Tag: European

  • Dead River: An Environmental History of the Tyne Improvement Commission 1850-1968CE

    For men may come and men may go,

    But I go on forever.

    – Alfred Tennyson, ‘The Brook’.

    Introduction

    The Significance of River History

    When searching for a location to build a home, the humans who founded the first settlements on the Tyne had several priorities in mind. First and foremost, they needed access to a sustainable source of food and water, but they were also looking for a site that was defendable, sanitary, and well connected, to facilitate fast travel and trade with the outside world; the river was the only logical place that satisfied these objectives. Soon many human settlements had clustered around the Tyne’s banks and over time the people of Tyneside built their houses, economies, and cultures around the river upon which they relied for survival and expansion. As time progressed this bond grew tighter as they discovered that the waters could be utilised for other purposes; generating power, producing chemicals, concrete, oil, and many other industrial materials, as well as in being a source of recreation. In this way they followed the global human trend of using the river as a basis for civilisation. Likewise, the Tyne itself, alongside all the other life it supported, found its fate acutely entwined with human developments.

    As historical agents, rivers and the life they support have never acted as passive resources to merely be consumed; time and again they have proved to human populations that they can knock civilisations down as easily as they built them up. In c.5000BCE, the fortunes of the peoples of Mesopotamia were dashed against the banks of the Tigris-Euphrates after repeated flooding, partially blamed on their own attempts to direct the path of the river. In c.2000BCE a 200 year drought hit the Indus river and spelled equal disaster for the peoples of the Indus Valley civilisation. In c.350BCE, it is theorised that the Guadalquivir river delta rose up to completely submerge the wealthy city of Tartessos based upon it, thus creating the origin of the Atlantean myth. In contemporary times rivers have become more entwined with human societies than ever, relied on as sources of food, water, culture, trade, and recreation, however they are also facing some of their greatest threats from the same source. The quantity of pollutants being discharged into waterways such as the Nile, the Ganges, and the Yangtze, as well as the effects of landscaping and unsustainable water use, is resulting in ecosystem collapse. This has resulted in ever-increasing quantities of resources being spent in efforts to save these unique environments both for their own sake and for humanity at large. The story of the relationship between human and river is an ancient one, and in the modern day is as important as it has ever been.

    Across history the story of the River Tyne is one that parallels that of the modern Nile or Ganges, and it maybe holds some lessons for them. The pertinent period to assess in regards to this began in 1850 when a body named, in retrospect perhaps ironically, as the “Tyne Improvement Commission” was appointed by parliament to increase the volume and profitability of trade on the river. This organisation’s conservatorship of the river would last until 1968, and whilst not solely accountable, it was predominantly responsible for the transformation of the river during this time from a natural estuary into, in their own words, ‘a great highway of industry’. Environmentally speaking, their century of “improvements” meant that in 1957, when the Tyne’s waters literally bubbled with noxious chemicals, the river was officially classified as ‘biologically dead’.

    Methodology and Historiography

    The focus of this article is therefore upon the Tyne Improvement Commission (TIC) and the unprecedented changes that they oversaw during their 118 years of authority. The primary route of analysis is through the extensive records that the organisation kept of their proceedings, documenting step-by-step how they went about their program of transformation. From an environmental perspective, these sources are used to assess the impact of the TIC’s works upon the river and its ecology and how those impacts then affected humanity in turn. Their discussions are also analysed to come to an understanding of the philosophy behind their actions. Ultimately it is a study of the relationships, both physical and intellectual, between humanity and the rest of the natural world as they developed during the TIC’s tenure and the ways in which they intersected with one another. A river is a complex, interconnected ecosystem where disturbances on the waters can ripple outward beyond foresight, therefore it only makes sense to assess it as such.

    What this article also provides is a counternarrative to the traditional histories of the region. Much of Tyneside’s modern identity has been built on its industrial heritage, for which it is proud, and a significant majority of its written history has forwarded a narrative where the river’s “golden years” are the same as those which resulted in the pollution and destruction of much of its natural resources. The modern Port of Tyne describes the appointment of the TIC as the beginning of ‘the heyday of the river’, but from the perspective of the river itself this is far from the case. It would be untrue to say that environmental concerns have been omitted in entirety across the historiography, although this is sometimes the case, but it would be fair to state they have been largely disregarded. The history of the Tyne’s shipyards, mines, and factories is far from something to be ashamed of, but it is, this article argues, something to be reconsidered and taken in duality in the light of an understanding that the benefits of industry came at a significant cost.

    The predominant concentration of previous histories of the river has been on the human activities that took place upon it; the history of export statistics, employment rates, and commerce. In 1880 James Guthrie’s The River Tyne: It’s History and Resources gave little attention to ecological concerns, focussing on the feats of engineering that had been so successful in remodelling the river’s form in his recent years. Throughout the 20th century this trend continued with texts that also focussed predominantly on human achievement and engineering such as Life on the Tyne, The Origins of Newcastle upon Tyne, and Maritime Heritage: Newcastle and the River Tyne. The same is true for the texts of the 21st century, such as The Story of the Tyne and River Tyne. All of these are fine publications which competently examine many aspects of Tyneside’s history, and indeed all were useful in the writing of this article, but it must also be said that they neglect environmental angles. Not all histories can or should be environmental histories, but the extent to which the natural history of the river has been buried beneath fascination at industrial achievement, even to this day, is surprising.

    One text, however, has acted as an exception to this rule, and has taken an ecological approach to the river’s history, this being Leona Skelton’s Tyne after Tyne: An Environmental History of a River’s Battle for Protection 1529-2015. Tyne after Tyne looks at the history of human environmental action and conservation on the river and therein Skelton analyses how approaches and attitudes to the Tyne have varied over time regarding conservation of its natural resources. This study has opened the field of environmental history on the Tyne and has revealed a forgotten and often ignored, yet fundamentally integral, facet of its past. Where Tyne after Tyne covers a broad time period however, this article more tightly directs its attention toward one specific stage of the Tyne’s environmental history, exploring it in greater detail and looking at the physical effects of that environmental action upon the biosphere.

    The importance of the relationship between human and river is one that has always been appreciated on the Tyne, but the importance of an environmentally sustainable relationship is one that is now having to be re-remembered. Indeed, for a majority of its history before the formation of the TIC, the citizens of Tyneside managed to live in comparative harmony with their river, and not because they lacked the technology to do it harm, as the Mesopotamians prove. It is crucial therefore that we understand the pre-industrial history of the river as both comparison and context within which to assess the momentous changes it would face post-1850 which so fundamentally shifted the ecological landscape.

    Chapter 1

    More lasting value than californian gold

    The Deep history of the tyne

    The history of the River Tyne began at the same time the British Isles rose from the sea 30 million years ago. Just north of Kielder at the Scottish border the north Tyne emerged and meandered eastwards before travelling south towards Hexham. The south Tyne began in Cumbria, flowing over the limestone rocks of Cross Fell and feeding into the north river at Warden Rock. At this meeting point they then processed eastwards, sculpting a valley out of the chalk which had formed 40 to 80 million years before. The formations made during these early chapters in the Tyne’s history have proved influential on its development thereafter, the movement of glaciers and other fluvial processes being the key instruments which created the landscapes and habitats that have dictated the character of the valley ever since. The result of these processes was that the Tyne region became naturally isolated from other parts of the country, establishing an environment that was ecologically unique for the plants and animals that occupied its banks. After humans arrived, this isolation drew people closer to the river as it created a greater need for water-borne trade.

    These ancient geological processes created the environments on which all life in the region has since been based, the Tyne’s mudflats, riverbanks, and tributaries encouraging the specific types of flora to grow and fauna to breed that have since become local to the region. Pink salmon, river otters, and water voles alongside rarer creatures like the kittiwake, white-clawed crayfish, and the freshwater pearl mussel all chose the Tyne for these characteristics, as did the human. Outside of wildlife, the prevalence of lead and coal on the banks of the Tyne has been extremely influential on its history ever since mining started in the 2nd century, and the abundance of gravel on its riverbed became a valuable resource in the creation of concrete in the 20th.

    Preservation for Profit: The Corporation of Newcastle

    The corporation of Newcastle could be described as the progenitor of the TIC, although the two organisations took considerably varying approaches to managing the river. It rose to prominence in 1319 when it was granted royal conservatorship of the Tyne between Sparrow-Hawk and Hedwin streams at the expense of rivals south of the river (in this context “conservatorship” meaning the preservation of commerce, not ecology). Soon after it acquired exclusive royal licenses to dig coal in 1330 and by 1530 it had been made illegal to load or unload goods anywhere along the river except from the city of Newcastle. Through taxes, trade, and tolls the corporation absorbed the majority of the Tyne’s profits and became efficient in preventing other townships from tapping its wealth. Alongside hundreds of minor blockages it brought major successful petitions against South Shields, Jarrow, and the Bishop of Durham to prevent them loading ships, building wharfs, and exacting tolls. In this way, the Newcastle Corporation acted as an unlikely force for ecological preservation, preventing redevelopment of the river as a means of blocking rivals’ opportunity to turn a profit.

    The nature of the corporation’s trade, being predominantly in hides alongside wool, fish, and corn (although coal was profitable and growing) also acted as a force for environmental conservation. These industries, being based on natural products, were considerably more reliant on the health of the river than those, such as coal, which would dominate the Tyne in later centuries and so this gave financial incentive for the Newcastle corporation to care for it. Local flora and fauna was also what the population of Tyneside predominantly survived upon in terms of sustenance as well as economics. Additionally, even if it did not fully understand the science behind the impacts of dumping in the river, the corporation was still very aware that its relationship with the Tyne was a ‘two-way process’, that their fortunes were bound; knowing the river’s tides and currents, and knowing where it was shallow or deep, or the best spots for fishing, was integral knowledge for the corporation’s success. It knew that the status-quo was profitable, and was therefore wary of change.

    The way the corporation managed this was through a “river court”, which it set up in 1613, soon followed by a conservancy commission in 1614. The river court, complete with river jurors and water bailiff, was held weekly and was used to impose fines on those who would ‘do harm’ to the water. This was meant in an economic sense, but it is clear that environmental and economic prosperity were inseparable in these cases, as they were so closely tied together. This approach was very effective, and Newcastle-upon-Tyne grew wealthy as a result of it. William Brereton, after a visit to Newcastle in 1635 remarked that it had become ‘the fairest and richest town in England’.

    Figure 1. A reconstruction drawing of 16th century Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

    Ballast Dumping in the 18th Century

    However, the impression must not be given that the river laid completely unsullied before the advent of the TIC. The Newcastle Corporation was not an environmentalist organisation and its river court was not created out of a desire to protect the natural world for its own sake. This is best shown by looking at the 18th century, in which the extent of trade on the river began to increase substantially. For many years beforehand ships had been dumping ballast into the river with less than stringent regulation; the entirety of Newcastle-Gateshead’s quayside had been created via a slow process of the filling in of old docks with silt to eventually form a platform of land. By the 1700s however, the extent of these depositions was causing the already narrow and shallow waters to grow narrower and shallower; indeed, at low tide you could wade across the river at the point where the present swing bridge stands. More importantly for traders however, the tides were pulling the ballast downstream towards the mouth of the river where it was feared the ports would become clogged to such an extent that commerce might be halted altogether.

