Category Archives: Political

The Rise and Fall of the British East India Company

I originally had intentions of releasing this as a series of chapters, but have decided to release it as a whole essay, divided into chapters. It’s long, but fascinating.

The Corporation That Conquered an Empire

Prologue

Whitehall Palace, London – 31 December 1600

Outside, London shivered beneath a cold winter sky. Frost clung to the roofs of timber-framed houses, while smoke from thousands of coal and wood fires drifted over the city in a grey haze. Along the frozen banks of the River Thames, merchants hurried through narrow streets crowded with apprentices, watermen, beggars, and horse-drawn carts laden with wool, timber and imported wines. The smell of damp earth, smoke, horse manure and the nearby river filled the air.

England stood at the edge of a new century, but few would have described it as the world’s dominant nation. Compared with the glittering wealth of Spain, the maritime power of Portugal, or the commercial ambition of the Dutch Republic, England remained something of an outsider in the race for global trade. Its population was little more than four million people. Most lived in villages. Wealth was concentrated among the nobility and a growing merchant class, while ordinary labourers struggled to survive poor harvests, recurring outbreaks of plague and uncertain employment.

Yet there was a restless confidence abroad.

Only twelve years earlier, the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588 had transformed English self-belief. Against seemingly impossible odds, England had resisted the greatest naval power in Europe. The victory did more than secure the kingdom from invasion; it encouraged merchants and adventurers to look beyond the familiar waters of Europe toward the vast opportunities of Asia.

For generations, tales of the East had fired European imaginations. Travellers spoke of magnificent cities where markets overflowed with silk, porcelain, precious stones and spices whose aromas alone suggested unimaginable luxury. Pepper, cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg were worth fortunes in Europe. Fine Indian cottons were softer than anything woven in England. Chinese silks and porcelain became symbols of refinement among the wealthy. The riches of Asia seemed almost limitless.

But reaching them was another matter.

The Portuguese had rounded the Cape of Good Hope more than a century earlier and dominated the sea route to India. Their heavily armed carracks sailed regularly between Lisbon, Goa and Malacca. The Dutch had recently established their own powerful trading company and were rapidly becoming Portugal’s most dangerous commercial rivals. Together these nations controlled much of Europe’s eastern trade.

English merchants watched with growing frustration as fortunes were made by others.

Inside Whitehall Palace that New Year’s Eve, a group of London businessmen waited anxiously. They were not aristocrats or military commanders. They were investors—men accustomed to calculating risks, balancing accounts and seeking profitable opportunities. They had petitioned Queen Elizabeth I for something unprecedented: exclusive permission to trade with the East Indies.

The Queen, now sixty-seven years old and nearing the end of one of England’s most remarkable reigns, understood both the dangers and the possibilities. Royal finances were under constant pressure. Overseas trade promised new wealth without imposing further taxes upon her subjects.

She approved the request.

The document she signed bore the imposing title:

“The Governor and Company of Merchants of London Trading into the East Indies.”

The name was cumbersome.

History would remember it simply as the East India Company.

The Royal Charter granted the Company a monopoly over English trade east of the Cape of Good Hope and west of the Strait of Magellan for fifteen years. No other English merchant could legally trade within those vast waters without its permission. In return, the Crown expected customs duties, increased national prosperity and a stronger English presence in the lucrative markets of Asia.

At the time, the decision appeared modest. Chartered companies were not unusual in Elizabethan England. Similar monopolies had already been granted for trade with Russia, the Levant and parts of Africa. Few could have imagined that this particular company would prove fundamentally different.

Initially, the Company’s ambitions were entirely commercial. It possessed no territory, no army and no desire to govern foreign peoples. Its directors dreamed of warehouses filled with pepper, cinnamon and silk, not kingdoms or taxation. Their concerns were practical ones: raising investment, fitting out ships, hiring experienced captains and persuading nervous sailors to undertake voyages lasting many months into waters controlled by hostile competitors.

Success was far from guaranteed.

Ocean travel remained extraordinarily dangerous. Ships disappeared without trace. Storms wrecked entire fleets. Scurvy killed crews long before they sighted land. Pirates haunted strategic sea lanes, while unfamiliar diseases claimed many who survived the voyage. Investors accepted that some expeditions would fail completely.

Yet the potential profits were extraordinary.

Contemporary records suggest that a successful voyage could return several hundred per cent on the original investment. Cargoes of pepper purchased cheaply in Asia sold for many times their cost in London. Nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon commanded astonishing prices. A single well-armed merchant ship returning safely to the Thames could make fortunes for everyone involved.

It was commerce in its purest—and riskiest—form.

None of the men assembled that winter afternoon imagined they were laying the foundations of an empire. They could not foresee that their company would one day command a private army of more than 250,000 soldiers, govern tens of millions of people, collect taxes across vast territories, appoint judges, negotiate treaties with emperors and kings, mint its own coinage and shape the destinies of nations.

Nor could they foresee the terrible consequences that would accompany such power: corruption on a breathtaking scale, devastating famines, wars fought for commercial advantage, the expansion of the opium trade into China, and eventually one of the greatest colonial uprisings in modern history.

They believed they were creating a business.

Instead, they created something the world had never seen before.

The East India Company would become the first great multinational corporation.

For nearly three centuries it would enrich Britain, transform India, influence China, help spark revolution in America, and change the course of global history.

Its rise would be astonishing.

Its fall would be equally dramatic.

And its legacy remains with us still.

Chapter One

A World Hungry for Spice

Long before oil transformed the global economy, before gold rushes lured thousands across continents, and before tea became Britain’s national drink, four humble ingredients drove the greatest commercial adventure the world had yet seen.

Pepper.

Cinnamon.

Cloves.

Nutmeg.

Today they sit almost unnoticed on supermarket shelves, purchased for a few dollars and scattered casually across evening meals. We think little of them beyond the flavour they add to food. Yet there was a time when these spices were among the most valuable commodities on Earth. Men crossed oceans for them. Fortunes were won and lost because of them. Kingdoms fought wars over them. Ships vanished beneath the waves carrying them. Thousands of sailors died pursuing them.

To understand why the British East India Company came into existence, we must first understand Europe’s obsession with spice.

The Taste of Wealth

Modern kitchens contain refrigerators, freezers and airtight containers that preserve food for weeks or months. In medieval and early modern Europe, no such luxuries existed.

Fresh meat spoiled quickly.

Fish deteriorated within days.

Long winters forced families to rely upon salted or smoked food that was often unpleasant by the time it reached the table.

Spices served several purposes.

Contrary to a persistent myth, they were not generally used to disguise rotten meat. Wealthy households, which consumed most imported spices, could usually afford fresh food. Instead, spices transformed otherwise monotonous diets. Pepper sharpened flavour. Cinnamon sweetened desserts and wines. Cloves scented sauces. Nutmeg enriched pies and puddings.

Their rarity made them symbols of refinement.

Serving heavily spiced food announced one’s prosperity as clearly as wearing silk or owning silver plate.

Pepper, in particular, became almost a form of currency. Medieval account books occasionally recorded rents, dowries and taxes paid partly in peppercorns. The expression “peppercorn rent,” still used in legal language today, survives from that era.

In wealthy households, spice chests were sometimes kept under lock and key. Their contents were too valuable to leave unattended.

Medicine, Magic and Misunderstanding

Europe’s fascination with spices extended far beyond the dining table.

Medical knowledge remained deeply influenced by the ancient Greek physician Galen, whose theories of bodily “humours” dominated European medicine for well over a thousand years. Illness was believed to arise from imbalances between heat, cold, moisture and dryness within the body.

Each spice supposedly possessed particular medicinal properties.

Pepper warmed the stomach.

Ginger aided digestion.

Cloves relieved toothache.

Nutmeg calmed nervous disorders.

Cinnamon strengthened the heart.

Some of these traditional uses contain small elements of truth, while others reflected little more than hopeful speculation. Nevertheless, physicians prescribed spices for ailments ranging from plague to melancholy.

They also appeared in perfumes, religious ceremonies and expensive cosmetics.

Their exotic origins added to their mystique.

Many Europeans possessed only vague ideas about where spices actually came from. Fantastic stories circulated describing forests guarded by giant birds, serpents protecting cinnamon trees, or pepper growing in inaccessible mountain valleys inhabited by monsters. These tales, inherited from classical writers and embellished by generations of travellers, increased both the mystery and the market value of eastern goods.

Knowledge travelled slowly.

Myths travelled faster.

The Long Journey West

Every grain of pepper reaching England had already completed an astonishing journey.

Most pepper originated on the Malabar Coast of south-western India.

Nutmeg and cloves grew naturally only on a handful of tiny volcanic islands in what is now eastern Indonesia—the Banda and Maluku (Moluccan) Islands, often called the Spice Islands.

Cinnamon came primarily from Ceylon (modern Sri Lanka).

Before reaching European markets, these precious cargoes passed through countless hands.

Local farmers sold to regional merchants.

Regional merchants sold to larger trading houses.

Arab, Persian and Indian traders carried goods across the Indian Ocean.

From there they travelled overland or through the Red Sea to ports controlled by Venetian merchants.

Only then did they begin the final journey into Europe.

Every transaction increased the price.

By the time a sack of pepper reached London, it might have changed ownership twenty or thirty times.

Each intermediary demanded a profit.

European consumers ultimately paid for every step.

Venice’s Golden Age

For centuries the great beneficiary of this system was Venice.

Its merchant fleets dominated Mediterranean commerce.

Venetian traders imported eastern luxuries through Egypt and the Levant before distributing them across Europe.

Magnificent palaces lining the Grand Canal owed much of their splendour to this commerce.

Venice became synonymous with wealth.

Its merchants understood banking, insurance, accounting and international finance long before most of Europe.

English merchants admired Venetian success with growing envy.

If only there were a direct route to Asia, they reasoned, fortunes could be made without paying middlemen.

That dream would reshape the world.

Portugal Finds the Sea Route

The breakthrough came in 1498.

After decades of Portuguese exploration along Africa’s west coast, the navigator Vasco da Gama rounded the Cape of Good Hope and reached India by sea.

It was one of history’s greatest voyages.

For the first time, European ships could bypass traditional Middle Eastern trade routes altogether.

Portugal moved quickly.

Within a generation it had established fortified ports stretching from Africa to India and Southeast Asia.

Goa became the centre of Portuguese Asia.

Portuguese warships patrolled the Indian Ocean.

Merchant vessels carried spices directly back to Lisbon.

Profits soared.

Portugal, a comparatively small kingdom on Europe’s western edge, briefly controlled one of history’s most lucrative trading networks.

The balance of global commerce had shifted.

The Dutch Raise the Stakes

England soon faced another problem.

The Dutch Republic.

By the late sixteenth century Dutch merchants had become extraordinary competitors.

Their ships were efficient.

Their financiers were innovative.

Their navigators were among the world’s finest.

In 1602—just two years after England chartered the East India Company—the Dutch created their own Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie, better known simply as the VOC.

The Dutch East India Company became the world’s first publicly traded corporation.

Unlike the English Company in its early years, the VOC quickly embraced military force to secure monopolies over valuable spice-producing islands.

Dutch fleets attacked Portuguese positions.

Local rulers were pressured into exclusive agreements.

Competitors were driven away.

The spice trade had become an international contest in which commerce and warfare were inseparable.

England was entering a dangerous arena.

England Looks East

Queen Elizabeth’s England possessed advantages of its own.

Its shipbuilders had developed fast, heavily armed vessels.

Privateers such as Sir Francis Drake had demonstrated remarkable seamanship during their attacks upon Spanish shipping.

London’s merchant community had accumulated increasing financial experience.

Most importantly, England had ambition.

The defeat of the Spanish Armada had fostered a belief that English sailors could compete with anyone.

Merchants increasingly questioned why Portuguese and Dutch traders should enjoy immense eastern fortunes while English investors remained largely excluded.

The answer, they concluded, was simple.

England needed its own company.

Not dozens of competing merchants undermining one another.

One organisation.

One monopoly.

One national effort.

It was a bold idea.

Yet no one imagined how profoundly it would alter history.

More Than Profit

The East India Company is often remembered simply as a commercial enterprise.

Profit certainly lay at its heart.

Investors expected handsome returns.

Captains hoped to make fortunes.

Sailors dreamed of prize money and advancement.

But there were broader motivations as well.

England sought prestige.

National security.

Access to strategic ports.

Reliable supplies of valuable goods.

Breaking Iberian dominance of global trade became both an economic and political objective.

Commerce and national ambition marched together.

The Company carried not only cargo but England’s growing aspirations to become a global power.

Within two centuries those aspirations would be realised beyond anything Elizabeth’s ministers could possibly have imagined.

The World’s Centre of Wealth

Modern readers often assume Europe was already the world’s economic powerhouse.

The opposite was true.

Around 1600, Asia accounted for the overwhelming majority of global manufacturing output.

India produced textiles of astonishing quality.

Chinese workshops manufactured porcelain unrivalled anywhere in Europe.

Indian steel, shipbuilding and agriculture impressed foreign visitors.

European merchants did not travel east because Asia needed Europe.

They travelled because Europe desperately wanted what Asia already possessed.

The relationship was initially one of dependence, not dominance.

This simple fact is essential to understanding everything that followed.

The East India Company did not sail east to teach or civilise.

It sailed east because it wished to buy.

Only much later would trade give way to conquest.

The East India Company was born from hunger.

Not hunger for territory.

Not hunger for empire.

But hunger for pepper, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.

Those seemingly ordinary spices connected distant farmers in India and the Spice Islands with merchants in Venice, sailors in Lisbon and wealthy diners in London. They inspired voyages across uncharted oceans, encouraged advances in navigation and finance, and persuaded investors to risk fortunes on expeditions from which many ships would never return.

When Queen Elizabeth I signed the Company’s charter in 1600, its founders believed they were entering an already thriving trade.

They could not know that they were taking the first step towards creating the most powerful commercial empire the world had ever seen.

The next challenge was simply reaching Asia alive.

For that, ships—and extraordinary courage—would be required.

Sidebar 1: Why Was Pepper Worth So Much? A pound of pepper could cost several days’ wages for an ordinary labourer in Tudor England. In some periods of the Middle Ages it was so valuable that peppercorns could be used to pay rent, settle debts or form part of a dowry. This practice survives today in the legal expression “peppercorn rent,” meaning a purely nominal payment that preserves a legal agreement. Pepper’s value rested on several factors. It grew only in tropical regions, principally on India’s Malabar Coast, and reaching Europe required an extraordinarily long and hazardous trading chain involving Indian, Arab, Persian, Egyptian, Venetian and finally northern European merchants. Every intermediary added a profit, and every sea voyage carried the risk of storms, piracy and shipwreck. To wealthy Europeans, pepper was more than a seasoning. It was a luxury, a status symbol and, in some respects, a store of value. Displaying a generous use of pepper at the table announced that a household could afford one of the world’s most sought-after imports.

Chapter Two

The First Voyages

Into the Unknown

“There is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” — Kenneth Grahame

For the men who sailed aboard the first ships of the East India Company, however, there was very little romance in “messing about in boats.”

The sea was beautiful only from a distance.

To those who lived upon it, it was an unforgiving master that demanded respect every hour of every day. One mistake, one unexpected storm, one hidden reef, or one outbreak of disease could send an entire expedition—and every fortune invested in it—to the bottom of the ocean.

When Queen Elizabeth I granted the East India Company its Royal Charter in December 1600, the directors possessed little more than ambition, financial backing and hope. They had no overseas empire, no established trading ports and no certainty that their venture would succeed.

Their first task was surprisingly simple.

Buy ships.

Building a Fleet

Unlike the mighty Royal Navy, the East India Company owned very few vessels during its earliest years.

Instead, it purchased or leased robust merchant ships and modified them for the world’s longest commercial voyage.

The Company’s first fleet consisted of five vessels.

Their names reflected both royal patronage and English optimism:

Red Dragon—the flagship, commanded by the experienced navigator James Lancaster.

Hector

Ascension

Susan

Gift

To modern eyes these ships appear tiny.

The Red Dragon displaced around 600 tons—less than one per cent of the size of a modern container ship.

Yet to Elizabethan England she was an impressive vessel, heavily armed and capable of carrying hundreds of tons of cargo.

She needed to be.

The journey ahead covered nearly 30,000 kilometres and crossed some of the world’s most dangerous waters.

Investors Gamble Their Fortunes

Long before a sailor stepped aboard, another group had already accepted considerable risks.

The investors.

Unlike modern shareholders, these merchants understood that complete failure was entirely possible.

Ships disappeared.

Cargoes were captured.

Disease killed crews.

Storms destroyed fleets.

Every voyage resembled a high-stakes gamble.

Some investors mortgaged property to purchase shares.

Others committed fortunes accumulated over decades.

If the expedition returned safely laden with pepper and spices, profits might exceed two or three hundred per cent.

If it failed…

Everything vanished beneath the sea.

It was capitalism in its earliest—and perhaps purest—form.

Choosing the Crew

Finding ships proved easier than finding men willing to sail them.

The East Indies lay almost unimaginably far away.

