Chariot Volume 4

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CHARIOT

Acknowledgement of Country

We acknowledge that Chariot 2021 was

created on the unceded lands of the

Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation. We pay

our respects to their Elders past, present and

emerging. We would also like to extend our

respect and acknowledgement to the

traditional owners of the lands on which our

contributors created their pieces and the lands

on which our sub-editors work. We

acknowledge these lands were stolen and that

sovereignty was never ceded. As a history

journal, we recognise the long and continuous

history of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander

peoples and that this was and always will be

Aboriginal land.

2021

Chariot Vol. 4

The Undergraduate History Journal of the University of Melbourne

Chariot Vol. 4 Editors Daisy Norfolk Lauren Song

Sub-editors Charlotte Allan Vita Banducci Yiwei Deng Zack Goutzoulas Sunnie Habgood Greta Kantor Elina Pugacheva Jacey Quah Avalon Welch

Contributors Bree Booth Bridget Bracken Dan Crowley Lachlan Forster Ines Jahudka Zoe Keeghan Felix Kimbers Molly Lidgerwood Elina Pugacheva Jacey Quah Julia Richards Alice Wallis

Design Daisy Norfolk

Contents 08

THE 1ST OF JULY Elina Pugacheva

09

BAKER BOY AND BEYOND: THE ABORIGINAL ‘CULTURAL RENAISSANCE’ OF THE 1980S AND AUSTRALIA’S VIEW OF INDIGENOUS MUSIC Ines Jahudka

14 21 27 30 34

A HISTORY OF MINORITY PERSECUTION IN MYANMAR Dan Crowley

THE PERFORMANCE OF INSANITY IN THE OLD BAILEY, 1674-1800 Bree Booth

ARTEMIS | APOLLO AND HYACINTHUS Zoe Keeghan

THE GLAMORIZATION OF VIOLENCE IN ANCIENT ROME Bridget Bracken

REINTERPRETATIONS | ANCIENT WONDERS OF THE WORLD SERIES | POCKET WORLD COLLECTION Alice Wallis

37

CAUGHT BETWEEN THE CROSSFIRE: THE GRASSROOTS EXPERIENCES OF VIOLENCE DURING THE MALAYAN EMERGENCY OF 1948-60 Jacey Quah

43

GANDHI, ORWELL AND OUR UNDERSTANDING OF COMBATING TOTALITARIANISM Lachlan Forster

48

THE USE OF TORTURE IN SCOTTISH AND ENGLISH WITCHCRAFT TRIALS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Julia Richards

53 58

CHRISTINE DE PIZAN’S CONTESTABLE FEMINISM Felix Kimber

REPRESENTATIONS OF GENOCIDE VICTIMS AND PERPETRATORS IN THE HISTORY OF CINEMA Molly Lidgerwood

Front and back cover artwork by Alice Wallis.

Front: Alice Wallis. Diana of Versailles, 100BCE. 2021.

Back: Alice Wallis.

Ionic, Corinthian, and Papyriform Columns. [Duplicated, top version flipped horizontally]. 2021.

Chariot is the undergraduate history journal of the University of Melbourne.

The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of the university, the editors, or the sub-editors. All writing and artwork remains the property of the creators.

Submissions are always open for Chariot, send your work to chariotjournal@gmail.com.

You can find published pieces on the Chariot website: https://chariotjournal.wordpress.com/.

All visual media, apart from artworks and images otherwise credited, are content accessed from Canva under the One Design Use License Agreement.

Under this license the media can be used for personal and commercial use, in marketing and social media, and create derivative works based on, or incorporating, Pro Stock Media. An eligible Canva pro subscription was used to create this journal, and 'magazine' and 'electronic publications' are within the listed acceptable uses of Canva media.

Content warning: this journal contains images of people who are deceased.

Editorial Lauren Song & Daisy Norfolk 2021 has been an extraordinary year for Chariot. From a record number of submissions to

the

expansion

to

history-inspired

artwork

contributions,

we

could

not

be

prouder

of

Chariot's exponential growth in the past year. This year saw the launch of our first mini-

edition

in

collaboration

with

the

University

of

Melbourne

Tea

Appreciation

Society,

a

physical Chariot exhibition displayed in Arts West, and the establishment of Chariot as an

UMSU-affiliated student club.

We also saw our largest ever Chariot team, with nine incredible sub-editors from a range of

majors

(not

just

history!)

who

not

only

went

above

and

beyond

in

working

with

our

contributors, but also took initiative in leading projects of their own. We are also grateful for

the support of Dr Carla Pascoe Leahy and the School of Historical and Philosophical Studies

in giving us valuable guidance throughout the year and helping us bring ideas and initiatives

to life.

Chariot Volume 4 includes a diverse range of content, from Bridget’s analysis on the

glorification of violence in ancient Rome, to Dan’s piece on the persecution of minorities in

Myanmar in response to the recent events. We are also excited to feature a number of

creatives, from Elina’s poem The 1st of July to Zoe and Alice’s ancient history-inspired

artworks. The diverse formats and contributions is a reflection of Chariot’s core mission – to

inspire students to interact with history in their own ways. We hope this edition will also

encourage you to do the same.

The 1st of July Elina Pugacheva This poem was written shortly before the plebiscite to change the Russian Constitution which was held in Russia from 25 June – 1 July 2020.

Russia’s puppeteer asks to tighten strings The BBC presenter moves on Embarrassment hits hard This is why the West thinks we're crazy

Disinfecting tunnels Bunkers

1

The 1st of July It looms increasingly

Freedom was once a respected woman Now let's reverse to a submissive maid It's men who know best, after all Especially Mr. President

“You can vote from your own homes!”

In times of pandemic and starvation We absolutely cannot stall Archaic reforms

Last December we walked through the Red Square The festivities, food and happiness Warmed up the freezing air

Now the Square is empty We must all adhere to our national holiday Of economic depression at home

2

The Red Square...

It has a grandiose air Now infected with corruption

The preparations have taken months Reforms will be passed much sooner Mr. President will guard us for a long time to come

Why must history repeat itself?

1. Since March 2020, Russian President Vladimir Putin has been highly rumoured to be living in a bunker-style residence with disinfecting tunnels near Moscow.

2. The first wave of coronavirus cases in March 2020 resulted in forced lockdowns in Russia (announced formally as “non-working weeks”), with negligible government assistance to match.

Image Credit: Adam Baker.

Красная Плошадь, Красное Палто / Red Square, Red Coat. 14 January, 2006.

Photograph [adapted]. https://flic.kr/p/9f9M9. CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Creative Commons.

08

Baker Boy and Beyond: the Aboriginal ‘Cultural Renaissance’ of the 1980s and Australia’s View of Indigenous Music Ines Jahudka Music is both a celebration and reification of culture. Choices of tonality, form, and instrumentation play an integral part in forming cultural musical identities. Musical performance of culture therefore becomes a political act; particularly in settler colonies like Australia, with a complex history of violence and dispossession. When the 1988 bicentennial

celebrations

focussed

Australian

attention

on

history

and

nationalism,

Aboriginal activists used this introspection to push for a new kind of recognition of its people and culture. They called for an ‘Aboriginal Renaissance,’ and demanded a space

within

perform

the

Australian

Indigenous

music,

arts

industry.

became

a

To

celebrate

political

act.

Indigenous

This

push

for

culture,

and

recognition

to

and

inclusion of Indigenous music impacted the wider music scene from the late 1980s onwards

and

provoked

an

ongoing

dialogue

about

appropriation

and

cultural

sensitivity.

1988 was a momentous year for Australians, marking the bicentenary of the arrival of Europeans. Aboriginal Australians, conversely, had unofficially marked 26 January as a Day of Mourning since 1938. For them, the bicentennial was a celebration of violence, oppression and cultural diffusion, including the harmful stereotyping and appropriation of their music by non-Indigenous Australians. Amidst the ‘Tall Ships’ celebrations and flag-waving, civil rights activist Charles Perkins called for a ‘cultural renaissance’: a movement to reclaim Indigenous art forms from the non-Indigenous performing arts establishment. To perform Aboriginal music, and celebrate Aboriginal culture, became a political act. Mandawuy Yunapingu, front man and founder of Australian rock band Yothu Yindi, declared “our music has to be political because it tells our story and our story is one of survival.”

Performance in this period not only planted a musical flag, but also challenged the limited genres available to Indigenous performers. Aboriginal musicians such as Jimmy Little and Dougie Young had been performing for several decades, using standard folk, blues or country styles. From the 1980s, however, Indigenous performers began to use the recognisable rock forms of mainstream Australian music and transform them into protest songs, using music as the vehicle to present their culture and challenge the celebratory nature of the upcoming Bicentennial. The Warumpi Band’s 1985 release, Black Fella/White Fella, highlighted racism faced by Aboriginal Australians. Artists like Kev Carmody and Paul Kelly combined rock and folk styles, releasing From Little Things,

09

Big Things Grow, detailing the early land rights struggle, in 1991. The folk music protest tradition continued: Archie Roach first performed Took the Children Away in 1988, and released it as a single in 1990. The song was a deeply personal recollection of his experiences as a member of the Stolen Generation, a topic which had been minimised within the Australian national narrative until this time. The single went on to win Roach the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) award for Best Indigenous Release in 1991. Additionally, musicians used rock music to highlight the unique relationship between Indigenous people and their country: for example, The Warumpi Band’s 1988 release

My

Island

Home.

Others

such

as

the

band

Coloured

Stone

incorporated

traditional Aboriginal melodic forms and instrumentation.

Treaty, yeah! Treaty, now!

Arguably the best example of Aboriginal musician’s expansion into non-folk genres came from the highest profile Indigenous musicians of the era: Yothu Yindi. Their 1991 single Treaty was an international hit, and was the first song in an Aboriginal language to top the Billboard music charts. Yothu Yindi was comprised of Indigenous and nonIndigenous musicians, and their music reflected the blending of cultures, combining standard rock forms and instrumentation with clapsticks and didgeridoo. Lyrics were in both English and Gumatj, a dialect of the Yolngu people in Arnhem Land, and the accompanying

music

video

illustrated

how

traditional

Yolngu

dance

forms

were

adapted to the new musical style.

Treaty’s

original

unfulfilled)

1988

release

in

early

promise

of

1991

Prime

was

a

Minister

protest

Bob

song

Hawke

to

in

response

conclude

a

to

the

(still

treaty

with

Indigenous people before 1990. Terra nullius (literally: nobody’s land) was the legal principle used by the British to claim sovereignty over the Australian continent. By establishing

the

continent

as

‘uninhabited’,

the

British

avoided

signing

any

formal

treaties with its traditional owners which would significantly impact native title and the legal standing of Indigenous Australians. Treaty’s lyrics addressed the Indigenous desire for self-determination, as well as demanding an inclusion of an Aboriginal voice in the terra nullius discourse: ‘This land was never given up / this land was never bought or sold / the planting of the Union Jack / doesn’t change our law at all.’ The original version was followed several months later with a remix, which removed the majority of the English language portions of the song while keeping the prominent didgeridoo solos and Gumatj language sections. It still retained the essential lyrics ‘treaty, yeah/treaty, now,’ however, significantly, the heart of the song was transformed; from the politics of institutional history, to the political act of portraying a strong and vibrant Indigenous culture.

Reactions within the non-Indigenous Australian music scene Indigenous Australians’ response to the 1988 bicentennial celebrations coincided with a

10

global push for recognition of indigenous cultures. There was an explosion of interest in Indigenous

artistic

institutions,

who

overlooked

or

and

musical

increasingly

stereotyped

tradition

engaged

artforms.

from

with

1989

non-Indigenous

Aboriginal

saw

the

Australian

artists

to

explore

formation

of

Indigenous

cultural

previously dance

company Bangarra; in the same year, the Gondwana Children’s choir was formed as an offshoot to the Sydney Children’s Choir. The world music festival WOMAD premiered in Adelaide in 1992, headlined by Archie Roach.

The

WOMADelaide

influence

was

something

of

a

mixed

blessing

for

Aboriginal

musicians, providing a platform while simultaneously restricting that platform to the ‘world music’ category. In 2002, Aboriginal Australian visual artist Richard Bell released a manifesto announcing there was no Indigenous art movement, merely a space that had been created within the Australian art industry for Indigenous artists; a space, furthermore, which was heavily filtered through the white lens which constrained and curated the Aboriginal creative process. This sentiment was echoed among Aboriginal musicians across genres, from country to classical, who claimed the preference for ‘ochre and didgeridoos’ was a new way of exerting post-colonial power and control over Indigenous Australians. In a 2018 interview with Backyard Opera, vocalist and Wiradjuri

woman

Akala

Newman

complained

of

promoters

categorising

her

music

before they had listened to her performance, based on her ancestry. Furthermore, as documentary maker Lisa Nicol argued, the Indigenous artist was (and is) expected to represent

pan-Aboriginality:

an

individual’s

voice

framed

as

representing

an

entire

culture. This expectation was (nor is) never required of non-Indigenous performers. For example, Yothu Yindi’s dance remix of Treaty, which minimised the English words of protest and celebrated Yolngu culture, was scrutinised and criticised by non-Indigenous music critics for “selling out” to mainstream Western music.

Long-term impact of the ‘cultural renaissance’ The Australian Council for the Arts estimated that between 2009-16, only 1 percent of music played across genres on Australian radio was made by Indigenous Australians, and mostly by artists Jessica Mauboy, Dan Sultan or Guy Sebastian. While that number is certainly

very

low,

the

statistics

obscure

the

fact

that

these

artists

are

extremely

successful and high-profile: for example, both Mauboy and Sebastian have performed as

the

Australian

entries

at

the

Eurovision

Song

Contest.

Additionally,

since

the

publication of this report, Aboriginal musicians are finding success in genres across the spectrum, from rapper A.B. Original, hip-hop artist Baker Boy, or soprano and composer, Deborah Cheetham.

One of the implications of the Indigenous push for creative inclusion is the question of what is a genuinely Australian sound and who might be involved in its production.

Awareness is growing in musicology about the ethics of composers ‘borrowing’ from

11

cultures other than their own, particularly from those whose voices have historically been

underrepresented.

While

classical

composers

such

as

Peter

Sculthorpe

were

lionised by some for celebrating Indigenous forms in his music, others pointed out the similarities

between

celebrating

and

appropriation,

or

the

difference

between

referencing and collaboration. Interestingly, however, composer and Dharug-Eora man Christopher Sainsbury notes that in the 25 years he worked at the Eora Centre for Aboriginal

Visual

and

Performing

Arts

in

Sydney,

no

composer

from

the

Sydney

University Music Department, 300 meters away, had ever visited the centre.

Given the perceptions by many Indigenous performers that Aboriginal music is still constrained by the white gaze or appropriated by white artists, the Bicentennial ‘culture as politics’ push may appear in some respects to have merely replicated early patterns of

exclusion

or

appropriation.

However,

the

conflict

has

produced

positive

results.

Certainly, funding and exposure to Indigenous artforms are still subject to institutional approval and therefore are largely being determined by non-Indigenous Australians. Yet according

to

a

2019

Arts

Council

participation

survey,

32

percent

of

Australians

attended some form of Indigenous music or art event in 2019, and 40 percent of respondents

reported

being

interested

of

demand

in

Indigenous

music

or

other

cultural

in

2020s.

performance.

The

long-term

impact

the

for

inclusion

is

still

unrolling

the

Composers are displaying an increasing sensitivity surrounding the use of Aboriginal culture and awareness of musical appropriation. There is also an apparent willingness to include Indigenous music in the Australian music tradition, be that William Barton in the concert hall, or Mo’Ju on Triple J. The impact of the ‘Aboriginal Renaissance’ of the 1980s sparked an interrogation of the way Australia interacts with Indigenous culture: a conversation which is still continuing today as Australian musicians negotiate spaces with each other and within the cultural community.

Primary Sources WOMADelaide. “About WOMADelaide: History”. WOMADelaide, the world’s festival. Published 2019. https://www.womadelaide.com.au/about/history.

Australia Council for the Arts. Creating our Future: Results of the National Arts Participation Survey.

Canberra: Australian Government. August 2020. https://www.australiacouncil.gov.au/research/creating-ourfuture#:~:text=The%20National%20Arts%20Participation%20Survey%20asks%20how%20Australians%20 are%20engaging,creativity%20in%20our%20daily%20lives.&text=The%20survey%20was%20conducted %20in,the%20cultural%20and%20creative%20industries.

Backyard Media Group, “The New Wave of Indigenous Protest: Music as a Force of Change.” Backyard Opera. Published July 5, 2018. https://www.backyardopera.com/music-6/2018/7/5/the-new-wave-ofindigenous-protest-music-as-a-force-for-change?rq=protest.

