Archive for the ‘Warfare’ Category

Documenting Dialogues: The Roots & Growth of Modern Islam – Part Two.   1 comment

Dualities of  ‘Jihad’ – ‘The Lesser’ & ‘The Greater’:

Jihad, like fatwa, was an Arabic term which entered the contemporary lexicon because of its use by modern Islamist movements, some of which were engaged in the ‘resistance struggle’ against the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 and the decade-long war there, and others who, since earlier in that decade, were actively involved in terrorism, kidnapping and other violent activities. Its primary meaning is ‘exertion’ or ‘striving’, however, and its use in traditional Islamic discourse is very far from the military contexts with which it has become associated in the West, where its translation as ‘holy war’ has been particularly unhelpful. In reality, many forms of activity are included under the term in Islam, and in its most classical formulations the individual believer may undertake ‘jihad’ by his heart; his tongue; his hands; and by the sword – in that order of priority. It is also a collective obligation for Muslims – a duty known as fard kifaya, distinct from the purely personal obligations of prayer, fasting, and pilgrimage. It can be undertaken by the ruler on behalf of the whole community – and thus becomes, in the course of time, an instrument of policy.

The classical doctrine of jihad was formulated during the ‘Medina period’ and during the centuries of conquest, when the faith sustained an outward momentum unprecedented in human history. The doctrine, therefore, became an expression of Islamic triumphalism and an attempt, comparable to the concept of the ‘just war’ in Roman law, to limit the consequences of war. Adapting the customs of pre-Islamic Bedouin warfare, an element of chivalry was built into the code: women and children, the old and the sick, were to be spared from the sword. Polytheists were faced with the choice of conversion or death, but the ‘Peoples of the Book’ – Jews and Christians, later extended to Zoroastrians and Hindus – were to be protected in return for payment of taxes. They were allowed to practise their religion freely, and, since Islam defines religion in terms of ‘orthopraxis’ rather than ‘orthodoxy’, in practice religious minorities enjoyed a limited form of self-government. This was not religious tolerance in accordance with post-Enlightenment liberalism, but by the standards of medieval Europe, the doctrine of ‘jihad’ was a good deal more humane than the treatment of ‘heretics’ by the medieval Catholic church.

Nevertheless, the classical doctrine, interpreted politically, does imply that Islam will ultimately emerge victorious from its ‘struggle’. Following the logic of jihad, the world is divided into two mutually hostile camps: the sphere of Islam (dar-al-Islam) and the sphere of War (dar-al-Harb). Enemies will convert or be killed, like the polytheists, or submit, like the Christians and Jews. Those who die in ‘the path of God’ are instantly translated to paradise, without waiting for the resurrection or judgement day. The martyrs are buried where they fall, their bodies spared the ritual of cleansing in a mosque since they are pure already. In Islam, although there is a concept of ‘free-will’ for believers, God’s will is absolute, and man’s response is Islam or ‘submission’. The characteristic status of humans is, therefore, that of the ‘abd, the slave or servant of God. Primarily then, the concept of jihad is of an individual ‘striving’ in the way of God, and the collective ‘exertion’ of the umma of Islam. According to John Ferguson, writing in 1977:

It is the pursuit of the worship of the One God by whatever means; it is just here that the subjection of all ethical principles to the one great theological affirmation is vital for the understanding of the development of Islam.

In his book, War and Peace in the World’s Religions, Ferguson traces the development of the concept from the time of the Prophet and the submission of Mekka in 630 through to modern times. It was the chief instrument for the spreading of Islam and for the establishment of a world-state, but this did not necessarily infer that this would be achieved through war and conquest. There was to be a jihad of preaching and persuasion; one traditional saying has it that the monasticism of Islam is the jihad. Muslim expansion was halted at Tours in the west and at the frontiers of India in the east. The divinely appointed order came up against the intransigence of historical reality. Just as the first Christians were obliged to postpone, indefinitely, the second coming of Christ, so the global triumph of Islam had to be deferred. The umma was not established as a single theocratic state and most Muslims accepted that the jihad against the dar-al-Harb, the territory of war, had been suspended indefinitely, and ‘normalcy’ was achieved by the transition from militarism to civilization. Formerly Muslim territories such as Sicily and Spain reverted to unbelief. In due course, the concept of dar-al-Islam was modified. As the divine law was communal, rather than territorial, in its application, the scholars disputed amongst themselves about the number of Muslims required to make a territorial dar-al-Islam. Must Muslims have political control, or was it merely a matter of their right to proclaim the message of Islam and to perform their religious duties? As with so many questions of law, there were no conclusive answers. The jurists disagreed about whether a particular territory was dar-al-Islam or dar-al-Harb – or in a state of suspended warfare indicated by such intermediate categories such as dar-al-sulh (sphere of Truce).

The Prophet himself is quoted as saying, We have returned from the lesser jihad to the greater jihad. In other words, the conquest of Self is a greater struggle than the conquest of external enemies. So the Prophet made a distinction between the ‘lesser’ jihad of war against the polytheists and the ‘greater’ jihad against evil. At its broadest, the latter was the struggle in which the virtuous Muslim was engaged throughout his or her life. Despite the élan of the early conquests, historically it was the ‘greater’ jihad which sustained the expansion of Islam in many parts of the world over the centuries following that period. The dualism of good versus evil was maintained less by territorial concepts than by legal observance. Dar-al-Islam was where the law prevailed. In pre-colonial times, before the military might of the West erupted into Muslim consciousness, that law was commensurate with civilisation itself. The high-culture of Cairo and Baghdad extended via the trade routes to southern Africa, northern India and south-east Asia. This process of expansion was organic and self-directing. Since there was no church or overarching religious institution, there was no universal, centrally directed missionary effort. There was, however, the demonstration effect of Muslims living literate, orderly and sober lives.

Stereograph from 1908 with the title “Mingling of Orient and Occident — the Muski, Liveliest of the Real Streets of Cairo, Egypt”, from the Travelers in the Middle East Archive: http://scholarship.rice.edu/handle/1911/5570

Above: Cairo, 1908

From time to time attempts were made to establish the jihad as one of the pillars of Islam, and some adherents did so on the basis that since the Prophet spent most of his life in warfare, the faithful should follow his example, that an Islamic state should be permanently organised for war, and that heretics should be forcibly converted or put to the sword. They stood in a tradition which ascribed to Muhammad the words, My fate is under the shadow of my spear. These ‘jihadis’ were merciless in fighting, killing non-combatants and prisoners of war; their own lives were austere and self-disciplined. In general, however, the jihad did not become a sixth pillar of the Faith. This was because the five pillars; Shahada (affirmation), salat (prayer); zakat (almsgiving); saum (fasting) and the Hajj (pilgrimage) are all obligations on the individual believer, whereas the jihad is a collective obligation of Islam (fard al-kifaya) laid on the umma as a whole, not just on the individual within the global community. Indeed, it is explicitly stated in the Qur’an that not all individuals should actively participate in armed conflict (9, 123).

The Role of the State in ‘Jihad’:

Jihad is also seen as the chief responsibility of the state; an individual believer cannot wage his own ‘violent’ jihad independent of the state. But participation in the communal duty leading to death in ‘Allah’s path’ is a sure guarantee of immediate transit to paradise and exemption from the trial on the Day of Judgement. The jurists laid down certain rules of war in addition to the general agreement that non-combatants should be spared unless they were indirectly helping the enemy cause. Some jurists held that all which the participants in the jihad could not control should be destroyed; others that inanimate objects and crops should be destroyed but animals should be spared; others that everything should go except flocks and beehives. Destruction and poisoning of water supply were permitted. Spoils belonged to the participants only, but with one-fifth going to the state.

Map of the Ottoman Empire.

On 11 November 1914, the Ottoman Sultan and Caliph Mehmet V declared a jihad or holy war against Russia, France and Great Britain, announcing that it had become an obligation for all Muslims, whether young or old, on foot or mounted, to support the struggle with their goods and money. The proclamation, which took the form of a fatwa, was endorsed by religious leaders throughout the Sultan’s dominions. Outside the Empire, however, its effect was minimal. In Russian central Asia, French North Africa and British India the colonial authorities generally had no difficulty in finding ‘ulema to publicly endorse the Allied cause. Most galling for the Sultan-Caliph, his suzerain the Sharif Hussein of Mekka, Guardian of the Holy Places, refused to endorse the jihad publicly. He had already been approached by the British with a view to launching an Arab revolt against the Turks, the eventual success of which resulted in the Sharif’s sons Faisal and Abdullah being given the British-protected thrones of Iraq and Jordan.

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The Arabs of Syria, Mesopotamia, Palestine and the Hedjaz preferred freedom to ‘Islamic’ rule, even though for many that freedom entailed the risk of new colonialist domination under the ‘infidel’. Just as a century later, pan-Islamic solidarity proved an illusion. The collapse of the Ottoman armies in 1917-18 drove home this point. The most recent example of jihad before the wars and conflicts in the Middle East and Afghanistan in the second half of the twentieth century was the Turkish action under Mustafa Kemal Ataturk to remove Greek and Allied forces from Anatolia after the first world war (see the map below). Its status as such was confirmed when, on 19 September 1921, Ataturk was formally accorded the rank of Ghazi, given only to those who have participated in jihad. 

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The revitalised Turkish nation took the ultimate step of abolishing the caliphate in 1924, bringing the crisis of Islamic legitimacy to a head. Though the decision was endorsed by the Turkish National Assembly and generally approved by Arab nations newly freed from Ottoman dominion, the move was preceded by a mass agitation by the Muslims of India protesting against the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire and the removal of the formal link between an existing Islamic state and the divine polity founded by the Prophet Muhammad. The Khalifat Movement dramatised the fundamental contradiction between pan-Islamic and nationalist aspirations. In India, it represented a turning point in the anti-colonialist movement, as Muslims who were formerly appeased by Britain’s ‘Eastern Policy’ favouring the Ottoman interest, joined Hindu nationalists in opposition to the Raj. The coalition proved short-lived, however, and the momentum generated by the Khalifat Movement eventually led to the separate political destiny for India’s Muslims in the form of Pakistan.

Purifying the ‘Inner State’ – Pacifism in Islam:

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In this context, we should also note that pacifism was not entirely unknown in Islam. One sect, the Maziyariyya, dropped fasting from the pillars of the Faith, and the concept of jihad altogether. This, however, was exceptional. More frequently expressed is the inclination to emphasise the spiritual aspect of the teaching of jihad. This is especially strong among the ‘Sufis’. Thus al-Qushayri (d. AD 1074) claimed that the basis of jihad is the tearing away of the Self from its habitual ways and directing it contrary to its desires. The jihad of ordinary believers, therefore, consists in the fulfilling actions and the jihad of ‘the elect’ lies in purifying the ‘inner state’. From the mid-twelfth century until modern times the Sufi brotherhoods flourished all over the Islamic world, from remote rural areas to the dense human fabric of the cities. It would be wrong to see the Sufis as necessarily ‘withdrawn’ from the world.

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Although some of the Sufi brotherhoods had indulged in ritual practices regarded with hostility by the ‘ulema, the majority insisted that the inner reality of Islam (Haqiqa) could only be approached through observance of the Shari’a, the outward or exoteric law. Under the umbrella of their different tariqas, the brotherhoods developed formidable organisations bound by personal ties of allegiance to their leaders (a tariqa, from the Arabic for ‘path’) is a school or order of Sufism, or specifically a concept for the mystical teaching and spiritual practices of such an order with the aim of seeking Haqiqa). The common spiritual disciplines of the orders, the gradations of spiritual authority linking the leader with his followers, the leader’s intercessionary powers with God and duty of obedience owed to him; all these made the tariqas important sources of social and political power, especially in peripheral areas of the Muslim world. In and through them, peaceful Sufi ideas came to dominate in those areas:

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But although the strife against evil, the ‘greater jihad’, might take a purely moralistic form, at times of increasingly traumatic historical crisis, the ‘lesser jihad’ came to the fore. The two jihads were interchangeable. The most active movements of resistance to European rule during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were led or inspired by renovators (mujjadis), most of them members of Sufi orders, who sought to emulate the Prophet’s example by purifying the religion of their day and waging war on corruption and infidelity. Such movements included the jihad preached among the Yusufzai Pathans on the Northwest Frontier of India by Sayyid Ahmad Barelwi in 1831. Once it became clear that Muslim arms were no match for the overwhelming technical and military superiority of the Europeans or the nominally Muslim governments backed by them, the movement for Islamic renewal took an intellectually radical turn.

The Ahmadiyya movement also stressed the spirit of jihad which enjoins on every Muslim to sacrifice his all for the protection of the weak and oppressed whether Muslims or not. They emphasised the need for active resistance and not just prayer and meditation. The test of jihad, therefore, lay in the willingness to suffer, not in the practice of warfare. They totally rejected the concept of a jihad directed to the expansion of Islam. They accepted that there may be a necessity for armed defence against aggression, but believed that the essence of jihad lay in active concern for the oppressed. One remarkable demonstration of Muslim pacifism took place among the Pathans of Northern India, a people with violent traditions. In 1930, Abdul Ghaffir Khan, the Gandhi of the frontier provinces, a puritan reformer, persuaded the Pathans of the power of non-violence. Persecutions, imprisonment and executions could not shake them from this path: they persisted for years in the courageous commitment to non-violence. While Ferguson concluded that Islam had been one of the most clearly militarist of all the world religions in its origins, essence, and development, the fact that it could produce Abdul Ghaffir Khan had shown that the ‘striving’ of Muslims, collectively and individually, could turn to peace.

Renovators – Reformists & Modernists:

Among the elites which had been most directly exposed to the European presence, the catastrophic failure of Islam was seen to lie as much in education and culture as in military defeat. A return to the pristine forms of would not be enough to guarantee the survival of Islam as a civilisation and way of life. The more sophisticated renovators may be divided broadly into reformists and modernists. Reformists usually came from the ranks of the ‘ulema’ and were more concerned with religious renewal from within. They adopted a modernist stance in emphasising personal responsibility in observance of the Shari’a. They also made full use of modern techniques of communication, including the printing press, the postal service and the expanding railway network. ‘Modernism’ became the doctrine of the political elites and intelligentsia. They recognised that in order to regain political power Muslims would have to adopt European military techniques, modernise their economies and administrations, and introduce modern forms of education. On the religious front, they argued for a new hermeneutic or reinterpretation of the faith in the light of modern conditions.

The modernists’ fascination with Europe and all its works often led them to adopt Western clothes and lifestyles which in due course separated them from the more traditionally minded classes. It was from modernist circles that veil-ripping feminists and the leaders of nationalist movements tended to be drawn. There were no clear lines dividing the two tendencies, which merged and divided according to circumstance. Leaders of both currents, such as Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817-98), founder of the Anglo-Oriental College of Aligarh in India, and reformers like Muhammad ‘Abduh (d. 1906), founder of the Salafiyya movement in Egypt, tended to be found in the cultural centres of the Muslim world that had been most exposed to Western imperialist influences. The problem for these imperialists was not that Islam was beyond reform, but that it had no institutional hierarchy comparable to that of the Christian churches through which theological and legal reforms could be put into effect. Reformist ‘ulema like ‘Abduh and his more conservative disciple Rashid Rida had no special authority, so that many of their peers remained traditionalists, as their ‘heirs’ have done up till the present day.

Although once a supporter of the Ottoman caliphate, Rashid Rida accepted its demise as symptomatic of Muslim decline; and while no advocate of secularism, he saw in the Turkish National Assembly’s decision a genuine expression of the Islamic principle of consultation (shura). The ideal caliph, according to Rida, was an independent interpreter of the Law (mujtahid) who would work in concert with the ‘ulema. In the absence of a suitable candidate, and of ‘ulema versed in the modern sciences, the best alternative was for an Islamic state ruled by an enlightened élite in consultation with the people, able to interpret the Shari’a and legislate when necessary. Many of Rida’s ideas were taken up by the most influential Sunni reform movement, the Muslim Brotherhood, founded in 1928 by Hasan al-Banna, an Egyptian schoolteacher. The Brotherhood’s original aims were moral as much as political: it sought to reform society by encouraging Islamic observance and opposing Western cultural influences, rather than by attempting to capture the state by direct political action. However, during the mounting crisis over Palestine during and after the Second World War the brotherhood became increasingly radicalised. In 1948, Egyptian Prime Minister Nuqrashi Pasha was assassinated and Hasan al-Banna paid with his life in a retaliatory killing by the security services the following year.

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The Brotherhood played a leading part in the disturbances that led to the overthrow of the monarchy in 1952 but after the revolution, it came into conflict with the nationalist government of Gamal ‘Abdul Nasser. In 1954, after an attempt on Nasser’s life, the Brotherhood was again suppressed, its members imprisoned, exiled, or driven underground. It was during this period it became internationalised, with affiliated movements springing up in Jordan, Syria, Sudan, Pakistan, Indonesia and Malaysia. In Saudi Arabia, under the vigorous leadership of (later King) Faisal ibn ‘Abdul ‘Aziz, the Brotherhood found refuge, and financial support, with funds for the Egyptian underground, and salaried posts for exiled intellectuals. A radical member of the Brotherhood, Sayyid Qutb (1906-66), executed for an alleged plot to overthrow the Egyptian government, would prove to be the Sunni Muslim world’s most influential Islamist theorist. Some of his ideas (see below), however, are directly attributable to the Indian scholar and journalist, Abul ‘Ala Maududi, whose works became available in Arabic translation during the 1950s. One of Maududi’s doctrines was to have a major impact on Islamic political movements. This was the idea that the struggle for Islam was not for the restoration of an ideal past, but for a principle vital to the here and now; the vice-regency of man under God’s sovereignty.

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The jihad was therefore not just a defensive war for the protection of the Islamic territory or dar-al-Islam. It might be waged against governments which prevented the preaching of true Islam, for the condition of Jahiliya (the state of ignorance or ‘barbarism’ before the coming of Islam) was also to be found in the ‘here and now’. This concept was thoroughly modern in its espousal of an ‘existentialist’ action-oriented commitment. Even the virulent anti-Semitism with which he responded to the Arab-Israeli conflict was imported, based upon the uncritical adoption of the ideology of the Nazis, with whom leading Arab nationalists allied themselves in the 1940s. Qutb advocated the creation of a new élite among Muslim youth who would fight against jahiliya as the Prophet had fought the old one. Like the Prophet and his Companions, this élite must choose when to withdraw from the Jahiliya and when to seek contact with it. His ideas set the agenda for Islamic radicals throughout the Sunni Muslim world. Those influenced by his thinking included Khalid Islambuli and Abd al-Salaam Farraj, executed for the murder of President Anwar Sadat in October 1981, and the Hizb al-Tahrir (Liberation Party) founded in 1952 by Shaikh Taqi al-Din al-Nabahani (1910-77), a graduate of al-Azhar whose writings laid down detailed prescriptions for a restored caliphate.

The Iranian Revolution & The Wider Muslim World:

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While Qutb’s writings have remained an important influence on Islamic radicals or ‘Islamists’ from Algeria (below) to Pakistan, a major boost to the movement came from Iran where Ayatollah Khomeini (1902-89) came to power after the collapse of the Pahlavi régime in February 1979. Khomeini had also developed critiques of Western materialism and moral decadence which drew on fascist attacks on democracy and admiration for the dictators of the 1930s. The ‘Islamic’ Constitution of Iran, introduced by Khomeini in 1979 was far from being subject to Shari’a law, however, since the Ayatollah made it clear that the Islamic state, as the successor to the Prophet Muhammad, had the power to override religious law, even in such fundamentals of the faith as prayer, fasting and pilgrimage. During the final two decades of the twentieth century, the Iranian Revolution remained the inspiration for  ‘Islamists’ from Morocco to Indonesia.

Demonstrators in Algiers, December 1960.Credit Associated Press

Despite this universalist appeal, however, the revolution never succeeded in spreading beyond the confines of Shi’ite communities and even among them its capacity to mobilise the people remained limited. During the eight-year war that followed Iraq’s invasion of Iran in 1980, the Iraqi Shi’i who formed about fifty per cent of the population conspicuously failed to support their co-religionists in Iran. However, the revolution did spread to Shi’i communities in Lebanon, where the Iranian-backed Hezbollah, the ‘Party of God’ gained influence and became entrenched in the conflicts and politics of the region as a ‘militia’ as well as a political party in Lebanon itself (see below). The Revolution also influenced developments in Saudi Arabia, Bahrein, Afghanistan and Pakistan, but generally proved unable to cross the sectarian divide. As in Iraq, the new Shi’ite activism in these countries stirred up sectarian conflicts and led to severe repression by Sunni governments.

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Within Iran the triumph of the revolution had rested on three factors usually absent from the Sunni world: the mixing of Shi’ite and revolutionary ideas among the radicalised urban youth during the 1970s; the autonomy of the Shi’i religious establishment which, unlike the Sunni ‘Ulema, disposed of a considerable measure of social power as a body or ‘estate’; and the eschatological expectations of popular Shi’ism surrounding the return of the ‘Twelfth Imam’. The leading Shi’ite exponent of Islam as a revolutionary ideology was Ali Shari’ati (d. 1977), a historian and sociologist who had been partly educated in Paris. His teachings were a rich mix of the Theosophical ideas of Islamic mystics with the philosophical theories of Marx, Sartre, Camus and Fanon. The result was an eclectic synthesis of Islamic and Marxist ideas in which the will of God was identified with the will of the People, justifying revolutionary action in the name of Islam. Shari’ati’s ideas, disseminated on photocopies and audio tapes, provided a vital link between the student vanguard and the more conservative forces which brought down the Shah’s régime. The Shah’s agricultural and social reforms threatened the interest of the religious establishment, not least because the estates from which many of the ‘ulema drew their incomes were expropriated or divided up. Exiled to Najaf in Iraq, Khomeini developed his theory of government which broke with tradition by insisting that it be entrusted directly to the religious establishment.

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Outside Iran, however, the factors that contributed to the Islamic revolution have continued to sustain the Islamist movements, accounting for the continuing popularity of their ideologies. The collapse of communism and the failure of Marxism to overcome the stigma of ‘atheism’ has made ‘Islamism’ seem an attractive ideological weapon against regimes grown increasingly corrupt, authoritarian and sometimes tyrannical. The rhetoric of national liberation, appropriated by monopolist ruling parties, has become discredited as those parties have failed to address fundamental economic and structural problems, and have increasingly been seen as being controlled by tribal coteries or political cliques indifferent to the needs of the majority. In Egypt and Algeria, qualified successes achieved by governments in the field of education have rebounded on them, as graduates from state universities have found their career opportunities blocked. As centres of opposition mosques will always enjoy a certain privileged status. They are not just places of worship, but also provide a network of communications which will always be partially independent of the state.

At the same time, the new communications technologies have brought the previously illiterate classes into the political process in an unprecedented way, undermining the authority of literate elites, notably the ‘ulema. The rise of mass education and the development of audio-visual means of communication in the late twentieth century led to a decline in the traditional sources of religious authority among both the ‘ulema and the Sufi brotherhoods. This gap was filled by a variety of movements and leaders, all of whom claimed a religious legitimacy for their acts. Increasingly, the carriers of religious knowledge have been those who claim a strong Islamic commitment, as is the case with many educated urban youths. The religious revival in modern Islam is a reflection of the pace of social and technological change in the Muslim world, particularly the disruptive effects of a rapid increase in urbanisation. This increase in the observance evidenced by such indicators as prayer, fasting and the Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mekka, is inevitably associated with the political aspirations of many Muslims, most of whom live in post-colonial states run by governments perceived as lacking in moral or spiritual authority.

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Numerous studies have shown that migration from the countryside to the cities throughout the second half of the last century has often led to an increase in religiosity, as a more intense and self-conscious style of religious observance compensated for the more relaxed rhythms of village life. The recently urbanised underclass has been particularly susceptible to the messages of populist preachers. At the same time, the Islamist movements earnt respect by providing a network of welfare services able to fill the gaps caused by government shortfalls. Restrictions on spending imposed by the International Monetary Fund in various countries tended to exacerbate housing and welfare problems by forcing cuts in social services, leading to the withdrawal of the state from some areas and its replacement by Islamic welfare and charitable organisations, in receipt of generous sources of funding from oil-rich Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states. With rapid urbanisation and the growth of shanty-towns, the old systems of patronage began to break down, as sheikhs, notables and local party bosses became detached from their previous clients. The former nationalist rhetoric, whether Nasserite or Baathist, was then discredited by the corruption of the regimes of Egypt, Iraq and Syria. As one Arab journalist has written:

It is into this vacuum of organisation and power that the Islamic groups have stepped to impose their authority and discipline. The organisation they impose is not one of popular participation. The activists and militants remain in charge, and the common people, to whom they provide services against modest payments, are considered as subjects of ethical reform, to be converted to orthodox conformity and mobilised in political support.

But though Islamist movements have been inspired by local initiatives, international factors should not be ignored. Veterans of the Afghan war against the Soviet occupation formed the core of armed and trained Islamist groups in Algeria, Yemen and Egypt. At the height of the Afghan War, there are said to have been between ten and twelve thousand mujaheddin from various Arab countries, financed by mosques and private contributions from Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states. Many of them, ironically, were reported to have been trained and equipped by the US CIA. Saudi influence has also operated at the centre of religious and ideological activity. Many of the Islamists active in Egypt and Algeria spent time in Saudi Arabia as teachers or exiles, where they became ‘converted’ to the rigid, puritanical version of the faith practised there. Everywhere, Islamization policies, whether imposed ‘from above’ by governments or applied locally ‘from below’, have led to restrictions on the rights of women and religious minorities as modernist interpretations have given ground to more traditionalist attitudes.

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The tendency to articulate political aims in Islamic terms found constituencies in newly urbanised migrants whose understandings were typically formed in rural village milieu by mullahs or ‘ulama with minimal access to modernist influences. Consequently, the modernist tendency which formed an important strand in the discourse of ‘Abduh, Qutb, Banna and even Maududi tended to wither before the traditionalism of the recently mobilised masses. This had by no means happened everywhere, however, by the end of the century. In central Asia, the people generally rejected the ‘Islamist’ alternative after the collapse of the Soviet Union, despite a resurgence of Islamic education in schools and colleges. While Russian manipulation partly accounted for the return of the old communist nomenklatura under nationalist labels, it also became clear that in societies where literacy was universal a consensus in favour of Islamic forms of government was conspicuously absent. The revivalist movements were modern, not just in their methods, including sophisticated organisational techniques as well as the use of guns, rockets and bombs. They also absorbed into traditional Islamic discourse many ideas imported from outside Islam. In the Muslim heartlands, as Olivier Roy pointed out, modernisation had already occurred, but it had not been absorbed within a commonly recognised and accepted conceptual framework. It had happened…

… through rural exodus, emigration, consumption, the change in family behaviour (a lower birthrate) but also through the cinema, music, clothing, satellite antennas, that is, through the globalisation of culture.

Globalisation, Islamism & Traditional Islam:

The resulting confusion has particularly affected the position of women, formerly the protected and symbolically ‘invisible’ half of the traditional Muslim societies. As in most other parts of the world the global economy was breaking down old extended family structures, leading to a growing necessity for women to earn cash incomes or to increase their earnings and be recognised for their efforts. Similar considerations apply to sectarian issues. Under modern conditions, sectarian or ethnic rivalries that coexisted in a rough or ritualised manner in pre-modern times acquired a murderous dimension. In marked contrast to their predecessors, modern Muslim governments have tried to enforce religious and ideological uniformity on all their citizens, regardless of religious background. The result has been a significant increase in sectarian conflicts in countries with different Muslim traditions, including Turkey and Pakistan. The legitimacy of the territorial governments established after decolonisation was always open to challenge on Islamic grounds. The new national states were imposed on societies where the culture of public institutions was weak and where ties of kinship prevailed over allegiances to corporate bodies. In most Middle Eastern countries and many others beyond the Muslim heartlands, the ruling institutions fell victim to manipulation by factions based on kinship, regional or sectarian loyalties. In the period following decolonisation, the new elites legitimised themselves by appealing to nationalist goals.

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The decline of the traditional forms of spirituality was accompanied by the construction of a political ideology using some of the symbols culled from the historical repertoire of Islam to the exclusion of others. This ideology, sometimes mistakenly referred to as ‘Radical Islam’ or ‘Islamic fundamentalism’, is better described as ‘Islamism’, along with all the other ideological ‘isms’ of the twentieth century. Islamism is not Islam, though the lines distinguishing them are frequently being continuously blurred, both accidentally and deliberately. Following the collapse of communism, Islamism seemed likely to dominate the political discourse in Muslim lands for the foreseeable future. But for all the anxieties about a clash of civilisations, it seemed unlikely, at the turn of the millennium, that that discourse would effect significant change in the international, inter-faith dialogue. At that point, the practical effects of Islamization seemed to entail, not a confrontation with the West, but rather a cultural retreat into the mosque and private family space. Because the Shari’a protects the family, the only institution to which it grants real autonomy, the culture of Muslims was likely to become increasingly passive, privatised and consumer-oriented.

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At the same time, as in the collapse of communism in central-Eastern Europe at the end of the 1980s, it became impossible to censor satellite dishes, videos, fax machines, e-mail and access to the Internet. Muslim-dominated states were not isolated but locked into an international and increasingly global communications system. Despite turbulence in Algeria and episodes of violence in Egypt, there had been fewer violent changes of government in the Middle East between 1970 and 1999 than in the previous two decades when different versions of Arab nationalism competed for power. Yet the political instability in Pakistan and the continuing civil war in Afghanistan indicated that ‘Islam’ in its contemporary ideological forms was unable to transcend ethnic and sectarian divisions. The territorial state, though never formally sanctified by Islamic tradition, was proving highly resilient, not least because of the support it received militarily and economically through the international system.

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Above left: Mujaheddin on the move in the hills. Right: Soviet armoured forces deploying in Kabul, December 1979. The heavy vehicles, confined to the roads in mountainous country, were easy targets for the guerrillas.

In the long-term, Ruthven predicted, the globalisation of culture through the revolution in communications technology had to lead to secularisation in Muslim societies, not least because of the increasing availability of religious and cultural choice. A significant factor would be the presence of a large and growing Muslim diaspora educated in the West and able to rediscover in Islam a voluntary faith freed from the imperatives of enforcement while finding an outlet for Islamic values through voluntary activity. Though the political currents of exoteric Islam appeared, even then, to be in the ascendant, it was in the pietistic and mystic traditions that future promise seemed to lie. Both Maududi and al-Banna built pietism into their systems, believing that society must be converted before the state could be conquered. Although the militants and activists who followed them were obsessed with the corruption of governments and embittered  by the appalling treatment many of them received at the hands of the police, tended to focus on action, not least because killings and bombings were bound to attract attention in an international culture dominated by television, there was evidence that quietist versions of Islam are rapidly gaining ground. With globalisation eroding the classic distinction between dar al-Islam and dar al-Harb, Ruthven argued that the coming decades were likely to see a retreat from direct political action and a renewed emphasis on the personal and private aspects of faith.

For all the efforts of political Islam to conquer the state on the basis of a new collective ideology constructed on the ruins of Marxism-Leninism and making use of some of its materials, the processes of historical and technological change pointed remorselessly towards increasing individualism and personal choice, the primary agents of secularisation. While regional conflicts continued in Palestine and Kashmir and there was a struggle for political power in Algeria, all of which were articulated in Islamist terms, any realistic assessment of the long-term prospects for the Muslim world included the view that modernisation was bound to happen. It was a global process that no longer needed to be predicated on Western post-imperial hegemony. The problem of disentangling what was universally ‘modern’ from what is culturally specific to any one tradition, whether Christian, Islamic, Hindu, Buddhist or Confucian, was far from simple. Ruthven believed that, despite historical differences in the relations between the state and civil society, the Muslim world would develop along the lines previously travelled by the post-Christian West. For all the protestations to the contrary, the faith would be internalized, becoming private and voluntary. In an era when individuals were ever less bound by ties of kinship and increasingly exposed to urban anomie, Muslim souls were likely to find the Sufi path of inner exploration and voluntary association more rewarding than revolutionary politics. Sadly, Ruthven observed, more blood could be expected to be spilt along the way. He did not have to wait long for his observation to be proved correct.

Flashpoints in The Rise of Islamism in Western Europe:

One of the key turning points in the reaction to the rise of Islamism in the West revolved around Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a young Somali refugee to the Netherlands, who had fled to Holland in the 1990s to escape a forced marriage. She was in every way a ‘model migrant’. Having claimed and being given asylum, she learned Dutch while working in basic factory jobs, and was soon able to apply to university. She studied at the University of Leiden whilst working with other immigrants as a translator. Just over a decade after arriving in the Netherlands she began working as a researcher and entered the country’s Parliament as an MP for the Liberal Party. Hers was a meteoric immigrant success story, which was due to her intelligence, charisma and exceptional personal bravery. But the swiftness of her rise to prominence also occurred because Dutch society desperately needed immigrant success stories. But she refused to say the things that many expected of her, and later wrote that the 9/11 attacks caused her to…

… investigate whether the roots of evil can be traced to the faith I grew up with: was the aggression, the hatred inherent in Islam itself? 

