Cup best sums up the brash go-getting philosophy of the time. In terms, however, of media coverage there can only be one candidate for the title 'face of the '80s' in Australia - that is Lindy Chamberlain. As for the 1990s, it is probably too early to make a definitive judgement on the question. Nevertheless, the early front-runner is unquestionably Eddie Mabo. Indeed, as the name Mabo has spread into common parlance it has become depersonalised shorthand for simultaneously: a body of concepts and recent developments relating to indigenous land rights; and a divisive area of schismatic controversy within Australian society. I have even heard the 1990s described as 'the post-Mabo era'.
Despite their very different backgrounds (one a black labourer and
political activist from the outer reaches of the Torres Strait, the other a
white Seventh Day Adventist mother and housewife), in retrospect Chamberlain
and Mabo have much in common. Both were leading figures in the most celebrated
legal cases of their respective decades and both divided Australian public
opinion down the middle. Almost everyone held (and probably still holds) firm
opinions on the Chamberlain and Mabo cases and has probably engaged in
countless hours of heated discussion over the perceived rights and wrongs of
each of the cases. It is probably simplistic to assert that, in legal terms,
the Chamberlain case changed nothing while the Mabo case changed everything. No
one can deny, however, that both cases changed the psychological face of
Australia dramatically. As symbolic crucibles and signposts of the Australian
state of mind, both cases are without parallel in recent Australian history.
By now some of you may be asking what has all this got to do with the
National Library of Australia? Some of you may have guessed that it is to do
with the National Library's Manuscript Section acquiring the personal papers of
Lindy Chamberlain and Eddie Mabo. What I want to talk to you about this morning
is why the Library acquired these papers and, more importantly, what the papers
can tell us about Australia during the 1980s and 1990s and what they can tell
us about the nature and significance of personal recordkeeping for symbolic
purposes.
Not surprisingly, the publicity mileage which the Library gained from
these two acquisitions was considerable. But it was not a desire to generate
publicity that prompted the National Library to pursue these two collections.
Unquestionably, both Chamberlain and Mabo are figures of national significance.
As such, their personal papers meet one of the major criteria for acquisition
by the National Library. On the question of research value the collections also
measure up more than adequately, being goldmines of biographical, legal and
other unique evidential source material. It is, however, their symbolic
significance that sets the two groups of papers apart. While I am not at
liberty to disclose the amounts of money that the Library paid for the two
collections, I can say that the final valuations in each case contained a
substantial component of value relating to the symbolic significance of the
collections. This symbolic value was over and above, but nevertheless
inextricably linked with, the estimated research value of the collections.
The link between symbolic value and research value is a slippery one.
Symbolic value can of course be exploited by institutions like the National
Library for temporary publicity and display purposes. But symbolic value can in
itself be the focus of research. In years to come researchers will be drawn to
these two collections, not so much to find out about Lindy Chamberlain and
Eddie Mabo as individuals, but to find out about the society within which they
became focal points and upon which they left indelible impressions. I should
point out here that, for the time being, access to both collections is
restricted. Researchers wishing to use the Chamberlain or Mabo papers must
first obtain the permission of Lindy Chamberlian and Bonita Mabo
respectively.
James O'Toole in his 1993 American Archivist article 'The Symbolic
Significance of Archives' distinguishes between the practical and symbolic
values of archives. According to O'Toole this distinction can be made with
equal validity in considering both the nature and purpose of records creation
and the nature and purpose of the use of records. O'Toole cites as examples of
symbolic value records created for ceremonial and religious purposes, records
(such as the Domesday Book) which are revered as objects and, conversely,
records which can be the objects of hatred and hostility because of what they
are seen to represent. Because the names Chamberlain and Mabo have been subject
to roughly equal quantities of reverence and hostility, the symbolic
significance of their papers can potentially take more than one form. Moreover,
it becomes apparent when one looks closely at these two collections that
symbolism can insinuate itself into records in more ways than those identified
by O'Toole. Just how subtle an influence can symbolic significance (or
potential symbolic significance) be on the way records are created, maintained
and transferred from the personal domain to the public domain?