Few English sailors had ever travelled so great a distance.

A typical Company vessel carried between 150 and 250 men.

The crew represented almost every level of English society.

There were gentlemen hoping to establish profitable trading careers.

Experienced captains who had previously fought Spaniards.

Professional navigators.

Carpenters.

Blacksmiths.

Sailmakers.

Gunners.

Cabin boys.

Cooks.

Surgeons.

Musicians.

Clergymen occasionally accompanied voyages.

Even barbers found employment.

Their duties extended well beyond cutting hair.

Barbers often performed bloodletting, extracted teeth and assisted surgeons during operations.

Life aboard ship demanded every conceivable skill.

If something broke halfway across the Indian Ocean, there would be no harbour nearby to provide replacements.

Everything had to be repaired at sea.

The Floating Village

A Company ship functioned as a small, self-contained community.

Every man knew his place.

The captain exercised almost absolute authority.

Below him stood the master, responsible for navigation.

The boatswain supervised ropes, anchors and sails.

The carpenter guarded the ship’s structural integrity.

The gunner maintained the cannon.

The purser controlled supplies.

The cook laboured beside enormous iron cauldrons that seldom produced memorable meals.

Discipline remained harsh.

Flogging was common.

Mutiny carried the death penalty.

Yet hierarchy alone could not sustain a voyage lasting eighteen months or more.

Co-operation became essential.

Every sailor depended upon every other sailor.

One careless mistake aloft could kill several men below.

Preparing for Departure

Loading a ship required weeks.

The outward cargo contained trade goods intended to interest Asian merchants.

Silver bullion formed the most valuable cargo.

Europe possessed comparatively few goods that wealthy Asian markets actually desired.

This surprised many English investors.

Surely Europe manufactured desirable products?

Not compared with India or China.

Asian merchants wanted silver.

The Company therefore loaded enormous quantities of coin and bullion alongside woollen cloth, lead, iron goods, mirrors and assorted gifts intended for local rulers.

Food occupied much of the remaining space.

Barrels upon barrels disappeared into the hold.

Salted beef.

Salted pork.

Dried peas.

Ship’s biscuit.

Cheese.

Beer.

Fresh water.

Vinegar.

Oatmeal.

Dried fish.

Occasionally livestock accompanied the voyage.

Chickens scratched around the deck.

Goats supplied milk.

Pigs occasionally provided fresh meat.

Unfortunately, so did rats.

Leaving the Thames

When the fleet finally departed the Thames in early 1601, excitement mingled with apprehension.

Crowds gathered along the riverbanks.

Families watched husbands, fathers and sons disappear downstream.

Some would never return.

The ships slipped gradually towards the English Channel before turning south.

Ahead lay the Atlantic Ocean.

Beyond that, Africa.

Then the Cape of Good Hope.

Only after rounding southern Africa could they begin crossing the vast Indian Ocean.

There remained no guarantee that favourable winds—or survival—would accompany them.

For many sailors this represented the greatest journey ever attempted by an Englishman.

Life at Sea

The novelty faded quickly.

Days settled into exhausting routine.

Four-hour watches.

Hauling ropes.

Repairing sails.

Cleaning decks.

Maintaining cannon.

Pumping water from the bilges.

Endless maintenance.

Ships leaked constantly.

Wood swelled.

Ropes frayed.

Sails tore.

Salt water corroded everything.

The work never ended.

Sleeping quarters were cramped.

Most sailors possessed little more than a hammock slung between beams.

Privacy scarcely existed.

The smell certainly didn’t improve.

Sweat.

Wet timber.

Tar.

Cooking fires.

Bilge water.

Animals.

Human waste.

Everything mixed together beneath tropical heat.

Modern cruise ships they certainly were not.

The Invisible Enemy

Ironically, storms killed fewer sailors than disease.

Scurvy became the Company’s greatest enemy.

The disease resulted from a deficiency of vitamin C, although no one yet understood the cause.

After several months without fresh fruit or vegetables, sailors developed swollen gums, loose teeth and agonising weakness.

Old wounds reopened.

Eventually many died.

Captain James Lancaster made one remarkable observation.

His own ship carried lemon juice.

Its crew remained dramatically healthier than those aboard accompanying vessels.

Although his experiment anticipated the cure for scurvy by more than a century, the lesson was not immediately adopted throughout European navies.

Countless unnecessary deaths followed.

Around the Cape

Every sailor dreaded one place above all others.

The Cape of Good Hope.

Portuguese mariners originally named it the Cape of Storms.

The name was well deserved.

Here the Atlantic and Indian Oceans collided with terrifying force.

Towering waves smashed against rocky shores.

Violent winds appeared with little warning.

Ships could be driven onto reefs before captains had time to react.

Many wrecks littered the coastline.

Those who survived often believed Providence had spared them.

Yet once around the Cape, another ocean awaited.

The Indian Ocean stretched endlessly eastward.

The Company’s true adventure had only just begun.

A Different World

Months after leaving England, unfamiliar coastlines finally appeared on the horizon.

Palm trees.

White beaches.

Foreign languages.

New religions.

Exotic birds.

Markets overflowing with colours unseen in Europe.

For many sailors it felt as though they had landed on another planet.

The scents alone overwhelmed them.

Pepper drying in the sun.

Cardamom.

Sandalwood.

Incense.

Fresh tropical fruit.

Everything their investors had dreamed of lay before them.

Now came the harder task.

Convincing Asian merchants to trade.

For despite everything the English had endured to reach India, they were still strangers in someone else’s world.

Their fortunes would depend not upon cannon…

…but upon diplomacy.

The Company’s commercial empire was about to begin.

Sidebar Two Captain James Lancaster: The Forgotten Pioneer Long before the Royal Navy officially adopted citrus fruit to combat scurvy, Captain James Lancaster noticed something extraordinary during the East India Company’s first voyage. He ensured that the crew of the Red Dragon regularly drank lemon juice. When the fleet reached the Cape of Good Hope, his sailors were largely healthy. Crews aboard other ships were dying from scurvy. Although Lancaster had no understanding of vitamins—indeed, vitamin C would not be discovered for another three centuries—his practical observation was correct. Sadly, the lesson was not consistently applied. It would take more than 150 years before the British Navy routinely issued lemon and later lime juice to sailors, earning British seamen the nickname “Limeys.” Lancaster’s simple experiment may have been one of the earliest practical demonstrations of nutritional medicine in maritime history.

Chapter 3

Merchants Become Kings: The Company Takes India (1756–1772)

“No corporation before or since has wielded such extraordinary power. By the middle of the eighteenth century the East India Company had ceased to be simply a business. It had become a state within a state.”

The original directors of the British East India Company never intended to conquer India.

They wanted pepper.

They wanted silk.

They wanted cotton.

They wanted spices that Europeans considered worth more than gold.

For more than 150 years the Company had operated much like a modern multinational corporation. It negotiated with local rulers, rented warehouses, maintained armed guards and occasionally fought small wars with European rivals.

Everything changed during the eighteenth century.

The weakening of the Mughal Empire created a political vacuum unlike anything India had seen for centuries. Provincial governors increasingly ignored Delhi. Independent kingdoms emerged across the subcontinent. Rival princes fought each other while European powers quietly backed whichever faction best served their interests.

The East India Company realised that controlling trade required controlling politics.

Politics soon required soldiers.

Soldiers eventually required conquest.

The Decline of an Empire

When the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb died in 1707, he left behind one of history’s largest empires.

But it was an empire already beginning to crack.

His successors lacked both his military brilliance and administrative discipline.

Regional governors became increasingly independent.

The Marathas swept across central India.

The Sikhs expanded in the Punjab.

Hyderabad effectively governed itself.

Bengal, the richest province in India, became almost autonomous.

The Mughal Emperor still sat upon the Peacock Throne in Delhi.

But increasingly his authority existed only on paper.

European merchants watched these developments with intense interest.

To them, political instability represented opportunity.

Bengal — The Jewel of India

If Britain eventually ruled India, Bengal was the prize that made it possible.

Modern Bangladesh and West Bengal comprised one of the richest agricultural regions on Earth.

Its fertile river delta produced astonishing wealth.

Rice.

Sugar.

Saltpetre.

Silk.

Cotton.

Fine muslins so delicate they became known as “woven air.”

European travellers described Bengal as one of the world’s most prosperous regions.

Its artisans produced textiles unmatched anywhere.

Its merchants financed trade stretching from Arabia to China.

Its tax revenues exceeded many European kingdoms.

The East India Company desperately wanted greater influence there.

The Nawab of Bengal had other ideas.

A Young Nawab

In 1756, the young Nawab of Bengal, Siraj ud-Daulah, inherited one of India’s richest states.

Only about twenty-three years old, he viewed the increasingly powerful European trading companies with suspicion.

He had good reason.

Both the British and the French were strengthening their fortifications without his permission.

The Company claimed these defences were protection against rival Europeans.

Siraj believed they were preparation for something far more dangerous.

He ordered both companies to stop expanding their forts.

The French complied.

The British largely ignored him.

War became inevitable.

The Siege of Calcutta

Siraj marched on the Company’s settlement at Calcutta.

British defences proved hopelessly inadequate.

Many Company officials fled.

Others surrendered.

Calcutta fell with surprising ease.

What followed became one of the most controversial episodes in imperial history.

The “Black Hole of Calcutta”

British survivor John Zephaniah Holwell later claimed that 146 British prisoners were confined overnight inside a tiny guardroom.

According to his account, only twenty-three survived.

The story horrified Britain.

Newspapers described unimaginable suffering.

Politicians demanded revenge.

For generations it became one of the best-known stories of British India.

Modern historians, however, have questioned almost every aspect of Holwell’s account.

Many believe the number of prisoners was greatly exaggerated.

Some argue the deaths resulted more from negligence than deliberate cruelty.

Others suggest Holwell embellished the story to justify the Company’s coming conquest of Bengal.

Whether entirely true, partly true, or substantially exaggerated, the “Black Hole” became extraordinarily effective propaganda.

Britain now had both outrage and justification.

Enter Robert Clive

Few individuals shaped British India more than Robert Clive.

Clive had originally travelled to India as an unhappy Company clerk.

Bored, depressed and often in debt, he found office work intolerable.

War transformed him.

He displayed extraordinary courage, tactical brilliance and remarkable audacity.

Within only a few years he had become one of the Company’s most capable military commanders.

After Calcutta fell, Clive received orders to retake it.

He did so quickly.

But recovering the city was not enough.

Clive intended something far bigger.

He planned to replace Bengal’s ruler altogether.

The Plot Against a Prince

Military victory alone offered no guarantee of success.

Instead, Clive turned to intrigue.

Secret negotiations began with discontented Bengali nobles.

The Company’s representatives promised enormous rewards if they betrayed the Nawab.

The most important conspirator was Mir Jafar, commander of Siraj’s army.

He secretly agreed not to fight when battle came.

Others joined the conspiracy.

Large sums of money changed hands.

Political promises multiplied.

The fate of Bengal was effectively decided before the first cannon fired.

The Battle of Plassey

On 23 June 1757, the two armies met near the village of Plassey.

The Nawab possessed perhaps 50,000 soldiers.

Clive commanded barely 3,000.

By any normal calculation, defeat seemed certain.

Instead, the battle lasted only a few hours.

When fighting began, Mir Jafar’s troops stood aside exactly as promised.

Other commanders hesitated.

Rain dampened the Nawab’s artillery.

British guns, carefully protected beneath tarpaulins, continued firing.

Confusion spread.

Siraj fled.

His army dissolved.

Within days he was captured and killed.

One of the wealthiest provinces on Earth had effectively changed hands.

Victory Beyond Imagination

The immediate rewards were staggering.

Company officials received fortunes.

Robert Clive personally became one of Britain’s richest men.

The Company acquired enormous payments from the new Nawab.

Merchants suddenly found themselves controlling the finances of Bengal.

It was one of history’s greatest corporate windfalls.

Clive later admitted before Parliament that he himself had been astonished by the scale of the riches available.

The temptation proved overwhelming.

Merchants Become Tax Collectors

Trade no longer generated the Company’s greatest income.

Taxation did.

After further political manoeuvring, the Mughal Emperor granted the Company the Diwani in 1765.

This gave Company officials the right to collect land revenue across Bengal, Bihar and Orissa.

It was an astonishing constitutional transformation.

A private corporation headquartered thousands of kilometres away in London now possessed legal authority to tax millions of Indian subjects.

Its shareholders benefited.

Its directors celebrated.

Its stock price soared.

Nothing comparable had ever existed.

Imagine if a modern multinational corporation were granted the right to collect taxes across an entire nation while maintaining its own armed forces and negotiating foreign policy. That extraordinary combination of commercial, military and governmental power is what the East India Company had become.

Corruption on an Industrial Scale

Immense wealth flooded into Company hands.

So did corruption.

Officials accepted gifts from Indian rulers worth fortunes.

Many engaged in private trading while using Company resources.

Bribes became commonplace.

Fortunes were made in astonishingly short periods.

These newly wealthy men returned to Britain displaying extravagant lifestyles.

They purchased country estates.

Entered Parliament.

Married into aristocratic families.

The British public nicknamed them “nabobs”—a corruption of “Nawab.”

Many regarded them with suspicion.

People wondered whether such fortunes could possibly have been earned honestly.

Increasingly, they had good reason to ask.

Seeds of Disaster

The Company’s success concealed growing problems.

Its officials often understood little about governing millions of people.

Revenue demands became increasingly severe.

Traditional systems were disrupted.

Local rulers found themselves powerless.

Peasants bore the greatest burden.

Then nature intervened.

Crop failures struck Bengal.

Famine loomed.

The Company’s response would become one of the darkest chapters in its history.

Looking Ahead

By the early 1770s, the British East India Company had accomplished something almost unimaginable.

It had evolved from a merchant venture into the effective ruler of vast territories in India.

Its private army rivalled those of European kingdoms.

Its revenues surpassed many states.

Its directors in London now influenced the lives of millions they would never meet.

Yet beneath the surface, dangerous cracks were already appearing.

Corruption was endemic.

Administration was chaotic.

And as famine spread across Bengal, the Company would soon face the greatest moral and political crisis in its history.

The consequences would reverberate through Britain, India, and eventually the entire world.

Sidebar Three: A Battle That Changed HistoryThe Battle of Plassey lasted only a few hours, but its consequences lasted nearly two centuries. Many historians regard it as the true beginning of the British Empire in India. Without Plassey, Britain may never have acquired the wealth that later helped finance the expansion of its global empire during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Sidebar Four: Did You Know? Between 1757 and 1772, the East India Company’s private army grew rapidly, eventually becoming one of the largest standing military forces in Asia. Remarkably, it was not commanded by the British government but by the directors of a joint-stock company answerable primarily to its shareholders.

Chapter Four

From Merchants to Monarchs: How the East India Company Conquered India

By the middle of the eighteenth century, the British East India Company had evolved far beyond its origins as a commercial venture. What began as a group of merchants seeking spices, textiles and profits had become a military and political power capable of making kings, toppling dynasties and governing millions.

The transformation was astonishing. A private corporation, answerable primarily to shareholders in London, was beginning to exercise powers traditionally reserved for sovereign states.

The Mughal Decline

The East India Company benefited enormously from the weakening of the Mughal Empire. Founded in the sixteenth century, the Mughal state had once controlled most of the Indian subcontinent and presided over one of the wealthiest economies in the world.

However, after the death of the emperor Aurangzeb in 1707, imperial authority fragmented. Regional rulers gained autonomy, court intrigues multiplied, and military conflicts drained resources.

India did not collapse into chaos, as some older British histories implied, but it did become a mosaic of competing powers including the Nawabs of Bengal, the Marathas, Mysore and Hyderabad.

The East India Company learned quickly that in such an environment diplomacy, bribery and military intervention could yield enormous rewards.

The Battle of Plassey

The decisive turning point came in 1757 at the Battle of Plassey.

The Company’s forces, commanded by Robert Clive, faced the army of Siraj ud-Daulah.

Although outnumbered, Clive had secretly negotiated with disaffected Bengali elites, including influential bankers and military commanders. During the battle, key sections of the Nawab’s forces failed to engage.

Victory gave the Company effective control over Bengal, one of the richest regions in the world.

The consequences were immense.

Bengal was renowned for its textiles, fertile agricultural lands and thriving commercial networks. Control over its revenues transformed the East India Company from a trading enterprise into a territorial power.

Revenue and Rule

In 1765 the Mughal emperor granted the Company the Diwani rights—the authority to collect revenue in Bengal, Bihar and Orissa.

This seemingly administrative concession was revolutionary.

The Company no longer depended solely on profits from trade. It could now extract taxes directly from millions of people.

A corporation headquartered thousands of kilometres away had become a tax-collecting state.

Yet Company officials often lacked experience in governance. Their primary expertise lay in commerce.

Corruption flourished.

Many Company servants enriched themselves rapidly, returning to Britain with immense fortunes. These men became known as “nabobs”, a term often used pejoratively by critics who viewed them as symbols of greed and excess.