Six months later she read a book on atheism she had been given several years earlier and dared to admit that she was no longer a believer. But the Dutch media tried to make her say things they would not say, that Islam was backward compared with Dutch society. It was, after all, harder to accuse a black woman of racism than it was a white man. Her ‘supporters’ found a way around this dilemma by claiming that she was confused and ‘traumatized’ by her experiences as a victim of female genital mutilation, someone who as a teenager believed in the fatwa against Salman Rushdie and had fled forced marriage and understood at first hand the challenges of integration. She found herself assailed not just by a large proportion of the Dutch political class, but with vitriol by the country’s Muslim community. Then in 2004, the filmmaker Theo Van Gogh made a short film called Submission about the mistreatment of women within Islam, the script for which was written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. The film was screened on Dutch television at the end of August and the threat to the film’s makers grew. Van Gogh refused to accept the security that was offered, and in 2004 he was assassinated by Mohammed Bouyeri. The knife stuck into van Gogh’s chest contained a threat to the life of Ayaan Hirst Ali. She was immediately spirited out of the country by the Dutch security service.

Photo from the January 11th National Unity march in Paris

Above: Paris, 2015. The reaction to the attack on the Charlie Hebdo offices.

In 2005, the publication of a small circulation newspaper in Denmark, Jyllands-Posten demonstrated another flashpoint in the new era which had begun with the Rushdie affair sixteen years earlier. If a Dane in the 1990s had said that the story which would bring the most attention to their country in the next decade would most likely be a ‘cartoon crisis’, the Danish people would have thought the person unhinged. The editor of the newspaper could not find a cartoonist willing to illustrate a series of books on the world’s religions to include images that some Muslims might find offensive. Startled that such a taboo should exist in a free society, the newspaper tested whether it was breakable. They showed that it was, but at a great cost. As well as leading to riots and embassy-burnings across ‘the Muslim world’, there were also protests by Muslims throughout Europe. In London, protesters outside the Danish Embassy held signs saying ‘Freedom go to hell’ and ‘Behead those who insult Islam’. After several thwarted attempts on the life of Kurt Westergaard, one of the cartoonists, an axe-wielding assassin trained by al-Shabaab in Africa broke into his house on New Year’s Day 2010 in an effort to decapitate him. He was saved by the safe-room he had installed. In the wake of the Danish affair, ‘cartoon crises’ started breaking out across Europe.

Many people wondered how God and the prophet Muhammad would react to the attrocities fulfilled in their name on the world.

In 2006, in Norway, the editor of the Christian paper Magazinet chose to reproduce the Danish cartoons to show his readers what all the fuss was about. The Norweigan Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg, not only criticised the paper’s editor for doing so but also threatened him with being prosecuted. When a mob burnt down the Norwegian Embassy in Damascus, Stoltenberg claimed that the paper was jointly responsible for the outrage and its editor was forced into hiding. The next year it was Sweden’s turn when the artist Lars Vilks drew a picture of Mohammed and was chased into hiding. In the years that followed, there were numerous assassination attempts on him. In 2011, the Paris offices of the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, one of the few publications to reprint the Danish cartoons, were firebombed. In 2013, the Danish journalist and historian Lars Hedegaard, a prominent critic of Islam, was shot at his door. He survived because the assassin’s gun jammed on the second bullet. Then, on 7 January 2015, two al-Qaeda assassins again attacked the offices of Charlie Hebdo, killing the bodyguards assigned by the state and massacred most of the editorial team. A month later, a meeting in support of the Swedish cartoonist Lars Vilks in Copenhagen was attacked by a young Danish-born gunman. Both the attacks in Paris and Copenhagen ended with subsequent attacks on Jewish ‘targets’, a kosher supermarket in the former and a synagogue in the latter.

Paris-Brussels terrorist attacks 2015-2016

In the aftermath of large-scale terrorist attacks – in Madrid in 2004, London in 2005, Paris in 2015 and Belgium in 2016 – governments had to do something. Most proved able to address the specific counter-terrorism aspects of the problem, but in June 2007 two car bombs were left in the centre of London by a doctor in the NHS and another Muslim who was a PhD student. Both bombs were discovered before they could detonate. The new Labour Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith, said that it would be wrong to describe such attacks as ‘Islamic terrorism’ because these terrorists were, in fact, behaving contrary to their faith. Six years later, following the hacking to death of Lee Rigby, a drummer in the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers by two British Muslims in broad daylight outside Woolwich barracks, Prime Minister David Cameron emerged from Ten Downing Street and announced:

This was not just an attack on Britain, and on our British way of life. It was also a betrayal of Islam and of the Muslim communities who gave so much to our country. There is nothing in Islam that justifies this truly dreadful act.

The next year, responding to the beheading of a British aid worker in Syria by ‘John’, a British-born jihadi, Cameron said:

They claim to do this in the name of Islam. That is nonsense. Islam is a religion of peace. They are not Muslims; they are monsters.

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Above: The Gulf War – US marines at Khabji, Saudi Arabia, reinforce the front line.       The Marines suffered casualties here.

Throughout the decades which had gone before these events, European politicians had failed to address or consider the growth of ‘Islamist’ ideology among new immigrant communities and radicalization of the third generation of British-born Muslims. Politicians and the media, in general, minimised the differences between Islam and other faiths and backed the ‘moderate leaders’ of a ‘reformed Islam’ which would prevail in Europe. In doing so, they displayed their utter ignorance of Islamic history from the tenth to the twentieth century, which had witnessed many reform movements, all of which had been defeated by the force, arguments and appeals to scriptural authority by traditionalists, revitalised by events such as the Iranian Revolution and the wars in the Gulf states and Afghanistan. In a speech to the Conservative Party Conference in 2014, the then British Home Secretary, Theresa May, did what almost every European politician was doing, which was to stress the peacefulness of Islam and to quote some of her favourite verses from the Qur’an. Having witnessed the forcefulness with which many Muslims were willing to ‘defend’ their faith, it appeared to have become the attitude of the political mainstream simply allow the ‘religion’ its place in the multi-faith pantheon, rather than to initiate a deeper dialogue about the spread of ‘Islamism’ and its negative impact on the ‘true faith’. Critics of the religion, both external and internal, were further marginalised from the mainstream. Ayaan Hirsi Ali was eventually let out of protective custody, but soon after she had her Dutch citizenship withdrawn and she moved to the United States, becoming, as Salman Rushdie subsequently put it, maybe the first refugee from Western Europe since the Holocaust. 

Victims at Maalbeek Metrostation in the EU heart of Brussels 2016 03 22

Above: Belgium under attack, March 2016.

The Demise of the Inter-Cultural Dialogue in the West:

A poll taken in Britain in 2006, the year after the Danish cartoons were published, showed that seventy-eight per cent of British Muslims believed the publishers of the cartoons should be prosecuted. A slightly smaller number, sixty-eight per cent, felt that anyone who insulted Islam should be prosecuted. The same poll found that almost one in five of them had some respect for Osama bin Laden. Nine years later, following the attack on the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, a survey showed twenty-seven per cent of British Muslims said they had ‘some sympathy’ for the motives of the attackers. Nearly a quarter said they believed violence against people who published images of Mohammed could be justified. The BBC, for whom the poll was carried out, ran it with a good news headline, Most British Muslims “oppose Muhammad cartoons reprisals”, whereas, in reality, it provided more alarming evidence of the penetration of ‘Islamist’ extremist ideas into the Muslim population. The combination of very high-visibility events and an awareness that what lies beneath the terrorism constitutes an even bigger problem means that in recent years the views of European politicians have increasingly diverged from those of their peoples. In the case of British public opinion, I have written more extensively about this divergence elsewhere on this site.

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French police enforce laws requiring a Muslim woman to remove clothing on a beach.

A poll carried out in the Netherlands in 2013 revealed that seventy-seven per cent of respondents said that Islam did not enrich their country; that seventy-three per cent said that there was ‘a relationship’ between Islam and terror attacks and that sixty-eight per cent thought there was ‘enough’ Islam in the Netherlands. The respondents were not confined to voters of any one political party but were from voters across the complete spectrum of Dutch political parties. Similar views have emerged across the continent over the past decade. In the same year, two years before the Paris terror attacks of 2015, seventy-three per cent of French people (around ten per cent of whom are Muslim) when polled said that they viewed Islam negatively, and seventy-four per cent said they regarded Islam as intolerant. In the same polls conducted elsewhere, fifty-five per cent of Dutch voters said they didn’t want any more Muslims in their country, fifty-six per cent of Germans associated Islam with a striving for political influence and sixty-seven per cent of French people said that they believed Islamic values to be ‘incompatible’ with the values of French society. These findings were not necessarily connected to the strong secular ethos of the French Republic since by 2015 two separate polls in Britain showed that only between twenty-two and thirty per cent of the general public felt that the values of Islam were ‘generally’ compatible with those of British society. These views were not confined to areas with high immigrant populations. When Scottish schoolchildren in Dundee were asked to list words they associated with Muslims, they volunteered ‘terrorists’, ‘scary’ and ‘9/11’. In response, an education programme was established in Scottish schools to persuade children that the 9/11 hijackers had ‘nothing to do with Islam’.

Maalbeek station G4S officer taking care of wounded tube passenger 2016 03 22

Above: A Muslim victim of the attacks in Belgium in March 2016 receives treatment from a Muslim ambulance man.

These approaches failed where they might have succeeded before partly because the internet had diversified the sources of information, but mainly and simply because of the passage of events, and also because of the growing divide between public perceptions and the blatant ‘politically correctness’ of such ‘re-education’ programmes. A poll carried out in Germany in 2012 also showed that sixty-four per cent of respondents made similar associations between Islam and violence while seventy per cent associated it with fanaticism and radicalism. Only seven per cent of Germans associated it with openness, tolerance and respect for human rights. Moreover, polling of the European populations never has shown a steady upward trajectory over the past decade, never showing concerns on these issues diminishing. So in 2010, as many as forty-seven per cent of Germans agreed with the statement, Islam does not belong in Germany, and by May 2016, following the mass migrations of 2015, the proportion who agreed had risen to sixty per cent. A recent survey showed that affiliation to Christianity is falling away in Britain faster than in almost any other country. By 2050, the projection suggests that affiliation will have fallen by a third in the United Kingdom from almost two-thirds in 2010 and will thus become a minority affiliation for the first time. By the same date, the same projection suggests that Britain will have the third largest Muslim population in Europe, higher than France, Germany or Belgium. The left-wing demography expert Eric Kaufmann wrote in 2010 that even in Switzerland by the end of the century forty per cent of the country’s fourteen-year-olds would be Muslim. Studies also show ethnic Swedes becoming a minority in Sweden within the lifespan of most people currently alive.

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The reasons for these demographic changes in relation to religious observance are complex, and there is no inevitability about the continuance of growth in active Muslim worshippers in Western secular societies compared with Christians. Those with a confessional rather than a simply nominal or ‘cultural’ allegiance to Christianity are, after all, charged with the responsibility of proselytising for their faith in the twenty-first century just as much as they were in the first century. Yet the critical analysis of the fundamentals of Christianity which began in Reformation Europe has not yet occurred to the same degree around the roots of Modern Islam. The growth of ‘Islamism’ has held back and diverted that tide of revision and reform. Those who continue that work in the West by engaging in serious Quranic scholarship often publish it under pseudonyms to avoid the charge of ‘blasphemy’. Just as anyone deemed to have blasphemed the religion of Islam in the Muslim majority world would find their life in danger, so too across Europe those who engage in academic criticism of the sources around the founder of Islam will also find themselves under sufficient threat from Islamist extremists that they may have to go into hiding or live under police protection. Since 1989 the texts, ideas and even images of Islam have become so heavily policed that Islam as a religion has been protected in a manner which is not afforded to other world religions.

Conclusion –  A Return to the Inner Struggle?:

It is therefore understandable that young Muslims becoming politically and religiously aware really do hold sacred and impervious to satire, criticism or even questioning, not just the original claims and teachings of the Qur’an, but the various Islamist interpretations of Jihad. If the laws regarding apostasy were to change, and adherence was to become a matter of the expression of free will and personal confession of faith, it is probable that Islam would be brought to the same state as the other world religions: deliteralised, demythologized and defanged. Indeed, one could argue that this was where the faith was heading before the Salman Rushdie affair and the terrorist outrages of the last two decades, into a future in which the ‘greater’ jihad representing the inner, spiritual struggle finally triumph over the ‘lesser’ jihad of struggles between powers and dominions. This might solve that ‘global’ conflict peacefully, and it would certainly alleviate the issues of integration of Muslim peoples and cultures into Western secular society, even if it were to create other moral conflicts, just as has been the case in post-Christian cultures.

Sources:

Douglas Murray (2018), The Strange Death of Europe: Immigration, Identity, Islam. London: Bloomsbury.

Malisse Ruthven (2000), Islam: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: OUP.

John Ferguson (1977), War and Peace in the World’s Religions. London: Sheldon Press.

W. Owen Cole (ed:) (1982), World Religions: A Handbook for Teachers. London: The Commission for Racial Equality.

Luc Heymans (1989), Trans Europe Peace: Linking bulletin for Peace Education movements among the EEC State members. Namur: Universite De Paix.

 

Posted April 5, 2019 by TeamBritanniaHu in Affluence, Africa, Anglican Reformation, anti-Communist, anti-Semitism, Arab-Israeli Conflict, Arabs, Asia, asylum seekers, BBC, Belgium, Bible, Britain, British history, Cartoons, Christian Faith, Christianity, Church, Civil Rights, Civilization, Cold War, Communism, Conservative Party, Dark Ages, decolonisation, democracy, Demography, Economics, Education, Empire, Ethnicity, Europe, France, guerilla warfare, Gulf War, History, Holocaust, Humanitarianism, Immigration, Imperialism, Integration, Iraq, Jerusalem, Jews, Journalism, liberal democracy, liberalism, Marxism, Medieval, Mediterranean, Middle East, Migration, Militancy, Millenarianism, Monarchy, monotheism, morality, multiculturalism, Mysticism, Mythology, nationalism, Nationality, New Testament, Old Testament, Ottoman Empire, Oxford, Population, Reconciliation, Reformation, Refugees, Revolution, Russia, Second World War, Security, Statehood, Syria, terror, terrorism, The Law, theology, United Kingdom, USA, USSR, Warfare

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Documenting Dialogues: The Roots & Growth of Modern Islam – Part One.   1 comment

Inter-Religious Literacy & Inter-Cultural Education:

In September 1982, I began training to become a teacher of Religious Education at Trinity College Carmarthen, then part of the University of Wales, now part of St. David’s University. I gained my PGCE (teaching qualification) the following summer and began teaching History and RE in a Church of England High School in Lancashire in September 1983. Before 1982, all I knew about Islam had been picked up from my Muslim friends at the inner-city school I attended in Birmingham, where the compulsory RE curriculum had been focused entirely on Christianity, taught by the choirmaster of St. Martin’s in the Bull Ring, and the GCE ‘O’ Level and ‘A’ Level syllabuses involved simple textual studies of the Old and New Testaments. My History courses at school and university only ever referred to Muslims as medieval Saracens and early modern invaders of Europe, with the Ottoman Empire ‘knocking at the gates of Vienna’. It was only later when teaching the Schools’ Council’s Medicine Through Time History syllabus in Lancashire that I discovered the extent to which Islamic scholars had kept classical scientific and medical knowledge alive throughout the ‘Dark Ages’ and the period of ‘the Inquisition’. For my pupils in a semi-rural part of Lancashire which had seen little immigration, ‘Muslims’ were people who lived in the old mill towns which, though only fifteen miles away, might just as well have been on a parallel planet. They were seen as objects of fun by the children, though there were one or two ‘National Front’ supporters among the staff. However, because we were a progressive Church school, all forms of racism were challenged, and we deliberately developed a multi-faith syllabus from 11-14, which involved a detailed understanding of both Judaism and Islam, including visits to places of worship. I remember one Pakistani boy joining my class, but when I left in 1986, there were no more than a handful of similar pupils in the school. In Coventry, where I went next, there were many more Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus in our classrooms, and the syllabus reflected this.

BELOW: Fig. 1 – Islamic Culture;

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Above: Inter-Connecting Aspects of Islamic Culture (SHAP Working Party Handbook)

The diagram above is taken from a book, first published in 1977 by the Commission for Racial Equality, lent to me by a friend from teacher-training college (I was never very good at returning books!) It was put together by the SHAP Working Party on World Religions in Education, and edited by the RE ‘guru’, W. Owen Cole. Entitled World Religions: A Handbook for Teachers, it was already in its fourth edition by 1982 and was full of resource lists and activities for teachers with varying knowledge of world religions and limited know-how when it came to teaching about them in primary and secondary schools. Since the Birmingham Agreed Syllabus and Handbook were published in 1975, there had been some polarisation among RE teachers, some of it caused by unsatisfactory reporting in the UK press. Although the need for internationalization of syllabuses was emphasised by the immigration to countries like Britain from Africa and Asia, where Christians were in a minority, in other countries like Sweden where changes were made, there were then very few Hindu, Buddhist or Muslim pupils at that time. The motivation for change came rather from the pupils themselves, whose home backgrounds were increasingly ‘secularised’ or ‘unchurched’. They and their parents asked for more equality in the treatment of religions in school. They accepted the need for studies of existing religions but denied that there should be a bias towards Christianity. Television, increasingly delivered, in the 1980s, by satellite from around the world, informed pupils that Europe with its inherited Christian religion was only a small part of the world, so that they, together with parents and teachers, saw the need to move from an ethnocentric to a more international, intercontinental and inter-faith curriculum in all school subjects.

BELOW: MAP 1;

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Above: Muslims in the World in the Year 2000

However, in tackling problems of immigration and integration, it also seemed a good thing that the teaching of religion in school should already be fundamentally inter-religious. The model adopted for the teaching of religion in school was one which both immigrants of various faiths and indigenous people of mainly Christian beliefs or of none, were able to accept: teaching about and of religions. Adherents of non-Christian beliefs were not always able to accept this model, however. Many Muslims maintained that the whole content of religious teaching had to be based on the Qur’an. In Britain, they continued to teach Muslim children separately, in mosques and Islamic centres, after school hours, though they did not withdraw them from statutory RE in schools. There were also ‘conservative’ Christian groups which opposed this development. In Sweden, for example, they looked back to a time when Luther’s catechism dominated the teaching of religion.

While teaching in Coventry, in 1987 I was invited by the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) in the West Midlands of England to organise a ‘Peace Education Project’ based in the Selly Oak Colleges in Birmingham. That brought me into contact with many Jewish, Muslim, Christian and Humanist forums involved in inter-faith dialogue and Religious Education/ Global Education initiatives in schools and colleges throughout the region. As teams of teachers, we developed inter-cultural programmes in parallel in both Northern Ireland and West Midland secondary schools bridging (in the former) the sectarian divide and (in the latter) the ‘inner-city immigrant’/ suburban ‘white flight’ divide. The teachers involved in the programme in the West Midlands were concerned that their students should be given opportunities to explore the multicultural nature of society in the West Midlands constructively and creatively. There were large numbers of people of Asian and Afro-Caribbean heritage throughout the region, but the concentration of these ethnic minorities in particular areas meant that the schools involved were based in suburban communities containing a predominantly ‘white’, upwardly mobile working-class population, much of which had migrated from the multi-cultural ‘inner-city’ areas. It was thus considered important to enable the students to come to terms with their own fears and prejudices in this context. The module we developed had four main objectives:

(1) to raise awareness of conflict at the inter-personal and community levels;

(2) to raise awareness of the factors which generate/ escalate conflict in society e.g. prejudice, labelling, injustice, structural violence;

(3) to develop skills and attitudes in the handling of conflict situations e.g. assertiveness, affirmation, tolerance, mutual respect, co-operation;

(4) to enable pupils to develop for themselves their own creative responses to conflict.

The module used a pack of photographs, The World in Birmingham, which elicited responses to various images of contemporary Birmingham. When the photographs were collected in at the end of one session, some with images of Muslims had been marked with red-tip pen in ‘bullet points’. The materials encouraged the students to look at labelling, stereotyping and prejudice in a variety of ways which involved them in being given a real sense of discrimination through role-playing. This was then linked to an examination of the way in which groups of people and whole communities were often labelled and stereotyped. In particular, the students were given opportunities to explore and criticise popularly held images of Handsworth in Birmingham, the scene of serious rioting in 1985 involving the Afro-Caribbean community. Later, and for the publication of the resulting module pack, Conflict and Reconciliation by the Christian Education Movement in 1991, the ‘community’ study was replaced by materials showing Muslim life in Derby. At a primary level, we also worked in schools with large Muslim and Sikh majorities on ‘peacemaking skills’.

For the following five years I continued to be engaged with these projects, both in the UK and in Hungary, where, due to its forty years as a ‘People’s Republic’, there was no RE curriculum, though there was a growing interest in Peace and Global Education, including international exchange projects funded through the EU’s TEMPUS programme. Teachers are, then, necessarily engaged in the task of working out in detail and practice the values appropriate for a multi-cultural society which seeks to reconcile the maintenance of social harmony with the continuance of cultural diversity. In the 1980s and ’90s, it was obvious that this would not be achieved in the short-term or by good intentions alone. Thought, experience and judgment were required. In helping children to formulate and clarify their own values, teachers need continually to re-examine their own. A great deal depended on the primary school teacher, whose many responsibilities include guiding the child’s first steps into the world of organised social existence.

The Satanic Verses Affair, 1989:

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As Douglas Murray has pointed out recently (2017) almost nobody would have predicted in the 1980s that the first decades of the twenty-first century in Europe would be riven by discussions about religion. The increasingly secular continent had expected to be able to leave faith behind it or had at least recognised that after many centuries the place of religion in the modern state had been pretty much settled. If anybody in the latter part of the twentieth century had said that the early years of the next century in Europe would be rife with discussions about blasphemy and that death for blasphemers would once again have to be accepted in Europe, any audience would have scorned the prediction and doubted the sanity of the claimant. It was not that the ‘early warning sirens’ that went off were not heard, the problem was that they were so consistently ignored by so many outside the faith organisations. Britain had one of the earliest warnings, on Valentine’s Day 1989, when the Supreme Leader of the Revolutionary Islamic Republic of Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini, issued a document calling on ‘all zealous Muslims of the World’ to know that:

…the author of the book entitled ‘The Satanic Verses’ – which had been compiled, printed and published in opposition to Islam, the Prophet and the Qur’an – and all those involved in its publication who were aware of its contents, are sentenced to death. … I call on all zealous Muslims to execute them quickly, wherever they may be found, so that no one else will dare to insult the Muslim sanctities.

The head of a Tehran ‘charitable foundation’ followed this up with a $ 3 million reward for the British novelist’s murder (the bounty to be reduced to $ 2 million if the murderer were a non-Muslim). Britain and the rest of Europe learned the word fatwa for the first time. Within less than twenty-four hours Rushdie was in hiding, with protection provided by the British State. Soon thousands of British Muslims were demonstrating on the streets for the imposition of Islamic blasphemy laws in Britain. In Bradford, in the north of England, the novel was nailed to a piece of wood and burnt in front of thousands. Across the cultural and political worlds, people debated the reawakening question of blasphemy. On both sides of the political spectrum, there were those who believed that the novelist had transgressed the rules of courtesy. Lord Dacre (the historian Hugh Trevor-Roper) told a newspaper that he “would not shed a tear if some British Muslims, deploring his manners, should… seek to improve them.” The Foreign Secretary, Sir Geoffrey Howe, also went on television to condemn the author, and even the Prince of Wales was said to have said in private that Rushdie had deserved this condemnation. Those of us involved with him in delicate inter-faith relations in Birmingham were certainly irate at what the novelist had written. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, said that he “understood the Muslims’ feelings.” The Chief Rabbi, Immanuel Jakobovits, said that “both Mr Rushdie and the Ayatollah have abused the freedom of speech.” There were similar pronouncements from the leadership of the Catholic Church and the other denominations. The author John le Carré declared that “there is no law in life or nature that says great religions may be insulted with impunity”.

Undoubtedly, some of the reaction on both sides of the argument was ‘over the top’, but it did demonstrate that there were many in Britain who were prepared to uphold the right to religious faith more highly than the dubious rights of those who were determined to attack and ridicule it. Thanks to the protection measures put around Rushdie, he survived the fatwa, but there were many in the publishing industry and more widely in British society who ‘internalized’ it. Things that were published before 1989 would not be published again, and it became generally accepted that the founder of Islam was not a subject to be written or spoken of lightly or offensively. But the Rushdie affair also had the negative effect of making British society internalise the threat of violence from the radical Islam of the Iranian state. More positively, it ensured that British Muslims were better represented through the creation of the UK Action Committee on Islamic Affairs (UKACIA) and later to the creation of the Muslim Council of Britain (MCB), now the largest umbrella group representing British Muslims. The group was financially supported by Saudi Arabia, then vying with Iran to be the dominant Muslim power, In the short-term, the creation of such groups benefited community relations as more liberal elements within the Islamic community, including some of those who had engaged with us in Christian-Muslim relations in Birmingham, came to the fore. We succeeded in establishing the first initial training course for Muslim teachers in 1991.

The creation of these representative groups also appeared useful for the government. Michael Howard, the Conservative Home Secretary, encouraged the creation of the MCB and made it the interlocutory group for the government. The success of the model led to it being exported to other Western countries, including France, where – despite its secular traditions – Nicolas Sarkozy encouraged the formation of representative bodies for French Muslims, most notably the Conseil Francais du Culte Musulman (CFCM). But in the longer-term, the model favoured those in ‘the Muslim Community’ who were already politically active and engaged, while disadvantaging those too busy with their businesses to bother with community politics. This meant that the Pakistani Islamist group, Jamaat-e-Islami became the dominant group within these councils and that their brand of sectarian politics, often unpopular in their country of origin, became the mainstream voice for Muslims in Europe to the exclusion of more moderate ones. The Satanic Verses affair was, according to Rushdie himself, and in the opinion of many others, the prelude to the ‘main event’ which was to come twelve years later, on 11 September 2001, with the advent and impact of ‘Islamic’ terrorism.

The Five Pillars & Ten Forms of Religious Action:

For centuries Christian and Muslim writers composed imaginary dialogues between members of different faiths to explore, present and refute points of theology. St John of Damascus (d. 748) composed a dialogue on the divinity of Christ, which Muslims reject along with the doctrine of the Trinity, and the problem of free will, intending that this should be used as a manual for the guidance of Christians engaged in debate with learned Muslims. The differences over these questions are perhaps more apparent to Muslims than to Christians. Islam tends to be thought of by Muslims as a correction of Judaism and Christianity. For this reason, the differences tend to lie more in what Islam rejects as false rather than what it asserts as true. For example, Muslims accept the doctrines of a Day of Judgment, the forgiveness of sins and the resurrection of the body. But although Islam shares the same dramatic emphasis on the Day of Judgment with Judaism and Christianity, it also stresses that mankind lives in the here and now, and that the mutual obligations between fellow humans should discourage ascetic withdrawal. The concepts of obligation and ‘right action’ can be traced out in terms of family, community and state. The essential point is that a spiritual dimension is an integral part of ‘the good life’. Besides their common historical roots, therefore, all three faiths of the ‘One God’ share fundamental doctrinal beliefs.

The problem of implicit value judgements has already been mentioned, but it is compounded by the tendency of Christian scholars to apply Christian concepts to the analysis of phenomena within Islam. Thus one eminent authority observes that Islam has a defective conception of sin. While this may well be so from the point of view of Christian dogma, ‘sin’ does not occupy the same place in the thought of Islam as it does in the Judeo-Christian tradition. We may wish to understand why this may be so, but we will not attain that understanding by labelling a particular belief or practice as ‘defective’ or ‘distorted’. Understanding can better be reached by accepting the methodological criteria for ‘Comparative Religion’ advocated by Michael Pye:

(1) a temporary suspension of presuppositions and conclusions about the truth, falsity, value or otherwise of a given set of concepts and actions, and…

(2) the attempt to elucidate as fully as possible what the concepts, actions, social associations and states of mind mean for the persons involved in them.

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We could usefully adopt Pye’s categorising framework of ‘Religious Action; Groups; States of Mind; Concepts’ as an approach in our own dialogues with Islam. The category of ‘Religious Action’ can be sub-divided as follows:

1. Special Places, Times and Objects;

Places – e.g. Ka’aba stone, Mosques, Tombs;

Times – e.g. Friday prayers, Ramadan, Dhul-Hajj;

Objects – e.g. Qur’an;

2. The Use of the Body (e.g. prayer rituals, asceticism and fasting);

3. Separation and Ritual Cleansing (e.g. ablutions, diet, pollution & purification);

4. Sacrifice, Offering & Worship (atonement, thanksgiving, celebration);

5. Rehearsal of Significant Past or Myth (especially important for Shia);

6. Meditation & Prayer;

Thanksgiving – for the revelation given to the prophet;

Adoration – of God & his works;

Pledges – to uphold ethical standards;

7. Seeking Specific Benefits (rain, victory, wealth, health or exorcism);

8. Occasional Rites ( e.g. rites of passage, work, hunting, building, harvesting);

9. Ethics & Society (Islam lays great emphasis on the link between religion & correct social relations and thus clearly defines roles and approved patterns of behaviour);

10. Propagation (the organised missionary method of the Christian churches c.f. more informal process of proselytising in Islam).

In the 1980s, British teachers of RE were becoming increasingly familiar with such phrases as ‘pluralism’, ‘multi-cultural society’ and ‘mutual respect’. The were occurring, with ever-growing frequency, in speeches made by politicians and pundits, newspaper editorials and the reports of numberless committees and working parties. By the turn of the century, they had fossilised into meaningless clichés because they failed to acquire a more precise and comprehensive usage with clear implications for action and practice. ‘Respect’ came to mean merely avoiding open disrespect for the beliefs and customs of others, whereas Mutual Understanding, the phrase used in Northern Ireland’s schools, meant making a positive effort to achieve a genuine empathy for different cultural values and actively seeking accommodation between those values and our own. This was a more inter-cultural approach, more about integration rather than assimilation, and one which also suited our needs in the West Midlands. But while the two Christian traditions in Northern Ireland traced their conflict back to the sixteenth century, it was not so clear how such ‘accommodation’ could be truly mutual in a European society whose overall framework bore with it the marks of fifteen hundred years of dominant Christian values, assumptions, taboos, customs and prejudices. The following ‘approach’ to teaching and learning ‘about Islam’ suggests potential paths towards ‘mutual understanding’ and inter-faith dialogue:

BELOW: FIG. 2;

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This heritage, whatever we might have thought about the contemporary state of institutionalised Christianity, was still a living heritage and an active component of our daily lives and thoughts and actions. Not so with Islam, at least not in Britain. This Christian heritage may have been all but invisible to most people in Britain at the turn of the century, but those brought up in a different tradition would have had less difficulty in perceiving it. As a people, the late twentieth century British did not seem to care too much for abstractions. Some teachers were therefore either suspicious or uncomfortable with the idea that they should be teaching ‘values’. But values were very commonplace in the school playground; ‘fairness’, ‘trust’ and ‘sharing’ were simple, integrating concepts with a wealth of childhood experience defining them. Islam as a faith is synonymous with ‘sharing’ and can be related both to the overtly religious experiences which bind the believer to God and to the ethical prescriptions which bind that believer to his/ her fellows. The Five Pillars of the Faith – summarised below – can be presented in the light of this concept of ‘sharing’:

(1) Shahada: The Profession of Faith, according to the formula There is no god but God. Muhammad is the Messenger of God. To this, the Shi’i minority add: Ali is the Friend of God. It must be made in the presence of other believing Muslims. It is whispered in the ear of a new-born baby. These acts represent the sharing of knowledge of God’s truth revealed to Mankind;

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(2) Salat: Prayer – may be individual, but is more often communal and on Fridays at noon is congregational, when all adult male members of the community are gathered. Males and females are usually separated, with women worshipping behind the men or in a screened-off section of the mosque. It takes the form of a ritual prostration in which the precise bodily movements are as important as the accompanying mental activity. Sunni Muslims are required to perform salat five times daily – at dawn, noon, mid-afternoon, sunset and evening. Worshippers must be in a state of ritual purity achieved by performing major or minor ablutions, depending on the degree of pollution brought about by bodily secretions, sexual activity, contact with animals and so on. Salat may be performed virtually anywhere, provided the worshipper faces the qibla, the direction of the Ka’aba in Makka. Muslims share the experience of worship on Fridays when a sermon is usually delivered by the Imam or prayer-leader;

(3) Sawm: Fasting during Ramadam. The fast, which takes place during daylight hours in the holy month of Ramadam, the ninth month of the lunar calendar, applies to eating, drinking, smoking, and sexual activity. The fast begins at dawn and ends at sunset. In Muslim countries such as Egypt, the breaking of the fast at sundown is an occasion for joyful celebration, with tables laid out in the streets and feasting that carries on well into the night. A pre-fast meal is usually served before dawn. Ramadam is traditionally an occasion for both family get-togethers and religious reflection. It is considered especially meritorious to recite the whole of the Qur’an during the sacred month. According to tradition, the Qur’an ‘came down’ on 27 Ramadan, the ‘Night of Power’. During fasting, the individual feels the pangs of hunger but does so as a member of an entire community which is fasting. The experience enables him to share the sufferings of the poor and hungry. The ending of the fast is marked by a great communal festival (Eid al-Fitr);

(4) Zakat: Alms-giving/ Compulsory Charity. This tax, payable once a year by all adult Muslims, is assessed at 2.5 per cent of capital assets over and above a minimum known as the nisab. For example, the nisab for livestock consists of five camels, thirty cows, or forty sheep or goats. It is also payable on bank deposits, precious metals, merchandise used in trade (but not personal possessions) and crops from tilled land. The recipients should be the poor and needy. In the past, zakat was collected by the Muslim governments and distributed according to prescribed patterns, but in modern times it has usually been a matter for the believer’s conscience. Thus, the giving of alms exemplifies very clearly the Islamic obligation to share one’s property with others. Numerous quotations can be shared from the Qur’an relating to the duty to care for widows, orphans, etc. The institution of waqf should also be mentioned here, an endowment made by a Muslim to a religious, educational, or charitable cause;

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(5) Hajj: The pilgrimage to Makka is a great spiritual experience in which the individual and collective aspects cannot be separated. It is an intense and demanding religious obligation, required of every adult Muslim at least once in his or her lifetime. The annual pilgrimage takes place during the last ten days of the twelfth lunar month (Dhu’l al-Hijja) reaching its climax with the Feast of Sacrifice (Eid al-Adha), a festival honoured throughout the Muslim world with the slaughter of a specially fattened sheep, cow or camel in commemoration of the Sacrifice of Abraham. The ‘minor pilgrimage’, or ‘Umra, may be performed at any time of the year. In the past, Muslims from far-flung regions would spend the best part of a lifetime on the journey, working their way across Africa or Asia to reach the Holy City. On their return they enjoyed the honoured status of Hajji – one who has made the pilgrimage. By meeting together at Mecca Muslims can share their sense of belonging to a worldwide community, the umma, which embraces all believers. Sharing the hazards and expenses of a long journey also reinforces this experience. The diagram below (fig. 3) shows how the Islamic metaphor of an ‘inner journey’, or Haqiqah, can be explored in relation to the physical pilgrimage, or Hajj.

