Alcoa: A Nuclear Threat to Victorian Towns

Rei Yoshii, Siena Lentini, Claire Hawdon, & Peiran Liu

With nuclear power being promoted once again as an energy solution for Australia, considering past debates is instructive both because it illustrates nuclear uses enduring danger and how many people have historically mobilised against it. It was in this spirit that we sifted through materials from the University of Melbourne Archives relating to Alcoa’s Portland aluminium smelter.

In the late 1970s/early 1980s the involvement of Alcoa, a leading international provider of aluminium, in the West Victorian town of Portland, became a flashpoint for environmental activists. The controversy can be summed up as follows: looking to boost an ailing economy after the 1970s oil shock Victoria’s then-Liberal government struck a deal with Alcoa to build an aluminium smelter in Portland. There were several problems with this, including the increased price of electricity for Victorians and the risk of nuclear power being introduced in the state. Such concerns animated a vociferous campaign in opposition to Alcoa’s presence in Portland. Two leaflets produced by this campaign piqued our interest because of their evocative and interesting use of imagery.

Alcoa: A Disaster for Victoria

The leaflet Alcoa: A Disaster for Victoria (AADFV) concisely summarised the numerous criticisms sparked by the development of an aluminium smelter in Portland, Victoria. It begins by highlighting how Victorian consumers would be forced to pay more for electricity because the State Electricity Commission of Victoria (SEC) “had to borrow millions of dollars in the expectation of projects like Alcoa”. In other words, the Liberal government committed to using taxpayer funds to create the infrastructure and conditions with would entice international capital to Victoria to support this project. The leaflet also raised the possibility that the energy-intensive nature of aluminium smelting would consume so much electricity that it would lead to blackouts across Victoria.

Regarding its social impacts, AADFV argued that the influx of smelting workers into Portland would strain the community and its resources. In particular, that what is often limited community funds, would be spent creating housing (for prospective Alcoa workers) instead of supporting crucial services like healthcare, schooling, and welfare programs. The detrimental environmental impacts of the smelter are also stressed in the leaflet, specifically its impacts on vegetation, marine life and water supplies.

Figure 1: Alcoa: A Disaster for Victoria, University of Melbourne Archives, Records of the Communist Party of Australia. Victorian State Committee, 1991.0152, File: ALCOA/SEC, Unit 2.

An evocative caricature in this leaflet is critical of the development of an aluminium smelter in Portland. As displayed above (figure 1), the pig trough represents the aluminium industry. The five pigs at the trough symbolise the five supposed beneficiaries of the aluminium industry. However, only three pigs, representing big business are smiling (promotion, construction, and financing), while one (unemployment), unable to get to the trough, looks noticeably unhappy. The three smiling pigs also seem to be squeezing out another pig (energy costs). The taxes and savings of a disgruntled-looking worker provide the fodder for the ravenous, smiling pigs. Overseeing this entire process is a farmer who seems to represent the SEC, judging by the unsubtle use of its logo as the farmer’s face. Through this cartoon, the authors are likely attempting to convey that the Portland aluminium smelter, developed using the taxes and savings of workers, would ultimately be to the exclusive benefit of big business.

Nuclear Power for Portland

The second leaflet we delved into, titled Nuclear Power for Portland, considers the dangerous possibility that an aluminium smelter in Portland may provide a foundation for the introduction of nuclear power plants. The imagery (figure 2) embedded within the pamphlet directly questions and humours its audience. Upon first glance, one’s eyes are drawn to the bold and daunting imagery of a nuclear power plant, lit only by a small, inconspicuous sign stating, “another safe nuclear power plant”. The pamphlet engages with its audience from the outset, through the looming question posed on the cover, “but would you want to live next to one?”. Through literary devices, along with the dark and daunting imagery of the power plant in the background, the pamphlet heightens the impact of the rhetorical question posed, who would want to live next to a nuclear power plant?

Figure 2: Nuclear Power for Portland, University of Melbourne Archives, Consolidated Records of Congress for International Co-operation and Disarmament, 1979.0152, File: ALCOA – Nuclear Power, Unit 54.
Figure 3: Nuclear Power for Portland, University of Melbourne Archives, Consolidated Records of Congress for International Co-operation and Disarmament, 1979.0152, File: ALCOA – Nuclear Power, Unit 54.

