Our Bodies, Their Battlefield: What War Does to Women by Christina Lamb (2025)

Warning: This review contains details of really disgusting and evil sexual violence perpetrated against women and girls that goes far beyond rape. If you’re of a sensitive disposition or prone to nightmares, don’t read it.

The more places I went to, the more prevalent I found rape was.

‘It is an everlasting nightmare.’
(Lola Narcisa Claveria, Filipino survivor of Japanese sex slavery, page 351)

This is a deeply upsetting but profoundly important book, often devastatingly depressing but sometimes genuinely inspiring. Christina Lamb is an award-winning journalist who has covered a variety of warzones in her career as well as writing 10 factual books. From early in her career she realised just how prevalent rape was as a weapon of war, not just as random outrages, but used systematically to demoralise enemy forces and terrorise entire populations. What she learned about the vicious sexual abuse of women in conflict after conflict was sickening and disgusting. But she also came to realise that the scale of the violence and abuse against women was often overlooked in journalism and history books overwhelmingly written by men (p.459); and by international bodies and courts more often than not run by men.

Everything has to start with the evidence and this means the first-hand testimony of the survivors. Telling their stories not only offers some form of closure for the victims, and the psychological validation of knowing someone believes them. It is also the start of gathering evidence, for use not only in possible court proceedings but to begin to be used in larger historical narratives, to begin to redress the gaping silence about one of the most overlooked and neglected parts of war and conflict – the unspeakable crimes, violence and abuse directed against women and girls, often on an industrial scale.

‘When I saw them laughing and humiliating us, I decided we needed to break the silence. If we didn’t talk about what we went through, and if they were not punished, what could we expect from their children but the same or greater evil?’ (Bakira Hasecic, founder of Association of Women Victims of War in Bosnia, p.167)

And so this substantial book (474 pages) records Lamb’s odyssey, over a seven year period, to track down, interview and record the testimonies of women who have suffered unbelievable horrors in conflict after conflict around the world.

Destinations

Lamb goes to:

2016 August: Leros, Greece The Greek island of Leros was used to house refugees from war in the Middle East including Yazidis who had been enslaved and trafficked by Islamic State.

2016: Baden-Wurtenberg The German province which took in 1,100 Yazidi women and children who had been treated as sex slaves by ISIS.

2016: Northeastern Nigeria: On 15 April 2014 the brutal Islamic terror group Boko Haram kidnapped 276 mostly Christian schoolgirls from the town of Chibok and carried them off into sexual slavery. #BringBackOurGirls or #BBOG went viral. Hardly any of the girls have been recovered.

2017 December: Bangladesh: Kutupalong To interview survivors of the 2017 massacres and mass rapes of Rohynga women by Burmese soldiers. In three months more than 650,000 were driven out of the west Burmese state of Rakhine, two-thirds of the Rohynga population.

Every single shack had terrible stories and I had never come across such widespread violation of women and girls. (p.75)

Bangladesh: Liberation War Museum, Dhaka and Sirajganj Up to 400,000 were women raped by Pakistani soldiers in Bangladesh’s war of independence as official Pakistan military policy. Lamb learns that the survivors were called birangonas from the Bengali word bir meaning war heroine (p.92).

‘Often when the women were raped the soldiers had grabbed their babies and stomped on them to death or thrown them so hard their brains had come out.’ (Safina; p.110)

Rwanda Aftermath of the 1994 Hutu genocide of Tutsis, itself the sequel to the 1959 Hutu Revolution, and pogroms of 1963 and 1973.

‘Of course they raped me… Wherever you were hiding under a tree a man would find you and rape you and sometimes kill you. There were lots of different men doing this and they used sticks and bottles into the private parts of many women right up to their stomach…’ (Serafina Mukakinani, p.132)

2018, March: Yugoslavia: Sarajevo The appalling atrocities of the Serbs in Bosnia, and the heroic efforts of Bakira Hasecic and her Association of Women Victims of War, founded in 2003, to bring the Serb torturers, murderers and rapists to justice.

Yugoslavia: Srebrenica Dragana Vucetic, senior forensic anthropologist at the International Commission of Missing Persons. On 11 July 1995 Serb militias took away about 8,300 Muslim men and boys, drove them out into fields or football grounds, then massacred them, shooting or bludgeoning them to death. Dr Branca Antic-Stauber who runs a charity for rape survivors and uses horticulture therapy.

2018, October: Berlin Stories of the vast mass rapes of German women and girls during the Red Army’s conquest of eastern Germany and Berlin at the end of the Second World War. In towns and villages every woman from eight to eighty was raped multiple times. ‘It was an army of rapists’ (Natalya Gesse, Soviet war correspondent, p.194) It is estimated that up to 2 million women and girls were rapes and scores of thousands of Germans committed suicide, and killed their children, rather than fall into the hands of the Russians.

2018, November: Buenos Aires In 1976 a military junta seized control of Argentina and rules for 7 years during which up to 30,000 leftists, trade unions and activists were kidnapped off the streets and ‘disappeared’. Estela Barnes de Carlotta, president of the Grandmothers or Las Abuelas (p.214).

2018, March: Mosul Lamb attends the hurried trials of a handful of the 30,000 or so people charged with being members of ISIS. Justice is a farce. The court doesn’t consider rape as a separate offence, all offences are grouped together as terrorism.

2018, April: Iraq: Dohuk The prevalence of suicide among Yazidi survivors of ISIS sex slavery.

2019, February: Democratic Republic of Congo: Bukavu In 2010 Congo was called the rape capital of the world. Lamb interviews Dr Denis Mukwege, founder of the Panzi Foundation, who has treated more rape victims than any other doctor in the world.

In the Second Congo War stories of women who were not only gang raped but then shot in the vagina, or had bayonets shoved in their vagina, or sticks soaked in fuel which was then set alight. Lamb discovers that Dr Mukwege’s clinic is seeing more and more raped babies. Some men believe that raping babies will give them magical powers; they are told this by witchdoctors (p.337).

In a gruelling book this chapter (chapter 13, pages 300 to 334) contains probably the worst atrocities (the 86-year-old who was raped, women’s vaginas set alight or hacked off, the mother who was forced at gunpoint to eat her own baby); but also the most inspiring moments. Lamb meets the inspiring Christine Schuler Deschryver, founder of City of Joy, a safe haven for survivors in Congo.

‘It’s about giving a woman value… I hug them and then they are healed and people say I have magic hands but it’s just love… I’m convinced you can change the world only by love’ (p.330)

It also contains the most telling evidence of the way rape used as a weapon of mass terrorisation is tied into broader economic and political structures. Because Deschryver points out that 1) Congo contains more of the rare metals needed to create mobile phones and batteries (cobalt, coltan) than any other country on earth; 2) if you drew a map of the rapes you’d see they cluster around mining areas, and so 3) rape is used as a strategy of terror by the militias and groups who control the mines and the regions around them. Which leads her onto her fourth point, 4) if the international community really wanted to end conflict in the Congo it could but, in Deschryver’s view, it suits multinational corporations to preserve Congo as an unstable mess the better to plunder the country of its cobalt, coltan and gold (p.331).

Democratic Republic of Congo: Kavumu Village where scores of babies and very small girls have been abducted, raped and their genitals destroyed, allegedly by the ‘Army of Jesus’, a militia controlled by a local warlord whose members have been told by a witchdoctor that the blood from raped and mutilated babies will make them invulnerable in battle (p.339). Although the warlord was eventually taken to court and convicted, the case went to appeal and none of the villagers knows whether he and his henchmen are in prison or not. Meanwhile, having lost all faith in the justice system, they have started to take the law into their own hands with lynchings and beheadings of suspect young men (p.348). Thus, chaos.

Manila Lamb meets surviving ‘comfort women’, enslaved by the occupying Japanese Army during the Second World War. They prefer to the term lolas which means grandmother in the local Tagalog language and which they use as an honorific, hence Lola Narcisa and Lola Estelita.

Concluding chapter 2020

Sexual violence against men

  • in eastern Congo a quarter of men in conflict zones have experienced sexual violence
  • in Afghanistan bacha bazi or the abuse of boys is common
  • in Syrian prisons under Bashar al-Assad, men and boys were submitted to horrifying sexual violence

The challenge of achieving justice Lamb jumps between a number of cases, showing the dedicated work of investigators, researchers, lawyers, prosecutors and judges, but how gruellingly slow it is and how pitifully few convictions are achieved. The Yazidis wait, the Rohingya wait for justice.

Guatemala During the 36-year-long civil war over 100,000 women were raped, mostly Mayans in an attempt to exterminate their ethnicity (p.387). In 2016 11 Mayan women secured the conviction of a retired army officer for sexually enslaving them.

Peru Over 5,000 women raped during the 11-year-long civil war with Shining Path guerrillas.

Colombia Sexual crimes have been included in crimes heard by the tribunal set up at the end of the 52-year-long civil war with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC).

Chad Successful conviction of Chad’s despicable sadist president, Hissène Habré, who ruled through a reign of terror till his overthrow in 1990. In 2000 he was arrested and put on trial in neighbouring Senegal. In 2016 he was convicted of crimes against humanity, torture and rape and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Women in charge Lamb makes the telling point that most of these convictions were only secured when women were judges or prosecutors in the case.

2025 update

2022, May, Ukraine: Berestianka The Russians are back and they’re raping again. And looting everything they can to take back to their pitiful slum of a country. Gang rapes, torture, rape in front of the rest of the family etc (p,409). Rewarded by Putin on their return home. According to Lamb domestic violence is not criminalised in Russia and widely accepted. Figures. Whenever I read about Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky despising the decadent West, this is what I think of. Russia, home of domestic violence, epidemic alcoholism and rapists.

For the first time Ukraine established a court and started prosecuting Russian war criminals while the war was still ongoing (as it is today).

2023, autumn, Tel Aviv On 7 October 2023 Hamas fighters broke through the wall dividing Gaza from Israel and went on a rampage at multiple sites, massacring 1,200 civilians and taking 251 others back to Gaza as hostages. Lamb meets survivors, and speaks to the many first responders, therapists and women’s activists regarding the widespread evidence of sexual violence against the women victims: gang rapes and sexual mutilation i.e. shooting women in the vagina. In her interviewees’ opinion the intention was the most primitive one imaginable of attacking your enemies’ procreative ability, plus the more modern one of spreading not just terror but horror. The barbaric cruelty was exemplary in the sense that it was intended to traumatise an entire nation (which, arguably, it did).

Hebron in the West Bank. Lamb meets Palestinians who live under extraordinarily tight Israeli supervision, and then survivors of sexual violence inflicted by the Israeli Defence Force, and lawyers and NGOs who have reported on it. Interestingly, the main targets have been men and boys, designed to cause maximum humiliation in revenge for 7 October. The accusations of sexual humiliation in captivity sound identical to the Americans at Abu Ghraib.

‘It was me and two other prisoners and three border police. They filmed us naked then began to touch our bodies and make jokes and insulted us. One of them had a metal detector which he tried to put in our anuses.’ (Palestinian Thaer Fakhoury, p.448)

Avignon, December 2024 Lamb is introduced to Gisèle Pelicot, the woman drugged by her  husband who then invited men from a website group to come to their home and rape her. The police found thousands of videos on her husband’s laptop clearly identifying the men which allowed a trial to go forward with 50 accused. The key thing is she waived her right to anonymity in order to speak out and so became a heroine to anti-rape activists, feminists and ordinary people around the world.

Summary When she completed the first edition in 2020 Lamb couldn’t imagine that sexual violence in conflict would return to Europe, in the form of Russian soldiers raping Ukrainian women, or the horrors of the Hamas attack on Israel, or the eruption of brutal civil war in Sudan. Every year the UN presents a report on conflict-related sexual violence. The 2024 report concluded that conflict-related sexual violence is increasing.

Historical retrospective

Spain The really systematic mass rape of large populations of women probably first occurred in the Spanish Civil War 1936 to 1939. It was carried out by General Franco’s Falangist forces. ‘Not just rape but appalling evisceration of peasant women of Andalucia and Estremadura’, including the branding of their breasts with fascist symbols (historian Antony Beevor, quoted p.203).

Nanking The rape of Nanking, December 1937 to January 1938, where the Japanese accompanied mass murder of Chinese civilians with mass rape of women and girls.

Comfort women Euphemism for the hundreds of thousands of women and girls, predominantly from Japanese-occupied Asian countries, who were forced into sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese Armed Forces before and during World War II.

Vietnam War 1961 to 1973: My Lai massacre and Tet Offensive.

Khmer Rouge 1975 to 1979. Cambodians murdered 2 million other Cambodians accompanied by mass rape.

Turkish invasion of Cyprus 1974, triggered widespread Turkish soldier rape of Greek women.

Timeline

1863 Abraham Lincoln issues general order 100 making rape carried out by soldiers of the Union Army punishable by death.

1919 Commission of Responsibilities established with rape near the top of the list of 32 war crimes.

1946 but at the war crimes tribunals at Nuremberg and Tokyo not a single prosecution for sexual violence.

1949 Geneva Convention, Article 27:

Women shall be especially protected against any attack on their honour, in particular against rape, enforced prostitution, or any form of indecent assault.

1973 Bangladesh declares rape a crime against humanity.

1993 International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY):

Men and women came forward to recount evils beyond imagining – women and girls locked up in schools and suffering repeated anal, oral and vaginal rape, people having their tongues cut off, or being burned alive as human torches as they ‘screamed like cats’ (p.160)

1994 International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) established in Arusha in Tanzania: Lamb interviews raped Tutsi women who testified in the first rape-as-war-crime trial. It was the first time rape was recognised as an instrument of genocide and prosecuted as a war crime.

‘I was raped countless times. The last group that raped me were so many people and one man shouted, “I can’t use my penis in that dirty place so I’ll use a stick.” I know many women who died like that. They sharpened the sticks and forced them right through their vaginas.’
(Cecile Mukurugwiza, p.141)

1998 first conviction for rape as a war crime.

1998 Rome Statute which established the International Criminal Court defined rape as a war crime.

2000 UN Security Council Resolution 1325 was the first formal and legal document from the Security Council that required parties in a conflict to prevent violations of women’s rights, to support women’s participation in peace negotiations and in post-conflict reconstruction, and to protect women and girls from wartime sexual violence; for ‘the greater inclusion of women in peace and security’.

2008 UN Security Council passed Resolution 1820 stating that ‘rape and other forms of sexual violence can constitute war crimes, crimes against humanity or a constitutive act with respect to genocide’.

2009 established the office of the Special Representative of the UN Secretary General on Sexual Violence in Conflict.

2010 Bangladesh sets up an International Crimes Tribunal. As of 2019 88 collaborators and party leaders had been tried for torture, murder and rape.

2011 In a video sent to a Nobel Women’s Initiative conference about sexual violence, Nobel Peace Prize laureate, Aung San Suu Kyi said:

‘Rape is used in my country as a weapon against those who only want to live in peace, who only want to assert their basic human rights. Especially in the areas of ethnic nationalities, rape is rife. It is used as a weapon by armed forces to intimidate the ethnic nationalities and to divide our country.’

2014 then UK Foreign Secretary William Hague organised a four-day conference calling for the end of sexual violence in conflict.

2016 International Criminal Court convicts Pierre Bemba of murder, rape and pillage carried out by his men during the 2002-3 war in the Central Africa Republic.

2018 Nobel Peace Prize awarded jointly to Denis Mukwege and Nadia Murad “for their efforts to end the use of sexual violence as a weapon of war and armed conflict”

2019 first conviction by the International Criminal Court for rape in wartime.

2019 report of the UN Special Representative listed 19 countries where women are being raped in war, by 12 armies and police forces and 41 non-state actors.

2019 Gambia took Myanmar to court over the Rohingya genocide, the first time one state had taken another to court over war crimes it had committed. Tried at the International Court of Justice in the Hague, resulting in orders against Myanmar carrying out any further genocide.

2020 first criminal trial of a member of Islamic State for crimes against the Yazidi, held in Germany, resulting in conviction and life imprisonment.

Learnings

Systematic mass rape, sexual violence, sexual torture and sexual mutilation are far more widespread than the bleakest pessimist could ever have expected.

Rape in conflict is rarely ad hoc, random and incidental. More often it is the result of encouragement or orders from the highest levels of military and political leadership, as in: mass rapes in Germany; mass rapes in Rwanda; mass rapes in Bosnia; mass rapes in Syria, and so on.

These kinds of mass rapes are now recognised, not as accidental by-products of the chaos of war, but as conscious war strategies, and as such, defined as war crimes. They are also associated with genocide, the conscious attempt to wipe out a people or group.

The genocidal intent is demonstrated in cases like the mass rape of Bangladeshi women and girls by the army of Pakistan, or the mass rapes of Bosnian Muslims by Bosnian Serbs, or the mass rape of Rohingya women by Burmese soldiers. In each instance the intent wasn’t sexual per se, the intent was to wipe out the victims’ ethnic group by breeding a new generation with the blood of the conquerors in them. In Bangladesh:

‘They had orders of a kind from Tikka Khan [Pakistan’s military governor in the East]… What they had to do was impregnate as many Bengali women as they could… so there would be a whole generation of children in East Pakistan that would be born with blood from the West.’ (p.97)

In Bosnia:

The victims ranged from between six to seventy years old and were raped repeatedly and often kept captive for several years. Many women were forcibly impregnated and held until termination of the pregnancy was impossible. The women were treated as property and rape was used with the intent to intimidate, humiliate and degrade. (p.156)

This same motive – ethnic triumphalism – explains why foetuses were cut out of pregnant women, babies were bludgeoned to death, and children were shot or had their throats cut.

Speaking about it helps. Sharing their stories in safe, supportive environments helps the survivors.

‘It’s all about giving them respect and them owning their stories. After a month, when they begin to tell their stories, sometimes OMG… and the transformation after six is huge. We turn pain into power and give victims strength to be leaders in their communities.’ (Christine Schuler Deschryver, founder of City of Joy, Congo, p.327)

But it never goes away. These women are profoundly damaged forever, as are their families, all their relationships, and their wider communities. And that was the intention.

‘That’s why rape really was a calculated weapon. The fellows who raped them and planned to rape them: they knew you either die now or die later but you’ll never be human again after this ordeal.’ (Rwanda Justice Minister Johnston Busingye, p.153)

As much or more healing comes from having the state formally recognise their plight, a formal recognition that it happened and that it was a crime.

‘It’s not possible to heal from this forever but it helps to speak about it as soon as possible and to share the story with someone compassionate. What I have seen definitely helps their healing is when perpetrators get punished because that gives the victim confirmation by authority she was not the one at fault for what happened to her and that she’s innocent.’ (Dr Branca Antic-Stauber, p.190)

‘Talking to the judges was the beginning of my rehabilitation. For so many years society did not want to listen… But now we could tell our side of the story… Seeing the life sentences at long last, after all they did to us, truly, it gives you your life back.’ (Graciela Garcia Romero, p.238)

In conservative societies state recognition can support recognition at local, village and family level. A striking example is the way the first president of Bangladesh, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, who recognised the horrific scale of the mass rapes carried out by the Pakistan army and coined a term of praise for the victims, calling them Birangona, or ‘war heroines’.

Better still, though, is the healing effect of watching their perpetrators brought to justice, tried and convicted of their crimes. This validates the victims’ experiences and assures them that the world around them understands and values their suffering.

‘Their actions changed the law and criminal justice for every woman. The women showed you can take the worst trauma and turn it into a story of strength and victory.’ (Erica Barks-Ruggles, US ambassador to Kigali, on the rape survivors who travelled to the Rwanda genocide tribunal to testify against the perpetrators, p.149)

The only problem is it happens pitifully rarely.

Meanwhile, many of the women interviewed wanted their perpetrators to be killed (p.119).

‘I want the worst things to happen to the men that did this to me. I want them to die not in a quick or humane way but slowly, slowly, so they know what it’s like to do bad things to people.’ (Naima, a Yazidi enslaved by ISIS, p.264)

‘I feel so angry at what those Japanese did to me and my family, that if I saw them today I would kill them.’ (Lola Narcisa Claveria, Filipino woman enslaved by the Japanese p.357)

‘I hate them so much and wish death to all of them and Putin.’ (Vika, Ukrainian woman raped by Russian soldiers, p.403)

Charities have discovered that a good way to draw survivors out of their often disastrous mental suffering is to give them tasks, jobs, skills training and agency. Like the farm bought by Christine Schuler Deschryver, to be run by rape survivors in Congo (p.329) or Dr Branca Antic-Stauber’s idea of setting up a rose-growing business to employ survivors in Bosnia (p.185)

No index

There’s no index. Why?

Similarly no list of the organisations mentioned in each country, or organisations addressing sexual violence generally. I supply my own list below.

Human history

Well, I’ve explained my view of human history in a separate blog post:

History is an abattoir. What was written down is a tiny fraction of what happened, and it was written by the educated and privileged, mostly sucking up to kings and khans. The reality of human existence for most humans for most of human history has been unspeakably brutal.

Last thought

In his brilliant series of books about conflict and international order in the 1990s, Michael Ignatieff divides the world into zones of conflict and zones of safety. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I was born and lived all my life in what he calls a ‘zone of safety’. Way before you get to my white privilege or my male privilege, I give thanks for my safety privilege.


Credit

‘Our Bodies, Their Battlefield: What War Does to Women’ by Christina Lamb was first published by William Collins in 2020. I read the updated 2025 paperback edition.

Organisations mentioned in the text

Support organisations

At the end of the Unsilenced exhibition at the Imperial War Museum, the curators give a list of support organisations, which I repeat here:

Related reviews

Unravel: The Power and Politics of Textiles in Art @ the Barbican

Big and beautiful

This is a great exhibition, a huge and dazzling collection of contemporary fabric art from around the world, works large and small, incorporating a wide variety of techniques, bringing together images and traditions and colour palettes, stories and ideas from around the world.

Blood in the Grass, 1966 by Hannah Ryggen © Hannah Ryggen / DACS 2023. Photo by Kode / Dag Fosse

It brings together just over 100 artworks by 50 international practitioners. These include well-known names such as Faith Ringgold, Tracey Emin, Cecilia Vicuña, Magdalena Abakanowicz and Yinka Shonibare, alongside many less well-known figures. And it covers a very wide range of media, from intimate hand-crafted pieces to large-scale sculptural installations.

Textile as a medium

Textiles play an extraordinarily wide variety of roles in our everyday lives. They cover and protect us, engage our senses, trigger our memories, indicate our gender, display our beliefs. We are wrapped in cloth when we’re born and shrouded in it when we die and every day in between will be wearing some kind of fabric. I just towelled myself down after a shower, then slipped on some comfortable fleece trousers and a t-shirt, am sitting on a cotton-cushioned chair, later tonight will slip between a white cotton sheet and a patterned duvet cover. Fabrics are everywhere in our lives.

Exhibition aims

But Barbican exhibitions are never just about beautiful objects, they are always polemical and political, they’re always making a point. This one has two aims:

1) One is to challenge and question the way artistic work in fabrics has always played second fiddle to the fine arts i.e. painting and traditional sculpture, always been looked down on, often demeaningly referred to as ‘women’s work’, or slighted for having such close association with domestic and artisan production.

2) The second aim is very strongly political: every one of the artists has been chosen for the way they use textiles, fibre and thread with political goals – to challenge oppressive power structures, to commemorate the victims of state power and historical wrongs, to stand up for the weak and oppressed, to act as rallying cries or symbols of resistance to power.

The exhibition aims:

to shine a light on artists from the 1960s to today who have explored the transformative and subversive potential of textiles, harnessing the medium to ask charged questions about power: who holds it, and how can it be challenged and reclaimed?

to communicate vital ideas about power, resistance and survival.

And:

From intimate hand-crafted pieces to monumental sculptural installations, the works [gathered here] offer narratives of violence, imperialism and exclusion alongside stories of resilience, love and hope.

‘Hard-luck stories’

What this means in practise is that a lot of the works on display, no matter how beautiful or appealing at first glance, turn out to have harrowing and shocking inspirations or subject matter. For some reason I’ve been listening to the old Bob Dylan song, Black Diamond Bay. In the last verse the narrator cynically laments that:

Seems like every time you turn around
There’s another hard-luck story that you’re gonna hear.

Well, that perfectly describes the exhibits here. All of them have darker sides, and you need quite a strong stomach to cope with some of the stories you read about.

For example, the very first room contains a big bold quilt by Tracey Emin. This recalls her famous quilted tent, ‘Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995’, and I immediately liked it because of the punk associations of the Union Jack. It also made me think of my daughter, a classic ‘school refuser’ who might well have said, with the artist, ‘No you listen – I’m not late – you’re lucky!’ All of which made me smile.

NO CHANCE (What a Year) 1999 by Tracey Emin © Tracey Emin. All rights reserved, DACS 2022, courtesy White Cube Photo by Stephen White

But then I read the wall label and discovered that this hand-stitched appliqué blanket expresses Emin’s feelings as a 13-year-old girl in 1977, the year a man raped her. Ah. Oh. Not so funny or entertaining now, is it? Now you understand the way the work’s sweary, confrontational text, cut out in felt and hand-stitched onto fabric, really comes from a place of great hurt and anger and vulnerability. God. Upsetting.

In a similar vein, I turned a corner into one of the upper gallery’s 12 alcoves and was immediately struck and attracted by the rich deep scarlet colouring of this wonderful piece of fabric, made all the more vibrant by the way it’s set against the jet-black background.

Installation view of ‘Luingamla Kashan’ by Zamthingla Ruivah (1990 to the present). Photo by the author

Until I read the wall label:

In 1986 a young woman in Northern India named Luingamla, a friend of the artist, was murdered by army officers who attempted to rape her. The officers walked free due to a law, a remnant of British colonial rule, that meant that armed forces were immune from being tried in civil courts. Student groups and the Tangkhul Shanao Long (Tangkhul Women’s Association) rallied to bring a case before the courts. They won the case in 1990, four years after her murder. Ruivah wove this keshan — a woollen sarong worn by men and women in the Naga Hills of Manipur, northeast India — to commemorate Luingamla’s path to justice. Since then, the design has been passed down through Naga communities across the region, with more than 6,000 women having produced over 15,000 of them. They have become a symbol of solidarity with the Naga resistance movement and the fight against state violence towards women.

Probably ‘hard luck story’ isn’t the correct term, but see what I mean? Every single artifact here has an upsetting or problematic inspiration or purpose.

Take the image I opened this review with, ‘Blood in the Grass’ by Hannah Ryggen. This turns out, on investigation, to be a visual depiction of the US war in Vietnam. Once you read the wall label you learn that the face at the top right is a stylised portrait of US President Lyndon B. Johnson, who presided over the disastrous escalation of the war in the late 1960s. And that the green rectangles represent the lush fields of Vietnam while the grid of red lines represents the blood shed by the massacred Vietnamese. Ah.

Or take this massive, wall-sized piece by Tau Lewis, ‘‘The Coral Reef Preservation Society’ which, at first sight, looks like lots of sea creatures frolicking against a patchwork of blue fabrics representing the ocean, a fairly harmless work you might find hanging in a sixth-form art block.

‘The Coral Reef Preservation Society’ by Tau Lewis (2019) © Tau Lewis, courtesy the artist and Night Gallery, Los Angeles

But in fact:

This patchwork quilt in part pays homage to the enslaved women and children who lost their lives during the Middle Passage (the enforced transport of enslaved people from Africa to the Americas in the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries). Reimagining them as sea creatures, Lewis transforms the trauma that lies in underwater territories into spaces of regeneration and emancipation.

There’s a lot about the historical crime of the slave trade, which feeds through into more up-to-date crimes against Black people and invocations of the Black Lives Matter movement.

‘american Juju for the Tapestry of Truth’ by Teresa Margolles (2015) Courtesy the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich/ Paris

Apparently, artist Teresa Margolles often uses material residues from murder sites in her art. This patchwork tapestry was laid on the ground at the site in New York where Eric Garner, a 43-year-old Black man, was placed in an illegal chokehold and killed by New York police.

It’s one of a pair of works by Margolles which are laid flat on lightboxes like the bodies of the murdered placed on autopsy tables. The works were made collaboratively with embroiderers who were close to the victims. Members of the Harlem Needle Arts cultural arts institute made the work commemorating Garner’s death, a patchwork which also honours other African American victims of police brutality.

So, to recap: this is very far indeed from being a collection of pretty textiles. Every work tells a story and many of the stories are harrowing and upsetting.

Favourites

Here are some of the works I liked most, based more on their actual appearance and the impact they made on me than the righteousness of the issues they address. I add the curators’ explanations in italics.

‘TIKAR/MEJA’ by Yee I-Lann (2018)

Installation view of ‘TIKAR/MEJA’ by Yee I-Lann (2018) Photo by the author

In TIKAR/MEJA, images of tables are woven into the mats through the weft and warp of colourful strips of pandan leaves, using the same techniques Yee’s ancestors used for centuries. The table serves as a symbol for the imposition of a patriarchal and colonial worldview onto a population, while the mat signifies a more democratic and mutual power, imbued with ancestral knowledge and traditions. This display shows twelve works from a series of sixty that can be displayed in different configurations.

‘To Teach or to Assume Authority’ by Sarah Zapata (2018 to 2019)

Installation view of ‘To Teach or to Assume Authority’ by Sarah Zapata (2018 to 2019) Photo by the author

‘I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.’ This passage from the Bible inspired the title of Zapata’s first sprawling ‘shag’ sculpture. Its structure references the architecture of the Nazca ceremonial site Cahuachi, where a huge woven cloth was excavated in 1952. She transforms the ruin into a landscape of vibrant latch-hooked threads, refusing any risk that this ancestral site might be lost to time. The undulating form subverts the notion of the rug as floor-based: Indigenous communities in Peru only began using textiles on the floor after the Spanish conquest in the sixteenth century.

Incidentally, the Zapata work raised a basic question about the exhibition which is that I really, really wanted to reach out, touch, stroke and run my hands over lots and lots of the works here. The curators make it worse by repeatedly emphasising how warm and intimate and comforting so many different types of fabric are – only to place around every single one of them, loud alarms which are triggered if you step or even put your hand beyond the black bars on the floor. Frustrating.

As usual the show is spread over the Barbican’s two floors. The 12 or so upstairs rooms have some great pieces, but the most impressive space is the big room downstairs, which contains the Zapata piece, a typical Abakan by Polish artist Magdalena Abakanowicz, whose major retrospective at Tate Modern I reviewed not so long ago.

Quipu Austral’ by Cecilia Vicuña (2012)

It also contains maybe the single most striking work in the show, a forest of slender, brightly coloured fabrics suspended from the ceiling and billowing gently as people walked past them, created by Chilean artist Cecilia Vicuña.

Installation view of ‘Quipu Austral’ by Cecilia Vicuña (2012) photo by the author

The idea of hanging fabrics is familiar to anyone who caught Vicuña’s recent installation at Tate Modern. According to the curators:

Lengths of knotted, unspun wool stream down from the ceiling, accompanied by the sounds of Vicuña chanting poems related to water, for which thread is a metaphor in Andean culture. This monumental work, which Vicuña describes as a ‘poem in space’, embodies her deep engagement with the ancient Andean form of the quipu (meaning ‘knot’ in the Quechua language): a system of ‘writing’ with knots. This ritualistic way of communicating was understood to connect its makers to the cosmos.

In 1583, following the Spanish conquest, quipu were banned and ordered to be destroyed. For Vicuña, reviving the quipu is ‘an act of poetic resistance’ — it is ‘a way to remember, its potential involving the body and the cosmos at once.’

Quipu Austral was commissioned for the 18th Biennale of Sydney in 2012. Proposing the work as a ‘prayer for the union of the world’, Vicuña found poetic resonances between the ancient Indigenous peoples of South America and Australia, connecting their world views of exchange, equality and freedom. This included the parallel oral traditions of the Andean concept of the cosmographic ceque (meaning ‘line’) and the Aboriginal ‘Dreamtime’ songlines, as metaphysical maps honouring the life-giving force of earth, water and song. The vibrant colours of the wool are based on the hues found in both Aboriginal Australian rock paintings and Andean weavings.

Igshaan Adams

Mind you, the upstairs has a very impressive room, probably the best single space, filled with works by Igshaan Adams. It’s an installation consisting of several works. From the ceiling hang ‘prayer clouds’ gassy feeling conglomerate structures made from gold and silver link chain, copper , gold and silver wire, gold chain and spray paint, polyester braid, metal charms, copper, brass and silver wire, wood, plastic and crystal beads, cowrie and sea snail shells, galvanised steel and wood centre, gold and silver link chain and clear lacquer spray paint. Quite a mix!

Installation view of the Igshaan Adams room. Photo by the author

Through the ‘foggy’ effect of these metal imbroglios you see a more conventional rectangular work hanging on the wall. This is ‘Heideveld’ (2021) made of wood, painted wood, plastic, glass, stone, precious stone, metal and bone beads, shells, nylon and polyester rope, cotton fabrics, wire and cotton twine. It was worth going right up close to the surface of this to see the extraordinary range of material which have been used and the awesome amount of work it must have taken.

Close-up view of ‘Heideveld’ by Igshaan Adams (2021) Photo by the author

This installation by Igshaan Adams grows out of his expanded practice of weaving and his exploration of so-called ‘desire lines’ in post-Apartheid South Africa, the informal pathways that are created over time through footfall, often acting as shortcuts. He understands these lines as ‘symbolic of a collective act of resistance by a community who have historically been segregated and marginalised through spatial planning. Intentionally or not, these pathways remain symbolic of carving out one’s own path, collectively or individually.’

‘Family Treasures’ by Sheila Hicks (1993)

Although the works the curators have chosen all too often commemorate murder, oppression, racism, sexism, misogyny and so on, there are occasional moments of happiness, like the sun breaking through the clouds on a gloomy winter’s day. One such piece is ‘Family Treasures’ by Sheila Hicks.

‘Family Treasures’ by Sheila Hicks (1993) © Sheila Hicks, ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2023, courtesy Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam

In ‘Family Treasures’, Hicks draws upon the intimacy of textile: we all wear it, we invest it with feelings and it is literally the texture of our everyday lives. While in Amsterdam in 1993, she asked close friends and family members to surrender their most beloved items of clothing, which she wrapped in colourful yarn and thread. Each tightly-wound bundle is a reminder of what we hold dear.

Hicks is a leading member of the fibre arts movement in Europe and the United States in the 1960s and 70s, in which mostly women artists experimented with fibre and thread as a legitimate medium for art. Hicks’ work is often sculptural, playful and harnesses a variety of scales — from the small and intimate to the monumental — challenging the idea that textiles are flat, decorative and wall-based. Her work has been motivated by the acknowledgement that fibre permeates peoples’ lives. She has commented: ‘you can’t go anywhere in the world without touching fibre.’

Sweet idea, huh? And very valid point that fabric art needn’t be flat and wall-based, as many, many of the works here amply demonstrate.

Hammock by Solange Pessoa (1999 to 2003)

‘Hammock’ (part of ‘Four Hammocks’) by Solange Pessoa (1999 to 2003) Courtesy of Rubell Museum, Miami and Washington DC. Photo by Chi Lam

‘Hammock’ was created in response to the land of Minas Gerais, Brazil, where Pessoa grew up. Textiles — in the form of rags and canvas — act as a carrier for living and decaying matter. Here fabric bags, stained with the orange soil that fills them, resemble voluminous, lumpen bodily forms that evoke internal and external organs, as well as life and death. They could be breasts, uteruses, entrails, testicles. In Brazil, cadavers are often transported in hammocks instead of stretchers.

