Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Incorporating Historical Scholarship into my PhD Research

Introduction
Summary
The purpose of this paper is to discuss issues arising from my intended incorporation of elements of historical scholarship into my PhD dissertation. There are parts of my dissertation which, as currently envisaged, would in many respects be works of history as much as works of political science. This takes me into a new area of scholarship, and this paper is an account of my attempts to familiarise myself with the discipline of history, its background, and the theoretical debates that exist within it. This is a particularly valuable exercise since those theoretical debates have relevance to the entirety of my research project. I will survey these issues, engage with them, and identify my own initial position with regard to them at this stage of my research.
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The research question for my PhD is, ‘how do concentrations of socio-economic power shape British foreign policy?’ To answer this question, I intend to begin by tracing the historical roots of the political economy of British foreign policy, narrating the rise and development of the various concentrations of power that influence policymaking in this area in the present day. I will do so on the basis that the current political economy of British foreign policy is the product of historical processes. Later on in the thesis, having mapped and analysed today’s foreign-policymaking network, I will conduct three contemporary case studies which show the network in action. These will, to an extent, be works of ‘contemporary history’ (defined as “writing about the recent past” (Gildea:xi)), in that the topics will be sets of recent events, where my aim will be to establish the facts (actions taken, policies adopted) and to construct a narrative that accurately presents the causes and effects of those events.
In short, though my PhD is a work of political science, I shall, in a significant part of my work, be acting like an historian. In doing so I will be extending myself beyond my field of immediate expertise and entering a realm of scholarship which, like political science, has its own landscape of theories, debates and practices. This paper represents the results of my attempts to introduce myself to this new terrain and to find an appropriate place within it from which to conduct the relevant parts of my current research project.
The paper will proceed as follows. After these introductory remarks, I will begin with a first section discussing the benefits that the use of historical scholarship can bring to my research. I will show how a broad array of both historians and politicians have signed up to the proposition that understanding the past is a precondition for understanding the present. I will talk about the benefits of adopting an interdisciplinary approach to the social sciences that incorporates an understanding of history, briefly mention the cognitive benefits of detachment and perspective that the use of historical context can bring to the study of current events. I will conclude this section by identifying some respects in which political science can benefit from an historian’s approach.
Next, I will set out a brief history of history as a scholarly discipline, describing some of the theoretical approaches that have arisen over the years and the challenges sometimes posed to them. Of these various approaches, it is historical materialism that has appeared, at the end of my initial research into this subject, to be the one most appropriate to my own work. I will therefore spend some time discussing this particular paradigm. I will note four senses in which historical materialism aligns well with my research: first, its explicit moral purpose; second, its focus on socio-economic class power and inequality; third, its theoretical account of the political economy; and fourth (and most pertinently for the purposes of this paper), the central role it gives to accounts of historical development in attempts to analyse the political economy of the present. Before concluding this section, I will discuss briefly how a fuller, nuanced and perhaps more evolved understanding of Marxist theory can be put to productive use in my work, and I will note the areas where I retain reservations and/or disagreements with this broad theoretical paradigm.
The clear political nature of Marxism raises questions about the role of partisanship in scholarly practice. I will make a few remarks about how I intend to retain both the scholarly integrity of my work and its ethical dimension. I will take this as an appropriate point to then introduce one of the most significant challenges to historical practice in general, including historical materialism, that has arisen in recent years: the post-modernist critique. I will use the debate around the points made by the post-modernist critics to further develop my ideas about the use of history.
Finally, I will sum up the topics covered in the paper and offer some tentative conclusions about how to proceed from here.
A health warning to round off these introductory remarks: the aim of this paper is to facilitate an initial exploration of issues that I will continue to deal with over the next four years of my PhD research: issues that are outwith what has hitherto been my range of academic expertise. Two differences therefore arise between this and other essays I have written.
First, to the extent that I have reached any conclusions, these are tentative and open to subsequent revision. Indeed in some instances, I believe it suffices to simply identify an issue, describe its nature and note the need to give the matter further thought. My current priority is to identify relevant issues and allow proper discussion of them, not to force conclusions when I can arrive at these later on, when I am better equipped to do so.
Secondly, as a result of this, I have allowed myself space in the paper to talk through the issues identified in as full and productive a way as possible, rather than constraining that process with unnecessary concision. I have, as always, imposed a deliberate focus and structure on the paper, and made every effort to avoid repetition and excessive verbiage. What I have not done is to strip what I have to say down to the bare bones, given that the aim is to explore issues fully rather than to convey conclusions succinctly. To the extent that any of the writing here makes its way into my final dissertation, it will of course be significantly abridged.
However, the main reason that I have in the event written a longer piece than I had planned at the outset is that I found, during my research into historical practice, that the relevance of the theoretical and philosophical issues that arose was by no means limited to the historical elements of my final dissertation. Rather, I found myself exploring debates that have direct relevance right across my research, and that both my current project and my future career as an academic will benefit from my having engaged with now. Hence this paper has become, in the context of this early stage of my PhD, a rather more important piece of work than I had originally envisaged.
How the past can inform us about the present – the historians’ consensus
It is common ground for historians that the events of history have a bearing on the world we live in today. This is not limited to recent history. Michael Grant felt moved in the introduction to his 1978 history of Rome to stress the relevance of that work by saying that “The past is deeply and unavoidably engrained in our own lives” (p2, Michael Grant, ‘The History of Rome’). A significant part of any attempt to understand today’s world must be an account of how the present came to be. Waters and Noiriel give as an example “[t]he socio-historian [who] tries to illuminate the historical dimension of the world we live in, the better to understand how the past weighs on the present. This approach is also valid for early periods. In all human societies, the past conditions the present”. (Waters & Noiriel:16). History then represents a valuable resource for those of us concerned with the state of today‘s world. “One of the key features of historical inquiry, it seems, is that whenever the contemporary world develops a fault, historians look to the past to seek its origins” (Black & MacRaild:54)
This view of history is particularly adhered to by the Marxist school of historical materialism. It is unsurprising therefore that, in his overview of the scholarly field, ‘On History’, the eminent Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm frequently returns to the links between past and present that it is the task of historians to emphasise and investigate. For Hobsbawm, this fits squarely into the broader traditions of history as a scholarly discipline, Marxist or otherwise. “What can history tell us about contemporary society?”, Hobsbawm asks, going on to say that in asking this he is “ formulating a question which everybody is asking, and has always asked for as long as we have human records”. (Hobsbawm:32).

The question is a vital and immediate one, because “…the understanding of society requires an understanding of history…” (Hobsbawm:188). It is a “fact that understanding how the past has turned into the present helps us understand the present” (Hobsbawm:Hobs). “[W]hat history in the broadest sense is about [is to explain] how and why Homo sapiens got from the Palaeolithic to the nuclear era” (Hobsbawm:Hobs). History does not merely sit behind us in the past; it imposes itself on our present. In the here and now, we make our own history. However, we do so not as we choose, but “under circumstances directly found, given and transmitted from the past” (Marx, quoted by Hobsbawm:222).

The value of the past in attempts to explain the present is particularly notable in the case of Western imperialism and foreign policy. Many clearly agree with the idea that “[Historians] should try to promote reflection on the role of empire in defining the national identity, whether from a cultural, social, political or economic point of view” (Evans & Branche:163). Where disagreement arises is over the question of what our imperial past has to teach us about today’s political economy, especially in the realm of foreign affairs. For historians such as Niall Ferguson and Andrew Roberts, the effects of British imperialism were broadly positive, the lesson being that the responsibility, as they see it, of spreading liberal values, free markets and democracy, should be taken up by today’s leading superpower, the United States of America (Evans & Branche:149; see also, Chibber). Others take a different view. Post-colonial and anti-imperialist scholars such as Rasheed Araeen, Homi Bhabha, Gayatri Spivak, Robert Young and Noam Chomsky have worked to place the contemporary world in the context of a historical narrative dominated by the Western imperialism. “The crux of their argument was that the structures of power derived from nineteenth-century imperialism remain the major determinant of the contemporary world, and that to be properly understood, all factors, whether race, class, economics, gender, sexuality or the nation state, must be analysed in the context of their relations with the colonial past” (Evans & Branche:149; Chomksy). The point here is that the major legacy of empire is the continuing denial of liberty to many people through various systems of coercion that have persisted from earlier centuries into the present day. My paper to this year’s Durham International Affairs Conference, in which I proposed a view of the contemporary world economy as in part bequeathed to us by the former British empire, including all the iniquities and problematic issues intrinsic to that system, fits broadly into this post/anti-colonial narrative (Wearing:2009).

How the past can inform us about the present – the politicians’ consensus

Given this broad agreement that the past has something to say about the present, it is entirely predictable that politicians of every stripe have attempted to influence perceptions of that relationship in their own specific contexts. Of course, both the Soviets and the Nazis made a point of rewriting history as a means to bolstering their own particular dogmas. (Black & MacRaild:11 & 72-75), but the practice is not limited to dictatorships. Politicians in liberal democracies have also, in their own ways, attempted to shape our understanding of what history should mean to us today.

One infamous example arose when the French National Assembly passed a private bill introduced by right-wing deputy Christian Vanneste, whose aim was to challenge colonial guilt with a renewed pride in France’s imperial past. Article four of the 23 February 2005 law stated that:
“University syllabuses must grant the place that it deserves to the history of France’s presence overseas, particularly in North Africa. School courses must … recognise the positive role played by the French presence overseas, particularly in North Africa, and must accord the prominent position that they merit to the history and sacrifices of members of the armed forces” (Evans & Branche:146)
Nicholas Sarkozy - then Minister of the Interior, now French President - was a strong supporter” of the 23 February Law, but the then President Jacques Chirac asked the Constitutional Council to rescind it, stating that, “[i]n a Republic there is no official history. It is not up to the law to write history. Writing history is the business of historians” (Evans & Branche:147)
An example arises closer to home. “Gordon Brown made a speech to the Fabian Society in January 2006 in which he argued that in the face of the challenges of globalisation and multiculturalism, there was even greater need for a British identity which must centre on the ‘golden thread’ of the ‘ideal of liberty’ which runs through British history from Magna Carta in 1215 to the 1689 Bill of Rights and the defeat of fascism in 1945” (Aglan & Gildea:181). It is notable that Brown here tacitly admits that our understanding of our nation’s history should be defined in some way by what is politically expedient. In any event, Brown here places himself squarely in the Whig tradition of British history which, as far back as the eighteenth century, portrayed Britain as the historic torch bearer of liberty at the vanguard of human progress.
These examples all suggest an understanding - broadly shared by politicians of varying political persuasions - that the image of their contemporary power is shaped by the popular understanding of the state’s historical record. It seems a fairly uncontroversial point that “[p]oliticians and leaders in any country… have a vested interest in the past. Whether driven by a self-serving or narcissistic desire to connect themselves to the glories of their predecessors in high office or by a need to revive and mould the national spirit, politicians use history.” (Black & MacRaild:12). The task of both the historian and the political scientist therefore must be to oversee these uses of history, and to intervene whenever the truth is being prevented from getting in the way of a good story.
The benefits of incorporating history – the interdisciplinary approach.
All this suggests some benefits to my research as a political scientist in finding ways to draw upon history. Social scientists focusing on my current topic of research, the influence of elites, have in the past done exactly this. Charles Tilly in his ‘As Sociology Meets History’ (1981) noted that one of the main areas of history that had become popular with sociologists was the structure of elites (cited in Black & MacRaild:130). John Scott’s ‘Who Rules Britain?’ (Scott) incorporates a detailed look at the evolution of the British ruling class over recent centuries. Given the overlap between the various scholarly disciplines, it is unsurprising to see it argued that “[s]ome of the most striking developments of socio-history in the last fifteen years have been in political science” (Waters & Noiriel:16), or that “[i]t is now impossible to pursue many activities of the social scientist in any but a trivial manner without coming to terms with social structure and its transformations: without the history of societies” (Hobsbawm:98).
The benefits of incorporating history – the cognitive benefits of detachment and context
Two further benefits can be gained from introducing elements of historical scholarship into political science research. One is the cognitive advantage of detachment. A political scientist studying phenomena within the society in which they themselves live is likely to find it more problematic to take a detached view of their subject matter than a historian studying, say, the ancient Greeks. One possible way to import a degree of the historian’s detachment into our analysis of the present is to attempt to think of the present in the context of the broader sweep of history, which may serve to refresh our analytical perspective on affairs with which we are familiar and perhaps even involved at some level or in some way.
To be more specific, take the example of comparative history; an approach which allows us to identify the common and the particular between two contemporaneous sets of historical events (Black & MacRaild:106). This principle can be adapted to two non-contemporaneous scenarios on an historical continuum. In my research, comparing present events or scenarios in British foreign policy with similar events and scenarios in the past may allow the possibility of illuminating those features of power and influence that are constant and which are characteristic of their particular time, thus enabling a deeper understanding of the current political economy of British foreign policy. The comparative approach may add some perspective, therefore, which might otherwise have been lacking.
The benefits of incorporating history - an empirical emphasis
A second benefit of importing history into political science research is to place a greater emphasis on analysing the particular rather than the universal, which necessarily requires one to incorporate the sort of factual documentation that is the bread and butter of historical practice. Whilst it is important to endeavour to establish, if we can, some broader truths about the socio-political world, it is often also important to gain an understanding of particular topics. This is true not least because as political scientists we are tasked with analysing issues that are ongoing and whose solutions we are uniquely placed to search for. Eric Herring points out that, when US and UK-backed sanctions claimed the lives of around a million Iraqis during the 1990s, half of them infant children, what both the Iraqi people and the British and American publics needed from political scientists was not more general theory but an attempt to establish empirically what was happening, to make some sense of it, and to communicate that analysis as widely as possible (Herring:106; see also, Pilger).
In the case of my current research project, my aim is not to theorise universal principles of elite capture of foreign policymaking in liberal democracies (though that would undoubtedly represent a vital piece of work) . Rather, my aim is to document and analyse a specific case. The reason for choosing such a project is that I see the elite capture of British foreign policy as a live issue with an attached human cost - not limited to the victims of the Iraq sanctions regime - that is current, ongoing and increasing. The task I have set myself therefore is to establish and explain the facts in respect of a current political issue, and it is a task I intend to perform in research projects subsequent to the present work. One might therefore say that I aim to write, as a political scientist, the second draft of history (if journalism is the first). Call it the historical approach to the study of contemporary politics.
The history of history
Just as we can enhance our understanding of elite influence over British foreign policy by tracing the history of its political economy, so we can understand something of the study of history by briefly recounting the development of the discipline over time.
In Europe, before the Enlightenment, representations of the past were often designed so as to reveal a divine hand at work, with “[p]rovidence and God’s role [being portrayed as] the organising themes of historical development” (Black & MacRaild:53 & 31-32). From the eighteenth century, the philosophy of the Enlightenment encouraged the grounding of scholarship strictly in terms of empirical fact (Black & MacRaild:34-6). A form of providence did however continue to play an explanatory role in subsequent years, with the role of God replaced by the role of Western Civilisation. In Britain, “The Whig interpretation [of history], most famously expounded by Lord Macaulay, held that the history of Britain since the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 had been the story of continuous progress, the bedrocks of which were constitutional monarchy, parliamentary government, Protestantism, tolerance, freedom and liberty. Moreover, these values were seen, in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, to define British history as different from that of those continental countries where Catholicism and absolutism were believed to hold firm. The key emphases of the Whig view were British distinctiveness and British progress” (Black & MacRaild:6). Similar views are not unknown today.

Challenges began to arise to the established mode of history as being one of a narrative of events occurring at the level of high-politics and starring the major political, martial and monarchical characters of the day. Two of these in particular are worth mentioning. First, the ‘historical materialism’ of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels threatened the aristocratic subjects of the old history with a new narrative, one focusing on the underlying socio-economic structures rather than the deeds of great men, and one which seemed to predict a new egalitarian political order emerging through the observable evolution of those structures. I will discuss this in greater detail in the next section. Then, in early twentieth century France, Marc Bloch and Lucien Febvre founded the Annales school as a reaction to the historiographical traditions of the nineteenth century, stressing the importance of social structures over the actions of individuals, of understanding the mentalities of the past, and of drawing upon the insights of other disciplines in the social sciences (Black & MacRaild:68-71 & 80-81).
Generally speaking, the Annales and Marxist schools exerted increasing influence over the study of history during the twentieth century (the latter amongst Marxists and non-Marxists alike) even as they evolved over the course of that time. It was towards the end of the twentieth century that the latest and perhaps the most fundamental challenge to history as a discipline was mounted, this time by the post-modernists. They argued that, while the study of history purports to be an objective and rational attempt to establish the truth of past events, in reality it has been hopelessly biased by the preconceptions and ideologies of historians themselves. And since those historians have largely been members of social elites, ‘objective’ historical truth has often been little more than an ideological construct, created in the service of privilege. I will return to the postmodernist critique of history later on in his paper.
This short run through the development of the study of history over the past thousand years is, obviously, far from complete. It does however highlight some of the broad trends at work and some of the theoretical issues that my own research is likely to encounter. I will now go on to explore some of these issues in greater detail, starting with a discussion of my preferred paradigm of historical study: historical materialism.
Choosing historical materialism
Of the various approaches and theoretical paradigms I have come across in my reading on this subject, it seems that historical materialism aligns most closely with the aims and assumptions of my research.
The materialist conception of history does not begin with Karl Marx. The fourteenth century scholar Ibn Khaldun described his own view of history, as:
“the record of human society, or world civilisation; of the changes that take place in the nature of that society…; of revolutions and uprisings by one set of people against another, with the resulting kingdoms and states with their various ranks; of the different activities and occupations of men, whether for gaining their livelihood or in various sciences and crafts; and in general, of all the transformations that society undergoes by its very nature” (Hobsbawm:x)
Today, following Marx’s writings, historical materialism can be defined as “the contention that the development of the economy is central to historical development” and all the conflicts and contradictions that this developmental process involves (Black & MacRaild:57). There are four key senses in which this approach aligns with my own work: its moral focus, its concern with class inequality, its theoretical account of political economy, and in the view that political economy can best be understood in the context of historical processes. I will discuss each of these in turn.
Why historical materialism? - Moral focus
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels formulated their theories of politics, economics and history in direct response to the social iniquities of nineteenth century Europe. Their goal was not to reach an understanding the political economy of the time simply as an end in itself. Rather, this understanding would have a specific utility: informing efforts to effect social change. For them “[t]he social sciences [were] essentially ‘applied sciences’ designed, to use Marx’s phrase, to change the world and not merely to interpret it” (Hobsbawm:178). This has been the motivation for Marxist historians ever since. Hobsbawm says that his own work is “concerned with the uses, and abuses, of history in both society and politics, and with the understanding and, I hope, reshaping of the world” (Hobsbawm:vii). The proposition that scholars should seek not merely to interpret the world but to change it inevitably raises the issue of partisanship, a topic to which I will return presently.
Why historical materialism? - Focus on class inequality
My research focuses on a key theme of historical materialism - the politics of socio-economic power distribution. “For most of history the basic mechanism for economic growth has been the appropriation of the social surplus generated by man’s capacity to produce by minorities of one kind or another…” (Hobsbawm:43). In other words, economic development over time has produced acquisitive, exploitative elites, wielding a disproportionate amount of socio-political power.
In my Durham paper I argued that we should not merely see the international world as split vertically, between states, but also as divided horizontally, between classes, with the elites in different states often cooperating to maintain an international economic system that they saw as mutually beneficial. To illustrate the point, we might recall the references made by English radicals of the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries to the ‘Norman Yoke’ and to themselves as ‘Free Anglo-Saxons’, as an explanatory device for domestic class relations (Hobsbawm:21). The colonial analogy illuminates the role that class plays across the international scene, at home and abroad. The ‘Norman Yoke’ was, at this time, also being imposed on imperial subjects from Jamaica to India, but many in Britain evidently felt just as subjugated by the same imperial power. The imperialism of class as well as of state is a concept that is central to my research, just as it is central to historical materialism.
Why historical materialism? – the theoretical account of political economy
In simplified terms, the Marxist account of political economy describes society as comprising of a ‘base’ - consisting of the relations of economic production - and a ‘superstructure’ - consisting of politics, civil society and culture. Marx described the concept as follows:
“In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relationships, which are independent of their will, namely, relations of production. The totality of the relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence but their social existence that determines their consciousness” (Marx, ‘Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy’, 1859, quoted in Black & MacRaild:134-5).
This theoretical paradigm has, to the extent that one agrees with it, implications for the way research should be organised. Hobsbawm lays out three key factors to writing a materialist history of a given society. These are:
(1) setting out the chronological sequence of actual events;
(2) establishing units of analysis that can be adequately defined (e.g. the British foreign policymaking class); and
(3) organising analysis through, “if not a formalized and elaborate model of [social] structures, then at least an approximate order of research priorities and a working assumption about what constitutes the central nexus or complex of connections of our subject” (e.g. class, wealth, political power) (Hobsbawm:105-7)
Under the theoretical model in (3), we start by establishing the “material and historical environment“, then the “forces and techniques of production“, then the “consequent economy”, and finally the “institutions and the image of society”. “[E]conomic movements [are] the backbone of such an analysis” (Hobsbawm:107).