In contrast, the second illustration (figure 3) within the pamphlet employs humour and sarcasm to engage with its audience. For instance, the electricity commission is seemingly personified within the pamphlet by the electrocution of a gormless-looking “suit”. This imagery may also be intended to convey to the audience the ridiculous nature of nuclear power plants and how the SEC was ‘fried’ for endorsing them. Though decades have passed since the publication of this leaflet, the points raised within it nevertheless highlight why the current Liberal-led push for nuclear power is similarly ‘fried’. Looking back at such imagery reiterates not only why we should steer clear of nuclear energy but also some of the techniques an anti-nuclear movement could employ moving forward.

“Stop Omega”: Tracing the Sites of Protests against the U.S. Military Omega base in Gippsland

Chitrangi Kakoti

Photographs of protests against the establishment of a U.S. military base in Gippsland, as part of their global Omega navigation system, feature prominently in the John Brant Ellis photographic collection. This large archive documenting anti-war and anti-nuclear movements in Victoria includes 34 photographs from Gippsland. While protests against the Omega base had been going on for nearly a decade, as Ellis notes, the majority of the photographs are of rallies in Yarram in 1977-1978.

It is no coincidence that the photographs are concentrated around 1977-1978. In March 1977, the Federal Cabinet approved the building of an Omega base in Australia, despite strong opposition. Frank Crankston, writing for The Canberra Times, notes that the Omega base is “[o]ne of the most controversial of all Australian building projects.” (1978) Upon perusal of the set of photographs, my interest was piqued by the political significance of the sites of the protests and rallies. Therefore, I used Google Maps to trace the approximate sites of anti-Omega base protests documented by Ellis. A simplified map can be found here and a satellite version of the map can be found here.

Figure 1: Map of Melbourne with pinned locations of the anti-Omega base protests documented by John Ellis.
Figure 2: Map of Gippsland with pinned locations of anti-Omega base protests documented by John Ellis.

Using identifiable buildings and landscape in the background of photographs and corresponding newspaper reports, particularly in the Tribune, which was the official newspaper of the Communist Party of Australia, selected locations could be pinpointed. Some are only approximations, indicating the street or general area mentioned in the metadata. For example, the metadata the photograph of Peter Jones at John and Alison French’s home identifies Hillston St, Moorabbin, therefore the pin has been placed at a general location on Hillston St. Descriptions accompanying the locations are based on the informative notes provided by Ellis and the metadata of respective items, along with information gleaned from newspaper articles.

Protests and rallies were organised in politically significant locations in Melbourne CBD (Figure 1) and in various locations in Gippsland (Figure 2), after Darriman was finalised as the site for the Omega base in late July 1977. The Melbourne City Square features as a prominent site of protest, from anti-Vietnam war protests in the (1999.0081.00944) to protests against the Gulf War in the 1990s. The City Square was located directly opposite the Town Hall – the seat of administrative power in Melbourne – and in one of the busiest areas of the city. Protests at the City Square, which was a large open public space, allowed for high visibility through the visuals and acoustics of the protestors, while also inviting bystanders and spectators to join the protest. Standing directly opposite the Town Hall also signified a direct challenge to state power through occupation and disruption of the City Square.

Figure 3: Stop Omega Campaign rally in Yarram, 14th August 1977, University of Melbourne Archives, Papers of John Brant Ellis, 1999.0081.00827.

Similarly, the rally organised on August 14, 1977, in Yarram was held in front of the Yarram Courthouse, which is visible in the background of Figure 3. The metadata notes that this rally was organised to raise awareness amongst the local population of the dangers of the presence of a nuclear facility in their neighbourhood. Organising the rally in front of the seat of juridico-political power in the region where the Omega base was to be constructed and along Commercial Road, the main street of Yarram, once again ensured high visibility as well as an invitation to the local residents to mobilise against its construction due to the potential political and environmental impacts of the presence of a nuclear target in the region.

Figure 4: Omega protest site, 8th July 1978, University of Melbourne Archives, Papers of John Brant Ellis, 1999.0081.00095.