If we examine the context in which the Chamberlain and Mabo Papers were created we notice one
hugely significant point of difference between the two collections. The bulk of
both collections date from the 1980s. The difference is that during this time
Eddie Mabo was a complete unknown while Lindy Chamberlain was perhaps the most
recognisable face in the Australian mass media. Lindy Chamberlain was a legend
in her own lifetime, while Eddie Mabo was not elevated to legendary status
until after he died.
Despite this difference, both individuals kept detailed records of
their activities. Chamberlain's papers fill some 70 boxes while Mabo's fill
some 20 boxes. Housewives and Torres Strait Islanders do not usually document
their activities so assiduously. But Chamberlain was no ordinary housewife and
Mabo no ordinary Torres Strait Islander. It is tempting to speculate that those
psychological characteristics that enabled both to reach national prominence
were the same characteristics that prompted them to be careful recordkeepers.
Yet this theory breaks down when we consider the number of prominent
individuals who have been lousy recordkeepers. We must also consider the fact
that, while Mabo worked hard for his prominence, Chamberlain stumbled across
hers by accident, viewing her notoriety with understandable ambivalence.
When we look closely at the nature of the two collections we can begin
to discern ways in which symbolic significance may have influenced their
creation. We can also begin to speculate upon the ways in which the evidence of
this perceived symbolism, which is embedded within the papers themselves, can
be revealing of the nature of the wider society that the papers have come to
reflect and represent.
The Mabo and Chamberlain Papers are two of the most extraordinary assemblages of contemporary personal papers I have encountered. This assertion is not based upon the celebrity and significance of the individuals who created them, although this contextual knowledge cannot be ignored. Rather, the basis of this assertion is:
a) The highly unusual nature of the activities and attitudes documented in the papers;
b) The strong commitment to recordkeeping demonstrated by the creators, a commitment which ensured the capture and retention of the papers; and
c) The fact that the sorts of activities documented in the papers are rarely, if ever. documented so thoroughly through original recordkeeping.
The Chamberlain Papers contain a vast amount of unique manuscript
material created over a relatively short period of time. While in recent years
it has not been unusual for collections of personal papers to occupy more than
one hundred boxes, such collections have usually been bulked out substantially
by runs of such printed or duplicated material as reports and newspaper
cuttings. The Chamberlain collection contains little such material. Instead it
contains inter alia over 20,000 mostly holograph letters and cards from an
extremely broad cross-section of the Australian general public. Most of these
letters are supportive of the Chamberlains. They are most numerous around the
time of Lindy's conviction in November 1982, the birth of her daughter Kahlia
in December 1982 (the birth received media attention equivalent to that of a
royal wedding) and the quashing of her conviction in September 1988.
Many of these letters are trite, repetitive and of little individual
interest. Many others, however, are amazingly discursive, revealing attitudes
rarely committed to paper by people who are rarely moved to write letters. They
reveal the depth of emotional involvement in the Chamberlain case experienced
by countless thousands of ordinary Australians. They include letters of
contrition from individuals who at first considered Chamberlain to be guilty,
but who subsequently changed their mind and could not rest until their had
explained and justified their conversion to the person at the centre of the
case. For anyone wishing to reach an understanding of why and how the
Chamberlain case so gripped the collective psyche of the nation these letters
are indispensable. I can think of no other body of documents that would convey
similar insights into the views and motivations of the great mass of anonymous
Australians. The full gamut of views is represented - the crackpot theories,
the spiritual interpretations, the sick and obsessive are all here alongside
requests for forgiveness. This is surely the unique archival equivalent of
talk-back radio. One of the most numerous of the various categories of
correspondent is fellow members of the Chamberlains' Seventh Day Adventist
Church. As source material on the reaction of members of a minority church in
Australia to perceived persecution, this collection is probably unrivalled.
Also included amongst the papers are: family correspondence, including
letters written by Lindy whilst she was in prison; files of litigation material
including copies of statements, transcripts of police interviews, letters from
witnesses (many of who's lives were irrevocably transformed by the case),
research material and legal correspondence; drafts and galleys of Chamberlain's
book Through my eyes; files of correspondence with members of Parliament;
photographs; and subject files.
