History, heritage, and colonialism: Historical consciousness, Britishness, and cultural identity in New Zealand, 1870–1940 by Kynan Gentry, and: Insanity, identity and empire: Immigrants and institutional confinement in Australia and New Zealand, 1873–1910 by Catharine Coleborne (review)

Both Kynan Gentry’s History, heritage, and colonialism: Historical consciousness, Britishness, and cultural identity in New Zealand, 1870–1940 and Catharine Coleborne’s Insanity, identity and empire: Immigrants and institutional confinement in Australia and New Zealand, 1873–1910 question the different ways in which identities are formed. Both also focus on New Zealand and Australia, although Gentry looks to Canada as well. Gentry addresses the politics of history-making and cultural identity, asking questions such as the following: how did New Zealand, in particular, make a useful past? How does a society of immigrants, largely from Britain, find a way to mark itself as a unique country? The answer, Gentry argues, lies in the material culture and way of life of New Zealand’s indigenous people. Preservation of things Maori, therefore, served the interest of the colonizers rather than the Maori themselves. Gentry suggests as a “great paradox” that tourism placed Maoritanga at the center of the country’s identity at the same time as settler colonialism mandated its erasure (52). Yet this is perhaps too stark. Leaders such as Apirana Ngata and Te Puea Herangi were equally committed to preservation for their own purposes, which had little to do with the international tourism trade.

Genry considers the act of memorializing, be it through the founding of historical societies, architecture, landscape, memorials, or material culture. The first two chapters, on Pakeha (European New Zealanders) interest in Maori material culture, argues “that the image of Maori culture presented through tourism was inseparable from colonizing practice” (16). Commemorating the New Zealand Wars added drama to the country’s past—a drama that Australia lacked. New Zealanders, according to Gentry, developed a view of themselves as rugged pioneers and courageous colonial soldiers; however, Gentry leaves us wishing to know more about the ways in which women in the Victoria League portrayed their identity. Of particular note in this section is Gentry’s discussion of Edith Statham, who worked hard preserving war graves, and who was involved in a number of voluntary organizations, such as the Plunket Society, which fostered a particular pride in New Zealand as a country that cared for children (Pakeha children that is).

Chapters 3, 4, and 5 address the period from 1890 to the mid-1930s when Pakeha interest in the history of the country burgeoned. Here, Gentry provides a useful reminder of the importance of local areas wishing to commemorate particular events or, in other instances, wishing to emphasize a particular past that would promote tourism from abroad. This practice led to disputes within the country because there was no seamless agreement on the events of significance. Such choices hinged on local vantage points, differing greatly, for instance, in Auckland and Oamaru.

Gentry’s survey of local and national preoccupations with memorializing has much to teach and includes some lovely ironies. It took a member of the English Peerage, for example, to recognize that New Zealand should preserve and honor the ground that hosted the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi. Lord Bledisloe, Governor General of New Zealand from 1930 to 1935, purchased the site and gifted it to the nation. This became a nationally important landmark, but local sites also had their own significance. In the chapter entitled “History from below, or, when did parochialism become a dirty word?” Gentry shows the ways in which local communities sought to memorialize their own pasts, and how “[c]ollection and memorialization were often inseparable,” leading to local museums and libraries (132).

Gentry discusses the geographer Doreen Massey’s idea that “the establishment of the feeling...