Stories circulated of Company officials arriving in India with modest means and returning home as some of Britain’s wealthiest individuals.

Famine and Exploitation

The Company’s early rule in Bengal coincided with catastrophe.

The Bengal Famine of 1770 killed millions of people.

Historians continue to debate the precise causes, which included drought and crop failures, but Company policies undoubtedly exacerbated suffering.

Revenue demands remained high even as agricultural production collapsed.

Contemporary observers accused Company administrators of prioritising income over human welfare.

Criticism in Britain intensified.

How could a private corporation wield such extraordinary power with so little accountability?

Parliament Intervenes

By the 1770s the East India Company faced a paradox.

It controlled vast territories and generated huge wealth, yet it also suffered from financial instability, corruption scandals and administrative failures.

The British government could no longer ignore events in India.

The Regulating Act of 1773 represented Parliament’s first major attempt to supervise Company affairs.

It created the office of Governor-General and strengthened oversight from London.

Soon afterwards, Warren Hastings became the first Governor-General.

His administration sought to create more coherent systems of taxation, justice and governance.

Nevertheless, the central contradiction remained unresolved.

Could a corporation designed to maximise profit ever govern fairly?

An Accidental Empire?

The Company often claimed that empire had been thrust upon it unwillingly.

Its leaders argued they merely defended commercial interests and responded to local conflicts.

Yet critics then and now have questioned this narrative.

Military conquest generated revenue.

Revenue financed armies.

Armies enabled further conquest.

Expansion became self-sustaining.

By the end of the eighteenth century, the East India Company was no longer simply a business.

It possessed soldiers, diplomats, judges, tax collectors and governors.

It negotiated treaties, declared wars and administered territories larger than many European kingdoms.

The Company had crossed an invisible line.

It was now, in all but name, an empire.

Looking Ahead

In the next chapter we will examine the Company at the height of its power: its armies, bureaucracy, cultural impact, and the growing criticism that eventually led to rebellion and reform.

For contemporaries in Britain, India represented both immense opportunity and profound unease.

The East India Company had become one of the most powerful institutions the world had ever seen—and many were beginning to wonder whether it had become too powerful to control.

Chapter 5

Empire, Reform, and the Long Road to Dissolution (1784–1858)

By the early 1780s, the British East India Company had ceased to be merely a trading enterprise. It possessed armies larger than many European states, governed millions of people, collected taxes, minted coins, negotiated treaties, and waged wars. Yet it remained, in theory, a private corporation answerable to shareholders in London.

That contradiction could not last forever.

The Shock of Warren Hastings

The Company’s first Governor-General, Warren Hastings, had attempted to stabilise Britain’s rapidly expanding possessions in India.

His tenure was marked by:

administrative reforms;

codification of revenue systems;

judicial restructuring;

alliances with Indian rulers;

constant warfare.

Yet accusations of corruption and abuse followed him back to Britain.

In 1787 Hastings was impeached in one of the most dramatic political trials in British history.

Leading the prosecution was Edmund Burke, who argued that the Company’s conduct in India represented a moral catastrophe.

Burke thundered:

“The laws of morality are the same everywhere.”

For Burke, the BEIC had become a monster—a commercial body wielding sovereign power without adequate accountability.

The trial lasted seven years.

Hastings was eventually acquitted in 1795, but the damage was done.

The British public had begun asking an uncomfortable question:

Should a private company rule an empire?

Pitt’s India Act of 1784

Even before Hastings’ impeachment concluded, Parliament acted.

The result was the famous Pitt’s India Act.

Introduced under Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, the legislation fundamentally altered the Company’s relationship with government.

The Act created a Board of Control.

This meant that:

the Company retained ownership of its territories;

directors continued managing commercial operations;

the British government supervised political affairs.

It was effectively a dual administration.

The BEIC still existed.

It still generated profits.

But London increasingly pulled the strings.

The Company was becoming a state within a state—and simultaneously losing its independence.

Expansion Across India

The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries witnessed relentless territorial expansion.

Company armies fought:

Mysore

The great adversary here was Tipu Sultan.

Tipu sought alliances with France and resisted British encroachment.

The four Anglo-Mysore Wars culminated in 1799.

Tipu died defending his capital at Seringapatam.

His death removed one of Britain’s most capable Indian opponents.

The Marathas

The powerful Maratha Confederacy dominated much of western and central India.

Three Anglo-Maratha Wars gradually reduced their influence.

By 1818 British supremacy across much of the subcontinent had been established.

The Sikhs

The final major independent power was the Sikh kingdom founded by Ranjit Singh.

After his death political instability weakened the state.

Two Anglo-Sikh Wars followed.

By 1849 Punjab had been annexed.

At the beginning of the eighteenth century the Company had occupied a handful of coastal settlements.

By the middle of the nineteenth century it ruled territory containing perhaps one-fifth of humanity.

The Company’s Army

The BEIC’s military machine was extraordinary.

At its height it possessed approximately 260,000 soldiers.

This was larger than the armies of most European nations.

It consisted of:

British regiments;

Indian sepoys;

cavalry units;

artillery;

engineers.

Its officers frequently enjoyed wealth and prestige.

Young men from Britain travelled to India seeking fortunes.

Many returned home immensely rich.

These men became known as “nabobs.”

The term carried an air of suspicion.

People wondered how fortunes had been accumulated so quickly.

Were they merchants?

Administrators?

Or simply beneficiaries of imperial exploitation?

The answer was often all three.

Commerce Becomes Secondary

Ironically, the more territory the Company acquired, the less important trade became.

Originally founded to purchase spices, silk, cotton and tea, it gradually transformed into a revenue-collecting government.

Taxes from Indian landholders increasingly funded:

armies;

infrastructure;

administration;

wars.

The Company became dependent on governance rather than commerce.

Its identity shifted fundamentally.

It was no longer simply a trading company.

It was an empire masquerading as a corporation.

The End of Monopoly

The nineteenth century saw increasing criticism from advocates of free trade.

Industrial Britain wanted access to Asian markets without Company restrictions.

Parliament responded.

Charter Act 1813

The Company’s monopoly over Indian trade ended.

Only tea and trade with China remained protected.

Charter Act 1833

Even these privileges disappeared.

The Company ceased commercial activity entirely.

It survived only as an administrative institution.

Its ships vanished.

Its warehouses declined in importance.

The merchant empire had become a governing bureaucracy.

One historian described it as:

“A company that had forgotten it was ever a company.”

Opium and China

One lucrative activity persisted.

The opium trade.

Company-controlled territories in India produced vast quantities of opium which were exported into China.

Chinese authorities attempted to suppress the trade.

Millions were becoming addicted.

Tensions escalated.

Eventually Britain intervened militarily.

The result was the First Opium War.

China was defeated.

Treaties opened ports to foreign commerce.

Among the consequences was Britain’s acquisition of Hong Kong.

The opium trade remains one of the darkest chapters associated with the Company and British imperial policy.

The Great Rebellion of 1857

The event that destroyed the East India Company arrived suddenly.

In 1857 Indian soldiers in Company service mutinied.

The immediate controversy involved rifle cartridges rumoured to be greased with pig and cow fat.

For Hindu and Muslim soldiers alike this was deeply offensive.

Yet the uprising reflected far broader grievances:

land annexations;

taxation;

cultural interference;

resentment toward British dominance;

fears regarding religious conversion.

The rebellion spread rapidly.

Cities fell.

Massacres occurred on all sides.

British reprisals were often brutal.

Historians variously describe the conflict as:

the Indian Mutiny;

the Sepoy Rebellion;

the First War of Independence.

Regardless of terminology, it represented the greatest crisis in Company history.

The British government concluded that private rule had failed.

The Death of the Company

Parliament acted decisively.

The Government of India Act 1858 abolished Company administration.

Its territories transferred directly to the British Crown.

Queen Victoria became sovereign over British India.

The office of Governor-General evolved into the Viceroyship.

The Company itself lingered in a legal sense for a few years.

Finally, in 1874, the British East India Company was formally dissolved.

After 274 years, the corporation that had once dreamed merely of buying pepper and spices had vanished.

Its legacy remained immense.

It had:

reshaped global commerce;

transformed India;

enriched Britain;

facilitated industrial growth;

spread British influence across Asia;

generated staggering fortunes;

contributed to famines and exploitation;

pioneered corporate governance on a vast scale;

demonstrated the dangers of unrestrained private power.

Few organisations in history have wielded comparable influence.

Few have inspired such fascination.

And few raise such enduring questions.

Can corporations be trusted with political authority?

How much power should commerce possess?

At what point does profit become empire?

The British East India Company provided one answer.

History has spent the last two centuries debating whether humanity should ever allow such an experiment again.

Chapter 6I (Final)

The Legacy of the British East India Company – The Corporation That Changed the World

For nearly three centuries, the British East India Company (BEIC) shaped the destinies of nations. It began life as a commercial venture seeking spices in distant seas. It ended as perhaps the most powerful corporation in history, ruling millions of people, commanding vast armies, influencing governments, and laying the foundations of the modern British Empire.

Its story is one of astonishing success and profound controversy. It helped create the modern global economy, yet also demonstrated the dangers of allowing private wealth to wield sovereign power.

The Company’s ships have long since vanished, its headquarters demolished, and its charter revoked. Yet its legacy remains surprisingly alive.

A New Kind of Institution

Before 1600, merchants traded.

Kings ruled.

Armies fought wars.

The British East India Company blurred those distinctions.

It was a private business that could:

negotiate treaties;

mint coins;

administer justice;

levy taxes;

command fleets;

raise armies;

wage war;

acquire territory.

No corporation before it had exercised such sweeping authority.

In many respects, it pioneered the concept of the multinational corporation—an organisation operating across continents with resources exceeding those of many governments.

Today’s multinational companies cannot declare war or govern provinces, but they often possess revenues larger than the economies of smaller nations. That comparison has led many historians and economists to view the East India Company as the first truly global corporation.

The Birth of Corporate Capitalism

The Company’s organisational structure was revolutionary.

Its use of joint-stock investment allowed ordinary investors—not merely monarchs or wealthy aristocrats—to finance global ventures.

Risk was spread among shareholders.

Profits could be reinvested.

Capital flowed more freely than ever before.

Many of the principles underpinning modern stock markets, corporate governance and international finance were refined during the Company’s long history.

The great financial districts of the world—London, New York, Hong Kong, Singapore—owe part of their commercial ancestry to innovations first demonstrated by companies such as the BEIC.

Yet the Company’s history also serves as an early warning.

Profit without effective oversight can become exploitation.

Economic power can become political power.

Commercial interests can reshape entire societies.

Building the British Empire

Although Britain had established colonies elsewhere, it was India that transformed Britain into a global imperial power.

The wealth flowing from India financed:

military expansion;

government revenues;

industrial investment;

naval supremacy;

imperial administration.

Indian cotton fed British textile mills.

Indian taxes helped finance British ambitions.

Indian markets absorbed British manufactured goods.

The relationship was deeply unequal, yet enormously profitable for Britain.

Without the East India Company, the British Empire would almost certainly have developed very differently.

Transforming India

The Company’s impact upon India remains the subject of vigorous historical debate.

Its legacy includes:

Administrative reforms

Modern bureaucracy, civil administration and aspects of the judicial system owe much to Company rule.

Infrastructure

Roads, canals, surveying, mapping and later railways expanded under British administration, although primarily to facilitate governance and commerce.

Education

English-language education produced new professional classes whose members would later become leaders of India’s independence movement.

Economic disruption

Traditional industries, particularly textiles, struggled to compete with industrial production in Britain.

Some regions experienced severe economic dislocation.

Famines

Historians continue to debate the extent to which Company policies exacerbated major famines.

Revenue demands, market priorities and administrative failures undoubtedly affected millions.

The Company’s record therefore resists simplistic judgement.

It contributed to institutional development while simultaneously participating in systems of exploitation.

Cultural Exchange

Empire did not flow in only one direction.

Britain absorbed enormous influences from India.

Tea became Britain’s national drink.

Curries entered British cuisine.

Indian words entered English:

bungalow;

shampoo;

pyjamas;

khaki;

loot;

jungle;

pundit;

veranda.

Architecture, art, literature, botany and science were likewise enriched through imperial contact.

Even the afternoon cup of tea owes much to commercial networks established by the Company.

Corporate Power and Accountability

Perhaps the Company’s greatest modern relevance lies in the questions it continues to raise.

Can private corporations become too powerful?

Should companies influence government policy?

How should multinational businesses be regulated?

Who bears responsibility when commercial activities harm communities?

These debates are hardly new.

They were already being argued in Parliament during the eighteenth century.

Edmund Burke condemned Company abuses while insisting that commerce should remain subject to moral principles.

His speeches sound remarkably contemporary.

Today’s discussions surrounding multinational corporations, technology giants, environmental responsibility and corporate taxation echo arguments first made during the age of the East India Company.

Memory and Controversy

In Britain, the Company’s legacy is increasingly viewed with complexity.

It contributed to national prosperity and global influence.

It also participated in conquest, exploitation and inequality.

In India, memories are understandably different.

The Company is frequently remembered less as a pioneering commercial enterprise than as the instrument through which foreign domination expanded.

Neither perspective tells the whole story.

History rarely offers simple heroes or villains.

The East India Company contained visionary entrepreneurs, capable administrators, courageous explorers and gifted scholars.

It also produced corruption, greed, military aggression and administrative failures.

Its history reflects both the heights and the flaws of human ambition.

The Company That Changed the World

When Queen Elizabeth I granted a charter in December 1600, neither she nor the original investors could possibly have imagined the consequences.

A group of London merchants seeking spices would eventually:

reshape international commerce;

influence the Industrial Revolution;

establish Britain’s Indian empire;

transform global finance;

pioneer multinational business;

alter the lives of hundreds of millions of people.

Few institutions have exercised comparable influence over world history.

Even fewer began with such modest ambitions.

The British East India Company no longer exists.

Its flag no longer flies from merchant ships.

Its directors no longer meet in London.

Its armies no longer march across Asia.

Yet its influence surrounds us.

Every multinational corporation operating across continents.

Every shareholder purchasing stock in a public company.

Every debate concerning corporate responsibility.

Every discussion about the relationship between commerce and government.

Each, in some small way, reflects questions first posed by the remarkable experiment that was the British East India Company.

The Company proved that commerce could become empire.

It also demonstrated that unchecked commercial power could threaten justice itself.

Its story is therefore neither simply one of triumph nor one of tragedy.

It is, instead, one of the most important—and cautionary—chapters in the history of the modern world.

Epilogue

As we conclude this six-part journey, one lesson stands out above all others.

The British East India Company did not merely trade in spices, silk, tea and opium.

It traded in power.

And once commerce acquires power, it inevitably raises questions that every generation must answer anew:

Who should wield it?

Who should restrain it?

And who ultimately pays its price?

Tim Alderman ©️ 2026

The Political and Corporate Abuse of the Murray–Darling River System

The Murray–Darling Basin is often described as Australia’s lifeblood. Covering more than one million square kilometres across Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, and the Australian Capital Territory, it contains the nation’s largest river network and supports communities, agriculture, Indigenous cultures, and ecosystems that have evolved over thousands of years.

The basin produces a significant proportion of Australia’s food and agricultural exports. Cotton, rice, grapes, citrus fruits, almonds, dairy products, and livestock all depend upon its waters. Yet despite its immense importance, the Murray–Darling Basin has become one of Australia’s most controversial environmental and political battlegrounds.

For decades, accusations of political favouritism, regulatory failure, water theft, corporate influence, flawed water trading schemes, and environmental neglect have surrounded management of the river system. Critics argue that successive governments have allowed powerful interests to profit from a public resource while rivers, wetlands, native fish populations, and rural communities suffer.

The story of the Murray–Darling Basin is not simply about water. It is about power, money, competing interests, and the challenge of managing a scarce resource in an increasingly dry continent.

Australia’s Most Important River System

The Murray–Darling Basin consists primarily of two major rivers: the Murray and the Darling, along with numerous tributaries.

For tens of thousands of years, Indigenous peoples lived along these waterways, developing sophisticated cultural, spiritual, and economic relationships with the river system.

Following European settlement, however, the rivers increasingly became viewed as economic assets.

Large-scale irrigation expanded throughout the twentieth century. Dams, weirs, channels, and pumping infrastructure transformed the natural flow of water.

Agricultural production flourished, but environmental consequences accumulated.

Wetlands shrank.

Floodplains became disconnected.

Native fish populations declined.

Salinity increased.

River ecosystems suffered from decades of over-extraction.

By the early 2000s, many scientists warned that parts of the system were approaching ecological collapse.

The Murray–Darling Basin Plan

In response to growing concerns, governments developed the Murray–Darling Basin Plan.

Introduced in 2012, the plan sought to balance environmental sustainability with agricultural production.

Its primary objective was to recover water for the environment by purchasing water rights, improving irrigation efficiency, and reforming water management practices.

The plan represented one of Australia’s largest environmental initiatives, with public spending exceeding $13 billion. Yet implementation quickly became controversial. Critics argued that political compromises weakened environmental outcomes while creating opportunities for corporate beneficiaries.

