Fundamental Fairness

9 September 2008

As far as our days in England have gone, today was pretty unexceptional. In terms of scheduled activities for the program, we had a class session this morning, and tonight, we enjoyed the company of Dickinson's Almuni Club in London at a pub called "The Old Star" on Broadway near St. James' Park. On a personal level, I rose late, went to class, went to Pizza Hut where I made a pig of myself, returned to the Hotel, passed out for two hours, worked on my group project with Dwight and Zack, went to the function with the Alumni Club, returned to the Arran House for a second time, and went to bed. In a nutshell, that was my day. However, if I may, I want to take this opportunity to pause and reflect over certain portions of today's class session, so please bear with me if things start getting nasty. I'm about to indulge in my harsher, more judgmental side.

(Nota Bene: For convenience's sake, I have separated them into sections; this will help to keep me focused on the task at hand, as well as give you a handle for what I'll be discussing.)

I. The devastation of London compared to that of urban centres in Russia and Germany

For a significant portion of class, we discussed the impact of the Blitz in shaping the identity and appearance of modern London. Throughout our three weeks or so here, it's continually intruded into the conversation; for instance, at the Ragged School Museum in East London, the curator mentioned how one could tell what areas were most damaged in German air raids based on whether the site was currently occupied by some modern monstrosity of concrete and steel. Examples of such areas include Cheapside, which is within a stone's throw of St. Paul's Cathedral; Barbican, and Miles End in East London. We also encountered it in our meeting with Mr. Hannigan when one of his associates mentioned how rapidly the populace returned to using the Underground after the terrorist attacks of 7. July 2005 and how this resilence was attributed to "the Blitz spirit." The references quite simply like dandelions; they sprout up everywhere, whether you're looking for them or you aren't.

In class today, however, Professor Qualls, whose historical specialty is Russia and Germany through the mid-twentieth century, described how the devastation suffered by the British, in relative terms, paled to that of cities and towns on the Continent. He noted that whereas roughly a quarter of the structures in London were levelled by enemy fire, on average eighty percent of cities on the Continent were flattened by bombs and heavy artillery fire. And whereas Londoners, such as author Elizabeth Bowen in her essay "London 1940" were faced with empty streets "glitter[ing] with smashed glass," (217) such cities as Leningrad, which was besieged by the Wehrmact for almost two-and-a-half years, suffered from starvation, disease, and continual assault by a determined and frequently ruthless enemy (see above). Notwithstanding the rhetoric of Winston Churchill and others, the miseries of Londoners never approached this level of desperation. There was rationing of tea, sugar, cloth, and other household goods, but no-one ever had to resort to boiling down furniture, so that the glue binding it together can be mixed into something to eat. Consequently, Professor Qualls contended that the horrors of the Blitz, while certainly awful as much as we esteem every human life to be worthy of preservation, have been exaggerated considerably in order to create a national myth, which helps to give the modern British identity form.

In response to this analysis of the significance of the Blitz, Professor Rudalevige suggested something that I wish we would have had time to investigate more thoroughly in class; namely, this idea that the sense of revulsion and horror was grounded, to some extent, in the people's pre-war expectations concerning what might befall them as civilians. On a somewhat universal level, the preponderance of the civilian populations in belligerent nations, including the inhabitants of London, were shocked to find that they were, for the first time in world history, targets for bombs, artillery shells, and other weapons of war. In the past, there had been civilian deaths, but with perhaps the exception of the religious wars in the Low Countries, France, and the Holy Roman Empire during the sixteen and seventeenth centuries, it had never before been official policy to target civilians for destruction. It simply wasn't done. But with the advent of the Second World War, both sides embraced the idea that since they had been forced into war through the aggression of their opponents, they were justified in resorting to any possible tactic that might bring about the war's successful conclusion. Put more directly, for the people of such British cities as Birmingham, Coventry, and London, the populace of Berlin, Munich, and Hamburg became expendable. The necessary price for victory.

More parochially, the people of the United Kingdom had been raised with the confidence that though the Empire might demand their participation in conflicts in Asia, Africa, and Europe, they would remain reasonably safe from any danger on their island. Wherever the tide of war might roll, it would not be able to malign Britain itself, which William Shakespeare in Richard II had famously declared to be a "fortress built by Nature for herself/Against infection and the hands of war, [...]" And if you had looked at the history of Britain till then, you wouldn't have much reason for skepticism about such confidence, such faith in their homeland's invulnerability. Besides the might of the Royal Navy, there was the simple fact that no-one since William the Conqueror in 1066 had conquered Britain. There had been moments since the eleventh century when it had appeared as if the unthinkable might occur, whether it was the Invincible Armada in 1588 or Napoleon Bonaparte and his Grand Armee in 1805, but some happy turn in fortune, such as the "Protestant Wind" which scattered the Spanish fleet after their defeat by the smaller English navy, or timely military victory like Nelson's triumph at Trafalgar prevented it from coming to pass. When the bombs began to affect whole stretches of London from Buckingham Palace to the docks in East London, they were thus horrified--not simply because the Germans were destroying their homes and businesses, but also because they were destroying the people of London's preconceptions about their role as civilians and their vulnerability to military attack.

