‘In abstracto’ versus ‘in concreto’: Evaluating the position of the Stuart Monarch as evidenced by James’ deliverance to the Parliament (1610)

James’ deliverance before the Parliament in 1610, made in reserved defence of the doctrine of monarchical absolutism, is reflective of his intent to substantiate, through similitudes – scriptural, familial, and bodily, the abstract but commanding theory of Divine Right of Kings, while also, in a placative move, express loyalty to the fundamental law, as established by the body-politic. 

During his initial regnal years in Scotland, James’ authority was restricted. Bent on his quest of re-establishing episcopacy, he found himself at loggerheads with the Presbyterian Church, which attempted to limit his sovereignty. It could be argued that much of his later conviction in Divine Rights, as made evident from the ‘True Law of Free Monarchies’, actually stemmed from the experience gained through assertion of authority against the backdrop of such religious crises in Scotland.

Subsequent to his coronation in England, James was greatly impressed by the legality of the prevalent hierarchical order. Through the enforcement of acts leading to the Religious Settlement, the recognition of the monarch as the ‘Supreme Governor’ of the Church had been restored. As such, in spite of divine-rights and absolutism having no inherent medieval associations, by the time James was crowned, the two had come to be connected through the implementation of the Elizabethan tracts. The Settlement entitled the monarch to supremacy, both in the Church and the State hierarchies, by virtue of his being divinely ordained, whilst also reinforcing the importance of legal bodies and the Parliament as channels through which to exercise authority.

James explores both of these ideas – the absolute kingly supremacy and need for abidance by fundamental laws, in this speech. With primacy, in the first part, however, he endeavours to expound the nature of abstract monarchical supremacy.

It could be argued that his initial assertion of a King, in his administrative capacity, bearing figurative resemblance to God, is primarily intended to embolden the biblical principle of obedience among his subjects (to both, as James says, “are soul and body due”). He further makes note of certain close similarities between the extent of officiating powers granted to the comparative figures, such as the powers of life and death and judgement, and this permits him to draw from divinity’s like and reinforce his notional claim of unaccountable supremacy (beyond realms of the judicial order) for the King. 

For his second argument, James posits the then patriarchal familial hierarchy. Since this, he argues, represents a microcosmic yet natural and lineal order, the manner in which a patriarch is empowered to ‘potestatem vitae et necis’ over the family and can act – inclusive of banishment and disinheritance, based on favouritism, resembles kingly dealing. It could be contended that such resemblance not only helped James augment his previous assertion concerning obedience, but also substantively profess the natural basis of such authority.

James’ third argument is metaphorically placed. He presents an analogy between the workings of the natural human body and the state, his philosophy of the latter bearing close resemblance to the premise of the body-politic, with the metaphorical ‘head’ empowered to direct members “to that use which the judgment in the head thinks most convenient.” For this statement bears clear indications of his advocacy in favour of unhindered authority and could be open to interpretations, however, James attempts to douse the ambiguity concerning his intents through a supplemental assurance, skilfully employed.

While, in noting the extent of his divinely ordained powers, he is careful to uphold the absolutist doctrine, he also ensures not to put his audience in a dicey conundrum. Quoting a verse (“ad aedificationem, non-ad destructionem”) from 10:8 of the 2 Corinthians, James clarifies the purpose of absolute power. Making a macrocosmic reference to God’s doing, he implicitly states his personal motive of putting to use such authority for constructive purposes and not for “overturning the whole frame of things”, or the common law.

Interestingly, James’ proclamation, concerning his motive, intended to reassure his parliamentary audience, and the follow-up dealing with the distinction between Kings in the ‘first original’ and settled monarchs in ‘civil kingdoms’, bear striking adherence to Heylyn’s political theory exploring the distinction between kingly power ‘in abstracto’ and ‘in concreto’. Most of the arguments advanced in the first part of this speech, deal with monarchical absolutism ‘in abstracto’ – a political state where the King, with illimitable powers, is at the helm of the body-politic, and commands obligatory obedience. ‘In concreto’, however, he is expected not to ‘breake those lawes, which he hath promised to observe.’ It is to the exposition of this latter political state, wherein the need for observance of law is recognised, that his following theories of evolutionary legislation and monarchical degeneration are devoted.

James contends that the fundamental difference between the state of kingly power in the ‘first original’ and a settled kingdom lies in legislation. Whereas, he argues, kingly will equated to laws in the ‘first original’, in a settled kingdom run on lines of civility, people collectively appear as an actor with a role in ‘rogation’. That such recognition is provided to the concrete legislative power of the Commons would not be very surprising, especially when assessed against James’ contemporary intents of obtaining a financial settlement from the Parliament.

Towards the end, much emphasis is put on observance. Pursuant to a brief description of the legislative process, James provides an evaluative parameter through which to identify a ‘tyrant’. Intending to appease the lawmakers whilst staying firm in his advocacy of Divine Rights, he posits a biblical reference. So long, James asserts, a monarch stays true to his oath and upholds the ‘fundamental laws’, there is no degeneration. He refers to the observance of the ‘paction’, to which, through his biblical remark, he offers great sanctity. 

In commenting that there is need for observance of both the fundamental ‘laws’ and the ‘paction’ and assenting that acting otherwise (personal rule in contravention of fundamental laws) would equate to tyranny, James eventually, albeit implicitly, admits the limit to monarchical authority ‘in concreto’, leading to comprehension of the gap between accepted theory and established practice in his age. 

To access a copy of the speech referred to, please see Wootton, D. ed. Divine right and Democracy: an anthology of political writing in Stuart England. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. 