This was the basis of “[the] famous three-part or three-stage plan which organised so many theses between the 1950s and 1970s: first the economy, then society and finally politics. According to this plan the analysis of struggles for and exercise of political power was always left to the third part, alongside ‘culture’ and ‘mentalities’”. (Waters & Noiriel:13)
This aligns with the basic theoretical description of political economy set out in my original PhD proposal. There, having noted that in his standard public policy textbook, Peter John had described “the five principal factors in policy-making [as being] institutions, groups and networks, socio-economic factors, rational decision-making, and ideas” (John), I went on to say how I saw these elements fitting together.
“In my view, socio-economic factors – the interests of power – are the principal forces at work. The landscape of institutions, groups and networks broadly reflects the spread and location of socio-economic power (national and international), and embeds the influence of power in the decision making process. This results in an environment where ideas must pass through a process of “natural selection” governed principally by what serves power rather than what is justifiable in moral/philosophical terms”. (Wearing:2008)
Why historical materialism? – the context of historical development
A fourth respect in which historical materialism aligns with my own ideas is in its stress on history as a developmental process, under which the political economy, as theorised above, evolves and changes shape. Just as the base defines the superstructure, with economic conditions defining and shaping political relations, so changes in relations of production over time produce corresponding changes in the political, social and cultural world.
In this respect, the roots of historical materialism can be traced back to the Enlightenment and to the work of Adam Smith. After all, “history and economics grew up together … the Scottish thinkers who contributed so much to the discipline refused to isolate economics from the rest of the historical transformation of society in which they saw themselves engaged” (Hobsbawm:129). Smith’s ‘Wealth of Nations’
“provided a study of economic development - what Marx called inquiry into the nature of wealth. With Smith, we can argue, began the discipline which became known as political economy. From this basis, political economy developed into the modern discipline of economics, from which in turn economic history splintered. The so-called Scottish School, of which Smith was a part, provided what Christopher Lloyd in ‘The Structures of History’(1993) called an ‘embryonic historical materialism’ (the contention that the development of the economy is central to historical development) with which to frame the nature of social change” (Black & MacRaild:57)
Marx of course had his own distinct take on how these historical processes played themselves out. Central to the evolution of political economy, as Marx saw it, was the dynamic produced by tension between the various component parts:

“…Marx holds not just that the mode of production is primary and that the superstructure must in some sense conform to ‘the essential distinctions among human beings’ which it entails (that is the social relations of production), but also that there is an inevitable evolutionary trend for the material productive forces of society to develop, and thus come into contradiction with the existing productive relationships and their relatively inflexible superstructural expressions, which then have to give way”. (Hobsbawm:215)
Historical Materialism – noting complexities
Plainly there is more to historical materialism than can be conveyed within the confines of these remarks. I have emphasised so far the defining role that economic relations play in social change under the Marxist paradigm. However, “Marx and Engels…never intended a unilinear and monocausal conception of history to be their epitaph”. In 1890, Engels said (in a letter to Ernst Bloch) that “Marx and I are ourselves partly to blame for the fact that the younger writers sometimes lay more stress on the economic side than is due to it. We had to empathise this main principle in opposition to our adversaries, who denied it, and we had not always the time, the place or the opportunity to allow the other elements involved in the interaction to come into their rights….The economic situation is the basis, but the various elements of the superstructure … also exercise their influence upon the course of historical struggles”. (Black & MacRaild:135-6)
In my PhD proposal I was keen to stress that my own theoretical outlook allowed for a similar level of complexity, and that my emphasis on material socio-economic power was intended to be a case of prioritisation rather than reductionism. I said:
“Clearly the flow [of influence] is not of a unidirectional, downward nature: from socio-economic power, through institutions, groups and networks, to ideas and finally to rational decision-making. Feedback will also take place, … in terms of the self-reinforcing nature of discourse and ideology; and also, for example, in terms of how policy decisions come back to shape the landscape of institutions, groups and networks and even the balance of socio-economic power itself. But while the system I describe is fluid horizontally and vertically, it is socio-economic power that is in the position of privilege, shaping the overall dynamic to serve its interests.” (Wearing:2008)
Marxism and historical materialism continued to remain live and developing areas of enquiry long after the deaths of Marx and Engels, and later contributions to the tradition served to broaden and deepen its scope. Many who have built on the work of Marx, such as Antonio Gramsci, have “underlined the absolutely essential connection between the world of ideas and feelings and the economic base, if you like, the way in which people get their living in production. …[A]fter all the Marxist model of base and superstructure, whatever you may think of it, implies a consideration of superstructure as well as base, that is, the importance of ideas. It is not widely recognised that in the discussion of the seventeenth century English Revolution it was Marxists like Christopher Hill who constantly insisted against pure economic determinists on the importance of Puritanism, as something that people believed in, and not simply a kind of froth on the top of class structures or economic movements.” (Hobsbawm:242)
Historical Materialism – noting reservations
A further note of caution or clarification should be sounded at this point. Though it seems very likely that my research, particularly the historical parts, will be influenced by historical materialism, that does not imply a rigid or unquestioning adherence to its principles. In any event, I expect other sets of ideas to inform my thinking. And in respect of historical materialism, I intend as my work and ideas develop to explore a number of reservations that I have over Marxist theory as I understand it at this stage. For now, I believe it will suffice to make brief note of those reservations.
The first is in respect of class antagonism, one of the driving forces of social change under historical materialism. This stresses the self interest of certain groups, but I do not believe that human beings act from self-interest alone. Indeed, neither Marx nor Engels themselves were members of the class whose liberation they sought, and nor were any number of other figures in history, known and unknown, who took up the struggle against class privilege and economic exploitation. I understand that Adam Smith stressed the human capacity for sympathy for others as the defining part of our moral character, and I should like to investigate this and other writings on human motivation before arriving at any conclusions on this part of Marx’s theory. It is possible that my reservations can be reconciled within a nuanced version of that theory, or put aside as my understanding of the theory becomes deeper and more sophisticated, but this is a question that will require further work on my part before I am able to answer it.
Another reservation I hold at this stage concerns the extent to which we can extrapolate from the historical materialist version of economic development to predict the course that the political economy will take in the future. I remain wary of the predictive power of theory in social science, whatever the theory might be, and the question does apply here. Marx seems to be understood in popular discourse as someone who predicted a socialist utopia, and is discredited by the fact that this utopia either did not emerge or, when efforts were made to create it, turned into a nightmare more often than not. My research so far has suggested that Marxism is rather more nuanced and complex than my own preconceptions allowed, so I am open to the possibility that this may be more caricature than accurate characterisation. But again, I will have to find this out through further research.
That said, the question may be of marginal relevance, since my approach to history for the purposes of my current research will be non-teleological. That is, I will not describe a progression of historical stages that is directed or necessarily heading toward a final future result. Rather, I will describe no more than the evolutionary processes that have led us to the present, and not then extrapolate in order to predict where those processes might lead. Indeed, the question of prediction may be of secondary relevance even to historical materialists. As Hobsbawm says:
“The purpose of tracing the historical evolution of humanity is not to foresee what will happen in future, even though historical knowledge and understanding are essential to anyone who wants to base their actions and plans on something better than clairvoyance, astrology or just plain voluntarism . The only result of a horse-race which historians can tell us with absolute confidence is one that has already been run. Still less is it to discover or devise legitimations for our hopes - or fears - for human destiny. History is not secular eschatology, whether we conceive its objective as unending universal progress or a communist society or whatever. These are things we read into it, but cannot derive from it. What it can do is to discover the patterns and mechanisms of historical change in general, and more particularly of the transformations of human societies during the past few centuries of dramatically accelerated and widened change. This, rather than forecasts or hopes, is what is directly relevant to contemporary society and its prospects”. (Hobsbawm:40-1)
A final note of caution concerns the ever-present danger facing all historians, but historical materialists in particular since they seek to study the past so as to better understand the present. That is, ‘anachronism’: “the imposition of contemporary ideas and agendas upon the past” (Black & MacRaild:117). Avoiding anachronism can involve a tricky balancing act. Black and MacRaild point out the importance of charting a course between anachronism and historicism.
“If, on the one hand, we adopt a present-minded stance in our approach, we risk overplaying continuities, or indeed manufacturing continuities, between us and the past which do not actually exist. If, on the other hand, we adopt an historicist position, or posit the hermetically sealed epochal approach to history…., we risk removing any thread which might connect our past and present. This notion of time, of change and continuity, or similarity and difference, is the hardest balance to achieve; yet it is central to our understanding of the nature of history and the dynamics of social developments” (Black & MacRaild:18)
These are important points to keep in mind as I analyse how the past has shaped the present.
The challenge of partisanship
The clear moral and political motivation for Marxist scholars (a motivation I share, though I would still hestiate to call myself a Marxist) raises the question of partisanship, and the compromising effect this may have on scholarship.
The key point here is that our political and moral beliefs as scholars should influence our choice of topic, but not our treatment of it. In terms of our choice of topic, political partisanship can be positively beneficial in opening up fields of enquiry that might otherwise have remained neglected. Indeed, we might speculate about the state any given field would soon find itself in without such contributions. In terms of our treatment of our chosen topic, there are rules of scholarship that must be followed by all, regardless of political persuasion.
“[P]artisanship in science [in the broadest scholarly sense of the term] rests on disagreement not about verified facts, but about their selection and combination, and about what may be inferred from them. It takes for granted non-controversial procedures about verifying and falsifying evidence, and non-controversial procedures of argument about it …In short, for everyone engaged in scientific discourse, statements must be subject to validation by methods and criteria which are, in principle, not subject to partisanship, whatever their ideological consequences, and however motivated”. (Hobsbawm:166 & 169)
The bottom line is that whatever our political and moral standpoint, whatever our research interests, the truth is the truth, and cannot be subject to political expediency
The challenge of post modernism
The view that scholarship has the means to brush subjectivity aside and produce a reliable, even a definitive account of the past, is roundly rejected by the post-modernist critics of historical practice. The post-modernist critique represents the major challenge to the study of history in recent decades, and it comes from the political left. For those reasons, the analysis it offers is something that I must engage with, understand and form a view on before I can proceed further. This section represents my initial attempts to do this, though further work may well follow. An additional benefit is that this gives me a chance to develop further my ideas about the possibilities offered to me by the study of history.
The post-modernist critique of history is essentially that what purports to be an objective and rational attempt to establish the truth of past events is in reality hopelessly biased by the preconceptions and ideologies of historians themselves. Furthermore, since those historians have largely been members of social elites, ‘objective’ historical truth has often been little more than an ideological construct, created in the service of privilege. Central to the postmodernist critique is the idea that narrative form is imposed on historical events essentially by the subjective imagination of historians, rendering such narratives little more than works of fiction.
For the postmodernists,
“[t]here could be no objective or definitive account of history. Everything was relative: each culture had its own story and one story was as valid as another. Indeed, the ‘definitive’ interpretation laid claim to by established academics could easily be dismissed as imperialist, sexist and bourgeois. It did not give voice to women or black people, to gay people or slaves, and the accounts of these minorities, systematically ignored or censored, must now be privileged” (Gildea:xxii)
The end result is that “there is no such thing as historical reality, only texts representing it, and that each account is as valid as any other.” (Gildea & Schaub:96)
The observation that historical narratives purporting to be objective and accurate have often in reality been distorted by the ideology of historians is one that is hardly controversial. Take the Whig version of history, most popular in the nineteenth century during the era of British imperialism, but retaining some currency and alluded to by the present Prime Minister Gordon Brown, as mentioned above. According to the Whig account, “the history of Britain since the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 had been the story of continuous progress, the bedrocks of which were constitutional monarchy, parliamentary government, Protestantism, tolerance, freedom and liberty”. One can see why Whig historians such as Lord Macaulay would want to believe that the Britain that had treated them so well was in fact the best of all possible worlds. But, perhaps as a result of their subjective standpoint, they had produced what could legitimately be described as a form of fiction. Take the ‘Glorious Revolution’ which, far from being an showcase of consensual continuity in the advance of liberalism, was a coup d’etat which, most notably in Scotland and Ireland, had to be enforced through violence. It “led not only to civil war, a War of British Succession (1689-92), and major constitutional changes, but also to a new established church in Scotland and the violent destruction of the Catholic Church and degradation of the position of Catholics in Ireland” (Black & MacRaild:8)
However, the point here is that we are able to expose ideologically distorted history as such precisely because we often know what the real facts are. We know the War of British Succession took place, just as we know that Germany lost the Second World War and that Elvis Presley is deceased. Objective truth is discernable. There are, as I noted in the above section on partisanship, established methods in scholarship for ascertaining what is truth, what is uncertain and what is fiction, which methods, it must be said, place a heavy burden of proof upon any statement that purports to be true. To say that such efforts are often compromised, or may fail, is obvious to the point of banality. To leap from this to say they are intrinsically hopeless, is quite different.
The post-modernist claim to offer a liberatory discourse, wherein white, male, imperialist claims to objectivity are put aside in favour of a plethora of narratives, all with equal validity, concerns me in particular, as someone who is motivated to study my chosen subject precisely because of a concern for the victims of British foreign policy in the developing world. Here, while I accept that further reading may well be required, I hold strong reservations about the post-modernist position, based on my initial understanding.
In my view, there is a serious danger in implying that each history is no more than a subjective viewpoint as valid as any other. These are not principles, presumably, that we would wish to see applied to holocaust studies, for example, with the works of David Irvine brought to equivalence with the objectively real experiences of the Nazis’ victims. It is hard to see what could be liberating about a discourse that relegates one of the few emancipatory assets that the victims of history have at their disposal - namely the truth - to the level of one fiction amongst many. A far better course of action would be to strive for an ever more comprehensive understanding of history by bringing in the experiences and contributions of all those groups and individuals excluded by previous, elite-dominated accounts. To do anything other than to insist on “the past as extra-textual reality” (Richard Evans, Professor of Modern History at the University of Cambridge, quoted by Gildea:xxiv) is, as far as I can see, not only to dishonour the marginalised and oppressed, but to betray the moral responsibilities of social science scholarship.
How accurate is the view of history presented by the post-modernist critics in any event? “[M]ost historians would…agree that too many post-modernist criticisms of history are based on old-fashioned, stereotypical images of how historians work. In fact, the rise of Marxism, the Annales, and gender, social and cultural history have long since consigned the over-confident, narrow, male-centred and political focus of much nineteenth-century historical writing to the margins of what is now a wider and more vibrant discipline.” (Black & MacRaild:163).
In fact, scholars as far back as Hume, Macaulay and Burckhardt “respectively, challenged grand narrative, wrote about cultural factors in a vibrant fashion, and investigated symbolic order. None of these writers propounded the view that history was of fixed and singular meaning”. (Black & MacRaild:163).
One could present a strong argument that the postmodernists’ account of history is itself a work of fiction, imposed on the reality of historical study by the preconceptions and ideology of the critics. Of course, the alternative to this is that the postmodernist critique is rational and objectively accurate, a notion surely so naïve that the postmodernists would feel bound to reject it.
A final and rather more fundamental point is this. Society does not have the luxury of being able to view political events as abstractions. There is no available alternative to our living in the present, which in turn gives us no alternative to endeavouring to understand the nature of the world around us. The task then for scholars of politics is to make sense of the world as best we can, whatever limitations are placed by circumstance on our ability to do so. Contrary to the post-modernist critique, historical practice seems well equipped to negotiate those limitations and provide us with a workable understanding of the past. And crucially from my point of view, this includes attempts from the left to challenge versions of history that privilege elite interests and marginalise less powerful groups.
Ultimately, I may have to accept that if the postmodernists are right then my approach is fatally undermined. The existence of objective truth, and the view that it can be discerned to a meaningful if often incomplete extent, is central to my theoretical and indeed my moral approach. The views expressed here on the post-modernist critique are the results of initial readings. The critique offers a high-profile challenge to my outlook and further investigation may well be warranted. But at this stage, I remain unconvinced.
Conclusion
A number of benefits arise from my research into the study of history. These are:
• A deeper understanding of how an account of the history of British foreign policymaking can inform my analysis of its current political economy;
• An understanding of the benefits of extending my research beyond the confines of political science;
• An understanding of the different approaches to history that exist, and the ability to make an informed choice about which approach is relevant to me; and
• The opportunity to identify and consider any challenges to or problems with my chosen theoretical paradigm.
The opportunity to engage with these issues in depth, as I have done here, will I believe enrich the quality of my research project, particularly in terms of those elements of it where historical practices come most to the fore, but also in terms of my understanding of broader theoretical issues that have relevance across my research project.
Bibliography
Aglan.A & Gildea.R., "Is There a ‘Tyranny of the Present’ in the Writing of History Today?," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p169-194.
Black.J., & MacRaild.D.M., (1997), “Studying History”, (Basingstoke:Palgrave MacMillan)
Chibber.V., "The Good Empire: Should we pick up where the British left off?", Boston Review, February/March 2005http://bostonreview.net/BR30.1/chibber.php
Chomsky.N., (1993), “Year 501: The Conquest Continues”, (London:Verso)
Evans.M & Branche.R., "Where Does Colonial History End?," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p145-168.
Gildea.R., "Introduction:Writing Contemporary History," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p xi-xxix.
Gildea.R & Schaub.J-F., "Has History Again Become a Branch of Literature?," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p95-120.
Grant.M., (1993), “The History of Rome”, (London:Faber and Faber)
Herring.E., “Remaking the Mainstream: The Case for Activist IR Scholarship”, Millenium, 35, 2006, p105-118
Hobsbawm.E., (1997), “On History”, (London: Abacus)
John. P., (1998), “Analysing Public Policy”, (London:Pinter)
MacMillan.M., (2009), “The Uses and Abuses of History”, (London: Profile)
Pilger.J., "Squeezed to death", The Guardian, 4 March 2000 http://www.guardian.co.uk/Archive/Article/0,4273,3970231,00.html
Scott.J., (1991), “Who Runs Britain?”, (Cambridge:Basil Blackwell)
Simonin.A., "Conclusion:Writing Contemporary History," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p195-215.
Waters.C & Noiriel. G., "Is There Still a Place for Social History?," in Writing Contemporary History, Gildea.R., & Simonin.A. (eds), (London: Hodder Education: 2008), p1-22.
Wearing.D., “Research Proposal for PhD Application: "How do concentrations of socio-economic power shape British foreign policy?", (2008)
Wearing.D., "Future echoes: the seeds of globalisation’s informal empire in Britain’s formal imperialism", 2nd Annual Durham International Affairs Conference, Durham University, 1 - 2 April 2009.

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Sunday, August 16, 2009

A thought on ideology

To describe someones politics or scholarly work as "ideological" has become to describe their thoughts as biased, rigid and impervious to reality. Politicians seeking to present themselves as all things to all people strive to affect a post-ideological worldview, keen to stress that the old definitions of left and right are outdated and that all they are now interested in is "what works" (as opposed, presumably, to former generations of politicians with their blithe disinterest in outcomes).
Many political scientists also claim to have put aside ideology, focusing purely on cause and effect and leaving the more grubby normative questions to politicians. By contrast, those scholars who reject the scientific approach claim that the inevitable existence of ideology in our minds renders all attempts to explain the social world biased and subjective, often producing what is little more than fiction.
We can cut through all this with seven words: ideology is not the same as dogma. 'Ideology' needs urgently to be rescued from its current status as a swearword of intellectual discourse. The reality is that ideology, unlike dogma, is a vital component of our capacity for rational thought.
Ideology is the organising framework whereby we use our existing knowledge and understanding, together, crucially, with our moral values and priorities, to help make sense of the world around us. As a tool of rationality it can and ought to be responsive to the facts, adapting as new information comes to light. The more conscious we are of the existence of our ideology (or worldview) the more likely it is to evolve in a useful manner. Dogma, by contrast, will remain rigid and inflexible in spite of contradictory evidence or countervailing argument. This is the central difference between the two.
To speak of ideology as though it were dogma, and to make the unlikely claim to have dispensed with ideology in one’s own political views or scholarly work, may serve to obscure the fact that ideological assumptions - intellectual or moral - will always underlie our analysis. This does not mean that the presence of ideology renders all points of view subjective and of equal value. Some are right, some are wrong; all exist on a scale somewhere between those two poles and most, to a greater or lesser extent, are contestable under rational enquiry. The point is that we cannot ignore the presence of the ideological framework through which those views are constructed, or excuse ourselves from the task of defending it.
It is preferable, in my view, to accept, indeed to embrace our inner ideologue (as distinct from our inner dogmatist), acknowledging the presence of all the rational and moral elements at work in our attempts to understand the world. To do so will be to keep these intellectual endeavours honest and to enhance their quality by making full use of the cognitive tools at our disposal.

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Saturday, March 28, 2009

Future echoes: the seeds of globalisation’s informal empire in Britain’s formal imperialism

[DW - I'm presenting this paper to the Duham International Affairs Conference later this week. Its the first draft of what I hope will become a journal article, so, as ever, comments are welcome]

Introduction

This paper explores the evolution of Britain and its foreign policy, identifying the themes in its previous formal empire which can illuminate our understanding of the current, informal imperialism of globalisation. The paper makes three central points. First, it describes the historical continuity between the two imperial forms and how the informal imperialism of globalisation evolved out of Britain’s formal empire. Second, it notes that a key feature of this continuity is the effective ownership of both imperialisms by an identifiable socio-economic class. Third, it challenges the Liberal view that freedom for wealth and general political freedom are mutually complementary by showing how these two imperial structures have tended to privilege the first of those freedoms at the expense of the latter.



*

Under twenty-first century globalisation, a transnational class of investors, bureaucrats and opinion-formers work together to shape the global political economy to serve their interests, in a process that frequently involves evading or thwarting democracy and the popular will. This international governing class is bound together both by shared material interests and by a shared legitimising ideology that it characterises as favouring mutually-dependent free-markets and liberal democracy.

The foundations of modern globalisation were laid by the British Empire in the nineteenth century, but the distinction between the informal globalised imperialism of today and Britain’s earlier, formal empire is not clear cut. An examination of how Britain and its foreign policies have evolved over the past four centuries reveals the shared characteristics of the two imperial forms: the domination of a propertied class, collaborating both with the domestic state and with peers across borders to advance their individual and collective interests, and bound together by a legitimising ideology that rebrands its pursuit of material prizes as a high-minded, moral-ideological crusade. We also find that, both in bourgeois British imperialism and in the bourgeois empire of modern globalisation, the official doctrine of free-markets complementing liberal political forms masks the reality of propertied interests waging a constant struggle against democracy and popular self-determination.

Scholarly work that explores particular concepts or paradigms of understanding tends to focus on what is novel and distinct about the concept in question and what separates or differentiates it from other, ostensibly competing frames of reference. However, it is possible to value a theoretical viewpoint whilst still acknowledging where it overlaps and even complements the paradigms that it attempts to set itself apart from. That is the approach taken in this paper. Rather than discussing what is unique or distinct about “informal empire”, I propose instead to explore what an informal and a formal imperial structure have in common. My aim in doing so is not to call into question the validity or utility of the concept of “informal empire”. Rather, it is to make some observations regarding a few of the common and essential features of imperialism – formal and informal - in order to offer a reminder of why these phenomena ought to concern us as scholars on a moral as well as an analytical level. Specifically, I will explore the illiberal, anti-democratic nature of imperialism, and its role as a tool of social and economic elites, highlighting these aspects by tracing their persistence through the evolution of British imperialism from its earliest days, up until the emergence of the modern globalised world for which the British Empire laid the foundations.