Beckett, Jeremy. “Young, Douglas Gary (Dougie) (1933-1991).” Australian Dictionary of Biography.

Published 2014. http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/young-douglas-gary-dougie-16283.

Bell, Richard. “Aboriginal Art – It’s a White Thing!” Bell’s Theorem. Published November 2002. http://www.kooriweb.org/foley/great/art/bell.html.

12

Bridson, Kerrie et al.. Building Audiences: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Arts. Sydney: Australia Council for the Arts, August 2015. https://www.australiacouncil.gov.au/workspace/uploads/files/building-audiences-australia-c55d50950f340d.pdf.

Dow, Steve. “‘The money’s handed out through a white filter’: First Nation’s performing arts fight for recognition.” The Guardian, 29 August, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2020/aug/29/the-moneys-handed-out-through-a-white-filterfirst-nations-performing-arts-fight-for-recognition.

Sainsbury, Christopher. “It’s time to properly acknowledge – and celebrate – Indigenous composers.” The Conversation, 30 April 2014. https://theconversation.com/its-time-to-properly-acknowledge-andcelebrate-indigenous-composers-115839.

“Transcript of Speech at Barunga Sports and Cultural Festival, Barunga, Northern Territory, 12 June 1988.”

Canberra: Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 1988. https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/sites/default/files/original/00007334.pdf.

Yunapingu,Mandawuy et al. “Treaty”, (song release) Yothu Yindi, released by Mushroom Records, 1991.

Yothu Yindi. “Yothu Yindi Treaty – Original Version.” Directed by Stephen Johnson, released by Mushroom Records (1991). Published September 14, 2015. Music video, 3:39. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JfjHCdafZY&list=PL6SBCQONJvr1q0C6hTxaa4TbbYSJ9pJEk&index=34.

Yothu Yindi. “Yothu Yindi – Treaty (Radio Remix).” Directed by Stephen Johnson, released by Mushroom Records (1991). Published June 27, 2013. Music video, 4:07. https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=RPmDLR_M50M&list=PL6SBCQONJvr1q0C6hTxaa4TbbYSJ9pJEk&index=35.

Secondary Sources Burridge, Stephanie. “Connecting Through Dance and Story.” In Shaping the Landscape: Celebrating Dance in Australia, edited by Julie Dyson and Stephanie Burridge, 34-51. India: Routledge, 2016.

Dunbar-Hall, Peter. “Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Music in the Curriculum: Political, Education and Cultural Perspectives.” Philosophy of Music Education Review vol. 10, no. 1 (2002), 18-26. https://www.jstor.org/stable/40327170.

Hayward, Philip, & Neuenfeldt, Karl. “Yothu Yindi: Context and Significance.” In Sound Alliances: Indigenous Peoples, Cultural Politics, and Popular Music in the Pacific, ed. Philip Hayward, 175-180.

Sydney: Bloomsbury, 2016. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/unimelb/detail.action? docID=4653891.

Harris, Amanda (ed). Circulating Cultures: exchanges of Australian Indigenous music, dance and media.

Acton, A.C.T.: Australian National University Press, 2014. https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt13wwv9j.

Grimshaw, Patricia & McGregor, Russell (eds). Collisions of Cultures and Identities: settler and Indigenous people. Parkville, Victoria: History Dept., University of Melbourne, 2006. https://researchonline.jcu.edu.au/12112/2/12112_Grimshaw_%26_McGregor_2007_Front_Pages.pdf.

Nicol, Lisa. “Culture, Custom and Collaboration: the production of Yothu Yindi’s Treaty videos.” Perfect Beat vol. 1, no. 2 (1993), 1-24. https://journals.equinoxpub.com/index.php/PB/article/view/28590.

Paget, Jonathon. “Has Sculthorpe Misappropriated Indigenous Melodies?” Musicology Australia vol. 35, no. 1 (2013), 86-111. doi: 10.1080/08145857.2013.76101.

Patten, J. T. & W. Ferguson. Aborigines Claim Citizen Rights! Sydney: The Publicist Bookshop, 1938. https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-241787110/view?partId=nla.obj-241788701.

Image Credit Bruce from Sydney, Australia. Baker Boy. 3 February, 2019. Photograph [adapted]. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Baker_Boy_(46927315342).jpg.

CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons.

13

A History of Minority Persecution in Myanmar Dan Crowley CW: Rape, violence, references to disturbing images Myanmar is a majority Burmese-Buddhist nation, with a population of ethnically Muslim Rohingyas

in

persecution

its

northern

against

the

Rakhine

province.

Rohingyas

by

The

1970s

president

saw

Ne

the

Win,

onset

most

of

concerted

notably

through

‘Operation Dragon King’ (ODK) in 1978 which sought to expel Rohingyas from Rakhine.

This forced removal stemmed from deep-seated historical divisions in Myanmar that were

inflamed

by

British

colonization,

the

Japanese

occupation,

and

the

Burmese

independence movement. As the objects of this persecution, the Rohingya people of Myanmar and the diaspora have and continue to experience immense physical and emotional trauma,

Historical Divisions and Collective Memory There

exists

a

deep-rooted

history

of

ethnic

tensions

in

Myanmar.

Discriminatory

citizenship laws were enforced against the Rohingya people as a result of beliefs that their inhabitance of Rakhine did not pre-date British colonialism. Case in point was President Ne Win’s 1982 Citizenship Law, which extended citizenship only to those whose ancestors had lived in Myanmar in the ‘period anterior to… 1823 A.D.’ This law was intended to redress historical wrongs, rather than contemporary wrongs. As Ne Win explained in a speech in October 1982:

‘If this law must be explained, what has happened in the past must necessarily be recalled… those foreigners who had settled in Burma at the time of independence have become a problem. We made these… laws to solve this problem.’

The historical belief that non-Burmese minorities were ‘immigrants’ was the central motivating factor behind the law, as evidenced by Win’s frequent historical references to the ‘remote past… in the aftermath of the first Anglo-Burmese war’, ‘the period between

1824

and

the

time

we

regained

independence’,

and

the

‘time

independence’ itself, in 1948.

While Ne Win was a pivotal figure in the persecution of Rohingyas, field research

14

of

conducted by historians Anthony Ware and Costas Laoutides shows that Win’s historical beliefs were shared by many of his fellow Burmans. Costas and Laoutides observed from interviews with ‘Rakhine and Burman key informants’ that many ‘insist on articulating their historical narrative up front as the basis of their position.’ Like Ne Win’s, these narratives centered on the idea of Muslim ‘infiltration’ during colonialism, interrupting the pre-colonial ethnic ‘unity’ of Myanmar. It seems that Ne Win’s historical arguments were not mere ideological inventions, crafted to justify his law, but were reflective of widespread sentiment in Myanmar.

Given that Rohingya settlement in Rakhine pre-dated British occupation, these historical narratives are inaccurate.. As noted by Burmese historian Azeem Ibrahim, Myanmar’s national borders are a modern innovation, and Rakhine, populated by non-Burman minorities since the pre-historic period, has only been considered part of Myanmar for short periods of history. Despite being inaccurate, these narratives were how the past was preserved in the Burmese collective memory. As noted by Ware and Laoutides, ‘collective

memory’

is

a

shared

view

of

the

past

that,

although

‘constructed’

and

‘selective’, determines how a group uses history to inform contemporary actions and policies. Accordingly, it was not necessarily what happened in the past, but what was remembered about the past that brought about the persecution of Rohingya people.

Inflamed questions of identity Questions of citizenship and national identity were inflamed by British colonization, the Japanese occupation, and post-war Independence. As noted by imperial historian Linda Colley, contact between colonists and colonized peoples frequently had the effect of strengthening

national

identity

and

the

concept

of

‘the

Other’,

those

who

existed

outside that national identity. This phenomenon can be observed in Myanmar. In a speech

in

1945,

Burmese

independence

campaigner

Aung

San

charted

the

development of nationalism in Burma under British and Japanese occupation. Aung San says that early uprisings against colonialism were diffuse and ‘spontaneous… peasants’ revolts’, with no unifying ideology or nationalized characteristic. But as time went on, a more ‘conscious nationalist movement’ emerged, through which distinctions between Burmese and ‘the Other’ grew sharper: the Burmese economy was agricultural while the British

economy

was

industrial;

education

was

universally

‘imparted…

by

Buddhist

monks’;economic divisions were not ‘so sharply differentiated as in other countries’; and, Burmese

society

was

‘idyllic’,

in

contrast

to

the

‘repressive

and

callous’

ways

of

colonizers.

As Myanmar strove for independence in the years after World War II, political leaders fought to create a Burmese nation uncontaminated by ‘the Other’. Religion was a key flashpoint in this fight. General Aung San passionately argued at the 1946 Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League that the Buddhist religion ‘professed by the greatest bulk of our people’ should be at the center of an independent Myanmar. Aung San was not as

15

hostile to religious minorities as future presidents like Ne Win, assuring the Anglo-Burman Council in 1946 that he would not ‘confine the definition of a nationality to the narrow bounds of race or religion.’ But his rhetoric did create clear distinctions between the Buddhist

majority,

and

‘foreign’

minorities

within

Myanmar.

For

instance,

enfranchisement of non-Buddhist Burmese was said to be strictly conditional; ‘you have to prove that you want to live and to be with the people of this country, not by words but by deeds.’ Aung San also offered a veiled warning to religious non-conformists, foreshadowing the persecution of Rohingya Muslims: ‘(Buddhism) has several indications of its becoming possibly the greatest philosophy in the world, if we can help to remove the trash and travesties which antiquity must have doubtless imposed on this great religion.’

Aung San was not only a prominent political architect of Myanmar’s independence movement but, as noted by the Lowy Institute, one of the ‘most potent’ and enduring ‘symbols’ of independence itself. His speeches are therefore authoritative sources for understanding political dynamics in this period, and on this basis it can be argued that the independence movement had strong religio-nationalist tendencies, which laid the foundation

for

the

persecution

of

non-conforming

minorities

in

the

1970s.

Notably,

Buddhism became a central tenet of the governments of U Nu and Ne Win, the first two presidents of independent Myanmar who implemented what Burmese political scientists Maureen Aung-Thwin, Thant Myint-U and Thant Mynt-U call ‘Buddhist socialism’. Aung San’s conception of Burmese national identity, forged against the identity of nonBurmese ‘Others’ during struggles for independence, thus had an enduring power in Myanmar,

inflaming

the

deep-seated

historical

divisions

held

within

the

Burmese

collective memory.

Impact on Rohingya lives: physical trauma Government persecution of minorities has brought about significant physical trauma for the Rohingya people. Rohingya refugee Habiburahman published a memoir recalling the violence he suffered and witnessed as a child in Rakhine, including ‘rapes’, ‘massacres’, stoning, vandalization, and abduction. Habiburahman makes it clear that this violence was directly caused by the ‘repression and terror’ of Ne Win’s government, citing ODK as the

originating

grandmother:

evil,

‘The

as

emphasized

Dragon

King

will

by

a

carry

mournful you

off.

song

Poor

taught

people,

to

poor

him

by

his

Rohingya…’

Violence was primarily inflicted by the military, but also by the police, as well as civilian Rakhine and Bamar Burmans. As Habiburahman says, it was impossible for a Rohingya in Rakhine to avoid harm: ‘the choice of target is completely arbitrary. Violence reigns.’

Violence also arose within Rohingya families, as well as from outside of them. A photo taken by Bangladeshi photographer Saiful Huq Omi documents a confronting instance of domestic violence committed against Rohingya woman Tayeba Begum, who was stabbed seven times by her husband. As shown in Figure 1, Begum lies on her deathbed,

16

extending her lacerated hand towards the camera.

Habiburahman also recalled being assaulted by his father as a child: ‘(father) pushes me against the bamboo wall. He gives me two lashes on the back with a stick. He grits his teeth in an attempt to stifle his cries of rage…’ Notably, Habiburahman linked this treatment to anti-Rohingya persecution, saying that his father used to discipline him for ‘putting

his

life

in

danger’

by

venturing

into

the

military

‘black

zone’

and

publicly

associating with non-Rohingya children. Sociologist Amy Friedman, from the Refugee Women

in

Development

organization,

has

argued

that

men

from

displaced

and

persecuted communities have ‘heightened male vulnerability’ as a result of suffering ‘torture, violence, or rape’, leading to greater instances of domestic violence within these communities. It can thus be argued that violence perpetrated against Rohingya peoples has, through this mechanism identified by Friedman, created flow-on cycles of violence within Rohingya communities.

Habiburahman seems to exercise significant creative liberty in his account, describing events from his early childhood in a vivid, novelistic first-person present tense. However, the

events

and

experiences

he

relays

are

corroborated

by

a

fact-finding

report

published by the United Nations High Commissioner on Human Rights, which, based on extensive interviews with Rohingya people, concluded that ‘gross human rights violations and abuses’ of a ‘horrifying nature and ubiquity’ had been perpetrated by the military against Rohingyas. One anonymous Rohingya made a strikingly similar observation to Habiburahman about the arbitrariness of anti-Rohingya violence: ‘there were no rebels in

my

village.

But

the

army

just

came

and

attacked

the

people.’

Sources

like

Habiburahman’s memoir can thus be considered reliable as they express well-attested facts, albeit in a stylized way.

Impact on Rohingya lives: displacement and disassociation Government persecution has also resulted in the displacement of Rohingya people, both through

emigration

displacement

has

and

been

forced

expulsions.

liberating.

As

However,

Habiburahman

for

some

described,

Rohingyas,

fleeing

his

this

native

Rakhine felt simultaneously dangerous and uplifting: “I am going on a perilous journey to escape

this

bottomless

quagmire

of

life

as

a

Rohingya…

if

I

succeed,

a

world

of

possibilities is waiting to be discovered outside Arakan.”

More

often,

however,

these

journeys

compounded

trauma.

Saiful

Huq

Omi’s

photographs document the squalor and suffering of life in Rohingya refugee camps in Bangladesh and Malaysia. Figure 2 shows the confronting image of Ali Malia, 24 hours before his death from ‘an “unknown” disease’ that Bangladeshi doctors were unable to treat. News articles paint an equally bleak picture of life in refugee camps including human trafficking, disease outbreaks, deportation, and refoulment.

17

Displacement has also brought about significant emotional trauma, through the loss of family,

land,

and

ethnic

and

religious

identity.

Persecution

of

Rohingyas

can

be

understood both as a physical genocide, committed through violence, and a ‘cultural genocide’, committed through the suppression and eradication of Rohingya culture.

Cultural genocide has had an enduring effect on the lives of Rohingya people, as evidenced by Habiburahman’s choice of title for his memoir ‘First, They Erased Our Name’, referencing the fact that the word ‘Rohingya’ was ‘forbidden’ in Rakhine. The last lines

of

Habiburahman’s

memoir

were

dedicated

to

feelings

of

restlessness

and

incompleteness that came from the loss of his kindred ties: ‘my brother, sisters, and I are dispersed over several continents, stateless and rootless… today, our people are scattered. Rohingya are living in exile around the globe, but our hearts are more than ever in Arakan.’

As illustrated in a poem by Yasmin Ullah, a Rohingya refugee resettled in Canada, the draw of home was strong even for those who had lived outside of Rakhine for the majority of their life:

I keep missing a place I barely know.

Home – untouched families I can never return to, how I long for their hugs.

The physical and emotional trauma inflicted against the Rohingya people and the diaspora was profound: not only were people displaced from their country and family, but also from their sense of self and belonging.

Conclusion The

government

dominant

began

historical

persecution

narratives

of

about

the

Rohingyas

foreign

in

“infiltration”

the

1970s

during

as

a

result

colonialism.

of

These

narratives were inflamed by the Burmese independence movement, which sought to create a culturally and religiously unified nation. Government persecution has led to complex forms of trauma for Rohingyas, both physical and emotional, originating from outside

and

within

their

communities,

and

affecting

Rohingyas

outside

and

within

Myanmar.

Primary Sources Figure 1. Saiful Huq Omi, the 5th image down labelled underneath with “Tayeba Begum lived in the UN registered camp," unkown date (around 2012). Photo available at: https://saifulhuqomi.wordpress.com/.

The creator retains the copyright to this image.

Figure 2. Saiful Huq Omi, the 15th image down labelled underneath with “Ali Mia suffered from an ‘unknown’ disease," unkown date (around 2012). Photo available at: https://saifulhuqomi.wordpress.com/. The creator retains the copyright to this image.

18

“An Address to the Anglo-Burmans”, December 8, 1946. Available at: http://www.aungsan.com/speeches.htm.

“Burma Citizenship Law”, October 15, 1982. Available at: https://www.refworld.org/docid/3ae6b4f71b.html [accessed October 5, 2020].

