Manchester Historian Issue 34

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Issue 34 December 2019

PROTEST AND REVOLUTION 1

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Contents

Editor’s Note

Bayard Rustin

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30 Years of Protest in China

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Muslim Spain

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The Black Consciousness

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The Rise of Chinese Capitalism

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The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls

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International Aristocracy and Archaic Italy

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Palestinian Women’s Resistance during the Lebanese Civil Wars

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Why was slavery finally abolished in Brazil?

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The battle over Gay News

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Fall of the Aztecs

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Túpac Amaru

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Iraq: The 14th July Revolution

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Australia’s Great Emu War

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The Phoenicians

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Saint Stephen of Hungary

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The Russian Hamlet Revolution

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‘Athens: The Democratic Revolution’

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John Milton: a revolutionary worth remembering

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Theoretical Approaches to Protest and Revolution in Elkin and Sand

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Pari Khan Khanum

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Afrocentric Art

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History Society

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Welcome to Issue 34 of the Manchester Historian. As we write, staff at the University of Manchester are preparing to go on strike and members of People and Planet have gone into occupation in the John Owens building, protesting the University’s investments in fossil fuel companies. This summer saw Extinction Rebellion close down roads into Westminster, thousands marched against Britain’s exit from the EU, and in Manchester the Conservative Party conference was met with mass protest.

For the past six months protestors in Hong Kong have caused mass disruption in an attempt to resist Beijing’s creeping control. Students from Manchester who were studying on the island have just been told to return home after violent clashes between protestors and police spread to university campuses.

Meanwhile, commentators are talking of a ‘new Arab spring’: protestors in Lebanon have paralysed the country in an attempt to bring down the president; in Iraq, protestors demanding better economic conditions have been shot dead by government forces; and in Egypt, security forces have brutally crushed protests aimed at deposing President al-Sisi. In Brazil, former-President Lula has been released from prison following a wave of civil unrest against the judicial coup that deposed him and the election of far-right Bolsonaro. Both Venezuela and Bolivia are seeing huge civil unrest as political forces vie for supremacy.

All over the world people are in revolt. This issue is dedicated to them, and to their history. Revolt and protest are not modern phenomena. Humans have protested as long as there have been structures of power. This issue hopes to highlight some of the lesser known instances of historic protest and revolution, and to examine more commonly known resistance movements from a new angle.

We examine the ways in which protestors can face oppression within their own movement in a profile of Bayard Rustin (page 3), the prominent gay civil rights activist and one of Dr King’s chief advisors. We look at the ways in which protest movements are varied and plural, and not as monolithic as they might retroactively seem in a piece on the Black Consciousness Movement, which sheds some light on the parts of the anti-Apartheid movement that were not part of the ANC. A piece about the Tupac Amaru Rebellion highlights the long history of anti-colonial protest in Latin America (page 13).

Examining the often-neglected role of women in conflict and resistance, an article looks at the role of women in the Lebanese civil war (page 11). We also examine how a revolution can effect the viability of the society that follows, in relation to the Iraqi Republic and the subsequent Ramadan revolution (page 14). Throughout this issue, you will find new and interesting articles on a wide range of history, and with a focus on protest and revolutionary movements globally. Solidarity!

Many thanks to Sean Jones Francesca Young Kaufman University of Manchester History Department University of Manchester Graphics Support Workshop

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

Bayard Rustin The gay civil rights activist behind the ‘I have a dream’ speech that you’ve never heard of Few can claim to have had an impact on as much social change and emancipation as Bayard Rustin. For decades, unrecognised for his work and deliberately forgotten, Rustin made possible many of the key cornerstones of civil rights, like the March on Washington, which would otherwise have not seen the light of day, or at least not as successfully as it did.

A second-class citizen for his skin, and a criminal for who he loved, Rustin’s activism for black civil rights put him in the line of fire at a time when being openly gay menat he was already a target, even within the civil rights movement. However, Rustin’s organisational brilliance and unwavering commitment to the cause bought him unlikely allies in the movement, who were willing to overlook his ‘personal immorality’ for the results they so desperately needed.

Born in a small town in Pennsylvania, Bayard was heavily influenced by his grandmother Julia Rustin, a Quaker and a member of the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (NAACP). As a young man Rustin had campaigned against the Jim Crow laws in his hometown and was later expelled from Wilberforce University for organising a strike.

In 1941, Bayard met the African-American trade unionist Philip Randolph. Together they planned a March on Washington later that year to protest discrimination against and abuse of black soldiers. The march never went ahead because of President Roosevelt’s ban on discrimination in the military, but many civil rights figures noticed Rustin’s exceptional ability to organise. From here, he and other activists founded the nonviolent resistance group, the Congress on Racial Equality (CORE).

Inspired by the success of Mahatma Gandhi, Bayard visited India to study the tactics of civil disobedience. He used his findings to convince CORE’s foot soldiers, largely students, that the same success could be achieved for black civil rights in America.

Following a Supreme Court ruling that transport segregation was unconstitutional, Rustin went on to plan the Journey of Reconciliation. He joined seven black

men and eight white men from CORE on a two-week endeavour to test segregated transport in the Deep South. Arriving in Alabama, they were quickly arrested, with Rustin and two others being sent to chain gangs (shackled forced labour units). Despite failing to complete their journey, Rustin’s efforts brought a great deal of attention to anti-black violence in the South and the failure of the federal government to act.

Despite facing disapproval from many in the NAACP at the time, Rustin’s campaign helped to inspire them to replicate this tactic in 1955 with Rosa Park’s highly publicised arrest. Dr. Martin Luther King, a local pastor, had organised a bus boycott in response, and Rustin was invited to help.

Now King’s main advisor, they together formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, with Rustin being instrumental in the group’s adoption of non-violent civil disobedience.

Whilst planning a march outside the Democratic National Convention with King, Adam Clayton Powell - a fellow civil rights leader and Democratic Congressman threatened King that if the march was not called off he would tell the press that King and Rustin were gay lovers. King, in one of his weaker moments, called the march off and put a distance between himself and Rustin, who later resigned from the SCLC. Despite this, Rustin put the movement ahead of personal attacks and joined Philip Randolph in his call to resurrect the March on Washington. The aim was to influence the Kennedy administration by bringing together the many civil rights groups to campaign collectively on economic issues and for a comprehensive Civil Rights Act. But once again, Rustin’s homosexuality would be used against him. The segregationist Strom Thurmond rallied against him in the Senate and produced an FBI photograph of Rustin talking to King whilst King was bathing, implying a relationship, which they both denied. These homophobic attacks also came from the movement itself, with Roy Wilkins of the NAACP refusing to allow Rustin to be the movement’s front man. As a result, Randolph took the role of chief organiser, with Rustin as his deputy.

From the shadows Rustin had worked tirelessly to make this unprecedented mass gathering possible. Transportation, sanitation, food and accommodation were all meticulously addressed. Rustin found

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Bayard Rustin at a news briefing on the Civil Rights March on Washington, 1963

off-duty police officers to be marshals for the demonstration, found bus captains to direct traffic, organised doctors to create first aid stations and scheduled the podium speakers.

Despite Wilkins’ insistence that Rustin not be a public figure, Rustin publicly announced the march’s list of demands in front of the Lincoln Memorial. He and Randolph appeared on the cover of Life magazine, identifying them as the march’s leaders.

Rustin would go on to organise other civil rights protests, but would ultimately butt heads with a movement entering that was entering a more militant phase and becoming increasingly disillusioned with Rustin’s more compromising politics.

Towards the end of his life, Rustin, urged by his partner, Walter Naegle – whom he adopted to gain legal protections in an era before there were civil unions – had encouraged him to take on gay activism. Testifying on behalf of New York’s Gay Rights Bill of 1986, Rustin gave a speech, ‘The New Niggers are Gay’, outraging black civil rights patriarchs and clergymen who were appalled by his suggestion that gay persecution was an injustice on par to Jim Crow.

It is unsurprising that the torchbearers of the civil rights story chose to forget Rustin. He never claiming to represent the gay rights movement. Indeed, he wrote that he ‘did not “come out of the closet” voluntarily - circumstances formed [him] out.’ But his mere existence challenged the conscience of a community not yet ready to accept this side of a civil rights hero.

Pallav Roy

ISSUE 34 | 2019

30 Years of Protest in China From Tiananmen Square to Hong Kong’s ‘be water’ protests: has protest against the CCP ever achieved anything?

The world watched on on October 1 as Xi Jinping led massive military parades in Beijing, ostensibly to ‘celebrate’ the 70th anniversary of the Chinese Revolution.

Fundamentally, it served as an expression of Chinese might, designed to confront the ‘foreign forces’ (i.e. the US) that the Chinese ‘Communist’ Party is in continued imperialist conflict with.

This year also marked the 30th anniversary of the gigantic Tiananmen Square protests, which began with the mass occupations of squares. These were primarily led by students who often lived in poverty, experiencing the slow turn of the Chinese economy away from it’s planned system towards a capitalist model.

The factors leading to this outbreak have their roots in the Stalinist system that had been instituted after the revolution.

Although it led to the abolition of capitalism, it did not have the working-class at its core, instead being led by the CCP, which based itself on the peasantry. The result was a revolution that delivered a bureaucratic dictatorship in the mould of Stalin’s Soviet Union. In spite of this, the result of rapid industrialisation provided some benefits. Life expectancy, for instance, rose from 35 to 65 years after the revolution until 1975. The whittling away of the social safety net under the rule of Deng Xiaoping had led to a mass resentment among large swathes of the Chinese population.

A spike in corruption throughout the 80s led to growing demands for democratic reforms. Students unfurled banners saying “Down with corruption! Long live democracy!” Contrary to what the CCP and Western press reported, the mood, however, was not in favour of the restoration of capitalism. Many students had flown banners of Mao Zedong. The classic revolutionary socialist anthem, ‘The Internationale’, became an unofficial anthem of the movement.

A turning point came when workers became an active part of the movement, with the formation of strike committees across China that fused democratic demands with calls for basic workers rights, which the CCP had failed to protect. The growing power of China’s industrial working-class

marked a shift for the CCP, who brutally replied when Li Peng, the Chinese Premier, implemented martial law. On June 4, the ‘People’s Liberation Army’ were sent in and were ordered to open fire indiscriminately into the crowds.

To this day, information surrounding the massacre is widely censored by the Chinese state. Search engine results for things as basic as ‘June 4’ in China are repressed.

The CCP fears that if the youth were to discover the estimated amount of deaths, between 1,000 and 10,000, they will be enthused by the legacy of Tiananmen.

when a young protestor was shot in the chest at point-blank range.

Regardless of what Carrie Lam says, it is widely understood that Lam is under the complete control of the Chinese dictatorship. This was proven to everybody when, in September, audio was leaked of Lam speaking to a select circle of business leaders saying: “If I had a choice, the first thing I would do would be to quit”. Thus, when Lam came out recently declaring that the PLA could be sent in to Hong Kong if the situation “got so bad”, it was widely understood to be a proxy threat directed by the CCP against protestors.

Hong Kong today How to challenge the CCP? Today, the Tiananmen Square massacre is openly commemorated during yearly vigils in Hong Kong, where the so-called ‘protest culture’ has presented serious problems for the rule of the CCP since being returned to Chinese rule in 1997. This has been exacerbated by the fact that the movement for democratic rights in Tiananmen was unsuccessful – repression is currently at an all-time high.

The news has been plastered with stories about the region’s ongoing protests, which were sparked by the attempt to introduce an extradition bill, making Hong Kongers liable to legal extradition to the Chinese mainland. This would effectively bring an abrupt end to the modest democratic rights afforded to people in Hong Kong (the right to form political parties, to strike, to protest etc). Behind the outrage, there is no doubt that there is a built up anger towards the conditions working and middle-class people in Hong Kong are facing. Housing remains severely overcrowded and overpriced, inflated due to the runaway private market system in the sector.

Similar conditions have led to a surge in ‘Maoist’ – ideas among young people on the Chinese mainland, seen through the popularity of websites such as redchinacn. net.