The paper will take the following structure. I will begin by proposing a view of the modern global political economy as an “informal empire”, where the sovereignty of individual nations is curtailed by the power of a transnational ruling class which exercises that power through national and international structures of governance and economic institutions and activities. I will then review some key aspects of the evolution of the British empire, stressing the point that - though more state-centric than the informal imperialism we see today – the former, formal empire was also the project of a particular elite group. I will devote particular attention to the way in which democratic forms of government were explicitly rejected in favour of the rule of a propertied elite in the earliest days of the British empire, and the implications of that outcome in the evolution of the empire. I will move on to show how the British empire helped lay the foundations of today’s informal imperialism, and note some ‘future echoes’ of those modern imperial forms in the British imperialism of the nineteenth century. I will then talk briefly about the transition from British global dominance to the international political economy of the present day, noting Britain’s changing role in that changing system, before concluding with a summary of the shared characteristics of the two imperial forms.

The globalised political economy as an informal empire

If we think of an empire as an international power structure wherein imperial subject societies have their sovereignty and capacity for self-determination curtailed by an identifiable external force that exerts its will upon its subjects in order to serve its own interests, then it can certainly be plausibly argued that the modern, “globalised” political economy fits this description in many important respects. Under this interpretation of today’s international scene, it is plainly easier to identify the subjects of imperial power than those who wield it. The subjects are those forced to contend with their vulnerability to capital flight, damaging international financial flows, foreign military interventions and (in some respects) the dictates of international governmental institutions. The extent to which a society can consider itself an imperial subject is inversely proportional to the extent to which it is capable of resisting such forces and retaining control of its own destiny. Though some societies are clearly better equipped to meet this challenge than others, the current serious disruption to the international economy highlights the vulnerability of even the most powerful societies to these external forces.

A harder question to answer is that of whose empire this is. The temptation is to fall back on familiar views of empires as state-centric. But does this adequately capture the nature of power, where it resides, and how it behaves in the present day? If the essence of imperialism is the exertion of power and the curtailment of sovereignty and self-determination across borders, then shouldn’t our understanding of empire allow room for whomsoever wields that kind of power, be it a city-state, a nation-state or, perhaps in today’s world, a social class?

Neo-Gramscians have argued that “[w]e need to move away altogether from a statist conception of hegemony ... and revert to a ... view of hegemony as a form of social domination exercised not by states but by social groups and classes operating through states and other institutions” under which “states have been captured by transnationally oriented dominant groups who use them to integrate their countries into emergent global capitalist structures” (Robinson:561 & 563).

This view of the power of transnational economic forces is not new (and indeed predates the adoption of “neo-liberal” economic philosophy by the world’s leading states, though that philosophy is today recognised as the legitimising ideology of this form of international economic power). Writing in 1979, Eric Hobsbawm noted that the world had entered a “phase of economic development ... marked by a notable re-emergence of the transnational or supranational elements in the world economy” and that “the emergence ... of forms of economic organisation which not only cut across or transcend the boundaries of national economies but compete with them and may be beyond their control, is hardly to be denied” (Hobsbawm:1979:314-5).

By 1999, Susan Strange was able to present a compelling case to the effect that the state system (described by Strange as the “Westfailure system”) was now incapable of dealing with these transnational forces effectively. Strange identified failures to prevent damage to the world’s environment, to preserve a sustainable distribution of wealth and resources worldwide, and (rather presciently) to control the international financial system, as showing that the most serious forces and dynamics affecting humanity now lie outwith the control of nation states (and therefore, one might add, outwith the realms of democratic accountability).

Strange echoes Robinson’s remarks on the role of a particular class in this system of power:

“A common assumption is that the present system is sustained by the power of a transnational capitalist class. I have no doubt that such a class exists and does exert its power over the market economy and the rules – such as they are – that govern it. ... [We might recognise] the emergence of a transnational interest group with powerful levers over national governments including that of the United States and members of the European Union” (Strange:353)

Strange does sound a note of caution regarding the use of the term ‘class’, since it “suggests far more solidarity and uniformity than in fact exists” (Strange:353). But we can accept the disparate and diffuse nature of economic power in the system whilst still also acknowledging, as Strange does, the not-inconsiderable extent to which it is able to act in a concentrated and effective manner to advance its interests and impose its will. In this respect, perhaps the most telling of Strange’s observations are those on wealth disparity:

“The discrepant and divergent figures on infant mortality, on children without enough to eat, on the spread of AIDS in Africa and Asia, and on every other socio-economic indicator tell the story. The gap between rich countries and very poor ones is widening, and so is the gap between the rich and the poor in the poor countries and the rich and the poor in the rich countries. It is not that we do not know the answer to socio-economic inequalities; it is redistributive tax and welfare measures ... . But applying that answer to world society is frustrated by the Westfailure system, so closely tied in as it is with the ‘liberalised’ market economy” (Strange:351-2)

When wealth and power are so closely interrelated as to be practically synonymous, disparities in wealth are necessarily disparities in power, and the level of global economic inequality is therefore inversely proportional to the extent that we can consider ourselves to live in a democratic world. If Strange is right to say that the answer to the problem of wealth inequality is well known, and only not implemented because nation states are subject to external forces that oppose such moves, then that would strongly suggest that many societies in the world have the status of imperial subjects: unable to pursue self-determination and improvement because they are subject to the will and self-interest of an external force.

This view directly contradicts the notion of “free-markets” as complementing liberal political forms. The central argument in Naomi Klein’s recent book “The Shock Doctrine” is that the economic philosophies of Milton Friedman and the Chicago School which have been most closely associated with “globalisation” in recent years are often implemented in public policy through a subversion or evasion of democracy. Klein provides a number of well-documented examples – Chile in the 1970s (Klein:75-115), post-apartheid South Africa (Klein:194-217), post-Communist Russia (Klein:218-262) and Sri Lanka after the Asian Tsunami (Klein:385-405) – of neo-liberal economic policies being put into effect in situations, be they exploited or deliberately engineered, where democratic scrutiny and accountability was either weak or absent. These were instances (most obviously in the case of the overthrow of the Allende government in Chile) where “states have been captured by transnationally oriented dominant groups who use them to integrate their countries into emergent global capitalist structures” (returning to our earlier quote from Robinson).

No discussion of empire or hegemony in the early twenty-first century could credibly ignore the role of the United States, especially given the vast military resources at that country’s disposal. But it is not to deny the existence of an American imperialism of some description to point out that this particular international power does not operate in a narrowly state-centric fashion. As Robinson notes:

“The result of US military conquest is not the creation of exclusive zones for ‘US’ exploitation... . Rather, the beneficiaries of US military action are transnational capitalist groups and the US state has, in the main, advanced transnational capitalist interests. Shortly after taking control of Iraq in 2003, for instance, the US occupation force unveiled ‘Order 39’, which provided unrestricted access to Iraq for investors from anywhere in the world” (Robinson:569, see also Klein)

The global role of the US state, in other words, is the maintenance of a broad global economic and political system (from which it of course expects to benefit).

“[Since 1945] the US has shouldered the responsibility for protecting the interests of the “satisfied nations” whose power places them “above the rest,” the “rich men dwelling at peace within their habitations” to whom “the government of the world must be entrusted,” as Winston Churchill put the matter after World War II” (Chomsky:33)

In this analysis, the state functions not in the interests of the nation as a whole so much as in the interests of a class of people and institutions located both nationally and internationally. We need not therefore discard all references to the state when analysing the current imperial forms. The state plays a crucial role; the key is to understand what precisely that role is.

In summary, we have an imperial system where state and economic institutions work on the behalf of a broad but nonetheless recognisable socio-economic class to exert power and influence across international borders. This class power may be concentrated in some locations more than others, and some states may take a more leading role in the system than others, but the system remains transnational and class dominated.

Also, since direct territorial control is a rarity, and since the legitimising ideology of liberal democratic forms and “free markets” plays as important a role in persuading national elites to draw their nations into this global system (by whatever means) as material pressure or military might, this empire can then be classified as informal.

But to what extent is this really a departure? I would argue that though the current informal imperialism of the globalised international political economy has undeniably unique and novel characteristics, it is nevertheless the product of historical processes, and many of its key features as identified above are very much recognisable in earlier, more formal empires. To illustrate this point, I will review some pertinent aspects of the evolution of Britain and its empire.

Democracy vs Property in the English Civil War

The question of in whose interests the British state should be run was a live one in the earliest days of the British empire. This was not purely a question of which particular social elite would take the reigns of governance. The question of whether the public as a whole should be enfranchised was openly debated, with the notion firmly rejected by the propertied classes on the explicit grounds that democracy would run counter to their interests.

The English Civil war of the mid-seventeenth century is most commonly understood as a struggle between the Puritan oligarchs of Parliament and the monarchists who were, broadly speaking, not unsympathetic to Catholicism. The Puritans’ increasing willingness to insist on their version of Christianity, the Parliament’s insistence on its rights as a constitutional body, and King Charles I’s insistence on his own divine right to rule, all combined to produce a bloody, full-scale civil war which eventually saw the monarchy overthrown and replaced by an oligarchical republic headed by a dictator, Oliver Cromwell.

What is less widely known is that towards the end of the civil war, with the Royalists essentially beaten and minds turning to what form of government would replace the monarchy, there was, momentarily, a real chance that events might conspire to produce Western Europe’s first recognisable democracy (or at least, proto-democracy) in Britain. The fact that this did not come to pass had fundamental implications for the country Britain would become, the empire it would go on to build, and the global political economy that would emerge from that empire.

Parliament at this time was not a democratic body, its members in the Commons were elected only by those owning estates worth 40 shillings or more (Foot:7). This excluded all but a small fraction of adult males, and the entirety of the female population. The distribution of seats bore no relation to the distribution of population.

“Of the Commons’ 492 members, 265 came from tiny boroughs too small for any meaningful election, many of them nominated by the King. Add to this ... the widespread buying of seats, routine bribery and the power of the rising monopolists of industry and trade, and the representative element in Parliament was next to nothing. ... . The glaring truth about Parliament was that it was an assembly of rich men chosen overwhelmingly by rich men for the purpose of safeguarding and extending the property of rich men” (Foot:8)

When in the aftermath of war the Parliamentarians airily dismissed growing discontent amongst the Republican army’s ranks over pay and conditions, they would not have expected this dispute to lead to a fundamental challenge to their own authority, which they would have assumed to be secure following the King’s defeat. But the army had become increasingly influenced by a political movement known as the Levellers, which demanded radical democratisation. The statement of Leveller leader Richard Overton in 1645 that “[a]ll men are equally alike born to like propriety, liberty and freedom” (Foot:9) preceded similar statements from the American founding fathers by nearly a century and a half. Specifically, the Levellers called for:

* annual Parliaments,
* an end to secret Parliamentary proceedings with these instead to be recorded and published,
* payment of MPs so as not to limit this job to those of independent means, and
* Parliamentary reform to equalise constituencies and remove the “rotten boroughs” where Commons a seat was secured through some corrupt means rather than free election.

When the rank and file of the army, through its elected representatives, echoed the Levellers demands in October of 1647, they did so without even the specification (which one might well have expected in the extremely socially conservative England of the 1640s) that votes be limited to the male population. When the army marched on London, at one point seemingly holding in its power the ability to dismiss Parliament and impose its demands without negotiation with its supposed masters, the Generals of the army (who, with the exception of Admiral of the Fleet, Thomas Rainsborough, lined up with the Parliamentary oligarchs) realised that those demands would have to be addressed. There followed one of the key episodes of British history: the Putney debates.

The Putney debates offer a clear challenge to the notion – central to the legitimising ideology of “globalisation” – that freedom for wealth and general political freedom are mutually complementary. At Putney in October 1647, property and democracy clashed head on.

Speaking for the democrats, Thomas Rainsborough said:

“For really I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest he; and therefore truly, Sir, I think it’s clear, that every man that is to live under a government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that government; and I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under...” (Foot:28).

For the rights of property, Henry Ireton, Commissary-General and Cromwell’s son-in-law, replied:

“I think that no person has a right to an interest or share in the disposing of the affairs of the kingdom, and in determining or choosing those that shall determine what laws we shall be ruled by here – no person has a right to this, that has not a permanent fixed interest in the kingdom” (Foot:29).

By a “permanent fixed interest” Ireton meant substantial property. He went on to say that only “the persons in whom all land lies, and those in corporations in whom all trading lies” should be able to vote, because if “we shall go to take away this, we shall plainly go to take away all property and interest that any man hath” (Foot:29).

Ireton’s position was that universal enfranchisement was a threat to privilege and property – an anarchist’s charter. Rainsborough countered that accusation by saying (and here Foot paraphrases) that “the rule of the rich, unchecked even by the votes of the poor, was far more anarchic than any threat to property from votes for the poor” (Foot:30).

As the debate went on, the fears of property were expressed more openly. Colonel Nathaniel Rich said “It may happen, that the majority may by law, not in confusion, destroy property; there may be a law enacted that there shall be equality of goods and estate” (Foot:30) while Ireton at one pointed blurted out, “I have a property ... and this I shall enjoy”. To be deprived of this was “a thing evil in itself and scandalous to the world” (Foot:32).

In respect of the fears of Ireton and Rich, it should be noted that the Levellers and those who sided with them at Putney were not, unlike some of their contemporaries (like Gerald Winstanley and the Digger movement), proto-communists. The stress they placed was on political rather than economic equality. But the implications, the threats posed by democracy were well understood by those who enjoyed the benefits of an economically unequal system (Foot:34).

Though the democrats are thought to have won a formal vote on these principles at the Putney debates (Foot:34), a combination of cajoling, bullying and outright violence ensured that the Generals won the day in any event (Foot:38-40). Leveller leaders were jailed, the dissenter printing presses stamped out, and any mutinous activity in the army put down with deadly force. In scenes reminiscent of the final paragraph of George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”, the country’s upper classes now hailed Cromwell as their saviour; since the executed King was no longer there to defend them and their property, Cromwell would fulfil this role as ‘Lord Protector’. (Foot:41-43)

The implications of democracy’s defeat

Cromwell’s first Parliament was entirely unelected. The second was chosen by a smaller electorate than had returned the last one under Charles. (Foot:43) In fact – save for the fact that the head (King, House of Lords and bishops) had been lopped off the English body politic – society continued much as before under the Republic, run as it was by the upper, middle and landowning classes of “the magistrates chair...county hunts..and..city counting houses” (Schama(a):175-7)

These men “invested far more time and energy in preventing any sort of radical change than in promoting it”. They were “businessmen of state, mercantilists, money-managers. And in their swaggering, beady-eyed way, fierce patriots” whose ideology was “the aggressive prosecution of the national interest”. This governing class built an empire for itself, not only on the British archipelago through Cromwell’s brutal wars on the Irish and Scots, but also overseas, in the North Sea, Baltic and Atlantic. “It was commercially rapacious and militarily brutal, beery chauvinism erected into a guiding principle of state .... [Britain and its new empire were now run] by a corporate alliance of county gentry and city merchants”. (Schama(a):178)

The death of Cromwell destabilised the new gentry/merchant-dominated state, depriving it of an authority figure to hold the competing interests together. The Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 was an attempt to place Charles II in this role, i.e. to pick up where Cromwell, not the previous king, had left off (Schama(a):201-3). The Glorious Revolution of 1688 was undertaken by that same new propertied, governing class to keep the monarchy in its place and ensure further continuity. With that accomplished, the ruling class was able, in its collective interest, to put the fratricidal violence of the seventeenth century behind it and getting on with the serious business of making money. Presided over by grandees-come-oligarch godfathers like Sir Robert Walpole, imperial expansion into the Americas and the Indian subcontinent proceeded, vast wars with Spain and France were undertaken to cement Britain as a new global power, and a kind of military-commercial complex began to emerge, creating “another kind of army ... bond-holders, tax-assessors and accountants; customs and excise men, thousands upon thousands of them”, tied together by patronage and collective self interest (Schama(a):277).

A further, critical source of growth for the new commercial aristocracy was the slave trade. “By the middle of the eighteenth century, the mercantile ‘empire of liberty’ was critically dependent for its fortune on the economic universe made from slavery” (Schama(a):343). Britain’s single most valuable import was the sugar produced by three quarters of a million West Indian slaves, generating huge personal fortunes and general enrichment which was in turn to transform both the economy and British society. The ports of Bristol and Liverpool developed and expanded significantly as a direct result of the transatlantic trade. The great library at All Soul’s College, Oxford was built thanks to a donation from the Codmingtons of Barbados. The banking houses of Barclays and Lloyds grew rich, and reinvested in manufacturing. And the nouveaux riches of the trade were now throwing their weight around in Westminster and the City of London.


By the latter part of the eighteenth century, the nature of the nation state that had been created by those who had defeated democracy, and their heirs, was reasonably clear. It was this Britain which would produce the 19th century empire that really set the scene for today’s global, informal empire.

Creating a World Economy

The “long nineteenth century”, dating from the French Revolution to the outbreak of World War I, has been described, most notably by Hobsbawm in his magisterial works on this period, as being the era in which bourgeois political, economic, cultural and ideological forms rose into the ascendency across the globe, remaking the international political economy in their image (Hobsbawm 1962, 1975 & 1987). Though, as noted above, a propertied class of oligarchs had been making its presence felt as a leading player in the governance of Britain from at least the days of the Cromwellian republic, it was in the “long nineteenth century” that the old aristocracy was decisively sidelined by a new, modern bourgeoisie. This was a development that was either completed, begun or at least had its presence felt across the globe. But as the country in which the industrial revolution originated, and whose imperial power and scope was most extensive, it was Britain – or to be more precise, the elites that governed Britain - that took the lead in this revolutionary process.

Britain set itself up at the centre of a global web of economic activity. As Giovanni Arrighi explains:

The recycling of imperial tribute extracted from the colonies into capital invested all over the world enhanced London’s comparative advantage as a world financial centre vis-à-vis competing centres such as Amsterdam and Paris. This....made London the natural home of haute finance – a closely knit body of cosmopolitan financiers whose global networks were turned into yet another instrument of British government of the interstate system” (Arrighi:54)

In addition, by opening itself up as the consumer market for the world’s producers, Britain made itself the indispensable hub of international economic activity; indispensable, in particular, to a growing international economic class who relied upon British finance to expand their businesses and British consumers to purchase their products. Arrighi notes that

the national communities that had risen to power in the Americas and in many parts of Europe [in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries] were primarily communities of property-holders....It was these communities that formed the “natural” constituency of British free trade hegemony” (Arrighi:56)

Property-holders remained the leading or governing force at the imperial centre as well as in the colonies, dominions, and areas subject to Britain’s effective control. Successive waves of popular protest against elite rule and in favour of representative democracy were beaten back by the British state (most notably in the wake of the French revolution, and again in the Chartist movement of the mid-nineteenth century) with the use of political repression and occasional outright violence. Political reform, when it did come, was piecemeal and aimed at buying off as small a sliver as possible of the propertied lower-orders so that the rest could be safely ignored. Universal male suffrage without any property qualification was only achieved after World War I, with female suffrage coming later still. The domination of British politics by property was near-total during the nineteenth century (to say nothing of its continuation after that) (Foot:45-237; Schama (b):13-109).

So when we speak of British imperialism, we should consider the term as shorthand. It was not the miners of Merthyr Tydfil who dictated terms to Tipu Sultan of Mysore or the Khedive of Egypt, but a British state firmly in the control of an economic elite; an elite more given to collaborative political and economic action with similar classes than with its own compatriots.

This international class also possessed a legitimising ideology for the pursuit of its self interest. The British mode of imperialism, Arrighi goes on to say, “established the principle that the laws operating within and between states were subject to the higher authority of a new, metaphysical entity – a world market ruled by its own ‘laws’ – allegedly endowed with supernatural powers” (Arrighi:55). These laws were adhered to even at times when departing from them might have saved thousands, or millions of lives, as in the case of the Irish potato famine and the epic famines that gripped British-ruled India in the latter part of the nineteenth century (Schama(b):195-235). There seems little doubt that British officials such as Edward Bulwer-Lytton and Charles Trevelyan, who presided over these calamities, genuinely felt that to defy the market and simply provide relief for the starving was, though it is hard to comprehend it today, not the moral course of action. The strength of the legitimising ideology that accompanied British economic and imperial power was demonstrated by the fact that it was sincerely believed and religiously adhered to even when tested to obvious and total destruction.

Another key component of this ideology was the notion that British imperial rule was a form of altruistic missionary work whose purpose was not only to benefit Britain but to benefit its imperial subjects as well. Self-rule, in India for example, would be introduced just as soon as the country, in Britain’s judgement, was again able to stand on its own two feet as a fully-fledged member of the modern world. It was, it seemed, merely a happy coincidence that the point where India suddenly and mysteriously mislaid its ability to govern itself (after centuries of producing a succession of the world’s leading civilisations) was the very same point in history that Britain appeared on the scene, ready to nurse the patient back to health and, again entirely coincidentally, make an enormous profit in doing so.

It should also be noted that when the empire did eventually withdraw it did so at a point when it was no longer physically capable of maintaining control over the colonies in the face of strong pressure from highly mobilised and dedicated independence movements. Moreover, those independence movements often drew their liberatory philosophies from their own histories and not from the British tradition in which they were allegedly being educated. For example, in the case of India, Gandhi’s concept of ‘satyagraha’ – truth, and love even for one’s oppressor, as a liberating force – was very much an indigenous concept. Moreover, Gandhi not only rejected the version of modernity imposed by British rule, but hoped to liberate both the oppressed and, perhaps, even the oppressor from what he saw as the false idols of profit and power. There was a civilising mission at work here, but it was being instigated not by Whitehall, but against it (Schama(b):292). In the end, democracy in the former colonies was not an achievement of Britain’s liberal empire so much as a result of its defeat. And yet, though it is easy to be cynical, in hindsight, about oxymoronic notions of a liberating empire, there is little doubt that they were held by the likes of Thomas Macaulay and James Mill with as much sincerity as their freely expressed contempt for Indian civilisation as they found it (Schama(b): 199-212).