Habiburahman. First, They Erased Our Name. Melbourne: Scribe, 2019.

I Am a Rohingya: Poetry from the Camps and Beyond. Edited by James Byrne and Shehzar Doja.

Todmorden: Arc Publications, 2019.

Kinseth, Ashley Starr. “India’s Rohingya Shame.” Al Jazeera, January 29, 2019. https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2019/1/29/indias-rohingya-shame/ [accessed October 26, 2020].

Palma, Porimol. “Rohingya Camps: Chickenpox outbreak causes concern.” Daily Star, February 2, 2019. https://www.thedailystar.net/rohingya-crisis/news/rohingya-camps-chickenpox-outbreak-causesconcern-1696333 [accessed October 26, 2020].

“Problem for Burma’s Freedom.” January 20, 1946. Available at: http://www.aungsan.com/probburma.htm [accessed October 22, 2020].

Saiful Huq Omi. “The Disowned & The Denied.” WordPress, published March 10, 2015. https://saifulhuqomi.wordpress.com/ [accessed October 22, 2020].

“The Resistance Movement: General Aung San”, August 29, 1945. Available at: http://www.aungsan.com/speeches.htm [accessed October 7, 2020].

“Thirty Rohingya refugees rescued from traffickers in Bangladesh.” Gulf Times, February 8, 2019. https://www.gulf-times.com/story/621570/Thirty-Rohingya-refugees-rescued-from-traffickers[accessed October 26, 2020].

“Translation of the speech by General Ne Win, 9 October 1982.” Available at: https://www.burmalibrary.org/sites/burmalibrary.org/files/obl/docs6/Ne_Win%27s_speech_Oct-1982Citizenship_Law.pdf [accessed October 5, 2020].

Secondary Sources “Aung-Thwin, Maureen, Thant Myint-U and Thant Mynt-U. “The Burmese Ways to Socialism.” Third World Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 1, “Rethinking Socialism” (1992), pp.67-75: 69. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3992410.

Colley, Linda. “Britishness and Otherness: An Argument” in Journal of British Studies, Vol. 31, No. 4 (Oct., 1992), pp.309-329. https://www.jstor.org/stable/175883.

Friedman, Amy R. “Rape and Domestic Violence: The Experience of Refugee Women” in Women & Therapy, 13(1-2), pp. 65-78. https://refugeeresearch.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Friedman-1992Rape-and-domestic-violence-The-experience-of-refugee-women.pdf.

Ibrahim, Azeem. The Rohingyas: Inside Myanmar’s Genocide. London: Hurst and Company, 2016.

Kingston, Lindsey. “The Destruction of Identity: Cultural Genocide and Indigenous Peoples” in Journal of Human Rights, 14:1, 63-83 https://doi.org/10.1080/14754835.2014.886951.

“Myanmar and Aung San: The resurrection of an icon.” Lowy Institute. https://www.lowyinstitute.org/the-interpreter/myanmar-and-aung-san-resurrection-icon [accessed October 22, 2020].

Nunan, D, C Bankhead and JK Aronson, “Selection Bias.” Oxford University Catalogue of Bias, 2017 http://www.catalogofbias.org/biases/selection-bias/.

Razvi, Mutjaba. “The Problem of the Burmese Muslims.” Pakistan Horizon, Vol. 31, No. 4 (Fourth Quarter, 1978), pp. 82-93.

“Report of the independent international fact-finding mission on Myanmar.” United Nations High Commissioner on Human Rights, September 12, 2018. https://www.ohchr.org/Documents/HRBodies/HRCouncil/FFM-Myanmar/A_HRC_39_64.pdf [accessed October 22, 2020].

19

Ware, Anthony and Costas Laoutides. Myanmar’s ‘Rohingya’ Conflict. London: Hurst and Company, 2018.

Zawacki, Benjamin. “Defining Myanmar’s “Rohingya Problem.”” Human Rights Brief 20, no.3 (2013): 18-25 https://digitalcommons.wcl.american.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1873&context=hrbrief.

Image Credit DFID - UK Department for International Development. View of the sprawling Kutupalong refugee camp near Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh. 24 November, 2017. Photograph [adapted]. https://www.flickr.com/photos/14214150@N02/24775405808. CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/>, via Creative Commons.

20

The Performance of Insanity in the Old Bailey, 1674-1800 Bree Booth Scholars

of

early

modern

insanity

trials

have

contended

that

eighteenth-century

jurisprudence on insanity was primarily informed by the right-wrong or ‘wild beast’ test.

The test dictated that a person be considered legally insane only if they were ‘totally deprived of [their] understanding and memory and doth not know what [they are] doing, no more than an infant, than a brute or a wild beast.’ This formulation of the test, from Mr Justice Tracy’s summing up to the jury in the case of Rex v Arnold (1723), reentered English law in the eighteenth century but the concept had been known to English

law

since

the

publication

of

Henry

de

Bracton’s

treatise

‘De

Legibus

et

Consuetudinibus Angliae,’ in the thirteenth century. Historian of crime and gender Dana Rabin argues, however, that eighteenth-century courts did not rely as heavily on the ‘wild beast’ test as some scholars have contended.

I will contribute to the resolution of this conflict by exploring the testimony in insanity cases in the Old Bailey Online in the period 1674-1800. The records show that judges and

juries

did

widespread

not

always

appearance

strictly

of

adhere

medical

to

the

witnesses

‘wild

beast’

towards

the

test

end

even

of

the

before

the

eighteenth

century. Judges and lawyers questioned the internal psychological and emotional states of prisoners, as well as observable evidence of insanity in their speech and actions.

Thus, I will argue that insanity in the early modern English court was first and foremost a performance which was informed by popular stereotypes of the raving madman but that this script was being rewritten by judges, lawyers, and witnesses to produce a more nuanced conception of legal insanity.

My research draws on 117 records archived in the Old Bailey Online between 1674 and 1800 in which a verdict of non compos mentis was returned, or in which an insanity plea is recorded (see appendix). Almost half of all persons who presented evidence of their insanity in the Old Bailey during the eighteenth century were acquitted. 48% or 56 of 117 cases are non compos mentis verdicts. The other 78 are cases in which a formal plea of insanity was entered or in which the prisoner’s sanity was called into question by testimony. Some of the records, particularly towards the end of the eighteenth century, provide more detail than others. These later records often include details of the trial testimony and the sentencing remarks of the judge. This information can be helpful in determining the reasons why a jury might have decided to acquit or convict. However, the

statistics

drawn

from

these

records

must

not

be

too

hastily

generalised.

decision about what to record was at the discretion of the clerk in the eighteenth-

21

The

century court. Thus, there may have been numerous other cases where evidence of insanity was presented but was not considered important enough to record or was not recorded

due

to

time

constraints.

Moreover,

it

is

not

possible

to

draw

precise

conclusions as to why a jury came to their decisions but given the role of the clerk in recording important information, this essay works on the assumption that the clerk might have recorded that information which was considered to have factored into the jury’s decision to acquit or convict. Thus, the sources provide a broad snapshot of what was going on in insanity trials in the Old Bailey in the period under examination.

Insanity has been considered a mitigating circumstance in English Common Law since the medieval period, with the requirement that the legally insane not be aware of the moral character of their actions. The verdict of non compos mentis meaning ‘not of sound mind’,was well established in the lexicon of the English court by the end of the seventeenth century, when the records for the Old Bailey Online begin. By 1750, 160 English crimes were punishable by death, so insanity defences were entered into to avoid execution for crimes ranging from theft to murder. . An insanity plea could be an effective strategy as eighteenth-century English law was highly unpredictable; there was a disjunct between the severity of the ‘bloody code’ and the willingness of English Courts to mitigate punishments in a wide variety of circumstances. Moreover, with increasing economic and population pressures throughout the eighteenth century, more and more insanity cases began to appear in the Old Bailey. Until 1720, the average number of non compos mentis verdicts returned per decade was 3.2. Thereafter, this number increased to 4.4. With the rise in pleas of insanity, the eighteenth-century court became

a

testing

ground

for

new

legal

tests

of

insanity

which

reflected

the

circumstances of the cases being brought before the court.

The popular conception of the madman in early modern England was reflected in and informed by the character Tom O’ Bedlam, who possibly emerged from an anonymous seventeenth century ballad known as Tom a Bedlam’s Song. The ballad, written from the perspective of Mad Tom himself who describes his adventures:

With an host of furious fancies Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander.

By a knight of ghosts and shadows, I summoned am to a tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end: Methinks it is no journey.

Yet I will sing, Any food, any feeding, Feeding, drink, or clothing…

Wandering aimlessly, he is sometimes described as walking about ‘bare armed, and bare legged,’ or alternatively ‘dressed in cloathing fantastic and ridiculous,’ begging for alms across the English countryside. Tom O’ Bedlam’s madness inheres in his eccentric appearance and demeanour. This image of the madman as a bedraggled nomad informed popular conceptions of what insanity looked like in the eighteenth century. It represented a regression to one’s animal nature and thus stood in unfavourable

22

contrast to the enlightenment ideal of the man of reason.

The ‘wild beast’ test can be understood as the translation of the Tom O’ Bedlam stereotype into a legal context. In the eighteenth-century, however, witnesses began to challenge this conception, instead contending that disordered emotions and passions, a ‘lesion of the will,’ to borrow Eigen’s term, constituted a mode of legal insanity. To the jury in the 1709 trial of Elizabeth Cole ‘it appear’d plain that she had for a considerable time been under a great trouble of Mind, and in a disponding Condition.’ There is evidence that this shift had begun to occur even earlier, as the trial of a woman known only as H.S. in 1691 states that ‘she had always been a Melancholy Woman,’ and was therefore

acquitted.

Thus,

in

the

eighteenth

century

a

shift

in

popular

and

legal

conceptions of insanity was underway.

Juries resisted the shift in standards of legal proof well into the eighteenth century.

There were two reliable indicators of conviction in an insanity case. Firstly, a person who could string together a sentence or a coherent plea in front of a judge did not fit the popular conception of the incoherent madman and it was therefore unlikely that a jury, as representative of the public, would find them insane. Secondly, if a defendant could not produce credible witnesses to testify to their insanity or if the prosecutor produced witnesses who contradicted the diagnosis of insanity, then a prisoner would likely be convicted. Of the cases in which insanity was not accepted as a mitigating circumstance, 22 out of 78 could not produce sufficient evidence of their insanity, and 7 of 78 spoke coherently in their own defence. Thus, when John Newman pled that he was a ‘lunatick’ during his trial for theft in 1720, but ‘called none to prove it,’ he was found guilty. Likewise, in 1780 when Thomas Taplin’s landlord of nine years testified that he had for some time been ‘void of his senses,’ but admitted that the prisoner regularly paid his rent, Taplin was found guilty and sentenced to death. This shows that while defence witnesses often challenged the legal definition of insanity, the kinds of proofs accepted by juries continued to be informed by the ‘wild beast’ stereotype.

When testimony was equivocal or when credible testimony as to the soundness of the prisoner’s mind was presented, juries tended to err on the side of conviction. Historian Dana

Rabin

argues

that

the

tendency

of

juries

to

convict

was

informed

by

the

enlightenment conception that ‘every man is a creature reasonable,’ and madness was a rare disorder of the natural human condition of reason. This contention is largely borne out by the evidence from the trial records. In the trial of Mary Hindes for murder, the husband of the victim and acquaintance of three years, claimed he ‘never observed any marks of madness’ in her, while the landlord of the prosecutor claimed ‘she never appeared to be insane at all.’ William Morron, indicted for theft in 1784, is described by a medical witness as ‘flighty’ but not insane. William Frankland made the mistake of allowing his jailers to witness a change in his behaviour from ‘quite frantick’ to speaking calmly. All three prisoners were convicted and sentenced to death. Thus, equivocal or unfavourable testimony was a reliable indicator of conviction; in no cases where there was vastly contradictory testimony was an acquittal returned.

Despite the resistance of juries to new conceptions of insanity, witnesses in eighteenth century insanity proceedings drew on both the emotional state of the accused as well as their observable behaviour as proof of insanity. Such testimony became more and

23

more prevalent as medical witnesses who specialised in insanity entered the courtroom.

MacDonald contends that there was a shift towards secular medical explanations of insanity

from

the

end

of

the

seventeenth

century,

however

medical

witnesses

specialising in insanity do not begin to appear in large numbers in the Old Bailey until 1760. Before 1760 most medical witnesses knew the defendant in a private capacity or were employed by prisons or asylums where the accused had been held. Having a medical witness testify on one’s behalf could be beneficial, and only became more so as the field of psychology was established in the nineteenth century. In the eighteenth century, a medical witness appeared for the prisoner in 12 of 56 cases or 21% of cases in which a non compos mentis verdict was handed down. This proportion increases to 38.1% between 1760 and 1800. In 3 cases in which the defendant was found guilty, a medical witness appeared who contended that the prisoner was legally sane. The rise of the medical witness corresponds with a rise in the nuance which judges and juries were willing to accept in their explorations of insanity. The eighteenth century was a period wherein witnesses routinely challenged the legal conception of insanity, against the traditional right-wrong test. While insanity remained largely performative, the notion of the insane person as akin to a wild beast was not an exclusive standard by which insanity was determined in the eighteenth-century English court.

I have demonstrated that the ‘wild beast’ test was not the only standard used to judge legal insanity in the eighteenth-century English court. Of the 117 cases surveyed here, a variety of reasons for conviction or acquittal emerge which do not focus on the outright behaviour of the accused. The accused were convicted or acquitted based on their behaviour, but also based on medical and lay testimony which challenged the notion of the

‘wild

beast’

madman.

This

emerging

nuance

corresponds

with

the

rise

of

the

medical witness in the English court from around 1760. Hence, madness was first and foremost a performance but the conditions of the performance were changing in the eighteenth-century

court

to

include

nuanced

medical

categories

of

derangement

which interacted with popular conceptions and social categories.

Appendix Non compos mentis verdicts 1674-1800

Reason for acquittal: IDIOCY: 4 LUNACY: 52 TOTAL: 56 Source: https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/stats.jsp? y=verdictCategory&x=&countBy=&render=&_offences_offenceCategory_offenceSubcategory=&_verdict s_verdictCategory_verdictSubcategory=notguilty_nonComposMentis&_punishments_punishmentCatego ry_punishmentSubcategory=&_defendantNames_defendantGender=&defendantAgeFrom=&defendantA geTo=&_victimNames_victimGender=&victimAgeFrom=&victimAgeTo=&_divs_fulltext=&kwparse=and&fr omMonth=&fromYear=1674&toMonth=&toYear=1800

Evidence presented HISTORY OF INSANITY: 22 PRISON/COURT BEHAVIOUR: 12 NO HISTORY: 20 MEDICAL WITNESS: 12 MADNESS DUE TO INJURY/DISEASE: 3 Guilty Verdicts in which evidence of insanity is presented 1674-1800 TOTAL: 78

Evidence presented PERIODIC/TEMPORARY MADNESS: 5

24

EVIDENCE AGAINST: 15 INSUFFICIENT PROOF: 22 LIQUOR: 6 SPOKE IN OWN DEFENCE: 7 OTHER: 1 Source: https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/stats.jsp? y=verdictCategory&x=&countBy=_offences&render=&_offences_offenceCategory_offenceSubcategory =&_verdicts_verdictCategory_verdictSubcategory=guilty&_punishments_punishmentCategory_punishme ntSubcategory=&_defendantNames_defendantGender=&defendantAgeFrom=&defendantAgeTo=&_vict imNames_victimGender=&victimAgeFrom=&victimAgeTo=&_divs_fulltext=lunatick%2C+lunatic%2C+luna cy%2C+soul+disease%2C+insanity%2C+insane+&kwparse=or&fromMonth=&fromYear=1674&toMonth=&t oYear=1800.

Primary Sources ‘A New Mad TOM of Bedlam, / OR, / The Man in the Moon Drinks Claret, / With Powder-Beef Turnep and Caret.’ 1658-1664. English Broadside Ballad Archive. http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ballad/21727/player.

Awdelay, John. The fraternitie of vacabondes as well of ruflyng vacabondes, as of beggerly, of women as of men, of gyrles as of boyes, with their proper names and qualities: with a description also of the craftie company of cosoners and shifters; whereunto also is adioyned the xxv orders of knaues, otherwise called a quarterne of knaues, confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell (London, W. White dwelling in Cowlane, 1603).

Bracton, Henry de. "De Legibus & Consuetudinibus Angliae Libri Quinq[Ue]" in Varios Tractatus Distincti, Ad Diuersorum et Vetustissimorum Codicum Collationem, Ingenti Cura, Nunc Primu[m] Typis Vulgati: Quorum Quid Cuiq[Ue] Insit, Proxima Pagina Demonstrabit. London, 1569. 1475-1640 / 282:12. Early English Books Online. http://gateway.proquest.com.ezp.lib.unimelb.edu.au/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.882003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99857311.