Just as interesting as the range of material that has been preserved
is the manner in which it has been preserved. When Library staff first
inspected the papers in June 1992 they were in a state of considerable
disarray. It would seem that they were collected and retained by various
members of the family, most notably husband Michael Chamberlain and Lindy's
parents, particularly during the period when Lindy was incarcerated. One can
only speculate as to what motivated each of these family members to retain most
if not all of the papers that came their way. They may well have been acting
under instruction from Lindy, but equally they may have been acting upon their
own initiative and in the full awareness of the widespread community interest
in the case. Interestingly, for some years Michael Chamberlain was a
professional member of the Australian Society of Archivists. It is reasonable
therefore to assume that the family possessed a developed awareness of the
value and significance of records.
By 1992 Lindy had separated from Michael and had legal custody of the
family archive. With remarriage and relocation to North America looming the
sorting of the family archive became one of her top priorities. Throughout 1992
Lindy and her parents worked feverishly upon the organisation, alphabetisation
and annotation of the papers. The papers were divided up into eight series
which were identifiable by colour-coded folders. These were:
- Lindy Chamberlain Collection
- Reagan Chamberlain Collection
- Kahlia Chamberlain Collection
- Michael Chamberlain Collection
- Joint Chamberlain Family Collection
- Joint Chamberlain Children's Collection
- Joint Michael and Children Collection
- Aidan Chamberlain Collection
Of these, the Lindy Chamberlain component was by far the largest,
consisting of various sub-series, including general correspondence and a series
of particularly significant documents which Lindy referred to as "Specials".
For an archivist who is more accustomed to the scrappy and incomplete nature of
most personal records collections the overall effect of the Chamberlain Papers
is awe inspiring. In the words of one of the independent valuers:
The style and spirit of its ordering are such that it offers an
unusual degree of completeness. It has been assembled in a fashion so rigorous
that it is almost impossible to imagine an instance of conscious or willing
exclusion.
An interesting related feature of the Chamberlain records is the
number of record groups created by the large number of Chamberlain support
groups that mobilised support for Lindy and Michael around the country. Many of
the organisers of these support groups, including Guy and Phyllis Boyd, Betty
Hocking and Liz Noonan, became so completely obsessed by the case that it
dominated their lives. The National Library had already acquired the records of
a number of these groups before it established contact with Lindy herself. In
turn, Lindy was able to put the Library in contact with a number of other
groups about which we were unaware. Collectively, the records of these various
groups together with the Chamberlains' own records constitute a near
comprehensive record of the social impact of the Chamberlain case. If it is the
case that the true nature of society can best be understood through the
insights provided by extraordinary events that impact upon it, then there is
probably no other body of records from the 1980s that could better serve this
purpose than the Chamberlain Papers.
As celebrated as the Mabo judgement is, the Australian general public
know very little about the life of its eponymous principal plaintiff. Born on
the island of Mer at the Eastern end of Torres Strait, Edward 'Koiki' Mabo
moved to the mainland at age 20 and spent the remainder of his life living and
working in and around Townsville. When the now-famous indigenous land rights
legal challenge was launched in 1982 Mabo already had 20 years of experience of
political activism behind him. The fact that Mabo tirelessly pursued the
seemingly impossible legal challenge to the doctrine of terra nullius over the
ten years that it took to see the case through to near completion suggests that
his was a character of unusual tenacity and persistence. These are
characteristics which are more than amply demonstrated by the papers he left
behind.
Upon first inspection what is most striking about the Mabo Papers is
how few of them relate directly to the land rights case. In fact, the series
documenting the land claim is contained in only one of the 19 boxes in the
collection. Further inspection, however, reveals that what might initially be
thought a fault of the collection is perhaps its most useful feature. The other
18 boxes reveal that there was much much more to Eddie Mabo than one celebrated
legal case. The remaining papers document his chequered employment and
educational history, his numerous (mostly unsuccessful) business ventures, his
founding in 1973 of the Black Community School in Townsville (the first of its
kind in Australia and a model for similar developments elsewhere), his
membership of the Yumba Meta Housing Association and ABIS Community
Cooperative, his involvement in the Torres Strait independence movement, and
his work for the National Aboriginal Education Committee. Together the papers,
which date back to the early 1960s, paint a picture of a relentlessly driven
man, a passionate advocate of indigenous rights and a constant fountain of
ideas and innumerable schemes and plans.