II. Should the British return the items they collected during the heyday of their empire to their countries of origin?

Toward the end of class, Professor Rudalevige redirected the conversation from the Blitz to whether the British should, in light of the disappearance of their empire, return such valued antiquities as the Elgin Marbles or "Cleopatra's Needle" to their respective countries of origin. On this question, the class quickly divided into two camps consisting of those who thought they should and those who thought they didn't. I think it may not surprise anyone to read that I belonged to the latter party--not necessarily because I retain a certain nostalgia for the days when a quarter of the world's surface was under the control of the Union Jack, but because I believe that it's impossible for us to atone completely for our predecessors' sins. More on my position in a moment, but I want first to describe the former group's rationale for restoring timeless artifacts to their countries of origin.

I suppose when you cut things down to their core or heart, their argument is one of "fundamental fairness." Empire-building is wrong because everyone is equal and as such has the right to live their life as they choose, without the interference from some faraway foreign power. It simply doesn't sit well with people. Since it's nearly universally recognised that a criminal should not profit from his misconduct, neither should an imperial power benefit intellectually by plundering its colonies of timeless artifacts that are crucial to the proper understanding of their history and development. As one of the people in class exclaimed pretty bluntly, "It's just not fair!"

My response to such arguments, which I will admit are logical on their face, is three-fold. First, I would remind everyone that life isn't fair. We can see this whenever we see a boy easily outpace his classmates in a foot-race across the playground, listen to speech delivered by a gifted orator, or read a beautiful book of poems. If life was indeed "fair," if each of us were truly "equal" to one another, then each of us should have an equal part of these good things; we would all be of equal ability, whether it is intellectual, physical, or even spiritual. However, that's simply not true--and God be praised for that fact, because it means that we have the opportunity to live in a world filled with all manners and types of people. There are some who can paint well, some whose voices remind one of the angels in Heaven, some who are capable of prolonged physical exertion, some who have the ability to communicate their thoughts clearly through the written word. We don't all break the tape at the same time, and that's perfectly all right.

Second, in condemning the accumulation of antiquities by the British purely on the grounds that it is "unfair," those who think the British should return such goods realistically foreclose any possibility of additional dialogue. To say that it isn't fair for the British to continue to have the Elgin Marbles in their possession is not an argument or even a premise in an argument; it is an assertion, which can never be categorically denied or proven. If it does accomplish anything, I would say that it prejudices the conversation in the favour of the one who makes it, because while in our more sober moments most of us will admit that life isn't fair, we all believe that "fairness" and "equality" are values to which we should aspire, because we all agree, I think, that it is wrong for one person to say he is better than his neighbor simply based on the fact that he's the slower man in a sprint.

Finally, I would say--and I did, in fact, say in class--that it's problematic to demand the British return the sundry antiquities they acquired during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries because of the prolonged periods of time that such goods have been in their possession; the British have incorporated themselves into the narrative behind the Elgin Marbles or Cleopatra's Needle or the Japanese armour in the Victoria and Albert Museum, perhaps as much as the people who were responsible for their creation. As Ben mentioned in class, Americans would not agree if France abruptly demanded that we return the Statue of Liberty because while the French were responsible for its construction, the Statue has become a critical component of the story of America. And certainly, on a related note, we need to consider whether it's right of us to require the contemporary generation of British men and women to surrender something that has become part of their cultural landscape simply because their ancestors stole it a few decades ago. After all, it used to be a principle in inheritance law across Europe that after the third generation, the rights of an usurper's descendants equaled and even possibly surpassed those of the original proprietors. If we must pursue a policy of fairness at all costs, I don't think it's terribly fair of us perhaps to punish the children--or should I say the great-grandchildren?--for the trespasses of their ancestors.

***

I could go on, but I won't since I realise (a) that these aren't necessarily popular viewpoints for me to express and (b) that this is very dry, very academic, and probably very boring to the majority of you. I will close, therefore, by saying that as classroom discussions go, this was certainly the best I have had since I arrived in England. I was frustrated at times, admittedly; when some said that it simply wasn't fair that the British had taken antiquities from countries across the world, I wanted to resort to physical violence out of unalloyed disgust. But I guess that the perfect discussion is somewhat akin to the perfect church or the perfect family. If there is ever a discussion that qualifies, I should probably not participate because I'll ruin it.