    The health of the ecosystems within in the river were also being affected, as the sediments were burying habitats, thus reducing aquatic diversity. However, ultimately the environmental impact was not highly significant because it did not fundamentally change the environs of the river as the dredging of the same material would do in later centuries. The Tyne was already a shallows environment and the ballast, whilst causing some damage, did not alter this and was composed of non-toxic natural materials such as sand, mud, and rock. The ecological records available from the time, concerning concentrations of fish in the river (important to the fisheries of Tyneside) endorse this point, suggesting that the river was not only as healthy as it had ever been but was, in fact, healthier. It was recorded that on a single day on the 12th of June in 1755 more than 2,400 salmon alone were caught from the river. In comparison, over the entire month of June in 1996, only 338 salmon were recorded in the Tyne. The 1755 numbers may have been even higher without the dumping of ballast, but levels of local life were evidently not notably adversely affected.  

    In principal the corporation had always been against unlicensed ballast dumping into the river, this was partly the reason behind setting up the river court. In this case, however, it did not strongly push back against this process. Predominantly this was because these build-ups of sediment were creating new land along the riverbank, valuable land which, under the law, automatically belonged to the corporation. In this case, even after it was allotted government money to clear the silt in 1765, the corporation took the opportunity to turn a profit at the environment’s expense. Given the catastrophic impact that dredging would have on the river under the TIC however, it could equally be argued the corporation unwittingly took the more environmentally conscious approach in this decision. Either way, complaints from navigators on the state of the Tyne continued well into the 19th century.

    The Enlightenment and Proto-Industrialisation

    Whilst humans’ physical relationship with the Tyne may not have changed substantially in the 18th century, what did change was their attitudinal relationship; a shift which laid the groundwork behind the ideology of TIC. The enlightenment was the primary movement behind this change in relations, a philosophy with humanism at its core and a belief that scientific empiricism would lead humanity towards the conquering of the natural world. For the rational, orderly ideals of the enlightenment, the mercurial, muddy, meandering Tyne was something antithetical, something to be controlled. However, after these philosophies became popular the Newcastle corporation did not immediately set off on a crusade against the Tyne as the TIC later would, for three main reasons. The first reason was, as previously explained, that the corporation had been made extremely profitable by specifically avoiding tampering with the river’s natural systems. The second was that it lacked the technological ability to landscape a waterway such as the Tyne, or at least the ability to do it in a way that would not be prohibitively expensive. Thirdly was the fact the organisation’s frameworks and regulations had been set up hundreds of years before the advent of the enlightenment and adapting to fit this new ideology would mean a reinvention of what the corporation had stood for since 1400, a reinvention which never took place. It was also the case that enlightenment ideals were not fully pervasive, and many people, especially those in nature-based industries such as fishing, were sceptical of attempts to control it. Even in 1850, on the formation of the TIC and at the height of frustration with the Tyne’s unnavigability, the Shields Gazette wrote an endorsement of the river’s natural state, saying it was ‘of more lasting value than… Californian gold’.

    Figure 2.A view of Proto-Industrial Gateshead in 1830.

    By the beginning of the 19th century however the physical landscape of Tyneside was beginning to match its ideological, despite the inactivity of the corporation. At Derwentcote, Winlaton, and Lemington were ironworks, and two glass manufactories. At Blaydon was a lead refinery, a flint mill, and a large pottery and at Derwenthaugh was a coke manufactory and coal tar ovens. The first Tyne tunnel was built at Wylam to transport coal under the river. The river was also home to two coal staithes and a number of lead mines, both materials having been mined on Tyneside since the Romans built its first bridge in 122AD. These were the first buildings to begin washing substantively harmful substances into the waters such as coke breeze, benzene, naphtha, ammonia, and phenol. However, without chemical testing, at this stage these industries were too new and too few for people to properly appreciate the harm they were causing to the river. An 1827 report from the topographer Eneas Mackenzie does approach this topic however, noting that levels of salmon in the river may be declining because of the ‘deleterious mixtures that are carried into the stream from the lead-mines and various manufactories on the banks of the river’. It is evident from this statement that Mackenzie was somewhat aware of the environmental damage being done to the river but what is also evident is that he does not consider the decline in river life to be an inherently bad event. The fact is only mentioned off-hand and quickly forgotten in his excitement around the wonders of industry.  

    In 1816 the corporation commissioned the engineer Sir John Rennie to create a report of suggested changes to the riverfront. Therein he recommended the construction of two piers at Tynemouth, embankments along the river as far up as Newcastle, and multiple quays; all of which would have to be accommodated through a program of extensive dredging and landscaping. His stated goal was to ‘direct the river in a straight, or at least a uniform course’, an idea very much in line with enlightenment ideals. The corporation however, still unwilling to instigate change, did not act to implement Rennie’s suggestions and this increased the growing frustration at the state of navigation on the river. Thus, the Tyne Navigation Act was passed in 1850, which resulted in the formation of the TIC. The organisation immediately set about its work of dramatically altering the landscape of Tyneside and by the end of the century, it had implemented all of Rennie’s suggestions and more so, creating a deep and orderly channel. This quickly resulted in the decline of Tyneside’s keelmen, whose entire trade had been built on the premise that large ships could not navigate the river’s shallows, but it also resulted in severe declines in plant and animal life, as well as the overall health of the river.

    Chapter 2

    A great highway of industry

    Reconceptualising the river

    The works of the Tyne Improvement Commission completely transformed the face of the river on a scale that had only ever been previously achieved through millions of years of geological landscaping; they also began an era that would result in the worst pollution the river has ever seen. The men, and unsurprisingly for this time they were all men, who constituted the commissioners for the TIC were a mix of local councillors and business owners who’s trade was located in the riparian zone, the majority of which were based in the coal and shipbuilding trades. Whilst this commission was officially unbiased, the more wealthy and powerful members were often able to exert their influence for their own ends. In their proceedings for 1875 for example, we can see how Lord William Armstrong was able to rush through expansion plans for his factory at Elswick without the usual scrutiny period of one month.

    Together however, the commissioners were united in a common goal, to make the Tyne as profitable as possible. This was the very purpose that the TIC had been set up for and its members ‘deeply’ believed in that task, with no thought towards environmental affairs unless they were to infringe on profits. Indeed, across all their proceedings papers of over 100 years of history the TIC demonstrates no discernible changes in attitude towards the river or their own purpose upon it; their proceedings in 1894, 1902, and 1945 all specifically stating that their prerogative as “conservators” of the river was not to look after its natural state, only to keep it in a condition suitable for facilitating trade. One proceeding from 1958, as the commission was reaching the end of its lifetime and as environmental concerns towards the river were growing in popularity, best demonstrates this intransigence. When the commissioner who represented South Shields, Mr. Gompertz, inquired as to the ‘risks we are running in further pollution of the river’, in relation to allowing sewage to be discharged directly into the water, the chairman, after some debate, responded that they had ‘no powers on that matter at all’. This statement is astounding given that the TIC specifically was the body that was responsible for the approval and regulation of sewage systems at this time. Evidently, they did not feel that environmental concerns constituted a legitimate reason for regulation in 1958, just as they hadn’t in 1850. They had similar reactions when requested in 1881 to help with the building of recreational facilities such as a rowing and sailing club, denying that this was their responsibility.

    This consistency of approach and unified direction of purpose is one of the astounding facets of the TIC, and perhaps one of the reasons behind its success in so categorically remodelling the river. This was not an organisation that passively and indifferently carried out its task, it actively pursued a vision and cared deeply about its planned “improvements”. The Tyne needed to be competitive in a global context, with the infrastructure capable of matching other industrialising rivers such as the Thames, Clyde, and Rhine, which could also be called inspirators for the TIC. In 1876, long before most of their works were close to completion, they had already proclaimed that the Tyne was ‘the finest port in England… and the world’, listing its safety, capacity, and possibility as reasons for this. This attitude is completely maintained 75 years later in a document the organisation published in 1951 entitled A Century of Progress. In a manner that could almost be viewed as fanatical they write that ‘commerce is our life blood’; this was a capitalistic institution in its purest sense. In this manner the TIC bares some resemblances to the former corporation of Newcastle, both being organisations that were granted conservatorship of the river and both primarily being concerned with its economics. However, where the Newcastle corporation stood to profit from preservation of the river’s natural state, the TIC’s business model meant that it was indifferent to such concerns and payed them little attention. Indeed, as it stated in 1908, it would use ‘all that science and nature can offer’ to achieve its ends.

    Figure 3. Coat of Arms of the TIC above the doorway into Bewick House, Newcastle.

    Dredging the river

    In order for any of the infrastructural projects the TIC would undertake during its tenure to be worthwhile, such as the construction of docks, piers, and bridges, it first had to ensure that ships would be able to pass up the river far enough to access them. The solution to this was to dredge the river by removing the sand, rock, and mud that lay on the riverbed and dump them out to sea, a monumental task that had only been made recently comprehensible by the invention of the steam powered bucket dredger, the first ever of which had been employed in the neighbouring harbour in Sunderland. In 1850 the commission had access only to one steam dredger, which it had brought down from the river Tweed, but in 1853 they bought a second and by 1920 they had six all working to deepen and widen the river. These dredgers were tasked with ‘working day and night’ and so the citizens of Tyneside were forced to become used to their metallic clanks and churning coal-fired turbines.

    The commission’s reports comprehensively documented these dredger’s activities, as the organisation was very interested in maximising their efficiency, but they did not monitor the environmental repercussions that came with such work. The tests they did carry out, the first of which was in 1895, were concerned with the dumping of solid waste into, rather than the dredging of it from, the river. This was not because of environmental concerns however, but because the commission saw that this would result in an inefficient dredging process, the material being removed only to be replaced again overnight. The same reports make no attempt to measure or regulate the chemical composition of the water, only the solid material. Even in the TIC’s earlier years it cannot be argued that this was because of a lack of scientific understanding as the Tyne Salmon Conservancy (TSC, the body which represented the Tyne’s fisheries) carried out its own rudimentary chemical tests as early as 1866, being understandably concerned about the unhealthy state of the river.

    As the TIC was not concerned with such issues however, the dredgers continued their work and over a period of 70 years they deepened the Tyne from where it had lain previously at 1.83 meters to 9.14 meters. The commission’s own estimation for the extent of matter removed from the riverbed during this time amounts to the staggering figure of 149 million tons. This, alongside the TIC’s other infrastructural projects, had a huge impact on the capacity of Tyneside to trade on the river, with the Tyne becoming the largest repair port in the world by 1880, and the largest for the exportation of coal, producing 8,131,419 tons that year. Trade in total doubled on the river and the Tyne carried 1/9th of the total tonnage of the United Kingdom, second only to the Mersey, and built more ships than any other river aside from the Clyde. The cost of this was substantial to the TIC, over £3.5 million pounds (equivalent to £206 million pounds in today’s currency) which it managed to source from government grants, fundraising from local businesses, and its own taxation schemes. However, the cost was substantially higher for the flora and fauna of the river that soon found their habitats ripped from beneath them, a destruction which it is estimated will take hundreds of years to recover from.

    Figure 4. “King’s Meadow” island being dredged from the Tyne 1885CE.