Disraeli, Isaac. Curiosities of Literature. Fourth Edition. London: H. Murray, Fleet Street, 1794.

‘Elizabeth Cole,’ 17 January, 1709, No. t17090117-20. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17090117-20-defend75&div=t17090117-20#highlight.

‘H – S -,’ 8 July, 1691, No. t16910708-15. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp? id=t16910708-15-off63&div=t16910708-15#highlight.

‘Hannah Gill,’ 8 April, 1719, No. t17190408-10. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17190408-10-defend76&div=t17190408-10#highlight.

Holme, Randle. The Academy of Armory, or, A Store-House of Armory and Blazon Containing the Several Variety of Created Beings, and How Born in Coats of Arms, Both Foreign and Domestick : With the Instruments Used in All Trades and Sciences, Together with Their Terms of Art : Also the Etymologies, Definitions, and Historical Observations on the Same, Explicated and Explained According to Our Modern Language : Very Useful for All Gentlemen, Scholars, Divines, and All Such as Desire Any Knowledge in Arts and Sciences / by Randle Holme of the City of Chester, Gentleman Sewer in Extraordinary to His Late Majesty King Charles the Second, and Sometimes Deputy to the King of Arms.

London: 1693. Early English Books Online, 1641-1700 / 3075:01. http://gateway.proquest.com.ezp.lib.unimelb.edu.au/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.882003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:945446616.

‘John Glover, Old Bailey Proceedings front matter,’ 3 June, 1789, No. t17890603-90. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17890603-90-defend848&div=t17890603-90#highlight.

‘John Newman,’ 2 June, 1780, No. t17200602-38. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17200602-38-defend218&div=t17200602-38#highlight.

‘Mary Hindes,’ 18 May, 1768, No. t17680518-39. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17680518-39-defend450&div=t17680518-39#highlight.

‘Old Bailey Proceedings supplementary material, Susannah Milsent,’11 November, 1794, No. o17941111-1.

Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=o17941111-1-defend794&div=o179411111#highlight.

Rex v. Arnold, No. 16 How. St. Tr. (Court of Common Pleas 1724).

25

‘Thomas Taplin,’ 28 June, 1780, No. t17800628-18. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17800628-18-defend290&div=t17800628-18#highlight.

William Frankland,’ 12 January, 1774, No. t17740112-23. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17740112-23-defend265&div=t17740112-23#highlight.

‘William Morron,’ 20 October 1784, No. t17841020-39. Old Bailey Online. https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17841020-39-defend393&div=t17841020-39#highlight.

Secondary Sources Eigen, Joel Peter. Mad-Doctors in the Dock: Defending the Diagnosis, 1760-1913. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016.

———. Witnessing Insanity: Madness and Mad-Doctors in the English Court. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995.

MacDonald, Michael. Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth-Century England.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.

Rabin, Dana Y. Identity, Crime, and Legal Responsibility in Eighteenth-Century England. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2004.

Skultans, Vieda. English Madness: Ideas on Insanity, 1580-1890. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979.

Image Credit Nevilley. Old Bailey, London. 14 June, 2004. Photograph [adapted]. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Oldbaileylondon-900.jpg#filelinks. CC BY-SA 3.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en>, via Wikimedia Commons.

26

Artemis Zoe Keeghan, 2021 Artemis

was

the

ancient

Greek

goddess of the moon, forests and the hunt.

Like

Greece,

all

she

the

gods

could

be

of

ancient

jealous

and

quick to anger, and her wrath could have terrifying consequences. But as powerful

as

her

wrath

was,

it

was

equally matched by her courage and loyalty.

She

fiercely

protected

all

those within her domain, demanding respect for nature and animals, and acting

as

the

guardian

of

priestesses and young children.

her

According to ancient Greek myth, Hyacinthus was the mortal prince of Sparta.

He was beautiful, and many gods and men tried to suit him, including Zephyrus, god of the west wind.

But Hyacinthus chose Apollo, god of the sun, music and healing, over them all. They travelled together, and Apollo taught Hyacinthus everything he knew of music, prophecy and sport. One day, they decided to have a friendly discus competition.

Apollo threw the discus as far as he could, so high it split the clouds in two. Zephyrus, jealous that Hyacinthus had chosen Apollo over him, blew the discus offcourse. As Hyacinthus ran to catch it, it struck him in the head, and he collapsed. Apollo tried everything he could to save him, but it was too late.

Distraught, Apollo vowed to always remember Hyacinthus in his music, and created the hyacinth flower in honour of his lover. Hyacinthus was eventually resurrected by Apollo and became immortal, worshipped as a god in Sparta.

Apollo and Hyacinthus Zoe Keeghan, 2021

The Glamorization of Violence in Ancient Rome Bridget Bracken In modern popular culture, one of the first things to be associated with ancient Rome is the gladiatorial games. It’s no wonder that the combination of glorious spectacle and cruel violence draws in a modern audience as it once did in ancient times. While the gladiatorial games are seen as the epitome of normalized cruelty in ancient Rome, this should be viewed as a misconception. Ultimately, while gladiatorial games and chariot racing were two of the most influential and often discussed forms of regimented Roman violence, slavery was the epitome of normalised ancient cruelty.

There’s no doubting gladiatorial games were an essential part of Roman culture and continue to play an important part in our understanding of it today. Due to the game’s free

entrance,

they

were

one

of

the

more

popular

forms

of

public

entertainment

available to the wider population. This popularity contributes to the modern perception that ancient Romans were bloodthirsty and thrived on the consumption of violence. As Toner stated, “to us violence has negative moral implications, but for the Romans it did not”. In the context of the gladiatorial games, it was less the violence that was key, and more the style in which said violence was executed.

Gladiatorial games traditionally took place in the wake of important military victories – often the gladiators were prisoners of war, if not local slaves. This context displays that the gladiatorial games were about showing off both the degree of power Rome held over its enemies, and the strength of its internal power structures. Emphasis is therefore well-placed on the cultural importance of gladiatorial games in comparison to the chariot races, as gladiatorial games played a crucial role in imperial propaganda. By blindly taking the gladiatorial games to be the most important – and therefore most cruel and violent – form of ancient Roman spectacle, this propaganda persists to this day; without questioning this, ancient Rome is still viewed the way which ancient Roman emperors wanted it to be.

Furthermore, any condemnation of the violence of the gladiatorial games had less to do with the actual brutality, and more to do with a disdain for the lower classes. Seneca betrays this perspective when he writes of that after “all niceties were put aside, it was pure

and

simple

murder”.

Cicero

echoes

this

sentiment

when

he

questions

“what

pleasure can a civilized man find when … a helpless human being is mangled by a very strong animal”. Evidently, Cicero and Seneca are not inherently opposed to the death of gladiators, as long as the appropriate conventions are observed; stylized violence is

30

acceptable, but brutal, mindless violence is for the plebeians. This serves as a reminder that gladiatorial games were not intended to be sites of meaningless violence, but rather a carefully organized institution to reflect the power and hierarchy of ancient Rome.

The chariot races of ancient Rome, despite their greater popularity at the time, receive much

less

attention

in

popular

culture

today.

When

discussing

Rome’s

culture

of

violence and only addressing gladiator games, one is completely dismissing the races and their standing as the most crucial aspect of Roman violence, as they were just as (if not more so) bloody. Cicero exemplifies this when he graphically describes the way in which

a

charioteer

is

“thrown

from

his

chariot,

ground,

lacerated

and

dashed

to

pieces”. The “intense excitement and fanaticism” associated with the chariot races, their larger audiences and their intense gambling culture also suggest that the chariot races were a comparatively more important form of public entertainment to the Roman individuals. This likely stems, as with the importance of the gladiatorial games, from the importance of the social hierarchy in ancient Rome. In this case the importance has to do with the races being a setting where traditional social hierarchies could become blurred. Charioteers were more likely to survive their performance than gladiators, and due to this and the intense attachment to factions and gambling the participants were able to gain a considerable degree of fame. The combination of slave – as the majority of charioteers were – and celebrity would have been uncomfortable to those in the higher classes, but this “ambiguous social position” occupied by charioteers would have been

attractive

to

those

of

the

lower

classes.

Therefore,

to

the

individual

the

combination of luck and skill necessary to win a chariot race would have provided a much more apt, or at least more hopeful, metaphor for society from their perspective.

Despite what modern popular culture suggests, neither gladiatorial games nor chariot races

were

the

epitome

of

normalized

violence

in

ancient

Rome,

though

both

contributed to it. Slavery was absolutely crucial to the existence of ancient Rome – without it, ancient Rome certainly wouldn’t have become the powerhouse it did. There would have had no cause for spectacles such as gladiatorial games or chariot races; both of which were most commonly performed by slaves. From a modern perspective, the way in which Roman slaves were treated seems impossibly cruel. Even those that had it best, with a generous master or with slaves of their own, were viewed as less than human and mere property. Depending on their job, they might have been forced to work until they literally dropped dead, being “given no rest or break from their toil” resulting in “many die[ing] because of the excessive maltreatment they suffer[ed]”.

Others were physically branded across their foreheads, ensuring they could not escape without

being

caught.

The

normalization

of

this

violence

against

slaves

is

best

exemplified by the law that if a slave murders their master, all other slaves within the household are put to death as punishment. Even when this rule was protested, senators maintained that the punishment had to be followed through on in order to maintain the stability of the rigid social hierarchy. This exemplifies how that slaves were treated as less than human in Roman society, with their lives being valued less than maintenance of the social order. Considering Roman society could not have functioned without the institution of slavery, and the foundational role slavery played in both the gladiatorial games and chariot races, it is clear that slavery more than deserves to be recognized as the epitome of normalized ancient cruelty.

31

That being said, why is the pervasive institution of slavery not recognized as being more cruel than gladiatorial games in an ancient context? Why is it that gladiatorial games and chariot races garner so much more attention in popular culture? Simply put, slavery is

very

difficult

to

glamourize,

while

spectacles

lend

themselves

to

modern

glamorization with ease. Gladiatorial games would re-enact the most exciting events from history and mythology. Chariot races, with their factions and gambling, held the same

excitement

as

supporting

a

modern

sports

team,

albeit

with

more

violence

involved. Slavery was simply a mundane part of everyday life; an essential but not all that interesting aspect of society. Even when slaves managed to gain some notoriety within society, it was nearly always within a violent context. Slavery as an institution in Roman

society

not

only

upheld

the

violent

spectacles

that

are

recognized

as

the

epitome of ancient cruelty today but caused more suffering unrecorded within ancient history.

It is not likely that the modern perception of ancient Rome as a violent, bloodthirsty empire

will

change

simultaneously

the

anytime pinnacle

soon. of

The

pervasiveness

violence

and

of

the

entertainment

idea is

of

deeply

gladiators

as

ingrained

in

modern consciousness. To get an honest view of what history looks like, it is crucial to examine

even

those

aspects

that

do

not

lend

themselves

to

spectacles

and

glamorization. The necessary and pervasive role slavery played in ancient Rome, and the cruel policies that were accepted as a part of it, make it, upon examination, unquestionably

the

most

normalized

and

least

considered

form

of

ancient

Roman

cruelty.

Primary Sources Apuleius. “The Golden Ass.” In As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History, edited by JoAnn Shelton, 173. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Cicero. “Correspondence with Family and Friends.” In As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History, edited by Jo-Ann Shelton, 353-354. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Cicero. “De Republica.” In “Dangerous Reputations: Charioteers and Magic in Fourth-Century Rome,” by Parshia Lee-Stecum. Greece & Rome 53, no.2 (2006): 225. doi:10.1017/S0017383506000295.

Diodorus Sicilus. “The History of the World.” In As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History, edited by Jo-Ann Shelton, 172. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Seneca. “Letters.” In As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History, edited by Jo-Ann Shelton, 355–356. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Tacitus. “Annals.” In As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History, edited by Jo-Ann Shelton, 175–176. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Secondary Sources ALee-Stecum, Parshia. “Dangerous Reputations: Charioteers and Magic in Fourth-Century Rome.”

Greece & Rome 53, no. 2 (2006): 224 – 234. doi: 10.1017/S0017383506000295.

Roman Ludi: Arena. Parshia Lee-Stecum. 2020; University of Melbourne. Lecture.

Roman Ludi: Circus. Parshia Lee-Stecum. 2020; University of Melbourne. Lecture.

Shelton, Jo-Ann. As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Slaves and Freedmen. Frederik Vervaet. 2020; University of Melbourne. Lecture.

32

Toner, J. P. “Blood, Sweat, and Charioteers: The Imperial Games.” In Leisure and Ancient Rome, 34–52.

Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995.

Week 11: Roman Ludi. Monique Webber. 2020; University of Melbourne. Tutorial.

Image Credit Trey Ratcliff. The Gladiator Arena at Sunset. September 18, 2010. Photograph [adapted]. https://www.flickr.com/photos/95572727@N00/5314380635. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/>, via Creative Commons.

33

Reinterpretations, Augustus Prima Porta Alice Wallis, 2020 These

new

interpretations

of

old works are centred around a changing

academic

climate

and looking at history from new angles.

Reinterpretations, Apollo Bust Alice Wallis, 2020

34

Statue of Zeus at Olympia

Ancient Spaces Alice Wallis, 2021 Parthenon at Athens

The Great Pyramid

Winged Victory of

David

Samothrace

The Women of Troy

Atlas: Under Pressure

Pocket World Collection Alice Wallis, 2021 It started about a year ago. I had just graduated high school and truly missed having a place I could come back to every day, so I decided to create little worlds that could fit in my pocket and be carried anywhere. They’re supposed to make less sense the closer you look; made up of scribbles and haphazard shapes, if you concentrate too hard they start to fall apart.

36

Caught Between the Crossfire: the Grassroots Experiences of Violence during the Malayan Emergency of 1948-60 Jacey Quah As a strategic counter-insurgency paradigm, the Malayan Emergency was declared by the British in June 1948 to pre-empt the Malayan Communist Party (MCP)’s plans to launch armed conflict on a national scale. It derailed the political and social stability of Malaya, as the colonial administration enforced aggressive militant policies to fight the Chinese

communists

on

the

rural

frontier.

The

British

‘counter-terror’

strategy

emphasised population and spatial control, initiating ethnic-based violence, indirect violence through resettlement, and psychological warfare to consolidate power. As both a perpetrator of resistance and a victim of violence, the MCP’s retaliation can be interpreted as a byproduct of British colonialism, one cultivated under repression and desire for political representation. Under this violent political landscape, the Malayan people were inevitably caught between the crossfire of both sides.

MCP violence as resistance and a product of Malaya’s colonial context Prior to the Emergency, limitations were imposed on MCP’s activities as part of British repression of political opposition. With no hope in MCP’s constitutional endeavours, its radical faction proposed the resumption of armed rebellion as the inevitable solution. In April 1948, MCP strikes proliferated, as authorities were faced with a surge in violence and political murders.

Upon the official declaration of Emergency on 16 June 1948, the leader of the MCP, Chin Peng, admitted that the party was ‘forced at the outset onto the defensive,’ driven underground to quickly devise a plan of active resistance. The British had expected

37

such an armed revolt; in fact, they cultivated the situation by inciting MCP’s radical action. It can be argued that through constant state oppression, Britain had sharpened a double-edged sword – it fostered the communists’ desire to enact retribution and violence to achieve Malayan independence. The state of Emergency was also to British advantage, as MCP’s acts of violence justified the government’s escalation of their own barrage of arrests and exiles, and the enforcement of the death penalty.

Due to the mass detention of communist insurgents and sympathisers, MCP intelligence eventually began to surface, aiding authorities in their communist crackdown. Early interrogation

methods

were

performed

without

restraint,

as

‘excessive

strong-arm

measures’ and ‘highly-vaunted truth drugs’ were used to extract information.

However, the MCP refused to surrender to the British, fighting state violence with their own form of guerrilla violence. In response to the British ‘counter-terror’ strategy, the Malayan National Liberation Army (MNLA) restructured its dwindling numbers into the Min Yuen ( Mass Organisation) established to function with rural squatters despite the rising presence of British army patrols. From late 1949, it initiated widespread attacks and acts of sabotage, aiming to disrupt and halt Britain’s exploitation of Malaya’s rubber industry. This led to the escalation of the British offensive, and Chen Xiuzhu, a member of the MCP guerrilla army, asserts that the eventual independence of Malaya ‘was won through our struggle [and suffering]… yet we were treated like criminals’ by official British discourse.