A set of three photographs (1999.0081.00093; 1999.0081.00095; 1999.0081.00565) documents a protest at the Omega base site on July 8, 1978. The metadata identifies the general location as Gippsland, but with a question mark. The Canberra Times identifies the location as Woodside, Gippsland and reports, “More than 120 people protested at the site.” Of interest here is that the report recorded a Mr Paul Byrne’s statement that “a large number of police had watched the demonstration but there had been no clashes…” Contrary to Byrne’s statement, Figure 4 may suggest that there were tensions between the protestors and the police as the photograph depicts a protestor potentially being strongarmed by a policeman. Metadata from several photographs mention that John Ellis had photographed many police officials of Special Branch and the Commonwealth Police (1999.0081.00647; 1999.0081.00689), beginning heightened police surveillance during anti-Vietnam War protests in order to keep a file of officials in case protestors were infiltrated (1999.0081.00944).

In the series titled “Omega Rally” (JE178), the metadata indicates that the photographs were taken at “the United States Omega base rally” on the weekend of Australia Day in 1979. A news report in the Tribune states that “the 400-strong rally” was organised by the Melbourne and Sydney chapters of “the [Congress for] International Cooperation and Disarmament” and it was attended by protestors from “Melbourne, Sydney, Canberra and Wollongong.” The rally was publicised from November 1978 as a “National Demonstration” to be held from January 26-29, 1979, with advertisements in the Tribune, possibly to ensure large-scale participation at the rally. The program for the rally included a car cavalcade from Melbourne on “Sun morning,” followed by the rally at the Omega base site at 3 PM and a “Bush Dance at night.” The photographs indicate the coming together of people from various socio-cultural backgrounds at carefully choreographed and performed protests that sought to evoke a sense of solidarity and belonging.

Tracing the sites of anti-Omega base protests in the 1970s through John Ellis’ photographs has been particularly meaningful as we find ourselves in the midst of one of the most visually documented global protests in history against the ongoing violence in Gaza. Sifting through John Ellis’ photographs, it is not difficult to realise that the anti-war messaging from them is more urgent than ever.

Chitrangi Kakoti is a PhD student, researching digital feminist archives in India.

Dividing and Conquering the Streets of Coburg

Carl J. Sciglitano

The records of the Melbourne Social Survey contained in the Wilfred Prest collection in the University Archives are an important resource for researchers studying the living conditions of working-class Melbournians during World War Two. And yet the full contribution of the interviewers who conducted this landmark survey is not immediately apparent from the records themselves. However, by collating the geographical data on the survey forms, we can gain a sense not only of the people involved but also how they organised their work on the survey. What follows is a brief outline of the process I undertook to transcribe and map the surveys of the Coburg municipality using machine learning tools.

Extracting the Information

Machine learning can ease the labour of transcribing historical surveys. I selected 40 surveys from a pool of around 200 to train the Google Document AI service, which uses OCR to convert handwriting on documents into workable database structures. Initially, the training data was manually transcribed to teach the algorithm to interpret the handwriting. Once trained, the AI system processed the remaining records, resulting in 174 transcribed survey records of varying quality.

Machine learning struggles with nuances and contextual understanding. Variations in dates like “21-6-42”, “21st June 42”, and “21/6” needed standardisation for computational processing. Additionally, there were numerous handwritten annotations and corrections which had to be remediated. For example, as shown in Figure 1, the address was identified as “Essendon” even though this had been corrected to “Coburg”.

Figure 1: Image of survey (top) and automated handwriting recognition result (bottom).

After correcting obvious mistakes, I geo-coded each survey using the Google Maps API. Under the assumption that all the records were from either Coburg or Pascoe Vale, I confined the geo-coding process to identify addresses that were the nearest match to what was transcribed. For example, as shown in Figure 2, the transcribed “42 Sangood Street” doesn’t exist, but “42 Sargood Street” does. Similarly, the address “2 housedale St” becomes “2 Lonsdale St” and “32 Sharts & Rd” becomes “32 Shorts Rd”. I also accounted for evolving municipal boundaries between Coburg and Pascoe Vale.

Figure 2: Sample of addresses from the surveys.

The refined dataset was then integrated into a website. Visualising these data on a map revealed additional transcription errors, which required further manual correction.

Divide and Conquer

Most interviews were conducted in June and July 1942, with a small burst in September. The map (Figure 3) shows how the region was divided: interviewer Pat Counihan worked west of Sydney Rd, while M. Warnecke focused east of Sydney Rd and south of Bell St.

Figure 3: Map of Coburg showing the division between the two main interviewers. Blue for Pat Counihan, red for M. Warnecke, and grey for others.