    The first and most evident effect of this dredging was the replacing of the river’s natural shallow environments with much deeper, faster-running waters. The problem with this was that much of the local plant life, including reeds, lilies, pondweed, and willows, were not suited to surviving in such a habitat and so soon began to disappear from the riverbank, as well as smaller fare like phytoplankton, algae, and zooplankton. The resulting collapse of the ecosystem overall was then the result of a domino effect as each creature in the food chain found its food sources diminished. Much of the plant life had also acted as a habitat and spawning ground for many shallow-water life forms such as crabs, worms, shrimps, and fry as well as for insects like dragonflies, water boatmen, and other small invertebrates like the caddis and the mayfly. This in turn meant a decline in the predators that eat such creatures such as the mackerel, flounder, and seal alongside birds like the heron, turn, and kingfisher. In areas of significant dredging, the result was the complete removal of a shallow-water habitat and the creation of a deep-water habitat, which significantly destabilised the local biosphere.  

    If dredging only resulted in this alone there would have been a possibility of ecological recovery in a relatively short time frame as whilst much of the local flora was forced out, some of the hardier specimens could have survived in the new environment; plants such as the sedge, plantain, starwart, and sharp rush. Other plants better suited to the new environment would have also moved in, such as cordgrass and seagrass. However, the impact of the steam dredgers went further than habitat destruction. All dredging by necessity causes disturbance to the riverbed but this early form of bucket dredging was particularly dangerous in this regard. The scoops dug far enough down into the riverbed to reach the benthic zone, the sediment sub-surface at the lowest level of a body of water, and if they didn’t, the explosives which were also used as part of the dredging process certainly did. The reason this was dangerous was that the benthic zone of the Tyne contained many chemicals of a toxic nature such as lead, biphenyl, and tributyltin, which were not protected from being released into the water as with modern dredgers, and as such they acted as biocides which weakened or killed plant and animal life in the river. This is especially the case when considering this period of disturbance lasted as long as 70 years, the prolonged deviations from natural water turbidity also affecting the metabolism and spawning of certain creatures such as trout and the seeding of vegetation like sea grass.

    Whilst unenlightened as to the chemical specifics, the TIC could still observe the very clear fall in biodiversity on the Tyne and was to some extent aware that this was a result of its own work. Indeed, when writing a promotional piece for their port in 1925 the TIC not only acknowledges this, but is very much proud of this achievement, and not wholly unjustly due to the monumental feats of engineering that it required. Therein they write that whilst the old river may have been ‘picturesque’ it was now ‘the Tyne of yesteryear’, thus positioning the TIC’s modern creation specifically as the antithesis to ‘picturesque’. Overall the commission’s language in this document is indicative of their view on their own accomplishments, that they had made the post-1850 Tyne into something that was, conceptually, a completely different body of water to the pre-1850 article. In their proceedings of 1875, they wrote that their goal was to make the Tyne ‘equal to a dock’, to remove its status as a river entirely, by 1925 they believed they had achieved this. It would not be entirely incorrect to agree with the TIC on this point, as the ultimate result of their dredging program was the effective conversion of the Tyne from a river into a very large canal from Dunston downwards, as it remains today. What previously had been merely a river was now, in their own words, a ‘great highway of industry’. ‘Highway’ is the notable word to examine here, as it distinctly encapsulates the perspective toward the river which resulted in its conversion; that being a view of the river as simply a road made of water, a transportation device. The commission valued the river just as much as the Newcastle corporation or the TSC, perhaps even more so, but the nature of their occupations meant they no longer valued it as an environmental resource, only as a logistical one.

    However, the relationship between the TIC and the Tyne was not so unidimensional, and the commission soon discovered that their program of dredging would, to some extent, need to bend to fit the Tyne’s will. Erosion was their primary difficulty, as the TIC soon found swathes of riparian land collapsing into the river, much of it their own, although they were reluctant to admit in their proceedings that this was a problem of their own causing. The problem persisted throughout the TIC’s administration, and they had to deal with the erosion problems caused by dredging into the 1950s and 1960s, long after they had stopped deepening the riverbed, in places as far up the river as Haydon Bridge on the South Tyne. The reason this was occurring was because the dredging process had increased the gradient of the river, heightening its power on its new steeper course, and thus causing more aggressive deterioration of the banks. This effect was intensified because of the straightening of the river, which meant much greater force was exerted against the riverside, and this consequently created the need for weirs and embankments to be built along much of the quayside, although much of the time the commission was forced to concede and allow the river to carve at the land as far in as it required.

    Further to this the dredging resulted in the forces that the tides exerted on the river becoming far stronger, making the waters more turbulent and unsafe to travel on, as well as causing further erosion and silting up the docks, ironically creating much more work for the dredgers. In 1881 tenants in North Shields complained to the TIC that the force of the river ‘shakes the building’ and the northern rowing club also complained the following year that their casting-off point had been made ‘excessively deep and dangerous’ because of this. Such problems also affected large structures such as the Scotswood bridge, the company for which wrote to the TIC in 1884 complaining that its foundations were being undermined and it was at risk of collapse. The use of unpredictable explosives for the purposes of dredging was even more dangerous, as proved when, in 1894, the dredgers came within ‘90-100 feet’ of breaking through the roof of a mine that ran under the river owned by the Montagu colliery.

    Figure 5. Scotswood Suspension Bridge in 1832, Tyneside’s first industrial era bridge.

    The sheer scale of the dredging operation was also causing difficulties as the TIC found it increasingly difficult to regulate the process. Whilst there were only a handful of steam dredgers, there was a considerably larger number of ships known as “hoppers”, barges which were responsible for taking the silt from the dredging ships and dumping it into the North Sea. Two problems arose from this process. The first was that a number of hoppers were dumping their cargo too close to the shore and as a result it being washed back in to the river again, a problem which was expanded by the building of the piers at North and South Shields because they increased the area the TIC was obligated to manage. To combat this the TIC set a bylaw in 1885 that the silt had to be deposited outside of a three mile radius, but they still found that they were not always obeyed. Indeed, it was in the hopper operator’s financial interests to create more work for themselves.

    The second problem arose slightly later in 1900, after the program had been running for a while; what they discovered was that the sheer amount of material being dumped into the sea was beginning to threaten the passage of ships into the port because it was ‘raising the bed of the sea’. This also created problems for anglers both on the sea and the river, who found their nets and pots periodically smothered with ‘masses of refuse’, and often submitted complaints to the commission. With all of its technological might the TIC clearly thought of itself as an organisation that was above nature, that could do with the Tyne as it pleased, but the river proved time and again to be a force that could not be easily constrained and occasionally it would remind the commission that they were sometimes bound to playing on its terms.

    Reconstructing the River

    The dredging of the Tyne was only the preliminary stage, however, in the TIC’s plan. The removal of 149 million tons of material from the riverbed being simply the groundwork required which would allow larger ships to utilise the commission’s key infrastructure projects, these namely being the piers at north and south shields, the Albert-Edward, Northumberland, and Tyne docks, and the Tyne commission quay. A lot of resources were also spent on supporting projects to these large constructions such as the building of embankments, the swing bridge, and the destruction of rocky outcroppings.

    The construction of the Northumberland Dock in 1857 and the Tyne Dock in 1859 were the first major schemes to be completed under the TIC’s oversight, and work soon followed on another that would be named “Albert-Edward” in 1884. Significant excavations and further dredging was required for these projects, including the removal of tens of thousands of cubic meters of mud, gravel, clay, and sand; fortunately for the commission they received a good amount of private assistance in the removal as much of this material from firms such as the Wallsend cement company in 1877. This was especially true in regard to the gravel and clay, some of which was then used to create the base on which the docks stood. The Tyne commission quay, opened later in 1928, was built in the same manner and also with a small hydroelectric power station, an example of how the quickened current as a result of the dredging was utilised by the TIC to their advantage. This dredging caused all the same environmental problems as it did in the rest of the river but with the additional issue that the space was then entirely filled in with solid concrete, the Albert-Edward dock alone taking over 32,000 concrete blocks to construct, meaning the riverside and seaside ecosystems had no possibility of recovery.

    The single project which caused the TIC the most strife was the construction of the piers at North and South Shields. Partly due to the fact that dredging had caused dangerous tides to progress up the river, work was forced to begin ahead of plan in 1854 in order to protect ships in harbour, but the piers would not be completed until 1895 at a much higher cost than the commission intended of £1,000,094 pounds due to repeated damage from the force of the currents around the mouth of the river. After completion the saga was not over however as the north pier lasted only two years before being destroyed in a storm in 1897, and was only rebuilt by 1910 after bringing the total cost of the project up to £1,544,000. During all of this difficulty, in 1878, the TIC decided not to remove the “black middens” which were situated in front of the north pier because of their function as natural breakers which protected the coastline and, importantly, the walls of the pier, stating they were to a ‘general advantage’. These middens were infamous dangers to vessels, wrecking five ships in three days in a storm in 1864, but they were nevertheless so useful to the TIC that they were preserved. This case demonstrates that the TIC did not see itself as being on a mission against the natural world in all contexts. If a feature did not hinder, or even helped with their work, as with the black middens, they would be happy to leave it alone. By the same token however, they would not pause a second for anything which obstructed them, no matter its beauty or significance.

    Figure 6. North Shields pier collapsing into the sea, 1897.

    Generally, the TIC was quite happy to remove natural rock formations along the river however, if they were to get in the way of their “improvements”. As example to the fact that not everybody agreed with the prerogative of the TIC, two petitions were set up by the general public, the first in 1881 and the second in 1882, which were filed against the commission in attempts to save two popular natural beauty spots, Frenchman’s Bay and Lady’s Bay. Neither of these were successful, despite the fact they were signed by a great number of people of noteworthiness, including the mayor of Newcastle, the naturalist John Hancock, and a number of scientists with interest in the areas. Therefore the TIC carried on, removing a number of ‘protrusions’ at Felling Point, Whitehill Point, and Bill Point (amongst others) during the 1880s and significantly widening the river in one area near the mouth to create the Tyne main turning circle; both of these projects required the determined use of explosives over decades to complete. This is an example of the power of the TIC itself but also of the belief in the importance of its work, both from the organisation itself and from outside. The industrialisation of the river was an imperative, this was “progress”, unarguable and inevitable.

    Chapter 3

    NEITHER SALMON NOR CHILDREN

    Industrialising the River

    The TIC’s tentpole projects such as the docks, piers, and dredging program, whilst being the most impactful single enterprises on the environment on the river, were ultimately a drop in the water compared to the wider industrialisation that was taking place along the Tyne. The TIC was responsible for approving and regulating all new industries set up in the riparian zone, this task including the regulation of waste discharged into the river, but for the most part they took a laissez-faire approach to this duty. Their purpose as an organisation was to help, not to hinder, the growth of industry, and as environmental regulation would have hindered, they left it alone. Instead they acted as facilitators for the mass production of coal, coke, oil, timber, pottery, concrete, meat, iron, steel, glass, a vast array of chemicals, and all of their waste products. All these industries were built around the river (along with a multitude of smaller businesses) and they used it to help produce their goods, to transport them when complete, and to discharge their wastes into. Alongside these were the sewers of Tyneside, which were also approved and regulated by the TIC, and the number of which consistently grew across the TIC’s tenure until there were 270 active sewers draining into the Tyne when the TIC was replaced by the Port of Tyne Authority in 1968.

