Southampton Journal of Undergraduate History | Issue 1 | 2017

SOUTHAMPTON JOURNAL OF UNDERGRADUATE HISTORY | ISSUE 1 | 2017

SJ UH

Table of Contents Pg. 2: Foreword by the Editor-in-Chief Pg. 3: The Last Pagan Emperor: The Philosophy and Policy of Julian’s Religious Programme by Chris Wright Pg. 12: Modern technology and its positive impact on history by Charlie Merry Pg. 14: An Examination of the Gender Binary in Viking Age Society by Imogen Steele

Pg. 20: The Gunpowder Plot: Was it deliberately exaggerated by state authorities? by Kirsten Van Graan

Pg. 25: The Voyages of James Cook (1768-1775): The Battle for National Prestige during the Eighteenth-Century by Beth Duncan

Pg. 34: The ‘Nectar of the Gods’: The impact of tea on Britain in the eighteenth century by Laura Else Pg. 43: Imperial or Imperilled - Executive Power in the First Czechoslovak Republic by Kieran Hyland Pg. 48: 2017 Northern Irish Assembly Election Poses Question: Will We Ever See The End of Sectarianism? by Ivan Morris-Poxton

Pg. 50: Examining the neglection of the Serbian Refugee Movement from the collective memory of the First World War by Amy Gill, Erin Phillips, Emma Harrison Beesley, Edward Dunn, Ellie Boot, Rochâne Temple and Khaleda Brophy-Harmer Pg. 60: Changes in the Work Sphere: Families that are Dual-Career by Francoise Jennion

Pg. 62: Why Enhanced Interrogation Techniques are an ineffective counterterrorism method by Ryan Brooks

Pg. 72: Presidential Address by Peter Sturgess

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Foreword by the Editor-in-Chief Hi all, For those of you who do not know me, I’m this year’s Academic President and I’ve had the pleasure of overseeing and creating the Southampton Undergraduate Journal of History, the first of its kind in the country. When I was approached with this idea a year ago, I never really believed that this idea would come to fruition, or how successful the Journal would be! Undergoing this project has been, without any doubt, a huge highlight of my third year here at the University and I am proud of every person who has involved themselves in this process. I am truly amazed at the amount of support and interest we have received over the past year, including winning an Excellence in Volunteering Award in the process.

I am confident the next Editor-in-Chief can build on our successes and expand the Journal next year- I will definitely be watching closely!

Although I’m the Editor-in-Chief, I couldn’t have done any of this without the support of my two trusty Editors: Daniel Taylor and Louis Jeffries. They have provided excellent ideas, support, and advice throughout the year and I am very thankful for their hard-work. I am glad that they took up the roles of Editor, otherwise I don’t know where I’d be without them! I would also like to extend special thanks to Dr Eve Colpus for supporting the Editorial team in creating this Journal, her unrelenting support has made this process a lot easier and I know myself and the Editorial team have really appreciated her advice. In addition to my Editors, I also have a team of Markers and a Creative Director who have played a pivotal role in the creation of the first edition. My Markers for this year are: Eleanor Joyce, Claire Wallis, Lucy McLean, Samantha Cassar, Catherine Fernandes, Steven Valentine, Abby Jefferies, Fiona Bowler, Samuel Tyler, Henry Craven, Molly Evans, Samuel Dolling, and Matthew Murphy. Every one of them has been so responsive to their role and I am very thankful for their continued support throughout the process- marking 50 pieces between them is no easy task!

Finally, thanks must extend to Samuel Dedman the Creative Director of the Journal and the Faculty Officer for Humanities. His constant support is invaluable, especially as he is overseeing many other Academic President’s activities too!

I hope you enjoy reading the Journal as much as the team and I have enjoyed working on it. I think the standard of work on show not only reflects the quality of teaching on offer at Southampton, but crucially places the spotlight firmly on the students themselves.

Happy reading!

Maddy Ell History Academic President (2016-17) & Editor-in-Chief of Southampton Journal of Undergraduate History (2016-17)

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The Last Pagan Emperor: The Philosophy and Policy of Julian’s Religious Programme

by Chris Wright ABSTRACT: The short-lived reign of the Emperor Julian from 361 to 363 marks the last great attempt by the pagan faction within the Roman elite to rescue their ancient faith and restore it to primacy in the face of the Christian opposition. As a dramatic and religiously significant episode in the history of the late Roman Empire, it has been the subject of much polemic from Christian authors both contemporary and mediaeval. This paper analyses the impressive surviving collection of Julian’s own writings, as well as those of his friend and correspondent Libanius and his Christian former costudent and implacable opponent Gregory of Nazianzus, to dispel the distorted image provided by these accounts and instead arrive at a balanced and holistic view of Julian’s religious philosophy and the policies by which he attempted to promote it.

The Emperor Flavius Claudius Iulianus, sole Augustus of the Roman Empire for just over twenty months between the 3rd November 361 and 26th June 363, was in that short time one of the most significant and controversial figures of late antiquity. Julian was brought up in a world in which the relatively youthful religion of Christianity was ascendant, and in circumstances wherein Christianity as a belief system was forcibly imparted to him by the orders of his uncle, Constantius II.1 Nevertheless, Julian would go on to find a new faith in the ancient pagan religion of the Graeco-Roman world, and upon his accession to the throne would seek to encourage and direct a renewal of that religion across the wide domains of which he was emperor. This would be a faith grounded in the pagan traditions of myth and sacrifice stretching back into an antediluvian past, and yet in many ways it was very different from the specific practices and beliefs of the ancient Romans as described by Livy.2 Julian’s paganism was deeply steeped in the Neoplatonic tradition popular in the fourth century, and was paradoxically deeply influenced by the Christianity which Julian hoped to displace. A mid-fourth-century Christian, transported 100 years into a hypothetical world in which Julian had lived to realise his vision, might have found much to be quite familiar.

In the event, a Saracen spear, driven through his rashly unarmoured ribs in the arid desert of Persian Mesopotamia,3 put an abrupt end to the great plans for reform which Julian had barely began to put in place. Julian’s successors would all be Christian – the pagan Salutius having refused the honour of the purple after Julian’s demise4 – and by 380, just seventeen years after Julian’s death, the pagan religion would be officially illegal. For this reason, many scholars have recorded Julian’s religious programme as destined for failure from the beginning; a theory which A.H.M. Jones has challenged. 5 The pagan population of the empire was still considerable, and included large parts of the army, the intelligentsia and the old Greek and Roman aristocracy, as well as the majority of the rural peasantry.6 Certainly, then, there was a base which might have been receptive to a pagan revival if Julian’s life had not been cut so abruptly short.

Edward Gibbon, The Portable Gibbon: The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, edited by Dero A. Saunders, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977), p.464.

2 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita Libre, 5.51-52.

3 Libanius, Upon Avenging Julian, 6.

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* * * “He [Julian]… shows himself to have united in himself the vices of them all – the apostasy of Jeroboam, the bloodthirstiness of Ahab, the hardness of heart of Pharaoh, the sacrilegious acts of

Glen W. Bowersock, Julian the Apostate, (London: Duckworth, 1978), p.118.

5 A. H. M. Jones, The Decline of the Ancient World, (London: Longman, 1966), p.62.

6 Robert Browning, The Emperor Julian, (London: Weidenfield & Nicolson, 1975), pp.159-161.

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Nebuchadnezzar, the impiety of all put together!”7 – Gregory of Nazianzus “…I have ever found my words insufficient for the greatness of his deeds …my beloved emperor’s genius should outstrip the powers of the teacher that loved him…he who had ascended the throne for the salvation of the whole world should make it impossible for words to match his deeds.”8 – Libanius Our principal contemporary sources for the development of Julian’s religious philosophy, theology and policy are the relatively abundant extant writings of Julian himself; the laudatory orations of his correspondent and one-time teacher, the pagan sophist Libanius; and the vitriolic invectives of Gregory of Nazianzus, a Christian theologian and fellow student of Julian’s at Athens in 355. We also have the history of Julian’s reign written by Ammianus Marcellinus, though Bowersock identifies some issues with this which, despite Ammianus’ presence for much of the narrative, makes it less useful.9 Together, these sources allow us to compose a fairly clear picture of the ideas and actions of Julian’s religious programme. * * * “Julian’s religion was a mixture, common in that age, of philosophy, antiquarianism and superstition.”10 So says A.H.M. Jones, and we can clearly see these different elements in the writings of Julian and those who knew him. The fundamentals of Julian’s paganism rest in the Neoplatonic tradition. Julian’s devotion to the ideas of Plato are clear; he cites him throughout his theological works and calls him “the divine Plato”.11 Elsewhere, Julian talks of “God” in the singular;12 an allusion not to his Christian background but rather to the fundamental monotheism (or, more properly, pluriform monotheism) of Neoplatonist thought. This

Gregory of Nazianzus, Second Invective Against Julian, 3.

8 Libanius, Funeral Oration Over Julian, 4.

9 Bowersock, pp.7-8.

10 Jones, p.59.

11 Julian, Hymn to King Helios, 133.A. 12 Julian, Letter to Themistius the Philosopher, 254.C. 13 Plato, Parmenides.

14 Julian, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods, 116.A-B. 7

concept, of the underlying oneness of divinity – referred to as ‘the Monad’ or ‘the One’ – stems originally from the Pythagoreans, but was taken up by Plato and his followers.13 Platonic conceptions of the demiurge, the creative force which emanates from the One are, for Julian, represented in the ancient gods Zeus, who is held to have created the world, and Cybele, who created all life.14 The relationship between these two deities also mirrors the Platonic ideal of the Dyad, a stage beyond the Monad in the development of the universe from creation. The Monad itself is represented in the ‘middle world’ of the Classical gods by the Sun, Helios.1516 The complexities of Julian’s theology are the inevitable result of centuries’ worth of philosophical exploration of the questions of divinity, especially in the context of the various mystery religions percolating through the empire from the east, as well as the (related) rise of Christianity.

Julian’s Neoplatonism was learned from many teachers, but most especially from Maximus, who in turn studied under Aedisios, a student of Iamblichus. It was from Iamblichus – whose theological positions are, according to Bowersock, essentially summarised by Julian’s own writings17 – that Julian and his contemporaries inherited their enthusiasm for popular magic and superstition (Julian imploring the goddess Cybele to “make me perfect in theurgy”18), which Iamblichus and Maximus were at pains to reconcile with intellectual Neoplatonism.19 Julian was also convinced of the necessity of frequent sacrifice, opining that “it is not meet that a consecrated priest should pass a day or a night without sacrifice”.20 These enthusiasms were criticised even by some pagans, including Ammianus, as diminishing the dignity of the Neoplatonic pagan religion.21 Julian’s insistence on being the actual wielder of the knife, rather than simply officiating at a sacrifice, was a particular

Julian, Hymn to King Helios, 138.D. Jill Harries, Imperial Rome AD 284 to 363: The New Empire, (Edinburgh University Press, 2012), p.298.

17 Bowersock, p.20.

18 Julian, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods, 118.C. 19 Browning, p.55-57.

20 Julian, Letter to a Priest, 302.B. 21 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae, 25.4.

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problem.

The strange mixture of intellectualised and popular influences on Julian’s thought would have significant influence on his policies as emperor.

The ‘antiquarian’ element in Jones’ characterisation of Julian’s theology is his veneration of the Classical Graeco-Roman deities, and his respect for the myths surrounding them. It is important to emphasise that Julian’s Neoplatonic monotheism did not preclude in any sense worship of the traditional gods of the Roman Empire; in fact, it mandated it. Julian demonstrates his pietas from the outset; in his Letter to the Senate and People of Athens, written shortly after his acclamation as Augustus by his troops in February 360, he calls “to witness Zeus, Helios, Ares, Athene, and all the other gods” that he had no idea what his men were planning in advance, and relates that he prayed to Zeus for a sign of what to do. 22 Libanius, after Julian’s death, proclaims “…to all the gods whom the poets have handed down to us, fathers, sons, male and female, governors and governed, he made libation and loaded the altars of every one with sheep and oxen.”23 Even his opponent Gregory of Nazianzus attests to the emperor’s piety, although for him of course it is considered a sin to worship such “demons”.24 Julian viewed the gods as emanations of the Monad, but to him they were nevertheless very real, and more: they were his “benefactors and friends and preservers,” 25 and according to Libanius were directly responsible for his accession to the purple.26 If the gods were an important part of Julian’s philosophy, so was the syncretic nature of the way those gods were viewed. Greek and Roman religion – the latter in particular – were always good at borrowing, absorbing and integrating deities, heroes, myths and legends from other cultures. By Julian’s time, this trend had reached its apex. Helios, the highest expression of the divinity, was syncretised with Sol Invictus (the state god of Rome in the time of Aurelian27), Mithras, Apollo, Dionysus & Julian, Letter to the Senate and People of Athens, 284.B-C. 23 Libanius, The Lament Over Julian, 4.

24 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 44.

25 Julian, To the Cynic Heracleios, 233.C-D. 26 Libanius, An Address to Julian, 16.

27 Browning, p.3.

22

Serapis.28 Cybele was identified with Hecate,29 Deo, Rhea and Demeter,30 and was known by the Latin-speaking parts of the Empire as Magna Mater. Syncretisation helped to simplify the bewildering array of gods in the ancient Mediterranean into an understandable form, but it also represented a method of creating greater unity among the many disparate peoples of the Roman Empire – and unity, particularly given the Christian threat, was something Julian was very interested in.

Julian’s philosophy was the result of his unique position in time, weaving together the ancient myths and deities of the Classical period with the fashionable new Neoplatonist thought. Julian’s writings reveal to us just how deeply he thought about these issues, and how firmly the gods of his ancestors were woven into the Neoplatonic framework to create a sophisticated syncretic theology. We also see some hints of how Christian thought came to influence both Julian himself and the wider pagan intellectual class; the success of that religion forced educated pagans to take the elements of their antique religion and fit it into the Platonic framework which the Christian fathers also made use of. * * * The complexities of Julian’s brand of paganism would prove an obstacle in his mission to reinvigorate pagan belief and displace Christianity.31 It was a mission Julian felt divinely appointed to carry out, however, and he was determined to try.32 The immediate task was to overturn the legal barriers to the practice of the pagan religion. Constantius II had issued several edicts banning sacrifice, and a number of temples had been closed under his rule. Even more had been destroyed by Christians acting extra-judicially during the reigns of both Constantius and his father Constantine; the state had done little to prevent this. One of the first acts of Julian as Augustus was to issue and Edict of Tolerance, publicly

Browning, p.138.

Browning, p.58.

30 Julian, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods, 159.B. 31 Averil Cameron, The Later Roman Empire: AD 284-430, (London: Fortuna, 1993), p.95.

32 Julian, To the Cynic Heracleios, 231.D-232.A. 28 29

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proclaiming that all religions were permitted.

This he did on his Quinquennalia, the fifth anniversary of his appointment as Caesar, the 6th November 360.33 Later, he would order that the temples be restored, as Libanius recounts: “He restored the ruined temples to their places, and he restored their ritual to them and all others: he brought back, as it were from exile, sacrifice and libation.”34 Sometimes the temples had been replaced with churches, or alternatively the stones or land had been used for private housing; Julian’s edict meant these had to be removed. Gregory rails against this, describing the restitution of this property as “robbery”;35 the pagan population, though, was unsurprisingly pleased. Jones, while admitting that the policy caused hardship to some who were innocent of the original sacrilege, nonetheless judges the act justified, as the temples were destroyed without the force of law.36 Merely restoring paganism to a full legal equality with Christianity was not enough for Julian, however. As good followers of Plato, Julian and his contemporaries believed that states needed a state religion in order to function properly, a point discussed at length

by Plato in his Laws.37 Julian discusses this point with his correspondent Themistius, saying: “To me, at any rate, it seems that the task of reigning is beyond human powers, and that a king needs a more divine character, as indeed Plato too used to say.”38 However, Christianity – seen as morally ‘soft’ in that it permitted sinners to repent their sins and be forgiven, and criticised for its deep divisions (both between the Nicene and Arian sects and between the beliefs of the clergy and laity) – was not judged sufficient to the task.39 Therefore, a pagan religion – naturally, that form of paganism held by Julian and the Neoplatonists – would need to be elevated to replace it. This is at the core of everything Julian did as emperor; the Edict of Toleration was intended only to

Browning, p.108.

Libanius, Upon Avenging Julian, 36.

35 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 7.

36 Jones, p.59.

37 Plato, Laws, 759-761.

38 Julian, Letter to Themistius the Philosopher, 260.C-D. 39 Browning, p.134.

create freedom of religion, not equality of religion. Julian was by no means a liberal.

In the pursuit of the advancement of paganism, Julian surrounded himself with educated pagan philosophers and appointed pagans to numerous offices previously held by Christians.4041 Libanius approves of the changed composition of the court in his address to Julian: “Your table is a modest one, and your companions there pupils of Plato.” 42 Having dismissed great numbers of the palace bureaucracy under Constantius,43 they were replaced by a smaller number of predominantly pagan officials. Julian himself admits to his policy of preferment in a letter to Atarbius, a provincial administrator in Mesopotamia: “…I do assert absolutely that the god-fearing must be preferred to them [Christians].”44 We can refute Glen Bowersock’s uncharacteristically uncritical assertion, then, that Julian was not intending to discriminate against the Christians;45 here, Gregory’s invective is proved to be in the right. However, we should be careful of going too far; Gregory’s very own words reveal that “many [Christian] persons in office and in high station” were permitted to remain in their posts, even if because Julian hoped they ultimately could be converted to his cause.46 If the administrative bureaucracy was one essential lever of power Julian hoped to make more firmly pagan, the other was the military.

It had been the soldiery of Gaul which had put the pagan Caesar into power as Augustus, and Julian was not likely to forget that. Control of the army was vital if the pagan faction coalescing around the Emperor was to retain control in the long term. As mentioned above, it seems as if a considerable potion – perhaps a majority – of the army was already pagan.

Certainly the army of Gaul, largely drawn from first- or second-generation migrants from the pagan Germanic tribes, seems to have eagerly accepted Julian’s paganism; Julian relates in a letter to Maximus that they joined him in

Jones, p.133.

Jones, p.60.

42 Libanius, An Address to Julian, 44.

43 Bowersock, pp.71-2.

44 Julian, ‘To Atarbius’, Letters, 37.

45 Bowersock, p.71.

46 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 64-65.

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40

34

41

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sacrificing oxen while in the Balkans after Constantius’ death,47 something which Ammianus wrongly states did not happen until they reached Constantinople.48 The eastern armies, however, had been loyal to Constantius and were drawn from, and stationed in, areas both more strongly and longer ago Christianised. Winning them to his cause was essential for Julian’s conception of a pagan empire to succeed. Gregory complains of soldiers being forced to make libations of incense in order to receive their donatives, which accounted for most of their payment.49 There is some confusion as to whether the element of force was in fact present, and whether the intended recipient(s) of the libations were the gods or merely the Emperor’s genius. Nevertheless, it seems clear that the intention was to pressure soldiers into making at least the outward signs of pagan faith, and so to normalise it and allow it to spread.

Julian’s conception of religion as a vital component of the ideal state and statesman is based on a clear foundation of Platonic philosophy. Yet, it is also a product of the Christian context of his rule. The emphasis on the pietas of rulers harks back to earlier ages; the original Augustus recorded his restoration and construction of temples in Rome as some of his great deeds in his Res Gestae.50 Religion in those days, though, had been of a far more decentralised and variable nature. Julian’s writings reveal a wish to create a far more specific and fixed theology and organisational structure for the paganism of his empire. His response to the criticism of the Cynic Heracleios betrays not only his personal affront at the insults of the rival philosopher, but also his belief that opposing schools of pagan philosophy were simply wrong, and that Julian himself as pontifex maximus was best qualified to proclaim truth: “…let me in your presence try to teach him this lesson; first that it is more becoming for a Cynic to write discourses than myths; secondly, what sort of adaptations of the Julian, ‘To Maximus the Philosopher’, Letters, 8.415.C-D. 48 Ammianus, Res Gestae, 22.5.2.

49 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 83.

50 Augustus, Res Gestae, 19-20.

51 Julian, To the Cynic Heracleios, 205.B-C. 47

myths he ought to make, if indeed philosophy really needs mythology at all; and finally I shall have a few words to say about reverence for the gods.”51 Later, in his more general attack on the followers of Diogenes, Julian would proclaim that “even as truth is one, so philosophy is one”.52 This attitude, viewed in comparison to the flourishing multiplicity of cults and philosophical schools in the Republic and under the Principate, is a remarkably ‘unpagan’ one. Julian wanted not just to replace Christianity with paganism, but to make his particular brand of Neoplatonic paganism universal. This is a motive which his great heroes, Alexander and Marcus Aurelius, would have found hard to understand, for all their respect for the same Plato on whom Julian’s philosophy was based. His hated uncle Constantius, however, would likely have sympathised only too well.

In order to assert his control over paganism throughout his empire, as well as to better combat the Christians, Julian planned to create an empire-wide organisational structure for the pagan religion, explicitly based on the Christian Church.53 By appointing high priests for each city and province, in parallel with the Christian system of bishops and metropolitans, Julian would be able to manage the growth of localised pagan cults. He would also have a means of keeping in check the outburst of violent antiChristianity which were beginning to occur, and which it seems he sincerely wished to avoid.54 Julian also recognised that, beyond its organisational strength, Christianity’s other great advantage over paganism was its charity: “…do we not observe that it is their benevolence to strangers, their care for the graves of the dead and the pretended holiness of their lives that have done most to increase atheism?”55 To combat this, he ordered that pagan priests become models of philanthropy, ordering them to establish hostels to feed and house beggars and strangers, and making grants of wheat from

Julian, To the Uneducated Cynics, 184.C. Bowersock, p.85.

54 Julian, ‘To Atarbius’, Letters, 37.

55 Julian, ‘To Arsacius, High-priest of Galatia’, Letters, 22.429.D-430.A. 52 53

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the state granaries for the purpose.56 He also lays out in detail a moral code for the priesthood,57 including a ban on them entering the “licentious” plays held in modern theatres (as opposed to the classical Greek tragedies, which he held in high regard). 58 This point appears to be a particular irritation of Julian’s; not only does it occur in several of his letters, but it is mentioned by Libanius, who implores his fellow citizens of Antioch to close the theatres at least temporarily to soothe the Emperor’s anger with them.59 Gregory, too, describes the attempted moral reforms of Julian in a long paragraph; seemingly, he is bitter that the Emperor has realised the Christians’ advantage in this area and is taking steps to combat it. Gregory also mentions a plan to construct “monasteries for men, convents for virgins, places for meditation”, revealing the extent to which Julian is being inspired by Christianity in his reforms. 60 All of the evidence shows that Julian had a comprehensive plan for re-establishing paganism as the dominant religion of the Roman Empire. He had a fervent belief, rooted in his Neoplatonic studies and strengthened by the example of his Christian predecessors, that the state must be supported by an established religion. In realising this, he followed the models which were available to him: a restored polis religion, tempered by a new organisational structure which he copied unabashedly from the Christian Church, and a new priestly morality also based on the conduct of the Christian clergy. From the Emperor’s letters, we see that he was not afraid to innovate; from the writings of Gregory, that his innovations appear to have inspired real fear that his pagan revival might indeed come about. * * * The other major element of Julian’s religious programme, and the one about which there has been the most controversy, is his treatment of the Christians, and whether it merits the label ‘persecution’. Julian certainly wished to defeat Julian, ‘To Arsacius, High-priest of Galatia’, Letters, 22.430.C. 57 Julian, Letter to a Priest, 289.A-B. 58 Julian, Letter to a Priest, 304.C. 59 Libanius, On the Emperor’s Anger, 41.

60 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 111.

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them; in his Hymn to the Mother of the Gods he implores Cybele “grant to the Roman people in general that they may cleanse themselves of the stain of impiety.”61 As alluded to above, he also makes clear he sees this as a personal mission.

However, he states unequivocally in private correspondence to one of his governors that he does not wish them “to be either put to death or unjustly beaten, or to suffer any other injury.”62 Indeed, even Gregory admits that: “…he attacks our religion in a very rascally and ungenerous way, and introduces into his persecution the traps and snares concealed in arguments.”63 It is this focus on argument which Gregory, in fact, finds most objectionable; direct confrontation and persecution would, it seems, have been preferable. To him, Julian “begrudged the honour of martyrdom to our combatants.”64 This is partly because of Julian’s own distaste for slaughter as a method of combating Christianity, and partly because the Edict of Toleration officially legitimised Gregory’s Nicene sect, who had previously been suffering persecution at the hands of the ascendants Arians. Ironically, Ammianus records that part of Julian’s reasoning for issuing that edict was his hope that the two groups, being “naturally more contentious than wild beasts”, would destroy one another.65 That this did not occur was perhaps as much a disappointment to Julian almost as much as Gregory.

That is not to say that Julian did not target the Christians directly at all. He did make a few attempts to undercut their power. The most important of these was a law banning Christians from the teaching of grammar and rhetoric. As these subjects were the foundation of Classical education, this amounted in effect to a ban on Christians becoming teachers. The logical basis for this was one of hypocrisy: “I think it is absurd that men who expound the works of these writers [Homer, Hesiod etc.] should dishonour the gods whom they used to honour.”66 The law specifically clarified that students who were Christian were still permitted to study the classics, but many Julian, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods, 180.B. Julian, ‘To Atarbius’, Letters, 37.

63 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 61.

64 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 58.

65 Ammianus, Res Gestae, 22.5.4.

66 Julian, ‘Rescript on Teachers’, Letters, 36.423.A. 61

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parents feared that they would be converted by their teachers – which was Julian’s intention – and so chose not to allow their sons a Classical education, thus hampering their career prospects.67 Gregory considers this Julian’s principal crime, devoting both the opening and closing sections of his First Invective to the subject; for Gregory, proud of his Greek heritage, Julian’s conflation of Hellenic culture and pagan religion “as though the Greek speech belonged to religious worship exclusively, and not to the tongue,” was unforgivable.68 Even Ammianus, a pagan and normally a partisan of Julian’s, regarded this edict as unnecessarily harsh.69

hearing that these sacrifices could only be made in the Temple, he immediately gave permission for the Jews to raise funds for the purpose, and promised to contribute himself.73 The construction was interrupted by either an explosion of some kind according to Ammianus,74 or by a storm if Gregory is to be believed.75 The purpose of this reconstruction seems to have been partially a sincere desire to see the Jews able to sacrifice again,76 and partly an attempt to disprove the prophecy in Matthew that the Temple would not be rebuilt.77

Beyond this edict, though, Julian’s ‘persecution’ of the Christians was mainly limited to small-scale interventions in local conflicts. Libanius recounts how after a clash between Christians and pagans in the city, the Emperor demoted Caesarea Cappadocia from its polis status,70 and Gregory points to incidents such as that in Gaza where rioting pagans were insufficiently punished.71 Bowersock identifies the lacklustre response to the bishop George of Alexandria’s murder as another example, and suggests that Julian’s attitude to the Christians slid closer to persecution over time.72 Nevertheless, in the short time he actually ruled the Roman Empire, the primary sources suggest that Julian’s actions against the Christians did not nearly approach the persecutions of Diocletian and Maximian, or indeed the persecutions of pagans by Constantius.

The Emperor Julian was the final pagan emperor of Rome, and on him any hopes of a restoration of that faith to its former glory rested. His premature death prevented the programme which he had spent much time, from his conversion at the age of 20, developing from being fully implemented. The evidence of his own writings, of Libanius his most faithful partisan, and of Gregory of Nazianzus, one of his fiercest critics, reveal a deeply complex man with a sophisticated philosophical and theological worldview, and a clear plan to elevate his brand of pagan religion to the supreme position occupied by Arian Christianity by his predecessor Constantius.