FIG. 3; ALTERNATIVE METAPHORS (II) – THE ‘INNER JOURNEY’

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The concept of sharing can be explored further by examining how, in the Middle Ages, Muslims shared useful knowledge with the peoples they came into contact with, e.g. new crops, irrigation systems, medical and architectural techniques, Arabic numerals, etc. It is also important to emphasise that Muslims do not simply share experiences, beliefs and goods with each other, but they also share the following beliefs and values with both Christians and Jews:

(a) a belief in the One God as Creator and Guide;

(b) a concern for weaker members of the community;

(c) a duty to deal justly and kindly with fellow human beings;

(d) delight in the beauty of the natural world.

Images of Islam & Muslim Identities:

In 2000, I received a copy of a small book by Malise Ruthven with my copy of The Times Higher Education Supplement called Islam: A Very Short Introduction. At the time, I regarded it as a useful addition to my collection of small reference books, but I have since lent it to several friends who have engaged me in discussions of the role of Islam in the modern world, especially since the attacks on Washington and New York of 11th September 2001. Even before what has become known as 9/11, when I was teaching international students including Muslims at a Quaker school in Britain, Islam was seen by many as a hostile force, a possible replacement for communism as the main ideological challenge to post-Enlightenment liberalism. When we opened any newspaper or turned on the radio or television (in a time before social media added another dimension to political and educational discourse), there were stories about Islam. Many of these were accompanied by images of violence, whether from Kashmir, Bosnia, Algeria or Palestine. These images of Islam were usually of a hard, uncompromising faith whose adherents would resort to violence in defence of their principles or in order to impose their will on others. Yet for those of us more familiar with Muslims and their traditions over the previous quarter century or more, the image of ‘militant Islam’ was at odds with the faith that most of its adherents would regard as no less pacific than Buddhism or Christianity. The word ‘Islam’ in Arabic means ‘self-surrender’ and is closely related, etymologically, to Salaam, the word for ‘peace’. The universal greeting with which Muslims address each other, and foreigners, is as-Salaam ‘Alaikum – ‘Peace be upon you’.

In the eyes of many Muslims, this was a distorted image in the Western media. In an age of sound-bites and newspaper headlines driven by tabloid sales, the lives and values of peace-loving majorities were inevitably obscured by the attention-seeking acts of noisy minorities. The news media acted as a distorting mirror at a fairground, exaggerating the militancy of the few while minimising the quietism or indifference of the many. Samuel Huntingdon, a Harvard professor, stated that Islam has bloody borders and predicted that there would be a clash of civilisations between Islam, ‘the West’ and China after the collapse of Marxism-Leninism. Fred Halliday, a perceptive observer of world affairs, wrote that:

… the myth of confrontation is sustained from two apparently contradictory sides – from the camp of those, mainly in the West, seeking to turn the Muslim world into another enemy, and from those within the Islamic countries who advocate confrontation with the non-Muslim, particularly Western, world.

Defining Islam is far from a simple matter. Using Western categories that may be alien to Muslim perceptions, Islam may be defined as both a religion and a political ideology; it is also, in some contexts, a mark of personal and group identity. These three definitions neither exclude nor include each other. As already noted above, ‘Islam’ in Arabic is a verbal noun or gerund, meaning ‘surrendering to God’ as revealed through the message and the life of the prophet, Muhammad. In its primary meaning, as employed in the Qur’an and other foundational texts, the word ‘Muslim’ refers to one who so surrenders himself or herself, from the active participle of the verb aslama, ‘to surrender oneself’. It also has a secondary meaning, referring to one who takes on their parent’s confessional identity without necessarily subscribing to the beliefs and practices of the faith, just as a Jew may define herself as ‘Jewish’ without observing the Halacha. In non-Muslim societies, these Muslims may subscribe to, and be vested with, secular identities. The Muslim population of Bosnia, descendants of Slavs who converted to Islam under the Ottoman rule, were not always noted for their attendance at prayers, abstention from alcohol, seclusion of women, and other social practices associated with believing Muslims in other parts of the world. They were officially designated as ‘Muslims’ in order to distinguish them from the mainly ‘Orthodox’ Serbs and ‘Catholic’ Croats under the former Yugoslav Republic. The ‘label’ therefore applied to their ethnic identity, rather than to their faithfulness to the religion.

In this limited context, which could also be applied to many of the second and third generations of immigrants from ‘Muslim societies’, there was no contradiction between being ‘culturally’ Muslim and simultaneously an atheist or agnostic. This is also the case with the word ‘Jewish’, but the adjective ‘Christian’ can only strictly be applied to a confessional identity. However, the secular definition of ‘Muslim’ has been rejected by modern Muslim scholars have tended to redraw the boundaries between themselves and ‘nominal’ Muslims, even going so far as to describe the latter as ‘infidels’ (i.e. ‘outside the faith’). Similarly, ‘evangelicals’ among Christians have reappropriated the word ‘Christian’ to apply solely to those who accept Jesus as Messiah, rather than accepting its use as a means of nominal reference to Western culture as predominantly Christian. Generally, there has been little consistency in the way such nomenclature has been used. Where ‘Muslims’, however secular or ‘cultural’, were beleaguered, as in Bosnia, rhetorical generosity would include them among the believers.

Identifying Islam as a Faith without Leadership:

No less than other successful modern religions, Islam contains a rich repertoire of concepts, symbols and spiritual disciplines through which believers maintain their identities and sense of being in the world, their sense of being in contact with God. The crisis many Muslims were facing at the turn of the millennium was not the result of some inherent lack of flexibility in the realm of ideas. Historically, Islam has shown enormous flexibility in adjusting to the complexities of the contemporary world and in accommodating different cultural systems within its overarching framework: the Abrahamic ‘family’ of western Asian monotheism which includes Judaism and Christianity as well as Islam, as one of three world faiths with a common familial ancestor and origin. The crisis of modern Islam (and few denied that such a crisis existed two decades ago, and still does) was not so much a ‘spiritual crisis’ as a crisis of authority – political, intellectual and legal as well as spiritual. The best community or umma ordained by God for enjoining what is right and forbidding what is wrong – a community that successfully conducted its affairs for fifteen centuries without external interference – demanded leadership. Yet outside the ‘Shi’ite’ minority tradition in Iran, a leadership commanding universal support among Muslims of all traditions was conspicuously absent.

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Above: The Rise and Spread of Islam

There is no ‘church’ in Islam, no formally instituted body empowered to supervise or dictate the religious agenda, to articulate an ‘official’ Islamic view comparable to that of the Papacy, Bishops, Synods and Moderators, nor even Chief Rabbis. With the collapse of the Islamic superstate that lasted barely two centuries after the death of the Prophet Muhammad (see the map above), religious authority was entrusted to the ‘ulama (‘learned men’), a class of scholars whose role as guardians and interpreters of the tradition is much closer to those of the Pharisaic rabbis in Judaism than that of a Christian ‘apostolic succession’. They did not exercise political power but acted as a break on the power of the rulers, the sultans (‘authorities’) and amirs (‘commanders’), most of whom came to power by force of arms, interpreting and administering the divine law according to complex rules developed in the academies. The most prestigious of these academies, Al-Azhar in Cairo, was founded in AD 971 and claims to be the oldest university in the world. Though its rector enjoys a pre-eminent position in ‘Sunni’ Islam, his decisions are not binding on his peers. Similarly, although all Muslim governments appointed an official mufti from among the ‘ulama, his opinions were purely consultative unless supported in court by a judge, placing religious law under the law of the state. Mass education policies were undertaken by most post-colonial governments, thus short-circuiting the traditional body of scholarship surrounding the interpretation of the sacred texts, leading to a crisis of intellectual authority and a failure by the ‘ulama to incorporate reformist thinking into their discourse.

‘Islamism’ as a Political Ideology:

The word ‘fundamentalist’ had passed into English usage as a term of abuse, whether applied to faithful Christians or Muslims, but by the end of the century it also became applied to Muslims who sought to establish an ‘Islamic state’. According to this view, it was the task of the Islamic state to enforce obedience to the revealed law of Islam – the Shari’a. The term ‘fundamentalist’ is problematic because of its Christian origins. Fundamentalism was originally a theological movement directed against liberal or modernist theology, in particular, those teachings that questioned literal understandings of ‘supernatural’ events such as the six-day creation, the virgin birth and the physical resurrection of Christ. Muslim writers and scholars described as ‘fundamentalist’ have all adopted some modernistic and allegorical interpretations of the Qur’an which, as demonstrated above, is full of metaphor anyway. At the same time, all believing Muslims, not just those described as ‘fundamentalists’, have continued to see the Qur’an as the eternal, unmediated word of God. As Ruthven has pointed out:

The focus for those seeking to defend Islam against what they see as the corrupting effects of modern secularism and the ‘West’ is action rather than belief. This agenda, however novel its methods of application (including the adoption of terrorist methods), generally accords with long-established historical patterns. Throughout history Islamic rectitude has tended to be defined in relation to practice rather than doctrine. … It is in enforcing behavioural conformity (orthopraxy) rather than in doctrinal conformity (orthodoxy) that Muslim radicals or activists look to a ‘restoration’ of Islamic law backed by the power of the state.

The means adopted towards achieving this end, however, varied greatly according to the political and institutional contexts of the countries in which it took shape and form. In Jordan, Muslim radicals sat as parliamentary representatives, but the democratic system was adopted purely as a means to an end in which it would be rejected; in Algeria, and to a lesser extent in Egypt, they were involved in armed conflict with the state; in Pakistan and more recently in Sudan, they exercised power on the backs of military dictatorships; in Iran they operated under a hybrid system, sitting as parliamentary representatives chosen from a restricted list of like-minded candidates. Most ‘militant’ Muslims challenged the fundamentals of the international order. They aimed to replace the sovereignty of the people expressed through parliamentary law-makers, with the ‘sovereignty of God’ as revealed, in its perfection and finality, through the Shari’a law. The many critics of this approach directed their fire at two of its arguments. Firstly, they pointed out that, historically, no Islamic society, even during the high tide of the Ottoman Empire, was governed exclusively according to Shari’a law. There was always a gap between the theoretical formulations of the jurists and the de facto exercise of political power. Moreover, there was always an enormous diversity among Muslim societies, so that everywhere Islamic law was supplemented by local customary laws. Secondly, those who insist on politicising Islam were charged with misrepresentation of the faith. Far from drawing exclusively upon Quranic teaching, the ideology being advanced were hybrids, mixing Islamic ideas with modern totalitarian ones.

Therefore, to refer to modern political Islam as ‘radical’ or ‘fundamentalist’ is not only misleading, but it makes a gratuitous concession to its advocates by implying that the defence of the ‘roots’ or ‘fundamentals’ of Islam invariably demands political action. Muslims who contest this view argue that as long as governments do not prevent the believer from carrying out his or her religious duties, it cannot be described as anti-Islam.

The Growth of Islam & Islamophobia in Europe to 2015:

When the 2001 Census for England and Wales was published the following year, a Times journalist made comments about likely future immigration which were denounced in the House of Commons by the Home Secretary David Blunkett as bordering on fascism. By the time of the next census of 2011 (published at the end of 2012), however, showed that very major ethnic changes had taken place over the decade. But there were equally striking findings about the changing religious make-up of Britain. For instance, they revealed that almost every belief was on the rise except Christianity. Since the previous census, the number of people identifying themselves as Christian had fallen from seventy-two per cent to fifty-nine per cent. The number of Christians in England and Wales had dropped by nearly four million, from thirty-seven million to thirty-three. But while Christianity witnessed this huge collapse in its ‘professing’ followers, one which was only expected to continue, mass migration had led to a dramatic increase in the Muslim population. Between 2001 and 2011 the number of Muslims in England and Wales rose from 1.5 million to 2.7 million. Moreover, the beliefs and values of these recent immigrants were more socially conservative than those of the majority of the population. A Gallup survey conducted in 2009 found that none of the five hundred British Muslims interviewed thought that homosexuality was morally acceptable. Seven years later, another survey found that more than half (52%) of British Muslims thought that homosexuality should be made illegal. The common response to these were that these were the attitudes of many indigenous British people a generation or two previously.

More serious threats to community cohesion were posed by the attitudes of some Muslim communities towards women and teenage girls. From the early 2000s onwards, stories and evidence emerged of organised grooming of often underage girls by gangs of men of Pakistani ‘heritage’ in towns in the north of England. A 2004 television documentary on social services in Bradford had its screening postponed after self-proclaimed ‘anti-fascists’ and local police chiefs appealed to Channel Four to drop the documentary. The sections that dealt with the sexual exploitation of ‘white’ girls by ‘Asian’ gangs were thought to be potentially inflammatory, especially ahead of local elections in which the ‘ultra-right’ British National Party was standing. But everything about this case provided a microcosm of a problem and a reaction which would shortly spread across Europe. Campaigning on, or even mentioning, the issue of grooming during those years brought with it terrible animosity towards those who did so. When the northern Labour MP Ann Cryer took up the issue of the rape of underage girls in her own constituency, she was swiftly and widely denounced as an ‘Islamophobe’ and a ‘racist’, and at one stage had to receive police protection. It took years for the central government, the police, local authorities and the Crown Prosecution Service to face up to the issue. When they finally did so, an official enquiry into abuse in the town of Rotherham alone revealed the sexual exploitation of 1,400 children over the period 1997-2014. The victims were all non-Muslim girls from the local community, the youngest of whom was eleven. The enquiry found that because almost all men were of Pakistani ‘heritage’, the staff at the local council had described their…

… nervousness about identifying the ethnic origins of perpetrators for fear of being thought racist; others remembered clear direction from their managers not to do so.

To make matters worse, the communities from which the men came, by then well-established in the town, showed no willingness to confront the problem and every desire to cover it up. Even at the courts, after sentencing, families of those accused claimed that the whole thing was a government ‘stitch-up’ of some kind. Those Muslims who did speak out against the abuse by members of his own community, they received death threats from fellow British Muslims for doing so. The judges who eventually presided over the trials summed up the evidence by stating that the girls were chosen because they were from different communities, non-Muslim and therefore regarded as ‘easy meat’. Many of these men had brought ideas about women and especially about unaccompanied or ‘unprotected’ women with them from Pakistan and other patriarchal Muslim cultures. However, in the face of such attitudes being expressed towards women in the United Kingdom, the British state in all its agencies was clearly culpable in failing to uphold the law of the land and the norms of British society. The British police remained scarred from the Macpherson Report of 1999 which had charged them with ‘institutional racism’ and feared any repeat of such findings.

At the same time, over the course of the 2000s, criticisms of extreme examples of ‘multiculturalism’ in Britain and ‘political correctness’ came from politicians on the left as well as the right. These ‘breakages’, as Douglas Murray has described them, also came from those of ‘ethnic’ backgrounds, like Trevor Phillips, a former National Union of Students colleague of mine, who opened up territory that others had not dared to walk in. His realisation that the race-relations industry was part of the problem, and that partly as a result of talking up ‘diversity’ the country was ‘sleepwalking to segregation’, was an insight that others began to share, not just in Britain, but also across the continent. The emergence of Ahmed Aboutaleb and Ayaan Hirsi in Holland, Nyamki Sabuni in Sweden, Naser Khader in Denmark and Magdi Allam in Italy, had a palpably liberating effect. All spoke from within their communities to countries that needed people to do so with varying degrees of success. In each country, the issues of ‘honour’ killings and female genital mutilation received massive attention. The era of multiculturalism quietly transformed itself into the era of ‘multifaithism’. Ethnic identity began to recede and faith identity, which to many people outside the faith communities seemed to have come from nowhere, instead became the crucial issue. What had been a question of blacks or Caribbeans, North Africans and Pakistanis, now became a question of relations between Christian, Jewish and Muslim ‘cultures’.

Everywhere in Europe concerns over the integration of faith-based immigrant cultures were growing. During these decades in which European governments allowed immigration to run at the levels they did, few if any expected that they would spend the foreseeable future trying to balance Islamic laws and demands with European culture and traditions. Yet, as immigrant populations grew, everywhere the same problems erupted. Sometimes it occurred because of the discovery of what was going on within the new immigrant communities. In the United Kingdom, for example, the police were forced to admit that they had failed to investigate scores of suspicious deaths of young Muslim women because they had thought these potential ‘honour killings’ were community matters. In 2006 the British Medical Association reported that at least 74,000 women in Britain had been subjected to genital mutilation.

Nobody flinched in 2015 at a passing mention in a piece in The Atlantic magazine of Europe’s endless, debilitating blasphemy wars. Despite a couple of decades of warnings, from the Rushdie affair onwards, no one in any position of authority or power had prepared for the possibility the wave of events that followed. Before that affair, no one had ever thought about it as a Muslim issue. No one in Britain had thought that those arriving might not only prove much harder to integrate than the Pakistani Muslims and east African ‘Asians’ of the sixties and seventies but that they would also bring with them many socially conservative with them, or that other religious and ethnic minorities, such as the Jews, might be the first victims of such a lack of foresight. No one in a position of authority had ever predicted that an upsurge in immigration would lead to an increase in anti-Semitism and homophobia. No-one in the post-Christian West, even the religiously literate, had foreseen that ‘blasphemy’ would again become one of the major cultural and security issues of early twenty-first century Europe. Those who had warned about it in public had been ignored, defamed, dismissed, prosecuted or physically attacked. What mainstream politicians and much of the media had done, from the 1990s to the 2010s was to encourage a sense that the people in Europe who were shouting ‘fire’ were the actual arsonists, fanning the flames of Islamophobia rather than seeking to extinguish them. Three decades after the Rushdie affair changed the world, there was almost no one in Europe who would dare write a novel, compose a piece of music or even draw a mildly satirical image that might risk Muslim anger. We went out of our way to show how much we admired Islam but did not apply the same rigorous standards of criticism and that secular society had applied to Christianity decades earlier.

(to be continued… )

Primary Sources:

W. Owen Cole (ed) (1982), World Religions: A Handbook for Teachers. London: The Commission for Racial Equality.

Luc Heymans (ed.) (1989), Trans Europe Peace: Linking bulletin for Peace Education movements among the EEC State members, no. 3, February 1989. Namur: Universite de Paix.

 

 

Posted April 1, 2019 by TeamBritanniaHu in Africa, Anti-racism, anti-Semitism, Arabs, Asia, Assimilation, Belfast, Birmingham, Britain, British history, Brussels, Caribbean, Christian Faith, Christianity, Church, Civil Rights, Civilization, Cold War, Commemoration, Commonwealth, Communism, Conquest, Coventry, decolonisation, Discourse Analysis, Egypt, Empire, eschatology, Ethnicity, Europe, France, History, homosexuality, Hungary, hygeine, Immigration, Integration, Jews, Marxism, Middle East, Migration, monotheism, multiculturalism, Narrative, Population, Racism, Respectability, Social Service, Statehood, Syria, terror, terrorism, theology, Turkey, Uncategorized, United Kingdom, Warfare, West Midlands, xenophobia

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A Century Ago – Britain & the World in 1919 – ‘The Year of Victory’: Part Two.   Leave a comment

Part Two; June – December:

lloyd george 1915

The British Delegation to the Paris Peace Conference, including (in the centre),

Arthur J Balfour & David Lloyd George, Foreign Secretary & Prime Minister.

This is not a peace. It is an armistice for twenty years.

(Marshal Foch at Versailles)

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Victory Celebrations in London & Paris:

In the victory celebration parade that took place in London in July 1919 units of every ‘race and creed’ from Britain’s worldwide empire marched in symbolic unity. Men in their millions, latterly conscripted, had responded to the call to uphold the glorious traditions of the British race. 

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Below: British sailors march through Whitehall in July 1919 to celebrate ‘Victory’.

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Two weeks after witnessing the humiliating scenes in the Galerie des Glaces, Harold Nicolson watched the Allied victory procession make its way through the Arc de Triomphe. Perched high on the roof of the Hotel Astoria, he was overcome by a wave of patriotic fervour as he applauded the British Grenadiers and behind them hundreds and hundreds of British regimental flags – stiff, imperial, heavy with gold lettering, “Busaco”, “Inkerman”, “Waterloo” – while the crowd roared with enthusiasm. Cries of “Good Old Blighty” were heard. Harold wept at the spectacle of the most glorious, the most democratic and the most final of Britain’s victories. For Nicolson, these three months in Paris, despite his private agony and professional frustration, ended on an emotional high. But this sense of relief and elation at the coming of peace did not last long, either in Paris or London. The Treaty of Versailles did not deal, except incidentally, with the problems arising out of the liquidation of the Austro-Hungarian empire, nor with the two other ‘enemy’ powers, Turkey and Bulgaria. Four further treaties were required to deal with these: St. Germain, concluded with Austria in September 1919; Neuilly, with Bulgaria in November 1919; Trianon, with Hungary in June 1920, and Sévres, with Turkey in August 1920, though later replaced by the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923.

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Above: At the Peace Conference at the Quai d’Orsay, by Sir William Orpen.

Unfinished Business – Break-up of the Austrian Empire:

The most spectacular change in the post-war map of Europe was the disappearance of the Hapsburg Empire, which for seventy years had been saved from collapse by its dynastic rulers. There was no unity between the different nationalities. Czechs, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Poles, Croats, and Slovenes were dominated by German and Magyar masters; yet because one dynasty had linked together in its chain of bondage a huge territory in Central Europe, centring on the Danube Basin, certain economic advantages accrued to its million inhabitants. There was free trade within the vast empire; a unified railway and river transport system and an outlet to the Adriatic Sea assisted the national trade and commerce. But the empire had already collapsed and its former territories were already split into seven territories before the conference started. Austria and Hungary were both reduced to the status of minor states before the treaties of St. Germain and Trianon were signed and sealed. The fragments of the Austro-Hungarian Dual Monarchy were in a dire condition. Austria was reduced to one great city and a narrow arc of productive land around it which could never form an economic unit by itself, and Hungary, recovering from Bolshevik Revolution was also bankrupt, confused and impotent. The map below illustrates the areas, races, population, and economic resources of the partitioned empire. A comparative study of the four sketch-maps reveals the different characteristics of these divisions:

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From the ruins of the old Hapsburg Empire there emerged the small republic of Austria, mostly a mountainous territory in the Alps, with its huge capital, Vienna, retaining all that was left of its former greatness. Reduced by disease and starvation, its very existence threatened, Austria was one of the first states whose difficulties engaged the attention of the European statesmen. As a result of the Peace Settlement, there were many more small states than there had been in 1914. The League of Nations gave them their opportunity to co-operate and thus influence the decisions of the Great Powers. The frontiers of the countries in the Danube Basin were settled upon national lines. As a result, a group of aggressively national states was brought into being intent on securing economic as well as political independence, a situation dangerous alike to the prosperity and peace of Europe. Jealous of their neighbours and fearful of their former ruling peoples, the Germans of Austria and the Magyars of Hungary, they immediately began strengthening their military resources. At first, the ‘Peace’ appeared to be a decisive victory for democracy, as the autocratic empires of the Hohenzollerns, Hapsburgs and Romanovs were replaced by democratic republics. But the rival doctrines of Communism and Fascism began to undermine their stability almost as soon as they were created, and in these ideological positions, there was little room for representative institutions.

The Economic Consequences of the Peace:

While the Austrian and Turkish Empires were broken up, the German Empire was not drastically partitioned, as we saw in the first part of this article. This was chiefly because except at its eastern edges there were fewer national minorities under its sovereignty. However, it did lose all its overseas colonies and many thousands of German-speakers were placed under the rule of the new neighbouring states. These territorial losses alone were enough to create a sense of injustice in the minds of many Germans, but the effect of the economic provisions of the Treaty of Versailles was to convince them that the Allies were bent on their total ruin. The prosperity of Germany depended on her industrial and commercial development. The territorial annexations had taken away from her valuable mineral resources as well as fully grown industrial enterprises, e.g. textile-mills in Alsace. Not content with this, the Allies proceeded to imperil what remained by demanding reparations in the form of coal, the cession of railway stock, and its mercantile shipping; they interfered with her control over her navigable rivers and took away the special rights it had obtained in Morocco, Egypt and China. The reparations were to be paid in recompense for damage done to civilians in the Allied countries where the fighting had taken place.

The overall effect of these arrangements was to ruin Germany economically, and since all nations were, to some extent, mutually dependent on trade with each other, they caused economic distress throughout Europe. Germany had been at her last gasp before she surrendered, but surrender did not break the fortitude of its people. They crushed a communist attempt to follow the Soviet Russian model and produced, even while starving and bewildered, some semblance of a national Government. They received the harsh conditions of Versailles with protests but with dignity, and then they set themselves against desperate odds to rebuild their economy and society. The Allied blockade was continued well into the second half of 1919, and it was only the protests of the British soldiers on the Rhine that forced the Allies to attend to their duty of provisioning a starving population. A huge proportion of this, children especially, were suffering from malnutrition. There was an extreme shortage of raw materials, and there was no money to purchase these abroad, nor were there ships to import them. The highly developed agricultural system was in ruins and yet the country was saddled with a huge but yet undetermined debt. The new republic had to quickly improvise a new social order and governmental system, threatened by anarchy at home and Bolshevism from both within and without.

For a moment, but only for a moment, after the signing of the treaties, there was a sense of peace and stability. Then everywhere came unsettlement and confusion, economic or political, or both, except in the United States. Britain, desperately busy with setting her own house in order, was compelled to lend a hand in straightening out the world’s tangle which, of course, it had been party to creating. On the peace and prosperity of the globe depended its export trade, vast system of overseas lending and its position as a financial centre, as well as its hope of building up a new and better society and thereby winning something  from the sacrifice of war; and the interests of its Empire was vitally engaged in this ‘project’. The background to any picture of inter-war Britain must, therefore, be, as John Buchan put it in 1935, the vast shifting kaleidoscope of the world. By then, J M Keynes’ damning contemporary indictment of the French attitude at the Paris Conference had helped to develop the policy of ‘appeasement’, often confused with the ‘policy of fear’ of 1937-39. Appeasement had a coherent intellectual foundation with a high moral tone, as in Keynes’ famous book, The Economic Consequences of the Peace, which he published soon after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles:

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In this forecast, he found support from Lloyd George and Winston Churchill among other leading politicians and thinkers in the early twenties. Although particularly critical of the French attitude at Paris, Keynes understood clearly enough its economic motives for this:

In spite … of France’s victorious issue from the present struggle … her future position remained precarious in the eyes of one (Clemenceau) who took the view that European civil war is to be regarded as a normal, or at least a recurrent, state of affairs for the future. … Hence the necessity of ‘guarantees’; and each guarantee that was taken, by increasing irritation and thus the probability of a subsequent ‘Revanche’ by Germany, made necessary yet further provisions to crush. Thus … a demand for a Carthaginian peace is inevitable. … By loss of territory and other measures (Germany’s) population was to be curtailed; but chiefly the economic system … the vast fabric built upon iron, coal, and transport, must be destroyed. … 

It is evident that Germany’s pre-war capacity to pay annual foreign tribute has not been unaffected by the almost total loss of her colonies, her overseas connections, her mercantile marine, and her foreign properties, by the cession of ten per cent of her territory and population, of one-third of her coal, and three-quarters of her iron ore, by two million casualties amongst men in the prime of life, by the starvation of her people for four years, by the burden of a vast war debt, by the depreciation of her currency to less than one-seventh of its former value, by the disruption of her allies and their territories, by Revolution at home and Bolshevism on her borders, and by all the unmeasured ruin in strength and hope of four years of all-swallowing war and final defeat.

Al this, one would have supposed, is evident. Yet most estimates of a great indemnity from Germany depend on the assumption that she is in a position to conduct in the future a vastly greater trade than ever she has had in the past. …

We cannot expect to legislate for a generation or more. … We cannot as reasonable men do better than base our policy on the evidence we have and adapt it to the five or ten years over which we may suppose ourselves to have some measure of prevision. … The fact that we have no adequate knowledge of Germany’s capacity to pay over a long period of years is no justification … for the statement that she can pay ten thousand million pounds.

If we aim deliberately at the impoverishment of Central Europe, vengeance, I dare predict, will not limp. Nothing can then delay for very long that final civil war between the forces of Reaction and the despairing convulsions of Revolution, before which the horrors of the late German war will fade into nothing, and which will destroy, whoever is victor, the civilisation and the progress of our generation.

(1924 edn.)

According to Gilbert, writing in the mid-1970s, Keynes destroyed British faith in Versailles by opening the ‘floodgates of criticism’. For the following twenty years, the Treaty was ‘assailed by means of his arguments’. But he may have underestimated the difficulties of peacemaking in 1919. The task of the Allied statesmen was indeed difficult, because they had to take into account the views of the peoples of Europe, not just their leaders, in re-drawing the map of Europe. In the former treaties in Vienna in 1815, for instance, they only had the claims of the rulers to consider.

Lines on the Map of Central Europe:

In the main, Poles, Czechs, Slovaks, Romanians, Serbs and Greeks had every reason to be satisfied with the treatment they received. Though divided for a century, the Poles had never ceased to resist their conquerors, and they speedily asserted their independence on the collapse of their oppressors. They were generously supported at the conference. Clemenceau welcomed the renaissance of Poland as a bulwark against Germany and Russia, and Wilson had proclaimed at the outset that it was the duty of European statesmen to assist the Poles. The Czechs were a cultured people long oppressed who had resisted their Austrian masters in the nineteenth century. France realised that the position of their land gave the northern Slavs a strategic position in Central Europe, forming a barrier against potential Austrian and Hungarian aggression. President Wilson was impressed by the Czech leaders, who welcomed the setting-up of the League of Nations enthusiastically.

Czechoslovakia was, both industrially and politically, the most important of the new states which emerged out of the ruins of the Austrian empire. It consisted of Bohemia, a rich industrial and manufacturing region, with a fertile and intensively cultivated soil, densely populated with a literate people, the Czechs; Moravia, another important area, with a strategic position between the plains of the Vistula and the Danube, and the mountainous area in the Carpathians, Slovakia, where the cultivable areas were few and the minerals unimportant. The population there was sparsely distributed and illiterate; communications were difficult. Czechoslovakia, therefore, inherited from the Austrian Empire industrial wealth and fertile land which enabled it to be self-supporting. However, it still had large numbers of minorities along its frontiers, including Germans, Magyars and Ruthenians, which created internal difficulties in administration and led to unfriendly relations with Germany, Austria and Hungary, which surrounded it. These negated the advantages of its position in central Europe.