    The Tyne was thus party to a vast array of industrial processes and substances that it had never encountered before after the TIC took control, and a dramatic increase in those which it had. The primary categories for these substances in terms of environmental concern break down to organic material, organic chemicals, inorganic chemicals, sediments, and hot water. The effects of heat on natural ecosystems can often be overlooked but the amount of water from the Tyne which was used for coolant and then ejected back into the river still warm was enough to deal considerable environmental damage, this hot water predominantly coming from iron works, steel mills, and refineries such as Crowley’s iron works at Swalwell. The warmer a body of water is, the less oxygen is dissolved into it, whilst at the same time warmer water increases the metabolic rate of organisms within it, thus increasing their demand for oxygen. A reduction in oxygen in the Tyne therefore meant a reduction in the amount of plant and animal life that could survive there.

    The main culprit however in causing the deoxygenation of the Tyne was the discharge of organic material such as sewage and drainage from slaughterhouses, tanners, and flour mills, such as the Baltic Flour Mills at Gateshead. Once discharged these organic materials begin to decompose, the decomposition process being achieved by a flourishing of aerobic bacteria which are highly ‘oxygen hungry’ life forms. In the Tyne this occurred on such a large scale that the very first oxygenation test in 1912 concluded that there was ‘almost no oxygen’ in the river, which was alone nearly enough to end all life within. Once this had occurred it meant an increase of anaerobic bacteria, which produce foul smells. Other bacteria and viruses which were harmful to local river life, such as those of the Faecal Coliform or E. Coli varieties, also bred and spread quickly on this organic material.

    Organic and inorganic chemicals were likely far larger killers of river life than bacteria and viruses however and were indeed the killers of bacteria and viruses as well. Salts, acids, mercury, arsenic, benzene, naphtha, cyanide, lead, and phenolic wastes were all being ejected into the river from mines, farms, sewers, oil refineries, and coking plants such as the Derwenthaugh Coke Works which alone in 1928 pumped 1kg of cyanide into the river for every ton of coke produced. These substances were toxic to almost all river life, and toxic even at low concentrations, which they were not in the Tyne, and together were the one factor that caused the most damage to the Tyne’s ecosystems and led to it being classed as biologically dead in 1957.

    The dumping of sediments into the river, such as wood pulp, coal washings, and sludge was the one area where the TIC did attempt significant regulation. This was because of their dredging program, for which they did not want to create more work, and so they would inspect the discharges of factories to make sure nothing too solid was being ejected, first hiring Hugh and James Pattinson in 1895 to conduct tests to help them with this task. One substance they also attempted to prevent entering the river was oil from plants like the Benzol Works, which was the first place in the world to produce petrol from coal, because of the damage it caused to their property. It is evident therefore that the TIC would only step towards regulation if the environmental interests of the river aligned with their own economic concerns.

    Figure 7. Elswick Engineering Works, 1900.

    Turning Away from the Tyne

    In 1910, a street of houses in Lemington called Bell’s Close was erected along the riverfront. What distinguished this street from others that came before it, however, was that it was facing backwards, away from the Tyne. Indeed, the backs of the houses didn’t even have windows, they had turned away from the water because it had become ugly, foul smelling, and dangerous. This was exemplative of the larger trend that had been taking place all along the river, of houses and town centres moving further and further away from the river, being demolished in favour of factories and warehouses. After the first and second world wars, when industrial production on the Tyne began to decline, this resulted in the complete abandonment of much of the riverside¸ what had historically been some of the most desirable land available. A committee set up in 1969, immediately after the dissolution of the TIC, wrote that where Newcastle’s quayside had previously been one of the most overcrowded regions in the country it had now become a ‘neglected back alley’. Humanity’s environmental impacts had impacted on themselves. In 100 years the TIC had overturned what had seemed an inalienable truth for thousands, that rivers were at the centre of human civilisation. By 1940, the 1969 committee wrote, ‘neither salmon nor children could enter its polluted waters’.

    As the scale of the destruction became apparent, however, pressure mounted on the TIC from both the public and other organisations to do something about it. The primary driving force behind this was the TSC, which had been advocating stricter environmental regulation all throughout the TIC’s lifetime, but to little avail. In 1921 they helped set up the Standing Committee on River Pollution Tyne Sub-Committee (SCORP) which produced a number of reports with suggestions for how to improve the water quality, including a comprehensive sewerage treatment plan in 1936, but the TIC, the second world war, and a lack of funding blocked any progress. A Newcastle university report in 1957 said that public opinion ‘requires an improvement’ of the river environment and a 1958 motion in the house of commons recommended action for tackling pollution in the Tyne, but the TIC was as equally uncooperative with these as it would be with the Tyneside Joint Sewerage Board, set up in 1966. Just as with the Newcastle Corporation before it the culture of the TIC had become engrained, it saw itself as the heroic protector of orderly, profitable trade against the dangerous, unpredictable natural world. To a growing number of people however, the TIC had become the villain, too willing to sacrifice the picturesque for the profitable.

    CONCLUSION

    The success of the TIC was ultimately short lived when compared with its predecessor the Corporation of Newcastle, which lasted for nearly 400 years. For an environmental historian however this is not surprising, as they can appreciate the benefit that the Newcastle Corporation found in achieving a balanced relationship with the river on which it was reliant. Conversely, what the proceedings of TIC show us is that they did not look out for the health of the river, nor did they care for it. Instead they grew wealthy on the back of ‘robber industries’, trades that ‘carry the seeds of their own decline’. It cannot be denied that their works were marvels of engineering, and for some of the human population also brought great wealth, but to celebrate the reign of the TIC as the “heyday” of the river is a perverse anthropocentric notion that ignores the vast majority of Tyneside’s inhabitants. It operated in a way that was harmful to the health of all life based around the River Tyne, including the human population, and the scars it left are costing the region in the long run in the resources spent attempting to heal them. The modern Nile, Ganges, and Yangtze, whilst being far grander waterways, might do well to pause a moment and listen to the Tyne’s story, as they will find parallels and lessons within which they may wish to act upon.

    Author/Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    Date of Publication: 24th of August 2019

  • Power and Politics in Medieval Iberia: What Primary Sources can tell us about Rulers and Ruled

    The historian’s enigma is to extract a logical and reliable narrative from material that is generally neither of those things. This statement is especially true for medieval primary sources which are rightfully considered articles whose information must be assessed with particular scrutiny. The often-sparse number of medieval sources available related to any singular topic compounds this problem and severely limits the historian’s capacity to gleam information via comparison. In this article for example, when researching the Asturian Kingdom, there are only three substantial sources to draw upon to assess its 192 year period: The Chronice of Albelda, The Chronicle of Alfonso III, and The Chronicle of Sampiro, and all three have been proved to be incorrect on several accounts. This article must therefore admit that medieval primary sources are limited in the extent to which they can tell us about relations within medieval hierarchies; we cannot claim that they reveal all facets of these relationships to us.

    However just as these sources are not perfect, they are also not altogether flawed. There are certain types and areas of hierarchical relationships within Christian Iberia that our primary source material can be said to specialise in; this specialisation is primarily upon commercial transactions. Medieval records concerning what people are willing to pay for or receive in a transaction are appreciably more substantial than in other categories and financial information is unlikely to be falsified when multiple parties are involved who hold each-other accountable. Constructing a reliable economic history of power dynamics can therefore be achieved, with some influence from political history. Contrarily, producing a social, cultural, or intellectual history would be extremely challenging in this context. Economic sources like the Liber Feudorum Maier inform us about land allocation within a noble’s territory, the Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris elucidates the practice of profiliatio whereby peasants enter into dependence of a lord, and the Historia Roderici refers to the cash payments given to vassals as reward for good service. The first thing these economic sources tell us is that the relationship between rulers and ruled in Christian Iberia was not one based upon intrinsic faith, authority, or right; from peasant to lord to monarch there was always an economic incentive provided to maintain the existing structures of power. The reason behind why unpaid slaves are scarcely mentioned in the primary sources for this period is because they were not involved in such commercial transactions. The extremely high value of slaves during this period also meant that they were infrequently traded, meaning they are rarely mentioned even as commodities.

    The fact that our best historical sources concern economics and politics means that the aristocracy de facto becomes a further specialisation of our material. We can better assess the relationships within the aristocracy, wherein significant proportions of wealth are often traded, than between itself and the peasantry, even though the difference in relationship would evidently be far greater in the latter case. There are several categories of document that pertain almost exclusively to the aristocracy: fueros set out legal conditions for prestimonio, the process by which land could be taken away from the peasantry, property conveyances denote land acquired by nobles such as those of Count Suero and Countess Enderquina, often in relation to inheritance, and charters such as The Charter of 1152 show the priming of new land for exploitation. The fact that all these economic documents relate to land is also telling and shows the particular form of economic relationship that existed between rulers and ruled in this period, one that existed under what has been called a ‘quasi-feudal’ model.

    What is the difference between a ‘quasi-feudal’ society and a simply “feudal” one, and what does that mean for relationships within the model? Firstly, our primary sources show us that the relationships between rulers and ruled in medieval Christian Iberia were to a certain extent symbiotic; each level of the hierarchy relied upon the others to either generate or protect income for them. Additionally, the nobility and monarchy were involved an exchange process of prestige; kings and queens would look to the endorsement of nobles as vindications of their legitimacy whilst nobles placed much importance on receiving titles, particularly comites. However, it would be incorrect to frame this power structure as a pyramid, with the monarch in absolute control, as a feudal model is traditionally constructed. Indeed, the influence of noble families could often rival or exceed that of the monarch, as seen in the war between Alfonso VII and Gonzalo Peláez in which the king was forced to make significant concessions to the rebel as documented in the Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris. Medieval Iberia was quasi-feudal because its royals had high status but their power rested on their ability to control their ‘regional potentates’.

    These relationships were as volatile as they were co-dependent. If economic incentives were insufficient for one level of social strata, they could turn on another; as the veneer of a united Christian front against Islamic oppressors fell rapidly away. In the records of the Cortes we can see how co-operation was only managed between monarchy and nobility when tax concessions were made. The Usages of Barcelona carefully draws a separation between independent levels of aristocratic power in terms of who has which right to extract wealth from the land. Indeed, conflict existed not just between levels of hierarchy, but also within them; Alfonso VI was required to act as a ‘chief justiciar’ to mediate between the various nobles and factions within his court.

    Despite our sources primarily pertaining to aristocratic power dynamics, we can draw some conclusions which apply to the proletariat by asking the right questions of our material. Why were rebellious local lords not turned upon by their own vassals in favour of the monarch who was, after all, their ultimate leader? The answer must be that the people did not hold unswerving allegiance to the royalty. Indeed, the medieval Christian Iberian peasant held a distinctly ‘de-centred’ world view, within which they held loyalty to people, not positions. A new ruler would have to act quickly to establish themselves as worthy of their own rank, they could not simply rely on being unquestioningly accepted into the role, as shown with Queen Urraca in the Historia Compostelana. Monarchs such as Alfonso II and Alfonso III likened themselves to old Visigoth rulers in their self-propaganda in order to make themselves palatable to their subjects. This devolutionary perspective was a symptom of medieval Christianity, which envisaged a universal “kingdom of Christ” that all rulers were ultimately subservient to. Conceptually this world-wide dominion could not be escaped no matter your ruler, as is evident from descriptions within the Consilia of Oldradus da Ponte. This relative ambivalence to leadership was expedited by the significant periods of unrest that the people of medieval Iberia experienced, most infamously during the time of the “party kings”. Cities and peoples found it difficult to foster an attachment to their ruler when they expected they may be replaced in the not-too-distant future. Even outside of these times the upper classes were not a fixed establishment and powerful families could rise as well as fall from grace relatively often.