Conclusion

I’ve covered 11 of the 50 exhibitors. That leaves 39 more for you to discover in this big, colourful, wonderful but – be warned – sometimes upsetting and challenging show. If it sets out to prove that work in fabric can be every bit as interesting as more traditional ‘fine art’, then it triumphantly succeeds. And if it wishes to show that this kind of work also lends itself to collaborative, community-based responses to brutality, abuse of power and exploitation, then it also succeeds.

Lastly, I haven’t devoted enough time to considering the actual techniques of quilting, sewing, knitting, collaging and assembling which are on display throughout the show. That’s because I’m not really qualified to do so, but the friend I went with hardly read any of the labels (thus sparing herself quite a lot of distress) and instead was riveted by the variety and inventiveness of technical skills on display.

I haven’t really dwelt enough on the artistry, skill and inventiveness which has gone into so many of these pieces. It’s worth visiting for anyone interested in fabric, quilting, sewing, decorating and texture-based art for that reason alone. Quite apart from the loud blare of the political stories and issues, here is a collection of quietly fastidious and intricate artistry.

Detail from ‘Dylegued (Entierro)’ by Teresa Margolles (2013) Photo by the author

Participating artists

  • Pacita Abad (The Philippines/USA)
  • Magdalena Abakanowicz (Poland)
  • Igshaan Adams (South Africa)
  • Ghada Amer (Egypt/France)
  • Arpilleristas (Chile)
  • Mercedes Azpilicueta (Argentina)
  • Yto Barrada (Morocco)
  • Kevin Beasley (USA)
  • Sanford Biggers (USA)
  • Louise Bourgeois (France / USA)
  • Diedrick Brackens (USA)
  • Jagoda Buić (Croatia)
  • Margarita Cabrera (Mexico / USA)
  • Feliciano Centurión (Paraguay)
  • Judy Chicago (USA)
  • Myrlande Constant (Haiti)
  • Cian Dayrit (The Philippines)
  • Tracey Emin (UK)
  • Jeffrey Gibson (USA)
  • Antonio Jose Guzman and Iva Jankovic (The Netherlands / Panama and The Netherlands / Yugoslavia)
  • Harmony Hammond (USA)
  • Sheila Hicks (USA)
  • Nicholas Hlobo (South Africa)
  • Yee I-Lann (Malaysia)
  • Kimsooja (South Korea)
  • Acaye Kerunen (Uganda)
  • José Leonilson (Brazil)
  • Tau Lewis (Canada)
  • Ibrahim Mahama (Ghana)
  • Teresa Margolles (Mexico)
  • Georgina Maxim (Zimbabwe)
  • Małgorzata Mirga-Tas (Poland)
  • Mrinalini Mukherjee (India)
  • Violeta Parra (Chile)
  • Solange Pessoa (Brazil)
  • Loretta Pettway (Gee’s Bend) (USA)
  • Antonio Pichillá (Guatemala)
  • Faith Ringgold (USA)
  • LJ Roberts (USA)
  • Zamthingla Ruivah (India)
  • Hannah Ryggen (Norway)
  • Tschabalala Self (USA)
  • Yinka Shonibare CBE RA (UK)
  • Mounira Al Solh (Lebanon)
  • Angela Su (Hong Kong)
  • Lenore Tawney (USA)
  • T. Vinoja (Sri Lanka)
  • Cecilia Vicuña (Chile)
  • Billie Zangewa (Malawi / South Africa)
  • Sarah Zapata (Peru / USA)

Related links

Related reviews

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2006)

He felt a strange crushing weight in his head. Change was hurtling toward him, bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do to make it slow down.
(Ugwu, sensing the force of History, Half of a Yellow Sun, page 175)

“Abu m onye Biafra.” [‘I am a Biafran’]
(White man Richard Churchill bravely declaring loyalty to the new state of Biafra, p.181)

This is a big, slow, novelish novel about family and relationships. It’s 433 pages long in the Fourth Estate paperback edition, and the print is relatively small, so there’s a lot of text, it’s a hefty work. Let me say right at the start that I think it’s a magnificent and hugely enjoyable novel. And that part of this is down to the clarity of Adichie’s imagining of scenes and feelings, and the wonderfully clear and lucid prose she expresses them in. I am a huge Adichie fan.

Subject matter

I knew from the blurb, from the Amazon summary, from Adichie’s Wikipedia page and from various other sources that this is Adichie’s big novel about the Biafran war, also known as the Nigerian Civil War.

The Biafran war lasted two and a half years, from 6 July 1967 to 15 January 1970. It was an attempt by the Igbo people of south-east Nigeria, after generations of animosity against them had broken out into open massacres and pogroms during 1966, to seek safety in a homeland by seceding from the Nigerian Federation and setting up their own independent state, called Biafra. Nigeria didn’t want to see them go and immediately launched military action.

The conflict dragged on for two and a half years, partly because both sides started off under-manned, inexperienced and under-resourced. After a military stalemate was reached, Nigeria blockaded all entry points to Biafra triggering one of the great famines of modern times, in which up to 2 million civilians starved to death.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is an Igbo i.e. a member of the ethnic group which suffered from the outbreaks of violence in 1966, then the war, and then the horrifying man-made famine. Adiche was born in 1977 i.e. seven years after the war ended. But, as she explains in the dedication to the book and in an interview included as an appendix, the death and destruction her people suffered during the terrible struggle cast a long shadow over her childhood, not least in the fact that both her grandfathers were killed in it.

Adichie’s achievement is to cast this massive historical tragedy into fictional form on a very manageable scale. When I knew it was about a war, and realised how long and dense it is, I imagined it would be epic in size and tone, but it isn’t. It’s surprisingly domestic in scale and treatment.

In the first part, titled simply ‘The Early Sixties’, there is no hint of conflict or war and we are simply introduced to an extended group of Igbo families and friends, a few outsiders, a Brit or two, and watch them go about their everyday humdrum lives, worrying about work or relationships etc the stuff of everyday life. The aim is to get us thoroughly acclimatised to numerous normal peacetime existences. Only then do we go on to part two of the novel, titled ‘The Late Sixties’ at which point the characters, in their different ways, hear rumours about the coup (January 1966), the counter-coup (July 1966), the first massacres of Igbo civilians in the north and west of Nigeria, leading up to the declaration of an independent Biafra in May 1967.

I’m not sure whether to give the history of the war first, or the characters. Let’s do the war since it’s central to the narrative, then come back to the novel and the characters.

The Biafran War 1967 to 1970

Britain’s fault

The state called Nigeria was created by the British colonial authorities who, in creating it, yoked together over 300 tribal groups and peoples. The main ones were the semi-feudal and Muslim Hausa-Fulani in the north; the Yoruba in the southwest, also ruled by monarchs; and the Igbo in the south-east, arranged into autonomous, democratically organised communities.

The first coup, January 1966

Nigeria gained independence from Britain in 1960. In January 1966 a military coup (the ‘Coup of the Five Majors’) overthrew the democratically elected central government, the majors in question proclaiming that the country had had enough of corrupt and greedy politicians. The majors killed a number of leading politicians and army officers but failed to establish power themselves, instead creating a political vacuum. Into this stepped the head of the Nigerian army, Major General Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, made himself president of a military regime.

Northern elements within the military were unhappy with the coup, claiming it had been an ethnic power grab by Igbo officers (most of the majors were Igbo and most of the senior officers and politicians assassinated had been Northerners or Yoruba). They were further outraged that the majors who launched the coup were arrested but not brought to trial. The last straw was when Ironsi announced Unification Decree Number 34, which would have replaced the federation structure of Nigeria – under which the North enjoyed a disproportionate amount of power – with a more centralised system. This, also, was seen as an Igbo power grab.

The second coup, July 1966

So in July 1966 Northern officers launched a countercoup which saw the Ironsi and his senior officials killed. Through the media the Northern authorities encouraged the general population to seek out and kill Igbos wherever they could (in a premonition of the role played by government radio stations in the Rwanda genocide 30 years later).

Anti-Igbo pogroms, late summer 1966

The result was a wave of pogroms against Igbos throughout Nigeria, who were not only blamed for the original coup but had also been the targets of long-standing ethnic hatred for their independence and commercial success, a little like the Jews in Europe.

Comparison of the Igbo with the Jews

The comparison with the Jews was drawn by US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, himself a Jew who escaped persecution in Nazi Germany and who compared the Igbo people to Jews in a memo written to U.S. President Richard Nixon, stating: ‘The Ibos are the wandering Jews of West Africa – gifted, aggressive, Westernized; at best envied and resented, but mostly despised by the mass of their neighbours in the Federation.’

It is also drawn by a character in this novel, admittedly the less-than-admirable Susan, representative of Western prejudices. She tells her boyfriend Richard:

“There are lots and lots of Igbo people here – well, they are everywhere really, aren’t they? Not that they didn’t have it coming to them, when you think about it, with their being so clannish and uppity and controlling the markets. Very Jewish, really.” (p.154)

Mass Igbo flight to Igboland

Up to 30,000 Igbo civilians were killed in massacres all across the country, crystallising the belief among their political leaders that they would never be safe in ‘Nigeria’ and led them to declare the breakaway state of Biafra in order to provide a permanent safe haven for Igbos fleeing from all other parts of Nigeria.

Declaration of Biafra

This new state was named Biafra and declared independent on 6 July 1967. This is the flag it adopted. According to the Flags online website the red bar represents the blood of the massacres in northern Nigeria, the black is for mourning the dead, the green is for prosperity, and the half of a yellow sun which the novel’s title refers to, represents the sun rising, as if on a new day and a new land and a new hope. (Olanna gives just this interpretation to the children in the refugee school, page 281.)

The flag of Biafra showing the half a yellow sun which the title of Adichie’s novel refers to

The phrase ‘half of a yellow sun’, describing the flag or the small version of it worn by soldiers, or copies of it sported by civilians, occurs 11 times in the text, though it seems more often, woven into the text like a musical leitmotif.

War, blockade and famine

The Nigerian army promptly attacked the forces of the new state and there was 6 months of bloody fighting with incursions into each other’s territory, but eventually led to a military stalemate. So the Nigerian government decided to starve the Biafrans out and imposed a blockade of all food and medicines. The blockade led to an entirely man-made famine in which up to 2 million civilians are estimated to have died.

Outside forces

After hesitating the UK government decided to back the Nigerian government, influenced by its commercial interests in the oil generated in areas controlled by Nigeria. Britain sent guns, ammunition and officers to train the Nigerian army. Like all wars, everybody thought it would be over by Christmas, nobody anticipated it turning into years of slog and then into the horrific suffering of the famine.

The British government which decided to back Nigeria was led by Harold Wilson. When women and children began to die of starvation, doctors filling in death certificates wrote under Cause of Death ‘Harold Wilson’. When more and more Biafran children fall sick with kwashiorkor (‘a form of malnutrition caused by protein deficiency in the diet, typically affecting young children in the tropics’) the locals rename it Harold Wilson disease (p.338). Wilson must have become deeply unhappy at being associated with what amounted to a genocide.

He and his cabinet thought that backing Nigeria was a humanitarian decision because it would bring the war to a swift end i.e. save lives. Nobody anticipated the stubbornness of Biafran resistance, how long the conflict would drag on, or that the British government’s decision would position them as backers of a genocide. (Wilson is mentioned five times in the text.)

Whatever Britain does, France can be counted on to do the opposite, so the government of General de Gaulle supported Biafra, supplying material and logistics and training. De Gaulle denounced the Nigerian government’s policy as a deliberate genocide.

The US government of Lyndon Johnson declared it was keeping a distance as Nigeria was a British sphere of influence, but in practice gave covert support to the Nigerian government, again influenced the importance of US business interests in the country. This was opposed by Republican presidential nominee Richard Nixon who throughout the presidential campaign of 1968 called for the US to support Biafra. However once in power in January 1969, Nixon found there was little he could do in practice apart from supporting the largely fruitless peace talks. Supporting Biafra would have alienated all the other African nations which were struggling with secessionist movements and also the Vietnam War was creating no end of geopolitical and domestic trouble, so best eave alone.

War’s end

The war ended with the Biafran government caving in and agreeing to be reintegrated into Nigeria. The Nigerian government made the concession of reorganising the country from four large monolithic regions into 12 more locally accountable states.

A documentary

Of the documentaries I’ve watched about the Biafra war, this is the best.

Half of a Yellow Sun, the characters

There are nearly 60 named characters in the novel but the narrative revolves around four main ones, Ugwu, Odenigbo, Olanna and Richard.

Ugwu

The novel starts and ends with Ugwu, a 13-year-old boy from the rural village of Opi who his auntie, a cleaner, wangles him a much sought-after job as a ‘house boy’ or all-purpose servant and cook to a figure who is initially referred to only as ‘Master’, in fact Master is the first word of the novel. Dependent or clustered around Ugwu are secondary characters:

  • his aunt, a cleaner at the university, who got him the job
  • his sister, Anulika, who grows to maturity during the novel and plans to get married till the war intervenes
  • Ugwu’s mother who is ill and Ugwu’s Master kindly intervenes to help and find medical care
  • Nnesinachi, Ugwu’s first love from back in the village, who he has vivid fantasies about when he masturbates
  • Chinyere, servant of the house neighbouring his Master’s, who often slips out at night and sneaks into Ugwu’s quarters so they can make love, though she remains eerily passive and silent throughout the process

Some of the chapters end with a bold heading The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died. It took me a while to realise these were clips or summaries of chapters from a book one of the characters will later write about the war. They are short, half-page, potted summaries of key events or aspects of Nigeria’s history and provide a counterpoint to the mainstream narrative they’re tacked onto. For most of the narrative I assumed this was the book that Ugwu would become educated enough to write. Only on page 374 are we explicitly told that it is the book which Richard will write about the war. And then, it is only right at the end do we learn that, typically, Richard hasn’t written a page, whereas Ugwu has been writing unstoppable for months a book he intends to give the title ‘Narrative of the Life of a Country’ but which, we realise, will use Richard’s title.

Odenigbo

Ugwu’s Master speaks in such pukka, jolly-good-chap tones (‘Excellent, my good man!’) that I initially thought he was white. Only slowly did I realise it is an African man named Odenigbo, Professor of Mathematics at Nsukka University. (Nsukka is a town and a Local Government Area in Enugu State, Nigeria i.e. in tribal Igboland and in what would become Biafra.)

As a thoughtful intellectual, Odenigba sounds off about the issues of the day, espousing socialism against capitalism and defending the importance of against the Pan-Africanism or African nationalism very popular in the first flush of African independence (as espoused by, for example, Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana) – As Odenigbo yells from the stage of an independence rally, ‘We will lead Black Africa!’

A ‘stocky man’ (p.257), Odenigba hosts dinner or drinks parties attended by other figures from the university who chip into these conversations. As the novel progresses and the situation deteriorates their conversations and arguments about what is right and wrong, what ought to be done, form a kind of chorus to the political and historical events. They include:

  • Miss Adebayo, Yoruba professor at Nsukka University, who fancies Odenigbo so creates tension with his fiancée, Olanna (see below); but her Yoruba ethnicity leads Odenigbo to accuse her of complicity in the pogroms
  • Dr. Patel, Indian Professor at Nsukka University
  • Professor Lehman, white American Professor at Nsukka University, irritating nasal voice , same fair hair as Richard, generally criticised by Odenigbo
  • Professor Ezeka, lofty fastidious professor at Nsukka University; in the fourth part of the book he becomes Director of Mobilisation in the Biafran Army (p.286 ff.) and helps Olanna
  • Okeoma, good friend, a renowned poet, at one point called ‘the voice of our generation’ (the kiss of death!), sample poem page 175
  • Edna, Olanna’s neighbor in Nsukka, an African-American woman with characteristically strong opinions about race and gender

Odenigbo is regularly harangued by his Mama who dislikes Olanna and is openly rude to her when she visits.

Olanna Ozobia

Daughter of Chief Ozobia and lover of Odenigbo, attended university in Britain. Beautiful and graceful, her relationship with Odenigbo is described lovingly, as are their numerous bouts of making love. The sensitive boy Ugwu falls deeply in love with her, devoting himself to serving her, and anxiously watching the changing fortunes of her relationship with his Master.

Olanna has a twin sister, Kainene, who is her opposite in every respect, being twig-thin, unromantic and business-minded. Right at the start is a scene where Chief Ozobia ‘offers’ Olanna to an important businessman, Chief Okonji, to secure a deal, an early indication of the corruption and the patriarchal assumptions suffusing every aspect of Nigerian life, but quite quickly Olanna moves beyond her parents’ control to become an entirely free agent.

Because of her not-great relationship with her parents, Olanna gravitates more towards her Aunt Ifeka and Uncle Mbaezi who live in the northern Nigerian city of Kano.

  • Uncle Mbaezi, Olanna’s uncle, brother of Olanna’s mother, founder of the Igbo Union Grammar School
  • Aunty Ifeka, Uncle Mbaezi’s wife, source of comfort and advice to Olanna
  • Arize, Uncle Mbaezi and Aunty Ifeka’s daughter and so Olanna’s cousin, eager find a husband and get married

It is a traumatic moment for her (and the reader) when Olanna comes across their slaughtered corpses as the pogroms and massacres kick off about 150 pages into the narrative.

Olanna’s relationship with Odenigbo is slightly problematic in the sense that he had many lovers before her, and she is still good friends with her former lover, Mohammed, a handsome Hausa man. (In a fraught scene it is Mohammed who saves her life by making her put on a veil and driving her through the mobs of machete-wielding murderers and to safety in riot-torn Kano yelling his way through them in the Hausa language which identifies him as one of them, pages 146 to 148.)

When the second part of the novel opens she is the adoptive mother of Baby, Odenigbo’s daughter by a village girl, Amara, who he slept with while theoretically going out with Olanna. When Amara said she didn’t want the baby, Olanna agreed to her and Odenigbo adopting it. Baby’s real name is Chiamaka, which means ‘God is beautiful’. Kainene suggested it (p.254) but it is rarely used. In 1967, when independence is declared, Baby is 4 (p.169).

Olanna only reluctantly agrees to marry Odenigbo and only under pressure of the war and their flight as refugees (p.187).

Kainene Ozobia

Olanna’s twin sister but very different from Olanna. She is the strong independent practical woman praised by feminists, ‘Kainene with her sharp edges and her bitter tongue and her
supreme confidence’ (p.218).

Kainene lives in Port Harcourt in the south of Nigeria, near the coast, where she runs her father’s business. In a quotable quote her father tells a friend that she is ‘not just like a son, she is like two’, showing what I suppose we would now describe as misogyny, sexism and the patriarchy. Kainene has a functional, cold relationship with the wet and ineffectual British writer, Richard Churchill.

Richard Churchill

Wants to be a writer and has come to Nigeria to explore Igbo-Ukwu art, but it’s a running joke that he struggles to write his book, in fact he can’t even decide what it’s meant to be about. At the start he hooks up with ex-pat Susan Grenville-Pitts, who spends her time with other ex-pats and plays the role of casually denigrating the locals, making casually racist or demeaning remarks (‘These people never fight civilised wars, do they?’ p.182) which Richard slowly comes to hate.

All of which explains why Richard dumps Susan and throws in his lot with the beguilingly cold and functional Kainene who he meets at a party Susan’s taken him to. Richard moves to Nsukka where he teaches at the university and so enters the social circle of Odenigbo and Olanna, taking part in parties, dinners, conversations about politics, colonialism etc. (This must be in 1963 because in the year independence is declared he is described as having been there for four years, p.169.)

Richard and Kainene’s relationship is a little tense not least because of her continuing affection for Major Madu, a lifelong friend of Kainene’s, who pops up from time to time to give us bulletins on the (generally worsening) military situation. (His perilous escape from the genocidaires during which he hides in a chicken house, pages 139 to 141.)

As the situation worsens Richard writes angry letters to the western press for their lazy coverage and racist stereotypes (‘what can you expect from such people?), pointing out that most of the ethnic hatred is the fault of Britain’s divide and rule tactics, but they are never published (p.166). He is a kind of epitome of ineffectualness.

He flies back in from London to Kano airport where he witnesses a squad of soldiers run in and shoot dead every Igbo they can find (pages 151 to 153).

Servants and class

There is a tremendous issue around class in these novels. it’s easy not to register the fact that both Adichie’s novels take place among the privileged bourgeoisie. It’s easy to overlook the way they casually talk about flying over to London on shopping sprees, buying new clothes and wigs (Olanna wears lots of wigs), enjoying fine European cuisine etc – living a high life undreamed of by the vast majority of the rural population.

Alice looked precise and petite in a neatly belted wool dress that Olanna imagined hanging in a London shop. Nothing like a Biafran woman in a forest market at dawn. (p.329)

There appear to be three classes:

  1. the privileged, comfortably off, intellectual and business class which Adichie’s first two novels are mostly set amongst
  2. the servant class
  3. the nameless masses who live in rural poverty and ignorance in countless remote villages

If there is an urban proletariat we never meet it.

The most obvious divide is between urban masters and servants. All the lead characters – Odenigbo, Olanna, Kainene and Richard – have ‘houseboys’, sometimes along with cooks and gardeners. Old, wizened Jomo works as the gardener at both Richard’s house and Odenigbo’s house in Nsukka. Jomo maintains an entertaining feud with Harrison, Richard’s houseboy. Kainene has three stewards, the head one being Ikejide.

I read somewhere that it is a working definition of the bourgeoisie that they are at ease commanding their servants. Well, that’s true of the four characters I’ve just listed: they expect to have servants to order around and the servants know their place. Here’s Kainene in ruling class mode.

She stood up. ‘Ikejide!’ she called. ‘Come and clear this place.’ (p.256)

Just as abrupt and imperious as the white colonials were blamed for being. Just as rude as bourgeois Beatrice is to her servant, Agatha, in Anthills of the Savannah.

All the more remarkable, then, that the ‘intellectuals’ among them, chiefly Odenigbo, spout on about socialism and tribal unity – so much so that business-minded Kainene mockingly refers to Odenigbo as ‘the revolutionary’ – while all the time enforcing a strict and unquestioned class and caste divide, as unquestioned and unexamined as medieval serfdom was in its day.

As to the rural poor, the really low uneducated peasant poor, what any urbanite no matter how poor refers to as bush people, bush man, bush woman – they are represented by Amala, the poor peasant girl who Odenigbo’s mother arranges to get pregnant by Odenigbo (see below). She has no agency whatsoever, is just a passive pawn of her betters. When she is forced by Mama into Odenigbo’s room, she has no choice.

She never once looked at Odenigbo. What she must feel for him was an awed fear. Whether or not
Mama had told her to go to his room, she had not said no to Odenigbo because she had not even considered that she could say no. Odenigbo made a drunken pass and she submitted willingly and promptly. He was the master, he spoke English, he had a car. It was the way it should be. (p.250)

The future of a developing country lies with its masses, its general population. As in Purple Hibiscus, the mass of the Nigerian population remains largely invisible, while the narrative is dominated by the confident, educated black bourgeoisie agonising over every little detail of their privileged lives.

University setting

Connected to this is the way most of the main characters are well-educated intellectuals who have had a university education (often in England), the notable ones of which (Odenigbo, Olanna, Richard) have carried on in the university-intellectual-writer milieu. The exception is Ugwu the illiterate young houseboy but even he, during the course of the novel, is encouraged by his employer to attend school, read widely, and so becomes a well-educated intellectual and writer, like his Master before him.

Maybe this is partly because Adichie’s own parents were both academics so it’s a world of cocktail parties and dinner parties and educated conversation which she knew well. But it’s also a handy milieu in which to create characters who are thoughtful and articulate and so can comment on political and historical events. The obvious alternative milieu would be the media i.e. TV, radio and newspapers, but this is fraught by endless stressful deadlines and so less amenable as a fictional setting for characters to ponder and pontificate; academia is the world Adichie knows best.

In this academic setting it’s immediately reminiscent of Chinua Achebe’s final novel, Anthills of the Savannah, which has a predominantly university setting and features an academic and a writer.

Developments

The novel is so long and complicated I’m not going to attempt to summarise it in prose. Maybe I’ll do a kind of timeline of the key moments (below). Just to recap, the first 150 or so pages establish all the characters I’ve listed above, and then history kicks in, with the coup, the counter-coup, the pogroms and then the outbreak of war following in quick succession.

In one way it’s like the Irwin Allen disaster movies of my youth, which used to spend the first half an hour or so introducing you to 20 or so passengers on the SS Poseidon (The Poseidon Adventure) or attending the opening party at the top of the Glass Tower (Towering Inferno) or preparing to catch flights at Lincoln International Airport (Airport). Half an hour of humdrum people going about their humdrum lives and then BAM! catastrophe strikes and the characters and the reader are swept away in an accelerating crescendo of death and disaster. Same here.

But Adichie is such a good writer that even what I’ve called the ‘humdrum’ opening scenes are worth reading. I’ve become a huge fan, I’d read anything she’s written for the pure pleasure of her smooth lucid prose style. The organisational or architectonic skill in the novel is the way she presents the impact not of one disaster, but a whole series of critical events, as the country descends from coup into civil war and then horror famine, through the eyes of all these well-established characters. This is a brilliant, brilliant novel.

Page by page summary

p.123 First coup announced on the radio

Details of pogroms i.e. systematic massacres of Igbos on pages 138, 142, 144,

Pages 146 to 148, Mohammed smuggles terrified Olanna through the riot-torn streets of Kano and gets her onto the last train out of town. It’s on this train full of injured, weeping people that the mother shows her the head of her daughter in a calabash.

p.156 First talk of an independent nation called Biafra to be led by Colonel Ojokwu.

p.162 Odenigbo and Olanna attend an independence rally on the university campus, where people wave the new flag and listen to speeches. Odenigbo gets onstage and declares: “Biafra is born! We will lead Black Africa! We will live in security! Nobody will ever again attack us! Never again!” which turns out to be the diametric opposite of the truth. The tendency of all these intellectual conversations to be hugely wrong and misleading, leading to a general feeling that intellectual analysis and opinions are worthless.

p.168 Kainene and Richard listen to Biafra’s independence being declared on the radio.

p.170 Colonel Ojukwo visits the Nsukka campus where Richard and Olanna watch him speak, a very softly-spoken man.

p.177 Ugwu hears the radio announcement that the Nigerian government will launch a ‘police action’ to return Biafra to the Nigerian Federation.

p.178 Vincent Ikenna, the university registrar, interrupts a calm domestic scene in Odenigbo’s house to warn them that ‘the Federals’ are on the edge of Nsukka and advancing, so they must grab what they can and leave right now! They flee to Abba. (‘During the height of the Nigerian Civil War in 1967, the capital of Biafra was moved to Umuahia from Enugu. Aba was a very strategic Biafran city and was heavily bombed and air raided during the civil war.’)

p.180 Richard, staying in Port Harcourt with Kainene, she tells him to move in and gets her driver to drive him to Nsukka to get his stuff (clothes, manuscript of the never-finished book) but they’re turned back at the city perimeter by soldiers, so he returns to Harcourt to hunker down for the duration.

p.185 Olanna, Baby and Odenigbo move to Abba where he has a second home

p.188 Olanna’s parents arrive, telling her they’re going to flee the country and have bribed their way to having 4 airplane tickets. Will she come with them? She says no.

p.190 Olanna is summoned to her grandfather’s community in Umunnachi to testify to what she saw in Kano i.e. the dead bodies of Mbaezi, Ifeka and Arize; how Ifeka’s sister, Dozie, refused to believe it, hysterically calling Olanna a witch.

p. 191 Refugees stream through Abba force Odenigbo to accept that he and Olanna will also have to flee, to Umuahia. Odenigbo’s mother refuses to leave. His voice sounds increasingly strained as if he’s beginning to suspect Biafra will lose.

p.197 Odenigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu arrive in Umuahia to rent a shabby, rundown shack from one Professor Achara. Odenigbo takes up his job with the Manpower Directorate. Olanna tells Ugwu that it is here she and Odenigbo will get married. In this new place they make new friends such as:

  • Special Julius, a canny army contractor
  • Professor Ekwenugo, member of the science group of the Biafran army (p.198)

While the educated bicker and argue about what’s going to happen (almost always getting it wrong) Ugwu concentrates on the material actuality of the here and now and falls in lust with a neighbouring young woman, Eberechi, transfixed by her ‘perfectly rounded buttocks’ (p.199).

p.202 Odenigbo and Olanna’s wedding is interrupted by an air raid.

p.204 Radio news announcement that Biafra has lost all the territorial gains it initially made, has been pushed back to its borders, and Nigeria now considers this a war.

Part Three. The Early Sixties (pages 209 to 258)

Oddly, a flashback to the pre-war setting. The book’s in four parts 1) The Early Sixties, 2) The Late Sixties 3) The Early Sixties, 4) The Late Sixties. You’d have expected it to progress in chronological order. So why does part three jump back in time like this? The answer appears to be, in order to clarify certain key moments in the characters’ lives which the first go around missed out.

For example, I’d been puzzled why the text kept referring to Ugwu’s not liking the period leading up to Baby’s birth, when Odenigbo and Olanna’s relationship became tense and formal. I kept worrying that I’d blinked or fallen asleep late at night and missed something. Turns out that here is where we get the full story. Olanna goes off somewhere, on holiday or work, leaving Odenigbo with his mother who has brought a village girl named Amala to help her, and Ugwu watches Mama prepare his food, rub ointments into Amala’s back and begins to suspect she (Mama) is a witch preparing some spell on his Master. If so, it’s a pretty simple spell, because Mama gets Odenigbo drunk on strong palm wine and slips Amala into his room with orders to sleep with him. Why? To ruin her son’s relationship with Olanna.

It works because Amala gets pregnant, insists on having it but handing it over to Mama, who tells Olanna about it, which leads to some pretty frosty months between her and Odenigbo. So this part of the novel, part three, is where we get the full backstory.

In a similar vein, Olanna’s mother tells her about her father’s mistress and infidelities. Distraught at Odenigbo’s betrayal Olanna goes to stay with her auntie in Kano. To her dismay her auntie says she had the same problem with her husband, Uncle Mbaezi, who had numerous affairs till Ifeka threatened to ‘cut off that snake between his legs.’

Men, eh. Why can’t they keep their willies in their trousers? It should have been men who wore chastity belts. As Auntie Ikefa tells Olanna: ‘Odenigbo has done what all men do and has inserted his penis in the first hole he could find when you were away.’ (p.226)

p.227 On the plane from Kano to Nsukka Olanna sits next to a man who spouts a load of anti-Igbo slurs and propaganda, until she reveals that she’s Igbo. He has the good manners to look ashamed.

p.228 Olanna takes all her stuff out of Odenigbo’s flat and moves back into her apartment. Becomes friends with her black American neighbour Edna Whaler.

p.229 Olanna goes to consult Father Damien (so she’s a Catholic; this has barely been mentioned) who gives her the unexpected but sound advice to forgive Odenigbo, not for his sake, but to stop the anger eating away at her.

p.231 Unfortunately, Odenigbo then shows up at her apartment to explain that not only did he sleep with Amala but she is now pregnant!

p.233 In revenge and on the spur of the moment, after meeting him in a supermarket, Olanna gets Richard drunk (on ‘good white Burgundy’) and then seduces him, back at her place stripping off, touching his groin etc. Soon after having sex, Richard passes out on the floor, waking the next morning with a bad hangover.

Like Ugwu’s references to the ill feeling before Baby’s arrival, this bit of backstory explains another mysterious element in the previous two parts, namely why Richard had been nervous and twitchy around Olanna. Richard’s main concern is that Olanna will never tell Kainene about this infidelity. Men. Women. Sex. Eternal folly.

p.235 The radio news announces that Winston Churchill has died (this dates it to 24 January 1965). Richard attends a memorial service with Susan the ex-pat bigot (always referring to the locals as ‘these people’). Susan tells him she’s had a fling with the husband of her best friend. Richard reflects that all ex-pats do is sleep with each other’s partners.

p.238 Worry about his master and mistress gives Ugwu diarrhea. Mama leaves but refuses to take Amala with her. Ugwu comes across poor simple village girl Amala among his pepper plants, doggedly eating them in the hope they will trigger a miscarriage. Ugwu witnesses Olanna returning for a visit which features her yelling abuse and accusations at Odenigbo, which leads to them disappearing into the bedroom for make-up sex. But then she drives away.

p.244 Olanna goes to see Richard and tells him not to tell Kainene. But then she goes to Odenigbo’s, has sex with him again, and tells him she slept with Richard. This is borderline soap opera now.

p.245 Her American neighbour Edna knocks on the door in floods of tears and needs comforting after news that racist whites have combed a black church in the Deep South and killed four little girls.

(This is puzzling because the notorious 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham Alabama took place on 15 September 1963 i.e. a year and a half before Churchill’s death. Conclusion: Adichie plays fast and loose with historical dates for dramatic purposes. Incidentally, I’ve mentioned this racist terrorist atrocity before in connection with the work of surpassing beauty which jazz saxophonist composed to commemorate it.)

Here, Edna’s grief at real tragedy helps Olanna put things in perspective, realising that out of the tangled sex mess she and Odenigbo have created, she must actively choose happiness and a positive path. She will move back in with Odenigbo.

p.246 Olanna has more sex with Odenigbo (she gives him a blowjob while he sits at the dining room table). They are reconciled, sort of. Odenigbo met Richard in the street and told him not to visit his house any more. Olanna phones Kainene to see if her tone and attitude towards her have changed i.e. whether Richard’s told her. Turns out, no. Everyone has secrets. Soap opera, but stylishly done.

p.247 Mama sends a message that Amala has had a baby girl. Odenigbo and Olanna drive in uneasy silence to Enugu. Amala is shamed and humiliated and takes no part in the conversations. She doesn’t want the baby. Then it emerges that Mama won’t take it, either. She wanted a boy. At which point Olanna makes the snap decision to adopt it. As soon as she does it feels right. She and Odenigbo have been trying to have a baby for years and it won’t come. Here is a gift from God. Olanna surprises Odenigbo and mama but sticks by her decision. She phones sister Kainene, who approves.

p.253 In conversation with Odenigbo, Olanna affirms that she does believe in God.

She was used to his gentle jibes about her social-service faith and she would have responded to say that she was not even sure she believed in a Christian God that could not be seen. But now, with a helpless human being lying in the cot, one so dependent on others that her very existence had to be proof of a higher goodness, things had changed. “I do believe,” she said. “I believe in a good God.” (p.253)

p.254 All this seems to be going well until Olanna’s next phone call to Kainene who angrily reveals that she knows that Olanna slept with Richard her (Kainene’s) boyfriend. Soap opera. Sex in the City.

p.255 It was Harrison, Richard’s servant, who let slip about Richard sleeping with Olanna, when Richard takes him along for a week-long stay with Kainene in Port Harcourt. Harrison didn’t know the details, just that he witnessed Odenigbo confronting Richard in the street and ranting and shouting at him (for sleeping with Olanna). When he mentions this while serving Richard and Kainene, the latter insists on knowing what it was all about, and Richard, feebly, confesses everything. Kainene is, as expected, coldly furious.