His programme was of a very different character to the paganism of the time of Alexander, Augustus, or even Marcus Aurelius, and his plans for a new organisational structure for pagan religion and a new moral code for its practitioners mark Julian out as a radical thinker and an innovator far above most of his fellow Emperors of the third and fourth centuries. Had he lived, it is entirely possible that he would have succeeded in restoring the worship of the old gods – whether we agree more with Libanius’ or with Gregory’s assessment of whether that would have been a good thi

* * * One final part of Julian’s religious programme is worth mentioning here: his decision to initiate the reconstruction of the Jewish Temple of Jerusalem. From his childhood reading of the Old Testament, he knew that the Jews had historically made animal sacrifices; being as this was a subject close to his heart, upon

Jones, p.61.

Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 4-5, 101108.

69 Ammianus, Res Gestae, 22.10.7, 25.4.20.

70 Libanius, On the Emperor’s Anger, 14.

71 Gregory, First Invective Against Julian, 88.

72 Bowersock, pp.80, 91-92.

* * *

Gregory, Second Invective Against Julian, 3-4.

Ammianus, Res Gestae, 23.1.3.

75 Gregory, Second Invective Against Julian, 4.

76 Julian, ‘To the Community of the Jews’, Letters, 51.398.

77 Matthew, 24.2.

67

73

68

74

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Bibliography - Primary Sources Augustus, Res Gestae, translated by Frederick W. Shipley, (Loeb Classical Library, 1924).

Gregory of Nazianzus, First Invective Against Julian, translated by C. W. King, (1888).

Gregory of Nazianzus, Second Invective Against Julian, translated by C. W. King, (1888).

Julian, ‘Rescript on Teachers’, Letters, 36, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, ‘To Arsacius, High-priest of Galatia’, Letters, 22, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, ‘To Atarbius’, Letters, 37, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, ‘To Maximus the Philosopher’, Letters, 8, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, ‘To the Community of the Jews’, Letters, 51, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, Against the Galileans (Fragments), translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

Julian, Hymn to King Helios, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, Letter to A Priest (Fragment), translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, Letter to the Senate and People of Athens, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, Letter to Themistius the Philosopher, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, To the Cynic Heracleios, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Julian, To the Uneducated Cynics, translated by Wilmer C. Wright, (Loeb Classical Library, 1913).

Libanius, An Address to Julian, translated by A. F. Norman, (Loeb Classical Library, 1969).

Libanius, Funeral Oration Over Julian, translated by A. F. Norman, (Loeb Classical Library, 1969).

Libanius, On the Emperor’s Anger, translated by A. F. Norman, (Loeb Classical Library, 1969).

Libanius, The Lament Over Julian, translated by A. F. Norman, (Loeb Classical Library, 1969).

Libanius, Upon Avenging Julian, translated by A. F. Norman, (Loeb Classical Library, 1969).

Livius, Titus, Ab Urbe Condita Libre, translated by B. O. Foster, (Loeb Classical Library, 1922).

Marcellinus, Ammianus, Res Gestae, translated by J. C. Rolfe, (Loeb Classical Library, 1950).

Matthew, 24.

Plato, Laws, translated by R. G. Bury, (Loeb Classical Library, 1926).

Plato, Parmenides, translated by Harold North Fowler, (Loeb Classical Library, 1926).

Secondary Sources Bowersock, Glen W., Julian the Apostate, (London: Duckworth, 1978).

Browning, Robert, The Emperor Julian, (London: Weidenfield & Nicolson, 1975).

Cameron, Averil, The Later Roman Empire: AD 284-430, (London: Fortuna, 1993).

pg. 10

Gibbon, Edward, The Portable Gibbon: The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, edited by Dero A. Saunders, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977).

Harries, Jill, Imperial Rome AD 284 to 363: The New Empire, (Edinburgh University Press, 2012).

Jones, A. H. M., The Decline of the Ancient World, (London: Longman, 1966).

Mango, Cyril, Byzantium: The Empire of the New Rome, (London: Phoenix, 1994).

Ross, Alan J., Ammianus’ Julian: Narrative and Genre in the Res Gestae, (Oxford University Press, 2016).

pg. 11

Modern technology and its positive impact on history

by Charlie Merry Before you turn the page at seeing the words ‘technology’ and ‘history’, don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a boring piece (hopefully!) criticising modern technology and how people only care about taking great pictures for Instagram, nor is it telling you about how some people in the past did all these things that shaped our lives today.

I actually want to talk about why I think technology is great for history. Especially Roman history. When we go to museums or ruins, we don’t have to look at rocks in the ground and imagine what monuments or buildings looked like. Instead we have audiovisual projections, miniature replicas and fancy visual displays to enable us to look into the past.

Not to mention as uni students we can spend entire seminars looking at 3D scans of Roman architecture, accessing up close pictures and reconstructions, instead of having to try to imagine these things from 2D diagrams and the complicated works of long dead writers (who you can’t trust to tell the truth anyway!) We have audio guides, Ebooks, podcasts and websites all in a multitude of different languages enabling us to explore whichever part of history most interests us.

One example of the benefits that I think technology brings to history study is an exhibition currently in Oviedo, Spain, where I have been living since September. As a combined History and Spanish student, I’ve put History on hold and have been teaching English in Spain. However I didn’t realise how much Roman history there still is here, and the popularity it has. For example, the gold mine in Castilla y Leon, the aqueduct in Segovia, Roman walls in Lugo, and the Roman theatre in Merida.

The exhibition where I live is called Roma Norum Vita, and has been touring Spain since 2012. On the website, it describes itself as: A project that allows you to know the everyday life of the inhabitants of a town in the Roman Empire. The exhibition allows you to walk down a street and visit

a domus. It is set in 79CE…just before the destruction of Pompeii…audio-visual projections are complemented with sounds and smells, creating an innovative experience. http://www.romanorumvita.com/?page_ id=2&lang=es It is a truly innovative experience, in an enclosed marquee in a square near the train station. I found out about it on the internet, but it’s a very popular exhibition, with queues of people of different ages waiting to go in. As it says on the website, there are several audiovisual displays, with a reconstruction of what a Roman street and Roman domus would have looked like. It also has sounds and smells (almond, and baked bread, rather than anything more repulsive) to make it more realistic. They run guided visits every 15 minutes, every day 11am-2pm and 5pm-9pm.

Another aspect of technology that I think is great for history is the internet. For travellers, it’s a useful way to research about new places you’re visiting, especially if you’re interested in a particular period of history. For students, it means we can access information for assignments much more easily, and therefore for those people who can’t visit the places they’re studying, they’re not disadvantaged.

Not to mention, the internet and the variety of different websites and alternative media pages means we can gain a better understanding of current affairs, and explore how the past has influenced the current situation.

Also, for a lot of us, the internet means social media. Although I did joke about it earlier, I think the growing trend for taking pictures for ‘likes’ helps us to access the past. Just doing a quick search of hashtags on Instagram, I found these results: #history = 12,514,418, #roman = 1,440,905, #romanbaths = 53,172, #romanforum = 64,429, and these were just some of the English language hashtags.

Although this only reflects the photos uploaded to Instagram and those that have hashtags, to me it demonstrates that the quest for ‘likes’, for

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photo recognition, or simply those people who like documenting their trips, are increasing accessibility to history through the use of technology and social media, and keeping history alive in modern society.

Of course, modern technology, the internet, and social media create problems, but through the

new ways of revisiting and accessing the past, we can use these innovations to explore the world outside of where we live, and look to the past to solve problems in the present. Therefore I think overwhelmingly modern technology can be described as having a positive impact on history, and will keep being an essential tool for history study in years to come.

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An Examination of the Gender Binary in Viking Age Society

by Imogen Steele ABSTRACT: This article provides an examination of gender relations in Viking society. With the Viking world habitually perceived as one of male domination, the societal jurisdiction of women has predominantly been disregarded as insignificant. Yet such judgements have been erroneously influenced by gender relations of the last two centuries. Through the utilisation of archaeological, literary and historical sources, the transcendence of Viking women from the domestic to the public sphere is apparent with evidence of female responsibility for agricultural production, trade and even warfare. However, this study ultimately reveals that the central societal dichotomy of the Viking world was not determined by gender but rather power.

With warfare and raiding functioning as the ideological epicentre of Viking society, the Viking age has been perceived as one dominated by men, causing Stiensland to assert that ‘women played subordinate roles’.1 While it is misguided to deny the patriarchal elements of Viking society, with the sagas depicting men as the conductors of politics orchestrating blood feuds, commerce and betrothals,2 women’s societal jurisdiction should not be underestimated. Juxtaposing the ideal of the housewife which has prevailed over the last two centuries, Viking women possessed significant authority both within and outside of the domestic sphere.

Furthermore, the empowerment of women is clearly suggested from archaeological evidence. Ultimately, gender was not the governing social construct of the Viking age. Instead, the unyielding schism of the Viking world was between the powerful and the powerless.

In a society in which warfare and raiding were paramount, distinctive gender spheres existed with the natural strength of men dominating the world of plunder. Yet to propose that the female sphere was inferior to that of the male is an ill-considered interpretation. With the Eddic Steinsland, G., Introduction in G., Steinsland, J. V. Sigurosson, J. E., Rekdal and I., Beuermann, (eds), Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages : Scandinavia, Iceland, Ireland, Orkney and the Faeroes, (Boston; Leiden, 2011) pp. 1-15 (p.6).

2 Njal’s Saga in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014),pp.103-105 and pp. 107-108 3 Rigspula, in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, pp.22-23.

4 P., G., Foot and D., M., Wilson, The Viking Achievement (London; Sidgwick & Jackson, 1970), p.108.

1

poem Rigspula noting that mother ‘brought to the table silver mounted dishes heaped with fish’,3 women’s jurisdiction is alluded to as one located in the private sphere; preparing food, cleaning the Homestead, rearing children and partaking in needlework.4 Yet to restrict Viking women to the role of mere housewives is erroneous as Moen concedes ‘that the role bears little relation to the ideal… imposed on women in the last couple of centuries’.5 Indeed, early mediaeval law in Scandinavia granted Viking women the legal authority to keep the keys of the farm,6 thus suggesting that they were accorded with the responsibility for what lay behind the locks. Consequently, not only did women prepare the food but they held responsibility for economising it, in countries where the growing season lasted only two months and game and fish are not easily caught.7 Therefore woman’s societal responsibility was not insignificant but was cultivated and conditioned by the nature of Viking warfare. Recording the frequency of Svein’s raids the Orkneyinga saga testifies to the absenteeism of men in Scandinavia.8 This societal dynamic caused women to take command of their husband’s farms. With

M., Moen, The Gendered Landscape; A discussion on gender, status and power in the Norwegian Viking age landscape, British Archaeological Report, series 2207 (Oxford: British Archaeopress, 2011), p. 42.

6 A., Stalsberg, ‘Women as Actors in North European Viking Age Trade’ in in R. Samson (eds), Social Approaches To Viking Studies, (Glasgow; Cruithne Press, 1991) pp. 75-86, (p. 80).

7 Ibid, p. 80.

8 Orkneyinga Saga in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, p.325.

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Viking farms serving as administrative centres and therefore located not in the private but public sphere, woman’s authority transcended the domestic.9 The Flackebo rune stone, dated 1050, not only confirms this female jurisdiction but also praises Odindisa, with the inscription reading ‘no better mistress will come to Hassmyra, to look after the farm.’ 10 Foot hits upon the crux of this argument stating ‘Odindisa, capable and valued may stand for all the Norse women of her kind’.11 It was these women endowed with vast responsibilities who maintained female status in Viking society.

Clearly the needs of society superseded the limitations of gender.

The gender binary wielded little authority within Viking society. Instead, the domains of male and female functioned not as a dichotomy but as permeable spheres which members of the opposite sex could penetrate. Such a transgression of gender is evidenced within Hervarar saga ok Heioreks as Hervor, the only child of the deceased Angantyr, negates her femininity travelling to Samsey to retrieve her father’s sword from his grave.12 Hervor herself confirms this gender transcendence, asking her mother to ‘equip me as you would a son’,13 whilst recognising that she stood ‘between worlds’.14 Hervor not only bridged the worlds of male and female but also of past and future as she functioned as a surrogate son during the genealogical void between the death of her father and the birth of her son. With Hervarar saga deriving from the category of fornaldarsogur, its contents must not be seen as a direct reflection of Viking society. Yet Hervor’s position is echoed in the Icelandic law code, Baugatal, which maintains that compensation for slayings could be paid for and received by women when the slain man was without male relatives.15 In this, the law calls M., Moen, The Gendered Landscape, p.42.

The Flackebo rune stone, in 10 P., G., Foot and D., M., Wilson, The Viking Achievement, p. 111.

11 Ibid, p.111.

12 C., Clover, ‘Maiden Warriors and Other Sons’, The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, Vol. 85 (Jan 1986), pp.39-45 (p.37).

13 Hervarar saga ok Heioreks in ibid p.39.

14 Hervarar saga ok Heioreks in ibid, p.39.

15 C., Clover, ‘Regardless of Sex: Men, Woman and Power in Early Northern Europe’, Representations, No.44 (Autumn 1993), pp. 1-28 (p. 5).

16 Baugatal quoted in ibid, p.5.

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10

women to act ‘like a son’16 actively participating within blood feuds. While Norrman has termed such women as transgender,17 Clover has more convincingly argued that the Viking world was a one sex society, with any individual exhibiting masculine or feminine behaviour receiving praise or disdain respectively.18 Certainly, men descended into the female sphere. For example, Egill Skallagrimsson spent his old age in the company of women who teased, advised and humoured him demonstrating Egill’s 19 disempowerment. This gender fluidity within Viking society is reinforced by analysis of grave goods. Whilst the site of Kaupang yields male graves with textile tools, a female grave at Nordre Kjolen contained a full set of weapons.20 Thus, an individual’s biological gender did not determine their societal jurisdiction. As such the Viking age was not entirely male-dominated but was ruled by a binary between ‘the powerful and the disempowered’.21 Although yielding contemporary evidence archaeology is not infallible, with interpretations of graves and their goods wrongly perpetuating the perception of Viking women as the disempowered gender. Indeed, archaeologists have too often endeavoured to eradicate the phenomenon of the Oseberg burial in which two women were accorded a ship entombment, an honour previously thought to be reserved only for chieftains and Kings. 22 Brogger has thus suggested that the Oseberg lady may have been Queen Asa, who belonged to the formidable Ynglinga family, 23 while others have claimed that she was a Danish Princess who married a Norwegian ruler. 24 Yet these explanations remove the Oseberg woman from the domain of direct political power, limiting her to a mere relation of powerful men.

However, treated as an individual through analysis of her grave goods, the Oseberg lady L., Norrman, ‘Women or Warrior? The Construction of Gender in Old Norse Myth’, Proceedings of the 11th International Saga Conference 2-7 July 2000, University of Sydney http://sydney.edu.au/arts/arts/medieval/saga/pdf/ 375-norrman.pdf, p376.

18 C., Clover, ‘Regardless of Sex’, pp. 11-14.

19 Egill’s Saga in C., Clover, ‘Regardless of Sex’, p.15.

20 M., Moen, The Gendered Landscape, p.44.

21 C., Clover, ‘Regardless of Sex’, p.14.

22 M., Moen, The Gendered Landscape, pp.20-27.

23 Ibid, p.26.

24 Ibid, p.26.

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can be seen as procuring wealth through textile production or political activity as her grave yields tapestries and a wagon which was potentially utilised for political purposes.25 Certainly, the Laxdale saga depicts Unn the Deep-Minded as wielding the autonomous power that would warrant such a burial, as she led her household in their migration to Iceland, building a farm and negotiating the marriages of her grandchildren.26 The Oseberg burial is not alone in evidencing the existence of authoritative women. Indeed, while the archaeological theory of keys as primarily female artefacts has ascended to almost a truism, keys signify power rather than gender.

With approximately 7000 Viking graves in Norway, only 117 have yielded keys.

27Additionally, in eastern Norway 54 keys were found in female graves while 44 were in male.28 Such quantitative evidence indicates that keys were neither commonplace nor gender specific.

Instead, Lund Berg has noted that keys were ‘a symbol of power and wealth’, objects which were often found alongside exclusive materials in graves.29 As such, woman found with keys should be treated as powerful individuals. The archaeological tendency to resign Viking women to the domestic domain, wherein their only connection to power was via male relatives mirrors the progression of political discussion on gender relations in the late 19th and 20th centuries.30 Yet clearly archaeological evidence indicates that some Viking women possessed power, regardless of their sex.

Viking women possessed diverse societal jurisdictions which transcended the domestic sphere, promoting female authority within society. While trade in the Viking world has often been seen as the prerogative of men alone, Ibid, p.27.

Laxdale saga in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, pp.86-89.

27 H., Lund Berg, ‘Truth and reproduction of Knowledge. Critical thoughts on the interpretation and understanding of Iron Age keys’ in Eriksen, M. Pedersen, U. Rundberget, B. Axelsen, I. & Lund Berg, H. (eds) Viking worlds: Things Spaces and Movement, (Oxford: Oxbow Books,2015) pp.124142 (p.130) 28 Ibid, p.130.

29 Ibid, p.132.

30 Ibid, p.135.

31 A., Stalsberg, ‘Women as Actors in North European Viking Age Trade’, p. 78.

32 Ibid, p.77.

32% of the Viking graves at Birka which contain weighing equipment, the tools of a tradesmen, are female burials.31 For Blindheim, such grave goods suggest that these women were merchant’s wives.32 Yet this interpretation negates archaeological theory, as grave goods are seen as objects which relate directly to the individual’s profession and status. Therefore, Stalsberg notes ‘the logical conclusion… is that during the Viking age some women were active in trade’.33 As such, these tradeswomen not only infiltrated the public sphere but were responsible for silver, the intrinsic authority within the Viking world. Women’s influence was not limited to commerce. Indeed, Njal’s Saga evidences women’s role as inciters of revenge, with Hildigunn declaring to Flosi ‘I urge you to avenge all the wounds he suffered ’.34 Consequently women are portrayed as possessing power over men, conditioning the conduct of blood feuds. However, in Porgils Saga ok Hafioa when Hneitir’s sons are encouraged to take vengeance ‘their mother … told them not to rush into this difficulty’35 illustrating that women, in advocating peace, possessed a wider influence in the masculine sphere than accredited in Njal’s Saga.

Furthermore, Sawyer has comprehensively explored ‘women as bridge builders’ in Viking society, demonstrating that the Scandinavian landscape was moulded by numerous female inhabitants.36 In Scandinavia more than 12.5% of rune stones were erected by women alone.37 Such female construction is emphasised by Inga who commissioned 4 stones and a bridge in memory of her husband, Ragnfast.38 Not only did these female builders alter the land, sustaining cultural memory, but in commissioning such works they showed

Ibid, p.79.

Njal’s saga, in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, p.104.

35 Porgils saga ok Hafioa quoted in D. Clark, ‘Manslaughter and Misogyny: Women and Revenge in Sturlunga Saga’ in Saga Book vol XXXIII: Viking society for Northern research, (London; Short Run Press, 2009) p.39.

36 B., Sawyer, ‘Women as Bridge Builders; The Role of Women in Viking Age Scandinavia’ in I., Wood and N., Lund, (eds), People and Places in Northern Europe 500-1600, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991) pp. 211-224.

37 Ibid, p.216.

38 J., Jesch, Women in the Viking the Age, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991) p.54.

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33

26

34

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themselves to be wealthy individuals. Thus the evidence presented depicts women in the Viking age as influential contributors to society, repudiating Layher’s assertion that it was men who were ‘the most valuable figures’ for which women provided ‘no substitution’.39 The tales of shield maidens which plague the pages of the fornaldarsogur, the sagas of ancient times, though legendary should not be dismissed when discussing gender relations within Viking society. In Hrolfs saga Gautrekssonar Pornbjorg ‘learnt to fence with a sword and shield’ 40 while in the Edda Pjazi ‘took… a complete set of weapons and went… to avenge her father’.41 With these fornaldarsogur originating in the 13th century, they outline Christian perceptions of how mythological events in Nordic history might have manifested and therefore do not directly resonate with the realities of the Viking age.42 Yet, Saxo Grammaticus’s History of the Danes echoes the existence of female fighters, not only referring to women who ‘tasted blood, not lips’43 and ‘sought the clash of arms rather than the arm’s embrace’44 but also details the activities of ‘Ladgerda, a skilled female warrior, who… had the courage of a man’.45 However, this Chronicle is not unproblematic in its provenance, with its contents completed in 1216 Saxo was removed from the age which he was endeavouring to depict, allowing for Christian ideology to infiltrate his work, writing ‘fitted to weapons hands which should have been weaving’.46 Nevertheless, Ibn Fadlan, an Arabian diplomatic traveller, has provided an eyewitness account dating from 970 which further testifies to the presence of Viking warrior women. Fadlan records the Byzantines surprise at the number of dead females they W., Layher, ‘Caught between Worlds: Gendering the Maiden Warrior in Old Norse’ in S., Poor and J., Schulman (eds), Women And Mediaeval Epic; Gender, Genre and the Limits of Epic Masculinity, (Basingstoke; Palgrave Macmillan, 2007) pp. 183208 (p.203).

40 Hrolfs saga Gautrekssonar quoted in L., Norrman, ‘Women or Warrior? The Construction of Gender in Old Norse Myth’, p.380.

41 Edda quoted in C., Clover, ‘Maiden Warriors and Other Sons’, p.40.

42 W., Layher, ‘Caught between Worlds: Gendering the Maiden Warrior in Old Norse’, p.191.

43 History of the Danes quoted in C., Clover, ‘Maiden Warriors and Other Sons’, p.35.

44 Ibid, p.35 39

found on the battlefield following an attack by the Rus.47 Foot accurately asserts that so numerous are accounts of female warriors that they ‘must … have some basis in reality’.48 Indeed, thanks to the discovery of an armed female figurine at Harby on Fyn,49 described by Price as ‘as the most exciting single Viking age find of recent years’,50 it is clear that the image of female fighters was unequivocally present in the Viking mind. While there are manifold theories surrounding this female figure who bears shield and sword, chief among them that it portrays a Valkyrie or Goddess, its existence indicates that powerful women were not a mere innovation of 13th century writers but possessed a position in Viking society, if only conceptually.

While Viking age society was governed by patriarchal authority, at least in theory, with male inheritance superseding that of female and men enjoying dominion over politics and warfare, this social construct was nascent in its development. As such, the binary between the powerful and disempowered cut a deeper rift in Viking society than that of gender, allowing Viking women to penetrate the masculine sphere, acting as surrogate sons, warriors and traders. With archaeology yielding evidence such as the Oseberg ship burial and the armed female figurine, the existence of authoritative women was unequivocally present within the Viking psyche. Yet, it was not just the exceptional who held power, but women in the domestic sphere ensured Viking survival through the management of agriculture.

Therefore not only is it erroneous to assert that Viking-age society was male-dominated, but it is clear that Viking women possessed liberties

History of the Danes in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, p.95.

46 History of the Danes quoted in W., Layher, ‘Caught between Worlds: Gendering the Maiden Warrior in Old Norse’, p201.

47 M., Moen, The Gendered Landscape, p.41.

48 P., G., Foot and D., M., Wilson, The Viking Achievement, p.111.

49 Armed female figurine in the National Museum of Demark depicted in N., Price, ‘Form Ginnungagap to the Ragnarok. Archaeologies of the Viking Worlds in Eriksen, M. Pedersen, U. Rundberget, B. Axelsen, I. & Lund Berg, H. (eds) Viking worlds: Things Spaces and Movement, (Oxford: Oxbow Books,2015) pp.1-12 (p.6) 50 Ibid, p.7.

45

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that their Christian and Islamic contemporaries were denied.

Bibliography - Primary sources Armed female figurine in the National Museum of Demark depicted in N., Price, ‘Form Ginnungagap to the Ragnarok. Archaeologies of the Viking Worlds in Eriksen, M. Pedersen, U. Rundberget, B. Axelsen, I. & Lund Berg, H. (eds) Viking worlds: Things Spaces and Movement, (Oxford: Oxbow Books,2015) p.6 Laxdale Saga in A. Somerville and R McDonald (eds), in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition, (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp.86-89 Njal’s Saga, in A. Somerville and R McDonald (eds), 2 in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition, (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp.103-104 Orkneyinga Saga in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition, (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp.324-327 Rigspula, in A. Somerville and R McDonald (eds), in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp. 16-26 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in A. Somerville and R McDonald (eds) , in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp.184185 The History of the Danes in A., Somerville and R., McDonald (eds), The Viking Age: A Reader, second edition, (Toronto; University of Toronto press, 2014) pp.95-96

Secondary sources Clark, D. ‘Manslaughter and Misogyny: Women and Revenge in Sturlunga Saga’ in Saga Book vol XXXIII: Viking society for Northern research, (London; Short Run Press, 2009) Clover, C., ‘Maiden Warriors and Other Sons’, The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, Vol. 85 (Jan 1986), pp.39-45 ---- ‘Regardless of Sex: Men, Woman and Power in Early Northern Europe’, Representations, No.44 (Autumn 1993), pp. 1-28 Dommasnes, L. H., ‘Women, Kinship and the Basis of Power’ in R., Samson (eds), Social Approaches To Viking Studies, (Glasgow; Cruithne Press, 1991) pp. 65-74 Fallgren, J., ‘Farm and village in the Viking Age’ in. S. Brink (eds) The Viking World, (London: Routledge, 2008) pp.60-77 Foot P. G., and Wilson, D. M., The Viking Achievement (London; Sidgwick & Jackson, 1970) Holcomb, K., ‘Pulling the Strings: The Influential Women in Viking age Iceland’ Student Theses, Papers and Projects (Western Oregon University, 2015) Jesch, J., Women in the Viking the Age, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991) Layher, W., ‘Caught between Worlds: Gendering the Maiden Warrior in Old Norse’ in S., Poor and J., Schulman (eds), Women And Mediaeval Epic; Gender, Genre and the Limits of Epic Masculinity, (Basingstoke; Palgrave Macmillan, 2007) pp. 183-208

pg. 18

Lund Berg, H., ‘Truth and reproduction of Knowledge. Critical thoughts on the interpretation and understanding of Iron Age keys’ in M., Eriksen, U., Pedersen, B., Rundberget, I., Axelsen ,& H., Lund Berg, (eds) Viking worlds: Things Spaces and Movement, (Oxford: Oxbow Books,2015) pp.124-142 Magnusdottir, A. G., ‘Women and Sexual Politics’ in. S. Brink (eds) The Viking World, (London: Routledge, 2008) pp.40-49 Moen, M., The Gendered Landscape; A discussion on gender, status and power in the Norwegian Viking age landscape, British Archaeological Report, series 2207 (Oxford: British Archaeopress, 2011) Price, N., ‘Form Ginnungagap to the Ragnarok. Archaeologies of the Viking Worlds in M., Eriksen, U., Pedersen, B., Rundberget, I., Axelsen, & H., Lund Berg, (eds) Viking worlds: Things Spaces and Movement, (Oxford: Oxbow Books,2015) pp.1-12 ---- The Viking Way; Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, (Uppsala; Uppsala University, 2002) Sawyer, B., ‘Women as Bridge Builders; The Role of Women in Viking Age Scandinavia’ in I., Wood and N., Lund, (eds), People and Places in Northern Europe 500-1600, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991) pp. 211-224.