In summary, many of the key features of the today’s informal imperialism were present also in Britain’s more formal imperialism of eighteenth and nineteenth century: the role of commercial activity in binding countries and economies together in the specific interests of a certain, transnational class, with one particularly powerful state taking the lead role in the system, and with that system legitimised by an ideology that recast the intrinsically non-democratic exertion of economic and political power in the interests of that class as a high-minded civilising mission undertaken in accordance with liberal values.

Britain’s informal imperialism

Additionally, no review of the commonalities and continuities between Britain’s formal empire and modern informal imperialism could ignore the fact that informal empire was also a key part of British imperialism. As Gallagher and Robinsion pointed out

It ought to be a commonplace that Great Britain during the nineteenth century expanded overseas by means of ‘informal empire’ as much as by acquiring dominion in the strict constitutional sense. ... [To ignore this in our studies of British imperialism] is rather like judging the size and character of icebergs solely from the parts above the water-line” (Gallagher & Robinsion:1).

After all, as Gallagher and Robinsion go on to say

Between 1815 and 1880, it is estimated, £1,187,000,000 in [British] credit had accumulated abroad, but no more than one-sixth was placed in the formal empire. Even by 1913, something less than half of the £3,975,000,000 of foreign investment lay inside the Empire. Similarly, in no year of the century did the Empire buy much more than one-third of Britain’s exports. The basic fact is that British industrialization caused an ever-expanding and intensifying development of overseas regions. Whether they were formally British or not, was a secondary consideration” (Gallagher & Robinsion:5)

In those parts of the world informally subjected to the rule of the British led system – for example Latin America (Brown; Gallagher & Robinsion) and the Middle East (Onley) – the continuities between imperialism past and present are even more in evidence. Access to markets and raw materials was secured through treaties, the exertion of political and economic influence, and the ever-present threat, in the background, of military force. While Britain’s formal empire was later to be dissolved, these informal structures of imperial power were to persist through the twentieth century and into the present day, albeit under new management.

Britain’s decline and the transition to globalised informal empire

Whilst Britain’s dominance of the world system was undermined by the industrialization of its rivals, eroding its head-start in the race into the modern world, it was the catastrophes of the period between 1914 and 1945 that dealt the fatal blows to the world’s first global empire. Whilst a world economy (or at least the basis for one) survived, Britain’s capacity to manage and control it was gone. What is interesting here is that the hegemon which replaced Britain – the United States – did not seize control of the system from its predecessor by force. In fact, the handover of power (though arguably a reality that was in any event irresistible) was conducted in a positively consensual manner.

As collaboration between [Britain and the US] developed [in the first half of the twentieth century], an influential strand of British political opinion came to designate the United States not just as Britain’s partner but as its natural successor to the leading role in the world system”

“These elites were motivated partly by cultural and ideological affinities, but also by the perception that both states shared an interest in promoting the conditions for a liberal international order. There [was] … sufficient common ground [between them] to make collaboration possible and to encourage the idea, particularly on the British side, of a project to transfer the role and responsibilities which Britain had once exercised as a hegemonic power to the United States. In this way, a transfer of hegemony was engineered between the two powers, which rested on collaboration rather than conflict. …. The decisive historical choice, which Britain made in 1940…was in favour of …. an open world economy – which required the acceptance of United States leadership. … The importance of being at the heart of an expanding world economy was in the end judged more important than the preservation of a regional sphere of interest
” (Gamble).

Hegemony therefore was not seen as a zero sum game. For leading members of the class that were the principal beneficiaries of the world system, the maintenance of that system was more important than which state in particular took the leading role in its management; and this assessment was shared even by those state managers who were relinquishing their own hegemonic role. This remarkably strong consensus on shared class interests is a key link between the past and present imperial systems under discussion in this paper.

Britain therefore stepped back to play a role as a component part of the US-managed system. Its defence capability was integrated with that of the US and other leading states through NATO and through collaboration on nuclear weapons systems. It maintained a leading role through the City of London in global finance and insurance. And it played a collaborative role, along with the United States, in maintaining discipline in the system, bringing states that threatened to choose divergent paths (sometimes in accordance with the wishes of their electorates) back into line. To this end, Britain involved itself in US-led coups and interventions in Iran, Indonesia and Iraq, to name a few, as well as providing military and diplomatic support to allied states within the system (Curtis:2003 & 2004). Though formal, territorial control was for almost invariably eschewed in the new system, perhaps through concerns over costs and feasibility (Gartzke), the effective control that Gallagher and Robinson identified as being the real issue, whatever particular form it took, remained the key consideration.

In the invasion and occupation of Iraq, the most notable of these interventions to take place in recent years, talk of democratisation obscured the strenuous efforts made by the occupiers to ensure that the new Iraqi state would conform to their own designs. As noted above, this involved extensive economic reforms undertaken by US diktat prior to any Iraqi elections being held. It also involved the stifling of indigenous attempts to craft democratic forms of governance in the immediate aftermath of the invasion, lest the wrong Iraqis come to power (Klein;Wearing). The attempt to create a friendly, Iraqi state, dependent on Western military power, integrated into the broader economic and political system, and with its supplies of resources secured for the benefit of that system was, in most fundamental respects, entirely consistent with the previous informal imperialism practised by Britain in the Middle East (Onley).

Conclusion

My focus on the commonalities and continuities between these two imperial forms should not be taken as a denial of the significant differences that are apparent between the modern world and the world that was dominated by Britain a hundred years ago. The ability of the leading states to impose themselves militarily on other parts of the world is much diminished, as is the willingness of western publics to tolerate the misdeeds of their governments. It is inconceivable, for example, that a country where hundreds of thousands protested the invasion of Iraq even before it had begun would allow its government to be complicit in anything so horrific as the Indian famines of the late Victorian era, in which Britain can reasonably be accused of having a hand in the deaths of millions. And in addition to the diminished power of the leading states, we must also recognise the significant differences in the way power is distributed in the system. As noted above, economic activity takes place beyond the reach of the state system to an unprecedented extent. This in turn accentuates the leading role in the system of the elite transnational classes above and beyond the role of states.

Nevertheless, it must also be acknowledged that the thematic threads we can trace from the history of British imperialism right up to the present day represent fundamental aspects of empire that we would prefer to believe had by now been consigned to history. Large disparities in power and wealth, the ability of a relatively narrow elite to control the major social, political and economic institutions to serve its own interest, and in doing so to frequently deny self-determination or even a decent life to large swathes of the world population are issues of such urgency and importance than no meaningful agenda of research into the international political economy can overlook them whilst retaining its credibility. Though the distinctions between previous formal empires and modern, informal imperialism are clearly important, the ties that bind them are equally worthy of our attention.

Bibliography

Arrighi. G., (1994), “The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power, and the Origins of Our Times”, (London:Verso)

Brown. M., "Introduction: Informal Empire in Latin America: Culture, Commerce and Capital", Bulletin of Latin American Research, 27(1), 2008, 1-22

Chomsky. N., (1993), “Year 501: The Conquest Continues”, (London:Verso)

Curtis. M., (2003), “Web of Deceit: Britain’s Real Role in The World”, (London:Vintage)

Curtis. M., (2004), “Unpeople: Britain's Secret Human Rights Abuses”, (London:Vintage)

Foot. P., (2005), “The Vote – How it Was Won and How it Was Undermined”, (London: Viking)

Gallagher. J., & Robinson.R., “The Imperialism of Free Trade”, The Economic History Review, 6(1), 1953, p1-15

Gamble. A., "Hegemony and Decline: Britain and the United States," in Two Hegemonies: Britain 1846-1914 and the United States 1941-2001, O'Brien.P.K & Clesse.A. (eds), (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing: 2002), p 127-140.

Gartzke.E. & Rohner.D., "To Conquer or Compel: Economic Development and Interstate Conflict", 2006


Hobsbawm. E., (1962), “The Age of Revolutions: 1789-1848”, (London:Abacus)

Hobsbawm. E., (1975), “The Age of Capital: 1848-1875”, (London:Abacus)

Hobsbawm. E., (1987), “The Age of Empire: 1875-1914”, (London:Abacus)

Hobsbawm. E., “The Development of the World Economy”, Cambridge Journal of Economics, 3, 1979, p305-318

Klein. N., (2008), “The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism”, (London:Penguin)

Onley. J., “Britain’s Informal Empire in the Gulf: 1820-1971”, Journal of Social Affairs, 22(87), 2005, p29-45

Robinson. W. I., “Gramsci and Globalisation: From Nation State to Transnational Hegemony”, Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 8(4), 2005, p559-574

Schama.S., (2003), “A History of Britain 2: The British Wars: 1603-1776”, (London: BBC Worldwide) – (“Schama(a)”)

Schama.S., (2003), “A History of Britain 3: The Fate of Empire: 1776-2000”, (London: BBC Worldwide) - (“Schama(b)”)

Strange. S., “The Westfailure System”, Review of International Studies, 25, 1999, p345-354

Wearing. D., "Britain's Failure In Iraq", Le Monde Diplomatique (English edition), November 2007.

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Sunday, February 08, 2009

Britain in the early 20th Century

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the British political economy and Britain's foreign policy. Again, I'm drawing on the third volume of Simon Schama's "History of Britain", all quotes being Schama unless otherwise stated. Page references are included in the text.

As before, rather than just summarising the chapters in question I'm pulling out and offering my own comments on those parts pertinent to my PhD research, skipping the less relevant bits.

While the following interpretation of events will inevitably be influenced by Schama's writing, it is an attempt to create my own analysis from that.

*****

“Although, until the Liberals came to power in 1905, the majority of cabinet members were still drawn from the landed classes, their near monopoly of government was on its way out, shaken not so much by the advance of egalitarian democracy as by a long, steep agricultural depression. To all intents and purposes, between 1870 and 1910 Britain ceased to be a serious agricultural producer. Since it was unable to compete with colonial and American imports, 3 million acres were taken out of cultivation. By 1911 just 8 per cent of the 45 million people of Great Britain were earning their living from the land. Agricultural incomes in Britain over the same period fell by a full 25 per cent.....Almost a quarter of the privately owned land of Britain...went on the market between the 1870s and the 1830s. Many of the estates...were bought by the relatively recent rich whose fortunes had been made in industry, shipping mining, insurance or publishing: often...in the Dominions. There were Australian and Canadian accents now at the point-to-points and grouse shoots, and the relics of the old nobility tried not to flinch. Churchill’s cousin, the 9th Duke of Marlborough...lamented that ‘the old order is doomed’” p308

“Those who did survive the shake-out of the estates belonged to an even more exclusive elite: by 1914, half the acreage of England and Wales belonged to just 4500 proprietors” p310

Poverty was still rife in the late Victorian era, with 10 per cent of the total urban working population living in festering slum conditions, families crowded into a single room or two at best. However, this was also the era where the recognisably modern home came into being for many ordinary people, including flushing lavatories and tap water. Public hygiene and diets improved. But the nation’s essential socio-economic character was largely unchanged. “On the eve of the First World War...10 per cent of Britain’s population owned 92 per cent of its wealth. As many as 90 per cent of the deceased, on the other hand, left no documented assets or property whatsoever” p313. Moreover, increased competition for Britain’s labour intensive, export-driven industries from rising economies like that of the USA made even the situation of the relatively well-off increasingly (albeit relatively) precarious.

The answer of the industrialists was rationalization, investment in labour-saving machinery, wage cuts and longer hours. They came up against a newly organised, unionised, assertive and mobilised workforce, leading to a string of hard-fought industrial disputes. The Labour Party was born as the political wing of that movement; a coalition of revolutionary Marxists, non-revolutionary Fabians, and the trade unionists themselves. Elements across the party, in their own way, cited the likes of Lilburne and Paine in their moral and ideological heritage.

“Fabianism committed itself to eschewing the half-baked, half-thought revolution in favour of a long campaign of re-educating both the political elite and the working class – the first to a new sense of their social responsibilities, the latter to a new sense of their legitimate social rights. Between them they were to make a modern, just and compassionate industrial society, without violence and without the sacrifice of freedom. There have been worse ideologies in the modern age” p316

The Fabian re-education programme included dinner-parties for the great and the good, attended by Liberals like Herbert Asquith, and even Tories like Arthur Balfour.

For the Fabians, it was economics that caused poverty, not the immorality of the poor. The Fabian argument for social justice was very similar to the nineteenth century Liberal/Whig argument for franchise extension. While not downplaying the genuine decency and compassion of the Fabians, it would be wrong, perhaps, to entirely rule out the role of pragmatic class interest in the thinking of these polite reformers. Indeed, the Fabians cited the health of empire – hardly a progressive institution – as requiring and resting on the domestic social reform that they advocated.

But who was going to pay? Not just for the social reforms, but for the maintenance of British Naval superiority and for the debts incurred during the Boer War? Not – at least not willingly – the mobilised and agitated working class, especially not during an economic slump. So the usual regressive taxes on commodities were eschewed as revenue raisers, in favour of progressive taxation on land, inheritance and incomes, in Lloyd George’s budget of 1909.

The “People’s Budget” had an unlikely champion: Winston Churchill, now President of the Board of Trade, who campaigned up and down the country against the obstructions of the House of Lords. “At the Victoria Opera House in Burnley in December, Churchill had a lot of fun with Curzon’s claim in nearby Oldham the that ‘superior class’ by blood and tradition had inherited the right to ‘rule over our children’. What did the noble lord say? That ‘ “all great civilisation has been the work of aristocracies”. They liked that in Oldham (laughter). ... Why, it would be much more true to say the upkeep of the aristocracy has been the hard work of all civilisations” (loud cheers and cries of “say it again”)’ p322.

Asquith forced an election, as a referendum on the Lords’ resistance to the budget. The Liberals’ overall majority was lost, but with Irish Home Rulers and Labour MPs support the Parliament Bill was passed and the upper house’s powers sharply curbed.

But if the reforms were conceived as the minimum necessary to forestall revolution, many of those it was intended to pacify were less than impressed. Riots and confrontations with the police began to occur, first with the miners, then with the increasingly militant suffragettes, some of whom had taken to direct physical action as a form of protest.

**

With Germany bolstering its military strength, and Britain keen to retain its naval advantage, Churchill took an active post in his new role as First Lord of the Admiralty. “Heavy guns were to be mounted on fast ships; and, most momentous of all, those ships would now be fuelled more cost effectively by oil, not coal. In retrospect this one decision, a commitment to the Anglo-Persian Oil Company – so apparently innocent, or at least so purely logistical (and so lightly glossed over in most Churchill biographies) – was to have more profound effects on the fate of the British Empire, not to mention the history of the world, than almost anything else Churchill did until the May days of 1940. It made the survival of the British Empire conditional on a Middle East presence, a halfway link between India and Egypt. That in turn would make Churchill, as colonial secretary in 1921, a strong supporter of a British mandate in Palestine and a protective role in Iraq (the former Mesopotamia) and Jordan. That would beget Suez. And Suez begat Islamic fundamentalism. The Anglo-Persian Oil Company, in which Churchill made sure to acquire a 51 per cent holding for the British government in 1914, would beget joint Anglo-American oil interests in Iran, which would beget the CIA overthrow of the Mossadeq democracy and the restoration of the Pahlavi dynasty, which would beget the Ayatollah Khomenei. And all the while the coal mines of Britain were relegated to terminal redundancy. But on the eve of the First World War, the battle fleet was well tanked and ready for action” p327-8.

Churchill’s failed plan, during WWI, to attack the German alliance at its weakest point – the Ottoman Empire – was in part aimed at securing the oil fields of Persia and Mesopotamia.

**


“At least 700,000 British servicemen had perished in the Great War, and a million and a half had been wounded. Another 150,000 were lost to the influenza pandemic of 1918-19. Some 300,000 children had lost at least one parent. One in ten of an entire generation of young men had been wiped out” p334.

Progressives like George Bernard Shaw and HG Wells saw the war’s terrible cost as an unanswerable case for the end of empire, to be replaced with enlightened global governance. The treaty of Versailles – pinning all the blame for and most of the cost of the war on Germany – and the League of Nations – diminished by its limited authority and its repudiation by the US Congress – were not what they had in mind.

The domestic political change that came in the war’s aftermath was more substantial: votes for all men aged over 21 and women over 30, 200,000 government built homes, the raising of the school leaving age to 14, nationwide standardization of wages and salaries, doubling of old-age pensions and near-universal unemployment insurance p333.

But the ‘war socialism’ of nationalised industries and state-controlled wages was quickly dismantled, despite pleas from the labour movement p336. And in addition, the overwhelming majority held by the Tory-Liberal coalition headed by Lloyd George meant that the government (and the Prime Minister) were free to rule almost as they pleased. “It was rule by dinner party; its weapons the artfully targeted rumour, the discreet business sweetener, the playfully or not so playfully threatening poke in the ribs. Honours were up for sale; insider commercial favours expected” p337.

Lloyd George did not preside over an empire of contented subjects. The failure of moves for Home Rule opened the way for the rise of the IRA and Sinn Fein, the former bringing the Easter Rising of 1916, the latter sweeping aside the Home Rulers in the 1918 elections. In Scotland, poverty, unemployment exacerbated by post-war demobilisation, and the disproportionate loss of Scottish life in the war (26 per cent of Scots to 12 per cent of the rest of the British troops had died) led to union demands for the retention of wage and rent controls, and a shorter working week. Refusal resulted in strikes, clashes with the police, and eventually the occupation of Red Glasgow by 12,000 troops and 6 tanks p338.

Further abroad, the war had tested the loyalty and acquiescence to empire of many colonial subjects. The Anglo-Saxon colonials believed their sacrifices earned them another step towards equal nation status with the UK. Non-Anglo-Saxon subjects simply became firmer in their demands for independence with the British now having to put down nationalist uprisings in Egypt and install puppet monarchs there and in Iraq.

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Saturday, February 07, 2009

The Empire of Good Intentions: Part II

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the British political economy and Britain's foreign policy. Again, I'm drawing on the third volume of Simon Schama's "History of Britain", all quotes being Schama unless otherwise stated. Page references are included in the text.

As before, rather than just summarising the chapters in question I'm pulling out and offering my own comments on those parts pertinent to my PhD research, skipping the less relevant bits.

While the following interpretation of events will inevitably be influenced by Schama's writing, it is an attempt to create my own analysis from that.

*****


When the sepoys garrisoned at Meerat, northeast of Delhi, fired the first shots of the war of Indian independence (to the British, the ‘mutiny’) on 10 May 1857, it was through anger at far more than being ordered by their British officers to grease their rifle cartridges with beef tallow (taboo to Hindus) or pig fat (taboo to Muslims). These were merely the latest of a host of indignities, insults and injustices suffered under a British rule which they now resolved to tolerate no longer. Rallying to the Mughal court in Delhi, they declared the emperor the legitimate sovereign of India and the start of a national uprising.

The grievances of the rebels were religious, cultural, material and secular. The influx of Christian missionaries – including those that adopted children orphaned in the famines and then brought them up in their own religion – as well as the general imperial contempt for Indian tradition and customs gave the uprising the overt character of a holy war against infidels. But it was also a war against economic exploitation and tyranny. Schama cites a particularly notable example.

“One of the triumphs of British ‘engineering’ in India was the building of the ‘Great Hedge’, a staggering 1500-mile barrier of thorns and acacia designed to prevent Orissa salt from being smuggled into Bengal to compete with imported salt from Cheshire; any that did get through was subject to penal tariffs. As many as 13,000 men were employed by the customs police to enforce this discriminatory practice, even as the pieties of free trade were being trumpeted in London and Manchester” p240.

The gap between imperial rhetoric and reality was plainly visible all over the world. If a mutually beneficial exchange between colonial producers and British manufacturers did exist, it tended to involve the white colonials of Canada, Australia, New Zealand and Southern Africa. Their darker skinned neighbours – like the indigenous peoples of Australia and Africa expelled from their lands or simply massacred in order to make room for livestock grazing – saw rather less of the material improvements promised by the empire.

Imperial grandees like Lord Palmerston, who served 15 years as Foreign secretary on and off before becoming Prime Minister, claimed that peace and prosperity went hand in hand under British rule, and that domination of the world economy had fallen into Britain’s lap as a just and natural reward for commercial skill, energy and ingenuity. The truth was rather less uplifting.

When the China attempted to resist British opium imports, it was met with demands for market access and extra-territorial rights for British traders in Chinese ports. Outrage at this denial of the laws of global economics was unconfined, and augmented wherever possible by laments about the more backward and repressive elements of Chinese culture, which were suddenly of great concern to those determined to turn millions of Chinese into drug addicts. The Opium Wars were, by this rationale, wars for economic freedom and the civilisation that was sure to follow in its wake. “But of course the British and the rest of the Europeans were not arresting, but accelerating, the destruction of imperial China; and then, as the century wore on, making the resulting ‘anarchy’ a pretext for further military and political intervention. It was as if the doctors who had brought the disease in the first place were decent enough to show up offering – at a price – the cure” p242.

British military expansionism in Asia was now in full cry. The northern territories of the subcontinent were invaded and annexed, their treasuries looted, all, naturally, in self-defence (this time against ‘potential’ aggression from Russia). With the increased confidence of power came increased heavy-handedness . After annexing the province of Awadh, the British swept aside the local ‘rajahs’ and inserted themselves as the new tax collectors. But the ‘rajahs’ had been more than simple exploiters of the peasantry whose removal would be welcomed as long as taxes were slightly reduced into the bargain. They were feudal lords and patrons whose paternal role was intimately woven into the fabric of local peasant society. So when the people rallied to their rajahs during the uprising, though it shocked the British it was, in reality, only to be expected.

The demeaning, sometimes sadistic treatment of sepoys by their British officers combined with each broader injustice to the extent that, even though the offending cartridges had been withdrawn before the uprising began, the total breakdown of trust engendered by the sheer arrogance of British rule had rendered the point moot. That particular straw had already broken the camel’s back.

The war threw up scenes of huge bloodshed, with atrocities committed by the sepoys answered by savage British reprisals. The rebellion was largely put down in about 12 months, contained as it was broadly within the Ganges valley, but pockets of resistance endured until as late as 1860.