Part Four. The Late Sixties (pages 261 to 433)

Part four picks up exactly where part two left off to take us into the flashback of part three, namely with Odenigbo, Olanna, Ugwu and Baby living in a shabby shack in Umuahia, and recovering from the aftermath of the terrifying air attack on their wedding.

p.262 Baby gets a cold, Ugwu drives them to the hospital where Olanna speaks in her best English, holding herself erect like an educated lady, and thus gets seen ahead of peasant women who’ve been waiting since dawn. Power is everywhere. Dr Nwala apologises, the hospital is running out of medicine.

p.267 Olanna warns Odenigbo they are running out of money, even as all the prices in the market are galloping. She attends a relief centre along with primary teacher Mrs Muokelu, who is tough but limited and prejudiced. Baby will only eat dried egg from the centre, but they don’t always have it. Supplies are ambushed by soldiers. The queues of women desperate to feed their babies become rancorous.

The official in charge of the centre turns out to be a man whose mother Olanna comforted at an airport years ago when she, a simple country woman, was overwhelmed with anxiety in the arrivals lounge. Olanna held her hand till her grown-up son arrived. Now this son, Okoromadu, recognises her and slips her items of food.

p.272 When Okoromadu slips Olanna a tin of corned beef, soldiers see it and, on her walk home, surround and mug her, just for one tin. Starvation is coming.

More and more air raids. Olanna gets sick of grabbing Baby and running for the shelter. They say the Nigerians keep up the bombing to impress Harold Wilson into giving more war aid. The school where Olanna has been teaching, Akwakuma Primary School, takes a direct hit, though empty so almost no casualties.

p.285 Master and Special Julius say their forces will rebound and make ‘the vandals’, as they call the Nigerians or Federalists, pay. Professor Ekwenugu assures them his team are on the verge of creating a special Biafran superweapon. The primary school is turned into a refugee camp.

p.286 Professor Ezeka, a supercilious visitor in the old days in Nsukka has been made Director of Mobilisation, is driven around in a shiny Mercedes and has put on weight, looking sleek and well fed among the starving refugees.

p.287 Ugwu helps a mixed bunch of refugees repair the roof of the school, listening to their stories but mostly lusting after Eberechi.

Ugwu joins Olanna in giving lessons to the younger child refugees. He is immensely proud and copies Olanna’s bearing and pronunciation. These are clearly all steps from being a peasant houseboy to becoming an educated writer…

p.295 They all hear on the radio that Tanzania is the first country to recognise Biafra, which dates this moment to 13 April 1968.

p.300 News arrives that Odenigbo’s mother is dead, shot by the invaders in her town of Abba, which she refused to leave. Olanna is in tears but Odenigbo retreats inside himself, then insists he has to bury her himself and drives off towards enemy territory, leaving them all distraught.

p.304 Major Madu recruits Richard to write propaganda to be distributed to outlets abroad. They’ll believe him because he is white. Richard’s staying in Port Harcourt, at Kainene’s apartment, and is anxious about rumours that the Port is about to fall.

p.309 Richard visits Uli airstrip, Biafra’s surviving outlet to the world, to write a piece, and bumps into the remarkable Count von Rosen, who is flying bombing missions for Biafra.

p.315 Port Harcourt is attacked. Artillery shells blow out the windows in Kainene’s apartment. Their servants pack and hurry down to the car. Kainene’s steward Ikejide is decapitated by shrapnel. they hurriedly bury him, throw their bags in the back and drive out of the Port till they reach Orlu.

In Orlu Kainene throws herself into refugee work, helping with education and health, setting up workshops, ensuring regular visits from a doctor. The incident of the pregnant woman who spits in Dr Inyang’s face because she isn’t an Igbo i.e. is one of the minority ethnic groups.

Mama’s death breaks Odenigbo. He used to force himself to be optimistic. Now he’s given in. He leaves early for work and comes home late via the tavern where he gets drunk.

p.322 Their friend the former poet Okeoma comes to pay his respects. Back in peacetime he was a budding poet and ‘voice of his generation’. Now he is a hardened soldier who no longer writes poems.

p.325 The landlord kicks Odenigbo, Olanna and Ugwu out of the shack they’ve been living in so they’re forced to move to one room in a tenement with a bathroom and kitchen shared with eight other families. No electricity. They have to use kerosene lamps for light. New neighbours bad-tempered Mama Oji and desperate mother of a girl Baby likes playing with, Adanna.

Father Ambrose who makes a lot of noise with his open-air preaching but who everyone knows he is pretending to be a pastor to avoid the army.

p.328 Olanna meets Alice who plays the piano in her secret flat, is obviously educated, but avoids Olanna or anyone else. In Umahia she was tricked into having a relationship and then a baby by an army officer who it turned out, was married.

p.332 Odenigbo doggedly tells the other men in the block that they need to build a shelter and gets going with Ugwu, the others joining in. But in the evenings he is tired and unresponsive to Olanna’s kisses or caresses. He’s lost weight. He’s becoming a shell.

The children, namely Baby’s friend Adanna, start to get kwashiorkor, a form of malnutrition, widely called Harold Wilson’s disease. Olanna is amazed to receive a food package from Professor Ezeka. She gives some to Adanna’s mother.

Kainene pays a visit, coming from her base at Orlu. She’s brought a letter from their mother, now safely in England. She describes seeing her steward decapitated by shrapnel, obviously in shock. Brings her and Olanna closer.

Olanna pays Kainene a visit in Orlu in return. Harrison bows. All these people have servants. Kainene takes her to the refugee centre, introduces her to Father Marcel, shows her round (p.347). For the first time Olanna sees rooms full of dying people, women and babies with no fat, barely any flesh on their bodies, just skin and bone and huge vacant eyes.

p.350 Bored, Ugwu leaves the compound during the day and is promptly press-ganged by soldiers exactly as Olanna warned him countless times, and is tied by the wrists into a chain gang which is just being marched off when Olanna comes running up and bribes one of the soldiers to release him. Her fury knows no limit.

p.354 Ugwu suspects Master is having an affair with slight, secretive Alice. In fact, Odenigbo tells him that Professor Ekwenugo has been blown up along with some landmines he was delivering in a lorry. Ugwu is so upset he runs to the house of Eberechi, a girl his age with lovely round buttocks. They had argued when he saw her flirting with a soldier. Now, months later, all that seems trivial and she holds his hand while she cries.

One by one the central characters’ illusions and optimism are being crushed.

p.356 Ugwu and Eberechi have become an item, hanging out, holding hands. It’s returning from walking Eberechi home that Ugwu is caught by soldiers a second time, press-ganged and taken off to a miserable barracks along with other crying teenagers.

He finds an old copy of ‘Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave: Written by Himself’ and starts scribbling a diary on the blank bits of the pages.

Ugwu meets fellow boy sldier High-Tech, barely 13 (p.363) but an old hand in the army, a fixer, someone who always snaffles extra rations, knows the sneaks and dodges. The name derives from his ability to slip ahead of the lines and reconnoitre territory which led one of his commanders to describe him as more useful than ‘any high-technology spying gadget’ (p.358).

Compare and contrast Adichie’s descriptions of these boy soldiers with the child soldiers in The Night Wanderers: Uganda’s Children and the Lord’s Resistance Army by Wojchiec Jagielski or Moses, Citizen and Me by Delia Jarrett-Macauley. Odenigbo, like the protagonists of Chinua Achebe’s 1960s novels, thought independence would bring pan-African unity, peace and prosperity. Instead it brought civil war, poverty and child soldiers murdering their own families.

p.361 We see Ugwu in action, in a trench at night waiting for the Nigerians soldiers to creep forward and detonating a mine which kills a clump of them whose boots and ammo they then loot. Ugwu becomes a star in his barracks, nicknamed ‘Target Destroyer’.

One night he and older soldiers commandeer a family’s car to drive to a bar. The soldiers show the same amoral violence and lack of respect as all African soldiers show in these stories and all the histories of Africa I’ve read. As the boy soldier in David Van Reybrouck’s Congo: the epic history of a people puts it: ‘When you’re a soldier, women are free. Everything is free.’ That is the vast, unquenchable appeal of picking up a gun and joining a militia.

So the soldiers beat the man unconscious, steal his car, drive to the nearest bar, drink heavily and then gang rape the barmaid. Why not, they have guns, who is going to interfere? They taunt Ugwu into joining them and he does, briskly and effectively fucking the girl as the others hold her down. African unity. Black consciousness. Negritude etc. Empty words.

Ugwu’s battlefront experiences become a blur of mud, explosions, bullets, the sight of men dying in a hundred different ways.

p.366 They hear on the radio that Umuahia, Biafra’s capital, has fallen, dating this to 22 April 1969.

p.367 In their next operation a mortar lands in his trench, mangling the captain next to Ugwu and sending him flying as he passes out. Is he dead?

p.368 Cut to Richard in his role as Biafra press person meeting two American journalists at the airport and driving them into town. They smell really bad but they’ve also brought their sensationalist racist views. They bridle at the starving children but are full of excuses and explanations such as there need be no starvation of Biafran leader Ojukwu agreed to open an aid corridor. That remark momentarily reminded me of the talk about trying to open corridors for humanitarian aid into Gaza, now, February 2024, almost 60 years after the Biafra war. The fundamentals of war never change.

p.372 Richard drives the American journalists to the airport at Uli to catch a night flight out. It is bombed to the journalists’ amazement. Biafran trucks bring gravel for workers to fill in the craters, and three relief planes land, and are hurriedly unloaded.

p.374 We are finally told that ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ is the title of the book which Richard will write about the war, a fact repeated on page 396.

The impact on Olanna of Ugwu’s disappearance i.e. she’s distraught, Baby is upset. Kainene writes to say Major Madu has written to all commands to look out for and release Ugwu. Mam Oji warns Olanna that pretty little Alice sits with Odenigbo whenever Olanna is absent. Rumours abound. Everybody is blaming saboteurs. Odenigbo returns from the bar drunk on gin which deadens his mind.

p.381 Kainene arrives to tell her that Ugwu is dead. Major Madu had it from his commander whose forces suffered a massive attack and wipeout. Olanna is distraught, moves in a daze, is suddenly furious with Odenigbo’s descent into a drunken stupor.

p.383 A man arrives with a message for Alice that her entire extended family has been wiped out along with the entire population of Asaba, massacred by Nigerian soldiers.

p.385 Suddenly there is artillery fire on the edge of Umuahia, and everyone panics, packs their bags and flees. Odenigbo struggles to start the car they’ve kept all this time and they are some of the last people to drive out of the town, heading north to stay with Kainene.

Very tense reunion scene and then dinner, because Odenigbo hasn’t forgiven Richard for sleeping with Olanna and Kainene hasn’t forgiven Olanna for sleeping with Richard etc. When the men have gone to bed, Olanna bursts into tears, telling Kainene she hates this war and what it’s done to her husband. Kainene comforts her.

Time passes. Hunger at the camp Kainene runs grows worse. Olanna tries to teach the children but they’re too weak to pay attention, Babies with swollen bellies, woman covered in bites and sores. Two or three die every day and are buried in shallow graves.

p.391 News arrives that ‘the voice of a generation’, Okeoma, has been killed. Olanna screams and screams as the whole world seems to be snapping. That night she and Odenigbo make love, both of them crying.

p.393 Back to Ugwu who is, as I suspected, not dead at all. But he is in agony as soldiers carry him over their shoulders back to the hospital, which is overwhelmed with the wounded and dying. After days of pain and painkiller dreams he realises the priest from the old days back in Nsukka is talking to him and then, days later, Richard is there.

This is all nicely done. Instead of the news that Ugwu is alive coming to Odenigba and Olanna with their predictable reactions, we see everything entirely through his eyes, as he is lifted out of the dirty hospital bed, and into Richard’s car and driven to Olu, to be made much of by Master and Olanna and Baby, all hugging and kissing him. They share the best of their food and nurture Ugwu back to health, but he is a man now, blooded, and keeps aloof.

It is now that Ugwu starts to write compulsively, covering every scrap of paper he can find with everything he can remember. Maybe the much-referenced book, ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ is by him after all. Its precise authorship becomes a narrative puzzle and tug, pulling us on through the last 30 or so pages of the text.

Kainene announces she is going to cross the front line to barter with Nigerian peasant women. Everyone’s doing it. At the same time Richard will go to Ahiara to beg for food from relief headquarters. They witness the camp women beating a man on the ground. it is an 18-year-old soldier who stole half grown crops from their fields. Total starvation.

Kainene doesn’t return the next day, as day traders ought to, or the next day or the next. Richard alternates between despair and panic. Olanna takes control. But they are all terrified. The days drag into weeks. In the middle of this, Ojukwu makes a radio broadcast announcing he is going abroad to seek peace. Cynics say he is jumping ship and abandoning Biafra.

p.411 A few days later the radio announces that the war is over, 15 January 1970. And very quickly it is. Hostilities cease and charities can immediately enter Biafra with emergency food supplies. It takes a few days for the roads to officially open and then Richard drives off to search for Kainene and Odenigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu set off back to Abba (where Odenigbo kneels beside his mother’s shallow grave) and then on to Nsukka.

p.416 They are stopped at a roadblock where the bully Nigerian officer insults them for driving with Biafra number plates. He forces them to get out of the car and then orders them to join a gang of labourers carrying planks and cement over to a half-ruined house. When Odenigbo demurs, the officer slaps him hard in the face, and then a second time, so that Olanna intervenes and says they’ll do it and they spend half an hour labouring. In that time they watch him stop another car with Biafran plates, haul the driver out, rip off his glasses, force him to the floor and then viciously cane him on the back and buttocks.

This, rather than all the guff about African nationalism and pan-Africanism and Black Consciousness and Black Pride spouted by Odenigbo and Kwame Nkrumah and countless other intellectuals, was to be the symbol of independent African nations, a furious soldier thrashing a helpless civilian at a roadblock, repeated in countries across the continent to this day. The climax of Achebe’s last novel, Anthills of the Savannah, is the book’s clever, articulate, intellectual protagonist being shot dead at point-blank range by a drunken soldier.

p.418 They arrive back on the campus at Nsukka to find their lovely house long ago ransacked then abandoned to the harmattan dust and the wild grass. Soldiers had carefully defecated in every room (as they do in William Boyd’s description of a war-ransacked home in An Ice-Cream War, as they do in the vandalised house left abandoned for a while by David Lurie in J.M. Coetzee’s novel, Disgrace – it is the standard vandal calling card).

Ugwu goes to visit his family. His mother died of illness during the war. His sister was gang raped and beaten. The pretty girl in the village he fantasised about has had a baby by a Hausa soldier. Everything has changed.

One day they are having dinner when soldiers burst in, force them to lie face down on the floor, search the house, threaten them with guns, then eat the still-hot dinner, belching, before leaving with some final threats. The wanton behaviour of security forces in any totalitarian state.

Richard drives to Kainene’s old house in Port Harcourt. it has a new owner who threatens to set her dog on him. He drives across to Lagos to visit Kainene’s mother and father who are back from London, who have had to spend all their money buying their old house back. Major Madu is there. Suddenly, after a civilised lunch, Richard is seized with longing to know whether Madu slept with Kainene. When he refuses to answer, Richard feebly slaps his face at which Madu, the soldier, punches Richard straight in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Food parcels arrive from abroad. Baby recovers her natural colour and hair. They’ve lost all their money and have to start anew. They search every hospital and mortuary, they put out ads and posters, they consult a witch doctor. But Kainene never returns.

The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died

Eight little bits of text tacked onto the end of some of the chapters, these amount to key moments from Nigeria’s history. At first I thought they were written by Ugwu. Then Richard came up with the title and claimed to be writing it. But, characteristically, he failed to write a word whereas Ugwu was seized with unquenchable urge to write, and so it is Ugwu’s book after all.

1. As prologue to Ugwu’s book the story of the woman fleeing Kano bearing a beautifully carved calabash bowl which contains the head of her lovely daughter, beheaded by northern killers (p.82). This incident is described in more detail on page 149 where it is Olanna sitting next to her on a train fleeing the killers, who shows what is in her bowl. The trauma leads Olanna to suffer psychosomatic illness and, for a while, not be able to walk. (And then Ugwu, after all his traumas, and entering his non-stop writing phase, gets her to relive and describe it in as much detail as she can, page 410.)

2. British soldier-merchant Taubman Goldie and his role in creation of a north and south Nigerian protectorate. The British preferred Northerners who practiced Islam and obeyed emirs and sheiks the British found easy to control and tax, compared to Yoruba or Igbo in the south, who lived in more fragmented communities and were harder to manage. (p.115)

3. How the constitutional arrangements at independence favoured the North, how the South didn’t think it mattered because soon everyone would have white jobs and wealth, how ‘At Independence in 1960, Nigeria was a collection of fragments held in a fragile clasp.’ (p.155)

4. Nigeria at independence didn’t have an ‘economy’, it had a bundle of raw materials and resources which the British exploited. Nigerian politicians had to create an interlocking economy from scratch and dismally failed for all kinds of reasons, including utopian fantasies, incompetence and corruption. (p.204)

5. How Nigeria used starvation as a weapon, making it an international issue, galvanising aid charities,  becoming an issue in the US presidential election, a warning parents in the western world used to cajole their recalcitrant children into finishing their meals (as my mum did to me). (p.237)

6. He blames Britain for inspiring a conspiracy of silence over Biafra and briefly lists the attitudes of the other powers i.e. France, America, Russia and China. But this claim, like the whole title of Ugwu’s book, seems clearly wrong. Far from being hushed up, Biafra dominated the headlines for two and a half years. There were widespread protests around the western world. Harold Wilson’s government was routinely denounced. Journalists like Frederick Forsyth and Don McCullin kept pictures of Biafra on newspaper and magazine front pages throughout the war. It became a leading issue in the US presidential election. This worldwide media blizzard was so much the exact opposite of ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ that the naming of these sections is genuinely incomprehensible. The world was yelling its head off about Biafra! (p.258)

7. He writes a poem to serve as epilogue to his book (p.375).

8. Ugwu writes the dedication of his book last. For Master, my good man.

Last thoughts

I’ve read in several summaries that the novel opens and closes with Ugwu, which is sort of true, but the first word is Master and the almost last word is Master. So it opens and closes with Ugwu in relation to his master and you can interpret that as you please, as an image of servitude or of loyalty, of subjugation or apprenticeship. The novel has shown us how long and complex their relationship has been.

The loss of Kainene right at the very end leaves a note of desolation and loss appropriate in a novel about a devastating war. Yet in other ways I wasn’t sure it was devastating enough. There’s something floaty, calm and mellifluous about Adichie’s attitude and prose style and I wondered whether, in the end, her buoyancy, the supreme confidence of her style, doesn’t at some subtle level militate against all the horrors she describes.

Lastly, there is somehow not enough about the famine. There is one scene where Richard takes the American journalists to see starving babies, and also moments when Olanna and Kainene see the starving mothers and children in the camp Kainene runs. And we are told that the household of Odeigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu run very low on food. And yet, as I said above, you never really feel this. Adichie’s style is never harrowed. Her style always feels well fed.

Lots of other books about wars or famines, about the Holocaust or the Rwanda genocide, have left me feeling gutted and traumatised. This book, although it does give descriptions which ought to be upsetting, just didn’t leave me feeling like that, didn’t leave me feeling grief stricken enough.

And something similar for the final collapse of the Biafran cause. It occurs as part of the day-to-day flow of events, and then the characters are on to the next worry, driving home, cleaning up their derelict houses, visiting family and so on. Nowhere is there a really powerful description of what it felt like to have lost, to be the losers in a harrowing traumatic conflict. Maybe there should have been a postscript describing the characters’ afterlives, somehow conveying the long-term psychological impact of having ventured all on a great political movement and being completely crushed.


Credit

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was published by 4th Estate Book 2006. References are to the 2007 Harper Perennial paperback edition.

Related links

Surprisingly for a contemporary novel, the entire text is available online:

Related reviews

  • The Outsider: My Life in Intrigue by Frederick Forsyth (2015) contains a chapter describing Forsyth’s journalistic coverage of the Biafran War; intriguingly, in an interview Adichie revealed that the idea of the Richard Churchill character was inspired by Forsyth, not the details of his personality but just the idea of a white man who becomes a fierce defender of Biafra, as Forsyth did
  • Africa reviews

I Didn’t Do It For You: How The World Used and Abused A Small African Nation by Michela Wrong (2005)

Michela Wrong has had a long career as a journalist, working for Reuters, the BBC and the Financial Times, specialising in Africa. She came to the attention of the book-buying public with the publication in 2001 of ‘In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz: Living on the Brink of Disaster in Mobutu’s Congo’, which I read and reviewed.

This is the follow-up, a long and thorough (432 pages, including chronology, glossary, notes and index) account of the modern history of Eritrea, the country to the north of Ethiopia which, at independence, was bundled in with Ethiopia and which fought a 30 year war to be free.

The milky haze of amnesia

I’m afraid Wrong alienated me right at the start, in her introduction, by claiming that the ex-colonial and imperial powers (Britain, Italy, America) have made a conscious effort to erase their involvement in such places in order to conceal all the wrongs we did around the world

History is written – or, more accurately, written out – by the conquerors. If Eritrea has been lost in the milky haze of amnesia, it surely cannot be unconnected to the fact that so many former masters and intervening powers – from Italy to Britain, the US to the Soviet Union, Israel and the United Nations, not forgetting, of course, Ethiopia, the most formidable occupier of them all – behaved so very badly there. Better to forget than to dwell on episodes which reveal the victors at their most racist and small-minded, cold-bloodedly manipulative or simply brutal beyond belief. To act so ruthlessly, yet emerge with so little to show for all the grim opportunism; well, which nation really wants to remember that? (Foreword, page xi)

This is an example of conspiracy theory – that everything that happens in the world is the result of dark and threatening conspiracies by shady forces in high places. It may sound trivial to highlight it so early in my review, but it is the conceptual basis of the entire book, and an accusation she returns to again and again and again: that there are so few available histories of Eritrea purely because the imperial powers want to suppress the record of their behaviour there, to display ‘the conquerors’ lazy capacity for forgetfulness’ (p.xxii). I’m afraid I take issue with this for quite a few reasons.

1. First, I tend towards the cock-up theory of history. Obviously there are and have been countless actual conspiracies but, in geopolitics at any rate, events are more often the result of sheer incompetence. Read any of the accounts of the US invasion of Iraq or Britain’s military efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan. The idea that the establishments of three or four countries have placed an embargo on discussion of imperial interventions in Eritrea is, obviously, unlikely.

2. Second, there has been no embargo on accounts of Britain’s involvement in plenty of other and far worse colonial debacles: the concentration camps we set up during the Boer War or during the Mau Mau emergency in Kenya are common knowledge or, at least, there are loads of books and articles about them. Or take India. Nowadays there’s a growing pile of books about how we looted and ruined the subcontinent; Britain’s responsibility for the catastrophic partition featured in an episode of Dr Who for God’s sake, about as mainstream as you can get.

Books about the evils of the British Empire are pouring off the press, so these are hardly ‘forgotten’ or ‘erased’ subjects. Quite the reverse, they’re extremely fashionable subjects – among angry students, at middle class dinner tables, in all the literary magazines here and in the States, among BBC and Channel 4 commissioning editors falling over themselves to show how woke, aware and anti-colonial they are.

Or check out the steady flow of anti-Empire, anti-slavery exhibitions (like the current installation in Tate’s Turbine Hall about empire and slavery, or Kara Walker’s installation in the same location about empire and slavery, or the upcoming exhibition at the Royal Academy about empire and slavery). Anti-racist, anti-imperialist, anti-slavery sentiments are not some kind of revolutionary disruption but the received opinion of our time, one of its central ideological underpinnings.

Eight reasons why nobody’s much interested in Eritrean history

Wrong makes a big deal of the fact that so many Italians, Brits and Americans she spoke to during her research had no awareness of their nations’ involvements in Eritrean history, but this has at least eight possible explanations, all more plausible than it being due to some kind of joint conspiracy by the British, Italian and American governments. Let’s consider just Britain:

1. British imperial history is huge

First, the history of the British Empire is a vast and complicated subject. Hardly anyone, even specialists, even professional historians, knows everything about every period of every colony which the British ruled at one point or another. Understandably, most people tend to only know about the big obvious ones, probably starting with India and the slave trade, not least because these are hammered home via every channel and medium.

2. Second World War history is huge

Second, the British took over the running of Eritrea from the Italians only after we fought and defeated them in North Africa in the spring of 1941, in a campaign which was wedged in between the bigger, more important and better known Desert War in Libya. So the same principle applies as in the point about the empire as a whole, which is: even professional historians would probably struggle to remember every detail of every campaign in every theatre of the Second World War, so why should they care about this relatively small and strategically insignificant one?

Here’s Wikipedia’s list of the main theatres and campaigns of the Second World War. Did you know them all?

It was only reading up the background to Evelyn Waugh’s ‘Sword of Honour’ trilogy that I realised there was a whole theatre of war in West Africa, Gambia and so on, which I’d never even heard about before. Was this due to what Wrong calls the ‘milky haze of amnesia’ deriving from some government-wide conspiracy to forget? Nope. The reality is people only have so much time and attention to spare.

3. The limited attention span of ordinary people

What percentage of the British population do you think gives a monkeys that Britain was, for ten years or so, from 1941, responsible for administering Eritrea? Weren’t we also running about 50 other countries at the time? I suspect my parents’ experience of being bombed during the Blitz and watching Battle of Britain dogfights over their London suburb were quite a bit more relevant to their lives than the details of British administration of the faraway Horn of Africa. People have only so much hard drive.

4. General historical awareness is dire, anyway

Most people don’t care about ‘history’, anyway. If you gave a quick basic history quiz to the entire British population of 67 million, I wonder how many would pass. Auberon Waugh once joked that the fact that Henry VIII had six wives is the only fact from history which all Britons know, but I suspect this is way out of date. I live in Streatham, the most multi-ethnic constituency in Britain. Most of the people I interact with (doctor, dentist, shopkeepers, postman, electrician, council leafblowers) were not born in this country and many of them barely speak English (e.g. my Chinese postman). I struggle to explain that I want to buy a stamp at the shop round the corner because they don’t speak English so don’t know what ‘stamp’ is until I point to a pack. I can’t believe many of the millions of non-English-speaking people who now live here give much of a damn about the minutiae of Britain’s imperial history unless, of course, it’s the bit that affected their country and possibly not even then.

5. Busy

And this is because people are busy. The difference between Wrong and me is that she thinks it’s of burning importance that the British ‘confront’ every aspect of their ‘colonial past’, whereas I take what I regard as the more realistic view, that a) most people don’t know b) most people don’t care because c) most people are stressed just coping with the challenges of life.

By this I mean trying to find the money to pay their rent or mortgage, to buy food, to pay for the extras their kids need at school, or to find money to pay for their parents’ ruinously expensive social care. Most people are too busy and too stressed to care about what happened in a remote country in Africa 80 years ago. Most people are too busy and worried about the day-to-day to care about even the contemporary global issues that newspapers and magazines are always trying to scare us about, whether it’s the alleged impact of AI or the war in Ukraine or the strategic threat from China. Most don’t know or care about ‘history’ and, I’d argue, they’re right to do so, and to live in the present.

I’m a bookish intellectual who’s interested in literature and history but I’ve had to learn the hard way (i.e. via my children and their friends) that there are lots of people who really aren’t. They’re not ‘erasing’ anything, they just live lives which don’t include much interest in history, be it imperialist, early modern, medieval or whatever. They’re too busy going to music festivals or shopping at Camden market, and sharing everything they do on TikTok and Instagram, getting on with their (exciting and interesting) lives, to know or care about the minutiae of the historical record of every single one of the hundred or so nations Britain had some kind of imperial involvement in.

Wrong thinks it’s some kind of conspiracy on the part of the British authorities not to give Eritrea a more prominent part in our history. I think it’s a realistic sense of perspective.

6. Commercial priorities

Books tend to be published, documentaries commissioned and art exhibitions organised, if the editors think there is a commercially viable audience for them. Last time I visited the Imperial War Museum I spent some time in the bookshop chatting to the manager because I was struck by the very, very narrow range of subjects they stock books about. There were entire bookcases about the First and Second World War, a big section about the Holocaust, one about Women in War, and that was about it. I couldn’t even find a single book about Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland, for God’s sake! When I quizzed him, the bookshop manager explained that they’re a commercial operation, they need to maximise their revenue and so only stock books on the subjects which are reliable bestsellers.

So, living in a commercial/consumer capitalist society as we do, maybe the lack of awareness, books and articles about the modern history of Eritrea is not due to a government conspiracy to suppress it but simply because it is a really niche subject which interests hardly anyone, and so – there’s no money in it. No government conspiracy required.

7. News agendas

Even now, the current conflicts between Eritrea, Tigray and Ethiopia barely reach the news because they are, in fact, minor conflicts, they are far away, they have been going on for decades with no particularly dramatic changes to report on and, crucially, no signs of a conclusion – so they just never make the news agenda. Why would they, when Russia is threatening to start world war three?

8. Predictable

And I suppose there’s an eighth reason which is that, for anybody who is interested in modern history, it is utterly predictable that today’s historians or historical commentators will take a feminist, anti-racist, anti-imperial line. Nothing could be more predictable than a modern historian ‘revealing’ the racist truth about British imperial behaviour. This is the stock, standard attitude across the modern humanities. To reveal that European imperial behaviour in Africa was ‘racist and small-minded, cold-bloodedly manipulative or simply brutal beyond belief’ is the opposite of news – it is the utterly predictable compliance with modern ideology, as expressed through all available channels of print, TV, social media, films and documentaries, art galleries, plays and books and articles.

So, those are my eight reasons for not buying into the central premise of Michela Wrong’s book which is that there has been some kind of conspiracy of silence among the ex-imperial powers, that they have deliberately let the history of their involvement in Eritrea sink into ‘the milky haze of amnesia’ in order to conceal from a public which would otherwise be desperate for every scrap of information they could get about Italy, Britain and America’s involvement in one of the world’s smallest countries 80 years ago.

Presumable origin of the book

Wrong first visited Eritrea in 1996 in order to do a country profile for the Financial Times. She was surprised to discover that there was very little published about the place. She saw an opportunity. She approached her publisher, who agreed there was an opportunity to sell to the kind of niche audience which is interested in the history of tiny African countries. Obviously she would be building on the success of her first book to extend her brand.

But, to make the book more marketable it would have to try and make the story more ‘accessible’, more saleable, and so ought to incorporate several features: 1) elements of touristic travelogue, passages dwelling on, for example, Asmara’s surprising Art Deco heritage or the vintage railway that snakes up into the high plateau of the interior, the kind of thing that appears in ‘Train Journeys of The World’-type TV documentaries. Tick.

The second way to sex it up would be to adopt the modern woke, progressive, anti-imperial ideology so much in vogue, and take every possible opportunity to criticise all the western powers for their racism, sexism, massacres and exploitation. Tick.

And so we’ve ended up with the book we have. It is a history of Eritrea in relatively modern times i.e. since the Italians began annexing it in the 1890s, up to the time of writing in about 2004, written in a superior, judgemental, often sarcastic and sneering tone, regularly facetious and dismissive about every action of the colonial powers, and hugely reluctant to point out that the relevant Black African powers (i.e. Ethiopia) behaved ten times worse than anything the imperialists did.

I’m not saying Wrong is wrong to point out that the Italians were racist exploiters who carried out appalling, semi-genocidal massacres and installed apartheid-style laws; or that the British, to their shame, maintained many of Italy’s racist discriminatory laws and practices while dismantling and carting off much of the country’s infrastructure; or that the UN screwed up big time when it assigned Eritrea to be part of Ethiopia against the wishes of its people; or that the Americans should have done more to foster statehood and encourage Eritrean independence when they used the place as a listening post during the Cold War.

I’m sure all her facts are completely correct and they certainly build up into a damning portrait of how successive western powers abused a small African nation. No, what put me off the book was a) Wrong’s assumption that the lack of knowledge about Eritrea was the result of some kind of cover-up among the imperial powers, and b) her tone of sneering, sarcastic superiority over everyone that came before her. Her snarky asides about this or that imperial administrator or British general quickly become very tiresome.

It is possible to write history in a plain factual way and let the facts speak for themselves. Nobody writes a history of the Holocaust full of sneering asides that the Nazis were ‘racist’ and ‘discriminatory’ – ‘Hitler, in another typically racist speech…’. You don’t need to say something so obvious. The facts speak for themselves. Constantly poking the reader in the ribs with sarcastic asides about the awful colonialists gets really boring.

Travel writing

Wrong strikes a note of travel writer-style indulgence right from the start of her book. The opening pages give a lyrical description of what you see as you fly over the desert and come into land at Eritrea’s main airport. From her text you can tell she regards flying from one African capital to another, jetting round the world, as an everyday activity. It isn’t though, is it, not for most people, only for a privileged kind of international reporter.

She then goes on to explain that Eritrea’s capital, Asmara, has one of the finest collections of Art Deco buildings anywhere in the world. In other words, the opening of her book reads just like a Sunday supplement feature or upscale travel magazine article. Although she will go on to get everso cross about Eritrea’s agonies, the opening of the book strikes a note of pampered, first world tourism which lingers on, which sets a tone of leisured touristic privilege. I know it’s unintended but that’s how it reads.

Anti-western bias

Like lots of posh people who have enjoyed the most privileged upbringing Britain has to offer and then become rebels and radicals against their own heritage, Wrong is quick to criticise her own country and very slow to criticise all the other bad players in the story.

In particular, she downplays the elephant in the room which is that most of Eritrea’s woes stem from its 30-year-long war to be independent of Ethiopia, the imperialist nation to its south. She downplays the extent to which this was two African nations, led by black African leaders, who insisted on fighting a ruinous 30-year war in which millions of civilians died… and then started up another war in 1998, conflicts which devastated their economies so that, as usual, they needed extensive food aid to be supplied by…guess who?.. the evil West.

Gaps and absences

Imperial benefits, after all

There’s a particular moment in the text which brought me up short. In the chapter describing the machinations of various UN commissions trying to decide whether to grant Eritrea its independence or bundle it in with Ethiopia (Chapter 7, ‘What do the baboons want?’), Wrong describes the experiences of several commissioners who toured the two countries and immediately saw that Eritrea was light years ahead of Ethiopia: Ethiopia was a backward, almost primitive country ruled by a medieval court whereas Eritrea had industry and education and a viable economy which were established by the Italians. And the British had given Eritrea an independent press, trade unions and freedom of religion (p.171).

Hang on hang on hang on. Back up a moment. Wrong has dedicated entire chapters to excoriating Italian and British administrators for their racism, their exploitation of the natives, Italian massacres and British hypocrisy. Entire chapters. And now, here, in a brief throwaway remark, she concedes that the Italians also gave the country a modern infrastructure, harbours and railway while the British introduced modern political reforms, freedom of the press and religion, and that taken together these meant that Eritrea was head and shoulders more advanced than the decrepit empire to its south.

When I read this I realised that this really is a very biased account. It reminded me of Jeffrey Massons’ extended diatribe against therapy. Nothing Wrong says is wrong, and she has obviously done piles of research, especially about the Italian period, and added to scholarly knowledge. But she is only telling part of the story, the part which suits her unremitting criticism of the West.

And she is glossing over the fact that the Italians, and the British, did quite a lot of good for the people of Eritrea. This doesn’t fit Wrong’s thesis, or her tone of modern enlightened superiority to the old male, misogynist, racist imperial administrators, and so she barely mentions it in her book. At a stroke I realised that this is an unreliable and deeply biased account.

