This essay reconstructs defensive/offensive mechanisms of Aboriginal communication networks and presents historical examples of their application as a means of resistance during Australia’s frontier wars. The principal focus is on smoke-signalling systems, especially in Queensland.

St Joseph’s Nudgee College is an Irish Christian Brothers boys’ boarding school in Brisbane. It was established in 1891 to provide the children of Irish Catholics living in regional and remote Queensland and northern New South Wales with access to an education that would act as a vehicle for socio-economic advancement. The first decades of the college’s existence were nevertheless defined by two competing, sometimes contradictory imperatives. An often-belligerent determination to retain an Irish identity existed side by side with an awareness that a ‘ghetto mentality’ would hinder the socio-economic advancement of Queensland’s Catholics. The balancing act that this necessitated was particularly evident in the College’s mixed reaction to the outbreak of war in 1914 and the subsequent reticence to celebrate Anzac Day between 1916 and 1939. This article explores the College’s response through its Annuals (Year Books) and places it in the context of the Australian Irish Catholic experience of war and commemoration.

Shells are beautiful! They are really ingenious in the way that they are made and the animals they house. The shells grow with the animal, from tiny little shells to a great big shell. An animal wasn’t born that big, so the large shells have been there for years.

A little-known piece of Queensland’s art history is that the Indian artist Frank Wesley lived and worked in Queensland for nearly thirty years. From Azamgarh, Uttar Pradesh, Wesley completed his art studies in India, Japan and the United States. He won the competition to design the urn that would hold the ashes of Mahatma Gandhi and had paintings exhibited in the Vatican Museum in Rome in 1950. His Blue Madonna painting was reproduced on the first UNICEF Christmas card. Wesley spent the last third of his life in Nambour. While he may chiefly be considered a watercolourist in the Indian Lucknow style, his media and practice were far more diverse. This article seeks to provide a brief overview of the work achieved by Wesley over this time, featuring biblical and Christian themes, and also landscapes and figurative pieces in a wide range of media and styles from various traditions. Among these are styles that emerged in more distinctive ways during his Nambour years, including the incorporation of the human figure or the hand of God in the landscape after seeing Indigenous rock art, and also the contrasting designs for two stained-glass windows.

The Great Barrier Reef has been bleaching yet again. If the Anthropocene had a colour table, bleached coral would hold an especially recognizable place within it. By some lights, chromatic behaviour — and chromatic disaster — are best apprehended as secondary qualities, as spectacles that offer to point the discerning observer beyond the tokens of human sense and toward an object’s (or ecosystem’s) essential properties. This article asks whether it is possible, and ethically viable, to recognise corallian colour practice as having meaning in and of itself. I argue that we should recognise coral colourism as the irreducibly relational comportment of species, sunlight, salt water, sediment and so on. Contrary to some influential views, the Reef’s performances are not simply constructed by the fantasies of human spectators, but by stimulating human sensoria, they do hail us as participants in the chromatic field. Reckoning the loss of hue as a discrete catastrophe might therefore generate tools for articulating value in a manner that is not strictly constructivist, naively scientistic or reactionarily idealistic. Caring for the Reef may be, not first of all but not least of all, a caring for colour — a caring against chromatic disappearance and a caring towards chromatic repair.

This article explores the totemic 2020 Queensland state election, at which a two-term government plagued by a deteriorating economy and widely criticised travel restrictions amid the COVID-19 pandemic was returned with an increased majority. The article posits three arguments: that COVID-19 created a new ‘lens’ through which electors evaluated public policy and that allowed voters to frame public health and safety over the more usual measures of economic performance; that Queensland voters drew on their traditional political culture – especially their predilection for strong leadership and state chauvinism – to evaluate the Palaszczuk Labor government’s pandemic management favourably compared with contemporaneous events in Victoria; and that Queensland voters expressed similar confidence in a Labor economic recovery plan that contrasted favourably with the LNP’s economic platform. In sum, this article argues that Queenslanders in 2020 cast a ‘gratitude vote’ for a government they saw as being in control of both public health and economic recovery.

In the early twentieth century, great delight in the unique tropical beauty of the Great Barrier Reef, coupled with an opportunistic spirit for commercial development, inspired the commission of eye-catching posters and advertisements by Australian tourist organisations. The aim of this article is to discuss a pictorial device that developed alongside the rise of modern tourist advertising images of Great Barrier Reef – a split-level viewpoint that approximates the effect of looking at the Reef through the glass sides of an aquarium. Building on my earlier research published in 2019 on wildlife photography and the construction of the Great Barrier Reef as a modern visual spectacle, and combining art history with environmental history, this article also turns to coloured advertising lithographs. It argues that split-level visualisations separate human from non-human and elevate the idea of human superiority. With the Great Barrier Reef facing unprecedented ecological pressures, the historical images at the centre of this article are instructive for understanding the deleterious effects of anthropogenic impact, as well as early twentieth-century attitudes towards human–non-human relations.

Queensland has some 400 public museums and art galleries.1 Large or small, these are all dedicated to caring for their part of what is often called the ‘distributed national collection’ and to permanently documenting a segment of our history — social, natural or otherwise.2 Each of us who steps inside such an institution to help in this effort is liable to become lost to this world for the rest of our working life. We are all, in some sense, collectors, and we tend to be very loyal to ‘our’ subject matter.

