February 19 – 21, 2014
By David Campion
Earlier
this month, the students spent a week of independent travel working on their
research projects. I took this
opportunity to visit Tasmania, the island to the south of Eastern
Australia. It was a chance for me
to see a new part of the country and to satisfy my longstanding historical
curiosity about one of the more notorious places in the British Empire. In many ways Tasmania feels like a
different country. It is the only
state that is physically separated from the continent of Australia. The weather is noticeably cooler and
wetter than the other places we have experienced thus far. Even before I arrived I could see miles
of lush green forests, hills and farmland from the airplane window as we made
our final approach. It looked very
similar to Oregon, actually.
On
the second day, I drove east to the Port Arthur penal settlement. The place is a combination of ruins and
restored buildings that have been declared a UNESCO world heritage site. The place is serene and beautiful, yet
disturbing and haunting at the same time.
Port Arthur was established in 1830 as a final destination for repeat
offenders and high-risk convicts in the other Australian penal colonies—the
world’s first “supermax” prison.
It was a cruel place, seemingly more remote from the rest of the world
than even Australia. Inmates wore
leg irons constantly and were worked to exhaustion cutting timber, mining, or engaged
in other backbreaking labor. The
convicts included Irish rebels, English Chartists and the few Tasmanian Aboriginals
who had survived the virtual annihilation of their people. Those who were disobedient or
malingerers were subjected to reduced rations, isolation, and brutal corporal
punishment. The incarcerated
included young boys and the mentally ill (though mental health in Port Arthur
was a diminishing resource among most residents). Within the larger site was
the “separate prison”—an early experiment in psychological conditioning of
inmates. Extended periods of
solitary confinement, sensory deprivation, and aggressive religious
proselytizing were the norm. In
many ways, this remote British prison was an early version of the gulags of the
Soviet Union and was characterized by similar indoctrination, regimentation,
torture and isolation. There was
no hope of escape for the “criminals,” many of whom were political dissidents
or non-violent petty thieves driven by the realities of their poverty. Overall, Port Arthur was a sobering
history lesson. None of the
supposed barbarism of Britain’s conquered peoples could compare to its
cold-bloodedness and dehumanization.
The site remains an almost mocking rejoinder to the progress and liberty
invoked to justify the imperial expansion of Victorian Britain. Indeed it makes Australia’s other penal
colonies seem mild by comparison.
Guard House at Port Arthur Penal Settlement |
Ruins of Main Penitentiary at Port Aurthur |
After
Port Arthur, I was in the mood for a lighter and more cheerful experience. I spent the final three days hiking
through two of the island’s most renowned national parks: Freycinet on the
rugged eastern coast and Hartz Mountain in the vast southwestern forests. Both were spectacular and easily lived
up to my expectations of Tasmania’s rugged and wild natural beauty. In Freycinet I climbed to the top of
Mt. Amos and enjoyed a commanding view of Wineglass Bay and the Tasman
Sea. In Hartz I walked for miles
through misty forests and mountains.
The most amazing quality was the silence. Often there was not a sound to be heard—no birds, insects,
animals or even the wind. It had
an almost mystical serenity. Yet I
couldn’t help but think that the same monastic silence must have seemed so
unnatural to those early convicts sent out to ends of earth and was likely to
have contributed to their alienation and despair. Tasmania was indeed a haunting place: beautiful, strange,
remote and silent. I won’t soon
forget it.
–
Dave
Hartz Mountain National Park |
Lake Esperance at Hartz Mountain National Park |
View from Mt. Amos at Freycinet National Park |