Britain’s approach to the governance of India now changed markedly. EIC rule was replaced by that of a viceroy, council, and secretary of state. Ambitious plans of westernisation were set aside in favour of stable maintenance of the status quo. The problem, it seems, was that the British had been working with defective material. “The universalist assumption of the Enlightenment that all men, given the right education, could become much the same had been replaced by the harder, ‘scientific’ fact of incommensurable difference; it was put most brutally in the 1890s by one viceroy the Earl of Elgin, who jovially complained what ‘a terrible business [it is] this living among inferior races’” p256-7.

Some came to romanticise the rural, “real” India just as the likes of Coleridge and Wordsworth had romanticised rural Britain earlier in the century. Mixed in with this was the enduring racism through which the colonial subjects continued to be judged. “One of the worst things his enemy, [Liberal Party leader] William Gladstone, thought up to say about [Conservative leader Benjamin] Disraeli was to call him ‘Asiatic’, by which he meant constitutionally irresponsible, amoral and shamelessly devoted to pleasure, self-indulgence and dandyism” p259. But the othered image of an anachronistic Asia – be it as romanticised exoticism or denigrated semi-savagery – was at odds with the reality of the very modern India which the British themselves were involved in creating. “The reality of British power in India was coming to depend more, not less, on the world of the great port cities they had created; on the ruthless exploitation of plantation economies in Assam and Burma for teak, mahogany, tea and the always tempting though seldom reliable indigo (with chemical dyes it would fade altogether); on the mesh of connections that brought together Indian entrepreneurs with the British bankers, shippers and insurance men who made the export business tick along” p258.

“When in 1876, Disraeli, with the help of the Rothschilds, pulled off the huge coup of buying the Khedive of Egypt’s shares in the Suez Canal (and with it control of European access to India) he transformed the strategic and economic prospects of the British Raj” p263 and, in doing so, guaranteed the continuing, transformative march of imperial history. And yet, at the same time, liberal ‘progress’ was giving way to jingoism and the romanticisation of old orders. At home, Disraeli’s attempted to dazzle the newly enfranchised masses with the pomp and circumstance of the rejuvenated Victorian monarchy. A similar revival of old world pageantry was underway on the subcontinent, as the British co-opted the Indian aristocracy using ‘durbars’, or audiences with the viceroy to bestow favour, status and the trappings of empty power. The rationale was articulated by Lord Elgin who “unblushingly and cynically insisted that ‘all orientals are children, amused and gratified by external trappings and ceremonies and titles and ready to put up with the loss of real dignity if only they are permitted to enjoy the semblance of it” p263.

There was then to be a new, grounded and stable hierarchy. At the top, the newly declared (by Disraeli) Empress of India. Below her, the Raj, and its new viceroy, Edward Bulwer-Lytton, arriving in India in 1876. Below him were the pet rajahs and their semblances of dignity. And at the bottom, the Indian population. This was deemed preferable to the previous attempt to create a class of ‘brown Englishmen’ to administer the subcontinent on London’s behalf. “Politically speaking”, opined Lytton, “[India] is an inert mass – if it ever moves at all it will move in obedience, not to its British benefactors but to its native chiefs and princes however tyrannical they may be” p265.

But the oriental “children” had more pressing concerns than the manufactured pageantry of the Raj. The ‘prosperity’ and ‘welfare’ promised by Victoria in her message to the Grand Durbar of 1877 had not merely failed to materialise, their suggestion had become a bad joke. In the week of that ceremony alone “100, 000 were estimated to have died of starvation and cholera in Mysore and Madras” alone. “In 1860, 2 million had died in the Punjab. In 1866 nearly 27 per cent of the population of Orissa, some 800,000 had died; in 1868 a quarter of the population of Ajmere. In 1877-8, during Lytton’s administration, the famines have been responsibly calculated to have cost over 7 million lives” p268.

As had been the case in Ireland, British administrators saw the famines as “a ‘natural’ or ‘providential’ event that it was beyond the powers of government to ameliorate” p268. But there was nothing natural about, for example, the systematic destruction of salt production in Orissa, through tariffs and finally outright prohibition, which had robbed that region’s people of an income. Relief, in the form of grain imports or tax suspension, was rejected as interference in the market. “An Anti-Charitable Contributions Act (something that should modify our assumptions about the ubiquitous philanthropy of the Victorians) was passed expressly to prevent aid coming from Britain and the Indian cities, which was said to be, delaying the necessity of ‘soft’ Indians being made to stand on their own two feet” p269. Again, as in Ireland, what relief there was was only made available in labour camps, to few people and in tiny amounts.



“At the same time, grain depots in Madras and Bombay were full of imported rice, heavily guarded by troops and police to prevent thefts or riot. The famished...dropped dead in front of the fenced stockpiles. By a bitter irony, by the end of the century it was evident that it was those areas of India that had the most railway mileage and the most commercially developed economies that suffered most brutally in the famine years, because of the ease of transporting grain to markets where it could be hoarded to maximise the profits from price rises” p270 [emphasis in original].

“The problem...[was] one of income, not of gross food supply”. Imperial administrators insisted that the natural workings of the market would resolve the issue, ignoring “the hypocrisy of a policy that purported to be free trade but was in fact unscrupulously interventionist. Tariffs were nakedly manipulated to favour British imports and disadvantage Indian products; millions of tons of grain were shipped out in 1877-8 to stabilise British home prices, while Indian prices were allowed to soar in Bombay and Madras to levels that guaranteed starvation. Lytton had even enacted a cut in the tariffs on imported British cottons at the precise time when the Gujarati weavers were suffering more than most urban populations in India. And still could be heard the reiteration of the ancient, sanctimonious nostrums: let them stand on their own two feet” p217

Schama continues:

“What was in the process of utterly breaking down was the original liberal axiom of reciprocal prosperity. Prosperity at home in Britain seemed to be bought at the expense of the accumulation, of wealth in India. Only those in India who collaborated with this institutionalised and legislated economic inequality, such as grain shippers and textile importers, got their due rewards. Three particular circumstances in the 1870s and 1880s made this unlikely to change. First, Britain itself was in an economic downturn and very unlikely to feel charitable towards India at the expense of its own recovery, or to raise not just prices but the spectre of working-class unrest at home. Second, the home economy was feeling the pinch of competition from the United States and European rivals like Germany: exports were shrinking and once again Britain was unlikely to sacrifice its captive imperial markets for the sake of long-term economic maturity. (By the end of the century India was easily the biggest of all Britain’s export markets, taking fully 10 per cent of total exports – overwhelmingly cheap manufactured Lancashire cottons, the product that more than any other had destroyed the Indian textile industry.) Of all the facts to refute the ‘benevolent development’ thesis of British imperialism, this was perhaps the most irrefutably damning. Finally, revenues for investment in infrastructure that would actually benefit Indian peasant producers (rather than import-export merchants) had to compete with what, for viceroys like Lytton, was the supreme and over-riding interest – that of strategic military expansion on the northwest frontier lest the Cossack hordes come pouring through the Khyber Pass. The Indian taxpayer paid the full price for British strategic paranoia” p272.

Lytton even pillaged the famine relief fund to pay for his military campaigns in Afghanistan [p272] as well as gagging the increasingly dissident Indian press with the Vernacular Press Act of 1878 [p280].

In 1880, Gladstone came to power, replacing Disraeli, with some understanding of how Britain’s mistreatment of its imperial subjects was both wrong and counterproductive. Gladstone was no great progressive, believing in franchise extension only for those who, in his own assessment, merited it. But though his was a Victorian morality, it was also a genuine one, in so far as it went. So while he was prepared to imprison leaders of the Irish land league without charge, he was also prepared to listen to and to try and understand their grievances: extortionate rents, summary evictions (without compensation for improvements made to the smallholdings during tenancy), and so on. Gradually, Gladstone became convinced of the need for Home Rule (i.e. limited autonomy) for Ireland.

But elsewhere, Gladstone, for all the distrust of imperialism that he had expressed in opposition, did seem to take to empire’s task rather well. When the Khedive of Egypt was threatened by a military uprising (partly provoked by his economic mismanagement which had led France and Britain, Egypt's creditors, to seize control of the country’s revenues) Gladstone waded in with all guns blazing to restore the Khedive’s ‘legitimate’ rule, not to mention Britain’s revenue stream. This led to Egypt effectively becoming Britain’s colony, with a permanent military presence. Gladstone, like every imperial hypocrite before him, convinced himself that this was all merely in the name of ‘peace’ and ‘stability’ p280.

But in the case of Ireland, at least as far as Gladstone was concerned, pragmatism demanded a move towards autonomy since, given the growing antipathy towards British rule, the only alternative might soon be total severance. This assessment was by no means widely shared. The arguments put forward by the Tory Arthur Balfour, in his warnings to the Irish Unionists on the dangers of Home Rule, were the direct descendant of those expressed by Ireton 240 years earlier on the dangers of popular enfranchisement. The Unionists, said Balfour, would be “put under the heel of a majority which is greater than you in number [but which] is most undoubtedly inferior to you in political knowledge and experience – you the wealthy, the orderly, the industrious, the enterprising portion of Ireland, are to supply the money for that part of Ireland which is less orderly, less industrious and less ...law-abiding” p284.

The defeat of Gladstone’s moves for Home Rule exposed, again, the fiction of Britain’s claim to be pursuing a liberal-paternalist mission that would one day, someday, lead to the colonial subjects running their own affairs. Indiginous movements for self-governance that did emerge in Ireland and India drew on their own traditions and histories, rather than the myth of Britain’s liberal progress through the ages. Britain made belated attempts to buy off those calling for self-determination – as had happened at home with the piecemeal extention of the franchise – introducing limited forms of elected government. “But it was very much a case of too little, too late” p291. The methods of ‘swadesh’ (boycott) and ‘hartal’ (non-cooperation) were making the Raj ungovernable. Gandhi’s concept of ‘satyagraha’ – truth, and love even for one’s oppressor, as a liberating force – was drawn from India’s own proud liberal tradtions. Moreover, Gandhi not only rejected the version of modernity imposed by British rule, but hoped to liberate both the oppressed and, perhaps, even the oppressor from the idols of profit and power. There was a civilising mission at work here, but it was being instigated not by Whitehall, but against it.

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The Empire of Good Intentions: Part I

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the British political economy and Britain's foreign policy. Again, I'm drawing on the third volume of Simon Schama's "History of Britain" books, all quotes being Schama unless otherwise stated. Page references are included in the text.
As before, rather than just summarising the chapters in question I'm pulling out and offering my own comments on those parts pertinient to my PhD research, skipping the less relevant bits.
While the following interpretation of events will inevitably be influenced by Schama's writing, it is an attempt to create my own analysis from that.
*****
In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as had ever been the case, British Imperialism was characterised by the chasm between the lofty claims of its advocates and the gruesome depths of its reality.

Lord Curzon, Viceroy of India from 1899 to 1905, declared the Empire to be “the greatest force for good the world has ever seen”, later stating that “[t]he message is carved granite, it is hewn in the rock of doom, that our work is righteous and it shall endure” p195,197. Elsewhere, (now quoting Schama), “[p]uffers of empire, like J.R. Seeley, the Professor of Modern History at Cambridge University, talked often and loudly of Britain’s civilising ‘destiny’” p195.

The Indian people’s experience of empire was a little different. “[T]he period [at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries] when [the empire’s] triumphalists were boasting most noisily of the material and medical benefits that the British had brought to the subcontinent happened also to be the decades when India experienced the most horrific death toll in its entire modern history”. The medical journal The Lancet estimated that excess deaths (above the norm) from famine and disease had been at least 19 million in the 1890s; equivalent to half the population of Britain. Estimates of the death toll of the 1899-1900 famine in western and central India ranged between 6.5 and 10 million. One quarter were claimed by the bubonic plague in 1991 alone. “An earlier famine in Orissa in 1865-6 had, according to government sources, killed fully a quarter of the population” p198-9. Schama says that the empire’s administrators “had - most of them – only the best of intentions” p194. Yes they saw a profit to be made, but also an altruistic mission to fulfil, namely the eradication of poverty disease and ignorance in its colonies. The vision was not one of imperial subjugation but of “trusteeship”. “India would one day rise and walk again on its own two feet and be judged (by the British) capable once more of governing itself” p199.

What a happy coincidence that the point where India suddenly and mysteriously mislaid its ability to govern itself (after centuries of producing a succession of the world’s leading civilisations) was the very same point in history that Britain appeared on the scene, ready to nurse the patient back to health and, again entirely coincidentally, make an enormous profit in doing so.

“There is no doubt that these ideals were sincerely held....There is equally no doubt that it seldom occurred to the governors of empire (although it certainly did to its adversaries) that their military and economic power had actually caused many, if not most, of the problems they claimed to be in India to correct” p199. Schama also notes that the “ignorance” and “arrogance” of those like Thomas Macaulay who, in the 1830s, declared the “indolent and superstitious” peoples of the Orient in need of a schooling in “European knowledge” so as to make them “capable of all the privileges of citizens” p200-1. Another word Schama might have used is ‘racist’, not least to describe Curzon’s statement, to an audience at Calcutta University, that “truth is a western concept”? p206

Macaulay’s vision, and that of his contemporaries, was of “taking ‘inert’ Asia (another favourite cliché) and injecting it with the dynamism of progress” p202. Under British paternal guidance, India would produce surpluses of cash crops for export and purchase manufactured British goods with the profits, in a cycle that would produce both economic and moral development for the colonial wards.

Though it cannot be said that Indian society was free of barbaric practices, the British never missed an opportunity, whether they understood these practices properly or otherwise, to use them as a justification for the civilising mission, not withstanding its own barbarous and far more lethal nature p210-1.

British rule over India in the early nineteenth century had, in some respects, been at its most enlightened. Administrators had shown an notable degree of sympathetic cultural engagement and thirst for knowledge, immersing themselves intellectually in their surroundings. But, alongside this, the familiar dynamics of imperialism were ever-present. Wars for ‘stability’ begat instability, which begat further wars, further militarization, and further taxation to pay for an East India Company (EIC) army that by the 1830s comprised nearly a quarter-million (mostly Indian sepoys), making it one of the biggest in the world p205.

Soon the sympathetic scholars of early imperial rule were pushed aside by the likes of James Mill, Macaulay, and Charles Trevelyan who, though they felt qualified to write about or actually govern India, evidently saw no need to engage with its culture and history in any serious way. Mill wrote his “History of British India” without ever having visited the country. What, after all, was there for the British to understand, outside of their own exalted perspectives? Macaulay proclaimed that he had “never found [anyone] distinguished by their proficiency in the eastern tongues who could deny that a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia” p212

The orientalists resisted the new chauvinism for a time. The Macaulays and Trevelyans envisaged effecting their civilising mission by co-opting an upper strata of Indian society, educating it in the finer points of the white man’s culture, and then allowing that knowledge to cascade down towards the lower orders. But in this “class of person, Indian in blood and colour but English in taste, opinions morals and intellect [p212 – it is not clear who Schama is quoting at this point. Macaulay or Trevelyan presumably] the orientalists saw only the prospect of “a clique detached from the rest of Indian society ... a cultural mongrel group, with a vested interest in telling the sahibs what they wanted or needed to hear” p212. But it was the chauvinists’ mode of imperial rule that was to prevail, and the orientalists - with their hookahs, their Sanskrit, their Indian mistresses (and sometimes wives) and mixed-race children – that were to be consigned to history, soon to be followed, it was hoped, by the corrupt and effeminizing culture that they had so foolishly embraced p215.

But far from raising its subjects up from their backward squalor, the new imperial model performed what Schama describes as a “rolling economic demolition job” on Indian society p218. The loss of the EIC’s monopoly on the indigo trade devastated exporters, while the mass import of Lancashire-produced textiles did the same to Indian manufacturing industry and the local economies built around it. No pain no gain, was the considered view of the British modernizers content to see the modern industrial economy do its work. But the gains proved sparse while the pain was deep and extensive. Emily Eden, sister of the Governor-General Lord Auckland, described her journey through famine-ravaged India northwest to the Sikh court of Ranjit Singh:

“You cannot conceive the horrible sights we see, particularly children; perfect skeletons in many cases, their bones through their skin; without a rag of clothing, and utterly unlike human creatures...The women look as though they had been buried, their skulls look so dreadful” p219-20 [ emphasis in original].


Between 1846 and 1850, Charles Trevelyan presided over another civilising famine, this time in Ireland which, in those short years, “lost a quarter of its population: 1 million died of starvation or famine-related diseases, and another million turned to emigration as their only chance of survival” p220. Trevelyan viewed this as “the judgement of God on an indolent and unself-reliant people, and as God has sent the calamity to teach the Irish a lesson, that calamity must not be too much mitigated: the selfish and indolent must learn their lesson so that a new and improved state of affairs must arise” p221. It was the luck of the Irish that Trevelyan should be the Treasury official in charge of the relief effort , as well as God’s spokesperson on Earth.

Part of the problem had been a failure to predict understand or know how to deal with the fungal infection attacking the potato crop. But the real problem was that of a population forced to live on a razor’s edge of high rents for the land they worked and very low wages. They had no capacity to deal with any further hardship, let alone the devastation of the very crop that was “the beginning and the end of their diet” p225.

However, as far as Trevelyan was concerned, if the Irish could not afford to eat then this was a natural outcome of market forces, and not something to be interfered with. Trevelyan therefore opposed any attempts to stop the export of oats from starving Ireland, on the grounds that this would cause “discouragement and feeling of insecurity” to business, and thus do more harm than good p226.

As was the case with the workhouses on the mainland, the fear of the great and the good that the poor and malnourished may try to exploit them resulted in relief provisions so brutally sparse as not to attract the no doubt ever-present shirkers and freeloaders. Harry David Jones, the chairman of the board of public works, warned Trevelyan, “I believe everyone considers the government fair game to pluck as much as they can” p226. Hard-labour in exchange for a pittance of sustenance kept hundreds of thousands teetering on the edge of starvation. In one workhouse at Skibbereen, 226 inmates died between October 1846 and January 1847 p227.

As the tragedy became increasingly hard to gloss over, wealthy benefactors (including the Queen and Prince Albert) began to fund charitable efforts such as soup kitchens. But the callousness of official policy remained stubbornly intact. The public works relief projects had been so inundated that they were wound up and replaced by a new generation of workhouses. But these would be available only to those holding a quarter of an acre or less, thereby excluding “the vast majority of even the poorest” peasant families p228. The choice was no choice, give up what little you have to the landlord so as to qualify for the workhouse, or keep it and starve. Thus was Trevelyan’s social revolution brought about. Smallholders migrated to the ports or the workhouses (or were simply evicted), the landlords then demolishing the cabins in their wake as the small plots were consolidated into tenant farms. So every cloud (for the starving poor) had a silver lining (for the landlord class).

His career untroubled by the role he played in these events, Trevelyan went on to preside over the creation of what we now recognise as Whitehall: a cluster of spacious buildings around London’s Houses of Parliament in which the main departments of government would have their offices. Trevelyan argued that this was far more than a practical, administrative exercise.

“[W]e are organising, Christianising and civilising large portions of two ancient continents, Africa and Asia; and it is not right when the inhabitants of those countries come to the metropolis they should see nothing worthy of its ancient renown. Now I conceive that a plan of the kind I have sketched... would give the honour due to the focus of our liberties, of that regulated freedom which we hope will overspread the world” p233.

This new citadel of imperial government - like the communal burial bits of Ireland, and the tiny infant graves marked with shapeless rocks, marked with no epitaphs, at Connemara on the Atlantic shore p227 – would stand as the monuments to the civilising mission of Charles Trevelyan and Britain’s empire of good intentions.


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Saturday, December 27, 2008

Britain, 1789-1867: In the Shadow of Revolution

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the British political economy and Britain's foreign policy. I've now moved on to the third in Simon Schama's "History of Britain" books, and the following is drawn from the first three chapters of that volume, all quotes being Schama's unless otherwise stated (this time, I've included page references in the text).
As before, rather than just summarising the chapters in question I'm pulling out and offering my own comments on those parts pertinient to my PhD research, skipping the less relevant bits. While the following interpretation of events will inevitably be influenced by Schama's writing, it remains my own, so any inaccuracies or misjudgements are my responsibility.

A final introductory point: these notes concentrate on the battle for political reform in Britain during the period in question, and what's striking is that a battle is just what it was. We are given the impression by politicians and opinion-makers today that liberty and democracy are serenely interwoven into the very nature of Britain and Britishness itself. That while other countries arrived at democracy through the painful processes of revolutionary bloodbath or colonial instruction, Britain's liberty simply blossomed into being in the natural, unflustered and unhurried course of things. This is very much not the case.

Britain's becoming a democracy was a long-drawn out and deeply contested affair. It was, essentially, a bitter and protracted struggle, lasting well over a hundred years, between a cruelly-treated and increasingly agitated and mobilised popular majority, on the one hand, and on the other, the vested interests of the governing elite, who fought tooth-and-nail to maintain their decidedly non-democratic hold on power. This struggle occasionally saw Britain under what we would today describe as something tantamount to martial law or even a military occupation, as the authorities stamped down hard on the pro-democracy movement with all the force they could muster. Battles were fought, dissidents imprisoned, traitors executed. It should be understood that, at this time, the elites felt a genuine fear of popular revolution, and that these fears were well founded. Above all, the history shows that British democracy was not a gift from the great and the good but a victory won by the dedicated efforts of millions of ordinary people.

********
Far from being an age of linear “progress”, the long nineteenth century saw a range of competing forces at work. The most noted of these forces, the industrial revolution and the birth of modern capitalist economics and associated modes of production and social relations, was but one of many narratives, though others could, to an extent, be seen as reactions to it.

The Romantics – comprising a number of poets, philosophers, writers, artists – were repelled by the mechanisation of the times, and pined for an uncorrupted arcadian life of moral purity and simplicity. Their leading light was Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who saw childhood as the humanity’s prelapsarian state, to be cherished, encouraged, and referred back to throughout one’s life.