Romania had taken advantage of the weakness of Hungary to seize Transylvania, and the preoccupation of Russia with its civil war to take possession of Bessarabia; at the Peace Conference, it successfully asserted its claims to these on the grounds that Romanian people were in the majority. In many parts of these new territories, the ethnicities were very mixed, and the problem of achieving a fair division of the territories proved insoluble. In Southern Dobruja, however, there was unquestionably a Bulgarian majority, but this territory was left in Romanian hands. As a result of the Treaty of Neuilly in November 1919, Bulgaria was also forced to cede Western Thrace to Greece. The northern boundaries of Serbia and the Southern Slavs, what became the new state of ‘Yugoslavia’, were finalised under the Treaty of Trianon with Hungary in June 1920, but before that, Wilson supported the claims of the Southern Slavs against Italy, to whom the Allies had promised the lands along the Dalmatian coast, which was peopled by Slavs. Clemenceau agreed with Wilson, not because he was interested in the idea of satisfying the national aspirations of the Slavs, but because it afforded a practical method of detaching the provinces from Austria without the dangerous necessity of transferring them to Italy.

For the first time in modern history, Europe was divided along national lines, yet there were many injuries and injustices to minorities, especially to those who lived in the defeated countries. People of different nationalities, especially in the south-east of Europe, were inextricably intermingled; a great number of different solutions to the problems, apparently equally just, was possible. Frontiers which would enable nations to have a chance of economic existence had to be devised. To ensure this alongside satisfying national demands, the Allied statesmen were faced by an almost impossible task. Harold Nicholson’s views on the ‘mistakes’ and ‘misfortunes’ of the treaties scarcely changed over the years. He would argue that Britain’s freedom of action had been severely limited by its war-time treaties with Italy, France and Romania, and with the Arabs, in the short run beneficial but in the long run positively harmful. He would further argue that democratic diplomacy, being captive to narrow, partisan, democratic pressures, was ‘irresponsible’, and that the fundamental error of Versailles was the ‘spirit not the letter’ of the treaty. He blamed the peacemakers. They had not combined to elaborate a ‘formal procedure’, nor had they settled upon an ‘established programme’, the upshot being that their deliberations were ‘uncertain, intermittent and confused’.

The Allied Powers were in every case deliberately antagonistic to the claims of the defeated and it became obvious that decisions reached were frequently the result of other considerations than that of satisfying nationalities. Lands were transferred on the grounds that they were strategically important for the security of the new states, e.g. the Southern Tyrol, peopled by Austrians, was handed to Italy, while the German minorities of Bohemia, once in the Austrian Empire, were still included in the new northern Slav state of Czechoslovakia. Attempts were made to solve some of these difficult problems of satisfying nationalities by the use of ‘plebiscites’ where there was a doubt about to which state territory should be transferred. With the creation of the League of Nations, some states pledged to treat alien populations fairly and to respect their rights. The League undertook the responsibility of supervising the care of such governments towards their minority subjects. The map below illustrates the boundaries which were adjusted on the decision of the Allied statesmen as well as the principal areas where plebiscites were arranged:

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The new Austria comprised a large area of the Eastern Alps, of little economic importance except for its forests, alpine pastures and scenic attractions, and a small plain along the Danube surrounding Vienna and along the Hungarian border (Burgenland). A third of the country’s population lived in the old capital, previously one of the most important cities in Europe. It had thus attracted in pre-war days large numbers of officials engaged in government, banking, insurance, transport and administration. These professionals were no longer required in such large numbers by 1919, as Vienna no longer supplied the needs of so large an empire; neither were its newspapers, clothes and furniture required in great quantities any more. The luxury-manufacturers of the city were excluded from the new countries which surrounded it by their imposition of high tariffs, and Austria could not easily export goods to buy the food that its people could not grow for themselves. The satisfaction of the national aspirations of the various peoples included in the old Austrian Empire created economic problems which affected the prosperity of all the states. Each tried to be self-supporting and erected tariff barriers against the others. Though they came to realize the folly of these restrictions on trade, attempts to form a Danubian Trade Federation proved unsuccessful.

Germans in Austria were forbidden to unite with Germany under article eighty of the Treaty, despite being entirely German in language and culture. This was confirmed in the Treaty of St. Germain, by which Austrians in the Tyrol, Galicia and Bohemia were also left under alien rule. Control of Galicia, a wealthy area across the Carpathians, passed to Poland. Its soil was fertile and productive, with coal, iron, zinc, salt and petroleum resources also contained beneath its earth. The western part of the region was inhabited by Poles, but in the eastern part, the people were Ruthenians, creating a difficult minorities problem. Attempts made by these people to unite with their fellows in sub-Carpathian Ukraine (then part of the USSR) were frustrated by the Polish Government, and an insurrection was ruthlessly crushed by Pilsudski (see below) in 1919. South Tyrol and Trentino were both Alpine territories. In the latter the majority of the population was Italian, but in South Tyrol, the Germans were in the majority, and the union of both provinces to Italy created grave dissatisfaction.

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The Peace Settlement also disappointed Italy, however. The Allied offers made in the Secret Treaty of London by which Italy entered the war in 1915 were not fulfilled. Having acquired Trieste under this treaty, Italy now wished to consolidate its control over the northern Adriatic, including the entire Dalmatian coast down to, and including Albania. Meanwhile, the break-up of the Austrian empire had left the lands to be claimed by the Italians in the hands of the Serbians with the creation of Yugoslavia out of the south-western provinces of Croatia, Slovenia and Bosnia. They were largely mountainous areas of little economic importance. Their people were largely Slav in identity and so united with the Serbs to form the new Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, which soon became known as Yugoslavia. Although a large country, its economic resources were limited and undeveloped. Its population also included large Magyar, German and Albanian Muslim minorities, within a country already combining Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christians. From the beginning, the Croats resented the greater influence of the Serbs and therefore grew closer to their coreligionist Germans.

Italy failed to secure what it had been promised in 1915, the Dalmatian Coast, including Istria, and a Protectorate over Albania (see the map above). It did not even secure the port of Fiume, ‘the jewel of the Adriatic’, which had a large Italian population and had become a symbol of Italian nationalism and at the centre of Italy’s demands. In August 1919, Harold Nicolson attended an Allied meeting in Paris convened to sort out these problems. Italy put forward a series of transparent formulas designed to mask its true aims. The Italian delegate, M. Scialoga, suggested that Fiume and its hinterland should be recognised as a ‘free state’, but the island of Cherso, which dominated and effectively blocked the Gulf of Fiume, should be annexed to Italy, as should the high ground surrounding the port. The railway system, extending from Fiume island, should also be under Italian control. Abandoning all claims to Dalmatia, Scialoga nevertheless insisted that the Dalmatian coast must be neutralised, and called for Italian sovereignty over certain key areas; the zone of Zara, for example. Lastly, he put in a claim for a mandate over Albania.

By these means, Italy hoped to achieve mastery of the Adriatic, but their strategies failed to gain support from the British and the Americans, though the French were prepared for a deal ‘on any terms’. Nicholson backed the American delegate, Major Johnson, in repudiating Italian claims to Fiume and Istria. Eventually, it was agreed to set up Fiume as ‘a free city’, an arrangement ultimately accepted by both Italy and Yugoslavia. Bitterly disappointed, however, the Italians turned on their government, and there was great discontent throughout the country. This manifested itself in September 1919, a month after the Paris talks, when a group of soldiers, led by D’Annunzio, an admired national poet, attacked and seized Fiume. Nicholson considered him a fine poet, but a political dimwit, barnstorming out of ‘sheer swank’. D’Annunzio’s posturing proved him right. The Allies forced the Italian Government to expel them, and they returned to Italy indignant and disgusted at the weakness of their government.

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Polish leaders realised that the War provided them with an opportunity to gain their freedom, though at first they did not anticipate complete independence and struggled only for self-government. Though the mass of the Poles fought in the Russian armies, an influential group, led by Pilsudski, supported Austria. In 1918 a group of Poles organised a National Committee in Paris and raised an army which fought on the Western Front. The Allies in return promised the Poles to complete independence. The independent Polish state was proclaimed at Warsaw and in Galicia immediately after the collapse of the Central Powers. The new state was represented at the Peace Conference, and its independence was recognised. The western frontier was agreed upon, with the provinces of Posen, West Prussia and Galicia to be included in the new Poland. The eastern frontier was settled provisionally, with the disturbed state of the Soviet state giving the Poles an opportunity to secure a more favourable frontier than they had had to begin with.

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President Wilson had promised that Poland should have access to the sea. This involved adding to the indisputably Polish territory an area along the coast west of the Vistula delta in which there was a mixed population of Germans and Slavs. Germany strongly objected because East Prussia would be cut off from the rest of Germany; when the German President wished to visit his family estates in East Prussia he would have to cross a foreign state. In spite of the fact that its population was overwhelmingly German, the Poles claimed that the city of Danzig was the ‘natural outlet’ of the Vistula basin (see map above left). A compromise resulted in the creation of the tiny independent state of the ‘Free City of Danzig’, under the supervision of the League of Nations. Neither Germany nor Poland was satisfied with this arrangement, however. The fate of Upper Silesia was eventually settled by plebiscite (see map above right).

The division of the former Austrian territory of Teschen, an area with valuable coal-mines and the centre of a major railway network, on the Polish-Czechoslovak border, was arranged by the Allied Statesmen. How many members ever heard of Teschen? Lloyd George asked the House of Commons, disarmingly admitting that until recently he had not. Teschen presented the peacemakers with an intriguing problem: whether to honour the sacrosanct principle of national self-determination; or whether to secure the prosperity of a model, democratic state emerging in central Europe. Edvard Benes, then Foreign Minister of Czechoslovakia, told Nicolson, who had been charged with producing a report, that the fate of Teschen depended on the attitude adopted by the British Delegation. The territory was ethnically Polish by a ratio of two to one, but it was considered essential to Czechoslovakia’s economic well-being. In early 1919 fighting had broken out between the rival parties, a ceasefire being imposed by the Allies with some difficulty. Nicolson set out the options for the delegation: either appeasing Polish nationalism or, more precisely chauvinism, as he saw it, or allowing Czechoslovakia some economic breathing space. There was considerable friction between Poland and Czechoslovakia over this; the final settlement, reached after strong French pressure, effectively partitioned the region: the Czechs acquired the coal mines and most of the industrial basin of approximately 1,300 square kilometres; the City of Teschen was divided into Polish and Czechoslovak quarters, with the latter containing the invaluable railway station.

Policies of Punishment & Appeasement – Britain & France:

For the following ten years, Gilbert claimed, appeasement was the guiding philosophy of British foreign policy. British official opinion doubted whether a secure Europe could be based upon the treaties of 1919, and had strong hopes of obtaining serious revisions to those aspects of the treaties that seemed to contain the seeds of future conflict. With the disintegration in 1918 of the Russian, Turkish, German and Austro-Hungarian Empires, the final stage had been reached in a process that had begun in Europe during the Napoleonic wars – the evolution of strictly national as opposed to dynastic or strategic frontiers. Post-1918 diplomacy was geared towards securing the final rectifications of frontiers still not conforming to this principle. Most of these frontiers were the result of the Versailles boundaries which had been drawn to the disadvantage of Germany. Thus there were German-speaking people outside, but contiguous to the German frontier with Poland and Czechoslovakia. Many Germans lived in the frontier provinces of Alsace-Lorraine and Holstein, which were also lost to Germany. Germans in Danzig and Memel were detached from their mother country. The claims of Poland were preferred to those of Germany in the creation of the Polish Corridor to the sea and the in the division of the Silesian industrial area.

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There were other national ‘inequalities’ which were also part of the Versailles Treaty, and which were equally prone to the ‘egalitarian touch of appeasement’. The German Government could only maintain itself against communist and nationalist opponents by a continuing protest against the impossible severity of the reparations clauses of the Treaty. They docilely submitted to the disarmament provisions at first. The problem of the next few years was how to square what France regarded as her rights and necessities with the hard facts of the difficult and dangerous situation Europe was in. For France, the War had ended in anxiety and disappointment. Germany had been defeated, but that defeat had not been the victory of France alone; without the help of Britain and America, the French leaders knew that they would have been beaten to the ground. The glory which was due of their soldiers’ heroism was revealed as tarnished and insubstantial. With a population of forty million, France had to live side-by-side with a population of sixty or seventy million who were not likely to forget Versailles. As John Buchan put it, …

She was in the position of a householder who has surprisingly knocked out a far more powerful burglar, and it was her aim to see that her assailant was not allowed to recover freedom of action. Therefore her policy … must be to keep Germany crippled and weak, and to surround her with hostile alliances. The terms of the Treaty, both as to reparations and disarmament, must be interpreted according to the strict letter. No one can deny that her fears were natural. It is easy for those who live high above a river to deprecate the nervousness of one whose house is on the flood level.

To Britain, it seemed that, with every sympathy for French anxiety, it was impossible to keep a great Power in perpetual tutelage, and that the only hope for France, as for the world, lay in establishing a new international system which would give political security to all its parts. Lloyd George, while he remained in power, strove honourably for this end. The disarmament of Germany, while France rearmed, was a German grievance which could either be met by disarming France or allowing Germany to rearm. Both alternatives were considered by British policy-makers, and when the first proved impossible to secure, the second became logically difficult to resist. A further ‘inequality’ was the exclusion of Germany from the League of Nations. British policy worked for German inclusion and looked forward to a time when the differences between the ‘Allied’ and ‘Enemy’ Powers, as embodied in the Treaty would disappear. The policy of appeasement, as practised from 1919, was wholly in Britain’s interest, of course. Britain’s policy-makers reasoned that the basis of European peace was a flourishing economic situation. Only by success in this policy could Britain avoid becoming involved, once again, in a war arising out of European national rivalries and ambitions.

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At Paris, the British diplomats had vacillated between the Americans, who contended that under the League of Nations all international disputes would be settled by ‘sweet reasonableness’ and the French, who, obsessed with their own security, suffered from no such illusion. Harold Nicholson took his reasoning a step further by suggesting that if only the British had wholeheartedly supported either the American or the French perception of peace, a golden age of worldwide tranquillity and harmony might have been inaugurated for a century. Nicholson also remained consistent in his view that war-torn Paris was clearly the wrong venue for a peace conference. Geneva, he wrote, would have been a more judicious choice. In addition, given the circumstances, with passions running high among both public and politicians, he would have preferred to see an initial treaty followed by a final one, after a suitable cooling-off period. With the Congress of Vienna still in mind, he argued that it was a grave mistake to have treated Germany as a ‘pariah state’: the stability of Europe would have been better served by inviting it to participate in the conference, particularly as Bolshevism threatened to despoil the defeated country further. He damned the reparations clauses as patently absurd. As a result of the infamous ‘war guilt’ clause, the peace which emerged was unjust enough to cause resentment, but not forcible enough to render such resentment impotent. Summarising his overall disillusionment, Nicholson wrote (in 1933):

We came to Paris confident that the new order was about to be established; we left it convinced that the new order had merely fouled the old. We arrived as fervent apprentices in the school of Woodrow Wilson; we left as renegades.

If he had had to choose a hero at Paris, he would surely have chosen Lloyd George, fighting valiantly for a moderate peace, with Venizelos, the Greek Prime Minister, and Smuts running a close second and third. Until the end of 1919, Nicolson was based mainly in Paris, working for Sir Eric Drummond, a senior Foreign Office mandarin and designate Secretary-General of the League of Nations. He was supremely confident that the League was a body which was certain to become of vital importance. … a great experiment. He was also putting the finishing touches to the treaties with Austria, Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey. Lloyd George and Balfour had left Paris to immerse themselves in Westminster politics. Much committee work was delegated to him, particularly on those bodies dealing with the Czechoslovak and Greek questions. He scored a minor success regarding the vexed question of Teschen, and continued his involvement with the Austrian and Bulgarian treaties and delineating Albania’s frontiers in the face of Yugoslavia’s demands. He clashed with Lloyd George over the Italian policy, arguing for a tougher line in view of Italy’s recent mischievous behaviour. Lloyd George responded angrily: The Foreign Office always blocks me in whatever I wish to do. But as the year drew to a close, the most pressing issue was how to meet British commitments to Greece, an undertaking that was slowly but relentlessly unravelling.

Independence Struggles & Imperial Designs:

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Above: (Unofficial) President Eamon de Valera inspects an IRA unit of ‘levies’

Refusing to sit in the British Parliament, the Sinn Féiners continued to meet in the Dublin Dáil (parliament), where they had declared the Republic of Ireland earlier in the year (see part one of this article). Eamon de Valera was elected President of the Republic and the MPs also elected their own ministers, set up their own law-courts and disregarded the authority of the Crown and the British Parliament altogether. Although severe measures were taken against them and the Dáil was suppressed, British law and order could not be restored. After the failure of the appeal to the Peace Conference in Paris, and amid the growing repression of Republicans, a more coherent campaign began for independence began, leading to the outbreak of a brutal war between the levies of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) on the one side and the police on the other, enlarged by the “Black and Tan” auxiliaries, a part of the British army. James Craig, the Ulster Unionist MP and founder of the protestant paramilitary Ulster Volunteer Force, who became the first Prime Minister of Northern Ireland in 1921, was already preparing for ‘partition’ in 1919:

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From 1919 to 1921 the IRA killed hundreds of policemen and soldiers, and the police and ‘black and tans’ killed hundreds of IRA men in retaliation. In Dublin, there were IRA men and women everywhere, but it was hard for the British to find them. Michael Collins, the IRA leader, was known to the British authorities as a prisoner after the 1916 Uprising, but they didn’t even have a photo of him.

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Meanwhile, another imperial dream came true in 1919 when Cecil Rhodes’ ‘Cape to Cairo’ scheme came into fruition when Britain took Tanganyika (now Tanzania) from Germany, completing that chain too. The Union of South Africa took over the administration of South-West Africa from Germany, and the spoils in the south Pacific were divided between Australia and New Zealand. With Britain’s existing Dominions and colonies, this all meant that the British Empire in 1919 was more extensive than it had ever been. But in fact, while the war had added new colonies to Britain’s ‘collection’, it had also weakened her grasp in her old ones. In the self-governing dominions, the co-operation with Britain which imperialists gloried in was misleading. That they had co-operated in wartime did not necessarily signify that they wished to be shackled in peace. The Great War was a European war which Britain only just won, with their support and at great cost in lives, especially for the ANZACs. Gallipoli had been just one of many defeats along the way; in itself, this had damaged the prestige and authority of the ‘mother country’. She had had to issue ‘promissory notes’ of ‘self-determination’ to the Egyptians, the Palestinian Arabs and the Indians, which they expected her to honour. The war had therefore provided an opportunity for a more vigorous assertion of nationalism with a harder edge than before.

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The overthrow of the Turkish armies in 1918 was complete; all the provinces from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf were overrun, and the great cities of Baghdad, Jerusalem, Damascus and Aleppo were captured. The Turks were forced to acknowledge defeat and signed an armistice at Mudros in October 1918. Allied troops occupied Constantinople. However, it soon became apparent that settling the conflicting claims of the victorious powers would prove very difficult. By secret treaties made during the war, promises of Turkish territories had been made to Russia, Italy, France, Greece and to the Arabs. The Allied statesmen postponed the settlement of the difficult issues until they had settled the more urgent needs of Europe. They permitted the Greeks, however, to occupy the port of Smyrna in 1919 and supported the occupation with an Allied fleet. This action aroused indignation among the Turks.

The ‘Greek question’ had begun on a high note, with a virtual agreement between the British and American delegations in meeting most of the Greek Prime Minister Venizelos’s territorial goals. These included Smyrna and its hinterland, roughly corresponding with the Ottoman vilayet of Aydin, some form of international régime over Constantinople, and the whole of western and eastern Thrace up to the vicinity of the Turkish capital, claims that, if realised, would have given the Greeks control over the Straits. Harold Nicolson was, initially, among the many who fell for Venizelos’s charm, but he soon recognised, as did the Americans, that the Greek PM’s extravagant empire-building heralded disaster. Harold was instructed to inform Venizelos that there would have to be a compromise regarding the future of Thrace. Then the Smyrna landings were besmirched by Greek atrocities against the local Turkish populace, which sparked off the Turkish national revival under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk).

Map of the Sykes–Picot agreement, which was signed by Mark Sykes and François Georges-Picot on May 8, 1916.

In the British Empire, the support and the opportunity for colonial aggrandisement were both there; consequently, the main result of the war for Britain was a considerable augmentation of its empire. The middle east was divided up in accordance with the secret war-time Sykes-Picot agreement (see map above, showing the division into ‘A’, for France, and ‘B’ for Britain). The Arabs were given the Arabian desert, Britain took for herself Palestine, Transjordan, the Persian Gulf states and Iraq: which together with its existing protectorates in Egypt, Cyprus and Aden made up a tidy little middle-eastern empire. Of course, Palestine and the other middle-eastern territories were not ‘annexations’ or even ‘colonies’. They were called ‘mandated’ territories (see the map below), which meant that they were entrusted to Britain and France by the League of Nations to administer in the interests of their inhabitants with a view to their eventual independence. Nevertheless, this award almost fulfilled Curzon’s old dream of a continuous belt of influence or control between the Mediterranean and India, which was completed in August 1919 when the final link in the chain, Persia, was secured by means of a one-sided, widely resented treaty.

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In India, General Dyer’s violent massacre of the crowds at Amritsar considerably increased the natives’ resentment and united Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs against the British ‘Raj’. ‘Mahatma’ Gandhi continued to mount his campaign of ‘passive resistance’, encouraging his mainly Hindu followers to refuse to co-operate with the British Government. Dyer’s unnecessary action was the child of the British mentality then dominating India. Jallianwalla Bagh quickened India’s political life and drew Gandhi into politics. In his evidence to the Hunter Committee Appointed by the Government of India to Investigate the Disturbances in the Punjab, given in November, he re-articulated his commitment to passive resistance and non-violence, Ahimsa, without which he said that there would be confusion and worse. He stated:

All terrorism is bad, whether put up in a good cause or bad. Every cause is good in the estimation of its champion. General Dyer (and he had thousands of Englishmen and women who honestly thought with him) enacted Jallianwalla Bagh for a cause which he undoubtedly believed to be good. He thought that by one act he had saved English lives and the Empire. That it was all a figment of his imagination cannot affect the valuation of the intensity of his conviction. … In other words, pure motives can never justify impure or violent action. …

Gandhi had always resisted political involvement. After his return to India, he had attended annual sessions of the Congress, but his public activity at these assemblies was usually limited to moving a resolution in support of the Indians in South Africa. But on the other hand, he was not simply interested in building a mass movement. In his November testimony, he commented:

I do not regard the force of numbers as necessary in a just cause, and in such a just cause every man, be he high or low, can have his remedy.

In Gandhi’s non-cooperation campaign, his followers boycotted British goods, refused to teach in British schools and ignored the British courts. They were imprisoned but offered no resistance. Gandhi’s programme included a number of ‘self-improvement’ elements:

  • the development of hand-weaving in the villages;

  • the prohibition of drugs and spirits;

  • the granting of increased freedom to Hindu women;

  • the co-operation of Hindus and Muslims;

  • the breaking down of the ‘caste system’ as it affected the ‘Untouchables’, the lowest class of Hindus, who had been debarred from the communal life of India (they were banned from the temples and were not allowed to use the drinking-wells in the villages.

These points were also the key elements in his Satyagraha, his struggles with truth or the ‘spiritual force’ of non-violent resistance to British rule which dominated the next the next three decades in the campaign for Swaraj, the ‘self-rule’ or Independence of India.

Race Riots and Reconstruction in Britain in 1919:

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As 1919 progressed, civil strife in Britain continued, principally among the miners, shipbuilders, railwaymen and farm workers, that is, in the declining sections of the economy. The standard of living had improved dramatically during the war, and the working-classes were determined to resist any diminution in their wages when it came to an end. There were also mutinies among those awaiting demobilization in the armed forces which reminded the upper classes uncomfortably of the Russian Revolution; they were followed by a series of strikes which led The Times to proclaim that this war, like the war with Germany, must be a fight to a finish (27 September 1919). The railwaymen, miners and transport-workers formed themselves into a ‘triple alliance’ in which they agreed to support each other in disputes.

The ‘showdown’ did not begin in earnest until 1921 and came to an end five years later, but in 1919 comparisons were drawn with the unforgiving bitterness of class war on the continent. The social divisions within Britain, however, were always mitigated by a number of factors: a common heritage of what it meant to be British; reverence for the monarchy; a residual common religion and national churches; the instinctive ‘communion’ of sport and a saving, self-deprecating humour.

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This popular myth of social integration in Britain was exposed as somewhat fraudulent when it came to matters of ‘race’, ‘colour’ and ethnicity, however. The Cardiff ‘Race Riots’ of 1919 were an attack on the black and coloured community of Cardiff living in districts adjoining ‘the Docks’ when certain boarding-houses occupied by them were attacked. At 10.15 p.m. on the night of Wednesday 11 June, disturbances broke out in Butetown, as a result of an earlier incident involving black men and their families returning from a picnic. Some white women accompanied by coloured men had been passing in carriages through one of the main streets of Cardiff (possibly St Mary’s Street, see map above). When uncomplimentary remarks were made by people in the street, the coloured men left the carriages and an affray took place in which a number of white men and Police were injured. Some five minutes later, a white man named Harold Smart was killed. This escalated events as crowds were formed and began a more serious assault on Butetown, where the black population lived. The next day a prolonged storm restricted the disturbances until it cleared in the evening. About eighty soldiers were held in readiness, but the police and stipendiary magistrate deemed it unnecessary to use them. The Chief Constable’s report of the disturbances provides a clear statement of the distribution of ethnic settlements in 1919 and the effect of this on policing:

The coloured men comprised principally West Indians, West Africans, Somalis, Arabs and a few Indians. They live in boarding houses kept by coloured masters in an area bounded in the north by Bridge Street, the east by the Taff Vale Railway not very far distant, on the West by the Glamorganshire Canal, and on the South by Patrick Street. Some of the Arabs and Somalis live in the northernmost portion of this area but the majority, particularly the West Indian negroes, live in the southern portion. The area is divided by a junction of the Glamorganshire Canal which has two bridges, one in Bute Street and one at East Wharf.

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The riots ripped through Cardiff’s Docklands. Credit: British Pathe

At first, the violence centred on the multi-ethnic neighbourhood of Tiger Bay. But it quickly spilt over to other parts of Cardiff. The police concentrated their attention on the southern portion of the area and, having secured this, they proceeded to clear the northern area, although they failed to prevent damage being done there. That evening many of the attacks were concentrated in that zone, while the police continued to defend the southern area, which had long been seen as the proper place for black minorities, known as early as 1907 as ‘Nigger Town’. The police decision to defend that area may have owed something to their view of what the proper social geography of the city was. The Northern district became a ‘no go’ area for blacks during the riots, and some black families had to move out of their homes, though they returned afterwards. Physical boundaries between, for example, the blacks and the Irish, were very important, and the policing of 1919 played its part in strengthening them. The Police claimed that they had done their best to cope with the Riots. After the turbulence had subsided, the Chief Constable observed:

The coloured races, the majority of whom were practically segregated in their own quarter in Bute town, are showing a tendency to move more freely in that portion of the city where the disturbances took place. … The police made strenuous efforts and succeeded in keeping the white population from the Southern portion by guarding the bridges as otherwise if they had penetrated into that area the black population would have probably fought with great desperation and inflicted grave loss of life.

Below – A newspaper report from June 1919:

riots newspaper

Credit: ITV/Glamorgan Archives

What were the causes of the riots? They were sparked by racial tensions during a period of acute unemployment. In Cardiff’s docklands, servicemen who had returned from the war found themselves competing for jobs with a local workforce of largely black and Asian men, who were also desperate to make ends meet. The Chief Constable summarised the grievances of the black population as follows:

The coloured men resent their inability to secure employment on ships since the Armistice as they are being displaced by white crews; 

They are dissatisfied with the actions of the Government;

They regard themselves as British subjects;

They claim equal treatment with whites and contend that they fought for the British Empire during the war and manned their food ships during the submarine campaign.

newspaper 'negroland'

By June, unemployment was a serious problem among the black community. According to the Chief Constable, the number and ‘nativity’ of the coloured seamen who were unemployed and living in the port were as follows:

Arabs – who claim to belong to Aden:  400

Somalis:  200

Egyptians:  50

Portuguese; Indians, Cingalese and Malays:  60

West Africans – Sierra Leone: 100

West Indians:  400

Roughly a half of these were seamen of different grades and the other half consisted of different men who had no experience as seamen until the war made it necessary to recruit them to man British Merchant shipping. Four of the principal Arab and Somali boarding masters met the Chief Constable in the middle of June to ask him to make representations to the Government on their behalf, as they had a large number of men ‘on their hands’ who were in debt to them and wholly dependent on them for subsistence. Some of these men had been unable to get a place on a ship for the past six months. This was, in part, due to the imposition of a ‘colour line’ on the engagement of crews.

newspaper 'wild scenes at Cardiff'

The race riots of 1919 brought bloodshed to Cardiff. Three men died and hundreds more were injured. That same summer, the South Wales docklands of Newport and Barry also experienced brutal outbreaks of racial violence. The effects of the riots rippled throughout the Empire. From the start, the police felt that the answer lay in repatriation and this suggestion was made to the Home Office in a telephone conversation after the first two nights of the riots. However, the scheme which was introduced offering financial inducements failed to have an impact, unable to tempt people out of their established homes and relationships. Some were married to white women and so could not be repatriated; for other married men, the terms were simply impracticable. The funds available covered only a fraction of the costs involved and proved impossible to administer fairly. By August of 1919, some six hundred men had been repatriated. The voyages did not prove to be plain sailing either. The SS Orca which sailed from Cardiff on 31 August with 225 black mercantile ratings on board experienced what its owner described as a mutiny, exacerbated by the fact that the seamen went on board with arms, including revolvers, in their possession. The mutiny was instigated by a group of eighty prisoners who were boarded at Le Havre, but the mercantile ratings joined in what became a ‘general uprising’.

Nor did discontent end when they arrived in the West Indies. One group of repatriated men sent a complaint about their treatment to the Acting Governor of Jamaica. This took the form of a petition, dated 1 October 1919, in which they claimed that there had been an undercurrent of hostility towards blacks in Britain for some time before the riots began:

… there was a premeditation  on the part of the whites which savoured of criminality that before the mob started the race riot it was published in a newspaper in England that the Government must deport all the coloured people in England. … it was also further published that if the Government did not deport the coloured they the whites would take the law in their hands and see to it that they be got rid of;

… as we heard the cry of riot in the streets knowing that we were and are still loyal British subjects we kept in our houses but this did not deter the whites from their wanton and illegal attack for on the following day our houses were attacked… and we were compelled to hide ourselves in our houses as the rioters (whites) outnumbered us in the ratio of 100 to 1… and as we had no intention of rioting we had to lock ourselves in all the time and at one o’clock in the night we were taken out of our houses by the Government Black Maria and there locked up for days before we let out. … while the Government was taking out some of us the rioters… were setting fire to some of the coloured lodging houses; 

… on the following day a detective was detailed and sent round to all the houses taking statements of our entire debts and after receiving same he told us that the Government would give us the amount of money to pay same and when we arrived at our native home (British) we would receive ample compensation for our ill-treatment as we were bound to leave on the first ship; if we didn’t worst trouble would come on us.

… the riot by the whites on us was going on for fully eight days before the Authorities there could cope with it and attempted to take any proceedings to stop it.

… we have no monies; we are in a state of almost want and destitution having to move away so quickly all our belongings goods and chattels were left behind all we have to subsist on is the 25/- which was given to us by this Jamaica Government and this is a mere trifle as the high prices of food stuffs and the high cost of living, food, clothing etc. make it hard to live on.

In response to the allegations made in the petition, the police claimed that they were not aware that racial feeling was incited by the publication of articles in the press. Welsh Labour historian Neil Evans has suggested that this more general atmosphere of hostility was partly in response to racial clashes elsewhere in Britain and stemmed from the general mood of chauvinism engendered by the war. The authorities in Cardiff denied that any houses were fired during the riots, but reported that some furniture had been burned. They also denied the claim that ‘refugees’ were taken from their houses by night and conveyed in a “Black Maria”. The repatriation scheme was in place before the riots under the administration of the Board of Trade. Apparently, the Treasury arranged for payment of a re-settlement gratuity of six pounds per man on his arrival in his colony of origin. The Town Clerk of Cardiff claimed that the Riots only lasted for two days and were intermittent rather than continuous.

The Corporation had agreed on compensation claims to two of the boarding-house keepers and twelve other claimants, who had left Cardiff without leaving a forwarding address. But when some of the repatriated men arrived in Trinidad, the stories of their mistreatment in Cardiff played a part in the upheavals on the island in December 1919. One particularly gruesome story circulated there that a crowd in Cardiff had stopped the funeral of a black man, decapitated him and played football with the head. There is no documentary evidence of this, but references exist, apparently, in Colonial Office Papers. Eye-witnesses asserted later that the press had not told the full story of the riots, and that many violent incidents associated with the outbreak had not been reported to the police. Some of this testimony has only recently come to light. Leslie Clarke’s family found themselves caught up in the conflict. Leslie’s mother and grandparents were living in a quiet terraced street in the Grangetown area of the city, near where this author used to live as a student in the early eighties.

somerset street
                           Above: Somerset Street in Grangetown. Credit: ITV Cymru Wales

Leslie’s grandmother was white; her grandfather was from Barbados: “A thousand people came rioting down the street looking for black people,” Leslie explained in a 2018 interview for HTV Wales.