Stalsberg, A., ‘Women as Actors in North European Viking Age Trade’ in R., Samson (eds), Social Approaches To Viking Studies, (Glasgow; Cruithne Press, 1991) pp. 75-86 Steinsland, G., Introduction in G., Steinsland, J. V. Sigurosson, J. E., Rekdal and I., Beuermann, (eds), Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages : Scandinavia, Iceland, Ireland, Orkney and the Faeroes, (Boston; Leiden, 2011) pp. 1-15

Online resources Norrman, L., ‘Women or Warrior? The Construction of Gender in Old Norse Myth’, Proceedings of the 11th International Saga Conference 2-7 July 2000, University of Sydney http://sydney.edu.au/arts/arts/medieval/saga/pdf/375-norrman.pdf [Accessed on 21/07/16] Viking Warrior Women: Did ‘Shieldmaidens’ Really Exist? http://www.tor.com/2015/06/08/vikingwarrior-women-did-shieldmaidens-like-lagertha-really-exist/ [Accessed on 21/07/16]

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The Gunpowder Plot: Was it deliberately exaggerated by state authorities?

by Kirsten Van Graan ABSTRACT: The Gunpowder Plot of 1605 is a story turned legend, entrenched into our British history, a prominent aspect of our national narrative where the infamous Guy Fawkes attempted to burn down the King and his Parliament. Although as a nation, it has become a tradition to celebrate the 5th November by burning effigies of Guy Fawkes, how well do we know this story? Was the Catholic treason of the Gunpowder plotters all it was made out to be at the trials? Through careful research into the primary sources of the trial documents as well as the conflicting historiographies presented in the wake of the ‘Jesuit treason,’ I am exploring the concept that the Catholic treason of the Gunpowder plotters was in fact deliberately exaggerated by state authorities in order to pass sentence and stabilise the regime against Catholic threat. With differing state authorities pushing different political agendas such as Sir Edward Coke, the attorney-general at the plotter’s trial, the emphasis placed on ‘the big Catholic treason’ may have not been so clear cut after all, despite the tradition of Catholics represented as traitors stretching back to 1571. Even the investigators themselves were unsure as to how widespread the treason actually was, yet Coke in the trial deliberately pushed for this to be ‘Jesuit treason.’ The paper affirms the ambiguity surrounding the nature of the events that fateful night and suggests there is a dichotomy presented between the state authorities’ version of events and the ‘traitors’ version in a turbulent, deeply political power struggle.

The Catholic treason of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 can be seen as a culmination of the pernicious threat to the Protestant regime of Elizabeth I and James I. The discontent of the Catholics had been increasing ever since Henry VIII’s break from Rome catapulted England into a schism within the Church as the country swung on a theological pendulum between newly-formed Protestantism and traditional Catholicism. After Queen Elizabeth’s heavy systematic persecution of the Catholics to counteract Queen Mary’s persecution of the Protestants, James I’s accession to the throne was filled with fear about the potential for turbulent religious instability. As the new Monarch and the son of a Catholic Queen, the Catholics saw James I as an opportunity for a relinquishing of the harsh penal laws imposed

by Elizabeth or even some form of formal toleration similar to that granted to French Protestants. Father Henry Garnet, who would eventually be executed in connection with the Gunpowder Plot as a Jesuit priest, testified to the mood of optimism expressing: “a golden time we have of unexpected freedom… and great hope of toleration.” 1 However, this was not to be the case. The disillusionment

experienced by the Catholics is widely cited as the main reason for the plot to come about in the first place as James hardened his policy to any religious diversity in 1603.

Caraman, Philip, Henry Garnet 1555-1606 and the Gunpowder Plot (London, 1964) p.305 2 Coke, Edward, A True and Perfect Relation of the Whole Proceedings against the most Barbarous

Traitors, Garnet a Iesuite, and his Confederats containing sundry Speeches delivered by the Lords Comissioners (London, 1606), D2

1

It is in this context that the state authorities were extremely aware that any toleration of the Catholics succeeding the plot would destabilise the regime’s religious authority. The plotters had to be made an example of in order to quell any other potential uprisings of the Catholics.

Sir Edward Coke, the attorney-general at the trial of the eight plotters, expressed in the opening of his prosecution speech at court how “these are the greatest treasons that ever were plotted in England.”2 Here, the pluralised “treason” demonstrates how he linked the Gunpowder plot to the previous Bye Plot and Main plots of 1603, one to kidnap the King, and the latter to remove James and replace him with Arabella Stuart, the second cousin of Elizabeth I. Even though these plots were not explicitly linked to the Gunpowder Plot, it is this deliberate exaggeration that Coke uses to emphasise the supposedly widespread threat of the Catholics as traitors to the Crown. By highlighting the gunpowder plot as the most

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severe and treacherous of these plots, he invokes an ‘us-versus-them’ mentality, portraying the plotters as committing the worst possible sin before God, the potential murdering of his divine servant: The King.

Furthermore, his prosecution speech is filled with frivolous, hyperbolic language, claiming that the plotters were “not worthie anymore to tread vpon the face of the earth, whereof he was made.”3 This deplorable crime, made explicit by Coke’s language, is accentuated by a metaphor: “For Trealon is like a tree whole roote is full of poyson,”4 implying the extent of the monstrosity of this crime, and how it has insidious roots inside England. He actually names Spain as a source of treason towards the English King, despite the Anglo-Spanish treaty that was signed in 1604, especially highlighting how the plotters “imploy[ed] Thomas Winter into Spaine.”5 This xenophobic uncertainty that manifests itself in Coke’s speech when he proclaims how the plot “arises out of the dead ashes of former treason” exemplifies the concern of an outsider threat and the potential for “foreign aide.” 6 Coke was neither new nor sympathetic to the Catholic plight; he was known for his antiCatholic sentiment and was instrumental in helping to orchestrate the government's running battle against Catholic infiltrators. 7 The government’s enthusiasm for administering an oath (entailing a denial of the pope's authority over the king) was backed by Coke; in fact by 1615, Jesuits were to claim that Lord Chief Justice Coke had so far ordered 16,000 Catholics to take it.8 Furthermore, Coke’s emphasise on including the Jesuits within the treason, despite the lack of evidence, demonstrates his ability to exaggerate. In fact he was recorded stating “I will name it the Jesuit’s treason, as belonging to them,” 9 in March 1606 indicating that he had an ulterior Protestant agenda, to implicate the Jesuits at all costs.

Ibid, K2 Ibid, D3 5 Ibid, E 6 Ibid, E 7 Harris, T., Rebellion: Britain’s First Stuart Kings 1567-1642 (Oxford, 2014), pp.73 8 Harris, p.89 3

4

James I and Coke’s relationship was not amicable– they were known to disagree over various issues such as Coke’s assertions that James was ‘defended by his laws’ which infuriated the monarch, who was already enraged about Coke's claim that he could not participate in judicial proceedings.10 This highlights the discrepancies between different state authorities: they believed in different approaches to secure the state’s religion.

Although James sat in secret at the trial, it was Coke’s narrative and agenda that was used to prosecute the plotters. In order to evaluate the King’s intentions, it is necessary to assess the outcome of the plot and whether that had a visible impact on his religious policy.

There has been considerable debate about whether or not the gunpowder plot changed the nature of James’ religious policy. Catholics did become more oppressed as a new wave of antiCatholicism and even harsher legislation came into effect directly succeeding this event. This resulted in an oath of allegiance being introduced in 1606, whereby Catholics had to denounce the absolute authority of the Pope which was part of their fundamental beliefs, exemplifying the state’s condemnation of Catholicism. Roger Lockyer suggests that “the gunpowder plot was a setback for James’ policy of increasing toleration, for it seemed to confirm the truth of what many Englishmen believed – namely that all Catholics were potential traitors and could only be led on a leash by constant repression.”11 The gunpowder plot was a substantial hindrance for James’ religious tolerance as he could no longer actively support the Catholics after such a betrayal to all he stood for. Allan Moore adds to this idea by saying that after the gunpowder plot “he [James] could scarcely be expected to alleviate the unhappy condition of their coreligionists.”12 Here Moore is referring to James’ own religion that is under the umbrella term of Christianity, the same as the Catholics.

James was known to have called the Catholic Fraser, Antonia, Faith and Treason: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot (New York, 1996), p.297 10 Usher, R. G., ‘James I and Sir Edward Coke’, EngHR, 18 (1903) pp.669–70 11 Lockyer, Roger, James VI and James I: Profiles in Power (London, 1998) p.50 12 Moore, Alan, The Royal Stuarts: A history of the family that shaped Britain (London, 2010), p.61 9

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Church “our mother Church” though, according to him, it was “clogged with infirmities and corruptions.”13 The fact that he now could no longer sympathise with the Catholics, highlights how although James attempted to be forbearing of their beliefs before the plot, the threat that they now posed would unravel any toleration that he had previously imparted. Did this mean James was forced to align himself with the political concept of an extreme Catholic threat facing his reign?

However, this interpretation can be called into question since James’ religious policy did not drastically change after the Gunpowder Plot.

Officially the Oath of Allegiance looked like a persecution but realistically it allowed Catholics, at least unofficially, to live in peace with the government, provided they swore an oath of allegiance to the Crown and paid their recusancy fines. The statistics hold up to this interpretation with only 25 recusants executed (of whom twenty were priests) for treason during James’ reign, compared to the 189 who were put to death in the period 1570-1603.14 Jesuit priests were forced into exile but were not actively sought out. As well as this, there was £28,000 worth of unpaid recusancy fines, suggesting that there was no systematic clampdown on the Catholics, and James’ policy aimed at punishing a few instead of creating bloodshed. Francis Bacon recorded James’s exact words as “No torrent of blood: poena ad paucos”15 (penalties to the few). This evidence suggests that James was again looking for stability rather than a persecution of a religion; he was willing to accept limited diversity within the established Church so long as outward conformity was maintained. All of these facts indicate that James’ policy was not actually modified or altered; instead it just was adapted to suit the situation, remaining the same as it was at the start of his reign. This implies that James I, as a ‘state authority’, did not exaggerate the plot.

Another issue that contributes to the concept that state authorities deliberately exaggerated the Gunpowder plot is the lack of evidence and controversy surrounding the events. Rather Charles H. McIlwain, ed., The Political Works of James I (States, 1918), p.274 14 Harris, p.89 13

than taking the government’s reported trial evidence at face-value, Fraser concludes that “the mine was most likely a mythical invention, used by the government to spice up the official account of narrowly averted danger,” as the mine was never found. 16 Although she, by all means, respects the dangerous threat the plotters posed, she also questions the legitimacy of some aspects of the evidence in the trial, suggesting some embellishment by the prosecution. Furthermore, as the three leading figures of the plot were killed before being sentenced in trial, such as Robert Catesby, the fact that there were only two confessions printed in full (Fawkes's and Wintour's confession), meant the Privy council to some extent was unable to clarify exactly how far the plot extended and whether it had the backing of Catholic Spain, fuelling the rumours and exaggeration.

The publicised trial and subsequent executions did much to fuel and further reinforce antiCatholic sentiment in England. Pamphlets were distributed with graphic images of the Catholic atrocity – images such as the slaughtering of innocents and sacking of cities. Gabriel Powel, a Welsh Anglican priest, insisted that the Puritans were nowhere near “as dangerous enemies unto the State, as the Papistes.” One Puritan writer stated how “our deliverance” was all the greater because “the mischeife plotted against us” was not just “bodily” but also “spirituall”17 suggesting the Catholic plotters were not just posing a physical threat but inciting a spiritual plot conveys the moral dimension to this case. Many Protestants and Puritans looked at this trial and sentencing within a religious framework and therefore saw it as justice served. The threat perceived by the public re-instated the established Protestant regime and agenda of Parliament, demonstrating the animosity towards the Catholic traitors of the plot as representatives of a wider treason narrative. This animosity was carefully manipulated by government in the official documents of the trial that were publicised. The publication was supposedly put into print to set aside rumours surrounding the Croft, Pauline, King James I, (London, 2002), p.61 16Fraser, p.133 17 Harris, p.86 15

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trial, stating in the introduction that Coke’s speech was “fo neere to his owne words as it could be taken,”18 However, this can be seen as a propaganda document for the public to believe in the ‘correct’ version of events. In addition to this, the fact that treason trials, at this time, did not have a defence for the accused to speak renders the plotters silenced in their own trial.

There is, therefore, only one account of the trial that sympathises with the plotters: the account of Oswald Tesimond, a Jesuit priest. Although he was not implicitly involved with the plot, he was a wanted man by the state and fled overseas to escape. In his testimony, he emphasises how Coke’s “hatred and malevolence for us” meant a guilty charge as he was “vindictive and unscrupulous.”19He claimed the plotters were, in effect, freedom fighters for their moral cause and had no chance as Coke “poisoned the mind of the King.”20 Tesimond pleads for the Catholic cause, highlighting how a “few exceptions”21 were against the King but Catholics were innocent and could be loyal to both their religion and their state. This juxtaposition of facts compared to the state version allows some consideration to the different perspectives of the trial and how Coke, in particular, exaggerated some aspects of the trial.

In conclusion, the ambiguity of the nature of the events surrounding the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 allows considerable debate to whether the plot was deliberately exaggerated by state authorities to secure the Protestant regime.

Primary sources, such as the trial speeches and

Tesimond’s account reveal the dichotomy between the state authorities’ version of events and the ‘traitors’ version. With both groups assuming the moral high ground within their ‘true religion’, this period of history is characterised by the turbulent power struggle between the Catholics and Protestants alike.

Ultimately, the state authority triumphs as they have the power to put the plotters on trial and memorialise them in history as the traitors, within the published account of the trial. This ‘correct’ version of events has been etched into our culture. The impact still lasts today with the haunting words of “Remember, remember the 5th November…” If the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded, however, it would have been a completely different story. As treason is always deeply political, the regime had to make the plotters into terrorists or religious fanatics to strengthen and legitimise the harshness of the punishment and the state regime. Jenny Wormald suggests that the plotters could “hardly seem to have known what would have happened”22 after the explosion, emphasising the exaggerative nature of Coke’s assumptions by implicating the Jesuits in a supposedly carefully formulated treason. The trial and execution of Father Henry Garnet on the grounds of equivocation again highlights the deliberate exaggeration by Coke with an ulterior Protestant motive. James I, on the other hand, refused to start mass persecution of Catholics and resumed his religious toleration to secure and stabilise his reign, demonstrating that the trial and executions were a device used to implement a factor of fear and societal compliance within the Catholic community.

Bibliography Alford, Stephen, The Watchers: A Secret History of the Reign of Elizabeth I (London 2013).

Caraman, Philip, Henry Garnet 1555-1606 and the Gunpowder Plot (London, 1964).

Coke, Edward, A True and Perfect Relation of the Whole Proceedings against the most Barbarous Traitors, Garnet a Iesuite, and his Confederats containing sundry Speeches delivered by the Lords Comissioners (London, 1606).

Croft, Pauline, King James I, (London, 2002).

Coke, D2 Tesimond, Oswald The Gunpowder Plot, ed.

Francis Edwards (London, 1973) p.49 20 Ibid, p.50

Ibid, p.51 Wormald, Jenny, ‘Gunpowder, Treason and the Scots’ Journal of British Studies, 24 (1985), p.164-5.

18

21

19

22

pg. 23

Fraser, Antonia, Faith and Treason: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot (New York, 1996).

Harris, T., Rebellion: Britain’s First Stuart Kings 1567-1642 (Oxford, 2014), pp.63-92.

Lockyer, Roger, James VI and James I: Profiles in Power (London, 1998).

McIlwain, Charles H., ed., The Political Works of James I (New York, 1918), pp.270-274.

Moore, Alan, The Royal Stuarts: A history of the family that shaped Britain (London, 2010) Nicholls, Mark, ‘Strategy and Motivation in the Gunpowder Plot’, The Historical Journal, 50/4 (Dec 2007), pp.787-807.

Tesimond, Oswald The Gunpowder Plot, ed. Francis Edwards (London, 1973), pp.47-54.

Usher, R. G., ‘James I and Sir Edward Coke’, EngHR, 18 (1903), p.664–75.

Wormald, Jenny, ‘Gunpowder, Treason and the Scots’ Journal of British Studies, 24 (1985), pp.141168.

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The Voyages of James Cook (1768-1775): The Battle for National Prestige during the Eighteenth-Century

by Beth Duncan ABSTRACT: Between 1768 and 1775, Captain Cook undertook three expeditions across the Pacific, an area little understood by contemporary Europeans. Cook’s achievements were profound in terms of scientific advancement and imperial expansion. Previous studies of Cook’s voyages have focused on either their significance in terms of science or in terms of the development of the British Empire, largely depending on whether the author’s discipline was science or history. This paper seeks to combine the two elements in an effort to ascertain the voyages’ true purpose, regardless of their results. A particular emphasis is placed upon the writings of the key players through as assessment of the journals of Cook and Joseph Banks as well as of the Admiralty’s instructions to Cook to determine what they anticipated from the voyages. Ultimately, the multi-faceted purpose of the voyages is revealed once they are contextualised within the eighteenth-century landscape of the Enlightenment and intense imperial rivalries as Britain sought to further both its scientific knowledge and empire in order to showcase its prowess before an international audience. Ultimately, this paper hopes to encourage a broad understanding of Cook’s voyages to encompass their significance in the development of both scientific understanding and the British Empire.

In his own lifetime, it was said that James Cook “will go down to posterity as one of our principal discoverers”.1 This inarguably came to fruition. But what was the motivation behind these great expeditions of discovery? The missions have been dually interpreted as manifestations of Enlightenment curiosity and as imperial missions of acquisition. Scholz described Cook as “a hero of the Enlightenment” comparing his discoveries in their significance and renown to the revolution in science brought about by Isaac Newton’s discovery of gravity or Benjamin Franklin’s invention of the lightning conductor. 2 Certainly, each voyage set out from London with a specific scientific problem to observe or solve: the transit of Venus on the first voyage (1768-1771), the existence or nonexistence of a southern continent on the second voyage (17721775) and the existence or nonexistence of a north west passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean on Cook’s third and final voyage (1776-1780). Moreover, Cook’s voyages’ contribution to astronomy, oceanography,

meteorology and linguistics amongst other disciplines was undeniably profound.3

Daniel Wray (1777), quoted by R. A. Skelton, Captain James Cook, After Two Hundred Years, (London: The British Library Publishing Division, 1969) p.1.

2 Oliver R. Scholz, ‘The Enlightenment: Programme, Movement, Era’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp. 4447. p.44.

3

1

Yet, it would be naïve to interpret Cook’s expeditions as purely honourable scientific probes designed only for the benefit of mankind’s knowledge and understanding.

Indeed, contemporaries such as Dom Antonio Rolim de Moura, the Brazilian viceroy, saw the publicised scientific motivation of observation of the transit of Venus for the Endeavour expedition as a cover story to conceal the imperial designs of the British government who wished to subvert the Portuguese trading monopoly.4 De Moura’s suspicions were wellfounded. British commentators at the time such as Alexander Dalrymple and Charles de Brosse were certainly aware of the potential commercial and strategic benefits for the empire that could be gained from Cook’s voyages, specifically from the discovery of the southern continent.5 6 As were the Admiralty from the evidence provided in the instructions they gave to Cook for each of his voyages.

Nevertheless, these motivations are not Glyndwr Williams, ‘The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation’, In P.J. Marshall, The Oxford History of the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 552-575. p.563.

4 Nicholas Thomas, Discoveries: The Voyages of Captain Cook, (London: Penguin, 2004), pp.43-44.

5 6

Skelton, p.11.

Thomas, p.18.

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mutually exclusive. Indeed, they are inseparably intertwined. Joseph Banks, the naturalist aboard Cook’s first voyage, regarded the voyages both in their scientific and imperial potential as dually contributing to the prestige of Britain in the eighteenth-century context of intense imperial rivalry.7 If one was to choose one motivation for the voyages of James Cook, it would be the enhancement of the reputation of Britain before an international audience.

Certainly, the publicised motivation for Cook’s voyages was scientific progress, including by Cook himself. On August 18th 1768, Cook told the London Gazetteer that the aim of the Endeavour voyage was “to attempt some new discoveries in that vast unknown tract,” presenting his first expedition as a mission to gain a fuller understanding of the virtually alien Pacific.8 Indeed, it was the Royal Society who petitioned for the expedition in the first place owing to their desire to observe the transit of Venus.9 "It is to be hoped," said a writer in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, "that every civilized nation of the universe will give due attention to that interesting phenomenon…and that proper persons will be sent in due time, and duly equipped, to the advantageous stations”.10 The observation would enable the calculation of the distance between the Sun and the Earth, a fundamental measurement in deciphering the size of the Solar System, a mystery eighteenthcentury astronomers were most eager to solve.11 In James Cook’s instructions, he is told to take care to arrive between four to six weeks before the transit was to occur to allow time to adjust and test the instruments thoroughly, demonstrating the level of importance placed upon the experiment.12 The focus placed upon the observation of the transit is confirmed by John Gascoigne, Science in the Service of Empire: Joseph Banks, the British State and the Uses of Science in the Age of Revolution, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p.23.

8 Adrienne Kaeppler, ‘Captain Cook’s Three Voyages of Enlightenment’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp.1823. p.18.

9 Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.556.

10 Anonymous, quoted by Frank Dyson, “Captain Cook as an Astronomer.” The Geographical Journal, vol. 73, no. 2, 1929, pp. 117–119. p.117.

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Cook’s journal entry for April 13th 1769. Cook describes how carefully the astronomical clock was set up and how it was protected: “in the middle of one end of a large tent, in a frame of wood made for the purpose at Greenwich, fixed firm and as low in the ground…and to prevent its being disturbed by any accident…a sentinel was placed continually over the tent and Observatory, with orders to suffer no one to enter either the one or the other, but those whose business it was”.13 Moreover, the voyages were not designed merely to serve one purpose each. The Royal Society used each occasion for numerous scientific objectives including measurements of weather, tides and terrestrial magnetism, study of the natives, plants, animals and other natural resources.14 One notable, secondary motivation for the second voyage was to assess the chronometer as a means of establishing longitude. Aboard the Resolution, was Larcum Kendall’s exact model of John Harrison’s compact watch ‘H4’ and two observers from the Board of Longitude, William Wales and William Bayley. Clearly, the second voyage was motivated by ideas of scientific progress as it was intended to demonstrate the British revolution in navigation beyond the more painful methods of celestial observation and lunar tables in determining longitude.15 Particularly, natural history investigation was a central motivating factor behind all three of Cook’s voyages. W.T. Stearn has accurately described the Endeavour’s expedition as “the first organised and thoroughly equipped voyage of biological exploration”.16 Indeed, first among the supernumeraries aboard was Joseph Banks, eminent botanist and naturalist. He was aided by eight assistants, including botanists Daniel Gloria Clifton, ‘Astronomy- The Transit of Venus’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp.72-74. p.72.

12 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 1: Instructions’, in The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery, Vol. I, ed. J. C. Beaglehole, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), pp. cclxxix– cclxxxiv. p.cclxxx.

13 James Cook, as quoted by Dyson, p. 117.

14 Clifton, p. 72.

15 Philip Edwards, in James Cook, The Journals of Captain Cook, ed. Philip Edwards (London: Penguin, 2003) p.219.

16 W. T. Stearn, as quoted by Skelton, p.28 11

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Solander and Herman Diedrich Sporing, who were tasked with not only collecting specimens, but equally usefully, with classifying them according to the system of their mentor, Linneas. 17 Solander, in his application to the trustees of the British Museum for a leave of absence for the expedition, wrote that he hoped his presence wold be of “great utility to the British Museum, in collecting national curiosities…from countries that perhaps never before were investigating by any curious men”.18 Moreover, Banks engaged nature-study draughtsman Sydney Parkinson to depict new plants and animals, especially specimens that would not survive the journey back to England.19 A similar role was played on the second voyage by Johann Forster and his son Georg who served the multi-purpose of collecting, describing and illustrating objects from the natural world.20 In a later letter, Banks wrote “We [Banks and Solander] sat till dark by the great table with our draughtsman [Parkinson] opposite and showed him in what way to make his drawings, and ourselves made rapid descriptions of all the details of natural history while our specimens were still fresh”.21 Indeed, during the voyage, Parkinson made 955 botanical and 337 zoological drawings which were accurate and useful given his botanical knowledge.22 The dedication of the voyages to scientific progress in natural history is clearly shown by John Ellis’ words to Linneas on the Endeavour: “no people ever went to sea better fitted out for the purpose of natural history, nor more elegantly. They have got a fine library of Natural history; they have all sorts of machines for catching or preserving insects; all kinds of

Glyndwr Williams, Naturalists at Sea, Naturalists at Sea: Scientific Travellers from Dampier to Darwin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), p.74.

18 Daniel Solander, as quoted by Williams, Naturalists at Sea, p.74 19 Rudiger Joppien, ‘The Artists on James Cook's Expeditions’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp.112-118. p.112.

20 Brigitta Hauser-Schaublin, ‘Forster’s Observations in the South Seas’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp.93-97. p.93.

17

nets, trawls, drags and hooks for coral fishing”.23 A further scientific motivation behind Cook voyages was to gain a fuller understanding of the indigenous populations in the regions Cook was going to explore. Within the instructions to all three of Cook’s voyages is a directive to “observe the genius, temper, dispositions and number of the natives” and to “cultivate a friendship” with them.24 This motivation explains in part the engagement of artists for each voyage. Certainly, pictures were a form of representation for a variety of cultural phenomena which would have been difficult to express in words and a way of bringing to life the individuals encountered for the British public.25 John Webber paid special attention to the religious ceremonies of the natives witnessed during Cook’s final voyage. He captured their temples, ceremonies, sacrifices and idols complimenting the great attention given to religious and cultic issues in reports of the voyages. This focus reflects the contemporary European belief that the spiritual development of societies could be read through their rituals.26 One should view this preoccupation with discovering the extent of civilisation of native societies as a manifestation of eighteenth-century Enlightenment contemplation of the question of progress and the longer course of human history.27 This thinking is the probable prompt behind Cook’s encouragement of more intensive farming of European vegetables during his second visit to the South Island of New Zealand during the southern winter of 1773. 28 On May 31st, he was busy clearing and digging ground on the small island of Motuara and “planting it H. W. Lack, (2009). ‘Botany in the Age of Enlightenment’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp. 4850. p.48.

22 Joppien, p. 112.

23 John Ellis as quoted by Williams, Naturalists at Sea, p.74.

24 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 1 Instructions’, p. cclxxxiii.

25 Joppien, p.116.

26 Ibid, p.117.

27 Thomas, p.xxii.

28 Ibid, p. xxi.

21

pg. 27

with wheat, pease and other pulse carrots, parsnips and strawberries”.29 Cultivated plants were always been distributed through piecemeal adoption but the mid-eighteenthcentury was distinctive for the emergence of a more concerted and scientifically-based approach to the process. It was regarded as a progressive and philanthropic experiment explaining why Cook translates to the Maori what the vegetables are. Indeed, the Maori were regarded as half-civilised and liable to improvement, in particular from a more industrious approach to agriculture.30 Clearly, understanding alien indigene societies was a key motivation for Cook’s voyages as an embryonic experiment in ethnology before it became a distinct scientific discipline in the nineteenth century.

The scientific motivation behind Captain Cook’s voyages is apparent simply in the choice of Cook as captain. Cook had been master of HMS Pembroke under Captain John Simcoe.