Struggle over control of Malayan labour unions: before and during the Emergency Before 1948, the MCP had effectively consolidated its support base by rallying workers and

harnessing

their

socio-economic

grievances

into

political

strikes

for

improved

working conditions. The prior success of these initiatives informed Britain’s response to the

Emergency

–

by

launching

state

repression

over

trade

unions

to

subdue

the

Communists, it led to the collapse of unions and overall union membership. Malcolm MacDonald, the British Commissioner-General, insisted that the Communists have been plotting for control since 1946, aiming to procure power ‘through violent means [and] infiltration into… trade unions.’ The ‘communist plot’ reports justified the government’s elimination

of

ethnic-based

multiethnic unions

trade

controlled

unions, by

resulting

state

in

the

apparatus.

establishment This

of

widespread

separate, repression

eventually subverted the unions’ influence and capacity to join forces with the MCP. Along with forced relocation and pervasive censorship, coercive large-scale violence severed the union ties forged among thousands of wage labourers involved in strikes against

exploitative

employers,

causing

a

destructive

regression

in

labour

rights

activism. Decisive control over Malayan workers was crucial for the government – the manipulation and proliferation of internal ethnic conflicts ensured the destruction of the organisational power of labour unions, thus circumventing potential class uprisings. By shifting

class

grievances

onto

a

racialised,

ethnic-based

rhetoric,

colonial

acts

of

tensions

to

violence and the imposition of state terror was justified.

British aggravation of ethnic tensions and racial targeting of the Chinese During

the

Emergency,

the

British

aggravated

pre-existing

ethnic

consolidate control over Malaya. An estimated half a million workers were forcibly

38

relocated in camps named New Villages, serving two main objectives: to concentrate Chinese workers together and to segregate the Chinese and Malay on ethnic grounds.

The government deployed the manipulative, ‘invidious strategy’ of employing Malays as police to surveil and harass the Chinese people living in the camps. British tactics capitalised on this deep-rooted inter-racial friction which predated the Emergency, thus fracturing the working class into separate ethnic factions.

Since Emergency regulations prohibited public discussion of class and class struggle ‘in favour of a dominant discourse of ethnic conflict,’ Malayan newspapers circulated the British-controlled narrative of their righteous battle against the senseless violence of the Communists. According to Chin Peng, the British ‘counter-terror’ strategy ‘began isolating us… dramatically from our mass support,’ as Chinese people were targeted by colonial authorities regardless of MCP affiliation.

The British treatment of the rural population was largely dependent on ethnicity – this mirrored the period of Japanese occupation where policies favoured the Malays, and senseless violence targeted the Chinese. The military’s tendency to punish Chinese civilians for the insurgency was largely influenced by racist beliefs against the ethnic community.

In

1949,

Britain

formed

a

heavily-armed

police

force

to

protect

Malay

villages from potential Communist ‘terrorist attacks’, whereas the rural Chinese were collectively

accused

of

helping

the

guerrillas.

Resettlement

of

the

rural

Chinese

occurred irrespective of whether ‘they willingly or unwillingly had aided terrorists’, as part of British policies of population control. A Chinese villager recalled the day British forces raided his village and ‘rounded up’ villagers for detainment and relocation: ‘[we were] locked up like dogs.’ The exacerbation of Chinese alienation saw the burning of entire villages and the detainment of thousands of villagers, who were later relocated or deported to China. Thus, the conflict of the Emergency presented itself as more of a civil war: it forced the Malayan population to choose between support of the British or the Chinese communists – yet for many, this choice was already predetermined on the basis of their ethnicity.

The British employment of psychological warfare against MCP British policy capitalised on conflicting ideologies prevalent in Malayan society at the time, exploiting the ethnic and economic terrain with their military ‘hearts and minds’ tactics. Not only did it incite inter-racial conflict, it also exhorted the commerciallyoriented

Chinese

to

turn

on

their

own

race.

Despite

the

popularity

of

Communist

ideology during the years of anti-Japanese struggle, the attraction of Communism had dwindled

by

the

time

of

MCP’s

insurgency.

Thus,

the

government

promised

huge

rewards to those who reported Communists, securing their rights to freedom through the

resettlement

insurgents’

scheme.

loyalty

to

the

Moreover,

British

Communist

tactics

cause:

sought

to

uncooperating

sever

the

captured

Communists

were

threatened with execution, but traitors would survive and reap rewards. Imprisoned guerrillas supplied British interrogators with a wealth of internal information, revealing jungle paths and locations of ‘dead-letter boxes’ that comprised MNLA’s network of communication.

General Templer, the Malayan High Commissioner, prominently employed psychological warfare against the MNLA, overseeing military operations, enforcing group punishment

39

and controlling food distribution to threaten the guerrillas to surrender. His policies were

known

for

being

cruel

yet

effective

in

their

suppression

of

the

MCP

–

they

diminished the MCP’s food reserves and supply lines, forcing them to emerge from vantage points in the jungle to loot or to surrender. As the MCP publication, Red Star News warned in a 1957 issue: ‘a government [is] judged… by its concrete policies and… true

nature.’,

from

MNLA’s

perspective,

Templer’s

autocratic

methods

as

military

governor induced manipulative violence and collective punishment in order to entrench British rule over Malaya.

Effects of violence on the Malayan people: The Orang Asli and other communities The Orang Asli, the Indigenous people of Malaya, were coerced into battle from both sides of the Emergency, as both the British forces and the MNLA sought to capitalise on their knowledge of Malaya’s deep jungle. As the jungle constituted the main offensive front of the campaign, the Orang Asli proved to be invaluable in non-combatant roles like guides and porters. In response to Britain’s mounting control over the New Villages, the MNLA intensified their use of the Orang Asli in efforts to expand their retreat into the

deep

jungle.

The

guerrillas

targeted

areas

where

authorities

severely

lacked

intelligence, in order to intensify ambushes on British security forces. The MNLA was prepared to enact violence against the Orang Asli to achieve their aims, threatening or even killing those who refused to cooperate. British soldiers also did not hesitate to shoot at Orang Asli spotted with MNLA insurgents, and many were reportedly caught between the crossfire of both sides.

The Orang Asli were not the only ethnic group with claims to their land – some Chinese communities had lived in their ancient homeland for generations. One case was that of Pulai, a Chinese settlement established for over two hundred years, where the British initiated

the

first

of

many

resettlement

schemes

to

rid

the

area

of

‘undesirable

squatter[s]’ and illegal occupants. A Chinese Pulai villager reflected on their traumatic resettlement with grief:

We were resettled… far away from our homeland… surrounded by Malay kampongs and the sea. There was no way of escape. The British were not worried [as] we were traumatised after evacuation.

The extent of the British’s ‘counter-terror’ strategy was inconceivably cruel – in regions labelled as ‘bad’ by British intelligence, soldiers raided villages at dawn without prior warnings. Villagers had no time to recoil from shock or prove their innocence, as they were

immediately

forced

to

relocate,

deprived

of

their

rights

and

claim

to

their

homeland and livelihood. Despite mounting civilian casualties, British policies prevailed as they were ‘militarily effective’ in intimidating civilians into supporting the government.

Official British discourse was deceptive in their portrayal of the camps as symbols of ‘progress and modern life’, as emerging oral historical records of elderly locals depict an entirely different collective memory. Life behind the barbed wire was one rapt with a constant imposition of British state power.

In the case of Pulai, even after forcing villagers to leave their sacred homeland, the region was declared a ‘Restricted Area’ and left to burn for days. British forces burnt

40

their rice paddies and leftover agricultural tools so that Communists could not salvage them. An MCP member recalled watching his homeland burn from the distance:

For… a week, I could not do anything except watch the smoke go up. The fury only fueled my hatred and strengthened my will to fight against the British.

Although grassroots experiences of the Emergency varied between regions, families across

the

rural

population

were

separated

by

resettlement.

In

one

case,

a

grandmother recalled the fear and chaos that ensued from the resettlement scheme, remarking:

‘[The

British]

elucidates,

the

enduring

have

guns,

social

what

impact

else

on

can

families

you

do?’

remains

As

Teng-Phee

largely

Tan

unexplored

in

academia, as local experiences and perspectives are stifled by official British discourse on

the

events

of

1948-60.

Although

resettlement

constitutes

a

less

direct

form

of

violence, its impact is still as disastrous as direct violence, leaving an enduring mark of collective dispossession within the Malayan psyche.

Concluding remarks The Malayan Emergency of 1948-60 began as a declaration of British state power but historically prevailed as a series of tactical campaigns enshrining varying forms of violence from opposing sides. To attain dynamic control over Malaya, Britain capitalised on the malleable loyalties of communist insurgents and Malayans to achieve their aims.

The

circulation

rhetoric

–

of

pitting

state-sanctioned

ethnic

groups

propaganda

against

each

exacerbated

other

in

their

pre-existing

bid

to

quell

racist

the

civil

insurgency. As victim and perpetrator, the dual role of the MCP emerged as a doubleedged sword – a force cultivated by the manipulative British and driven by retribution and freedom for Malaya, yet also capable of inflicting violence on its own people like the

Orang

Asli.

Under

Emergency

would

resettlement

and

draconian

endure

colonial

through

deportation,

with

policies,

generations

of

the

of

extent

the

impact

families its

of

the

affected

repercussions

Malayan by

left

mass largely

unexplored in contemporary society.

Primary Sources Comber, Leon. Malaya’s Secret Police 1945-60: The Role of the Special Branch in the Malayan Emergency. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008.

Khoo, A. “Chen Xiuzhu,” In Life as the River Flows: Women in the Malayan Anti-Colonial Struggle (an oral history of women from Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore), 65-85. Monmouth: Merlin Press, 2007.

Peng, Chin. My side of history. Edited by Ian Ward and Norma Miraflor. Singapore: Media Masters, 2003.

Ramakrishna, Kumar. “Anatomy of a Collapse: Explaining the Malayan Communist Mass Surrenders of 1958.” War & Society 21, no. 2 (2003): 109-33. doi: 10.1179/ war.2003.21.2.109.

‐

Stockwell, A.J. “‘A widespread and long concocted plot to overthrow government in Malaya’? The origins of the Malayan emergency.” The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 21, no. 3 (1993): 66-88. doi: 10.1080/03086539308582907.

Stockwell, A.J. “Chin Peng and the Struggle for Malaya.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 16, no. 3 (Nov 2006): 279-97. url: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25188648.

Tan, Teng Phee. “‘Like a Concentration Camp, lah’: Chinese Grassroots Experience of the Emergency and New Villages in British Colonial Malaya.” Chinese Southern Diaspora Studies 3 (2009): 216-28.

Tan, Teng Phee. “Oral history and people’s memory of the Malayan Emergency (1948-60): the case of Pulai.” Sojourn: Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia 27, no. 1 (Apr 2012): 84-119.

41

The Manchester Guardian. “600,000 MALAYANS RESETTLED: Emergency Achievement.” July 21, 1953. https://search.proquest.com/news/docview/479515134/8C291DDDE3444561PQ/1?accountid=12372.

The Manchester Guardian. “MALAYAN TOWN PUNISHED: Aided Communists.” March 28, 1952. https://search.proquest.com/news/docview/479315246/3950B918432D4844PQ/1?accountid=12372.

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Chin, C.C. “Re-examining the 1948 revolt of the Malayan Communist Party in Malaya.” Kajian Malaysia 27, no. 1-2 (2009): 11-38.

Bennett, Huw. “‘A very salutary effect’: The Counter-Terror Strategy in the Early Malayan Emergency, June 1948 to December 1949.” Journal of Strategic Studies 32, no. 3 (2009): 415-44. doi: 10.1080/01402390902928248.

Chin, C.C. “Re-examining the 1948 revolt of the Malayan Communist Party in Malaya.” Kajian Malaysia 27, no. 1-2 (2009): 11-38.

‐

Hack, Karl. “British intelligence and counter insurgency in the era of decolonisation: The example of Malaya.” Intelligence and National Security 14, no. 2 (1999): 124-55. doi: 10.1080/02684529908432542.

Hack, Karl. “Corpses, prisoners of war and captured documents: British and communist narratives of the Malayan emergency, and the dynamics of intelligence transformation.” Intelligence and National Security 14, no. 4 (1999): 211-41. doi: 10.1080/02684529908432578.

Hack, Karl. “Everyone lived in fear: Malaya and the British way of counter-insurgency.” Small Wars & Insurgencies 23, no. 4-5 (2012): 671-99. doi: 10.1080/09592318.2012.709764.

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Hack, Karl. “The origins of the Asian Cold War: Malaya 1948.” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 40, no. 3 (Oct 2009): 471-96. doi: 10.1017/S0022463409990038.

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Leary, John. The importance of the Orang Asli in the Malayan Emergency 1948-1960. Clayton: Monash University Press, 1989.

Nonini, Donald M. “’At that time we were intimidated on all sides’: residues of the Malayan Emergency as a conjunctural episode of dispossession.” Critical Asian Studies 47, no. 3 (Sep 2015): 337-58.

Parmer, J. Norman. “Trade Unions and Politics in Malaya.” Far Eastern Survey 24, no. 3 (1955): 33-9. doi: 10.2307/3024554.

Yong, C.F. “The Malayan Communist Struggle for Survival, 1930-1935.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 69, no. 2 (1996): 1-22. url: https://www.jstor.org/stable/41493304.

Image Credit Unknown photographer. General Templer and his assistant, Major Wynford (on his left) inspecting the members of Kinta Valley Home Guard in Perak, Malaya. 1952. Photograph [adapted]. Courtesy of Malaysian Archive. https://bit.ly/3iFpMbQ. CC0 1.0. <https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons.

42

Gandhi, Orwell and our Understanding of Combating Totalitarianism Lachlan Forster Mahatma Gandhi’s death on January 30th 1948 led to immediate canonisation in the public eye for the lawyer turned revolutionary. The impact of Gandhi’s protests in establishing a self-determining India, along with his pacifist form of civil resistance called

Satyagraha,

lead

to

the

world

recognising

his

ideological

piousness.

For

example, The New York Times wrote in their obituary ‘(Gandhi) made himself the living symbol of India’. As is often the case for public figures, Gandhi’s death made him more relevant, especially as his autobiography, The Story of my Experiments with Truth, was published for the first time outside of India in 1948, meeting a large readership eager to take in the words of the departed ‘light of India’.

One of these readers was British icon George Orwell, who having finished the final draft of his landmark novel 1984, decided to write a review of the autobiography and reflection upon Gandhi as a political figure for Partisan Review. In his piece ‘Reflections on Gandhi’, Orwell levels a number of criticisms against the ideology of Satyagraha and the effectiveness of Gandhi’s proposed method of fighting oppression. Although noting that Gandhi was ‘genuinely liked’ amongst even Britons, and that ‘(Gandhi’s) natural physical courage was quite outstanding’, Orwell’s major issues with Gandhi include his flattery of martyrdom, tendency to side with ‘the other-worldly’ over man, and crucially his inability to ‘understand the nature of totalitarianism’.

Orwell built this final criticism around a number of comments that Gandhi had made regarding the Second World War and particularly the oppression of Jews during the Holocaust, with the ethicist stating in interviews that German Jews ‘ought to commit collective

suicide’,

Germany

of

as

Hitler’s

act

‘would

have

violence.’

this

Further

comments

aroused

the

made

world

by

and

Gandhi

the

people

surrounding

of the

supposed effectiveness of ‘non-violent resistance against a Japanese invasion’ lead Orwell to conclude that Gandhi’s interpretation of totalitarianism was naïve, and his methods of resistance towards domineering political powers were suited likely only to India, where British colonial control was idle compared to the fascist practises of Nazi Germany. As Gita V. Pai notes, Gandhi ‘never lived in a totalitarian regime’ and his manner of non-violent protest ‘could not have worked in Stalin’s Soviet Union’ because Satyagraha’s success relied heavily on media coverage, an impossibility in totalitarian societies. As Orwell would clearly state in his essay, ‘it is difficult to see how his strategy of

fasting

and

civil

disobedience

could

be

applied

in

a

country

where

political

opponents simply disappear and the public never hears anything that the government does not want it to hear’.

43

It has been thoroughly observed that ‘many features of the totalitarian movements of the century’ are heavily rooted within ‘colonial practice and thought’, with H. Ridley further

claiming

that

colonialism

provided

the

continuity

of

‘race-thinking

within

totalitarianism’. However, Orwell would consistently maintain that the rule of the British empire was not brutal enough to be deemed totalitarian. As Orwell wrote in an article for New English Weekly concerning author Rudyard Kipling, the imperialistic actions of the British empire, particularly during the late 1800s, was ‘not entirely despicable’, and that one could ‘be an imperialist and a gentlemen’ similar to Kipling. Orwell would eventually concede in his book Shooting an Elephant that the ‘white man’ becomes a ‘hollow

posing

‘dominion

in

dummy’

the

east’,

through and

the

further

nature

of

his

noted

that

he

barbarism, was

brought

himself

‘part

about

by

of

actual

the

his

machinery of despotism’ during his service in Burma. Yet the author, noting the faults of imperialism, would still assert that the force Gandhi fought was not totalitarian and incomparable to European figures of total authority, leading to two questions. Is there a specific criterion to label a totalitarian, and what is the appropriate manner of fighting such governments?