Water as a Commodity

One of the most significant changes in Basin management was the creation of water markets.

Water rights became tradeable assets.

Supporters argued that water trading improved efficiency by allowing water to move toward higher-value agricultural uses.

In theory, markets would allocate scarce water more effectively than government regulation.

In practice, critics contend that water became increasingly concentrated in the hands of large corporations and wealthy investors. Water rights evolved from farming tools into financial assets that could be bought, sold, leased, and speculated upon.

Many family farmers found themselves competing against corporate entities with far greater financial resources.

As water prices increased during drought periods, smaller operators often struggled to remain viable.

Corporate Concentration

The rise of large-scale irrigated agriculture fundamentally changed the Basin’s economic landscape.

Major agribusinesses invested heavily in permanent crops such as almonds, citrus, and vineyards. These crops require reliable water supplies every year regardless of drought conditions.

Unlike annual crops, permanent plantings cannot simply be abandoned during dry years.

This creates intense pressure to secure water at almost any cost.

Critics argue that this has encouraged further concentration of water ownership among large corporations and institutional investors.

Some communities increasingly fear that water policy now serves corporate interests rather than broader public or environmental needs.

The concern is not merely who owns the water, but who has the greatest influence over decisions affecting its allocation.

The Water Theft Allegations

Perhaps the most explosive controversy emerged in 2017.

An investigation by ABC’s Four Corners program aired allegations involving illegal water extraction, meter tampering, inadequate enforcement, and regulatory failures within parts of the Basin. The program sparked national outrage and prompted parliamentary inquiries and investigations.

The subsequent Senate inquiry examined allegations including:

Water extraction beyond licensed limits.

Pumping during prohibited periods.

Tampering with water meters.

Poor enforcement by government agencies.

Excessive influence by powerful irrigators.

The controversy damaged public confidence in Basin management and raised serious questions about regulatory oversight.

Regulatory Failure

A recurring criticism has been that governments often failed to adequately enforce existing rules.

The Matthews Report, commissioned following the Four Corners revelations, identified weaknesses in compliance systems, monitoring arrangements, transparency, and enforcement.

Investigations found that some alleged breaches remained unresolved for years.

Critics argued that regulators were often under-resourced, politically constrained, or reluctant to pursue powerful interests aggressively.

While not every allegation resulted in proven wrongdoing, the broader perception was deeply damaging: many Australians came to believe there were different rules for large irrigators and ordinary water users.

Environmental Water That Never Reached the Environment

One of the most controversial findings involved environmental water.

Taxpayers spent billions purchasing water entitlements intended to restore river health.

However, investigations revealed instances where water acquired for environmental purposes was subsequently captured by irrigators under existing extraction rules. Critics argued this undermined the fundamental purpose of the Basin Plan.

Scientists and environmental advocates questioned how water purchased to sustain ecosystems could effectively end up supporting agricultural production instead.

The issue became symbolic of broader concerns regarding policy design and regulatory loopholes.

The Politics of Water

Water has always been political in Australia.

Every Basin state has different priorities.

Upstream states often seek greater access for agriculture and regional development.

Downstream states, particularly South Australia, depend on sufficient river flows reaching the lower Murray and the river mouth.

These competing interests have repeatedly produced political conflict.

Governments frequently face pressure from:

Irrigation groups.

Environmental organizations.

Regional communities.

Indigenous nations.

Agribusiness corporations.

As a result, water policy often becomes a compromise shaped as much by political calculations as by scientific advice.

Critics argue that environmental objectives have frequently been diluted to avoid political backlash.

The Influence of Big Agriculture

Large agricultural industries wield considerable influence within Basin politics.

Cotton, rice, almond, and horticultural sectors contribute billions of dollars to the national economy and support thousands of jobs.

Their economic importance gives them significant political leverage.

Critics contend that governments have often prioritized agricultural production over ecological sustainability.

Supporters of irrigated agriculture counter that environmental groups underestimate the importance of food production and regional employment.

The debate frequently becomes polarized, with accusations of either environmental extremism or corporate capture.

The truth is often more complex than either side suggests.

The Buyback Controversy

Water buybacks became another major source of political conflict.

Under the Basin Plan, governments purchased water rights from willing sellers to increase environmental flows.

Environmental advocates generally viewed buybacks as necessary to restore river health.

Many farming communities, however, argued that removing water from irrigation damaged local economies.

Audits later identified flaws in aspects of the government’s buyback processes and raised questions regarding value for money in some transactions.

Debate continues over whether buybacks represent essential environmental investment or costly economic disruption.

Communities Left Behind

While much attention focuses on governments and corporations, local communities often bear the consequences.

Reduced irrigation can affect:

Employment.

Local businesses.

School enrolments.

Population growth.

Regional investment.

Some communities argue they have experienced long-term economic decline associated with changing water policies. Others contend that failure to restore river health would ultimately produce even greater social and economic damage.

This tension lies at the heart of the Basin debate.

Indigenous Perspectives

One of the most persistent criticisms of Basin management is the limited role afforded to Indigenous communities.

Aboriginal nations have maintained relationships with the Murray–Darling rivers for millennia.

Yet Indigenous ownership of water rights remains relatively small compared with agricultural and corporate holdings.

Many Indigenous leaders advocate for “cultural flows”—water allocations specifically managed to support cultural, environmental, and community objectives.

These perspectives challenge purely economic approaches to water management.

Climate Change Complicates Everything

Even perfect governance would not eliminate the challenges facing the Basin.

Climate change is increasing pressure on already scarce water resources.

Research indicates long-term declines in water availability across major Australian river systems, including the Murray–Darling Basin.

Longer droughts, higher temperatures, and increased evaporation are reducing water security.

This means future conflicts over allocation are likely to intensify.

A system already struggling to balance competing demands must now do so with less water.

Not Every Criticism Equals Corruption

It is important to distinguish between proven misconduct and political allegations.

Not every corporate water holder has acted improperly.

Not every government decision reflects corruption.

Many farmers operate responsibly and comply fully with regulations.

Likewise, many public servants have worked diligently to improve Basin management.

Nevertheless, repeated controversies have revealed genuine weaknesses in governance, transparency, enforcement, and accountability. Parliamentary inquiries, audits, investigative journalism, and regulatory actions have repeatedly identified shortcomings that fuel public distrust.

Lessons for the Future

The Murray–Darling Basin demonstrates how difficult natural resource management becomes when environmental, economic, and political interests collide.

Several lessons emerge:

Transparency is essential.

Water monitoring must be rigorous.

Enforcement must be independent.

Environmental objectives require protection from political interference.

Communities need support during transitions.

Indigenous voices must be included in decision-making.

Climate change must be incorporated into long-term planning.

Without these reforms, public confidence in Basin management will remain fragile.

Conclusion

The Murray–Darling Basin is one of Australia’s greatest natural assets, yet it has also become a symbol of political controversy and public distrust. Allegations of water theft, regulatory failures, corporate influence, flawed water markets, and ineffective environmental outcomes have repeatedly undermined confidence in the system. Investigations, audits, and inquiries have revealed serious weaknesses in governance and enforcement, even while many participants have acted lawfully and in good faith.

At its core, the debate is about who benefits from a scarce public resource and who bears the costs when management fails. Governments must balance environmental protection, food production, economic development, Indigenous rights, and community wellbeing. As climate change places increasing pressure on Australia’s water resources, these questions will only become more urgent.

The future of the Murray–Darling Basin will depend not merely on how much water remains in its rivers, but on whether Australians can build a system that is transparent, equitable, environmentally sustainable, and trusted by the people whose lives depend upon it.

Tim Alderman ©️ 2026

Tokyo WWII War Crimes Trial: How An Australian Judge Sentenced A Japanese Leader To Death

Hideki Tojo was the leader of Japan for much of World War II.(Supplied: Wikipedia)

“Accused Hideki Tojo, on the counts of the indictment of which you have been convicted, the International Military Tribunal for the Far East sentences you to death by hanging.”

With those words on November 12, 1948, a judge of the High Court of Australia unwillingly passed a death sentence on the wartime leader of one of the major Axis powers. 

As president of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, Sir William Webb presided over one of the two multinational tribunals established to prosecute the Axis crimes of World War II (the other being the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg). 

No Australian jurist before or since has ever held such responsibility, yet his part and Australia’s key role in the prosecution of hundreds of accused Japanese war criminals throughout the Asia-Pacific are little remembered today.

Seventy years on, it’s worth returning to the controversies surrounding the program of trials to see if there’s anything we can learn.https://www.youtube.com/embed/oUWhzcJVkD0?feature=oembedYOUTUBEToyko Trial verdict

Immunity for the emperor

Webb’s scruples about the death sentence did not come from sympathy for Tojo or the other six defendants also sentenced to hang. 

Rather, it was the joint decision of the Allied Governments to grant Emperor Hirohito immunity in exchange for his cooperation. 

“It would be a travesty of justice, seriously reflecting on the United Nations, to hang or shoot the common Japanese soldier or Korean guard while granting immunity to his sovereign perhaps even more guilty than he,” Webb had written in September 1945. 

Having spent three years investigating war crimes in the Pacific, he was convinced that responsibility for Japanese atrocities needed to be pursued all the way to the very top. 

The Australian Government came around to his view, but its British and American Allies did not. The Emperor was left in power, used as a buffer to soften Japan’s rough and rapid transition to democracy. As a consolation prize, perhaps, General Douglas Macarthur appointed Webb as president of the tribunal. 

A judge poses in a wig
Sir William Webb was a judge of the Supreme Court of Queensland and the High Court of Australia.(Supplied: Queensland State Archives)

Webb out of his depth

Webb was a diligent and effective investigator, but he was out of his depth in Tokyo. Balancing the competing legal and political objectives of the cosmopolitan court would have required a subtle and confident judge, extremely knowledgeable in international law and able to deal effectively with the international bench and the Japanese defendants. 

Webb was not such a man. New Zealand judge Erima Harvey Northcroft described him as “brusque to the point of rudeness. He does not control the court with dignity, he is pre-emptory and ungracious in his treatment of counsel and witnesses, and instead of giving shortly the legal justification which in most cases exists for his decisions, he leaves everyone in the court with the impression his rulings are dictated by petulance or impatience and an impression, which may easily develop in the future, of prejudice.” 

Nuremberg was wrapped up and the death sentences carried out by the end of October 1946. Tokyo, afflicted with administrative troubles, translation difficulties, and the incompetent management of the prosecution case by lead prosecutor Joseph Keenan, limped on into late 1948. 

Hermann Goering sits in the dock at the Nuremberg trial in 1946
Hermann Goering sits in the dock at the Nuremberg trial in 1946.(www.freeinfosociety.com)

Carrying on without the president

Webb’s authority with the court, already weak, suffered a fatal blow in early 1947 when the Australian Government, in a breathtakingly parochial decision, summoned him to home to sit on the High Court for the bank nationalisation case. 

By the time he returned to Tokyo in December, he was president of the court in name only. 

Three judges — Northcroft, Lord Patrick of the United Kingdom, and Edward Stuart McDougall of Canada — had decided to take matters into their own hands. 

All three men had served in one world war, seen a second, and had become determined that there should not be a third. 

They agreed they could best achieve this goal by ensuring that Japan’s wartime leaders were convicted. https://www.youtube.com/embed/To3V3ibeQDM?feature=oembedYOUTUBETokyo Trial 1964

They knew that the prosecution’s case was struggling, particularly following Tojo able handling of Keenan’s botched cross-examination. And they also knew that two of the other judges, Bert Roling of the Netherlands and Henri Barnard of France, had serious reservations about convicting men under laws which they believed the court was making up as it went along. 

Northcroft, Patrick and McDougall succeeded in pulling together a solid but not overwhelming majority of seven judges out of 11.

As president, it still fell to Webb to read the majority judgement, even though he played no role in writing it.

Reading the judgement and the sentences took him eight days; the sentences were read on November 12.

Tojo accepted his fate with characteristic stoicism. Taking off the headphones through which he had heard a translator announce Webb’s sentence in Japanese, he stood up, smiled at Webb, nodded, and bowed very deeply.
Turning sharply, he walked out of the courtroom. 

Judges sit below national flags
War crimes court presided over by the Australian High Court judge Sir William Webb.(Suppled: State Library of Victoria)

‘He has lost his belief in war’

Five of the judges wrote partial or full dissents of their own, although these were not read to the court and were only published later. 

Most controversially, openly pro-Axis judge Radhabinod Pal of India wrote a massive and inflammatory dissent where he suggested that Japan had fought a justified war against Western imperialism, implied that evidence of Japanese war crimes against Asian civilians had been exaggerated for propaganda purposes, compared the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to the Holocaust, and argued that all of the defendants should have been acquitted of all of the charges.

In a short partial dissent, Webb agreed with the majority on their interpretation of the law but expressed reservations about the sentencing: “I do not suggest the Emperor should have been prosecuted. That is beyond my province. His immunity was, no doubt, decided upon in the best interests of all the Allied Powers. Justice requires me to take into consideration the Emperor’s immunity when determining the punishment of the accused found guilty: that is all.” 

This mild statement still inflamed Macarthur, who believed Webb was cynically exploiting anti-Hirohito feeling to boost his popularity in Australia, and compelled the prosecution to issue a statement affirming that there had been no grounds to prosecute the Emperor. 

In his final public statements before his execution on December 23, 1948, Tojo repeated his satisfaction that the Emperor had escaped prosecution, confirmed his faith in the people of Japan, and called for world peace. 

He was now under the guidance of a Buddhist priest, Dr Hanayama, who was pleased with the progress his pupil was making. 

“Since he embraced the Buddhist faith six months ago, he has lost his belief in war,” Dr Hanayama told the media in a press conference in early December. 

“A devout belief in Buddhism, together with the knowledge of the suffering the war has caused the world’s peoples, has convinced him that there are other, better means of solving world’s problems.” 

That, at least, is a good lesson.

Adam Wakeling is the author of The Last Fifty Miles: Australia and the End of the Great War and Stern Justice: Australia in the Pacific War Crimes Trials.

Reference

Gay History: Lord Beauchamp, Walmer Castle And Homosexuality In 20th-Century England

The Beauchamp Hotel in Darlinghurst is named after this former governor of NSW.

Built in 1540 to guard the English coast against foreign invasions, Walmer Castle is one of Kent’s most prominent landmarks. Since the 18th century it has been the official residence of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. During the 1920s Walmer was home to William Lygon, 7th Earl of Beauchamp, who held lavish homosexual parties at the castle. This led eventually to his dramatic fall from grace, the break-up of his family, and the inspiration for Evelyn Waugh’s most famous novel, Brideshead Revisited.

CABINET MINISTER AND FAMILY MAN

Born in 1872, William Lygon was a well-known public figure from a young age. Succeeding his father as Earl Beauchamp in 1891, he became mayor of Worcester at the age of 23, and was appointed governor of New South Wales, Australia, in 1899. A high-flying figure in the Liberal Party, he rose to become a senior cabinet minister in 1910. He was also appointed First Commissioner of the Office of Works (later English Heritage), in charge of works to royal residences and government buildings.

In 1913, Beauchamp was appointed Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. He enjoyed the pomp and ceremony that came with the role of Lord Warden: one of his duties was to welcome visiting foreign dignitaries at Dover on behalf of the king. Equally, however, he spent time at Walmer Castle with his family. In 1902, he had married Lettice Grosvenor, sister of Hugh Grosvenor, 2nd Duke of Westminster. Family photographs show Beauchamp, Lettice and their seven children enjoying their surroundings and each other’s company at Walmer.

Lord Beauchamp with five of his children on Walmer Beach in 1915 © Courtesy of Madresfield Estate

PARTY BOY

Beauchamp’s family life appeared conventional. However, during the 1920s he is known to have thrown some rather racy parties at Walmer, to which he invited his high-class friends, along with local fishermen and youths. A hint of their nature is given in the memoirs of Lady Christabel Aberconway, who wrote that:

One Sunday, my host, Lord Jowitt, asked my husband if he and I would like to see one of the famous castles of the Cinque Ports. Delightedly we accepted. … We arrived [at Walmer] and were shown into a garden surrounding a grass tennis court. There was the actor Ernest Thesiger, a friend of mine, nude to the waist and covered with pearls.

The gardens at Walmer Castle

CAUGHT OUT

In 1930 Beauchamp became embroiled in a scandal that would prove disastrous to his career and personal life. He had embarked on a round-the-world tour in August that year, spending two months in Sydney, Australia. He was accompanied by a young valet, who lived with him as his lover. This did not go unnoticed, and Beauchamp’s tastes were reported in the Australian Star newspaper:

The most striking feature of the vice-regal ménage is the youthfulness of its members … Rosy cheeked footmen, clad in liveries of fawn, heavily ornamented in silver and red brocade, with many lanyards of the same hanging in festoons from their broad shoulders, [who] stood in the doorway, and bowed as we passed in … Lord Beauchamp deserves great credit for his taste in footmen.

Following this report, Beauchamp’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Westminster, hired detectives and began to gather evidence of Beauchamp’s activities.

