Making History: What We Remember

On June 13, 1940, then French Premier Paul Reynaud addressed the French and British publics, in a broadcast that received full coverage in major British newspapers.  He vowed, “We will fight before Paris; we will fight behind Paris; we will fight in the provinces and, if we are driven out, we will go to North Africa, and if necessary, to our possessions in America.”[1]  The following day, the Queen addressed the women of France saying, “A nation defended by such men and loved by such women must sooner or later attain victory.”[2][3]  Given the events of the following days, these valiant and courageous words found little room in historical memory.  They were overshadowed by larger events, most notably the French defeat, and Reynaud’s poignant words were left behind.  Churchill’s well-known (and similarly constructed) June 4 speech, on the other hand, is not only still quoted today, but is attributed as one of the greatest speeches in British History: “We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans…we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be.”[4]

Churchill’s speech ‘made history’, it is claimed.  However, this term and idea, ‘making history’, is so often thrown around without much thought to what it actually means.  This seemingly innocent phrase punches above its weight, implying that an event or even a moment stood above the rest, predestined to enter the ranks of national memory, making up and even defining the context in which a nation understands itself.  In the days following Reynaud’s speech and the French collapse, the Guardian, which had previously championed his words and the valiant struggles of the French, turned on his efforts, claiming that they were “interpreted…as “pre-capitulationist” and it had a bad effect on the troops.”[5]  The same article went on to blame Reynaud’s delivery style for the ultimate ineffectiveness of the speech: “Reynaud was full of good intentions, but he lacked great dynamic vigour and failed to inspire the people as Clemenceau would have done.”[6]  It is notable that Reynaud was compared to a predecessor who was ultimately victorious, as also it is crucial to note that the emphasis was placed not on the material factors of the fight, but on the strength of Reynaud’s actual words.  Clemenceau made history as a victor, just as Churchill would do.  It was this victory that fully confirmed the rhetorical value of his speeches. 

Ultimately, ‘making history’ is a misleading concept, which oversimplifies events and often attributes a sense of preordained destiny and greatness to an individual or group’s words, actions, or outcome.  George Orwell sagely wrote in his essay ‘My Country Right or Left’, “Contrary to popular belief, the past was not more eventful than the present.”  He argues that historical events that are given such significance today are built up over time through nostalgia and indeed, the passing of time and the need to attribute meaning and significance to the actions of the nation.  Of the Battle of the Marne, spoken of today with reverence he says, “…you disentangle your real memories from their later accretions, you find that it was not usually the big events that stirred you at the time. I don't believe that the Battle of the Marne, for instance, had for the general public the melodramatic quality that it was afterwards given. I do not ever remember hearing the phrase ‘Battle of the Marne’ till years later.”[7]  The study of history is crucial for understanding not only what and how events in the past took place, but also, for questioning why we remember them in a particular way and how that shift came about.  In this vein, a more critical eye is needed to scrutinize not only the perceived ‘moments of greatness’ in the life of a nation, but, indeed, why and how they are remembered in this context.

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[1] ‘M. Reynaud’s Earlier Message,’ June 14, 1940, Manchester Guardian, 5

[2] ‘To the Women of France: Queen’s Broadcast,’ June 15, 1940, Manchester Guardian, 7

[3] To say nothing of the heavily gendered tone of the message…

[4] Hansard Milbanks Parliamentary Debates Online, ‘War Situation’, June 4, 1940

[5] Former Paris Correspondent, “The Riddle of the French Capitulation, Pétain and the Men Behind Him,” Manchester Guardian, June 25, 1940, 10

[6] Ibid, 10

[7] George Orwell, ‘My Country Right or Left’, George Orwell Library Online, http://orwell.ru/library/articles/My_Country/english/e_mcrol

Who Speaks for Britain?

Today we remember H.G. Wells as the great writer of works including The Invisible Man (1897) and War of the Worlds (1898), which transformed and defined the genre of Science Fiction.  However, during the Autumn of 1940, as bombs fell ever increasingly on the British Isles, Wells embarked on a lecture tour in the United States, much to the consternation of some member of the British Government.  On Wednesday, October 23, 1940, members in the House of Commons debated the power that Wells’ rhetoric could/would have on American Public opinion of Britain.  This evaluation of the perceived impact that (popular) public figures could have on large swathes of opinion demonstrates both the importance that government figures placed on the maintenance of public morale and the difficulty of maintaining a balance between free speech (even if contrary to government lines) and rhetorical consistency.  In other words, how much of an impact could anti-government rhetoric have and would stifling these opinions do more harm than good to the image of the wartime government?

Thoms has argued that in general, the government and Home Office failed to ever establish criteria to effectively define and measure levels of wartime morale.[1]  Nevertheless, these groups clearly placed a great deal of importance upon morale and public opinion, factors which impacted both decision making and the way in which these decisions were conveyed to the broader public.  I find the case of H.G. Wells particularly interesting because he was both a popular novelist at the time, both in Britain and the United States, as well as a controversial political proponent, particularly in Britain.  This public airing of the Commons debate surrounding Wells brought up key themes of free speech and the extent to which it should be maintained in wartime.