Souhardya De


Brewer, H 2022, ‘James I – The True Law of Free Monarchies (1598)’, Slavery Law and Power Project, University of Maryland, web log post, 22 April, viewed 12 November 2022, https://blog.umd.edu/slaverylawandpower/james-i-the-true-law-of-free-monarchies-1598/

Burgess, G 1992, ‘The Divine Right of Kings Reconsidered’, The English Historical Review, vol. 107, no. 425, pp. 837-861. 

Greenhaw, N 2022, ‘The Little God of England: The Divine Right of James I and the English Response’, SMU Journal of Undergraduate Research, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 1-13, viewed 10 November 2022, DOI https://doi.org/10.25172/jour.7.2.3

Lee Jr., M 1974, ‘James VI and the Revival of Episcopacy in Scotland: 1596-1600’, Church History: Studies in Christianity & Culture, vol. 43, no. 1, pp. 50-64, viewed 12 November 2022, DOI https://doi.org/10.2307/3164080

MacDonald, AR 2005, ‘James VI and I, the Church of Scotland, and British Ecclesiastical Convergence’, The Historical Journal, vol. 48, no. 4, pp. 885-903. 

Neale, JE 1950, ‘The Elizabethan Acts of Supremacy and Uniformity’, The English Historical Review, vol. 65, no. 256, pp. 304-332. 

Olwig, K 2002, Landscape, Nature and the Body Politic, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, Wisconsin. 

University of Glasgow Library Special Collections Department 2003, James VI and I Speeches, University of Glasgow, viewed 11 November 2022, https://www.gla.ac.uk/myglasgow/library/files/special/exhibns/month/sep2003.html.

Stirring more than just their drinks: How English coffeehouses, French salons and French cafés stimulated discussion and debate

A Cafe in Paris, France (P.C. ayustety, flickr)

English coffeehouses and French salons and cafés were not simply areas to consume a caffeinated beverage or two. They were key features of society from the mid-17th century. They were forums for discussion and lively debate, engaging numerous social classes and contributing to the spread of the culture and ideals of the Enlightenment. People from multiple classes and backgrounds could gather and talk, making them an important component of the ‘public sphere’. French cafés hosted Enlightenment thinkers, and English coffeehouses accommodated people from all walks of life, whilst French salons provided a more structured and controlled arena for intellectual discussion. The three thus deserve serious historiographical attention; this article offering an introduction.

Originally drunk exclusively for its supposed health benefits, coffee began to be seen as more than just medicinal. The first English coffeehouse was set up in Oxford in 1650. Oxford was a hub for scholarship and intellectual discussion, and these first Oxford coffeehouses became known as ‘penny universities’. For a penny, patrons had access not only to drinks but to newspapers and stimulating conversation. Since this admission fee was the only entrance requirement, coffee houses were accessible to people of various ages and from all social levels. Moreover, without the consumption of alcohol, coffeehouses could host more serious conversations and debate than the more raucous taverns and alehouses, which the upper classes had come to regard with scorn.

The broad appeal of French cafés is also evident. French Philosophes or Enlightenment thinkers such as Diderot, Rousseau, and Voltaire (who apparently drank over fifty cups of coffee a day), frequented cafés in which their works were also disseminated amongst other customers. A variety of ideas were being discussed, then, and the Café Procope became infamous as such a gathering place.

English coffeehouses quickly spread to the capital and throughout the country. Samuel Pepys wrote about the London coffee houses in his diary and frequented his favourites often. In this way, coffee houses also became a part of the structure of people’s daily lives. Impressively, the crises of the 1670s – the 1665 plague outbreak and the Great Fire of London in 1666 – did not dampen coffeehouses’ attraction for long.

They were arenas for news consumption, where people could read and discuss newspapers. The power of such activities is suggested through King James II’s banning of all newspapers except the official London Gazette in these establishments. The creation of new newspapers after James’ order expired highlights the continued appetite for fresh and alternative sources of information to fuel discussion.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given his father’s fate, Charles II was concerned about the unregulated gatherings and discussions in English coffeehouses. As a result, spies were planted in coffee houses in London, and he even tried to ban them altogether. The imposition of this measure illustrates how coffee houses were significant as far more than just places to drink coffee, whilst its failure demonstrates their attraction and potency in the second half of the seventeenth century.

Over a century later, shortly before the Bastille was stormed, journalist Camille Desmoulins delivered an impassioned speech from outside a café in the Palais Royal area of central Paris, before leading a crowd of revolutionaries away. The potential revolutionary potency of the coffee house was thus realised, and French cafés were indeed deeply intertwined with real revolutionary fervour and activity. With over eight hundred around the beginning of the French Revolution, cafés functioned as hubs where information and ideas could spread.

Although women could be present in English coffeehouses as servers or even owners, these were principally male spaces in which men engaged and sparred with other men about political and intellectual ideas. This links to the notion of ‘separate spheres’ for men and women, which was to become more explicit and endemic in English society. Indeed, some women were critical of coffeehouses, which kept men away from home to debate and drink coffee, which was said by some to make them infertile.

French salons provide a clear contrast to this. Women were far more actively involved in salons as hostesses or salonnières. In this capacity, women exercised a significant amount of power, choosing who would attend the salons and what would be discussed there. As such, salons were home to more controlled debate than the English coffeehouses, which lacked any comparable structure. They were distinct from French cafés, too, which were less exclusive and more distinctly male. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who was often at cafés, was a strong critic of salons and salonnières as he resented the idea of women controlling or restricting men in such a way.