On June 9, around one million Hong Kongers took to the streets, followed by two million (more than a quarter of Hong Kong’s population of 7.5 million). Hong Kong’s Chief Executive, Carrie Lam, has consistently been forced to ‘stare down’ the protests, offering little to no concessions to the protestors. While she eventually withdrew the bill, she immediately followed it up with a draconian ban on the use of face masks by protestors, clearly to try and split the movement between its more radical and moderate elements.

This has been twinned with a constant onslaught of police repression, which reached a peak at the start of October

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It is important to take into account the wider situation taking place in Hong Kong.

While the city is home to almost one-hundred billionaires, 1.35 million people (1 in 5) live below the poverty line. The movement will ultimately have to go beyond the protestors’ five demands (withdrawal of extradition bill, a public inquiry into police brutality, freedom for political prisoners, an end to the description of protests as ‘riots’ and universal suffrage), and push ahead for wider demands that would confront the rule of billionaires and millionaires that the ‘Communist’ Party in China protects. One revolutionary socialist website, chinaworker.info, stressed the importance of a co-ordinated class struggle, to link up with the new workers movement on the Chinese mainland: “In order to win the support of workers and young people in mainland China, we cannot just appeal for support for our movement’s five demands. We must also raise demands that further the struggle against oppression and dictatorship on the mainland: Immediate and full democracy in China and Hong Kong, the right to form independent trade unions, freedom of political association, freedom of speech against censorship. We also want to support the struggle of Chinese workers, youth and poor peasants, for an 8-hour work day, universal retirement protection, and a massive increase in public resources such as healthcare, education and housing.”

Tom Costello

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Muslim Spain A forgotten history The long period of Muslim rule over Spain is often forgotten in the popular narrative of European history. In fact, many people probably do not know it existed at all.

Medieval European history is sometimes thought of as an age dominated by white Christian men. The history of Islamic Spain clearly shows that this is not the case. Developments in science and academia made the Emirate (Caliphate after 929 AD) of Córdoba under Umayyad governance one of the most technologically advanced societies in western Europe, rivalling the Byzantine Empire in the East.

This, coupled with religious harmony between Muslims, Christians, and Jews, make Muslim Spain such a unique and fascinating society - one we should not forget.

The city of Córdoba was a Roman settlement, conquered in 206 BC. It played a fundamental role in economic success for the Umayyads, who established it as their direct centre of governance in 766 AD. Córdoba had a prosperous manufacturing industry creating goods such as metal, glazed tiles, and leather. The surrounding land had rich soil perfect for growing different fruits, vegetables, spices, and herbs, as well as materials such as cotton and silk.

The Umayyads in Spain used their connections along Atlantic and Mediterranean trading routes to bring staggering wealth to Córdoba. Economic prosperity allowed an academic boom to occur in Córdoba, transforming it into one of the great learning centres of Europe. It became home to over eighty libraries that brought advances in mathematics, botany, astronomy, and medicine – greatly exceeding the knowledge present in Christian societies.

This greatly parallels the Abbasid Dynasty in Baghdad, which became the new power in the Islamic world after casting aside

nearly all of Umayyad family in 750. They created the ‘House of Wisdom’ that championed academic developments, including the translation of many works gifted to them by the Byzantine Emperor. Through this academic sponsorship the Umayyads rivalled the Abbasid dynasty in intellectual achievements, and together these states demonstrate the vast extent of Muslim academic innovation in this period.

Now, we move onto the question of religion. A common understanding of the Middle Ages is as a time of crusade with white European knights destroying Muslim civilisations who challenged the dominance of the Catholic faith. However, again, we see the Caliphate of Córdoba challenge this assertion with its diverse society and acceptance of different faiths, often referred to as the Convivencia. This is not to deny that religious discrimination did take place. For instance, the Muslim rulership forced Christians and Jews to pay a jizya tax to help pay for the wars against the Christian kingdoms in the north. Yet, despite these pressures, it seems that many benefitted from Muslim rule. In particular, the Jewish community gained greater affluence and civil rights that had not occurred under the Visigoths.

Moreover, Christians were still allowed to practice their religion and construct and maintain places of worship. Despite this, from the tenth to the eleventh century, there was a seventy per cent incraese in conversions to the Muslim faith. This has been put down to the success of the state at propagating and spreading the official religion. Many convertees would also have been motivated by wanting to avoid the jizya tax.

Gradually things began to change as the Reconquista progressed and Muslim rule in the area fragmented. After the collapse of Umayyad rule in 1031, several independent Muslim states called ‘Taifas’

emerged. The Taifa states were militarily weak, and were unable to defend themselves from increasing raids and demands for tribute from the Catholic states to the north and west. As raids turned to conquests, the Taifa states requested military help from the Almoravids, Muslim rulers from North Africa. They successfully repelled Christian advances, but went on to conquer and annex the Taifa kingdoms.

When the North African empires proceeded to collapse and splinter through civil wars, the Taifa kingdoms reemerged, even weaker than before. By the 13th century many had been conquered by the surrounding Christian states, with Murcia falling in 1243, and the Algarve in 1249.

Only the emirate of Granada survived as a Muslim state, and even then only as a tributary of Castile.

Despite attempts by the Marinids, Muslim rulers of Morocco, to prevent Christian domination of the peninsular, Muslim rule finally met its end in the area in 1492 following the Christian recapture of Granada. Despite the eventual collapse of Muslim Spain, it is important to recognise its successes and contribution to the modern European world. Firstly, we should consider the city of Córdoba as one of the great cities of history. The Umayyads used existing Roman infrastructure to develop a city comparable to the likes of Constantinople in the Byzantine Empire and Baghdad, the Abbasid capital. Córdoba’s manufacturing industry and agricultural enterprise made it economically prosperous and would precipitate the rise of the academic community bringing advances in a range of different areas like medicine and astronomy. Secondly, the Umayyad policy of toleration towards other religions was a marked change from previous Visigoth rule who dedicated resources towards marginalising the Christian and Jewish followers on the peninsular. While the jizya tax was present for non-Muslims, we do not see any hard evidence of deliberately harsh treatment towards people of other faiths by the Umayyads – something to be admired and recognised. This historical analysis of Muslim-ruled Spain challenges popular conceptions of European history, and demonstrates the necessity of greater popular historical understanding of the period.

Jack Ulyatt

The Alhambra in Granada, a palace of the Nasrid Emirate

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

The Black Consciousness Movement By the end of 1964, the majority of Anti-Apartheid resistance within South Africa had been supressed. Repressive legislation limited speech and movement. Black leaders, trade unionists and activists had been imprisoned or driven into exile. With the ANC suppressed, the Black Consciousness Movement took up the mantle of resistance. Despite contemporary perceptions, the ANC did not always dominate the anti-apartheid movement. It owes a debt to a multitude of organisations who, at different times, were vital in resisting apartheid such as Robert Subukwe’s Pan African Congress, the United Democratic Front (UDF), the Unity Movement, and Steve Biko and The Black Consciousness Movement.

The Black Consciousness Movement was a group of students and intellectuals.

They emerged out of a galvanised student movement at Bush College one of the few universities where black students were afforded limited freedom of expression.

In 1969, frustrated with the lack of black leadership and radical ideas in student politics, a group of Students including Steve Biko, who would later become their most prominent leader, left the National Union of South African Students and formed the non-white South African Student’s Organisation (SASO). Their idea of fostering black leadership would become a key tenement to Black Consciousness’s philosophy.

SASO galvanised activism across black campuses, and focussed initially on ‘consciousness raising’ rather than building a mass movement. Black Consciousness was a radically different philosophy to that of Mandela’s ANC, rejecting white leadership and working towards developing an independent self-sustaining black society. Radically, they argued that Apartheid oppression was as much psychological as political. They drew on many indigenous cultural and political practices for inspiration. Moreover, they followed the intellectual traditions of thinkers such as Malcolm X, Kwame Nkrumah and Franz Fanon. In speeches, Steve Biko emphasised black power, self-expression and self-promotion as a means of counteracting the propagation of an inferiority complex on the black population by the white government: “When you say, black is beautiful, you are saying, man you are okay as you are, begging to look upon yourself as a human being”.

From 1972, the movement formed the Black People’s Convention (BPC). Its first meeting brought 145 organisations and 1400 delegates. Its refusal to work within the apartheid system meant that this was

the first mass, truly anti-apartheid national organisation since the 1960s. Unlike the male dominated ANC, the BPC had significant female representation, with a woman, Winnifred Kgware elected as its first leader. Across the country, they developed a series of community development programs, from textile manufacturing to health clinics. Additionally, they developed black arts and culture in yearbooks like ‘Black Review’. Due to the apartheid government’s scorn for and repression of black culture, even this cultural development was an act of black resistance.

The movement began to clash with the Apartheid state more directly later in the 1970s. They gained widespread support through the state’s persecution of BCM activists in the SASO-BPC trial of 1976. With leaders like Steve Biko called to testify in court, their philosophy and ideology of black unity and consciousness was broadcast across South Africa through press reports. The trial ironically gave BCM activists a platform they had been denied since being banned from speaking publicly in 1973.

As well as high profile publicity, SASO continued to spread its ideas and foster black leadership amongst black youth.

This was particularly successful in Soweto, which already had a rich history of anti-apartheid activism. The South African Student Movement (SASM), an organisation of high school students, organised a march in 1976 against the use of Afrikaans (the white minority language) in black schools. The peaceful march evolved into a national uprising after hundreds of school children were killed by the police.

Today this protest is known as the Soweto uprising. It demonstrated the success of the BCM in ‘liberating’ the minds of black South Africans and allowing them to conceive of their own freedom. Importantly, it began to show the cracks in the apartheid system.

Eventually, the pressure of bannings, restrictions and police violence took its toll.

Particularly devestating was Steve Biko’s brutal murder on the 12th September 1977. Following the 1970s its significance faded, although some activists continue the organisation even today. Others were absorbed into other organisations, like the United Democratic Front, a group that dominated anti-apartheid activism in the 1980s.

The BCM was central to the eventual dismantling of Apartheid. Firstly, it ideological focus on the promotion of black culture and black self-sufficiency radicalised black politics. Secondly, its attempt

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to dismantle the psychological repression of racialised systems of knowledge and power galvanised resistance. Finally, the global outcry against Steve Biko’s murder exposed the Apartheid governments brutality to the world, helping to push it towards reform.

Schoolchildren take part in Soweto uprising, 1976

Given this, it is puzzling that Steve Biko and the BCM do not have a prominant place in popular narratives of apartheid South Africa. Certainly, the BCM’s ideas were less palatable to a western audience.

They did not court white liberal sympathy, instead emphasising self-resistance and expression. Their views also did not fit into the ANC’s vision of a ‘non-racial’ post-apartheid South Africa. In the 1990s, the ANC, whose activist base was largely in exile around the globe, co-opted much of the anti-apartheid zeitgeist. With their influence in the international community, they were able to claim much work as their own. But, with de-facto segregation and inequality still present in much of the country today, the ANC’s policy of racial reconciliation has, in many ways, failed.

To conclude the BCM demonstrated a radical anti-apartheid alternative was possible. By fostering a black cultural renaissance, creating community-led programs and galvanising the student movement they not only helped resist the apartheid regime, they also created the basis for a new black philosophy.

Elias Mendel

ISSUE 34 | 2019

The rise of Chinese Capitalism Deng Xiaoping and socialism with Chinese characteristics On 1st September 1982, Deng Xiaoping addressed the 12th National Congress of the Communist Party of China. Held approximately every five years, the National Congress allows the Party to change its leadership and alter the Party’s Constitution. The 12th Congress was the second since Chairman Mao’s death in 1976, and the first since Deng’s rise to power in 1978. Deng said:

“We must integrate the universal truth of Marxism with the concrete realities of China, blaze a path of our own and build socialism with Chinese characteristics - that is the basic conclusion we have reached after reviewing our long history.”

This article will explore what Deng meant by wishing to adapt Marxism to ‘the concrete realities of China’ and the meaning of the phrase ‘socialism with Chinese characteristics’. It will conclude by arguing that Deng’s reforms should be considered capitalist. First, however, let us explore how China got to the point of implementing drastic economic reform.