Leslie's grandmother
                         Above: Leslie’s grandmother, Agnes Headley. Credit: Leslie Clarke 

“So my grandmother persuaded my grandfather to go out the back way and to climb over the wall and go and hide. She reckoned that nobody would hurt her.

“But they did. They beat her up. They beat her really badly.

“My mother was only nine at the time and she was terrified. She hid behind my grandmother’s skirts.”

Leslie's mother

Above: Leslie’s mother, Beatrice Headley. Credit: Leslie Clarke

 

The family home was looted. Rioters doused the downstairs rooms with paraffin, planning to set the building on fire. All that stopped them lighting the fuse was the discovery that the house was rented, owned by a white man. Leslie’s grandmother never recovered from the incident:

“She changed from then onwards. From being a bright, confident woman she became very withdrawn and quiet. She suffered a lot.”

Quite clearly, much of this oral testimony of the victims of the riots was not shared at the time because of fear of further reprisals. Even in recent years, white supremacists and extremists have continued to publish propagandised versions of the Riots. Despite the claims and counter-claims, the black ratings’ petition provides further evidence of such incidents and is a rare example of black victims’ viewpoint of racial violence, which would otherwise be hidden from history. In modern-day Cardiff, you won’t find any reminders of those riots. No memorial, no marker. They’ve become a forgotten chapter in the city’s history.

The promised post-war economic ‘Reconstruction’ of Britain was, however, not quite the ‘myth’ that some historians have made it out to be. In the economics of heavy industry, ‘war socialism’ disappeared as Lloyd George always meant it to, and with it went the sense, in the Labour movement at least, that an activist government would do something to moderate the inequities of the old industrial system. The coalition government, largely Conservative and Unionist in composition, was determined to dismantle as quickly as possible the state control of raw materials, manufacturing, communications, wages and rents. Demands by the trade unions for the nationalisation of the coal industry, the docks and the railways were swiftly swept aside. The termination of ‘war socialism’ and the restoration of monetary orthodoxy became synonymous with post-war ‘reconstruction’ in Britain. Tory traditionalism trumped any idea of the development of social democracy along continental lines. But there was still room for a continuation and perhaps completion of the ‘new Liberal’ reforms which had led to a nascent ‘welfare state’ before the crises of 1910-1914 and the impact of the World War.

The liberal historian and president of the Board of Education, H. A. L. Fisher raised the school-leaving age to fourteen, a small act, but one of immense significance, and wages and salaries were standardised throughout the country. Old-age pensions were doubled, and unemployment insurance extended to cover virtually the entire working population of Britain. Through the extended Unemployment Insurance scheme, which began to operate at the beginning of 1920, the state became involved in the ‘problem’ of unemployment in a way it had never been before the First World War. This was to lead, through all the stumblings of a stubborn mule, into unparalleled intervention in the social conditions of working-class communities throughout the nations and regions of Britain. Mass unemployment was to become a new phenomenon in the inter-war years, and one which had not been properly quantified before the War. The pre-war trade union figures had revealed an annual rate of under five per cent between 1883 and 1913, never getting above eight per cent. Between 1912 and 1914 London had the highest level of unemployment with an average of eight per cent, whereas south Wales had the lowest level at under three per cent. In the decade following the end of the war, these positions were entirely reversed, and average unemployment increased by as much as tenfold in certain regions and ‘black spots’.

Party Politics, ‘Pacifism’ & Foreign Policy:

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During the war, party politics had been discarded, and the Coalition Government was set to continue under Lloyd George. In 1918-19 the Liberal Party was in a grave condition due to its internal divisions and the Labour Party had taken its place as the main party of opposition. It appeared that the party structure might change profoundly. In one way or another, it can be argued that the ‘challenge of Labour’ after the war confronted all the politicians who had come to prominence before 1914. Their uncertainty moving forward was to be compounded by the major extension of the franchise, among all adult males and partially among females in 1918. Lloyd George was convinced that he could govern through a combination of sheer charisma and tough political muscle. The coalition faced little opposition in parliament, where there were only fifty-nine Labour MPs and a withered ‘rump’ of ‘pure’ Liberals led by Asquith, who had never got over Lloyd George’s ‘coup’ against him in 1916. The prime minister rarely put in an appearance, preferring to preside instead from Downing Street, which became headquarters for a circle of cronies. Honours were up for sale and insider commercial favours were expected in return. Under the leadership of J. Ramsay MacDonald (pictured below), the Labour Party had adopted a Socialist programme in 1918; so for the first time, the party system had to adapt to the two opposition parties, Labour and the Asquithian Liberals, holding fundamentally opposite views. It failed to do so.

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As early as 1919, it was evident that the relationship between the new democracy, based on universal suffrage, and foreign policy, might have to be worked out afresh in an international environment which was still far from stable. During the war, a group of intellectuals, publicists and politicians, both Liberal and Labour, had formed the Union of Democratic Control. In the view of this group, the outbreak of war had shown the futility and inappropriateness of existing diplomatic procedures and assumptions. Secret diplomacy belonged to a bygone era and it was time to involve ‘the people’ in policy-making, or at least to ensure that there was democratic control over decision-making. However, when it came to details, there was little unanimity about how either ‘democratic control’ or the League of Nations was to work. For some, the former concept went beyond parliamentary control and there was talk of plebiscites and referenda. Others concentrated on trying to devise mechanisms whereby the executive would be subject to scrutiny and restraint by various foreign policy committees of the House of Commons.

There was another popular post-war myth, that ‘the British people’ were inherently pacific and had only been involved in wars by the machinations of élites who initiated conflicts for their own ends. These views enjoyed some support and bore some influence on policy-makers. They blended with the contempt for secret treaties displayed both by Vladimir Lenin on the one hand and Woodrow Wilson on the other. They also related, albeit awkwardly, to the enthusiasm for the League of Nations on the centre-left of British politics. The more these matters were considered, however, the more difficult it became to locate both ‘foreign policy’ and ‘public opinion’. A similar range of views surrounded the League of Nations. Some supporters saw it as an embryonic world government, with ‘effective’ military sanctions at its disposal, whereas others believed that its essential purpose was to provide a forum for international debate and discussion. Enthusiasts supposed that its creation would render obsolete the notion of a specific British foreign policy. But, at the end of 1919, supporters of these new concepts and structures were still four years away from truly coming to power.

Sources:

John Buchan (1935), The King’s Grace, 1910-1935. London: Hodder & Stoughton.

Irene Richards, et. al. (1938), A Sketch-Map History of the Great War and After. London: Harrap.

Norman Rose (2006), Harold Nicolson. London: Pimlico.

J. M. Keynes (1919, 1924), The Economic Consequences of the Peace. Basingstoke: Macmillan.

Neil Evans (1983), The South Wales Race Riots of 1919: a documentary postscript. Llafur (The Journal for the Study of Welsh Labour History), III. 4.

ITV REPORT, 3 November 2018 at 9:00am, https://www.itv.com/news/wales/2018-11-03/one-thousand-people-came-rioting-down-the-street-reliving-a-notorious-chapter-in-cardiffs-past/

A Pictorial Appendix – These Tremendous Years:

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Below: Piccadilly in 1919. Note that it is not a roundabout, and there was still room to move at walking pace across Piccadilly Circus. Note also: The “Old Bill” type bus, on what is now the wrong side of the street; as many men in uniform as not; “As You Were,” on at the London Pavilion; the ageless violet seller installed on the steps of Eros.

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Above: The Summer of 1919 was very hot. The grass was burnt yellow, and the cricket ball dropped like a cannonball on the cracked earth. Victory weather, just right for a summer of Peace parades and celebrations. And just right for those who had to sleep out: the returning warrior found London short of houses.

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Lady Astor, the first woman M.P., went to the House of Commons dressed as above. She was elected member for Plymouth in a by-election. Her speech after the declaration of the poll began: “Although I cannot say that the best man has won…” This first woman M.P. took the oath in the House sponsored by Lloyd George and Balfour. “I wish to be regarded as a regular working member,” she said, “not as a curiosity.”

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A Century Ago: Britain & the World in 1919 – ‘The Year of Victory’: Part One.   Leave a comment

Part One – January-June: A Tale of Five Cities.

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The Winding Road to World Peace:

The New Year’s Eve of 1918 that hiccupped a welcome to the first year of peace began a long procession of almost hysterically happy crowds which took possession of London on every possible excuse. Life was not yet back to normal (it never got back to whatever ‘normal’ was): food was only beginning to be de-restricted – meat, sugar and butter coupons were no abolished until August; five million men were taking time to demobilize and were not finding jobs easily, and money was short. Any spare money was needed by the country, as the photograph of Trafalgar Square at the top of this article shows. The Victory, or “Peace and Joy” loan brought in forty million pounds in three days, and the smallest amount that could be invested was five pounds. The total collected was seven hundred million. By November 1919 there would be just 900,000 still in ‘khaki’ uniforms. The wounded, like those photographed above, later in the year, were given blue uniforms. More than two million were wounded, and in January one man died as a result of a bullet wound received in 1918.

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At the beginning of 1919, “Hang the Kaiser!” was the cry in Britain. The newspapers discussed who would be his judges when he was brought from Holland to the Tower of London, and what they would do with him. Those who suggested that his life should be spared were considered unpatriotic, unless they also argued that, like Napoleon, he should be sent to St. Helena for the rest of his life. Despite an application for his surrender, he remained in the Netherlands. A Daily Express reporter who had first seen him at close quarters before the war said that over the previous four years, his hair had turned completely white.

At 11 a.m. on 3 January, Harold Nicolson (pictured below), a thirty-two-year-old diplomat at the Foreign Office, left Charing Cross station for Paris. He arrived at the Gare du Nord twelve hours later and drove without delay to the Hotel Majestic on the Avenue Kléber, where the British delegation to the Peace Conference was due to be housed.

Alwyn Parker, a Middle East specialist who had been made responsible for the well-being of the British delegates, had instituted a security-conscious, home-cooking environment consistent with sound British standards. Staffed by British domestic servants and reinforced by nameless security agents, the catering standards were, apparently, tasteless in the extreme.

 

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Overworked and underpaid, Nicolson served as a technical adviser on the committees that were drawing up the new maps of central Europe and the Balkans. Sketching in fresh boundaries for Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia, Hungary, Greece and Turkey consumed his working hours. Although he found the work ‘passionately interesting’, it was not all plain sailing. His letters reveal how at times he was conscience-stricken by the burdens imposed on him:

How fallible one feels here! A map – a pencil – tracing paper. Yet my courage fails at the thought of people whom our errant lines enclose or exclude, the happiness of several thousands of people. … Nobody who has not had experience of Committee work in actual practice can conceive of the difficulty of inducing a Frenchman, an Italian, an American and an Englishman to agree on anything.

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Harold Nicolson & Vita Sackville-West at the Paris Peace Conference, 1919.

These committees were not concerned with constructing the framework of the newborn League of Nations, President Wilson’s obsessive brainchild. Still, they stood at the heart of the conference’s deliberations, dealing with the fate of national minorities, reconciling the all-too-often conflicting and exaggerated claims of the great and the small powers. It was approvingly noted that the French Premier, M. Clemenceau, always audible, was equally rude to both. And as the plenary sessions of the conference, the politicians had neither the time nor the knowledge to challenge the recommendations of the ‘experts’, they became, in effect, the arbiters of these disputes, the final court of appeal. It was a responsibility that Harold Nicolson could have done without. Interminable committee meetings, drafting endless position papers, irregular hours, hurried meals, late nights and competing with closed-minded politicians, all put Harold under an intolerable strain. Exhausted, he had reached the point when he found himself reading sentences twice over. He sought advice from Arthur Balfour, the Foreign Secretary, whom he usually found languid in his habits, usually draped over a chair, ‘always affable and benign’, at his apartment in the rue Nitot. Balfour told him to…

… return at once to the Majestic – arrived there, you will go to bed. For luncheon you will drink a bottle of Nuits St George and eat all you can possibly swallow. You will then sleep until four. You will then read some books which I shall lend you. For dinner you will have champagne and foie grás – a light dinner. You repeat this treatment until Sunday at three, when you drive alone to Versailles and back. In the evening of Sunday you dine – again alone, that is essential – at Larue and go to a play. By Monday you will be cured.

He did as he was told and on Monday he noted in his diary that he felt again a young and vigorous man. Refreshed, he returned to his duties which, of course, included faithfully serving Balfour’s needs. Harold worked in close tandem with Allen Leeper, an Australian graduate of Balliol College, Oxford with a working knowledge of French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Flemish, Russian, Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Serbo-Croatian and Ladino. In keeping with the Zeitgeist, he was in favour of creating compact nation-states, to unite the Poles, Yugoslavs, Romanians, the Arabs and the Greeks, a process which would pave the way for the demise of the old, discredited system ruled by the Great Powers and lead to a new era regulated by the League of Nations and Wilsonianism. To Nicolson, at the time, these ideas were admirable, but later, writing in 1935, he thought they might appear utopian, but added even then that to many of us it still remains the most valid of all our visions.

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Thirty nations met at Paris to discuss the post-war world. Bolshevik Russia and the defeated Central Powers were excluded. On the fifth anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife in Sarajevo on 28 June 1914, the Treaty of Versailles was signed. Each of the other four which were signed subsequently was also named after an area or landmark of Paris. The Conference opened officially on 18 January 1919 at the Quai d’Orsay. Raymond Poincaré, the French President, greeted the delegates, but his Prime Minister, Georges Clemenceau soon took command in his typical high-handed, machine-gunning fashion:

Y a-t-il d’objections? Non? … Adopté!”

Edvard Beneš.

Harold Nicolson continued to be absorbed by the minutiae of the territorial commission’s deliberations, niggling questions that at a distance seem esoteric to an extreme, but which at the time took on grave importance. He explained to Balfour why the Italians should not be awarded Fiume, a judgement that was upheld by Wilson and Lloyd George. He was also considered something of a Czech expert and was impressed by Benes, the Czech Foreign Minister (pictured right), whom he described as altogether an intelligent, young, plausible little man with broad views. Benes based his case not so much on securing national rights as on sustaining the stability of central Europe. Nicolson agreed with this view and confidently told the Supreme Council that the historical border of Bohemia and Moravia needed to be respected, in spite of the fact that many Germans would be included. Teschen, Silesia, Oderburg were to be included in the new Czechoslovakia, along with Hungarian Ruthenia.

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All the Allies were invited to the Peace Conference which met at Paris in January 1919, but the important decisions were made by the ‘Big Four’, pictured below. The German government had accepted the terms of the Armistice of 11 November 1918 because the Allies made a solemn promise that the principles which US President Woodrow Wilson had set out in the ‘Fourteen Points’ of his War Aims (see the map above) which he, and they, thought would form the basis of the peace settlement.

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The ‘Four Big Men’ were (left to right), the British Prime Minister, Lloyd George; the Italian Prime Minister, Signor Orlando; France’s Premier, M.Clemenceau; and Woodrow Wilson, President of the USA. They were the big figures at the Paris Peace Conference.

Wilson’s ideas were, therefore, the hope of victors and vanquished alike, and he was sincerely anxious to carry out his promises. But he lost influence because he had few practical plans to offer upon which his ideas of a just settlement could be built. By the time John Buchan published his account of these events in 1935, many histories of the Peace Conference had already been written in detail in many volumes. Its work had been bitterly criticised, and on it had been blamed most of the later misfortunes of Europe. But, as he observed, …

… it is probable that our successors will take a friendlier view, and will recognise more fully the difficulties under which it achieved. Its position was very different from that of the Congress of Vienna in 1814. Then the victors held most of Europe and had armies ready and willing to carry out their commands: now they were so weary that the further use of force was almost unthinkable. Then a little group of grandees, akin in temper, met in dignified seclusion. Now a multitude of plenipotentiaries sat almost in public, surrounded by hordes of secretaries and journalists, and under the arc-lamp of suspicious popular opinion. 

The difference in the complexity and scale of the two conferences is shown by the resulting treaties. The hundred and twenty articles of the Treaty of Vienna were signed by seventeen delegates; the Treaty of Versailles contained 441 articles and seventy signatures. The business was so vast that the mechanism was constantly changing. At first, the main work was in the hands of a Council of Ten, representing the five great Powers; then it fell to the US President and the European Prime Ministers; at the end, the ‘dictators’ were Wilson, Clemenceau and Lloyd George. Had the three ‘architects of destiny’ been fully in agreement, or had they been men with broader personalities and more open minds, both the peace process and its products might have been better. To be fair to them, however, all three had to take different circumstances into consideration besides the merits of each case.

Wilson, who had been detached from the actual conflict, might have been expected to bring a cool and dispassionate mind to the deliberations, as well as a unique authority. But he found himself, quite literally, on unfamiliar territory, and his political mistakes in his own country had made it doubtful that Americans would ratify his conclusions. In diplomatic skill, he was not the equal of the other statesmen. Because he believed that the establishment of the League of Nations was the only hope of permanent world peace, he soon had to compromise on matters where the views of the practical statesmen conflicted with the ideals of his fourteen points in order to secure their acceptance of the Covenant. Moreover, he had the support of only a small minority of his fellow Americans; those who upheld the traditional policy of non-intervention in European affairs were hostile to him. This hostility back home also weakened his prestige at the Conference. Eventually, the Senate of the USA refused to ratify his work in establishing the League of Nations so that the country did not join the organisation, and at the election following the treaties, he failed to be re-elected. It soon appeared to John Buchan, that Wilson’s was …

… the voice of one crying in the wilderness, and not the creed of a great people. His self-confidence led him to cast himself in too high a part, and he failed to play it … The framers of the Treaty of Vienna a century before were fortunate in that they were simpler men, whose assurance was better based, and who were happily detached from popular passions: “There are times when the finest intelligence in the world is less serviceable than the sound common sense of a ‘grand seigneur’.” (F.S. Oliver, The Endless Adventure: III, 109.)

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Georges Clemenceau (left), French Premier & Woodrow Wilson, President of the USA.

As Chairman of the Peace Conference, Georges Clemenceau was a realist and had no faith in Wilson’s ideals. He was also an intense nationalist, whose policy was to give absolute priority to the security of France, and he translated every problem into the terms of an immediate and narrowly conceived national interest. He worked for the interests of France and France alone. He knew exactly what he wanted, which was to crush Germany while he had the chance. He regarded Franco-German hostility as natural and inevitable and wanted revenge not just for the Great War but also for the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71 in which Paris was occupied and Alsace-Lorraine was surrendered. Had Germany won, he believed, France would not have been spared destruction. Now that Germany had been utterly defeated, he had the opportunity he had desired, to destroy its power to threaten the security of France. He dominated the conference and his uncompromising attitude earned him the epithet, ‘Tiger’.

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David Lloyd George (above) was subtler and more far-sighted, taking broader views, but his power was weakened in his colleagues’ eyes by the election he had just fought and won on intransigent terms. Nevertheless, he recognised the need for a peace settlement that would help restore German prosperity as an important trading partner. He, therefore, favoured more moderate terms, but gave only limited support to Wilson’s ideals because Britain was bound by treaties concluded during the war for the satisfaction of her Allies at the expense of the defeated powers, and he was bound by his election pledge by which he had promised to ‘Make Germany Pay’, demanding penalties from the enemy. 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. By 1919, the euphoria of victory was tempered with the reality as ex-servicemen returned to the fields and factories to seek their old jobs. If anything, As Simon Schama has put it, …

… this had to be the moment, perhaps the last, when the conditions that had produced the general massacre were removed. Away with the preposterous empires and monarchs and the tribal fantasies of churches and territories. Instead there would be created a League of Free Nations … This virtual international government, informed by science and motivated by disinterested guardianship of the fate of common humanity, must inaugurate a new history – otherwise the sacrifice the sacrifice of millions would have been perfectly futile, the bad joke of the grinning skull. 

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Above: The Menin Road (detail), by Paul Nash, 1919

Fit for Heroes? – Boom-time Britain & the ‘Bolshevists’:

Britain was experiencing a post-war boom in trade, evidenced by the fact that the number of trade unionists rose to an unprecedented figure of almost eight million. As the unions flexed their muscles, thirty-five million days were lost by strikes and lock-outs, the highest figure since 1912. Trade unionists in Belfast and Glasgow fought bravely to reduce the working week to help absorb the demobbed servicemen. In Scotland, their demonstrations, which included (for the first time) serious demands for Home Rule, were viewed as ‘riots’ by the authorities. The demands were fuelled in part by the astonishingly disproportionate numbers of Scots casualties in the War: over a quarter of the 557,000 Scottish servicemen had been killed, compared with a rate of one in eight among the rest of the British army. Ironically, it was the long tradition of being the backbone of the imperial army, from the American Revolution to the Indian Mutiny, that had resulted in them being put in front line positions during the Great War, often in the ‘vanguard’ of some suicidal lurch ‘over the top’.

Despite this contribution, in Glasgow, an eighth of the population was still living in single-room accommodation and the Clydeside economy was especially vulnerable to retrenchment in the shipyards. As men were demobilized, unemployment rose and the unions responded with demands for a shorter working week, to spread the work and wages available as broadly as possible. The campaign for a 40-hour week, with improved conditions for the workers, took hold of organised labour. They also demanded the retention of wage and rent controls. When they were met with stark refusal, a forty-hour general strike was called, culminating on 31 January in a massive rally, organised by the trade unions, which took place on George Square in the city centre of Glasgow. Upwards of ninety thousand took part. A red flag and calls were made, for the first time, for the setting up of a separate Scottish workers’ republic. The police read the ‘Riot Act’ and their lines charged the demonstrators and, mindful of having been caught by surprise in Dublin by the Easter Rising of 1916, the government claimed that the demonstration was a ‘Bolshevist’ uprising, sending twelve thousand troops and six tanks (pictured above) to occupy what became known as ‘Red Clydeside’.

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Many of these ‘Red Clydesiders’ soon found themselves ‘victimized’, out of work and on the road to England and its ‘new’ engineering and manufacturing centres. By 1919, for example, Coventry’s population had continued to grow from 130,000 in 1918 to 136,000, partly due to the delayed expansion of the British motor industry, inhibited during the War as manufacturing industry turned its attention to meeting wartime demand. As soon as hostilities were over the production of motor vehicles was again embraced with enthusiasm as both old and new contenders entered the market amongst the heavy competition. In 1919 and 1920 at least forty new car producing firms emerged. Many of these firms later failed and their names disappeared or were taken over by companies like Singer in Coventry, but in 1920 the President of the City’s Chamber of Commerce reflected on its recent growth:

Few towns and cities can point to a growth as quick and extensive as that which has been the lot of Coventry in the last two decades … The way Coventry has moved forward is more characteristic of a new American city fed by immigrants, than of one of the oldest cities in Great Britain.

Growth and immigration were beginning to have an effect on local politics. In 1919, as the city enjoyed its boom, so the fortunes of the Labour movement also prospered, with Labour capturing a third of the seats on the City Council. The short but strong national economic boom funded some, at least, of  Lloyd George’s promise to make ‘a country fit for heroes to live in’. Christopher Addison, the minister of reconstruction, oversaw the building of 200,000 homes, effectively marking the beginning of council house construction in Britain. Again, in 1920, the Coventry Chamber of Commerce was keen to advertise the fact that the Corporation had already, since the war, built a thousand houses for its workers at rates varying from six to ten shillings per week which were regarded as ‘comparatively low’.

Lloyd George’s only obvious rival was Winston Churchill. Having banged away in the 1918 election campaign about making Germany pay through the nose, Churchill then made appeals for greater flexibility and leniency, opposing the continuation of the naval blockade. But his calls to strangle the Russian Revolution at birth seemed to spring from a deep well of sentimental class solidarity with the Russian aristocracy and the Tsars which marked him out, in the view of many, as an aristocratic reactionary himself. Churchill was reckless as well as tireless in calling for a commitment of men and money to try to reverse the communist revolution in Russia by supporting the pro-Tsarist White Army, which was certainly no force for democracy. But if he was deliberately goading British socialists by harping on about the Bolsheviks as dictatorial conspirators, it turned out that his diagnosis of what had actually in Russia in October 1917 was exactly right. There was ample reason to feel gloomy about the fate of liberty in the new Soviet Russia. By 1919, anyone could see that what had been destroyed was not just the Constituent Assembly but any semblance of multi-party democracy in Russia. After the war, British, as well as American troops, occupied parts of Russia. There was disagreement within the Cabinet as well as in the country as to what the British attitude toward Russia ought to be. Lloyd George felt that the perpetuation of the civil war by foreign intervention would give the revolutionary leader, Vladimir Lenin, the perfect pretext to institutionalize his police state and find reinforcements for the Red Army, and he wrote to Churchill pointing this out to him in February 1919:

 Am very alarmed at your… planning war against the Bolsheviks. The Cabinet have never authorised such a proposal. They have never contemplated anything beyond supplying armies in anti-Bolshevik areas in Russia with necessary equipment to enable them to hold their own, and that only in the event of every effort of peaceable solution failing. A military enquiry as to the best method of giving material assistance to these Russian armies is all to the good, but do not forget that it is an essential part of the inquiry to ascertain the cost; and I also want you to bear in mind that the War Office reported to the Cabinet that according to their information intervention was driving the anti-Bolshevik parties in Russia into the ranks of the Bolshevists. 

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The Empire – Nationalists Strike Back:

With the evaporation of the authority of the US President in Paris, and the limited tenure of the French wartime prime minister, his fellow peacemakers, it was Lloyd George who grew in stature as the future arbiter of the European settlement and world statesman. While France sought military security, Britain sought naval and commercial superiority through the destruction of the German Empire. The British Empire, as Curzon had boasted the previous year, had never been so omnipotent. But despite Curzon’s complacency, all was not well in the far-flung imperial posts. First of all, however, and closer to home, trouble was brewing again in Ireland. Following the 1918 general election, in which the old Nationalist party disappeared and Sinn Féin won most of the Irish seats. The members of Sinn Féin who had been elected to the Westminster parliament decided to set up their own Irish parliament, called Dáil Éireann, in Dublin, which first met in January 1919. It declared the Irish Republic in defiance of the British Crown for a second time. Eamon de Valera, who had escaped from an English jail, became its President and the King’s writ ceased to run in Ireland. At the same time, the Irish Volunteers, who now called themselves the Irish Republican Army (IRA) became increasingly violent.

In themselves, the pledges Britain made on imperial matters during the war did not determine anything that happened afterwards. Britain gave no one self-government simply because it had promised it to them. If it kept its promise, it was because the promise had raised expectations that could not be denied, making the plaintiffs stronger and even more resolute claimants. But if it had not had this effect, and if Britain could prevaricate or break a promise with impunity, it would. The colonial settlement when it came after the war, and as it was subsequently modified, was determined much more by the conditions of that time; the interests, strengths and weaknesses of different parties then, than by pledges and declarations made, cynically or irresponsibly, in the past. The conditions of 1919 determined that, initially, Britain would get a great deal out of the war for itself. In the first place, the fact that there were outright winners and losers meant that there were, suddenly, a large number of colonies ‘going begging’ in the world, with only Britain, France, Italy, the United States and Japan in a position to ‘snaffle them up’. Japan was satisfied with controlling the north Pacific, America didn’t want colonies and Italy, whose contribution to the Allied victory was seen as negligible, was not thought to deserve any. That left the German colonies in Africa and the Turkish territories in the Middle East as ‘gift horses’ for the British and the French if they wanted them, which they did.

Any British government of that era, of any colour, would probably have wanted its share, but the fact that the coalition government in 1919 was basically the same as the one that had fought the war and was full of imperialists made it even more probable. Balfour, Curzon and Milner (as Colonial Secretary) were not the kinds of men to look gift horses in the mouth and exercise colonial self-restraint, and neither were the Dominions which had fought, represented by Smuts in the Cabinet. Lloyd George himself was not much bothered about the empire either way and put up little resistance to his imperialists’ accepting extra colonies. If he had any qualms, Leopold Amery quieted them by writing to him at the end of the war, that whereas they had fought it over Europe, they would also…

… find ourselves compelled to complete the liberation of the Arabs, to make secure the independence of Persia, and if we can of Armenia, to protect tropical Africa from German economic and military exploitation. All these objects are justifiable in themselves and don’t become less so because they increase the general sphere of British influence. … And if, when all is over, … the British Commonwealth emerges greater in area and resources … who has the right to complain?

In 1919, the British empire seemed secure enough from external threats, but it was more vulnerable than ever to attacks from within. It might be able to deal with one at a time, but what if it were challenged by nationalists on three or four fronts simultaneously? The first of these opened up in North Africa in March, when Egyptian nationalists, inflamed by Britain’s refusal to allow them to put their case for independence to the Paris peace conference and by the arrest and exile of their leaders, began a series of demonstrations, riots, acts of sabotage, and assassinations of British army officers.

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M. K. Gandhi

Meanwhile, in India, there was a series of boycotts, walk-outs and massacres led by the lawyer and hero of the campaign against the ‘pass laws’ in South Africa, M. K. Gandhi, who had recently arrived ‘home’. Nearly a million Indian troops had been in service, both in the ‘barracks in the east’ in Asia itself, on the Western Front, and, earlier in the war, in the disastrous campaign in Mesopotamia. Before the war, there had been violence and terrorism, but mainstream colonial nationalism had been represented by Gokhale’s Congress; moderate in its aims, not embracing absolute national independence, and in its aims, which were constitutional. ‘Mahatma’ Gandhi’s movement, however, worked unconstitutionally, outside the system. His distinctive contribution to the nationalist struggle was ‘non-cooperation’. This spelt danger for the empire: danger which even in peace-time it might not be able to contain. In April there was a rash of rebellions in Punjab serious enough to convince General Dyer that the Indian Mutiny was about to be repeated: which persuaded him to open fire on a crowd of unarmed Indians in a public square outside the Sikh ‘Golden Temple’ in Amritsar, and to continue to firing into their backs until his ammunition ran out, killing at least 380 and wounding 1,200. Also in April, the first serious Arab-Jewish clash occurred in Palestine. In May, Britain was at war with Afghanistan, and about to go to war again, it seemed, with Turkey.

Towards the Treaties – The Big Three & The Council of Ten:

As the Paris conference moved forward, Harold Nicolson became increasingly depressed by the self-centred, ill-informed, arrogant behaviour of the world’s leaders who had gathered in Paris.

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Ion Bratianu, the Romanian Prime Minister was a bearded woman, a forceful humbug, a Bucharest intellectual, a most unpleasing man who aspired to the status of a Great Power; the Baron Sidney Sonnino, the Italian Foreign Minister, emerged as the evil genius of the piece, obstructing everything with a breathtaking obstinacy and malevolence, while Signor Vittorio Orlando (pictured right), the Italian Prime Minister, was never able to rise to the level of his own intelligence. When the Italians decided to leave Paris in protest at their allies’ refusal to meet them half-way on their demands, Nicolson waved them off with a hearty “good riddance”, but they returned a fortnight later.

During the rest of the conference, Orlando remained interested only in securing an expansion of Italy’s territory and in discussions which concerned the satisfaction of these ambitions. Nicholson soon concluded that the conference was proceeding in a rather irresponsible and intermittent way. For this sorry state of affairs, ‘the Big Three’ were culpable, as far as he was concerned, especially Wilson. Hampered by his spiritual arrogance and the hard but narrow texture of his mind, he appeared conceited, obstinate, nonconformist … obsessed, in fact no better than a presbyterian dominie (schoolmaster/ pedagogue). Nicolson was not alone in this opinion: Wilson’s traits were soon picked up on by the Parisian press. Bitter at these public assaults on his character, Wilson contemplated moving the conference to Geneva, where he hoped to benefit from the more Calvinistic, sober and sympathetic Swiss. Paris was an unfortunate choice for a peace conference, as passions among the people were inflamed by close contact with the War and its miseries. Statesmen could not free themselves from the tense atmosphere that prevailed.

Wilson, Nicolson believed, was also responsible for what he and others regarded as a totally impracticable agenda and timetable. The three main subjects were territorial adjustments, reparations, and the provision of machinery to ensure peace. Under the first, the map of Europe was to be redrawn, and some parts of the map of the world. The Conference did not, of course, with a clean slate; the Austrian Empire had collapsed and fallen into pieces, and Poland and Czechoslovakia had already come into being. A number of treaties, not just that of Versailles, would be needed to lay down the new boundaries – St Germain, Trianon, Neuilly and Sévres. Mandates dealing with territories taken from enemy states were to be settled later by Allied Ministers sitting in the Supreme Council. But instead of giving top priority to the main purpose of the conference, the peace settlement with Germany, Wilson kept his colleagues busy playing word games in drafting the Covenant of the League of Nations, his pet cause, and by fiddling with the maps of central and eastern Europe and Asia Minor.  In this way, the German treaty was effectively put on hold until the end of March, nine weeks after the conference had opened.

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David Lloyd George, British Prime Minister in 1919, at the height of his power, the man who won the war. As the head of the Conservative-Liberal-Labour wartime coalition, his government was returned at the General Election in December 1918, with an overwhelming majority of more than three hundred in the House of Commons. The majority in the total of votes was strangely less marked – five million for the government and 4.6 million against.