The romanticisation of rural life was a natural reaction to the upheaval that was taking place in the country, where traditional ways of life were being swept away by the new economics, and at serious human cost. Acts of Parliament were being passed to enforce land “enclosure”, i.e. the transformation of commonly held and worked land into private property to be exploited on a large scale business model. These Acts were voted for by MPs who, like the tiny electorate permitted to vote for them, were themselves landowners. Those who lost the smallholdings upon which their families had relied for countless generations had no say in the matter. To justify this, the classic colonial rationale for landgrabs around the world was employed in a domestic context: those unable to make best use of the land are to forfeit it (“best use” to be defined by the expropriators). p30

The new landowers set about raising rents, pushing many tenents off the land and towards the cities, into new forms of work, such as manufacturing. This resulted, not only in pauperisation for many, but also in the transformation and destabilisation of the existing social and political order. “The country came out of the fiery years of food riots, troop mobilizations and hangings [in the late eighteenth century] with its institutions intact but with its faith in the paternalism and even the moral legitimacy of the aristocracy, the judiciary, shaken”. p33. The English landowning oligarchy that was busy accumulating ever greater economic and political power was now viewed with widespread mistrust, as was the established political order.

“That Parliament needed reform [in the 1780s] was obvious. The electorate was actually 3 per cent smaller than it had been before the Civil War; there were rotton boroughs, like Old Sarum with an electorate of seven, which still returned a member. ‘Placemen’ bought their seats on the understanding that they would vote with the government; and the newly populous towns were grossly under-represented.” p35

Joining the Romantics in their concern over social and moral issues such as poverty and slavery were the non-conformist churches such as those of the Unitarians and the Methodists. These played a major part in a general political awakening which saw debating societies springing up all over the country, “including some in London expressly for women”. p36

The establishment was represented by the two-party system of Tories and Whigs. For the Tories, it was absolutely correct that the monarch, Church of England, and Parliament of property owners should govern the land, and that the people should obey their natural masters. For the marginally less illiberal Whigs, the toleration and regular elections instituted by the Glorious Revolution of 1688 were all the reform that was needed.

But the ideas of Thomas Paine and the American revolutionaries, of sovereignty resting ultimately with the people and of government as a task contracted out to those capable of performing it and only for as long as they were so capable, were finding a receptive audience amongst radical Whigs and yet more radical groups outside of Parliament. These sentiments were not marginal but widely popular – outside of the narrow governing class – and when the French Revolution came in 1789 it represented a profound and immediate new source of inspiration (and, for the elite, fear). There were now competing claims on the patriot-myth of England/Britain as history’s beacon of liberty, with the new democrats portraying the establishment as, essentially, traitors to the national spirit; less authentically “British” than the American and French revolutionaries.
In his “Reflections on the Revolution in France”, Edmund Burke poured scorn on the Romantic philosophy that had supported the overthrow of the ancien regime. Burke rejected the idea of universal rights born of nature. Nature, for Burke, was something quite different, represented by the established order, tried and trusted over centuries, which the Romantics would seen done away with and replaced with the tyranny of the baying mob. Burke pointed to the ugly turn events had taken in France to make his point that the “swinish multitude” neither had the right, nor were they fit, to govern. Burke declared:

“The occupation of the hairdresser or of a working tallow-chandler cannot be a matter of honour to any person...Such descriptions of men ought not to suffer oppression from the state; but the state suffers oppression if such as they ... are permitted to rule” [my emphasis] p43

The liberals responded to Burke with equal force. Mary Wollstonecraft in her “Vindication of the Rights of Man” wondered aloud where Burke’s attachment to hereditary monarchy had been when he had supported, with some haste and enthusiasm, George III’s being replaced by the Prince Regent, who also happened to be Burke’s patron’s patron. When Burke had claimed that God had hurled King George from his throne, had he not sounded a little, well, French? p45 Thomas Paine’s reply to Burke, “Rights of Man”, massively outsold “Reflections”, becoming the best-seller of the century. Part II of that book set forth a radical welfare state agenda, advocating resdistribution of wealth through progressive taxation.

There was now a real groundswell of radical politics, not just in London but in the ‘new Britain’ of Glasgow, Manchester, Sheffield, Derby, Nottingham and Newcastle. The 282-41 defeat in Parliament of a very mild reform bill in 1793 only served to strengthen the revolutionary strand within this movement against their more reformist comrades. The government responded with brutality to the new popular politics, banning “seditious” assemblies, arresting the movement’s leaders and shipping them off to Australia p51. Prime Minister William Pitt warned of “bloody revolution” if Paine’s ideas caught on p52. When war with France began in 1793, the opportunity was quickly grasped to brand the radicals as traitors.

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Mary Wollstonecraft followed up her attack on Burke with “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman”, proposing a feminist element to the liberal revolution. “Many of [the book’s] insights – the conditioning of girls to correspond to male stereotypes – of the doll-playing, dress-loving minature coquette; the surrender of independence of mind and body for the slavery of idolization; the assumption that their anatomy disqualified them from serious thought – have since become commonplaces of the feminist critique of a male ordered world. But when Mary Wollstonecraft set them out they were still profoundly shocking, even to those who thought themselves on the side of Progress and Liberty” p59. The latter point was especially true since Wollstonecraft had attacked the Romantic’s patron saint, Rousseau, for his espousal of the notion of biologically-determined female subserviance.

Wollstonecraft, like Paine and others, moved to revolutionary France as a sort of political-philosophical pilgramage, but soon became horrified by the bloodletting and terror and disillusioned with what the revolution had become. Paine, though he had publically opposed to execution of Louis XIV, stuck with the revolution longer than Wollstonecraft. Indeed, he was even nominated by Napoleon Bonaparte to be head of the government in a post-invasion Britain. But as time went on and Bonapartist tyranny revealed itself, Paine renounced Napoleon in strong terms and left France.

Meanwhile in Britain, the authorities were clamping down hard on dissent. Advocating republicanism or even male suffrage were now classed as treason. Habeas corpus was suspended, and hundreds imprisoned. But the combination of a failing war effort, an economic slump and food shortages made Britain a difficult place to control. Mass protest meetings were held, riots broke out, and, in a near-echo of events in France, the King’s coach was attacked by a mob, with King George barely escaping with his life p67-8. Pitt responded by extending the sedition laws yet further.

“Not surprisingly, the combination of propaganda, gang intimidation, genuinely patriotic volunteer militias, censorship, political spying and summary arrests [deployed against the dissidents] succeeded in stopping the momentum of democratic agitation” p69.

How best to crush the threat of democracy was by no means Pitt’s only concern. Bonaparte’s France now controlled Europe, while Ireland - Britain’s swinging back-door - was becoming unstable. Concessions to the Catholics, aimed at forstalling the threat of their becoming a strategic asset of France, only succeeded in angering the Protestants; and when moves towards greater Irish autonomy were hastily withdawn, no-one was happy. There was enough discontent for a revolt to start but, even with France’s help, not enough to expel the British. Instead, a huge wave of violence erupted before Ireland was eventually absorbed fully into Britain in 1801.

The real threat of invasion in 1804-5 rallied the public to the cause of King and Country, but by 1807 the dissenters were back, ending the slave trade (though not slave ownership) in the Empire with a huge petitioning campaign.

At the Battle of Trafalgar, Nelson had ended the threat of invasion, but not Napleon’s power in Europe. Britain was now shut out of European markets. Continental industruy thrived under this protection, but the British economy staggered and stumbled. Unemployment and food prices soared, “Luddites” expressed their outrage by smashing machinery and a ruined businessman assasinated Prime Minister Perceval.

By 1813 “[s]ome 12,000 regular troops – more than Wellington had to use against the French – were stationed at home to deal with the marches, riots and machine-wrecking that had become a regular feature of British life” p92.

When Napoleon was finally defeated altogether in 1815, the potential gains in terms of lower food prices were negated by the Corn Law protection granted to landowners, which allowed them to enrich themselves further while the poor – their ranks swelled by war-veterans – went hungry.

These social iniquities drew the ire of writers such as Williams Hazlitt and Cobbett, who attacked a governing class that claimed itself inheritor of England’s rural tradtion even as its enclosures and Corn Laws drove the people of the countryside into destitution. There was an audience for these views in both urban and rural areas, since “the industrial towns of Lancashire, Yorkshire and the Midlands were crammed with first-generation migrants from [the new] capital intensive, labour-extensive, commercialized countryside. Both [urban and rural dwellers] were now suffering” through lack of work and poverty wages p98. Cobbett noted the correlation between agrarian reform, private wealth and public squalor, since it was not in the north and north-west but in “the grain-belt of the Home Counties and East Anglia, where land had been most heavily exploited to maximise profit [that] the condition of the labourers was worst” p99.

Though no saint - and in fact a pretty vicious racist towards Blacks and, especially, Jews - Cobbett was also, through his ‘Weekly Political Register’ which sold in vast numbers, a major force behind mass political mobilization against (other) social and economic injustices in Britain. And when, in 1819, soldiers charged with swords drawn into a crowd of 50-60,000 in St Peter’s Field, Manchester, causing 11 deaths and 421 serious injuries (the latter number including 100 women and small children) in what became known as the “Peterloo massacre”, it was clear that this popular mobilization, and the backlash from the authorities, was to be no sideshow in British politics. Even a further round of state repression, and the imprisonment by the end of 1820 of most of the democratic movement’s leaders, could not mask that fact, at least not for long.

Political movements augmented by the non-conformist churches and now organised as pressure groups in the recognisably modern sense formed to take up the causes of civil rights for Irish Catholics and the abolition of slavery. It is now believed that one in five adult males signed an abolitionist petition in 1787, 1814 or 1833 p104. Elite claims that political dissatisfaction was confined to the margins and got up by extremists and foreigners – which Schama says were even echoed in the school textbooks of his childhood – were a self-serving fantasy. Dissidence of whatever colour was the political mainstream. It was Parliament that was at the margins.

In 1830, more high prices, unemployment and continued poverty wages brought the southern counties out into open revolt, which the authorities put down with force. 19 rebels were executed with a further 200 death sentences commuted to transportation to Australia.

The fear of revolution was now causing many in the ruling elite to think seriously about pre-emptive political reform. Tory Prime Minister the Duke of Wellington, ruled it out, despite having previously backed down on Irish Catholic emancipation, but he was soon gone, replaced by a Whig administration promising serious changes. Riots in Derbyshire, Nottingham and Bristol served to further concentrate their minds; the town of Merthyr Tydfil had even been briefly occupied by the rebels. Lords reform was effected to remove that barrier to franchise extention,and the Reform Act was finally passed in 1832.

The Act was one of establishment self-preservation, not democratic emancipation. The vote was only extended to men holding £10’s worth of property which, as the Whigs calculated correctly, was enough to split and weaken the democratic movement, albeit temporarily.

So Britain was still not a democracy, and nor would it be for the better part of a hundred years. But the efforts of this revolutionary generation had not been for nothing. In 1833 Britain outlawed slavery in all its colonies “at a time, notwithstanding recent historical writing, when the demand for slave-products was actually increasing and not diminishing” p108. The monopoly of the Church of England was weakened by the 1829 Catholic Emancipation Act. And, most important of all, the voices and concerns of ordinary people had, through their own self-organised and sustained actions, become impossible for the ruling elite to ignore. Their struggle was far from over.

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Though the Great Exhibition of 1851 was intended to showcase a nation singing in harmony – unifying the rural and the urban, religion and technological progress, the ‘quality’ and the great unwashed - fear of mass revolt was still never far away. The now octogenarian Duke of Wellington, as commander of the garrison of London, judged that the capital would only be secure at any one time with no less than 15,000 troops on stand-by, backing up a huge police presence p115.

The Duke was right to be nervous. The preceding decade had seen enormous political unrest, made even more threatening to the existing order when seen in the context of events on the continent, where revolutions were forever bubbling under or exploding through the surface. The 1832 Reform Act, predictably since it had not empowered the general population, had not resulted in an improvement in their conditions. Cities like Manchester, for example, were the scenes of appalling levels of squalor. In that city, the life-expectancy of ‘mechanics and labourers’ in 1842 was, statistically, 17. For ‘professional persons’ it was 38. Unemployment stood at between a quarter and a third. Disease and ill-health was rife. p133

The attitude of the Victorian ‘quality’ towards its inferiors was not one that we are entirely unfamiliar with today. There was a keenly perceived moral hazard to be avoided in allowing the poor any kind of social safety net. Poverty was, after all, clearly the result of some moral failing such as sloth; a view which, based as it was on the assumption that economic outcomes were a reflection of virtue, had the happy side-effect of casting the well-to-do in a semi-saintly glow. What measures were therefore taken to prevent the poor from simply dying altogether needed to be as harsh as possible, so as not to encourage idleness. The result was the workhouses, popularly known as the ‘Bastilles’ whose inmates were brutally shorn to make them instantly identifiable on the outside. A society which claimed to see the family as the first school of virtue saw fit, in the workhouses, to seperate husbands from their wives and parents from their children. The ‘Bastilles’ were designed to replicate prisons so closely that people would take any kind of legitimate work to avoid them. In this sense, they must have helped underwrite the most exploitative employment practices. Employers like the Manchester oligarchs saw profits, not the condition of their employees, as their primary concern. Low wages were simply an economic fact-of-life since higher wages would threaten business, and where would we all be then?

This was how the higher classes rationalized a status quo that they so happened to benefit enormously from. But their worldview did not go uncontested. In 1839, 1842 and 1848, millions signed petitions in favour of a People’s Charter demanding universal male suffrage with no property qualifications, equal votes, annual Parliaments, paid MPs and the secret ballot. The rationale was put succinctly by Bronterre O’Brien, editor of the ‘Poor Man’s Guardian’:

“Knaves tell you that it is because you have no property that you are unrepresented. I tell you, on the contrary, it is because you have no representation that you have no property” p135

With their demands ignored by Parliament, a distinction (though not a schism) became visible in the Chartist movement between reformers (favouring “moral force”) and revolutionaries (favouring “physical force”). In the autumn of 1839 armed uprisings in South Wales and Yorkshire resulted in “the largest loss of life inflicted by a British government on its own people at any time in the nineteenth or twentieth centuries” when 15 were killed and at least 50 seriously injured in a battle with Chartist rebels at Newport. The 1840s saw the Chartists develop into a well-organised, centrally co-ordinated pressure group, with individual active units answerable to a central office.

So when the massive Chartists demonstration on Kennington Common, south London coincided – in April 1848 – with the ‘springtime of the people’ in a Europe set ablaze by revolution, the governing class, for all its patronizing sniggering at the jumped up hoi polloi, was, in truth, plain scared. London had to be defended, lest the demonstrators decide that they would not be going home until they had got the democracy they came for.

“Some 85,000 men were sworn in as special constables to supplement the 4,000 Peelers of Sir Robert Peel’s Metropolitan Police and 8,000 regular troops. Government offices were barricaded with crate-loads of official papers and copies of Hansard. Guns and cannon were posted at critical sites: the Bank of England and the Tower of London. The Stock Exchange volunteered some 300 of its own employees as ‘specials’ to defend the bastion of captitalism. Defenses, complete with light artillery, were set up on the Mall to prevent access to Buckingham Palace. (The royal family had in any case, on the advice of the government, taken themselves off to the Isle of Wight to avoid anything disagreeable.)” p140-1

In the end, determined to prove themselves emphatically not the bloodthirsty Jacobins of elitist scaremongering, and perhaps less than confident in their ability to successfully effect an armed revolution in any event, the Chartists’ demonstration passed off for the most part peacefully. This may have proved the high water mark of militant Chartism, but the energies generated by the movement did not fizzle out. Rather, they were channeled into trade unionism, cooperatives, friendly societies and other vehicles of working class empowerment and self-determination. Schama argues, plausibly, that it may have been this new, less confrontational manifestation of discontent amongst the masses that caused Parliament to allow household male suffrage in the second Reform Act of 1867, less fearful perhaps than it had been nineteen years earlier, of letting in the Jacobins by the backdoor. It is also possible that the improved economic conditions of the years between 1848 and 1867 drew some of the militancy out of the pro-democracy movement. In any event, the mobilised general public had won another victory from their masters and Britain had taken another small step towards democracy.

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Sunday, December 21, 2008

Empire of Liberty

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the poltical economy of Britain, and of British foreign policy, drawn from Simon Schama's “A History of Britain 2: The British Wars, 1603 – 1776”. This time, its the Atlantic slave trade, worldwide war with France, the loss of the American colonies, and the conquest of India

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British imperial expansion in the eighteenth century was accompanied by odes to liberty, progress and patriotism. Those who drove the expansion pictured themselves in a narrative of British history that told of the forward march of freedom; Alfred, Elizabeth I, even Cromwell, and now themselves. Magna Carta, the 1688 revolution and the 1689 Bill of Rights were all wheeled out and invoked as symbols of a Britain that had freed itself from European-style (and, of course, Catholic) despotism.

“The connection between the championship of liberty at home and the creation of a maritime, commercial empire overseas was at the heart of the new, the first truly British, patriotism”.

Henry St John, Viscount Bolingbroke, had based his ‘Patriot King’, published in 1738 as vocational guidance for Frederick, Prince of Wales, on this same narrative. Alfred, ‘Guardian of liberty’ and originator of trial by jury (actually, he wasn’t) would be the model for the next king, though in the event, Frederick was to die before he reached the throne.

The cognitive dissonance required to maintain the oxymoronic concept of an Empire of Liberty was on full display in this quote from Bolingbroke:

“The Empire of the Seas is ours; we have been many Ages in Possession of it; we have had many Sea-Fights, at a vast effusion of Blood and Expense of Treasure to preserve it and preserve it we still must, at all Risks and Events if we have a Mind to preserve ourselves”

Offence is defence, theft justified by the sacrifices of the thief, and domination over others nothing more than self-preservation. This was the base metal of self-interest alchemised into golden noble virtue.

Like today’s right-wing ‘Libertarians’, many of the eighteenth century’s champions of freedom were thinking of their own liberty rather more than of liberty as a universal right and principle. The oligarchs who saw themselves as the ‘Heart Blood’ of the nation “believed themselves tyrannized by the arbitrary powers of Walpole’s excisemen, and ... looked to the promotion of blue-water empire to fulfil their partnership between trade and freedom. So when they spoke of liberty they meant, among other enterprises, the liberty to buy and sell slaves”.

Empire of slaves

The theory of the imperialists was that by eschewing direct territorial conquest, a British imperial despotism could be avoided. Britain would exert no more than the minimum level of power required to operate a global commercial concern wherein the colonies would provide the raw materials and the homeland manufactured goods in an “endlessly benevolent cycle of mutual self-improvement”. But by the end of the eighteenth century “[i]nstead of an empire of farmers and traders the British Empire was, overwhelmingly, an empire of soldiers” ruling over “a million Caribbean slaves and at least 50 million inhabitants of the Indian subcontinent”.

The Empire of Liberty’s “prosperity depended on the enslavement of hundreds of thousands of Africans” who, when they fought for their own liberty, as did the Antiguan rebels of 1776, were “publicly burnt alive...broken on the wheel...gibbeted alive...mutilated”, castrated or flogged “til they are Raw, some put on their skins Pepper and salt to make them smart” says a contemporaneous source quoted by Schama.

“The irony that an empire so noisily advertised as an empire of free Britons should depend on the most brutal coercion of enslaved Africans is not just an academic paradox. It was the condition of the empire’s success, its original sin: a stain that no amount of righteous self-congratulation at its eventual abolition can altogether wash away”

The raw materials provided by the colonies were commodities such as tobacco, tea, chocolate, coffee and sugar, creating and satisfying new demands at home.

“As early as 1655, three years after [the] first coffee house opened in London, Barbados was shipping 7,787 tons of sugar back to England, and there were already 20,000 slaves on the island against 23,000 whites, well over half of whom were probably indentured servants” helping to make the plantation owners “by far the richest men in British America”. “It was precisely between 1640 and 1660, when the rhetoric of liberty was being most noisily shouted at home, that the slave economy was being created in the Caribbean”.

By 1700 there were 50,000 slaves on Barbados, with the white indentured labourers almost gone. By 1800 there were 70,000, and another 400,000 on Jamaica.

Excusing British slavery by pointing to the social mores of the time is by no means an adequate response. As has been noted, liberty was far from an alien concept; talk of it filled the political air. And the specific moral abhorrence of slavery was not a thought that had simply failed to occur to the backwardly innocent men of the time. The Puritan Richard Baxter asked, in 1673, “How cursed a crime is it to equal men to beasts. Is this not your practice? Do you not buy them and use them merely as you do horses to labour for your commodity...Do you not see how you reproach and condemn yourselves while you vilify them all as savages?”. A time-traveller from the early twenty-first century who encountered the slave-drivers of the era could scarcely have put it better. Such arguments were known, understood, and consciously rejected.

“In the century and a half of the slave trade, from the 1650s to 1807, between three and four million Africans were transported out of their homelands to the New World in British ships”, accounting for about a third of those abducted and sold by all European nations involved. A million and a half of the British slaves died en route across the Atlantic. While it is true that the Europeans did not invent West African slavery, the demand they provided certainly grew and expanded the practice, driving its horrors deep into the African interior.

The slaves were denied every last vestige of their humanity by traders, their private parts inspected closely for signs of yaws prior to purchase, their breast our shoulder then branded by the initial of the ship that would take them across the ocean. Many attempted suicide rather than face the hell of the plantation. One slave trader spoke of sharks following the ships all the way from West Africa to the Caribbean, feasting on the suicides and the corpses pitched over the side. Those who remained on board were crammed in cheek-by-jowl and chained together, malnourished, forced to fester in each other’s filth, driven slowly mad by dehydration and dysentery.

One might almost say that it was the unlucky ones who survived the “middle passage” and made it to the West Indies. One fifth of slave children born on the plantation were dead before their second birthday. If they lived to six or seven they were sent out to work. Eighty per cent of slaves worked seventy to eighty hour weeks. The work, especially in the mill and the boiling house, was not only back-breaking but highly dangerous. Simply being a slave was lethal in itself, but they cost sufficiently little to purchase for their deaths not to pose a serious economic problem. Women bore a particularly harsh burden, subjected as they were to the “habitual sexual aggression” of their owners. Pregnant women were forced to continue working right up til the point of delivery. In spite of all this, the slaves resisted whenever and however they could, either in outright rebellions as in Antigua in the 1720s and 1730s and Jamaica mid-century, or in simply preserving their own cultures against all the odds. But this is another story.