Magazine feature rather than history

Same sort of thing happens with chapter 10, ‘Blow jobs, bugging and beer’. You can see from the title the kind of larky, sarky attitude Wrong takes to her subject matter. Dry, scholarly and authoritative her book is not.

The blowjobs chapter describes, in surprising detail, the lifestyle of the young Americans who staffed the set of radio listening posts America established in the Eritrean plateau in the 1950s and 60s. The plateau is 1.5 miles high in some places and this means big radio receivers could receive with pinprick accuracy radio broadcasts from all across the Soviet Union, Middle East and rest of Africa. The signals received and decoded at what came to be called Kagnew Station played a key role in America’s Cold War intelligence efforts.

As her larky chapter title suggests, Wrong focuses her chapter almost entirely around interviews she carried out with ageing Yanks who were young 20-somethings during the station’s heyday in the late 60s. One old boy described it as like the movie ‘Animal House’ and Wrong proceeds to go into great detail about the Americans’ drinking and sexual exploits, especially with prostitutes at local bars. She sinks to a kind of magazine feature-style level of sweeping, superficial cultural generalisation:

This was the 1960s, after all, the decade of free love, the Rolling Stones and LSD, the time of Jack Kerouac, Jimi Hendrix and Hunter Thompson. (p.223)

This is typical of a lot of the easy, throwaway references Wrong makes, the kind of sweeping and often superficial generalisations which undermine her diatribes against the British and Italian empires.

Anyway, she tells us more than we really need to know about service men being ‘initiated in the delights of fellatio’ by Mama Kathy, the hotel in Massawa nicknamed ‘four floors of whores’, about a woman called Rosie Big Tits (or RBT) who would service any man or group of men who paid her, about the disgusting behaviour of the gang who accurately called themselves The Gross Guys (pages 225 to 226).

This is all good knockabout stuff, and Wrong explains how it came about after she got in touch with the surviving members of The Gross Guys via their website, and then was given more names and contacts, and so it snowballed into what is effectively a diverting magazine article. She includes photos, including a corker of no fewer than seven GIs bending over and exposing their bums at a place they referred to as Moon River Bridge.

I have several comments on this. 1) Interwoven into the chapter are facts and stats about the amount of money the US government gave Haile Selassie in order to lease this land, money the Emperor mostly spent on building up the largest army in Africa instead of investing in infrastructure, agriculture and industry, with the result that he ended up having loads of shiny airplanes which could fly over provinces of starving peasants. So there is ‘serious’ content among the blowjobs.

Nonetheless 2) the blowjob chapter crystallises your feeling that this book is not really a history of Eritrea, but more a series of magazine-style chapters about colourful topics or individuals (such as the chapter about the Italian administrator Martini and the English activist Sylvia Pankhurst), which don’t quite gel into a coherent narrative.

3) Most serious is the feeling that this approach of writing about glossy, magazine, feature-style subjects – interviews with badly behaved Yanks or Sylvia Pankhurst’s son – distracts her, and the narrative, from giving a basic, reliable account of the facts.

It’s only after the chapter about blow jobs and drinking games that we discover, almost in passing, that the very same period, the late 1960s, saw the rise and rise of the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) which waged a steadily mounting campaign of attacks against symbols of Ethiopian power e.g. police stations. And that the Ethiopian police and army, in response, embarked on a savage campaign to quell the insurgents / guerrillas / freedom fighters in the time-old fashion of massacring entire villages thought to be supporting them, gathering all the men into the local church and setting it on fire, raping all the women, killing all their livestock, burning all their crops, the usual stuff.

For me, this is the important stuff I’d like to have known more about, not the ‘four floors of whores’ popular with American GIs. Magazine mentality trumps history.

Religious division

And it was round about here that I became aware of another massive gap in Wrong’s account, which is a full explanation of Eritrea’s ethnic and, in particular, religious diversity. Apparently, the low-lying coastal area of Eritrea, and the main port, Massawa, was and is mostly Muslim in make-up, with mosques etc, whereas the plateau, and the capital, Asmara, are mostly Christian, churches etc.

Wrong’s account for some reason underplays and barely mentions either religion or ethnicity whereas, in the countries I’ve been reading about recently (Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Sudan, Rwanda, Congo), ethnic and religious divides are absolutely crucial to understanding their histories and, especially, their civil wars.

Instead Wrong only mentions very briefly, in passing, that it was ethnic difference which led to there being two Eritrean independence militias, the ELF and the ELPF. It was only from Wikipedia that I gathered the former was more Arab and Muslim, the latter more Christian or secular, and socialist. Wrong nowhere explains the ideological or tactical differences between them. She nowhere names their leaders, gives histories of the movements or any manifestos or programs they published. All this Wrong herself has consigned to the ‘milky haze of amnesia’. Is she involved in an imperialist conspiracy to suppress the truth, I wonder? Aha. Thought so. It’s all an elaborate front.

Similarly, when the ELPF eventually eclipse the ELF to emerge as the main Eritrean independence militia, Wrong doesn’t explain how or why this took place. Her description of this important moment in rebel politics is described thus:

The EPLF, which emerged as the only viable rebel movement after a final clash with the ELF, built its society on defeat. (p.283)

That’s your lot. A bit more explanation and analysis would have been useful, don’t you think?

Key learnings

Each chapter focuses on a particular period of Eritrea’s modern (post-1890) history and Wrong often does this by looking in detail at key individuals who she investigates (if dead) or interviews (if living) in considerable detail. This is fine, it makes for vivid journalism but biased and partial ‘history’.

Ferdinando Martini

Thus the early period of Italian colonisation is examined through the figure of Ferdinando Martini, governor of Eritrea from 1897 to 1907, who made heroic activities to modernise the country even as he endorsed Italy’s fundamentally racist laws. Wrong draws heavily on his 1920 literary masterpiece about his years as governor, ‘Il Diario Eritre’ which, of course, I’d never heard of before. Maybe Wrong thinks that almost all foreign literature has been sunk in ‘the milky haze of amnesia’ whereas I take the practical view that most publishers find most foreign publications commercially unviable and so not worth translating or publishing.

It was, apparently, Martini who gave the country its name, deriving it from the ancient Greek name for the Red Sea, Erythra Thalassa, based on the adjective ‘erythros’ meaning ‘red’.

It was Martini who commissioned the Massawa to Asmara train line, a heroic feat of engineering from the coast up into the steep central plateau, which Wrong describes in fascinating details and wasn’t completed during his time as governor.

Italian emigration

The Italian government hoped to export its ‘surplus population’ i.e. the rural poor from the South, to its African colonies but Wrong shows how this never panned out. Only about 1% of the Italian population travelled to its colonies compared to a whopping 40% who emigrated to America, creating one of America’s largest ethnic communities.

The Battle of Keren

Wrong’s account of the British defeat of the Italians in Eritrea focuses on a gritty description of the awful Battle of Keren, in March 1941, where British troops had to assault a steep escarpment of bare jagged rocks against well dug-in Italian (and native) troops, in relentless heat, with much loss of life. Once in control the British embarked on a scandalous policy of asset stripping and selling off huge amounts of the infrastructure which the Italians had so expensively and laboriously installed, including factories, schools, hospitals, post facilities and even railways tracks and sleepers.

Sylvia Pankhurst

Surprisingly, one of the most vocal critics of this shameful policy was Sylvia Pankhurst, daughter of the redoubtable Emmeline Pankhurst, the leading suffragette. Sylvia fell in love with Ethiopia and ran a high-profile campaign against Mussolini’s brutal invasion of 1936, demanding the British government intervene. After the war, her relentless pestering of her political contacts and the Foreign Office earned her the gratitude of the emperor Haile Selassie himself. Wrong estimates that the British stole, sold off, or shipped to her full colonies (Kenya, Uganda) getting on for £2 billion of assets (p.136). When she died, in 1960, aged 78, she was given a state funeral and buried in Addis Ababa cathedral. A lot of the material comes via her son, Richard Pankhurst, who was raised in Ethiopia, founder of the Institute of Ethiopian Studies at Addis Ababa University, and who Wrong meets and interviews on several occasions.

John Spencer

Wrong describes several meetings with John Spencer, an American who was international legal adviser to Haile Selassie. In the early 1950s the UN was worried (among many other pressing issues) with the future of Eritrea. There were three options: full independence; full integration into Ethiopia; federal status within Ethiopia. There were strong views on all sides. Independent commentators wondered whether Eritrea could ever be an economically viable state (good question since, 73 years later, it is still one of the poorest countries on earth). Ethiopians wanted complete assimilation in order to give them access to the Red Sea. As a canny, aggressive American lawyer, Spencer lobbied hard for the Ethiopian option with the result that he is remembered with hatred to this day in Eritrea.

Kagnew Listening Station

The Americans discovered the high Eritrean plateau was uniquely located to receive clear radio signals from all over the hemisphere. From the 1950s onwards they paid Selassie a hefty premium, plus military and development aid, for the right to build what ended up being some 19 separate listening stations. Ethiopia became the largest recipient of American aid in Africa. Wrong tells its story via interviews with half a dozen of the thousands of GIs who staffed it in the 1960s. She (repeatedly) blames them for ignoring and erasing the reality of the violent insurgency and brutal repression spreading throughout Eritrea. What does she expect a bunch of 20-something GIs to have done? Launched an independent peace mission?

Wrong works through interviews with Melles Seyoum and Asmerom to tell the story of the widely supported EPLF insurgency against the Ethiopian occupying forces.

Keith Wauchope

Similarly, she tells the story of the brutal Ethiopian crackdown of the 1970s through the eyes of Keith Wauchope, deputy principal officer at Asmara’s US consulate from 1975 to 1977. In particular the ‘Red Terror’ when the Ethiopian revolutionaries, like the French revolutionaries, Russian revolutionaries and Chinese revolutionaries before them, moved to eliminate all political opponents and even fellow revolutionaries who deviated even slightly from the party line. By this stage I’d realised that the book doesn’t proceed through events and analysis but by moving from interviewee to interviewee.

Nafka

Bombed out of their towns and villages by the Soviet-backed Ethiopian regime’s brutal campaign, the EPLF withdrew to the high Eritrean plateau where they holed up for a decade. they developed a cult of total war, total commitment, even down to the details of combat wear (basic, functional), disapproval of romantic relationships between fighters. They built an entire underground town including hospitals and schools, the famous Zero school, around the highland town of Nafka, to evade Ethiopia’s Russian-supplied MIG jets.

Wrong has met and interviewed a number of ex-fighters. It comes over very clearly that she venerates them as, she says, did most of the other western journalists who made their way to the EPLF’s remote bases and were impressed by their discipline and commitment, not least to education, holding seminars and workshops about Marxism, Maoism, the Irish struggle, the Palestinian struggle and so on. Western journalists called them ‘the barefoot guerrilla army’. She calls these western devotees True Believers.

But she is candid enough to admit that the hidden redoubts of Nafka also nursed a fanatical sense of commitment and rectitude. This was the Marxist practice of self criticism and self control, which would translate into the overbearing authoritarianism the Eritrean government displayed once it won independence in 1993.

‘Eritrea is a militarized authoritarian state that has not held a national election since independence from Ethiopia in 1993. The People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), headed by President Isaias Afwerki, is the sole political party. Arbitrary detention is commonplace, and citizens are required to perform national service, often for their entire working lives. The government shut down all independent media in 2001.’ (Freedom House website, 2023)

Ah, not so cool and fashionable once they actually come to power.

John Berakis

In line with the rest of the book, the chapter about the EPLF’s long years in its secret underground bases and highland redoubts, is told / brought to life via the biography of John Berakis, real name Tilahun (p.299) who was, improbably enough, both a committed fighter but also a qualified chef. Wrong interviews him and hears all about improbable banquets and feasts and recipes which he cooked up for the Fighters.

Asmara tank graveyard

The huge graveyard of tanks and other military equipment on the outskirts of Asmara is the peg for describing the astonishing amount of hardware the Soviet Union gave to Ethiopia: at one point in 1978 Soviet aircraft bearing equipment were arriving every 20 minutes in Ethiopia. By the end of the Soviets’ support for the Derg, the Russians had sent nearly $9 billion in military hardware into Ethiopia , about $5,400 for every man, woman and child in the population (p.314).

She makes the point that the USSR’s influence was on the rise. In 1975 Angola and Mozambique both became independent under Marxist governments. Across Africa one-party rule was ripe for Soviet influence. Ethiopia, Yemen and Somalia all had Marxist governments. It felt like the tide of history was flowing Russia’s way. By contrast America, had been weakened and humiliated by its defeat in Vietnam which had promptly turned communist, as did Laos and Cambodia.

Mengistu Haile Mariam

Wrong profiles Mengistu, his personal grievances for being looked down on by Ethiopia’s racial elite, his slavish devotion to the USSR (he declared Brezhnev was like a father to him), busts of Marx on the table, erected the first statue of Lenin anywhere in Africa etc.

But, of course, over the years Mengistu slowly morphed into another African strongman, driving in his open-topped Cadillac through the hovels of Addis Ababa, eliminating all possible opponents, living in a miasma of paranoia, surrounded by courtiers and flunkeys, turning into Haile Selassie. During the catastrophic famine of 1983/84 Ethiopia continued to spend a fortune on its military, which had ballooned to almost 500,000 troops, and spent $50 million on the tenth anniversary of the overthrow of Selassie and their coming to power. Over a million Ethiopians died in the famine.

Mikhail Gorbachev

The arrival of Gorbachev in 1985 worried all the communist regimes and his coterie slowly changed the tone of political commentary, starting to question the huge amount of aid the USSR was giving to supposedly Marxist African regimes. Even so between 1987 and 1991 Moscow still sent Addis $2.9 billion in weaponry (p.327).

Yevgeny Sokurov

Wrong appears to have interviewed quite a few Russian diplomats and military men. Former major Yevgeny Sokurov has some savagely candid words about the USSR’s entire African policy:

‘Helping Mengistu, that arrogant monkey, was pointless… In Moscow there was a pathological desire to support these thieving, savage, African dictatorships. It was a waste of time.’ (quoted p.340)

Anatoly Adamashin

A really profound comment is made by Anatoly Adamashin, deputy foreign minister under Mikhail Gorbachev, who points out that the Cold War led both America and the USSR and the African countries themselves to believe that each African nation was engaged in a historic struggle between reactionary capitalism and revolutionary communism, but this was never really true, it was a huge historical delusion. In actual fact what was taking place in all those countries was wars between ethnically-based factions, or ambitious individuals, simply for power.

As with Mobutu (Zaire) or Mugabe (Zimbabwe) or Jonas Savimbi (Mozambique) or Eduardo dos Passos (Angola) or here in this story, Mengistu in Ethiopia, when the Cold War evaporated it revealed that most of those conflicts had, in fact, been nothing more than the crudest struggles to achieve and maintain power.

It’s such a powerful view because it comes from a former Soviet official i.e. not from what Wrong regards as the racist imperialist West.

Mengistu flees

As the EPLF closed in on the capital, Mengistu took a plane to Zimbabwe, where he was granted asylum by another bogus Marxist dictator, Robert Mugabe, given a farm (probably confiscated from the ghastly white colonists) and lived an allegedly pampered life for decades. During his rule over a million Ethiopians died in the famine, and over 500,000 in the wars and/or the Red Terror, or the forced relocation of millions of peasants which, of course, led to famine and starvation.

The Organisation of African Unity

Wrong delivers an entertainingly withering verdict on the Organisation of African Unity:

One of the most cynicism-inducing of events: the summit of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU), that yearly get-together where insincere handshakes were exchanged, 29-year-old coup leaders got their first chance to play the international statesman, and the patriarchs of African politics politely glossed over the rigged elections, financial scandals and bloody atrocities perpetrated by their peers across the table. (p.357)

Even better, she describes it as ‘a complacent club of sclerotic dictators and psychopathic warlords’ (p.358).

Eritrean independence

In 1993 the population voted for independence and Eritrea became an independent country with its own political system, flag, army and so on. Five years of reconstruction and hundreds of thousands of exiles returned home. When war broke out again, Wrong characteristically doesn’t blame it on the new Ethiopian or Eritrean governments, the parties that actually went to war, but on the wicked imperialists:

The national character traits forged during a century of colonial and superpower exploitation were about to blow up in Eritrea’s face. (p.361)

It’s because of our legacy, apparently, that the Eritreans and Ethiopians went back to war, bombing and napalming and strafing each other’s citizens, killing 80,000 in the 2 years of war, 1998 to 2000. Two of the poorest countries in the world spent tens of millions of dollars trying to bomb each other into submission. Surely the leaders of those two countries have to shoulder at least some of the responsibility themselves?

The result of this second war was impoverishment for Eritrea which was rightly or wrongly seen as the main aggressor. Foreign investment dried up. Ethiopia imposed a trade blockade.

Afwerki Isaias

The man who rose to become secretary general of the ELPF, and then president of independent Eritrea in 1993. The trouble is that, 30 years later, he is still president, in the time-honoured African tradition. To quote Wikipedia:

Isaias has been the chairman of Eritrea’s sole legal political party, the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice. As Eritrea has never had a functioning constitution, no elections, no legislature and no published budget, Isaias has been the sole power in the country, controlling its judiciary and military for over 30 years. Hence, scholars and historians have long considered him to be a dictator, described his regime as totalitarian, by way of forced conscription. The United Nations and Amnesty International cited him for human rights violations. In 2022, Reporters Without Borders ranked Eritrea, under the government of Isaias, second-to-last out of 180 countries in its Press Freedom Index, only scoring higher than North Korea.

Tens of thousands have fled one of the most repressive regimes in the world and the jaundiced reader is inclined to say: you fought for independence; you made huge sacrifices for independence; you won independence; at which point you handed all your rights over to a psychopathic dictator. You had the choice. You had the power. Don’t blame Italy. Don’t blame Britain. Don’t blame America. Blame yourselves.

Paul Collier’s view

Compare and contrast Wrong’s sneering, sarcastic, anti-western tone with Paul Collier’s discussion of Eritrea in his 2008 book The Bottom Billion.

Collier is an eminent American development economist who is concerned to improve the lives of people in Africa here and now. He gives short shrift to third world rebel movements. In very stark contrast to Wrong’s 400 pages of grievance and complaint against the West, Collier’s account of Eritrea’s plight is brisk and no-nonsense:

The best organised diaspora movement of all was the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front. The diaspora financed the war for thirty years and in 1992 they won. Eritrea is now an independent country. But did the war really achieve a liberation of the Eritrean people? In September 2001, after an unnecessary international war with Ethiopia, half the Eritrean cabinet wrote to the president, Isaias Afwerki, asking him to think again about his autocratic style of government. He thought about it and imprisoned them all. He then instituted mass conscription of Eritrean youth. Ethiopia demobilised, but not Eritrea. Eritrean youth may be in the army as much to protect the president from protest as to protect the country from Ethiopia. Many young Eritreans have left the country…Was such a liberation really worth thirty years of civil war?
(The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier, 2008 Oxford University Press paperback edition, page 23)

Or compare Wrong with the chapter describing the horrific punishments, prisons and reign of terror run by Afwerki, in Paul Kenyon’s 2018 book, ‘Dictatorland’. The horror of Afwerki’s rule is glossed over in Wrong’s account because of her relentless concern to blame the West for absolutely everything. These two other accounts provide a necessary balance to Wrong’s biased agenda, or just a simple reminder that sometime African nations’ dire plights are less to do with colonial oppression 80 years ago, and more the result of gross mismanagement and terrible leadership in the much more recent past and even now.

Eritrea timeline

16th century – Ottoman Empire extends its control over the Red Sea/Ethiopian/Eritrean coast.

1800s – The Ottoman Turks establish an imperial garrison at Massawa on the Red Sea coast.

1869 – An Italian priest buys the Red Sea port of Assab for Italy from the local sultan.

1870 – Italy becomes a unified nation.

1885 – The British rulers of Egypt help Italian forces capture the Red Sea port of Massawa. This was to prevent the French getting their hands on it.

1887 to 1911 – Italians construct the Massawa to Asmara railway.

1890 – Italy proclaims the colony of Eritrea.

1894 – revolt of the previously loyal chief, Bahta Hagos, crushed.

1896 – 1 March, Italian army trounced by the Emperor Menelik at the Battle of Adwa; the borders of Eritrea are agreed.

1912 – After defeating Ottoman forces Italy seizes the two provinces of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica, which it joins under the name Libya (a division which reopened after the ousting of Colonel Gaddafi in 2011, and last to this day).

1915 – Italy is persuaded by France and Britain to join their side in the First World War, with the promise of Trieste, southern Tyrol, northern Dalmatia and expansion of her territories in Africa

1922 – Mussolini seizes power, campaigning on many grievances one of which is the Allies never gave Italy the empire they promised

1930 – coronation of Ras Tafari as emperor of Ethiopia; he takes the regnal name Haile Selassie. The coronation is attended by Evelyn Waugh who writes a hilarious satirical account, which is also full of accurate details about the country, Remote People (1931). (As a side note Waugh’s book is extensively quoted in Giles Foden’s humorous account of First World War naval campaigns in Africa, ‘Mimi and Toutou Go Forth’.)

1935 – Mussolini launches a campaign to conquer Ethiopia. The Emperor Haile Selassie addresses the League of Nations to complain about the invasion, the use of poison gas and atrocities, but is ignored.

1936 – Italian troops enter Addis Ababa and Eritrea, Ethiopia and Somalia are all incorporated into ‘Italian East Africa’. Italy institutes apartheid-style race laws stipulating segregation. Evelyn Waugh was sent to cover the war and turned his despatches into a book, which includes a surprising amount of straight history of Ethiopia, Waugh In Abyssinia (1936).

1941 – During the Second World War, British advance from Sudan into Eritrea, fighting the brutal Battle of Keren (February to March 1941), which Wrong describes in detail, featuring a map.

1941 to 1942 – Britain crudely strips Eritrea of all the facilities the Italians had spent their 5-year-imperial rule installing, removing factories, ports, even railways sleepers and tracks, stripping the place clean. Britain also keeps in place many of Italy’s race laws.

1945 to 1952 Britain administers Eritrea, latterly as a United Nations trust territory.

1948 – The UN Four Powers Commission fails to agree the future of Eritrea.

1950s – former suffragette Sylvia Pankhurst devoted her final decade (she died in 1960) to denouncing the asset stripping of both Eritrea and Ethiopia carried out by the British.

1950 – A fractious UN commission settles on the idea of making Eritrea a federal component of Ethiopia, which is ratified by the General Assembly in 1952 in Resolution 390 A (V). The US signals that it favours the integrated model because it needs a quiescent Ethiopia as location for its huge radio listening station.

1950s – Ethiopia slowly but steadily undermines Eritrea’s identity: closing its one independent newspaper; having its sky-blue flag replaced by the Ethiopian one; having its languages of Tigrinya and Arabic replaced by Amharic; downgrading the Eritrean parliament, the Baito, to a rubber stamp for the Emperor’s decisions.

1953 – The US and Ethiopia sign a 25-year lease on the Kagnew radio listening station.

1958 – The Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) is formed with a largely Muslim membership, looking to brothers in the Arab world.

The Eritrean war of Independence

1961 – First shots fired by ELF guerrillas, against a police station.

1962 – On 14 November 1962 members of the Baito were browbeaten and bribed into accepting full union and abolishing themselves i.e. Ethiopia annexed Eritrea without a shot being fired. A day of shame, a day of mourning, many of the Baito fled abroad. For the next few years the UN refused to acknowledge or reply to petitions, letters, legal requests from independence activists. The UN washed its hands and walked away.

1963 – Organisation of African Unity set up in Addis Ababa, largely at the Emperor’s initiative, and freezes African nations’ borders in place.

1967 – Full-scale guerrilla war. The Ethiopian army carries out numerous atrocities.

1970 – ELF splits and the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) is formed, a secular socialist predominantly Christian highlanders. By the early 70s the liberation movements had secured some 95% of Eritrean territory.

1974 – Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie is overthrown in a slow-motion military coup (see ‘The Emperor: Downfall of an Autocrat’ by Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuściński). A military junta calling itself the Dergue or Derg comes to power. After squabbling (and killing) among themselves, a forceful lieutenant, Mengistu Haile Mariam, emerges as its leader and driving force. The Derg declares Ethiopia a socialist state committed to Marxism-Leninism. It rejects Selassie’s alliance with the US and turns instead to the Soviet Union.

1975 – In response to increasing insurgent attacks, the Ethiopian army goes on the rampage in Asmara, slaughtering up to 3,000 civilians, then destroys over 100 villages, killing, burning, raping wherever they go.

1977 to 1978 – Massive Soviet support enable Ethiopian forces to reverse the EPLF’s hard-won gains, thus ensuring the war would double in length, continuing for another 14 years.

1978 – Somalia launches a campaign to seize the Ogaden region of Ethiopia which is now fighting two wars, in the north and east. Soviet ships and artillery mow down EPLF fighters, airplanes carpet bomb Eritrean villages.

1982 – Ethiopia launches a massive military assault named the Red Star Campaign in an effort to crush the rebels, but itself suffers heavy casualties.

1985 – Mikhael Gorbachev comes to power in the Soviet Union.

1988 – March: Battle of Afabet is the turning point of the war, when the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front smashes an armoured convoy and then takes the town with barely a shot fired. Wrong describes the surreal way the Ethiopian commanders destroyed their own armoured column, once it had been trapped in a steep valley, burning hundreds of their own troops to death. Basil Davidson on the BBC described it as the equivalent of the Viet Minh’s historic victory over the French at Dien Bien Phu (p.337). It is described in an article by Peter Worthington.

1989 – May: senior Ethiopian generals try to stage a coup the day after Mengistu flew to East Germany to plea for more arms. The coup was foiled, several key generals, 27 other senior staff and some 3,500 soldiers were executed in the month that followed, further weakening the demoralised Ethiopian army. The Soviets, fed up with supplying Ethiopia (and their other African ‘allies’) huge amounts of munitions, withdraw their ‘special advisers’. The last one leaves in autumn 1989.

1990 – February: The EPLF takes Massawa in a daring land and speedboat operation.

1991 – Spring: the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front captures the entire coast and moves on the Eritrean capital, Asmara. In the last few years disaffected Amharas and Omoros in central and southern Ethiopia had formed the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPDRF). Running parallel to Eritrea’s history, the equally rebellious province of Tigray had spawned the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) in 1975. Now the three groups worked together to topple Mengistu.

Eritrean independence

1993 – In a UN-supervised referendum, 99.8% of Eritreans vote for independence.

1994 – Having won independence, the EPLF reconstituted itself as the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) and went onto establish one of the most autocratic, dictatorial regimes in the world.

1998 to 2000 – Eritrean-Ethiopian border clashes turn into a full-scale war which leaves some 70,000 people dead.

2001 – September: Eritrea’s president, Isaias Afwerki, closes the national press and arrests a group of opposition leaders who had called on him to implement a democratic constitution and hold elections.

END OF WRONG’S NARRATIVE

That’s as far as Wrong’s narrative covers. What follows is from the internet. There are loads of websites providing timelines.

2007 – Eritrea pulls out of regional body IGAD (Intergovernmental Authority on Development) as IGAD member states back Ethiopian intervention in Somalia.

2008 June – Fighting breaks out between Djiboutian and Eritrean troops in the disputed Ras Doumeira border area. At least nine Djiboutian soldiers killed. The US condemns Eritrea, but Eritrea denies launching an attack.

2009 December – The UN imposes sanctions on Eritrea for its alleged support for Islamist insurgents in Somalia.

2010 June – Eritrea and Djibouti agree to resolve their border dispute peacefully.

2014 June – The UN Human Rights Council says about 6% of the population has fled the country due to repression and poverty.

2016 July – The UN Human Rights Council calls on the African Union to investigate Eritrean leaders for alleged crimes against humanity.

2017 July – UNESCO adds Asmara to its list of World Heritage sites, describing it as a well-preserved example of a colonial planned city.

Peace with Ethiopia

2018 July – Ethiopia and Eritrea end their state of war after Ethiopian diplomatic overtures.

2018 November – The UN Security Council ends nine years of sanctions on Eritrea, which had been imposed over allegations of support for al-Shabab jihadists in Somalia.


Credit

I Didn’t Do It For You: How The World Used and Abused A Small African Nation by Michela Wrong was published in 2005 by Fourth Estate. References are to the 2005 Harper Perennial paperback edition.

Related reviews

More Africa reviews

Philip Guston @ Tate Modern

The curators think the American artist Philip Guston (1913 to 1980) was one of the most remarkable artists of the twentieth century. Usually I can see what they’re getting at, even if I don’t like an artist much, but this a rare occasion when I really didn’t get it at all.

On the evidence of this huge, major retrospective, which contains more than 100 paintings and drawings from across Guston’s 50-year career, it feels like he toyed with or experimented with a series of 20th century styles, never an innovator, seeming much more like a follower who did copied styles invented by other people, often very competently, until, in the late 60s, he had painted himself into a corner, had reached the end of road copying other people, and had a massive block, painting nothing for a couple of years.

When he re-emerged it was with a radically new style, because he had discovered cartoons. The curators call it ‘drawing’ and there’s plenty of drawings here, a roomful of the studies which got him back into the groove, but, in my opinion, all in a cartoon style, and certainly it eventuated in hundreds and hundreds of paintings which look like this.

‘Couple in Bed’ by Philip Guston (1977) The Art Institute of Chicago © The Estate of Philip Guston, courtesy Hauser & Wirth

In this brief review I’ll reprise the shape of his career so you can judge for yourself.

Early years

He was the son of dirt poor Jewish immigrants, the Goldsteins, who had experienced antisemitic pogroms in the Ukraine, and then the tragic deaths of family members when they made it to America, crossing all the way over to Los Angeles to settle in 1922, when our guy was just 9 years old.

So he was raised in a hard-working, socially conscious, left-wing environment, with a particular sensitivity to racism of all forms (which was to come out, a lot later, in the form of a weird obsession with the white hooded figures of the Ku Klux Klan – see below).

Picasso

His early works seem to me to straight copies of Picasso’s neo-classical 1920s style with some surrealism thrown in. Thus this woman seems Picasso while the stitched head or ball on top of the easel looks like de Chirico.

‘Female Nude with Easel’ by Philip Guston (1935) Private Collection © The Estate of Philip Guston, courtesy Hauser & Wirth

But he also did a completely different style of grubby, gritty, stylised but much more realistic portraits, including a powerful one of himself

‘Self-Portrait’ by Philip Guston (1944) Private Collection. © The Estate of Philip Guston

The 1930s were a very political decade, and he was also drawn to the large-scale and very socially conscious mural art of the Mexican Diego Rivera. In fact Rivera helped Guston get a commission, alongside Reuben Kadish and Jules Langsner, to create a large mural in Mexico in 1934.

The result, ‘The Struggle Against Terrorism’ (1934 to 1935) was later painted over by the Mexican authorities. Only recently has restoration work made it available again, and this exhibition features a massive video projection of it, highlighting its theme of the oppressive nature of the Mexican church.

Back in the States Goldstein changed his name to Guston, precisely to avoid a growing swell of antisemitism in America and moved to New York. Moving among artists and writers and intellectuals boosted his left-wing attitudes even more and led, among other works, to a defining work of the era, ‘Bombardment’ from 1937, which combines the clear sheets of colour from the classical Picasso with the large-scale composition of his mural approach and a popular (cartoony?) treatment.

‘Bombardment’ by Philip Guston (1937) Philadelphia Museum of Art © Estate of Philip Guston, courtesy Hauser & Wirth

1940s

Then came a massive change in his style. He began teaching at universities in lowa City and Saint Louis and turned away from public political art. He continued doing portraits (in their quiet way, maybe these are the best bits of the show). But, like so many of his generation, appalled by the trauma of the Second World War and the revelation of the Holocaust, he turned to increasingly abstract compositions. It was the birth of Abstract Expressionism and Guston chucked his old figurative style(s) and threw himself into the new way of seeing and working.

The exhibition has two rooms of his abstract expressionist paintings, one from the 1940s, then moving on to the 1950s and it seemed to me blindingly obvious that he got steadily worse. In the winter of 2016 the Royal Academy hosted a blockbuster exhibition of Abstract Expressionism and it came as a revelation; I was blown away; room after room of masterpieces; a revelation that paintings which don’t depict anything could be so varied and so exciting.

None of Guston’s abstract paintings did it for me. He hadn’t the excitement of Jackson Pollock, the meditative power of Mark Rothko, the dynamic patterning of Lee Krasner, or the stark drama of Clyfford Still. In my opinion the first room of Guston abstracts is bad and the second one is horrible.

‘Passage’ by Philip Guston (1957 to 1958) MFAH © Estate of Philip Guston, courtesy Hauser & Wirth Photograph © MFAH / Will Michels

Nonetheless, he was, apparently, an influential figure in the New York School alongside his high school friend Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning and Mark Rothko.

Disillusion

As the gusty 1960s turned into the colourful 1960s, though, Guston got sick of painting in the same mode. For me, it really shows, his abstract paintings start off poor, become terrible, and then it feels like he gives up in disgust. The exhibition compensates for the poor quality of the art with a great deal about Guston’s political views. He was not, as you might have guessed, a big fan of the Vietnam War, but in fact it was the resurgence of racism back home in the states which really got to him.

Extras

The curators have done their best to make this a really defining, landmark exhibition of the full range of Guston’s work, along with all kinds of supporting material and documentation. The show is accompanied by commentary, stories, and personal reflections from Tate curators and guest contributors, including:

  • the artist’s daughter Musa Mayer
  • writer Olivia Laing
  • art historian and curator Aindrea Emelife
  • artist Charles Gaines
  • Tate paintings conservator Anna Cooper
  • illustrator and artist Blk Moodie Boi
  • chef and family friend of Guston’s, Ruth Rogers

Also included in the exhibition are specially commissioned responses from musician Anja Ngozi and poet Andra Simons, inspired by Guston’s collaborative spirit.

In his 1950s abstract phase he was friends with avant-garde composers –John Cage, of course, everyone knew Cagey, but also Morton Feldman and one of the abstract rooms plays bits from the very long (four hours) piece by Feldman which the composer wrote specially for Guston. It is characteristically serialist or abstract, but quiet and lovely. I like Morton Feldman. As one of the commenters on YouTube says, it ‘sounds like an alien trying to make human music’, which is precisely the quality I like, away off the edge of something.

Blockage

A wall label tells us that in the late 60s Guston abandoned painting altogether for 18 months or so. But during that period he continued drawing and sketching obsessively, mainly the objects in his own apartment, tables and chairs and shelves and beds but above all, books.

‘Book and Charcoal Sticks’ by Philip Guston (1968) © Philip Guston Estate, courtesy Hauser & Wirth

Note the vertical black lines in the book, and lying around on the (invisible) table. Using these lines as decoration, to create space, to define objects, would become a signature trick of his final style. Because out of this drawing came a way out of the corner he’d painted himself into. He embraced figuratism again, but of a very, very simplified, reductive type. He expanded the drawings into paintings, and then suddenly found himself painting unstoppably. The dam had broken. His block was over. for the next ten years he would paint hundreds and hundreds of really big paintings all taking the new approach.

