by Paddy Griffith
Of all the supposedly civilised and legitimate activities pursued by modern man, Military History probably comes second, after Sport, as the area in which you can most easily get away with displays of blatant nationalist pride, prejudice and bias. In the case of Sport you can do this under cover of the plea that 'It's only a game' (regardless of how professional the whole thing seems to have become in recent times); whereas in the case of Military History the obscurity and distinctly 'minority' interest of the whole thing can serve as an equally good cover. Since very few people tend to read very much serious military history in a properly critical manner, very few warnings tend to be sounded about its often deeply nationalistic sub-texts and hidden agendas. Attitudes are often taken unconsciously which in other contexts would stand out as ignorant stereotyping at best, or highly offensive racism at worst. Only occasionally does this problem come to the surface of popular debate, for example in the heated recent controversy over how the fiftieth anniversary of Pearl Harbor should be commemorated - and watch out for a real humdinger over Hiroshima in 1995. Yet in these cases it is perhaps understandable that the issues should be contentious, since many people who are alive today were eye-witnesses to the actual events, and many millions more were directly affected by their immediate results. Although they happened long ago, they do not yet really qualify as 'history' in the full sense of the term. With the battle of the Boyne, however, it is different insofar as the event happened as far back as 1690 - almost a century before USA existed, and before the birth even of our great great great grandfathers. Yet some Irish people still feel so strongly about this particular piece of military history that they will parade under banners proclaiming it, and singing songs in its praise, while other Irish people will have an extreme disinclination to recognise its existence at all. The most direct attack against the battlefield itself (ie
as an historic battlefield site) came in 1923, when the stone
monument there was blown up with dynamite; [1] but many
people have been killed and wounded in the parades since
1968, and the latest trouble over them came only a month
before this present article was being written.
Obviously it will be very difficult to write impartially
about the battle of the Boyne if one is Irish, British, French
or Dutch - or Protestant or Catholic - since all of those
causes were heavily engaged in the struggle. But at least
the reader will be forewarned that he is entering difficult
territory, since the battle has retained such strong
contemporary notoriety. With much of the rest of military
history, however, this caveat simply does not apply, since
the potent nationalistic feelings attaching to most historical
events have tended to become hidden by the passage of
time, thereby making the events appear 'neutral' to the
modern student, even though in reality they are not.
In some cases this can lead to serious
misunderstandings, since what seems to be a 'neutral' and
'past sellby date'piece of military history to one student can
still be highly charged with emotion for another. For example
wargames representing the Second World War German army
and SS are played very widely within the hobby community,
even though it does not take very much imagination to see
how they could be deeply offensive to some people.
Then again, it was only last month that there was a
storm of protest in the Scottish press against David G
Chandler's innocent project to perform a full dress re-enactment of the battle of Culloden ( 1746) upon the
battlefield itself. [2]
To many Scots, that particular piece of their national
heritage is too sacred to be played around with. Not even
events as far back as Biblical times can escape this sort of
reaction, eg the siege of Masada (73 ad) took on a wide new
contemporary symbolism as soon as Israel started to build
its own nuclear weapons, and analysts began to identify a
'Masada complex' within the Israeli national psyche. Indeed,
the whole of military history (from Joshua to Schwarzkopf
and from Kadesh to Khe Sanh) has in recent times come
under fire from feminist writers, since it is a subject that has
always been made by men at the expense of women, and is
still studied almost exclusively by persons of the male
gender. [3]
One person's harmless antiquarianism can thus turn
out to be another's provocative political symbolism but
what are we to make of the very common case where a
particular historical event appears 'neutral' to both sides in
a discussion? At first sight it seems to be easy for two
adult males to talk impartially and responsibly about battles
long ago, in which neither feels any strong
contemporary political emotion. If they disagree about
what actually happened, they are presumably doing so
for purely technical reasons - ie they have differing
understandings of the original sources - rather than for
reasons of ideology or national doctrine. That, at least,
is a very widespread but very misleading assumption.
In the present article, my argument is that a hidden
ideological agenda - especially a nationalistic one - will
almost inevitably lie behind even the most apparently
harmless discussion of military history. Indeed, it is
more likely to distort the debate precisely because it is
concealed and unnoticed.
In the pages of Empires, Eagles and Lions, therefore, we
should make ever greater efforts to expose and under-
stand bias of this type. [4]
We must come to terms not just with the reliability of
data in our original sources, but also with the subconscious
spin we put upon our subsequent interpretations.
The Napoleonic period is an excellent case in point,
because it is sufficiently far away in time to appear ,neutral',
and of no more than academic interest. Surely we can sit
back and study the manoeuvres of armies 180 years ago
without having to worry about the underlying politics?
Surely no one today can still possibly care about what did
or did not happen to such obscure figures as, er, the king
of Westphalia, can they? [5]
Why, not even Napoleon himself can possibly still
be of interest as a continuing political issue, can he, to
anyone except a few no-hope last-ditch Bonapartists in
Paris (however interesting he may be for other reasons)?