There is no singular form of totalitarian government but characteristics which define a state as such. These governments have an all-encompassing policy of authoritarianism, with an autocratic elite ruling the nation, typically in the form of either a dictatorship or monarchy,

repressing

control

the

of

objectivity

media.

Some

in

politics

factors

and

broadcasting

encapsulate

operations

propaganda of

the

through

British

empire,

including its monarchical rule and autocratic-puppeteering elite. However, some are untrue to the British Raj, like the lack of control in media, as demonstrated earlier by Orwell’s statements of Satyagraha’s success relying on media coverage. This muddled profile makes it difficult for us to call the British empire totalitarian, and the debate on the profiling of the commonwealth has been common. Enzo Traverso notes that whilst British India ‘remained a model for Hitler’, ‘their logic was internally different’. Here, it would seem that totalitarian governments are deemed as such based upon their logical intentions for conquest, with the British Empire not matching due to its desire for India’s resources, a completely different intention vis-a-vis the Nazi invasions of neighbouring states

to

destroy

totalitarianism

and

should

exterminate.

be

fought,

as

This

profiling

the

limits

is

and

crucial goals

of

in

understanding

a

government

how

define

whether peaceful protests are possible or if a violent approach is necessary. Personal experience is also key in shaping opinions on this topic, as it was for both Gandhi and Orwell,

whose

oppressive

understanding

system

is

of

intrinsically

totalitarianism rooted

and

within

the

their

best

way

experiences

to

topple

against

an

such

institutions.

Orwell’s understanding of totalitarianism is easy to define, as it is interlaced within his landmark

novel,

1984.

Totalitarianism

takes

the

form

of

complete

government

domination over a country, relying the oppression and surveillance of citizens, a society where it is ‘conceivable that (the government) watched everybody all the time’, where ‘continuous alteration’ is applied to fact and parents are ‘frightened of their own children’ due to a heightened feeling of paranoia. A sickening sense of patriotism is continually injected within this society through propaganda, with people simultaneously fearing and loving the government. Although these descriptions may take the concept to its logical conclusion, Orwell makes his understanding very clear within these words

44

and the scope of control that a regime must maintain to support this ideology. This interpretation deeply ties to how Orwell believed totalitarianism should be combatted, through a united moral front, using military force. Orwell took issue with Gandhi’s claim that

close

friendships

were

‘dangerous’,

and

that

one’s

goal

in

life

should

be

to

transcend human vices to ‘escape from the pain of living’. Rather, he thought this pain gave humans the ability to empathise with others, creating an ethical line in the sand by which humans measured when actions or beliefs had to be combatted. Friendship and this sense of morality were key in Orwell’s personal experience of fighting autocracy, his service

in

the

republican

Spanish

army.

1984

civil

war,

where

also

represents

he

the

sided

with

importance

the of

‘morally

morality

superior’

as

the

protagonist

Winston Smith becomes empathetic towards his fearful comrades while growing to rebel against the domineering ‘Big Brother’. Force, backed by morality, was simply necessary to combat any government that was truly totalitarian as Orwell saw it, and the only effective manner that didn’t end with needless death or wilful martyrdom.

Gandhi’s interpretation of totalitarianism was also extremely closely linked with his personal experiences within the British Empire, gaining a firsthand view of the effects of colonialism.

Within

South

Africa,

colonialism,

as

focused

his

he

Gandhi

efforts

experienced

towards

helping

the

suppressive

Indian-South

force

of

Africans.

His

forcible removal from a whites-only carriage upon a train demonstrated to Gandhi that some Britons thought of themselves as superior to him, brought upon by ‘a symptom of the deep disease of colour prejudice’. This, and other similar personal experiences contributed

to

Gandhi’s

understanding

of

evil

as

a

moral

stain

within

the

soul,

something that had to be triumphed over both spiritually and physically but without burdening oneself in the process. Further, Gandhi’s understanding of evil leads to his thoughts on what totalitarianism was, just a facet of a government that operated in the spirit of this evil. As he would state, it did not matter whether ‘destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or in the holy name of liberty and democracy’; evil was simply evil and could be defeated through peaceful means, his own Satyagraha.

As passive resistance could ‘manifest itself as violence’, Gandhi established his form of civil

disobedience,

rebellion.

centred

Satyagraha

was

around

self-discipline,

not

solidified

a

spirituality

approach

from

and

experiments

the

start

but

with

full

of

experimentation aimed to fight against anger rather than provoke it. By wearing pain inflicted upon them as a badge of honour, Gandhi imagined that Indians could hold a moral

mirror

towards

the

British

empire

and

their

racially

motivated

laws

for

the

governments, autocrats and armies to recognise their injustices, to convert rather than to fight. The effectiveness of Satyagraha was clear for the world to see as British rule in India ended in 1947, although Orwell suggests that a number of other factors were key in the destruction of the Raj, including the presence of a Labour government. It has been further suggested that Satyagraha was suited only for the specific conditions of British India, and Gandhi was simply the right thinker in the right place to deliver a message of peace. So can the effectiveness of Satyagraha be judged through other examples?

In 1999’s final issue of Time Magazine, an article called ‘The Children of Gandhi’ was published, listing examples of individuals who had used civil disobedience in the image of Satyagraha to achieve the goal of overcoming oppression. Notable figures such as Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela were included on the

45

list, touted for their toppling of racist regimes that discriminated based upon skin colour. Whilst these figures certainly used satyagraha derivative forms of protest, they weren’t necessarily fighting totalitarian governments, but rather nations that had an inherent social bias influencing political structures. There was no Hitler like figure that these people fought, nor a dominating regime in the shape of the Nazis. Thus their contribution,

whilst

significant,

would

not

disprove

Orwell’s

criticism

of

Gandhi’s

method. Another inclusion on the list, the Dalai Lama, has used methods of peaceful protest in his quest to free Tibet from the grasp of totalitarian China, but this has been unsuccessful, as The Communist Chinese Party has governed the region from 1951 to the modern

day

without

much

significant

change.

It

is

also

worth

noting

that

Gandhi

himself wrote a letter to Hitler in early 1939, reminding the dictator that he was ‘the one person

in

the

world

who

can

prevent

a

war’

whilst

encouraging

him

to

shun

his

autocratic ways. This letter was never delivered to Hitler, as it was infiltrated by the British government, but it does demonstrate that an effort to spread the reach of his efforts was made by Gandhi. It is my opinion that there is no one way to overcome totalitarianism, but different practises that consider the specific conditions of a region and the motivations of a people to help overcome regimes and ideologies. Gandhi was undoubtedly the right man for India and the level of his contribution to the world should not be judged on the effectiveness of his thoughts but rather their usefulness in helping us understand how evil should be dealt with. Gandhi proved that autocracy can be toppled without violence and set forth ideas that would help ‘convert’ rather than ‘provoke’. Orwell, whilst maintaining Satyagraha could not combat severe oppression still marvelled at ‘how clean a smell (Gandhi) has managed to leave behind’, suggesting the leaders personal morality was unquestionable, even if his ideas were somewhat naïve. In combatting totalitarianism, there is no one-size-fits-all, leaving both of these monumental thinkers correct in their criticisms and methods of overcoming evil in the world.

Primary Sources Gandhi, Mohandas. An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth. Penguin Random House: New York, 1948.

Orwell, George. "Reflections on Gandhi." Partisan Review, Vol. 16 no. 1 (January 1949): 85-92. Doi: https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/essays-and-other-works/reflectionson-gandhi/.

Orwell, George. "Rudyard Kipling." New English Weekly, 23 January 1936.

Orwell, George. 1984. Penguin Random House: New York, 1949.

Orwell, George. "Shooting an Elephant." New Writing, Vol. 2 no. 1 (October 1936): 4-8. Doi: https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/essays-and-other-works/shootingan-elephant/.

Orwell, George. Road to Wigan Pier. Penguin Random House: New York, 1937.

Secondary Sources Bylund, Lynnea."The Children of Gandhi." Time Magazine, 31 December 1999. http://content.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,993026,00.html.

Chakrabarti, Anupam. The Ethical Imagination of Gandhi as Seen Through the Critical Eye of Fischer, Louis. Gandhi and Stalin: Two signs and the worlds crossroads. Victor Gollancz Ltd: London, 1947.

Pai, Gita V. "Orwell’s reflections on Saint Gandhi." Concentric: Literary and Cultural Studies, Vol. 40 no.

1 (March 2014): 51-77. Doi: 10.6240/concentric.lit.2014.40.1.04.

46

Ridley, Hugh. "Colonial Society and European Totalitarianism." Journal of European Studies, Vol. 3 no. 1 (June 1973): 147-159. Doi: https://doi.org/10.1177/004724417300300203.

Traverso, Enzo. "Totalitarianism between history and theory." History and Theory, Vol. 55 no.1 (December 2017): 97-118. Doi: https://doi.org/10.1111/hith.12040.

Image Credits Abode of Chaos. Mahatma Ghandi, painted portrait _DDC4617. 17 November, 2007. Photograph [adapted]. https://flic.kr/p/48Dezu. CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/>, via Creative Commons.

Abee5. George Orwell Complete Collection. 23 February, 2013. Photograph [adapted]. https://flic.kr/p/dX7N29. CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/>, via Creative Commons.

47

The use of Torture in Scottish and English Witchcraft Trials of the Seventeenth Century Julia Richards CW: Violence and death During the seventeenth century, torture was not the most profound difference between witch-hunts in England and Scotland. On the contrary, it was the politicised nature of the

witch-hunts

in

Scotland,

in

conjunction

with

judicial

disparities

and

diverse

perceptions of the witch that distinguished the two countries; however, torture did have a profuse impact on both England and Scotland. Torture as a mode of prosecution was illegal in both states during this period. However, the English Civil War (1642-1651), in conjunction with political unrest and the chaos of the witch-hunts ultimately cast a shadow

on

the

use

of

torture,

thus

distracting

the

authorities

and

serving

as

a

justification for its presence. Through an examination of the witch prosecutions as a ‘top-down’ phenomena fuelled by demonological texts, it can be seen that in Scotland, the brutality and politicised nature of the witch-hunts was a primary characteristic that distinguished it from England. On a judicial level, it can be argued that Scotland and England were profoundly different, through an exploration of how different legislation resulted in more community-led witch-hunts in England and authority-led witch-hunts in Scotland. This essay will also explore notions of the witch and how in England, the role of the familiar spirit profoundly differentiated it from Scottish notions of the diabolical witch.

Ultimately,

torture

was

fundamental

to

the

English

prosecution

system,

and

therefore cannot be the most distinguishing factor. The use of torture was employed vastly throughout England and Scotland and therefore the most decisive factor relates to the politicised nature of Scottish prosecutions, judicial differences and different perceptions of the witch.

Although torture was a key factor in both states, it was the widespread brutality, executions

and

political

tensions

that

epitomised

Scottish

witch-hunts,

thus

distinguishing them from those of England. According to historian Brian Levack, the witch hunts in Scotland were twelve times worse than in England and were a ‘topdown’ phenomenon galvanised by demonological texts. According to the Survey on Scottish Witchcraft published in 2003, over three thousand people were accused of witchcraft in Scotland and two thirds were executed. This figure is intriguing because the population of Scotland was only a million, accounting for a significant number of victims.

In

particular,

King

James

VI’s

Daemonologie

played

a

significant

role

in

disseminating fear about witchcraft, and therefore generating an intense atmosphere that contributed to these accusations of witchcraft. In the book, the King warns that

48

there is such a thing as Witch-craft or Witches’ and that they pose a very real threat to society, as a serious crime that ‘ought to be put to death’ by burning them at the stake.

James had a personal affliction with witchcraft and was personally involved in the prosecution and torture of a suspected witch named Geillis Duncan of Berwick, who cursed

his

sea

journey

to

Denmark.

According

to

primary

source

evidence,

Geillis

underwent torture at the hands of her employer, who used thumb screws on her fingers, rope strangulation and ‘witch pricking’, that involved using a needle to pinpoint the devil’s mark, a spot that would not bleed nor cause pain. The torture, although illegal, was justified because it sought to gain a confession which would enable the execution of the victim. Therefore, the impact of James VI in generating a politicised atmosphere in Scotland is clear through the example of Geillis Duncan, demonstrating that it was in fact a ‘top-down’ phenomenon incited fueled by his beliefs. Thus, it can be determined that the intense political atmosphere sparked by King James profoundly contributed to the brutality and torture that consumed the Scottish witch-trials, however the deepseated belief in witchcraft was also a contributing factor that made Scotland so unique.

In Scotland, the ancient belief in witches also contributed to the complexity of the witch

prosecutions,

lowlands

but

also

generating an

a

acceptance

vast

duality

of

witches

that in

promoted

the

accusations

highlands,

thus

in

making

the it

a

geographical issue. Contrary to England, the concept of witches and the notion of the ‘Gàidhealtachd’ (Gaelic speaking regions of Scotland) had been ingrained within the Highlands since the time of the Druids, who believed that witches were agents of the Gods with supernatural powers. According to historian Lizanne Henderson, this provides an explanation as to why these regions were far more tolerant to the idea of witches, with the Gaelic speaking areas of Scotland mainly exempt from the pandemonium occurring in the agricultural lowlands, where a fear of witchcraft was not as prevalent.

On the other hand, this folkloric tradition could explain why the witch-hunts in the lowlands

were

far

more

intense,

primarily

because

they

were

superstitious

of

the

folklore of the Highland people. For example, in 1591 in an area known as North Berwick, the witch-hunts intensified as a result of the climate of fear sparked by James VI’s affliction

with

witches.

The

politicised

atmosphere

in

the

lowlands

prompted

the

accusation of two hundred witches, who were believed to have been working in a diabolical coven in order to curse the King’s ship. According to the Newes of Scotland published in London in 1591, the King himself was involved with Agnes Sampson, who confessed to witchcraft after enduring sleep deprivation, torture and harm, believing that she was ‘the cause that the king’s Majesty’s ship, at his coming forth of Denmark, had a contrary wind.’ Thus, this example highlights the fact that to the people within these areas the notion of witchcraft was real and that they did pose a very real threat to their devout Christian society. It is clear that one difference between the Scottish and English witch-hunts is that of the ingrained cultural belief in witches that goes back centuries, a belief that could tolerate witches in the Scottish Highlands, but intensified witch-hunts and the use of torture in the lowlands.

On a judicial level, the witch-hunts in both England and Scotland were carried out very differently, the English witch-hunts in particular were characterised by a plethora of laws that defined witchcraft as a crime and justified the use of extra-judicial torture. It is important to recognise that there is ambiguity surrounding the definition of torture, as

49

many of the practices such as witch pricking, sleep deprivation and invasion of private property

would

be

classified

as

torture

today

under

the

1984

Convention

against

Torture, a document that was ratified by the UN General Assembly in 1987, yet not condemned

in

law

during

the

seventeenth

century.

Witchcraft

did

not

become

a

statutory crime in England until 1542 in the Tudor era as a result of the Henrican Legislation, only to be repealed with the death of King Henry VIII and the succession of Edward VI. In addition, the Elizabethan era was more draconian in nature and placed more of a focus on witchcraft through the 1563 policies which outlined that witchcraft was

now

a

crime

punishable

by

death,

usually

by

hanging.

In

the

Jacobean

era,

however, there was more of a focus on the features of English witchcraft including that of familiar spirits, declaring in the statute of 1604 administered by Witchfinder General Matthew

Hopkins,

that

keeping

familiar

spirits

or

exhuming

a

body

was

a

capital

offence. This legislation in conjunction with the chaos of the English Civil War served as a justification for the witch hunts during the 1640s and resulted in the deaths of an estimated five hundred people, therefore its significance is profuse. Essentially these laws ignited local suspicion, prosecutions and executions that were carried out at a more local level compared to Scotland, perpetuated by witch finders such as Matthew Hopkins (c. 1620-1647). These laws effectively propagated the use of torture in order to gain confessions, despite the fact that torture was deemed illegal in both states, it seemed authorities turned a blind eye permitting that a confession was reached.