‘Painting, Smoking, Eating’ by Philip Guston 1973) Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam © The Estate of Philip Guston

Note several things. The colour is pink, pinks and reds, a worrying shade of pink skin, pink flesh, a world of burned or flayed human skin. Then the dotted lines, like the nails in hobnailed boots. Are those boots piled up behind the bed? Certainly the use of dots and dashes to fill and decorate objects became a signature.

The Ku Klux Klan

The Klan was a symbol of evil racism for the young Guston. Now in the era of the Vietnam War, of the ferocious racist pushback against the Civil Rights Movement, and the tide of violence sweeping across America, they make a startling reappearance in Guston’s work, as disturbing cartoon emblems of the banality and ludicrousness of evil.

‘City Limits’ by Philip Guston (1969) Museum of Modern Art, New York © The Estate of Philip Guston

So: 1) pink, very pink, buildings, sky, road all shades of pink, so a kind of abstraction. 2) The obviously ‘naive’, untrained, outsider cartoon style. 3) Those lines of dashes, giving definition to everything from the windows in the skyscraper, the wheels of the car (or tractor?), the eyeslits of the Klansmen, and the odd dotted lines on the back of their hoods.

In 1970 Guston showed 30 of these works at a now infamous show at New York’s Marlborough Gallery. Almost all the critics and his friends were appalled. Abstract Expressionism was closely connected with an immensely serious, ‘committed’ attitude to life and art and politics, a tragic worldview mixed up with European existentialism.

All of that had (apparently) been chucked out in the name of what most critics thought a disastrous turn to a naive, crudely cartoony style. But Guston persisted, and the last four rooms of this huge exhibition are stuffed with scores of examples of the same approach applied again and again.

Many of them are depictions of interiors but coloured with a kind of naive surrealism, giant eyes, mountains of legs, abandoned shoes, and everyday objects rendered both familiar and strange. There’s a lot of him or some human being in bed, like ‘Couple in Bed’ that I opened with.

I found that once you’d assimilated the approach, the pink worldview with dots and dashes, men in pointy hats, other men curled up in bed, er, there wasn’t much more to take in. To try and be positive, there’s no doubting that he had finally created a signature style – his early works seem to me straight copies of Picasso, de Chirico-style surrealism, Rivera-style social murals, and then Pollock and Rothko abstraction. In all of them he seems, to me, a follower. Here, though, in  his last fertile decade, he emerges as utterly original and distinctive. I can see that much, and I managed to like some of the images, the best of them, but most of the ones in these four big rooms left me indifferent.

The last room contains one of the best uses of his new style which has, justifiably, been chosen as the poster and promotional image. On its own it looks great. Set amid 30 or so other very similar images in a closely related palette and style, not so much.

‘The Line’ by Philip Guston (1978) © The Estate of Philip Guston, courtesy Hauser & Wirth

If you’re anywhere near Tate Modern and fancy an exhibition, I wouldn’t go and see this – see the outstanding exhibition of African photography, instead.


Related links

Tate Modern reviews

RE/SISTERS: A Lens on Gender and Ecology @ the Barbican, version 2

This is a huge, stunning, world-bestriding and often very challenging exhibition. Its 250 photographs (and some films and video installations) cover the subject of women and the environment, providing a wide-ranging survey of the multiple ways the planet is being exploited and degraded, how women too often bearing the brunt of environmental destruction, and the scores of ways women artists and activists are fighting back, often creating a sense of female community in the process – hence the punning title of the show which is designed to promote the work of re-sisters, in the realms of social politics and art.

Huge volume of material

It’s a challenging exhibition to get your head around because the curators interpret the notion of environment in such a wide way as to bring together a huge variety of specific instances and examples of environmental degradation, each one of which is like reading a Sunday supplement feature. You could say it’s like reading about 50 serious magazine articles in a row i.e. quite demanding on your ability to process facts and figures. But it’s challenging in other ways, which I list below.

Environmental stories

Firstly, it’s about such a huge subject, the industrial-scale destruction of the environment, which comes in such a huge variety of forms and prompts some pretty big and scary thoughts.

Eyes and Storms #1 by Simryn Gill (2012)

Some of the subjects, such as vast open-cast mining in places like Australia or Namibia (in photo series by Simryn Gill and Otobong Nkanga), or the catastrophic impact of oil extraction in the Ogoniland area of southern Nigeria (depicted in the photos of Zina Saro-Wiwa), I knew about already.

Similarly, the ruinous pollution of the world’s oceans, as conveyed in a video given a room of its own, A Draught of the Blue by Minerva Cuevas (2013) is a topic I feel I’ve been reading about for years.

But other subjects were completely new to me, such as the ruinous extraction of sand from places like the Mekong Delta in Vietnam (photos by Sim Chi Yin); or the impact of oil extraction in Azerbaijan. Although I knew about Azerbaijan’s historic importance, going as far back as the First World War, I don’t think I’d seen pictures of the area and its culture as evocative as the series of photos on display here by Chloe Dewe Matthews.

From the series Caspian: The Elements by Chloe Dewe Matthews (2010) Courtesy of the artist

I don’t think I’d come across the word extractivism before, which the curators define thus:

‘Extractivism is the exploitation, removal or exhaustion of natural resources on a massive scale. Rural, coastal, riverine, and Indigenous communities are disproportionately impacted by mining and other extractive industries, resulting in severe negative consequences on local livelihoods, community cohesion and the environment.’

There was lots and lots of new information about numerous aspects of environmental destruction to be read, understood and processed.

Women as victims

The curators move on to claim that environmental destruction or ‘ecocide’ particularly targets women, and especially women from Indigenous communities, and they’ve chosen exhibits and stories to back up this claim. Shanay Jhaveri, Head of Visual Arts at the Barbican, is quoted as saying:

‘In this era of deepening ecological crisis, we are proud to present RE/SISTERS which interrogates the disproportionate detrimental effects of extractive capitalism on women and in particular Global Majority groups.’

The curators claim there is a direct link between men’s degradation of the planet and men’s oppression of women. They are part of the same oppressive system. They call for the same kinds of resistance.

Straight men as culprits

Because the exhibition asserts (repeatedly) that the environmental crisis is caused by men, that it derives from male capitalism, from a male colonial and imperial mindset, from masculinism and white supremacism, from male-led multinational corporations, all of which are underpinned by patriarchal, masculinist, cis-heterosexual ideologies.

In the 80 or so very wordy, very theory-laden wall labels and picture captions, the curators claim that only men run ‘the mechanical, patriarchal order that is organised around the exploitation of natural resources’ and deploy the ‘masculine cultural imperialism’ that underpins it.

‘Terms such as Capitalocene, Plantationocene and Anthropocene act as cultural-geological markers that make clear that the violent abuses inflicted upon our ecological processes are inherently gendered, and shine a light on the toxic combination of globalised corporate hegemony and destructive masculinities that characterise the age of capitalism.’ (Catalogue page 16)

‘The violent abuses inflicted upon our ecological processes are inherently gendered’ and that gender is male.

‘Ecofeminist scholars have long critiqued feminised constructions of “nature” while challenging patriarchy, the masculinism of capitalism, and colonial abuses against nature, women and marginalised communities.’

And:

‘Caycedo’s photographs of rivers and waterfalls are remixed into pulsating, fractal, perception-shifting images that invite the viewer to reflect on the fluidity of bodies of water, which consistently resist the phallogocentric logic of extraction.’

The exhibition is based on notion of:

‘the connections between patriarchal domination and the violence perpetrated against women and nature’

The notion that the ongoing destruction of the environment, ravaging of nature, destruction of ecosystems and disruption of traditional ways of life of Indigenous peoples around the globe is a distinctively heterosexual male practice, with which women have no share or responsibility, is obviously controversial and debatable. It may be true in many aspects, and certainly when viewed through the exhibition’s strongly feminist lens, but surely some women somewhere are a bit involved in the capitalist extractive system, buy products, run companies, benefit from consumer capitalism?

Can the destruction of the earth really be blamed on just one gender? That’s what the curators are claiming. Along with the idea that only by overthrowing male power can the world be saved:

‘Critical of the term “revolution”, in 1974 the French ecofeminist Françoise D’Eaubonne proposed the term “mutation”, which, she argued, would enact a “great reversal” of man-centred power. This grand reversal of power does not imply a simple transfer of power from men to women, instead it suggests the radical “destruction of power” by women – the only group capable of executing a successful systemic change, one that could liberate women as well as the planet.’

Women as political resisters

But women aren’t just victims, no feminist would leave it at that. The curators move on to give lots of examples of the way women as individuals or groups are fighting back against all this ecocide. They are, in the curators’ words, practicing ‘a radical and intersectional brand of eco-feminism that is diverse, inclusive, and decolonial’.

I also found this theme challenging to get my head around because the examples of women’s resistance were so varied. For example, there are two big sections devoted to the anti-nuclear weapons protests led by women in the 1980s, one in the UK, one in the US (as documented by American photographer Joan E. Biren). The UK one was the women’s camp at Greenham Common airbase.

Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp: Embrace the Base action 12/12/1982 by Maggie Murray (1982) © Maggie Murray / Format Photographers Archive at Bishopsgate Institute Courtesy of Bishopsgate Institute

I worked my way along the wall of photographs from the camp’s heyday and the display case of posters and leaflets and badges and was a bit confused. I suppose this is an early example of women very consciously organising as women to resist an obviously destructive technology, but it felt different from protesting the environmental degradation of the mines or oil pollution or ocean pollution. OK, the nuclear missiles imported into the base threatened nuclear armageddon but…It felt slightly askew from the theme of the environment.

Not only that, it felt very old and a bit, well, clichéd. Greenham has been trotted out in umpteen different contexts, in anti-war exhibitions I’ve been to or shows about the 1980s or about political art and, well, it feels like trotting out a tired old favourite. Better to have had much more up-to-date and specifically environment-focused content.

Third World resistance

This was highlighted, somehow, by the series of photos in the same room by Poulomi Basu’s who has been documenting the activities of the People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army who are fighting, with actual guns, against the activities of mining companies in south central India and the Indian security forces. Women take a lead role in the group and are depicted looking very warrior-like. But this obviously jarred with the message that conflict is somehow a very male creation, which emanated from the Greenham Common display.

Untitled from the series Centralia (2010 to 2020) by Poulomi Basu

It was also at odds with the other striking exhibit in the same room, which is a series of black-and-white documentary photos taken by Pamela Singh of the Chipko movement of women from the villages of the Garhwal Hills in the Himalayas in Uttarakhand, northern India. These protesters took to peacefully embracing trees to save them from state- and industry-sanctioned loggers.

Chipko Tree Huggers of the Himalayas number 4 by Pamela Singh © Pamela Singh Courtesy of sepiaEYE

According to the curators, these women ‘became emblematic of an international ecofeminist movement eager to showcase the subordination of women and nature by global multinationals while underscoring women’s environmental consciousness.’

Women artists

So far I’ve given the impression that this is a very political exhibition, and it is, and movements such as Greenham Common or the People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army or the Chipko treehuggers are obviously collective movements or organisations which brought women together to achieve social and political goals.

However, this is an art exhibition in an art gallery and half or more of it has a significantly different feel from the early sections I’ve been describing with their factual, documentary feel.

Interwoven from the start are works by all kinds of artists who interpret the subject of the environment in the widest possible way and generate a very wide range of environment and protest-themed art. So in the early sections about mining and ‘extractivism’ are hung huge long flowing abstract fabrics by Carolina Caycedo.

Installation view of ‘Multiple clitoris’ by Carolina Caycedo (2016) (Photo by the author)

These, we are told, are part of her multidisciplinary project Be Dammed, which critiques the ‘mechanics of flow and control of dams and rivers’ to address ‘the privatisation of waterways and the social and environmental impact of extractive, large-scale infrastructural projects’.

These specific hangings are part of a series titled Water Portraits (2015 to the present), printed on silk, cotton or canvas and portray the water that carves through the long, narrow chasm known as Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat), a canyon in the Iguazú Falls, on the border between Argentina and Brazil.

Now this is conceptually challenging because how are we meant to understand these lovely, colourful, semi-abstract hangings (there are 3 or 4 hanging from the ceiling throughout the show) as in any way really ‘resisting’ the activities of mining companies. They obviously don’t, or not in the same way that the Greenham women or the tree huggers were carrying out ‘direct action’ and explicit protest.

These kinds of works exist purely in the realm of art and art galleries, a realm which is, above all these days, extremely conceptual and intellectual. What I mean is Caycedo’s work is the result of a deep training in modern art and in turn triggers lengthy commentary from the art curators.

It’s a different world and a different type of discourse from that surrounding the political activity of Greenham and the huggers, which itself felt very different from the opening sections about the mining of oil and sand and ore.

What I’m getting at is there’s not just a lot of stuff and stories to read and process, but that they are drastically different types of information, from the kind of engineering stuff about extraction, to the rather nostalgic politics of the 1980s anti-nuke protests, through to something like this, what you could call traditional contemporary art, which asks to be processed and assessed partly for its ‘political’ intent, maybe (addressing ‘the privatisation of waterways and the social and environmental impact of extractive, large-scale infrastructural projects’) but also as works of art i.e. how you react to the size and shape and pattern and design, the fabric and the way it hangs in space. Whether you like it.

This requires activating a different part of your brain, a more floaty open receptive part, than the bit which had just been reading about mining techniques, or the bit which is activated by nostalgic photos from the 1980s.

Art about women’s bodies

But that’s not all. As the name of the work suggests, Multiple Clitoris is also saying something not just about women’s politics but about women’s bodies. According to the curators, Caycedo’s fabrics evoke ‘the feminist, orgasmic energy of our “corporeally connected aqueous community”‘ and are an example of the importance women artists give to their bodies.

It’s a truism of healthcare that women are more aware of, and take better care of, their bodies than men do. This is reflected in much contemporary art where women artists, and especially consciously feminist women artists, often take their own bodies as their subject, finding endless material in reflecting on and depicting their own or other women’s bodies.

This gender difference in attitudes stands out to me, in so many of the art exhibitions I’ve visited, because I’m a typical bloke and think of my body as a dumb machine which I use to carry around my mind, which is the thing which interests me. I consider my body boring. Not so many many many feminist artists.

Thus it is that, as the exhibition develops, the idea of organised political resistance which we encounter in the first few rooms develops into the idea that women’s bodies are themselves somehow a force of resistance or sites of resistance.

Whenever you go to an exhibition of women’s art you are going to read about ‘the male gaze’ and women’s attempts to escape, evade it and reclaim their own bodies, not as objectivised objects for male pleasure, but as the vehicles for their own perceptions and thoughts, to do with as they please. To reclaim ‘agency’ over their bodies.

And so it is that on the upper floor of the show that the visitor comes to a room devoted to feminist body art i.e. women artists who get naked, paint themselves, carry out performances naked, and so on. A good example is ‘Immolation’ from the series ‘Women and Smoke’, where, in the dim distant past of 1972, performance artist Faith Wilding got naked in the Californian desert, painted her body, set off smoke bombs and had herself photographed by artist and photographer Judy Chicago.

Immolation from Women and Smoke. Fireworks performance Performed by Faith Wilding in the California Desert by Judy Chicago (1972) © Judy Chicago/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York Photo courtesy of Through the Flower Archives Courtesy of the artist; Salon 94, New York; and Jessica Silverman Gallery, San Francisco

The curators explain that:

‘In Immolation Chicago captures the performance artist Faith Wilding sitting cross-legged in the desert, enveloped in orange smoke. This work referenced the ongoing Vietnam War, the self-immolation of Buddhist monks, and similar acts by people in the United States, who were setting themselves alight to protest the war and advocate for peace, while the orange smoke alludes to Agent Orange, the herbicide that was sprayed to devastating effect in Vietnam.’

Women’s bodies and nature

I’ve always been confused by the disagreement among feminists themselves as to whether women – because their bodies are designed to conceive and bear children and they have historically done most if not all of the child care – are uniquely nurturing and caring and, therefore, have a kind of mystical understanding of Mother Nature unavailable to men. Or whether that’s a load of patronising, sexist, stereotyping garbage cooked up by the heteropatriarchy to keep women in their place.

The great universe of feminist thought seems to contain both, completely opposed, points of view. This exhibition seems to lean towards the women-as-nurturing and close-to-nature view. Here’s another example. I include the curator’s commentary in full.

Nature Self-Portrait #5 by Laura Aguilar (1996)

‘For Laura Aguilar, photography was instrumental in visualising her identity, and in the mid-1990s she began creating powerful black-and-white nude self-portraits in nature. In contrast to the heteropatriarchal settler-colonial tradition of landscape photography, Aguila’s portraiture homes in on her identity as a large-bodied, working class, queer Chicana woman. Mirroring the natural forms of the rocky desert landscape of the American Southwest, in her Nature Self-portrait series, Aguilar inserts herself into a “racially stratified landscape” to become a boulder or perform as a tree. As Macarena Gomez-Barris notes, Aguilar seems to want us to “trespass into the territory that feminists have long considered taboo by considering a profound relationship between the body and territory, one that provides a possibility for ecology of being in relation to the natural world. In that sense, her self-portraits provide a way to foreground modes of seeing that move away from capitalism, property and labour altogether, into a more unifying relationality that allows for haptic and sensuous relations with the natural world.” Ultimately, by affiliating her body with the natural beauty of the landscape, Aguilar’s work both empowers and transcends the various categories of her identification.’

Of this specific photo they say:

‘In these works, Aguilar photographs herself resting beside large boulders that seem to echo her curvaceous bodily form. Facing away from the camera, and folding inward, her body emulates the cracks and dents of the boulders while the shadows cast from her body intensify the affinity with the stones before her. In a sense she has “grounded” herself in a landscape that oscillates with “the largeness of her own body”.’

Nature Self-Portrait #5 by Laura Aguilar (1996) © Laura Aguilar Trust of 2016

The sequences of photos of women taking their clothes off and painting themselves in natural settings could be considered as the kind of entry level of the women-and-nature theme. However, some of the artists here have gone one step further to play with the idea of women turning into nature or natural objects; certainly moving beyond the merely human. Here’s what I mean:

The Body Covered with Straw by Fina Miralles (1975)

‘Fina Miralles’s conceptual photo-performance works from the 1970s embody a return to a profound relationship with nature. As she wrote in 1983 following a transformative five-month journey travelling through Argentina, Bolivia and Peru: “I am abandoning bourgeois culture and embracing Indigenous culture. The World Soul, Mother Earth and the protective and creative Pachamama.” Read through this lens, Miralles’s series Relating the Body and Natural Elements, in which the artist cocoons herself in straw, as seen here, or surrenders her body to sand or grass until she disappears, her body merging with the land, illustrates Donna Haraway’s concept of “becoming with” and offers a metaphysics grounded in connection, challenging the illusion of separation – the erroneous belief that it is somehow possible to exempt ourselves from earth’s ecological community.’

Relationship: The Body’s Relationship with Natural Elements. The Body Covered with Straw by Fina Miralles (1975) Courtesy of MACBA

The most striking variation on this theme of women-as-nature is the series of photos by Tee A. Corinne, titled Isis, where she photoshopped large close-up photos of a woman’s vulva into traditional landscape compositions so as to create surreal, disturbing (and beautiful?) juxtapositions.

Isis in the Woods by Tee A. Corinne (1986)

The curators explain that landscape painting has not only long been historically dominated by men, but in its very conception contains the idea of land ownership, precisely the kind of capitalist-colonial mindset which has brought the earth to the brink of ruin. So these ‘vulva landscapes’ are a way of subverting the male tradition of landscape painting and reclaiming it. They’re certainly about as in-your-face as the women-as-nature theme can be.

It is typical of the curators that they can’t explain the purpose of this kind of women’s art without taking a pop at  the men’s equivalent. I was saddened that they have a go at Land art which I love and have always thought of as promoting the value of walking through unsullied nature, leaving environmentally friendly, transient works, like a circle of stones. But, alas, Land art has mostly been created by men and so, in the eyes of the curators, is invalid:

‘In contrast with much Land art, which has staged large-scale and controlled interventions into the natural environment predominantly by men, the ecologically oriented works presented here by women artists place the body in communion with the land.’

Anyway, to go back up a couple of levels, my overall point is that all these women stripping off in the desert have brought us a long, long way from the highly factual documentary items which opened the show and recorded actual political resistance to open cast mines or oil exploitation in Nigeria, to tree felling in India or the deployment of nukes to Britain.

Taking photos of yourself naked in the woods or superimposing the image of a vulva onto landscapes is obviously a different register of information: it’s a different kind of subject matter, treated in a different way, to be processed with a different part of the mind.

It was this continual switching of subject matter, approaches, tones and registers which I found so challenging and exhausting about this exhibition. Which explains why, having read my way through the extensive wall captions on the ground floor, I realised I needed a break. I walked out of the gallery and spent five minutes staring out over the grey Barbican pond at the church of St Giles Cripplegate, trying to let all this information and babel of concepts soak in, before going back in to tackle the 12 further rooms on the first floor.

Other-than-human

Up here, on the first floor of the show, the curators arrive at the idea of the animals who live in these destroyed environments. In fact animals and wildlife in general are surprisingly absent from the exhibition. Maybe wildlife is excluded because the focus is overwhelmingly on women as the endangered species in this narrative.

When plants and trees, animals, birds and fish do crop up, it’s under the slightly odd terms of ‘other-than-human entities’, ‘other-than-human organisms’, ‘other-than-human habitats’, ‘other-than-human communities’ and so on.

The only exhibit which actually focuses on all the animals we’re driving to extinction is a film, ‘Ziggy and the Starfish’ by Anne Duk Hee Jordan (2018) which, characteristically, isn’t about pollution or extinction, but the curators’ number one subject, which is gender and sexuality. The curators turn animals into symbols of the kind of gender-fluid, anti-binary type of sexuality we are all nowadays meant to admire:

‘Taking its name from Ziggy Stardust, the androgynous, extraterrestrial rock star persona that musician David Bowie personified in the early 1970s , Anne Duk Hee Jordan’s sculptural video environment that houses the film Ziggy and the Starfish (2018) celebrates the fluidity of marine sexuality. The film pictures the sexual exploits of various ocean creatures with an exuberance and playful excitement, recalling the earlier work of the French photographer and filmmaker of marine life, Jean Painlevé. The effects of human-made climate change on the hydrosphere have become a key factor impacting the reproductive lives of marine animals, and by focusing on this aspect of the ecosphere Jordan underscores our deep entwinement with our fellow earthly inhabitants. In response to the present ecological crisis, the work offers a portal into the vivid world of our nonhuman cohabitors and looks to their colourful erotic lives as an example of how not only to think against binary dualisms, but to desire the seductively plural.’

Referring to other life forms on earth as other-than-human, defining them solely in terms of the species that is destroying them, feels like an odd conceptual strategy. I doubt whether the feminist curators would like being referred to as other-then-men.

The rights of ice

The theme of the non-human reaches a kind of logical conclusion with Susan Schuppli’s film reflecting on ‘the right of ice to remain cold’, as advocated by the Inuk activist Sheila Watt-Cloutier. Conceptually mind-bending though this sounds, in reality it is a lament for the global warming-triggered melting of sea ice of a pretty conventional, David Attenborough kind.

Queer art

It is axiomatic of contemporary art that the only good man is a gay man, preferably Black. Toxic heterosexual white men have been oppressing women and destroying the planet for centuries so what we need is the opposite; gay Black men. So it is that a handful of men were allowed into this exhibition about women resisters, on the strict condition that they are gay.

This reminded me very much of the last big exhibition I came to here, the ‘Masculinities’ exhibition where, after a sustained and prolonged rubbishing of white heterosexual men, the ideal of masculinity held up by the curators was the writer James Baldwin, American, Black and gay. Same mentality here: white heterosexual men bad; Black gay (ideally American) men good.

Looking for ‘Looking for Langston’ by Ada M. Patterson (2021)

‘Looking for “Looking for Langston” by Ada M. Patterson is both inspired by and directly references Isaac Julien’s eponymous 1989 film, which offers a meditation on the life of the queer poet Langston Hughes and the wider cultural scene of the Harlem Renaissance in 1920s New York. As the title of the work suggests, Patterson, whose quest to learn more about the film ended in failure, constructs her own response that borrows from Hughes’s poetic imaginary as well as fragments she’s gleaned about Julien’s film. The result is a surreal and phantasmagoric exploration of Blackness and desire, using symbols such as the sailor and the sea to explore the fluidity of queerness. Patterson’s film also incorporates allusions to the histories of colonialism extant not only in Barbados (the artist’s birthplace and where this film was mostly shot) but also in Hughes’s United States and Julien’s United Kingdom. The film pays homage to these forebears, connected through oceanic bodies, legacies of Blackness and queerness, and the forever speculative pursuit of desire.’

Looking for ‘Looking for Langston’ by Ada M. Patterson (2021) Courtesy of Maria Korolevskaya and Copperfield

Personal favourite

A lot of the photography, especially the documentary photography, was good, very professional, but didn’t really pull my chain. My favourite image from the whole exhibition was this:

Mud by Uýra (2018)

‘Uýra is an indigenous artist, biologist and educator from Brazil who works in and around the riverine communities of the Amazon region. In these photo-performances, Uýra transforms into multi-species characters, fluidly merging the human and non-human by adorning herself with organic matter. Borrowing from the aesthetic language of drag, and its ability to disrupt the stasis of gender-normativity, Uýra exuberantly shows how other binaries, such as the one between human and nature, can also be understood to be fluid states that are performatively constructed. As an educator, Uýra also uses her works as pedagogical tools to uncover different forms of knowledge about the land that have been suppressed by the logic of Western extractive capitalism. In doing so, the works call for a material and spiritual restoration of the ravaged ecologies to which we belong.’

Lama (Mud) by Uýra (2018) Courtesy of the artist

Last word

Although I of course understand what the curators are getting at, and wouldn’t dispute the claims that women, especially in the developing world, often suffer most from the rapacious activities of multinational extractive corporations and of environmental destruction in general.

(It’s such a sweeping claim, it’s difficult to see how you’d even start to gather the evidence for the other side of the debate. I guess you’d start by pointing out that plenty of countries have or have had women leaders; plenty of multinational companies are run or staffed by women; plenty of women benefit from the products of all this extractivism e.g. cars, airplane flights, cheap clothes, cheap food, digital gizmos, that kind of line of argument).

But granted the truth of a lot of what the curators say, nonetheless, I still think I fundamentally disagree with their premises or, rather, I approach the whole situation from a different, more totalising angle.

For me it is blindingly obvious that it’s not heterosexual white men, it’s humans who are the problem. Whether they’re men or women, gay or straight, white or Black, from the developed or the developing world, humans everywhere are degrading and destroying the environments and ecosystems they live in.

I can see that the curators have a gallery to fill and so need clear, strong propositions to hang their exhibitions on. I appreciate that they are women, and feminists, so naturally see the environmental crisis through their personal and professional biases, through the ‘lens’ of their title. I can understand that women artists, even contemporary ones, might be considered overlooked and under-represented and so an exhibition which pulls together works from half a century by 50 or more women photographers and artists a) redresses the balance b) promotes the specifically womanist point of view and c) creates a sense of community and continuity between them. I think I do understand where this is all coming, and the sizeable merits of a feminist exhibition like this.

But, in my opinion, trying to portray all men as capitalist villains and all women as heroic resisters is not only patronisingly simplistic, it misses the bigger, more obvious point: that it’s people, people of all genders and skin colours who are destroying the world, the Chinese and Indians and Brazilians every bit as much as the wicked white Eurowesterners.

By trying to exempt women from any blame and cast them either as tragic victims or heroic resisters, I think the exhibition seeks to hide a bigger, bleaker truth: If you want to overthrow something, it isn’t the subset of issues to do with the cis-heteropatriarchy or white Western neo-colonialism, it isn’t one particular gender who you can pin everything onto – you should be trying to overthrow the tyranny of Homo sapiens over all the organisms of the world. We have to abolish ourselves.


Related links

Related environmental reviews

Books

Exhibitions

Related art reviews

RE/SISTERS: A Lens on Gender and Ecology @ the Barbican

This is a huge, stunning, world-bestriding exhibition of some 250 photographs (and some films and video installations) on the subject of women and the environment, a wide-ranging survey of the multiple ways the planet is being exploited and degraded, how women too often bearing the brunt of environmental destruction, and the scores of ways women artists and activists are fighting back. At least that’s the exhibition’s aim.

A review in six parts

My review is in six parts. In part one I summarise the hyper-feminist premises or assumptions which underlie this very text-heavy and theory-driven exhibition.

In part two I give a selection of some of the feminist theory and critical theory keywords which abound in the wall captions and which were new to me.

In part three I go through the exhibition itself, quoting in full the wall labels for the introduction and the six themes or categories into which the exhibition is divided, to give you a good flavour of the text-heavy, theory-rich discourse surrounding it. Under each theme I show one or two works from that section, mostly photographs, accompanied by the complete wall caption for the relevant artist and work.

My aim is to show not only how text-heavy the show is but also how parti pris, propagandist and chauvinist the curators’ commentary is. ‘Parti pris’ means ‘preconceived, prejudiced or biased’. ‘Chauvinist’ means ‘displaying excessive or prejudiced support for one’s own cause or group’. This may sound unfair or itself biased as you read it here, which is why I’m going to quote the curators at such length, to back up this opinion and so you can judge for yourself.

Part four lists all the participating artists a) for your information and b) to show that, despite the curators’ fine words about empowering artists from the developing world or Indigenous communities, a full 40% of the artists on display are, of course, from America, home of rapacious capitalism, international finance, the biggest industrial-capitalist complex in the world, and proud birthplace of Donald Trump. So the show has a kind of inbuilt irony between its radical aspirations for diversity, and its all-too-familiar reliance on American voices and perspectives.

Part five briefly mentions some of the other recent big art exhibitions on the subject of the environment, global warming etc, as a comparison.

Part six gives my own responses, to the subject of eco-activism, to the art works and to the feminist discourse which dominates the exhibition. I wouldn’t blame you if you skip this bit. I’m not sure how much of it I myself fully believe. I spoke to two strangers at the exhibition and both of them were finding it as challenging to process the sheer amount of information, the range of issues, and the fiercely feminist perspective of the exhibition, as I was.

Why the extensive quotes

The sweeping generalisations in part one are as much as possible based on the curators’ own words. They may seem extreme or satirical to begin with but: a) I base the summary on quotes from the exhibition press release or wall labels or catalogue and have indicated quotations by single speech marks; and b) as you read on into the section quoting all the wall labels, I hope you’ll see that wild though they at first seem, they simply reflect the spirit and rhetoric of the show.

This is one of the most text-heavy exhibitions I’ve ever been to. There are six themes or categories and about 50 artists, each of whom gets a long explanatory wall caption and then additional ones for many of the works. There are maybe 80 wordy captions in total.

Not only that, but the captions come straight out of contemporary feminist and critical theory and are dense with jargon, using terms I’d never come across before (which is why I select some of these terms for consideration in part 2).

The sheer number and length of the captions means that if you read all them (as I did) Re/Sisters is like being trapped inside a book, a degree-level textbook on feminist theory, ecofeminism and post-colonial theory. I had to take a ten-minute break after doing the ground floor before going up to the first floor rooms because my brain was reeling.

I’m going to quote the introductions to each of the six sections in full to give you a sense of a) how long they are and b) how densely laden with the assumptions and jargon of feminist and critical theory.

And I’m question lots of it. Just because it’s written on a gallery wall doesn’t mean it can’t be pondered, questioned and, sometimes, rejected.

Part 1. The feminist premises of the exhibition

In the feminist discourse of this exhibition all women are fabulous. All women are creative. All women have an instinctive feel for nature and mother earth. All women are nurturing and caring and so, obviously, all women are environmentalists. No women drive cars, fly in planes, buy wasteful consumer goods or run companies and corporations which contribute to pollution and ecocide. No woman is responsible for in any way harming any part of the environment. Only men do any of these wicked things, only men run ‘the mechanical, patriarchal order that is organised around the exploitation of natural resources’ and deploy the ‘masculine cultural imperialism’ that underpins it.

‘Terms such as Capitalocene, Plantationocene and Anthropocene act as cultural-geological markers that make clear that the violent abuses inflicted upon our ecological processes are inherently gendered, and shine a light on the toxic combination of globalised corporate hegemony and destructive masculinities that characterise the age of capitalism.’ (Catalogue page 16)

‘The violent abuses inflicted upon our ecological processes are inherently gendered’ and that gender is male.

Men are not only destroying the planet but, in the process, oppressing all women everywhere and all Indigenous peoples everywhere, via ‘the oppression of “othered” bodies’. There is a direct link between men’s degradation of the planet and men’s oppression of women and men’s oppression of Indigenous societies.

Battling against oppressive men and their destruction of the planet are brave women activists and artists all around the world. They practice ‘a radical and intersectional brand of eco-feminism that is diverse, inclusive, and decolonial’. They celebrate the fact that merely by being born a woman means you are morally, spiritually and environmentally superior.

This exhibition, ‘RE/SISTERS: A Lens on Gender and Ecology’, celebrates the women (or gender non-conforming) artists and the women activists who are fighting against male oppression and male capitalism, against the cis-heteronormative patriarchy, against masculinist capitalism, against phallogocentrism to save the planet.

RE/SISTERS brings together 50 international female (and gender non-conforming) artists to ‘show how women are regularly at the forefront of advocating and caring for the planet’.

The curators claim that environmental and gender justice are indivisible parts of a global struggle for equality and justice. Art exhibitions can ‘address existing power structures that threaten our increasingly precarious ecosystem’.

Shanay Jhaveri, Head of Visual Arts at the Barbican, is quoted as saying:

‘In this era of deepening ecological crisis, we are proud to present RE/SISTERS which interrogates the disproportionate detrimental effects of extractive capitalism on women and in particular Global Majority groups.’

In other words, the planet is being destroyed – women and minorities suffer most.

So the exhibition includes not just women but artists from ‘the Global Majority and Indigenous peoples’ because these peoples are even more intrinsically sympathetic to the environment than women are, and even more the victims of heteropatriarchal global capitalism. Including Indigenous peoples in this way offers ‘a vision of an equitable society wherein people and planet alike are venerated and treated fairly’.

It’s usually about this point in the press release that you learn that the exhibition was sponsored by BP or the Sackler family and burst out laughing. Not this time. Big art galleries have finally cleaned up their acts. This exhibition was sponsored by environmentally-friendly companies such as the Vestiaire Collective:

‘Our mission is to transform the fashion industry for a more sustainable future. As the world’s first B Corp fashion resale platform, we champion the circular fashion movement as an alternative to overproduction, overconsumption and the wasteful practices of the fashion industry. Our philosophy is simple: Long Live Fashion.’

And the Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, which sponsors the Frankenthaler Climate Initiative (FCI). In the gallery bookshop there’s a space where you can donate your ‘pre-loved’ clothing to the Vestiaire Collective.

Part 2. New words

Here’s some quotes from the exhibition catalogue to get you in the zone, and also so you can check how up-to-speed you are with the latest terminology from feminist, eco-feminist, post-colonial and critical theory.

The infrastructural gaze, as in:

‘[Sim Chi Yin’s] works juxataposes the aestheticisation of the “infrastructural gaze” with the human gaze’.

Heteropatriarchal, as in:

‘Operating at the nexus of race, gender, urban ecological infrastructure, systemic injustice, environmental racism and heteropatriarchal capitalism, LaToya Ruby Frazier’s striking series “Flint is Family” exposes the segregation and racism that persists in the contemporary American landscape.’