Four years after founding the People’s Republic of China, Mao Zedong wished to begin intensive industrialisation in order to lay the foundations for a socialist society (Karl Marx had suggested that a revolution would occur only once means of production – factories, machinery, tools, etc.– were fully developed). These were implemented in the Five Year Plan of 1953-57, based on the Soviet model:

Deng Xiaoping, 1979

centralised planning, large scale collective farming, and state ownership.

The plan was relatively successful.

Agricultural output grew significantly, many industrial factories were created, and national income rose around 10% per year. For Mao, though, this was not enough. He was tired of the more ‘moderate’ officials, including Deng, who wished to continue the Soviet-style industrialisation before implementing socialism. Thus, he initiated the Great Leap Forward with the aim to ‘leap over history’ by rapidly developing agriculture and industry while implementing socialism. It was ideologically driven campaign; Mao felt ‘it is better to be red than expert’ and thought revolutionary spirit could overcome material challenges.

He was wrong. At least 23 million people died of famine because farmers were diverted to industry, which itself was a disaster as workers lacked skills and materials. Mao lost a lot of reputation and withdrew from Party matters as Deng took over economic affairs. Deng was later purged during Mao’s Cultural Revolution (1966-67), whereby Mao asserted his dominance in the Party and Chinese society.

Deng returned to power in 1978, following Mao’s death two years prior. This paved the way for Deng’s ‘socialism with Chinese characteristics’. As the term is vague, it is necessary to assess it through Deng’s general philosophy and the situation it is trying to remedy. Firstly, it is clear that any new policy must be a reaction against Maoism. Even while Mao was alive, Deng opposed Mao’s policies on the basis that China had not progressed through capitalism prior to revolution.

Secondly, Deng was an ardent pragmatist, emphasised through his famous quote, ‘it doesn’t matter whether a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice’. This quote represents a u-turn for Chinese economic planning: from Mao’s ideologically driven policy to Deng’s pragmatism above all.

Deng’s pragmatism, in conjunction with his idea that China must progress through capitalism before revolution, led to market reforms in China. Agriculture was de-collectivised, meaning farmers could sell their grain on a free market.

Entrepreneurship was legalised, as was foreign investment, while many state owned businesses were sold off or contracted. Of course, the results were spectacular. Forty years later, China is the world’s second largest economy after seeing growth of almost 10% every year for thirty-five years. When Deng referred

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to the integration of Marxism into ‘the concrete realities of China’, then, he was talking about the need to progress through capitalist industrialisation in order for China to be a developed nation. Why, though, did Deng refer to ‘socialism’ as the drive behind these reforms?

During the initial stages of market liberalisation, Deng wanted modernisation in four key areas: defence, industry, science and technology, and agriculture.

In 1978, human rights activist Wei Jingsheng posted an essay on a Beijing wall titled The Fifth Modernization. The fifth modernisation Wei called for was democracy. Often, when a country adopts market policies democracy is a natural, and usually necessary, extension. Indeed, market liberalisation without democracy led to the month long Tiananmen Square Protests – a student led movement demanding democracy – which was crushed by Deng.

‘Socialism with Chinese characteristics’, then, refers both to China’s progress through capitalism and justifies market reform without democratic reform to go along with it. To what extent, though, can China be called ‘socialist’ or ‘capitalist’ based on Deng’s policy? Despite the lack of democracy seen in Western capitalism, China’s system bears capitalism’s defining features: private ownership of property and the production of goods and services for sale on a market for profit. However, the state retains significant control over the economy through state owned companies and ‘national champions’ – big business with ties to the government – and, under Xi Jinping, control over the economy is only growing. Due to the presence of the core tenets of capitalism, though, it is fair to call Deng’s reforms and China’s subsequent system as capitalist.

It is important to note, however, that the Party officially remains committed to the notion that China is progressing through capitalism with a view to communism in the future.

Louis O’Halloran

ISSUE 34 | 2019

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls

How one historic discovery shaped Jewish and Christian theology

The discovery of the dead sea scrolls in 1947 and their full publication in the early 1990s has had an enormous impact on Jewish and Christian scholarship. Some of the texts discovered were unique (the War Scroll for instance) whilst others were versions of Old Testament texts that were 1000 years older than any previously known copy (the Isaiah).

The authors of the scrolls were called the Essenes, a strict sect of Jews who lived at a monastery near the Dead Sea from around 200 BC to 68 AD. They believed in the impending arrival of the Messiah, who would defeat the enemies of Israel, establish a new Kingdom, raise the dead, judge the wicked, and reward the righteous in a coming apocalypse.

We know that the first Christians called themselves ‘children of light’ (John 12:36, 1 Thessalonians 5:5), ‘followers of the way’ (Acts 9:2) and ‘the poor’ (James 2:5).

They baptised converts to cleanse sin in preparation for the coming apocalypse, and believed that they lived under a new covenant, and that the Holy Spirit dwelt within them.

But what the Dead Sea scrolls show us is that these early Christians were not the only group who called themselves these names and held these beliefs. The Essenes, in the 1st century, also did. This suggests a strong theological connection between the Essenes and early Christians – but how did this happen?

The majority view among scholars is that John the Baptist was once a member of the Essene community at Qumran (the location of the dead sea monastery) before he embarked upon his public ministry. In his recent (2018) book on John the Baptist, Joel Marcus lists 10 similarities between John and the Essenes, most of which were unique to them (p28-32): 1. The act of baptising for the forgiveness of sins (other Jews immersed themselves, but for ritual purification purposes only).

2. The baptism for the forgiveness of sins as a means of preparation for the apocalypse.

3. Forgiveness of sins through baptism would only be effective if people repented from sin.

4. Baptism would lead to eternal life.

5. The coming wrath of God would be like deluge or river of unquenchable fire.

6. Operated in the Judean wilderness near the Jordan river.

7. Believed they were ‘preparing a way for the Lord’.

8. Placed special emphasis on living (i.e. flowing) water.

9. The enemies of God are denounced as viper’s offspring.

10. The Qumran community and John had priestly origins.

the Messiah. Jesus responds with a list of actions he has taken and somewhat strangely asks John not to take offence.

What is so fascinating is that the list Jesus provides to John has a strong parallel in a Dead Sea scroll fragment known as 4Q521. The parallels are most striking when compared side by side: 4Q521 The heavens and the earth will listen to His Messiah…

1. He who liberates the captives, restores sight to the blind, 2. straightens the bent... For He will heal the wounded, 3. and revive the dead and bring good news to the poor.

Luke 7:22-23

The Caves at Qumran, where the dead sea scrolls were discovered

According to all four gospels, one of John’s disciples was Jesus of Nazareth. At his baptism a heavenly voice announced “You are my Son, today I have begotten you” (Luke 3:22) and Jesus then embarked on his own ministry. He proclaimed that the coming judgement of God was near and that people should repent and be baptised for the forgiveness of sin - one of the teachings of John and the Essenes.

In ancient times, religion and politics overlapped considerably.

Governors would ban Christian meetings as they were considered “political”. Roman coins at the time of Jesus bore the image of Caesar with the inscription “son of God”, and followers of Jesus refused to worship Caesar, insisting on declaring Jesus to be the only son of God. Figures such as John the Baptist and Jesus were not only considered religious revolutionaries, but political revolutionaries that presented a threat to the established religious and political order. It was because of John’s growing popularity that the Jewish King, and Roman puppet, Herod had John imprisoned and eventually beheaded.

The gospels record a fascinating episode where the imprisoned John sent some of his disciples to ask Jesus if he really was

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And he answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: 1. the blind receive their sight, 2. the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, 3. the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.

And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’

Why would anyone take offence, as Jesus implies, at such benevolent actions? With the scrolls, we are able to unravel this mystery. Jesus brings sight to the blind, treats the lame, the leper and the deaf, raises the dead and brings good news to the poor, but he does not “liberate the captives”, as 4Q521 says the Messiah would. Jesus’ mission did not include releasing anyone from prison, which is exactly where John was. Jesus was therefore effectively saying to John: “I am fulfilling all that you predicted the Messiah would do except for one – liberating the captives – please don’t take offence.”

It is only since the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls that we can see this was a teaching of the Essenes, who taught John, who taught Jesus, who taught his disciples, who taught the early church. Studying the Dead Sea Scrolls, therefore, gives us powerful context and insights into a primary influence of the two most extraordinary revolutionary figures in history; John the Baptist and Jesus.

Lev Eakins

ISSUE 34 | 2019

International Aristocracy and Archaic Italy

The socio-political makeup of Archaic Italy (800-500 BC) is obscure because we have a relatively small sample of archaeological evidence vis-à-vis later periods, and we rely on ancient scholars such as Livy, Plutarch, and Dionysius of Halicarnassus who often misunderstood their own societies, let alone long ‘dead’ ones such as the Etruscans or Samnites. Even so, Kathryn Lomas has suggested that there was an ‘international aristocracy’ in Italy and the broader Mediterranean, not hampered by civic or ethnic ties, which cultivated friendship through the exchange of luxury goods and the hosting of guests. Whilst evidence, both archaeological and literary, proves this theory, it also shows that the international aristocracy used violence as a tool of socio-political mobility.

Rome. Similar examples of tesserae hospitales were found at Trasacco (L’Aquila), and even as far as in a tomb located on the Carthaginian Byrsa. These suggest that elites could move from city to city, even across great distances, transcending civic and ethnic boundaries, based purely on the friendship of other elites.

The literary tradition provides ample examples of elites peacefully crossing ethnic or civic boundaries and settling in new cities, too. For example, Livy tells us that in 504 BC Varr., Attus Clausus, facing political difficulties in the Sabine town of Regillum, was able to move to Rome with his companions, take the Romanised name ‘Appius Claudius’, and become a prominent aristocrat, even getting elected Consul in 495 BC Varr.. Similarly, C. Marcius Coriolinus is said to have switched sides from the Romans to Volsciians after his exile in 491 BC Varr., enjoying the hospitality of Attius Tullius, the most important Volsciian elite at the time. Even if both stories should best be regarded as myth (or, more likely, echoes of facts distorted through time and later Republican views of the past), it nevertheless seems to capture the reality that elites could move freely between cities because they were elites as part of an international aristocracy.

Archaeological evidence seems to vindicate this theory. For example, the Lapis Satricanus, a tablet dedication to Mars found near modern day Borgo Montello, dates to around 500 BC Varr., and the inscription tells us that it was set up by ‘Popliosio Valesiosio’ and his suodales (‘companions’). Given that the dedication is to Mars, it appears as though it was a war band, thus implying that ‘Popliosio Valesiosio’ was a warlord. Whilst the name is an Archaic Latin one, some scholars have tentatively suggested that ‘Popliosio Valesiosio’ was Publius Valerius Publicola, one of four Roman aristocrats who led the overthrow of the Roman Monarchy in 509 BC Varr., as described by Livy and Plutarch (the name was presumably modernised as the Latin language developed).

If we may assume this link, then we might further infer that Condottiere were willing to rove around Italy, as Satricum is thirty-seven miles south of Rome – presumably Popliosio’s/Publicola’s base of operation – and far outside Roman territory.

Most importantly, there is no mention of the state of Rome in the inscription, only ‘Popliosio Valesiosio’ as an individual elite.

In terms of archaeological evidence, various tesserae hospitals – tokens denoting a formal guest-friend relationship between two people or two families – have been found across the Mediterranean.

For example, an ivory tablet shaped like a lion, inscribed with an Etruscan personal name, found in Rome at Sant’Omobono belonged to an elite Etruscan resident at

Turning to the violent means of elite mobility, Fred K. Drogula has argued that in the 6th century BC, most military action described by Livy as conventional warfare (such as the small-scale raids between Rome and Veii) is best understood as a powerful aristocrat heading private war bands made up of ‘companions’, whether to defend territory, or to take over new as Condottiere (warlords).

Another example of this phenomenon comes from the legends of the Etruscan Vibenna brothers. These further suggest

Etruscan ivory in the shape of a lion, dating to c. 530 BC.

that the loyalty of the war band was to the individual elite. A fresco in the François Tomb, located in the ancient Etruscan city of Vulci, depicts a scene showing the Vibenna brothers aided by companions from other cities such as Volsinii (Laris Papathnas Velznach) and Sovana (Pesna Arcmsnas Sveamach), which shows that war bands would often transgress civic boundaries. Ethnic boundaries, too, were frequently transgressed by Condottiere – for example, Livy tangentially relates that to us that Cluilius, an Aequian, led the Volsci at the Siege of Ardea in 443 BC Varr..