All three establishments were important cultural, political and intellectual hubs. In their own ways, they attracted a variety of attendees and fostered a safe space for healthy and lively debate. In France, the power of such ideas was actualised in the French Revolution, in which cafés continued to play important roles.

Emily Cull

The Double-Edged Cutlass of the Grenada Revolution 

The City of St George’s, Granada (P.C. Martin Falbisoner, Wikimedia)

Cuba was not the only Caribbean nation to experience a revolution and adopt communist ideologies in the twentieth century. The February Revolution of 1970 in southern neighbour Trinidad and Tobago proved the desire of many young Caribbeans to demolish colonial institutions and Euro-American capitalist power systems. It was Grenada’s revolution from 1979-1983, however, that truly captured the attention of the world, especially the United States.

The Grenada Revolution began on 13th March 1979 with the deposition of the first Prime Minister Eric Gairy by revolutionary Maurice Bishop, leader of the Marxist-Leninist New JEWEL Movement (NJM), one which advocated for educational and welfare reforms along with political liberation. The NJM quickly established the People’s Revolutionary Government (PRG) with Bishop as the new Prime Minister and suspended the post-independence 1974 constitution enabling them to rule by decree. Simultaneously, the NJM utilised their National Liberation Army to conduct armed takeovers of vital strategic locations such as police barracks and the national radio station. 

Since 1974, Prime Minister Gairy had increasingly restricted the rights of political expression and attempted to quell all forms of opposition. On the 21st January 1974, known to witnesses as “Bloody Monday”, Gairy’s private paramilitary nicknamed the ‘Mongoose Gang’ was mobilized to subdue a mass protest resulting in the death of Bishop’s father, the injuries of numerous others, and a drastic gain in support for the NJM. The fraudulent 1976 re-election of Gairy due to his continual deployment of the infamous paramilitary, and rumours of his plans to assassinate leaders of the NJM in 1979 seemed like the perfect storm for Bishop’s party to gain traction.  

By March of that year, most Grenadians supported the “Revo” (revolution) and once in full swing, Bishop and the PRG implemented social and political changes up until its end. The new government prioritised improvements to the education system, introduced a national literacy scheme, expanded free healthcare provisions, and encouraged voluntary labour schemes to construct housing and other physical infrastructure such as the new international airport with Cuba’s assistance. Additionally, the PRG authorised the creation of farming co-operatives to maximise the islands’ limited agricultural resources, decriminalised labour unions, and established the People’s Revolutionary Army (PRA). The domestic finances of Grenada would only stretch so far to fund these projects since sanctions had meant diminished access to the IMF and the World Bank. Inevitably, this led to international economic support from Cuba, the Soviet Union, and other left-wing allies much to the frustration of the Reagan administration. 

However, a few of Bishop’s key decisions seemed contrary to the ideals of fellow NJM members and supporters. Firstly, the decision to maintain the British monarch Elizabeth II as Head of State seemed paradoxical. After all, the monarch was a figure of imperialism and the colonialism that had once afflicted Grenada and who revolutionary Grenadians wished to distance themselves from. Nonetheless, Bishop allowed Elizabeth II to remain Head of State and for the Crown representative Governor-General Paul Scoon to be kept in his position since Bishop believed that Grenada would mantain stronger legitimacy due to its ties to Britain and develop stronger international trade links. It should be noted that while Grenada’s relationship with the Crown did not change, the country was sanctioned by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. 

Secondly, in the autumn of 1983, the central committee of the PRG attempted to convince Bishop to enter into a power-sharing agreement with Finance Minister and Deputy Prime Minister Bernard Coard to ensure more focus on political as well as social stability for Grenada’s future. This proposition caused a massive internal fissure within the PRG with accusations of Bishop deviating from the ideological prerogatives of the NJM and having no coherent vision. Following Bishop’s rejection of this proposal in October, he was placed under house arrest leading to demonstrations across the islands flaring up as Coard assumed leadership of the PRG. Despite attempts to evade re-capture having been helped by demonstrators to escape, Bishop and seven others were executed by a PRA firing squad on 19th October. What followed was the rapid collapse of the PRG and the six-day military junta led by former PRA General Hudson Austin. This, too, came to a grinding halt with the invasion of Grenada by the coalition forces of the US and six Caribbean nations on the 25th October 1983. Overall, from 1979-1983, Grenada experienced a unique position as a pro-monarchy, a (at times) stable socialist Caribbean nation, and a huge concern to the United States.

Stephanie Ormond, Summer Writer

‘Creating Awe and Fear in other Men’: King Henry V and the Gendered Legacies of Late Medieval Monarchs

King Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt on 25th October 1415 in the Hundred Years War: picture by Harry Payne
‘King Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt on 25th October 1415 in the Hundred Years War’ Painting by Harry Paine (P.C. World History Encyclopaedia)

This article examines Henry V’s reputation of exceptional masculinity, and how this has influenced his historical evaluation as a ruler. He is often portrayed as the archetypical medieval king, embodying the ideals of both the warrior and saintly monarch. These narratives often portray him as a successful king, through highlighting his military achievements and popularity. Henry V, therefore, is a figure who demonstrates the critical importance of gender to the perception of a monarch’s success. 

The authority of medieval English kings was inherently masculine. The power and respect such rulers could command depended upon how well they performed their masculinities, and how such masculinites were more widely represented. As the person of the late medieval king was an inherently political entity, the quality of the political regime was itself determined by masculine ideals. In terms of these ideals themselves, men were expected to demonstrate twelve masculine virtues, with particular emphasis placed on the Aristotelian cardinal virtues of fortitude, prudence, justice, and temperance. Contemporaries regarded Kings who displayed these virtues as more successful, tying their legacy to the performance of gender. 