Such would be our natural first instinct; but it does
nevertheless seem to be true that there is in fact still a
wide continuing political debate about the Emperor,
and this is admirably illustrated in Peter Geyl's essential text
Napoleon: For and Against. [6]
No one who studies Bonaparte can do so without
looking at him through the eyes of some very opinionated
observers living not only ' in his own time, but also in every
subsequent generation up to the present day. He himself
deliberately set up a cult of French 'Glory' which was
consciously perpetuated in the Second Empire and became
ineradicably linked to the French self-image during the
traumatic period between 1871 and 1919 when the
humiliation of the 'Occupied West Bank' was the primary
concern of national policy. But at least inside France the
Bonapartists represented only one strand of the argument
about what had really happened in Europe between
Marengo and Waterloo: they had to defend their views
against various types of Republicans and Royalists who
interpreted things in some very different ways. Within
France there were several conflicting visions of what
Bonaparte actually represented.
Elsewhere, however, the Bonapartists sometimes
became almost the only voice that was heard. To some
extent this was even true in Britain, the supremely
antiBonapartist victor of the wars. For Britain the wars were
fought by proxy in most of Europe outside the Peninsula
and Waterloo, so the general public had little direct
experience of (or concern with) what had happened in the
major land campaigns. The story of the operations in central
Europe had to be pieced together later, and in the event this
was done via largely Bonapartist sources.
During the late nineteenth century there therefore
grew up a rather odd brand of British Napoleon-worship
which somehow managed to co-exist quite peacefully
alongside the home grown (and hence naturally stronger)
Wellington-worship. It was reinforced at that time by a
growing perception that Britain might soon have to fight a
very major war in continental Europe, so it would therefore
be wise to study recent examples of major wars on the
continent.
In USA, which had fought as Napoleon's ally against
the redcoats, the influence of Bonapartism was even
stronger than in Britain, whereas Wellington's genius was
somehow deemed to have been negated by a combination
of the Boston Tea Party and the battle of New Orleans. USA
was also increasingly being populated by immigrants who
no longer had distinctively British-sounding names such as
Winfield Scott, Jackson, Stuart, Grant or Lee; but who had
new names from continental Europe such as Lochet,
Zuparko, Koontz, Nafziger or Radakowitch. The family
background of such immigrants was likely to have included
not only wide and diverse skills in European languages, but
also a direct encounter with the GrandeArmee (either
within its ranks or fighting against it - or even more
probably,
both). Despite the extensive English-language literature of
Wellington's campaigns, therefore, it has always been the
campaigns of Napoleon himself which have dominated US
thinking about the military history of 1800-1815. This
national bias is faithfully reflected in EE&L today, where
one can still sometimes be condemned for being British as if
it were some sort of disease. [7]
We must remember that Americans and Britons no
longer even speak or write the same language. At the time
of the civil war (ie the American one, although the same is
true even more so for the English one), there had still been
a considerable unity of phrasing, pronunciation and
spelling between the two sides of the Atlantic. Since then,
however, the two sides have wandered down ever-
divergent paths, despite the best efforts of Hollywood to
convert British audiences to American English usage (and
to cast actors with British accents in the more villainous
roles).
A recent survey in New York showed that British
newspaper journalists working there tended to come over
to US readers as far more arrogant and aloof than their
American colleagues. Although the British writer may mean
one thing, he tends to be read by New Yorkers as meaning
something significantly different - which is perhaps
scarcely surprising insofar as Limeys are foreigners in so
many senses of the term, however much common heritage
they may share from the past. Conversely it was
demonstrated during his presidency that Ronald Reagan,
who to Americans generally appeared as an avuncular and
comfortable figure, seemed in European eyes to be geriatric
and uninformed to a dangerously threatening degree.
Such cultural differences always pose a major
problem to Napoleonic military historians, like myself, who
are writing in England for the benefit of a US readership.
This problem is two-edged. In the first place I find it is hard
for me to be properly understood by my American readers,
because I express myself in a literary style which happens
to be foreign to them (and it is in a way even more foreign
than Jean Lochet's lapses into 'Franglais').
For example in Scott Bowden's piece in EE&L#1 I
know that I had already met all his objections to my theories
in my original writing; [8]
yet he has apparently not understood very much of what
I said, and so still continues to condemn me for things he
assumed I meant, but which I didn't.
Secondly, it is often difficult for me to sympathise
with what Americans are trying to say about Napoleonic
subjects, because they seem to be coming from such a very
different ideological direction from my own. I read their
words, and am grateful that they are written in English: but I
am sometimes astonished that they can ignore such vast
areas of the particular subject they are talking about.
To put this another way, I am sometimes baffled
when they fail to explain their starting assumptions (simply
because they are incorrectly assuming that all their readers
will automatically share the same, 'American', starting
assumptions).
If we take the case of French Napoleonic assault
tactics, it seems that Americans in general will tend to agree
with Commandant J Colin [9]
that the French relied mainly on firepower from deployed
lines, whereas Brits in general will tend to agree with Sir
Charles W Oman [10]
that the French relied mainly on shock action from heavy
columns. Your Yankee somehow seems to feel inwardly
comfortable with a linear and 'firepower' explanation of
French tactics, whereas your 'Rosbif' feels inwardly more
comfortable with the idea that psychological shock was the
true determinant. But why should this be?