Undoubtedly, Condottiere were engaged in private wars to improve their elite statuses. On the one hand, raiding would increase personal wealth, but it could also be used to install oneself as a political leader in another city. Returning to the François Tomb, the fresco appears to depict a tradition in which the Vibenna brothers and ‘Mastarna’ kill a king of Rome named Cneve Tarchunies Rumach (Gnaeus Tarquinius of Rome), and presumably take over the city. Whilst the historicity of this tradition remains hotly contested – especially because it might vindicate the controversial theory of Emperor Claudius, who suggested that Mastarna became Servius Tullius, the sixth Roman King, in contra to the traditional Roman version of the story – it nonetheless appears to capture a broader historical reality of Condottiere using private wars to improve their political status, whether by integrating into an aristocracy by proving oneself worthy, or totally taking over the executive of a city.

Will Kerrs

Fresco in the François Tomb: ‘Liberation of Caelius Vibenna’, c. late 4th century BC.

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

Palestinian Women’s Resistance during the Lebanese Civil Wars The contribution of Palestinian women in the Lebanese Civil Wars during the 1970s and 1980s has had some academic attention in the years since the conflict, but usually with a focus on organised resistance movements. However, the everyday actions employed by female refugees living in camps were also integral to the resistance movement. A reflection of refugee struggle alongside the actions of resistance institutions is important to give a more well-rounded perspective on the contribution of women at this time.

Over the past 70 years, Lebanon has been the recipient of swathes of refugees crossing various borders due to conflicts taking place in neighbouring countries. Most recently, the Syrian Civil War to the east of Lebanon, has led to an influx of displaced people seeking asylum. Before this, the 1967 Six Day War caused approximately 100,000 refugees to flood in from Palestine, to a country with a population of 2.17 million people at that time. The instability and insecurity this caused - especially in the eyes of Lebanon’s ruling Maronite Christian sect - led to civil war in 1975 and the eventual inauguration of two rival Christian and Muslim systems of governance, and also to sustained resistance against Israel’s growing territory in Palestine and the threat from Syria to the east.

While gender issues tend to be pushed aside in times of hardship and conflict, war can also provide opportunities for women to renegotiate their place in society. Assumptions about gender norms are upended as a result of the necessity of war; the existing dynamics are put into a state of flux. With this in mind, it is clear that Palestinian women living in Lebanon during this period not only resisted Israeli and Maronite attack, but that this conflict for many would have been fought within the context of a struggle against gender roles in Palestinian society concurrently.

Women’s institutions played a huge part in the Palestinian fight for freedom and against statelessness, including the Palestinian Liberation Organisation (PLO) women’s leadership, founded in 1964, and the General Union of Palestinian Women, 1965. The membership of these groups was overwhelming populated by educated, middle-class women with the core leadership of the Women’s Union being graduates from Beirut, Cairo and Damascus Universities in their twenties and thirties. Therefore, the majority of Palestinian women were not directly involved in these

1982, Mother and Child walk through Sabra refugee camp following an attack by Christian malitiamen

organised movements.

resistance organisations.

That said, the Second Congress of the Women’s Union in 1974 supported a campaign to mobilise refugee women to fight in fifteen camps mainly located in Beirut and South Lebanon, showing a commitment to the women’s cause. However, these attempts to create parity between men and women in the face of the conflict are not representative of all of the ways that women in refugee camps resisted during the war.

This resistance within the domestic sphere in itself can be seen as an everyday struggle; women can be indirect actors by encouraging, and even mobilising, their children. The home becomes an extension of the battleground. This is particularly pertinent when considering the Tel al-Zaatar massacre and the 1982-5 Camp Wars that raged in refugee camps in Beirut and Southern Lebanon. Unlike wars fought between nations, the front line and the home start to merge during a civil war, which forces the domestic sphere into battle.

At a more grassroots level, the numbers of Palestinian women mobilised in militias in Lebanon were low compared to women’s involvement in the conflict in Jordan in the preceding years. Furthermore, only a small number of working-class women joined the organised resistance groups mentioned. The female labour force of the PLO and other resistance organisations grew, although generally employment was limited to posts like nurses and cleaners.

In many cases the death of the paternal figure in the family forced women to take on more economic responsibility within their household. While this was additional strain on working-class women it was also the inception of a defiance against gender norms, as well as participation in the infrastructure that allowed the wider resistance movement to function. In 1976, the residents of the Tel al-Zaatar refugee camp became victims of a devastating massacre. It was reported by female residents that prior to the massacre many girls were forbidden from working in the resistance. The violence triggered a U-turn with mothers beginning to actively encourage their daughters to help the struggle by spurring them to find jobs in

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Middle-class Palestinians involved in the institutionalised movements focused heavily on gender equality in the context of conflict. For example, through mobilising women in Lebanese camps they gave women an opportunity to fight alongside their husbands and sons. However, this only considers the masculine aspect of resistance and does not take into account the other forms of everyday struggle that created a culture of resistance. This culture ultimately facilitated the actions of the wider movement, showing that it is vital to give appreciation to other types of resistance than that generally attributed to the masculine public sphere.

Georgia Dey

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Why was slavery finally abolished in Brazil?

From the dawn of the 17th century until the mid 19th century, slavery constituted both the driving economic force, and the greatest humanitarian atrocity of Spanish colonial rule in Latin America. From 1550, when Brazil began the large scale importation of slaves from Africa, 1.5 to 2.5 million people were forcefully transported from Africa to Brazil to work as slaves with the colonial government. Whilst the role occupied by slaves in the Brazilian economy varied throughout these centuries, from the production of sugar, to mining of gold and diamonds, and ultimately to coffee by the mid 19th century, slavery remained the central pillar upon which the economy balanced.

Brazil and Cuba were the last two countries in the western hemisphere to abolish slavery, whilst contemporary abolitionists from Britain to the US argued that the movement was a ‘moral quest’. Since then, however, historians have examined it within the wider socio-economic context, to suggest that in fact, a combination of economic, moral, and social factors af-

fected the timing of abolition in various regions. In 1888, abolition in Brazil materialised through a combination of international pressure in the changing social climate, and the role of individual landowners should not be ignored. Moreover, the fact that slavery remained integral to the Brazilian economy largely accounts for its comparative reluctance to abandon this form of labour. However, more recent scholarship has emphasised the agency of slaves themselves in their emancipation.

Until the 20th century, the traditional notion that slavery in Brazil was somehow ‘benign’ monopolised the European perspective. The dominating idea, that abolition was the result of progressive coffee planters, gradually became the idea that slavery was at odds with modernisation.

The mid 20th century saw the subversion of this interpretation, with historians arguing that far from a benevolent, progressive, and natural development, abolition in Brazil was merely a profit-driven phenomenon. With technological developments spreading in Latin America, and transformations in the global markets, it became clear that the system of slave labour was no longer compatible with the

emerging economic systems, nor would it continue to be as profitable.

Although this structuralist view harshly dismisses any notion of progressive plant owners contributing to abolition, it should be noted that the plant owners never made a positive defence for slavery, nor was there an argument for the benevolence of slavery in Brazil. On the contrary, whilst the abolition movement met sharp resistance across the US, there was little resistance to abolition in Brazil, despite its vital role in the economy. Thus whilst abolition in Brazil was not the result of benign plant and landowners, they also did not exert a resistance movement.

The voice of African slaves themselves should be paid attention to in this discussion, as recent historiography has acknowledged the agency of the slaves themselves in fighting for abolition. In the Paraguayan War, thousands of African slaves fought in Brazil’s army, and utilised this opportunity to demand more rights, often agreeing to fight in exchange for freedom.

Tara Morony

The battle over Gay News Mary Whitehouse and 1960s permissive society Mary Whitehouse was a social conservative campaigner who set her sights on the ‘permissive society’ – the liberalising of social norms – that, she believed, was exposing children to more sex and violence on television. A lot of her work was done throughout the 1960s with her Clean Up TV campaign. She struggled somewhat, however, as her main target, the BBC and their director-general, Sir Hugh Greene, were taking steps to modernise television and ignored many of Whitehouse’s complaints. While Whitehouse was often mocked, she gained notoriety, and success, in many high-profile cases.

One of those cases saw her resurrect the common offence law of blasphemous libel to bring a private prosecution of Gay News magazine. There had not been a prosecution involving this law since 1922. The magazine had published a poem – ‘The Love That Dares to Speak Its Name’ by James Kirkup (1976) – depicting a Roman soldier having sexual fantasies about Jesus Christ’s body.

The trial, Whitehouse v Lemon, took place

in July 1977. Alongside the obvious explicitness, the case was also notable for a series of omissions. The defence was not allowed to address the jury at the beginning of the trial, even though this was the general practice. The judge, Justice King-Hamilton, did not allow for theological experts to speak on behalf of the magazine who, due to the conflicting beliefs in Christianity, may have cast doubts on the blasphemy accusation. The defence were also not allowed to have literary experts help prove their claim that, as a piece of literature, the poem could be read in numerous ways.

Due to these omissions, the case ultimately became about the jury’s visceral reaction to the poem. The intentions behind the poem were not taken into consideration – the case became a question of homosexuality itself. John Smythe, the prosecutor, stressed how important morality was in the case and was a test of whether or not “anything is to remain sacred”.

The jury agreed with his sentiment and returned with a guilty verdict. The verdict led to a fine for the magazine and nine month suspended sentence for the editor of Gay News, Denis Lemon.

The outcome of the case showed that the

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Mary Whitehouse, in 1981

population had not given up their traditional conservative values, despite the sexual and cultural revolution of the 1960s.

There had been steps taken to liberalise the law, such as the decriminalisation of homosexual acts in England 1967, which was progressive enough that gay rights groups felt it was the right time to set up a publication like Gay News (1972). A more ‘permissive’ media and changes in the law did not mean a change in attitude nor a decline in the importance of religion.

Christianity, and a set of traditional moral values which it was associated with, still dominated the outlook of most Britons.

Kate Jackson

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Fall of the Aztecs Why did some Indians ally with the Spanish during their conquest of Central America?

It took one-hundred years to build but only two to be destroyed; in its day, the Aztec Empire was the most powerful force in Mesoamerica. Now, despite the advances it made, its legacy has been almost entirely destroyed by the Spanish Conquistadors. Hernán Cortés and his men rocked the Aztec Empire from its valleys to its peaks. Landmarks were destroyed, resources drained, and over half of the people exterminated by smallpox in two short years. Survivors were crammed into encomiendas, facing slave-like conditions which made even the Spanish monarchs grimace. Knowing their fate today, it’s hard to imagine why any ‘Indian’ would choose to ally with the Spanish. To these natives, however, alliance was opportunity. An opportunity to rise, fight, and snatch autonomy from the Aztec overlords they resented.

Smallpox during the conquest of Mexico. Depicted in the Florentine Codex, 1585.

Before 1519, the Aztecs firmly gripped Mesoamerica. The core of the empire was Tenochtitlan, the capital city which had dominated militarily and economically from the 14th century. A Triple Alliance had been the foundation of the empire, consisting of the states of Tenochtitlan, Tlacopan, and Tetzcoco. Gradually, Tenochtitlan expanded, absorbing the other two and consolidating power though tax and tyranny. Dramatic cultural differences between Central America and Renaissance Europe make it easy to forget that there are many similarities: Tenochtitlan was progressing to a similar degree to their European counterparts.

They had constructed an artificial island around the city, dam systems to purify the saltwater for drinking and to prevent floods. Their art was complex, taking full advantage of the precious materials around them such as gold, silver, and turquoise in meticulous crafts and mosaics.

However, the empire was not without its cracks. Tenochtitlan interfered relentlessly with Tetzcoco’s politics, significantly damaging the Triple Alliance which had brought them together. Moreover, the brutal foundations of the empire bled into every level of society. Activities now considered torturous were commonplace in every area, from religious ritual to military training. With human sacrifice an everyday occurrence , the Aztecs were a people stained with their own blood.