On

the

contrary,

the

judicial

system

in

Scotland

relied

less

on

numerous

statutes

outlining the threat of witchcraft and instead relied on one primary act that enabled the prosecution of witches. The most significant act in Scottish legislation concerning witchcraft was the 1563 Scottish Witchcraft Act ordained by Mary Queen of Scots (1542-1587). It essentially gave ‘justice schireffis, Stewartis, Baillies,’ and other powerful figures, the authority to execute people on their confession to witchcraft and often extra-judicial torture was employed in order to gain this evidence.Significantly, this law was

passed

during

a

time

of

great

turbulence,

at

the

height

of

the

Protestant

Reformation. This is relevant because it was an era epitomised by tension between Catholic and Protestants, a precarious situation for Scotland because they had a Catholic

Queen

and

a

parliament

of

Protestants.

According

to

historian

Julian

Goodare, the significance of this act in Scotland was profound; it essentially caused the executions of an estimated two thousand people over the next century. Therefore, the power of law in the witch-hunts was a profound contributor to the blood and gore that was to follow, promoting the use of extra-judicial torture and harm. The ways in which the witch prosecutions were carried out in Scotland through law was quite different, as it gave certain positions power to prosecute witches, whereas in England it was just a statement saying that witchcraft was a felony. It can be determined that Scotland’s

acts

were

far

more

politicised

and

intense

under

the

context

of

the

Reformation, and on the contrary England was less severe.

However,

torture

did

have

a

role

in

English

witchcraft,

perpetuated

by

Matthew

Hopkins, who composed A Discovery of Witches as a justification for extra-judicial torture in Lancashire, Essex and Pendle. His A Discovery of Witches was published in 1647 as a manifesto concerning his beliefs in English witchcraft and its threatening nature to the devout Puritan society. Through a question and answer format, Hopkins clearly highlights the prevalence of torture in England, describing the practice of

50

‘witch-pricking’, which involves finding marks on the witch’s body that could not feel pain caused by the sucking of blood on the behalf of the ‘evil spirits’ in the shape of the familiar

which

understands

can

that

be

finding

used

as

devil’s

evidence

marks

or

a

against third

them.

nipple

However,

on

a

witch’s

Hopkins

also

body

not

is

sufficient evidence to suffice in a court of law and instead techniques such as sleep deprivation and torture can be employed in order to gain a confession to serve in a court of law. This was evident in relation to the Manning Tree case of Elizabeth Clarke, a severely disabled elderly lady with one leg, who had been accused of bewitching a villagers wife who fell ill because of her cursing, quick temper. On the 21st of March 1645, Hopkins and Stearne organised a group of local women to storm Elizabeth’s house and search her body for the devil’s mark, cutting her hair and treating her appallingly, finding the suspected devil’s mark on her genitals. Hopkins then arrived and employed sleep deprivation which was legal in the 17th century in order to gain a confession from Elizabeth, who revealed that she was part of a coven, thus fuelling the fire for Hopkin’s witch-hunt. Interestingly, the peak of the English witch craze occurred during 1640s when the English Civil War was in full swing, in which the Puritan leader Oliver Cromwell who feared any sort of religious plurality, and therefore people such as Matthew Hopkins was able to get away with torture because of the circumstances.

Ultimately, witch-hunting in England was epitomised by the use of torture, purposed to eradicate diabolism, superstition and magic from a Puritan society.

In conclusion, it can be established that torture played a primary role in both the English and Scottish witch-hunts during the seventeenth century. Ultimately, the politicised nature of Scotland, the role of the familiar spirit in English witchcraft and judicial variances are what distinguished the two countries. It is also clear that torture was present

in

many

cases

in

both

England

and

Scotland

and

therefore,

it

can

be

determined that torture was not the most decisive difference between English and Scottish witch-hunts.

Primary Sources “Anentis Witchcraftis 1563.” Quoted in Julian Goodare. “The Scottish Witchcraft Act.” Church History 74, no. 1 (2005): 39-67. Accessed May 31, 2020. www.jstor.org/stable/4146312.

Hopkins, Matthew. The Discovery of Witches. Edited by Feòrag NicBhrìde, Andrea Ball and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team. November 2004. Accessed on Project Gutenberg, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/14015/14015-h/14015-h.htm.

King James I. Daemonologie. England: Project Gutenberg, 2008. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/25929/25929-pdf.pdf.

News from Scotland. Quoted in “Document 27: News from Scotland.” In Witchcraft in Early Modern Scotland: James VI’s Demonology and the North Berwick Witches. Edited by Normand Lawrence and Roberts Gareth, 309-26. Liverpool University Press, 2000). Accessed June 14, 2020. www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt5vjmvw.21.

“The Scottish Witchcraft Act.” Quoted in Julian Goodare. “The Scottish Witchcraft Act”.” Church History 74, no. 1 (2005): 39-67. Accessed May 31, 2020. www.jstor.org/stable/4146312.

United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner. Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment. Published 26 June, 1987. Accessed 6 June, 2020. https://www.ohchr.org/en/professionalinterest/pages/cat.aspx.

“Witches of Chelmsford 1566”. Quoted in Barbara Rosen, Witchcraft. London: Edward Arnold, 1969.

51

Secondary Sources Cowan, Edward J. “Witch Persecution and Folk Belief in Lowland Scotland: The Devil’s Decade.” In Witchcraft and Belief in Early Modern Scotland. Edited by Julian Goodare, Lauren Martin and Joyce Miller. 71-94. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.

Goodare, Julian, Lauren Martin, Joyce Miller and Louise Yeoman. “The Survey of Scottish Witchcraft.”

Viewed on 12 June, 2020. http://www.shca.ed.ac.uk/witches/.

Henderson, Lizanne. “Witch-Hunting and Witch Belief in the Gàidhealtachd”. In Witchcraft and Belief in Early Modern Scotland. Edited by Julian Goodare, Lauren Martin and Joyce Miller, 95-119. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.

Larner, Christina. “Witch Beliefs & Witch-hunting in England and Scotland.” History Today 31, (Feb 1981), no. 2. http://courses.washington.edu/hsteu305/Larner%20on%20England%20Scotland.PDF.

Levack, Brian. Witchcraft in the British Isles and New England : New Perspectives on Witchcraft, Magic, and Demonology. London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2001. Accessed June 12, 2020. ProQuest Ebook Central. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/unimelb/reader.action?docID=3061312.

Levack, Brian. Witch-Hunting in Scotland : Law, Politics and Religion. Florence: Taylor & Francis Group, 2007. Accessed June 13, 2020. ProQuest Ebook Central.

Lipscombe, Suzannah. “Witches: A Century of Murder.” Season 1, Part 2, 2015. Netflix, 43:39.

Millar, Charlotte-Rose. Witchcraft, the Devil, and Emotions in Early Modern England. London: Routledge, 2017.

Ritchie, Donald A. “Top Down/bottom Up: Using Oral History to Re-examine Government Institutions.”

Oral History 42, no. 1 (2014): 47-58. Accessed May 30, 2020. www.jstor.org/stable/24342959.

Sharpe, Jim. “The Devil in East Anglia: the Matthew Hopkins Trials Reconsidered.” In Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe; Studies in Culture and Belief. Edited by Jonathan Barry, Marianne Hester and Gareth Roberts, 237-256. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,1996.

Simpson, Andrew R. C., and Adelyn L. M. Wilson. “Advocates, Witches and Judicial Torture.” In Scottish Legal History: Volume 1: 1000-1707, 346-68. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017. Accessed June 11, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.3366/j.ctt1pwt3j3.24.

Vanysacker, Dries. “Reviewed Work: Witchcraft and the Act of 1604”. Church History and Religious Culture 90, no. 4 (2010): 697-99. Accessed May 26, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23922534.

Waite, Gary K. Heresy, Magic and Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe. Houndmills: Pelgrave, 2003.

Image Credit James VI of Scotland. “Suspected witches kneeling before King James” in Daemonologie. 1597.

Lithograph [adapted]. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:North_Berwick_Witches.png. CC0 1.0. <https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons.

52

Christine de Pizan’s Contestable Feminism Felix Kimber Christine de Pizan’s Cité de Dames is a remarkable work for a number of reasons, not least because of its sheer literary and metaphorical creativity. It is more well known, however, as being one of the first pieces of literature in western canon to provide a distinctly female and anti-misogynist voice to the debate concerning women’s rights; this was a debate which had, for millennia, been populated almost solely by men, and one which had been overwhelmingly discriminatory. De Pizan’s work is situated in a fascinating period of gender discourse, in a historical and intellectual time period often called the querelle des femmes. This was a period in which both men and women sought to agitate the traditionally held views surrounding gender and inferiority which had permeated European society for millennia. Although de Pizan’s arguments are widely considered to have been radical for her time and should not be overlooked as an incendiary

piece

of

western

literature,

scholars

have

long

debated

whether

her

contribution to the querelle des femmes warrants her the title of an early feminist. This essay will argue that Christine de Pizan should be credited with laying the intellectual and literary foundation for what would become feminism, however, she should not herself be considered a feminist.

The first part of this essay will outline and justify criteria, evaluating de Pizan’s title as an

early

feminist,

thus

providing

brief

definitions

of

potentially

ambiguous

and

ideological terms. The second part of this essay will contend that while de Pizan provides a critical voice to the querrele des femmes, she is ultimately writing from within a very exclusive echelon of French society, therefore failing to offer a truly intersectional and feminist treatise. This essay will then argue that de Pizan’s arguments do little to challenge the structural features of a patriarchal early-modern Europe.

Finally, it can be highlighted that de Pizan should be considered an incipient feminist, rather than an early feminist; although she may lack the credentials to be classified as belonging

to

the

feminist

movement,

she

undoubtedly

provides

an

impassioned

argument for the personhood and humanity of European women.

To begin to assess the validity of de Pizan’s title of an early feminist, we must first arrive at some sort of definition of what it actually means to be a feminist. This is a naturally controversial task, and one which scholars and commentators have not been able to resolve.

Karen

Offen,

in

her

article

Defining

Feminism:

A

Comparative

Historical

Approach, notes that asserting the definition of any ‘ism… conservatism, liberalism, socialism,’ is a difficult project, given that these terms are often weaponised against

53

those that are thought to belong to these groups. Furthermore, identifying a singular ‘mission’ for a widespread societal movement proves difficult. Historically, where those in the Anglo-European sphere regarded feminism as the development and expression of some distinctly feminine identity, those in an American context saw the feminist project

as

the

pursuit

of

tangibly

equal

rights

between

men

and

women.

I

have,

therefore, attempted to judge de Pizan’s qualifications as a feminist against a set of criteria separate from any weaponization and without prioritising any geographical scholarly bias. In line with the Anglo-European school of thought, her ability to present and articulate a representative female voice will be assessed. Furthermore, inspired by the American school, her ability to establish tangible change within her patriarchal society will be evaluated.

Although the word ‘patriarchy’ is similarly prone to sparking lively debate in our modern society, it is relatively uncontroversial to claim that early modern Europe possessed many tangible structural features of a patriarchal system. As the Sixteenth-century Sicilian writer Paolo Caggio surmises, ‘women follow the customs of their husbands as the law of their life; this rule is established by the Rector of Heaven, nature, and the Holy institution of marriage’; women were ordained as being the inferiors of men, mere imperfect recreations of the male form with diminished intellectual faculties, and were therefore expected to assume subservient roles. This was a notion which had its origins in

classical

thinkers,

along

with

Judeo-Christian

conceptions

of

divine

creation.

Although some historians have claimed that any singular definition of the patriarchy will be

unnuanced

and

lacking,

these

are

the

prejudices

de

Pizan

would

have

been

subjected to in her day-to-day life, and so will suffice.

Christine de Pizan, valuable though her contribution to the querelle des femmes may have been, was a woman who was reared from within an elite echelon of French society. Furthermore, in her magnum opus, Cité des Dames, many of the women she used as examples of female intellectual capacity, moral sensibility, and piety belonged to a similarly exclusive class. Christine’s father, the person who was perhaps the most supportive of her literary endeavours, was appointed as chief astrologer to the French King Charles V, and it is likely that Christine and her family resided within one of the King’s subsidiary residences. Christine was also a party in an arranged marriage with the nobleman Etienne Castel, another man in the employ of the French monarch.

Although she suffered financial hardship following the death of her father and husband, it is clear that Christine de Pizan was a woman who was socialised within an extremely aristocratic milieu, an upbringing which had a profound effect on the sort of women she populated Cité des Dames with.

Feminist historian Sheila Daley in her article, Mothers to Think Back Through: Who are they? The ambiguous example of Christine de Pizan, is vocal in her condemnation of Christine de Pizan’s narrow cast of characters, and its effect on the sort of argument it offers to the querelle des femmes. Daley identifies that where de Pizan provides ample historic

examples

of

female

monarchs,

warriors,

intellectuals,

and

deities,

she

completely ignores the swath of influential French women who were her intellectual and artisanal contemporaries. Daley is damning in her criticism of de Pizan, prosecuting the case that this exclusion arose from de Pizan having ‘little affection’ for ‘the realm’s trouble-makers’, and for those who existed outside of her courtly setting. This does

54

appear to be, however, unreasonably censorious. De Pizan did indeed provide advice to women

who

belonged

to

artisanal

families,

instructing

them

to

try

and

familiarise

themselves with their trade so that they may ‘oversee… workers if [their] husband is absent’. She also encouraged them to attain economic acumen so that they may advise their husbands in business transactions. This advice is, however, infused with an inherent perspective

bias.

unrealistic

for

beneficiary

of

De

many a

Pizan

assumes

women,

relatively

a

level

regardless

progressive

of

of

education

their

father

station

who

saw

which

in

life;

the

would de

value

have

Pizan in

been

was

the

providing

his

daughter with an education. Not all women were so lucky. Her account of women is incomplete, and when she does peer down into the lower echelons of French society, she does so with myopic vision. Where Delaney may suspect some malevolent motive or disdain

for

the

lower

classes,

it

is

more

likely

that

de

Pizan’s

upbringing

and

socialisation proscribed any genuine empathy with those from lower classes.

Some

will

be

quick

to

point

out

that

Christine

de

Pizan

was,

in

fact,

an

ardent

proponent of the education of women, and that we should therefore incorporate her seemingly

glib

education.

To

advice make

to

this

women

claim,

into

a

however,

broader

one

must

argument carefully

concerning examine

the

female sort

of

education she encouraged women to attain, challenging the structural features of her patriarchal society. Although many of de Pizan’s arguments are indeed progressive, the totality of patriarchy in which she lived meant that there were severe limitations applied to the change that she was actually able to make. When she compels women to attain an education, she does so in the pursuit of Christian virtue theory which possesses an intrinsically sexist strain. She proposes that for the common woman of the merchant or working class, all intellectual growth should be fostered in order to more properly service their husband, a rule established by ‘the Rector of Heaven’ as we previously saw.

Under de Pizan’s guidance, women were still expected to adhere to the division of labour which had been allocated by God; they were to be confined to the private sphere

of

early

modern

life,

safely

separated

from

anything

so

confronting

as

interaction with broader society. Furthermore, her aristocratic prejudice once again finds its way into her arguments regarding education; only high-born women ought to be versed in classical literature, for ‘such a lady will read books of moral instruction,’ casting texts of ‘dishonesty and lubricity’ out of her court. Where highborn women are thought as worthy to learn classical texts of moral instruction, those unfortunate enough to be lowborn must placate their thirst for knowledge, something which de Pizan values so highly, with the specifics of their household or trade. Rather than urging women to question the legitimacy of the power structures in which they found themselves, de Pizan further entrenched power disparities by instructing women on how they can best exercise their ordained roles.

If we are not able to call Christine de Pizan an early feminist, what should we call her?

We should by no means disregard her input or consider her a minor figure in the history of gender discourse. While we may not be able to produce a convincing argument for her feminism, we can credit her with laying the intellectual foundation upon which the feminist movement would be built. To do this, it is helpful to step back from the specific arguments de Pizan makes in her texts, focussing instead on the function her texts played in the epistemological ecosystem of early modern Europe. Early on in her Cité des Dames her character, Christine, ventures into and eventually clears a metaphorical

55

‘field of letters’, depicted in an illuminated manuscript in figure 1. This textual feature has Christine wade through a sea of vitriolic, misogynistic, and purportedly scholarly literature so that she may clear the site upon which she will build her city of women.

This task having been completed, Lady Reason quips to Christine that ‘men base their own writings upon what they have found in books,’ and that they merely ‘repeat what other writers have said’. De Pizan calls to attention the patriarchal scholastic vacuum in which European society has existed for the last fifteen hundred years, and refutes the credibility

of

her

misogynistic

counterparts

by

contending

that

they

have

merely

regurgitated the unsubstantiated claims of earlier writers. By doing this, de Pizan opens a fissure within the intellectual fabric of her society. She renders her patriarchal literary paradigm, which had previously appeared impenetrable, fallible, and creates a channel through which future feminist thinkers can articulate their ideas. This did not have an immediate

effect

on

the

women

of

her

time,

nor

did

it

challenge

the

everyday

patriarchal features to which women were subject. It did, however, make it easier for future female writers to emerge, knowing that de Pizan had identified and called out the erroneous nature of a staunchly misogynistic literary edifice.