At the above mentioned House of Commons meeting, Lord Winterton expounded a lengthy tirade against Wells’ political leanings and criticised the decision to grant him an exit permit to lecture in the U.S. “in the certain knowledge that he would use all his publicity power to denigrate his country abroad and of all places in the United States….” He went on to categorise this “agnostic republican” as a “very unrepresentative human export” and accused him of helping to betray the cause of the British Empire.[2]  Mr. Magnay added that, “Only a pagan opinion could be expected from a pagan, for that was what Mr. Wells was,” and Sir P. Hannon proclaimed that Wells was “giving a false estimate of public opinion in this country…”[3] Only two members, most notably, Mr. Shinwell, expressed a contrary opinion.  Shinwell said that he “deplored” Winterton’s speech, saying that some parts were more suited to the Reichstag. Most notably, he claimed that the rhetorical efforts of Wells would have little effect.  “The less we concerned ourselves about the rhetoric, the fulminations, and the eloquence of other people thousands of miles away the better.  The winning of the war did not depend on speeches made in the United States.”[4]  Of course, all of this begs the question, whose, if anyone’s speeches, did the war depend upon?

Wartime rhetoric and the importance of maintaining public morale and opinion in general were not issues taken lightly by Churchill’s government.  However, disagreement continued over who could and should be allowed to speak for Britain.[5]  In studies of wartime rhetoric, it is crucial to note this tension between the maintenance of morale and public opinion through positive, consistently government-friendly rhetoric, and the compromising of this same opinion by the over-exuberant stifling of free speech and criticism.  The views of self-professed left-wing public figures like H.G. Wells, George Orwell, and J.B. Priestley raised this issue into the public sphere and brought up disagreements over how this tension should be managed.  However, there was one thing that Commons members could agree upon: they wished that Wells would stick to fiction! 

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[1] David Thoms, “The Blitz, Civilian Morale and Regionalism, 1940-1942,” in War Culture: Social Change and Changing Experience in World War Two, eds. Pat Kirkham and David Thoms (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1995), 4.

[2] “Parliament in War,” The Times, October 24, 1940, 9.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Although notably in Wells’ case, he consistently spoke of England rather than Britain. 

A Study of Strategic Insults

Lately, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about insults.  What makes for the perfect insult?  How does one avoid negative repercussions or potential charges of slander/libel?  Should the language be varied to fit the insultee?  I’ve come across many prime examples of historical slurs, some which were aired publically, and some of which slumbered between dusty diary pages.[1]  Crucially, through a bit of rhetorical analysis, they can offer valuable insights into the motivations and tactics behind a juicy offence.

During the Second World War, and particularly the early war years, British press and radio sources worked hard to discredit specifically, the leadership of Germany.   They constructed an image that drew on moral themes of decency and fairness, ultimately painting a picture that the entire spectrum of British society could identify with.  In his speech given on St. George’s Day, May 23, 1940, Duff Cooper described the historic decay of German leadership, forming a natural path to the current government.  “Germany has assumed many ugly shapes in her past – under the perjured pervert Frederick, miscalled the Great; under the mountainous bully Bismarck, with his treble voice, his sly and shifty diplomacy and his forged telegrams…”[2] Cooper didn’t use facts and figures to give his claims legitimacy.  Rather, he drew upon broad, and rather vague social norms, presented with a substantial helping of disdain: honesty, fairness, kindness, straightforwardness and, of course, masculinity. Cooper directly attacked Bismarck’s virility and questioned his manhood, playing on widely accepted norms of the deep-voiced, swarthy, man’s man.[3]  Furthermore, the entire tirade was constructed to give the audience a feeling of both moral and historical superiority.

The publication of the American response to the Franco-German armistice ceremony in the forest of Compiegne featured a similarly derisive attitude.  Republished in the Guardian, the article not only mirrored but confirmed British representations of the German leader.  The article described Hitler’s decision to re-enact the armistice ceremony that had ended the Great War as “a childish triumph over the past.”[4]  Furthermore, it juxtaposed ideas of innocence and childhood with death and destruction, ultimately condemning him, again, on a moral level.  “Hitler had waded through the blood of a million men, women and children to taste the sweets of that moment. … The scene yesterday was an exhibition of colossal armed strength, and it was also an exhibition of moral weakness.”[5]  Both of these constructions were based upon themes that were accepted on a broad social level.  The insertion of disdain and scorn attempted to drive out fear of the German threat and replace it with a heightened sense of eventual and in fact inevitable victory by the ethical party.

Looking at the language used in attempts to discredit or defame particular groups or individuals is more than just an entertaining pastime.  These rhetorical constructs showcase how the authors used broad moral sentiments to appeal to a sense of fairness and justice.  Additional studies of the above case can yield a comparative perspective of the language used in portraying German leadership to a British audience and the tactical shifts employed when the same topic was broadcast to an American audience.  Furthermore, studies of historical modifications in the portrayal of the enemy other can cast a light on shifting social norms of acceptability and broad escalations in what counted and what counts today as a legitimate moral infraction.  

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[1] For example, Leo Amery’s unsubtle critique of his nightly reading material: “Read a tiresome book on the American Political System by a conceited ass called Brogan.”  Churchill Archives, Cambridge. AMEL 7/34, Diary, June 2, 1940.

[2] Churchill Archives, DUFC 8/1/20, Duff Cooper, St. George’s Day, April 23, 1940.

[3] Portrayals of Hitler in American propaganda cartoons featuring Daffy Duck took a similar approach, featuring a high-voiced, and ultimately ineffective dictator.

[4] “The Armistice: American Press Comment,” The Guardian, June 24, 1940, 6.

[5] Ibid.