Past Imperfect: Why Rhodes Should Stay

 

‘The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.’
George Orwell, 1984 

We reiterate that universities are no places for genocidal colonialists, or any other such toxic figures. We will continue with our call that all violent symbolism be immediately expunged from educational spaces.’

Oxford Student Union petition calling for the removal of Cecil Rhodes’ statue from Oriel College.

 

 

No longer welcome? Statue of Cecil Rhodes outside Oriel College.

  

In autocratic systems, in which one tyranny is replaced by another, the statues fall frequently. There is no space permitted for symbols of the past which might seek to vindicate a system or individual now consigned to the dustbin of history. They must be ‘immediately expunged’ – obliterated not only from sight, but also from memory, so that a visitor might conclude that they never existed at all. This was the goal of George Orwell’s fictional state in 1984: history, having ceased to be an academic discipline at all, would become a means by which the status quo could be endlessly justified and promoted. In Nazi Germany, statues, books and works of art that challenged Hitler’s monolithic view of German history were publicly destroyed or ridiculed. More recently, Islamic State purged the architectural treasures of Palmyra because they highlighted an aspect of History that did not fit in with the idea that only a Caliphate could restore the dignity of the Middle East.

By contrast, one of the great achievements of the western world has been to maintain a critical and detached approach to the past, ensuring not only a plurality of interpretations, but also allowing historians to subject these interpretations to serious scrutiny. In this context, history can be probed, tested and argued over, competing ideas can sit alongside one other, and new conclusions proposed and explored. The fact that so many UK students now express a fervent desire to remove statues, ban speakers and create ‘safe spaces’ is therefore shocking. It is a denial of the key purpose of a university education: to expose students to ideas that challenge them, make them uncomfortable and generate debate.

Briefly then, what about Cecil Rhodes, whose worn-down statue currently adorns one of the quadrangles of Oriel College, overlooking the High Street? For many (although by no means all) of his British contemporaries, Rhodes represented all that was great about the British Empire. As its reputation has declined, so has his, and today his name is equated with exploitation, slavery and even genocide. There should be no doubt at all that the values he promoted have no place in modern, multicultural Britain. Rhodes may have once proclaimed that ‘I could never accept the position that we should disqualify a human being on account of his colour’, but he also argued that Britain’s African colonies, and their inhabitants, should be harnessed in the service of the Empire, an outlook that made him extremely rich, and also contributed to a racially divided South Africa. This is a ‘toxic’ legacy indeed.

 

Campaigners in South Africa and Oxford have used the hashtag #RhodesMustFall.

But the attacks on Rhodes conceal more than they reveal. From the British view, there is a temptation to disassociate ourselves from the legacy of the empire by simply placing the burden of guilt on men such as Rhodes, and then allowing them to disappear in a cloud of righteous moral outrage. This would be to ignore the reality that, in an increasingly democratic age, pioneers and colonialists such as Rhodes drew strength from enthusiastic and widespread public support. Industrial cities were often effusive in their support for empire, since the colonies could provide both a steady stream of raw materials as well as markets for manufactured goods. We need to remember the prominence that Rhodes once enjoyed in order to comprehend the British Empire at the end of the nineteenth century. Airbrushing him may make us feel better, but if we want to continue to talk seriously about the uncomfortable parts of our history, and not simply descend into simplistic caricature, then #RhodesMustStay.






 

In Defence of Doubt

  ‘Freedom is always the freedom of the one who thinks differently.’ (Rosa Luxembourg)

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b06qkp8w [1]

 

                    

The debate is over. Or, at least, the votes in parliament have been counted, and MPs have voted to support British planes to bomb targets in Syria.  For many outside observers (me, at least), the whole issue was shot through with complexity and unpredictability: who can say whether action or inaction will lead to more beneficial (or less harmful) outcomes? However, there are debaters, both in and out of parliament, who have treated the issue as if the right decision was obvious, with no room for legitimate disagreement: to some it was a war against ‘evil’, while for others it will prove to be ‘another Iraq’. The Prime Minister, who should know better, made an undignified slur against the leader of the opposition. He was in turn mocked for a lack of planning, as if a war could be arranged like a game of chess, in which the actions of the neatly ordered sides could be easily predicted in advance. For those of us struggling to keep up with all of this hot air, it was tempting to simply join one side or the other in their clamourous conviction.

Let’s turn back briefly: it is Paris, and the year is 1793[2]. The revolutionaries have dethroned and executed the king, declared a republic and chosen a new assembly based on universal male suffrage. Surrounded by enemies, the majority of the deputies seek refuge in certainty: on the left, Citizen Danton calls for ‘audacity, audacity, always audacity’ to save France. On the right, the Girondins are unimpeachable in their moral integrity – their speeches enable them to find new ways to protect la patrie from the evil machinations of their political opponents. Squished between the warring factions are the Plain, usually known more derisively as ‘the marsh’, weedy, weak-willed and hesitant deputies who vote sometimes with one faction, and then the other. Their lack of conviction is always emphasised in contrast to the ‘Mountain’, the group of deputies who thrive on conviction and certainty, and whose speeches argue relentlessly for courage, virtue, and inevitably, masculine strength. To sit in the Mountain is intoxicating – to know that you and your companions are alone responsible for the defence of all that is good in the revolution, and that together its enemies can be weeded out and defeated. These are the men that are willing to terrorise France, in order to save her.

The leaders of the ‘Mountain’ made a great virtue of their pure intentions, and of their contempt for compromise.  They castigated moderate voices, usually accusing them of a secret pact with the country’s enemies. Faced with such powerful rhetoric, their opponents lost credibility, enabling the ‘Mountain’ to seize power. In office, these idealists wrecked France. By the middle of 1794, over 40,000 had fallen victim to summary execution, including almost all of the leading Montagnards and Girondins who had abused each other so freely in 1793. In the end, the only prominent figures left belonged to the much-derided ‘marsh’, who took on the heavy responsibility of dragging France away from rule by fear. One such leader, Sieyès, was asked what he had done during the Terror, to which he replied simply ‘I survived’. The modern descendants of the ‘marsh’ are similarly unfashionable. Moderate politicians are dismissed not only for their arguments, but because their very moderation makes them suspect: they are ‘red Tories’ who fraternise with the enemy, or woolly liberals who bend with the wind, interested only in their own advancement. But since certainty can be such a powerful tool of suppression and political control, I’m glad that we have leaders who don’t always share it. 

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[1] After so much discussion about the Syria vote, I found that listening to this episode of the 'Moral Maze' on doubt vs. certainty clarified my opinions (thank you, Gaffer). In  addition, I had a very useful conversation with Andrew Lin, who helped me to moderate my own line of argument. The views expressed are, of course, my own.

[2] According to their respective opponents, the deputies on the Right in the National Convention (the Girondins) were a collection of traitors and warmongers, whilst the deputies on the Left were rabble rousers and, inevitably, ‘terrorist sympathisers’. There aren’t many forms of political discourse that we don’t more or less owe to the debates of the French Revolution