Uluru, not Ayers Rock, symbolizes a changing nation

By Jason Szep

ULURU, Australia (Reuters) - It pierces the red desert heart of Australia and looms heavily in the Australian consciousness as a powerful symbol of national identity.

Yet Uluru, or Ayers Rock as it was once named and is better known, now more than ever represents the stark divisions in Australian culture and symbolizes the country's effort to undo a long history of racism towards Aborigines.

The rock, a compelling natural phenomenon whose striking ochre sandstone hulk leaves most visitors in awe, is itself a sacred centerpiece of aboriginal myths and creation stories dating back roughly 30,000 years.

Those stories were all but lost until 1985 when the Australian government ended years of political wrangling between white and black Australia and handed back the rock and the land surrounding it to its original aboriginal owners.

The Anangu aboriginal people discarded the English name of Ayers Rock and reverted to its traditional name, Uluru.

The rock represents the changes that have been wrought since that historic handover to the Anangu, whose descendants have lived around the rock for centuries and have left their mark in ancient drawings on its walls.

But it also represents the future problems facing aboriginal culture.

The Anangu must balance the responsibility of maintaining its spiritual significance as a centerpiece to aboriginal culture while accommodating rising tourism -- a test which is giving the ancient rock a new identity in the tourism industry.

The 900 million year-old rock draws over 270,000 visitors a year, giving the park's resort a 95 percent occupancy rate.

Uluru National Park officials say the balancing act only promises to get tougher as tourism continues to grow.

"What we are looking down the barrel of is a doubling in the number of tourists who are coming here and a subsequent degradation of their experience," said Jon Willis, park liaison officer for the local aboriginal community.

"The problem is not that we cannot cope with that many tourists but that we want the tourists to have a particular kind of experience," he told Reuters in an interview.

"We want them to have a feeling of the desert, of wilderness, and to get the opportunity to learn something about aboriginal culture."

Uluru park rangers, who run the park on behalf of the aboriginal owners who have the ultimate say on its direction and policies, undergo rigorous aboriginal studies and focus their tours on looking at the rock as a focal point for aboriginal culture rather than simply a natural phenomenon.

They see Uluru as an example of how Australia leads the world in park management on indigenous land.

Gone are the days of encouraging a walk to the top of the rock and gone also is the name "Ayers Rock", a legacy of a white explorer who in 1873 named the site in honor of Sir Henry Ayers, then premier and chief secretary of South Australia.

Today, visitors are encouraged to see the crisp mountain of sandstone as Aborigines have for thousands of years.

As ranger Bill Ryan, 36, leads a group of about 30 tourists past caves and under drooping eucalyptus trees at the base of the 2.5 km (1.5 mile) long and 1.6 km (one mile) wide monolith, he points to crevices and recesses and tells stories of the aboriginal spirits who reside there.

"Anywhere you look, at almost any point, there is a story there which has deep significance for the Anangu (aboriginal) people who live here," said Ryan, a park ranger of five years.

Such efforts tap the mood of a country in the process of reaching out to a culture that has been racially discriminated against and marginalized since the first day of white settlement in Australia in January 1788.

"So when you're walking on the rock, you're walking on their church?" asks a curious Australian tourist on a recent tour.

Ryan, who is not an Aborigine, nods approvingly.

The rock, which beams a majestic deep orange under central Australia's fierce red-gold desert sun, can transform quickly into a chill-grey when it rains or when the sun disappears, leaving many visitors entranced.

But the sheer majesty of the rock has bred a cult following, attracting members from various new religious sects whose ideas often clash with aboriginal beliefs, including followers of the Swiss-Canadian doomsday sect "Order of the Solar Temple".

The leader of the sect, Joseph di Mambro, who died with 47 of his disciples in a bizarre murder-suicide in Switzerland, spent time at the rock while in Australia and viewed it as a mountain of prophets associated with his sect, according to Australian police and 'farewell letters' by the sect.

Aborigines find such interpretations of the rock insulting, according to Willis, who speaks two aboriginal languages. He said such cults undermine the spiritual significance of Uluru for Aborigines.

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