Integral to Henry V’s masculine reputation, and consequently to the legacy of his reign, is the notion of Henry V as a warrior king. Medieval kings are often conceptualised as soldiers and commanders, and military success was central to the performance of royal masculinity. Henry’s active participation in the Hundred Years War was no exception. He fashioned himself as a king willing to defend and fight for his kingdom, highlighting his virtuous character and prowess as a warrior. He proved his devotion to his kingdom and subjects, which consolidated his authority. This strategy was effective and led to Henry’s status as a warrior king being mythologised in literature, particularly through Shakespeare’s eponymous play. Though some portrayals of him in this work are dramatised, its narratives are grounded in the reality of Henry’s military successes, and the reputation that this gained him have endured through to the Elizabethan age, and far beyond. The Bbattle of Agincourt, for instance, is often highlighted in these interpretations. Henry’s masculine reputation was therefore informed both by the militaristic expectations of late medieval monarchies, and by Henry’s ultimate success on the battlefield. 

Henry V’s masculine reputation is also tied to his representation as a highly religious figure. Narratives that highlight his piety also imply another form of virtuous masculinity, and therefore present him as a good, Christian king. One common portrayal of with Henry V is of a wild, rebellious young prince reformed into a pious and loyal king, a highly Christian concept. This transformative process has often been over-exaggerated; Prince Henry’s arguably reluctant submission to his father’s will was self-interested, and enabled him to create a reputation of filial devotion. Rumours of his rebellious nature were likely intended to discredit him as a potential ruler, and by subverting these, Henry affirmed the quality of his masculinity. While kings such as Richard III have been criticised for their personal excesses and ambitions, Henry has been cast as a selflessly devoted king and prince. His self-control and restraint have been highlighted in both contemporary sources and in later accounts. His personal reputation was crafted by deft political decisions during his reign, decisions which successfuly culminated in a strong and enduring legacy. 

As King, Henry’s personality embodied the state of the country. His example of masculinity implied to contemporaries that England under his rule was similarly virtuous. As such, his authority was reinforced. His character also provided an example for his subjects and notables to follow, which was beneficial in maintaining order in the kingdom. His virtuous masculinity, although less discussed than his military prowess, promoted his reputation as the right kind of man to be King.

The long-standing view of Henry’s exemplary masculinity meant that there were attempts to recreate his success. The most famous example of this was Henry VIII’s attempt to emulate Henry V by invading France, aiming to and conquerterritory and present himself as a warrior king. Like Henry V, he also made a claim to the French throne through Edward III, cementing his legitimacy as Edward’s successor after the turmoil of Wars Of The Roses. Although this attempt by Henry VIII was unsuccessful and ill advised, culminating in the loss of Calais it demonstrated the potency of masculine reputations as a political force. Henry VIII sought to liken himself to Henry V by emulating his successes. Henry V’s successful masculinity formed a significant part of his political legacy as it continued to have influence years after his death. 

Henry V therefore demonstrates the critical importance of masculine performances for English kings of the 15th and 16th centuries. Being perceived as masculine was essential, because it allowed for greater authority, and helped to ensure the perception of a successful reign. Henry V is an example of a king able to perform masculinity incredibly effectively, and as such he provides an example of what his successors were attempting to achieve by performing both militaristic and pious forms of masculinity. 

Amy Raven, Summer Writer

Henry VI and the decline of Royal Authority

Portrait of Henry VI, King of England 1422-1461 and 1470-1471 (P.C. World History Encyclopaedia)

Henry V was an immensely successful king. He was instrumental in English victories on the continent, as exemplified by his campaigns through northern France between 1415 and 1422. The success of Henry V’s French wars had consolidated his rule, and his depiction as a semi-legendary king by later Tudor historiography, whilst likely exaggerated, will have had its foundation during his and his son’s lifetime. His son, Henry VI, grew up in the shadow of his father’s achievements. Henry was only eight months old when his father Henry V died on the 31st of August 1422, and for the next 16 years there was a Regency Council led nominally by John, Duke of Bedford and in practice by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester that oversaw state affairs. Once Henry began ruling in his own right, it became crushingly clear that firstly he would not be able to live up to the reign of his father, and secondly that his very ability to rule was considerably lacking. 

Henry was the first English king to not fight in battle. Although he was an avid hunter, Hugh Bicheno argues that his minority and protection from dangers by the Regency Council made Henry ‘regard warfare with distaste’. Whilst this negatively impacted his military prowess, as shall be seen, it also resulted in magnates trying to exert increasing influence on the monarch’s actions. The medieval period was one where a magnate could not possibly risk proclaiming his right to the throne, as that would be going against the will of God, for monarchs were anointed by God. As such, Richard of York, who through the matrilineal line had a claim to the throne, sought to discredit those around the King for his own gain. One such individual who received York’s displeasure was William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, a close confidante and advisor to the King. Henry VI had gone into secret negotiations with Charles VII of France on the 22nd of December 1445, when he wrote to Charles seeking peace in the form of the surrender of Maine and Anjou. This would have almost certainly been unknown to Suffolk, but nevertheless he had to take the blame when news of the negotiations reached the ears of the Body Politic. This, coupled with the mysterious death of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester in Bury St Edmunds five days after being arrested by Suffolk’s retainers in February 1447, meant that from that point onwards Suffolk was viewed with ever-increasing suspicion. 