Few tribes had the power to resist this brutality, but not all were helpless. The Tlaxcalans, followers of Camaxtil, god of war and hunting, were one of the Aztecs’ greatest challengers. When Cortés and the Spanish arrived in Tlaxcala in August 1519, the Tlaxcalans fought for two weeks before finally being subdued, despite the excessive weaponry the Spanish were initially equipped with. The Tlaxcalans proved themselves worthy warriors. Thus, Cortés’ proposed an alliance which had the power to throw off the hand of the Aztecs for good.

Although the Tlaxcalans were hesitant, an alliance with the Spanish was very desirable on the surface. As well as Cortés’ promises of tax exemption and preservation of their land – things the Aztecs had exploited them for mercilessly – they were presented with the opportunity to remove their main rival for good. They would gain autonomy and Spanish military technology would ensure it was maintained. Spain was, at the time, renowned for its military advancement. It bore powerful generals such as Gonzalo de Cordoba, developer of the highly efficient ‘tercio’ technique during the Italian wars.

They had extensive weaponry, most notably the harquebus, which was an earlier version of the musket. Though somewhat inefficient, a gun was far superior to native weaponry. Alliance with Cortés also had a divine appeal. He was offered many gifts, as they believed him to be the god Quetzalcoatl. This became vital to the continuation of the alliance well after the fall of the Aztecs and, more significantly, in building trust with the Aztecs before ultimately taking them down. Some historians argue that the offerings the Aztecs themselves made to Cortés were actually a fearful incentive for him to leave them peacefully. Regardless, Cortés continued to drive his sword deeper into the empire. The Cholula Massacre of October 1519 is a grisly example of this.

Though not a fundamental area, Cholula was one under Aztec influence. It was alleged to be plotting an ambush on the Spanish, so when Cortés – with aid from the Tlaxcalans – slaughtered thousands

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of Cholula’s scheming inhabitants, he was making a violent and powerful statement.

This statement pacified Mesoamerica for the most part, but for the Aztecs, it was the spark of a two-year inferno of conflict with their new, dangerous rival.

The fall of Tenochtitlan, 1521. Painter unknown.

As the battles blazed, the smoke spread across the New World. In exchange for the resources of the Native Americans, the Spanish repaid them with an epidemic of smallpox. They also destroyed most Aztec records, making it difficult to confirm the death toll. However, it is estimated that millions of natives fell. The more available records of the neighbouring Maya tribes indicate that around 50% of the region was wiped out. In carrying out the ‘Night of Sorrows’ on May 20th 1520 despite being so weakened, killing hundreds of Spanish in response to an unprovoked attack on a religious festival, the Aztecs sealed their fate. Through a barrage of merciless sieges, the Spanish and their native allies smothered the Aztec Empire, finally stamping it out on August 13th 1521, when Tenochtitlan was captured.

The devastation left by the attacks, the epidemic, and the slave-like conditions many natives were subject to once the Spanish held dominance in Mesoamerica raise many questions of why the alliance was ever appealing to the natives.

However, in an Empire which was brutally built upon the corpses of its predecessors, death was always overshadowed by dominance.

Amber Reid

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Túpac Amaru The rebellion of Túpac Amaru II: The most Powerful Challenge to Spanish Colonial Rule before Independence In 1572, the Spanish symbolically marked the end of the conquest of the Inca Empire with the execution of the last Inca monarch, Túpac Amaru, in Cuzco, the heart of the ancient empire. Two centuries of colonial exploitation later, a claimed descendant led the largest anti-colonial rebellion that Spanish America had ever seen under the name Túpac Amaru II, as a tribute to his Inca heritage.

In 1780, José Gabriel Condorcanqui, as he was known locally, gathered thousands of indigenous rebels from the southern Andean region that makes up part of today’s Bolivia and Peru, and wreaked havoc on colonial institutions in a wave of violence and determined disobedience.

Túpac Amaru II captured Antonio de Arriaga, the local Corregidor, the colonial representative for the region and the visible symbol of exploitative colonial authority, and executed him in November of 1780, in a public display that began the three years of armed rebellion. The rebels moved from town to town over the following months, destroying obrajes (textile mills), another hotbed of colonial exploitation, and gained further support at each village along the way. Thousands of Spanish soldiers were sent to repress the rebellion, highlighting the powerful

Tupac Amaru II, painted by Milner Cajahuaringa, 1968.

threat that the rebel army posed to colonial order.

After six months of violence, the overwhelming force of the Spanish army resulted in the capture of Túpac Amaru II. On May 18 1781, the indigenous leader was executed in Cuzco in an imitation of the murder of his ancestor two centuries previously. The rebellion did not end there, however. Túpac Amaru II became a martyr and the uprising continued with increasing violence towards the nonindigenous population of the region. This anticolonial threat continued to challenge Spanish authority for a further two years, until the Spanish army had grown too strong due to constant reinforcements.

The last leaders of the rebellion were executed in 1783 and colonial authorities implemented harsh new regulations against indigenous culture and language in an attempt to prevent any future rebellion on such a scale.

So after two-hundred years of colonial rule in Spanish America, why was the late 18th century the time for armed rebellion?

The 18th century was a time of change across the entire Spanish Empire. The Bourbons replaced the Habsburgs as the ruling dynasty of Spain, and with this monarchical transition came intensive administrative reform. It was only in the mid-to-late years of the century however, during the reign of Charles III, that these reforms were thoroughly implemented in the colonies.

Exploitation of indigenous communities

by Spanish authorities had been a consistent part of colonial order since the conquest. In exchange for the European concept of civilisation and religious education, the indigenous population was obliged to pay tribute, a tax to be paid in money or produce, and to participate in a rotational labour draft for exhausting, and often fatal mining projects. On top of this, communities were subject to the abuses of the local Corregidor, who enforced the repartimiento, a system of forced sale of high priced, unnecessary items as another form of taxation.

Under the Bourbon reforms, this exploitation intensified. Tribute in the form of produce was no longer accepted, the practice of the reparto was officially legalised and an official from Spain, known as the Visitador, was sent to each region in order to oversee finances and to maintain colonial order. It was in this context of increased economic exploitation that Túpac Amaru II’s rebellion broke out.

Indigenous challenge to the colonial order was hardly a new phenomenon by

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the late 18th century. Communities had been resisting colonial authorities since the times of the conquest. This resistance took different forms, from everyday acts of defiance, such as disputing Spanish abuses in colonial law courts and tax evasion, to small-scale but violent revolt against exploitative individuals. So what changed between this sporadic, casespecific resistance, and the thousands of indigenous rebels united behind Túpac Amaru II in what became known as the ‘Great Rebellion’?

Firstly, the 18th century saw a rise in the celebration of art, literature, and traditions from the Inca Empire. This renewed cultural interest in pre-Hispanic times spread across former Incan territory and with it circulated the idea of a system other than Spanish colonial domination. Secondly, Túpac Amaru II was a respected Cacique, an indigenous community leader, who had previously used his position to challenge the labour draft and tribute obligations of his town in the law courts. As an authority figure in the region, he was able to acquire weapons for the rebels through the manipulation of colonial officials, which allowed him to organise a rebellion on a mass scale. Most importantly, Túpac Amaru II called upon his ancestry at a time when the idea of Inca hegemony was spreading throughout the region. He provided a single, visible leader, who embodied the cultural memory of the Inca dynasty, and for the first time since the conquest, actively transformed resentment of colonial oppression into the desire for alternative rule.

This collective Andean desire evolved into the most powerful anticolonial rebellion in the three-hundred years between the conquest and Independence. Although the rebellion was eventually suppressed by the Spanish army, it had severely threatened colonial rule in the region only four decades before the final Independence of Peru and Bolivia from Spanish control.

It is not only important to be aware of the atrocities of colonialism, but also to recognise both indigenous individuals and communities who rebelled against these atrocities and were agents in the fight against colonial oppression.

Rhiannon Chilcott

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Iraq: The 14th July Revolution The July 14th Revolution of 1958 led to the overthrow of the Hashemite monarchy and the creation of the Iraqi republic.

One of the main leaders of the coup, Abd al-Karīm Qāsim, became the first prime minister of the republic. However, born out of violence and bloodshed, the Iraqi Republic was doomed from the start and, after only ten short years, the new republic, which had never been stable, crumbled.

Abdul Salam Arif and Abd al-Karim Qasim, the leaders of the 14 July Revolution

From its inception, the republic was insecure and divided. Qāsim was unable to unite the Iraqi populace under the banner of nationalism. Socialism, which became a key feature of the republic under the Ba’ath party, also failed to be embraced by many Iraqis. The diverse make-up of the populace, each with their different beliefs and ideologies, was a major reason why it was impossible to unite the Iraqi populace under one philosophy. Neither nationalism nor socialism represented or included the needs of the various minorities in Iraq, nor did they promote tolerance for them. Supporters of panArabism, a political movement and belief system that endorses the idea that all Arabs should unite to form one country or state, accused Qāsim of promoting social divisions rather than unity through his support of nationalism. Additionally, Qāsim’s desire to unite his people under Iraqi nationalism was simply too drastic a change after 37 years of adapting to monarchic rule. This was a major factor behind the collapse of the republic; the failure to unite the people under one ideology made the regime unstable and unpopular.

He instead tried to promote a new Iraqi identity that aimed to celebrate Iraq’s Mesopotamian heritage, emphasize the role and importance of the people, and glorify the July 14th revolution. Qāsim was unpopular in the Ba’ath Party and among Arab Nationalists largely for his emphasis on Iraqi Nationalism, rather than Arab Nationalism. They also regarded him as being too close to the Iraqi Communist Party, which both groups viewed with deep mistrust. Thus, it was Qāsim’s association with the Iraqi Communist Party and their growing strength within Iraq that eventually convinced the Ba’ath Party in Iraq that the only way to stop the spread of the communists was to overthrow Qāsim. This lead to the Ramadan Revolution. The last few years of the republic were turbulent and unstable, due to the unpopularity of socialism which was strongly embraced by the Ba’ath party and growing demand for elections. The ideological conflict that existed within the government from its creation created distrust and instability, and caused factions to develop. This ultimately hindered the new republic’s ability to flourish, and aided in its downfall.

Iraq’s foreign policy, which was heavily influenced by nationalism, a fundamental tenement of the new republic, isolated the republic from the rest of the world and left it unable to thrive. Many countries, particularly in the west, regarded Iraq with suspicion. Qāsim’s foreign policy approach steered Iraq away from the western sphere of influence and a close relationship with the United Kingdom and towards closer relations with the Soviet Union. Furthermore, because Qāsim recruited among the Iraqi Communist Party for support and was associatedd with the Soviet Union, the United States

The Iraqi Republic was always doomed to fail due to the ideological disputes that were deeply rooted within the government, which rendered the republic divided and insecure. Conflicts existed between Abd al-Karīm Qāsim, the leader of the republic between 1958 and 1963, and Abd al-Salām Ārif, the deputy prime minister until 1963. Ārif championed the pan-Arab cause and advocated Iraq’s union with the U.A.R, whereas Qāsim rejected pan-Arabism.

started to view Iraq and Qasim with suspicion, viewing the republic as a threat and fearing that it would fall completely to communist influence. Qāsim’s policy of demanding a greater share of the proceeds from western oil companies created further divisions between Iraq and the west. As well as isolating Iraq from the western world, Qāsim had poor relations with most of the Arab world, especially after Iraq left the Arab league in 1961 in protest of the organization’s support of Kuwait’s independence. It seems that Qāsim’s rejection of the Arab world was caused by his support of nationalism and desire to focus solely on Iraq.

Foreign relations did not improve under the Ba’th-Ārif regime; they had little time for diplomacy as the various party factions were too focused on fighting amongst themselves. Their purge of thousands of communists and their supporters meant that the Ba’th regime completely alienated the Soviet Union. Through their rejection of the U.A.R, the regime also alienated Egypt. Isolated from the rest of the world the new republic could never flourish, as it lacked the resources and was isolated, without a strong ally.

