Sydney Festival performance of Black Diggers to mark the eve of the Centenary of the First World War. There is little doubt the military and political hierarchy recognise the power of culture in such an anniversary, from the design of war memorials to the pageantry of veterans' marches and the ubiquitous blood-red poppy. The arts' ability to make remote historical events vivid and poetic, and to provoke emotional responses from respect to horror, sympathy to nationalistic fervour,has long been exploited. Yet some influential cultural figures urge vigilance about the tone of centenary-themed events - many funded directly or indirectly by the public - serving contemporary political ends. With the current government talking about "Team Australia", we should be aware of the ways political interests can be served by cultural events,argues Julian Meyrick, an academic and theatre historian. "The Prime Minister might not think he has an agenda but in my view he definitely has one, an implied one if not a stated one. So these events may consciously or unconsciously feed into that and we need to be aware of it." The anniversary is an important marker of our political and military history, and the tremendous loss of Australian lives, but there is an inescapable political subtext too; of nationalism, of ties to Britain, of masculinist myths of sacrifice and heroism.

An angry crowd on the move at North Cronulla beach on Sunday 11 december 2005. Should we, as Meyrick suggests, be aware of the potential of soft propaganda for a government that has recently committed Australian forces to a new war in the Middle East? "There is no doubt in my view that in this particular time of the Islamic state and Australia sending troops abroad, the rhetorical figure the Prime Minister utilises, by way of contrast with the events happening in the Middle East, is the figure of the Australian nation as a whole. Illustration: Richard Gilberto. "He uses that collective 'we' which, to use his language, is "Team Australia" - something to put against those things that are happening overseas."

Artists and historians have looked back at Gallipoli with varying degrees of reverence in the past century. Yet an overarching Anzac myth survives - one of mateship and national pluck. The lure is strong for politicians to align themselves with what they deem to be these uniquely Australian values, according to writers such as Carolyn Holbrook. A poster for Peter Weir's Gallipoli. Her new book, ANZAC: The Unauthorised Biography, analyses the history of the idea of Anzacs. She and other writers question why Australians persist with the belief the nation came of age at Gallipoli rather than at Federation. She charts contemporary studies that contend Australian history over-emphasises militarism, with politicians using the Anzac tradition "to justify military incursions in Iraq and Afghanistan". Given the potency of the Anzac legend, she concludes: "it is not surprising that politicians seek to harness that power to their own ends". The spikes in poll popularity, the perception of strong leadership; it seems politicians inevitably benefit when military action is announced.

In the outpouring of national reflection over the next 12 months, many events will be presented with gravitas and unquestioning patriotism. Yet a century of history and literature has also produced a range of sophisticated and nuanced views of the Great War; from official histories such as Charles Bean's to the personal stories found in the journals and letters of ordinary soldiers, and the later work of Blainey, Clark, Inglis, Gammage, Lake, Reynolds, Damousi, Carlyon and others. With its deep roots in our culture, the Anzac mythology also has rich potential for film, performance and visual arts. And ahead of the 1915 Gallipoli commemorations, the federal government has begun doling out specific centenary funding for arts projects that "promote a greater understanding and recognition of the Anzac legacy". The Anzac Centenary Arts and Culture Production and Commissioning Fund recipients are jointly announced by the Arts Minister, Senator George Brandis, and Senator Michael Ronaldson, who bears the title Minister Assisting the Prime Minister for the Centenary of Anzac. The Fund seems to signal the Government's acknowledgement of the role of the arts, yet it's a modest sum for four years of creativity - $4 million divided between professional arts organisations and local and regional community projects. Nevertheless the composer Sir Jonathan Mills told The Sunday Age it was the senior military apparatus, and particularly Air Chief Marshal Angus Houston, who sought out the arts community's expertise. The funding originally sat within the Department of Veterans' Affairs.

Mills, a former Edinburgh Festival director, is the fund's Creative Advisor. He assembled a panel to assess the applications, representing all states and disciplines - including Queensland Theatre Company head Wesley Enoch, former war artist Ben Quilty and Melbourne Festival director Josephine Ridge. Mills says the committee was independent, subject to the funding guidelines, and the Federal Government approved all the projects recommended. Funding recipients include projects exploring the role of indigenous soldiers, women and the stories of wartime foes in Turkey and Japan. He said "questions of jingoism and nationalism didn't arise too much in the room - we were satisfied with the calibre of the artists…and their compelling narratives. If they do that, they are most unlikely to be narrow minded or jingoistic." Mills views the centenary preparations as bipartisan. He points out the funding pre-dated this government, with planning beginning some years ago led by former prime ministers Bob Hawke and Malcolm Fraser. He said the committee was mindful of the Fund's main criterion: "'Anzac legacy' should be interpreted broadly to include any aspect of Australia's military history and participation in any war or peacekeeping effort." Sandakan Threnody