Simcoe encouraged his master’s study of mathematics and astronomy as well as his early practice in hydrographic surveying.31 His prowess in science was known amongst the discipline’s foremost minds, especially within the Royal Society who had published Cook’s observations of the solar eclipse in 1767. 32 Clearly, an importance was bestowed upon a scientific background in choosing who had command on these voyages. As a matter of fact, Cook himself served as one of the two observers of the transit of Venus alongside Charles Green.

Clearly, the voyages of James Cook were motivated by ideas of scientific progress.

Indeed, Cook’ voyages represent a key change in why expeditions were launched during the eighteenth-century. Prior to Cook’s voyages, British interest in the Pacific was mainly predatory as the western rim of Spain’s American empire with no thought to the benefit Cook as quoted by Thomas, p.xix Thomas, pp.xxii.

31 Skelton, p.14.

32 Clifton, p. 73.

33 Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.553 34 Jonathan Swift, as quoted by Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.554.

35 James P. Ronda, “Dreams and Discoveries: Exploring the American West, 1760-1815.” The 29

30

that could be gained to scientific knowledge.33 This negative view was certainly held by Jonathan Swift who in his final chapter of Gulliver’s Travels (1726), painted an ugly picture of British overseas discovery: “a crew of pirates…discovers land from the topmast, they go on shore to rob and plunder…the give the country a new name, they take formal possession of it for the king, they set up a rotten plank or a stone for a memorial”.34 Indeed, as late as 1765, when Robert Rogers petitioned the Board of Trade, he emphasised the commercial and political advantages to be gained from his planned expedition to seek out an inland passage to the Pacific. He gave no consideration to either the potential for the discovery of new plants or animals or for study of natives.35 Much had changed by the 1780s when Alexander Henry and Peter Pond were planning expeditions. Pond boasted about the new species of buffalo he had observed and large collection of fossils he had collected when talking with a potential backer in Quebec.36 No more explicitly can the influence of the scientific focus of Cook’s voyages be observed than in Jefferson’s instructions to Lewis and Clarke for their 1804 expedition into what is now western America. Rocks, exotic plants and animals and native societies were all to be studied demonstrating how science had become an essential part of exploration by the early nineteenth-century.37 No one was more crucial to this development than Joseph Banks who succeeded in tying Enlightenment science to exploration permanently.38 The significance of Cook’s voyages’ scientific motivation is neatly summarised by Hamilton-Paterson: “Not until Captain Cook’s South Pacific voyages…was an expedition of discovery undertaken largely for its own sake: for knowledge, for scientific information…Cook’s three great voyages were an aberration peculiar to the Enlightenment”.39

William and Mary Quarterly, vol. 46, no. 1, 1989, pp. 145–162. p.151.

36 Ronda, p. 159.

37 Ibid, p.153.

38 Ibid, p.159.

39 Hamilton-Paterson, J., 2002. ‘With Only Passing Reference to the Earth. Review of Mapping Mars: Science, Imagination and the Birth of a World’ by O. Morton, London Review of Books [Online] vol. 24 no. 16 pp. 3-5. Available from http://www.lrb.co.uk/v24/n16/james-hamilton-

pg. 28

Nevertheless, Cook’s voyages were not purely the product of an innocent Enlightenment thirst for information. Indeed, when one sets the voyages in the context of eighteenthcentury imperial expansion and rivalry, the motivation behind them becomes rather more complex and sinister. Even the publicised desire of scientific progress can be perceived as in itself imperialist. The more one knows and understands a territory and its peoples, the easier it is to control and exploit, a fact the British government could not have been naïve of. The voyages therefore should be seen as exercises in imperialism, both commercial as a way of discovering new commodities to sell and new markets to exploit, and territorial as Cook followed his instructions and made numerous additions to the British empirical portfolio.

It was not only the British government who were engaged in this covert expansion.

Expeditions by Louis Antoine de Bougainville, Jacob Roggeveen and Juan Pérez were all undertaken, at least in part, for control of new territory for commercial exploitation and strategic use by the competing powers of Spain, France, The Netherlands and Britain as “explorers were engaged in a momentous contest for empires of the mind and flag, trading post and lodge”.40 Indeed, trading companies often allied with national governments in pursuit of goals simultaneously imperial and economic from finding new fur trade trapping grounds or commercially feasible passages from Atlantic to Pacific waters. The Montreal partners of the North West Company demonstrated the intertwined commercial and imperial motivation of exploration best when they declared how “it is that peculiar nature of the Fur Trade to require a continued extension of its limits into new countries”.41 Indeed, the fall of New France in 1763 and subsequent end of the French fur trade monopoly had opened a new field for commerce and national influence in North America.42

paterson/with-only-passing-reference-to-the-earth [Accessed 1 December 2016]. p.4.

40 Ronda, p. 146.

41 North West Company, as quoted by Ronda, p.149.

42 Ronda, p.149.

43 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 1 Instructions’, p.cclxxxii.

44 Dalrymple, as quoted by Skelton p.11.

Nowhere can the commercial desires of the British government be seen so transparently than in Cook’s frantic search for Terra Australis Incognita. Within the secret instructions given to Cook, he is instructed to seek out “a continent of land of great extent…to the southward of the tract”.43 Certainly, no government could be apathetic to the discovery of the continent or in Alexander Dalrymple’s words: “such an accession of commerce and power as the discovery of a New World could afford”.44 He believed that the region could be greater than Asia with a population of over fifty million meaning that “scraps” from its trade would be enough “to maintain the power, dominion and sovereignty of Britain by employing all its manufactures and ships”.45 The author John Campbell agreed. Campbell wrote that whoever discovered the southern continent would “become infallibly possessed of territories as rich, as fruitful and as capable of improvement, as any that have been hitherto found out, either in the east indie or the west”.46 This dream received a boost when Samuel Wallis returned in 1768, just three months before Cook was to depart on his fist voyage, with news of the sighting of mountains to the south of Tahiti. If Tahiti was anything to go by, it would indeed be a place of superabundance.47 The news was kept secret, one can guess to diminish the possibility of rival nations taking possession or opening trade with the land before Britain was able to.48 Unfortunately for the British government, Cook only served to prove the non-existence of the continent.

Though he conceded that there might be an icy continent near the pole, he resolved it would be useless. This suggests it was not purely for the sake of the discovery that Cook sought the southern continent but rather for what could be gained from it in terms of new commodities and markets.49 Commercial imperialism is a running theme behind all three of Cook’s voyages. On his third voyage, Cook was instructed to attempt to find Dalrymple, as quoted by Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.558.

46 John Campbell, as quoted by Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.554.

47 Thomas, p.24.

48 Ibid, p. 24.

49 Cook, The Journals of Captain Cook, p.222.

45

pg. 29

“a northern passage by sea from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean”.50 Certainly, the Spanish suspicion that there was more to the swing to the north involved in the third voyage than scientific curiosity was well-founded.

Undeniably, this search was not motivated by discovery for its own sake. Rather it was driven by a desire for a route to the Pacific which would give far more direct access to the east Asian markets than routes via India or South Africa provided.51 The British government had shown its interest in securing an entrance to the Pacific via various attempts to establish a base in the Falklands since 1766. It cannot be coincidental that the decision to send this expedition was made in the same year as the British forced abandonment of Port Egmont in the Falklands.

Moreover, war with the Thirteen Colonies had broken out a year before the voyage set sail which hardly appears a time when the Admiralty could afford to spare even three smallish ships purely for a selfless discovery.

Certainly, the Admiralty would have realised how the discovery of a northern route between the Atlantic and Pacific would compensate for the loss of control over the longer southern route around South America.52 Moreover, the instruction to Cook to “cultivate a friendship and alliance” with the natives should be understood, at least partly, as an attempt to build a trading relationship with the indigenes as a further effort in commercial imperial expansion. This is supported by a section of Banks’ Endeavour journal where he list the parts of animals a native society in New Zealand prize: they “would have probably made use of some part of any other animals they were acquainted with: a circumstance which tho we carefully sought after, we never saw the least signs of”.53 Here, we see Banks studying the natives with the purpose of discovering what Admiralty, ‘Voyage 3: Instructions’, in The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery, Vol. III, in ed. J.C. Beaglehole, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), pp. ccxx–ccxxiv. p.ccxx.

51 Thomas, p.18.

52 Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.561.

53 Joseph Banks, The Endeavour Journal of Joseph Banks (1768-1771), Vol. 2. Ed. J. Beaglehole, (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1963), p.5.

54 Ibid, p.5.

50

commodities they place value upon in order to procure samples for them, one can assume to trade for provisions and to set up the basis of a long-term trading alliance. Banks goes to describe how “they preferr’d the cloth which we had brought from the south sea islands with us to any merchandise we could shew them, and next to it white paper”, showing Cook and his companions testing out commodities on the indigenes to compare which they found the most valuable.54 Clearly, the voyages of Cook were motivated by ideas of imperial expansion through commerce.

This is congruent with the eighteenth-century British idea of the empire. Empire did not exclusively mean sovereignty over territory; it also incorporated dominant interests outside Britain.55 Indeed, commerce was seen as the cornerstone and raison d’etre of the empire by contemporaries.

For example, William Fleetwood preached in 1711 that “We are a people who live and maintain ourselves by Trade, and if Trade be lost, or overmuch discouraged, we are a ruined nation”.56 Nevertheless, there was a growing emphasis on territory towards the end of the century which is suitably manifested in Cook’s instructions.

For every voyage, he is instructed “to take possession of convenient situations in the country in the name of the King of Great Britain”.57 Indeed, for the second voyage, he is told to “distribute among the inhabitants some of the medals with which you have been furnished to remain as trace of your having been there,” demonstrating the emphasis the government placed on definitively asserting British claim over any lands Cook discovered.58 Moreover, upon the return of the Endeavour, the Earl of Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, took steps to encourage early publication of the journals of the voyage in P. J. Marshall, ‘Introduction’, In P. J. Marshall, The Oxford History of the British Empire: The Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) (pp. 1-27), p.7.

56 William Fleetwood, The Works of William Fleetwood (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1854), p.129.

57 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 1 Instructions’, p.cclxxxiii.

58 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 2 Instructions’, in The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery, Vol. II, ed. J.C. Beaglehole, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961) pp. clxvii–clxx. p. clxviii.

55

pg. 30

order to pre-empt any French claims.59 Cook was supportive and indeed, emphatic that they should be published “by authority to fix the prior right of discovery beyond dispute”.60 Ronda focuses on North West America as an arena for the clash of territorial empires. For him, explorers such as Cook, Lewis and Clarke, Simon Fraser and Alexander Mckenzie, acted as “the advance forces probing for passes and rivers to satisfy the sovereign logic of Washington, D.C., London, Montreal, Madrid and St. Petersburg”.61 Ronda’s argument for expeditions as exercises in imperialism can be extended across every region Cook visited. For instance, an imperialist mind-set is explicit in Banks’ assessment of New Zealand. “The River Thames is indeed in every respect the properest place we have yet seen for establishing a colony; a ship as large as ours might be carried several miles up the river, where she would be moor’d to the trees as safe as alongside a wharf in London river”.62 Banks is clearly advocating for the extension of the British Empire into this region of New Zealand. Banks is so focused on assessing the potential benefits of colonising there that he interestingly only mentions the timber trees which were “the straightest, cleanest, and I may say the largest I have ever seen”.63 Beaglehole notes how Banks, despite being a botanist, makes no reference to the other great trees of various and distinctive kinds in the area. One can infer that Bank only had eyes for the trees from which benefits could most obviously be gained from: the timber trees which could “furnish plenty of materials either for building defences, houses or vessels”.64 As has been shown the voyages of James Cook were motivated by ideas of both scientific progress and imperial expansion. Indeed, there is no contradiction between them. As motivations, they are intertwined, particularly in the search for the southern continent.

Charles de Brosse argued that the southern continent, being totally isolated from other

Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.560.

60 Cook, as quoted by Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.560 61 Ronda, p.147.

62 Banks, p.4.

63 Ibid, p.3.

64 Banks, p.4.

59

continents, would represent a wholly new world full of “new sorts of entirely new things, whole branches of new commerce, and marvellous physical and moral spectacles” demonstrating how it was believed both immense commercial and scientific benefits would be gained from the discovery.65 Certainly for Joseph Banks, there was no conflict between the promotion of the wider objectives of scientific investigation and the direct pursuit of the material objectives of his own country. In 1788, he wrote that “I certainly wish that my country men should make discoveries of all kinds in preference to the inhabitants of other kingdoms”, revealing the intensely competitive mind-set of the age between individuals of opposing empires.66 For Banks and his fellow contemporaries, both scientific achievements and imperial expansion were to be used primarily for the advancement of Britain’s national interest above the interests of other nations, in particular France, but to a lesser extent The Netherlands and Spain.67 Both scientific progress and imperial expansion contributed to national prestige which can be seen as the overarching motivation for the voyages of James Cook.

Indeed, Cook was instructed to make discoveries which “will redound greatly to the honour of this nation as a maritime power, as well as to the dignity of the Crown of Great Britain.68 Here, the motivation at the heart of his voyages is found. Following the end of the Seven Years War in 1763, there was a need to find another avenue for imperial rivalry and a field for peaceful accomplishments to match Britain’s recent wartime achievements.69 De Brosse has argued that monarchs should seek glory through the greater and nobler pursuit of discoveries than through war. It seems George III heeded his arguments. Soon after peace was concluded, John Byron set out with Dolphin and Swallow to search out the southern continent and the North West passage with unprecedented secrecy suggesting expeditions were now being perceived in a more De Brosse, as quoted by Thomas, p.18.

Banks, as quoted by Williams, The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation, p.573.

67 Gascoigne, p.23.

68 Admiralty, ‘Voyage 1 Instructions’, p. cclxxxii.

69 Philip Edwards in his introduction to The Journals of Captain Cook, James Cook p.8.

65

66

pg. 31

competitive way.70 It was perceived that if these great things existed, it should be Britain who discovers them for the prestige of the nation, and if they did not exist, there would be other, lesser returns such as the advancement of science and the training of seamen.71 Moreover, the scientific objectives of the voyages themselves were entangled with national honour.

In particular, the astronomical concerns of the expeditions were bestowed with significance as astronomy was considered the oldest and most prestigious of the physical sciences.72 In his successful bid to persuade the Crown of the importance of Britain mounting an expedition for the observation of the 1760 transit of Venus, the earl of Macclesfield, and at the time president of the Royal Society, argued that the expedition would be for the “improvement of astronomy and the honour of this nation”. He continued that if Britain did not play her part, it “might afford too, just ground to foreigners for reproaching this nation”, particularly since the French king was actively involved.73 Similar arguments helped persuade George III to part with £4000 towards the 1768 expedition. £4000 was a substantial amount of money at the time which the King may have been less willing to donate if Britain’s national honour was not at stake. The same competitive

stimulus is seen again when an official geodetic survey of Britain was given a royal grant of £3000, largely in an effort to match French royal support for astronomy.74 The voyages of James Cook were dually motivated by ideas of scientific progress and imperial expansion. Timing was crucial. The 1760s and 1770s saw the height of Enlightenment curiosity combine with a sense urgency between the foremost maritime nations of Britain and France “as neither wanted to have the honour of discovery, still less any military and commercial advantages, snatched from under their nose by their oldest rival”.75 This imperial rivalry lies at the heart of Cook’s voyages as Britain sought to demonstrate her superiority in navigation, science and empire. This search for national honour, particularly through scientific achievement, has a twentieth century reflection in the Space Race between America and the USSR. In both cases, scientific progress was seen as a symbolic measure of general national superiority. The motivation behind exploration missions was forever changed, thanks primarily to the efforts of Joseph Banks, scientist and patriot. Banks succeeded in permanently entangling science, exploration and imperialism in the battle for national honour.

Bibliography Banks, J. (1963). The Endeavour Journal of Joseph Banks (1768-1771) (Vol. 2). (J. Beaglehole, Ed.) Sydney: Angus & Robertson.

Clifton, G. (2009). Astronomy- The Transit of Venus. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 72-74). London: Thames and Hudson.

Cook, J. (1955). The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery (Vol. I). (J. C. Beaglehole, Ed.) Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Cook, J. (1961). The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery (Vol. II). (J. Beaglehole, Ed.) Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Thomas, p.17.

Williams, The Pacific, p.558 72 Gascoigne, p23.

73 Earl of Macclesfield, as quoted by Gascoigne, p.23.

74 Gascoigne, p.24.

70 71

Gillian Hutchinson, ‘James Cook and Late 18th Century Geography and Cartography’, in James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific, ed. A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck (London: Thames and Hudson, 2009), pp. 79-82. p.79.

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Cook, J. (1967). The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery (Vol. III). (J. C. Beaglehole, Ed.) Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Cook, J. (2003). The Journals of Captain Cook. (P. Edwards, Ed.) London: Penguin.

Dyson, F. (1929, February). James Cook as an Astronomer. The Geographical Journal, 73(2), 117-119.

Fleetwood, W. (1854). The Works of William Fleetwood. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gascoigne, J. (1998). Science in the Service of Empire: Joseph Banks, the British State and the Uses of Science in the Age of Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Hamilton-Paterson, J. (2002). With Only Passing Reference to the Earth. Review of Mapping Mars: Science, Imagination and the Birth of a World by O. Morton. London Review of Books, 24(16), 3-5.

Retrieved December 1, 2016, from http://www.lrb.co.uk/v24/n16/james-hamilton-paterson/withonly-passing-reference-to-the-earth Hauser-Schaublin, B. (2009). Forster's Observations in the South Seas. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and the Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 93-97). London: Thames and Hudson.

Hutchinson, G. (2009). James Cook and Late 18th Century Geography and Cartography. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and the Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 79-82). London: Thames and Hudson.

Joppien, R. (2009). The Artists on James Cook's Expeditions. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 112-118). London: Thames and Hudson.

Kaeppler, A. (2009). Captain Cook’s Three Voyages of Enlightenment. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and the Exploration of the Pacific (pp.18-23). London: Thames and Hudson.

Lack, H. W. (2009). Botany in the Age of Enlightenment. In A. Kaeppler, James Cook and the Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 48-50). London: Thames and Hudson.

Marshall, P. J. (1998). Introduction. In P. J. Marshall, The Oxford History of the British Empire: The Eighteenth Century (pp. 1-27). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Ronda, J. P. (1989). Dreams and Discoveries: Exploring the American West, 1760-1815. The William and Mary Quarterly, 46(1), 145-162.

Scholz, O. R. (2009). The Enlightenment: Programme, Movement, Era. In A. L. Kaeppler, & R. Fleck, James Cook and The Exploration of the Pacific (pp. 44-47). London: Thames and Hudson.

Skelton, R. A. (1969). Captain James Cook, After Two Hundred Years. London: The British Library Publishing Division .

Thomas, N. (2004). Discoveries: The Voyages of Captain Cook. London: Penguin.

Williams, G. (1998). The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation. In P. Marshall, The Oxford History of the Eighteenth Century (pp. 552-575). Oxford : Oxford University Press.

Williams, G. (2013). Naturalists at Sea: Scientific Travellers from Dampier to Darwin. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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The ‘Nectar of the Gods’: The impact of tea on Britain in the eighteenth century

by Laura Else ABSTRACT: This article explores the impact of tea on domestic culture and luxury consumption in Britain over the course of the eighteenth century. It will argue that the tea trade not only impacted Britain’s economy, but also influenced and transformed people’s daily habits. The article follows the changing representations of tea, from an expensive status symbol enjoyed by the elite to a perceived necessity that was available to the masses. It will also investigate the way in which the tea trade created cultural connections between Britain and China and influenced wider social and cultural ideas.

The English East India Company imported and popularised many imperial luxury goods in Britain, including spices, porcelain, and tea. 1 Although tea was first introduced to Britain in the seventeenth century, it was over the course of the eighteenth century that it became widely consumed, and this article will focus on this period. As economic historians such as Huw Bowen have argued, the tea trade had an important impact on Britain’s economy. Import duties provided a lucrative income to the British State. For example, in 1786, the East India Company was able to make payments of over £1 million in customs duties to the British Government. This was more than one quarter of the government’s income from custom’s revenue and around 6% of the Government’s net income as a whole in that year. 2 Additionally, Hoh-Cheung Mui and Lorna Mui have examined the economic impact of tea smuggling on British coastal villages and a recent PhD thesis by Simon Tsai has undertaken an in depth analysis of the economics of the tea trade with China.3 However, many historians do not take this further to examine the impact of tea on domestic culture and luxury consumption, a very important aspect of the British experience in the eighteenth century.

While tea clearly had an important economic impact on Britain, this article will argue that tea had an equally important transformative impact on the domestic culture and luxury consumption of the British nation throughout the eighteenth century. The article will engage with the recent contributions of Markman Ellis, Richard Coulton, and Matthew Mauger, who have examined how tea infiltrated all social levels of British society and changed people’s daily habits.4 It will explore how the representation of tea changed, the impact of Chinese culture, and the reactions to the mass consumption of the commodity. Supply and price dictated who could consume tea in eighteenth-century Britain, and as these factors changed dramatically over the course of the eighteenth century, this article will follow this change and the domestic impacts that accompanied it.

Some minor grammatical revisions have been made to this article based on the feedback of Dr John McAleer.

2 Huw V. Bowen, The Business of Empire: The East India Company and Imperial Britain, 1756–1833 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p.39.

Historical Review 74 (1968), p.51; Simon YangChien Tsai, ‘Trading for Tea: A Study of the English East India Company’s Tea Trade with China and the Related Financial Issues, 1760-1833’ (Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Leicester, 2003).

1

Hoh-Cheung Mui and Lorna H. Mui, ‘Smuggling and the British Tea Trade before 1784’, American 3

From its introduction and into the first half of the eighteenth century, tea was thought to have medicinal properties. Writers of the early eighteenth century, such as Peter Motteux in A Poem in Praise of Tea, argued that tea benefitted the health, by giving ‘Strength to the

Markman Ellis, Richard Coulton, and Matthew Mauger, Empire of Tea: The Asian Leaf that conquered the World (London: Reaktion Books, 2015).

4

pg. 34

Nerves, and Firmness to the Limbs’. 5 Among physicians, there was some debate over the extent of the health benefits of tea, as acknowledged by the physician Thomas Short in A Dissertation upon Tea, published in 1730.6 Short, however, was convinced of the health benefits of tea. He argued that tea ‘doubtless ‘tis of special Service in Disorders of the Head’, and ‘is no less beneficial in preventing a threatened Apoplexy or Catalepsy’, as well as curing ‘dullness and drowsiness’.7 He also attributed tea to working ‘against diseases of the eyes’, with curing disorders of the lungs, and even with reducing ‘frightful Dreams’.8 To many physicians like Short, tea was clearly a drug that could cure countless ailments. It is clear that many shared his beliefs as tea was bought as a medicine. For example Thomas Twining, who established Tom’s Coffee House in 1706, supplied tea not only to individual customers, but also to apothecaries.9 By the second half of the eighteenth century, tea was no longer considered to be a medicine, but in the early years of its consumption in Britain, it significantly influenced medical thought and research.

In the early eighteenth century, tea was a luxury commodity and consuming it was a display of status. In the first decade of the eighteenth century, scarcity and heavy import duties meant that standard-grade tea cost about 12-14 shillings a pound, a sum roughly equal to the weekly wage of a master craftsman at this time.10 Other varieties of tea would have been even more expensive. Consequently, only the elite could afford such prices, and were proud to demonstrate this by performing the elaborate ritual of serving tea to guests during social visiting. Although elite women usually Peter Motteux A Poem in Praise of Tea, The John Johnson collection, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford (London: J. Tonson, 1712), p.12.

5

Thomas Short, A Dissertation upon Tea (London: Fletcher Gyles, 1730), p.19.

6

Thomas Short, A Dissertation upon Tea (London: Fletcher Gyles, 1730), p.43.

8 Ibid., pp.47-51.

9 Patrick Conner, The China Trade, 1600–1800 (Brighton: The Royal Pavilion, Art Gallery & Museums, 1986), p.11.

10 Hilary Young, ‘Western Europe’ in Rupert Faulkner (ed.), Tea: East and West (London: V&A 7

did not undertake any form of manual labour or food service in the home, tea was so precious that these women were proud to prepare and serve it themselves in front of their guests as part of a tea ceremony.11 This conspicuous consumption can be seen displayed in conversation pieces, which were a new, more informal form of portraiture at this time. An English Family at Tea, by Joseph Van Aken, depicts a wealthy family in 1720 around the tea table. While a servant holds the teakettle, the lady of the house herself measures out the tea from a canister. The tea table is at the centre of the painting, indicating its importance to the family.12 In Portrait of a Family, painted by William Hogarth around 1735, the tea table is also central, with members of the family gathered around it.13 Another painting, Tea Party at Lord Harrington's House, St. James's, painted by Charles Philips in 1730, shows guests sitting in groups around tables and drinking tea while playing cards.

This indicates that tea drinking was so fashionable that it had become central to a social event for the wealthy.14 Displaying the consumption of tea in portraiture indicates the prestige given to tea and the status that came with consuming it. It also indicates how tea influenced ideas of wealth and became a significant part of social gatherings.

Tea drinking was also an opportunity to display a range of luxury goods used for the consumption of tea. There were many expensive utensils required for serving tea in the early eighteenth century, comprising, at the minimum, of porcelain tea bowls or cups, saucers, canisters for different types of tea, a

Publications, 2003), p.90.

M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.142.

12 Joseph Van Aken, An English Family at Tea, Tate (1720).

11

William Hogarth, Portrait of a Family, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection (c.1735).

13

Charles Philips, Tea Party at Lord Harrington's House, St. James's, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection (1730).

14

pg. 35

sugar basin, a teapot, and a kettle.15 As can be seen in An English Family at Tea, as well as in A Family of Three at Tea, painted by Richard Collins in 1727, teakettles were usually made of silver at this time because they were used in front of guests.16 It was only after around 1740 when tea became more commonplace that tea was prepared in the kitchen, and so cheaper teakettles and ceramic teapots were used.17 In An English Family at Tea, A Family of Three at Tea, and Portrait of a Family, the expensive equipment used for tea is proudly displayed.18 In An English Family at Tea, the tea chest is positioned in the foreground, and an elaborately decorated porcelain tea set is arranged on the table.19 Therefore the ritual of taking tea provided a way for the elite to display their wealth to guests in the refined context of the tea table.

This refined setting meant that tea quickly became associated with ideas of respectability.

As Woodruff Smith argues, the cultural phenomenon of respectability surrounding tea greatly contributed to the expansion of its consumption.20 Unlike gentility, which relied on descent, respectability was dependant on behaviour, over which an individual had control, allowing it to transcend social classes.21 Many writings about tea associated it with gentility, sociability, and respectability. The Spectator, in an article published in 1711, encouraged ‘all well regulated Families, that set apart an Hour in every Morning for Tea and Bread and Butter’ and look upon The Spectator ‘as Part of the Tea Equipage’.22 The Spectator was comprised of essays that were intended to encourage the readers to politely discuss the moral questions they posed each morning.23 The newspaper was very influential, with the

H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.93.

J. Van Aken, An English Family at Tea; Richard Collins (attributed to), A Family of Three at Tea, Victoria and Albert Museum Collections (c.1727).

15

16

H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.94.

R. Collins (attributed to), A Family of Three at Tea; J. Van Aken, An English Family at Tea; W. Hogarth, Portrait of a Family.

19 J. Van Aken, An English Family at Tea. 20 Woodruff Smith, ‘Complications of the Commonplace: Tea, Sugar and Imperialism’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 23 (1992), p.278.