“By the middle of the eighteenth century, the mercantile ‘empire of liberty’ was critically dependent or its fortune on the economic universe made from slavery”. Britain’s single most valuable import was the sugar produced by three quarters of a million West Indian slaves, generating huge personal fortunes and general enrichment which was in turn to transform both the economy and British society. The ports of Bristol and Liverpool developed and expanded significantly as a direct result of the transatlantic trade. The great library at All Soul’s College, Oxford was built thanks to a donation from the Codmingtons of Barbados. The banking houses of Barclays and Lloyds grew rich, and reinvested in manufacturing. And the nouveaux riches of the trade were now throwing their weight around in Westminster and the City of London. Their liberty, at least, had been greatly enhanced.

World War

The greatest threat to the serene continuation of these happy arrangements came from – where else? – France. The plantation plutocrats may have aroused little sympathy with their complaints about the rising cost of slaves and the falling price of sugar, but when they complained about the French they were sure of an audience.

The dynastic links of the Bourbon royal houses meant that the French could operate in the Western Hemisphere free from harassment from the Spanish coastguard, whose attentions had been a source of consternation to British patriots for some years. The French made inroads into the markets of West Africa, provided tough competition for the British Caribbean plantations from their own colonies such as St Domingue (later Haiti) and began to interfere in the affairs of India, to which the British East India Company took principled exception, waging war to expel its new competitors.

In North America, the population of the British colonies now exceeded that of Britain itself, but the westward expansion seen by the colonists as their natural right was blocked by French territorial acquisitions, which also threatened their hold over trade in fish and furs.

Skirmishes in Ohio in which the French prevailed (involving, amongst others, one George Washington) were the prelude to worldwide war. Prussia was subsidised to pin the French down in Europe, starving it of men and resources that might otherwise have been deployed in the theatres of India, West Africa, the Caribbean or North America, while the Royal Navy guarded the British coast and harassed the French in the Mediterranean and Atlantic.

But while Robert Clive prevailed in Bengal (more of him presently), Britain initially floundered elsewhere. In 1757, William Pitt was brought in to run the government, and instantly set about turning the situation around. Money and resources were thrown into the war effort, particularly in North America, where complacent and overbearing generals were replaced with pragmatists who were more disposed to take a collaborative approach with the local militia. £200,000 was given annually to Frederick the Great to keep French forces in Europe occupied. The 1758 military budget was a hitherto inconceivable £12.5m; half-borrowed and half-taxed. This bought Britain 120-130,000 regular and irregular troops, a 70,000-man Navy and, ultimately, victory. The French lost imperial footholds in India, the Caribbean, West Africa, and finally Canada in 1760.


Benjamin Franklin was overjoyed by the conquest of Canada, believing that it cleared the way for a British-American Empire of Liberty to expand westward, making itself “broad and strong enough to support the greatest political structure human wisdom ever yet erected”. So how did Franklin get from there to signing the declaration of independence in 17 years?

Parting of the Ways

Peace with France was settled with the Treaty of Paris in 1763, leaving Britain the pre-eminent world power. But at a cost. The Treasury was in debt, credit was tight due to a Dutch banking crisis, and half the army was demobilised and in need of work just as labour-intensive industry was being scaled back to pre-war levels. The economic situation was already causing political instability, as harvests failed and prices rose, so more domestic taxation was not an attractive option.

It was in this context that the management of the American colonies was reappraised and a new approach decided upon. First, the colonies must not develop a manufacturing industry that might compete with Britain’s. Economic relations must remain dependent. Secondly, to limit the costs of defending the colonies, westward expansion must halt, thus securing the goodwill of the indigenous peoples, many of whom had sided with the French during the war. Third, the colonists, who had after all benefitted from Britain’s ‘vast effusion of Blood and Expense of Treasure’ in the war effort, would henceforth have to pay for their own defence. Through taxes.

The colonists did not take kindly at all to this. The traders resented the excise regime, while highly literate Boston, with its lively and intimate political culture, took the 1765 Stamp Act’s tax on paper as a personal affront. Rioting and general unrest ensued. The Act was repealed after fierce debate in the House of Commons, but by that stage Britain’s standing in the colonies was at an altogether new low.

The duties regime continued to grow - repeal of the Stamp Act notwithstanding – and now became increasingly militarised. The colonists reacted with import boycotts, violent unrest, and general disobedience and protest. Lord North’s incoming administration of 1770 repealed most of the objectionable duties but, fatefully, retained one, that on tea.

The international trading relationship envisaged by the founders of the East India Company (hereafter “EIC”) in 1600 had not developed according to plan. India’s own manufactured goods were quite sophisticated enough, a good deal more so that Britain’s in fact, and no inferior British imports were required. Instead, India exported its textiles to England, taking only silver in return. The dazzling ‘calicoes’ arrived in vast quantities (more on this later) causing English manufacturers to beg for protection from the competition. The company therefore switched to shipping tea, but was undercut in that market by Dutch traders. EIC stock began to collapse, with huge debts to the government piling up for unpaid customs and military protection. The solution was to eliminate tea duties in England, thus slashing the price and making the product more competitive. The duties would however remain in the colonies, as the assertion of London’s sovereign right to levy taxes in its Empire. It was a right not recognised in Boston. Once again, Americans were being taxed without the consent of their popular assemblies. It led to the “Boston Tea Party” where imported tea stocks were smashed and dumped in the harbour by a mob dressed, with notable lack of self-awareness, as native Americans, complete with blacked-up faces. But more than this, it was anger at Britain’s response to these events – the military occupation of Boston and the closing down of its port until losses were compensated – that lit the revolutionary spark.


Even during the war, demands for outright American independence were not inevitable. At least at first, the colonists sought autonomy within the empire in accordance with the patriotic myth of English-British history as a narrative of liberty unfolding. They found that the myth was just that. George III and his government rejected all demands, expecting nothing less than total surrender and obedience. It was Britain’s failure to live up to the patriotic mythology that resulted in its loss of the American colonies and with them much of the advantage gained in the Seven Years War with France.

Franklin took the view that a country’s fortunes depended on things like geography, population and social structure; a novel perspective in those times. For him, it was clear that America had far greater natural endowments than the homeland, and that London’s treating its American colonies as subjects rather than partners, and any divorce that ensued, would ultimately be its own loss. This view was, it must be said, nothing if not prescient.

Empire of Plunder

The claimed ideals of the Empire of Liberty were being betrayed on both side of the compass. The EIC was being reigned-in by a London establishment that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with its violent, corrupt excesses. Edmund Burke accused the company of having pillaged a proud civilisation on the false pretext of securing free trade: “every rupee of profit made by an Englishman is lost forever to India”.

The EIC’s enterprise had originally been aimed at what is now Indonesia but, with its way blocked by the Dutch and Portuguese, it sought footholds in India instead, securing its first licenses to trade from the Mughal Emperor Jahangir at the port of Surat in 1608.

By the end of the seventeenth century, the company controlled Bombay, Calcutta and Madras, while at the same time, Mughal India was becoming increasingly vulnerable to external pressures. The subcontinent was run on a decentralised basis, with local ‘nawabs’ operating (and skimming off) a land tax system which sent money to the imperial court. But as Delhi was increasingly subjected to successful raids by Afghan and Persian armies, local rulers looked to build up their own independent means as insurance against the erosion of the central state’s credibility. It was at this point that the nawabs were coming to the attentions of European traders seeking advantages and ways into the Indian markets.

One of those traders was Robert Clive who, as a teenager, had made his name in his home town of Market Drayton running a protection racket as the head of the local gang. By the age of twenty-five, his adventurism as an EIC military officer had resulted in the installation of a friendly nawab in south eastern India, thwarting French attempts to do the same.

In 1757, Clive was sent north to deal with an attempt by the young nawab of Bengal to roll back European privileges. The Battle of Plassey was largely won through intrigue and bribery as the nawabs' lieutenants saw the writing on the wall and switched sides. A quarter of a million pounds was extorted from the Bengali coffers by Clive’s forces, and a personal revenue territory bestowed on Clive himself, making him one of Britain’s richest men.

But there was a bigger issue at stake here, even than the healthy state of Clive’s bank balance. In 1758, Clive told the EIC directors that “such an opportunity [as in Bengal] can never again be expected for the aggrandisement of the Company”. Britain became increasingly involved in the government of the region, installing and deposing nawabs at will, collecting and demanding immunity from taxes. A business empire was turning into a military empire, and now turning its gaze up the Ganges, into the weakening heart of Mughal India, towards Delhi.

While London fretted about the costs of defending these new acquisitions, the likes of Clive enjoyed the bounty. “[T]hey began to spend freely in Britain itself, buying country houses and sometimes, as at Sezincote in Gloucestershire, hiring architects to give them the air of an Indian palace. They began to throw their weight around in London and their money at Parliamentary seats. As the ‘nababs’, they displaced the West Indian planters as the most envied and detested plutocrats of the age”.

While they bathed in their new-found wealth, the nababs' means of enrichment was the source of misery for Bengalis. The tax regime had become so onerous that, when the monsoons failed in 1769 and 1770, the peasant farmers had neither savings nor productive capital to see them through. Famine was the result, and not for the last time in British India.

Clive’s huge personality sucked the popular understanding of events into orbit around him, thus obscuring less superficial interpretations of what had gone wrong. Schama’s next observation is directly analogous to the modern focus on the shortcomings of the George W Bush regime, as opposed to the deeper assumptions of the imperial tradition that produced his Presidency.

“Paradoxically, Clive’s personal notoriety spared the logic of his interventionist imperialism from the scepticism it deserved. For if, somehow, with the best will in the world, British government in Bengal had failed to bring about general peace and prosperity, it could only be because wicked men, selfish men, perhaps led astray by greedy opportunist natives, had abused their trust in order to line their pockets. The proper correction was not to examine the assumptions behind the proposition, but merely to find the right men and the right measures”.

Warren Hastings, the new Governor-General of Bengal, had much less autonomy than Clive. He ruled in tandem with a five man council on which he was but one voice, the other four being appointed by the crown and the company. It was Hastings that ushered in the era of the ‘White Mughals’, taking a greater interest in the native religions, cultures and languages. This was so as to effect a more sympathetic and benevolent, and thus a more effective rule. But it was also born of a degree of respect and admiration for Indian civilisation (albeit not as an equal to that of Britain).

Hastings however was recalled to London for impeachment proceedings (though subsequently acquitted). His replacement, Cornwalis, sought to run British India differently; now as a replica of the English rural hierarchy. The local Indian tax collectors were to become the local gentry: property owners extracting rents from tenant farmers and providing tax revenue to a state managed by British courts and military muscle.

But the stability on which this new order depended was hard to maintain. War with various Indian princes proved costly, though Tipu Sultan of Mysore, the greatest challenge to British rule in India at that time, was ultimately defeated. For plotting to free his domain of the British yoke, in collaboration with Bonaparte’s France, Tipu Sultan’s capital was sacked and his court looted. The armies of the new Governor-General, Wellesley, now dominated the scene. Britain prevailed over the entire subcontinent. By 1804, it ruled with an army of 192,000 – as large as many of those in Europe. Clive had only ever commanded 5,000.

All this was of course justified as defence against the aggression of others, be it France or, ludicrously, the Indians themselves. And every extension of British power, so justified, preceded a new extension, to be justified in the same way. The more Britain defended its interests, the bigger its interests became. So it was that the Empire of Liberty in the imagination of the patriots transformed itself into the empire of coercion and plunder of the historical record.


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Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Britannia Inc. 1688-1786

Continuing my notes on the evolution of the political economy of Britain, again drawn from Simon Schama’s “A History of Britain 2: The British Wars, 1603 – 1776”. Rather than summarising Schama, I'm highlighting here those elements of the book that pertain to the topic of my PhD research: how British politics in general and foreign policy in particular came to be dominated by concentrations of socio-economic power.
Let's pick up were we left off last time, where William of Orange effectively deposed and replaced the last of the Stuart kings, James II, in the "Glorious Revolution" of 1688.
So, are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
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William III set about bringing the British Isles to heel, and ruthlessly. In less-than-pacified Scotland, the village of Glencoe was singled out to be made an example of, in a classic act of state terrorism. For the crime of pledging allegiance to the King a few days past the designated deadline, through no fault of the clan chief who had honestly endevoured to make the pledge on time, nearly eighty mostly unarmed men, together with women and children, were butchered by soldiers to whom they had unwittingly given 10 days of hospitality, in accordance with their traditions.

“[T]he dawn massacre in the heather floor of Glencoe, the ‘weeping valley’, anticipated the standard operating practices of the British Empire, to be repeated countless times over the next two centuries in America, Asia and Africa. ‘Backward peoples’ were to be given the opportunity to collaborate and, if they accepted, would be welcomed to a proper share of the spoils and to a partnership in the modernizing enterprise. Rejection – invariably characterised as unreasonable – would invite annihilation”

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A conflict was occuring, not just between English and Scots but between the old Scotland of the Highlands and the new Scotland of the Lowlands, as economic development in the latter region began to seperate it from the traditionalism of the former. The ambition of the Lowlanders was characterised by the attempt to catapult Scotland to the status of international economic power with the building of a canal at the isthmus of Darien in Central America, joining the Pacific and Atlantic oceans and thus opening a superior trading route.


“Ships from China and Japan could sail east and at New Edinburgh exchange cargoes with ships sailing west from Europe. With freight costs slashed, the goods thus shipped would become more cheaply available in their respective domestic markets. Demand would soar correspondingly, and the volume of trade increase exponentially. And sitting on top of the world’s newest and most prosperous exchange and mart would be the Scots, taking portage, marketing and banking charges off the top.”

Amsterdam had enriched itself in a similar way over the centuries, but in a time of mercantilism this new Scottish notion of a free trade area was a kind of heresy. Not just heretical, but commercially threatening, as the prospect of the Darien venture coming off caused shares in the English East India Company to tumble in fright.
They needn't have worried. The venture that consumed fully one quarter of Scotland’s liquid capital was to become an unmitigated disaster. The “Company of Scotland Trading to Africa and the Indies” carried not just the nations hopes but much of its wealth, a plethora of institutions and individuals having invested in the scheme. But, expecting a fertile, gentle and hospitable land into which to sink their money pump, the colonists instead found themselves marooned in malaria-invested swampland. Food rotted, colonists died by the score, the project collapsed. Their neighbours and rivals were less than sympathetic. The Governor of Jamaica prevented any English colonists, merchants or seaman from going to the aide of the Darienites and saving them from their tropical hell. The Spanish were little more help.

Scotland not only paid a heavy financial cost, it also lost a chance for national regeneration and to move out of England’s shadow. The years between Glencoe and the Darien venture had seen famines and now, for many Scots, union with England became an inevitable alternative to the lost chance of meaningful national independence.

“A large section of the nobility, especially those with cross border economic interests and property, and many of the commercial and professional classes of the Lowlands” were in favour of the union. And the benefits were not all one way. England would gain from being able to keep Scotland on board during the growing crisis of succession following William’s death in 1702. Despite some popular opposition, union was established in 1707, though not without a little lubrication. As well as the quiet greasing of palms necessary to ensure that the Scottish Parliament voted the right way, the English Parliament also offered £398,085 and 10s to Scotland as an above-board sweetener: exactly the sum lost in the Darien venture.
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Britain was becoming increasingly militarized during this period, during which it was involved in the Nine Years War and the War of Spanish Succession. Military spending almost doubled between 1660 and 1710, by which point it was consuming nearly 10 per cent of national income, adding £40m to the national debt and creating “another kind of army – which would not be demobilized once the fighting had stopped: bond-holders, tax-assessors and accountants; customs and excise men, thousands upon thousands of them...By the end of the wars, Britons were being taxed twice as heavily as their French counterparts, a burden that would only get heavier as the relentlessly martial eighteenth century rumbled on.”
The Whigs became closely aligned with this emerging military-commercial complex, while the Tories cast themselves as defenders of the overtaxed gentry. Political conflict, both between the two sides and more broadly, became increasingly bitter, with opposition to the replacement of the childless widow Queen Anne with George, Elector of Hanover, leading to a Jacobite rebellion in 1715 in Scotland and the North (which, absent serious backing from a war-weary France, was quelled with relative ease).

The political scene was fraught, and crying out for some kind of stability. Enter Sir Robert Walpole, the man who would do most at that time to help lead Britain away from factional stability and into a period of political calm. For Walpole, politics needed to move away from religious-moral antagonism and towards the happy equillibrium of a “healthy business environment” that would be conducive to the satisfaction of the mutual, material interests of all.

At a broader level, we can put it like this. The growing property-owning classes had a collective interest in putting the fratricidal violence of the seventeenth century behind them and getting on with the serious business of making money. Walpole was the personification of their willingness and capacity to do just that. The employment of William III as a preferred option over seeing the country thrown back into another round of civil strife on account of James II was an early sign that this new class was a serious force, able to influence the direction of the country in order to protect its interests. Now, under Walpole, they would cement their place at the top table, pending the final historic victory that was to come in the economic social and political revolutions of the nineteenth century.

A large proportion of the national debt had been traded for stock in the South Sea Company, which was to have a trading monopoly in the South Seas and West Indies; an ostensibly sure-fire money-spinner. A speculative bubble in the companies stock was inflated which enriched the few who sold at the right time, but wiped out many more when the bubble inevitably burst. It was Walpole who came riding in with a viable rescue plan for the company, thus calming the crisis and leaving the traumatised governing and wealthy classes very much in his debt. Walpole became ‘First Lord of the Treasury’, and set about building a web of connections and patronage across the new military-bureaucratic-commercial complex. With economic power consolidated and stabilised, all the right people, not least Walpole himself, settled into a life of getting very, very rich.

Laws were passed to protect the interests of the gentry. Most of the fifty new capital offences new to the statute book in 1723 dealt with poaching. Land taxes were kept low, and smallholdings were confiscated and re-sold for little or no compensation, with those who had relied on those plots for centuries forced to turn to wage-labour. The dark underbelly of the new Walpolean order was the crime, alcoholism and poverty that blighted the lives of many ordinary Britons, while Walpole and his friends basked in wealth that was astonishing even by today’s standards. This seedy popular decay was most famously depicted - with some exaggeration but far from untruthfully - by William Hogarth.

Gradually, a loose collection of Tories, independent Whigs and others began to form in opposition to the Walpole government. This included “lobbyists for colonial trade and the aggressive expansion of maritime power” who took particular exception firstly to Walpole’s “devotion to excise as a way of keeping the land taxes low” and their subjection to the extensive powers of his tax collectors, and secondly to Walpole’s perceived failure to protect British shipping from what they saw as an equally intrusive Spanish coastguard. On this second bone of contention, a jingoistic anti-Spanish fervour was whipped up by the opposition press, with petitions signed in large numbers, particularly in the port cities of Bristol and Liverpool. Walpole’s proposed compromise ‘Convention’ with Spain – his characteristic way of smoothing things over – was derided by the young William Pitt MP as “nothing but a stipulation for national ignominy...the complaints of your despairing merchants, the voice of England, has condemned it”.

Notice two things here. First, political debate breaks down according to which wealthy sector of the economy each political grouping is aligned to. In this case, those who make their money from tax collection are set against those who make their money from overseas trade. Propaganda, or 'public relations', is then used to mobilise the public behind one or the other sectional elite interest. Secondly, note the language used by Pitt, specifically the way he equates the special interests he was speaking for with the national interest as a whole. The merchants are not just speaking for themselves, they are elevated to the position of nothing less than the “voice of England”. A million business lobbyists down the ages would adopt the same technique, presenting their personal enrichment as something far loftier and noble than that, whenever political expediency demanded. This particular conception of the 'national interest' - i.e. as being the whatever serves the interests of the elites that dominate the nation - persists amongst policy makers to this day.
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In 1742 Walpole was forced from office. By now, Britain’s main international enemy was France, and would continue to be so for the next several decades. And still cultivated by France were the exiled supporters of the Stuart dynasty, the Jacobites, led now by one Prince Charles Edward Louis John Cazymyr Sylvester Severino Maria Stuart, a.k.a Bonnie Prince Charlie, the grandson of James II.

A Jacobite rebellion led by Charles Edward took advantage of George II having taken much of Britain’s military strength with him to war in Germany. First Scotland fell, then, with Charles Edward having won the internal debate amongst the Jacobites over whether to stop there and consolidate or move on to England to claim the whole of the Stuart birthright, the rebels headed south, taking the north-west and reaching as far as Derby before a serious force could be mustered and despatched from London to defend the Hanoverian monarchy. At this point, losing confidence in their ability to gain and hold power in Britain, and as their French backers prevaricated over whether to step in and attempt to tip the balance, the Jacobites turned and retreated north. The British army was now being reinforced from Europe almost by the day, harassing the Jacobites as they went, and finally routing the rebels with extreme brutality at Culloden in 1746. Charles Edward declared every man for himself and fled to Europe, leaving Scotland to bear the brunt of the reprisals. Villages suspected of collaboration, however tenuously, were burnt to the ground, with land and property confiscated in “a systematic exercise in state terror”. And the fist of the British state punched deeper still than this. The hereditary authority of the clan chiefs was broken up, the speaking of Gaelic banned, and Highland culture in general put to the Hanoverian sword.
But while some Scots fell under the boot of imperial Britain, others wielded its bayonet, conducted its trade and counted its money. “In the second half of the eighteenth century tens of thousands of Highlanders were recruited into the British Army and saw action in its many theatres of war around the world from India to Canada.” Glasgow as a city, and many individual Scots, grew wealthy off the transatlantic trade, which monies were then re-invested in domestic manufacturing. The roads and bridges built for strategic power-projection in the post-Culloden crackdown became arteries of trade both within Scotland and accross the border. “By the end of the century, no country in the world was urbanizing or industrialising more swiftly than Scotland”. And it was in this context that the Scottish Enlightenment, a golden period of Western philosophy to rival that of ancient Greece, was born.

Principal within the Scottish Enlightenment pantheon were Adam Smith and David Hume. Hume rejected holy revelation as a source of knowledge, placing reason and human experience in its stead. Smith saw in man’s apparently natural drive for self-betterment, not a form of sin or a source of religious guilt, but the engine of collective well-being. In the eighteenth century, Scotland was not only beaten by the British empire, it also helped give birth to it. Because it was these Enlightenment values of material, moral and intellectual improvement that would be adopted (in however a dishonest and self-serving way) as the secular religion of the new imperial Britannia.

