The NS on Amritsar in 1919: “We hold India by the sword and rule her by fear”

A historical note.

On his final day in India, David Cameron laid a wreath and signed a memorial book of condolence in order to express his regret over the massacre at the Jallianwala Bagh public gardens in 1919. The slaughter, led by British Brigadier-General Reginald Dyer, was reported in Britain in a variety of ways. “Those who defended Dyer look, with hindsight, as though they were so blinded by the mythology of Empire that they could not see the simply inhumanity of what had been done,” Iain Martin has written for the Telegraph – a newspaper which, at the time, defended the “Butcher of Amritsar”. The final death toll is still contested.

Below is the New Statesman’s account of the event and the public reaction that followed. The piece, published in December 1919 after the Hunter Commission, reminds readers that Dyer's actions were a particularly ugly product of relatively mainstream sentiments back home. It attempts to place the massacre within the wider context of British imperialism: “Fundamentally, the Amritsar massacre was merely a corollary of the conditions of British rule in India. If General Dyer had not been there to fire upon the crowd some other soldier would have done it … The truth, which cannot and must not be ignored or evaded, is that we hold India by the sword and rule her by fear.”

The Common Sense of Coercion

Everyone, it appears, is inexpressibly shocked by the story of the Amritsar massacre. And indeed the crude horror of the picture presented by General Dyer himself, in his evidence before the Hunter Committee, would be hard to match even amongst the most appalling incidents of the Great War. Ten minutes' steady rifle fire at close quarters upon a great crowd of unarmed and unresisting men and women, resulting in about five hundred people being killed and another fifteen hundred being wounded and left to groan where they lay for a day and a night—neither the Germans in Belgium nor the Bolsheviks in Russia were ever, we believe, accused of any act quite so horrible. No doubt, as General Dyer declared, the incident was calculated to “make a wide impression throughout the Punjab.” It was a very thorough piece of frightfulness—too thorough, apparently, for the stomachs of even the fiercest of fire-eating Imperialists in this country, for no attempt appears to have been made to defend it in any quarter.

But though the fact that General Dyer finds no apologists over here may be in one sense a matter for congratulation, in another it has a somewhat disquieting significance. For it surely indicates a very widespread failure to appreciate the conditions of our rule in India. In Anglo-India where those conditions are comprehended and accepted, General Dyer, we have no doubt, will find not only plenty of apologists but plenty of whole-hearted champions who will maintain that by his decisive action at a critical moment he saved the whole British Raj, or at the least averted a tragedy that would have involved scores of thousands instead of only a few hundreds of lives. And it is important that the Anglo-Indian point of view should be understood. To treat the incident as a unique outrage due to the accidental presence on the spot, and in temporarily supreme authority, of a peculiarly brutal type of soldier, is to overlook its real significance. It is true that certain details brought out at the enquiry seem to indicate that General Dyer is a man of exceptionally insensitive temperament. His repudiation of responsibility regarding the wounded and his stupid “crawling” order, will not, we imagine, be defended even in India. But stripping the story of these details—and though they have done much to move English public sentiment, they are essentially only details—what General Dyer did is probably no more than what nine Indian Army officers out of ten would have done in the same circumstances, provided they had the courage. And the tenth would have acted otherwise as the result of the possession of a cooler intelligence rather than of more humane sentiments.

Consider the position. A large part of Northern India was seething with sedition. Violent outbreaks were occurring simultaneously in widely separated districts. There had been fighting in Delhi and Lahore. Officials had been murdered. Systematic attempts at various points to wreck trains, seize railway stations and sever telegraphic communications, conclusively showed the existence of a widespread and well-organised revolutionary plot, behind which loomed the terrifying spectre of “Bolshevism.” In Amritsar itself a bank had been attacked, looted and burnt, two bank managers had been killed, the Town Hall had been burnt, a Mission station had been raided, an Englishwoman had been beaten almost to death and the city was practically in the hands of the rioters. Such a state of affairs had never been known in India since the days of the Mutiny and many men believed that the British Raj was face to face with a second Mutiny on, perhaps, an even larger scale. General Dyer was called in by the civil authorities to restore order. He promptly proclaimed martial law—a proceeding which was probably in excess of his technical powers but was not otherwise unreasonable in the circumstances—and forbade meetings or assemblies in the streets. He caused an order to this effect to be proclaimed in all quarters of the city and himself took an energetic part in making it known. A few hours later, however, he heard that in defiance of the order a crowd of five thousand people had assembled and was being harangued by an “agitator.” There were only a hundred British and two hundred native soldiers in the city. The lives of the tiny European colony depended on General Dyer; and if visions of Cawnpore and the Black Hole of Calcutta rose before his eyes, who are we, in the safety of London, to say that those visions were mere idle imaginings? When white men believe that white women under their protection, in the midst of a huge coloured population, are in danger there are very few steps they will shrink from in their defence. That is a fact of human nature, not a peculiarity of General Dyer's. General Dyer decided upon a step of extreme severity in order to save the situation; he saved it, and we do not suppose that a single white man who was in the city at the time condemned him for the excessive brutality of the means he adopted. The resident civil commissioner evidently acquiesced, and the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province subsequently telegraphed his approval.