21 Ibid., p.275.

17

18

author claiming in March 1711 ‘that there are already Three Thousand of them distributed every Day’.24 This encouraged the tea table to be seen as a social space of intelligent discussion and polite behaviour. Peter Motteux, a poet and journalist, even dedicated A Poem in Praise of Tea to The Spectator in 1712. In the poem, Motteux describes a banquet where Gods and Goddesses drink tea, calling it ‘the Nectar of the Gods’.25 He contrasts ‘boist’rous Wine’ with ‘gentle Tea’, arguing that tea is a more respectable beverage than the usual alcohol for social occasions.26 While it is difficult to tell exactly how many people these works influenced, they reflect the fact that tea had become associated with polite behaviour.

Therefore the respectability surrounding the consumption of tea became part of elite culture.

With trade and the introduction of Chinese products such as tea and porcelain came a fascination with Chinese culture. Trade cards that advertised tea often used stereotypical Chinese imagery, including pagodas, Chinese peasants and tea bushes.

This encouraged the British to associate tea with Chinese culture and indicates that the grocers who had these trade cards made thought that Chinese imagery would persuade potential customers to buy from them. A trade card by William Barber, a tea dealer, is typical of eighteenth trade cards advertising tea. It depicts a Chinese man drinking tea in an ornamental landscape with a tea bush and a pagoda in the background.27 The trade card of George Harris, a Bristol tea dealer, also uses the image of a stereotypical Chinese man and a pagoda, as well as tea chests with mockManderin writing. It also depicts East India House located on the banks of an oriental The Spectator, 10, (London: Sam. Buckley, 12 March 1711).

23 M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.86.

24 The Spectator 25 P. Motteux A Poem in Praise of Tea, p.7 and p.16.

22

26

Ibid., p.6.

Wm Barber, Tea Dealer, No. 21 Leadenhall Street, London, (c.1789), shown in M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.135.

27

pg. 36

harbour, implying the connection between China and Britain.28 As tea was becoming an important part of many people’s daily rituals, the association of tea with China fostered a new feeling of connection and fascination with China.

This fascination was reflected in chinoiserie, which was very fashionable from the 1720s until the rise of neoclassicism in the 1770s.29 From the middle decades of the eighteenth century, Asian productive processes adapted and catered specifically to the dictates of European fashion.30 The porcelain and textiles imported by the East India Company were often based on European models, but were decorated with Chinese designs. As British craftsmen such as Josiah Wedgewood developed the skill to create their own porcelain, they also followed the chinioserie style.31 The British associated China with ethics, harmony and virtue, which made the style of chinoiserie a respectable choice.32 Chinoiserie was particularly used by elite women such as Elizabeth Montagu, who were heavily involved in the interior decoration of their homes. In the late 1740s, Elizabeth Montagu decorated her salon in which to entertain her intellectual friends as a ‘Chinese room’. She was aided by her brother, who brought her back rare oriental objects from his voyages for the East India Company.33 Caroline Lybbe, another wealthy women, had a Chinese House built on her Buckinghamshire estate to be ‘a sweet summer Tea drinking place’.34 Connections with China through the tea and porcelain trade therefore heavily impacted British artistic taste.

women. As women were the main collectors of Chinese luxury goods for their homes, including those involved with tea drinking, Vanessa Alayrac-Fielding has pointed out that this led to Chinese wares becoming metaphorical representations of women. She argues that by indulging in the consumption of Chinese luxury goods, women were seen to be guilty of extravagance and negative aesthetic judgements on chinoiserie emerged, as men could not trust women’s artistic judgement.35 Evidence for this argument can be seen in some writings of the time. In A Collection of letters and essays on several subjects, published in 1729, James Arbuckle remarked that ‘[M]any a fantastick Female gratify her Passion for China Ware with what might be a sufficient Portion for her, if she were not herself as frail as her China’.36 He also connects the consumption of Chinese goods with ‘Vanity’.37 Therefore, women’s collection of Chinese goods began to reinforce negative stereotypes about women.

Tea itself was also quickly associated with women. As we have seen, even in the early eighteenth century, it was women, not their husbands, who served tea to the family and visiting guests. In An English Family at Tea, the lady of the house handles the tea, and in A Family of Three at Tea the husband and daughter look to the wife, who has the teakettle placed in front of her.38 Additionally, dinner etiquette for the elite required women to withdraw to another room to drink tea after dinner, leaving the men to converse over wine.39 Tea was generally drunk at home, or at the homes of friends, and consequently became

Chinoiserie quickly became associated with Geo. Harris, Grocer & Tea Dealer, N. 20 Bridge Street, Bristol (c.1799), shown in M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.136.

29 H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.95.

30 Anne McCants, ‘Exotic Goods, Popular Consumption and the Standard of Living: Thinking about Globalization in the Early Modern World’, Journal of World History, 18 (2007), p.436.

31 William Bernstein, A Splendid Exchange: How Trade Shaped the World (London: Atlantic, 2009), p.266.

32 Maxine Berg, Luxury and Pleasure in EighteenthCentury Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), p.50.

33 M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.153.

34 Caroline Lybbe Powys Diaries, British Library, p.31, quoted in Troy Bickham, ‘Eating the Empire: 28

Intersections of Food, Cookery and Imperialism in Eighteenth Century Britain’, Past and Present, 198 (2008), p.80.

35 Vanessa Alayrac-Fielding, ‘“Frailty, thy name is China”: Women, Chinoiserie and the Threat of Low Culture in Eighteenth-Century England’, Women’s History Review 18 (2009), pp.659-662.

36James Arbuckle, A Collection of letters and essays on several subjects, lately publish’d in the Dublin Journal (London, 1729), p. 219, quoted in V. Alayrac-Fielding, ‘“Frailty, thy name is China”, p.660.

37J. Arbuckle, A Collection of letters and essays on several subjects, p. 218, quoted in V. AlayracFielding, ‘“Frailty, thy name is China”, p.660.

38 J. Van Aken, An English Family at Tea; R. Collins (attributed to), A Family of Three at Tea. 39 H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.91.

pg. 37

associated with domesticity and with the women who served it.

Ideas connecting women with tea meant that criticisms towards women were not just reserved for their connection with chinoiserie, it also reinforced stereotypical associations of women with gossip. The Tea-table, a satirical engraving that illustrated a series of essays published in Nathaniel Mists’s Weekly Journal and Saturday Post in 1720, connects women drinking tea with gossip. It shows six women, of wealthy appearance, drinking tea and conversing around a table.40 However, there is a horned man beneath the table and two more men listen at the window. In the background an old woman representing Envy drives two women representing Justice and Truth out of the room.41 The picture was accompanied by a poem which described the tea table as the ‘Chief Seat of Slander’, arguing that ‘at each Sip a Lady’s Honour Dies’.42 Clearly, while The Spectator had envisaged polite and intellectual conversation around the tea table, nearly ten years later the Weekly Journal depicted women’s discussions at the tea table as nothing more than gossip and a threat to national morality. Comments like this in the media impacted on ideas surrounding femininity, and contributed to negative ideas surrounding women and tea drinking. But as tea became more widely consumed, it was no longer just associated with the wealthy.

As Markman Ellis has aptly termed it, tea became ‘democratized’ over the course of the eighteenth century, transforming the nation’s habits.43 As prices fell and imports increased, tea became more readily available to the masses. The East India Company’s imports rose dramatically from £14,000 worth of tea being The Tea-table, Weekly Journal and Saturday Post, Issue 76 (14 May 1720), shown in M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.90.

41 M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.90.

42 Weekly Journal and Saturday Post, Issue 76 (14 May 1720), quoted in M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.90.

43 M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.179.

44 H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.102.

45 M. Berg, Luxury and Pleasure in EighteenthCentury Britain, p.15.

40

imported in 1700 to £969,000 worth being imported in 1760.44 By the mid-eighteenth century, the expanding middle classes extended from professionals, merchants and industrialists to ordinary tradespeople, who enjoyed their ability to purchase luxuries like tea and porcelain with all the modernity, politeness, respectability, and independence they conveyed.45 Mr. and Mrs. Hill, a conversation piece painted by Arthur Davis between 1750 and 1751, shows a couple posing next to a table displaying a tea set with a porcelain vase in the background.46 The portrait indicates the pride of the middle class in their ability to afford these luxuries and take part in the domestic ceremony of taking tea. As early as 1720, a third of London’s middle classes owned chinaware, and half of those whose wills and inventories were sampled in Kent in the middle of the century had new pottery.47 Tea transformed breakfast by replacing ale, and also replaced gin at other times of day.48 Tea gardens also became common in London as a place of leisure for the middle classes.49 Additionally, even their servants began to claim allowances of tea.50 As tea became entrenched in the society, many people altered their daily routines and leisure activities to accommodate it.

Tea became even more widespread in the late eighteenth century. In an effort to reduce smuggling, the Commutation Act of 1784 reduced the custom and excise duties on tea from 119% to just 12.5% on the price of sales by the East India Company.51 The East India Company could now afford to import significantly greater quantities of tea. In 1783, they imported and retained for home use 4,741,522lbs of tea, but in 1784 this figure became 10,159,701lbs.52 There was also a Arthur Davis, Mr. and Mrs. Hill, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection (1750-1751).

46

Maxine Berg, ‘Cargoes: The Trade in Luxuries from Asia to Europe’, in David Cannadine (ed.), Empire, the Sea and Global History: Britain’s Maritime World, c. 1760–c. 1840 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), p.67.

48 Helen Saberi, Edible: Tea: A Global History (London: Reaktion Books, 2010), p.102.

49 Ibid.

50 H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.105.

51 S. Tsai, ‘Trading for Tea’, p.79.

47

52

Ibid., p.76.

pg. 38

dramatic reduction in the price of tea, making it available to the working classes. An advertisement for Eagleton’s Warehouse in 1784 compared the new prices of tea to the old prices after the tax reduction. Bohea tea was reduced in price from 4s.8d. per pound to 1s.10d., and the price of Green tea was reduced from 5s.8d. per pound to 3s.3d.53 While earlier advertisements would have just been aimed at the elite, the advertisement was addressed to ‘the Nobility, Gantry, Town and Country Dealers, Coffee houses, Tea gardens &c.’, indicating how widely tea was bought.54 Additionally, over the course of the eighteenth century there was increasing variety in the types of tea that could be bought, resulting in a wider choice available to consumers. By 1784, Eagleton’s Warehouse offered 9 varieties of black tea and 12 varieties of green tea. There was also variation between the quality and price of tea, which meant that the poor could afford the cheapest varieties. For example, Eagleton’s Warehouse sold ‘Good Singlo’, ‘Fine Singlo’ and ‘Superfine Singlo’.55 For even the lower classes, by the end of the eighteenth century, tea was widely perceived as a necessity. By 1800, tea could be bought at over 62,000 licensed tea retailers nationwide.56 Even in the preparation for the Commutation Act of 1784, researchers preparing documents for William Pitt found that even family units whose houses had ‘under 5 Windows consume about 3 oz. [of tea] per Week’.57 Tea had clearly become a priority purchase for most people.

During the last 15 years of the eighteenth century, the population increased by 14%, while tea consumption increased by 97.7%. This also applied to other imported luxury goods such as the consumption of printed fabrics, which increased by 141.9%.58 An image that confirms the spread of tea consumption is A Cottage Advertisement by Eagleton’s Warehouse, The John Johnson collection, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford (London, 1784).

53

54

Ibid.

55

Ibid.

56

T. Bickham, ‘Eating the Empire’, p. 74.

National Archives, Chatham Papers, pro 30/8/294, fol. 176r, quoted in M. Ellis, R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea, p.181.

57

Interior: An Old Woman Preparing Tea, painted by William Redmore Bigg in 1793. The contrast between this portrait and the conversation pieces of the elite earlier in the century is striking. The painting depicts a poor woman using bellows on a fire under the kettle she is boiling. Her cottage has bare brick walls and she is surrounded by her modest possessions. Yet on a table next to her are a tea set and a tea caddy.59 While these are significantly plainer versions of those owned by the elite, this indicates that by the end of the eighteenth century, tea, and the equipment associated with it, were consumed by the poor.

The poor even sometimes bought more expensive varieties of tea. In the 1790s, Mary Smith, a relatively poor single woman, regularly bought several ounces of black tea during her weekly visit to Gomm’s Cotswold grocery. On occasion, however, she replaced one ounce with the more expensive Souchong tea or another speciality blend.60 Many observers expressed surprise at how common tea had become. The Tea Phrensy, a satirical cartoon from 1785, is a commentary on how even the very lowest ranks of society could buy tea after the Commutation Act. The etching depicts a crowd queuing outside the entrance to a tea warehouse belonging to ‘Philip Hyson’.

People in the crowd are arguing as they try to get inside, reflecting the high demand for tea. In the foreground a drunkard comments that ‘My wife may D-rink her Tea now as cheap as I Drink Gin’.61 Gin was commonly consumed by the lower classes, and its association with tea in this cartoon expresses how tea had fallen from its status as a luxury. Therefore, tea infiltrated and influenced the lives of all classes of society in Britain by the end of the eighteenth century.

Neil McKendrick, ‘Part I: Commercialisation and the Economy’ in McKendrick, Neil, John Brewer and J. H. Plumb (eds), The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of EighteenthCentury England (London: Europa, 1982), p.29.

59 William Redmore Bigg, A Cottage Interior: An Old Woman Preparing Tea, Victoria and Albert Museum (1793).

58

T. Bickham, ‘Eating the Empire’, p. 80.

The Tea Phrensy, British Museum (London: M. Smith, 1785).

60 61

pg. 39

The spread of tea drinking to the lower classes caused significant uneasiness, especially among the upper classes. Much of this criticism can be seen in the publications of writers at the time.

In The Good and Bad Effects of Tea Considered, published in 1745, Simon Mason argued that while tea could be beneficial to the upper classes, he strongly objected to its consumption by the working classes. He argues that tea drinking would waste their money, time, and encourage working women to neglect their families.62 In 1756, Jonas Hanway, a merchant and writer, took this argument even further in ‘An Essay on Tea’ in A Journal of Eight Days’ Journey. Hanway argues that tea drinking should be abolished, describing it as ‘an epidemical disease’.63 His arguments reflect concerns of the time over the consumption of luxuries by the lower classes. He is shocked that ‘the poor were so generally ambitious of emulating the rich, as to consume the product of so remote a country as China is from us’.64 He even exclaims that he has seen beggars in Richmond drinking tea.65 His concerns reflect the anxieties of the elite of perceived social change. There was an expanding middle class at this time and there were fears that this affluence would spread to the poor. Hanway laments that ‘the common people…will hardly remember the obligations they are under to the public’ and that ‘the lord will be in danger of becoming the valet of his gentleman’.66 There were also fears at this time that by drinking tea in preference to beer or ale, which were important sources of nourishment, the poor were exposing themselves to the risk of malnutrition.67 Hanway comments that ‘tea is consumed, and yet it does not nourish’, and that ‘those will have tea who have not bread’.68 Hanway was also very concerned about the expenditure on tea, and the financial weakness this could bring to the nation. This was of particular concern as ‘An Essay on Tea’ was published during the early stages of the Seven Simon Mason, The Good and Bad Effects of Tea Considered (London: M. Cooper, 1745) pp.41-42, quoted in Elizabeth Kowaleski Wallace, ‘Tea, Gender and Domesticity in Eighteenth-Century England’, Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 23 (1994), pp. 139.

63 Jonas Hanway, ‘An Essay on Tea’, A Journal of Eight Days Journey, Vol. 2 (London: H. Woodfall and C. Henderson, 1857), pp. 243 and 272.

62

Years War, and Hanway was worried about how Britain would ‘be able to cope with France, if they convert their tea…into ships of war’ whilst ‘we…sip our own vitals in a double capacity’.69 He also associated tea drinking with ‘effeminate customs’, complaining ‘What an army has gin and tea destroyed!’70 Hanway predicted that tea would cause military weakness, resulting in the fall of the British Empire.71 Hanway’s arguments are certainly alarmist, and it is very likely that he intended to exaggerate in order to scare the reader into taking action against tea.

It is also important to remember that not everyone in the upper classes agreed with him.

Samuel Johnson, a well-respected English writer and a lover of tea, heavily criticised Hanway’s claims in the Literary Magazine as absurd.72 However, it is clear that the spread of tea consumption contributed to wider concerns about social mobility, the poor, and Britain’s military strength in the context of global war.

In conclusion, while tea had an important economic impact on Britain in the eighteenth century, it had an equally important and transformative impact on the domestic culture and habits of the British people. Domestic culture is an important way to understand the British experience in the eighteenth century because without considering this we have a very limited view of people’s daily lives. As the price of tea dropped, tea transitioned from a luxury to a semi-luxury and became increasingly embedded in British culture. It became so entrenched in the British way of life that by the end of the eighteenth century it had become a perceived necessity, even to many of the poor.

Throughout the eighteenth century, those who drank tea altered their daily rituals to accommodate it. Tea replaced drinks like gin and beer and influenced social activities. Tea drinking was also a mechanism through which the wealthy in the early eighteenth century could engage in conspicuous consumption, while associating themselves with Ibid., pp.264-5.

Ibid., p.272.

66 Ibid., pp.263 and 265.

67 H. Young, ‘Western Europe’, p.105.

68 J. Hanway, ‘An Essay on Tea’, pp.256 and 274.

69 Ibid., p.248.

70 Ibid., pp. 89 and 273.

71 Ibid., p.266.

72 H. Saberi, Edible: Tea: A Global History, p.98.

64 65

pg. 40

respectability and polite society. This culture of respectability surrounding tea challenged old ideas of self worth being based on descent. Tea also impacted the material goods that were bought and owned, as well as British artistic taste.

From the variety of ways that tea influenced people’s lives, it is clear that tea had a broad impact. Ideas surrounding tea also contributed to wider debates and concerns, particularly ideas surrounding femininity, medicine, the

poor, and the strength of the British Empire.

Furthermore, the influence of Chinese imagery and chinoiserie facilitated a closer cultural connection with, as Hanway put it, ‘so remote a country as China’.73 This gives some perspective into eighteenth century British attitudes towards the wider world. Therefore, overall, tea dramatically changed the British people’s domestic culture and habits as well as influencing their wider social and cultural ideas.

Bibliography - Primary sources Advertisement by Eagleton’s Warehouse, The John Johnson collection, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford (London, 1784).

Bigg, W. R. A Cottage Interior: An Old Woman Preparing Tea, oil on canvas, Victoria and Albert Museum (1793).

Collins R. (attributed to), A Family of Three at Tea, oil on canvas, Victoria and Albert Museum Collections (c.1727).

Davis, A. Mr. and Mrs. Hill, Yale Center for British Art, oil on canvas, Paul Mellon Collection (17501751).

Hanway J. ‘An Essay on Tea’, A Journal of Eight Days Journey, Vol. 2 (London: H. Woodfall and C. Henderson, 1857).

Hogarth, W. Portrait of a Family, oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection (ca.1735).

Motteux, P. A Poem in Praise of Tea, (London: J. Tonson, 1712).

Philips, C. Tea Party at Lord Harrington's House, St. James's, oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection (1730).

Short, T. A Dissertation upon Tea (London: Fletcher Gyles, 1730).

The Spectator, 10, (London: Sam. Buckley, 12 March 1711).

The Tea Phrensy, British Museum (London: M. Smith, 1785).

Van Aken, J. An English Family at Tea, oil on canvas, Tate (1720).

Secondary sources Alayrac-Fielding, V. ‘“Frailty, thy name is China”: Women, Chinoiserie and the Threat of Low Culture in Eighteenth-Century England’, Women’s History Review 18 (2009), pp. 659–68.

Berg, M. ‘Cargoes: The Trade in Luxuries from Asia to Europe’, in David Cannadine (ed.), Empire, the Sea and Global History: Britain’s Maritime World, c. 1760–c. 1840 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), pp. 60–71.

73

Jonas Hanway, ‘An Essay on Tea’, pp.264-5.

pg. 41

Berg, M. Luxury and Pleasure in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).

Bernstein, W. A Splendid Exchange: How Trade Shaped the World (London: Atlantic, 2009).

Bickham, T. ‘Eating the Empire: Intersections of Food, Cookery and Imperialism in Eighteenth Century Britain’, Past and Present 198 (2008), pp. 71–109.

Bowen, H. V. The Business of Empire: The East India Company and Imperial Britain, 1756–1833 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005).

Conner, P. The China Trade, 1600–1800 (Brighton: The Royal Pavilion, Art Gallery & Museums, 1986).

Ellis, M., R. Coulton, and M. Mauger, Empire of Tea: The Asian Leaf that conquered the World (London: Reaktion Books, 2015).

Kowaleski Wallace, E. ‘Tea, Gender and Domesticity in Eighteenth-Century England’, Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 23 (1994), pp. 131–45.

McCants, A. ‘Exotic Goods, Popular Consumption and the Standard of Living: Thinking about Globalization in the Early Modern World’, Journal of World History 18 (2007), pp. 433–62.

McKendrick, N. ‘Part I: Commercialisation and the Economy’ in N. McKendrick, J. Brewer and J. H. Plumb (eds), The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of Eighteenth-Century England (London: Europa, 1982).

Mui, H. and L. H. Mui, ‘Smuggling and the British Tea Trade before 1784’, American Historical Review 74 (1968), pp. 44–73.

Saberi, H. Edible: Tea: A Global History (London: Reaktion Books, 2010).

Smith, W. D., ‘Complications of the Commonplace: Tea, Sugar and Imperialism’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 23 (1992), pp. 259–78.

Tsai, S. Y. ‘Trading for Tea: A Study of the English East India Company’s Tea Trade with China and the Related Financial Issues, 1760-1833’ (Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Leicester, 2003).

Young, H. ‘Western Europe’ in Rupert Faulkner (ed.), Tea: East and West (London: V&A Publications, 2003).

pg. 42

Imperial or Imperilled - Executive Power in the First Czechoslovak Republic

by Kieran Hyland ABSTRACT: The First Czechoslovak Republic faced a plethora of internal and external threats.

Previous historical accounts have tended to critique the response by policymakers within the Executive branch of Government to these threats, with Walter Lippmann labelling undemocratic and unchecked executive responses a “managed democracy”. This article aims to explore this description of the executive branch, and instead contend that while the Czechoslovak Republic was unequivocally ‘managed’ by key figures within the executive branch, particularly Presidents Tomáš Masaryk and Edward Beneš, historical studies have generally employed vast hyperbole whilst labelling executive actions. This article will subsequently assert that such management was mandatory when the vulnerability of the state is acknowledged, in order to protect against threats from Germany and right-wing extremist factions. Through the utilisation of insightful primary sources, particularly the 1920 Czechoslovak Constitution, this text will conclude that executive responses to threats did not exceed the boundaries codified within the constitution, and should incontrovertibly be considered legitimate and not as a criticism against the Government.

The nature of democracy in the First Czechoslovak Republic was a complex issue. 1 While democracy was represented in theory in interwar Czechoslovakia through a plethora of platforms, most notably the 1920 Constitution of Czechoslovakia, when one assesses how the state was run in practice, it becomes clear that the First Czechoslovak Republic does not represent conventional understandings of democratic theory. The term ‘managed democracy’ originates from Walter Lippmann’s 1922 work ‘Public Opinion’, where Lippmann rejects the effectiveness of a traditional representative democracy in favour of a state managed by “an independent, expert organization who make the unseen facts intelligible to those who have to make the decisions’.2 While Czechoslovak democracy evidently had elements of management from above, principally through the centralization of power in the executive branch of Government, the extent to which such management has been criticised by recent historiography has been subject to hyperbole. The executive branch of Government ultimately fulfilled key objectives of protecting Czechoslovakia from threats and developing Czechoslovak democracy both internally and externally and did successfully manage the birth and early years of the new Czechoslovak state. This paper will also reject the comment of the managed democracy used Walter Lippmann, Public Opinion (Oxford: Courier Corporation, 2012). p.17 1

throughout the First Czechoslovak Republic as being a criticism, and will contend that a managed democracy was in fact essential behind the state remaining a Republic until 1938, particularly when contrasted to the transformation of Germany and Italy to totalitarian regimes as the interwar period progressed. This conclusion will be reached following careful assessment of the key democratic principles: The Czechoslovak Imperial Presidency; checks and balances upon presidential and legislative power; Proportional Representation and elections; the protection of civil liberties. Although the scope of the essay restricts full analysis of all significant principles that represent a modern democracy, the core topics selected allow for sufficient depth and a balanced discussion of the Czechoslovak political institution.

Yet before evaluation of these principles, a clear understanding of the concept of a managed democracy in the context of the First Czechoslovak Republic is essential. Andrea Orzoff is notably attributed for the adaptation of Lippmann’s definition of a managed democracy to a “presidential democracy” in the First Czechoslovak Republic, characterized by imperial presidential powers over the other branches of Government, in addition to resolute suppression of radical threats from

2

Ibid.

pg. 43

both left and right-wing extremists until 1938.3 Executive management of the state by Masaryk and then Beneš throughout the interwar period was fundamental in the maintenance of Czechoslovakia as ‘an island of democracy’.4 It is essential to note that the ‘Presidential Democracy’ theory contended by Orzoff does not exclusively refer to the imperial powers of Masaryk and Beneš, as executive decisions were often discussed and assessed by a multicultural Presidential Chancellery composed of members from a variety of nationalities and political affiliations, which is inherently democratic.5 Whilst the methods used by the imperial presidency to maintain this status as a democratic island among authoritarian regimes remain contentious, and arguably authoritarian themselves as Masaryk and Beneš chose sympathetic members of the Chancellery, the ultimate evasion of Czechoslovakia being transformed into a dictatorship until 1938 justifies such tactics as vital acts for the survival of democracy. Masaryk’s advocacy of such tactics is further legitimizes when one understands his philosophy that ‘dictatorship interrupts Parliament, but makes possible the rule of the people; therefore it makes democracy possible’.6 Indeed managed democracy through centralized executive decisions was only used selectively and in response to any perceived threat against the state, as it is clear that the upholding of liberal democratic values asserted by Beneš at the treaty of Versailles were key objectives throughout the interwar era.

The First Czechoslovak Republic’s status as a managed or presidential democracy becomes most apparent when the extensive powers centralized in the executive branch of Government are scrutinized. Section 3 of the 1920 Constitution, entitled ‘Government and Executive Powers’, was revised in accordance with the Hrad’s request for Masaryk to be seen Andrea Orzoff, Battle for the Castle: The Myth of Czechoslovakia in Europe 1918-1948 (New York, 2009). p. 59 4 Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the lands of the Bohemian Crown (Stanford, 2004). p. 198 5 Andrea Orzoff, Battle for the Castle: The Myth of Czechoslovakia in Europe. p. 67 6 Ibid. p. 64 7 Ibid. p. 58 3

as more than a mere symbol of the state as listed in the provisional Constitution of 1918. 7 Indeed Article 64 of the Constitution contains highly imperial executive powers over the other branches of Government, notably the powers to ‘convoke, prorogue and dissolve parliament’ and ‘appoint and dismiss cabinet ministers and define their number’.8 While Heimann would contend that such centralized power in the executive branch meant that Czechoslovak democracy ‘was seriously flawed from the first’, the resemblance of these powers with those given to the President in the American Constitution legitimizes their use to safeguard democracy, as it ensures the avoidance of the imperilled President where power is instead centralized in a radical legislature.9 Rather Capoccia makes an important distinction that while the provisions of the 1920 Constitution entrusted the executive branch with great powers, rulers turned the political system into a fully-fledged “militant democracy” rather than kill democracy to firmly protect the new state against extremist Parliamentary elements.10 It is only when misused that the powers vested in the executive became a real issue for the other branches of Government, and as the abuse of such presidential powers was predominantly rejected in the First Czechoslovak Republic, a managed presidential democracy existed throughout.