After two years of impatiently waiting for Henry to hand over Maine and Anjou, Charles VII of France gained the upper hand. On a personal request by Henry, one of his Knights of the Garter, François de Surienne took the Breton border fortress of Fougères with the aim of forcing the Duke of Brittany to release a childhood friend of Henry’s, Gilles of Brittany. This escapade into Brittany who, whilst not allied with France, were certainly less appreciative of Henry’s rule, gave Charles the justification to acquire an anti-English alliance with Brittany and declare war on the English. The capitulation that followed was not simply an embarrassment to an England that only thirty years had routed the French so convincingly at Agincourt but was also a reflection of the vastly insufficient political and military expertise of Henry. Within a year and a day of the declaration of war on the 31st of July 1449, the entirety of Normandy, Maine and Anjou had fallen to the French. In 1445 Henry had spontaneously and unexplainedly removed the astute and experienced Richard Duke of York from the post of Captain General of France. For the following two years York was not replaced in the role, and thus it would be understandable that when Charles VII invaded in 1449-50, he was welcomed with open arms by many who viewed the English as having neglected them in that period. When Henry did eventually choose an appointment for the role in 1447, it was salt in the wound for York, who had in the meantime been sent to govern Ireland, for his replacement was Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset.

Compared to later events of Henry’s reign, such as his catatonic state in 1453 or the outbreak of the Wars of the Roses, the events of the 1440s may seem insignificant. Yet, in reality, they represent the beginnings of the decline of royal authority. Henry’s undermining of his own authority by secretly giving Charles VII English lands in France whilst simultaneously failing to inform the body politic that he had done so eventually resulted in the demise of his key advisor, the Duke of Suffolk, when it was discovered. Simultaneously, appointing Edmund Beaufort as Captain General of France only served to alienate the influential Duke of York. In summation, Henry’s deficient political acumen resulted, at least in the short term, in the collapse of English governance in France.

Henry Carless, Summer Writer

The national governments of the 1930s: short term success but long term failure 

Stanley Baldwin, leader of the Third National Government, by John Boyd jnr (P.C. flickr)

The first National Government of the 1930s was formed on the 24th of August 1931 by Ramsay Macdonald, under the backdrop of the Wall Street Crash in 1929, which led to the contraction of the global economy. As a result, Macdonald’s government immediately had to deal with severe economic difficulties such as rising unemployment, slowing international trade, and rapidly declining domestic production. What the National Governments achieved in the short term was remarkable, as they helped mitigate the effects of the Great Depression while holding off the tide of extremism that swept across Europe during the 1930s. The National Governments failed, however, in dealing with the regional disparities that came with the depression. This lack of policy to combat regional disparity led to unequal growth, and the beginning of generational depression in some areas of the UK. 

The immediate problems that faced the National Governments of the 1930s were vast, yet were largely dealt with in the short term. For example, the National Governments faced a large decrease in shipbuilding due to the decline in international trade. State intervention helped mitigate this through funding ships such as the HMS Queen Mary, which reduced the impact of the depression on the Clydeside shipbuilding industry. The National Governments also pushed to amalgamate unsuccessful mines in order to increase the coal industry’s efficiency. This was successful, as there was a 34 million tonne increase in coal production between 1933 and 1937. Even unemployment dropped in the mid-1930s from 22% to 10%; although this may not have been because of the direct actions of the National Governments, but instead the consequence of the rearmament process that was being pushed as a result of tensions in Europe. Thus, the National Governments were at least partially successful. They held extremism at bay and remained moderately popular through a period when extremist politics became the norm in many European countries. 

Yet, despite their short-term successes, the National Governments had significant failures which condemn them in my eyes. There was, for instance, a complete and utter failure to recognise the regional disparity in unemployment during the Great Depression, causing systematic depression in regions of Britain. Although it is statistically correct that overall unemployment dropped throughout the mid-1930s, that isn’t the entire picture. Unemployment remained high in areas that relied almost completely on the traditional industries, such as coal and textiles. This unemployment was especially high in the North East and areas of Wales. The National Governments did not mitigate this, even when people were starving on the streets. The conditions became so dire that the MP for Jarrow, Ellen Wilkinson, led a ‘hunger march’ to London with 200 shipyard workers behind her. This blatant ignorance of the regional disparity in employment, wealth and opportunities, marks one of the first times that the North East was pushed to the side in policy making, and it was certainly not the last. Its painful miasma haunted the region long into the post-war era, exemplified by Thatcher’s cruel policies. Fundamentally, the generational depression seen in the North East and other deprived areas began because of the National Governments and their negligence.

It is important to be thankful that the National Governments allowed the government in the country to continue – preventing the country from being taken over by extremists like Oswald Mosley – while helping the UK prepare for the Second World War. However, we must not forget the conditions that persisted in the most deprived areas of the UK due to the lack of effective policy designed to mitigate the regional disparity in unemployment. 

Matthew Cook, Summer Writer

How remnants of the imperial system in the Occupation era founded modern Japan’s repudiation of World War II atrocities

Emperor Hirohito with General Douglas MacArthur in the US Embassy in Tokyo, September 1945 (Credit: flickr)

The shocking assassination of former Japanese Prime Minister Abe Shinzo drew renewed attention to his actions and ambitions regarding Japanese diplomacy and defence. He was credited with the creation of the Quad, a quasi-alliance designed to limit the threat of China’s influence to the ‘free and open’ status of the Indo-Pacific. Furthermore, Abe also pushed to revise Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution in 2015, a drastic reinterpretation that permitted the Self-Defence Forces to fight overseas under certain circumstances. 