Neither did Lloyd George escape Nicolson’s criticism. Dressed in a bedint grey suit, the British PM hadn’t the faintest idea of what he is talking about, Nicolson complained. He tried to prime Balfour to protest against his Premier’s ‘madcap schemes’, but Balfour proved ‘infinitely tiresome’ and fobbed him off: Yes, that’s all very well, but what you say is pure aesthetics! But before long, Nicolson came to appreciate Lloyd George’s uphill struggle at the conference against those who were more extreme: Quick as a kingfisher, in Harold’s view, as he saw Lloyd George fending off excessive Italian or French demands, not always with complete success. He fought like a Welsh terrier, he told his father, as Lloyd George strove to modify the ‘punitive’ terms of the German treaty. Invited to attend meetings of ‘the Big Three’ in his capacity as an expert, Nicolson witnessed their capricious handling of affairs, which he recorded in his letters to his wife Vita:

Darling, it is appalling, those three ignorant and irresponsible men cutting Asia Minor to bits as if they were dividing a cake, and with no one there except Hadji … Isn’t it terrible – the happiness of millions being decided in that way?

When he politely protested, Nicolson was condescendingly put down by Clemenceau: “Mais, voyez-vous, jeune homme … il faut aboutir.” But there were opportunities to advise and influence, or educate the three men, usually over a huge map on the carpet of a nearby study. Already dispirited at the way the conference was, or rather was not, proceeding, by mid-February Nicolson was beginning to despair, as he wrote to his father:

The Council of Ten are atrophied by the mass of material which pours in upon them … We are losing the peace rapidly and all the hard work is being wasted. The ten haven’t really finished off anything, except the League of Nations, and what does that mean to starving people at Kishinev, Hermannstadt and Prague? It is despairing.

In a similar vein to Oliver’s statement above, Nicolson added that What we want is a dictator for Europe and we haven’t got one: And never will have! As the conference ‘progressed’, both Europe and the Middle East continued in a state of confusion. The old empires had fallen; new nations had already set up governments. Starvation and disease aggravated the horrors resulting from war. The statesmen were forced to act quickly. They had to consider not only what they believed ought to be done, but also what their electorate demanded. On April Fool’s Day, Harold Nicolson and Leeper left Paris on a special mission headed by General Jan Smuts, the South African member of Britain’s War Cabinet. They were bound for Budapest where Nicolson had spent part of his childhood during his father’s diplomatic posting there and where, on 21 March, a communist revolution led by Béla Kun had taken place; their assignment was to investigate its ramifications. For the world’s leaders gathered in Paris, the spectre of Bolshevism was truly haunting Europe: it threatened widespread starvation, social chaos economic ruin, anarchy and a violent, shocking end to the old order. Harold wrote to his wife, Vita, about how the Germans made use of this threat:

They have always got the trump card, i.e. Bolshevism – and they will go Bolshevist the moment they feel it is hopeless to get good terms.

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This was one of the main themes of Lloyd George’s cogently argued but largely ignored Fontainebleau memorandum. Small wonder, then, that Béla Kun’s strike for communism in Hungary registered many anxious moments for the Supreme Council. I have written more about Smuts’ mission to Budapest elsewhere on this site. During Nicolson’s absence from Paris, the prospects for a settlement based on Wilson’s new world order had receded. The French put forward extreme ideas that would extend French sovereignty or influence into the Rhineland. Lloyd George and Wilson hotly opposed these demands, seeing in them the seeds of another war. Eventually, a compromise was worked out that called for an allied occupation of the Rhineland with staged withdrawals, backed by an Anglo-American guarantee of the French frontiers. But Nicolson and many others harboured a ‘ghastly suspicion’ that the United States would not honour the signature of its delegates: it became the ghost at all our feasts, he wrote. From mid-May to mid-June the German treaty hung on a razor’s edge. Word reached Paris that the German government was prepared to sign it but that public opinion would not allow it without allied concessions. Nicolson agreed with the German public:

The more I read (the treaty), the sicker it makes me … If I were the Germans I shouldn’t sign for a moment. … The great crime is the reparations clauses, which were drawn up solely to please the House of Commons.

The peace treaties which resulted reflected the spirit of the conference, in which were represented opposing forces demanding, on the one hand, the rewards of victory, and on the other, the magnanimous settlement of conflicting claims designed to secure permanent peace. The result was a decisive triumph for the victors, but the influence of the need for a permanent peace was not entirely lost. On the one hand, there was no open discussion, and the main points of the settlement were secretly decided and imposed by the ‘Big Three’. The defeated Powers were disarmed, but the victors maintained their military strength.  On the other hand, it may be claimed that the map of Europe was redrawn to correspond with national divisions, to some extent at least and that the ‘Covenant of the League of Nations’ seemed to be a definite step towards the preservation of international peace. It formed the first part of each treaty, followed by territorial changes and disarmament clauses, such as the following from section one of the Treaty of Versailles:

By a date which must not be later than 31 March 1920, the German Army must not comprise more than seven divisions of infantry and three divisions of cavalry. 

By this article, the German Army was limited to a hundred thousand men and committed to the maintenance of order within the territory and to the control of frontiers. The long list of other restrictions included the prohibition of German use of submarines, tanks and poison gas. The disarmament of Germany was to be strictly enforced, but it was combined with a solemn pledge by the other nations themselves to disarm, which promised trouble in the future. In spite of Wilson’s principles, penal clauses were added to the treaties. The penal proposals, which had played so great a part in the ‘khaki’ election in Britain, were reduced more or less to the matter of reparations. Reparations were to be exacted from Germany alone; she had to undertake to pay the cost of the War, as her Allies were bankrupt. John Buchan commented on the futility of this exercise:

No victor has ever succeeded in reimbursing himself for his losses, and a strange blindness seemed on this point to have overtaken the public mind. 

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While rich in capital wealth, this could not be ‘extracted’ for its creditors, and its exportable surplus had never been great and was now likely to be very small. It could only pay large sums by borrowing from one or other of the Allies. At Paris, there was no agreement on the total sum of reparations to be paid, but there was much talk about what items should be included in the reparations bill. Smuts, whom Harold Nicolson considered a splendid, wide-horizoned man, now showed that his character, though ‘simple’, was also exceptionally ‘intricate’. Concerned that the bulk of the reparations would go to France, he concocted a creative formula to include separation allowances for soldiers’ families, as well as pensions for widows and orphans. His prescription effectively doubled the potential bill, however, and would not have been to Nicolson’s liking. Yet a special committee of solemn ‘pundits’ in Britain had fixed its capacity to pay at the preposterous figure 24,000 million pounds sterling. The Conference reduced this sum to less than half, and in 1921 a special allied commission whittled it down to 6,600 million, then to two thousand, and in 1932 further payments were dropped. But more unfortunate still was the clause which extorted from Germany a confession of her sole responsibility for the War. This was article 231 of the Treaty, the notorious ‘war guilt’ clause, that compelled Germany and her allies to accept full responsibility for…

… causing all the loss and damage to which the Allied and Associated Governments and their nationals have been subjected as a consequence of the war imposed on them by the aggression of Germany and her allies.  

It was not, Buchan suggested in 1935, …

… the business of any conference to anticipate the judgment of history, and to force a proud nation to confess that her sacrifice had been a crime was a breach of the human decencies. 

The Final Week – Scuttling Ships & Salvaging the Settlement:

Could anyone salvage something from this mess? Surprisingly, perhaps, Nicolson looked to Lloyd George for this. Hitherto, he had been quite critical of Lloyd George’s policies, especially in Asia Minor, which eventually to lead to his downfall. As he sought to scale down the reparations bill, which he saw as ‘immoral and senseless’; to revise the territorial settlement in Silesia to Germany’s advantage; and to grant Germany membership of the League of Nations, Nicolson’s admiration grew, particularly as he fought alone. The French were, quite naturally, furious at him for what they considered to be a betrayal of their interests. By contrast, Wilson’s passivity infuriated Harold, who couldn’t understand why the US President would not take the opportunity to improve the draft treaty. He wrote again to his father, voicing the view of the younger generation of British diplomats:

There is not a single person among the younger people here who is not unhappy and disappointed at the terms. The only people who approve are the old fire-eaters.

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After much hesitation, and under the threat of renewed force, the German government accepted the treaty. Despite his disappointment with its terms, Harold Nicolson breathed a huge sigh of relief that there would be no return to hostilities. Exactly a week before the treaty was due to be signed, however, there was a dramatic turn of events when Admiral von Reuter ordered the scuttling of the German fleet blockaded at Scapa Flow off Orkney, eight months after its surrender. This is shown in the pictures above and below. Of the seventy-four warships interned, forty-eight sank within an hour when the German sailors opened the sea-cocks on the Admiral’s order. He said that he was obeying the Kaiser’s orders, given to him before the war, that no German battleship should be allowed to fall into enemy hands, and denied that he was in breach of the Armistice terms, since he had had no notice of its extension beyond 21 June, the day of expiry. The German sailors risked their lives in carrying out von Reuter’s orders. At noon on the 21st, the German ensign was run up, the battleships began to settle, and their crews crowded into boats or swam for it. Some of the British guardships, uncertain of what was happening, opened fire, and there were over a hundred casualties.

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The treaty was signed on 28 June 1919 in the Galerie des Glaces (‘Hall of Mirrors’) at the palace of Versailles, where half a century before the German Empire had been founded on the degradation of France. Harold Nicolson witnessed the occasion and recorded it in careful detail. The ‘Galerie’ was crowded, with seats for over a thousand. Clemenceau, small and yellow, orchestrated the proceedings. “Faites entrer les Allemands,” he called out. Dr Hermann Müller and Dr Johannes Bell, heads held high, eyes studying the ceiling, one looking like “the second fiddle” in a string ensemble, the other resembling “a privat-dozent“, were led to the table to sign the treaty. No-one spoke or moved. Having committed Germany to the treaty, they were escorted from the hall “like prisoners from the dock”. Over the “breathless silence”, Clemenceau rasped: “Messieurs, la séance est levée.”  Outside, salvoes were fired, while a squadron of aeroplanes flew overhead. Crowds cheered and yelled, “Vive Clemenceau … Vive l’Angleterre.” After the ceremony Clemenceau, with tears in his eyes, was heard to say: “Oui, c’est une belle journée.” Exhausted at the end of an extraordinary day, Nicolson lamented that it has all been horrible … To bed, sick of life.

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General Smuts signed the Versailles Treaty only on the grounds that something of the kind, however imperfect, was needed before the real work of peace-making could begin. But, according to John Buchan, the Treaty proved to be a grave hindrance in that task. For John Maynard Keynes, the British economist, the ‘peace’ was a ‘Carthaginian’ imposition. In The Economic Consequences of the Peace, first published in 1919, he wrote a damning indictment of both the process and product of the Treaty:

Moved by insane delusion and reckless self-regard, the German people overturned the foundations on which we all lived and built. But the spokesmen of the French and British peoples have run the risk of completing the ruin. … Paris was a nightmare. … A sense of impending catastrophe overhung the frivolous scene. … Seated indeed amid the theatrical trappings of the French Saloons of State, one could wonder if the extraordinary visages of Wilson and Clemenceau, with their fixed hue and unchanging characterisation, were really faces at all and not the tragi-comic masks of some strange drama or puppet-show. …

010For John Buchan, the hopeful element in what had been signed lay in its prefix – the Covenant of a new League of Nations, the one remnant left of Wilson’s dreams; the hope was that the reaction against the horrors of war might result in an abiding determination for peace. Machinery was provided to give a system to fulfil this desire. Membership of the League was open to any self-governing state which accepted its principles; it required its members to refrain from war until the quarrel had been submitted to its judgement and to take corporate action against any breaker of the peace. It was not a super-state with a military force as its sanction, but a league of states whose effectiveness in a crisis would depend upon how far its members would be prepared to act collectively. There was no abandonment of sovereign rights, except to a very minor extent. It began as a league of the victorious and neutral Powers, but the defeated Powers were given the right of delayed entry.

 

Above (Right): a facsimile of some of the signatures on the Treaty.

Concluding Versailles – A Toothless Treaty? The Covenant & Council of the League of Nations:

From the start, the League was handicapped by the facts that it was widely regarded as the caretaker of the Peace treaties and therefore suspect to those who found them difficult to come to terms with, and by the fact that the USA refused to join, thereby weakening any chance of collective action. But it was the best that could be done at that juncture by way of international cooperation, and even its flawed and modest beginnings were soon seen as an advance in peacemaking and peacekeeping in the world. It was often said in the 1920s and ’30s that a fundamental weakness of the League of Nations that it ‘lacked teeth’, that it was not prepared to threaten potential and actual aggressors with military force. However, the original clauses in the Covenant contradict this contention. They state that in the case of aggression or threat of aggression, the Council of the League should advise upon how this threat should be met: military action was not excluded. Moreover, if any member of the League did resort to war, the Council would recommend to the governments concerned what effective military, naval and air force the members of the League should contribute. Members of the League were expected to permit the passage through their territories of the armed forces of other members of the League. These articles, therefore, totally envisage the possibility of military action by the League in order to deter aggression. Although the requirement of unanimity on the part of the Council could effectively negate these provisions in certain circumstances, the ‘teeth’ were there, if only the principal Powers were willing to put them to work. In his course notes for the Open University, prepared in 1973, Arthur Marwick pointed to the scope of the problems facing the peacemakers in 1919:

A war on such an unprecedented scale obviously left problems of an unprecedented nature. Insulated as we have been in these islands, we can easily forget the immense problems involved in the collapse of old political frontiers, from the mixing of races in particular areas, from the reallocation of territorial boundaries, and from the transfer of populations…

The Treaty of Versailles altogether consists of 440 articles and it takes up 230 pages of Volume LIII of the ‘Parliamentary Papers’ for 1919. From the document itself, we can see the very real complexities and difficulties which faced the peacemakers. From the detail in some parts of the Treaty, we can see what peacemaking is really like, as distinct from the brief text-book accounts which merely summarise the broad principles; we can see what is involved in putting those principles into practice. The Treaty of Versailles expressed certain intentions about settling the map of Europe. But, as with all historical documents, we do learn things from it about the fundamental assumptions of the men who drafted it. And throughout the entire Treaty, there is a good deal of ‘unwitting testimony’ about the political events, social conditions and cultural attitudes in Europe in 1918-19. A rapid glance at the map below will show that a serious attempt was made in 1919 to arrange the frontiers of the states so that the main boundaries coincided with the national divisions of the European peoples. As a result of the treaties, only a small minority, about three per cent, was still under the subjection of other nationalities. In many cases, the peoples themselves had taken the initiative and proclaimed their independence and the peacemakers simply had to accept what had already been accomplished. Their task was ‘simply’ to fix the new boundaries of these ethnic groups. But in doing so, they were responsible for some gross injustices, as the map also shows.

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(to be continued).

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Roots of Liberal Democracy, Part Three: Hungary 1956 & 1989/90: Revolution, Reaction & Reform.   1 comment

002The Expropriation of 1956:

Twenty-five years ago, Árpád Göncz (pictured right), then President of the Republic of Hungary and a former prisoner of the Kádár régime, delivered a speech on the anniversary of the execution of Imre Nagy in 1958 in which he made the following observation on the 1956 Revolution:

“Everyone has the right to interpret 1956. But no one has the right to expropriate 1956. Only the knowledge of the undistorted truth can mellow the one-time confrontation into peace.”

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Just the use of the noun ‘Revolution’ involves interpretation, which is why some historians still prefer to refer to it as an ‘Uprising’. István Bart places it next to the events of 1848-49 and 1918-19 as, in Hungarian, a ‘forradalom’ (revolution). He defines it in the following terms:

… the bitter, desperate uprising against the Soviet Empire was one of the few events in the history of Hungary that was also of importance to the history of the world as a whole; the euphoric experience of the precious few days of freedom that followed the rapid, overnight collapse of an oppressive régime could never be forgotten, despite the … strict taboo against any mention of it; its defeat left an equally deep mark on the nation’s consciousness, as did the painful realization that Hungary’s fate was decided by the Great Powers, and not by the bloody fighting on the streets of Budapest; none the less, the events that led to the change in régime (>’rendszerváltás’) became irreversible (with every Hungarian citizen realizing this full well) when it was openly declared that what had happened in Hungary in 1956 was a revolution and not a “counter-revolution”.

Margaret Rooke, in her Case Study on The Hungarian Revolt of 1956 (1986), (intriguingly sub-titled János Kádár: traitor or saviour?) attached a glossary in which she defined ‘liberal democratic’ as a form of government in which several parties of both Right and Left compete for power in free elections; freedom of expression, organisation etc. Based on the variety of sources she consulted for this study, she described the government of Imre Nagy in these terms. She also defined the Petöfi Circle as a ‘Liberal and nationalist’ student society, named after the nationalist poet of the 1848 Revolution, Sándor Petöfi. The circle sponsored public debates and became a focal point for discussion within the wider press in Hungary.

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In 1972, János Kádár gave a speech to his Communist Party colleagues at his sixtieth birthday celebration in which he addressed the problem of the nomenclature of the events of the autumn of 1956:

In 1956 a grave and critical situation arose, which is called counter-revolution by historians. We know that this is the learned definition of what happened in 1956. But there is also another name for it that we can all accept; it was a national tragedy. A tragedy for the Party, the working-class, for the people as a whole and for individuals as well! It was a wrong turning, and this resulted in tragedy. And if we are now past it – and we can safely say we are – it is a very great thing indeed.  

What Kind of Revolution?:

But we also need to consider the adjectives which are often used to ‘appropriate’ the revolution. Sixty years on, Hungarians can certainly agree with Kádár that it was a national tragedy which needs to be commemorated as such, but as a historical event, if we accept that it was not simply a spontaneous ‘insurrection’,’uprising’ or ‘revolt’, but that it was a revolution, was it a socialist one, or was it liberal or nationalist in its ideological origins?

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Imre Nagy became a focal point as both Communist reformers and liberal intellectuals supported him. In April 1955 Nagy had lost power as PM and was expelled from the Hungarian Workers’ Party (Communist Party) in the wake of Khrushchev’s consolidation in Moscow. But following the new Soviet leader’s “secret speech” to the Twentieth Communist Party Congress in February 1956, Hungarian party boss Mátyás Rákosi announced in March that Lászlo Rajk, who had been convicted of spying for the CIA and executed in 1949, would be posthumously exonerated and rehabilitated. At the same time, however, Rákosi forced more collectivisation of agriculture and cracked down on the private sector and the arts.

The US Legation reported that…

… his removal or retirement… would be interpreted… by the general population as a victory for passive resistance.

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On 19 June, Rajk’s widow made a speech to the Petöfi Circle in which she made it clear that this conflict could not be resolved except by the latter tendency gaining the upper hand over the hard-liners:

Comrades, there are no words with which to tell you how I feel facing you after cruel years in jail, without a word, … a letter, or a sign of life reaching me from the outside, living in despair and hopelessness. When they took me away, I was nursing my five-month old infant. For five years I had no word of my baby.

You not only killed my husband, but you killed all decency in our country. You destroyed Hungary’s political, economic and moral life. Murderers cannot be rehabilitated. They must be punished!

Where were the members of the Party while these things were happening? How could they allow such degeneration to take place without rising in wrath against the guilty?

Comrades, stand by me in this fight!

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Then the unbelievable happened. Along with the audience, the Communist officials on the rostrum stood and gave the widow a standing ovation. In July, Soviet leaders in Moscow ordered a reorganisation of the HWP, hoping the move would avert an insurrection like the unrest which had flared in Poland the previous month. Rákosi was sacked as Party First Secretary and Ernő Gerő, his long-term hardline accomplice replaced him, while János Kádár, a ‘homegrown’ reformer, became Secretary of the Politburo. Kádár was well-known, first as a tool of Stalinism, then as a victim. To most people, he seemed an ordinary rehabilitated Party bureaucrat, a few steps down from the top, but with a past that did not differ from that of many others. Yet he was both friend and betrayer of Rajk, whom he then helped to frame when he was imprisoned in the 1949 purges. He is reported to have persuaded Rajk to confess to being an ‘imperialist spy’ by telling him:

Of course we all know that you are innocent. … The Party has chosen you for the role of traitor; you must sacrifice yourself for the Party. This is terrible but after all you are an old militant and cannot refuse to help the Party. 

Rajk had been a comparatively ‘nation-minded’ Communist who had been moved from the Ministry of the Interior to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs before his public destruction. His trial, ‘confession’ to being a Titoist and imperialist spy had been followed by his execution as his wife listened from her own nearby cell. Kádár had also been imprisoned at that time, and his brief moment of notoriety had seemed to be over. But now, with Rákosi’s replacement, Kádár quickly rose to the top of a violently changing and increasingly discontented Communist Party. Its top ranks had melted away around him and he was left almost alone. Gerő was far too closely identified with Rákosi to be able to implement the slow economic and political liberalisation that Moscow hoped for.

In August, the US Legation reported that the Government was making an effort to gain support from Nagy’s adherents within the Party, and from non-Communist elements, and that…

… the basic conflict continues between those wishing to cushion the effect of the Twentieth Congress in Hungary and those wishing to permit a more natural development of ideological thought and practice (within limits).

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Nagy was reinstated to the Hungarian Workers’ Party (HWP) at the beginning of October when an estimated 200,000 people demonstrated against Stalinism, inspired by the ceremonial reburial of Lászlo Rajk and other victims of the 1949 purges. Political opposition groups continued to meet in universities in Szeged, Sopron and Budapest, formulating their demands. On 16 and 23 October, two groups of students met and made the first open Hungarian demands for the removal of Soviet troops. Hungarian newspapers covered the meetings and the students continued to meet and organise openly. In his recent article for the Hungarian Review, Gyula Kodolányi has pointed to the evidence that some planning did go into the events which followed. The political police fired into the unarmed crowd at the Hungarian Radio Station on the evening of the 23rd when the demonstrators pressed for the proclamation of the Hungarian youth, with its list of their political demands, to be broadcast. Armed conflict broke out at the block of buildings next to the Radio building. Hungarian troops ordered to the spot by Gerő’s ‘Military Committee’ handed their weapons over to the demonstrators, some of them also participating in the siege of the Radio Station themselves.

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At the same time, another huge cheering crowd toppled the enormous Stalin statue in City Park and hauled its several pieces through the centre of the city. With this, the Hungarian Revolution, apparently unplanned and without leaders, had started.  There is some evidence that hard-liners in Moscow and Budapest decided in the summer to ignite a small-scale conflict, in order to finally do away with the Imre Nagy faction of the Party and to teach a lesson to the ‘hot-headed Hungarians’. Kodolányi has concluded from this and other scraps of evidence that:

Provocation was certainly an element in igniting the spirits of Hungarians – but the outcome, an armed revolution that humbled the Soviet Army units stationed in Hungary was certainly not in the calculations of the masterminds of the Kremlin and Gerő. 

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As a source for other elements of the 1956 events, Hannah Arendt’s Reflections on the Hungarian Revolution is often referred to as a positive appreciation of the 1956 events. She argued that the Revolution itself was not a mere response to probable provocation, but an immense surge of soul and community wisdom in a whole nation, an event that remained unique in modern history.

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In search of a political solution, Gerő and his friends brought in Imre Nagy on the night of 23 October to become Prime Minister for a second time. That was certainly unplanned, as Nagy was on holiday at the time and was pathetically out of touch with the situation, addressing the hundreds of thousands waiting to hear him on Kossúth Square in the late evening with “Comrades!” They booed him for this, but Nagy was not yet ready to accept the leadership of a non-Communist Revolution, and certainly not an anti-Soviet one, despite strong pressure from some intellectuals.

Indeed, a report written by Sefton Delmer which appeared in the Daily Express on 24 October emphasised the seemingly ‘orthodox’ nature of the demonstrations on 23 October:

The fantastic, and to my mind, really super-ingenious nature of this national rising against the ‘Hammer and Sickle’, is that it is carried out under the protective red mantle of pretended communist orthodoxy. Gigantic portraits of Lenin are being carried at the head of the marchers. The purged ex-premier Imre Nagy, who only in the last couple of weeks has been re-admitted to the Hungarian Communist Party, is the rebels’ chosen champion and the leader whom they demand must be given charge of a new, free and independent Hungary. Indeed the socialism of this ex-Premier and – this is my bet – Premier soon to be again, is no doubt genuine enough. But the youths in the crowd, to my mind, were in the vast majority as anti-Communist as they were anti-Soviet, that is, if you agree that calling for the removal of the Red Army is anti-Soviet.

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In a BBC broadcast made in 1962, the revolutionary refugee Pál Ignotus recalled that…

Even those who feel strongly against the present régime … would all agree that nothing of the sort of the semi-feudalist capitalism of pre-war Hungary … should be restored. Those who sparked off the 1956 Revolution were against the then existing régime, not because they found it too socialist, but because they did not find it genuinely Socialist.

Béla Kovács, minister of agriculture in the Nagy government as a member of the Smallholder Party commented at the time:

No one should dream of going back to the world of aristocrats, bankers and capitalists. That world is definitely gone!

Bob Dent, the Budapest-based writer, having researched all the documents recently published in English on the events of 1956, has supported this view:

The attacks on the Party were attacks on its monopoly of power, not on the ideal of socialism or workers’ power as such. … It is even more difficult to find substantive evidence showing that the overall orientation was towards a capitalist restoration.

On the contrary, Dent has pointed out that the crucial role of factory workers, both in Budapest and in other towns, has been underestimated until  recent research uncovered it:

The first workers’ council to appear was established outside the capital at the … iron and steel works in Diósgyőr in the industrial north-east, … on 22 October, the day before the events are usually regarded as having begun. This and similar bodies represented a form of direct democracy somewhat different from the forms of multi-party parliamentary system and from the classic Soviet-style, one-party system.

He has demonstrated how these councils outlived the crack-down by Kádár’s government and survived the initial repression which destroyed the Revolution elsewhere, on the streets and in the universities. Even Kádár himself, in a radio broadcast on 24 October, before he first joined Nagy’s revolutionary government and then formed his own with Soviet backing, recognised that the Revolution had begun ‘innocently’ enough, but was then taken over by reactionaries:

The demonstration of university youth, which began with the formulation of, on the whole, acceptable demands, has swiftly degenerated into a demonstration against our democratic order; and under cover of this demonstration an armed attack has broken out. It is only with burning anger that we can speak of this attack by counter-revolutionary reactionary elements against the capital of our country …

The fight is being waged chiefly by the most loyal unite of our People’s Army, by members of the internal security forces and police, who are displaying heroic courage, and by former partisans with the help of our brothers and allies, the Soviet soldiers. 

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On the following day, 25th, Ernő Gerő disappeared permanently. Kádár made another radio broadcast announcing that the Politburo had ‘entrusted’ him with the post of First Secretary of the HWP in a grave and difficult situation. He warned that the Nagy Government must conduct negotiations with the Soviet Union in a spirit of complete equality between Hungary and the Soviet Union. Over the next few days, however, with Gerő out-of-the-way, Kádár’s attitude towards the Revolution and the Government seemed to soften considerably, resulting in his joining the multi-party cabinet less than a week later. Meanwhile, Nagy kept reshuffling his government, consulting with the two ‘liberal’ emissaries of the Kremlin, Mikoyan and Suslov, who were in constant transit between Moscow and Budapest. He tried to persuade them that concessions, the admission of the most urgent national demands, would appease the fighters and open a peaceful way out of the conflict.

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Turning Points & Days of Change:

Peter Unwin, the British diplomat and envoy in Budapest during the Revolution and Kádár era, and wrote a monograph of Imre Nagy, Voice in the Wilderness (1992). He wrote that of how 28-29 October represented a turning point in Nagy’s thinking, and therefore in the Revolution. On 28th, Nagy made the most significant of his radio broadcasts to date, announcing a ceasefire and the immediate withdrawal of Soviet troops from Budapest: negotiations would start about their complete withdrawal from Hungary. As soon as order was restored, the security police would be abolished. Budapest Radio also announced that the Central Committee had approved the declaration promising the end of the one-party system made by the new Hungarian Government. On 29th he fulfilled this later promise with immediate effect. With these measures, he gained attention, closing the gap between the reform communist leadership and the insurgent street-fighters.

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On 30 October, it looked as if the Revolution had triumphed. A further announcement confirmed that Kádár and the Central Committee (Politburo) of the Hungarian Workers’ Party had backed the cabinet’s decision to abolish the one-party system and to place the country’s government on the basis of democratic cooperation between coalition parties as they existed in 1945. This effectively meant a return to multi-party free elections. Under these terms, Kádár became an ex-officio member of Nagy’s Government. On the 30th, Mikoyan and Suslov spent the whole day in Budapest, and when they left Budapest to return to Moscow, according to Unwin, they remained committed to supporting Nagy’s interim government and its decision to concede a more multi-party government.

Therefore, breaking with the confines of a reform communist programme, Nagy had embraced the multi-party system. The Soviet-backed Government had at first sent tanks in, then yielded and prepared to allow some freedom to the Hungarian people, within the limits of the one-party state. But Hungarians of all classes had had enough. These limits were precisely what they wanted to get rid of. The continuing disturbances and the distribution of leaflets calling for a multi-party system drove Nagy to swing away from an exclusively Communist state and to break all the guarantees of Russian security within the Warsaw Pact. “Russians go home!” was the universal cry. Kádár also had to echo it, but this was just what the Russians dared not do, and the dramatic reversal of the Kremlin’s behaviour took place on that night as the Soviet envoys were flying home.

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By the time Mikoyan and Suslov arrived in Moscow, the balance in the Politburo had already tipped towards the hardliners and the Army leaders who clamoured for revenge for their humiliating losses on the streets of Budapest. Unwin summed up that it was decided that the Hungarian Revolution must be destroyed by force. It may also have been thought that Nagy could be detached from the revolutionary leaders and perhaps even put in charge of an administration that would follow Soviet orders. As it turned out, the man who could be detached was János Kádár. Imre Nagy did not move when he heard the news of new troops pouring into the country from 30 October, and began his journey towards martyrdom.

Also on 30 October, Cardinal Mindszenty was released from his life imprisonment, which had begun in December 1948. He had been badly treated while in custody. In his own account, he said that his guards had a meeting and decided to leave their watch duties, leaving him free. The following morning, he was escorted by armed civilian units to his residence in Buda’s Castle District. A crowd of well-wishers and journalists was waiting outside the building, where the Hungarian tricolour and the papal colours were flying. Although both American magazine reports and the records of the Kádár régime claim that the cardinal blessed the weapons of the freedom fighters and called for foreign intervention, the mainstream Hungarian newspapers that covered the cardinal’s arrival in detail reported no details of a statement of this kind. They simply stated that Mindszenty gave a few words of greeting to the crowd from the balcony. In his own memoirs, he said that he blessed the kneeling crowds and then entered the building he had not seen for years. He showed that he didn’t approve of the idea, expressed in slogans painted on the streets calling for a “Mindszenty government”.

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The following day, 1 November, Mindszenty made it clear that he had called for the formation of a Christian Democratic Party as his price for supporting the Nagy Government. The same day he released a short press statement, broadcast on the radio, in which he said that he felt “no hatred in his heart” after his years of imprisonment. Calling the “struggle for freedom” which had taken place “unparalleled in world history”, he greeted the Hungarian youth and called for prayers for the victims. Two days later, on 3 November, the primate held a press conference at his residence in the morning before making his famous live radio broadcast that evening. In the press conference, he made it clear, to the point of irritation, that he had no intention of heading a government. However, different people interpreted his radio address in differing ways. The ‘official’ view of the Kádár régime, established the next day, was that was that Mindszenty’s radio address was a clear-cut expression of reaction and counter-revolution. János Bercz, in a work published in English at the end of the era, thirty years later, still felt able to write that in the speech Mindszenty presented his programme for the restoration of capitalism, though he didn’t quote anything from it as supporting evidence of this assertion. What Mindszenty actually said, at least according to his own memoirs, was:

“We desire to live in friendship with every people and with every country. … The old-fashioned nationalism must be revalued (‘re-evaluated?’) everywhere. … we give the Russian empire no cause for bloodshed. … We have not attacked Russia and sincerely hope that the withdrawal of Russian military force from our country will soon occur.”

After calling for a general return to work, echoing the Nagy Government, he stated that the uprising was “not a revolution, but a fight for freedom”. The post-1948 régime had been forced on the country, he said, but now had been swept away by the entire Hungarian people…

“because the nation wanted to decide freely on how it should live. It wants to be free to decide about the management of its state and the use of its labour.”

Declaring his own independence from any party, the cardinal called for fresh elections under international control in which every party would be free to nominate. But then he immediately warned everyone not to give way to internecine struggle, even adding that the country needed “as few parties and party leaders as possible”. On political and social matters in general, he affirmed that Hungary was…

“… a constitutional state, in a society without classes and … democratic achievements. We are for private property rightly and justly limited by social interests … we do not oppose the direction of former progress.