    Religion institutionally played a far divergent role from that which it played conceptually. Our economic primary sources reveal a relationship dynamic between the papacy and the aristocracy in which who could be called ruler and who could be called ruled is difficult to assess. Ultimately, I would deem the aristocracy to hold more power than the church but not to such a significant level that it could be said to rule over it. This conclusion is reached because in several other contemporaneous European countries, most notably in the regions of what we today call France and Germany, peoples lived more by canon law than civil, but this was not the case in Iberia. Primary accounts like that of the Bayan or the Cronica Albeldero reveal to us the image of a monarchy of distinctly secular character that saw little need to go through the church to claim connection to god. However other sources such as monastic cartularies show us the economic power of the church; the land and wealth accrued by monasteries and cathedral churches meant that rulers still had to be careful to heed the word of bishops for fear of losing the income they could provide.

     Primary records that relate directly to the power dynamics of common people are rare. Generally we find that sources only exist where disputes have turned into more active forms of resistance such as the rebellion on the estate of the House of Lara in the early 14th century, which appears part of a wider trend of resistance beginning in the 1300s. However it must be noted that the remains of archives of noble families are effectively non-existent pre-14th century and so there was likely more popular resistance to seigneurial power in the preceding centuries for which we have little documentary evidence. This highlights a weakness of primary material, the sources we don’t have can be just as influential on our assessments of the past as those that we do.

    Ultimately, with consideration of their flaws, medieval primary sources in an economic context are able to reveal certain facets of the relationships between rulers and ruled in Christian Iberia. They tell us that within a de-centred quasi-feudal world the peasants, aristocrats, monarchs, and bishops were often reliant on one another to exist symbiotically. However, they also tell us that these were relationships fraught with conflict and complex power dynamics that did not always fall into a neat pyramidical structure. For each-other they were their greatest allies whilst simultaneously being potentially potent enemies.

    Author Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    Date of Publication: 8th of December 2018

  • The Death of a New World: Disease and Population Decline In South America from 1492 to 1800CE

    Preface: A Subject of Scale

    In its whole, the story of population in South America from 1492 to 1800CE is one of demographic collapse. At the low point of this period the continent would be witness to a population that reached but 1/5th the size of its pre-Columbian standard. However, taken individually, the huge variance in experience within South America during this period becomes apparent; from regions whose population figures fall and rise in dramatic peaks, to those that undulate composedly across modest crests.

    Initially however, it is important to note the vast scale of this undertaking and the limitations therefore imposed, namely a limitation to the macro. Many of the studies concentrating on South-America in this field have been of a type that focus acutely on one specific area and are successful in realising the demography of such a space in fine detail. These studies range in size from David Noble Cook’s study into Peru over a period of 100 years to Brian M. Evans’ study of an Andean Village over a period of 43 years. The view herein over all South America over 308 years will draw on studies such as these but will not attempt to replicate them in outcome. The expansive scope of this article requires it to correlate broader trends and seek to contextualise them within a continent-wide context. This is a complimentary approach to the mathematical facet of this study which operates more effectively with larger pools of data. The ultimate achievement of this article is to plot the change of the indigenous and total population of South America over this period, as a collation of other studies done in this area alongside primary census data. Moreover, it will explain to what extent disease was the primary causation for demographic change and shall provide offerings as to the variance in population decline across five distinct regions within South America (see figure 1.). Furthermore, when the term ‘disease’ is used herein it is used as a collective term for multiple afflictions; this is due to the fact that there is much dispute as to which diseases affected which populations at what times, although it is generally accepted that smallpox, measles, and typhus were the main killers with the Variola Major strand of smallpox constituting the greatest killer overall.

    The standard disclaimer must be applied here that the figures presented herein, although primarily drawn from census data of the period and believed by the author to be broadly correct, are bound inevitably to be inaccurate in many aspects. This is the challenge of applying a scientific approach to historical data. However, dealing with incomplete source material is the perpetual challenge of the historian and one that cannot be shied away from, lest no history be written at all.

    Pre-Columbian South America

    Before we begin to assess change across the continent we must first be clear in what we are assessing a change from. What was the makeup of South America in 1492?  Estimates for the overall population for the region continue to exist in dispute however some mean figures have been produced for this article, in aggregation of several other estimates made over recent years. The central influence for these pre-Columbian figures continues to be the work of William M. Denevan and his text The Native Population of the Americas in 1492 which remains an excellent source on this topic. Ultimately the total population statistic reached for pre-Columbian South America in 1492 is 20,000,000. Across this study, this total figure is broken down into five regions across South America. These are: Northern S. America, Greater Amazonia, Central Andes, Southern S. America, and Chile. The continent has been split this way partially due to geographical differences in the five regions and partially to facilitate cross-comparison over time. If we were to use boundaries that shifted over time, such as the borders of nations, our comparisons would be less accurate. These borders are approximates of regions and are not intended, nor should not be taken, as accurate boundaries.

    Figure 1. Map of Identified Regions of South America

    The regions identified in figure 1 are the geography to which the rest of this article is referenced to. Thus, the population split for South America in 1492 is as presented below.

    Figure 2. Table of Pre-Columbian Populations in South American Regions

    These demographics aside, what other features can we ascribe to these five regions that might be important in a study of post-Columbian disease spread? For this study the focus lies on significant factors that can be compared across the five regions identified. These are: climate, geography, and patterns of settlement.

    In terms of climate, for which the Köppen-Geiger climate classification system is used, our two most northerly regions of Northern S. America and Greater Amazonia can be described as ranging between a tropical (Aw) and equatorial climate (Af). These warm and wet conditions which comprise the great majority of these two regions are well suited to the spread of disease, particularly as they are prone to monsoon; we would therefore expect higher levels of mortality in these regions than in others. The Central Andes region contains a greater variance in climates due to its mountainous geography: it is mostly covered by a cold desert climate (BWk) but also contains large areas of semi-arid climate (BSk) and temperate oceanic climate (Cfb). We would expect these colder and drier conditions to be more effective at staying disease spread here. The Southern S. America region would mostly be classified as a warm oceanic climate (Cfa) with some areas of tropical (Aw) and semi-arid climates (BSh). This region can be described as susceptible to the spread of disease but not to the extent of Northern S. America and Greater Amazonia. Finally, in Chile we find areas of cold desert climate (BWk), temperate Mediterranean climate (Csb), and temperate oceanic climate (Cfb). This, in similar fashion to the Central Andes, is an area we would expect to find reduced mortality rates in due to these pathogen-hostile climatic factors.

    The geography of the continent can be split into two areas on either side of the Andean mountain range which covers the regions of the Central Andes and Chile. These mountains are a dominant factor in the lower temperatures seen in these regions as discussed above. Additionally, the mountains help to curtail the spread of disease by limiting travel and isolating groups from one another. On the eastern side of this “Andean split” in Northern S. America we can identify the Guiana highlands as a geographical feature that would act similarly. This is also true for the Brazilian highlands in Greater Amazonia and Southern S. America. However, these highland areas will prove less effective at preventing disease spread in these regions as they do not cover them in entirety, unlike with the Andes, and thus their major comprisal of large lowland areas still allows disease to spread more efficiently.

    For patterns of settlement across the continent: in clear majority we are discussing a dispersed population of peoples that do not gather into large permanent communities. This is the case for Northern S. America, Greater Amazonia, Southern S. America, and Chile. Certainly, there were areas of more concentrated populations within these regions, often along rivers and coastlines, but these were still clusters of villages rather than towns or cities. This type of isolated pattern of settlement is one which is often effective in curtailing the spread of disease, so we would expect regions with this pattern to be less susceptible to illness. In 1492 the exception to this rule was the area of the Central Andes, occupied in majority by the Inca Empire which was home to cities with populations of 700,000 or more such as Cusco, Quito, and Choquequiaro. In this case we would expect to see this area prove more susceptible to disease spread than others.

    Three Hundred Years of Disease in South America

    Population figures across this period, particularly during the first 100 years, are to be taken with a large margin of error. After 1600 the Spanish and Portuguese began taking censuses of the regions they controlled, spanning by this point almost all the continent, and so we do have primary statistics available to us that were not available for our pre-Columbian assessment. Even so, it is highly likely the numbers they give are low estimates, as even today our estimates ever increase for the number of indigenous on the continent. Nonetheless, by collating all these censuses in conjunction with our pre-Columbian estimate we can produce a graph that tracks the population of the continent over these 300 years.

    Figure 3. Graph Plotting the Population of South America from 1500 to 1800CE

    Using this data, we can also calculate the rate at which the population changes between these points, as seen in the table beneath.

    Figure 4. Table of Total Population Rise and Fall (%) in South America 1500-1800CE

    These statistics show the immediate damage done to the continent and the recovery from that. However, it must be noted that these population statistics are not solely for indigenous peoples, they include all those people who have, either by choice or by force, moved to the continent during this time. This is what explains the 155.8% increase in population from 1700 to 1800, it is comprised of immigration, we would not expect a native population to recover at this rate. The question therefore asked becomes what is the rate of native population recovery, as supposed to simple population increase overall? For this we can utilise our regions; by splitting our demographics between these five zones, including those that saw large immigration and those that didn’t, we can determine the extent to which immigration as a factor has affected the overall population statistics. 

    Figure 5. Graph Plotting the Population of Regions of South America 1500-1800CE

    For this above graph we can also produce a population change rate table.

    Figure 6. Table of Population Rise and Fall (%) in Regions of South America 1500-1800CE

    This information is enlightening in multiple aspects. From 1500 to 1600 we can immediately see that some areas have declined to far greater extent that others, namely Northern S. America, Greater Amazonia, and Southern S. America have declined at much higher rates that Chile and the Central Andes. This can be explained by the climates and geography of these regions which, as was explained above, are far more suited to preventing the spread of disease in the Central Andes and Chile than in the other regions. In Chile this can be further explained by noting that disease did not reach the region before 1561, much later than the other regions (see figure 9.). However, some Umbridge must be taken with the 98% decline figure for Greater Amazonia during this period. Of all the data drawn on for this study this figure seems the most inaccurate. Although it may well be true that mortality rates were high in this region due to its tropical climate, the 0.59 population density for this area would never allow such a drastic reduction (see figure 8.). This article would hazard that the rate of reduction would be closer to the 75% reduction seen in Northern S. America as these two regions have very similar climates and geographies. Nevertheless, in the absence of any further data the -98% figure will continue to be used.

    From 1600-1700 the notable standout is the one region which continues to decline whilst the others begin to rise in population, the Central Andes. This is likely explained by the concentrated population density in this region which allowed for disease to continue to spread virulently, as seen in figure 8. By 1600 the other four regions all have populations densities beneath 1 compared to the Central Andes which sits at 3.13. At this point it may well be argued that these other four regions have reached a point beneath the ‘minimum concentration of hosts’ threshold whereas the Central Andes has not; this means their populations are now too small when compared to the size of their landmass to facilitate further disease spread. The well-developed road system of the Incas will have also allowed continual consistent movement of peoples around the empire; further facilitating dissemination of infection. This is especially crucial if you note the long incubation period of the two largest killers, smallpox and measles, which exist in the body for c.10 days before the person infected begins to show symptoms. The further a person is enabled to travel within these 10 days the faster these illnesses can spread. We can also see within the regions whose populations do rise the difference in the rates of the population increase. This is explained by immigration, not native recovery, and will be explored in depth with the assessment of the data between 1700 and 1800.