While most governments praised him for safeguarding peace and stability in the region, critics have accused Abe of reviving Japan’s World War II (WWII) militarism with his hawkish foreign policy. They point to the tributes he has paid to the Yasukuni Shrine, which enshrines Class-A war criminals sentenced in the ‘Tokyo Trial’. Both domestic and foreign figures have also criticised Abe and successive conservative Japanese administrations for ‘whitewashing’ the war crimes of Imperial Japan in WWII by denying state involvement in forced prostitution and revising history textbooks, amongst other examples. Indeed, historians describe the Japanese consensus as a historical ‘amnesia’, preventing the nation from adequately reflecting on its belligerent past. This article seeks to trace the origin of this amnesia by looking at the Allied Occupation of Japan from 1945 to 1952.  

The treatment of Emperor Hirohito and the Japanese imperial institution were contested issues during the planning and initial stages of the Occupation. While some insisted that abolishing the imperial system was necessary to eradicate militarism and establish democracy, American advisors highlighted the Japanese people’s reverence for the Emperor and believed recognising his position would encourage domestic stability conducive to America’s ‘general purposes in Japan’. Pratt, Ballantine and Grew (1944) justified this by emphasising the neutrality of the imperial system, and a previously suppressed homegrown liberal force that could catalyse democratisation under the auspices of the Emperor. Furthermore, in response to investigations into Hirohito’s possible war crimes, General MacArthur concluded in 1946 that there was insufficient evidence for criminal charges and estimated that forced abdication would require ‘a minimal of a million troops’, an impossible demand for the U.S. military. 

Although the Emperor’s divinity was challenged, the continuation of the imperial institution with Hirohito as a figurehead compromised the U.S.’s democratisation ambitions, and it had ultimately hindered the Japanese people’s acknowledgement of their nation’s war crimes. The imperial system was not the only post-war continuity of the Occupation. While the Supreme Command of the Allied Occupation (SCAP) did replace the militarist faction with officials dismissed by the wartime government, many civil servants retained their positions to ensure a steady process of post-war recovery. The economic ministries came out especially unscathed and with even greater authority. As demonstrated by economist Noguchi Yukio in his book 戦後経済史(Postwar Economic History), Japan’s subsequent economic miracle was rooted in the actions of the the militarist governments prior to the Occupation. When purged officials returned to the government with the resurfaced zaibatsus (business conglomerates), it became politically inexpedient to criticise their wartime atrocities, given their profound contribution to the economy. Civil servants also survived in the education sector, where traditional structures and practices were preserved, and, despite SCAP’s involvement in liberalisation, continuation of the old system increased the difficulty for Japanese schools to confront militarist curriculum.  

Finally, the rise of the Asian Iron Curtain prompted the ‘reverse course’ in 1947. In addition to censoring Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the atomic bombs, the ‘red purge’ that drove many leftists away from influential positions in politics and universities further hindered the SCAP’s supposed objective of democratisation and social pluralism. Furthermore, this purge also reinstalled previously dismissed militarists such as Class-A war criminals to positions of power. The U.S. went as far as pressuring Japan into remilitarisation leading up to the Korean War, albeit unsuccessfully. This, nevertheless, contributed to Japan’s incomplete demilitarisation and repatriation. Despite SCAP’s conspicuous successes in reforming Japanese society, the survival of imperial institutions, the latter appointment of prominent politicians from ‘old’ Japan, and the purge of left-wing forced far-right ultra-nationalism. These socio-political circumstances hampered the  nation’s ability to grapple with the past and properly reconcile with their neighbours who fell victim to imperial Japan.

Sheng Yu Huang

Tracing the Origins of Uighur Oppression in Xinjiang

It is only in recent years that the headlines of the most prominent Western media publications have fully communicated the extent of China’s human rights violations in the region of Xinjiang. To be sure, the damning charges that have been brought against China reflect the increasingly authoritarian edge of Xi Jinping’s regime. However, (without being too teleological) the roots of cultural genocide and oppression in Xinjiang can be traced deep into China’s past. A brief synopsis of Xinjiang’s history is integral to gaining a firm understanding of the current political situation in the region.

The region, located in the Northwest of China, has long been demarcated as an autonomous zone. However, the situation on the ground scarcely aligns with the purported theoretical framework of a self-sufficient region. Indeed, the Chinese central government have long kept close de facto control of Xinjiang through what can only be described as brazenly intrusive measures.

In more recent years, Xi Jinping’s CCP has inflicted a series of ethnoreligious and political clampdowns on the Uighur population. The catalogue of abuses levelled at the Chinese government makes for bleak reading. Namely, the authorities are reported to have detained large swathes of Uighurs in ‘re-education’ camps under strict surveillance. Reasons for detention are as trivial as attending services at Mosques, sending texts with Quranic verses, and having contact with Afghanistan and Turkey. Large numbers of detainees are said to have been left with no legal avenues to challenge their detention. Shockingly, in December 2020 the BBC reported that up to half a million people were forcefully being made to pick cotton in the region which bears a repugnant reminiscence to slavery. Reports of forced sterilisation and abortion are also abhorrent. Furthermore, population figures suggest the occurrence of a state-sanctioned mass migration of the Han Chinese population into the region that had thinned the indigenous Uighur population. China’s policy in the region appears to be nothing short of cultural genocide.

This unforgiving and frankly brutal policy of ‘Sinicization’ underscores the CCP’s ambition of securing Han political and cultural hegemony in the nation. We can trace back similar policies initiated by central governments in China that have culminated in the current situation today. Xinjiang was first conquered by forces belonging to the Qing Dynasty in 1759 but officials initially adopted a hands-off non-integrationist approach that respected cultural plurality. Yet, the ascription of provincehood to the region in 1884, after the Qing regained control of the area, marked the first didactic attempt to assimilate the region into Han society. Nonetheless, when the new Republic of China inherited the region in 1911 it remained nothing more than a distant colonial appendage. This relationship was to change drastically when the Chinese Communist Party took the reins of power.