Lord Beauchamp at Walmer Castle in 1925 © Courtesy of Madresfield Estate

A RUINED REPUTATION

The Duke of Westminster was reported to be a bullying, womanising, angry man, once described as ‘nothing but a fatuous, spoilt, ageing playboy’. He had always disliked Beauchamp, jealous of his brother-in-law’s public office and apparent domestic happiness. In addition, the duke was a staunch Tory, whereas Beauchamp was the Liberal Party’s leader in the House of Lords. To ruin Beauchamp would not only satisfy Westminster’s personal vendetta, but would also be politically advantageous.

In 1931 Westminster publicly denounced Beauchamp as a homosexual to George V, who reportedly responded, ‘Why, I thought people like that always shot themselves’. Westminster insisted that Beauchamp be arrested, forcing him into exile.

Hugh Grosvenor, 2nd Duke of Westminster, some time before 1903. Westminster’s jealousy of his brother-in-law led to him denouncing Beauchamp as a homosexual
© National Portrait Gallery, London

EXILE ABROAD

Beauchamp fled first to Germany, where he contemplated suicide, but was dissuaded from it by his son Hugh. He later split his time between Paris, Venice, Sydney and San Francisco – four cities that were relatively tolerant of his sexual orientation.

Meanwhile, Westminster presented his evidence to his sister Lettice, who suffered a nervous breakdown at the news. She submitted a petition for divorce, moved to her brother’s Cheshire estate and took to her bed. The divorce petition described Beauchamp as:

A man of perverted sexual practices, [who] has committed acts of gross indecency with male servants and other male persons and has been guilty of sodomy … throughout the married life … the Respondent habitually committed acts of gross indecency with certain of his male servants.

Lord and Lady Beauchamp on the Broadwalk at Walmer in the 1920s. Lettice petitioned for a divorce upon being told of her husband’s homosexual activity
© Courtesy of Madresfield Estate

FAMILY SUPPORT

Westminster ordered Beauchamp’s children to testify against their father, but they all refused. Though his wife had deserted him, his children’s support never wavered. They shunned their mother and never made peace with her (except the youngest son, Dickie). Westminster became their worst enemy and he let it be known that anyone dealing with the Lygons would be dropped from society. In an extraordinary display of spite, Westminster wrote Beauchamp a short letter, simply stating:

Dear Bugger-in-Law, You got what you deserved. Yours, Westminster.

Cut off from the rest of society, Beauchamp’s children took turns to visit their father abroad. According to Beauchamp’s daughter Sibell, he never grumbled, nor mentioned Westminster again, but grew resigned to his exile.

Beauchamp’s four daughters, Lettice, Dorothy, Mary and Sibell, walking along the Broadwalk in Walmer Castle’s gardens in 1922. Beauchamp’s children all refused to testify against their father when he was accused of homosexuality
© Courtesy of Madresfield Estate

RETURN AND REPRIEVE

It was not until George VI came to the throne in 1936 that the warrant for Beauchamp’s arrest was lifted. Beauchamp returned to England in July 1937. He moved back to Madresfield, the family home, and wasted no time in painting out his wife’s image from a fresco in their personal chapel. The family threw her bust into the house’s moat.

Beauchamp died of cancer in 1938. His various misfortunes inspired Evelyn Waugh’s 1945 novel Brideshead Revisited – the character of Lord Marchmain was based on Beauchamp himself, while his son Hugh proved the inspiration for the ill-fated Sebastian Flyte.

Hugh Lygon lazing on the bastion at Walmer Castle in 1925. Hugh had met Evelyn Waugh while studying at Oxford, becoming the inspiration for the ill-fated Sebastian Flyte in Waugh’s novel ‘Brideshead Revisited’ © Courtesy of Madresfield Estate

Reference

Stefano Cucchi: How One Death In Custody Has Become The Symbol Of Police Brutality In Italy

Stefano Cucchi's siter, Ilaria Cucchi

The death in custody of 31-year-old Stefano Cucchi has brought the abuse of police power under scrutiny in Italy. After losing her brother and enduring the subsequent trial, Ilaria Cucchi is now receiving harassment and online threats from police officers. Sociologists say Stefano’s case is not isolated and ask what the country will do to clean up its policing.

The Netflix film On My Skin (Sulla Mia Pelle), directed by Alessio Cremonini and starring Alessandro Borghi, premiered at the Venice Film Festival in August 2018.

At the end of the screening, Ilaria, a woman wearing a red dress, walked towards the film’s director, who was standing in the front row of the cinema receiving applause, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The embrace momentarily hid their noticeably moved faces from the gaze of the surrounding crowd.

On My Skin (featured in our collection of human rights documentaries) tells the story of a man who was arrested by Carabinieri (Italy’s domestic police) officers in Rome and died in unclear circumstances after seven days of being in precautionary custody.

The man was Ilaria’s younger brother, Stefano Cucchi.

Since his death in 2009, Stefano, 31, has become an icon of the abuse of police power in Italy.

He was arrested on 15 October 2009, after being caught handing a dose of cannabis to his friend Emanuele Mancini.

He spent his first night in custody in a Carabinieri cell. The next day he was taken to a prison wing of the local general hospital with distinct marks and bruises on his eyes, back pain and injuries to his legs.

Seven days after his arrest, at 6.15am on 22 October, Stefano was found dead in his hospital bed.

This young amateur boxer was in good health before his arrest but his family obtained photographs from the morgue showing Stefano’s emaciated body covered in purple bruises. They rejected the assertion that Stefano had died of natural causes and began a campaign for justice.

A SISTER’S FIGHT FOR JUSTICE

Stefano’s story sparked a debate about the abuse of police power at a national level. The case polarised the Italian public, as the story was heavily politicised and peppered with accusations, slander, threats and cover-ups.

Stefano’s sister Ilaria received support from many, but she also received criticism and scorn from those who believed the Carabinieri officers’ integrity and innocence.

However, this year – seven years after the first trial – one of the Carabinieri officers involved in the trial added a new twist to the story.

On My Skin Sulla Mia Pelle film poster

On My Skin (Sulla Mia Pelle) film poster

On 11 October 2018, Francesco Tedesco, one of the three indicted officers, confessed that Stefano had been beaten, accusing his two colleagues, Alessio di Bernardo and Raffaele D’Alessandro. Tedesco claimed he was only a witness to the abuse and tried to stop the other two officers as they beat him for refusing to cooperate.

Furthermore, he accused his superiors of forcing him to stay silent about what happened that night.

He claimed to have written a report about the beating, but said it was suppressed by his managers.

Seven years after the first trial, following 45 hearings, dozens of reports, investigations and more than 100 testimonies collected from witnesses, the second trial is still not concluded. The confession of Francesco Tedesco, however, could add a new direction.

Stefano’s sister Ilaria Cucchi hasn’t been alone in her battle as she has significant public support in fighting for justice.

Nevertheless, since the release of On My Skin, Ilaria has been receiving death threats on Facebook from supporters of the Northern League (one of Italy’s two co-ruling political parties) and from accounts she believes belong to police officers.

On 20 October 2018, Ilaria posted one such comment on Facebook, saying she feels that she and her loved ones (as well as lawyer Fabio Anselmo, who followed Stefano’s case from the beginning) are in danger.

SHINING A LIGHT ON POLICE BRUTALITY IN ITALY

Anselmo’s law career spans some of the most renowed cases of abuse of power in Italy.

In 2005, he represented the family of 18-year-old Federico Aldrovandi, who was killed by four police officers when he was returning to his home in Ferrara. The trial ended in 2012 with the four officers sentenced to three years and six months each. This was later reduced by the Italian parliament to just six months each and the officers have now returned to work.

Lawyer Fabio Anselmo
Lawyer Fabio Anselmo

Anselmo was also involved in the case of Giuseppe Uva, who died in unclear circumstances in 2008 while in police custody. The trial is ongoing.

These and other cases have brought to public opinion the concept of “morti di Stato” (deaths at the hands of the Italian State), a term which defines all those incidents of violent deaths in police custody and the corresponding abuse of power.

While the abuse of police power is not unusual in Italy, it’s not easy to obtain statistics or figures on the topic as the only available sources are the witnesses in the trials.

And while the stories of Stefano Cucchi, Federico Aldrovandi and Giuseppe Uva are the most well known among the Italian public, there are many more cases which have not yet had media coverage.

Federico Aldrovandi before his death
Federico Aldrovandi before his death

International organisations such as the UN and the EU have criticised Italian policing of certain events.

One of the most widely reported episodes in recent years of abuse of police power in Italy occurred in July 2001, during the 27th G8 summit hosted by Italy, in Genoa.

The two-day summit was attended by leaders of Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the UK and the US. The summit drew 200,000 protesters from all over the world for a mass demonstration.

Between July 19 and 22, hundreds of demonstrators were involved in clashes with Italian police officers. Many were injured and 23-year-old Carlo Giuliani, was shot dead by officer Mario Placanica as he and other protesters attacked the officer’s van.

On 21st July, the day after Giuliani’s death, 250 police officers raided the Armando Diaz school with additional support from Carabinieri officers, beat demonstrators who were spending the night there. Police authorities justified the assault claiming that they were looking for black-bloc members (hard left protesters who wear black and obscure their faces) who had devastated part of the city of Genoa during the previous days of the summit. They arrested 93 people, but only one belonged to the black-bloc group. Nevertheless, 61 of them were taken to hospital with injuries.

In the same night, the police brought some of the activists and demonstrators arrested in the school to holding cells in the barracks of Bolzaneto, a suburb of Genoa. There, some of the officers tortured several people, mentally and physically, using humiliation, threats and beatings. They even forced some to exalt Fascism.

Amnesty International labelled the incidents during 2001’s G8 “the most serious suspension of democratic rights in a Western country since the Second World War”.

In 2015, The European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) condemned Italy for the events, defining the violence committed by police officers as acts of torture. Later, Italy financially compensated 29 people who were beaten at Armando Diaz School and six who were tortured in the Bolzaneto barracks.

ITALIAN LAWS FAIL TO MEET INTERNATIONAL STANDARDS

At an international level, Italy ratified the United Nations Convention against Torture in 1989, but did not introduce the convention into its legal system. In 2016, Ilaria Cucchi launched a petition on Change.orgto introduce a law against torture. She gained more than 240,000 signatures. Eventually, Italy introduced the law in 2017, motivated by the verdicts of the ECHR

Ilaria Cucchi's Change petition for Stefano Cucchi

However, according to the UN, as well as some experts and international human rights associations, the new law doesn’t respect international standards. As Human Rights Watch highlighted in their report, “the text of the new law requires ‘multiple acts’ for torture to occur. The [UN] convention, reflecting the international law, affirms ‘any act’ might be torture if it meets the gravity standard. The new law also requires that psychological trauma be ‘verifiable’ to establish ‘psychological’ torture”.

In the same report, Human Rights Watch said the discrepancy between the definition of torture drafted in the UN convention and the new law adopted by Italy (article 613-bis of the Penal Code) implies that “the restrictive definition and short statute of limitations – in a country whose judiciary system is infamous for its lengthy trials – raises the risks that torture will go unpunished, as well as hinder the ability of victims to get redress. This means that Italy will continue to be in violation of its international obligations.”.

Criticism about the new law, but for opposite reasons, came from some Italian right-wing movements too. On 12th July 2018, Fratelli D’Italia (Brothers of Italy) leader Giorgia Meloni announced on Twitter two proposals to abolish the crime of torture in Italy, on the grounds that the law would hinder the police officers to work properly. Her tweet has been widely criticised.

Two years before the introduction of the law, the current Deputy Prime Minister of Italy and Minister of the Interior Matteo Salvini criticised the verdict of the ECHR concerning the G8 in 2001 and said that a law against torture is a nonsense law that would allow criminals to blackmail police officers.

COULD CUCCHI’S CASE LEAD TO IMPROVEMENTS IN POLICING?

Based at the University of Genoa, professor of sociology Salvatore Palidda is one of the few Italian researchers focusing on the relationship between police and civil society.

Stefano Cucchi before his death
Stefano Cucchi before his death

According to Palidda, there are hundreds of cases like Cucchi’s, Aldrovandi’s and Uva’s that have not received media coverage, because they concern outcasts or immigrants without residency permits.

“The activity of police forces is always characterised by the coexistence of a peaceful management and a violent one. The discretion of power held by officers may turn into free will and lead to torture and murder”, Palidda said.

Key to understanding the violence perpetrated by some officers is their sense of impunity. “Some police managers tolerate and cover up illicit behaviours of officers in order to earn the respect of other subordinates and police trade unions,” Palidda explained.

Another factor that facilitates impunity is the reticence of police force members to report their colleagues. The stories of Aldrovandi, Cucchi and Uva, as well as the facts of the 2001 G8 in Genoa and many others are characterised by cover-ups and silence imposed by the officer’s superiors and colleagues. Indeed, the unexpected confession of the Carabinieri officer Francesco Tedesco regarding the death of Stefano Cucchi is a rare breach of this convention.

Palidda says one practical method of containing and controlling police brutality in Italy is to “establish an independent authority that would monitor and regulate the activities of police forces. This should bring impunity to an end and tribunals would investigate the alleged crimes without the support of police”.

However, he added, “these measures are possible only in a country where most of the population has an effective sense of democracy”.

Reference

Gay History: The Pink Triangle: From Nazi Label to Symbol of Gay Pride

Pink triangles were originally used in concentration camps to identify gay prisoners.

Before the pink triangle became a worldwide symbol of gay power and pride, it was intended as a badge of shame. In Nazi Germany, a downward-pointing pink triangle was sewn onto the shirts of gay men in concentration camps—to identify and further dehumanize them. It wasn’t until the 1970s that activists would reclaim the symbol as one of liberation.

Homosexuality was technically made illegal in Germany in 1871, but it was rarely enforced until the Nazi Party took power in 1933. As part of their mission to racially and culturally “purify” Germany, the Nazis arrested thousands of LGBT individuals, mostly gay men, whom they viewed as degenerate.

The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum estimates 100,000 gay men were arrested and between 5,000 and 15,000 were placed in concentration camps. Just as Jews were forced to identify themselves with yellow stars, gay men in concentration camps had to wear a large pink triangle. (Brown triangles were used for Romani people, red for political prisoners, green for criminals, blue for immigrants, purple for Jehovah’s Witnesses and black for “asocial” people, including prostitutes and lesbians.)

Homosexual prisoners at the concentration camp at Sachsenhausen, Germany, wearing pink triangles on their uniforms on December 19, 1938.
Homosexual prisoners at the concentration camp at Sachsenhausen, Germany, wearing pink triangles on their uniforms on December 19, 1938. Corbis/Getty Images

At the camps, gay men were treated especially harshly, by guards and fellow prisoners alike. “There was no solidarity for the homosexual prisoners; they belonged to the lowest caste,” Pierre Seel, a gay Holocaust survivor, wrote in his memoir I, Pierre Seel, Deported Homosexual: A Memoir of Nazi Terror.

An estimated 65 percent of gay men in concentration camps died between 1933 and 1945. Even after World War II, both East and West Germany upheld the country’s anti-gay law, and many gays remained incarcerated until the early 1970s. (The law was not officially repealed until 1994.)

The early 1970s was also when the gay rights movement began to emerge in Germany. In 1972, The Men with the Pink Triangle, the first autobiography of a gay concentration camp survivor, was published. The next year, post-war Germany’s first gay rights organization, Homosexuelle Aktion Westberlin (HAW), reclaimed the pink triangle as a symbol of liberation.

“At its core, the pink triangle represented a piece of our German history that still needed to be dealt with,” Peter Hedenström, one of HAW’s founding members said in 2014.

Memorial plaques for homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses and Wehrmacht deserters are placed where once stood one of the demolished barracks in Buchenwald concentration camp near Weimar, Germany.
Memorial plaques for homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses and Wehrmacht deserters are placed where once stood one of the demolished barracks in Buchenwald concentration camp near Weimar, Germany. Horacio Villalobos/Corbis/Getty Images

Afterwards, it began cropping up in other LGBT circles around the world. In 1986, six New York City activists created a poster with the words SILENCE = DEATH and a bright pink upward-facing triangle, meant to call attention to the AIDs crisis that was decimating populations of gay men across the country. The poster was soon adopted by the organization ACT UP and became a lasting symbol of the AIDS advocacy movement.

The triangle continues to figure prominently in imaging for various LGBT organizations and events. Since the 1990s, signs bearing a pink triangle enclosed in a green circle have been used as a symbol identifying “safe spaces” for queer people. There are pink triangle memorials in San Francisco and Sydney, which honor LGBT victims of the Holocaust. In 2018, for Pride Month, Nike released acollection of shoes featuring pink triangles.

Although the pink triangle has been reclaimed as an empowering symbol, it is ultimately a reminder to never forget the past—and to recognize the persecution LGBT people still face around the world.

