Sunday, October 12, 2014

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! 



[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. 

Thursday, October 2, 2014

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.  



[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.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

A Nation Built on Ice Cream

Whether we like to admit it or not, our perceptions, as a citizen of a particular country, towards a ‘foreign’ country, are typically constructed of both objective and subjective beliefs.  Oftentimes, the latter perceptions, in this instance stereotypes, can result in good-natured banter.  The Anglo-French relationship, in particular consists of a plethora of stereotypes of the ‘other’ that have been constructed over many years of both tumult and tentative friendship.  During the Second World War in Britain, stereotypes of the Axis countries built on long-standing cultural perceptions were common, and turned up not only in news articles and cartoons, but were also validated by the general public and can be found in private journals as well as recorded in conversations documented by the Mass Observation project.  http://www.massobs.org.uk/index.htm

Italy, in this case, was perceived and represented rhetorically, not as a threatening fascist country, but was consistently marginalised, and their war efforts deprecated.  Italy couldn’t make war, it was claimed; Italy makes ice cream!  The publication of this June 14, 1940 article in the Times entitled, “Sugar Hoarded by Italians” certainly didn’t do anything to counter entrenched views.   This scandalous report exposed that “during examination of some Italian premises food executive officers discovered in some cases up to 24cwt [approximately 192 stones] of sugar hidden in cellars and back rooms.”[1] This image of Italy as the ice cream man was often directly compared with the idea of Germany as, at the very least, a worthy foe and a fighting nation, even if Hitler’s pedigree was somewhat in question.  A ‘working class’ mother overheard by a Mass Observation listener in June 1940 voiced her opinion of Germany’s mustachioed leader in no uncertain terms: ”And wot is ‘e?  A corporal!  In the last war we were at least fighting a throne!”[2]  A Lancashire shopkeeper commented, “What galls me is Italy’s part in it.  I could bear knuckling under to the Germans, for after all they are a fighting race, but I can’t bear the thought of having to give in to the ice cream man.”[3]  Permanent Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs, Alexander Cadogan, referred in his diary to the Italians as “the ice cream men” or “the dirty ice creamers.”[4]

Of course, representations of self and others as a ‘fighting nation’ were far from straightforward.  Britain itself self identified as a ‘nation of shopkeepers’, and maintained a steady rhetoric that served to justify and explain any set backs: we may not win every battle, and we may bumble our way through at certain points, but in the end, we ALWAYS win the last battle.  Constructions and definitions of national identities contributed to a powerful sense of self and others during the Second World War, and in the Italian case at least, contained at least an ice crystal of truth: Italy does make excellent ice cream.





[1] "Round-Up Of Italians." Times [London, England] 14 June 1940: 4. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 19 Sept. 2014.
[2] Mass Observation Archives, Sussex (MOA), SxMOA1/2/25/2/G
[3] MOA, Shopkeeper Diary, Lancashire.
[4] Alexander Cadogan, The Diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan 1938-1945, edited by David Dilks, (Cassell: London, 1971)

Thursday, September 11, 2014

The Banana Apology


FyffesThe Times 
(London, England), 
Wednesday, Jun 05, 1940;
 pg. 3; Issue 48634 
Despite this pithy endorsement from Professor L. Jean Bogert, PhD, and the fact that it was advertised as “protective food,”* bananas were classified as a luxury import in 1940s wartime Britain.  This status made it rather cost prohibitive to bring bananas into the country, and if they did arrive, they were so expensive, that few (and certainly not common) folk could afford to buy them.  However, even while heavily engaged in the throes of war, overstressed and overworked members of the British War Cabinet, and specifically the Joint Planning Sub-Committee, were always prepared to be magnanimous.  Two months later, after evidence revealed that the banana certainly was high in vitamins, it was removed from the list of restricted imports and allowed freely into the country for consumption by the masses.  Following this embarrassing error, the committee “took note, with approval, of the high vitamin content of the banana” and “withdrew, with apology, their charges against the banana.”[1]  It’s comforting to know, that even during this troubling time, the above assertions of the banana’s new status were properly documented and footnoted within the top-secret world of the minutes of the Sub-Committee meetings. 

Protection of self was certainly on many minds in June 1940.  Just three days earlier Leo Amery, Secretary of State for India, recorded in his diary a suggestion made by Mr. Horabin “that it would be both actually and psychologically far better if every citizen carried a couple of hand grenades than if they went about carrying gas masks.”[2] 


[1] The National Archives, Kew (TNA), CAB 84/2, 5 August, 1940, 217a
[2] Churchill Archives, Cambridge, Leo Amery Personal Papers, AMEL 7/34, 14 June 1940.