As for church matters, Mindszenty called for the immediate granting of Christian religious instruction the restoration of the institutions and associations of the Catholic Church. Towards the end of his broadcast, he asserted that what he had said was “clear and sufficient”. However, for many, it was neither clear nor sufficient. On the question of the return of church lands, for example, in his memoirs, he tried to clarify that he had meant that would be no opposition to the state of affairs which has already been proven right by the course of history, yet this addendum was far from clear either. The speech itself greatly disturbed some supporters of the Nagy government, especially his characterisation of it as “the successors of a fallen régime”. They suspected that he would like to see the government fall too, or at least the communist elements in it. If they suspected that at the time, it is hardly surprising that his words could so easily be misinterpreted and twisted by Kádár’s supporters in the days and years that followed.

Meanwhile, on 1 November, the radio had announced that the revolution had been declared a success, having shaken off the Rákosi régime and achieved freedom for the people and independence for the country. Significantly, it added that without this there can be no socialism and that the ideological and organisational leaders who prepared this uprising were recruited from a range of Communist writers, journalists, university students and members of the Petöfi Circle, as well as from thousands of workers, peasants and political prisoners. The foundation of the new Hungarian Workers’ Party was being established by János Kádár, and the announcement went on to declare that:

Either the Hungarian democratic parties will have enough strength to stabilize our achievements or we must face an open counter-revolution.

The same day, Kádár gave an interview to an Italian journalist, who asked him what type of communism he represented. His reply was: the new type, which emerged from the Revolution and which does not want anything in common with the Communism of the Rákosi-Hegedüs-Gerő group. Asked if it had anything in common with the Yugoslav or Polish type, he responded…

“… our Communism is Hungarian. It is a sort of “third line” with no connection to Titoism or to Gomulka’s Communism. It is Marxism-Leninism, adapted to the particular requirements of our country, to our difficulties and to our national problem. It is not inspired by the USSR nor by any other type of Communism, … it is Hungarian National Communism.”

As to whether this form of Communism would be developed along democratic lines, Kádár assured his interlocutor that there would be no dictatorship and that the opposition would be heard because it would have the national interests of Hungary at heart and not those of international Communism. A further brief announcement was made later the same day, by Nagy himself, informing the Hungarian population that the new government had renounced the Warsaw Pact. Apparently, in the meeting which decided on the withdrawal, Kádár had dramatically offered to fight the Russians with his ‘bare hands’. After the meeting, however, Kádár suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from Budapest. Up until that point, he had seemed to be in favour of the dramatic swing towards Hungary becoming a pluralistic, democratic state.

Nagy continued to negotiate with the democratic coalition parties on the composition of a new representative government, and with representatives of various social groups and revolutionary councils bent on establishing a new order, while General Béla Király united and consolidated the insurgent forces in a newly created National Guard. The following day, the 2nd, Nagy announced that his new government included three Smallholder members, three Social Democrats, two National Peasant Party and two Communist Party ministers, thus resembling the cabinet which resulted from the November 1945 free elections. Pál Maléter was named Minister of Defence, quickly re-establishing control of the streets. The new government was announced on the radio on the 3rd. That day, Hungary became a liberal democracy again for the first time since 1948, but it was to last only until the next morning.

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Operation Whirlwind – The Empire Strikes Back:

At dawn on Sunday 4 November, Soviet forces started Operation Whirlwind, a general attack on the country and its capital, with an armoured force bigger than that of the Red Army which ‘liberated’ Budapest from Nazi occupation in 1944 and more troops than those of the Nazis who occupied Paris in 1940. The invasion marked the beginning of the end of the Revolution, almost as soon as it had succeeded. The announcement of Kádár’s new Hungarian Revolutionary Worker-Peasant Government was made later that same day from the Soviet-Hungarian border:

“… Exploiting mistakes committed during the building of our people’s democratic system, the reactionary elements have misled many honest workers, and in particular the major part of our youth, which joined the movement out of honest and patriotic intentions …

The Hungarian Revolutionary Worker-Peasant Government, acting in the interest of our people … requested the Soviet Army Command to help our nation smash the sinister forces of reaction and restore order and calm in the country.”

I have given more detailed accounts of these events in a series of articles elsewhere on this site. Here, I am more concerned to establish the extent to which the leadership of the Revolution was either non-Communist or anti-Communist. However, the life of the Hungarian Revolution had just blossomed in that fateful moment. Over the following months, the revolutionaries tried all forms of armed and peaceful resistance, of tough negotiation, of demonstrations and protest against the Kádár régime that only slowly consolidated itself by the spring of 1957. As Kodalányi commented:

The life of the revolution blossomed out in all of us Hungarians who lived through it, and in everyone in the wide world who sensed its essence together with us. A flower of spiritual life that would not fade.

One of the earliest accounts of the Revolution, The Tragedy of Central Europe, written by Stephen Borsody in 1960 (revised in 1980), summarised what happened next and how the Soviet leaders justified their action:

Upon reconquering Hungary, the Soviets installed a puppet government under János Kádár, a renegade national Communist, and re-instituted a rule of terror reminiscent of the Stalin era. To justify their bloody deed, the Soviet leaders branded the Hungarian Revolution as a ‘counter-revolution’ launched by ‘Western imperialist circles’ and led by Horthyite Fascists and aristocrats.

Contrary to this ‘branding’, writing in 1977, Domokos Szent-Iványi, one of those ‘liberal’ aristocrats, claimed that he had actually succeeded in preventing the clandestine Hungarian Independence Movement (MFM) from taking part in the Revolution. This was important to him because the pro-Rákosi Communist Party and Press had already shown their determination to put the “blame on ex-prisoners”, in particular on the so-called “Conspirators” for the fighting in Budapest and the country. Even the secret police, the ÁVH had to admit that none of the ‘Conspirators’ had actively participated. The ‘provocations’ of the Rákosi-Hegedüs-Gerő gang greatly contributed to the success of the Kádár régime in this respect, he claimed. The last meeting of a group of eight of them had taken place on 3 November, the date on which Nagy’s Government was announced, along with the declaration of neutrality. At the meeting, Szent-Iványi had outlined the current situation as he viewed it, and gave his opinion about coming events. Many of the leading members, including István Szent-Miklósy, former Major of the General Staff, and László Veress, former diplomat and press officer for the Prime Minister’s Office during the war, left Hungary within a few days of the Soviet invasion on 4 November. Clearly, the Hungarian Independence Movement, the remnant of the aristocratic Horthyite ‘liberals’, did not play a major role in the events of 1956, and deliberately so. Albeit with the benefit of hindsight, Szent-Iványi concluded that…

… As in the past… Hungary was once more abandoned in 1956 by the West Powers which believed that their interests had to be defeated around the borders of Suez and Israel and not on the Eastern bulwark of European Civilization. … Hungary must… try to arrive at some peaceful settlement and cooperation with her most powerful eastern neighbour, the Soviet Union.

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Before the Soviet takeover, on the 2nd, Anna Kéthely (pictured right), President of the hurriedly reorganised Social Democratic Party, had become Minister of State in Imre Nagy’s government. Two days later, she was in Vienna attending a meeting of the Socialist International when the Soviet invasion of Hungary began. Unable to return to Hungary without facing certain imprisonment, she was given the mission by the Nagy Government of protesting to the United Nations. She testified against the invasion at the UN’s HQ in New York on 30 January 1957, as shown in the picture.

By then, of course, Nagy was a prisoner of the Soviets, tricked into leaving the Yugoslav Embassy on 22 November, where he and many members of his government had been taking refuge since the 4th, before being transported to Romania. Kéthely told the UN that she could not believe that he would have accepted his part voluntarily. Protests were made from throughout the world in the period 1956-58. In a letter to the editor of Pravda, written in January 1957, members of the British Parliamentary Labour Party, including Barbara Castle and Tony Benn, questioned the Soviet Government’s justification for its intervention in Hungary as it had appeared in the newspaper:

… your newspaper has portrayed the Hungarian uprising as ‘counter-revolutionary’. May we ask exactly what is meant by this expression? Does it include all systems of government which permit political parties whose programmes are opposed to that of the Communist Party? If, for example, the Hungarian people were to choose a parliamentary system similar to those in Finland or Sweden, would you regard that as counter-revolutionary?

you have said that the Hungarian uprising was planned long in advance by the West and you have in particular blamed Radio Free Europe. Are you seriously suggesting that masses of Hungarian workers and peasants were led by these means into organising mass strikes aimed at restoring the power of feudal landlords and capitalists?

The philosopher Albert Camus was ostracised by Jean Paul-Sartre and his friends for his unflinching condemnation of Soviet aggression and of the West’s moral and political failure to do what could have been done on behalf of the revolutionaries and the country. In her detailed analysis of the Hungarian Revolution, Origins of Totalitarianism, recorded in 1957, the ‘libertarian socialist’ Hannah Arendt wrote:

This was a true event whose stature will not depend on victory or defeat: its greatness is secure in the tragedy it enacted. What happened in Hungary happened nowhere else, and the twelve days of the revolution contained more history than the twelve years since the Red Army had ‘liberated’ the country from Nazi domination.

Freedom and Truth – The Libertarian Legacy of 1956:

Arendt marvelled at the way in which the Revolution was initiated by the prime objects of indoctrination, ‘the over-privileged’ of the Communist system: intellectuals of the left, university students, and workers, the Communist ‘avant-garde’:

Their motive was neither their own nor their fellow-citizens’ material misery, but exclusively Freedom and Truth. …an ultimate affirmation that human nature is unchangeable, that nihilism will be futile, that … a yearning for freedom and truth will rise out of man’s heart and mind forever.

In the same spirit of optimism, she also reflected on how, ever since the European revolutions of 1848, a new order was immediately created by a freely convened gathering of citizens. The wonder of the restrained and resourceful operation of Hungary’s spontaneously formed revolutionary and workers’ councils, already referred to above, was one of the great social achievements of the Revolution of 1956. Although by their own admission, there was no direct involvement of the ‘centrist’ liberals in initiating the events of 1956, there was an unmistakable historical thread running through from the reform movements of the 1930s to the clandestine anti-Nazi resistance of 1944, to the democratic parties of the reconstruction between 1945 to 1948 and, with the memory of 1956 in their minds, to the new liberal democracy of 1989-90, despite the stupefying thirty years of János Kádár’s ‘liberal’ socialism. Arendt also observed as a unique trait of the Hungarian Revolution the unanimity of the nation in the spirit of the uprising:

 The amazing thing about the Hungarian revolution is that there was no civil war. For the Hungarian Army disintegrated in hours and the dictatorship was stripped of all power in a couple of days. No group, no class in the nation opposed the will of the people once it had become known and its voice had been heard in the market place. For the members of the ÁVH, who remained loyal to the end, formed neither group nor class, the lower echelons having been recruited from the dregs of the population: criminals, nazi agents, highly compromised members of the Hungarian fascist party, the higher ranks being composed of Moscow agents, Hungarians with Russian citizenship under the orders of NKVD officers.

Echoing the United Nations Special Report of the same year, 1957, this analysis carries weight because of the widely acknowledged integrity of its author. It carries a special significance because of the Soviet propaganda, also spouted by the Kádár régime, which from its very beginning branded the events as a rebellion of fascists, anti-Semites, reactionaries and imperialists.

Nagy was eventually executed, along with Pál Maleter and Miklós Gimes, on the orders of the Russians in 1958 to appease the hard-line Chinese. In his last speech to the Court, on 14 June, Imre Nagy was determined to demonstrate his reasons for backing and then leading the Revolution:

“Twice I tried to save the honour of the word ‘socialism’ in the Danube River valley: in 1953 and 1956. The first time, I was thwarted by Rákosi, the second time by the armed might of the Soviet Union. Now I must give my life for my ideas. I give it willingly. After what you have done with it, it’s not worth anything any more. I know that History will condemn my assassins. There is only one thing that would disgust me: if my name were rehabilitated by those who killed me.” 

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Margaret Rooke concluded that the Revolution represented a huge swing of the political pendulum. For ten years the hand had been held by force at the extreme of Rákosi’s one-party rule, directed by the Soviet Communist Party. Suddenly it was released and immediately it swung back through the various stages of Communism past the vital point of permitting other parties to function. But when it swung up in the direction opposite to Communism, from multi-party social democracy, through social democracy to liberal democracy, that was a swing too far for the Soviet system to accommodate. The hand was stopped and then made to swing back, not being allowed to swing again for another thirty years and more. The immediate aftermath of the Revolt was repression. The writers, whose onslaught had fatally undermined Rákosi, were almost silenced. Cardinal Mindszenty, the Catholic primate, was compelled to seek asylum in the US Embassy. In 1958, the year of the trial and executions of Imre Nagy and Pál Maleter, the exile Tibor Meray wrote Thirteen Days that Shook the Kremlin, commemorating Nagy’s life and death, in which he observed:

To say that Hungary’s history had never known a leadership more thoroughly detested than this ‘Revolutionary Workers’ and Peasants’ Government’ would be in no way an exaggeration … Little by little the rule of the Rákosi-Gerő clique was restored … The activities of Kádár Government soon gave the lie to the glowing promises with which it assumed power.

001However, there was virtually no Communist Party with which Kádár could run the country; it had sunk in numbers from 900,000 to 96,000, most of them being Stalinists and/or careerists hated by their fellow Hungarians, who were therefore unreliable supporters of Kádár. After 1961, he could afford to relax rigid controls, and although collectivisation was eventually insisted on, the collective farms were more like state-controlled co-operatives, with working shareholders running them. Entrance to university was no longer confined to the children of workers, peasant and Communist intellectuals. George Lukács, the country’s greatest philosopher, was again allowed to publish his works. An agreement with the Churches, to which sixty per cent of the population belonged, was reached. An amnesty was declared for all 1956 refugees. In 1962, George Páloczi-Horváth, an exile from 1956, broadcast this on the BBC:

When we were marching on that revolutionary protest march, if anyone had told us that in five or six years life would be in Hungary as it is now, we would have been very pleased, because it would have accomplished a great deal, if not everything we wanted to achieve.

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In 1968 the New Economic Mechanism officially introduced private incentive and individual enterprise into the economy. A degree of pluralism was re-introduced when trade unions were given more power and non-Party candidates were allowed to stand in parliamentary elections. However, only the Communist-dominated Fatherland Front was allowed to exist. But 1968 also showed the realities of power under the layers of growing prosperity and individual freedom. Hungary was compelled to send some its forces to Czechoslovakia in support of the Soviet intervention there against Dubcek’s liberalisation (see the picture below).

The cage may have been made more comfortable, but the bars were still there and the keeper kept his eyes open. In the 1970s, Hungary enjoyed a massive rise in living standards. The new co-operatives made peasants’ incomes higher than workers’ ones. Hungary had ‘weekend cottage socialism’.

 

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In a material sense, and in terms of the personal and national autonomy of Hungarians, Kádár had succeeded, even if at the expense of the alleged results of prosperity – apathy, lack of high ideals, money-grubbing and high rates of divorce, abortion and suicide. In 1974, William Shawcross wrote Crime and Compromise, in which he summed up Kádár’s position in Hungary:

Out of the rubble of the Revolution which he himself had razed, he has somehow managed to construct one of the most reasonable, sane and efficient Communist states in the world. Hungarians now speak, not only ironically, of their country as the ‘gayest barracks in the Socialist camp’ and praise Kádár for making it so. … Hungary today is personified by Kádár and many Hungarians are convinced that without him their country would be a very different and probably far worse place to live.

Writing in 1977, Domokos Szent-Ivanyi commented that…

… from 1956, the Kádar régime was able to win the confidence both of the Hungarian people and of the Soviet Union and has brought peace to the country and its inhabitants.

Nevertheless, for many intellectuals, the continuing limitations on freedom of speech and action reminded them that there were still taboos in place. The first of these concerned Hungary’s links with the Soviets and foreign policy questions itself. It was generally well-known that it was Nagy’s announcement on Hungary’s neutrality, detailed above, that had changed the stakes in the Revolution itself, rather than the previous announcement of a multi-party government and promise of free elections. Secondly, it was forbidden to criticise the armed forces in any way, as well as the judiciary and the internal security organs. Thirdly, it was not permitted to criticise any living individual by name. The reason for this was the need for ‘cadre responsibility’ so that no-one needed to worry about being attacked from outside the Party. Fourthly, certain facts and subjects could not be subjected to sharp criticisms. These could be made in anecdotes, satire or by means of technical analysis, but not in a direct, radical manner.

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In October 1981, Gordon Brook-Shepherd wrote an article for the Sunday Telegraph in commemoration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Revolt. He travelled beyond Budapest to hear survivors from a feudal world … declare that, although Communists were all atheists, Kádár himself was ‘a good man’. Moreover, things were better then than they used to be, This verdict came from a family who had made their daughter break off her engagement to a purely because the fiancé was the son of a local party boss. Brook-Shepherd found that for many ‘ordinary’ Hungarians, much of the ‘fine talk’ about ‘freedom’ was an irrelevance:

Freedom for them today is defined as a weekend house, a better apartment in the city, a shorter wait for a better car, more frequent foreign travel and for the intellectuals (as one of them put it to me), ‘the privilege to go on censuring ourselves’. If you do not get what you like, you eventually like what you get. 

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In 1986, the English Language version of Sándor Kopácsi’s In the Name of the Working Class was published in Toronto. As Budapest’s Chief of Police, Kopácsi was ordered to suppress the uprising, but the former Communist partisan defied the Stalinist authorities and then joined the Revolution under Imre Nagy. He was given a sentence of life imprisonment by the same Court which sentenced Nagy, Maléter and Gimes to hang. Kopácsi’s book makes it evident that the Revolution was initially a Communist uprising, as other sources quoted here suggest, begun not to deny but to fulfil what its participants believed to be true Marxist-Leninist ideas. But in his 1986 Foreward, George Jonas admitted that…

It is hard to say whether originators of the uprising realized at the time that events might carry political reform in Hungary much further, not in the direction of ‘fascism’ – this was simply not on the cards in 1956 – but in the direction of liberal democracy. It is hard to say whether the reformists considered at the time (as the Kremlin certainly did) that if the revolution succeeded Hungary could end up as a genuinely non-aligned parliamentary democracy whose freely elected governments might include no Marxist parties at all.

In fact, even János Kádár, according to a broadcast on Budapest Radio on 15 November 1956, had admitted that, while his Government hoped to regain the confidence of the people, it had to take into account the possibility that we might be thoroughly beaten at the election. Of course, that election was never held because Khrushchev and the Politburo saw ‘democratic Communism’ as a contradiction in terms. They knew, as did Kádár, that Communism and real political freedom were not compatible for the simple reason that, if free to choose, the people in European countries such as Hungary, were not likely to choose Communism. The Soviet leaders were not willing to risk this, nor even an independent Communist régime. One Tito was quite enough, as far as they were concerned. Idealist reform-communists like Imre Nagy identified the dangers differently. They argued that a thaw in the icy grip of the Soviet Union was necessary to avoid a complete popular rejection of the Communist model. Nagy and his collaborators supported the Uprising in Hungary in order prevent one. As Jonas points out:

Nagy and his followers wanted to rescue the system. They believed that allowing events to take their course, following the clear desires of the Hungarian students, workers, soldiers and intellectuals was the best way to rescue it. They also hoped that the Soviet Union might permit this to happen. They were probably wrong in their first belief and undoubtedly wrong in their second. 

In our century the cause of the Marxist-Leninist state – unlike fascism or other totalitarian movements – succeeded in attracting many humane and intelligent people such as Colonel Kopácsi or Imre Nagy. In a sense, therein lies the tragedy of Communism; in a sense, therein lies its danger…

On 23 October 1988, we heard an announcement by the HSWP that the events of 1956 were no longer to be viewed as a ‘counter-revolution’. The following spring, a commission of historians agreed that the term, ‘people’s uprising’ was appropriate, and this was a signal factor in sparking the series of ‘liberalisations’ which followed in 1989. Bob Dent has commented on the connections between the events of 1956 and those of 1989:

… there were overlaps between the goals of 1956 and 1989-90: the idea of national independence, the demand for a multi-party system, a free press and the end of all forms of dictatorship. But … in some significant respects, 1989-90 … was simultaneously both more and less than 1956. … it involved elements not present thirty-three years previously and omitted others which were.

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Authors have rarely reflected deeply themselves on Hannah Arendt’s comments about the ‘direct democracy’ of the workers’ councils as being at the core of what was positive. Bob Dent has pointed out that:

For ‘the West’, the workers’ councils did not fit neatly into any ‘acceptable’ category. In so far as they were ‘anti-Soviet’ or ‘anti-communist’, or perceived as such, that was fine. If they were in favour of liberal reforms such as the introduction of free speech, a multi-party system and parliamentary elections, that was also fine. But it was not quite ‘acceptable’ if they were, as they actually were, ‘anti-capitalist’ and ‘pro-socialist’, even ‘revolutionary’ in the sense that they were firmly in favour of maintaining social ownership of property and putting it under workers’ management. … The Hungarian workers’ councils have been neatly described as ‘anti-Soviet soviets’, and for many that apparently contradictory notion has not been easy to digest, neither in post-1989 Hungary nor indeed elsewhere – therefore easiest, perhaps, to ignore them.

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On the other hand, the events of 1989-90 clearly went far beyond those of 1956 in the popular desire to accelerate privatisation and develop a free-market economy. Ideas of ‘rejoining Europe’ in 1989 were not part of the objectives of 1956, nor was the idea of joining NATO – the demand in 1956 was simply for neutrality, but at that time it proved to be an impossible demand. But Gyula Kodolányi, as Senior Adviser to the first freely elected Prime Minister of Hungary in 1990, József Antall, heard the democratic legacy of 1956 frequently referred to by leaders such as Chancellor Kohl, President Chirac and President Havel: the Hungarian Revolution of that year had made an indelible mark in their political development. They immediately trusted the reformers of 1989-90 as inheritors of that tradition, and that aura made a favourable climate which made the process of Hungary’s return to Europe a matter of continuing the course set in 1956. Thus, the achievements of that autumn formed a ‘spiritual constellation’ which guaranteed the régime change of the later years, not just in Hungarian hearts and minds, symbolised by the reburial of its ‘martyrs’, but in international relations too. In 1989-90, world leaders recognised the significance of the Revolutions of that year because of their own initiation into the idea of freedom by the Hungarian Revolution of 1956.

 

Sources:

Bob Dent (2006), Budapest 1956: Locations of Drama. Budapest: Európa Könyvkiadó.

Bob Dent (2008), Inside Hungary from Outside. Budapest: Európa Könvkiadó.

Margaret Rooke (1986), The Hungarian Revolt of 1956: János Kádár – traitor or saviour? York: Longman Group.

Sándor Kopácsi (1986) (Translated by Daniel & Judy Stoffman, with a foreword by George Jonas), In the Name of the Working Class. Toronto & London: Fontana.

Marc J Susser (2007), The United States & Hungary: Paths of Diplomacy, 1848-2006. Washington: US Department of State Bureau of Public Affairs.

István Bart (1999), Hungary & The Hungarians: The Keywords – a Concise Dictionary of Facts and Beliefs, Customs, Usage & Myths. Budapest: Corvina.

Gyula Kodolányi (2016), ‘ “With Nine Million Fascists” – On the Origins and Spirit of the Hungarian Revolution’ in Hungarian Review, Vol. VII, No. 6, November 2016. Budapest: György Granasztói/ Danube Institute.

 

Posted December 22, 2018 by TeamBritanniaHu in anti-Semitism, Britain, British history, Christian Faith, Christian Socialism, Christianity, Church, Civil Rights, Co-operativism, Cold War, Colonisation, Communism, Compromise, democracy, Education, Egalitarianism, Empire, Factories, Family, Humanism, Humanitarianism, Hungarian History, Hungary, Imperialism, Journalism, Labour Party, liberal democracy, liberalism, Medieval, Militancy, Narrative, nationalism, Nationality, NATO, privatization, Proletariat, Reconciliation, Refugees, Revolution, Statehood, Trade Unionism, Warfare, Welfare State, Yugoslavia

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Roots of Liberal Democracy, Part Two: Hungary from Revolution to Revolution, 1919-1956.   Leave a comment

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Lines of Demarcation – Neutral zones (November 1918-March 1919)

Revolution and Reaction – Left and Right, 1919-20:

Following the end of the First World War, the collapse of the Habsburg Dual Monarchy, and the chaos which followed under the Károlyi government in Hungary, the Party of National Union, established by magnates and experienced politicians in 1919, and led by the Transylvanian Count István Bethlen, wanted to restore the pre-1914 relations of power. While they realised the need to improve the conditions not only of the ‘historic middle class’ but also the peasantry and the urban working classes, they adamantly rejected the radical endeavours of the ‘immigrant intelligentsia’. This term was, of course, their euphemism for the Jewish middle classes. They also envisaged the union of the lower and the upper strata in the harmony of national sentiment under their paternalistic dominance. A more striking development was the appearance of political groups advocating more radical change. Rightist radicalism had its strongest base the many thousands of demobilized officers and dismissed public servants, many of them from the territories now lost to Hungary, to be confirmed at Trianon the following year. In their view, the military collapse and the break-up of ‘historic Hungary’ was the fault of the enervated conservative liberalism of the dualist period, which they proposed to transcend not by democracy and land reform, but by an authoritarian government in which they would have a greater say, and measures aimed at the redistribution of property in favour of the ‘Christian middle class’ and the expanse of mobile, metropolitan capital, with its large Jewish population. Groups such as the Hungarian National Defence Association, led by Gyula Gömbös, had been impatiently urging the armed defence of the country from November 1918.

For the time being, however, the streets belonged to the political Left. Appeals from moderate Social Democrat ministers for order and patience evoked the contrary effect and served only to alienate the disaffected masses from them. Their new heroes were the Communists, organised as a party on 24 November 1918 by Béla Kun, a former journalist and trade union activist recently returned from captivity in Russia. Within a few weeks, the Communist Party had acquired a membership of over forty thousand, and by January 1919 a range of strikes and factory occupations had swept across the country, accompanied in the countryside by land seizures, attempts to introduce collective cultivation and the demand to eradicate all remaining vestiges of feudalism. While the radicals of both the Right and the Left openly challenged the tenets of the new régime, Károlyi’s own party effectively disappeared. Most of the Independentist leaders left the government when Jászi’s plan to keep the nationalities within Hungary was aborted. The main government party were now the moderate Social Democrats, struggling helplessly to retain control of the radical left among their own members who constituted an internal opposition to Károlyi’s government and were influenced by the communists.

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The growing pressure from this radical left and the loss of territory undermined the Károly régime. The communists, led by Kun, forced Károly to resign and the Hungarian Soviet Republic came into being on 21 March 1919, with a bloodless assumption of power. It lasted for 133 days. It began with not inconsiderable success when Soviet Hungary quickly linked itself to the Bolshevik aim of worldwide revolution which the war created and which looked at the time to be taking hold and spreading. Instead of redistributing land, Kun nationalised large estates and thus, by giving priority to supplying the cities and by issuing compulsory requisitions for food products, he alienated the mass of the peasants. Many of the intellectual élite, who had applauded the democratic reforms of the autumn of 1918 were initially drawn to the attractive goals of the Soviet Republic. They included not only Communists like Lukács, who became ‘People’s Commissar for Education’, but also members of the Nyugat circle who held positions in the Directorate of Literature, as well as Bartók and Kodály, who became members of the Directorate for Music. Gradually, however, most of these figures became disaffected, as did the middle classes and intelligentsia. Gyula Szekfű, a historian and one of the professors appointed to the University of Budapest, had already, by the end of July, begun work on his highly influential Three Generations (1920), hostile not only to the communist revolution but also to democracy and liberalism which he blamed for paving the way for Kun; soon after, Dezső Szabó, another early sympathiser, published The Swept-away Village, with its anti-urban, anti-revolutionary and anti-Semitic content, which were in high currency in inter-war Hungary.

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The measures which were taken against the opposition, the counter-revolution, were inconsistent and alienated the middle classes. The anti-clerical measures taken by the Kun government also annoyed the traditionally devout peasants, concerned about the security of the ‘family hearth’. All of this made them more susceptible to counter-revolutionary propaganda, which did not fail to emphasise the ‘foreign’ (that is, ‘Jewish’) character of the revolution (over half of the ‘commissars’ were indeed of Jewish origin). Organised counter-revolution consisted of two groups, both of them based outside the territory controlled by the Kun government but operating through sympathisers within it: the Hungarian National Committee (Anti-Bolshevik Committee) created in Vienna in April created by all the old parties and led by Count István Bethlen (pictured below), and a counter-revolutionary government set up at Arad on 5 May, led by Count Gyula Károlyi, later moving to Szeged. Apart from these errors of Kun’s leadership, it soon became evident that the hoped-for, swift-moving worldwide revolution had come to an abrupt halt almost at its inception. The failure of the even more fragile Bavarian Revolution and the failure of the Soviet Red Army to break through on the Ukrainian front into the Carpathians to provide assistance to Kun and his supporters put paid to any fleeting chance of success that the Hungarian Soviet Republic might have had of survival.

The ever-growing group of politicians and soldiers who saw the white and not the red as Hungary’s future colour organised themselves in Vienna and in Szeged, the latter being on the edge of the neutral zone agreed with the Entente powers on 31 December 1918 (see the map at the top). The Entente regarded them with far less suspicion than Kun’s “experimental” workers’ state. They represented a conservative-liberal restoration without the Habsburgs, which was far more acceptable in the French, British and Italian statesmen who were meeting in Paris. In August 1919, a Social Democratic government took charge again, temporarily, and a large band of leaders of the Soviet Republic fled to Vienna by train. Wearing the feather of the white crane on their field caps, detachments of commissioned officers quickly headed from Szeged in two prongs towards Budapest, which, in the meantime, had been occupied by Romanian troops at the invitation of the Entente powers. A brutal sequel followed the reprisals upon which the Romanians had already embarked. Executions, torture, corporal punishment and anti-Jewish pogroms marked the detachment of ‘white feathers’ to the “sinful” capital, the main seat of the Hungarian Bolsheviks. Counter-revolutionary terror far surpassed the red terror of the revolution both in the number of victims and the cruelty they were dealt.

Following the flight and the other communist leaders to Vienna, where they claimed political asylum, Gyula Peidl, a trade union leader who had been opposed to the unification of the workers’ parties and played no role under the Soviet Republic, took office. But with the country war-torn and divided between armies, a rival government in Szeged, and the eastern part under foreign occupation, it was unlikely that the new government would last long. Although it planned to consolidate its position by rejecting the dictatorship of the proletariat on the one hand and defying conservative restoration on the other, it was still regarded by its intended coalition partners – Liberals, peasant democrats and Christian Socialists – as crypto-communist, and failed to gain recognition from the Entente powers. Assisted by the Romanian Army, which had occupied Budapest, a coup forced the government to resign after only five days in ‘power’, on 6 August 1919. The government which replaced it, led by a small-scale industrialist, István Friedrich, not only dismantled the apparatus set up by the Soviet Republic, but also the achievements of Mihály Károlyi’s democratic government, in which Friedrich had himself been a state secretary. In particular, civil liberties were revoked, revolutionary tribunals were replaced with counter-revolutionary ones, which packed the prisons with workers, poor peasants and intellectuals, and by the beginning of 1920 nearly as many death sentences had been carried out as during the ‘red terror’.  The intellectual élite were persecuted; Bartók and Kodály were prosecuted, Móricz was imprisoned and several others, including Lukács, fled the country.

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Meanwhile, the Romanian Army continued their ‘pacification’ of the countryside, systematically transporting cattle, machinery and the new crop to Romania as ‘war reparations’. There was also the ‘National’ Army led by Admiral Horthy, who transferred his independent headquarters to Transdanubia and refused to surrender to the government. Without any title, his troops gave orders to the local authorities, and its most notorious detachments continued to be instruments of ‘naked terror’.  In three months, they may have killed as many as two thousand actual or suspected former Soviet members, Red Army soldiers, and sometimes innocent individuals who were Jews. Besides the executions and lynchings, about seventy thousand people were imprisoned or sent to internment camps during the same period. The emissary of the peace conference to Budapest in October 1919, Sir George Clerk, led finally to the withdrawal of the Romanian troops from Budapest, and their replacement by Horthy’s Army, which entered Budapest ceremonially on 16 November (see the picture below). In his speech before the notables of the capital, he stigmatised the capital as a ‘sinful city’ that had rejected its glorious past, Holy Crown and national colours for red rags. The people hoped to heal the wounds of the war and its aftermath by returning to order, authority and the so-called Christian-national system of values.

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It was also due to the increasing influence of Horthy and the changes in the political balance that Clerk abandoned his initial insistence on securing an important role for the Social Democrats and the Liberals in the new coalition government whose creation the Peace Conference demanded.  Since he commanded the only troops capable of maintaining order and being ready to subordinate them to the new government, it had to be an administration acceptable to Horthy personally and to the military in general. As a result, the government of Károly Huszár, formed on 19 November, the fourth in that year, was one in which the members of the Christian National Unity Party and other conservative-agrarian groups prevailed over those of the Independent Smallholder Party, the Social Democrats and the Liberals. Although the great powers insisted that voting in the national elections in January 1920 should take place by universal suffrage and secret ballot, the circumstances were unfavourable to fulfilling any illusion of a democratic outcome, according to Kontler. The Huszár government made only half-hearted attempts to ensure the freedom of the elections and the terrorist actions of the detachments of the National Army together with the recovering extreme Rightist organisations were designed to intimidate the candidates and supporters of the Social Democrats, the Smallholders and the Liberals. In protest, the Social Democrats boycotted the elections and withdrew from the political arena until mid-1922. The Smallholders and the Christian National Unity Party emerged as victors in the election.