The Great Barrier Reef is inscribed on the World Heritage List for its natural values, including an abundance of marine life and extraordinary aesthetic qualities. These and the enormous scale of the Reef make it unique and a place of ‘Outstanding Universal Value’. In the twentieth century, protection of the Great Barrier Reef shifted from limiting mechanical and physical impacts on coral reefs to managing agricultural runoff from adjacent mainland to minimise environmental impacts. By the early twenty-first century, it was apparent that threats to the Great Barrier Reef were no longer a local issue. Global warming, more frequent extreme weather events and increased ocean temperatures have destroyed vast swathes of coral reefs. Conservation scientists have begun trialling radical new methods of reseeding areas of bleached coral and creating more resilient coral species. The future of the Great Barrier Reef may depend on genetically engineered corals, and reefs that are seeded, weeded and cultured. This article asks whether the Great Barrier Reef can remain a natural World Heritage site or whether it might become World Heritage in Danger as its naturalness is questioned.

It was the early 1980s on a warm summer’s evening on North West Island, located in the Capricornia Bunker Group towards the southern end of the Great Barrier Reef. I had some time to myself and was wandering along the beach at sunset. Looking up, I realised there were thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of birds — wedge-tailed shearwaters, in fact — circling the island as they returned to their underground nests and their mates and chicks after a day of feeding and cruising the air currents. What was so special about this? After all, it happens every summer’s evening on many Reef sand cays. It was special for me because I suddenly realised that this huge sweep of birds was flying past in total silence … the only sound was an occasional wing dipping into the sea.

The likelihood that climate change may destroy the Great Barrier Reef has been a central motif in Australia’s climate change politics for more than a decade as political ideologies and corporate and environmental activism draw or refute connections between the coal industry and climate change. The media fuel this debate because in this contest, as ever, the news media always do more than simply report the news. Given that the Reef has also been central to the evolution of Australia’s environmental laws since the 1960s, it is not surprising that the Reef is now a leading actor in efforts to test the capacity of our environmental laws to support action on climate change. In this contribution, we examine the news coverage of the Australian Conservation Foundation’s (ACF) 2015 challenge to Adani’s Carmichael coal mine to observe the discursive struggle between the supporters and opponents of the mine. Our analysis of the case shows that while the courts are arenas of material and symbolic contest in the politics of climate change in Australia, public interest environmental litigants struggle both inside and outside the courts to challenge the privileging of mining interests over the public interest.

Photographer Jeff Tan dropped into the Mackay Environment Centre back in 2015. He had been on an expedition to Urannah Creek, where he had the chance to photograph some delightful landscapes. Jeff showed me one of his photos, evocatively named ‘Urannah_landscapes_24’, which was taken as the sun set over the river. The deep shadows created an eerie, dark scene but, even in the dying light, the colours of the river rocks were easily visible through the clear, fast-flowing water. I wanted to learn more about the place.

In the late 1970s, Carden Wallace was at the beginning of her lifelong exploration of the Great Barrier Reef — and indeed, reefs all over the world. For Wallace, who is now Emeritus Principal Scientist at Queensland Museum, the beginning of her Reef career coincided with the emergence of both feminist and environmental movements that meant her personal and professional lives would be entwined with a changing social, cultural and political milieu. In this article, we couple the story of Wallace’s personal life and her arrival in coral science to identify the Reef as a gendered space ripe to explore both feminist and conservation politics. The article is part of a broader Women of the Reef project that supports a history of women’s contribution to the care and conservation of the Reef since the 1960s. In amplifying the role of women in the story of the Reef, we find hope in the richness of detail offered by oral history to illuminate the ways discourse on the Reef and its women sits at the intersection of biography, culture, politics and place. In these stories, we recognise women’s participation and leadership as critical to past challenges, and to current and future climate change action. By retelling modern Reef history through the experiences and achievements of women, we can develop new understandings of the Reef that disrupt the existing dominance of patriarchal and Western systems of knowledge and power that have led us to the brink of ecological collapse.

Radio log 11/8/84

D5 crossing creek under Timbertop’s tree … continues to fill the creek crossing … If he continues to fill it high enough the D10 should go through. Looks like a moonscape where the dozers are working.

What conservation could possibly become commensurate with the rates of human-induced biophysical change unfolding at the advent to the Sixth Extinction Event? Any such conservation would require time-critical interventions into both ecosystems and evolution itself, for these interventions would also require domains of risk and ethics that shatter normative understandings of conservation. Yet a line appears to have been drawn in the sand against such experimental conservation. Holding the line will retain conservation practices that are null and void against the extinction debt facing multitudes of species. Crossing the line would invoke scales of bioengineering that appear abhorrent to normative morality. This article explores the question of whether this line in the sand could, and should, be crossed through a detailed case study of current and proposed conservation for endangered Chelonia mydas sea turtles on Raine Island, a small coral cay on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. Chelonia mydas and Raine Island are presented as synecdoche for conservation across diverse species across the world because turtles are among the most endangered of all reptiles and Raine Island is the largest and most important rookery in the world for this species. With such lines disappearing under the rising seas, the article contemplates the unthinkable questions that our current situation demands we ask, and perhaps even try to answer.