Mao Zedong proclaimed a ‘new China’ which was to be defined by the relationship between ‘China proper’ and outer lying areas such as Tibet, Xinjiang, and Mongolia. To mimic Soviet ‘ethnofederalism’, Xinjiang was designated as an autonomous region in 1955. Yet, this categorisation scarcely devolved power to the indigenous population of Xinjiang. The region could not secede from China and very few indigenous populations were able to secure authority through political office as the Han maintained their position as the ruling class. Population demographics from the 1950s to the 1970s are particularly telling. Somewhere between 60,000 and 200,000 Uighurs, Kazakhs and other minorities fled the country as a direct result of the Great Leap Forward. Conversely, the state exacerbated ethnic tensions by encouraging the movement of Han into the region with the proportion steeply rising from 7% to 40%.

Reforms in the 1970s and 1980s brought a period of short-lived promise for the Uighur population. Between 1982 and 1987, the general secretary under Deng Xiaoping’s government, Hu Yaobang, spearheaded liberalising reforms that respected ethnic self-determinism and local culture. However, conservatives in the party were to eventually oust Hu and blame his policies for stoking agitation in the region. Troubles in the 1990s were partially driven by the collapse of the Soviet Union which was misleadingly interpreted by those in authority as engendered by ethnic self-determinism. Thus, China begun the uncompromising ‘Strike Hard’ campaign in 1996, which saw mass arrests, executions, and human rights violations against protest groups. Whilst the Uighur population did use violence as a vehicle for change throughout the 1990s, such as the Ürümqi bus bombings, this was a reaction to the execution of 30 suspected separatists in 1997 following what was described as a peaceful protest by Western media organisations. After Washington called for a ‘war on terror’ in the early 2000s, Chinese authorities pounced on the opportunity to reframe their oppression of the Uighur populations as an act to suppress terrorism rather than ethnic self-determinism.

A brief synopsis of Xinjiang’s association with China that stretches back into the nation’s dynastic past reveals that its relationship has been long and complex. Levels of oppression and intrusion into the region have ebbed and flowed. The true picture of the repulsive violation of human rights that the Chinese government are presently carrying out is still emerging. Nonetheless, what is certain is that is has roots deeper into the past than most are aware of.

Ben Carter, History in Politics Summer Writer

Does Tudor historical fiction handle the theme of politics well?

Enter any historical fiction section of a bookshop, and the Tudors are bound to pop out at you. They are a persistent part of the fabric of England’s past and are one of the public’s entry points to the past. As such, Tudor England is a traditional source of inspiration for historical fiction.

However, once that book jumped out at you, is it likely to consider the theme of politics? Well, probably not. This article will explore the landscape of historical fiction, to ultimately find that Tudor historical fiction does not handle the theme of politics well.

Firstly, Tudor historical fiction does not handle the theme of politics well because it is dominated by tropes. Your classic Tudor historical fiction novel is either a corset-ripper – picture Philippa Gregory – or a murder mystery. The mainstays of this genre are dominated by these themes rather than necessarily using the vessel of historical fiction to examine, for example, the machinations of the court around the time of Henry VIII’s death. Or to explore the perspectives of the rebels during Kett’s rebellion. It seems that this lens has been underutilised.

However, is this argument derogatory towards the fact that the majority of Tudor historical fiction novels are centred around women? Does it ignore that women could be involved in politics? Well, potentially. For example, the Six Wives Series by Alison Weir has tried to encourage readers to understand the political manoeuvres the queens of Henry VIII made themselves. The first novel in the series focused on Katherine of Aragon, goes into detail about the mechanics of the divorce of Katherine and Henry, whilst simultaneously exploring the personal impact which it had on her. So, it is important to weigh up that whilst historical fiction is full of tropes within the bestseller section, this is also because our understanding of ‘politics’ may be narrowed by how traditionally politics is discussed in the historical context.

Secondly, it is an all or nothing with Tudor historical fiction themed around politics. Either it is a Man Booker Prize winner or a self-published piece on Amazon. There does not seem to be much of a rich middle ground for eager readers to sink their teeth into. Particularly, as the pinnacle of the Tudor political historical fiction is the Wolf Hall trilogy. Hilary Mantel’s trilogy is the yardstick from which not only Tudor historical fiction is judged but also historical fiction more generally. Mantel’s writing not only opens up the world of the Tudor court, but the tool of historical fiction enables the reader to get into the mindset of this crucial Tudor politician and to ponder on how he may have made such decisions.

Yet, whilst there is no denying the strength of Mantel’s series, once a reader has made their way through it, there is little to feed that hunger for good Tudor historical fiction which focuses on politics. Instead, they would be forced back into the world of non-fiction, which for a reader beginning their journey in Tudor history, can be a minefield of inaccessibility. As such, this all or nothing landscape within Tudor historical fiction themed on politics demonstrates that the genre does not handle the theme well because ultimately more quality work is needed within this area.

Thirdly, if works in this genre do make that novel break into politics, they are often criticised for being dry. This may partially be because politics attracts heavy-handed penmanship. But this could also be because traditionally the people in politics were often forgotten about. The centrality of people within politics has only really become something that has developed over the last few decades. But equally, it is also because the source material of politics within the Tudor period does not always have the literal ‘sex’ appeal which the subjects of love and marriage within the period have. As such, this dryness, which has multiple sources, demonstrates further why Tudor historical fiction does not handle the theme of politics particularly well.