    Figure 7. Table of Landmass Area of Regions (km2)
    Figure 8. Table of Population Density of Regions Within South America (Number of Persons Per km2) from 1500-1800CE

    From 1700-1800 we can clearly identify the regions which are experiencing outside immigration and those which are not. Again, we see a divide made between the Andean regions of Chile and the Central Andes and the rest of the country. On the west side of the Andean split we see population figures that are struggling to begin a recovery towards pre-Colombian levels, with Chile’s population becoming stagnant and seeing no increase in the 100 years between 1700 and 1800. This is representative of how the native population across the country is recovering from the impact of disease: slowly. The reasons for this are numerous; one large factor is a decrease in fertility rates after disease has ravaged a population. This can be due to the disease itself physically affecting reproductive abilities or unbalancing the gender ratios in a population but can also be a result of social grief and stress. Recovery rates are also affected in the long term because disease results in higher mortality rates in the young population, who are the ones able to reproduce.

    Figure 9. Map Depicting the Spread of Disease Across South America 1524-1561CE

    With our knowledge of the western side of the Andean split the extraordinary nature of the figures from the eastern side becomes apparent. Even the 53.3% increase seen in Northern S. America would be classed as an unprecedented event, with figures of over a 1000% increase existing in realms of fantasy. These statistics correlate well with the records kept by the Spanish and Portuguese of slaves imported during this period, which indicate c. 5,000,000 were imported into the Viceroyalties of Brazil, Rio de la Plata, and New Granada from 1700-1800. Using this data we can calculate how much of the increase in population on the east side of the Andean split is due to immigration. Taking Greater Amazonia as our example, given that it saw the greatest increase in immigration, we can take 10% as a generous figure for the increase in native population during this period. This would constitute only 30,000 of the 3,300,000-increase seen in population and means that 99.16% of the new population is imported. Using similar thought we can interpolate new data across all our existing figures produce a graph that tracks only the indigenous population statistics

    Figure 10. Graph Plottingthe Indigenous Population of South America 1500-1800CE
    Figure 11. Table ofIndigenous Population Rise and Fall (%) in South America 1500-1800CE

    Now we have calculated the decrease in native population we must ask: to what extent is disease responsible for these deaths? It is understood that it is the major factor, but how far so? Let us examine the Spanish and Portuguese maltreatment of the indigenous to see the extent of their impact.

    Figure 12. Table of Conflicts Within South America 1492-1800CE

    It is evident from this information that death from conflict may be considered a negligible factor when considering the overall indigenous population decline of South America. The single conflict with most meaningful impact on population is the Inca civil war which accounts for only 1.1% of the population decline from 1500 to 1600. The Arauco war is the cause of the most deaths but stretched over a far longer period, giving it less impact.

    As for the encomienda and mita systems, alongside other forms of cruelties brought about by the Europeans, it is unknown how many died as a direct result of these persecutions as no records were kept, not even estimates. These, evidently, were not numbers the colonisers wanted recorded. Even if we did have such data it would be difficult to extricate deaths directly caused via cruelty and those that came tangentially because of it. We may still make some assessment of their material impact however; the one undisputable fact is that these systems helped facilitate the spread of disease through multiple means. They gathered previously dispersed populations into concentrated groups, forced them to travel long distances, and worked them into a state of weakness. All of which are ample conditions to facilitate infection. In this sense their impact on population decline may have been far greater than they are given credit for here. Nonetheless the ultimate cause of death is disease in majority by a far margin, as far as our statistics show us.

    If we take our statistics from figures 10 and 11 and subtract population decline for reasons aside from disease we can produce an estimate of indigenous population decline specifically as a result of disease. We have calculated that approximately 1% of the population die as a result of warfare between our 100-year intervals, using a global average we can also calculate that approximately 1% can be accounted for by “natural causes” and accident. As discussed there are no statistics for the impact of systems such the encomienda but we must estimate they had some impact given the severity of their programmes, and have been given a 2% impact factor. Overall these account for 4% of the total indigenous population decline from 1500 to 1800. The total indigenous population decline from 1500 to 1700 (it’s lowest point) is 81.4%, so therefore the total decline as a result of disease before the population begins to rise is 77.4%. This means the total number of indigenous killed by disease from 1500 to 1700 is 15,480,000. It must also be noted for clarity that even after this point, as the population increases, indigenous peoples are still dying from disease and that some of these infections continue to plague areas of South America in the 21st century. 

    Ultimately this article has been able to track the population, indigenous and otherwise, of the South American continent from 1492 to 1800. It has provided reasoning for the variance in figures seen across the five identified regions and compared them against each other to infer further detail about the impacts of disease and other factors during this time. Although it is understood that these figures are approximates, it is nonetheless understood their significance in helping us understand this troubled period of history.

    Author/Publisher: Louis Lorenzo      

    First Published: 19th of October 2018

    Last Modified: 23rd October 2018 (Clarity)

  • The Conquest of Mesoamerica

    On the 13th of August 1521, the most powerful leader in Mesoamerica, the Aztec emperor Cuauhtémoc, surrendered to Hernán Cortés, thus marking the beginning of a colonial dominance in the region that would last for nearly 400 years. Yet, at the time of its surrender, the Aztec empire’s population consisted of c. 5,000,000 people whereas Cortés’ conquistadors numbered a meagre 500. How is it that David managed to bring down Goliath? Although notions of ‘cultural difference’ may seem somewhat innocuous I argue that they played a large role in the fall of an empire. However, it is essential to note that cultural difference is not the only, or even the dominant factor at play here. As with all history, no one factor can provide a total explanation and only by appreciating the existence of a web of causality can you fully understand this, or any other, historiography. Without doubt I would identify the ultimate contributor towards the conquest of Mexico to be biological exchange, which significantly weakened the indigenous population’s ability to retaliate to Spanish aggression. Additionally, we can see the impact of factors less crucial than cultural difference but which still contributed to the conquest, such as indigenous factionalism and technological difference.

    Cultural difference, or more often, cultural ignorance, can account for why the Spanish and the Mesoamerican groups reacted to each other in ways which favoured the Spaniards over the indigenous. An explanation for why Cortés and his men were so turned against the indigenous, and thus less inclined to respect their landholdings, can be attributed to cultural shock at discovering the practice of human sacrifice. Cortés himself lays this viewpoint out in his ‘letters from Mexico’ or ‘Cartas de relación’. Although Cortés was there for looting, he wasn’t there initially for conquest, and if the indigenous had conformed to his own cultural norms he would likely have acted less aggressively towards them. Analogously, the Spaniards’ own forms of barbarism assisted their cause also. The indigenous peoples of the area practiced capture and control of areas they conquered, the Spanish displayed death and destruction. The burning of cities and the massacre of populations was not how warfare was conducted by Mesoamericans at that time, who preferred to take slaves whilst expanding and consolidating power. Had they been originally aware of this practice the indigenous would likely have been more defensive towards the Spanish. The most infamous example of destruction is the ‘massacre at Cholula’ of October 1519, which, through its brutality, had the additional effect of inciting fear into surrounding indigenous groups. Cultural ignorance might also be the factor behind Moctezuma II’s decision to allow Cortés and his men into Tenochtitlan in November of 1519 without hindrance. Even though he knew of the events in Cholula, Moctezuma may not have extrapolated the immediate danger to himself, being unfamiliar with the concept of oversees colonisation, living himself in a city-state society.

    Though less crucial than the impact of cultural difference and biological exchange, the significance of factionalism within central America was still important to the conquest of Mexico. Cortés could exploit existing divisions between the various city-states to help him explore, exploit and conquer. However, it is also the case that from the position of groups that did ally with the Spanish it was they who were exploiting Cortés for their own gains, not the other way around. This is best seen in the actions of the Tlaxcala’s who initially fought and defeated the Spanish on the 1st of July 1520 at what the Spaniards called ‘la Noche Triste’ (The Sorrowful Night) but then unexpectedly allied with them. It is logical that they saw advantage in the alliance, that advantage being the fall of the Aztecs. The Tlaxcala’s have also been placed as the stimulant for the Cholula massacre, which may have started deliberately from a rumour spread by the Tlaxcaltec that the Cholulans were plotting against the Spanish. Charles Gibson has suggested that this factionalism may have been brought to the fore by Spanish intrusion, that it did not exist independently of the Spanish in the vicious form it took upon their arrival. It was the opportunity for dominance that Cortés’ blunderbusses represented which sparked such fierce rivalry. Therefore, I do not rank factionalism to be as important as biological exchange or cultural difference, because it was not an endemic problem, but an opportunistic one.

    But it was not only blunderbusses that marked the gap in technology between the two civilisations, several innovations were important when it came down to the act of warfare. Although it would be incorrect to say that Mesoamerican civilisations were technologically illiterate, their tools of warfare were definitively less effective than those of the Spanish, who had “not only blunderbusses and powder, but also printing presses, steel blades and armo[u]r, crossbows, horses and riding equipment”. Douglas Daniel has put that the Spanish had a distinct tactical advantage over indigenous groups as well, their smaller numbers allowing them to be more flexible, adapting their formations to the circumstance and making use of the ‘tercio’ unit. Contrarily, the indigenous could not adapt their long-entrenched systems of battle that were not designed to cope with muskets and cavalry, which they had never encountered before. The open formations of units such as the Aztec ‘calpulli’ were easy to scatter and isolate. However, I do not consider technology and tactics as significant as the other factors I have listed in this article because of their limited applicability in a situation of being outnumbered by a factor of 10,000. They are certainly useful, but not decisive, a rifle and horse can only do so much.

    However, horses were not the only creatures the Spanish brought with them to the shores of lake Texcoco, and were certainly not the deadliest. The primary factor towards understanding the conquest of Mexico is biological exchange and the most significant exchange was that of disease, specifically smallpox and typhus. J.D Hughes explains that, within 100 years of Cortés landing on the Yucatan peninsula in 1519, c. 90% of the indigenous populations of Mesoamerica had perished to it. Although the worst small pox and typhus epidemics came after the Aztec empire had already fallen, (1545–1548 and 1576–1581 respectively) the immediate impact was still devastating. Within two weeks one quarter of the Aztec empire had succumbed to their ailments. Hughes also points out the impact of rats, weeds, and domestic animals which all disturbed the balance of the native ecosystem alongside these diseases, further upsetting indigenous foodstuff production. All these factors were wholly beneficial to Europeans and wholly disadvantageous to the indigenous whose weak resistance to disease was a result of living with very few domesticated animals for thousands of years.

    There are many other factors that could have been discussed herein, such as the impact of religion, or individuals like Doña Marina. But those I have listed were the most important in the conquest of Mexico, the most significant being biological exchange. This was the crucial factor in the conquest of Mexico because it had the greatest immediate and practical effect. Cultural difference can explain why certain actions were taken but biological exchange explains how they were achieved. Additionally, factionalism and technology were influential but not on the continent-wide scale of the biological impact.