Or:

‘In stark contrast to the received dualistic, heteropatriarchal value system of the Global North that views nature and culture as fundamentally opposed ways of being, Caycedo’s work advocates an interspecies politics that recognises nature as having agency.’

The heteropatriarchal gaze, as in:

‘Directly refuting the freighted position that men are producers of culture and that women are synonymous with nature and are therefore objects, subjects and products to be dominated by the heteropatriarchal gaze, Kruger’s searing, defiant and radical work opens our eyes and minds to the possibility of a third way, a new mode of being in our womanist bodies, freed from the shackles of masculine cultural imperialism while embracing non-separability from our ecological community.’

Cis-heteropatriarchal, as in:

‘Today, with climate catastrophe breathing ever more oppressively down our necks (egged on, of course, by the murderous white-supremacist, colonial and cis-heteropatriarchal systems that are its enablers), dealing with these questions seems all the more pressing.’

Other-than-human as an adjectival phrase as in ‘other-than-human entities’, ‘other-than-human organisms’, ‘other-than-human habitats’, ‘other-than-human communities’ and so on.

Raced, as in:

‘Understanding the body as situated, raced, gendered and sexed is not a novel idea, but the muscular geographies of petropolitics, and the populist narratives of masculinity and extraction, are rarely attended to as subjective geosocial practices that need to be undone before new earth geographies can take hold.’

Or:

‘As Esperanza makes clear, exploitation within these geophysics of extraction is intersectional, that is, it is raced and gendered. In the mine, race and gender intersect as a stratigraphic relation that becomes a mode of governance.’

Extractivism, as in:

‘These interventions gesture towards a broader understanding of how extraction – rather than extractivism, which becomes a specifically geologically-inflected formation – functions as an ideological undercurrent to colonial dispossession, racial subjection and gendered violence.’

Or:

‘I am, first, reminded not to draw easy – and, as [curator Lindsay] Nixon emphasises, colonising – equivalences between Indigenous women’s and nonbinary people’s struggles for land and life, and the movements that have expressed, in various ways, my own situated feminist and queer opposition to capitalism, colonialism, militarism and extractivism, which began in the 1980s and continues, albeit in much-changed form, into the present.’

Masculinism, as in:

‘Ecofeminist scholars have long critiqued feminised constructions of “nature” while challenging patriarchy, the masculinism of capitalism, and colonial abuses against nature, women and marginalised communities.’

Phallogocentric as in:

‘Caycedo’s photographs of rivers and waterfalls are remixed into pulsating, fractal, perception-shifting images that invite the viewer to reflect on the fluidity of bodies of water, which consistently resist the phallogocentric logic of extraction.’

Speciesism, as in:

‘As Greta Gaard notes: “Most provocative is her [Carolyn Merchant]’s intersectional linkage of racism, speciesism, sexism, colonialism, capitalism, and the mechanistic model of science–nature via the historical co-occurrence of the racist and colonialist “voyages of discovery” that resulted in appropriating indigenous peoples, animals, and land.’

Survivance, as in:

‘[Zina Saro-Wiwa] asks complex questions about Ogoni survivance that are unique to the people and place and that resist incorporation into Eurowestern narratives of environmental and climate politics.’

Eurowestern, as in:

‘Extraction as abstraction works as a representational genre precisely because within a Eurowestern context we are visually trained in the colonial (then modernist) optics that present a disembodied, planimetric view from above.

Or:

‘In this same light, then, I must also make a clear distinction between the works in RE/SISTERS that echo and amplify the Chipko women’s embodied protests as part of a contemporary network of Indigenous feminist and nonbinary activisms, and a framework emerging from more current Eurowestern discursive formations that might fold these embodied actions into queer, trans or even multispecies feminist ecological projects.’

Positionality, as in:

‘This view demands of Eurowestern environmentalists, including ecofeminists, a deep reckoning with our own positionalities, philosophies and politics.’

Part 3. The exhibition

  • features about 250 works by 50 artists
  • includes work from emerging and established artists in the specific fields of photography, film and installation
  • after an initial introduction, is organised into six categories or themes

Introduction

‘RE/SISTERS surveys the relationship between gender and ecology to highlight the systemic links between the oppression of women and Black, trans and Indigenous communities, and the degradation of the planet. It comes at a time when gendered and racialised bodies are bending and mutating under the stresses and strains of planetary toxicity, rampant deforestation, species extinction, the privatisation of our common wealth, and the colonisation of the deep seas. RE/SISTERS shines a light on these harmful activities and underscores how, since the late 1960s, women and gender-nonconforming artists have resisted and protested the destruction of life on earth by recognising their planetary interconnectedness.

‘Emerging in the 1970s and 1980s, ecofeminism joined the dots between the intertwined oppressions of sexism, racism, colonialism, capitalism, and a relationship with nature shaped by science. Ecofeminist scholars have long critiqued feminised constructions of ‘nature’ while challenging patriarchal and colonial abuses against our planet, women and marginalised communities. Increasingly, feminist theorists recognise that there can be no gender justice without environmental justice, and ecofeminism is being reclaimed as a unifying platform that all women can rally behind.

‘Uniting film and photography by over 50 women and gender-nonconforming artists from across different decades, geographies, and aesthetic strategies, the exhibition reveals how a woman-centred vision of nature has been replaced by a mechanistic, patriarchal order organised around the exploitation of natural resources, alongside work of an activist nature that underscores how women are often at the forefront of advocating for and maintaining our shared earth.

‘Exploring the connections between gender and environmental justice as indivisible parts of a global struggle to address the power structures that threaten our ecosphere, the exhibition addresses the violent politics of extraction, creative acts of protest and resistance, the labour of ecological care, the entangled relationship between bodies and land, environmental racism and exclusion, and queerness and fluidity in the face of rigid social structures and hierarchies. Ultimately, RE/SISTERS acknowledges that women and other oppressed communities are at the core of these battlegrounds, not only as victims of dispossession, but also as comrades, as protagonists of the resistance.’

This is the first work in the exhibition:

Untitled (We won’t play nature to your culture) by Barbara Kruger

‘In Barbara Kruger’s seminal work “Untitled (We won’t play nature to your culture)” a close-cropped image, likely culled from a 1950s fashion magazine, shows a glamorous white woman lying against a grassy background with her eyes gently covered by leaves, entangling woman and nature in a symbiotic whole. With the woman’s face sandwiched between the title’s liberatory feminist message, which serves as a jarring reminder of women’s historical role in society, the work signals how women have been straitjacketed in the West by reductive Cartesian dualisms and dichotomies – culture/nature, male/female, mind/body – and a hierarchically ordered worldview. Directly refuting the freighted position that men are producers of culture and women are synonymous with nature and are therefore objects, subjects and products to be dominated by the heteropatriarchal gaze, Kruger’s searing, defiant and radical work opens our eyes and minds to the possibility of a third way, a new mode of being in our womanist bodies, freed from the shackles of masculine cultural imperialism while embracing non-separability from our ecological community.’

Untitled (We won’t play nature to your culture) by Barbara Kruger (1983) Courtesy of Glenstone Museum, Potomac, Maryland

Theme 1. Extractive Economies / Exploding Ecologies

‘Extractivism is the exploitation, removal or exhaustion of natural resources on a massive scale. Rural, coastal, riverine, and Indigenous communities are disproportionately impacted by mining and other extractive industries, resulting in severe negative consequences on local livelihoods, community cohesion and the environment. Women often face the worst impacts of a violent politics of such practices, and yet they are leading the resistance against extractivism and stepping outside of traditional gender roles to champion movements fighting these destructive tendencies.

 ‘Over the past century rivers, forests, deserts and other natural environments have been subject to multiple forms of extraction, domestication, enclosure, erasure and pollution on an unprecedented global scale. This has entailed the profound transformation of the flow of rivers and the disappearance of once lush, fertile land, raising questions about ecological justice for the communities that rely on these environments.

‘Through their work Carolina Caycedo, Sim Chi Yin, Mabe Bethonico, and Talo Havini survey the material impact of extractive activities on rivers and dams, from Colombia to Vietnam, that support both human and more-than-human life in their nourishing embrace.

‘Meanwhile Simryn Gill, Otobong Nkanga, Chloe Dewy Matthews, and Mary Mattingly investigate the effects of industrial scale mining on landscapes and communities, from Australia to Namibia. Ultimately the works gathered here consider how extractivism operates as a material process underpinned by a pervasive colonial-capitalist mindset towards the exploitation of disempowered bodies and land.’

From the series Caspian: The Elements by Chloe Dewe Matthews (2010)

‘From images of bodies coated in the prized, thick brown crude oil found in the semi-desert region of Azerbaijan, to worshippers on pilgrimage to Shakpak-Ata, believed to have been home to a goddess of fertility and womanhood, Chloe Dewe Matthews’s photographs of the countries that border the Caspian Sea bear witness to the sticky entanglement of their geologic material realities, industrial scale extraction, and the myths, folklore and traditions that have shaped the contours of their individual cultures.

‘Over the course of six years, Dewe Matthews travelled across Azerbaijan, Iran, Kazakhstsan, Russia and Turkmenistan, photographing the diversity of the region’s cultures, their unique connection to the land, and these countries’ ever-increasing economic reliance on global petropolitics, something that threatens to destroy and already fragile ecological landscape.

‘From dramatic images of the eternally burning gas crater known as the Door to Hell in the Karakum Desert in Turkmenistan to elaborate mausoleums built to service a generation newly rich on oil, Dewe Matthews’s striking series reminds the viewer of the ecological, corporeal and cultural cost of energy politics.’

Of this specific image:

‘A young woman bathes in crude oil at the sanatorium town of Naftalan. This ‘miracle oi’ is found exclusively in the semi-desert region of central Azerbaijan, and it is claimed that bathing in it for ten minutes a day has medicinal benefits.’

From the series Caspian: The Elements by Chloe Dewe Matthews (2010) Courtesy of the artist

Multiple clitoris by Carolina Caycedo (2016)

‘Part of her multidisciplinary project Be Dammed, which critiques the “mechanics of flow and control of dams and rivers” to address “the privatisation of waterways and the social and environmental impact of extractive, large-scale infrastructural projects”, Carolina Caycedo’s Water Portraits (2015 –) float across gallery spaces, suspended from ceilings and cascading along walls.

‘Printed on silk, cotton or canvas, Caycedo’s photographs of rivers and waterfalls are remixed into pulsating, fractal, perception-shifting images that invite the viewer to reflect on the fluidity of bodies of water, which resist the phallogocentric logic of extraction.

‘Ultimately, Caycedo’s work encourages us to view these bodies of water as life-sustaining, life-embracing, other-than-human living organisms and not just as resources for human extraction. A portrait of the water that powerfully carves through the long, narrow chasm known as Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat) – a canyon in the Iguazú Falls, on the border between Argentina and Brazil – Caycedo’s vibrantly coloured Multiple Clitoris evokes the feminist, orgasmic energy of our “corporeally connected aqueous community”.’

Installation view of ‘Multiple clitoris’ by Carolina Caycedo (2016) (Photo by the author)

Theme 2. Mutation: Protest and Survive

‘Women have a long history of protesting ecological destruction – from creative acts of civil disobedience and non-violent protest to armed resistance and climate legislation. Pamela Singh’s photographs of the Chipko movement document women resisting the felling of trees in northern India, while Format Photographers and JEB (Joan E. Biren) captured the women-led anti-nuclear peace movements of the 1980s in the UK and US, respectively.

‘Susan Schuppli’s film reflects on the right of ice to remain cold, as advocated by the Inuk activist Sheila Watt-Cloutier. Offering insights into the connections between patriarchal domination and the violence perpetrated against women and nature, the works in this section highlight the intertwined relationship between the survival of women and the struggle to preserve nature and life on earth.

‘Critical of the term “revolution”, in 1974 the French ecofeminist Françoise D’Eaubonne proposed the term “mutation”, which, she argued, would enact a “great reversal” of man-centred power. This grand reversal of power does not imply a simple transfer of power from men to women, instead it suggests the radical “destruction of power” by women – the only group capable of executing a successful systemic change, one that could liberate women as well as the planet.

‘Artists such as LaToya Ruby Frazier, Format Photographers, JEB, Pamela Singh and Poulomi Basu explore how communities of women – from web weavers to tree huggers and water defenders – have joined forces to combat violence against their bodies and land.’

Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp: Embrace the Base action 12/12/1982 by Maggie Murray

Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp: Embrace the Base action 12/12/1982 by Maggie Murray (1982) © Maggie Murray / Format Photographers Archive at Bishopsgate Institute Courtesy of Bishopsgate Institute

Chipko Tree Huggers of the Himalayas #74 by Pamela Singh

‘Pamela Singh’s powerful black-and-white documentary photographs of the Chipko movement depict women from the villages of the Garhwal Hills in Himalayas in Uttarakhand, northern India, calmly and peacefully clinging onto and embracing trees to save them from state- and industry-sanctioned loggers. Positioning themselves as human shields, with their arms interlocked around tree trunks, the women of this successful nonviolent protest became emblematic of an international ecofeminist movement eager to showcase the subordination of women and nature by global multinationals while underscoring women’s environmental consciousness.

‘The women were directly impacted by the rampant deforestation, which led to a lack of firewood as well as water for drinking and irrigation; by successfully opposing the planned fate of the trees, the women gained control of the means of production and the resources necessary for their daily lives, demonstrating the entangled relationship between the material needs of the women and the necessity to protect nature from domination and oppression.’

Chipko Tree Huggers of the Himalayas #74 by Pamela Singh (1994) © Pamela Singh Courtesy of sepiaEYE

Cold Rights by Susan Schuppli (2020)

Theme 3. Earth Maintenance

‘The practice of earth maintenance and the labour of ecological care stand in direct opposition to the masculinist value system of the capitalist economy. In the late 1970s and early 80s, feminist artists such as Mierle Laderman Ukeles and Helène Aylon practiced earth care as a form of resistance, linking classed, racialised and gendered struggles to ecological justice.

‘Further, the works assembled here make clear the link between maintenance work in the domestic sphere, which was traditionally defined as “women’s work”, and the undervalued labour required to care for the planet.

‘From 1979 to 1980, Mierle Laderman Ukeles set out to make visible the overlooked yet fundamental work of New York’s sanitation workers, the caretakers of the city who repeatedly cleaned up the refuse and waste polluting its environment. Around the same time, Helène Aylon politicised earth care by gathering toxic soil from nuclear military sites, placing it inside pillowcases and carrying the soil to institutions of power in her “Earth Ambulance”.

‘Seeking new modes of earth maintenance and protest against the continuous exploitation of nature, through the mid-1990s Fern Shaffer performed private rituals at locations in need of healing. melanie bonajo’s film Nocturnal Gardening (2016), part of their series Night Soil Trilogy (2014 to 2016), positions women as agents of political and social change by studying how communities come together to forge alternative ways of living in harmony with the land. The audio installation The Grindmill Songs Project, from the People’s Archive of Rural India, brings into the gallery the collective singing of women from central India who are typically silenced while their daily existence is absorbed into a local and global system of value creation from which they do not benefit.’

A Draught of the Blue by Minerva Cuevas (2013)

Nine Year Ritual of Healing: April 9 1998 by Fern Shaffer

‘Over the course of nine years at locations across North America, Fern Shaffer performed private healing rituals at sites affected by the industrial-agricultural complex and impending extinction. Shaffer performed these self-designed spiritual performances at places including Big Sur, on California’s Pacific Coast; a cornfield outside Mineral Point in Wisconsin; on the summit of the Blue Ridge Mountain in Virginia; and at the Cache River basin in Illinois, among others. Photographed by her collaborator Othello Anderson in sequential images, Shaffer is pictured twisting and twirling in a handmade garment that conceals her bodily form and face, rejecting a human-centred and individualistic relationship to nature.’

Nine Year Ritual of Healing: April 9 1998 by Fern Shaffer (1998) Photo by Othello Anderson Courtesy of the artist

Theme 4. Performing Ground

‘For women artists in the 1970s and 80s, to locate the body as part of the natural world was to perform a highly politically charged act. At a time when even the countercultural “return” to nature was bound up in the discourse of patriarchy, picturing and performing the body as ecologically entangled carried with it radical feminist potential. Entwined, cocooned, or concealed, artists such as Laura Aguilar, Tee A. Corinne, Ana Mendieta, Fina Miralles, and Francesca Woodman blurred the boundaries between body and ground, undoing the distinction between human and more-than-human in their merging of animal, vegetal, and mineral. By deploying camouflage strategies, the artists gathered here resist demands for gendered and racialised bodies to be contained by settler–colonial politics or extractive logics, and rather forge mutual relationships with their environments.

‘To “perform ground” is to deliberately and strategically locate the self not merely in the world, but of it. It asks us to rethink established hierarchies of relations between the human and the more-than-human. In contrast with much Land art, which has staged large-scale and controlled interventions into the natural environment predominantly by men, the ecologically oriented works presented here by women artists place the body in communion with the land.

‘Judy Chicago, The Neo Naturists, and Xaviera Simmons heighten the visibility of their bodies in relation to the more-than-human world by painting themselves in vivid colours and patterns or using paint to critique racial stereotypes. In doing so, these artists explore how the representation of women and nature has always been an act entangled in history, power, and agency.’

Immolation from Women and Smoke, performed by Faith Wilding, photographed by Judy Chicago (1972)

‘In Immolation Chicago captures the performance artist Faith Wilding sitting cross-legged in the desert, enveloped in orange smoke. This work referenced the ongoing Vietnam War, the self-immolation of Buddhist monks, and similar acts by people in the United States, who were setting themselves alight to protest the war and advocate for peace, while the orange smoke alludes to Agent Orange, the herbicide that was sprayed to devastating effect in Vietnam.’

Immolation from Women and Smoke. Fireworks performance Performed by Faith Wilding in the California Desert by Judy Chicago (1972) © Judy Chicago/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York Photo courtesy of Through the Flower Archives Courtesy of the artist; Salon 94, New York; and Jessica Silverman Gallery, San Francisco

The Body Covered with Straw by Fina Miralles (1975)

‘Fina Miralles’s conceptual photo-performance works from the 1970s embody a return to a profound relationship with nature. As she wrote in 1983 following a transformative five-month journey travelling through Argentina, Bolivia and Peru: “I am abandoning bourgeois culture and embracing Indigenous culture. The World Soul, Mother Earth and the protective and creative Pachamama.”

‘Read through this lens, Miralles’s series Relating the Body and Natural Elements, in which the artist cocoons herself in straw, as seen here, or surrenders her body to sand or grass until she disappears, her body merging with the land, illustrates Donna Haraway’s concept of “becoming with” and offers a metaphysics grounded in connection, challenging the illusion of separation – the erroneous belief that it is somehow possible to exempt ourselves from earth’s ecological community.’

Relationship: The Body’s Relationship with Natural Elements. The Body Covered with Straw by Fina Miralles (1975) Courtesy of MACBA

Nature Self-Portrait #5 by Laura Aguilar (1996)

‘For Laura Aguilar, photography was instrumental in visualising her identity, and in the mid-1990s she began creating powerful black-and-white nude self-portraits in nature. In contrast to the heteropatriarchal settler-colonial tradition of landscape photography, Aguila’s portraiture homes in on her identity as a large-bodied, working class, queer Chicana woman. Mirroring the natural forms of the rocky desert landscape of the American Southwest, in her Nature Self-portrait series, Aguilar inserts herself into a “racially stratified landscape” to become a boulder or perform as a tree.

‘As Macarena Gomez-Barris notes, Aguilar seems to want us to “trespass into the territory that feminists have long considered taboo by considering a profound relationship between the body and territory, one that provides a possibility for ecology of being in relation to the natural world. In that sense, her self-portraits provide a way to foreground modes of seeing that move away from capitalism, property and labour altogether, into a more unifying relationality that allows for haptic and sensuous relations with the natural world.”

‘Ultimately, by affiliating her body with the natural beauty of the landscape, Aguilar’s work both empowers and transcends the various categories of her identification.’

Of this specific photo:

‘In these works, Aguilar photographs herself resting beside large boulders that seem to echo her curvaceous bodily form. Facing away from the camera, and folding inward, her body emulates the cracks and dents of the boulders while the shadows cast from her body intensify the affinity with the stones before her. In a sense she has “grounded” herself in a landscape that oscillates with “the largeness of her own body”.’

Nature Self-Portrait #5 by Laura Aguilar (1996) © Laura Aguilar Trust of 2016

Isis in the Woods by Tee A. Corinne (1986)

The Isis series photoshop large close-ups of a human vulva into traditional landscape compositions creating surreal and disturbing juxtapositions.

Isis in the Woods by Tee Corinne (1986)

Theme 5. Reclaiming the Commons

‘Reclaiming the Commons considers the power dynamics of capitalist land ownership, environmental racism, and environmental memory, while reflecting on who has access to our common land, who owns the land and how earth-beings – both human and more-than-human – move through our increasingly enclosed natural world. Notions of ‘the commons’ are grounded in forms of egalitarian land stewardship in which members of a community have access to common land for pasturing animals, growing crops, and foraging, with feminists arguing that the commons are also social and economic sites that are crucial for female empowerment.

‘Questions of access to land are considered in Fay Godwin’s photographic series Our Forbidden Land (1990), which tracks how the long history of enclosures in Britain has shaped a sinister landscape in which fields and pathways are emptied of people through physical barriers, legal measures, and acts of dispossession. Diana Thater’s work RARE (2008) investigates the effects of enclosures from an interspecies perspective, focusing on the disappearing habitats of endangered species in the iSimangaliso Wetland Park in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. In Al río/To the River (2016 to 2022), Zoe Leonard uses photography to testify to the weaponisation of landscapes through the transformation of waterways such as the Río Bravo/Rio Grande from a source of life and means of migration to a militarised border.

‘Environmental racism and memory are explored in the work of Ingrid Pollard, Dionne Lee, Mónica de Miranda, and Xaviera Simmons, who variously interrogate the racialised histories of settler–colonial and plantation landscapes. Their photographs – which are often manipulated with embroidery, collage, hand-tinting, and more – call into question the heteropatriarchal tradition of landscape photography and draw attention to the entwined struggles of decolonisation and the healing of our planet.’

Karikpo Pipeline by Zina Saro-Wiwa

Theme 6. Liquid Bodies

‘Liquid Bodies explores the relationships between the human cultures of gender and sexuality and the world of water. The works assembled here imagine a relationship between human animals and the non-human world that rejects the dualisms of ‘natural and unnatural’, ‘alive and not alive’, or ‘human and non-human’ – colonial ways of seeing that divide the world into humans and everything else. Rather, the artists in this section start from a simple point of departure: we, too, are water. They look to the potential of this natural resource to destabilise a binary sense of gender and the categorisation of the world into neat taxonomies that shape conventional Western ideas of the human experience.

‘Ideas of watery immersion, submersion, and transformation unite the work of Nadia Huggins, Anne Duk Hee Jordan, Josèfa Ntjam, Ada M. Patterson, and Uýra. Cross-species becoming is explored in the Indigenous queer artist Uýra’s arresting photo-performances, in which the artist fuses with Amazonian plants, creating what she describes as hybrids of human, animal, and plant. Nadia Huggins’ striking self-portraits depict her becoming one with the corals that hug the coast of her Caribbean home. Playing out in the vast continuum of oceanic space, Anne Duk Hee Jordan’s film Ziggy and the Starfish (2018) depicts marine life as powerfully sensual. Bobbing along to a soundtrack culled from vintage erotic films and underwater sounds, it considers the porous boundaries of multispecies kinship that is presented as endlessly subversive. Colonial, mythic, and queer histories of water are further addressed in Josèfa Ntjam’s installation that considers Black being in the afterlives of Atlantic slaver.’

Ziggy and the Starfish by Anne Duk Hee Jordan (2018)

‘Taking its name from Ziggy Stardust, the androgynous, extraterrestrial rock star persona that musician David Bowie personified in the early 1970s , Anne Duk Hee Jordan’s sculptural video environment that houses the film Ziggy and the Starfish (2018) celebrates the fluidity of marine sexuality. The film pictures the sexual exploits of various ocean creatures with an exuberance and playful excitement, recalling the earlier work of the French photographer and filmmaker of marine life, Jean Painlevé. The effects of human-made climate change on the hydrosphere have become a key factor impacting the reproductive lives of marine animals, and by focusing on this aspect of the ecosphere Jordan underscores our deep entwinement with our fellow earthly inhabitants. In response to the present ecological crisis, the work offers a portal into the vivid world of our nonhuman cohabitors and looks to their colourful erotic lives as an example of how not only to think against binary dualisms, but to desire the seductively plural.’

Looking for ‘Looking for Langston’ by Ada M. Patterson (2021)

‘Looking for “Looking for Langston” by Ada M. Patterson is both inspired by and directly references Isaac Julien’s eponymous 1989 film, which offers a meditation on the life of the queer poet Langston Hughes and the wider cultural scene of the Harlem Renaissance in 1920s New York. As the title of the work suggests, Patterson, whose quest to learn more about the film ended in failure, constructs her own response that borrows from Hughes’s poetic imaginary as well as fragments she’s gleaned about Julien’s film. The result is a surreal and phantasmagoric exploration of Blackness and desire, using symbols such as the sailor and the sea to explore the fluidity of queerness. Patterson’s film also incorporates allusions to the histories of colonialism extant not only in Barbados (the artist’s birthplace and where this film was mostly shot) but also in Hughes’s United States and Julien’s United Kingdom. The film pays homage to these forebears, connected through oceanic bodies, legacies of Blackness and queerness, and the forever speculative pursuit of desire.’

Looking for ‘Looking for Langston’ by Ada M. Patterson (2021) Courtesy of Maria Korolevskaya and Copperfield

Mud by Uýra (2018)

‘Uýra is an indigenous artist, biologist and educator from Brazil who works in and around the riverine communities of the Amazon region. In these photo-performances, Uýra transforms into multi-species characters, fluidly merging the human and non-human by adorning herself with organic matter. Borrowing from the aesthetic language of drag, and its ability to disrupt the stasis of gender-normativity, Uýra exuberantly shows how other binaries, such as the one between human and nature, can also be understood to be fluid states that are performatively constructed. As an educator, Uýra also uses her works as pedagogical tools to uncover different forms of knowledge about the land that have been suppressed by the logic of Western extractive capitalism. In doing so, the works call for a material and spiritual restoration of the ravaged ecologies to which we belong.’

Lama (Mud) by Uýra (2018) Courtesy of the artist

Part 4. Participating artists

The curators claim that ‘at its core, the exhibition seeks to platform the work of artists from the Global South and Indigenous communities’, but does it? Here’s a full list of the contributors in alphabetical order:

  • Laura Aguilar (US)
  • Hélène Aylon (US)
  • Poulomi Basu (India)
  • Mabe Bethônico (Brazil)
  • JEB (Joan E Biren) (US)
  • melanie bonajo (The Netherlands)
  • Carolina Caycedo (Columbia)
  • Judy Chicago (US)
  • Tee Corinne (US)
  • Minerva Cuevas (Mexico)
  • Agnes Denes (US)
  • FLAR (Feminist Land Art Retreat) (US)
  • Format Photography (UK)
  • LaToya Ruby Frazier (US)
  • Gauri Gill (India)
  • Simryn Gill (Malaysia)
  • Fay Godwin (UK)
  • Laura Grisi (Italy)
  • Barbara Hammer (US)
  • Taloi Havini (Bougainville / Australia)
  • Nadia Huggins (St Vincent & the Grenadines)
  • Anne Duk Hee Jordan (Korea/Germany)
  • Barbara Kruger (US)
  • Dionne Lee (US)
  • Zoe Leonard (US)
  • Chloe Dewe Mathews (UK)
  • Mary Mattingly (US)
  • Ana Mendieta (Cuba)
  • Fina Miralles (Spain)
  • Mónica de Miranda (Angola/Portugal)
  • Neo Naturists (Christine Binnie / Jennifer Binnie / Wilma Johnson) (UK)
  • Otobong Nkanga (Nigeria)
  • Josèfa Ntjam (France)
  • Ada M. Patterson (Jamaica)
  • PARI (People’s Archive of Rural India) (India)
  • Ingrid Pollard (UK)
  • Zina Saro-Wiwa (Nigeria)
  • Susan Schuppli (Canada)
  • Seneca Women’s Encampment for the Future of Peace and Justice (US)
  • Fern Shaffer (US)
  • Xaviera Simmons (US)
  • Pamela Singh (India)
  • Gurminder Sikand (India)
  • Uýra (Brazil)
  • Diana Thater (US)
  • Mierle Laderman Ukeles (US)
  • Andrea Kim Valdez (UK)
  • Francesca Woodman (US)
  • Sim Chi Yin (Singapore)

As you can see, in this list of 49 artists, 19 (39%) are from the USA, heartland of rapacious global capitalism. 5% of the global population; 40% of global art. And it’s always a pleasure to have Americans lecturing the rest of us about the environment. Compare with the American activists lecturing the visitor at the Hayward Gallery’s recent ‘Dear Earth’ exhibition. The full score is:

  • US – 19
  • UK – 6
  • India – 5
  • Brazil – 2
  • Nigeria – 2
  • Angola/Portugal – 1
  • Bougainville / Australia – 1
  • Canada – 1
  • Columbia – 1
  • Cuba – 1
  • France – 1
  • Italy – 1
  • Korea/Germany – 1
  • Malaysia – 1
  • Mexico – 1
  • The Netherlands – 1
  • Singapore – 1
  • Spain – 1
  • St Vincent & the Grenadines – 1

US and UK participants number 25 or just over half the total. If you add in another 5 or 6 from Canada, Australia and Europe that makes roughly 30 out of 49. Whether having 60% of the contributors come from Europe and America equals platforming ‘the work of artists from the Global South and Indigenous communities’ is open to question.

Part 5. Other environmental art reviews

Artists have been worrying about the environment for decades but it’s only recently that exhibitions on the subject have broken through into the mainstream i.e. the big London galleries. RE/SISTERS is just the latest of a clutch of high profile eco-art exhibitions in London:

There is, as you might expect, some overlap: the work of Agnes Denes appears in both Dear Earth and RE/SISTERS, specifically her Agnes Denes’s ‘iconic’ 1982 work ‘Wheatfield: A Confrontation’, where she planted 8,000 square meters of wheat at Battery Park Landfill within sight of the Twin Towers in New York. I reviewed Mónica de Miranda’s recent exhibition at Autograph ABP. Here she’s represented by a piece I liked, Salt Island, five photographs into which have been sewn fine green threads hanging from the surface like the lianas of a tropical forest. They feel genuinely ‘chill’ as my son would say.

Installation view of ‘Salt Island’ by Mónica de Miranda. What you can’t see is the gossamer-fine green silk threads dangling from the foliage

What makes this exhibition sharply and distinctively different from the Hayward and Royal Academy shows is the fierce and unforgiving feminism which colours every aspect of it and every word of every caption.

Part 6. My responses

It’s a huge exhibition. The more you study it, the bigger and wider, the more confrontational or thought-provoking the issues become.

As to the actual subjects and images, a lot of these are very familiar: the ravages of open-cast mining, the oil spills which destroy rivers and lakes, the destruction of the rainforests, I feel like I’ve been reading about these all my life. How me and my friends thrilled to the film ‘Koyaanisqatsi’ with its vision of a world being heedlessly destroyed, and that was back in 1982!

In fact there are two ways of processing a huge, text-heavy like this. Or maybe three. 1) One is to read the captions and focus on the environmental and pollution aspect. On this perspective, although I felt I knew about a lot of the topics already – knew about the destructive effects of oil and mining, that we’re killing the oceans, I knew young women who actually took part in the Greenham Common protests, and so on. On the other hand, I’d never heard about the very bad effects of sand extraction documented by Sim Chi Yin, and about many of the other resistance movements in the developing world, such as the People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army in India.

2) Second way is to react to the hyper-feminism of the captions, nod approvingly, rise to the bait, or be immediately struck by the illogic or contradictions of various parts of it. Rather than comment, I’ve quoted the wall captions at such great length so you can make up your own mind.

3) Third way is like my friend Andrew the gay designer. He prides himself on rarely if ever reading the wall captions at any exhibition, and instead reacting purely to the works themselves, liking them, disliking them (or making a note to pinch good ideas). Andrew avoids the captions because they almost always create a barrier between visitors and works. More and more often these days, as in this exhibition, they dispense a polemical discourse designed to coerce you into responding to all the works in an officially approved and constraining way. He hates that.

In contrast, I read every single caption, was appalled by a whole series of terrible environmental degradations they described, was irritated by the sanctimonious and misandric tone of most of them, and generally let my head be filled up with caption clutter which stopped me seeing what was actually in front of me. I need to be more like Andrew: stop reading the captions – just respond to the work.

Feminist discourse

Feel free to skip this bit. I’m not even 100% sure I completely believe what I’m writing. I’m just trying to work through my responses to the very strong feminist point of view shouting from every caption on every wall of this show:

In my review of Women, Art and Society by Whitney Chadwick (2012) I develop a sustained critique of this feminist theory way of thinking and writing. In brief, it feels like feminism has personally empowered hundreds and hundreds of millions and girls and women to feel more empowered and confident in their lives, which is an unqualified good thing. But that at the same time, on a purely political level, a weird dialectic is playing out in which feminist discourse – which has overrun and saturates all academic study of the humanities, art studies, media studies, film studies, feminist, gender and queer studies, history, literature etc etc, as it becomes more powerful, dense with theory and new terminology – has, at the same time and quite obviously, withdrawn from the real world. It has become the discourse of an academic elite, or of an intensely committed but very restricted membership.

Inside this group of university-educated middle-class women, of professors and lecturers of feminist studies, gender studies, queer studies and of generations of their students who have gone out into the world to make films, make art, make documentaries, write novels, become journalists and commentators – the zeal of the committed to their cause is matched only by the dazzling virtuosity of their jargon and the fierce extremity of their beliefs (which is why I’ve quoted the wall captions at such length, so you can see what I’m talking about).

Inside the cause, once you’ve accepted its basic premises (‘women’ are wonderful and have nothing to do with capitalism or environmental destruction; all men are toxic, are entirely responsible for the industrial revolution, for capitalism and raping the planet, are perpetrators of everyday sexism, sexual harassment, sexual abuse, mansplaining, manspreading, the manosphere etc etc) then everything makes sense and every event in the news, every word said by any man anywhere, every news story about some powerful man abusing his position, confirms this self-reinforcing worldview.

And the sustained bombardment of this exhibition’s captions work hard to cajole or coerce you into this looking glass world where all men are toxic capitalists and all women are heroic artists and activists.

It’s only when you step outside the bubble and shake your head, pinch yourself and awake from the dream, that you return to the real world, a world in which women in positions of supreme power are nothing like the portrait of ‘women’ created by the exhibition. Not long ago Liz Truss was Prime Minister of the UK and Priti Patel was Home Secretary. Today Suella Braverman is Home Secretary and the UK Environment Secretary is Thérèse Coffey. Both have acquiesced in Rishi Sunak’s rolling back of climate commitments. At least 5 million women voted for Boris Johnson’s Conservative Party, around 7 million women voted for Brexit. All this without going into women who voted for Donald Trump in the US. It’s a lovely statistic, though contested, that some 53% of white women voted for Trump in the 2016 Presidential election.