__________________ Fifty years after the Great War ended, and the country raged internally over conscription and our loosening links with the British Empire, interest in Anzac mythology was waning The undignified image of old soldiers on the grog, rowdy and throwing punches in the streets on Anzac Day inspired Alan Seymour's incendiary play TheOne Day of the Year and ripped apart a treasured national myth. It was little wonder Seymour's 1958 play was attacked by politicians and returned servicemen. But by the 1980s, interest in Anzac Day saw an unpredicted revival.Peter Weir "caught the New Nationalist mood" in his 1981 film Gallipoli, Holbrook writes, with its golden youths and British buffoons. Prior to that, "there was no electoral advantage for leaders such as Robert Menzies, Gough Whitlam and Malcolm Fraser in associating themselves too closely with memory of the Great War". But with the revival changing that,

Keenly aware of the pitfalls of nationalism, former Melbourne Festival supremo now theatre chief Brett Sheehy cautions about glorifying war through the arts. He deliberately chose a new play The Last Man Standing, for Melbourne Theatre Company's 2015 season (to be staged without centenary funding), because it "cuts into the Anzac legend in an honest and visceral way", he says. Written by Steve Vizard and Paul Grabowsky, the play tells with humour and music the story of Clarrie Flint, an old soldier and "trickster". "No-one gets off scot-free," says the MTC blurb. "Not the politicians hoping to score points, not the ratings-hungry media." Sheehy is all too aware of the "hokey" art that can emerge from national commemorations. He and Meyrick say it's too early to say if any planned arts events veer towards the jingoistic. Of greater concern to them is the impulse to portray mateship and courage as unique to Australia. "The Anzac spirit is simply the spirit of humanity at its best, people doing things that are incredibly courageous," says Sheehy. "I believe in that as do many Australians; but the more we push into that sense of 'we're different, we're special' and what defines Australians is mateship, the more we start to create a 'we're better than the rest of you' thing.

"As an ex-Sydney sider I'm someone who watched very closely the Cronulla riots and those boys wrapped in their flags, the made-in-Australia t-shirts and the 'I grew here, you flew here' stuff that was bandied around, and has been since then." Sheehy said that leading up to the new season, "the recommendations made to me were 'oh you must do The One Day of the Year or you must do A Manual of Trench Warfare'. Everyone was looking back to the existing canon. "I've always been more interested in where we're going rather than where we're coming from…I'd rather it was new and something that could potentially shine a contemporary lens on the Anzac legend." Meditating on the pull of the legend and the Anzac sites for Australians and New Zealanders, author Les Carlyon points out Gallipoli was not Australia's costliest battlefield. Yet what the beach in Turkey symbolises to the hordes of visitors is, he writes "beyond reason and probably beyond knowing". Beyond reason seems an apt description of where most art takes place. It is a realm of symbolism, metaphor, myth - also the realm of propaganda.

In art as in history, arguments will never cease about striking a balance between perpetuating militaristic propaganda and honestly exposing the horrors of war. In common with evolving historical studies, the arts may now be more attuned to uncovering hidden stories - those of women and indigenous Australians in a history dominated by male, non-indigenous protagonists. Official or upstart art; it seems we'll get a bit of both. From April the National Gallery of Victoria hosts "Follow the Flag", an exhibition of work by Australian artists at war that looks set to be a respectful selection from the canon (and for which the gallery has applied for centenary funding). The Art Gallery of South Australia has already been granted funding for "En-trenched", an exhibition of art made in the trenches by serving soldiers and also Turkish POWs. Lisa Slade, project curator said in marking the centenary the gallery sought "to look beyond the hagiography, the idea of adorning or adoring war". The exhibition draws on little-known objects from the Australian War Memorial's collection made from shell casings. Among the most striking are gleaming metal letter knives and napkin rings created by Sapper Pearl; exquisite items fashioned from brutal weaponry. The trench art will be teamed with contemporary artists' responding to the work from 1914-18.

"As a curator, unpacking the very idea of nationhood is essential, which is why I think it's important we have indigenous artists, some of whom have a family military history, working on the project," said Slade. She regards the centenary as "an opportunity to bring a very different story, to bring the personal into the national framework". Similarly, the little known experience of aboriginal soldiers is brought to light in the play Black Diggers, which received $200,000 from the centenary fund to tour. The Silver DonkeyRemembrance, The Big hART plans Samurai Digger, "a cross-cultural theatre project about peacemaking between cultures after World War Two", drawing on stories from Japan and Australia. Slade is optimistic about the impact of the commemorations, likening it to Australia's bicentenary. "That created some of the best scholarship around our colonial history, and it wasn't all nationalistic jingoism. It gave us time and space and a little bit of money to sit back and say: what is Australia?"