Needless to say, we have set out the facts in this manner not in order to defend General Dyer's action or to minimise the horror of the massacre, but rather as a protest against the idea that the British public can escape its responsibility in the matter by denouncing this particular officer as a criminal and demanding his punishment. Fundamentally, the Amritsar massacre was merely a corollary of the conditions of British rule in India. If General Dyer had not been there to fire upon the crowd some other soldier would have done it. Another man might have been content to kill fewer people and might have concerned himself with the subsequent care of the wounded, but almost certainly in the circumstances he would have shot and shot to kill. The truth, which cannot and must not be ignored or evaded, is that we hold India by the sword and rule her by fear. There is no other way by which a population of three hundred millions can be governed by a handful of foreigners. The justice of the British Raj and the benefits which it has conferred on the Indian population are not here in question. The Indian people may be very foolish, very unappreciative of the disadvantages and dangers of any practicable alternative, but they do not want British rule and, at bottom, nothing but force induces them to submit to it. We hold India by the sword and as long as that is true, we must be prepared to use the sword in an emergency—or go. We may, by wise government, contrive to keep it in its sheath for half a century, but when the emergency arises there must be no hesitation in drawing it; and sooner or later the emergency is bound to arise. General Dyer's view is that by shooting 500 people he averted the necessity of shooting perhaps 50,000 in the course of suppressing a general rising in the Province. And who is to say that that view is incorrect? The essential and governing fact is that the British administration in India is attempting to rule a nation or a number of nations against their will; and, having accepted responsibility for that attempt, we at home have no right to hold up our hands in horror of those who do the dirty part of the job for us.

The moral of Amritsar is not that a particular soldier is a very brutal person, but that force is force and that it is both useless and dishonest to pretend that it is anything else. We are certainly not prepared to say that England ought never to have taken India and held it as she has held it, still less of course that she ought now to abandon precipitately the responsibilities which she has assumed and accumulated in that vast Empire. But where we are manifestly at fault is in our failure to introduce democratic institutions concurrently with the spread of democratic ideas. We can rule our African dependencies—Nigeria, for example—without massacres, because the Nigerian population has not absorbed and is not yet ready to absorb, the doctrines of Mill and Mazzini. But in India the danger of our being forced to use the sword increases with every year by which self-government is delayed. It is a danger which must be frankly faced. If there should be signs of a rising next year in some other part of India there will have to be more shootings. But when these unfortunate necessities arise we must not attempt to throw the blame on the man on the spot, even though his judgment may have erred, but accept it ourselves and do what can be done to hasten the application of the only possible remedy. Mr Montagu's Act is a great step forward, but it is only a beginning and it comes a decade late. If it had been passed ten years ago and had been developed with all practicable speed by subsequent measures leading towards self-government, it is probable that the Amritsar massacre would never have occurred. But we can see no other means by which this incident, which has stained our national reputation in the eyes of the whole civilised world, could have been surely been averted.

Once a policy of coercion is adopted it is impossible to define its limits. To suppose that it can be conducted on liberal and humane lines is a sentimental illusion. Its character is determined not by the Government which coerces but by the people who are coerced. The ruled can drive the rulers to any excesses they please. That is the essential vice of coercion. Applied to a nation which is politically conscious and awake it is not the vindication but the negation of government. The process may be observed in Ireland at this moment. The Irish Executive is powerless not only to govern the country but even to determine its own acts. It is being led willy-nilly into all sorts of indefensible extravagances. Whether the “Liberal” Mr Macpherson, in the course of the next few weeks or months, will be using machine-guns in the streets of Dublin depends not at all upon his own views or his own political principles but simply upon whether the Sinn Fein leaders consider it advisable or not to invite such a measure. The coercionist—unless, of course, he is prepared to surrender—can shrink from nothing and determine nothing. If his victims choose that he shall act like a Tsar, a Tsar he must become. If they wish to be imprisoned wholesale he must imprison them wholesale. If they wish to be massacred he must massacre them. Coercion, in however mild a form it may originally be adopted, implies the absolute abandonment of every principle of freedom or democracy. It is the rule of the sword and the most brutal excesses of the sword are implicit in it from its very beginning. Having admitted it—inevitably—as the foundation of our rule in India we cannot evade responsibility for its consequences by making scapegoats of our General Dyers.