Not much is known about M. Warnecke, and even her surname is uncertain. In contrast, Pat Counihan’s history is well-documented due to her marriage to controversial artist Noel Counihan. Pat, originally a teacher in New Zealand, moved to Melbourne with her husband (McNeish 2003, 272). She found the survey work lucrative, earning £5/week, equal to the basic male wage and substantially higher than the gender-scaled salary she received as a teacher (Anderson 2020).

Interviewers were only paid for completed surveys and Pat found that the ‘sight of her wedding ring led women to tell her details of their married lives and to ask a great many questions about health issues and contraception’ (Warne et al 20023, 535). This may have aided her success as an interviewer: she completed 86 surveys in Coburg and Pascoe Vale – almost half of all interviews in the region. Her name also appears on many survey forms in other municipalities.

Drawing firm conclusions from this data is challenging. Some interviewers appear inactive in Coburg but might have been primary interviewers in other areas or occasional helpers. Further research is needed to understand their roles fully. Nonetheless, transcribing and visualising these surveys does shed light on the labour involved and serves as a launching point for further research. The life of Pat Counihan, for example, is one particularly interesting story of a woman who was a tireless, dedicated, independent, and relentless advocate for change, and a vehement guardian of her late husband’s artistic and political contributions.

Carl J. Sciglitano is a PhD Candidate in the History and Philosophy of Science. His thesis explores the ways digital photography shaped the practices and epistemology of astronomers.

References

Anderson, Margaret. (2020). ‘Housewives to Action!’ Old Treasury Building.

McNeish, James. (2003). Dance of the Peacocks: New Zealanders in Exile in the Time of Hitler and Mao Tse-tung. Auckland N.Z.: Random House.

Warne, Ellen, Shurlee Swain, Patricia Grimshaw, and John Lack. (2003). ‘Women in Conversation: A Wartime Social Survey in Melbourne, Australia 1941-43.’ Women’s History Review 12(4): 527–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/09612020300200372. 

Reclaiming Albert Park: The Battle Against Formula 1

Aseera Shamin

For nearly three decades, Albert Park has hosted the annual Formula 1 Grand Prix, transforming the streets of Melbourne into a vibrant motorsport spectacle. Fans from all over the world flock to the city, adorned in team colours and memorabilia. The event, which also features support categories like Formula 2, Formula 3, Supercars and the Porsche Carrera Cup, has become a key highlight on Melbourne’s event calendar. As an avid Formula 1 fan who follows the race calendar globally, I was struck by John Brant Ellis’s photographs from the University of Melbourne archives, which depict strong opposition to the Grand Prix in Albert Park led by the “Save Albert Park” (SAP) community group.

In order to understand this opposition, I have tried to reconstruct the course of events leading up to the arrival of Formula 1 racing in Melbourne in 1996, using a simple Knight Lab Timeline illustrated with images from the Ellis collection.

Figure 1: Save Albert Park rally 1994. University of Melbourne Archives Photographic negatives and proof sheets by John Ellis 1999.0081.00496.
Figure 2: Save Albert Park rally 1994. University of Melbourne Archives Photographic negatives and proof sheets by John Ellis 1999.0081.00137.

According to Peter Logan, the long-standing President of SAP, the organisation was formed in February 1994 and continues to advocate for a permanent end to motor racing at the park. Logan was also able to identify a number of the events a photographed by Ellis. He noted, for example, that the photographs in Figures 1 to 4 were of the very first SAP rally on May 15, 1994.

From 1985 to 1995, the Australian Formula 1 Grand Prix was held in the city of Adelaide. It was then famously “snatched” by Melbourne in a controversial $60 million deal with the international Formula One Group, a deal that was kept secret after it was signed (Neales 2018). Victorian Premier Jeff Kennett announced on 17 December 1993 that the Grand Prix would be held in Albert Park from 1996, promising job creation, economic benefits and international exposure. He hailed the announcement as “the most exciting thing that happened” since his election 14 months earlier. Kennett also announced that $14 million would be spent on upgrading the Albert Park area.

Figure 3: Save Albert Park rally 1994. University of Melbourne Archives Photographic negatives and proof sheets by John Ellis 1999.0081.00492.

One of SAP’s primary grievances was the lack of transparency surrounding the decision-making process. As marked on the timeline embedded below, which is based on SAP’s extensive digital archive of newsletters hosted by the National Library of Australia, Kennett signed the secret agreement with F1 chief Bernie Ecclestone in July 1993, making Melbourne the preferred city for the Grand Prix.