The precise figures don’t particularly matter. I’m just making the obvious point about the drastic disconnect between the rhetoric of this exhibition, and of so much feminist rhetoric, which:

  • claims to speak for all women, which uses the word ‘women’ as if all women agree with radical feminism, when they quite obviously do not
  • and claims that radical feminists are making ‘radical’ changes to the world, reshaping the world, overthrowing the cis-heteropatriarchy and so on when, in the real actual world that we live in, the exact opposite is happening; the forces of anti-feminism seem to be triumphing everywhere

Denying responsibility

Deep down, I think feminist exhibitions like this and the rhetoric which accompanies them (not the actual artists and certainly not the often brave and resourceful activists whose efforts shine through the miasma of jargon) are really about trying to escape blame, trying to place yourself on the side of the saints and martyrs, identifying with the nobility and righteousness of the cause.

After all, if you can blame everything terrible in the world on masculinist capitalism, on toxic masculinity, on extractivism and phallogocentrism, on the patriarchy, and on the heteropatriarchy and on the cis-heteropatriarchy, then you can escape blaming yourself.

(As a digression, note the inflation in terminology. The term ‘patriarchy’ no longer gives members of the tribe the same psychological kick that it used to, so it’s been escalated to become the ‘heteropatriarchy’ (i.e. rule of straight men); but maybe that is no longer enough to get the same kick and buzz so the dose has been increased to cis-heteropatriarchy. I understand that the people who coined these terms would say they are needed to the capture new insights into non-binary and gender-fluid identities of the younger generation. Nonetheless, at the same time, my view is that the the clear rhetorical escalation epitomised by the expansion of the original boo word ‘patriarchy’, also function as a form of magic: this increasingly hyperbolic jargon comes more and more to resemble chants and incantations designed to bind together the faithful and ward off the outside world. In this context, of global ecocide, to resist acceptance of your own responsibility; they are spells to help you deny that you too are completely embedded within the extractive capitalist economy.)

The exhibition’s section about extractivism tells us that the US military is the largest user of precious metals such as cobalt which are mined by virtual slave labour with disastrous ecological consequences in places like the Congo. Fine. But nowhere does it mention the well-known fact that the same kinds of rare metals, also ravaged out of the earth by forced labour in the poorest places, are also used in domestic smart phones, laptops, Alexa boxes and all the other digital accoutrements of modern life.

If you have a smart phone in your hand – and everyone I saw going round this exhibition did have a smart phone in their hand – then you’re guilty, you’re part of the extractive economy. No amount of railing against the patriarchy, or the heteropatriarchy, or the cis-heteropatriarchy, gets you off the hook.

My personal view is that all of us in ‘the West’, men and women, are guilty and that we should start from this frank acknowledgement of our mutual responsibility. The streams of complex jargon-laden discourse reeling at the visitor from every direction are, in my opinion, designed to hide this one fundamental truth because they continually exonerate ‘women’ i.e. half the population, as in some way magically not responsible. If all women are artists and activists resisting the destruction, then it follows that no women can be to blame.

My position is that all of us, men as well as women, are in the same boat, facing the same peril, and must work together to try and find solutions. Privileging all women and denigrating all men i.e. sowing division and recrimination, feels like the last thing we need to be doing right now. We should be building bridges and finding allies and forming coalitions to try and force major change.

In my view, everyone in the western world needs to drastically alter their lives in order to reduce their carbon footprint and to keep their involvement in environmental destruction to an absolute minimum. That means not having a car, never flying again, having few if any digital gizmos, as well as going vegetarian, if possible dairy free and vegan, and try to reorganise your finances to support environmentally friendly banks, insurance and pension companies. The same prospectus outlined by Christiana Figueres 5 or 6 years ago. On a political front, lobby your council or MP to take green and environmentally friendly policies wherever possible. Vote for the parties most likely to carry out green policies, which in the UK, at the next election, means Labour, since any Green vote risks splitting the anti-Conservative vote, as at the recent Uxbridge by-election.

The mindset of an exhibition like this which tells all its female visitors that all the bad stuff can be blamed on men, and that simply being a woman automatically qualifies you for membership of the sisterhood of artists and activists, allows you to deny your guilt and your complicity in the extractivist systems this exhibition so vividly depicts.

Revolutionary rhetoric without the revolution

To take another angle, so much of this kind of rhetoric, the ‘radical’ rhetoric shouting from every picture caption, is just right-on revolutionary posing without the slightest intention of doing anything ‘revolutionary’.

In this respect hardly anything has changed since Tom Wolfe’s 1970 essay ‘Radical chic’ satirised the haute bourgeoisie gathered for an evening at Leonard Bernstein’s New York apartment to lionise members of the revolutionary Black Panther Party, who were simply too too adorable for words! So radical, darling.

Something similar can be felt here in texts which flirt with the rhetoric of revolution without the slightest intention of upsetting the cosy worlds of the Barbican Friends and Corporate Sponsors who have gathered to cheer this marvellous exhibition and applaud the curators for their wonderful work.

This thought occurred at the moments when the texts occasionally reverted to pure, old school Marxist rhetoric, revealing the ancient communist assumptions which underpin them. Thus the catalogue, when describing the achievement of the tree huggers of Chipko, praises them for regaining ‘control of the means of production’.

This is of course a straight quote from The Communist Manifesto and the millions of communist books, pamphlets, lectures which repeated it all around the world for the subsequent 140 years (1848 to 1988) with, in the end, zero effect. How many countries in the world currently implement the Marxist-Leninist social and economic policies of which this used to be a central plank? None.

The exhibit which most repeatedly invokes the word ‘revolutionary’ is the series of Poulomi Basu’s photographs which capture (very vividly) members of the People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army who are actually fighting, with actual guns, against the activities of mining companies in south central India and the Indian security forces. They describe themselves as a revolutionary force. A panel in the catalogue is devoted to ‘Comrade Matta Rattakka’ who died a ‘martyr’ to the cause. This is the rhetoric of the old Soviet Union and its satellites and Cold War guerrilla movements. These are phrases I haven’t read, delivered straight, with no irony, for decades.

Untitled from the series Centralia (2010 to 2020) by Poulomi Basu

On one level Basu’s work is gripping photojournalism of a real conflict. But its inclusion in this exhibition incorporates it into what is, in practice, revolutionary chic without the slightest possibility of a revolution. Because revolutions are difficult, violent and, even if they initially triumph, we now know, over the long term, degrade and collapse.

What the godly revolution in Britain in the 1640s and the French revolution in the 1790s and the Russian revolution in the 1910s and the Iranian revolution in the 1970s all demonstrated is that it’s relatively easy to overthrow a tyrannical regime and seize power. But it is then fiendishly difficult, if not impossible, to impose your revolutionary values on the vast majority of the population who don’t share them and never will share them. On the whole, revolutions can only it can only be carried forward with large scale repression of and execution of the classes which oppose you, more often than not, the bien-pensant liberal bourgeoisie. The liberals tend to be first up against the wall in any revolution. I.e. exactly the kind of people who attend exhibitions about revolutions.

The beautiful thing, for its exponents and their followers, about this kind of feminist rhetoric about ‘revolutions’ and overthrowing masculinism and abolishing the patriarchy and rebelling against the military-industrial complex, the summaries of Françoise D’Eaubonne’s theory of a ‘great reversal’ of man-centred power, and countless thousands of variations on the theme – the great thing about it is that they will never happen.

Feminists get to thrill in the writing or reading of extensive urgent texts bravely declaring radical change and revolutionary overthrow and interrogating gender stereotypes and all the rest of it, all the time confident in the knowledge that any actual revolution, any genuinely transformative overthrow of the existing structures of power, won’t actually ever happen.

It’s bourgeois play acting. It’s bourgeois posing with the rhetoric of ‘revolution’ with absolutely no intention of ever carrying it out. Because if anything like it ever was carried out, the revolutionary feminists would make the same discovery as the Puritans in the 1640s, the Jacobins in the 1790s, the Bolsheviks in the 1920s and the Party of God in the 1980s, that the majority of the population they would find themselves governing don’t share your values and don’t want your revolution.

That’s what I mean by saying that this kind of bourgeois feminism exists in an academic dreamland, will never be tested against reality, and so its followers will be able to live their entire lives without ever having to experience the disillusions of real power, instead enjoying a pleasing sense of righteousness to the end of their days.

Non humans

The exhibition does have interesting things to say about non-humans. All of these struck me as being more interesting and more true than just blaming men for everything. Quite obviously humans of all sexes are the problem. The world would be better off without us and, at moments in the show, this basic truth peeped through, struggling against the curators’ aim of redeeming and absolving women. But no humans are free of guilt. Eurowestern liberals like the curators like to fetishise the lifestyles of Indigenous peoples, whether in the Amazon or Australia, but they kill animals, they burn the bush, they poo in the rivers, there are just a lot, lot fewer of them. Given modern medicine to help them survive, they also breed quickly, overfill their ecosystems, start degrading everything. By trying to exculpate and valorise women the exhibition seeks to hide the bleaker truth: If you want to overthrow something, you shouldn’t be bothering with the cis-heteropatriarchy, you should be trying to overthrow the tyranny of Homo sapiens over all the organisms of the world.

Saving the environment?

Lastly, do exhibitions like this do anything at all for ‘the environment’? No. Like all art exhibitions, they preach to the converted, to the white liberal bourgeois bien-pensant converted who I saw strolling round snapping everything with their latest model camera-phones, white, middle-aged, university-educated women who are already signed up to ‘the revolution’, chat confidently about the complete transformation of masculinist society, discuss how ghastly cis-heteropatriarchal capitalism is, before rushing off to their next viewing, clutching their phones and their designer bags, before catching the plane back to New York.

At the press launch I heard the American accents of some of the American artists and journalists who’d flown over to cover it. Maybe when they drive their big American cars or take their plane trips to Australia or Amazonia, planet earth realises that they’re feminist flyers and drivers and so their carbon dioxide, magically, doesn’t count. In my opinion we have to stop, we all have to stop, men, women and every other gender. The era of cheap foreign holidays and long road trips, of commuting by car and taking weekend city breaks to the continent, the era of new gizmos every Christmas, buying new clothes to be in the fashion, of steaks and burgers and unlimited meat, of vast hecatombs of slaughtered pigs and cattle and chickens taking up huge resources, pumped full of antibiotics, their chemical waste poisoning drinking water, the era of boundless mindless consumption is drawing to a close, even if most people haven’t realised it yet.

Well, I’ve given you enough visual and textual evidence. What do you think?


Related links

Related reviews

Women’s art book reviews

Introductions to the Aeneid – 3. David West

I own three English translations of the Aeneid:

  • the 1956 Penguin classics prose translation by W.F. Jackson Knight
  • the 1970 verse translation by Allen Mandelbaum
  • the 1991 Penguin classics prose translation by David West

This is the last of three blog posts giving detailed analyses of the introductions to each of these translations. This one looks at David West’s introduction to his 1991 translation. It also gives examples of each of the translators’ work, first their renderings of the Aeneid’s opening 12 lines, then of the final few lines.

1991 Penguin classics prose translation by David West

Unlike the vapouring spiritualist Jackson Knight, and the namedropping Vietnam War protestor Mandelbaum, West is wonderfully unpretentious and to the point. In his introduction’s brisk 6 pages he bluntly says the Aeneid is about a man who lived 3,000 years ago in Asia Minor so – why should we care?

1. The origins of Rome

He gives a fantastically compressed précis of the plot before going on to say that, 300 years after Aeneas’ legendary death, the city of Rome was founded by his descendants. So that’s one reason to read the Aeneid: because it is the foundation story of the most important city in European history, the state that underpins modern Europe.

2. Aeneas an emblem of the refugee from war

Another reason is because it is a great poem. Part of this is down to it being about a very human figure,  Prince Aeneas, a man who knew defeat and exile, love and the loss of love, who maintained his sense of duty to family and country through thick and thin, who knew war and hated it but was capable of fighting with hatred.

At the end of the twentieth century the world is full of such people.

If West was writing in 1990, then he was about to witness the First Gulf War, the collapse of the Soviet Union, the prolonged civil wars in Yugoslavia, the Rwandan genocide and the Great War of Africa, followed by 9/11, the invasion of Afghanistan and then Iraq. Yes. War and the bitterness of war, and exile and grief and lost love, these are eternal fixtures of the human condition. I am writing this on day 201 of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

The gods have changed but for the men there is not much difference.

3. Virgil’s humanity

But the Aeneid is not only about The Human Condition but is full of individual human touches, insights  and moments which make the poem a deeply rewarding read:

  • Dido putting the Trojans at their easy 1.567-578
  • the grief of Andromache meeting a Trojan youth who is the same age as her murdered son would have been 3.305
  • Acestes and Aeneas shaming an old champion into fighting in their games 5.389
  • the throwaway remark of Ascanius which has such momentous consequences 7.116
  • old King Evander enjoying looking upon his old friend’s son 8.152
  • the native’s abuse of foreigners 9.598
  • the glorious death of Mezentius and his horse at 10.858
  • the fussing of the doctor as he fails to treat Aeneas’s arrow wound 12.387

The Aeneid presents a ‘heroic’ view of life i.e. all the characters are super-lifesize – but it is also full of these realistic human moments. So its depiction of timeless themes of human suffering, combined with these insights into human nature mean that, even after 2,000 years, it is still not out of date.

Virgil and Augustus

West then devotes a zippy two-thirds of a page to summarising Virgil’s life and career. For me the strong part is the confiscation of his family’s land by Octavius (unlike, Mandelbaum West doesn’t mention Virgil’s trip to Rome to beg for it to be returned) but West adds a new fact: to qualify to be a member of the Senate a Roman citizen needed to be very wealthy; when Virgil died, he had property worth ten times this wealth requirement. Being Augustus’s top poet made Virgil rich. It would be fashionably easy to despise Virgil for sucking up to Augustus, in the Aeneid as in the Eclogues and Georgics, but this would be wrong because:

  1. After a century of violence and civil war, Augustus’s hard-won victories promised peace and moral regeneration. There was every reason to believe a genuine Golden Age was at hand. Virgil’s friend, Horace, believed just as fervently. It is reasonable enough to praise the peace-bringer.
  2. Virgil was no superficial tyrant-pleaser. He had a deep appreciation of the countryside and traditions of a much wider definition of Italy (his upbringing on a farm outside Mantua). He knew it had taken hard fighting to secure peace and would take hard work to create this Golden Age. I like the way West says Virgil didn’t have the answers to these questions and he didn’t even pose the questions. He told an exciting story and lets the story raise, at numerous points, thoughts and questions about love of country, love of family, and what it means to fight for peace. The critique is buried deeply within the narrative.
  3. West draws a distinction between praise and flattery. The Aeneid praises Augustus in two ways: first, it tells the story of his heroic ancestor, in such a way as to reflect well on the emperor. The second way is the direct references to Augustus at key moments of prophecy and prediction.

West’s approach to translation

Finally, a page about the translation itself. Interestingly, West says that up to his time the W.F. Jackson Knight translation (whose introduction I have considered at length) had been the gold standard English translation of the Aeneid. However, it suffers from two weaknesses and that is why it is now being replaced: 1. The prose is old fashioned 2. It follows the original Latin very slavishly, often to the detriment of good sense.

So West is setting out to right the balance, to try and capture some of the allusive, changing poetry of the original – but never at the expense of – and while always writing –good, muscular, rhythmic, expressive English prose. In my opinion, he succeeds very well (see examples, below).

As you can tell, West’s introduction is far and away the best of the three for its complete absence of swank and bullshit, for its brevity, for telling you just enough to warm you up – and then pitching the reader straight into the narrative.

I enjoyed his translation more than the others for the same reason. It is straight-talking, clear and to the point. But it also, despite being in prose, includes subtle effects of alliteration, assonance and rhythm.

Disagreement

Blazing with rage, he plunged the blade full into his enemy’s breast….(Book 12)

But even with West I disagree. He says the poem is a vision of ‘a search for peace and order for Rome and humanity’. Is it, though? The Aeneid portrays a universe of anger and death and ends with a brutal act of murder. All three of these translators, in their introductions, are inexplicably drawn to praise the humanism and sweet sadness of Virgil’s poem. I know what they mean, the sadness is there and is sometimes a very dominant mood. But the narrative is also splattered with blood, the blood of hundreds of men hacked to pieces in battle, the ravening fury of Juno and her agents, screeching harpies, the foul dira, and the stink of the hundreds which are barbarously slaughtered at altars, their hot blood spurting out onto the hungry earth.

Yes, there’s a gentle tone of sweet sadness but, for my money, all three of these translators inexplicably underplay the centrality of war and anger and death and bloodshed which run alongside and, in my opinion, overwhelm the poem’s sweet humanism.

The fact that such diametrically opposite views can be held about it makes me wonder whether, deep down, even Virgil himself knew what his great poem is actually about? What it is really saying? Despite his conscious intentions, did his poem, once he had stitched it all together, end up saying much more, and give a different impression, than he originally intended?


Samples of the translations

Which of the three translations do you prefer?

The Aeneid book 1, lines 1 to 12

Jackson Knight translation:

This is a tale of arms and of a man. Fated to be an exile, he was the first to sail from the land of Troy and reach Italy, at the Lavinian shore. He met many tribulations on his way both by land and on the ocean; high heaven willed it, for Juno was ruthless and could not forget her anger. And he had also to endure great suffering in warfare. But at last he succeeded in founding his city, and installing the gods of his race in the Latin land: and that was the origin of the Latin nation, the Lords of Alba, and the proud battlements of Rome.

Mandelbaum translation:

I sing of arms and of a man: his fate
had made him fugitive; he was the first
to journey from the coasts of Troy as far
as Italy and the Lavinian shores.
Across the lands and waters he was battered
beneath the violence of the High Ones, for
the savage Juno’s unforgetting anger;
and many sufferings were his in war–
until he brought a city into being
and carried in his gods to Latium;
from this have come the Latin race, the lords
of Alba, and the ramparts of high Rome.

West translation:

I sing of arms and of the man, fated to be an exile, who long since left the land of Troy and came to Italy to the shores of Lavinium; and a great pounding he took by land and sea at the hands of the heavenly gods because of the fierce and unforgetting anger of Juno. Great too were his sufferings in war before he could found his city and carry his gods into Latium. This was the beginning of the Latin race, the Alban fathers and the high walls of Rome.

The Aeneid, book 12, lines

Jackson Knight translation:

Aeneas stood motionless, a fierce figure in his armour; but his eyes were restless, and he checked the fall of his right arm. And now at any moment the pleas of Turnus, already working in his mind, might have prevailed on his hesitation, when suddenly, there before him, he saw slung over his shoulder the accursed baldric of Pallas and his belt, inset with the glittering rivets, which he had known of old when they belonged to his young friend whom Turnus had brought low with a wound, and overcome. This Baldric Turnus was wearing now over his own shoulder, and the trophy was fatal to him. Aeneas’ eyes drank in the sight of the spoils which revived the memory of his own vengeful bitterness. His fury kindled and, terrible in his rage, he said: ‘Are you to be stolen hence out of my grasp, you who wear spoils taken from one whom I loved? It is Pallas, only Pallas, who by this wound which I now deal makes sacrifice of you; he exacts this retribution, you criminal, from your blood.’ Saying this and boiling with rage he buried his blade full in Turnus’ breast. His limbs relaxed and chilled; and the life fled, moaning, resentful, to the Shades.

Mandelbaum translation:

Aeneas stood, ferocious in his armour;
his eyes were restless and he stayed his hand;
and as he hesitated, Turnus’s words
began to move him more and more – until
high on the Latin’s shoulder he made out
the luckless belt of Pallas, of the boy
whom Turnus had defeated, wounded, stretched
upon the battlefield, from whom he took
this fatal sign to wear upon his back,
this girls glittering with familiar studs.
And when his eyes drank in this plunder, this
memorial of brutal grief, Aeneas,
aflame with rage – his wrath was terrible –
cried: ‘How can you who wear the spoils of my
dear comrade now escape me? It is Pallas
who strikes, who sacrifices you, who takes
this payment from your shameless blood.’ Relentless,
he sinks his sword into the chest of Turnus.
His limbs fell slack with chill, and with a moan
his life, resentful, fled to Shades below.

West translation:

There stood Aeneas, deadly in his armour, rolling his eyes, but he checked his hand, hesitating more and more as the words of Turnus began to move him, when suddenly his eyes caught the fatal baldric of the boy Pallas high on Turnus’s shoulder with the glittering studs he knew so well. Turnus had defeated and wounded him and then killed him, and now he was wearing his belt on his shoulder as a battle honour taken from an enemy. Aeneas feasted his eyes on the sight of this spoil, this reminder of his own wild grief, then burning with mad passion and terrible in his wrath, he cried: ‘Are you to escape me now, wearing the spoils stripped from the body of those I loved? By this wound which I now give, it is Pallas who makes sacrifice of you. It is Pallas who exacts the penalty of your guilty blood.’ Blazing with rage, he plunged the blade full into his enemy’s breast. The limbs of Turnus were dissolved in cold and his life left him with a groan, fleeing in anger down to the shades.


Roman reviews

Introductions to the Aeneid – 2. Allen Mandelbaum

I own three English translations of the Aeneid:

  • the 1956 Penguin Classics prose translation by W.F. Jackson Knight
  • the 1970 verse translation by Allen Mandelbaum
  • the 1991 Penguin Classics prose translation by David West

This is the middle of three blog posts giving detailed analyses of the introductions to each of these translations. This one looks at Allen Mandelbaum’s introduction to his 1970 translation. (The third blog post, about David West’s introduction, includes examples of each of the translators’ actual translations, including Mandelbaum’s.)

1970 introduction by Allen Mandelbaum

Allen Mandelbaum (1926 to 2011) was a Jewish-American professor of literature and the humanities, poet, and translator from Classical Greek, Latin and Italian. After going to live for decades in Italy he returned to the States and taught English and comparative literature at the City University of New York from 1966 to 1986. His translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy (1980 to 1984) won him Italy’s highest award, the Presidential Cross of the Order of the Star of Italian Solidarity. Impressive. This translation of the Aeneid won the 1973 National Book Award in the translation category. The preface to it, which am now going to summarise, was published in 1970.

***********

Before we even get to Mandelbaum’s introduction, the blurb on the inside cover about Virgil is interesting. It says that as part of Octavius’s sweeping land reallocation to retired soldiers after the Battle of Philippi (42 BC), he confiscated Virgil’s parents’ extensive farmlands around Mantua. It says Virgil travelled to Rome to argue for its return, and this certainly chimes with the accounts in several of the Virgil’s eclogues of land confiscation, and the account of the shepherd who travelled to Rome and seen the young prince i.e. Octavius, to try and get his land back.

The blurb goes on to say it was as a result of Virgil’s pleading that he became friends with Octavius and, was handed over to be managed by his arts minister, Maecenas. This close relationship between patron and poet leads the blurb writer to say that it was at Augustus’s express command that Virgil’s dying request that the draft of the Aeneid should be burned was overruled, and that it was Augustus who handed it to the scholars Varius and Tucca with specific instructions to edit only the obvious errors and repetitions, to add nothing new to it, and to publish the result, which they did in 16 BC.

**********

Mandelbaum’s introduction is only eight pages long but it’s packed. He gets stuck in right away by saying he came to Virgil late because he was put off him by three judgements. First was a quip by the American critic Mark Van Doren (1894 to 1972) that ‘Homer is a world; Virgil, a style’. Mandelbaum associated this comment with Coleridge’s similarly negative judgement that ‘If you take from Virgil his diction and metre, what do you leave him?’ So these two adverse opinion come under the heading of ‘Homer is the Great Original, Virgil is a Poor Copy’.

Mandelbaum goes on to mentions the judgement of the great Marxist critic, György Lukács (whose thoughts on Kafka I’ve reviewed). György boy wrote in his Theory of the Novel that: ‘The heroes of Virgil live the cool and limited existence of shadows, nourished by the blood of noble zeal, blood that has been sacrificed in order to recall what has forever disappeared.’

Lukács was a swine but I still enjoy this kind of class-based Marxist criticism, ancient though it now feels; after all, we still live in a heavily class-based society where privately educated ministers hand out multi-million pound contracts to their friends and wives while northern proles queue at foodbanks, where gas and energy prices makes billions in profits while old age pensioners freeze to death in their flats.

Anyway, Lukács’s implication is that Virgil’s characters are contemptible because they harbour a utopian hankering for a social period in Rome’s history which has irredeemably disappeared, namely the nostalgic memory of a land of small family-owned farms. By the time Virgil was writing these had mostly been swept away by vast estates or latifundia, worked by gangs of slaves.

Anyway, Lukács’s criticism, as well as being vague and impressionistic, seems wrong to me. To me the Aeneid reads as a poem very much of the harsh present, reeking with the blood of animals slaughtered at the altar and men being stabbed, eviscerated and burned to ashes in a very perilous present.

(The third of the three dismissals Mandelbaum records came in Concetto Marchesi’s History of Latin Literature which deprecated Virgil in favour of Lucretius.)

It is when Mandelbaum goes on to describe the personal importance to him of the English poet John Milton that the reader begins to realise that this is very much not going to be a scholarly introduction to Virgil’s Aeneid, but the personal musings of Mandelbaum the poet (for in addition to his prizewinning translations, Mandelbaum also published several volumes of his own poetry, as the preface now proceeds to tell us). This introduction is going to be a description of his own personal odyssey from these boyhood influences who initially put him off Virgil, to his late-flowering realisation of Virgil’s brilliance.

Central to Mandelbaum’s conversion were the poems of Giusseppe Ungaretti (1888 to 1970). Mandelbaum was deeply involved in translating Ungaretti’s Italian poems into English and getting them published in America throughout the 1950s. And many of Ungaretti’s poems invoked characters or themes from Virgil. So Mandelbaum first really discovered Virgilian themes through the lens of Ungaretti. He quotes a florid passage of Ungaretti’s:

Aeneas is beauty, youth, ingenuousness ever in search of a promised land, where, in the contemplated, fleeting beauty, his own beauty smiles and enchants.

Personally, I’d have thought nothing could be further from a true picture of Aeneas, the careworn early-middle-aged son of decrepit Anchises and anxious father of young Ascanius, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, stumbling from one disaster to another, his hands red with blood.

As so often with ‘criticism’ by writers or poets, this isn’t objective analysis but a deliberate, and I’d say knowing, teasing, rewriting of Virgil’s character entirely to suit Ungaretti’s own poetic preoccupations. Heavily misleading, in other words. Mandelbaum goes on to quote an even more overripe slice of tripe:

Dido came to represent the experience of one who, in late autumn, is about to pass beyond it; the hour in which living is about to become barren; the hour of one from whom the horrible, tremendous, final tremor of youth is about to depart. Dido is the experience of nature as against the moral experience.

This may be a fine expression of Ungaretti’s (mimsy, impressionist) concerns but strikes me as having nothing whatsoever to do with the Dido who features in the Aeneid. All this is a worrying indication that Mandelbaum’s response to Virgil is going to be hugely contaminated by his embroilment in Ungaretti’s highly ‘poetic’ prose, all ‘tremors of youth’ and ‘the moral experience’ and precious little to do with the Dido who calls down the vengeance of the gods on Aeneas and makes her people swear eternal enmity with Rome.

Reminiscing about those happy times in Italy in the 1950s you can almost hear Mandelbaum relaxing the sinews of his mind and slipping into an odoriferous bath of fine feelings, claiming that Ungaretti helped him to see:

the underground denial – by consciousness and longing – of the total claims of the state and history.

I think he means the persistence in the poem of numerous threads which oppose or undermine the overt worship of Rome, of Roman patriotism, of obeisance to the predictions of Rome’s rise to world-dominating empire, which occur throughout it on a surface level.

But like so many other aesthetes what comes over strongly is the way Mandelbaum wants to reject the overt meaning of the text in front of him, preferring to project his own bourgeois fantasies of rebellion and subversion onto Virgil – very much as W.F. Jackson Knight projected his fantasies about spiritualism and universal truth onto Virgil in his introduction to his translation.

So much literary criticism from the mid-nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century consists of this kind of whipping-up of meringues made of knowing references and stylish allusions, like a conjurer pulling a string of multi-coloured flags out of his mouth, designed to impress us with the author’s wide reading and fine feelings, but leaving behind no tangible insights or ideas.

Next, Mandelbaum shows off by telling us how he loves a passage by the critic Mark Van Doren, which uses a ‘brilliant suggestion’ by Jacob Klein to use a passage from Plato’s text The Statesman to shed light on the episode in Aeneid book 6 where Anchises is explaining to Aeneas how the souls of the dead are made to forget their past lives before being reincarnated in new bodies back on earth.

It feels like a competition to see how many names he can drop in a single sentence.

Van Doren claims this passage is evidence that Virgil believed in the reassuring and ‘lulling myth of cycles’, and the hope that peace would come about by magic. Mandelbaum cites all this in order to disagree with it. He points out that far from finding the creation of new generations ‘lulling’, Virgil had demonstrated in the Georgics the sheer amount of hard physical labour which goes into producing the basics of civilisation.

With this much, I can agree, although Mandelbaum then goes on to equate the hard physical manual labour of maintaining the land depicted in the Georgics with the 11 years of dedicated mental labour involved in writing the Aeneid.

Contrary to all this talk of lulling cycles, Mandelbaum asserts that Virgil believed in power, dominion and the rule of law. As the Sibyl predicts to Aeneas:

yours will be the rulership of nations;
remember, Roman, these will be your arts:
to teach the ways of peace to those you conquer
to spare defeated peoples, spare the proud
(6. 1,134 to 1,137)

But Virgil was aware of the price to be paid in the triumph of positive law over natural law. King Evander explains to Aeneas how his people originally lived at peace and plenty under the rule of exiled Saturn when humans needed no laws or rules. But then an Age of Iron came, violence increased, and laws became vital. All this is an accurate summary of this part of the Aeneid.

But then Mandelbaum is back to Ungaretti, telling us that he was, apparently, ‘a true Petrarchan’. I can’t see any relevance whatsoever of this random observation in a supposed introduction to Virgil. It just feels like another example of Mandelbaum’s compulsive name-dropping and/or personal reminiscence. Develop the idea, man! What are you trying to say?

But the thought isn’t developed or even explained properly. Instead, Mandelbaum switches to tell us that his other route into Virgil was via a long-lasting engagement with Dante, whose Divine Comedy he has also translated in its entirety. Having lived with the Inferno, in particular, for years, he knew that Dante learned not from the style of Virgil but the styles of Virgil.

Mandelbaum quotes a passage from the English critic Donald Davie who distinguishes poets into two classes (how many critics, over how many centuries, have taken this simple-minded approach of dividing the thing under consideration into just Two Types?)

Davie says the first type of poet revels in words, that Shakespeare would have ended up using every word in the language if he’d had enough time. The second type of poet is one who carefully employs a narrower selection of words, consciously excluding ones which don’t fit, in order to create a style, a verbal world.

On this reading Dante is a Shakespearian, with a very wide lexis, while Virgil is the second type, with a much more limited vocabulary.

Now Mandelbaum explains what Dante learned from Virgil: he quotes the ancient grammarian Macrobius who says Virgil’s style was ‘now brief, now full, now dry, now rich, now easy, now impetuous’ to suggest that what Dante learned from Virgil was variety of tone.

Also he learned a free approach to the line, the free use of enjambment and runover.

And lastly, the free mixing up of time, the ‘rapid shifts of tenses’ which are, indeed, very noticeable in the Aeneid as Virgil mixes up the past and present, sometimes in the same sentence.

Only as he approaches the end of this brief but packed introduction does Mandelbaum explain his aims as a translator. He has tried to ‘impress’ on his translation ‘the grave tread’ but also ‘the speed and angularity’ of Virgil, ‘the asymmetrical thrust of a mind on the move’. This is fair enough, an interestingly impressionistic description of something which maybe can’t be fully put into words.

But then Mandelbaum goes into full late 60s mystical mode:

The other part of the self brings me to the last way, the unmediated one. The way is the path that opens when the guides, for whom one has been grateful, fall away or say: ‘I crown and mitre you over yourself.’

Mandelbaum doesn’t tell us, because his technique is one of flashy meringue-making, that this last phrase is in fact a quote from Dante’s Paradiso canto 27. I suspected as much though I had to Google it to confirm my hunch.

Veering off in another direction, Mandelbaum then overshares with us the personal fact that he left Italy after many years and embarked on his translation of Virgil ‘at a time of much personal discontent’. He had long thought poetry shouldn’t be used for consolation (why?) but now his experience of ‘personal discontent’ changed his mind.

And now, abruptly and dramatically, he casts a vivid slash across his entire preface when he suddenly starts talking about the Vietnam War!

The Vietnam War has, he claims, as of 1970, made it impossible to talk about American ‘society’ any more – he insists we have to use the harsher word, ‘state’. In Vietnam, the American ‘state’ ‘has wrought the unthinkable, the abominable’.

Wow. With one flash you get the full colour of Mandelbaum’s mindset. In this book, in this translation, in this introduction, it is 1970, America is just starting to withdraw its forces from Vietnam after a shameful military debacle, and Allen Mandelbaum is applying the atmosphere of these times to his thinking about power and dominion as described by a poet from 2,000 years ago.

Unfortunately, instead of drawing any kind of analogy between America’s intervention in Vietnam and Aeneas’s intervention in Italy – which would be unexpected but potentially very illuminating – Mandelbaum’s mind once again veers off into impressionistic mush and hero worship. It is frustrating that he thus raises but fails to address the key political aspect of the Aeneid, which is Virgil’s attitude towards his friend and patron, Augustus’s, violent conquests and domestic tyranny.

I take the point that the expression of these political themes in the poem is complex and multi-levelled but Mandelbaum’s entire analysis of this huge subject amounts to the following:

Virgil is not free of the taint of the proconsular; but he speaks from time to time of peace achieved, and no man ever felt more deeply the part of the defeated and the lost.

Two points. 1. See how he mentioned Virgil’s complicity in Augustus’s regime in just ten words, ten words expressed in the pompous and evasive phraseology of a nineteenth century politician (‘not free of the taint…’). Mandelbaum avoids the issue; he tries to gloss over it by saying that although Virgil might have been complicit with the crimes of the regime, it’s alright because he was so sensitive to the suffering of ‘the defeated and the lost’ and so that redeems him. But does it?

Second point is the rather offensive hyperbole of claiming that ‘no man ever felt more deeply the part of the defeated and the lost’. Really? No man? Ever? Primo Levi describing the damned in Auschwitz? Solzhenitsyn describing the defeated millions in the gulags? Even if those authors are not directly comparable with Virgil, Mandelbaum’s claim is still wildly hyperbolic, symptomatic of the way hero worship replaces analysis.

At regular moments throughout the poem the text may express what might be Virgil’s feelings about the pity of war, the pity of loss and death and grief. BUT. At the centre of the poem is the brute fact of Aeneas as a huge man-killing machine, raging like Mars across the battlefield, slaughtering hecatombs of men to achieve his God-given destiny. And his last action, the memorable last image of the poem which is left squelching in the mind’s eye – is of Aeneas thrusting his sword right up to the hilt into the chest of a man begging for mercy.

Both Jackson Knight and Mandelbaum have spent years with the Aeneid but, in their respective introductions, repress or ignore the off-the-scale levels of toxic, masculine hyper-violence which runs through it in rivers of blood, preferring to write willowy tripe about universal values and deep feelings.

