In this blog post Dr Daniel Haines, Lecturer in History, considers the role of art in opening new avenues of historical enquiry.

© Bristol Museums, Galleries & Archives

In the relative cool of an Indian winter, a train of elephants lumbers through the heart of old Delhi. Atop one beast are the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, brother and sister-in-law to the British King-Emperor Edward VII. Ahead of him on another are Viceroy Curzon, the King’s representative in India and head of the colonial government, and his wife Mary. Beneath them, both literally and figuratively, uniformed Indians march along a parade route lined by soldiers. The viceroy and his staff have planned every detail of the day’s ceremonies to convey the might and power of the Raj.

This was the scene of the 1903 Delhi Durbar, a spectacular festival held to mark Edward VII’s ascent to the throne. Celebrations continued for another fortnight afterwards. The vista comes to us via an enormous oil painting that dominates the entrance hall at the Bristol Museum and Art Gallery, part of the Wills Memorial Building at the edge of the university campus. It’s worth a visit to take in the sheer scale of the painting, which feels virtually life-size when you’re in front of it. The painter has very clearly tried to capture the sense of awe that the Durbar was supposed to instil in Indian attendees, especially the semi-autonomous Indian Princes who collaborated closely with the British.

The history of the painting is also fascinating. It was not the product of a patriotic colonialist, but an expatriate American artist, Roderick MacKenzie. MacKenzie had travelled a long way from his native home in Mobile, Alabama. Originally intending to stay in India only a few years, he became hooked on the subcontinent – like many a backpacker since. This painting, Durbar, the State Entry into Delhi, was only one of dozens that he produced during his financially unsuccessful fourteen years in the country. MacKenzie almost bankrupted himself finishing the painting in London.

Today, the painting continues to provoke discussion. The Museum organised a day-long workshop to discuss it in March, How to interpret Art and the British Empire for 21st-Century Audiences: Roderick MacKenzie’s Delhi Durbar of 1903. Representatives from community groups and the British Museum as well as Bristol University’s Department of History discussed how we today can make sense of an artwork that borders on the monumental. Is it art or history? Should we appreciate it as a magnificent aesthetic accomplishment? Should we condemn it as piece of imperialist propaganda?

These kinds of question apply to any product of Europe’s imperial heyday. Studying this period of history is controversial: strong opinions abound about how people in former colonial countries, as well as those in formerly colonized countries, should interpret empire’s legacy. Whatever your position, there is no denying that empire is a key part of British history. How we relate that to modern British identity is not far removed from aggressive public debates about the commemoration of WWI that swept the national media in 2014. There are no easy answers. But standing, dwarfed, in front of MacKenzie’s giant canvas, is a powerful call to opening up the questions.

You can see a high-resolution version of the painting by clicking on the image in this link: http://www.bristol.gov.uk/press/leisure-and-culture/delhi-durbar-painting-show-city-museum-and-art-gallery

A brief bio of MacKenzie is here: http://www.encyclopediaofalabama.org/article/h-1786

Abigail Le Fevre, Third Year Historian, reflects on her recent studies of Genocide in history:

There will always be a fascination with the morbid. Its ability to represent something familiar yet challenge what we perceive to be ‘normal’ continues to capture the interests of many. Consider the following extract taken from Why Bosnia, containing an interview with a Serbian Officer from the Balkan Wars.

‘Look, there are some things you don’t go around telling everybody. But I’ll tell you, it’s not a pretty sight to watch a circular saw go through human flesh. The way it snarls through the bones.’ [1]

Retelling his involvement in the massacre of Muslim minorities in the village of Zvornik- Bosnia, the Serbian official’s rhetoric is striking. This quote, which I encountered for the first time while studying the Bosnian genocide this term, evoked a sense of shock and anger that was difficult to separate from an analytical mindset. When one finally overcomes the graphic imagery, however, the quote is able to reveal much more than the physical act of killing. We, as historians, are given a unique opportunity to gain an insight into the mindset of a perpetrator, to try and provide an answer to the unanswerable question within genocide- why?

Would it be correct to suggest that the mind of a perpetrator evolves during childhood as argued by Steven Baum? [2] Would we side more with Christopher Browning who argues that perpetrators are often ‘ordinary men?’ [3] Or do we see such behaviours as psychotic impulses displaced into forms of wide spread violence?

Studying genocide this year has reminded me that the darker areas of history can be highly emotive and personal. Close engagement with oral testimony has the ability to re-personalise large narratives such as that of the Holocaust, the Rwandan genocide or the Cambodian genocide. By actively researching and seeking out answers to the ‘why’ question, I felt my own attitudes starting to be challenged too.

In a context in which a ‘national, ethic, racial or religious group’ was being ‘destroyed’ with ‘intent’, as outlined by the 1948 UN Genocide Convention, what category would I find myself in? [4] Would I become a bystander, witnessing events from afar to protect social upstanding, a rescuer, or even a perpetrator? While I don’t think one can ever fully have a response to this, it remains true that studying genocide with these questions in mind is just as important as the analytical ones. Looking closely at genocides throughout the twentieth century this term has taught us not only about the past, but also about ourselves.

[1] R. Ali and L. Lifschultz (eds.) Why Bosnia? Writings on the Balkan War (Connecticut, 1993), 101.

[2] S. Baum, The Psychology of Genocide: Perpetrators, Bystanders, and Rescuers (Cambridge, 2008), 123.

[3] C. Browning, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 11 and the Final Solution in Poland (Chicago, 2001), 75.

[4] A. Hinton, Genocide: An Anthropological Reader (Oxford, 2002), 43.