Fig 1. Christine De Pizan, Cité des Dames Flemish

translation,

Christine

and

Lady

Reason Clearing the ‘Field of Letters’, 1475, courtesy of British Library London. CC0 1.0.

The question of whether or not we should call Christine de Pizan a feminist is neither trivial nor pedantic; deciding who should belong to and be a spokesperson for a social movement has profound implications for the mission of that very movement. That is why a reader can actually do de Pizan a disservice by approaching her arguments from a staunchly feminist perspective. This perspective finds de Pizan wanting and forces a reader to make concessions for her conservative views which were nothing short of inescapable during her era. As a result, we should consider her an incipient feminist.

Her

arguments

and

literary

contributions

were

a

step

in

the

journey

towards

the

articulation of a truly feminist movement and can be better appreciated if we divorce ourselves

from

a

term

as

ideologically

prescriptive

and

culturally

contingent

‘feminism’. Just as scholars have suggested that the term ‘patriarchy’ is historically

56

as

static, so too does the term ‘feminism’ lead a reader to form an unnecessarily harsh judgement

of

Christine

de

Pizan.

Her

texts

may

lack

intersectionality

and

fail

to

establish tangible change, but they are representative of an intellectual and literary awakening which would inspire a social movement which still exists today.

Primary Sources De Pizan, Christine, The Treasure of the City of Ladies: or The Book of the Three Virtues. Trans.: Sarah Lawson. N. Y.: Penguin, 1985, pp. 130-133 and pp. 162-164.

De Pizan, Christine, Flemish translation “Cité des Dames,” 1475, British Library, London.

De Pizan, cited in Quilligan, “Allegory and the Textual Body: Female Authority in Christine de Pizan’s” Livre de la Cité des Dames,” 228.

Paolo Caggio in “Iconomica del Signor Paolo Caggio gentil’huomo di Palermo nella quale s’insegna brevemente per modo di dialogo il governo Famigliare, etc,” quoted in Kovesi, Catherine ‘Society, Family, and Gender in the Later Middle Ages 1320- 1520’, in Isbella Lazzarini (ed.), Short Oxford History of Europe, 1320-1520 (forthcoming, 2020).

Secondary Sources Bell, Susan Groag. “Christine de Pizan (1364-1430): Humanism and the problem of a studious woman.”

Feminist Studies 3, no. 3/4 (1976): 173-184.

Christine de Pizan, The Treasure of the City of Ladies: or The Book of the Three Virtues. Trans.: Sarah Lawson. N. Y.: Penguin, 1985, pp. 130-133 and pp. 162-164.

Delany, Sheila, and Laurie A. Finke. “Mothers to Think Back Through”: Who Are They? The Ambiguous Example of Christine de Pizan. Cornell University Press, (2019): 190.

Dembowski, Peter F. “Christine De Pizan, “the Book of the City of Ladies”, Trans. Earl Jeffrey Richards (Book Review).” Romance Philology 39, no. 1 (Aug 01, 1985): 125, https://www.proquest.com/scholarlyjournals/christine-de-pizan-book-city-ladies-trans-earl/docview/1297003332/se-2?accountid=12372 (accessed May 29, 2021).

Ferguson, Margaret W., Maureen Quilligan, Nancy Vickers, and Catherine R. Stimpson, eds. Rewriting the Renaissance: the discourses of sexual difference in early modern Europe. University of Chicago Press, (1986): 109.

Hindman, Sandra L. “With Ink and Mortar: Christine De Pizan’s “Cité Des Dames”.” Feminist Studies 10, no.

3 (1984): 457-83. Accessed May 20, 2021. doi:10.2307/3178038.

Jansen, Sharon L., “Reading Women’s World’s from Christine de Pizan to Doris Lessing.” 2, Palgrave Macmillan no. 3 (2011): 8-41.

Offen, Karen. “Defining feminism: A comparative historical approach.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 14, no. 1 (1988): 119-157.

Quilligan, Maureen. “Allegory and the Textual Body: Female Authority in Christine de Pizan’s” Livre de la Cité des Dames”.” Romanic review 79, no. 1 (1988): 222.

Smith, Nicholas D. “Plato and Aristotle on the Nature of Women.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 21, no. 4 (1983): 467-478.

Image Credit Jean Miélot, Christine de Pizan. Folio 41r "Wheel of Fortune" from Epitre d'Othéa; Les Sept Sacrements de l'Eglise. c. 1455 {manuscript} c. 1490 {miniatures}. Book illustration [adapted]. Courtesy of Waddesdon (National Trust). CC BY-SA 4.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons.

57

Representations of Genocide Victims and Perpetrators in the History of Cinema Molly Lidgerwood CW: Genocide, the Holocaust, Death Cinematic

representations

of

genocide

have

recently

emerged

as

a

cultural

phenomenon that encourage people to inform themselves of these historical atrocities, but can also become sites of genocidal justice, remembrance, and memorialisation.

While some films, such as the popular Schindler’s List, use a melodramatic framework to analyse the role of actors of genocide, other films such as Jojo Rabbit explore other avenues

of

memorialising

genocide

and

representing

actors,

for

example

through

satirising the genocidal governments. Through examination of several films as case studies, I will argue that cinema has been largely successful in portraying the varying roles of actors in genocide, including the often-blurred binary between victims and perpetrators, such as witnesses and other ordinary citizens.

Cinema has played a significant role in representing a spectrum of victim experiences of genocide. While films such as Schindler’s List achieved commercial success and have been praised for their representations of victim survival and parallel trauma, I want to emphasise that cinema is only a reconstruction of history and genocidal memory, and thus can only represent a limited scope of victim experiences. Scholars Brown and Rafter have proposed a distinction between two different types of genocidal films: the melodramatic

and

commercially

documentary

style,

such

as

successful

Shoah,

which

film is

(akin

more

to

Schindler’s

archival

based.

I

List)

and

the

will

use

this

framework in my analysis of actor experiences of genocide as it will illuminate the purposes of the genocidal films, and their roles in memorialising the individual and collective memories of genocide.

Schindler’s List is largely successful in highlighting both the trauma and agency of Holocaust victims in resisting the Nazi’s ‘Final Solution’. In the early moments of the 3hour long film, the Krakow Jewish population is seen trying to evade being escorted away

by

the

Nazis.

To

avoid

transportation

to

a

concentration

camp,

Jews

are

encouraged to hide. While most of the Jewish characters are willing to hide to aid their safety, one Jewish lady proclaims she does not want to “hide like an animal”. Here, director Steven Spielberg reminds the audience that not all Jewish experiences of resistance were homogeneous. Schindler’s List also highlights labour as a mechanism of Jewish resistance during the Holocaust. For example, one scene shows a Jewish woman in Oskar Schindler’s office, begging him to employ her elderly Jewish parents, claiming

58

that the elderly are being killed in their Ghetto. Although Schindler rejects her plea, this scene highlights how Jewish people used labour, inside and outside concentration camps, to escape death. For example, Holocaust survivor Ion Butnaru recalled in his 1990 interview how he managed to initially escape being sent to a camp, as “all the former soldiers, they [had] to go to the work”. Hence, Schindler’s List reconstructs several real experiences of Holocaust victims and can effectively represent Jewish agency and resistance in the Holocaust.

In contrast to Schindler’s List, Jojo Rabbit is a film which unusually memorialises victim experiences

of

the

Holocaust

through

a

satirical

framework.

The

humorous

representation of Adolf Hitler as young Jojo’s imaginary friend allows for director Taika Waititi to criticise genocidal ideologies. For example, early in the film, Jojo and his imaginary friend version of Hitler have a battle of who can chant “Heil Hitler!” more assertively.

This

call

and

response

action

evokes

laughter

from

the

audience,

establishing almost immediately that Waititi is aiming to delegitimise Nazi behaviour and ideology through humour. Despite this, Jojo Rabbit does not neglect the traumatic victim experiences of the Holocaust. This can be seen when Jojo and his mother walk through the town square and see the bodies of citizens who resisted Nazis by hiding Jews hanging on display. When Jojo asks his mother, Rosie, what these people did, she replies, “what they could”. Through scenes such as this, Waititi offers sympathy for citizens and victims who try to resist mechanisms of genocide. Therefore, while Jojo Rabbit does not represent concentration and death camps of the Holocaust in the same way Schindler’s List does, it further memorialises the genocide by foregrounding victim agency and ridiculing the genocidal ideology.

The film First They Killed My Father highlights the importance of victims’ individual memory

of

genocide

in

creating

cinematic

representations

of

the

Cambodian

Genocide. Director Angelina Jolie claimed that while filming in Cambodia in 2015, she “would meet with different schools and victims”, demonstrating her priority to listen to Cambodian

victims

of

genocide

in

order

to

create

a

film

that

is

both

historically

accurate and a site of remembrance for victims. Jolie even employed victims of the genocide as extras of the film and brought a therapist on set, revealing the emotional toll the re-enactment had on the genocide victims. I would argue, supported by Screen Studies Scholar Raya Morag, that the effect of victim input in the cinematic process is the continual process of victim rehabilitation in remembering genocide. When David P. Chandler, Cambodian genocide Historian, reviewed The Killing Fields he recalled how when he viewed the film in Melbourne, many victims of the Cambodian genocide were present, praising the historical accuracy and were crying while viewing the film. The emotional responses of these Cambodian genocide victims reveal how films such as these can be powerful in memorialising individual and collective memories of genocide.

Despite the clear representation of genocide victims’ experiences in the history of cinema, the concept of “perpetrator cinema” has emerged globally. These films focus on

perpetrators

in

order

to

highlight

their

complex

role

in

genocide.

Spielberg’s

Schindler’s List unravels perpetrator actions during the Holocaust. In particular, the film juxtaposes Oskar Schindler, the ‘well-intended’ Nazi, and Amon Göth, the genuinely cruel Nazi with little regard for human life. Firstly, Oskar Schindler undergoes a pivotal transition in the film, from the capitalist driven factory owner and Nazi supporter, to

59

sympathetic and humanitarian rescuer of his Jewish workers. Schindler uses his power as a respected Nazi supporter to try to change the cruel Göth’s ideology; he says, “power is when we have every justification to kill, and we don’t”. This dialogue distances Schindler from his perpetrator connections, resulting in the audience sympathising with his mindset. At the conclusion of the film, Schindler proclaims, “After six long years of murder,

victims

are

being

mourned

throughout

the

world.

We’ve

survived”.

Here,

Spielberg’s construction of Schindler is further established as a sympathetic and noncruel Nazi. Since he did not physically kill any Jewish people, and he helped many survive

through

labour,

he

places

himself

in

the

victim

position:

“We’ve

survived”.

Spielberg’s film is also significant in the history of genocide representations as it does not shy away from exposing the cruelty and violence of the Nazi perpetrators during the Holocaust. For example, the characterisation of Amon Göth as a violent Nazi and ladies’ man reminds viewers that Nazis were barbarous, but they were also human.

Janine Natalya Clark argues that humanisation of perpetrators is crucial in order to acknowledge the suffering of victims and aid the prevention of future genocides. The cruelty of Göth outweighs the empathetic Schindler, ensuring that Spielberg, in his cinematic

representation

of

the

Holocaust,

does

not

position

himself

as

a

Nazi

sympathiser; instead, Spielberg humanises the perpetrator in order to acknowledge the genuine suffering of victims and contribute to the prevention of future genocides.

While

Schindler’s

List

explores

the

dark

reality

of

perpetrator

behaviours

in

the

Holocaust, Jojo Rabbit satirises the role of Nazis, especially Jojo’s imaginary Hitler, in its effort to humanise perpetrators and delegitimise their ideologies. While some critics may argue that “perhaps Jojo Rabbit is too reassuring”, Waititi’s representation of Hitler as a humorous character is not the first of its kind. Historically, humour has been used to memorialise genocide and achieve a sense of justice for victims. For example, The Producers

completely

“Springtime

for

Hitler

mocks and

power

of

the

Germany”.

the

By

mocking

Nazi

regime the

in

its

musical

behaviour

of

number,

such

cruel

perpetrators, films such as Jojo Rabbit and The Producers allow victims to reclaim their genocidal trauma, and satirically humanise the perpetrators in a way that removes their dangerous power.

The Killing Fields and First They Killed My Father are both significant films which explore the more ambiguous identification of perpetrators in the Cambodian Genocide. Firstly, In The Killing Fields, the proposition that the behaviour of the Khmer Rouge was partly a result of the American bombings is largely accepted, and thus extends genocidal blame onto Western actors. However, the Americans are not the only perpetrators highlighted in the film. Despite the absence of US military intervention, the genocidal situation did not improve, and thus the film deals with the powerful and destructive control of the Khmer Rouge. Hence, the film moves beyond the assumption that the Cambodian Genocide was purely an internal crisis. Secondly, in First They Killed My Father, Jolie highlights how Cambodian people were capable of being perpetrators and victims simultaneously under the “totalitarian” control of the Khmer Rouge. The film is based on the memoir of Loung Ung who was just ten years old when she escaped the killing fields of Pol Pot’s regime. Loung, in the film, is portrayed as an innocent young girl who struggles with the murder of her father and the malnourishing conditions of the labour camp. Loung is eventually trained by the Khmer Rouge leaders to fight the Vietnamese soldiers, creating future child perpetrators. The children are told to repeat ideological

60

chants, including “destroy the Vietnamese!”. The echoing of the Khmer Rouge’s ideology in these scenes reveals “the gradual realisation of the totalitarian nature of the regime”, and how many Cambodians such as Loung Ung and her family were unsure of their place

as

either

a

victim,

perpetrator

or

bystander

to

the

Cambodian

Genocide.

Therefore, the film becomes a site of remembrance for Cambodians such as Loung Ung who were subjected to the perpetrators’ ideologies being ingrained in them.

Ultimately, cinema has been used historically, and continues to be used, as a tool for representing actors of genocide and in the process memorialising genocide for its victims and wider audiences. In the films I have analysed, victims of genocide have been represented in a plethora of ways. From passive victims of brutality to agential survivors, the spectrum of victim experiences in the history of genocide is represented.

Furthermore, these films have constructed perpetrators of genocide as comparatively cruel and inhumane, kind and humanitarian, and even satirical. These representations elucidate the individuality of perpetrators and the significance that should be placed on

humanising

them

in

order

to

acknowledge

the

possibility

of

future

genocides

occurring. Cinema has also skilfully represented witnesses to genocide, and how they can both be punished for their resistance to genocidal and totalitarian regimes, and also aid victim survival successfully. Cinema therefore proves itself a useful tool in exploring

the

complex

experiences

of

genocidal

actors,

thus

assisting

in

the

remembrance process of genocide throughout history.

Primary Sources Interview with Ion Butnaru, May 3, 1990. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. https://collections.ushmm.org/oh_findingaids/RG-50.030.0049_trs_en.pdf.

The Trial of Amon Goeth: Selected Extracts from the Testimony. Holocaust Education & Archive Research Team. http://www.holocaustresearchproject.org/trials/goeth3.html.

Ung, Loung. First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. United States: HarperCollins, 2000.

Secondary Sources Brown, Michelle and Nicole Rafter. “Genocide Films, Public Criminology, Collective Memory.” The British Journal of Criminology 53, no. 6 (Nov 2013): 1017-1032.

Carchidi, Victoria. “‘Schindler’s List”: At Home With the Holocaust or, Hollywood Atrocities.” Australasian Journal of American Studies 15, no. 1 (July 1996): 65-76.

Chandler, David P. “Review: ‘The Killing Fields’ and Perceptions of Cambodian History.” Pacific Affairs 59, no. 1 (Spring 1986): 92-97.

Clark, Janine Natalya. “Genocide, war crimes and the conflict in Bosnia: understanding the perpetrators.” Journal of Genocide Research 11, no. 4 (Dec 2009): 421-445.

Ebertz, Roger P. “Is Oskar Schindler a Good Man?” In Steven Spielberg and Philosophy: We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Book, edited by Dean A. Kowalski, 112-128. University Press of Kentucky: 2008.

First They Killed My Father. Directed by Angelina Jolie. 2017; United States and Cambodia: Netflix.

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Jojo Rabbit. Directed by Taika Waititi. 2019; United States and New Zealand: Fox Searchlight Pictures.

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Image Credit Cristiano Betta. Film #1 for the London Film Festival: JoJo Rabbit. 6 October, 2019. Movie still [adapted]. https://flic.kr/p/2hr22Lc. CC BY 2.0. <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/>, via Creative Commons.

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