The Iraqi Republic was doomed from the start. The republic and revolution did not have the complete support of the whole populace. Many Iraqis rejected both nationalism and socialism. The party itself suffered from ideological disputes, which caused infighting and eventually lead to the overthrow of Qāsim. Iraq’s foreign policy under both Qāsim and the Ba’ath party caused Iraq to become isolated, and it would be hard for the new republic to develop when it was at odds with most of the major world players.

The 14 July Revolution

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Charlotte Roscoe

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Australia’s Great Emu War In 1914 the Great War commenced with Austria-Hungary’s threat of war on Serbia.

The Australian military contributed significantly in the fight against the Central Powers, after Britain declared war on Germany. As with many nations, Australia suffered economic hardship after the war: inflation and a large debt were only a few examples of the postWorld War One struggles in Australia.

After the Wall Street Crash of 1929, Australia also suffered as a result of the Great Depression. The Australian trade relied heavily on its export industries, but there was little demand for Australian goods in the world anymore. In 1932, farmers in the country, many of whom were World War One veterans, were not earning enough income. In addition, the country’s national bird, the emu, caused a significant amount of crop damage all over the country, resulting in an economic disaster.

Australian farmers had to put a stop on the emus’ disastrous behavior, eventually turning to the government for help. They went to Sir George Pearce, the Minister of Defense, but declaring war on Australia’s national bird was not an easy task. Since it was the national bird of the country, it

was no surprise that many defended the animal against slaughter. But after hours of debate, the Minister of Defense allowed the operation to take place, authorising the killing of thousands of emus in Western Australia.

The tactics of the farmers were straightforward: go to Campion – a city where people claimed to have seen 50 emus – and shoot the animals with machine guns.

The emus did not give up easily, however.

Man holding an Emu killed by Australian soldiers, 1932.

They also had a well-organized plan of attack, which was a huge shock for the enemy. When the farmers approached the birds in November 1932, they ran away in different directions, confusing the farmers, resulting in missed shots. The farmers claimed to have killed “a number of birds” but all the rest got away. The first battle was won by the emus.

The second battle took place near a local dam, where farmers decided to get closer to the animals. Once again, however, they were not successful. Except for 12 unlucky combatants, all the emus got away.

The Australian farmers clearly had to change tack and, after the operation was relaunched for the third time, they were able to grasp the guerilla tactics of the birds, killing between 200 and 500 emus.

This was the last battle against the emus.

By the 8th of November, about 2,500 rounds of ammunition had been fired. The operation was called off soon afterwards.

Considering that there were nearly 20,000 emus all around the country, and only 500 were killed, the statistics show that the emus clearly triumphed in the Great Emu war of 1932.

Marton Jasz

The Phoenicians To those who have read Homer, many will see the ancient people of Phoenicia as pirates who would sell their own crew mates if it made enough profit. But, like many of Homers’ statements, this could not be further from the truth!

Set near modern day Lebanon, the Phoenecians lived in highly organized monarchical city states, whose main settlements were Tyre, Sidon, and Byblos.

First written evidence shows they came about during the second millenium BC, and their eventual demise at around 300BC. Having little in the way of land, this lack was made up in the riches it contained, having cedar trees in the region that eventually gave Phoenecia its main trading resource. The bark was incredibly strong and perfect for building the ships they would use to travel across the Mediterranean sea, as well as far past the pillars of Heracles, up into Ireland, and down to Senegal. Their namesake Phoenicia, literally meaning the ‘Land of Purple’, comes from the rich purple dye used to colour fabrics which is still to this day seen as a symbol for luxury. These people would create a system of trade that would brush past the great civilizations of the age, the Egyptians, Greeks, and

Romans, picking up fragments of each culture as they traded.

The Phoenecians also set up colonies across the various places they visited, the most prominent being Carthage, which grew so prosperous it created its own influential empire. However, perhaps the greatest legacy of the Phoenecians can be attributed to their creation of the alphabet.

Whilst other cultures had a system of writing, it would usually take incredibly long to learn and was often restricted to the wealthy and scribes. This would not have worked for the Phoenecians, who needed an easy way to communicate across their numerous colonies. Their new way of writing spread and was adopted by many of the ancient cultures, hence why we still use a form of it today.

However, not all good things are meant to last, and over time the people fell prey to the conquering tendencies of their neighbours, who would often clash with other empires to maintain control over Phoenicia. After Carthage was destroyed, most of what we know about the Phoenecians is through what nonPhoenicians wrote about them.

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The impact of the Phoenecians on our society is extensive. One of many preRoman societies of seafaring and trade, they had a powerful monopoly on a series of goods that were only available in their naitive lands. The vast reach and extent of their trading network led to the development of other cultures and societies, and connected relatively isolated parts of the world. It is no wonder therefore, that, as well as inventors of the modern alphabet, many people consider them to be the master merchants of the Mediterranean.

Anne de Reynier

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Saint Stephen of Hungary The Hungarians were a people who first emerged in the Early Middle Ages, in a territory known as the Magna Hungaria, which, today, is the area between the end of the Ural Mountains and the Volga river. Around this period, they began to migrate westwards arriving and settling in the Carpathian Basin in 895 AD. We have limited data from the time, so it is unclear why they started their adventure towards Europe but historians have suggested that climate change, attacks from other tribes, and overpopulation all might be causes.

The Hungarian tribe was a pagan one, without a centralised faith, even though their ‘religion’ had a moral, spiritual, and intellectual scheme for their teachings.

They had a shamanistic worldview (the world has three stages and different creatures live in different states), and a valued contact person (sámán, táltos) who was able to travel between these stages and deliver messages from them. They respected fire, sacrificed to their gods, believed in the transmigration of the Soul and thought that some animals carry spiritual meanings. The most famous of these animals is the Csodaszarvas (which translates as ‘Miraculous Deer’), which is said to have led the Hungarian tribes westward.

After finally settling down in the Basin, the Hungarians tried desperately to make themselves independent from any other country around them. They fought bloody wars and, after establishing themselves, they focused on establishing social stability. Saint Stephen’s father, Géza, was the last fejedelem (tribal monarch). From 972 until his death, he attempted to establish

European customs in the country, to pave the way for his preferred heir, Vajk. He invited missionaries to the country, established a convent, and ensured international recognition of the country by marrying his son to Gizella, the daughter of the Bavarian Prince, Henrik II. Vajk is the pagan name of Saint Stephen.

After his father died, he needed to secure his right to the throne. Even though Géza had attempted to establish primogeniture (the practice of the right to rule passing to the king’s oldest son) in Hungary, the half-tribal society was resistant to the custom, resulting in a destructive war between Stephen and his rival Koppány, who declared his right to rule based on the practice of senioritis, the passing of power to the oldest man in the family. Saint Stephen defeated him, and punished his followers.

After securing the throne, he began the work of Christianising the nation. After being baptized, he was crowned on the first of January, in 1001, as Stephen I, receiving a crown as a present from the pope, Silvester II. In 1001 he established an archdiocese in Esztergom – which was essential to the independence of Hungary. This guaranteed that the Hungarian Church would be independent from the forging German one. The first monasteries and abbeys were formed, which was crucial in providing missionaries and priests for the fledgling Church. He introduced two codes of law: one protecting the rights of the Church, encouraging the worship of Christianity, and one punishing those who refused to follow the religion. It was mandatory for every tenth village to build a temple, making the formation of the parish system possible. He introduced the ‘tized’ (which translates as ‘one-tenth’); a tax paid by the peasant class to the church equivalent to one-tenth of their production. Ten bishoprics were established, with two archbishoprics. Multiple chapters were created, where the members (kanon) made religious certificates and official documents. This helped spread literacy in Hungary.

Stephen put a huge emphasis on the importance of the right heir – his son was educated and was raised by a German missionary, Saint Gellért, who unfortunately lost his life in a pagan attack. This act showed that despite how hard Stephen tried, there was a long road before Hungary would become a true Christian country.

Saint Stephen’s birth, depicted in the Illuminated Chronicle, a series of medieval illustration of Hungarian history

ty, or follow the western norm and create a modern Christian kingdom. This project was largely a success, depending on the standards you judge it by.

Not only was his Church independent from other countries, but the old tribal society had disappeared. The people of the

Stephen had various reasons for pursuing Christianisation, but primarily his aim was modernisation and reform. His choices were to remain as a largely tribal socie-

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Data from the 2011 Hungarian census in 2011

newly established kingdom were judged by new laws, needing to pay new taxes and worship a new God. The priests and religious workers became the elite of this new society, even gaining the right to interfere with legislation. He maintained good relations with the surrounding countries throughout his lifetime. Strict laws prohibited the worship of pagan gods, so most of their objects, sculptures and memories were gradually destroyed. Because of this, historians nowadays struggle to define the pre-Christian, old-Hungarian religion, and are forced to study the religions from similar tribal peoples to guess as to what the Hungarian’s belief system might have been like.

After the death of Saint Stephen, many Kings sat on the Hungarian throne, from dynasties such as the Árpáds, the Jagellos and the Habsburgs. The changes to religious affairs, politics and society introduced by Saint Stephen had a huge affect on Hungary. Today, a large majority of the Hungarian population follows Christianity in some form. However, after the Reformation, the numbers of protestant believers rocketed and nowadays there is no unified Hungarian religion.

Sara Kata

ISSUE 34 | 2019

The Russian Hamlet Revolution When is a coup necessary to prevent a revolution? This is the question that would have been on the mind of the perpetrators of the 1801 coup against Russian Emperor Pavel. In an attempt to preserve the stability of Russia and its institutions, Pavel was killed after just four years and four months of rule. An artist witnessing the night of the coup noted:

The city went crazy out of happiness. People were singing, dancing and kissing in the streets. The people I knew would run out to my carriage and exclaim “we are free now”. Many households were illuminated on the eve of that day. The death of that poor Emperor evoked revelry.

That his life ended in this way seems strange given how it began. Pavel’s father, Peter III was considered a lunatic, and so Pavel was taken from his parents by his grandmother, Elizabeth I, and was well educated. He studied five languages, mathematics, history, literature, physics, arts and architecture. He also learned to fence, to ride, to dance and to play chess.

Pavel also insisted on studying military science, which wasn’t obligatory. Given this extensive and prestigious education, you would expect he would be able to rule effectively.

Many have argued that his downfall was in part due to his relationship with his mother, Catherine the Great. His father, Peter the Great, died when he was seven years old, shortly after a coup to put Catherine on the throne. What Pavel felt about this is unknown, but when he saw a production of Hamlet in Vienna, the leading actor refused to perform to him, saying:

I won’t be able to play a part of a prince who wants revenge for his murdered father when his double is watching the performance from the royal lodge.

Pavel and his mother were fierce rivals for power, with Pavel believing that having a woman on the throne endangered the stability of the state. She barred him from intervening with state affairs, and took his sons under her wing. She particularly favoured Pavel’s eldest son Alexander, and Pavel believed that she wrote a secret will which transferred the throne to Alexander on her death, although this never came to fruition.

Painting of Paul I of Russia, by Vladimir Borovikovsky, 1796. Source: Novgorod Museum

Once he had become King, Pavel’s relations with his mother had an important effect on his policies, with much of his legislative agenda focussed on dismantling Catherine’s legacy. He was an ardent legislator, signing 7865 legislative acts during his four year rule, double the number of Peter the Great’s 43 year rule. His program was, in essence, a dramatic shake-up of the apparatus of the Russian state. He began by replacing large numbers of state bureaucrats and insisted on personally reading high-level government reports. Corporal punishment for the peasantry, a policy introduced by Catherine, was revoked, and greater rights were given to serfs. He withdrew the Army from its offensive, begun under Catherine, in Persia, and the military leadership was sweepingly and dramatically reformed. In the first three days of his rule, he fired 16 Lieutenant Generals, 50 Major Generals and 3 Generals. And in an attempt to return to a style more traditionally Russian, he changed the army uniform to much heavier, impractical items, making him unpopular with troops. He also introduced the Infantry Codes, a new series of guidelines for the army based on show and honor, but these were completely ignored by the military leadership.

He viewed the Russian nobility has decadent and corrupt, and attempted to mould them into a loyal caste of disciplined, noble followers. He attempted to force the nobility to adopt a code of chivalry emulated on medieval knights.