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Sunday, November 30, 2008

The evolution of Britain: from Restoration to "Glorious Revolution", 1660-1690

More notes on the evolution of the political economy of Britain, again drawn from Simon Schama’s highly readable “A History of Britain 2: The British Wars, 1603 – 1776”.



The death of Oliver Cromwell destabilised the new gentry/merchant-dominated Republic, depriving it of an authority figure to hold the competing interests together. The Restoration of the monarchy was an attempt to place Charles II in this role, i.e. to pick up where Cromwell, not his father, had left off.
The Restoration saw the repeal of an act of the post-Cromwell parliament requiring triennial elections. Presbyterian Calvinism was stamped out, and there was a general crackdown on the press and public debate. Charles’ reign was, after an initial honeymoon period, beset by a series of crises; the plague (1665), the Great Fire of London (1666), and then upheaval of a political nature.
First, the Dutch conducted an audacious raid up the Medway, destroying the English fleet and humiliating Charles. Then Charles made a secret pact with Louis XIV of France which involved easing the restrictions on Catholicism in England (Charles had Catholic sympathies, and his mother and brother were confirmed Catholics) and collaborating militarily with the French. The pact led to an Anglo-French war on Holland, giving Charles the opportunity to avenge the humiliation of the Medway as both countries sought to destroy their Dutch rival. But after early successes, the war turned into a disastrous quagmire.
A weakened Charles was now forced to defer to his Parliament, led by Lord Danby. Danby clamped down yet harder on Catholicism in public life, but also, later on, in an effort to assert authority, appealed to the divine right of kings as providing legitimacy for his imposition of discipline on Parliament.
The restrictions on dissent in formal politics led, ironically, to an expansion of political debate and activity outside of it, in taverns and coffee houses, on the pages of newspapers and political pamphlets. Amidst this general flourishing, the beginnings of party politics became faintly discernable. On the one hand we have the “Whigs”, who favour what they see as a tradition of collaborative rule in England; a contract between church, aristocracy and the crown. On the other hand we have the “Tories”, asserting the divine rights of kings and the supremacy of the crown.
A wave of anti-Catholic hysteria and (metaphorical) witch-hunting brought a Whig parliament to the brink of confrontation with Charles. By 1681 the monarchy had prevailed, or at least survived the challenge, thanks largely to Charles being able to engage in the sort of pragmatic deal-making that was an anathema both to his father and later his brother, and which contributed to his keeping his crown where they had lost theirs.

While these events were unfolding, the idea espoused by John Locke of government as a contract with the governed took the opportunity to reemerge on the political scene. The thwarted Republican plotter Algernon Sidney [pictured] wrote, on the eve of his execution in 1683, that “God had left Nations to the Liberty of setting up such Governments as best pleas’d themselves” and that “Magistrates were set up for the good of Nations, not Nations for the honour of Magistrates”.

But back to the deal struck by Charles with the Whig parliament. Under its terms, Charles had secured the succession of his Catholic brother James who, in return, would accept limits to his powers in accordance with the fact that he would be ruling an decidedly Protestant nation. But in the event, the new King James II was having none of this, aggressively asserting his divine right to rule and working to advance the rights of Catholics in Britain. James had apparently learned nothing from the demise of his serenely, self-destructively self-righteous father, and whatever else they disagreed about, both Tories and Whigs were united in their fear of the damage the new king might do to the stability of the realm. The Dutch aristocrat William of Orange, husband of James’ daughter Mary, was called in first to pressure James into seeing sense and backing down, and then, when James fled London altogether, to rule in his place.
Thus the perennial political questions of he seventeenth century – the contract between the king and parliament versus the absolute rule of the sovereign, and the quandry of how a crypto-Catholic-sympathiser monarch could tenably rule over a staunchly Protestant country – were finally settled, as the avowedly Protestant William delivered the coup de grace over Catholic James at the Battle of the Boyne. The “Glorious Revolution” – part quiet and consensual conquest by a Dutch noble and his army, part contracting-out of the job of monarch by the ruling classes of England – was now complete.

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Saturday, November 29, 2008

The English Civil Wars: democracy versus property and the rise of a new ruling class

One of the first tasks of my PhD research is to examine the evolution of Britain and its foreign policy. How did we get to where we are today, where an elite strata or loose governing class of socio-economic institutions and powerful individuals wields disproportionate influence over government in general and foreign policy in particular? What are the roots of the political economy of British foreign policy, and how can we describe its development up to this point?
The first thing to do is to identify a good place to begin. Obviously, no matter how far back you delve into the past, you can find an event or theme that has some kind of link to the present day. Broad elite power, as opposed to the absolute rule of a monarch or the democratic rule of the public, is not as recent a development as, say, the triumph of the new bourgeoisie that took place over the course of the nineteenth century. Magna Carta or the Provisions of Oxford might be worth a passing mention as early instances of a class, as opposed to a King, exerting or attempting to exert its authority on these islands. Even before the monarchy was sidelined altogether, the strata below the royal family – nobles, oligarchs, merchants and landowners, not to mention the chuch – had played an absolutely central role in British politics for a some considerable time. As far back as the eleventh and twelfth centuries, King John, Henry III and Richard II had been forced to deal with challenges from the lower orders; in the case of Richard, as low down as the peasantry itself. These were no mere inconveniances to be brushed aside. They were substantive, serious challenges to monarchical power and authority which, at least in the case of Magna Carta, were by no means easily dismissed.


But the starting place that I’ve provisionally chosen (albeit pending a lot more research) is the era of the English Civil Wars and the short-lived Cromwellian Republic in the mid-seventeenth century. The echoes of the future that can be heard at this point in history seem to me to be the earliest of those that really resonate in the modern era. It is at this point that, under Cromwell’s dictatorship, the propertied, wealthy class takes total effective control over the machinery and institutions of the state, with immediate implications for foreign policy. It is also during the upheaval of the Civil Wars and their aftermath that early notions of genuine democracy really catch on in Britain, and come into direct conflict with the demands of the men of property represented by Cromwell’s parliamentarians. That conflict is a central theme of British politics which carries right through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and plays a major part in the development of the nation over that time. And it is the conflict sits at the normative heart of my research.

Most of what follows, and all of the quotes, are taken from Simon Schama’s “A History of Britain 2: The British Wars, 1603 – 1776”, although I’m also writing here while heavily under the influence of the first chapter of Paul Foot’s magnificent book “The Vote”, which deals with the Putney Debates in some detail. I’ll write more on these topics when I’ve read a bit more widely, but its certainly worth getting some ideas down now, before progressing further.

The following is not a summary note of the relevant chapters of the Schama book. Rather it is an attempt to draw out those parts of the story that are relevant to my research and to develop my own analysis of the events in question. So while I don’t dwell on the religious aspect, that should certainly not be taken as a dismissal of its relevance. Plainly religion was key, but this is an attempt to focus on some of the other important themes.

I assume that most of you understand the basic narrative. King Charles I is becoming increasingly unpopular for a couple of key reasons. First, because he is allowing the clergy to impose a set of reforms on the church which appear to many in Protestant Britain to be an unconscionable form of crypto-Catholicism (popery!). Second, because as a firm believer in the absolute right of kings, Charles’ style of governance is openly dismissive of parliament, which he sees as little more than a tool of revenue collection for a series of failed foreign wars. Matters come to a head, parliament and the King lock horns, war ensues, the King is defeated and executed and, for just over a decade, Britain is ruled by a Protestant Republic-Dictatorship in which the merchant-landowning class holds sway.

Lets look more closely at these events, and identify some things that might be relevant to the evolution of socio-economic elite rule in Britain.

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The parliamentary side in the English Civil wars should not necessarily be seen as representing the forces of democracy, even in the case of the radicals. Schama says:

“.. the Jacobean and Caroline parliaments were not yet thought of as the elected tribunes of the people. Most of the members of the Commons had taken their seats as a result of consensual and uncontested selection in the counties and boroughs. Some of the most radical of their number, like John Pym, owed their place to a not merely exiguous but virtually non-existent electorate in a pocket borough owned by the Earl of Bedford. By and large, members of parliament were the same kind of people who were the natural governors of the county community as magistrates, deputy lord-lieutenants and sheriffs, and whatever their misgivings about the misuse of Crown prerogatives they still had no problem accepting its offices”

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The era of the British Wars effectively began in Scotland with the “Prayer Book riots” against the church reforms of William Laud, which were widely seen as backdoor Popery. It is also true that Charles I had upset the Scottish nobility by taking land they had gained during the Reformation and giving some of it back to the church. Further research on my part may identify this as a factor in their alliance with the Scottish church against Charles.

Antipathy towards the new religious establishment (specifically the perceived popery of the Laudinian reforms), taxation without parliamentary authority and Charles’ generally over-bearing and self-righteous style of government was relayed, expressed and whipped up further by the growing popular press, pamphleteering and petitioning industry which mobilised the public and engendered an atmosphere in which radical MPs were returned to parliament. As in modern politics, propaganda and the media played an important role. Not merely commentating but actively shaping events.

Loyalty to God increasingly preceded loyalty to King. A vanguard-like Puritan movement emerged, with the individuals involved bound together not just by religion but also by their common economic and business interests, including involvement in colonial ventures.

“Throughout the 1630s, for example, virtually all those who would shape the destinies of political Puritanism in parliament – John Pym, John Hampden, his lawyer Oliver St John, Sir Arthur Haselrig, Lord Brooke, Viscount Saye and Sele, the earls of Bedford and Essex and, ubiquitously, Robert Rich, the colossally important and powerful Earl of Warwick – were all involved in ventures to create settlements in the Caribbean and New England”.

In the process of sharing this economic and colonial experience, a broader common worldview was being created and reinforced within this emerging, proto-bourgeois/Puritan vanguard. The destruction in the Caribbean of the Providence Island Company by the Spanish helped confirm their view of being in the midst of a battle between Christ and the popish Antichrist, and their links to the Puritan colonists in Massachusetts encouraged dreams of building their own new Zion at home.


Back in Parliament, moves were being made to make government accountable to Parliament and increase the powers of the latter body in ways never before seen. “This was not, of course, the birth of Parliamentary democracy (not even the most Whiggish of the Victorian historians ever supposed so), but it was, unquestionably, the demolition of absolute monarchy in Britain”.

Charles could not accept this, and so began the Civil Wars.

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As the war went on, Cromwell took the view that armies fought better when soldiers and generals shared a common moral purpose, and when the soldiers believed in the righteousness of the cause they fought for. The New Model Army – formed at a time, 1645, when the Parliamentarians were having difficulty landing the killer blow on the weakened Royalists – was defined as much by its ideological and moral cohesion as by its professionalism and discipline on the battlefield. Now more than ever, the soldiery felt that it had a stake in the war beyond mere service of its noble masters. But this new force that Cromwell had created was not one that could necessarily be controlled as he would have wished.

By 1646-7, with Charles defeated, the New Model Army constituted a major, perhaps the major force on the political scene. It was hungry, underpaid, and ready after years of fighting and dying to step up and demand its due. Its officers were drawn from lower down the social scale than those of previous English armies. They were literate, aware, mindful of their interests, and prepared to mutiny or otherwise challenge their parliamentary leaders in pursuit of their share of the spoils of victory – material and political. Increasingly they saw themselves as more representative of the people than was parliament, and thus felt it legitimate for them to present their own ideas regarding the new post-monarchical order that was to created.

These were fertile conditions for the politics of the Levellers, one of the earliest forces for genuine democracy in the history of Britain. Their “Agreement for the People” of 1647 envisaged a kingless, bishopless realm (but more of that later).

With the army dominant on the scene, Parliament was now subjected to a miliatary coup d’etat, with Cromwell and son-in-law Henry Ireton in the lead. A purge of dissenters left a “Rump Parliament”. On 4 January 1649, the Rump Parliament declared that “the people are, under God, the source of all just power”. Irrespective of the hypocrisy of these words coming from a body that took its form as the direct result of a military coup (and which, as we shall see, then moved to prevent genuine democracy taking hold), the importance of that statement, at this point in history, is undeniable. The idea was out, even if it was not honoured.

Charles’ ideological retort to this came on the scaffold in his valedictory speech before his execution. Charles insisted that government was “nothing pertaining to” the people, and that “a Subject and a Sovereign are clean different things”. The open airing of competing ideas about rights and sovereignty was central to these events.



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Speaking of ideas, what was the role of opinion-formers and intellectuals? The production of knowledge by power and those sympathetic to power is a central part of power’s ability to legitimise and sustain itself. That’s not just true in the present day, and it was certainly true at this point in history.

Can we plausibly accuse Thomas Hobbes of intellectual subserviance to power? Having previously been a loyal and active Royalist, Hobbes went on to articulate the philosophical justification for Cromwell’s dictatorship in the form of his book "Leviathan", which argued that the proper role of government was one of patriarchal protector in an uncertain and dangerous world: a philosophical charter for despotism. But on the other hand, his attacks on religion will hardly have ingratiated him with the new Presbytarian order.

What about John Milton? Milton “thought of himself in the classical tradition of virtuous republicans such as Cicero who had laid aside ‘idle’ pursuits to place their eloquence at the service of the state”. During the first year of the republic, Charles was enjoying a wave of public sympathy (albeit posthumously). A book of his collected writings, including his speech from the scaffold, had become immesely popular. “So John Milton, already established as a dedicated propagandist for parliament, was mobilised to enlighten the deluded”. “The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates” made the retrospective case for the King’s trial and punishment. “Eikonoklastes” (‘the image breaker’) was an attack on the arguments made in Charles book, written under instruction from the new government (Milton was now the government’s translator-in-chief).

In these books Milton advanced the idea that ultimate sovereignty rested with the people. A bad joke under the Rump Parliament but still, again, the idea, revolutionary in itself, was out there, albeit in practice to defend Parliament from a monarchical resurgence rather than to promote the rights of the public.

Then there was Marchamont Nedham “the most prolific and ingenious of the parliamentary journalists” who, like Hobbes, opined that powerful government was needed to protect its subjects. “Nedham’s argument, reinforced by Hobbes, replaced the question ‘is it proper?’ with the question ‘does it work?’ And with that apparently simple change in perspective, for better or for worse, modern political science was born”. So says Schama.


I tell you, there are times where I bloody love that man.


While on the subject of hypocrisy, we should note that the horrendeous atrocities and shedding of blood perpetrated by both sides in the Civil War was accompanied by the most pious of rhetorical flourishes from each. Given that dissonance, the rhetoric, while certainly relevant, should not be allowed to stand on its own, without reference to the contradictory action. Talk of rights was bountiful. Respect for them was rarely practiced.

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After Charles execution, Presbyterian Scotland declared fealty to his son Charles II, and Catholic Ireland remained undefeated. Putting aside the military implications, the political implication of this was that “England remained an armed camp” in 1647-8, and the military was therefore a major political force.

The New Model Army was politically aware and literate at the level of the officer corps and below. 70 percent of artisans, the class from whom the rank and file were drawn, were able to read. Leveller writers and orators like John Lilburne, Richard Overton and William Walwyn (while protesting that they were “moderates” who respected social rank) advocated something close to democracy: the vote all male householders, annual parliaments, a simplified and more accessible legal system (which, Schama observes, was offensive to a parliament stuffed with lawyers), and the abolition of the most onerous taxes levied on a population that was devastated by war and pillage. The Levellers organised mass petitions and distributed polemical pamphlets in their attempt to agitate amongst the soldiery.

Leveller ideas gained much support within the New Model Army, who now found themselves in conflict with their masters. The parliamentary generals, like Cromwell, had fought the civil war to liberate themselves from their social betters not to enslave themselves to their social inferiors. The two sides clased in the Putney Debates of 1647, where the age-old ideological battle between the rights of people and the rights of power was famously joined.

For the people, Colonel Thomas Rainsborough MP:
“The poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he” and people should not therefore be subject to laws that they had not themselves consented to.

For the poweful, Henry Ireton:
“No person hath a right to an interest or share in the disposing of the affairs of the kingdom...that hath not a permanent fixed interest [i.e. substantial property]...and those persons together are properly the represented of the kingdom”

Leveller “Honest John” Lilburne told the House of Lords in 1646:
“All you intended when you set us a-fighting was merely to unhorse and dismount our old riders and tyrants, that you might get up and ride in their stead”

Lilburne’s fearless advocacy of the democratic rights of the population and their right to government by consent contrasts sharply with the hypocritical, weasel words of Milton and Nedham. Lilburne was imprisoned and harshly treated for his political activism both under Charles and und
er the new regime. He fought in the Civil War on the Parliamentary side, but he and the Levellers soon came to the view that a monarchical tyranny had simply been replaced with an oligarchical tyranny.

Amongst the fine credentials of Lilburne and the Levellers was their view of women and the role women played in their struggle. In 1646, Lilburne opined that women “were by nature all equall and alike in power, dignity, authority and majesty” to men. Leveller women organised mass petitions when Lilburne and the other Leveller leaders were imprisoned by Cromwell. Their activism was genuinely shocking to Puritan sensibilities, which saw the woman’s place as one of domestic subserviance.

The Levellers were part of a general emergence of liberatory ideas in the political upheaval of the time. The Diggers, for example, led by Gerrard Winstanley, preached community of land and goods. More liberal strands of religion also developed, in the form of the Quakers, Baptists and Ranters.

With the Putney Debates having failed to result in a satisfactory conclusion, these ideas, and anger over outstanding pay, inspired mutinies in the New Model Army during the spring of 1649, which the new regime put down by force. By the autumn of that year, the Levellers' hopes were clearly dead. They were, Schama says, “bought off, intimidated or imprisoned, their officers dispersed”. The state would administer similar treatment to those campaigning for democracy in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Lilburne himself was isolated, then finally exiled to Holland.

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Schama argues that the Republic failed to survive because it didn’t attempt any cultural reprogramming , allegiance reinforcement or other means of establishing its legitimacy as a new order; at least not to anything like the extent required (Hobbes, Milton and Nedham notwithstanding). He speculates that this was perhaps partly due to Cromwell’s seeing politics as a base and unworthy pursuit, not firing his passion in the same way as religion and war.

In fact – save for the fact that the head (King, House of Lords and bishops) had been lopped off the English hierarchy (no small thing of course) – British continued much as before, albeit now run by the upper, middle and landowning classes of “the magistrates chair...county hunts..and..city counting houses”.

These men “invested far more time and energy in preventing any sort of radical change than in promoting it”. They were “businessmen of state, mercantilists, money-managers. And in their swaggering, beady-eyed way, fierce patriots” whose ideology was “the aggressive prosecution of the national interest”. This governing class built an empire for itself, not only on the British archipelago through Cromwell’s brutal wars on the Irish and Scots, but also oveseas, in the North Sea, Baltic and Atlantic. “It was commercially rapacious and militarily brutal, beery chauvinism erected into a guiding principle of state”.

The Navigation Act of 1651 “prohibited any ships other than British or those of the country of origin from bringing cargoes to Britain, thus taking deadly aim at the shipping supremacy of the Dutch. It was a policy to maximise business which (another first) the state was prepared to back up with war if that’s what it took. Often it did”.

Britain was run, after hundreds of thousands had perished in ten years of war conducted to the sound of pious hymns to “rights” and “liberty”, “by a corporate alliance of county gentry and city merchants”. Cromwell’s replacement parliament of nominees (the Rump having been dissolved in 1653) was made up of two-thirds landowners, and 115 justices of the peace out of 140 MPs in total. This in spite of the dictator’s talk of replacing the men of venal ambition with a company of ‘saints’. This doesn’t necessarily support Schama’s view of a Cromwell too pious for politics. But perhaps, for Cromwell, piety just happened not to exist amongst the lower orders.






Cromwell’s readmission of Jews to Britain after three and a half centuries of exile was not purely connected with his Christian belief that their conversion was a necessary prelude to the final battle with the Antichrist. For him and the “pragmatic managers of state” it was also an attempt to plug into and draw on the Jewish community in its capacity as a “priceless source of commercial and military intelligence” in the “Hispanic and Netherlandish trading world”.

Those “pragmatic managers of state” who saw the readmission as being in the “national interest” held a “vision of the world (and of Britain’s place in it) [that] was essentially mechanical and commerical....[they were] technicians of power; data-gatherers; calculators of profit”. These years then “mark the true beginning of moden government in these islands. It was at this time that a commerical empire was being created” in New England and the slaving islands of the Atlantic, often with “unscrupulous military aggression and brutal inhumanity”.

In addition, an “empire of knowledge” was also being created by this new managerial class; knowledge “as the raw material of power” for those who called themselves “political arithmeticians”. William Petty, who coined the latter term, was the proto-bureaucrat who, by the time he had turned 30, had already completed the considerable task of cataloguing and dividing up conquered Ireland for the new empire.

Thus, even by the middle of the seventeenth century, some key themes of modern elite-government and their influence on national foreign policy that we are familiar with today, were already recognisable in their early forms. Cromwell's republic collapsed in short order after his death, but history's slate was by no means wiped clean by the Restoration of the Stuart monarchy under Charles II in 1660. The impact of what happened in those years was, in many ways, indelible. Absolute monarchy was off the agenda, as Charles I other son, James, would discover to his cost. The new elite had to relinquish its dictatorship, but its seat at the table of power was secured. All that was left was the story of how its place was to move to the head of the table over the next two hundred years.

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Blogging my PhD

I started my PhD studies this autumn. My provisional dissertation title is “How concentrations of socio-economic power shape British foreign policy”.

My research will aim to identify the concentrations of socio-economic power, domestic (e.g. the state, corporations) or external (the United States, international finance), that shape British foreign policy, and to explain how their influence is exerted in practice. My dissertation will describe the historical roots of British foreign policy as a tool of powerful interests, map networks of influence in current policymaking, analyse the social-construction of discourse relating to foreign policy, and provide case studies that illustrate and develop my findings.

Along the way I’m going to be collecting and analysing a vast amount of information, and producing articles, conference papers and research notes that may well be of interest to readers of this blog. So from now on, I’m going to be mixing some of that into my output on the Democrat’s Diary. Its a slight change of emphasis, but the comments and articles that you’re used to seeing here – on US foreign policy, events in the Middle East, etc - will certainly continue. Just that now they’ll be joined by some other material as well.

Hope you find it interesting. And comments, as always, are very welcome.

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