What this piece has uncovered is that Tudor historical fiction does not currently handle the theme of politics well, from the genre’s hyper-focus on corset ripping or murder-mysteries, to its all or nothing quality and the dryness sometimes of what is available. Clearly more is needed to truly say that Tudor historical fiction has got a grip on the theme of politics.

Zoe Adlam

Port Hamilton: the story of a Korean port

When thinking about the Great Game between Russia and Britain major events such as the Durand Line, the Anglo-Afghan War, or the Russo-Turkish War may come to mind. However, away from the limelight of central Asia there was a small incident that occurred in the Far East that might have had more consequences than were immediately clear. These events took place in Joseon, modern-day Korea. 

거문도 (Geomundo) is a small island south of Korea situated between the mainland and Jeju island. Before delving into the history of the occupation, in order to understand why it occurred, a brief description of the background of the events is needed.

Britain, before the occupation, was more focused on India and Qing China, such that Korea was only an afterthought. The only real interaction between the two nations was in 1883 when an official treaty was signed. This apathetic attitude changed when Joseon started showing signs of aligning itself with Russia. Korea had signed a treaty with the US and Britain, with only Qing China as the mediator, because the Qing saw Joseon as a protectorate of its own.

The Gapsin Coup (1884) was a coup d’etat within Joseon stopped by Qing Chinese troops. With a foreign army within the border, Joseon felt threatened of its domestic independence hence its willingness to ally itself with Russia. Joseon wanted to distance itself from the Qing due to China’s significant influence in Joseon at the time. Among other requests, Joseon had asked Russia to patrol the territorial waters. This information had fallen into Japanese hands, and it is speculated that Britain received the news of possible Russian expansion into the Pacific through Japan. So, on 1885 April 27th Britain landed on the island and declared it Port Hamilton to prevent this expansion. 

Ironically, the records suggest that local citizens remembered the occupation in a positive light. Foreign sailors visiting the island were nothing new to the locals, and the occupation was not met with much fear or confusion. Russian sailors are remembered poorly as they are recorded to be constantly drunk and caused problems with the locals. French sailors are recorded as constantly going atop houses to survey the island thus being a nuisance, while the Dutch sailors are remembered for having impressive hats and always waving flags all around the place.  British soldiers, when commandeering locals for work to build the fort or houses, were met with locals who were amazed by a government that actually paid the citizenry when they were hired. Joseon had plenty of corrupt officials, especially in the countryside, who did not pay the locals when they were commandeered for work and, since the British knew pound sterling was worthless to the locals, they paid in practical items like  canned food, alcohol, and salted meat. The British occupation force also had strict rules in place to not disturb the locals, which is why a rather amicable relationship was formed. 

There is a story of a British sailor who is said to have drowned while swimming to a widow’s house, but there are no records of a sailor who died of drowning. Some historians assume this story originated from a sailor who was indeed caught visiting a widow’s house and was punished publicly in front of the locals by constantly being thrown overboard, and then made to swim back to the ship only to be thrown overboard again. There was also a story from the locals that said after the British left one of the widows bore a child with blue eyes and yellow hair and the child and the mother was sent to the capital. However, there are no official records of anyone with such a trait making this story probably another of the fanciful tales from the time.  

Another story is of how the British, who brought in cows as a food source, found the cows to be missing as time passed. They later found out an old local man was the culprit but, when confronted, he denied stealing the cows. The British then showed a photo of the man taking the cows and only then did the local confess and return the cow. This makes the locals one of the first Koreans ever to witness photographic technology. 

On the birthday of Queen Victoria, the locals were told by the British not to be alarmed when they hear cannon fire. The locals apparently decided to view this foreign behaviour and gathered at the port where the event was said to have taken place. When the shots were fired, the dogs on the island were startled and ran into the mountains, and the British sailors helped the locals find the dogs. When the British finally decided to leave the island, the locals were disappointed at the departure which is understandable considering that apparently the first thing the governor of the province did when the island was back in control was demand 2 years’ worth of taxes that went missive during the occupation. 

From the government side of things, Joseon was the last to find out about this occupation because there was no direct line between Britain and Joseon. While a telegram was sent the day after the occupation on April 28th, it was only received on May 16th

However, the entire withdrawal had nothing to do with the wishes of Joseon, as it only became a proxy war for the major powers. The Qing did not want Russian influence over the Korean Peninsula, and instead wanted to cement its lordship over Korea.

With these two conflicting interests the Qing decided to help the Joseon cause and protested. Japan, due to its future ambitions over the local area, also joined in the protest, while making sure they would have the role of stopping Russian ambitions in the far East. The Anglo-Japanese Alliance was signed not long after the incident, in 1902. Although the USA showed sympathy, it sided with Britain against this Russian expansion. Russia, on the other hand, briefly conquered part of Jeju island to stop the British having its hands on the territorial waters around the Korean peninsula. This Mexican standoff situation was resolved in 1866, when Russia agreed not to put Joseon under its protectorate status while the Qing and Britain also agreed not to intervene in Korean affairs. In 1887, after 2 years of occupation, the British left Fort Hamilton. Just as Joseon was last to hear of the occupation, the news of the withdrawal also came last for the actual party of interest. 

This left one power to take advantage of the situation: Japan, a country which later defeated Qing China and Russia, and colonised Korea with British and American support. Considering that the rise of Japan was signified by its alliance with Britain, it can be said that the rise of Japan as a major power on the world stage had begun with this minor sideshow during the Great Game. All because Britain wanted to stop Russian expansion.

Justin Kim

Image Credit: Gupdaal