The papers are thus an indispensable source for anyone wishing to
understand the full context of the Mabo
decision. The decision would not have been possible without the efforts of
one prickly, yet energetic individual. We are indeed fortunate that Mabo made
the effort to preserve a body of records relating to his manifold activities,
for had he not done this he would have forever remained a somewhat mysterious
and shadowy figure dwarfed by the enormity of his achievement. His death six
months before the High Court delivered its landmark decision in 1992 may have
robbed him of the recognition he expected would come, but his diaries and other
records reveal for posterity the inner motivations that fuelled his relentless
pursuit of justice. Credit should also be given here to Mabo's widow, Bonita
Mabo, who not only recognised the significance of her late husband's papers and
took action to preserve them, she also recognised their value to the wider
Australian community and reacted accordingly when approached by the National
Library. Indeed the story of the acquisition of the Mabo Papers is a
fascinating one in its own right. Rather than attempt to cover that ground
here, I simply refer listeners to an article by John
Thompson on the Mabo acquistion which appeared in National Library of
Australia News in October 1995.
What drove a man whose oral culture has no tradition of personal
recordkeeping and whose life was in a state of almost perpetual chaos and
upheaval to keep extensive records on such a wide range of activities over such
a long period of time? It is likely that his great interest in formal education
instilled in Mabo a respect for the value of the written word. Also important
is his sense of destiny. From reading the papers it is obvious that Mabo was
fully aware of the significance of what he was doing - indeed he was prone to
over-estimate the significance of some of his less successful ventures.
Important documents were carefully filed away and annotated for future
reference. Archival research was an integral component of the successful legal
challenge to terra nullius. It is probably fair therefore to assume that Mabo
understood the power and significance of the archival record. Furthermore, the
symbolism of his actions and achievements was not lost on Eddie Mabo. Indeed,
his portentous use of symbolism to upbraid his unreliable cast of supporting
plaintiffs and fellow Murray Islanders is particularly striking. Nor was the
symbolic significance of the papers lost on his widow and children after the
High Court ruling was handed down. Both Bonita Mabo and Lindy Chamberlain
recognised the national symbolic significance of the collections in their
custody and were keen to see the collections deposited in the most appropriate
national repository.
In her soon to be published article 'Evidence of Me', Sue McKemmish
explores some of the motivations for personal recordkeeping. According to
McKemmish, these motivations include certain social mandates which dictate the
need to preserve society's collective memory and cultural identity, in addition
to the individual motivation to 'account for ourselves'. Where personal
recordkeepers either suspect or are abundantly aware of their own personal
significance the social and personal mandates for recordkeeping are difficult
to ignore. These warrants, mandates and motivations are quite separate from the
practical imperatives for recordkeeping, that is the day-to-day need to keep
track of one's activities. If McKemmish is right, this distinction between the
practical and cultural warrants for recordkeeping is one which is especially
prevalent in the personal domain. It is a small leap indeed from these cultural
warrants to the kind of symbolic warrants that I have explored in this paper.
In this paper I have endeavoured to demonstrate that in a small minority of personal recordkeeping cases the individual recordkeepers come to suspect that their actual or potential status as national icons may invest in their records a symbolic significance which almost completely transcends any practical significance the papers may possess. This knowledge must perforce have an impact in all of the dimensions of the personal records continuum from creation and capture through to acquisition and processing by a collecting institution. As these case studies have, I hope, suggested, the symbolic significance of archives can manifest itself in more ways and can be more influential than James O'Toole considered in his seminal article in the American Archivist. Dare I suggest that this is a whole area of potential archival research, of which the surface has so far only been scratched?