Reference

Gay History: From Stonewall To The White Horse: The Bay Area’s Part In Uprisings That Changed The World

Flyer for Gay Liberation Front protest at the Examiner Building October 31, 1969, Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society
Flyer for Gay Liberation Front protest at the Examiner Building October 31, 1969, Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society

“San Francisco is a refugee camp for homosexuals. We have fled here from every part of the nation, and like refugees elsewhere, we came not because it is so great here, but because it was so bad there. By the tens of thousands, we fled small towns where tobe ourselves would endanger our jobs and any hope of a decent life….”

Refugees from Amerika: A Gay Manifesto — Carl Wittman, December, 1969

Cover of Gay Sunshine, October 1970

By the time of the first night of protests at New York City’s Stonewall Inn, San Francisco had experienced months of demonstrations related to gay rights that would continue for the next few years. 

Unlike Stonewall, the disturbances in San Francisco started over job rights, and a bar was not involved. But because the disturbances spread and issues multiplied, they would eventually include at least three bars, including Oakland’s White Horse.

The people who lit the fuse were recent arrivals. Gale Chester Whittington came from Denver in 1968 and Leo Laurence from Indianapolis in 1966. 

Whittington got a job as an accounting clerk at the States Steamship Company (320 California). 

Laurence was a journalist for the underground newspaper Berkeley Barb and the editor of the Society for Individual Rights magazine Vector.They met when Whittington volunteered to write for Vector.

A Vector photographer shared a photo from a shoot of Laurence and Whittington with The Barb. It was paired with an article from March 23, 1969, titled “Homo Revolt: Don’t Hide it.” 

The article covered Laurence’s editorial call for gay revolution in Vector. Since the Barb had sex ads, it was read by several of Whittington’s straight colleagues at the shipping company. The day it was published, Whittington was fired. Because of the editorial Laurence was removed as editor of Vector.

Homo Revolt, Dont Hide It, Berkeley Barb, March 28, 1969

Whittington and Laurence then formed the Committee for Homosexual Freedom. Max Scheer, editor of The Barb, promised to cover their actions. On April 9, 1969 the picketing of the steamship company began with signs saying, “Let Gays Live,” “Free The Queers” and “Freedom for Homos Now.” 

The protests continued for months. In May, The Advocate picked up coverage of the protests and by June the Rev. Troy Perry had begun a sympathy strike at the company’s Los Angeles offices. 

Ultimately the protests didn’t succeed in getting Whittington’s job back, but because the San Francisco Chronicle, The Advocate and The Barb covered the protest (on an almost weekly basis) it spread the word nationally and CHF grew. 

In Whittington’s autobiographical work, Beyond Normal: The Birth of Gay Pride, he mentions that Hibiscus and Lendon Sadler (of the Cockettes) and Carl Wittman (author of Refugees from Amerika: A Gay Manifesto) all took part in early CHF protests. Wittman read early drafts of his manifesto to the group.

By May protests spread to a second site: Tower Records. Employee Frank Denaro was fired after a security guard reported to management that he had returned the wink of a male customer. Unlike the steamship company, however, the record store was swayed by public opinion and by June the management offered Denaro his job back.

States Steamship Protest, Berkeley Barb, April 25 – May 1, 1969

Purple rain
News about what was happening in San Francisco continued to spread. Berkeley Tribeprinted a letter saying Laurence’s articles, reprinted in a Minneapolis campus newspaper, had inspired a class in Homosexual Revolution from their Free University. In Beyond Normal, Whittington relates he received a telegram from New Yorkers who were at Stonewall and had been inspired by articles in The Barb. In October, both Laurence and Whittington were interviewed in the L.A. magazine Tangents.

By October 1969, Gay Liberation Front chapters opened in Berkeley and San Francisco. Two protests on Halloween show both coordination and fragmentation between new and old organizations. 

At the first, called “Friday of the Purple Hand,” the Society for Individual Rights worked with CHF and both GLF groups to protest the editorial policies of the San Francisco Examiner. Earlier that week, Robert Patterson of the Examiner had written “The Dreary Revels of S.F. ‘Gay’ Clubs” which referred to gays as “semi-males” and lesbians as “women who aren’t exactly women” as well as referring to both as deviates.

Around 100 protesters picketed the Examiner building, and then had printers ink dumped on them from an upper floor by Examiner employees. The protesters used the ink to make purple hand prints all over the building (which gave the protest its name). The protesters were then attacked by the police Tactical Squad. Twelve people were injured and fifteen were arrested.

Friday of the Purple Hand coverage, San Francisco Free Press

The second event that day was a protest of the Beaux Arts Ball in the Merchandise Mart by Gay Guerrilla Theater and the Gay Liberation Coalition. Laurence reported in the Berkeley Tribe that the protest was focused on the acceptance of laws that only allowed drag on Halloween and New Year’s. He reported:

“I don’t dig drag myself (can’t imagine being a bearded lady)…but by God, I do feel the drags should have the right to do their thing; not just twice a year, but every day; not just at a drag ball, but at work, school, church and on the streets.”

This was among the first confrontations between older gay organizations and newer, more radical groups. Others included a protest of a S.I.R. dinner in February 1972 where Willie Brown was speaking on reforming sex laws (protested because of the cover charge of $12) and a takeover of the North American Conference of Homophile Organizations (NACHO) by the Gay Liberation Front in August 1970. GLF demanded that NACHO affirm its support of the Black Panther Party and Women’s Liberation and organize a national gay strike.

Clearly there was a generational difference between members of homophile organizations and the gay liberationists. Many of the younger generation had ties to the New Left and anti-war movements. 

Laurence had been in Chicago for the ’68 Democratic convention and Wittman had written for the SDS before, for example. GLF members formed a gay contingent for the Nov. 15, 1969 Moratorium March Against the War. And by and large they read the underground press, not the gay press.

Demands for White Horse Protest, Gay Sunshine, October 1970

Horse sense
The most dramatic confrontation between gay liberationists and gay bars came at the White Horse Bar in Oakland. Konstantin Berlandt, a long-time gay activist in Berkeley, was thrown out of the bar for selling Gay Sunshine by the owner Joe Johansen. The Gay Sunshine collective worked with the Berkeley GLF and picketed the bar. A list of demands included one that patrons be allowed to touch one another and slow dance. Within a week the bar capitulated to the protesters.

The White Horse wasn’t the only bar to raise the ire of liberationists.

Leonarda’s also refused to sell Gay Sunshineand a boycott was suggested (it’s hard to know how serious to take this, as the underground press kept reporting the bar’s name as “Leonardo’s”). The Stud also upset writers at the Berkeley Tribe by checking IDs at the door. They may, however, have just been opposed to bars as institutions. The article in the Tribesuggested:

“The bars can’t be liberated, they must be destroyed. They rip off our money, keep us in ghettos playing the same old weary games thinking that we are satisfied, and maintain all the divisions in Amerika — women and men, gay women and gay men, black and white, young and old. The Stud mentality in our heads has to be rooted out and killed too.”

Ultimately it was not the bars but the gay liberationists that disappeared as the 1970s progressed. I asked Gary Alinder, who was a member of Berkeley’s GLF, about burnout and the disappearance of Gay Lib in the ’70s.

“It evolved,” he said. “Gay liberation was a sudden uprising. Most of us were anti-organization. It was not meant to stay around for a long time. It was a burst of energy — an explosion. A second generation would come along that was more organized. But the message — to make people happy in themselves and come out — was valid.”

That burst of energy had a massive effect — it spread through LGBT organizations with programs like gay rap sessions to campuses across the country and created an explosion of new publications. Those publications and organizations did reach people. As a teen who picked up the Detroit Gay Liberator in the early ’70s, and who attended a gay rap meeting on my college campus, I can testify that those of us who followed were grateful for the work of the Stonewall generation.

Reference

Gay History: Rhodes: Closet Gay Man Who Hatched A Secret Society To Promote Empire?

The Early Years

Cecil John Rhodes was born on 5 July 1853 in the small hamlet of Bishops Stortford, England. He was the fifth son of Francis William Rhodes and his second wife, Louisa Peacock. A priest of the Church of England, his father served as curate of Brentwood Essex for fifteen years, until 1849, when he became the vicar of Bishop’s Stortford, where he remained until 1876. Rhodes had nine brothers and two sisters and attended the grammar school at Bishop’s Stortford. When he was growing up Rhodes read voraciously but vicariously, his favourite book being The Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, but he equally adored the highly esteemed historian Edward Gibbon and his works on the great Roman Empire.

Cecil Rhodes as a boy. Source

Rhodes fell ill shortly after leaving school and, as his lungs were affected, it was decided that he should visit his brother, Herbert, who had recently immigrated to Natal. It was also believed, by both Rhodes and his father, that the business opportunities offered in South Africa would be able to provide Rhodes with a more promising future than staying in England. At the tender age of 17 Rhodes arrived in Durban on 1 September 1870. He brought with him three thousand pounds that his aunt had lent him and used it to invest in diamond diggings in Kimberley.

After a brief stay with the Surveyor-General of Natal, Dr. P. C. Sutherland, in Pietermaritzburg, Rhodes joined his brother on his cotton farm in the Umkomaas valley in Natal. By the time Rhodes arrived at the farm his brother had already left the farm to travel 650 kilometres north, to the diamond fields in Kimberley. Left on his own Rhodes began to work his brother’s farm, growing and selling its cotton, proving himself to be an astute businessman despite his young age. Cotton farming was not Rhodes’ passion and the diamond mines beckoned. At 18, in October 1871, Rhodes left the Natal colony to follow his brother to the diamond fields of Kimberley. In Kimberley he supervised the working of his brother’s claim and speculated on his behalf. Among his associates in the early days were John X Merriman and Charles D. Rudd, of the infamous Rudd Concession, who later became his partner in the De Beers Mining Company and the British South Africa Company.

In 1872 Rhodes suffered a slight heart attack. Partly to recuperate, but also to investigate the prospects of finding gold in the interior, the Rhodes brothers trekked north by ox wagon. Their trek took them along the missionary road in Bechuanaland as far north as Mafeking, then eastwards through the Transvaal as far as the Murchison range. The journey inspired a love of the country in Rhodes and marked the beginning of his interest in the road to the north and the northern interior itself.

In 1873 Rhodes left his diamond fields in the care of his partner, Rudd, and sailed for England to complete his studies. He was admitted to Oriel College Oxford, but only stayed for one term in 1873 and only returned for his second term in 1876. He was greatly influenced by John Ruskin’s inaugural lecture at Oxford, which reinforced his own attachment to the cause of British Imperialism. Among his Oxford associates were Rochefort Maguire, later a fellow of All Souls and a director of the British South Africa Company, and Charles Metcalfe. At university Rhodes was also taken up with the idea of creating a ‘secret society’ of British men who would be able to lead the world, and spread to all corners of the globe the spirit of the Englishman that Rhodes so admired. He wrote of this society,

Why should we not form a secret society with but one object the furtherance of the British Empire and the bringing of the whole uncivilised world under British rule for the recovery of the United States for the making the Anglo-Saxon race but one Empire.’

His university career engendered in Rhodes his admiration for the Oxford ‘system’ which was eventually to mature in his scholarship scheme: ‘Wherever you turn your eye – except in science – an Oxford man is at the top of the tree’.

An Arch Imperialist

One of Rhodes’ guiding principles throughout his life, that underpinned almost all of his actions, was his firm belief that the Englishman was the greatest human specimen in the world and that his rule would be a benefit to all. Rhodes was the ultimate imperialist, he believed, above all else, in the glory of the British Empire and the superiority of the Englishman and British Rule, and saw it as his God given task to expand the Empire, not only for the good of that Empire, but, as he believed, for the good of all peoples over whom she would rule. At the age of 24 he had already shared this vision with his fellows in a tiny shack in a mining town in Kimberley, when he told them,

‘The object of which I intend to devote my life is the defence and extension of the British Empire. I think that object a worthy one because the British Empire stands for the protection of all the inhabitants of a country in life, liberty, property, fair play and happiness and it is the greatest platform the world has ever seen for these purposes and for human enjoyment’.

Rhodes’ British Empire corridor through Africa. Source

A few months later, in a confession written at Oxford in 1877, Rhodes articulated this same imperial vision, but with words that clearly showed his disdain for the people whom the British Empire should rule:

“I contend that we are the first race in the world, and that the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race. Just fancy those parts that are at present inhabited by the most despicable specimen of human being, what an alteration there would be in them if they were brought under Anglo-Saxon influence…if there be a God, I think that what he would like me to do is paint as much of the map of Africa British Red as possible…”

One of Rhodes’ greatest dreams was a ribbon of red, demarcating British territory, which would cross the whole of Africa, from South Africa to Egypt. Part of this vision was his desire to construct a Cape to Cairo railway, one of his most famous projects. It was this expansive vision of British Imperial control, and the great lengths that Rhodes went to in order to fulfil this vision, which led many of his contemporaries and his biographers to mark him as a great visionary and leader.

Rhodes was both ruthless and incredibly successful in his pursuit of this scheme of a great British Empire. His contemporaries marvelled both at his prowess and incredible energy and capacity, but they also shuddered at his callousness and depravity in all his pursuit. His contemporaries, both awed and appalled by the man, wrote of him as a man of original ideas who sought more than the mere ‘getting and spending which limits the ambitions and lays waste the powers of the average man’. Yet although many people at the time saw Rhodes as a man of great vision, an unconquerable leader with the ability to pursue his aims across the vast African continent, there were nonetheless dissident voices who were shocked by Rhodes’ actions and those of his British South Africa Company. One such voice was that of Olive Schreiner, who, initially awed by Rhodes, had come to abhor him. In April of 1897 she wrote, in a letter to her friend, John Merriman:

“We fight Rhodes because he means so much of oppression, injustice, & moral degradation to South Africa; – but if he passed away tomorrow there still remains the terrible fact that something in our society has formed the matrix which has fed, nourished, built up such a man!”

The King of Diamonds

Rhodes’ plans for the Cape To Cairo Railway, 1899 Source

Whilst at Oxford, Rhodes continued to prosper in Kimberley. Before his departure for Oxford Rhodes had realised that the changing laws in the Kimberley area would force the ‘small man’ out of the diamond fields and would only leave larger companies able to operate in the mines. In light of this he sought to consolidate a number of mines with his partner, Charles Rudd. Rhodes had also decided to move away from the ‘New Rush’ Kimberley mine fields, that were higher in the ground and thus more accessible, back to the lower yielding ‘Old Rush’ area. Here Rhodes and Rudd bought the costly claim of what was known as old De Beers (Vooruitzicht Farm) which owed its name to Johannes Nicolaas de Beer and his brother, Diederik Arnoldus de Beer, the original owners of the farm Vooruitzicht. It was this farm that would lend its name to Rhodes and Rudd’s ever growing diamond company.

In 1874 and 1875 the diamond fields were in the grip of depression, but Rhodes and Rudd were among those who stayed to consolidate their interests. They believed that diamonds would be numerous in the hard blue ground that had been exposed after the softer, yellow layer near the surface had been worked out. During this time the technical problem of clearing out the water that was flooding the mines became serious and he and Rudd obtained the contract for pumping the water out of the three main mines.

Rhodes had come to the realisation that the only way to avoid the cyclical boom and bust of the diamond industry was to have far greater control over the production and distribution of diamonds. And so, in April 1888, in search of an oligopoly over diamond production, Rhodes and Rudd launched the De Beers Consolidated Mines mining company. With 200 000 pounds capital the Company, of which Rhodes was secretary, owned the largest interest in mines in South Africa. Rhodes greatest coup was to get Barney Barnato, owner of the Kimberley mine, to go partnership with Rhodes’ De Beers Company. Of the encounter Barnato later wrote:

“When you have been with him half an hour you not only agree with him, but come to believe you have always held his opinion. No one else in the world could have induced me to into this partnership. But Rhodes had an extraordinary ascendancy over men: he tied them up, as he ties up everybody. It is his way. You can’t resist him; you must be with him.”

With his acquisition of most of the world’s diamond mines Rhodes became an incredibly rich man. But Rhodes was not after wealth for wealth’s sake, he was acutely aware of the relationship between money and power, and it was power which he sought. Hans Sauer wrote of a conversation he had had with Rhodes whilst looking over the Kimberley diamond mine, where Sauer had asked Rhodes, ‘what do you see here?’, and, Sauer writes, ‘with a slow sweep of his hand, Rhodes answered with the single word: “Power”.’

In the early 1880s gold was discovered in the Transvaal, sparking the Witwatersrand Gold Rush. Rhodes considered joining the rush to open gold mines in the region, but Rudd, convinced him that the Witwatersrand was merely the beginning, and that far greater gold fields lay to the north, in present day Zimbabwe and Zambia. As a result Rhodes held back while other Kimberley capitalists hastened to the Transvaal to stake the best claims. In 1887 when Rhodes finally did act and formed the Goldfields of South Africa Company with his brother Frank, most of the best claims were already taken. Goldfields South Africa performed very poorly, prompting Rhodes to look towards the north for the gold fields that Rudd had assured him were lying in wait.

The Statesman

In 1880 Rhodes prepared to enter public life at the Cape. With the incorporation of Griqualand West into the Cape Colony in 1877 the area obtained six seats in the Cape House of Assembly. Rhodes chose the constituency of Barkley West, a rural constituency in which Boer voters predominated, and at age 29 was elected as its parliamentary representative. Barkley West remained faithful to Rhodes even after the Jameson Raid and he continued as its member until his death.