    Author/Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 09th of September 2017

    Last Modified: 09th of September 2017

  • The Generalising Crisis of the 17th Century

    ‘The mid-seventeenth century experienced a “general crisis” in which a wave of economic, social and political upheavals swept over many parts of the northern hemisphere’ (Parker, 2001, p.20)

    To accurately assess this statement, it is necessary to first define the term ‘general crisis’. For the purposes of this article the definition used herein has been devised from a plain amalgam of ‘crisis’ and ‘general’. Crisis being defined as ‘a decisive stage in the progress of anything… applied esp. to times of difficulty’ and general as ‘approximately universal within implied limits’. Therefore, we define ‘general crisis’ as:

    “A period of decisive change that affects a significant proportion of the global population, commonly caused by times of difficulty.”

    By this definition, the ‘general crisis’ theory is not controversial, it is commonplace. Difficulty resulting in change is what you may simply term, “history”, and by extension, historiography itself, the study of change. Certainly the 17th century is no exception to this rule and Parker’s own contribution illustrates this convincingly. His figures on state-breakdowns, popular revolts, wars, and mortality rates are both global and numerous and his use of historiographical metrics gives a clear framework for what is meant by ‘general crisis’. Indeed, this clarity is what makes Parker’s argument superior to the efforts of many who preceded him, including the efforts of two highly influential crisis historians; Eric Hobsbawm and Hugh Trevor-Roper. Hobsbawm’s crisis emphasises trade depression and methods of production whereas Trevor-Roper’s describes a societal and political crisis based on unwieldy bureaucracy. These are fine premises but lack precision, never fully circumscribing ‘general crisis’ in the manner Parker manages. Their lack of empirical clarity has been widely criticised, particularly Trevor-Roper, who was heavily belied in a responding review. Therein, J.H Hexter asserts that ‘Trevor-Roper paints his picture… with such bold strokes and so broad a brush that he occasionally obscures rather than clarifies’.

    The Problem with The Crisis Theory

    However, no matter if we accept the crisis theory, we cannot avoid the debates’ wider issue for which I conclude that the term must be abandoned. Why do we find so many articles on the crisis that begin with a definition rather than a proposition? It is because the ‘crisis’ is no one instance, it is a theoretical grouping of events, the problem being that these events aren’t known quantities. What counts as the ‘general crisis’? Everybody will inevitably reach unique conclusions on this matter because there are no boundaries to choosing what constitutes ‘general crisis’. As we have seen, historians may include whatever they please.

    This results in a debate which keeps returning to definitional matters, an intellectual vacuum in which agreement is unattainable as we continue to talk at cross purposes. The ‘general crisis’ debate is therefore detracting from other possible 17th century discussion, generalising all debate on the period under the uncertain theme of ‘crisis’. To learn further from the 17th century then, we must change the game, because currently we’re all playing by different rules.

    The 17th century is unique in befalling this ‘generalising crisis’ because it lacks identity. The century has ‘Renaissance and Reformation on the one side, Enlightenment and Revolution on the other’, appearing inconspicuous in comparison to its neighbours. Naturally, we wish to seek what defines the 17th century as well. What the ‘general crisis’ theory did, and why it became so popular, was give the 17th century an identity. Unfortunately, this identity was not one that grew from the history, but was imposed upon it. Eric Hobsbawm devised the crisis to suit a Marxist historiography, the purpose always being to “show” a transition from a feudal to a capitalist economy. Such histories encourage cherry picking evidence to serve a conformation bias. This may have been inconsequential had it remained within Marxist historiography, but its subsequent envelopment of 17th century writing has led to an eternally skewed approach to the century, we lack the balance of differing approaches. The reality has become that we are writing within a framework that was purposefully designed to limit our scope.

    That said, this does not mean we may simply discount all generalist historiography. Contrariwise, most of this work is valid in identifying important 17th century occurrences and their origins. The problem lies only in how these events are then interpreted as we attempt to integrate them into a flawed theorem.

    New Approaches to the 17th Century

    Understanding this, we can examine further these ‘economic, social and political upheavals’ and explore several ways in how we can better understand the 17th century without this ‘generalising crisis’ obscuration.

    Looking through prior crisis articles we find the important economic events of the 17th century to be: the trade depression of the 1620s to 1650s, the “tulipomania” of the 1630s, the economic independence of colonies, the multiplication of costly offices, and the thirty years’ war, due to estimates being as high as 50% for national expenditure upon it. A generalist historian must value these factors on how they conform to their crisis thesis, but we can assess them purely on individual merit.

    To begin, we consider how these are exclusively European occurrences, not global. Further to this, we notice that these problems stem categorically from imperialist nations. The ‘tulipomania’ contained to a Dutch economic bubble, the expanding office bureaucracy concentrated within Britain. An increased independence of European colonies factoring toward a European trade depression. The thirty years’ war being motivated by imperialism as much as devoutness. Abandoning a generalist perspective reveals not a ‘Crisis of the European Economy’ generically, but an issue within European empire specifically. We see the economic costs of maintaining empire; particularly how increased economic independence of colonies leads to a long-term desire for political independence, as with North America. We also see a short-term impact of economic depression, all of which can be exacerbated by large-scale war, as with the thirty years’ war.

    Hobsbawm’s article comes almost to this conclusion, describing how ‘large and expanding markets’ brought economic downturn, but his focus on ‘crisis’ leads him toward the irrational conclusion of ‘transition from a feudal to a capitalist economy’. He misses the angle on empire, the maintenance of it, and the effects of war upon it. It becomes evident that allowing economic independence for colonies, especially during wartime, can hurt your economy even more greatly than may first appear. For Britain particularly, this helps us understand the economic roots of the decline of empire in the 20th century. Britain may well have handled its colonies with greater tact during the first and second world wars had it been aware of the consequences that may occur from neglect during wartime. As it was, we see events such as the Bengal famine of 1943 leading to an increased desire for political independence in colonies, one that felt additionally earned due to their efforts in the world wars.

    Politically, the 17th century was defined by a weakening of nobility as a result of a consolidation of power toward the crown as well as an expanding bureaucracy, as before mentioned in economic terms. Despite seeing this across the ‘northern hemisphere’ in both the east and west, and contrary to a generalist view, we only find political crisis on account of this in the west. Quite adversely, the Tokugawa period in Japan (1600-1868) and the Ming dynasty in China (1364-1644) have been determined to be unusually stable leaderships, the Ming dynasty especially, described as ‘one of the greatest eras of orderly government and social stability in human history’. What can we learn from this? We learn that political events cannot be a central factor toward causing crisis. The multitudinous revolts, breakdowns and wars cannot have been politically driven, at least in majority, otherwise we would have seen greater political instability in the east than we do. However, we do still see a degree of volatility in the east, an example being the Shimabara rebellion of 1637-8, so we must search for other factors that may have caused this.

    Social factors haven’t been explored as thoroughly as others when it comes to the general crisis. This is most likely due to the locality of social trends of the time. Very unlike the globality of politics and economy in the 17th century, social movements were far more localised, with only a handful of countries having postal services. Thus, social factors don’t fit well into the ‘general crisis’, because they weren’t very general. However, it is still clear to see the dominating social force in Europe in the 17th century: Religion. The thirty years’ war is a prime example of this but we can also point to the rise of religious polemics like Jonathan Swift, the glorious revolution, the eighty years’ war, and the abolition of the edict of Nantes. Here we do spot a consistency with the east, despite rebellions being rare the Shimabara rebellion of 1637-8 was directly a result of religious tension. Additionally, this was a European-exported tension as the conflict was between the Tokugawa Shogunate and the Roman Catholics. Also in the east, we see the rise of the Sabbatean movement. One conclusion here may be that Europe managed to export its religious troubles to the east and this is why we see some social parallel between the two continents.

    Centrally, this article explores the benefits of approaching the 17th century without thinking of ‘general crisis’. There is a far richer history to be found if you are prepared to cast the century in different lights, the surface of which we have not even scratched in this article. You may disagree with some, or many, of my conclusions, and that’s great. There is no lens through which you must view the 17th century, approach it in a manner which is logical to your interests.

    Author / Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 05th of April 2017

    Last Modified: 05th of April 2017

  • The 17th Century Economic and Political Crises Compared

    The problem with the debate around ‘the general crisis of the 17th century’ arose as soon as the phrase was put to paper, it’s the same problem that plagues debates over ‘brexit’, the central term is nebulous. Historians must decide for themselves what ‘general’ refers to, which causes great conflict like that we see between Hobsbawm and Trevor-Roper. It’s inevitable you will produce different paintings when you aren’t working from the same palette. We will hardly, therefore, draw fair conclusions by simply comparing the two articles, we must look for more useful approaches to this debate. Historians such as Roger B. Merriman have answered this by drawing the conclusion that the crisis did not exist, if there is no central understanding of its existence, how can it? However, this, although logical, is side-stepping the problem rather than tackling it, invalidating all previous discussion is counter-productive. Contributing constructively will be to accept the existence of a general crisis but to create a definitive core idea of what the crisis consisted of. This will allow fair debate and comparative historical writing on this topic. How will we achieve this? The answer is simple; by studying articles on the crisis and finding the key events that bind them together. Hobsbawm and Trevor-Roper are excellent initial candidates for this as they approach the debate from such antithetical positions that finding commonalities in their arguments is certain to reveal the core of this crisis.

    Hobsbawm’s Marxist interpretation is that the crisis is centrally economic whereas Trevor-Roper regards the crisis as primarily political, his viewpoint is concertedly ‘anti-Marxist’. These are such disparate standings that their articles seem bound to draw diametrically opposite conclusions. Indeed, Trevor-Roper’s article is even antagonistic towards the Marxist interpretation. However, their articles are not so divergent, in fact, they complement each other on the import of several key areas. These are: the expansion of empire in the 1500s, the multiplication of crown ‘offices’, the 1620 ‘decay of trade’ and the 30 years’ war (1618-48). These are our first key commonalities that we can use to definitively construe this crisis. So why, if the two articles agree on so much, would Trevor-Roper preface his article with a critique of Hobsbawm’s? Directly put, Trevor-Roper vehemently opposed how Hobsbawm utilised the crisis to justify the Marxist idea of inevitable progression from feudalism to capitalism. This anti-Marxism even went so far as to cause private hostility between Trevor-Roper and Hobsbawm. We can therefore safely write off Trevor-Roper’s initial attack on Hobsbawm as too personally motivated to be taken seriously as a critique. We can focus on what’s important accordingly; the arguments that the two historians forward regarding ‘the general crisis of the 17th century’.

    So how do they agree as wholly as is being implied if they attribute the crisis to different causes? Contrary to first impressions, these two lines of argument are not incompatible but work in tandem, there was both political and economic (alongside social and cultural) attributes to the crisis. Indeed, Hobsbawm himself recognises this commonality of purpose in a following article, remarking that their views “are complementary rather than competitive.”.  As is always the case with history there is a web of causation and no single factor lies withstanding from all others. The two historians are, of course, aware of this but in arguing the significance of their own chosen factor they have overlooked the importance of others.

    Both argue the importance of the expansion of empire during the 1500s. Hobsbawm describes it as “large and expanding markets… of the later 15th and 16th centuries” that had reached “the limits… of feudal or agrarian society”, and now, “when (they) encountered them, (they) entered a period of crisis”. These “limits” that Hobsbawm refers to are the limits of a feudal/manorial society that had little need for trade. In new, large empires, and with movements like the agricultural revolution which was facilitating trade, feudalism was proving ineffective and causing crisis as countries struggled to maintain the trade levels required to sustain themselves. Feudalism wasn’t an aggressive enough system, unlike the more competitive systems that would replace it. Trevor-Roper argues the same point: “The expansion of Europe (created) greater markets” and these “vast new empires (were) vaster than they (could) contain for long without internal change”. This is the same economic argument that Hobsbawm contends; that the economies of these countries had grown too large to be supported by a feudal system of commerce.