Many nobles who did not conform to this new vision were dismissed from Pavel’s court, and found their privileges diminished.

With such a ruthless agenda of reform, an attempt to return to a Russia of old, Pavel found he had made many enemies in the powerful classes of Russia’s bureaucracy, nobility and military leadership. His attempts to impose a chivalric code on the nobility alienated many of his most trusted advisors. In addition, agricultural reforms and measures to improve the treatment of the peasantry angered the noble classes who feared for their position.

The conspiracy again Pavel, long talked about but not enacted, that did eventually come to fruition was not a small one.

Many politicians were involved including the governor of St. Petersburg, the ViceChancellor of the exchequer, and the British Ambassador. In total, some 300 people were involved. His son, Alexander, knew of the plan and did not intervene. The plan was to force him to sign an abdication letter and send him to his grave.

The actual coup was carried out by just three people, the Vice-Chancellor, and two military officers. After signing away the throne, Pavel was hit with a snuffbox and strangled with his own scarf. Alexander took the throne.

Ultimately, this coup was about preserving stability for the Russian elites. Pavel’s reform agenda was disturbing the balance of power, and they would argue, he was putting his own beliefs above the needs of the nation. Popular anger at Pavel is hard to measure, but some have argued that this coup was a relatively peaceful handover of power, when what Pavel was stirring up was a revolution.

Kirill Buyukly

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

‘Athens: The Democratic Revolution’ In today’s landscape of political uncertainty and daily protests, we might ask ourselves what the value of studying and analyzing the democratic polis of Athens is. Does it mirror our society today? Do we look at it as a model, an ideal to reach? The city-state has always been looked upon and thought of like heaven for democracy, collective values, and freedom. However, analyzing historical aspects from a more critical perspective will very often introduce us to the idea that there is no such thing as a perfect democracy. Indeed, this article aims at understanding what do we mean by democracy, how it was first created, and what can we learn from it.

Historical Developments In the 8th century BC, Solon realized a series of reforms that started a long process of political, economic, and demographic changes in Attica. Through the reform of the property classes, according to which political participation was dependent on property class and not birth, Solon drastically reduced the power in the hands of the aristocrats. He also introduced a new law-court: the Heliaia, or ‘people’s court’. Thus, bringing more power into the hands’ of the people, since it was not necessary to have received any special education to hold the office.

Later on, Cleisthenes divided Attica’s into ten tribes and three trittyes: coastal, rural, and urban. Each tribe contained citizens from each trittys, and then, once instituted the Council of the Five Hundred, fifty members from each tribe would sit in it. Someone might call this a democratic distribution of power.

However, it might also be read as a form of political weakening of any possible opposition. In fact, by spreading people all over the region, Cleisthenes avoided any assemblage of political ideas in one

particular area. He instead distributed different perspectives in a way that no specific and unique value could rise against Athens.

so this privileged narrowness of citizens could with time become a restricted circle, once again, serving its interests.

Control and Effectiveness

Participation in the political life of the City-State Moreover, the practice of ostracism was introduced and carried out in the Assembly. And this should reflect how democracy does not always entail right, good, and positive. Exiling a political enemy through the vote of the majority still means impeding an opposition, and a change in the administration of the polis. It keeps citizens far from having a different point of view on their matters.

Around 460 BC, Pericles introduced a remuneration for civic service as jurors, councillors, and magistrates. He did so in the hope of involving more citizens, and especially people who lived outside Athens.

However, moving from the countryside to serve for a day as juror meant leaving one’s activity. Thus, before this reform, people were expected to serve the citystate with no pay. As a consequence, just a few would leave their farms, families, and start the journey to help the court for no financial benefit. Hence, the majority of jurors and people holding public roles had always been Athenians. Again, this is an example of how giving the majority a chance to be involved in a public function does not mean they will hold it. Moreover, one should wonder if this is not equal to not giving them a chance to hold the office.

However, if paying people for their service to the community might seem a valuable contribution to the development of a government of the multitude, on the other hand, Pericles restricted the requirements to obtain citizenship. Thus, fewer and fewer people would be able to vote, and

Mainly responsible for any proposal and plan for the City-State were the Archons.

Each archon would fill a different office.

The Archon Eponymous was the chief; the Archon Polemarch was at the command of the military; and the Archon Basileus dealt with civic matters.

The election process was a long and complicated one that very often allowed patronage, sometimes resulting in bribery. In Cimon 10, Plutarch reports that Cimon “always went about attended by young men fitted out with new clothes…the same attendants carried with them plenty of rear money, and would go up to…the poor in the market place…and slip some small change into their hands”.

Another example is Pericles’ introduction of payment for public services, showing how he was looking for a consensus of all classes.

Moreover, many qualities were necessary to good a leader. First of all, the dialectic of mass and elite, together with effectiveness and sovereignty. The cases vof democratic incompetence are not too scarce, and Athenians didn’t seem shy when it came to revolts and raising their voice. Xenophon reports that “it was an intolerable thing if the people were not allowed to do what it wanted to do…quite soon afterwards, the Athenians…voted that complaint should be made against those who had deceived the people…” (Xenophon, Hellenica 1.7) A case of Democratic Revolution “The Athenians grew in power and proved… that equality is a good thing…

Yet, once they got rid of their tyrants, they were by far the best of all… When they were freed, each one was eager to achieve for himself.” With these words, Herodotus reveals and describes the process of democratic growth in Athens, and shows us how it is neither immediate nor perfect, but rather a suffered and long path.

Today we cannot do more than read the Athenian example, and Herodotus’ words, as wishes for an improved democracy and a brighter political and civic future.

Elisa Cardamone

Nineteenth-century painting by Philipp Foltz depicting the Athenian politician Pericles delivering his famous funeral oration in front of the Assembly.

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

John Milton: a revolutionary worth remembering Today, freedom of speech and action is seen as being central to western democracy. Yet, despite being one of the chief architects of the arguments for free speech and free will, and debating the importance of these issues for much of his career, John Milton remains an obscure historical figure. His martyrdom and labours to secure our freedoms have been reduced to vaguely-remembered and tedious secondary school English classes on extracts from a dusty old poem about Adam and Eve. The tragedy of Milton’s his life lies in his blindness: after his vision had failed him, Milton was forced to witness, without sight, the political system, which he had spent his life toiling to inaugurate, collapse. Moreover, the poet was forced to live the final twelve years of his life in public disgrace and virtual exile, crafting some of the finest poetry of the English language in a forgotten, plague-ridden corner of London, where the blackened bodies of the plague’s victims piled in the streets.

The three triumphing works of Milton’s poetic career, Paradise Lost (1667), Paradise Regained (1671), and Samson Agonistes (1671), all declare a theodicy which seeks to, “assert eternal Providence, / And justify the ways of God to men,” (Paradise Lost, 1.25-6) while insisting on the Divine significance of Man’s endowment with free will. Milton’s Protestant theology, and his defence of free will, is ubiquitous throughout his works. Paradise Lost finds its origins in

Milton’s demand for freedom of speech in Areopagitica (1644).

Areopagiticia constructs a narrative of intellectual liberty which illustrates the Fall of Man as a tragic example of personal culpability. The text championed the defence of choice: “when God gave [Man] reason, he gave him freedom to choose, for reason is but choosing”.

Produced during the English Revolution (1642-51), Aeropagiticia was instrumental to arguments against state legislature, censorship, and regulation. Arguing that censorship denies intellectual liberty to the public, Milton puts forward, in Areopagitica, an idea that was revolutionary to his Renaissance society: free speech is a fundamental human right.

Just six weeks after the commencement of the English Interregnum – between reigns – period, Milton sought to justify the regicide of Charles I in his publication of The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates (1649). The text argues that, not only do the public possess the right to depose tyrannical sovereign regimes that are exerting cruel or unjust dominion over the people, but that they also have the right to execute that tyrannical sovereign.

Although problematically brutal in its proposed solutions for deposing a sovereign, Milton’s unwavering Protestant faith clearly supports his political beliefs in The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates.

“The right of choosing,” Milton writes, “yea of changing their own government is by the grant of God Himself in the people.”

Democracy, for Milton, was not simply a human right, but a divine gift from God; to deny the people that gift was to transgress against God Himself.

Thanks to the anti-monarchical and republican writings of his career, during the republican regime, which replaced the monarchy during the Interregnum, Milton was appointed Secretary of Foreign Tongues to the Council of State.

Persevering with notions radical to the society of Renaissance England, such as the discreditation of the divine right of kings, democratic rule, and freedom of speech, Milton supported the government as its chief propagandist and penmen of diplomatic letters.

Illustration for 1866 engraved edition of Paradise Lost by Gustave Satan

By 1660 Milton had suffered the total and permanent loss of his sight but he continued his work in the office of Secretary of Foreign Tongues. With

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the possibility of the Restoration of the monarchy looming, Milton published The Readie and Easie Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth to warn of the dangers of tyranny that he believed to be innate in monarchical systems of government. Yet, the Declaration of Breda – a proclamation issued less than two months later by Charles II from his exile in the Netherlands – offered assurances of pardon and personal property retention which reassured people about the risks which Milton warned of.

Almost immediately after their receipt of the Declaration of Breda, Parliament extended a formal invitation to Charles II, imploring him to return to London and assume the throne. Milton, devastated by the Restoration of the Stuart monarchy and having spent much of his career passionately defending the regicide of Charles’s II father, fled into hiding and suffered subsequent capture and imprisonment.

Eventually pardoned for his antimonarchical writings and actions during the Interregnum period, Milton nonetheless suffered public disgrace and the burning of his books by royal proclamation. The republic, carefully constructed upon the ideology of free speech, appeared to be dead.

Retiring quietly into exile in one of London’s darkest and most overlooked corners, Milton, through the texts of Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes, depicted the history of Man as a cyclic series of tragedies, consequential to our endowment with free will. With, “no light, but rather darkness visible,” (Paradise Lost, 1.63) Milton concludes his career by dictating epic poetry through his blindness which, to this day, retains an enduring capacity to trigger thought about the limits of power and the prerogatives and privileges of free will.

Notwithstanding the literary achievements of Milton’s poetry, the current constitutional monarchy of England, with its limitations on Royal Prerogative powers, may never have been established or discussed without Milton. Moreover, the freedom of speech which today’s society take as a given right of existence, is a freedom that was fundamentally constructed from Milton’s arguments Aeropagiticia.

L. Pearl Leroux

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Theoretical Approaches to Protest and Revolution in Elkin and Sand Lauren Elkin’s book Flâneuse has a slightly misleading subtitle: “Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London”. Sure, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London get mentions – shout-outs, if you will – but these chapters do little to disguise the fact that Elkin is only really interested in Paris. And why shouldn’t she be? Paris is romance, croissants, Amélie Poulain and, most importantly for Elkin, revolution.

Elkin’s project is extending the definition of flâneur (typically a nineteenth-century man who devoted his time to walking around the city and jotting down his observations about life, the universe and everything) to include women. But she doesn’t stop there: as well as finding plenty of examples throughout history of ‘flâneuses’ – Virginia Woolf, Martha Gellhorn, Agnès Varda, herself – Elkin also expands the notion of what these wanderers actually do. Besides walking for the sake of it, how else have women ‘at large’ (from French au large meaning ‘at liberty’) engaged with their cities?

Through protest and revolt, for one thing.

But here again Elkin is keen to distort traditional definitions, this time with betrousered author George Sand as her muse. Today, as during her lifetime, Sand is often viewed as the “incarnation of the revolutionary idea”. And yet, caught in a street protest in Paris in 1832, Sand was gripped by fear and disgust. He fled from the city soon after. So perhaps Sand does not deserve the ‘revolutionary’ accolade.

For Elkin’s part, she has a quieter reading of Sand (whose cross-dressing was born of “pure frustration” rather than ideological concerns) which still allows for her to be a revolutionary. Elkin sees Sand as an “everyday radical” who left a no-good husband to pursue her chosen career; who, for whatever reason, wore trousers when it was illegal and smoked cigars; and whose novels, however uncertain their relationship to feminism, thoughtfully critiqued contemporary ideas about marriage and women’s education. The intricate example of George Sand gives rise to an idea which recurs throughout Flâneuse: sometimes, protest is not a choice – we do it simply by being.