The chief preoccupation of the Cape Parliament when Rhodes became a member was the future of Basutoland, where the ministry of Sir Gordon Sprigg was trying to restore order after a rebellion in 1880. The ministry had precipitated the revolt by applying its policy of disarmament to the Basuto. Seeking expansion to the north and with prospects of building his great dream of a Cape to Cairo railway, Rhodes persuaded Britain to establish a protectorate over Bechuanaland (now Botswana) in 1884, eventually leading to Britain annexing this territory.

Rhodes seemed to have immense influence in Parliament despite the fact that he was acknowledged to be a poor speaker, with a thin, high pitched voice, with little aptitude for oration and a poor physical presence. What made Rhodes nonetheless so incredibly convincing to his contemporaries has remained much of a mystery to his biographers.

The Push for Mashonaland

Rhodes’ imperial vision for Africa was never far from his mind. In 1888 Rhodes looked further north towards Matabeleland and Mashonaland, in present day Zimbabwe. Matabeleland fell squarely in the territory which Rhodes hoped to conquer, from the Cape to Cairo, in the name of the British Empire. It also was believed to hold vast, untapped gold fields, which Rudd believed would be of far greater value than those discovered in the Witwatersrand.

In pursuit of his imperial dream and in his desire to make up for the failure of his Gold Fields Mining Company, Rhodes began to explore ways in which to exploit the mineral wealth of Matabeleland and Mahsonaland. The King of Matabeleland, King Lobengula, who was believed by the British to also rule over Mashonaland, had already allowed a number of British miners mineral rights in his kingdom. He had also sent a number of his men to labour in the diamond mines, thus setting a precedence for engagement with him. However, the King had consistently stated quite clearly that he wanted no British interference in his own territory.

In 1887 Lobengula signed a treaty with the Transvaal Government, an act that convinced Rhodes that the Boere were trying to steal ‘his north’. By this stage the ‘scramble for Africa’ was also already well under way and Rhodes became convinced that the Germans, French and Portuguese were going to try to take Matabeleland. These fears made Rhodes rapidly mobilise in order to get Matabeleland under British control. Although the British government at the time was against further colonial expansion to the north of South Africa, Rhodes was able to use the threat of other imperial powers, such as Germany, taking over the land to push the British Government to take action.

The Government sent John Smith Moffat, the then Assistant Commissioner to Sir Sidney Shippard in Bechuanaland (now Botswana) who was well known to the Matabele Chief Lobengula as their fathers were friends, to negotiate a treaty with Lobengula. The result was the Moffat Treaty of February 1888, essentially a relaxed British protection treaty. The Moffat Treaty was however between Lobengula and the British Government, Rhodes himself was hardly a relevant player in this. Worried that the Moffat Treaty was too weak to hold Matabeleland, and convinced that the Dutch and Germans were making plans to take the territory and desperate for exclusive mining rights in the region, Rhodes concocted to his own plan to take control of the territory. With his business partner Rudd, Rhodes formed the British South Africa Company (BSAC), crafted on the British and Dutch East India company models. The BSAC was a commercial-political entity aiming at exploiting economic resources and political power to advance British finance capital.

Shortly after the Moffat Treaty, in March 1888, Rhodes sent his business partner Charles Rudd to get Lobengula to sign an exclusive mining concession to the British South Africa Company. When Rudd arrived at Lobengula’s kraal however, there were a number of other British concession hunters already there, seeking to undertake the exact same manoeuvre as Rhodes’ BSAC. Through Rhodes influence however, Rudd was able to win over the support of the local British officials staying with Lobengula, a move which ultimately convinced Lobengula that Rudd had more power and influence than any of the other petitioners seeking concessions from him.

After much negotiation Rudd was eventually able to get Lobengula to sign a concession giving exclusive mining rights to the BSAC in exchange for protection against the Boere and neighbouring tribes. This concession became known as the Rudd Concession. Lobengula’s young warriors were angry and inflamed and were itching to kill the white men who were entering their lands. Lobengula however feared his people would be defeated if they attacked the whites, and so it is likely that he signed the Rudd Concession in the hopes of gaining British protection and thereby preventing a Boer migration into his lands which would then incite his warriors to battle. For Lobengula his options were essentially to either concede to the British or to the Dutch. In the belief that he was protecting his interests he sided with the seemingly more lenient and liberal British. Like so many documents signed by Africans during the colonial period, the Rudd Concession was however not what it claimed to be, but rather became a justifying document for the colonisation of the Ndebele and the Shona.

Using the Rudd Concession, despite initial protests by the British Government, Rhodes managed to acquire a Royal Charter (approval from the British monarch) for his British South Africa Company. The Royal Charter allowed Rhodes to act on behalf of British interests in Matabeleland. It gave the company full imperial and colonial powers as it was allowed to create a police force, fly its own flag, construct roads, railways, telegraphs, engage in mining operations, settle on acquired territories and create financial institutions.

Rhodes convinced the British Government to give his company the right to control those parts of Matabeleland and Mashonaland that were ‘not in use’ by the African residents there and to provide ‘protection’ for the Africans on the land that was reserved for them. This proposal, which would cost the British taxpayer nothing but would extend the reaches of the British Empire, eventually found favour in London. The charter was officially granted on 29 October 1889. For Rhodes is BSAC with its Royal charter was the means whereby which to expand the British Empire, which a timid government and penurious British treasury were not about to accomplish

Rhodes reclining on one of his many voyages to the north. Source

After gaining his charter from the British Government Rhodes and his compatriots in the BSAC essentially felt that Matabeleland and Mashonaland were now under their control. Rhodes felt that war with the Ndebele was inevitable and would not allow his plans for extending the British Empire to be thwarted by “a savage chief with about 8 000 warriors”. Rhodes was determined that white settlers would soon occupy Matabeleland and Mashonaland, and the Ndebele could not resist them.

To gain power over Matabeleland and Mashonaland Rhodes hired Frank Johnson and Maurice Heany, two mercenaries, to raise a force of 5 00 white men who would support BammaNgwato, enemies of Lobengula’s, in an attack on Lobengula’s kraal. Johnson offered to deliver to Rhodes the Ndebele and Shona territory in nine month for £87 500. Johnson was joined by Frederick Selous, a hunter with professed close knowledge of Mashonaland. Rhodes advised Johnson to select as recruits primarily the sons of rich families, with the intention that, if the attack did fail and the British were captured, the British Government would be left with no choice but to send armed forces into Matabeleland to rescue the sons of Britain’s elite. In the end Johnson’s attack was called off because Rhodes had received news that Lobengula was going to allow Rhodes’ men into Matabele and Mashonaland without any opposition.

Despite Lobengula capitulating and giving permission for vast numbers of BSAC miners to enter his territory, Rhodes calculated a new plan to gain power in the region. In 1890 Rhodes sent a ‘Pioneer Column’ into Mashonaland, a column consisting of around 192 prospecting miners and around 480 armed troopers of the newly formed British South Africa Company Police, who were ostensibly there to ‘protect’ the miners. By sending in this column, Rhodes had deviously planned a move which would either force Lobengula to attack the settlers and then be crushed, or force him to allow a vast military force to take seat in his country. In the words of Rutherfoord Harris, a compatriot of Rhodes:

“….if he attack us, he is doomed, if he does not, his fangs will be drawn and the pressure of civilisation on all his border will press more and more heavily upon him, and the desired result, the disappearance of the Matabele as a power, if delayed is yet the more certain.”

The men who formed part of the Pioneer Column were all promised both gold concessions and land if they were successful in settling in Mashonaland.

On 13 September 1890, a day after the Pioneer Column arrived in Mashonaland,Rhodes’s BSAC invaded and occupied Mashonaland without any resistance from Lobengula. They settled at the site of what was later to become the town of Salisbury, present day Harare, marking the beginning of white settler occupation on the Zimbabwean plateau. They raised the Union Jack (the British national flag) in Salisbury, proclaiming it British territory.

The prospectors and the company had hoped to find a ‘second Rand’ from the ancient gold mines of the Mashona, but the gold had been worked out of the ground long before. After failing to find this perceived ‘Second Rand’, Rhodes, instead of allowing the settlers mining rights, as had been agreed to by Lobengula, granted farming land to settler pioneers, something which went expressly against the Rudd Concession.

The end of the Matabele

In conceding Mashonaland to the BSAC Lobengula had avoided going to war with the British and had kept his people alive, and much of his territory intact. But unfortunately he had only been able to delay the inevitable. With no gold was found in Mashonaland, Rhodes’ BSAC was facing complete financial ruin. Leander Jameson suggested to Rhodes that ‘getting Matabeleland open would give us a tremendous life in shares and everything else’. Gaining the Matabeleland territory would also play directly into Rhodes megalomaniac vision of expanding the British Empire across Africa.

And so, in 1893, the BSAC eventually clashed with the Ndebele, in what Rhodes had perceived as an inevitable war. The settlers justified their initial attacks against the Ndebele to the British Government by arguing that they were protecting the Shona against the ‘vicious’ and ‘savage’ Ndebele impis. This was however a ploy, consciously concucted by Jameson in conjunction with Rhodes, in order to ensure that the British Government would not object to their further intrusions into Matabeleland by creating the impression that the Ndebele were the first aggressors. To fight their war the company recruited large bands of young mercenaries who were promised land and gold in exchange for their fighting power.

The final blow any hopes that the Ndebele might avoid war, came when Jameson was able to convince the British Government that Lobengula had sent a massive impi of 7 000 men into Mashonaland, who then gave Jameson leave to engage in defensive tactics. There is no indication that the impi Jamseon reported on had ever existed. Lobengula himself, in a last appeal to the legal/rational system the British seemed to so fervently uphold, wrote to the British High Commissioner saying, “Every day I hear from you reports which are nothing but lies. I am tired of hearing nothing but lies. What Impi of mine have your people seen and where do they come from? I know nothing of them.”

An artist’s impression of the British battling against the Ndebele Source

It was however far too late for Lobengula. With the permission to engage in defensive action from the British Government Rhodes joined Jameson in Matabeleland and his group of mercenary soldiers struck a quick and fatal blow at the Ndebele. Rhodes’ mercenaries were in possession of the latest in munitions technology, carrying with them into the veld maxim guns, which, like machine guns, could fire rapid rounds. The Ndebele Impis were helpless in the face of this brutal killing technology and were slaughtered in their thousands. Lobengula himself realised he could not face the British in open combat and so he burnt down his own capital and fled with a few warriors. He is presumed to have died shortly afterwards in January of 1894 from ill health.

The war against the Matabele, fought mostly by voluntary mercenaries, cost around £66 000. Most of the money to pay for this war came directly from Rhodes Consolidated Goldfields Company, which by this point had begun to produce excellent yields from the deeper lying gold fields. The conquered lands were named Southern and Northern Rhodesia, to honour Rhodes. Today, these are the countries of Zimbabwe and Zambia. By the 1890s these conquered territories were being called Southern and Nothern Rhodesia.

The Precursor to Apartheid

In July 1890 Rhodes became the Prime Minister of the Cape colony, after getting support from the English-speaking white and non-white voters and a number of Afrikaner-bond, whom he had offered shares in the British South Africa Company. One of Rhodes most notorious and infamous undertakings as Prime Minister in South Africa, was his institution of the Glen Grey Act, a document that is often seen as the blueprint for the Apartheid regime that was to come.

On 27 July 1894, Rhodes gave a rousing speech, full of arrogance and optimism, to the Parliament of Cape Town that lasted more than 100 minutes. In this speech Rhodes was opening debate on the ‘Native’ Bill that he had been working on for two years. The bill had initially been intended merely as an administrative act to bring more order to the overcrowded eastern Cape district of Glen Grey, but in his typical fashion Rhodes had turned this routine administrative task into something far bigger, the formulation of what he described as a ‘Native Bill for Africa’. In much of his speech Rhodes set out, in clear cut terms, the chief purpose of his ‘Native Bill’, to force more Africans into the wage-labour market, a pursuit which would undoubtedly also help Rhodes in his own mining claims in Kimberley and the Transvaal.

Rhodes opened his speech on the Glen Grey Act with the following words:

‘There is, I think, a general feeling that the natives are a distinct source of trouble and loss to the country. Now, I take a different view. When I see the labour troubles that are occurring in the United States, and when I see the troubles that are going to occur with the English people in their own country on the social question and the labour question, I feel rather glad that the labour question here is connected with the native question.’

He then continued,

‘The proposition that I would wish to put to the House is this, that I do not feel that the fact of our having to live with the natives in this country is a reason for serious anxiety. In fact, I think the natives should be a source of great assistance to most of us. At any rate, if the whites maintain their position as the supreme race, the day may come when we shall all be thankful that we have the natives with us in their proper position….. I feel that I am responsible for about two millions of human beings. The question which has submitted itself to my mind with regard to the natives is this ”” What is their present state? I find that they are increasing enormously. I find that there are certain locations for them where, without any right or title to the land, they are herded together. They are multiplying to an enormous extent, and these locations are becoming too small…. The natives there are increasing at an enormous rate. The old diminutions by war and pestilence do not occur… W e have given them no share in the government ”” and I think rightly, too ”” and no interest in the local development of their country. What one feels is that there are questions like bridges, roads, education, plantations of trees, and various local questions, to which the natives might devote themselves with good results. At present we give them nothing to do, because we have taken away their power of making war ”” an excellent pursuit in its way ”” which once employed their minds…. We do not teach them the dignity of labour, and they simply loaf about in sloth and laziness. They never go out and work. This is what we have failed to consider with reference to our native population… What I would like in regard to a native area is that there should be no white men in its midst. I hold that the natives should be apart from white men, and not mixed up with them… The Government looks upon them as living in a native reserve, and desires to make the transfer and alienation of land as simple as possible… We fail utterly when we put natives on an equality with ourselves. If we deal with them differently and say, ” Yes, these people have their own ideas,” and so on, then we are all right ; but when once we depart from that position and put them on an equality with ourselves, we may give the matter up… As to the question of voting, we say that the natives are in a sense citizens, but not altogether citizens ”” they are still children….’

The Glen Grey Act was to pressure Africans to enter the labour market firstly by severely restricting African access to land and landownership rights so that they could not become owners of the means of production, and secondly by imposing a 10 shilling labour tax on all Africans who could not prove that they had been in ‘bona fide’ wage employment for at least three months in a year. This land shortage coupled with a tax for not engaging in wage labour would push thousands of Africans into the migrant labour market. These were all measures essentially designed to ensure a system of labour migration which would feed the mines in both Kimberley and the Rand with cheap migrant labour. This section of the act instigated the terrible migrant-labour system that was to be so destructive in 20th century South Africa.

Another pernicious outcome of the Glen Grey Act was its affected on African land rights claims and restricted and controlled where they could live. According to the act ‘natives’, as African peoples were then termed, were no longer allowed to sell land without the permission of the governor, nor where they allowed to divide or sublet the land or give it as inheritance to more than one heir. The act also laid out that the Glen Grey area and the Transkei should remain “purely native territories”. This act was eventually to become the foundation of the 1913 Natives Land Act, a precursor to much of the Apartheid policy of separate development and the creation of the Bantustans.

Lastly the Glen Grey Act radically reduced the voting franchise for Africans. One of Rhodes primary policies as Prime Minister was to aim for the creation of a South African Federation under the British flag. A unified South Africa was an incredibly important political goal for Rhodes, and so when the Afrikaner Bondsmen came to Rhodes to complain about the number and rise of propertied Africans, who were competing with the Afrikaners and characteristically voted for English, rather than Afrikaans, representative. In response to the Afrikaners’ complaints, Rhodes decided to give them, in the Glen Grey Act, a policy which would disenfranchise the Africans competing with Afrikaners whilst also ensuring Africans could not own farms which would compete with the Afrikaners.

To disenfranchise Africans the Act raised the property requirements for the franchise and required each voter to be able to write his own name, address and occupation before being allowed to vote. This radically curtailed the number of Africans who could vote, essentially marking the beginning of the end for the African franchise. This new law allowed for the voter-less annexation of Pondoland. The Glen Grey Act also denied the vote to Africans from Pondoland no matter their education or property. Through the adoption of the Act, Rhodes managed to gradually persuade Parliament to abandon Britain’s priceless nineteenth-century ideal that in principle all persons, irrespective of colour, were equal before the law.

The Glen Grey Act was vigorously opposed by the English speaking members of the Cape Parliament, but Rhodes, with his forceful character, was able to push the act through Parliament, and in August 1984 Rhodes’ Glen Grey Act became law. The Glen Grey Act, which created the migrant labour system, formalised the ‘native reserves’ and removed the franchise of almost all Africans, is seen by many as lying the ground work for the Apartheid system of the 20th century.

The Fall of Giants

By 1895, at the height of his powers, Rhodes was the unquestioned master of South Africa, ruling over the destiny of the Cape and its white and African subjects, controlling nearly all of the world’s diamonds and much of its gold, and effectively ruling over three colonial dependencies in the heart of Africa.