    Trevor-Roper furthers this economic point by adding a parallel political factor: “The political structures of Europe are not changed in the sixteenth century: they are stretched to grasp and hold new empires”. By ‘stretching’ he means a “multiplication of ever more costly offices (that) outran the needs of state”. The crowns of Europe were selling bureaucratic ‘offices’ in abundance and were letting the country pick up most of the cost, in Britain, 75% fell on the country: “this was an indirect, if also a cumbrous and exasperating way of taxing the country” Trevor-Roper argues “So ‘the Renaissance State’ consisted, at the bottom, of an ever-expanding bureaucracy which… had by the end of the sixteenth century become a parasitic bureaucracy.” These economic and political arguments are closely related; as the economy begins to hit its “limits” at the end of the 16th century it is pushing the crown to expand a “parasitic” bureaucracy which makes money for them in the short term. However, longer term it is further damaging the economy as the superfluous expenses continue to increase.

    Another significant factor the two historians point to is the universal depression of 1620, what Trevor-Roper refers to as the “decay of trade”. Hobsbawm describes it as “a general balance of rising and declining trade (that) would produce export figures which did not rise significantly between 1620 and 1660”. As you may imagine, this caused recession in the new societies of trade and empire and was caused by the debasement of currency in the early 1600s. This was the end of great economic expansion and it brought the frivolous expenditure of the 16th century into sharp clarity. The rise of puritanism during this time clearly shows that people were sick of the “gilded merry-go-round”, this is when the weight of the crown offices and the limits of feudalism began to show themselves, having been previously masked by a boom economy.  

    Both also concur over the significance of the 30 years’ war. Trevor-Roper arguing that the war “undoubtedly prepared the groundwork for revolution” and Hobsbawm that it “intensified the crisis”. The war made the illnesses of Europe’s economy acute, estimates are as high as 50% for national expenditure on the war, from all parties. It’s also important in how it diminished the influence of the pope, allowing puritanism to spread at an unusually fast rate and animosity toward traditional structures of power with it. It’s noteworthy that both historians don’t place as much emphasis on the war as you might expect. They present it as a more minor force that furthered the ‘greater’ change brought by political and economic factors. This can certainly be attributed to the fact that it neither falls strictly under economic or political history, but military history. As such the effects of the war in causing the general crisis are somewhat overlooked. However, the fact that it’s in both articles yet in neither historians’ chosen field proves its significance.

    In the interests of brevity, we will not discuss factors that Hobsbawm and Trevor-Roper have not spoken on: the expansion of the middle class, intellectual revolution, famine, disease, and many others. What’s clear is that more research needs to be done into these factors that straddle the multitudinous accounts on the crisis. But here we have the start, it’s not so that Hobsbawm and Trevor-Roper disagree, whatever their own thoughts on the matter. The political and the economic crises, specifically linked to the expansion of empire and the multiplication of ‘offices’, are two sides of the same coin and two of these ‘base factors’ that can be used to build a cohesive understanding on this crisis. They work alongside factors such as the decay of trade and the 30 years’ war to create separate crises in different countries which produce a sum-total of general crisis in the 17th century.

    Author / Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 05th of April 2017

    Last Modified: 15th of May 2017 (Grammar Corrections)

  • Castle Howard: Baroque Architecture and the Theatre of Reality

    Castle Howard is not actually a castle, but rather a stately home, situated in the Yorkshire countryside. It was designed by the famous Sir John Vanburgh, who is often referred to as the father of the ‘English Baroque’ style. The estate still remains in the possession of the Howard family today and has done so for over 300 years. Work began on building the ‘castle’ in 1699 and it was not to be completed for another 100 years, and in doing so, an entire village was destroyed in the process. This is one element of ‘classic’ architecture that people tend to forget when they complain that we have regressed in our architectural form. It may very well be nice to build your new library in the same way Castle Howard was built, but you’ll have to wait a hundred years, not even to mention the inordinate costs. By the by, when it was completed, the estate contained 13,000 acres of land and had its own railway station to service it, which ran from 1845 to 1950.

    The reason I am discussing castle howard is because it is as an example of Baroque architecture, which is the real focus of this article. If you are not quite sure what we mean by Baroque architecture, think of any of the great European cities and those buildings which are most visually impactful. Buildings like St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, or the Palace of Versailles in France, or St. Paul’s Cathedral in England. This is because Baroque buildings are characterised by grandeur and high contrast, they are built to be flamboyant and purposefully designed to impress to such a degree that they can intimidate. The origins of Baroque architecture date back to the counter-reformation within Catholicism in the 16th century, and thus the form is inseparably linked to the church, you will find a great deal of religious imagery within baroque architecture, It seeks to be a visible statement of the power of the church. The first Baroque building was erected in France in 1642, it was the ‘Château de Maisons’. From there it then spread across Europe and adopted different styles with the borders it traversed, a trained eye may very well be able to identify which European country they are in simply by looking at its Baroque architecture.

    The grandiose nature of Baroque is very much theatrical, it is attempting to surprise and impress, to generate an emotional reaction from the viewer. But where did this desire for theatrics originate? What is it that gave us these inspiring designs?  It has been put, by historians such as Peter Burke, that the Baroque’s grandiose and theatrical design reflects a 17th century “crisis of representation”. The idea being that the economic, political, social, and spiritual crises of the time are fracturing a previously held world-view, an innocent, and perhaps naive, Christian view of everything having a purpose and being linked by its very nature to everything else. That things are done for a reason. Events such as the thirty years’ war, the great 1620s trade depression, the reformation, and others from this time run counterfactual to that belief.

    This is why people may turn to the idea, to predictably quote Shakespeare, that “all the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players” (As You Like It: 1623). People feel disconnected from reality, and so present it as theatre.

    Author / Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 05th of April 2017

    Last Modified: 14th of May 2017 (Grammar Corrections)

  • Powder Monkeys: An Engine of Empire?

    The term ‘Powder Monkey’ first came into use in the British Royal Navy in the early period of the 17th century (c. 1620), a time you may have heard referred to as ‘the age of sail’. As sailing ships, and their capacity for munitions, grew larger it soon became apparent that gunpowder was an extremely volatile cargo for a vessel to carry. It was important to keep the substance dry otherwise it would be of no use, but it was also key to keep it away from any source of ignition, otherwise you would be of no use.

    The answer to these problems was the ‘magazine’. Still used as a term for where ammunition is stored today, the magazine was a purpose-built room at the base of the ship where gunpowder could rest (relatively) safe from both water and fire. This led to a further issue however, now all of your gunpowder is several decks away from where your guns are, and there could often be over 100 cannons to constantly resupply. How are you going to sustain any reasonable form of rate-of-fire if you have to keep rushing up and down the ship to fuel your cannons and muskets?

    In steps the powder monkey. Your typical powder monkey was a boy around the age 12 whose job it was to supply the weaponry of the sailors with gunpowder. This meant dashing back and forth, up and down the vessel from the magazine to the upper decks and back again. This was extremely strenuous work; these were heavy bags of explosive material that you were running and scrambling and climbing with, as the ship lurches from side to side with the impact of waves and cannons, as chunks of splintered wood and shrapnel are hurled through the air, and as people die around you. Why is it that you are scrambling with such haste? Because the speed at which you can run up and down the ship directly correlates to the speed at which the ship can fire its cannons. The faster you go, the more likely you are to survive.

    The reason they used boys was because of their size, they were small enough to hide behind the gunwale of the ship and agile enough to fit through tight spaces, enabling them to reach the cannons in the shortest amount of time. Evidently, girls could just have easily been used for the same purpose, but I suspect that this was one element of patriarchal society they weren’t so concerned about at the time.

    Despite their important and horrific job, the boys were at the bottom of the naval hierarchy and never got official recognition as members of the crew on board. Their name isn’t comedic by chance, it’s because they were an easy punchline for the rest of the crew, who were much older and stronger. When ships docked in port it was very common for wandering boys to be kidnapped, either by those of the Royal Navy themselves, or from any other group of passing sailors. Once within the grip of the Royal Navy, powder monkeys were unlikely to see their homes again.

    They are somewhat the unsung heroes of the British navy, without them the guns would have simply stopped firing. Especially in a time where many guns would just… not work… it was crucial that the ones that did had a better rate-of-fire than your opponent. Perhaps this is mere polemics, but it could be argued that Powder Monkeys were one of the most important innovations of the Royal Navy. Britain’s empire was always wholly maritime at its core and it’s clear that Powder Monkeys were essential to naval warfare. They were never respected then and continue to exist as mere trivia today, but Britannia would surely have never ‘ruled the waves’ without them.

    Auhor / Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 05th of April 2017

    Last Modified: 15th of May 2017 (Grammar Corrections)

  • When the Subaltern Spoke

    In the mid-20th century, social history, by which we mean social historiography, saw a major alteration in its focus. It shiftedaway from 19th century Marxist interpretations of a form that concentrated on ‘society’ and the lives of workers who had been underrepresented in favour of a small elite. Its new focus looked instead toward specific historically underrepresented minorities. This approach has been termed neo-Marxism.

    But what caused this shift in focus? I argue, it was the influence of ‘history from below’ which forced social historians to focus on minorities. This is because history from below gave a stage to real individual ‘commoners’, they were no longer one hegemonic group as theorized by academics. This revealed the hypocrisy at the heart of 19th century Marxist historiography, being that it was the top-down, dictatorial version of history it claimed to rebuke, generalising what ‘the people’ believed in.

    Post-imperial subjects were one of the most influential historical minorities to facilitate the rise of ‘history from below’ and thus the wider shift in social history in the mid-20th century. Their sheer numbers being partly why; 145 countries gained independence in the 20th century. Additionally, their collective influence was added to by the proximity of their releases from imperial historiography (a few decades). They spoke loudly and together.

    The popularisation of the term ‘subaltern’ amongst social historians is a testament to the relationship between post-imperial history, history from below, and social history.The term was first coined by Italian Marxist, Antonio Gramsci, in 1926, but only became significant to the world of ‘history from below’ in 1988 when the post-imperialist historian, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak revived the term. She defined the subaltern as “persons who are socially, politically and geographically outside the hegemonic power structure”.

    In Spivak’s essay, ‘Can the subaltern speak?’ and in her subsequent text; ‘Towards a Critique of Post-Colonial Reason’ she explains that, although the metaphor used is one of minorities ‘without a voice’, a more accurate appraisal would be of ‘a deafened hegemonic ear’. Meaning that minorities had always been expressing their views, they just weren’t being listened to. The importance here is that subalterns have agency in these new histories, they do not simply act at the behest of their oppressors and fade away when not doing so. They are autonomous and can act independently of elites. This is a form inherent to ‘history from below’.

    We can see from this how history from below led to a focus on historical minorities within social history, and Post-imperial history shows us one of the reasons why history from below affected social history in this way.

    Author / Publisher: Louis Lorenzo

    First Published: 05th of April 2017

    Last Modified: 05th of April 2017