The deal, finalised in September 1993 without public consultation or a cost-benefit analysis, raised series conflict of interest concerns. Before it was finalised, the deal was endorsed in a report by the Melbourne Major Events Committee, which was chaired by businessman Ron Walker. In November 1993, Crown Casino, of which Walker was the director and co-founder, was awarded the Melbourne casino license. Moreover, the grand prix was revealed to be central to Crown’s marketing plans. This explains the references to Walker in the Figure 3 photograph:

Walker would go on to be named Chairman of the Australian Grand Prix Corporation. Ecclestone and Walker were in fact close friends. Ecclestone had even said he would only negotiate with Ron Walker regarding the Australian Grand Prix. This has led some to question whether Walker was an effective advocate on behalf of Victorians (Hoy 2014).

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Formed at a meeting of Albert Park residents, SAP was founded on the principle that a public park should not host a motor race. Local residents, as well as many other Victorians, were outraged by the commercial exploitation of the park and the secretive deal-making.

Figure 4: Save Albert Park rally, 1994., 1994;1994-01-01, University of Melbourne Archives, Photographic negatives and proof sheets taken by John Ellis, 1999.0081.00142.

They were not against holding the Grand Prix in Melbourne, but argued that it should be hosted on an existing or upgraded track rather than around the much loved lake by the bay. The community’s anger culminated in the rally on 15 May 1994, noted above, which was attended by 10,000 people. Premier Kennett, present at the rally, dismissed the protesters’ concerns, calling them “confused and concerned” and bearing the “ugly faces of people who gain strength in numbers but are totally different individually” (Neales and Magazanik 1993)

The rally marked the start of a prolonged opposition to the Kennett government, symbolising broader issues of governance and public interest (Glanz, 1995). The photographs of SAP rallies taken by John Brant Ellis are therefore important documents in the history of social activism in Melbourne. These archives provide insights into the social, political, and cultural dynamics of the time, highlighting the enduring power of community advocacy.

Aseera Shamin is a PhD Candidate in History and Philosophy of Science. Aseera’s thesis aims to disentangle the relationship between energy justice, power and social dynamics in renewable energy production in localised contexts by considering both upstream and downstream siting of clean energy projects.

References

Glanz David. (1995, 1 March). ‘Marvellous (Middle) Melbourne’. Eureka Street, 14-17.

Hoy, Greg. (2014, 11 March.) ‘Critics Question Whether Australia’s F1 Negotiator Holds Conflict of Interest’. ABC News. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-03-11/f1-melbourne/5313214. Accessed 21 June 2024.

Neales, Sue. (2018, 22 March.) ‘Flashback: The Story behind Melbourne’s Grand Prix Coup’. Sydney Morning Herald. https://www.smh.com.au/sport/motorsport/flashback-the-story-behind-melbournes-grand-prix-coup-20180320-h0xqeh.html. Accessed 21 June 2024.

Neales, Sue and Magazanik, Mark. (1993, 16 May). ‘Move it or lose it: 10,000 tell Kennet’. The Age, p.1.

The Archives of Wilfred Prest and Michelle de Kretser’s The Lost Dog

Gwynneth Thomas

On an autumn evening in the city, Tom looked sideways at other people’s lives
–The Lost Dog, p. 8

During this first year of my PhD candidature, I am learning how to ‘do’ graduate research. My peers and I frequently complain that this is a disorienting experience: we are each performing acts of intellectual dislocation as we learn to become better scholars. Many of us, including myself, are also experiencing a physical dislocation as we learn how to be in the University campus, the city of Melbourne, or the country of Australia.

My introduction to the University Archives through the papers of Wilfred J Prest has confronted me with both types of dislocation. First, the steep learning curve presented by unfamiliar methods of archival research. Second, the sense of physical displacement encountered when reaching back through the past via the archive to glimpse the city’s changing face.

To meet these challenges, I find myself looking inward – to the imagined spaces of my favourite novels – and outward – as I walk from an unfamiliar shared flat on the edges of Parkville to campus and start to place myself within the city of Melbourne.

Australian writer Michelle de Kretser’s The Lost Dog is perhaps the digital humanist novel par excellence to aid me with this process of dis- and re-location. Its protagonist, Tom, is a scholar at an unnamed but unmistakeably Melbournian university. Tom walks the urban landscape:

From time to time, when he should have been at school, Tom wandered [the city’s] ruled streets: King, William, Queen, Elizabeth. Within a familiar history he was finding his place in a new geography. Sometimes he thought, No one in the whole world knows where I am.
– The Lost Dog, p. 59

Searching for an item in the Wilfred J Prest collection to hook me, I decide to focus my research on the Social Survey forms gathered from my new home of Parkville.

Tom avoided microfilm wherever possible; was grateful for the digital imaging that had replaced it […] Blurred columns of newsprint rolled towards him, the past advancing with speedy, futuristic menace as he tried to locate what he needed
–The Lost Dog, pp. 54-55

I skim 761 digitised pages of cursive scrawl from the Melbourne 15 series containing surveys from the municipality of Melbourne (today’s suburbs of Melbourne City, East, West, and North Melbourne, Carlton, Carlton North, Parkville, Flemington, Kensington, and Newport) to locate the forms I require.

While John Lack’s 1981 re-coding of a sample of Prest’s survey data identifies nine ‘cases’ from Parkville, I am only able to locate forms for seven households (Lack 1981). Three addresses are less than 500 metres from my own home.

In 1941, in a detached wooden house at 8 Church Street, there was a family of seven. Their 21-year-old son was a trainee with the RAAF. The house at 128 Flemington Road was owned by a 73-year-old widow who earned her income by renting the house next door: the interviewer notes that the widow ‘probably has other source of unearned income but [is] very vague’. Two ‘spinster’ sisters in their fifties lived at 15 Manningham Street. The eldest was a nurse and worked in Sunbury Mental Hospital.

I wonder if any of these homes exist unchanged since 1941 or if they have been demolished to make way for flats or high-rise apartments. Which have been included in other archives through heritage listing? Which have faded into obscurity?

Figure 1: Map of the Parkville area showing residences surveyed in the University of Melbourne Social Survey and locations listed on the Victorian Heritage Database.

The simple map shown in Figure 1, generated with Google MyMaps, brings archival records from the Social Survey into dialogue with the Victorian Heritage Database (VHD). None of the Parkville dwellings surveyed by Prest (indicated by red markers) are recognised as a place of ‘state-level cultural heritage significance’ by the Victorian Heritage Register, indicated by blue markers. However, Google Earth indicates that at least four, potentially six, of the original buildings remain. At two addresses, 53 Morrah Street and 38 Story Street, Prest’s interviewers stopped tantalisingly close to an address now listed by the VHD.

The memorials were puzzling in their arbitrariness, offering no indication why these places, dates and citizens had been singled out. Tom discerned the willed creation of a sense of the past: a municipal mythmaking […] They displaced history with heritage, plastering over trauma with a picturesque frieze. A spectator might have their detail by heart and no inkling of the chasm that separated bark canoes and William Merton, bootmaker. The unofficial past flared more vividly, illuminated in matchlit glimpses.
–The Lost Dog pp. 53-54

The absence of duplicate addresses in these databases illustrates an essential truth of archival studies: “every archive is partial, and every partial archive has its anxieties’ (Jardine and Kelty 2016). It also demonstrates the advantages of cross-referencing digital archives to generate more complex understandings of our shared history. And the ‘unofficial past’ of the anonymous families who shared their lives through the University of Melbourne Social Survey suggests new ways by which to locate myself in relation to past and present.

References

De Kretser, Michelle. (2008). The Lost Dog. Allen & Unwin.

Lack, John. (1981). University of Melbourne Social Survey, 1941-1943: A 1981 Sample (Version V3) [dataset]. ADA Dataverse. https://doi.org/10.26193/0URT1Q

Prest, Wilfred, Melbourne 15 (1941-1942), [UMA-ITE-1973000200026]. University of Melbourne Archives, accessed 09/05/2024, https://uma.recollectcms.com/nodes/view/216437

‘Criteria for Inclusion in the Victorian Heritage Register,’ Heritage Council of Victoria. (n.d.). Retrieved 9 May 2024, from https://heritagecouncil.vic.gov.au/heritage-protection/criteria-and-thresholds-for-inclusion/

Jardine, Boris and Christopher Kelty (eds.). (2016). ‘The total archive’. Limn, 6: 2-3.

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