Regardless of whether a totalitarian President was elected, the Constitution itself even safeguarded against an excessively imperial Presidency through checks and balances capabilities awarded to the legislative and judicial branches. In addition to article 67 of the Constitution permitting the Senate ‘persecution of the President for high treason’, preventive measures against an authoritarian dictatorship in the First Czechoslovak Republic were also exhibited through Presidents only permitted to serve a maximum of two seven year terms in The Constitution of the Czechoslovak Republic (1920), <https://archive.org/stream/cu31924014118222/cu 31924014118222_djvu.txt> (accessed 2 December 2015).

9 Mary Heimann, Czechoslovakia. The State that Failed (New Haven, 2009).p. 49 10 Giovanni Capoccia, Defending Democracy: Reactions to Extremism in Interwar Europe (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 2005). p. 107 8

pg. 44

office, an amendment not adopted by the American Constitution until 1951. 11 Although Masaryk served as President past his two term limit during his presidency from 1918 to 1935, his role in the creation and management of the Czechoslovak Republic was considered vital for the continuance of democracy in the state, particularly due to the growth of extremism in the state following the economic crisis of the 1930’s and growth of right-wing extremism of the Sudeten German Party (SdP).12 Similarly the bicameral nature of the legislature in the First Czechoslovak Republic meant that any legislation advocated by the executive branch required a majority in both the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate to become enshrined into law.13 Conversely the checks and balances were undermined to a large extent by the nature of coalition Parliaments of a broad range of parties, which encouraged the executive branch to rely instead more on a democratic ‘cabinet of officials’ to help make decisions until a majority Parliament was established for the development of democracy.

However it is unlikely a majority Parliament would ever have been established in the First Czechoslovak Republic, which emphasises the fact that the new state was consequently closely managed by the executive branch throughout.

While free and fair elections were guaranteed in Czechoslovakia with full suffrage for all minorities in a Proportional Representation voting system, the substantial contrasts in nationalities and ideologies meant coalitions were almost inevitable throughout the interwar period.14 In theory coalition Governments provided complete representation for all ideologies, however in the First Republic such divided Government legitimized the use of greater executive power, which subsequently undermined true representative liberal democracy as Beneš proposed at the Treaty of The Constitution of the Czechoslovak Republic (1920), <https://archive.org/stream/cu31924014118222/cu 31924014118222_djvu.txt>; Peter Bugge, ‘Czech Democracy 1918-1938. Paragon or Parody?’, Bohemia, 47/1 (2006/7) p. 18 12 Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the lands of the Bohemian Crown. p.192 13 The Constitution of the Czechoslovak Republic (1920), <https://archive.org/stream/cu31924014118222/cu 31924014118222_djvu.txt> 11

Versailles. Attempts to formulate continuity in Parliament through a smaller coalition Governments of the 5 most popular Czechs political parties in the ‘Petka’ were undemocratic, as although it stabilised and prioritised Czech interests in Parliament, there was inherent neglect of the minority nationalities and ideologies, most frequently Germans and Magyars.15 Similarly representation was also neglected through the lack of direct democracy. Beneš had promised in Versailles to make ‘a kind of Switzerland out of the Czechoslovak state’, yet in reality the electorate had little say of state affairs.16 Indeed Orzoff observes how Czechoslovakia was ‘the only country in interwar Eastern Europe to eliminate a referendum on the country’s constitution’, and while this does not make the First Czechoslovak Republic a presidential dictatorship, it plainly denotes firm presidential management.17 Furthermore although complete democracy might have been established for Czechs, the response by the Government against extremist elements throughout the region highlights how democracy had to fit into Masaryk and Beneš’s Czech-orientated ideologies. Both left and right-wing extremists were particularly targeted, with the 1926 Gajda affair providing a prevalent example of extremist suppression.

Zorach notes how Masaryk and Beneš used a variety of tactics to remove Gajda from his post as the acting chief of staff of the Czechoslovak army, including bribing Gajda and claiming he had Soviet links, over fears that Gajda would join with right-wing nationalists attempting a coup d’état against the Government.18 The use of such tactics indicates the lengths of the executive to remove any threat to the state, imminent or simply feared, which is not indicative of a democratic state with freedom of assembly. Conversely when the SdP grew in Robert William Seton-Watson, A History of the Czechs and Slovaks (London, 1943). p.319 15 Mary Heimann, Czechoslovakia. The State that Failed. p. 72 16 Gerd Schultze-Rhonhof, 1939 - The War that had many Fathers (Lulu.com, 2011). P. 179 17 Andrea Orzoff, Battle for the Castle: The Myth of Czechoslovakia in Europe. p. 62 18 Jonathan Zorach, ‘The Enigma of the Gajda Affair in Czechoslovak Politics in 1926’, SR, vol. 35/4 (1976). p.698 14

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popularity over the 1930’s, the executive attempted to negotiate with the German nationalist party before introducing the emergency measures of May 1936 to prevent internal conflict through militarization of the border regions.19 While the executive did not respond through banning the SdP from Government and were arguably democratic, this reaction was only due to the increasing popularity of the nationalist party in achieving 15% of the popular vote in the 1934 General election, the second highest, which might have consequently turned to a negativist attitude of organising violent protests and demonstration marches.20 Yet the right to assemble was not the only political sacrifice for the first Czechoslovak Republic to maintain its’ democratic status.

Censorship of propaganda was strict throughout the period, but particularly after the 1923 ‘Law for the protection of the Republic’ and the assassination of Alois Rašín by a young communist, with the executive response to clamp down on anti-state propaganda.21 However Capoccia accurately estimates that ‘2,000 books, 288 magazines and 183 newspapers’ were seized in the Sudeten regions in 1937 alone for promoting extremist behaviour, and although such behaviour clearly infringes on the right to freedom of speech, such strict censorship of material was key in the maintaining democracy until the 1938 Sudetenland crisis and Munich Conference. 22 Such measures become particularly vital when one compares this model to the effective use of propaganda by Hitler in Nazi Germany, with the Reich Chamber of Commerce having a monopoly on producing persuasive propaganda

Giovanni Capoccia, Defending Democracy: Reactions to Extremism in Interwar Europe. p. 92 20 Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the lands of the Bohemian Crown.. p. 192 21 T. G. Masaryk and South Moravia <http://www.ccrjm.cz/userfiles/file/MASARYK%2 19

after 1933 to increase party support. The importance of censorship for Czechoslovak democracy must consequently not be understated, as although the seizing of material was a contentious issue, stemming the growth of radical propaganda, particularly from surrounding dictatorial states, was essential in prolonging the existence of the state before Hitler’s invasion.

In essence, the term ‘managed democracy’ is a fair judgement on the First Czechoslovak Republic. While power was excessively vested in the executive branch of Government and in the Presidents of Masaryk and Beneš, their use of such power was used mostly to develop their vision of a democratic state and to protect these visions from extremist elements. Restriction of freedoms and censorship were merely reasonable reactionary responses against perceived threats to democracy, with such strict executive laws essential in prolonging the democratic existence of the state. Managed democracy in the First Czechoslovakia Republic was thus not a criticism but a commendation.

Power was vested in a reliable executive branch with the authority to play a key role in the early years of the new state, and while the legislature was undermined by divided Government and coalitions, a strong executive was consequently vital to avoid gridlock in the two legislative chambers. Finally Heimann’s critique of democracy in Czechoslovakia from the Constitution is severely misguided, as the Constitution guaranteed full suffrage and Proportional Representation in free and fair elections, and was actually considered one of the most liberal and democratic Constitutions in Europe.

0AJ%20FINAL.pdf> (accessed 3 December 2015). p.22 22 Giovanni Capoccia, Defending Democracy: Reactions to Extremism in Interwar Europe. p. 98

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Bibliography Andrea Orzoff, Battle for the Castle: The Myth of Czechoslovakia in Europe 1918-1948 (New York, 2009).

Elizabeth Wiskemann, Czechs and Germans. A Study of the Struggle in Historic Provinces of Bohemia and Moravia (London, 1967).

Gerd Schultze-Rhonhof, 1939 - The War that had many Fathers (Lulu.com, 2011).

Giovanni Capoccia, Defending Democracy: Reactions to Extremism in Interwar Europe (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 2005).

Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the lands of the Bohemian Crown (Stanford, 2004).

Jonathan Zorach, ‘The Enigma of the Gajda Affair in Czechoslovak Politics in 1926’, SR, vol. 35/4 (1976).

Maria Dowling, Brief Histories: Czechoslovakia (Bloomsbury Academic, 2002).

Mark Cornwall & R. Evans (eds), Czechoslovakia in a Nationalist and Fascist Europe, 1918-1948 (The University of Michigan, 2007).

Mary Heimann, Czechoslovakia. The State that Failed (New Haven, 2009).

Peter Bugge, ‘Czech Democracy 1918-1938. Paragon or Parody?’, Bohemia, 47/1 (2006/7) Robert William Seton-Watson, A History of the Czechs and Slovaks (London, 1943).

Tara Zahra, Kidnapped Souls. Kidnapped Souls. National Indifference and the Battle for Children in the Bohemian Lands 1900-1948 (Ithaca, 2008).

T. G. Masaryk and South Moravia <http://www.ccrjm.cz/userfiles/file/MASARYK%20AJ%20FINAL.pdf> (accessed 3 December 2015).

The Constitution of the Czechoslovak Republic (1920), <https://archive.org/stream/cu31924014118222/cu31924014118222_djvu.txt> (accessed 2 December 2015).

Walter Lippmann, Public Opinion (Oxford: Courier Corporation, 2012).

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2017 Northern Irish Assembly Election Poses Question: Will We Ever See The End of Sectarianism?

by Ivan Morris-Poxton The campaign has ended, the votes are in and once more the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) and nationalist Sinn Fein are the two largest parties by some distance, tasked once again with negotiating a power-sharing arrangement between each other.

Considering the scandal that rocked Northern Irish politics, green energy scheme the Renewable Heat Incentive (RHI), which along with other issues, like nationalist demands for an Irish Language Act, prompted this sudden election, now was the golden opportunity for the other parties to capitalize. Instead, the DUP, led by Arlene Foster, the Minister for Trade at the time of the development of the RHI scheme, largely retained its vote share, although did lose enough seats to lose its ability to call for 'petitions of concern', a mechanism by which cross-community voting rules can be triggered on any issue. Meanwhile, Sinn Fein triumphed, their share of first preference votes under the Single Transferable Vote (STV) electoral system surging to within touching distance of the DUP. The junior, more moderate, unionist and nationalist parties, the Ulster Unionist Party (UUP) and the Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP) did at least arrest the trend of a declining combined vote share for the two of them (see table below), but made no real headway, with the UUP notionally losing 6 seats. In his resignation speech, the UUP leader, Mike Nesbitt, commented that a postsectarian election 'will not happen during the duration of my political life'.1 Is Nesbitt's assertion correct?

Based on the bitter war of words between Sinn Fein and the DUP of late, there does not seem an end in sight to sectarianism. Arlene Foster's 1(2017),

[Video] Mike Nesbitt announces he is resigning as UUP leader, Available at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/electionnorthern-ireland-2017-39160945 [Accessed: 04 March 2017] 2, DUP will never agree to Irish language act, says Foster, (2017), Available at:

description of Sinn Fein as a 'crocodile' in a speech rejecting their demand for an Irish Language Act, and DUP MP Sammy Wilson's response of 'Yes, of course, I do' to being asked whether he agreed with the caption of a recent mural in Belfast, 'IRA-Sinn Fèin-ISIS â&#x20AC;&#x201C; What's the difference?', does not suggest a bridging of the unionist/nationalist divide.2 Impressive artworks at times though they are, equally symbolic of the divide in Northern Ireland are the murals which predominate city areas. These variously glorify heroes and vilify villains of the predominantly Protestant, unionist areas and the almost entirely Catholic, nationalist community areas. For example, in Protestant unionist areas, 'Good King Billy', or William IV who in 1690 decisively defeated the last Catholic monarch of Britain, King James II, is depicted in glowing terms, as is Oliver Cromwell for his part in the re-conquest of Ireland from 1649-1653, while in Catholic areas, the 1981 prison hunger striker, Bobby Sands, receives similar treatment.

3

Then there are the peace lines, barriers originally set up during the 'Troubles' to prevent tension between Catholic and Protestant communities from spilling over into violence, which still exist. Finally, last but not http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northernireland-38881559 [Accessed 04 March 2017]; Devenport, Mark, Sammy Wilson 'agrees' with murals comparing IRA to ISIS, (2017) Available at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uknorthern-ireland-39098863 [Accessed 04 March 2017] 3 Credit: Stuart Caie, Wikimedia Commons

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least, the astonishing statistic that as of 2008, just 6% of children attended integrated schools.

None of these point to the end of sectarianism in the near future.

Perhaps, though, we are expecting too much considering the short timespan since the 1998 Good Friday Agreement which brought an end to the 'Troubles' period. Between 1966 and 2006, approximately 3,720 people were killed due to the conflict and it has been estimated that more than half of the adult population of Northern Ireland personally knew someone who had been injured or killed during 'The Troubles'.4 It therefore, cannot be found too surprising that whilst the generation who lived through the conflict predominates, the hardline DUP and Sinn Fein receive most support.

However, looking beyond the clear indicators of the continuance of the sectarian divide, there are signs that it is weakening. Before this election, the DUP and Sinn Fein had shared

power together, unbroken, for ten years and during that time, they committed to the target of bringing down all peace walls by 2023. 5 Meanwhile, since 2003, the cross-community, neutral Alliance Party has steadily increased support (see Table 1.1) and UUP leader Nesbitt's declaration during this election campaign that he would put the SDLP down as his second preference may have received little support from the rest of his party, but was a significant move in itself.

Taking this evidence into account, possibly we can be optimistic for the end of sectarianism in Northern Ireland sometime in the future.

Alternatively, evidence such as a recent poll conducted on voting intentions which found that just 4% of Catholic and 2% of Protestant voters would put down as their first preference a candidate representing a party from the other community, may lead one to take a decidedly more pessimistic view of the prospects of an end to sectarianism.6

Year of Assembly Election

% support of % support of % support of % support of First First First First Preference Preference Preference Preference vote to 1d.p. vote to 1d.p.

Vote to 1d.p.

Vote to 1d.p. for DUP & for SDLP and for Alliance for Others (inc.

Sinn Fein UUP combined Greens, People combined Before Profit) 1998 35.7 43.3 6.5 14.5 2003 49.2 39.7 3.7 7.4 2007 56.3 30.1 5.2 8.4 2011 55.6 26.8 7.7 9.9 2016 53.2 24.6 7 15.2 2017 56 24.8 9.1 10.1 Note: Figures for table are readily available on internet from any number of sources

4Dixon,

Paul, Northern Ireland: The Politics of War and Peace, 2nd edn.: (Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), p. 27; Hayes, B.C. and McAllister, I, (2001), 'Sowing Dragon's Teeth: Public Support for Political Violence and Paramilitarism in Northern Ireland' p. 910, cited in Dixon, Paul, Northern Ireland: The Politics of War and Peace, 2nd edn., p. 28 5 Moriarty, Gerry, Robinson and McGuinness want "peace walls" down within 10 years (2013) Available at: http://www.irishtimes.com/news/robinson-

and-mcguinness-want-peace-walls-downwithin-10-years-1.1388183 [Accessed 04 March 2017] 6 Rutherford, Adrian and Rebecca Black, Poll: Survey says Northern Ireland voting habits dictated by tribalism â&#x20AC;&#x201C; would you vote for party from different community? (2017) Available at: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/polit ics/poll-survey-says-northern-ireland-votinghabits-dictated-by-tribalism-would-you-votefor-party-from-different-community35458352.html [Accessed: 05 March 2017]

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Examining the neglection of the Serbian Refugee Movement from the collective memory of the First World War A discussion of the reasons for neglect and the reflection of a greater traditional marginalisation of women, refugees and children.

by Amy Gill, Erin Phillips, Emma Harrison Beesley, Edward Dunn, Ellie Boot, Rochâne Temple and Khaleda Brophy-Harmer ABSTRACT: One only has to enter the word ‘refugee’ into a search engine to uncover harrowing images and details of the lives of refugees throughout the world today. Whilst examining the lives of Serbian Refugees in Southampton during the Great War was both exciting and relevant, embarking upon a group research project when nothing had previously been written on the Serbian boys was daunting.

Through frivolous archival research and uncovering fleeting mentions in school records, an understanding of their lives in Southampton was uncovered. Reflecting upon the absence of the Serbian Refugees from the history books has led to an understanding of an engrained British culture which orienteered the absence of voices belonging to minority movements.

The First World War had a devastating effect across Europe; this unprecedented upheaval encircled even small nations such as Serbia, most notably during the Great Retreat of 1915.

Such suffering and displacement became inconspicuous amid British military losses.

However, the Serbian Relief Fund, a small grass-roots initiative established by women, made sure that Britain appeared to be an accommodating Ally.1 The Fund was created in September 1914 to alleviate Serbian hardships and later orchestrated the education and refuge of 370 child refugees who arrived in Britain in 1916.2 Notably, the Serbian Minister of Education commented that Britain had “soften[ed] the bitterness of exile” and acted as a “second motherland” for these broken young people.3 Yet, despite such tremendous praise of the movement, the presence of the Serbians has been all but forgotten from British collective memory of the First World War. Due to the Fund’s lack of State support, only a limited number of refugees were accepted in

comparison to France’s contribution. This discrepancy highlights the minimal impact such a small group would have had on the local community, for instance only eleven Serbian boys resided in Southampton.4 Nevertheless, the reasons for this absence from historiography are far more complex, but it is clear that they are largely structural rather than accidental. Namely, the neglect of the Serbian Refugee Movement reflects a greater tradition of excluding three marginalised groups: women, refugees and children, all of whom are the primary actors in this movement. It also serves to mirror British attitudes and agendas of the time regarding stereotypes of race and imperialism – such conceptions that are arguably still prevalent today. Finally, Southampton serves as a case study to demonstrate how accounts of the Serbian children, although neglected, have not been lost altogether and are still within reach.

Andrej Mitrovic, Serbia’s Great War 1914-1918, London: Hurst and Co., (2007), pp. 151, 169, 170 2 Serbian Relief Fund, Table Showing Education Institutions of the Serbian Refugees, Serbian Relief Fund First World War and Interwar Years (19141953), London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies Library, University College London, (1917)

3

1

L. M. Davidovitch, Letter to Mrs Carrington Wilde from L.M Davidovitch (Minister of Education: Ministere de L’Instruction Publique de Serbia), Serbian Relief Fund First World War and Interwar Years (1914-1953), London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies Library, University College London, (1917) 4 ‘Serbia’s Gallant Boys’, The Dundee Courier, (05/10/1916), pp. 4

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There is debate amongst historians and sociologists in regards to the definitions of social, collective and historical memory.

Although there is no strict consensus on what distinguishes one from the other, it is widely agreed that memory is framed by the society in which it exists.5 Regardless, it should be acknowledged that theorists such as Noa Gedi and Yigal Elam resist any notion of collective memory, maintaining its existence is metaphorical, as true memory is fundamentally rooted in individual memory.6 Geoffrey Cubitt claims that collective memory is present only as an “ideological fiction”; however, he asserts that although the notion of a ‘fixed’ memory is ideologically orchestrated, it can still be influential in understanding the way the past is structured in various societies.7 Furthermore, Alon Confino argues that people construct, through their nations, historical representations that conceal the frictions which exist in their society.8 This gives the illusion of a united community, but in reality, individuals within the demographic have very different social and political interests.9 Therefore when societies are divided in opinion over controversial topics such as refugee movements, collective memory can serve to disguise societal fragmentations. Moreover, collective memory of a historical event can be used to detect projected norms and values of the time. Jonathon Boyarin expresses that memory and forgetting are not simple opposites, but instead they mutually reinforce each other, as often a conscious effort is needed to forget.10 In this respect, the Serbian Refugee Movement’s controversial make-up combined with its inability to reside at the forefront of the social agenda has resulted in it becoming excluded from public awareness.

In addition to understanding the structure of collective memory, it is also important to acknowledge that there are pragmatic reasons which contributed to the Serbian Refugee Movement’s absence within the historiography of the First World War. Perhaps the most influential of these is that the Serbians’ plight is likely to have become lost amongst the widespread suffering brought upon by war.

With 900,000 British military deaths; several of which having occurred simultaneously to the arrival of the refugees, it is clear that news outlets were inundated with emotive details of the horrors of the Front. This unprecedented social upheaval would have side-lined the Serbian refugees and placed them extremely low on the country’s agenda. The Serbian Embassy in London have also pointed towards Serbia’s geographical location as a reason for why the movement has been forgotten, suggesting that countries closer would have attracted more coverage and seemed harder to ignore.11 Furthermore, in comparison to other refugee movements in the Great War such as the 250,000 Belgium refugees who came to Britain, the Serbians may have failed to make a lasting impact due to their small numbers.12 A final pragmatic reason for their neglect is that often refugee movements capture public attention due to a threat they pose to local jobs or the demand they place on a country’s infrastructure. Yet the 370 Serbian children, who had only temporary status, would have been unlikely to provoke any public grievances that may have cemented them in local memory as not only were they children – and thus unlikely to have ‘taken’ ‘native’s’ occupations – but they were also only in Britain for a significantly short period of time. Although these additional pragmatic reasons should not be ignored and have made British amnesia

Joan Tumblety, ‘Introduction’, in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 9 6 Noa Gedi and Yigal Elam, ‘Collective Memory – What Is It?’, History & Memory, 8.1, (1996), pp. 3050.

7 Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (2007), pp. 13, 18 8 Alon Confino, ‘Collective Memory and Cultural History: Problems of Method’, American Historical Review, 102.5, (1997), pp. 1388-1400

9

5

Alon Confino, ‘Collective Memory and Cultural History: Problems of Method’, American Historical Review, 102.5, (1997), pp. 1388-1400 10 Jonathan Boyarin, Storm from Paradise: The Politics of Jewish Memory, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, (1992), pp. 1-8 11Neda Mijajlovic, Interviewed by Rochâne Temple and Edward Dann, 28 Belgrave Square London: Embassy of the Republic of Serbia, (04/04/2016) 12 ‘250,000 Belgium Refugees’, Hull Daily Mail, (9/09/1916), pp. 4

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much easier, overall, there are structural causes, rather than accidental to explain the absence of Serbian children from Britain’s collective memory of the First World War. In particular, the movement involved marginalised groups which are largely forgotten in collective national narratives.

The Serbian Relief Fund was crafted and led by women, as a result of this female dominance it predisposed the movement to be underappreciated and largely absent from the historiographies of the Great War. In the early twentieth century there was an ingrained culture in British society to marginalise women and as a result their contributions and experiences were overlooked in national narratives. Katherine Storr asserts that often the focus of British institutions is to celebrate “men’s heroism and sacrifice” in wartime and argues that this male precedence has caused the voice of women to be “excluded from the record”.13 Female absence can often lead to the holistic nature of war becoming misunderstood as snapshots of men on the front line occupy many Briton’s entire sensibility of war.

Coincidently, women are wrongly perceived as affected by war only through their connection to men, therefore the great, ‘independent’ contribution made by the women of the Serbian Relief Fund during wartime has largely been ignored. Markedly, by the end of the war a female doctor, Elsie Inglis, had established fourteen fully equipped surgical field hospitals serving with most Allied armies which “underscores the British misogyny shown to women”.14 In line with women’s contributions in Serbia, it was also women who facilitated the education of the Serbian refugees. Mrs Carrington Wilde, the head of the Education Sub-Committee for the Fund, campaigned fiercely on behalf of the children and ensured they received a maternal welcome alongside Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009), pp. 2 14 Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009), pp. 196 15 Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009), pp. 196 16 Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009), pp. 197 13

their education. Yet, despite such unwavering commitment, detailed reports about the Fund were only published in women’s magazines; all mainstream news outlets merely mentioned in passing the arrival of the refugees.15 Subsequently, the memory of the Serbian Refugee Movement has been deeply affected by the tendency to marginalise women, resulting in the scant historiography that devalues the enormity of relief work carried out by British women.

In spite of this movement’s current neglect from national memory, British women’s spearheading of Serbian relief can provide an important snapshot into the changing roles of women in the twentieth century. The Fund presented itself as an outlet for suffragettes’ activism: the group raised more than £500,000 in voluntary contributions for the organisation and the Southampton Times and Hampshire Express revealed that the Scottish Women’s Hospitals in France and Serbia were staffed and run entirely by members of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies.16 17 British authorities feared this elevation of women and as a reaction to this advancement they refused aid to women’s organisations; for example when Inglis offered her services to the War Office, she was spurned with the reply “My good lady, go home and sit still.”18 Women’s exclusion from large areas of the national war effort subsequently forced them to find other ways to contribute and thus they were drawn towards Serbian relief work, which remained untouched by government intervention. Storr highlights it is therefore ironic that by attempting to force women to “go home and keep quiet”, British patriarchy positioned women to undertake relief on an international scale, that was not limited by wartime alliances, race or time.19 Arguably, the social upheaval of the war became the catalyst for some women to ‘Relief of Refugees’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (13/01/1917), pp. 4 18 Francesca M. Wilson, In the Margins of Chaos: Recollections of Relief Work in and between Three Wars, London: William Clowes and Sons Ltd., (1944), pp. 77 19 Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009), pp. 196 17

pg. 52

no longer remain indifferent to their social standing, which had previously evoked feelings of incapability in regards to the war effort. By looking at the women who organised the Serbian’s refuge in Britain, it is clear that the Fund symbolised a change in attitudes whereby women rejected social norms and forged their own history, one which was no longer dictated by men. Despite this, such a change in attitudes was not universally accepted for several years after the war, and is arguably still ongoing. The framing of women as a marginalised group has resulted in their history not receiving appropriate recognition and consequently women’s involvement with the Fund and refugees has helped steer the movement into obscurity.

Another demographic frequently marginalised by society and forgotten in national narratives is children, and it is no coincidence that the Serbian Refuge Movement consisted solely of child evacuees. Previously there was a general failure to accept the importance of the history of childhood and in fact the topic has only recently been pursued academically.20 Children are repeatedly not provided with the means to record their own accurate experiences and it is adults who often determine if their accounts are even worthy of acknowledgement.21 In reflection of the Serbian refugees, the movement was not widely documented by adults and therefore the opportunity for the children’s personal stories to be heard was lost too. Hugh Cunningham maintains that those interested in childhood concepts draw evidence from visual images, diaries and autobiographies – all sources that are firsthand accounts.22 However, the substantial evidence uncovered surrounding the movement arose from primary sources written not from a child’s perspective, but instead from an adult’s; these were predominantly newspapers, education reports and school

Tony Kushner, Remembering Refugees: Then And Now, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (2006), pp. 142 20

Peter N. Stearns, Childhood in World History, London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, (2006), pp. 2 22 Hugh Cunningham, ‘Histories of Childhood’, American Historical Review, Vol. 103. 4, (1998), pp. 1196 21

journals. In fact just one example has surfaced highlighting a personal journey: an interview with a fourteen year old refugee.23 In addition, childhood experiences are frequently recounted retrospectively. It may be considered the Serbian boys themselves did not feel as though their time in Britain was worth remembering; therefore the memory of the refugees was more self-effacing than deliberate amnesia. Thus, the neglect that the Serbian’s experience in Britain has undertaken corresponds with the overall silence of children within history.