Rethinking conceptualisations of what constitutes protest and revolution has far-reaching implications for historians, particularly those whose work focuses on marginalised identity groups. Happily, this project has already begun. In her book

Feeling Backward: Loss and the Politics of Queer History, Heather Love highlights the persistence of ‘backward’ feelings (like fear and disgust) in the work of queer historical figures. What sets backward feelings apart from other negative emotions is their tendency to immobilise, to “unfit us for the activity of making change” – something which causes critics and historians alike to discount them.

And yet, Love’s historiography shows that backwardness frequently coincides with stimulating discussions about effecting social change. In the case of Sylvia Townsend Warner, whose 1936 novel Summer Will Show centres around the failed Paris revolution of 1848, Love finds that the characters’ experience of samesex desire complicates their anticipation of revolution: In fact, despair in the novel appears as a kind of resource: as much as hope, it is necessary to make change happen. Such a structure of feeling is grounded […] in a history of queer experience: in the association of same-sex desire with the impossible and in a history of longing for recognition in an impossible elsewhere.

George Sand, French novelist, memorist, and socialist, by Nadar, 1864.

Though Warner’s characters long for revolution, their understanding of loss serves to illuminate its affective cost. (One imagines a future edition cover of Summer Will Show featuring a PROCEED WITH CAUTION sign.) For historians, Love shows that engaging with backwardness in historical texts makes it possible, even necessary, to readdress the notion that progress can only be achieved with “alchemizing” emotions (hope, anger) and through traditional means.

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In her epilogue, Love also speaks to the non-academic reader – the everyday radical, perhaps – suggesting that the queer activism of the future might involve “resisting the rhetorical force of [a] call to arms”, opting instead for “evasion, latency, refusal”. Love goes on to discuss problems encountered by activist groups which refuse to acknowledge backward feelings, and briefly discusses the recent emergence of what she sees as “backward forms of activism”. This chapter sits a little awkwardly at the end of a study which predominantly discusses modern literary texts. However, Love is clear that this epilogue merely posits the relation between backwardness and contemporary activism as an area which warrants further investigation. One way in which I think this work might be undertaken is through close readings of radical manifestos. In her book Manifestoes: Provocations of the Modern Janet Lyon characterises the manifesto: The manifesto declares a position; the manifesto refuses dialogue or discussion; the manifesto fosters antagonism and scorns conciliation. It is univocal, unilateral, single-minded. It conveys resolute oppositionality and indulges no tolerance for the fainthearted.

Surely, such a document can have nothing to do with sensitivity, isolation, or uncertainty? How is it, then, that each of these is explicitly referenced in Joreen’s 1969 BITCH Manifesto? The BITCH Manifesto explains how simply being constitutes a “trial by fire” for women who do not conform to the feminine ideal. Joreen is attentive to the traumatic experience that ‘bitches’ share, which often results in poor emotional health: “seemingly tough on the outside, on the inside they are a bloody pulp”. Indeed, backward feelings are acknowledged in, even form the basis of, several key historical manifestos – shame and selfloathing in the 1971 Gay Liberation Front: Manifesto; failure and isolation in the 1978 Combahee River Collective Statement.

My intervention here is that, insofar as the history of the manifesto incorporates backwardness, backward feelings might not be by definition “unproductive” – rather, the category might be even more complex than we have so far allowed.

Eleanor Child

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Pari Khan Khanum Female power in Safavid Persia The Safavid dynasty ruled over Persia from 1501 to 1736. Over the course of this period it saw eleven Shahs ascend the throne. Due to the conventions of the time the Shah was exclusively a man. Such formalities however would not stop one Safavid princess from undertaking this exclusive role. As the architect of her brother’s murders, Pari Khan Khanum penetrated this formidably male-dominated arena in the absence of a male heir and took the reins as ruler from 1576 until her death in 1578.

Pari’s first period of rule began with the death of her father, Shah Tahmasp I. Tahmasp had always admired his daughter’s intelligence and natural grasp of state politics and by the time Pari was in her twenties she was one of his most valued advisor. When the Shah died in 1576 before he had chosen an heir, a conflict broke out between factions supporting each of his sons Haydar and Ismail Mirza to take the throne. The condition of Pari’s womanhood means she was not even considered, despite being better qualified than both her brothers. In fact, because of her close political relationship with her father, she was caught up in the crossfire between her two brothers.

I have been guilty of any misdemeanor, I beg you to pardon me and spare my life”.

With that, she gained his trust. Thinking that he had his sister’s support, and aware of his sister’s political clout, Haydar permitted Pari to leave the court, instructing her to garner support for him among the Safavid noblemen. Instead, as she left, she handed the palace keys to Haydar’s opposition who found and killed him.

So begins the first de-facto reign of Pari Khan Khanum. It took the official heir, Ismail, four months to travel to the Safavid capital of Qazvin to take his throne in which time the princess ruled over the dynasty. She conducted the affairs of both court and state and held audiences with notable leaders each morning. She also managed to keep control of the political chaos caused by splits and factionalism within various Safavid military groups.

Her experience as her father’s political advisor meant that her position as ruler went unquestioned by male elites. Politicians treated her as a Shah and in some cases even “with greater pomp and circumstance than during the reign of Tahmasp”, making her the first woman of her time to exercise real political authority as a ruler of the dynasty.

However, all this changed with the arrival of Ismail in Qazvin four months later who immediately stripped her of her position of power. Her very existence as a woman with influence and political skill posed a threat to Ismail’s legitimacy as ruler and thus she was cast out of the court and isolated from any involvement in state affairs. During Ismail’s reign she does not appear in any official court documents, and it appears that she was confined to the domestic realm of the harem.

The Shah’s attempts to quash Pari’s political presence did not last long. Just like with Haydar, she was able to eliminate him and retake power. In conspiracy with other maidservants in the harem, Pari managed to poison her brother’s nightly medicine and on the morning of 24th November 1577 Ismail was found dead. With that, Pari regained power over the realm.

Shah Ismail II in his court, painter unknown

Suspicious of his sister’s loyalty to Ismail, Haydar held Pari captive in the Safavid court, threatening to kill her if she was not loyal to him. Playing into his gendered notions of female stupidity, she outwitted him, explaining to him, “Women are foolish creatures. If, in my shortsightedness,

Her second reign began as she awaited the arrival of her eldest brother Muhammad Khudābanda. Muhammad was blind, and had previously been left out of consideration for Shah because of this. However as the only candidate left he was invited to take the throne, and Pari planned to manipulate him, and retain her control of Persia through his rule. Allowing Muhammad to take the title of Shah she would maintain her position as the true ruler.

Shah Ismail’s reign was characterised

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by its brutality and bloodthirstiness, but Pari’s rule is of a decidedly kinder nature.

For instance, one of her first orders as ruler after Ismail’s death is to release the political prisoners who had been incarcerated under his reign.

However, the presence of Muhammad in the royal courts of Qazvin would eventually lead to Pari’s downfall. Like her brothers before her, Pari underestimated the intelligent and cunning of a woman. Mahdi Ul-ya was Muhammad’s political consort, and was fiercly loyal to the Shah. Mahdi detected her sister in-law’s plan for political dominance and devised a plan to take power herself. She masterminded a plot to have Pari killed. She was eventually strangled to death in the royal harem on 12th February 1578, just six months before her thirtieth birthday and just after her husband’s coronation. Having seccured her power, Mahdi Ul-ya followed in Pari’s footsteps as a female ruler of the Safavid dynasty.

Given the patriarchal forces that were at work against her, the political career of Pari Khan Khanum is hugely impressive.

These patriarchal forces that undermined her intermittent reign of the Safavid dynasty, are also present in the narrative of history that has persisted ever since. Writing on the history of the dynasty has largely overlooked her pivotal role in shaping Safavid politics. Despite her presence as a political actor in large numbers of Safavid court documents, her gender has left her invisible in contemporary historical narratives. Pari’s ascent to power shows us the ways in which women politicians in Safavid Iran were able to exercise agency and wield power in a very male-dominated culture. From murder and manipulation to statemanship and political prowess, they deserve more consideration in the narrative of Safavid history.

Francesca McGregor

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Afrocentric Art Writing in her seminal Art on My Mind: Visual Politics, bell hooks observed that “white folks often have greater access to the work of black artists and to the critical apparatus that allows for understanding and appreciation of the work”. hooks points out a white hegemony that exists throughout the art world and, in particular, in art history.

However, the strong Afrocentric works of Kehinde Wiley and Akuniyli Crosby provides a counterweight to this white dominance.

Wiley’s art provides a new narrative and voice for black folk, but he places this narrative within the context of the established realm of historical portraiture.

His theme of black royalty and aristocracy, evident in his Obama portrait, is nuanced in its Afrocentric style and colour. His paintings are a small insight into an alternative society and provide a new understanding of the subjectivity of the black male body. Wiley’s

new series focuses on transgender women of Tahiti, a nod to Gauguin’s own series.

There is something almost amusing about Wiley’s work. He appropriates the styles of the great masters of art, but lurking beneath are the issues of representations of black identity and black masculinity.

By placing the figures of ordinary black men in these positions of historical power, Wiley elevates them to a status that is not often not afforded to them in society.

Akunyili Crosby normalises the domesticity of black home life in her artworks. She gives a sense of the colourfulness of many black diaspora homes, all of which are unique and varied. Her subjects, more often than not, share a familial bond with the home depicted that many black people can identify with. Both artists create narratives that are embedded with cross-generational

influence. Commenting on a show of hers, Crosby said: “I do all of these mixes so that when you are in front of it you are being placed in this transcultural, trans-everything space; things that point to the convoluted but interesting and beautiful histories that come out of post-colonial countries”. Her work stitches together what the notion of home is to different people, but it also gives a sense that it is a shared, collective experience.

Both artists subvert the tradition of objectifying the black body for the sake of art. Instead they convey to us the narrative of everyday black people, and these are the identities that are at the core of their works.

“Mother and Child,” acrylic, transfers, colored pencil, collage, and commemorative fabric on paper, Njideka Akunyili Crosby, 2016)

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Hollie Douglas

ISSUE 34 | 2019

Kehinde Wiley, Napoleon Leading The Army Over The Alps (2005), oil and enamel on canvas

A message from the History Society We’ve had a really successful first semester with the History Society. We had lots of people come and see us at our stall at the fresher’s fair, which was great. Our two beginning of year socials were really well attended and we had fun at both the bar crawl and the pizza night. We had two events for Black History Month, two film screenings of Black Panther and Moonlight, which were really good. Most recently, we had a Historic walking tour of Manchester, which was really interesting, we all learnt a lot. Huge thanks to everyone on the committee for their help in organising all these great events, we had a lot of fun!

We have lots more to look forward to over the coming months. From 31st January to the 3rd February we have a trip to Barcelona planned. Last year’s trip to Krakow was really successful and we hope to have lots of fun this year too. There’s lots of fun, historic things to do in Barcelona, so it should be a great trip and a nice way to reward yourself after the stress of January exams! You can still book your place on the trip, the payment deadline is the 6thDecember. It should be a really good trip, so if you want to come, get your place booked soon! We will have a social for those going on the trip to get to know each other before we go. Next semester we will also have our annual Staff-Student Quiz, which is always a good night! As well as the fun stuff, we have History Careers events planned to find out what History graduates have done with their degree. As always, the best place to find out about upcoming events and socials is the Facebook group: University of Manchester History Society. You will also find details of how to book onto the trip there. Thanks to everyone who came to events this semester, there’s plenty more fun to be had over the next few months.

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ISSUE 34 | 2019

Editors

Head of Copy Editing

Marketing Team

Daniel Johnson Reuben Williamson

Kate Jackson

Polly Pye Victor-Mihail Galeriu

Head of Design Christine Torralba

Design Team Ayesha Patel Francesca Bradley Georgia Dey Marton Jasz

Copy Editing Team India-Rose Channon Kirsten MacDonald Savannah Holmes Will Kerrs

Head of Marketing Pallav Roy

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Head of Online Wilf Kenning

Online Team Nikki Palmer Natasha Tai Amy Dwyer