It's easy to ignore the significance of Anzac Parade.
To many, the three-lane thoroughfare, guided either end by Canberra's traffic champion, the roundabout, makes for a convenient shortcut to avoid Civic gridlock. To others, it's the memory of a dull school excursion, reading a series of plaques backed by the soundtrack of a motorway.
And if we're truly honest with our community, the memorials have long provided privacy to alcohol-fuelled young people doing dark deeds in their shadows in the early hours of the morning. Only once a year, give or take, do Canberrans really see it exist as anything other than a very stylish road.
However, like a royal baby being born into eminence, the tarmac that divides Reid and Campbell has always been destined for greatness. While every street in Canberra may be carefully crafted in its own special way; whether its name follows a theme or its design facilitates the ideal suburban utopia, Anzac Parade is arguably Australia's most considered street.
It's a historic example of the inception of Australia's newly federated nation. It's not only reflective of the 20th Century urban planning movement to reduce housing congestion by making wide streets and 'tree-lined boulevards', but laying at the foot of Mount Ainslie and aligning the natural landmark to Parliament House, Anzac Parade defines Canberra's symbolic Parliamentary Triangle.
As such, it plays an enormous role in Walter Burley Griffin's rich in symbolism design theory, magnificently sweeping upward to the top of the mountain and providing an inspiring view for the Parliament.
Griffin originally named it "Prospect Parkway" and sited a casino at its head. But that was soon to change along with Australian political culture.
With the Gallipoli campaign leaving tens of the thousands of soldiers interred overseas, war historian and academic Professor Joan Beaumont notes that war memorials, from crosses to statues, were built in almost every Australian city and town as ""surrogate tombs" post-WW1. Following suit, in 1919, it was suggested to use the terminus of Griffin's axis as a War Memorial in Canberra.
In 1927, the National Memorial Committee proposed that public places in Canberra should be given distinctive (Anglo) Australian names; exploration, colonisation, politics. This was the same year that Anzac Day was made a federal public holiday.
With the Anzac legend - the distinctive characteristics that Australian soldiers allegedly exemplified in battle - finding its feet in national consciousness, the name of the Australian and New Zealand Battalion was adopted for one of the country's most impressive streets.
Dedicating Griffin's symbolic land axis to military service speaks volumes about the place of war in Australia's political culture. When speaking with Professor Beaumont, she explains how the direct line of the War Memorial, to a series of military memorials, and the Parliament represents a direct connection between the Australian nation, state and government and the experience of war.
Despite our defence force being small compared to other nations, Canberra is one of the few capities cities in the world with such a prominent design.
Professor Beaumont argues that Anzac Parade is a key component in the political rhetoric that service in war is something to affirm and tributes to military heroism can legitimise present-day conflicts.
"The Anzac legend and the Australian War Memorial promotes, on balance, a message which is positive," she says. "The purpose of that, I believe, is to ensure that Australians continue to think that it is appropriate to die in the defense of the nation. Not just in the past, but now." Kevin Rudd complimenting the 2009 veterans in Iraq as "the Anzacs of today", she points out, is one such example.
In the 1960s Anzac Parade was developed into a new precinct as a part of Menzies' vision to make Canberra, with its dwindling population and popularity at the time, a symbol of national pride.
It included the striking red floor we are familiar with today, made from Canberra's iconic red bricks crushed into gravel which are supposed to emulate the sound of soldiers marching, and awaited for monuments relating to war to - according to Menzies - "inspire national sentiment".
It was officially opened in 1965, coinciding with the 50th Anniversary of the Anzac landing in Gallipoli. It also coincided with the Vietnam War. The sacred site, built to remember the Anzacs, was born in a time when Australia had military commitment abroad.
What is more, a mere four days after the unveiling of the Parade, the government announced it would upgrade their commitment to South Vietnam, providing an infantry battalion made-up of drafted citizens. The Anzac Parade event made for both, an opportune time for government to pair military service with nationalism, and a disappointing realisation for the public that history indeed repeats itself. If Walter Burley Griffin wanted his grand axis to be rich in symbolism, this would be it.
By the 1980s, anti-war sentiments were a thing of the past and the memory of war had somewhat of a renaissance. The Anzac spirit was depicted in feature films, documentaries, special newspaper editions and the word 'mateship' was having its moment (arguably even more so than during the Gallipoli campaign).
Anzac Parade was home to two memorials: the Desert Mounted Corps, installed in 1968, and the Royal Australian Air Force, 1973. Today, that number has grown to 12, changing not only the face of Anzac Parade, but the narrative of Australian warfare. For many years, what was critiqued as being militaristic, masculine and nationalist, Anzac Parade now presents a more inclusive representation of Australia at war, recognising multiculturalism and honouring women in service.
Professor Beaumont's work distinguishes memorials from monuments; with memorials being places which people actively go and conduct their own ceremonies of remembrance and engage with the site, and monuments as non-active.
While visitor numbers have increased for the war memorial, it's rare to see the same foot-traffic on the Parade itself. The memorials (or 'monuments') on Anzac Parade exist in recognition for particular groups and the service they gave, but ultimately, they're not regularly used for commemorative purposes. Anzac Parade's main function continues to be automotive first, and commemorative second, with an overarching political status.
Whether it's appropriate to dress our streets in military heroism, depends on what one considers to be an appropriate commemoration of war. Certainly, Anzac Parade is a mall of touching tributes, largely lobbied by the Australian people to remember those who served in the perils of combat.
But so too is it a complicated spectacle, built off the back of the memory of war, while ironically in the midst of military conflict. Anzac Parade is the metaphorical body which salutes our soldiers with one hand and holds their conscription papers tight in the other, sending a controversial message about our sacred Anzac legend.
Come Wednesday morning the veterans we see marching on its smooth tarmac will be the same men who were drafted the same year that very road was established in the name of 'Lest We Forget'.
And amongst the iconic red gravel and the expensive bronze memorials will be the absence of their 500 comrades who were sent away and killed, offering as the most honest tribute on Griffin's famous axis.
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