The most obvious explanation must surely be that, if
it is really true that Americans value Napoleon and the
Grande Armee more highly than Wellington and his
redcoats, then they will also prefer more modern French
experts like Colin to the equivalent British experts like
Oman. So far so good, and it also seems to be fair to say
that American society generally values engineers and
scientists more highly than does British society. Therefore
Americans will like to look to 'hardware' explanations more
readily than do their more literary British colleagues. [11]
More importantly, however, is the difference between
the types of evidence that the two sides are using in their
search for clues as to what the French actually did in their
assaults. Whereas British historians will naturally tend to
look at the large mass of eyewitness accounts of tactics, in
English, which have come down to us from the Peninsular
War, [12] US commentators will often look instead to whatever
(non-English language) accounts are left over from
Napoleon's campaigns on the Danube, the Po, the Oder or
the Vistula. If that evidence proves to be frustratingly
sparse for low level tactics - as it usually is [13] - then it will be
supplemented by reference to theoretical drill manuals
rather than to first hand accounts by British observers.
Thus on one side we have plenty of biased but very
detailed British impressions of what the French did in their
Iberian sideshow, while on the other side we have a highly
unsatisfactory mixture of poor eyewitness accounts from
'the big league', combined with a detailed body of
theoretical precepts for what the drill masters believed
ought to have happened. Clearly these two sets of evidence
cannot fairly be taken as equivalent to each other, and each
of them has its own particular strengths and weaknesses.
The strength of the British evidence from the
Peninsula is that most of it was written by lowly soldiers for
whom the local details of their experience were personally
very important. They therefore give us an authentic I worm's
eye' view of combat, in a quality and quantity that is
unobtainable in any other language for any other part of
the Napoleonic wars. I do not believe that this point is
widely appreciated; but I believe that it should nevertheless
lie at the very root of our understanding of Napoleonic
tactics.
However, the weakness of these accounts is also
glimpsed only dimly by modern commentators - namely that
we must not take every word as Gospel Truth. When a
British soldier says he was attacked by a 'column', he may
mean nothing more than a line four or six deep (which is
almost a 'regulation' line, if you remember that one or two of
the ranks will consist of serre-file ncos). When he says he
was attacked by '2,000 men', he will invariably mean at best
a half of that figure. From Vimeiro to Waterloo the point has
been proved so repeatedly that I will not labour it further.
And by the same token, when he tries to describe what
the French officers were telling their men to do at the critical
moment, he is just as likely to be mistaken as when he
reports the supposedly 'verbatim' words of his own officers
(There are no less than eight fully documented - but
different - accounts of what Wellington said to Maitland's
brigade at Waterloo, when it was assaulted by the Imperial
Guard).
Against all this, it must be admitted that the strength
of the 'continental' evidence lies mainly in the drill manuals.
There, written out in explicit detail, and in many different
languages, is the official prescription of just how an ideal
army was supposed to manoeuvre on an ideal battlefield.
But -just wait a minute! - this is also surely the major
weakness as well, because surely everyone knows that drill
manuals fall apart almost as soon as they are exposed to the
real stress of real combat? Such a fate often befell the
British manuals, as we know from the accounts of eye-witnesses, so why should it not also have overtaken the
French, Austrian, Prussian and Westphalian manuals, too?
The second major weakness in our evidence for 'continental' tactics seems to be that there really are very
few detailed first hand accounts of low-level tactics, written
by genuine eye-witnesses, which have been left to us by
either the Grande Armee or its enemies - and that applies to
1806 as much as to 1813. We have political, strategic and
'operational art' accounts in profusion - but not (repeat
NOT) many truly 'tactical' accounts.
When I tried to assemble a set of references to the
'range at which fire was opened', a few years ago, I received
about ten British examples for every usable 'continental'
one. It was a very dispiriting experience.
Seriously folks, I really would like it to be true that for
reasons of national or linguistic bias - I have simply failed
to locate the massive body of evidence for lowlevel
'continental' tactics that is probably lying around
unreported and unexploited, somewhere out there, such as
might equal the quantity and quality of the well-known
body of British firsthand accounts for the Peninsular
War and Waterloo. But after thirty years of searching, I am
starting to lose hope that it actually exists. So please can
you help?
Whether you can or not, the main point surely
remains that hidden nationalistic agendas are almost
inevitable within the academic discipline of military history,
since its subject matter consists precisely of conflict between
warring nations. In order to study them, the researcher is
subconsciously lured into taking sides. In the case of the
Napoleonic period, that seems to mean a choice between the
British of Wellington, in his small-unit sideshow, and the
French or central Europeans (including many modern
Americans) of Napoleon, in his big unit big league.
I maintain that it will be better if we recognise these
nationalist tendencies for what they are, than if we simply
repeat them blindly and uncritically.
[1] Enda O'Boyle, The Battle of the Boyne (Duleek Historical
Society, Navan 1990), p.45.
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