Instead of analysis, Mandelbaum has namedropping combined with hero worship:

And if the relative weights of the Epicurean, the Stoic, the Pythagorean in him are often hard to assess, his humanity is constant.

Is it, though, Allen? I didn’t find it so. I find the Aeneid very uneven, manufactured from hundreds of strands and themes and tones which often sit very uncomfortably together, and all of it drenched in psychopathic anger and rivers of gore. You can pick out the moments of sad sympathy with suffering humanity, stitch them together and claim this is the ‘real’ Virgil. But what about the far greater number of passages of brutal animal sacrifice? Or passages describing insensate fury? Or the many, many passages describing slaughter and massacre? Or the frequent passages expressing slavish sycophancy to the great Augustus? All of these and numerous other topics and tones need to be incorporated into any proper assessment of the ‘real’ Virgil.

Instead of addressing all this, Mandelbaum thanks Virgil for not being ‘shrill’, and then brings in yet another unnecessarily personal angle:

and when, with the goad of public despair, my own poetic voice has had to struggle often with shrillness, the work on this translation has been most welcome.

So, if I read this correctly, we are to be grateful to Virgil for helping Allen Mandelbaum to overcome the tone of shrill invective which his protests against the Vietnam War and the evil American state often led him into. No doubt this is useful if you are a big Allen Mandelbaum fan, but if you’re mainly interested in understanding Virgil, maybe not so much.

Finally, Mandelbaum returns to the notion raised in the comparison with Dante, of Virgil’s limits. In Mandelbaum’s view Virgil does not swarm with the really full variety of a Homer or Dante or Shakespeare. He is not as exhaustive as they are. His is a world, not the world. He is more selective and less objective than the other three greats. At which point, as he reaches the conclusion of his preface, Mandelbaum becomes quite hard to understand:

Virgil is ‘sustained’ and is not ‘of the young’ (though for them, and for the aged, too, of Plato’s Laws); and none of his selection and imagination seems to involve what I think of as premature stripping, where the other world of poetry takes over before this world is known: Virgil selects after his knowing this world. For this he is a name-giver whose letters and syllables seem to imitate not what Lukács called ‘the cool and limited existence of shadows’ but ‘the real nature of each thing’.

After repeated reading I think the second half of this proposition indicates that Virgil is a poet who described the real world, selecting descriptions of the world as experienced and not reaching out to describe the world of shadows beyond this one, which Mandelbaum appears to think the superior approach. But if this is what Mandelbaum means, why doesn’t he say so? Surely a teacher is paid to teach.

Mandelbaum’s short introduction flashes insights like a striptease artist, momentary promises of insights which he never fully delivers on. One or two of his ideas hove into view, make sense, but then are smothered by his autobiographical reminiscences or detour into namedropping allusions. It’s maybe worth reading for these moments but, on the whole, Mandelbaum’s introduction is not very helpful as any kind of guide to reading the huge, magnificent and appalling epic poem the reader is about to embark on.


Roman reviews

The Gallic War by Julius Caesar – 3

It is nearly always invisible dangers which are most terrifying. (VII.84)

This second half of the Gallic Wars is much more exciting than the first. In the previous four books the Romans steamrollered over everyone they encountered in a rather monotonous way. Here they experience the catastrophic loss of an entire legion and then the fierce siege of Quintus Cicero’s camp, i.e. for the first time you feel the contingency and risk involved in the entire project. And both events are carefully crafted to feature dramatic episodes of a kind not found in the first four.

Book 5: The second rebellion

The book title was supplied by the editors of the Penguin edition and refers to the revolt of the Belgic tribes.

1 to 8: Illyricum and Gaulish rebels

At the end of each campaigning season in Gaul, Caesar spends the winter in Cisalpine Gaul attending to administration. He also visits the third province he’s in charge of, Illyricum. Here he stamped on the Pirustrae tribe who had allegedly been raiding over the border into Roman territory. Representatives of the tribe met him to tell him it wasn’t them, and delivered hostages as he demanded.

By this point we’re getting used to certain things.

  1. This is a world made up of scores and scores of tribes who co-exist uneasily, continually liable to be invaded or go invading themselves.
  2. Raiding other tribes’ territories seems to be a common occurrence so presumably is a standard way of making a living, acquiring land or loot.
  3. Caesar has a standard methodology. Where possible, meet and threaten representatives of the erring tribe. If they persist in troubling the peace, attack and defeat them. Either way, you insist on them sending hostages to be kept as security against good behaviour.

This handful of options are repeated endlessly. In the spring Caesar returns to Gaul where he has to sort out the Treveri, a tribe living close to the Rhine whose leaders have failed to come to the annual conference of Gallic tribes. Turns out two rivals are vying for leadership, Caesar supports Cingetorix.

He rides on to Portus Itius, from where the invasion is to be launched. Tellingly, he takes leaders of most of the Gaulish tribes with him. The most dangerous of these is Dumnorix, ambitious leader of the Aedui. When Caesar insists he accompany him to Britain, Dumnorix begins spreading rumours to the other chiefs that they’ll all be killed in Britain. The sailing is delayed 4 weeks by a contrary wind, towards the end of which Dumnorix left the damp with some Aeduin cavalry. Caesar immediately delayed the sailing and sent troops to recapture Dumnorix, buy force if necessary. Dumnorix did indeed put up a fight, drew his sword and told his followers to protect him. So the Roman cavalry killed him. End of disruptive influence.

9 to 25: Second expedition to Britain

Caesar had ordered his troops over the winter to build a massive fleet eventually consisting of 600 troopships and 28 warships. He sets sail with five legions (about 25,000 soldiers) and 2,000 cavalry. Including private ships they hired, the Romans appeared over the horizon with 800 ships, an enormous force. No wonder the defending Britons decided to retire to higher ground.

They disembarked without event, set up a camp, then Caesar marched the majority 12 miles or so inland till they came to a Briton camp. The Seventh Legion stormed it and forced the Britons to flee but Caesar brought them back to work on the camp.

They set out again to confront the Britons but were informed of a large storms and when he returned Caesar saw it had damaged lots of boats. he drew them further up on the beach, ordered repairs made, sent orders to Titus Labienus back in Gaul to start building more.

He gives an overview of the British which is a bit random. He includes the plausible notion that the coastal areas have been settled by incomers from the continent with trivia such as, the natives think it wrong to eat of hare, fowl, and goose although it’s alright to keep for pastime or pleasure. He also makes the wildly inaccurate claim that the climate is more temperate than in Gaul, the cold seasons more moderate. I don’t think so.

He gives a wildly inaccurate description of the geography of Britain, making it out to be a huge triangular island off the west coast of France extending down to opposite Spain. It’s a great mystery how the Romans managed to conquer anywhere without decent maps.

He mentions that the British paint themselves with woad so have blue bodies. But then goes on to say they share wives between groups of ten or 12 men. This is the kind of wildly improbable legend that disfigures to much of the ostensibly ‘factual’ writing of the ancient world.

Back to the present, he describes a lightning British attack on the camp which takes them by surprise and causes casualties. The British fight well, making use of chariots and loose formations which replace each other ad lib.

Next day he sends legions foraging but once again the Britons attack in numbers. It’s hard fought but this time the legions turn them and chase. The Britons scatter and never again attack in such a unified way.

The Britons had united under the leadership of one chieftain, Cassivellaunus. He withdraws his forces north of the Thames which the Romans traverse and continue fighting, with Cassivellaunus hiding his chariots in the woods, till opportunities present for raids.

Envoys arrive from the Trinovantes. Their young leader Mandubracius had already crossed the Channel to seek Caesar’s protection after his father was killed by Cassivellaunus. Caesar demands from Mandubracius hostages and corn, but when these are brought, lets him go.

When other tribes see how fairly Mandubracius was treated, they send envoys seeking Caesar’s protection, being the Cenimagni, the Segontiaci, the Ancalites, the Bibroci and the Cassi. He learns that Cassivellaunus has retreated to famous stronghold built in a good defensive position. Caesar lays siege to it and storms it from its weakest side. Meanwhile Cassivellaunus had sent orders to four allied tribes to attack the Roman camp in Kent, but the Romans repel the attack, kill many attackers and capture a tribal leader.

Summer is nearly over and Caesar decides to return to Gaul. So while he was in the ascendent and the Britons demoralised, he demanded hostages and set an annual tribute for Cassivellaunus to pay Rome. And not to attack the British tribes which had allied with Rome. Then he marches the legions to the coast and into the ships and so back to Gaul.

Given the size of the invasion fleet (800 ships!) which indicated that it was a serious attempt to permanently conquer at least the southern part of Briton, you can’t help concluding the invasion – both the invasions – were a failure.

26 to 37: Revolt of Belgic tribes and massacre of the 7th Legion

Caesar distributes his legions and generals with various tribes. The Eburonians rebel and attack a Roman camp. Ambiorix tells the Romans that a Gaul-wide agreement has been made to launch a concerted attack on all the Roman forces and moreover a group of German mercenaries has crossed the Rhine. So he warns them to leave their camp and promises them safe passage through his territory.

The Romans are surprised but it makes sense that the Eburonians wouldn’t rebel on their own. So, what to do? Caesar gives a dramatic set piece debate among the two commanders, Lucius Aurunculeius Cotta who says stay put, and Quintus Titurius Sabinus who trusts Ambiorix and recommends that they leave (28 to 29).

Sabinus wins the argument and the legionaries are told to pack their most important belongings and set off. Catastrophe ensues. The Gauls wait till the legion has entered a deep narrow defile then bottles them up at either end and starts to massacre them. At one point Ambiorix asks the two Roman generals to a meeting. Cotta refuses to go but Sabinus leaves the fight to climb a hill and approach Ambiorix. He and his centurions are ordered to lay down their weapons, which they do. But as they approach Ambiorix they are surrounded and then killed. The Gauls raise a shout and fall on the remaining Romans with renewed fury. Cotta and most of the force are killed. The remnant make it back to the camp where, that night, seeing they are surrounded, they all commit suicide. A handful of survivors make it to Titus Atius Labienus’s camp to tell the story.

It is thought that some 6,000 legionaries died in this colossal blunder. The massacre happened at Atuatuca in modern Belgium.

38 to 58: Siege of Quintus Cicero

Emboldened, Ambiorix rallies allied Gaulish tribes, and led a ‘huge mass’ of the Eburones, the Nervii, the Aduatuci and their allies and dependents against the camp of Quintus Tullius Cicero. This was somewhere on the river Sambre and about 80 miles from the camp Caesar had made at Amiens. The Gauls made a surprise attack as the legionaries (as so often) were out gathering firewood etc, but they fought a fighting retreat back to the camp. This the Gauls surrounded and invested. They had with them defectors and Roman prisoners who showed them how to build the kind of siege towers and earthworks the Romans used, so these were built and turned against their inventors.

The Gauls called a parley and offered Cicero the same deal they’d offered Sabinus i.e. to lay down their arms and walk away in peace. But Cicero is not as foolish as Sabinus and makes a defiant reply, telling the Gauls that if they lay down their arms he will send to Caesar who will judge them for their rebellion. And so the siege continues. On the seventh day a fierce gale blows up and the Gauls shoot flaming arrows into the camp which burn down a lot of the huts.

Cicero sends a series of messengers to try and get through to Caesar, but all of them are caught and some of them tortured in view of the camp. Eventually a native Gaul makes it through the blockade and to Caesar’s camp, to whom the news of Cicero’s siege comes as a shock. He immediately sends a message to Marcus Licinius Crassus at his camp 24 miles away telling him to march to meet him. Same to Gaius Fabius and Labienus. Labienus writes back that the entire force of the Treveri were upon him and so, on balance, it was too risky for him to leave his camp. Caesar approves this decision and sets off with just two legions to raise the siege on Cicero’s camp.

By a series of forced marches Caesar quickly reaches Cicero’s camp and sends word through a native messenger that he is near. The Gauls lift the siege and turn their forces to face Caesar, some 60,000 warriors (49). Caesar has 7,000 men (49). With the enemy only 3 or so miles away Caesar orders the building of a camp, only smaller than usual, and instructs the soldiers to run around and given an air of panic and fear. This lures the Gauls out into the open and then up to this camp which they start besieging. But they had barely begun engaging when Caesar ordered his infantry to flood out by side gates and the cavalry to sally out and attack the flanks. Taken by surprise the Gauls fled and the Romans were able to cut them down.

Then he marches to relieve Cicero. He is astonished to see the size and number of siege engines the Gauls had built and then to discover that almost all the defenders had been wounded and fought bravely. He publicly congratulates Cicero and all his men, carefully speaking to individual centurions and tribunes to thank them. He addresses the disaster of the massacred legion and assures them it was down to Sabinus’s error, unlike the resolute leadership of their own Cicero.

Caesar’s victory goes some way to rallying the Romans and, more importantly, their Gaulish allies. But nonetheless the tribes are in a ferment, all sending each other messages discussing alliances and attacks. Caesar realises he must winter in Gaul to keep an eye on the situation. Caesar calls meetings with the heads of various tribes, partly by threats, partly by promises, keeps them peaceful. The Aedui and the Remi remain the staunchest allies.

But the Senones try to murder their king, Cavarinus, who had been friendly to the Romans. Indutiomarus leader of the Treveri is particularly rebellious. He sends messages to the German tribes across the Rhine enticing them to war with the Romans, but none sign up, replying that they’ve learned their lesson.

In Gaul Indutiomarus is more successful in recruiting a large force from miscellaneous tribes, attracting to his standard exiles and criminals, training them, procuring horses and so on. Once he feels strong enough he calls an armed convention of the Gaulish tribes at which he a) outlaws Cingetorix, his son-in‑law and rival for leadership of the Treveri; and b) declares his intention to rally the Senones, the Carnutes and several other tribes, to march through the lands of the Remi and laying them waste, before going on to attack the camp of Labienus.

Indutiomarus with his massed forces approaches and invests Labienus’ camp. The latter feigns timidity and reluctance, all the while awaiting his opportunity. He recruits cavalry from nearby friendly tribes and keeps them all hidden in the camp, while Indutiomarus and his men ride up to the walls, yell and jeer and throw spears and abuse the Romans. At the end of a day like this, the Gauls are turning to ride away, with a false sense of security, when suddenly from two gates Labienus launched forth all his cavalry. Anticipating the enemy would scatter in confusion, Labienus carefully instructed his men to resist attacking anyone else but all of them to find and kill Indutiomarus. He put a big price on his head and sure enough some of his soldiers intercepted Indutiomarus at the ford of a river, killed him, cut off his head and brought it back to Labienus.

When they learned this, all his allies among the Eburones and Nervii flee, talk of rebellion is dowsed down and that winter found Gaul quiet.

Book 6: (53 BC)

1 to 8: Further revolt in Gaul

Caesar tasks three generals with raising new recruits and asks Pompey to send him the legion he recently raised in north Italy. He hears news of northern tribes conspiring to rebel and so makes a lightning attack on the Nervii, capturing cattle, prisoners and ravaging the countryside. When he convokes the annual conference of Gaulish leaders, the Senones, Carnuti and Senones refuse to attend, indicating their hostility. Caesar marches quickly on the Senones forcing their leader, Accio, to back down and hand over hostages.

Then he marches into the country of the Menapii in the far north, burning farms and villages and taking cattle and prisoners till their leaders were forced to sue for peace and hand over hostages in the usual way.

Meanwhile the Treveri, led by relatives of Indutiomarus, had gathered a large force of infantry and cavalry to attack Labienus. Labienus feigned fear and then pretended to leave the camp, luring the Treveri across the river onto flat ground this side. Once they were over he inspired his soldiers to turn and fight them, trapped by the river. Much killing. The Treveri submitted and the Germans they’d invited to come join them decided to stay on the other side of the Rhine.

9 to 10: Caesar crosses the Rhine, retreat of the Suebi

Another Rhine crossing:

  1. to punish the Germans who had sent the Treveri reinforcements
  2. to prevent Ambiorix finding asylum there

The Ubii swear it wasn’t them and he spares them. Investigation suggests it was the Suebi. The Suebi gather their men at a stronghold and await. Caesar’s men quickly build another bridge and he crosses it.

11 to 20: Description of the Gauls

Digression on the nature of Gaulish society. How the advent of the Romans reordered things to bring the Aedui and Remi into prominence. The Gauls fought every year among themselves. The Druids practised human sacrifice, sometimes in wickerwork giants which they set on fire (16).

When the father of a house, who is of distinguished birth, has died, his relatives assemble, and if there be anything suspicious about his death they make inquisition of his wives as they would of slaves, and if discovery is made they put them to death with fire and all manner of excruciating tortures.

Their funerals, considering the civilisation of Gaul, are magnificent and expensive. They cast into the fire everything, even living creatures, which they believe to have been dear to the departed during life, and but a short time before the present age, only a generation since, slaves and dependents known to have been beloved by their lords used to be burnt with them at the conclusion of the funeral formalities. (VI.19)

21 to 28: Description of the Germans

More primitive. Fewer gods, they only worship things they can see like sun, moon and fire. Sex in young men is frowned upon for stunting their growth. Land is redistributed each year to stop them becoming to land-bound and also to enforce a sort of equality. Obsession with war. When a chief proclaims a war anyone who resiles is shunned. They lay waste the land around each tribe.

The Gauls used to be more warlike than the Germans and at points crossed the Rhine and conquered. But being closer to Roman territory they’ve got used to trading and fine products unlike the Germans who remain more isolated and warlike.

He gives one of those characteristically ludicrous descriptions of the natural world, imputing to the great forest of Hyrcania a massive extent (true enough) and a number of fantastical animals.

The Penguin editor suggests that this long digression about Gauls and Germans was placed her to distract from the fact that Caesar’s second incursion across the Rhine, like the first one, achieved little tangible result. When the Germans retreat into the forest, Caesar doesn’t have the provisions to follow them and so, er, retreats back over the bridge, destroying the German end and placing a watchtower and guards on the Gaulish side.

29 to 44: Caesar returns to Gaul

Right up in the north, against the Rhine, is the territory of the Eburones led by Ambiorix. Caesar marches against them, sending ahead Gaius Volcacius Tullus with the cavalry. These go very fast and surprise Ambiorix off his guard with only a few men. However these hold off the Romans while Ambiorix saddles up and flees into the forest. He sends out messages telling every man for himself and many flee and hide.

The Segni and Condrusi come to Caesar and plead that not all Germans in Gaul are conspiring. They aren’t and give hostages and make peace.

Caesar makes his base at Atuatuca, then divides his forces in three and takes his force to ravage the land of the Eburones. Germans across the Rhine hear that there’s a free-for-all and cross the river 30 miles downstream of Caesar’s base, to join in. But prisoners tell them the Romans base is at Atuatuca, full of loot and poorly defended.

Cicero had been left in Atuatuca and initially kept the men penned up in case of attack. But after a week the frustrated men need to get out and the troops need corn so Cicero lets a detachment go collect some, and another detachment take out the animals for exercise. Inevitably it’s at this moment that the Germans appear, mounting a fierce attack, causing chaos. While a fierce fight goes on at the gates of the camp, the detachments sent to fetch food – raw recruits and servants – fell into a panic. Experienced centurions helped them form and wedge shape and make it back to the camp, but another detachment initially took to a nearby hill, then changed its mind and came back down into the flatlands where it was destroyed.

Failing to break in the Germans break off the engagement and ride back to the Rhine. Hysteria grips the Roman camp and rumours spread that Caesar and the other legions have been wiped out, until Caesar himself returns and restores order.

The Penguin edition notes that Cicero clearly deserved a bollocking but Caesar treats him very gently, listing all the extenuating circumstances he can think of. This is because his brother, the orator Marcus Tullius Cicero, back in Rome, is still a political force who Caesar needs to keep onside.

This is reminiscent of the panic at Vesontio back in I.39. Caesar supervises widespread burning and ravaging of the country, with the deliberate intention of starving the inhabitants. An enquiry into the rebellion of the Senones and Carnutes concludes that it was instigated by Accio, who is executed in the traditional Roman manner i.e. scourged and hanged.

Penguin point out that by holding courts, judging and executing leaders like this Caesar was behaving like the governor of an accredited Roman province which Gaul very much was not. It was arrogant (and illegal) behaviour like this which raised so much opposition back in Rome.

Book 7: The rebellion of Vercingetorix (52 BC)

By far the longest book.

1 to 7: General conspiracy of the Gauls — Vercingetorix chosen as leader

The murder of Publius Clodius in January 52 BC led to increased political turbulence in Rome. The Gauls, hearing of this, took advantage to conspire to overthrow the invader and regain their liberty. The Carnutes lead the rebellion and sack the town of Cenabum, killing the knight Gaius Fufius Cita, in charge of managing trade.

This inspires the leader of the Arverni, far away in the south of free Gaul, abutting on the Roman Province, one Vercingetorix. Background to Vercingetorix, namely his father was at one point premier chieftain of all Gaul but was executed for seeking to be king. When Vercingetorix proclaims his ambition to kick out the Romans, his uncle and other chiefs expel him from their capital, Gergovia, but Vercingetorix takes to the road recruiting followers and building up a following. Eventually he returns to Gergovia, takes over his tribe and sends out messages for a major, allied rebellion. He enforces ferocious discipline on his recruits:

compelling waverers by severity of punishment. Indeed for the commission of a greater offence he put to death with fire and all manner of tortures; for a lesser case he sent a man home with his ears cut off or one eye gouged out, to point the moral to the rest and terrify others by the severity of the penalty.

In Italy Caesar hears of numerous tribes forming alliances constellated around Vercingetorix’s leadership. Vercingetorix moves his forces into the territory of the Bituriges.

8 to 14: Caesar moves suddenly against the Arverni

But Caesar surprises Vercingetorix by clearing the snow from a pass through the Cevennes and approaching him from an unexpected direction. He leaves Brutus in charge of his camp and makes a forced march to Vienne. He picks up two legions and marches in through the territory of the Aedui into that of the Lingones, where two legions were wintering. Hearing all this Vercingetorix returns to the country of the Bituriges, and from there heads to assault Gorgobina, a stronghold of the Boii.

This is the longest book of the 8 and is all like this, two leaders criss-crossing ancient Gaul, doing deals with, or being double crossed by, numerous tribes, sending out legions or detachments or squads of cavalry under lieutenants. The names of tribes and locations Caesar passes through, allies with or fights gets very confusing. In brief: Caesar takes three Gaulish towns, Vellaunodunum, Cenabum and Noviodunum.

15 to 31: Siege, defence, and capture of Avaricum

Vercingetorix had suffered 3 defeats in a row so holds a conference of his allies and persuades them to adopt a scorched earth strategy, withdrawing before the Romans and destroying all towns, villages, fields and crops in their paths, with a view to starving them. But the Bituriges went down on their knees and begged him not to burn Avaricum, their fairest town.

So Vercingetorix relents, but Caesar besieges it, for 25 days building an elaborate rampart wall and two huge siege towers. When the population of the town tries to sneak out one night, Caesar takes it, puts it to flame and massacres the 40,000 inhabitants.

Caesar adjudicates leadership contest between rival leaders of the Aedui. But the one he chooses betrays him, a week later telling his people that the Romans have massacred their army, so they have no choice but to go join Vercingetorix and fight for freedom.

34 to 53: Siege of Gergovia

The chief oppidum (fortified town) of the Arverni.— abandoned, after severe repulse. Impulsiveness of the troops who do not hear the recall, continue up the hill to storm the stronghold but are repulsed when the enemy muster with overwhelming numbers. — 46 centurions 700 men

This was the one and only military defeat Caesar suffered at the hands of the Gauls in 8 years. Caesar gives speech reprimanding men and insisting on discipline and then withdraws from Gergovia, marching back along then crossing the river Allier.

54 to 57: Caesar moves against the Aedui.

58 to 62: Labienus, successful against the Parisii, joins him.

63 to 74: General revolt of the Gauls under Vercingetorix.

They attack Caesar, but are defeated, not least because of Caesar’s German cavalry, and retire to Alesia, a town of the Mandubii. Caesar leaves two legions to guard his baggage and swiftly pursues Vercingetorix, killing 3,000 of his rearguard. Three Aeduin traitors are brought to Caesar.

68 to 89: The siege of Alesia

The Gauls retreat inside this stronghold. Caesar orders his troops to construct massive siege-works eleven miles in length, featuring 11 camps and 23 forts. After a confused fight between the opposing cavalries, Vercingetorix adopts the following strategy: he orders his cavalry to leave in the dead of night from a gate which isn’t yet covered by the Roman siegeworks, and to ride to their respective tribes and to raise all men of military age and bring them back, all in the name of a Final Battle which will achieve National Liberation. Meanwhile, all grain is confiscated and Vercingetorix adopts a daily ration for his 80,000 men, which should last a month or so of siege, until the reinforcements from the tribes arrive.

Details of Caesar’s astonishingly complex and thorough siegeworks which face both in and out.

Schematic side view of the Roman siege works at Alesia, 52 BC

The Gauls hold a national convention at which the tribes allot armed forces to send to Alesia, with various factions resiling and bickering. Eventually an astonishing force of 260,000 sets off, but by this stage Alesia’s food supplies have run out.

Caesar describes a meeting of the leaders inside Alesia and gives a speech – presumably entirely fictional – to Critognatus, a noble Avernian who, after a long prologue, recommends cannibalism (77)! It is also notable as belonging to that genre of speeches which Roman authors attributed to their enemies, in which the enemy eloquently describes the crushing servitude and slavery imposed by the Romans.

The weak and old and wives and children are expelled from Alesia and trek over to the Romans to beg them for food. But the Romans barely have enough to feed themselves and refuse the refugees food or permission to pass. So they are caught in no man’s land to starve.

The Gaulish hoard arrives, much to the joy of the besieged who throng the barricades to watch the battle. Caesar places all his infantry around the 11 mile siegeworks then sends his cavalry against the Gaulish cavalry. The Romans suffer casualties before an attack by German cavalry breaks the Gauls and chases them back to their main camp.

A day later a co-ordinated attack from the relieving force triggers a sortie by the besieged and the Romans find themselves hard pressed. But they are defeated by the Romans firing from their strong defences, and fall into the complex web of trenches, booby traps filled with spiked poles and so on. They are forced to withdraw while the besieged are still trying to fill in the first trench of the inner siegeworks, so the latter retreat back into the town, too.

The Gauls then mount an attack on the one Roman camp which isn’t integrated into their defensive circuit, while the besieged again sally forth. (The complexity of the siegeworks and the peril and anxiety of the repeated attacks remind me of the atmosphere at another famous French siege, Dien Bien Phu in French Indo-China, March to May 1954.)

Caesar sends Labienus with reinforcements to the hilltop camp, sends Brutus with reinforcements to the strongest point of the sallying army, then leads reinforcements in person. The forces attacking the hilltop hesitate, then Labienus sallies forth with the cohorts he had picked up. Caught between these cohorts and Caesar’s cavalry, the Gauls panic, break ranks and are slaughtered.

Sedulius, commander and chief of the Lemovices, was killed; Vercassivellaunus the Arvernian was captured alive in the rout; seventy-four war‑standards were brought in to Caesar; of the vast host few returned safe to camp.

Vercingetorix conceded defeat to the tribal leaders inside Alesia. Kill him or surrender him alive, as they wish. The leaders go under flag of truce to Caesar, who sits in front of his fortifications. Vercingetorix is handed over, all the chiefs lay down their arms. Caesar puts the Aeduin and Arvernian prisoners to one side to use as bargaining chips with their tribes, then distributes all the captures Gauls to his army as loot, one Gaul to one Roman.

(I think what this means is each Roman soldier then gets his prisoner to contact his family and demands a ransom for their safe return. So equivalent to cash.)

Caesar then receives the submission of all the tribes, and carefully allots legions and commanders in the territories of the main tribes for the winter. When news of this comprehensive victory reaches Rome, a public thanksgiving of twenty days was granted.

Book 8

This final book was not written by Caesar but by his lieutenant Aulus Hirtius. He was a legate of Caesar’s army of Gaul from 58, and crossed the Rubicon with him in January 49. He fought for Caesar during the civil war, and was appointed governor of Transalpine Gaul in 45. In other words a senior figure.

Preface

Hirtius addresses his friend Lucius Cornelius Balbus, another friend of Caesar’s, serving under him as chief engineer (praefectus fabrum) in Gaul. Balbus was said to have attended the very select dinner Caesar hosted, along with Sallust, Hirtius, Oppius and Sulpicus Rufus on the evening of the day when he crossed the Rubicon.

He explains to Balbus that he is continuing the Commentaries because they don’t link up with Caesar’s own account of the Civil; War. He says he has finished the third of the latter books, set in Alexandria, and has now set to filling the blank between book 7 and the outbreak of civil war by supplying a book 8. But it has been hard work to match Caesar’s clear elegant style and also the speed and alacrity with which he wrote.

1 to 48: (51 BC) End of the revolt in Gaul

Winter of 52 to 51 Caesar hears that the Gauls are plotting again. Alesia proves they cannot defeat the Romans when the latter’s forces are united, but might be able to pick off the legions scattered around the country in different tribal regions.

At the end of December Caesar set out on a lightning march and caught the Bituriges in the fields (it’s not actually likely they would be tilling their fields in the depths of winter, is it? Is this a stock literary convention of this genre?) Anyway, Caesar captures thousands but then lets them go and, when they see him being similarly merciful to nearby allied tribes, the Bitiruges decide to submit and give hostages.

Carnutes dispersed, Bellovaci defeated. Dumnacus besieges Lemonum, but without success. The Armoric states subdued. Drappes captured. Uxellodunum besieged and taken by Caesar. Exemplary punishment, the captured have their right hands chopped off. Labienus’ successful operations against the Treveri. Commius subdued.

49 to 55: (50 BC) Caesar and the Senate

Caesar’s triumphal reception by cities and colonies. He returns to the army in Gaul. A description of his opponents in the Senate. Caesar returns to Italy.


Thoughts

Political consequences

1. Caesar’s Gallic Wars were fought to a) clear his debts b) bring him glory and political power.

2. But in doing so he went far beyond his brief as proconsul – dealing with the leaders of free Gaul as if he was governor of a conquered province, invading Britain (twice) and crossing the Rhine, far exceeding his authority. This prompted growing criticism in Rome throughout his eight-year command. And it was this which created the mounting political crisis about whether he would ever be prepared to lay down his command and return to Rome as a normal citizen – the ultimate result being that he was too scared to do so and, instead, crossed the Rubicon into Italy with his army thus triggering five years or ruinous civil war

The war itself

1. Interesting to learn how universal the exchange of hostages was – the standard procedure to ensure peace, not only with the Romans but among the Gaulish tribes themselves.

2. The relentless Roman victories of the first four books get a bit boring. Book 5 is far more dramatic and exciting, when the massacre of Sabinus’ legion and the siege of Quintus Cicero for the first time introduce a real sense of risk and uncertainty and pave the way for the epic account of the struggle against Vercingetorix in book 7.

3. The invasion of England cost a huge amount of time and money and resources and, in the end, seems completely futile. He took away hostages from southern tribes but, presumably that lapsed when Caesar returned to Rome a few years later. Nowhere was settled, no bases or camps, no trading. Seems like an expensive folly.

Anti-imperialism

One of the interesting things about the text is the way it contains its own anti-argument. Caesar’s entire account takes it for granted that rule by Rome is best for the Gauls. And yet fairly regularly he puts into the mouths of Gaulish leaders as direct speech, or attributes to them in indirect description, the wish to be free men in their own land, living under their own laws.

It’s not an unreasonable wish. And every time you read it, you think, ‘Just what right did Caesar think he had to ravage, burn, pillage, and endlessly fight all these peoples?’ Maybe he thought he was bringing ‘peace’ to a territory plagued by endless internecine violence but it’s hard to see how the endless campaigning and fighting and burning and selling into slavery which the Romans brought was an improvement. It consistently feels worse.

Slavery

Interesting when one of the chiefs, Ambiorix, complains that hostages given by his family were being treated ‘like slaves’ and put in chains (V.27). And, of Gaul in general:

Throughout Gaul there are two classes of persons of definite account and dignity. As for the common folk, they are treated almost as slaves, venturing naught of themselves, never taken into counsel. The more part of them, oppressed as they are either by debt, or by the heavy weight of tribute, or by the wrongdoing of the more powerful men, commit themselves in slavery to the nobles, who have, in fact, the same rights over them as masters over slaves. (VI.13)

At numerous other towns the inhabitants were captured and sold into slavery. But then so were some the captured Romans. Caesar says Britain is famous for half a dozen exports to the continent, among which are slaves.

In other words, slavery was current throughout Gaul, Britain and the land of the Germans, so well beyond ancient Greece or Rome. Was there any part of the known world where slavery wasn’t practised two thousand years ago? Was slavery universal?

Eternal war

The Gauls fought among themselves every year. The Britons fought among themselves until Caesar’s incursion temporarily united them. The Germans lived for war. The Italians went on aggressive campaigns every year and spent half their time fighting each other. In Africa Jugurtha, in Asia Mithridates and the Parthians, in Egypt civil war. War everywhere, every year, all the time, forever.

The stupidity of war

Men fighting, I get. It’s what we do, what we’ve always done. But some incidents highlight the sheer brainless stupidity of war and the terrible, futile, stupid cost to civilian victims, women and children. The height of lunacy is reached in book 7 when Vercingetorix persuades the Averni, to burn down their own towns and destroy their own crops all in the name of freedom and victory. Reminiscent of General Westmoreland’s famous quote during the Vietnam War, that the Americans had to destroy the village in order to ‘save’ it. Or Vladimir Putin’s determination to ‘save’ eastern Ukraine by utterly devastating it.

War crimes

In descriptions of other Roman campaigns I’ve wondered whether what the Romans did amounted to war crimes. Yes, is the short answer. Massacring the populations of entire towns, including women and children, is a war crime.

Caesar’s sustained eight year campaign of destroying towns, massacring their inhabitants or sending them off into slavery, have caused many moderns to compare his actions as a genocide. If a genocide is defined as the systematic attempt to wipe out a particular ethnic group, then no, he just wanted every tribe in Gaul to submit, not to exterminate them.

On the other hand, when tribes or towns did hold out, it appears, from his often very casual references, that he did consciously raze towns to the ground and either massacre or enslave entire populations, most notably at the town of Avaricum, and then at Uxellodunum (VIII.44). Or:

Caesar thought that the next best way of obtaining the satisfaction that his honour demanded was to strip the country of inhabitants, cattle and buildings so thoroughly that any of the Eburones who had the good fortune to escape would loathe Ambiorix for bringing such calamities upon them and never allow him to return. Detachments of legionary or auxiliary troops went all over the country killing or capturing large numbers of the natives, burning the homesteads, and carrying off plunder, until it was completely devastated. (VIII.25)

There’s a revealing moment early in book 8 when Hirtius mentions that the population of the Carnutes are still living in makeshift tents and shacks, as all the towns in their territory have been razed to the ground (VIII.5).

At moments like this you see a vast landscape where all the towns, villages, fields and crops have been destroyed, leaving the survivors to scrape a living in pathetic shelters beside burned-out fields, and you realise this is what the Romans meant when they said they brought ‘peace’.

The scarlet cloak

Caesar always wore the scarlet cloak (paludamentum) of a commander-in‑chief (VII.88).

Video

A useful video summary.


Related link

Roman reviews