‘The Rhodes Colosuss striding from Cape Town to Cairo’, from Punch Magazine, 1892 Source

Although Rhodes’ policies were instrumental in the development of British imperial policies in South Africa, he did not, however, have direct political power over the Boer Republic of the Transvaal. He often disagreed with the Transvaal government’s policies and felt he could use his money and his power to overthrow the Boer government and install a British colonial government supporting mine-owners’ interests in its place. In 1895, Rhodes precipitated his own spectacular fall from power when he supported an attack on the Transvaal under the leadership of his old friend, Leander Jameson. It was a complete failure and Rhodes had to resign as Prime Minister of the Cape and head of the British South Africa Company in January 1896. After having befriended the Afrikaners for so many years, Rhodes’ support of the Jameson Raid and his attempts to get the miners in Johannesburg to rise up in a coup against the leaders of the Transvaal, were seen by the Bondsmen and Afrikaners as a complete betrayal, and Rhodes’ hopes of ever uniting South Africa under one flag were dashed against the rocks.

Despite his meteoric loss of power and prestige Rhodes nonetheless continued his political activities. In mid 1896 the Shona and Ndebele people in Southern Rhodesia, present day Zimbabwe, rose up against their colonial oppressors in a bid for freedom. Rhodes personally travelled to the region to take charge of the colonial response. In his attacks on the Ndebele and Shona he was vindictive, resorting to a scorched earth policy and destroying all their villages and crops.

After months of fighting Rhodes decided that conciliation was the only option. Looking to negotiate a peace settlement with the Ndebele and Shona he headed into the Matopo Mountains where a great indaba was held. Rhodes asked the chiefs why the Africans had risen up in war against the colonisers. The chiefs replied that the Africans had for decades been humiliated by the white settlers, subjected to police brutality and pushed into forced labour. Rhodes listened to the complaints and told the chiefs, “All that is over”. The chiefs saw this as a promise that the conditions for them and their countrymen would be improved, and so they agreed with Rhodes that they would end their hostilities. As a part of their agreement Rhodes spent many days in the Matopo hills, and every day the Ndebele would come to him and voice all their complaints. In belief that their worries and complaints would be given just recognition, the Ndebele and Shona chiefs laid down their arms and returned to their fields. When he left Rhodes was lauded by the people whose suffering by the hands of colonists was only to increase in the next century, as the ‘Umlamulanmkunzi’, the peacemaker.

Vintage postage stamp of Cecil John Rhodes, founder of Rhodesia former Zimbabwe.

Thereafter, Rhodes was in ill-health, but he began concentrating on developing Rhodesia and especially in extending the railway, which he dreamed would one day reach Cairo, Egypt.

After the Anglo-Boer war that broke out in October 1899, Rhodes rushed to Kimberley to organise the defence of the town. However, his health was worsened by the siege, and after travelling to Europe he returned to the Cape in February 1902. He died on 26 March 1902 at Muizenberg in the Cape Colony (now Cape Town). Reportedly some of his last words were, ‘so little done, so much to do’. Rhodes was buried at the Matopos Hills, Rhodesia (Zimbabwe). He left £6 million (approx USD  960 million in 2015), most of which went to Oxford University to establish the Rhodes scholarships to provide places at Oxford for students from the United States, the British colonies, and Germany.

Rhodes never married and he did not have any known children and there is some suggestion that he was homosexual. This suggestion is based on the care and concern he showed to some men, but it is not enough to offer any solid truth

Almost 114 years after the death of Cecil Rhodes his memory lives on, with the Rhodes Must Fall campaign spreading from Cape Town to Oxford.

Once glorified by white colonialists, Rhodes is now more widely viewed as a prime villain in southern African history. Since his death he has been the subject of more than 30 biographies, so one is left to wonder if there is anything new that could be said about him. An attempt is made in the latest book by Robin Brown, The Secret Society: Cecil John Rhodes’s Plan for a New World Order – an attempt that fails.

The main claim of the book is that Rhodes established a “secret society” whose task was to extend British rule across the globe. This society continued to exist in different guises long after Rhodes’ death in 1902. Thereafter the society came to operate within, or under the guise of, other bodies – the Rhodes Trust operating as the “top layer of the structure”; in 1909 the society was renamed the Round Table; and from 1920 the Institute of International Affairs became its new face.

… a homosexual hegemony – which was already operative in the Secret Society – went on to influence, if not control, British politics at the beginning of the twentieth century. 

Rhodes himself, the book alleges, was gay, and because homosexuality was a criminal offence in Britain at the time, he realised that gays only survived if they operated in:

… a society that remained secret, ring-fenced by wealth and political influence. 

So it appears that the society’s secrecy was necessitated by both imperial aspirations and sexual inclinations.

The book contains major flaws, the chief of which is the lack of solid, supporting evidence. Brown claims that “Rhodes documented everything” – which was not actually the case in this regard. Just about the only documentary evidence cited to support the existence of this secret society is the codicil attached to Rhodes’ first will, which did indeed proclaim his intention to form such a society. 

The problem is that this will was drawn up in 1877 when Rhodes had not yet accumulated great wealth. According to this early will he would leave all his worldly goods in trust to allow for the formation of a secret society, but his limited wealth at the time could hardly have made this possible. 

The plan to form such a society also did not appear in Rhodes’ final will. One has to agree with Robert L. Rotberg – whose biography of Rhodes is the most substantial – that to read Rhodes’ plan today is:

… to sense the ruminations and even fantasies of a madcap bumbler.

Each chapter of Brown’s book has just a handful of endnotes, and there are hardly any references to source material that might substantiate the claims made. The problem is highlighted on pages 237-38. First it is stated that there is “clear evidence” that Lord Alfred Milner took over and transformed the secret society after Rhodes’ death. But on the very next page Brown writes that during this transformation process Milner “kept things covert” so that ‘there is little hard evidence’ of the society’s existence at the time.

This is the problem throughout the book – because the society was so secret it presumably kept no surviving records, meaning that there is no proof of its existence. The book thus comes to be based heavily on surmise and assertion. While critics can argue that it is impossible to prove that the society existed at all, Brown can retort that it is impossible to prove that it did not exist. What cannot be contested is that the book lacks referenced source material to substantiate its claims.

The suggestion that the Rhodes Trust was closely linked to the secret society is not credible. In Anthony Kenny’s massive bookon the history of the trust there are only three brief references to the idea of a secret society – and one of those is to a letter by Leo Amery stating that there was no such society.

The book contains some basic errors which undermine one’s confidence in the content and analysis. The cotton farm where Rhodes joined his brother on arrival in Natal in 1870 was not north-east of Durban, but to the west (p.6). Rhodes was not “of the era of British reformers who caused slavery to be outlawed”, nor did he display “liberal attitudes towards blacks” (p.19). Jameson was imprisoned for four months, not one (p.22). Rhodes’ brokers were not John Rudd and Robert Moffat – they were Charles Rudd and J.S. Moffat (p.57). 

George V did not precede Victoria (p.154). Clinton’s presidential nomination speech was in 1991, not 1981 (p.168). Chamberlain was the colonial secretary, not foreign secretary (p.222 and elsewhere).

The book would have worked better had it been presented as an examination of the personal networks that Rhodes developed. There is no doubt that he succeeded in cultivating influential figures in the world of politics, business and finance in Britain, but Brown’s attempt to conjure up a secret society out of these networks is misguided and not adequately substantiated.

he book adds another dimension to this central thesis, making a rather startling assertion on page 144:

Reference

‘Greenway’ Ennis Road, Milsons Point

There was no missing these blocks of flats as you came out on the north side of the Harbour Bridge. Personally, I always thought they were a bit of an eyesore, though they undoubtedly would have been considered very contemporary living in the 1950s/60s.

‘Greenway Flats’ from Milson Park. Photograph by Zoltan Klinger, 2003. Stanton Library

When it opened in 1954, ‘Greenway’ was the largest flat complex in Australia.

Named after the colony’s first public architect, Francis Greenway, it comprised four buildings, housing 309 one and two bedroom flats. The two taller 11 storey-buildings, A and C blocks, have steel frames. The smaller B and D blocks are concrete framed. The thick brick walls helped to bear the load. Before 1957, building heights in Sydney were restricted to 150 feet. ‘Greenway’ was 130 feet high.

Materials and labour were in such short supply after World War Two that construction took six years. The few exterior design features and modest window size, despite the view across the harbour, helped to reduce cost. Flats were leased as each block was finished.

Mr and Mrs Morgan photographed on the eve of the 50th anniversary of ‘Greenway’, in the flat they moved into when the building opened in 1954. Photograph by Tony Peri 2003, Stanton Library

‘Greenway’ was designed in the modern Functionalist style, a European idiom widely adopted in Australia in the 1930s. This rejected unnecessary decoration while relating a building’s form to its function. However, the architect Percy J. Gordon of the firm Morrow and Gordon was almost certainly influenced as well by the huge housing ‘projects’ being built on the east side of Manhattan in the 1940s. ‘Greenway’ bears a striking resemblance to the post-war apartments in New York’s Bedford-Stuyvesant area.

Upon completion, the project was favourably compared to nearby Victorian-era terraces, then regarded as ‘slums’. The first tenants were delighted. When Mrs V.W.H Briggs moved into her flat in 1953 she declared ‘If I won the lottery seven times over I wouldn’t leave here. This will do me!’ (Sunday Herald, 1 March, 1953) Part of the appeal was the provision of modern appliances. Electric stoves were installed in favour of gas units, stainless steel sinks were standard and the old-style kitchen dresser gave way to built-in cupboards. ‘Greenway’ consumed so much electricity that the County Council had to install a special substation beneath the building to provide power to the many washers, dryers and lifts, as well as 2308 lights, 1666 power outlets and 309 electric stoves.

A sense of community was quick to develop. Residents came to regard others on their own floor as neighbours. However, getting to know everyone in such a large complex was difficult. For this reason, the shared laundry facilities in the basement of each block served as meeting places for women who were generally responsible for washing and cleaning.

The experiences of ‘Greenway’ residents have varied much over the five decades since its opening. At first, the Housing Commission let the flats primarily to families and couples – ‘working class’ people unable to get adequate housing in the inadequate private rental market. Tenants ‘won’ their place there in publicly announced ‘lotteries’. In the 1980s, tenants were being drawn from a wide range of groups – single parents, aged pensioners, the unemployed and the disabled. The result is an increasingly diverse body of residents. Similarly in 1954 Australia was still a predominantly Anglo-Celtic society and most of those who lived at ‘Greenway’ were English-speaking. In 2001 there were 23 language groups represented in the buildings.

A living room in ‘Greenway’, 1954. NSW Housing Commission photograph. State Library of New South Wales

Public attitudes towards ‘Greenway’ also vary. When the building was opened, Milsons Point still had a large working class population and the tenants of the flats were of similar social background to those in the surrounding streets. Today, the harbour suburb is gentrified and the presence of community housing in such a desirable area is sometimes seen as an anomaly. However, as ex-resident Penny McKeon said in 2004, ‘There’s no reason why being of modest economic means should mean you’re not entitled to live in a place that just happens to have harbour views’.

In 2004 the Greenway Tenants Group and North Sydney Council commemorated the 50th anniversary of their home with ceramics and photography workshops and the publication of two books on the history of the buildings. Then, resident and historian Geoffrey Barrett wrote from direct experience: ‘I’m sure that the people responsible for the construction of Greenway… would be delighted, if not amazed, to know that their efforts are still providing decent housing half a century on, and within their building is a proud, neighbourly community – a community that has survived. (Greenway the great survivor: Fifty Years in the Life of a Public Housing Estate, 2004)

Audio: Listen to Penny McKeon’s memories of growing up at ‘Greenway’ in the 1960s from an interview with historian Ian Hoskins in 2004. Merle Coppell Oral History Collection, OH303

Reference


The Murder Of Police Whistle-Blower, Sallie-Anne Huckstepp

A man was walking his dog through Centennial Park in Sydney on the morning of February 7, 1986 when he noticed the body of a woman floating in Busby Pond. After police were alerted, two uniformed constables rowed out and dragged her in.

When detectives rolled her over on the riverbank, they realised it was 31-year old Sallie-Anne Huckstepp – the high-profile police whistle-blower and sex worker.

Huckstepp knew her days were numbered when she appeared on 60 Minutes in 1981and accused NSW detective sergeant Roger Rogerson of being a cold-blooded killer. The man she claimed Rogerson had killed was her boyfriend, heroin dealer Warren Lanfranchi.

The Lanfranchi hit

After robbing another dealer, Lanfranchi fired shots at a young policeman. To avoid facing charges, he asked his associate, notorious standover man Neddy Smith, to negotiate a price with Rogerson.

At the time, Rogerson had a sterling reputation in the force, and was slated to potentially become the next police commissioner.

Rogerson arranged for Neddy to drop Lanfranchi at Dangar Place in Chippendale, where he was waiting with 18 police officers.

He then shot Lanfranchi twice, later claiming it was in self-defence. Subsequent investigations found that while Rogerson may not have acted in self-defence, he had not done anything untoward. Rogerson was commended for his bravery.

Lanfranchi was the third man Rogerson had shot dead in a public place in five years.

Whistle-blowing

Two weeks later, Huckstepp turned up at police headquarters with her father and detailed a string of allegations against NSW police.

The claims included that Rogerson had executed her boyfriend, and stolen the $10,000 Lanfranchi had turned up to bribe the officer with. Huckstepp also gave details of payments she had been making to Vice and Drug Squad detectives for the past 10 years, while she had been a sex worker on Darlinghurst Road.

A life on the wild side

Huckstepp was born into a middle-class Jewish family and grew up in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs. She attended the exclusive Dover Heights High School. But there was trouble at home. She didn’t get on with her step-mother and her behaviour became unruly.

At 14, she was sent to the Minda Remand Centre in Lidcombe. After being released, she found a job as a waitress at the Kings Cross club Whiskey A Go Go. She then got into heroin, and to support both her and her boyfriend’s habits, she started working the streets.

It was through her associations in Sydney’s underworld that Huckstepp became keenly aware that NSW police were heavily involved in criminal activities, and that Rogerson was one of the kingpins.

Partners in crime

In 1980, when Rogerson was moved to the Darlinghurst police station, he was the star detective of the Armed Holdup Squad. At the time, the heroin market was going through the roof in Kings Cross, and the opportunity to make some extra cash was hard to resist.

Neddy Smith was one of the top heroin distributors in the city, and he was raking it in. He and Rogerson formed a mutually-beneficial association.

Smith became a police whistle-blower in the early 1990s, testifying at the Independent Commission Against Corruption that Armed Holdup Squad detectives had been supplying information that enabled him to carry out a string of holdups.

However, Smith refused to name Rogerson during the hearing.

Society pages

Huckstepp had always lived a charmed, and somewhat tragic life. She shot to stardom after her television appearance, coming across as an articulate and engaging figure. And she had a significant impact in alerting the public to the high level of corruption amongst NSW police.

Penguin publishers gave her an advance to write an autobiography, and author Richard Neville arranged for her to move into artist Martin Sharp’s house.

Many believe her notoriety prevented Huckstepp from being knocked-off straightaway.

A life cut short

But by the time her body was dragged out of the water, five years had passed. She was using again and back working the streets. No one was paying attention anymore.

On the night she was murdered, Huckstepp received a phone call from heroin dealer Warren Richards: an associate of Rogerson and Smith. She told her flatmate that she had to step out for a moment, and would be back in 10 minutes. That was the last time she was seen alive.

False confessions

Smith ended up serving two life sentences for beating a tow truck driver to death, and for shooting brothel-keeper Harvey Jones. Police suspected that Smith was connected with a string of drug-related murders, so they bugged his cell and got his cellmate to chat with him.

Sure enough, Neddy bragged about killing seven people, one of which was Sallie-Anne. He outlined how he strangled her to death, and held her head under the water. His confession led to her body being exhumed from Rookwood Cemetery for DNA testing.

Smith later claimed he’d made up the story, as he knew he was being recorded. He went to trial for her murder, but was acquitted in 1999.

A clear statement

During a 2005 interview with John Dale – author of Huckstepp: A Dangerous Life – Smith claimed to have been at home with his wife on the night Sallie-Anne died.

He claimed Rogerson wanted Huckstepp dead because she was “bugging” him by “ringing him up and leaving messages that he was a dog.” He said it was an associate of Rogerson who strangled Huckstepp, performing the deed to get on the good side of the detective. He said the man had never been to prison.

Smith added that the reason Huckstepp was left floating in the pond was that Rogerson wanted to leave a message.

Just desserts

Rogerson had an alibi for the night of the murder – he was drinking with police prosecutor Mal Spence in a Merrylands pub.

But Rogerson had no alibi when he stood trial earlier this year for the murder of 20-year-old UTS student Jamie Gao, as he was captured on CCTV footage.

In June, he was found guilty of murdering Gao during a drug deal at a Padstow storage facility in May, 2014. In September, he was sentenced to life in prison.

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