Past Matter objects return with the cufflinks of Gordon Barrett, PhD student in History, who explains below how their previous owner fuelled his interest in the past.

A relative gave this pair of cufflinks to me when I was fifteen years old and they have been one of my most treasured possessions ever since. He was one of the first cohort of pilots in the British Army’s new Glider Pilot Regiment during the Second World War, and took part in the ill-fated airborne invasions of Sicily in July 1943 (Operation Ladbroke) and Arnhem in 1944 (Operation Market Garden). In later life, he also went on to write two books and give talks about being a wartime glider pilot. I was lucky enough to get to talk with him at some length about his experiences while visiting the UK on a family vacation from Canada. I found myself entirely engrossed by what he had to say, and keen to know more about the things he discussed. These cufflinks are a tangible anchor for me to person who helped stoke my interest in contemporary history. They serve as a powerful reminder to me not only of him as a person, but also of his passion for discussing about the recent past.

I was staring at the Alps through the window of the plane, waiting to touch down in Italy for my very first academic conference. Interning with Josie McLellan on her Women, Work, and Value research network (http://www.bristol.ac.uk/arts/research/women-work/), I had been granted a peek into the shadowy abyss of academia by the way of a two day conference on the subject in Florence, Italy. Ostensibly, the aim was to gather content for a series of public workshops on ‘Women and Work’, which was the purpose of my internship. In practice, while trying to get my friends as excited as me about the said workshops, I could never help dropping in my four day, Italian ‘business trip’. ‘You’re so lucky to be jetting off for a minibreak!’ said my envious friends. ‘No, it’s for work’, I replied, sounding about as convinced as they did.

When I pictured an academic conference, I couldn’t help but imagine a sea of geriatric men in tweed suits (with elbow patches, obviously), in a wood panelled, draughty library, ferociously debating the finer points of an argument made by a world-famous historian I had never heard of.  This was despite the conference being organised by Josie, about as far from a crusty elderly man as its possible to be, and the name of the conference making it obvious this conference was going to be a little more gender inclusive than my imaginings.

Firstly, even the location made this conference a far cry from what I had envisioned. Cold and draught, Tuscany in October is not. The research network was lucky enough to be hosted by the EUI campus in Florence, in a stunning building once the seat of the Spanish ambassador, set in rolling hills under a perfectly blue sky (as I write this, looking out at a bleak sky from the Hawthorns, it seems like a distant dream). Several academics stressed to me I should not expect this from every conference! Aesthetics aside, it was really interesting to see another university so different from my own- the university was postgraduate only, and truly international with students all over Europe and supervisors being required to speak at least two European languages. And as for the canteen, let’s just say that their freshly made gnocchi trumped the Refectory’s jacket potatoes.

Yet another shock was the academics themselves. Yes, maybe with ‘Women, work and Value’ in the title, it was possible this conference might have some female representation. But 31 female academics out of 33? It was actually a completely inspiring setting to be in- only 20% of senior academics are female nationally¸ so it was nice not to be in the minority for once, and to see so many intelligent female academics with interesting research- many of them in their twenties and thirties. Delegates also came from an astonishing range of countries, from Finland to the USA to Lithuania to Croatia. Those who didn’t speak English as a first language probably still speak more eloquent English than I do.

And I was definitely wrong about the content of the lecture being crusty scholars I had never heard of. Most of the content was unfamiliar to me, but I hugely enjoyed how current, relevant, and varied the work in question was- from housewives and factory workers to drummers and reality TV stars. I know gender history is a relatively recent development of historical study, and it was so refreshing to see a wide range of interesting research focussing on women’s contributions.

All these academics researched along a vaguely similar theme, and I was anxious during coffee breaks and lunch not to interfere with any ground-breaking developments that could be sparked with face to face interaction. Here I was wrong again. Yes, a lot of the conversations centred around the talks we heard throughout the days. But a lot of the time, these high level academics were simply chatting about the weather, university, and other relative frivolities- a lot like students really, right down to the frequenting of a nearby bar in the evening. Not to mention a use of social media- it seemed every academic at the conference was frenetically tweeting interesting aspects of the conference (complete with official conference hashtag, of course).  Meanwhile I, supposedly of the social media generation, slid aside my old-school notebook and glumly realised they all have far more followers than I do.

So what did I learn from my first conference? That conferences are actually vibrant places where academics learn from each other’s research, But only after they’ve caught up on all the other news that happened while they were in the library doing that research, and followed each other on Twitter. Oh and of course, all conferences take place in beautiful old houses in the Mediterranean. Right?

If you want to hear more about this exciting research network feel free to have a look at the links below:

https://twitter.com/WomenWorkValue

http://womenworkvalue2015.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/WomenWorkValueInEurope

Sarah Brodie (left, project intern and blog author), with Graihagh Goode (project intern).

Sarah Brodie is one of the undergraduate public engagement interns on the Women, Work and Value Research Network, funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council.

After a short gap, we’re back with another object of historical significance for a researcher at Bristol. This week Emily Glass, a MLitt Student in Archaeology and Anthropology, shares an award won by her grandmother.

My Grandmother (Joice Glass) won the Whitbread Tankard for playing bowls – sometime in the 1970’s – and my grandfather bought her the chain to put it onto. I don’t know how much she wore it at all – I certainly don’t remember her wearing it! About 10 years ago she gave it to me while I was visiting her. I am a big fan of silver and really liked it – I bought a turquoise and silver pendant while on holiday in Egypt in 2008 and exchanged it for the tankard which I then changed back to the tankard in late October 2012 when my grandmother passed away – it felt right to do so and it makes me feel closer to her. We have the same birthday – 2nd April – so we’ve always been close through that and I miss her still.