Additionally, Peter Stearns argues that it has been easier to analyse childhood rather than individual children’s experiences, especially in relation to the institutions they grow up in.24 The refugees arrived amidst revolutionary changes in education across the West, for instance new legislation was introduced in Britain in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to increase the quality of British schooling.25 In line with this, it is of little surprise that much of the evidence discovered on the Serbian refugees has overwhelmingly been found in school journals and educational supplements because it is easier to focus on the establishments of childhood rather than individual accounts. Conversely, one of the reasons that the movement was overlooked was because education became normalised in Britain, and thus the Serbians’ schooling was not seen as something out of the ordinary, but accepted by the local communities that they were immersed in. It is also important to consider how the low social status of children in the early twentieth century may have predetermined that the Serbian’s arrival in Southampton was viewed as insignificant. The refugees’ main interactions were with their peers, teachers and guardians whom they would have personally impacted, however this would not have crossed over to the national narratives of the Great War. In this respect, the

Townsville Daily Bulletin, (16/04/1917), pp. 7, found online at http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/59292112, [Date Accessed: 01/02/2016] 24 Peter N. Stearns, Childhood in World History, London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, (2006), pp. 2 25 Hugh Cunningham, ‘Histories of Childhood’, American Historical Review, Vol. 103. 4, (1998), pp. 1206 23

pg. 53

memory of their temporary residence became lost in the backdrop of the war and failed to make an enduring impression on the wider community. Overall, because the Serbian Refugee Movement was composed of children this presented further hurdles for the history of the movement to be written accurately or even remembered.

Not only was the Serbian Refugee Movement founded by a marginalised group (women) and made up of a marginalised group (children), refugees themselves are also classed as a disadvantaged group in society which further contributed to their neglect. This is because refugees are also frequently engulfed in the collective forgetfulness of nations. Jenifer Craig-Norton believes that this is often because “timing is everything” in reference to refugee movements; if they do not arrive amidst positive popular sentiment towards asylum seekers, they will not necessarily be either wellreceived or well-remembered.26 Tony Kushner furthers this point as he upholds that there was “an atmosphere of intensifying anti-alienism before the First World War” and therefore the Serbian refugees arriving in Britain in 1916 would have been met with such a response.27 Furthermore, Kushner maintains that in the United Kingdom in particular, memories surrounding migrants are often warped by the country’s proud claims to be a welcoming ‘island’, providing a safe haven for individuals fleeing conflict, persecution and disaster, regardless of the actuality of the situation.28 Therefore uncertainties arise surrounding refugee’s experiences whilst residing in Britain for a “storyline” is created “that is flattering to both these particular refugees and the receiving society” in order to sustain the countries’ involved reputations.29 Consequently it is

Jenifer Craig-Norton, ‘The Right Kind of Refugee’: Jewish Domestics in Britain Lecture, (19/04/2016), Southampton: University of Southampton 27 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 183 28 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding 26

difficult to truly gauge the experiences of the Serbian children in Southampton and the surrounding receiving areas, for a “storyline”, suggesting they integrated successfully, may have been constructed to highlight the positive reception of the migrants and preserve international relations. Thus, when there are truly inspirational refugee movements to Britain, that tower in relation to the small number of Serbian refugees – such as the positive reception of Jewish children during the Kinder Transport – these are remembered in order to maintain the “storyline” that Britain is a tolerant and welcoming country. Moreover, before the introduction of migration museums in recent years to popular consciousness “the migrant voice has largely [been] suppressed in the existing archive”. 30 This is true of the Serbian refugees for, as previously detailed, there is little to no evidence which survives concerning their personal experiences written in first-hand accounts. Thus a combination of these factors surrounding the lack in memory of refugee movements in general and an absence in material illustrates that it is predictable that the movement is neglected from collective memory.

The militarised memory of the First World War combined with an engrained culture to neglect the voices of women, children and refugees has helped support the notion of collective memory in which these groups are purposefully marginalised. The Serbian Refugee Movement consisted of all of these factors which therefore influence its removal from national narratives.

The movement’s absence can also be seen to reflect British attitudes and agendas of the time because it exemplifies how national memory, amnesia or neglect can be used to steer popular opinion. This is reflected most prominently

Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 178 29 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 178 30 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 180

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through the initial arrival of the refugees in Britain. The Serbian children docked in Southampton on the 28 April 1916 which coincided with the turbulent outbreak of the Easter Rising in Ireland.31 Subsequently Britain from the outset would have been defensive and hyper-sensitive to questions concerning Empire and nationalism. Therefore the propagating of Serbia’s national struggle, (as a small nation battling a larger occupying oppressor), was orchestrated to make a minimal impact for fear of opening up uncomfortable questions and scrutiny over a controversial British foreign policy which saw it play the oppressor against Ireland. Such a large focus on the troubles facing Britain’s imperial standing in Ireland reduced the attention devoted to the refugees who themselves could have provoked feelings of unjust imperialistic objectives, reducing the children’s presence in Britain from the outset.

of Scottish national identity… [which] predisposed… [his] defence of the underdog in national conflicts.”34 Moreover, James Evans also observes that “British Historians who were drawn to hitherto-surpassed nationalities were overwhelmingly Liberals, commonly with a radical tinge”.35 In fact, Seton-Watson himself had thought of standing as a Liberal candidate prior to the war.36 Arguably then, the pioneers of the Serbian Refugee Movement were not a representative sample of British political and intellectual life, but rather unconventional individuals.37 The State’s indifference to their efforts and the Serbian Refugee Movement as a whole can be seen to highlight a hesitance to address controversial debates that the Movement posed regarding Empire, women and politics. Ultimately, the Movement’s continued neglect from British collective memory serves as further evidence of this today.

This undertone of nationalist sympathies can be justified when considering the disproportionate representation of individuals and organisations from Scotland, another of Britain’s smaller and historically marginalised nations. The Scottish public were prepared to house and educate some of the refugees, as seen in the newspaper, the Dundee Courier: “there was no objection to sending Serbians to the East Coast of Scotland”.32 Additionally, the Scottish Women’s Hospital, founded by Inglis, provided critical medical relief in Serbia, particularly during the Typhus epidemic of 1915. Inglis was also a co-founder of the Kosovo Day Committee alongside the Fund’s honouree secretary Robert Seton-Watson; both of whom were Scottish nationals.33 László Péter argues that, “Above all Seton-Watson was impressed by a strong sense

Britain has had a long history of assumed racial superiority and subsequently the British public’s attitude to the Serbian’s arrival, (and refugees in general), can be questioned. Due to the consolidation of imperialism in the early twentieth century, negative opinion surrounding ‘aliens’ was prominent within Britain. This transcended into racial slurs customary in both common speech and the media.

Peter Gatrell pinpoints the dehumanising language used to refer to migrants, such as “torrents”, a “wave” and “hordes of locusts.”38 In line with this, similar attitudes were present in British discussions regarding their Eastern European neighbours: Evans suggests that prior to the war writers depicted Serbia and Eastern Europe as a whole as, “Savage… ‘Wild and lawless’ and swarming

‘Serbian Children Arrive in England’, Western Daily Press, (29/04/1916), pp. 3, found online at: http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/ bl/0000264/19160429/001/0003?browse=false [Date Accessed: 08/02/2016] 32 ‘Serbia’s Gallant Boys’, The Dundee Courier, (05/10/1916), pp. 4 33 Mark Cornwall, ‘Introduction’, in Andrej Mitrovic (eds.) Serbia’s Great War 1914-1918, London: Hurst and Co., (2007) pp. xiv, xv 34 László Péter, ‘R. W. Seton-Watson’s Changing Views on the National Question of the Habsburg Monarchy and the European Balance of Power’ in The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 82.3.

(July 2004), pp. 656

35

31

James Evans, Great Britain and the Creation of Yugoslavia, New York: I.B Tauris & Co., (2008), pp.

8 36 James Evans, Great Britain and the Creation of Yugoslavia, New York: I.B Tauris & Co., (2008), pp.

8 37 James Evans, Great Britain and the Creation of Yugoslavia, New York: I.B Tauris & Co., (2008), pp.

8 38 Peter Gatrell, ‘Refugees and Forced Migrants during the First World War’, Immigrants and Minorities: Historical Studies in Ethnicity, Migration and Diaspora, Vol. 26, No. 1-2m (2008), pp. 90

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with ‘strange nationalities.’”39 Moreover, the prominent Serbian Relief Fund member, Francesca Wilson, detailed in her account of her experiences in relief work, that these attitudes were even directed at children. When describing the remarks of a Gravesend headmistress in 1914 in regards to her new Belgian pupils, the teacher commented “Of course we ought to all help… but you get a very mixed bag in these sudden flights.”40 This suggests that there was a preconception of refugee children that was based on British intolerances during the period. Despite the lack of evidence that the Serbian boys experienced racist attitudes, such prevalent thoughts during the early twentieth century illustrates that it is likely they too would have come into contact with some forms of prejudice which would not have held sway with Britain’s ‘welcoming’ island “storyline”. 41 Furthermore, during the First World War limited space was dedicated to stories that did not concern the Western Front or reflect British interests. As a result, opinions of refugees were constructed upon the imperialistic stereotypes present in the limited reporting. This undermined the value of the refugees and further contributed to the minority Serbian refugee movements’ removal from collective memory.

It is also important to acknowledge that the First World War acted as a defining moment for the change in attitudes towards non-British elements within society. This intolerance became more extreme both in every day opinions as well as through legislation, for instance in 1914 the Aliens Restriction Act was passed resulting in the British government James Evans, Great Britain and the Creation of Yugoslavia, New York: I.B Tauris & Co., (2008), pp.

6 40 Francesca M. Wilson, In the Margins of Chaos: Recollections of Relief Work in and between Three Wars, London: William Clowes and Sons Ltd., (1944), pp. 2 39

Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 178 42 Tony Kushner and Katharine Knox. Refugees in an Age of Genocide: Global, National and Local Perspectives during the Twentieth Century, London: Frank Cass, (1999), pp.44 41

being able to exert the “right to restrict entry of aliens”.42 In this respect for any refugee movement; particularly one as small-scale as the Serbians, there would have likely been a struggle for any credible recognition or genuine support due to such restrictive legislature.

Kushner and Katharine Knox both emphasise that the ‘Alien Acts’ affected all refugee movements, as they confirm that “prior to the First World War, exceptional reasons had to be found to refuse entry or expel unwanted ‘aliens’”.43 Consequently, it is of no surprise that the Serbian refugees’ stay in the United Kingdom was confined to the duration of the War and no permanent settlement was offered, thus their integration was hindered by time, creating a minimal impact on British collective memory. In addition, by highlighting the success of the Serbian Relief Fund in offering sanctuary to the children, attention is also drawn to the tens of thousands of people refused aid by the State. Unfortunately, a direct parallel can be seen in recent events with the Government’s decision to refuse entry to 3,000 unaccompanied children currently stranded in Europe. 44 This serves as yet another example of Britain’s anti-asylum policies. Perhaps then, this is why the Fund’s small but significant triumph is not a willingly recalled fixture of Britain’s collective memory of the war, as it exposes the projected “storyline” of ‘hospitable, tolerant Britain’ as a myth.45 Local histories of the First World War often neglect smaller refugee movements as a result of pre-constructed imperialistic stereotypes evident in the British media. However, Southampton can be seen as an exception, for Tony Kushner and Katharine Knox. Refugees in an Age of Genocide: Global, National and Local Perspectives during the Twentieth Century, London: Frank Cass, (1999), pp. 397 44 Heather Stewart, ‘Ministers urged to let in 3,000 unaccompanied child refugees’, The Guardian, (25/04/2016), found online at: http://www.theguardian.com/uknews/2016/apr/25/ministers-urged-to-let-in-3000unaccompanied-child-refugees [Date Accessed: 01/05/2016] 45 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 178 43

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as a port city, the inhabitants were used to the arrival of ‘aliens’ and the cultural upheaval that sometimes accompanied them. In this light, research has shown that when the Serbian refugees arrived in Southampton their welcome was predominantly positive and therefore it is important to highlight this local community’s specific role in the national narrative of this refugee movement. Although Southampton received a relatively small number of children, the primary sources reveal that the city nevertheless played a considerable part in integrating the Serbian refugees. The school journals in particular for example illustrate the boys being fully immersed in everyday school activities and a report from the Southampton Times and Hampshire Express shows the decision to provide free tuition for the Serbians was popularly supported by local government; further suggesting that the refugees were welcomed warmly.46 47 Whilst archival research in Southampton has proved difficult, such enquiry is paramount in commemorating movements that have received little attention within the public eye. Upon the refugees’ arrival there was substantial public awareness of their plight, for instance the newspaper, the Southern Daily Echo reported on the adversity endured by the Serbian population during the Great Retreat as the boys are described as bearing “no trace of the incredible hardship”.48 Therefore once the children had arrived in Southampton, schools made special arrangements for them, namely Taunton’s School which ensured that places were reserved, regardless of local demand.49 Furthermore, the refugees on several occasions showed their appreciation to Britain by contributing to the regional war effort. 50 These gestures of solidarity were often reflected by the migrants’ commitment to harvest work; in many British communities Serbian boys are noted for “offering to work through the long summer vacation”.51 Although, perhaps the ‘Sotoniensis’, King Edward VI School Journal, Vol. XI, No. 64, (Easter 1918) 47 ‘Students’ Honours’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (27/01/1917), pp. 4 48 ‘Young Serbians at Southampton’, Southern Daily Echo, (28/04/1916) 49 ‘Endowed Schools: A Suggested Revision of the Scheme’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (27/01/1917), pp. 7 46

greatest example of the refugees’ immersion into British culture is their participation and inclusion in school football matches. The journals from King Edward VI School reveal a series of British versus Serbian fixtures that appeared to greatly assist the Serbian’s English and interacting with their peers.52 Distinctly, the Serbians thrived academically in Southampton whilst assimilating in the community; yet they remain absent from Southampton’s collective memory of the war.

Whilst sources may be hidden, they certainly do exist, but the consolidation of local accounts into national historiography can severely weaken the importance of local memory – especially if other local movements do not make a significant long-term, national impact. This is true of the Serbian refugees in Southampton, for despite significant numbers of people involved in engineering their stay; the local memory of the children appeared to disintegrate as the movement failed to pierce national consciousness.

Ultimately the Serbian Refugee Movement has largely been neglected from British collective memory as a result of an engrained British culture which orienteered the absence of voices belonging to minority movements – this omission has repeatedly gone unchallenged throughout historiography. Furthermore the Serbian experience exemplifies the malleable consistency of British history and memory as it is evident its place in the First World War has faded out of wider public awareness for its presumed insignificance. Although the movement has not been maliciously forgotten, it is evident that the construction of British collective memory has long been laced with the notion of British superiority and self-interest, as well as an age-old custom to exclude minority groups; which the organisation encompassed through its inclusion of women, children and refugees. This neglect is not unintentional but is symbolic of British attitudes of the time; for F. L. Freeman, A Short History of King Edward VI School, Southampton, (1954) 51 ‘Serbian Boys on English Farms’, Lancashire Evening Post, (17/06/1918), pp. 4, found online at: http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/ bl/0000711/19180617/082/0004?browse=false [Date Accessed: 10/02/2016] 52 ‘Sotoniensis’, King Edward VI School Journal, Vol. XI, No. 64, (Easter 1918), pp. 141-2 50

pg. 57

example legislature such as the Aliens Restriction Act combined with stereotypes of Eastern Europeans and the lower status of women in British society has made minority groups vulnerable to depreciation, resulting in an incomplete historiography. It is evident that some pragmatic reasons, such as the wider issues occurring at the time, have also contributed to the movement being engulfed into the narrative of the Great War. However, this only exacerbated the situation for the inevitability of the movement’s suppression had already been predetermined by it composition. Kushner supports this as he maintains that the “absence of refugees in history and within the memory process… is

neither accidental or without significance”.53 Finally, to reflect on the centaury of the Serbian refugee migration, parallels can be drawn in relation to the new wave of displacement facing the world today. In the current climate where distain for those in need is rife, it serves as a reminder of the Serbian Relief Fund, a small group lacking in government support, that took it upon themselves to ease the Serbian’s suffering. Consequently despite the Serbian refuges being neglected, we must consciously remedy British tendencies to overlook disadvantaged groups in order to evoke British national memory to include, rather than exclude.

Bibliography Jonathan Boyarin, Storm from Paradise: The Politics of Jewish Memory, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, (1992) Alon Confino, ‘Collective Memory and Cultural History: Problems of Method’, American Historical Review, 102.5, (1997), pp. 1388-1400 Mark Cornwall, ‘Introduction’, in Andrej Mitrovic (eds.) Serbia’s Great War 1914-1918, London: Hurst and Co., (2007), pp. vii-xvi Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (2007) Hugh Cunningham, ‘Histories of Childhood’, American Historical Review, Vol. 103. 4, (1998), pp.

1195-1208 Noa Gedi and Yigal Elam, ‘Collective Memory – What Is It?’, History & Memory, 8.1, (1996) James Evans, Great Britain and the Creation of Yugoslavia, New York: I.B Tauris & Co., (2008) Peter Gatrell, ‘Refugees and Forced Migrants during the First World War’, Immigrants and Minorities: Historical Studies in Ethnicity, Migration and Diaspora, Vol. 26, No. 1-2 (2008), pp. 82110 Tony Kushner, ‘Alienated Memories – Migrants and the Silences of the Archive’ in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 177-193 Tony Kushner, Remembering Refugees: Then And Now, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (2006) Tony Kushner and Katharine Knox, Refugees in an Age of Genocide: Global, National and Local Perspectives during the Twentieth Century, London: Frank Cass, (1999) Andrej Mitrovic, Serbia’s Great War 1914-1918, London: Hurst and Co., (2007) Jenifer Craig-Norton, ‘The Right Kind of Refugee’: Jewish Domestics in Britain Lecture, (19/04/2016), Southampton: University of Southampton Tony Kushner, Remembering Refugees: Then And Now, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (2006), pp. 17 53

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László Péter, ‘R. W. Seton-Watson’s Changing Views on the National Question of the Habsburg Monarchy and the European Balance of Power’ in The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 82.3.

(July 2004), pp. 655-679 Peter N. Stearns, Childhood in World History, London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, (2006) Heather Stewart, ‘Ministers urged to let in 3,000 unaccompanied child refugees’, The Guardian, (25/04/2016), found online at: http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/apr/25/ministersurged-to-let-in-3000-unaccompanied-child-refugees [Date Accessed: 01/05/2016] Katherine Storr, Excluded From the Record: Women, Refugees and Relief, Germany: International Academic Publishers, (2009) Joan Tumblety, ‘Introduction’, in Joan Tumblety (eds). Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources: Memory and History – Understanding Memory as Source and Subject, (2013), Oxon: Routledge, pp. 1-16

Primary sources L. M. Davidovitch, Letter to Mrs Carrington Wilde from L.M Davidovitch (Minister of Education: Ministere de L’Instruction Publique de Serbia), Serbian Relief Fund First World War and Interwar Years (1914-1953), London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies Library, University College London, (1917) ‘Endowed Schools: A Suggested Revision of the Scheme’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (27/01/1917), pp. 7 F. L. Freeman, A Short History of King Edward VI School, Southampton, (1954) Neda Mijajlovic, Interviewed by Rochâne Temple and Edward Dann, 28 Belgrave Square London: Embassy of the Republic of Serbia, (04/04/2016) ‘Relief of Refugees’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (13/01/1917), pp. 4 ‘Serbia’s Gallant Boys’, The Dundee Courier, (05/10/1916), pp. 4 ‘Serbian Boys on English Farms’, Lancashire Evening Post, (17/06/1918), pp. 4, found online at: http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0000711/19180617/082/0004?browse=false [Date Accessed: 10/02/2016] ‘Serbian Children Arrive in England’, Western Daily Press, (29/04/1916), pp. 3, found online at: http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0000264/19160429/001/0003?browse=false [Date Accessed: 08/02/2016] Serbian Relief Fund, Table Showing Education Institutions of the Serbian Refugees, Serbian Relief Fund First World War and Interwar Years (1914-1953), London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies Library, University College London, (1917) ‘Sotoniensis’, King Edward VI School Journal, Vol. XI, No. 64, (Easter 1918) ‘Students’ Honours’, Southampton Times and Hampshire Express, (27/01/1917), pp. 4 Townsville Daily Bulletin, (16/04/1917), found online at http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/59292112, [Date Accessed: 01/02/2016] Francesca M. Wilson, In the Margins of Chaos: Recollections of Relief Work in and between Three Wars, London: William Clowes and Sons Ltd., (1944) ‘Young Serbians at Southampton’, Southern Daily Echo, (28/04/1916) ‘250,000 Belgium Refugees’, Hull Daily Mail, (9/09/1916), pp.4

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Changes in the Work Sphere: Families that are DualCareer

by Francoise Jennion In 2015, The Guardian published an article discussing the limitations of paid work opportunities for women, that are workable alongside their domestic responsibilities.

Rather than a focus on flexible hours, the article shows how such women end up in ‘poorly paid part-time jobs that are career dead ends’.

Interestingly, in the 1970s ‘women at work’ debates surrounded this whole issue, centring on the compatibility of work and domestic life for women, but with an emphasis on whether this family structure was socially and culturally acceptable.

This is particularly visible in Rhona and Robert Rapoports 1971 study Dual Career Families, which boasted the successes of a dual-career family structure in five carefully selected middle-class families (from a total of sixteen who were interviewed). Such meticulous methodology emphasises how such a minority of families existed at the time. The Rapoport study would go on to be a work that challenged other contemporary works such as Peter Willmott and Michael Young’s The Symmetrical Family: A Study of Work and Leisure in the London Region (1973), which claimed that a ‘symmetrical family’ i.e. equal distribution of domestic and paid work responsibilities across the genders, was widespread in the period.

One particular case-study: ‘The Jarrets’, which builds on their previous research in Women in Top Jobs (1969), reveals the criticism that women should not undertake paid work, particularly at specific times in the family cycle e.g. when ‘their son’ was ‘small’. Interestingly, the Jarret’s are not ‘familistic’ as their marriage is centred on mutual enhancement and individualisation, whereas the other four casestudies are more exemplary in the familial distribution of domestic tasks.

This individualistic attitude (which is influenced by the Rapoport’s psychoanalytical interests), has enabled Mrs Jarrett to continue her career but her motherhood capabilities to be ‘frowned on’ and ‘disapproved’ of. Mothers pursuing a career were usually blamed for delinquency in their children. Similarly, such criticisms are mentioned in a BBC Man Alive: Marriage

Under Stress episode, where Mr Vincenzi expresses an inner conflict where on the one hand he wants to support his wife’s career endeavours yet feels that ‘ideally she should be looking after the children.’ Furthermore, the ‘criticisms’ are not aimed at Mr Jarrett, who is deemed appropriate for continuing in paid work due to culturally embedded attitudes regarding fathers as providers and mothers as housewives. In addition to this, the Jarret’s employment of domestic help is yet another informant of criticism in the 1970s, as such childcare was deemed less beneficial for a child’s upbringing than motherly care.

The Rapoport’s comment of ‘direct’ criticisms seem at odds with the Jarret’s who both express that they ‘always felt’ and ‘it was never anything that was said’ which imply a general social consensus of criticism towards women at work, rather than outward criticism. This is better explored by the word ‘implied’. This exaggeration aims to persuade the reader to empathise and recognise the continuing hostility of society towards women in careers.

The discussion of British women feeling ‘jealous’ as they had ‘given’ work ‘up’ relates to the idea of choice, in that mothers may have prioritised their family responsibilities or felt they were expected to do this, whilst the discussion of those having to work has financial implications for working-class families. They may have also wanted to continue working, but not had a husband like Mr Kiley (a different case-study: The Kiley’s) who partook in many domestic chores or like the Jarret’s who had employed domestic help and thus could eat ‘my cake and [have…] it’, referring to Mrs Jarret’s ability to work and carry out her motherhood responsibilities. It is worth noting that Mr Jarrett has a minute domestic role and undertakes gendered domestic tasks such as gardening and washing the car. Whilst these case-studies are representative of only a minority of middle-class families in 1971, Ann Oakley’s Housewife comparatively highlights working-class individuals such as Sally Jordan who maintained her job and challenged culturally embedded expectations. Thus the concept of a work-domestic schedule crosses

pg. 60

social classes despite having experiential variances.

In conclusion, the Rapoportâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s optimistic encouragement of the dual-career family structure is reflected in the fact that the families were recommended as exemplary of this structure. In reality, many families struggled to

achieve such compatibility and womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work continued as a non-essentialist pursuit thus demonstrating the interdependency of the work and domestic spheres. Such a family structure may seem common to us now, however, this exploration of its existence in the 1970s briefly questions the argument that a work-domestic family balance was widespread in the period.

Bibliography Allan, Graham, and Graham Crow, Families, Households and Society (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001) Ball, Tom, The debate about flexible working for women is missing the point (London: The Guardian, 2015) <https://www.theguardian.com/small-business-network/2015/nov/18/debateflexible-working-women-missing-the-point> [accessed 25 February 2017] Oakley, Ann, Housewife (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1974) Peplar, Michael, Family Matters: A history of ideas about family since 1945 (Harlow: Longman, 2002) Percival, John, Man Alive, Marriage Under Stress: Children (United Kingdom: BBC2, 1962) <http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/marriage/10512.shtml> [accessed 06 December 2016] Rapoport, Rhona, and Robert Rapoport, Dual-Career Families (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971) Willmott, Peter, and Michael Young, The Symmetrical Family: A Study of Work and Leisure in the London Region (London: Routledge, 1973)

pg. 61

Why Enhanced Interrogation Techniques are an ineffective counterterrorism method

by Ryan Brooks ABSTRACT: Six days after the 9/11, President Bush signed a memorandum that authorised the CIA to capture and detain suspected al-Qaeda members. Afterwards, the CIA established an “extraordinary rendition” programme, which abducted suspected terrorists and transported them to secret prisons known as “Blacksites”.1 The Bush administration defined these prisoners as “enemy combatants”, and removed their legal rights; as Bush’s 2002 directive to his National Security Council made clear: “None of the provisions of Geneva apply to our conflict with al-Qaeda in Afghanistan or elsewhere throughout the world”.2 Once in custody, the CIA used “Enhanced Interrogation Techniques” (EITs) against these prisoners to extract information.3 Their use is controversial, and their effectiveness as a counterterrorism tool has been the subject of much debate. Rob Imre has referred to them as “torture”, and argued that their use supports the ideology of terrorists, saying, “There is no greater coalescence for the radicalisation of individuals and groups”.4 Alternatively, Marc Thiessen has claimed that the interrogation programme produced “valuable intelligence that stopped attacks and saved lives”. 5 This essay will argue that EITs were an ineffective and unnecessary means of extracting information.

Furthermore, this essay will argue that the wider implications of their use damaged the Unites States’ counterterrorism efforts. Finally, this essay will challenge the claim that their use led to the killing of Bin Laden.

John Rizzo– the Acting General Counsel of the CIA during the Bush administration – has defended the use of EITs against Abu Zubaydah, one of the first al-Qaeda suspects in CIA custody. According to him, there was a need to adopt EITs because Zubaydah “was proving to be a twisted, smug little creep, offering up little titbits that were either old news or outright lies”.1 However, Zubaydah was actually being cooperative during his interrogation. During the 2009 Senate Torture Hearing, a FBI agent, Ali Soufan, revealed that his agency gained crucial information before the use of EITs. As he said during the hearing:

“when we interrogated him, using intelligent interrogation methods, within the first hour we gained important actionable intelligence”.2 The 2014 report by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (SSCI) confirmed that this occurred in April 2002 when Zubaydah was still in hospital recovering from the injuries he sustained during his capture.3 This was four months before the CIA received a memo from the Justice Department informing them that the use of EITs were legal.4 Therefore, before the CIA were able to undertake EITs, Zubaydah

Samuel Walker, Presidents and Civil Liberties from Wilson to Obama: A Story of Poor Custodians (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012) p. 474.

