The so‑called *Great Emu War* of 1932 is one of the strangest episodes in Australian and world history: a modern army sent to battle a flock of oversized birds. Beneath the dark comedy, however, lies a serious story about economic crisis, environmental mismanagement, and the limits of state power. This article examines how the “war” began, what actually happened, and why it still matters.
From World War I Heroes to Emu “Invaders”
Soldier‑settlers and a harsh new reality
After World War I, the Australian government encouraged returning soldiers to become farmers through a “soldier settlement” scheme. Thousands of veterans were granted land in marginal areas of Western Australia, especially in the wheat‑growing districts around Campion and Chandler. On paper this looked like a patriotic win‑win: reward servicemen, expand agriculture, and boost exports.
In practice, these new farmers faced a brutal combination of poor soil, limited rainfall, and financial hardship. Many lacked farming experience and received minimal support or infrastructure. By the late 1920s, they were already struggling with debt and unpredictable weather. Then came the global economic collapse.
The Great Depression hit wheat prices hard. International demand for Australian wheat fell, while production costs remained high. The government promised subsidies to keep farmers afloat but was slow to deliver, leaving soldier‑settlers angry and desperate. Tensions were rising long before the emus appeared in force.
The emu migration and the “enemy” emerges
Every year, emu populations migrate from the inland toward the coast in search of food and water after the breeding season. In 1932, this natural migration intersected with newly cultivated farmlands. What had once been sparse bushland was now a patchwork of wheat fields—an irresistible buffet for hungry birds.
Emus, flightless but fast, can reach up to 1.9 meters in height and run around 50 km/h. They travel in large flocks and can trample fences while feeding. For Western Australian wheat farmers, the arrival of an estimated 20,000 emus into their districts was not a curiosity. It was an unfolding disaster.
The birds:
- Devoured young wheat shoots, threatening already weak harvests
- Damaged fences, allowing rabbits—another major pest—to invade crops
- Were incredibly hard to scare off or contain across vast, open fields
Facing crop failure and financial ruin, farmers turned to the federal government. Many of these men were ex‑soldiers who framed the problem in military terms: they had fought for Australia overseas and now felt besieged at home. In their petitions, the emus were not just animals; they were an invading force.
The “War” Begins: Machine Guns vs. Emus
Military intervention in the wheat fields
In late 1932, Western Australian farmers lobbied the Minister of Defence for help. The request seemed odd—deploying the army against wildlife—but the political context made it more plausible. The government wanted to show support for veterans, feared rural unrest, and hoped the operation might serve as positive publicity during tough economic times.
In October 1932, approval was granted for a small military deployment under the command of Major G.P.W. Meredith of the Royal Australian Artillery. The plan was to use Lewis machine guns, capable of firing hundreds of rounds per minute, to cull the emu population near the worst‑affected farms.
The “force” consisted of:
- Major Meredith and a few soldiers
- Two Lewis machine guns
- Around 10,000 rounds of ammunition
Importantly, this was not officially a “war” in governmental documents. It was described as a culling operation. The term “Great Emu War” developed later, especially in the media and popular culture, but it captures how absurd the situation appeared even at the time.
Bungled campaigns and an elusive enemy
The first phase of the operation began in early November 1932 near Campion. Almost immediately, the army encountered unexpected challenges—many of them almost comic if the economic stakes had not been so serious.
On the first day, soldiers tried to ambush around 50 emus clustered near a dam. As they moved into position, the birds became skittish. When the gun finally opened fire, most of the flock scattered quickly, and only a handful were killed. The emus’ natural tendency to break into smaller, fast‑moving groups made them difficult targets.
Subsequent attempts revealed more problems:
- Range and mobility: The heavy Lewis guns were hard to maneuver across rough farmland. By the time soldiers set up, the emus had often moved.
- Unpredictable behavior: Emus did not act like a single “mass” to be attacked; they split and reformed in chaotic ways that made concentrated fire ineffective.
- Toughness: Reports emerged of birds being wounded but running on, reinforcing the impression that they were almost impossible to kill in large numbers.
In one much‑cited incident, troops attempted to mount a gun on a truck to chase down the birds across open country. The vehicle’s rough ride made aiming almost impossible, and the emus simply outran or outmaneuvered it. This image—machine‑gun‑armed soldiers in a bouncing truck failing to hit large birds—cemented the sense of farce around the entire campaign.
Within days, Australian newspapers began to mock the operation. Headlines portrayed the army as being “outsmarted” by emus, and reports claimed extraordinarily low kill counts for the amount of ammunition used. The birds, it seemed, were “winning.” Meredith himself, half‑jokingly, would later praise the emus’ military qualities, noting their speed, coordination, and apparent resilience under fire.
Retreat, ridicule, and policy lessons
By mid‑November 1932, political embarrassment was mounting. Questions were raised in Parliament about why military resources were being used in such an obviously ineffective way, especially during a time of economic crisis. After an initial withdrawal, pressure from farmers led to a second, shorter campaign later that month. Although slightly more organized, it still did not meet its goal of significantly reducing emu numbers across the region.
In total, a few thousand emus may have been killed—far below anything that would meaningfully curb the population or prevent crop damage. Public ridicule, both in Australia and abroad, far outweighed any practical benefit of the operation.
Ultimately, the government abandoned the military approach and turned to other methods:
- Offering bounties for emu kills, encouraging farmers and hunters to cull the birds themselves
- Promoting improved fencing and other forms of pest control
- Re‑examining land‑use policies and the viability of marginal farmland
The episode became an enduring reminder that using military solutions for ecological or economic problems can backfire—literally and figuratively.
Memory, myth, and meaning of the Great Emu War
Over time, the Great Emu War has taken on an almost legendary status. It is often retold as a quirky anecdote about a modern nation “losing a war” to birds. Memes, comedy sketches, and online retellings emphasize the absurdity: machine guns versus emus, and the emus “win.”
Yet beneath the humor lies a more serious story about:
- Environmental disruption: Expanding agriculture into fragile ecosystems altered animal migration patterns, setting humans and wildlife on a collision course.
- Economic vulnerability: Soldier‑settlers, already undermined by poor planning and the Great Depression, were pushed to the brink by any additional threat to their crops.
- Policy overreach: The belief that any problem could be solved by state power—even wildlife migration—proved dangerously naive.
The Great Emu War also underscores a broader theme in environmental history: when humans reshape landscapes rapidly for short‑term economic goals, the response from nature is often unexpected and difficult to control. In this sense, the emus did not “declare war” on Australia. They simply followed instinct, and the clash exposed the limits of human management of the natural world.
Today, emus remain a protected species in many parts of Australia, and the story of 1932 is used in classrooms, documentaries, and articles as a cautionary tale. It demonstrates how easily a serious crisis can turn into international farce when governments misread ecological realities.
In conclusion, the Great Emu War was far more than a bizarre footnote in Australian history. It grew from the intersecting pressures of postwar resettlement, economic depression, and ecological disruption. The failed military campaign against the emus revealed how ill‑suited armed force is to solving environmental problems. Remembered with laughter today, it still carries sobering lessons about policy, nature, and the unintended consequences of human ambition.