Unsigned, 20 December 1919

 

David Cameron arrives at the Jallianwala Bagh memorial. Photo: Getty Images.
Photo: Getty
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The Prevent strategy needs a rethink, not a rebrand

A bad policy by any other name is still a bad policy.

Yesterday the Home Affairs Select Committee published its report on radicalization in the UK. While the focus of the coverage has been on its claim that social media companies like Facebook, Twitter and YouTube are “consciously failing” to combat the promotion of terrorism and extremism, it also reported on Prevent. The report rightly engages with criticism of Prevent, acknowledging how it has affected the Muslim community and calling for it to become more transparent:

“The concerns about Prevent amongst the communities most affected by it must be addressed. Otherwise it will continue to be viewed with suspicion by many, and by some as “toxic”… The government must be more transparent about what it is doing on the Prevent strategy, including by publicising its engagement activities, and providing updates on outcomes, through an easily accessible online portal.”

While this acknowledgement is good news, it is hard to see how real change will occur. As I have written previously, as Prevent has become more entrenched in British society, it has also become more secretive. For example, in August 2013, I lodged FOI requests to designated Prevent priority areas, asking for the most up-to-date Prevent funding information, including what projects received funding and details of any project engaging specifically with far-right extremism. I lodged almost identical requests between 2008 and 2009, all of which were successful. All but one of the 2013 requests were denied.

This denial is significant. Before the 2011 review, the Prevent strategy distributed money to help local authorities fight violent extremism and in doing so identified priority areas based solely on demographics. Any local authority with a Muslim population of at least five per cent was automatically given Prevent funding. The 2011 review pledged to end this. It further promised to expand Prevent to include far-right extremism and stop its use in community cohesion projects. Through these FOI requests I was trying to find out whether or not the 2011 pledges had been met. But with the blanket denial of information, I was left in the dark.

It is telling that the report’s concerns with Prevent are not new and have in fact been highlighted in several reports by the same Home Affairs Select Committee, as well as numerous reports by NGOs. But nothing has changed. In fact, the only change proposed by the report is to give Prevent a new name: Engage. But the problem was never the name. Prevent relies on the premise that terrorism and extremism are inherently connected with Islam, and until this is changed, it will continue to be at best counter-productive, and at worst, deeply discriminatory.

In his evidence to the committee, David Anderson, the independent ombudsman of terrorism legislation, has called for an independent review of the Prevent strategy. This would be a start. However, more is required. What is needed is a radical new approach to counter-terrorism and counter-extremism, one that targets all forms of extremism and that does not stigmatise or stereotype those affected.

Such an approach has been pioneered in the Danish town of Aarhus. Faced with increased numbers of youngsters leaving Aarhus for Syria, police officers made it clear that those who had travelled to Syria were welcome to come home, where they would receive help with going back to school, finding a place to live and whatever else was necessary for them to find their way back to Danish society.  Known as the ‘Aarhus model’, this approach focuses on inclusion, mentorship and non-criminalisation. It is the opposite of Prevent, which has from its very start framed British Muslims as a particularly deviant suspect community.

We need to change the narrative of counter-terrorism in the UK, but a narrative is not changed by a new title. Just as a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, a bad policy by any other name is still a bad policy. While the Home Affairs Select Committee concern about Prevent is welcomed, real action is needed. This will involve actually engaging with the Muslim community, listening to their concerns and not dismissing them as misunderstandings. It will require serious investigation of the damages caused by new Prevent statutory duty, something which the report does acknowledge as a concern.  Finally, real action on Prevent in particular, but extremism in general, will require developing a wide-ranging counter-extremism strategy that directly engages with far-right extremism. This has been notably absent from today’s report, even though far-right extremism is on the rise. After all, far-right extremists make up half of all counter-radicalization referrals in Yorkshire, and 30 per cent of the caseload in the east Midlands.

It will also require changing the way we think about those who are radicalized. The Aarhus model proves that such a change is possible. Radicalization is indeed a real problem, one imagines it will be even more so considering the country’s flagship counter-radicalization strategy remains problematic and ineffective. In the end, Prevent may be renamed a thousand times, but unless real effort is put in actually changing the strategy, it will remain toxic. 

Dr Maria Norris works at London School of Economics and Political Science. She tweets as @MariaWNorris.