2 ‘Memo from President Bush to Vice President, Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense, et. al’, 7 February 2002, in National Security Archive, <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torturingdemocracy/documents/20020207-2.pdf> [accessed 20 November 2016] p. 1.

3 John Rizzo, Company Man: Thirty Years of Controversy and Crisis in the CIA (New York: Scriber, 2014) p.

186.

4 Robert Imre, ‘Torture Works: But not on Terrorists’, in Robert Imre, Brian Mooney and Benjamin Clark, (eds), Responding to Terrorism: Political, Philosophical and Legal Perspectives (Farnham: Ashgate, 2008) p. 59.

5 Marc Thiessen, ‘The WikiLeaks That Show Enhanced Interrogation Worked’, World Affairs, Vol. 174, No. 1 (2011), pp. 31-39 (p. 39).

1 John Rizzo, Company Man: Thirty Years of Controversy and Crisis in the CIA (New York: Scriber, 2014) pp.182-183.

2 Ali Soufan, ‘Senate Torture Hearings (Ali Soufan) 1/2’ in ‘YouTube.com’, <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jQoM0WvQpU> [accessed 20 November 2016].

3 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3 December 2014, in ‘intelligence.senate.gov’, <http://www.intelligence.senate.gov/> [accessed 25 November 2016] p. 25.

4 ‘Memo from Jay Bybee to the CIA’, 2 August 2002, in National Security Archive, <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torturingdemocracy/documents/20020801-2.pdf> [accessed 23 November 2016].

1

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was already being cooperative standard interrogation methods.

through

Although Zubaydah was being cooperative before the CIA used EITs, a 2005 memorandum addressed to John Rizzo claimed that the only valuable information extracted from him occurred after their use. According to the memo, once the CIA used EITs on Zubaydah he provided “detailed information regarding alQaeda’s organisational structure, key operatives and modus operandi and identified KSM [Khalid Sheikh Mohammed] as the mastermind of the September 11 attacks”.5 However, the SSCI report found that this happened during the FBI interrogation. It was during this phase that Zubaydah identified a picture of KSM, provided information on his background, and informed the FBI that he was responsible for al-Qaeda’s operations outside Afghanistan.6 Furthermore, according to Soufan, Zubaydah informed the FBI of Jose Padilla, the so-called “dirty bomber”.7 Consequently, U.S authorities arrested Padilla on the 8th May 2002, three months before the CIA gained the authorisation to use EITs.8 Therefore, the crucial information attained from Zubaydah occurred before the use of EITs. Nevertheless, the CIA subjected Zubaydah to EITs in August 2002. According to a 2007 report by the Committee of the Red Cross, this included “suffocation by water, beatings and use of a collar to slam him against a wall, sleep deprivation, loud music and deprivation of

‘Memorandum for John A. Rizzo, Senior Deputy General Counsel, Central Intelligence Agency’, 30 May 2005, in National Security Archive <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torture_archive/docs/B radbury%20memo.pdf> [accessed 25 November 2016] p. 10.

6 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, p.

25.

7 Ali Soufan, ‘Senate Torture Hearings (Ali Soufan) 2/2’ in ‘YouTube.com’, <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iijLYbA7vt0> [accessed 20 November 2016].

8 Jonathan R. White, Terrorism and Homeland Security (Boston: Cengage Learning, 2015) p.365.

9‘ICRC Report On The Treatment Of “Fourteen High Value Detainees” In CIA Custody’, 14th February 2007, in NYBooks.com <http://www.nybooks.com/media/doc/2010/04/2 2/icrc-report.pdf> [accessed 27 November 2016] p.

14.

5

solid food”.9 The reason this occurred was that the Bush administration thought EITs were necessary to prevent further attacks. As Alberto Gonzales, the Attorney General, said to Bush in 2002: “The nature of the new war places a high premium on…the ability to quickly obtain information from captured terrorists and their sponsors in order to avoid further atrocities against American civilians”.10 However, in the case of Zubaydah, these practices provided the CIA with no new information. As the SSCI report noted: “At no time during or after the use of the CIA's enhanced interrogation techniques did Abu Zubaydah provide information about operatives in, or future attacks against, the United States”.11 Not only does this show that the safety of Americans did not increase, but it challenges the justification for using EITs. The CIA’s assumption – that Zubaydah knew something about future attacks against America – guided the interrogations of other suspects. A 2004 report by the CIA admitted this was because they had poor intelligence on al-Qaeda, which “led analysts to speculate about what a detainee ‘should know’, vice information the analyst could objectively demonstrate the detainee did know”.12 This caused the CIA to continue to use EITs when they were not necessary. An example of this is the interrogation of Ramzi Bin Al Shibh. Arrested

by Pakistani authorities in September 2002, Shiba was a high-ranking al-Qaeda member; he had met with Bin Laden three times and was previously in contact with KSM.13 This caused ‘Application of the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War to the Conflict with al Qaeda and the Taliban’, 25 January 2002, in National Security Archive <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torturingdemocracy/do cuments/20020125.pdf> [accessed 26 November 2016] p. 2.

11 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, pp.

46-47.

12 ‘Counterterrorism Detention And Interrogation Activities (September 2001 – October 2003)’, 7 May 2004, in CIA Library, <https://www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/0 005856717.pdf> [accessed 29 November 2016] p.

83.

13 ‘JTF-GTMO Detainee Assessment’, Ramzi Bin Al Shibh, 8 December 2006, in Wikileaks.org, <https://wikileaks.org/gitmo/pdf/ym/us9ym010013dp.pdf> [accessed 22nd November 2016] pp.

9-11.

10

pg. 63

CIA personnel to think he possessed actionable intelligence, and they conducted EITs in 2003 to extract it. Although the CIA agents at the detention site told their headquarters that Shiba was being cooperative and knew nothing of any future attacks, headquarters insisted that the use of EITs should continue.14 Shibh provided no new information, and personnel at the CIA concluded in 2005 that the most significant intelligence derived from him occurred while he was in foreign custody, prior to the use of EITs. This included the possibility of an attack on Heathrow airport, and information about future attacks in the Arabian Peninsula.15 Despite this, Marc Thissen has argued that EITs stopped a large-scale attack on America.

Accordingly, once EITs were employed on KSM, he “provided the CIA with critical information that led to the disruption of the second wave [plot]”.16 However, the international community prevented this attack before KSM’s interrogation. On February 9th 2006, Bush declared that the second wave plot – which involved flying planes into the West Coast of America – was “derailed in early 2002 when a Southeast Asian nation arrested a key al-Qaeda operative”.17 It was not until March 2003 when the CIA interrogated KSM, meaning there is no connection between the information he provided and the thwarting of the plot.

Furthermore, the use of EITs proved counterproductive. Although KSM provided information about the Heathrow Airport plot, the CIA thought this was a diversion from discussing attacks related to America. 18 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’ Report 78.

15 Ibid., p. 76.

16 Marc Thiessen, Courting Disaster: How the CIA Kept America Safe and How Barack Obama Is Inviting The Next Attack (Washington: Regency Publishing, 2010) p. 91.

17 James P. Terry, ‘Torture and the Interrogation of Detainees’, Campbell Law Review, Vol.32, No. 4 (2010), pp. 595-617 (pp. 597-598).

18 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, pp.

85-86.

19 John W. Schiemann, Does Torture Work? (New York, Oxford University Press, 2016) P. 241-242.

20 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: 14

Consequently, further use of EITs occurred, which caused KSM to say that he had sent Abu al-Britani to Montana to recruit AfricanAmerican converts. This caused the FBI to host a conference and spend time investigating the matter.19 However, in June 2003, KSM admitted that he fabricated the story. He stated that he was under “enhanced measures” when he made these claims, and only told his interrogators what he thought they wanted to hear.20 Therefore, the use of EITs on KSM did not disrupt the second wave plot; instead, it produced false intelligence that wasted the FBI’s time.

The CIA interrogated all the previously mentioned detainees at secret “blacksites”.

However, the use of EITs was not limited to these places. In the aftermath of the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan, the Northern Alliance – a coalition of Afghan forces working with the U.S – captured hundreds of Taliban and alQaeda members. The U.S gained custody of these people, and sent eight hundred to the Guantanamo Bay detention site.21 On the 16th April 2003, the Secretary of Defence, Donald Rumsfeld, authorised the use of twenty-four “counter-resistance techniques” at this facility.22 Their use, combined with the conditions at Guantanamo, damaged the U.S’s counterterrorism efforts. As Obama said in a 2009 Speech: “Guantanamo became a symbol that helped al-Qaeda recruit terrorists to its cause”.23 Indeed, Guantanamo Bay continued to feature in terrorist propaganda after Bush left office. In a 2010 issue of al-Qaeda’s magazine, Inspire, a member of the group Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, p.

92.

21 Thomas McDonnell, The United States, International Law, and the Struggle against Terrorism (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010) p. 48.

22 ‘Memorandum For The Commander US Southern Command’, April 16 2003, in National Security Archive <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torturingdemocracy/do cuments/20030416.pdf> [accessed 30 November 2016] pp. 2-3.

23 Barack Obama, ‘Protecting Our Security And Our Values’, National Archives Museum, Washington D.C, May 21, 2009, in Andyworthing.co.uk <http://www.andyworthington.co.uk/2009/05/21/ transcript-of-president-obamas-speech-aboutguantanamo-and-terrorism-may-21-2009/> [accessed 30 November 2016].

pg. 64

specifically referred to his experience at Guantanamo. As he said of his time there: “They insulted our religion and we were subjected to physical and psychological forms of torture through sleep deprivation and exposure to hot and cold weather in special rooms”.24 Guantanamo’s propaganda ability did not end with al-Qaeda; the Islamic State has consistently used imagery related to the prison within its execution videos. For example, in February 2015 they uploaded a video to the internet that showed the immolation of a Jordanian pilot dressed in the same orange jump suit that prisoners at Guantanamo wore.25 Therefore, the use of EITs at Guantanamo provided terrorists with an enduring propaganda tool.

The use of EITs at Guantanamo also set the precedent for further abuse. As Michele Chwastiak has argued, the Bush administration normalised the practice of torture. By creating a legal framework for EITs, using them regularly, and implementing them through a bureaucratic system, abuse became standardised.26 A 2004 review into the Department of Defence supported this argument, as it found that interrogation techniques approved for Guantanamo migrated to Iraq.27 Once established in Iraq, the techniques exceeded the guidelines set by Rumsfeld. This culminated in the abuses at the Abu Ghraib dentition facility. A 2008 investigation by the Senate Armed Services Committee found that interrogation techniques “approved by senior military and civilian ‘My Life in Jihad: The Story of Commander Uthman Al-Ghamidi’, Inspire: And Inspire The Believers, 2010, in publicintelligence.net <https://info.publicintelligence.net/InspireFall201 0.pdf> [accessed 30 November 2016] p. 14.

25 Sami Moubayed, Under the Black Flag: At the Frontier of the New Jihad (London: I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd, 2015) p. 137.

26 Michele Chwastiak, ‘Torture as normal work: The Bush Administration, the Central Intelligence Agency and ‘Enhanced Interrogation Techniques’’, Organisation, Vol. 22, No. 1 (2015), pp. 493-511 (pp. 505-506).

27 ‘Final Report of the Independent Panel to Review DoD Detention Operations’, 24 August 2004, in antiwar.com <https://www.antiwar.com/rep2/abughraibrpt.pdf > [accessed 30 November 2016] p. 37.

28 ‘State Armed Services Committee Inquiry Into The Treatment Of Detainees In U.S Custody’, 11 December 2008, in National Security Archive 24

officials conveyed the message that physical pressures and degradation were appropriate treatment for detainees in U.S. military custody”. 28 According to the official investigation into Abu Ghraib, this treatment included punching, kicking, forced nudity and “forcibly arranging detainees in various sexually explicit positions”.29 Therefore, the use of EITs at Guantanamo set the trend for other locations, and resulted in uncontrolled abuses.

These abuses became public in 2004, and damaged counterterrorism efforts by reducing the favorability of the U.S. In 2002, Antony Blinken argued that winning the war on terror was dependent on winning the war of ideas. If the perception of the U.S became negative, and if hostile ideas increased, terrorism would become harder to prevent.30 This argument was accurate, as the Abu Ghraib revelations hindered counterterrorism efforts in Iraq.

Firstly, they contributed to anti-U.S feelings among the Iraqi people. In the first poll undertaken after the revelations, 92% of Iraqis said that collation forces were “occupiers”, while 52% believed all Americans acted the same way as those who abused prisoners.31 Secondly, it provided another propaganda tool for insurgents. For example, during the 2004 execution of the American contractor, Nicholas Berg, the perpetrator referred to Abu Ghraib. As he said before the beheading: “We tell you that the dignity of the Muslim men and women in Abu Ghraib is not redeemed except by blood and souls”.32 Thirdly, the revelations increased the number of foreign fighters in Iraq. As <http://nsarchive.gwu.edu/torturingdemocracy/do cuments/20081211.pdf> [accessed 30 November 2016] p. 19.

29 ‘Article 15-6 Investigation Of The 800 th Military Police Brigade’, in fas.org <https://fas.org/irp/agency/dod/taguba.pdf> [accessed 30 November 2016] p. 16.

30 Antony Blinken, “Winning the War of Ideas”, in Alexander T.J. Lennon (ed.) The Battle for Hearts and Minds: Using Soft Power to Undermine Terrorist Networks (London: The MIT Press, 2003) pp. 282-286.

31 ‘Public Opinion in Iraq: First Poll Following Abu Ghraib Revelations’, 15th June 2004, in globalpolicy.org <https://www.globalpolicy.org/images/pdfs/06iiac ss.pdf> [accessed 11 December 2016] pp.35, 46.

32 Victoria Fontan, Voices from Post-Saddam Iraq: Living with Terrorism, Insurgency, and New Forms of Tyranny (Westport: Praeger, 2009) p. 98.

pg. 65

Matthew Alexander – a man who conducted over 300 interrogations in Iraq – told the Washington post in 2008: “I learned in Iraq that the number one reason foreign fighters flocked there to fight were the abuses carried out at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo.33 This was particularly harmful to the U.S because a high number of foreign fighters undertook suicide operations. According to the Sinjar Records – a number of documents captured in October 2007 from al-Qaeda – 91.5% of Moroccan fighters, 85.2% of Libyan fighters, and 65.6% of Syrian fighters planned to become suicide bombers.34 Such tactics caused further instability in Iraq, and directly killed 175 U.S soldiers between the years 2003-2010.35 Aside from disrupting Iraqi operations, EITs also damaged global counterterrorism efforts.

Part of the Bush administration’s National Security Strategy was to work with allies around the world and increase the number of liberal democracies.36 The use of EITs hindered both of these aims. Firstly, cooperation with allies decreased because of the controversy EITs caused. For example, in 2003 the Dutch government wanted to contribute to the coalition’s effort in Afghanistan. However, the government feared a public outcry should they assist the U.S in the capture of somebody likely to experience EITs. As such, they did not deploy troops until 2006.37 Secondly, EITs prevented an increase of liberal democracies because they

Matthew Alexander, ‘I’m Still tortured by what I Saw in Iraq’, The Washington Post, 30th November 2008 <http://www.washingtonpost.com/wpdyn/content/article/2008/11/28/AR200811280224 2.html> [accessed November 20 2016].

34‘Al-Qaeda’s Foreign Fighters in Iraq: A First Look at the Sinjar Records’, West Point Counterterrorism Centre, <http://www.isn.ethz.ch/isn/DigitalLibrary/Publications/Detail/?ots591=0c54e3b31e9c-be1e-2c24a6a8c7060233&lng=en&id=45910> [accessed 3 December 2016] p. 19.

35 Madelyn Hsiao-Rei Hicks, Hamit Dardagan, Peter M Bagnall, Michael Spagat, and John A Sloboda, ‘Casualties in civilians and coalition soldiers from suicide bombings in Iraq, 2003–10: a descriptive study’, Lancet, (2011), pp. 906-914 (p. 910).

36 The National Security Strategy of The United States of America, September 2002, in state.gov <http://www.state.gov/documents/organization/63 562.pdf> [accessed 1 December 2016] pp. 6-11.

37 Douglas A. Johnson, Alberto Mora, and Averell Schmidt, ‘The Strategic Cost of Torture: How ‘Enhanced Interrogation’ Hurt America’, Foreign 33

created what Michele Ponser called the “ripple effect”. This was the tendency of governments to use the example set by the U.S to undertake their own abuses.38 For example, the Gambian government arrested and tortured 28 people in 2006. When objections were raised, the speaker of the Gambian National Assembly, Blinda Bidwell, stated that: “The world is different since 9/11 and al-Qaeda, and when it comes to matters of national security and the safety of the population, extraordinary measures must occasionally be taken”.39 On the 22nd of January 2009, Obama issued executive order 13491. This ended the use of EITs, and ensured that all future interrogations would comply with the Army Field Manuel.40 He outlined his reason for doing so in March 2009: [EITs] alienate us in the world. They serve as a recruitment tool for terrorists, and increase the will of our enemies to fight us, while decreasing the will of others to work with America. They risk the lives of our troops by making it less likely that others will surrender to them in battle, and more likely that Americans will be mistreated if they are captured. In short, they did not advance our war and counterterrorism efforts – they undermined them, and that is why I ended them once and for all.41

Affairs, Vol. 95, no. 4 (September/October 2016), pp. 121-132 (p. 130).

38 Michael H. Posner and Alan M. Dershowitz, ‘Is an Outright Ban the Best Way to Eliminate or Constrain Torture?’, in Stuart Gottlieb (ed.), Debating Terrorism and Counterterrorism: Conflicting Perspectives on Causes, Contexts and Responses (London: Sage, 2014), p. 320.

39 Douglas A. Johnson, Alberto Mora, and Averell Schmidt, ‘The Strategic Cost of Torture: How ‘Enhanced Interrogation’ Hurt America’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 95, no. 4 (September/October 2016), pp. 121-132 (p. 130).

40 Executive Order 13491 – Ensuring Lawful Interrogations, 22nd January 2009, in whitehouse.gov <https://www.whitehouse.gov/thepress-office/ensuring-lawful-interrogations> [accessed 5 December 2016].

41 Remarks By The President On National Security, 21st May 2009, in whitehouse.gov <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-pressoffice/remarks-president-national-security5-21-09> [accessed 9 December 2016].

pg. 66

Nevertheless, the supporters of EITs gained an opportunity to defend their use. On May 2nd 2011, a group of U.S NAVY Seals killed Osama Bin in Abbottabad, Pakistan.42 Afterwards, officials from the Bush administration sought to link this event to EITs. Dick Cheney, Bush’s Vice President, even suggested that the interrogators “deserve to be decorated” for their services.43 The apparent connection is the information extracted from detainees about Bin Laden’s courier. Bush’s third Attorney General, Michele Mukasey, argued in the Wall Street Journal that the use of EITs on KSM “loosed a torrent of information—including eventually the nickname of a trusted courier of bin Laden”.44 Jose Rodriquez, the director of the Counterterrorism Centre under Bush, gave a different account. He claimed that in 2004 a detainee subjected to EITs informed the CIA that Bin laden conducted business through a courier named “Abu-Ahmad al-Kuwaiti”, and that this information led to Bin Laden’s death.45 However, while it is possible that the CIA obtained the name of al-Kuwaiti through EITs, they identified his role as courier without them.

Furthermore, this information only led to the killing of Bin Laden in combination with other intelligence sources.

On the 13th February 2002, Muhammad alQahtani – an al-Qaeda member – arrived at Guantanamo Bay.46 During his interrogation he told the CIA that a man named Abu Ahmed alKuwaiti gave him operational training.

However, as Peter Bergen has argued, it is unclear whether he revealed this while under coercion.47 Indeed, the first authorisation for Adrian Brown, ‘Osama Bin laden’s Death: How it Happened’, BBC News, 10 September 2012 <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia13257330> [accessed 13 December 2016].

43 Dick Cheney, In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir (New York: Threshold Editions, 2011) p. 524.

44 Michael B. Mukasey, ‘The Waterboarding Trial to Bin Laden’, The Wall Street Journal, 6 May 2011 <http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052748 703859304576305023876506348> [accessed 25 November 2016].

45Jose Rodriguez, Hard Measures: How Aggressive CIA Actions After 9/11 Saved American Lives (New York: Threshold Editions, 2013) pp. 109-110.

46 ‘JTF-GTMO Detainee Assessment’, Muhammad Mani Ahmad al-Shaalan al-Qahtani, 30th October 2008, in Wikileaks.org, <https://wikileaks.org/gitmo/pdf/sa/us9sa000063dp.pdf> [accessed 30 November 2016] p. 7.

42

EITs at Guantanamo did not occur until the 2nd of December 2002.48 Even if al-Qahtani did release the information while under coercion, at this stage the CIA did not understand Kuwaiti’s role. As such, the CIA approached KSM in 2003 for more information. However, contrary to Mukasey’s claim, all that KSM said was that he was “retired”.49 It was not until 2004 when the CIA established al-Kuwaiti’s role as courier.

The SSCI identified Hassan Ghul as the detainee that released this information, and that he did so before the use of EITs.50 Therefore, the CIA obtained the most important information about al-Kuwaiti without the use of EITs. While this information was important, it remained insignificant for many years. As the Director of the Central Intelligence under Obama, Leon Panetta, admitted in his memoir: “As of 2009 we had absolutely no idea where he [Bin Laden] was”.51 It was not until 2010 when a breakthrough occurred. The CIA managed to track al-Kuwaiti’s phone, which allowed them to locate his whereabouts. Afterwards, a CIA agent in Pakistan followed his vehicle, which travelled to a compound in the city of Abbottabad. After this, CIA agents monitored the compound from a safe house, while the National Security Agency did so from space.

Analysts identified a man who habitually walked in the garden, and thought that it could be Bin Laden. However, somebody had covered the garden in tarpaulin, and analysts could not

Peter Bergen, Manhunt: From 9/11 To Abbottabad – The Ten-Year Search For Osama Bin Laden (London: Vintage, 2013) p. 98.

48 ‘State Armed Services Committee Inquiry Into The Treatment Of Detainees In U.S Custody’, 11th December 2008, p. 9.

49 Scott Shane and Charlie Savage, ‘Osama Killing: Did brutal interrogations lead to clues?’ The New York Times, 4 May 2011<http://www.ndtv.com/world-news/osamakilling-did-brutal-interrogation-lead-to-clues454731?site=full> [accessed 25 November 2016].

50 ‘Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program: Findings and Conclusions: Executive Summary’, p.

131.

51 Leon Panetta, Worthy Fights: A Memoir of Leadership in War and Peace (New York: Penguin, 2014) p. 289.

47

pg. 67

definitively say that it was Bin Laden.52 In the end, Obama concluded that there was a fiftyfifty chance that Bin Laden was living at the compound.53 Therefore, the identification of the courier was only one piece of information that led to the killing of Bin Laden, and there was never any certainty that he was living at the compound.

EITs did not shield the people of the United States from harm. Their use at CIA run black sites was unnecessary and counterproductive.

The most valuable information the CIA obtained – including the identification of KSM and the role of al-Kuwaiti – occurred before their use. Additionally, the employment of EITs at other locations damaged the U.S’s

counterterrorism efforts. Terrorists gained an enduring propaganda tool, the reputation of America decreased, and the National Security Strategy was undermined. Furthermore, their use caused the boundaries of acceptable and unacceptable behaviour to dissolve, resulting in abuses that shocked the world. If the incoming administration is serious about their national security, they should avoid using EITs at all costs. However, Donald Trump has indicated his willingness to return to these practices. In a Republican Party debate earlier in the year, he stated the following: “I’d bring back a hell of a lot worse than waterboarding”.54 If Trump wants his counterterrorism policy to be effective, he should think twice before following through with his rhetoric.

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PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS

by Peter Sturgess The following address is styled in the rhetoric of President Barack Obama, during his second term of office.

Good morning, last night I authorised an operation to rescue Roger Daines and Claire Chafey, two Americans who have been held for the last 4 weeks against their will by Al Qaida’s affiliate in Yemen. I am pleased to announce that the operation was a success and that both Roger and Claire are safe and well, at a secure location in Italy. It is thanks not only to the extraordinary courage and skill of our Special Operations Forces who undertook this mission, but also to the wider intelligence community and the network of dedicated professionals who have worked tirelessly to bring these two Americans home. As Commander-in-Chief, I could not be more proud, nor more grateful, for their efforts. As the President, I contacted the parents of both Roger and Claire to inform of the good news. And as a father, I shared in their jubilation at the safe return of their loved ones.

At this time, I can’t give you many specifics on the operation; there is an ongoing FBI investigation and they are working closely with our allies in the region. What I can tell you is that Roger Daines and Claire Chafey were both working in the southern Yemeni city of Al Mukala when they were captured. Claire Chafey from Lincoln, Nebraska, was working on behalf of an aid agency dedicated to providing medical care to the yemini people and Roger Daines, a photojournalist from Detroit, was covering the story to bring their plight to the attention of the world. On the evening of September twentieth,

they were driving through Al Mukala when the vehicle they were traveling in was stopped and they were taken hostage by armed gunmen.

Throughout their captivity these terrorists showed no regard for the health and wellbeing of Roger and Claire, they kept them in inhuman and degrading conditions and used increasingly violent language with them; culminating in a number of threats to end their lives. It became clear that the lives of these two American citizens were in imminent danger and that their best hope of a safe return was to go in and get them. So, as soon as we had reliable intelligence and a sound operational plan, I authorised a rescue attempt.

Our policy on hostages remains clear; we will not tolerate the abduction of our people. I will continue to use all the elements of our national power to secure the safe return of our people.

We will not make concessions, such as paying ransoms, to terrorist groups holding American hostages. The United States government will use all means necessary to bring to justice, those who would engage in this heinous act against our citizens.

To those of you who remain in captivity, have hope, we are coming for you. To the terrorists who engage in these intolerable acts of violence, it is not too late, release our people, send them home. If you don’t, there are consequences for your actions and we are coming for you too.

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(Routledge, 2017).

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Barack Obama, ‘Statement by the President on the Rescue of Captain Phillips’, in ‘www.whitehouse.gov’, <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/statement-president-rescuecaptain-phillips>, 12 April 2009, [accessed on 09 November 2016].

Barack Obama, ‘Statement by the President on the Death of Kayla Jean Mueller’, in ‘www.whitehouse.gov’, <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2015/02/10/statementpresident-death-kayla-jean-mueller>, 10 February 2016, [accessed on 09 November 2016].

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Barack Obama, ‘Statement by the President on the Deaths of Warren Weinstein and Giovanni Lo Porto’, in ‘www.whitehouse.gov’, <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-pressoffice/2015/04/23/statement-president-deaths-warren-weinstein-and-giovanni-lo-porto>, 23 April 2015, [accessed on 09 November 2016] Barack Obama, ‘Remarks by the President at the 50th Anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery Marches’, in ‘www.whitehouse.gov’, <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-pressoffice/2015/03/07/remarks-president-50th-anniversary-selma-montgomery-marches>, 07 March 2015, [accessed on 10 November 2016].

Barack Obama, ‘Statement by the President on the U.S. Government’s Hostage Policy Review’, in ‘www.whitehouse.gov’, <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2015/06/24/statementpresident-us-governments-hostage-policy-review>, 24 June 2015, [accessed on 10 November 2016].

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CREATED BY HISTORY STUDENTS FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHAMPTON