At the time of the museum's opening in March 2001, rumours swirled about hidden messages in the braille dimples, but nothing was proved. That is because, 10 days after the opening, all evidence had been quietly erased by Craddock Morton, the public servant in charge of construction, who was appointed museum director in 2004. He hired a braille reader to translate the dots and then had a set of silver discs made, which were affixed in strategic lines on top of the controversial messages, thus rendering them illegible. Others were disrupted by swapping aluminium panels, so "sorry" became "ryors", or something similarly incomprehensible.

Morton, 59, a former senior adviser to Paul Keating, thus laid the foundations of a fine working relationship with a government angry at being hoodwinked into creating a museum that "adopted the left-wing position in every conceivable historical issue", as one guest told me at the opening. From the sculpture of black figures hanging in effigy and the monuments to Gough Whitlam, alone among prime ministers, to the contemptuous trivialisation of non-indigenous Australian culture, the national identity portrayed by the museum was designed to make visitors hang their heads in shame. As one museum council member said, it made "people leave the museum hating other Australians".

Little can be done about other attempts by the architects to falsely equate Aboriginal history with the Jewish Holocaust in Europe. The imagery is embedded in the design, copied in part from Daniel Libeskind's Jewish Museum in Berlin, which combines a broken Star of David with an SS symbol. But, under Morton, what he calls the "black T-shirt" view of Australian culture is being replaced by something more complex and accurate.

"I want people to come out feeling good about Australia," he said at the museum on Thursday. The hanging effigies are destined for deep storage, as is Michael Leunig's infamous anti-Semitic 2002 cartoon. A painting by Aboriginal artist Queenie McKenzie, titled Mistake Creek Massacre, was bought last year for $30,000, and is prized by Morton, but because of disagreement among historians over whether the massacre occurred, it will not be included in the National Historical Collection, for now, though it will be displayed.

Pathologist Howard Florey, who developed a way to mass-produce penicillin, finally has a presence, as does the CSIRO and myxomatosis, the car industry and a new sport section. Add to that the history of the wool industry, once summed up by a merino skeleton and two tubes of fleece, which is fleshed out in a collection donated by the Maple-Brown family last year, featuring memorabilia since 1792 from their sheep station near Goulburn.

Along with a colonial uniform worn by ancestor William Pitt while battling the Gilbert-Hall bushrangers, there are 19th century copybooks with copperplate handwriting repeating the line: "Jealously oppose all that is not good." Morton is systematically reworking the collections, with attention to "scrupulous historical accuracy", following recommendations of a 2003 review by a government-appointed panel led by sociologist John Carroll. After all, this museum will be the Prime Minister's one grand bricks-and-mortar legacy. Inadvertently, the museum's troubled birth aptly symbolises the struggle for control of the national identity that has marked his tenure.

Whinger talk brings ill wind from north LAST week's column about the whingers of Cyclone Larry has reaped me a whirlwind of abuse from Far North Queensland.

In an article titled "Low Blow From Sydney", the Townsville Bulletin claimed hardship in Sydney "is when the local bottle-o runs out of Moet or when the maid calls in sick and madam has to do the washing herself". Even as Sydney native General Peter Cosgrove heads the reconstruction of the cyclone-ravaged area, the story mined a rich streak of anti-Sydney sentiment in the tropics, judging by the emails. "The next time Sydney goes up in flames," wrote Vince, "try and put a bushfire out with your bottle of Moet."

David Rennie thought I wrote the column "over a nicely chilled glass or two of Moet with her nose pointed upwards . . . We may live in an area prone to cyclones but Miranda lives in a place that has its beaches littered with used needles and [where] you may drown from treacherous undercurrents or be mauled by a shark". Hotguy wrote: "Geez, wasn't the rest of Australia sick of watching people like you in Sydney attack each other and whinge in the media about Cronulla for months."

But Townsville volunteer firefighter Warren wrote: "What you were not privy to was the absolute selflessness of the residents of East Palmerston when our volunteers delivered tarps, ration packs, fresh fruit and water. Many refused aid because in this part of the country you don't accept charity. "[They] would often scratch together the ingredients to supply home-made lamingtons . . . [or] appear from the darkness with all the beer they had and, somehow, a bag of ice." And Shane wrote: "I, like many other locals, have simply knuckled down, cleaned up, gotten back to work and used the experience as a character builder . . . Generally the spirit of co-operation and generosity has been exceptional."

Glad to hear it. devinemiranda@hotmail.com