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The ‘monarchists’ were now in the ascendancy over the ‘republicans’, and they argued that the monarchy should be retained to emphasise the historical continuity and legality of Hungary’s claim to the ‘crown lands’ of King István. However, as neither the great powers nor Hungary’s neighbours would countenance a Habsburg restoration, the medieval institution of the ‘Regent’ was resuscitated and Horthy was ‘elected’ regent on 1 March 1920, with strong presidential powers. Three days later, a new coalition government of Smallholders and Christian-Nationalists was formed under Sándor Simonyi-Semadam, its major and immediate task being the signing of the peace treaty in Paris.

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Restoration & Right-wing Ascendancy, 1920-1940:

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The Horthy régime owed its existence less to internal support within Hungary than to international contingencies, according to László Kontler. In spite of its roots in the extreme right, it bore the imprint of the priorities of the western peacemakers that assisted at its inception, even in the 1930s, when the changing international atmosphere made it lean even more heavily back towards these roots. Admiral Miklós Horthy had played no part in politics until, in the summer of 1919, already over the age of fifty, he temporarily took the helm of the radical anti-parliamentarian aspirations of the Christian (that is, non-Jewish) middle class which wanted authoritarian courses of action.

His inclinations made him a suitable ally of Hitler in the 1930s, although he was always a hesitant one. His views were always conservative and traditionalist, rather than radical. Having restored first public order and then parliamentary government, enabling the old conservative-liberal landowning and capitalist élite gradually returned to the political scene and overshadowed the extreme right until the 1930s with the rise of fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. The restoration concerned only the élite of the old dual monarchy, but not its political system, which was more democratic, with an extended suffrage and the presence of workers’ and peasants’ parties in parliament.

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At the same time, however, it was less ‘liberal’, with harsher censorship, police surveillance and official anti-Semitism of increasing intensity. The architects of this political outlook were Hungary’s two prime ministers in the period between 1920 and 1931, Count Pál Teleki and Count István Bethlen. Both of them were from Transylvanian families owning large estates and were sincere admirers of the liberal achievements of the post-1867 era. But the post-war events led them to the conclusion that liberalism had to be controlled, and they both argued that Central and Eastern Europe, including Hungary, was as yet too immature to simply graft western-style democracy onto the parliamentary system, which they nevertheless considered to be the only acceptable form of government. Teleki and Bethlen, therefore, advocated a ‘conservative democracy’, guided by the aristocracy and the landed gentry, as the proper response of the region to the challenges of the democratic age. They opposed all endeavours aimed either at the radical extension or the complete abolition of the liberal rights enshrined in the ‘parliamentarism’ of the dualist period. Kontler argues that they did so because:

Liberal democracy seemed to them a mechanical application of the majority principle, undermining political responsibility and stability. They despised communism and were suspicious of social democrats because of their campaign against private property. Finally, they opposed right-wing radical and fascist trends epitomised by Gyula Gömbös and the other ‘protectors of the race’ who thought that the parliamentary system had outlived itself and ought to be replaced by authoritarian rule which would facilitate a redistribution of economic functions at the expense of the Jewish bourgeoisie and in favour of the Hungarian Christian middle classes. 

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The fundamental character which the political system of the country retained until the German occupation of March 1944 emerged at this point as a result of Bethlen’s consolidation. Hungary became a parliamentary state with strong elements of authoritarianism and a hegemonic party structure, in which the institutions inherited from ‘the liberal era’ were operated in an anti-democratic fashion. The government acknowledged a lawful political opposition, consisting of Social Democrats, bourgeois liberals led by Vilmos Vázsonyi and later by Károly Rassay, and after 1930 a rejuvenated Independent Smallholder Party; and on the right, of different groups of Christian Socialists and Rightist radicals, such as the Party of Racial Defence founded by Gömbös, which seceded from the government party in 1923. However, the adjustment of interests took place, not at the sessions of parliament, but rather at conferences among the various factions within the government party; its decisions might have been criticised but were rarely changed by the opposition, which the vagaries of the system also deprived of a chance to implement alternative policies by assuming power.

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“No rebellion, but neither submission”

The ‘Trianon syndrome’ also accentuated the general infatuation of all things Hungarian, easily falling into chauvinism and racism, that characterised much of public discourse throughout the whole of the Horthy era. In the beginning, the Horthy régime sought solely to correct the unquestionably misconceived and unjust territorial provisions of the 1920 Paris agreements through the revision of national borders in ways that benefited Hungary. Instead of reconciliation and cooperation in reducing the significance of the borders, it opted to the end for national, political, ideological and military opposition. The irredentist and revisionist propaganda shown in the postcards below reveal how it did not recoil from crude devices that wounded the self-esteem of neighbouring Slavic peoples who, of course, replied in kind. But the régime was differentiated from first fascist Italy and then Nazi Germany by the fact that it never even considered mobilising the masses for violent extra-parliamentary action against a post-feudal, aristocratic order, or against the ethnic and linguistic minorities, especially the Jews. Neither did it attempt a systematic regimentation of the press and cultural life in general.

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In the mid-1920s, Hungary was a bourgeois conservative-liberal state living in relative peace, with a functioning parliament. It also retained many antiquated and obsolete features, but these did not obstruct moderate modernisation in the spirit of both progressive conservatism and liberalism. Public health and education reforms improved conditions in the towns and villages, where many new technical courses were offered, and an extensive network of marketing cooperatives developed under the name Hangya, (Ant). Count István Bethlen was the ‘unruffled father of the consolidation’ but Count Pál Teleki was the first prime minister, an academic geographer who was an authority on ethnic groups and economic geography (pictured below); as such, he participated, by invitation, in the first demarcation of the state borders of modern Iraq in 1924-25. At that point, Bethlen himself became the head of government. The Communist Party was illegal and the Social Democratic Party, in a pact with the Smallholder Party, renounced its agitation among the majority agrarian population in order to secure its ability to function in the cities and urban areas.

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On the question of Trianon, although the British Tory governments of the mid-1920s lost interest in Central European affairs, the Hungarian cause found at least one influential and steadfast British supporter in the person of the press magnate Harold Sidney Harmsworth, Lord Rothermere who, under the charms of a Hungarian aristocratic lady, published his article, Hungary’s Place under the Sun, in the Daily Mail in June 1927. Rothermere’s proposal was that, in the interests of peace in Central Europe and the more effective containment of Bolshevism, the predominantly Hungarian-inhabited borderlands of the other successor states should be restored to Hungary. His proposal embarrassed the British government and evoked a mixed response from within Hungary itself. On the one hand, it was welcomed by the Hungarian Revisionist League of several hundred social organisations and corporate bodies; on the other hand, an ethnically inspired revision of the Treaty seemed less than satisfactory for many in official circles and was fully acceptable for the social democratic and liberal opposition. Rothermere’s intervention coincided with two developments: growing and well-founded disillusionment with schemes for peaceful revision, and the recovery of Hungary’s scope of action through the departure of both the foreign financial and military commissioners by early 1927. As soon as the surveillance was lifted, Hungary, like the other defeated countries in the First World War, began to evade the military stipulations of the peace treaty and began making overtures to both Italy and Germany.

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Király útca (King Street), Budapest, in the 1920s

The world economic crisis of 1929-31 reached less-developed Hungary after a brief delay at the end of the ‘reconstruction’ period. It immediately muddied the puddles of prosperity that were barely a few years old. It set back the regeneration of Hungarian industry that had switched from a war to a peace economy and manufactured mostly consumer goods and was therefore very sensitive to the development of a buyer’s market. Not for the first or last time, it choked the agrarian economy into a cycle of overproduction. The economic crisis was not yet over but receding, when the right-wing army officer, Gyula Gömbös, pushed István Bethlen aside to become PM, and an unmistakable fascism gained ground. This was signalled by corporate endeavours, populist demagogy (including some ‘leftist’ arguments), racism and brutal violence and unbridled friendship with Benito and Adolf. After a forced and modest turn to the left dictated by consolidation, the pendulum swung to the right. And when the economic crisis ended, hopes for war kept the economy growing. Gömbös’ successor, Kálmán Darányi, announced the Győr Programme in the “Hungarian Ruhr region”, putting the heavy industry in the gravitational centre of industrial activity which served the rearmament drive previously prohibited by the Entente powers.

Changes in the international scene between 1936 and 1938 encouraged fascist organisations in Hungary. Hitler’s re-militarisation of the Rhineland only evoked consternation and protest, but no action on the part of the western powers; the German-Italian axis eventually came into existence, with Japan also joining in the Anti-Comintern Pact; General Franco’s armies were gaining the upper hand in the Spanish Civil War. At the same time, PM Darányi’s foreign minister, Kálman Kánya negotiated in vain with his opposite numbers from the ‘Little Entente’ countries during the summer and autumn of 1937 in order to secure a non-aggression pact linked to the settlement of the minorities’ problem and the acknowledgement of Hungarian military parity; and he also failed to reawaken British interest in Hungary in order to counter Germany’s growing influence. As a result, these moves only served to annoy Hitler, who, having decided on action against Austria and Czechoslovakia, nevertheless assured the Hungarian leaders that he considered their claims against the latter as valid and expected them to cooperate in the execution of his plans.

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The Anschluss on 12-13 March 1938 still took the Hungarian establishment by surprise, the more so since they were expecting Hitler to cede the Burgenland to Hungary, which he proved unwilling to do. On the other hand, the German annexation of Austria was hailed among the followers of Szálasi, who despite the banning of his Arrow Cross Party shortly earlier, were able to exert formidable propaganda and political agitation. This prompted Darányi to work out an agreement with the extremists, who, in return for moderating their programme, were legalised again as the Hungarist Movement. This was too much for the conservatives as well as for Horthy himself. Darányi was dismissed by the latter on 13 May 1938 and replaced by Béla Imrédy, who had a reputation as an outstanding financial expert and a determined Anglophile and ‘Hungarism’ was averse to his political taste. Yet it was under his premiership that the Hungarian parliament stepped up rearmament by enacting the new military budget which resulted in a great economic boom: a twenty-one per cent increase in industrial output by 1939, nearly as much as the entire economic growth since 1920. It also enacted the anti-Jewish legislation prepared under Darányi, the law on the more efficient assurance of equilibrium in social and economic life established a twenty per cent ceiling on the employment of ‘persons of the Israelite faith’ in business and the professions, depriving about fifteen thousand Jewish people of jobs for which they were qualified. Some of the governing party as well as Liberals and Social Democrats in parliament, in addition to prominent figures in cultural and intellectual life, including Bartók, Kodály, and Móricz protested, while the radical Right found the measure too indulgent.

However, he was vulnerable to his political opponents, who claimed that they had discovered he had Jewish ancestry. In order to deflect attention from this accusation, Imrédy crossed over to the extreme right and became the main promoter of anti-Semitic legislation. Therefore, the main legacy of his premiership was, therefore, a second anti-Jewish law (May 5th, 1939), which defined Jews as a racial group for the first time. As it was not a definition based on religious observance, it became the harbinger of the Holocaust. People with two or more Jewish-born grandparents were declared Jewish. Private companies were forbidden to employ more than 12% Jews. 250,000 Hungarian Jews lost their income. Most of them lost their right to vote as well. I have written extensively both about the anti-Jewish Laws and Hungary’s international relations, particularly with Britain, elsewhere on this site:

https://chandlerozconsultants.wordpress.com/2014/05/14/horthy-hitler-and-the-hungarian-holocaust-1936-44/

https://chandlerozconsultants.wordpress.com/2014/04/01/magyar-british-relations-in-the-era-of-the-two-world-wars-part-two-world-peace-to-world-war-1929-1939/

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Territorial changes affecting Hungary, 1938-41

Here, I wish to concentrate on Hungary’s internal politics and the domestic policies of the Horthy governments. Nevertheless, the international situation soon made it difficult for the Darányi government to follow policies independent from German influence, whether foreign or domestic. The blitzkrieg on Poland of September 1939 forced many Poles to cross the Carpathians into Slovakia (by then under Hungarian occupation thanks to the country joining the Axis alliance, and gaining – under the First Vienna accord – considerable territories in Slovakia containing significant Hungarian populations) and into post-Trianon Hungary itself. In spite of German protests, the Polish refugees who decided to remain in Hungary were made welcome, in keeping with the historical friendship between Poland and Hungary,  But this brief interlude of Polish asylum, as István Lázár has pointed out represented not even a momentary halt in our country’s calamitous course. Lázár has also pointed out that although most of the Jews living in the Slovakian territories declared themselves to be Hungarian, this did nothing to improve their ultimate fate, and that many of the Hungarians who “returned home’ bitterly observed that though they had been subject to harmful discrimination as members of a national minority “over there”, on the other side of the Danube, the bourgeois Republic of Czechoslovakia did uphold civil rights and equality to a much greater extent than did a still half-feudal Hungary, whose gendarmes were abusive and where an increasingly intimidatory atmosphere developed between late 1939 and 1944.

The Death Bed of Democracy, 1941-1956.

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At the beginning of this period, Pál Teleki returned to the premiership. Lázár has described him as a ‘schizoid character’ and a ‘vacillating moralist’. He supported serious fact-finding sociological investigations about conditions among the poorest members of Hungarian society, but also arrived at agreements with the extremists of aggressive racism, perhaps to take the wind out of their sails in the spirit of his own more moderate nationalism. But his plan to form a counterweight to Nazi racism by appeasing Hungarian racists was blown apart by the Regent’s decision in the spring of 1941, to allow the transit of German forces to attack Yugoslavia. Finding himself in an impossible situation, and in a genuine but ultimately futile gesture, Teleki shot himself, leaving a confused letter for Admiral Horthy, which accused ‘the nation’ of perfidiousness and cowardice in siding with the scoundrels … The most beastly nation. He blamed himself for not stopping the Regent in this. In June 1941, Hungary entered the war against the Soviet Union and subsequently with the Allied Powers. Not consulting Parliament, Prime Minister László Bárdossy had, in fact, launched Hungary into the war illegally in answer to the bombing of Kassa, which he claimed was a Soviet provocation.

By entering the war, Bárdossy and his successors as PM expected at least to retain the territories re-annexed to Hungary between 1938 and 1941, and all other aspects of the inter-war régime were intended to remain unchanged by Horthy and Kallay, who not only repudiated any communication with the Soviets, but were also unwilling to co-operate with the representatives of the democratic alternative to the Axis alliance which was beginning to take shape by the summer of 1943. This even included an exclusive circle of aristocrats around Bethlen who established a National Casino and then went on with the Liberals of Károly Rassay to create the Democratic Bourgeois Alliance with a programme of gradual reforms. Endre Bajccsy- Zsilinszky and Zoltán Tildy of the Independent Smallholder Party not only submitted a memorandum to the government urging it to break away from Germany and conclude a separate peace but also worked out a common programme of democratisation with the Social Democrats. Despite the great wave of persecution in 1942, the Communists also reorganised themselves under the cover name of ‘the Peace Party’, which made it easier for them to collaborate with anti-fascists in the Independence Movement who, at the same time, harboured anti-Bolshevik sentiments.

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I have written elsewhere about the Movement, Magyar Függetlenségi Mozgalom, founded in late 1941 under the leadership of Domokos Szent-Iványi (right), whose recently published memoirs deal with the period from 1939 to 1956, though mainly up to his arrest by the Communist-led government in 1946.

The western powers would have preferred to be dealing, after the war, with a thoroughly reformed Hungary governed by a ‘popular front’ of Liberals, Smallholders and Social Democrats. While the Nazis called for an intensification of the war effort, the Hungarians tried to diminish it and to make overtures to the Allies. However, their cautious and secretive diplomacy was closely followed by the Germans, who did not permit the Hungarians to reach a separate deal. Kállay had no alternative but to continue the military co-operation with Germany, though he protected the Jews living in Hungary, including the refugees from the Third Reich. He also permitted anti-Nazi groups to re-emerge and operate more openly. Above all, he hoped to be able to surrender to Western troops, thus avoiding a Soviet invasion. The US sent the Hungarian-American Francis Deák to Lisbon with instructions to talk to the Hungarians with the objective of keeping Hungary out of Soviet control. On 1 October Roosevelt met the Habsburg Otto von Habsburg, who had remained as his guest in the US during the war and assured him that if Romania remained with the Axis and Hungary joined the Allies, the US would support a continued Hungarian occupation and retention of southern Transylvania. The Hungarian government was willing and sent a message to Lisbon to that effect.

In January 1944, the Hungarian Government authorised the Archduke to act on its behalf. An American military mission was dropped into Western Hungary on 14 March, calling for Horthy’s surrender. Twenty thousand Allied troops were then set to parachute into the country and the Hungarian Army would then join the fight against the Germans. However, these moves became known to German intelligence, which had cracked the communications code.  By the time Horthy came to believe that his government could reach an agreement with the Soviets to end their involvement on the eastern front, it was again too late. On March 18th, 1944, Hitler summoned Horthy to a conference in Austria, where he demanded greater collaboration from the Hungarian state in his ‘final solution’ of his Jewish problem. Horthy resisted, but while he was still at the conference, German tanks rolled into Budapest on 19th March. Italy managed to pull out of the war, but while Horthy was still conferring at Hitler’s headquarters, a small German army had completed its occupation of Hungary by 22 March. By this time Horthy possessed neither moral nor physical strength to resist, and simply settled for keeping up appearances, with a severely limited sovereignty.

002On March 23rd, 1944, the government of Döme Sztójay was installed. Among his other first moves, Sztójay legalized the overtly Fascist Arrow Cross Party, which quickly began organizing throughout the country. During the four-day interregnum following the German occupation, the Ministry of the Interior was put in the hands of right-wing politicians well-known for their hostility to Jews. I have written extensively in other articles (see the references above) about the Holocaust which followed, both in the Adolf Eichmann’s deportations of the estimated 440,000 Jews from rural Hungary and the occupied territories to Auschwitz (pictured above) and other ‘death camps’. The devotion to the cause of the ‘final solution’ of the Hungarian Gendarmerie surprised even Eichmann himself, who supervised the operation with only twenty officers and a staff of a hundred, including drivers, cooks, etc. Very few members of the Catholic or Protestant clergy raised their voices against sending the Jews to their death. A notable exception was Bishop Áron Márton, in his sermon in Kolozsvár on 18 May. But the Catholic Primate of Hungary, Serédi, decided not to issue a pastoral letter condemning the deportation of the Jews. When news of the deportations reached British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, he wrote in a letter to his Foreign Secretary dated July 11, 1944:

 “There is no doubt that this persecution of Jews in Hungary and their expulsion from enemy territory is probably the greatest and most horrible crime ever committed in the whole history of the world….”

The idea that any member of the Hungarian government, including the President, or Regent, was unaware of the scale and nature of the deportations is fanciful, to say the least, as is the idea that Horthy was responsible for stopping the deportations from the countryside and/ or the capital. It is true that Horthy ordered the suspension of all deportations on July 6, but by then the Regent was virtually powerless. This is demonstrated by the fact that another 45,000 Jews were deported from the Trans-Danubian region and the outskirts of Budapest to Auschwitz after this day. The Sztójay government continued to ignore the Regent and rescheduled the date of deportation of the Jews of Budapest to Auschwitz to August 27th. What prevented this was that the Romanians switched sides on 23 August 1944, causing huge problems for the German military, and it was on Himmler’s orders that the cancellation of further deportations from Hungary was enacted on 25 August. But with the German high command preoccupied elsewhere, Horthy regained sufficient authority to finally dismiss Prime Minister Sztójay on 29 August. By then the war aims of the Horthy régime, the restoration of Hungary to its pre-Trianon status, were in tatters. The First and Second Awards and the acquisitions by force of arms would mean nothing after the defeat which now seemed inevitable. The fate of Transylvania was still in the balance in the summer of 1944, with everything depending on who would liberate the contested territories from the Germans. When Royal Romania succeeded in pulling out, the Soviet and Romanian forces combined forces began a joint attack and the weakened Hungarian Army was unable to contain them.

024A later ‘reign of terror’ followed the coup which brought the Szalási Arrow Cross government to power and ended Horthy’s rule in Hungary on 15 October 1944 (in the picture, top right, Ferenc Szalási in the foreground). Following this, tens of thousands of Jews of Budapest were sent on foot to the Austrian border in ‘death marches’ (pictured below), and most of the remaining forced labourers under Hungarian Army command were deported to Bergen-Belsen. Two ghettos were set up in Budapest. The big Budapest ghetto was set up and walled in the Erzsébetváros part of Budapest on 29 November. Arrow Cross raids and mass executions occurred in both ghettos regularly. In addition, in the two months between November 1944 and February 1945, the Arrow Cross shot between ten and fifteen thousand Jews on the banks of the Danube.

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Soviet troops liberated the big Budapest ghetto on 18 January 1945 (pictured above, bottom right). On the Buda side of the town, the encircled Arrow Cross continued their murders until the Soviets took Buda on 13 February.

 

As the front rolled westwards through Hungary,  revolutionary changes were already taking place behind it. However, Hungarian society could not achieve these by its own efforts: they were brought about with the help of foreign troops. This did not mean the immediate or forceful introduction of the Soviet political system. In the summer of 1945, the diplomat Domokos Szent-Ivanyi was optimistic about the future of Hungary, arriving at the conclusion that there were still opportunities for a return to democracy which could be realised with a well-planned strategy. One of his key observations in support of this was that…

The decisive factor in the Carpo-Danubian Basin as well as in the whole of East Central Europe is, and will be for many decades to come, the Soviet Union. In consequence any solution and settlement must be made with the cooperation of the Soviets.

As to the Western Democracies they are only of secondary important to the region. In handling the problems of Central Europe, the Western Democracies had shown a frightening weakness. In spite of all previous promises and obligations, countries and individuals alike had been abandoned by the Anglo-Saxons… My opinion was that no Hungarian Government must compromise its good relationship with the Soviet Union… Even in the case of a future war in which the Soviet Union lost, the immense territory of the Russian Empire would still be there, and she would continue to be Hungary’s most powerful neighbour.

This was a prophetic statement of the course which the second half of the twentieth century would take, and indeed the first decades of the twenty-first. Of course, the ‘future war’ turned out to be a long, cold one. But first, from his point of view, Hungarian-Russian relations could only be achieved by the removal from power of the Rákosi-Gerő clique, but this must also be achieved by legal, constitutional means and not by conspiracies and intrigue, by holding and winning indisputable elections. His MFM, the ‘underground’ inheritor of the conservative-liberal democratic tradition of Bethlen and Teleki, pledged its support to the Smallholders’ Party in this transition process. When the full force of the atrocities receded, the Soviet military leadership was more inclined to trust the routine business of public administration to the experienced Hungarian officials rather than to radical organisations, including previously banned communist ones, which had been suddenly brought to life with renewed popular support. Many of the Communist veterans of 1919 had spent the past thirty-five years in exile, many of them in Moscow, and though some wanted to see an immediate reintroduction of the dictatorship of the proletariat, these individuals were discouraged by the fact that a return of a ‘conservative-liberal democracy’ rather than a ‘people’s democracy’ was already on the national agenda. This sense was soon reinforced by the arrival of delegates from the western wartime allies; British, American and French officers belonging to the Allied Control Commission were present to oversee the domestic situation in Hungary.

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Although the fighting sometimes left large areas untouched, death and destruction were nationwide. According to rough calculations, the economic losses suffered during the war amounted to five times the national income of 1938, the last year of ‘outright’ peace, or forty per cent of the total national wealth. In the fighting itself, between 120 and 140 thousand people were killed and another quarter of a million never returned from captivity in Soviet Russia. They either died there or found new homes elsewhere. At least half a million Hungarians were kept in these camps for longer terms, most released after two or three years, though tens of thousands were set free only in the next decade. Of course, these losses were in addition to the loss of some 600,000 Hungarian Jews, Roma and other Holocaust victims referred to above. And then many thousands of ethnic Swabian Hungarians were either deported to Germany or taken to the Soviet Union for so-called ‘reparations’ work. Many women and girls in Budapest were raped by Red Army soldiers. In other ‘material terms’, Budapest and several hundred other settlements lay in ruins and not a single bridge across the Danube remained intact. The Nazis had plundered the gold reserves of the National Bank, most of the railway rolling-stock, machinery and other equipment, farm animals, museum treasures and a great deal of private property. What remained of food and livestock passed into the possession of the Red Army, which used them to supply their forces stationed in Hungary, as well as those in transit to the west.

These were just the basic, enforced costs and scars of war. There were many other problems related to the changing borders, mass internal migrations and emigration, racism and discrimination, economic reparations and inflation, all of which had to be dealt with by central government. Under moderate military supervision, local self-government bodies proved effective in upholding the law and new possibilities for further education opened up for the children of workers and peasants. Between 1945 and 1949 Hungary’s national political scene altered radically and violently. A dozen or so political parties revived or were established in 1945 and contested the fair and free elections of 1945. At first, everything went according to plan for the Independence Movement and the Smallholders’ Party, which overwhelmingly won both the municipal and general elections of autumn 1945.

However, straight after the general election, an argument broke out among the leading party members as to who the candidate for President should be (to be elected in the Parliament) and who should be Prime Minister. Also, they were forced into a Coalition government with the Social Democrats and Communists. The twelve parties were then quickly reduced to four by the manoeuvring and ‘salami-slicing’ tactics of the Communists. Over the course of the next year, the leaders of the Independence Movement were intimidated and finally arrested. Of the two peasant parties and two workers’ parties remaining, the Social Democrats and the Communist Party merged in 1948 to form the Hungarian Working People’s Party. As in the rest of Eastern Europe, a “people’s democracy” was then established which essentially promised to follow the peaceful path of socialist revolution. In some countries, other parties survived on a nominal basis, or in alliance with the ‘leading party’. In Hungary, however, political activity could only continue within the framework of the People’s Front.

Initially, the Smallholder-led Coalition government gave an impressive economic performance. Reconstruction proceeded quickly. Land reform benefited 650,000 landless and Smallholder peasants. Although workers wages fell to a fraction of what they had been earlier, industrial recovery was very rapid. As well as catering for the domestic market, trade began with Soviet, Czechoslovak and Romanian partners. But most of the progress of the 1945-49 period was then destroyed in the period which followed, 1949-53. The unrealistically ambitious plan targets set, the rapid pace of industrialisation and armaments production and the compulsory collectivization of the land, undermining the spontaneous organisation of cooperatives led to a deterioration of workers’ conditions at all levels and to peasants fleeing from the land, causing further ‘dilution’ of labour. It also led to a variety of further acts of intimidation of small-scale producers and the middle classes, appropriation of property and class discrimination throughout society, even involving schoolchildren. Production was emphasised at the expense of consumption, leading to directed labour and food rationing. Finally, there were the show trials and executions,  which were becoming the familiar traits of Stalinist régimes.

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The Congress of Young Communists – a poster by István Czeglédi & Tibor Bányhegyi

At the beginning of the 1950s, every poster displayed a pure smile or healthy muscles. Portraits of Mátyás Rákosi, the “people’s wise leader”, filled the streets. 

After Stalin’s death, Imre Nagy, himself a former exile in Moscow, returned from the periphery of the party to the centre of events. In 1944-45 he distributed land in his capacity as minister of agriculture in the Debrecen provisional government; in 1953 he was prime minister, though Rákosi remained as the Party’s first secretary. Consequently, the next years failed to produce the necessary political corrections, even after the momentous Twentieth Congress of the Soviet Party. Although Nagy succeeded in putting the economy on a sounder footing and those sentenced and imprisoned unjustly were rehabilitated, Rákosi and his clique launched one counter-attack after another. At the end of his memoirs on the Hungarian Independence Movement, Domokos Szent-Iványi draws ‘telling’ conclusions about the whole period of authoritarian government in Hungary. Written with the benefit of hindsight following a decade in prison and the subsequent Revolution of October 1956, his view of recent Hungarian events had clearly shifted his view of  Hungary’s place in European history, especially in relation to the Soviet Union, from those written in the summer of 1945, quoted above:

The dictatorship of Rákosi and his gang had no other support but the bayonets of the Red Army or rather the power of the secret services of the Russian Communist Party and of the Red Army. It was a situation which, within less than a decade, led to the Hungarian Revolution of October 1956, the end of the Rákosi dictatorship and a more peaceful and less disturbed period of the History of Hungary.

The period of the “Twenty-Five Years of Regency” (1919-1944), as well as the dictatorship of the Nazi supported Szálasi régime (1944) and the dictatorship of Mátyás Rákosi and his gang, supported by Stalin’s and Beria’s régime, cannot be considered or treated as independent chapters of Hungarian History. They were the continuation of Hungary’s history of the previous centuries and they do not mark the end of the natural evolution of the Hungarian people. This evolution has been determined by political and geographical factors and the future of Hungary will be influenced similarly by the same factors.

Hungary belongs to Western Civilization and she is essentially a European country. Yet, on the other hand, she had always been on the very line between Eastern and Western Civilization, and has never freed herself from Eastern influence entirely.

Sources:

László Kontler (2009), A History of Hungary. Budapest: Atlantisz Publishing House.

István Lázár (1992), An Illustrated History of Hungary. Budapest: Corvina.

Gyula Kodolányi & Nóra Szeker (eds.) (2013), Domokos Szent-Iványi: The Hungarian Independence Movement, 1939-1946. Budapest: Hungarian Review Books.

 

Posted December 14, 2018 by TeamBritanniaHu in Affluence, Agriculture, Anglo-Saxons, anti-Semitism, Assimilation, Cartoons, Christian Faith, Christian Socialism, Christianity, Church, Churchill, Civil Rights, Civilization, Co-operativism, Cold War, Communism, democracy, Education, Empire, Ethnic cleansing, Europe, Germany, Great War, History, Holocaust, Hungarian History, Hungary, Immigration, Imperialism, Iraq, Italy, Japan, Jews, Journalism, liberal democracy, manufacturing, Marxism, Migration, Monarchy, Mythology, Narrative, nationalisation, Population, populism, Racism, Refugees, Russia, terror, tyranny, Unemployment, Unionists, USSR, Utopianism, Warfare, Yugoslavia

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Commemorating the Centenary of the End of The Great War: For the Fallen – An Appendix of Poetry.   Leave a comment

This is a collection of poems (and pictures) which were published in 2014 (27 July) in The Daily Mirror. 

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Note: Wilfred Wilson Gibson was born in Hexham, Northumberland. Originally a social worker in the East End of London, he became a private on the Western Front. His poems are usually narrative in form even when short. During the war, he was one of the first poets to introduce savage realism into his writing. He had been a friend of Rupert Brooke.

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Note: Brooke’s best-known poem, one of his War Sonnets, was first recited from the pulpit of St Paul’s Cathedral on Easter Sunday in 1915. It was then published the next day and quickly became renowned as one of the finest war poems. Later the same month Brooke died from an infected mosquito bite he got a month earlier serving with the British Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Although serving in the Navy, Brooke had fought on land in the initial campaigns in Belgium. In the picture by teenage German gunner Walter Kleinfeldt, a crucifix survives the shelling while troops lie scattered.

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Note: Probably Owen’s most famous poem, though possibly not his best, Dulce et Decorum Est was written in August 1917, though it may not have been fully edited until October 1917. When he wrote it, he was recovering from shell-shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital in Edinburgh. The quotation, from the Roman poet Horace, which Owen wishes to brand as a lie, means, It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country. In the poem, he dwells on the horrible details of deaths and terrible physical effects of wounds. Owen sets out to shock civilians with unrelenting details of a man’s death from gas, which was ‘obscene as cancer’:

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Note: In the following poem, Sassoon mimics civilians who try to console wounded soldiers with silly arguments. By ‘the pit’ he is referring to the depth of despair:

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Note: McCrae’s famous poem first appeared anonymously in Punch on 8 December 1915. In it, McCrae imagined how the dead lying beneath the poppies of Flanders would call on future generations to sustain the causes for which they died. He was appointed to take charge of a hospital at Boulogne but died of pneumonia in January 1918 before he could take up his appointment.

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Note: In the picture above, thousands gather for Armistice Day at London’s temporary cenotaph in Whitehall in 1919.

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Note: After she was appointed poet laureate in 2009, Carol Ann Duffy wrote this poem to mark the death of Harry Patch, the last surviving veteran of the Great War.

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Note: Since Kipling had written imperialist poetry before 1914 he might have been expected to write crudely jingoistic poetry to support the war effort; instead he wrote surprisingly bitter poetry, especially after he wrote surprisingly bitter poetry, especially after the loss of his son, a lieutenant in the Irish Guards, killed in action at the Battle of Loos. As an act of remembrance of him, Kipling helped pay for many years for the endowment which made it possible for the Last Post to be sounded every night at the Menin Gate Memorial, Ypres. He died in 1936.

This selection of poems is extracted from The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. http://www.penguin.co.uk

 

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