I’m ashamed to say that, until now, I have never once thought of the women who embroidered the Bayeux Tapestry: who they were, what their lives were like, or how it simply would not exist without their skill and creativity. We might, perhaps, never know much about their stories, but there are other women from the Middle Ages we can learn about and bring into the foreground. Indeed, in her book Femina: A New History of the Middle Ages through the Women Written Out of It (WH Allen), Oxford lecturer Janina Ramirez shifts the focus on the Middle Ages, adjusting the frame to the female, rather than male, characters.

Hildegard, for instance, was a 12th-century nun from Rhineland who wrote theological works, two scientific treatises, and the first morality play; she also composed music and even invented her own language. Margery Kempe, from late 14th-century Bishop’s Lynn (now King’s Lynn), was an ordinary married woman, and mother to at least 14 children, who wrote what is believed to be the first English autobiography.

Women talk about things we do not often hear about when we think of the Middle Ages: the fear and pain of childbirth, not desiring their husbands, and herbal remedies for abortion. A handful left written records, and we must try and piece together their lives from fragments of evidence. One of the many fascinating elements of Ramirez’s excellent book is the way in which modern technology is allowing us to reassess the past. A Viking grave at Birka in Sweden, where there had been a settlement from 750 to 950 AD, has recently revealed new secrets thanks to research at Stockholm University.

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One burial included an axe, a quiver of arrows, spears and a sword, as well as gaming pieces, which were used to allow social bonding and encourage diplomacy. For two centuries, archaeologists assumed the bones to be male because of the “masculine” objects. Yet the new research disputed that. Across every sample, the pattern was the same: two X chromosomes. This was a female skeleton. The discovery raised the possibility, which has since been much debated, that this could have been an early Viking female warrior.

Thousands of Viking graves have been dug up in the past 200 years, and labelled male or female depending on the objects found alongside the bones. But because of the Birka find, historians are returning to the evidence. More bones are being analysed, and a more nuanced discussion about the role of Viking women is starting to evolve.New technology has also shaped our understanding of medieval London. During the mid-1980s, 20,000 square metres of burial was uncovered in a site near the Tower of London. It was the first established Black Death cemetery, from which the bones of 634 people were excavated. Nearly 40 years later, Dr Rebecca Redfern from the Museum of London and Dr Joseph Hefner from Michigan State University examined the bones of 41 of the people using an array of methods, including forensic analysis, facial measurements, ancient DNA genome sequencing and stable isotype analysis – the last of which measures the chemicals laid down over time in teeth and bones.

Of the 41 people, 19 were female, and three of these women were of African descent. The skeleton of one of the women of African descent was searched for clues about her life. She was aged between 36 and 45, had osteoarthritis in her spine, and rotator cuff disease to her left shoulder. As Dr Redfern explains, “both conditions could have been caused by manual repetitive labour… it provides an insight into her lived experience, suggesting that her life, like many other women in the period, involved much manual labour.”

There are, however, still gaps in our knowledge. As Ramirez puts it, “whether she was enslaved or free, impoverished or wealthy is impossible to determine from the bones alone”. We are not sure how this woman ended up in London – but what we do know is that, thanks to the latest technology, evidence shows that women of African descent were part of the make-up of medieval London.

Recent finds like these are making us re-evaluate the Middle Ages, ask questions, reassess the evidence that exists, and write back into the story people who have so often been overlooked.

This article was first published in the August 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

In 2021, when my daughter was studying the First World War in her final year of primary school, every week I asked her if she had learned about the contribution of soldiers from the British empire. The answer was always no – though she did have two lessons on animals that died in the conflict, including thousands of camels on the fronts in the Middle East and Africa. At that point, I asked her teacher when they would be talking about the role of soldiers from the colonies.

There were no plans to do so, he replied. In fact, there was just one more lesson left: an overview of the term’s work. But he said he would make time to talk about it.

When my daughter came home after that class, she was eager to tell me that more than a million Indian soldiers fought in the war. Her teacher also said that in future he would include a separate lesson on the role of Indian soldiers. It was great news, of course – but I wished that I hadn’t had to ask.

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Our collective memory of the First World War is slowly changing, particularly since the centenary of the armistice. Crucially, whereas Dominion accounts previously focused on the stories of people from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa, we now increasingly remember the contribution of Indian soldiers.

South Asian diasporic families don’t always know about their own links to the First World War. The main recruiting ground was the Punjab region, to which many British south Asians have connections. In the past few months, families with Punjabi heritage have been able to search some of the archives of the Lahore Museum, thanks to a groundbreaking collaboration between the UK Punjab Heritage Association and the University of Greenwich, which is digitising thousands of files.These contain village-by-village data on the war service of recruits, as well as information on family background, rank and regiment. Diasporic Punjabis have already made connections: the Labour MP Tanmanjeet Dhesi, for instance, found files revealing that his great-grandfather had served in Iraq and was wounded in action, losing a leg.

Commemoration of the war takes many forms, including school teaching, memorial services and physical tributes. The West Midlands town of Smethwick features a statue representing the Indian soldiers who fought in the conflict, of which there were more than 1.3 million. And last year, plans were announced for a statue of Hardit Singh Malik in Southampton. The first Indian to fly as a pilot with the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) – precursor to the RAF – Malik became known as the “Flying Sikh”, wearing a specially designed helmet that fitted over his turban. Malik joined 28 Squadron under the Canadian major Billy Barker, and in 1916 these men and two other volunteers were surrounded by enemy planes. Malik was hit in the leg before shooting down the pilot who had shot him. Pursued by three German aircraft, his plane was hit by some 400 bullets. “It was the greatest luck,” he wrote, 65 years later. “I thought I was going to be killed.” Two bullets remained in his leg for the rest of his life.

Stephen Barker’s The Flying Sikh, published in May, explores Malik’s remarkable tale. The book argues that his story is, in many ways, atypical of the Indian experience of the war: though born in India, Malik enlisted in Britain while studying at the University of Oxford. Yet Barker contends that Malik remains an important symbol of both the Indian war contribution and the complex relationship between India and its colonial ruler. “Malik maintained his integrity as a proud Indian,” the author told me. “He put up with discriminatory practices, and cheered on moves for home rule as well as serving in the RFC.”

Stories of the contributions of Indian soldiers are now rightly gaining greater prominence in our collective memory. Hopefully no other parent will need to ask when their children will learn of the more than 1.3 million Indian men who fought in the First World War.

This article was first published in the July 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

On 13 March 1996, Thomas Hamilton walked into a primary school in Dunblane, Scotland and opened fire on the children and their teachers. In the aftermath of that awful tragedy, the British government prohibited the right to own a handgun in the UK, confiscating those in private hands.

Last month, another mass shooting shocked us, this time in a Texas school taking the lives of more innocent victims. And while there have been calls for more control of firearms, there will be no such prohibition. Indeed, the numbers of guns and gun owners in the past three years has hit new heights. The question arises, why do Americans continue to have so many personal guns despite instances of mindless violence? The short answer is: self-defence.

The right to be armed

The American right to be armed is a legacy of the article in the English Bill of Rights of 1689, which was passed to assure English subjects their rights would be protected when William and Mary ascended the throne. That document included the right of Protestants subjects to “have Armes for their defence Suitable to their condition and as allowed by Law.” While the English right was broadened by the 19th century to include all subjects regardless of their religion or class, it was not entrenched, and in the years after the First World War it was whittled away despite little gun crime. Now, carrying any item for self-defence is illegal in Britain on the theory that society will protect you. But of course, it can’t, and the trade-off is the belief that public safety demands that sacrifice.

The American right to be armed is entrenched in the American Constitution’s Bill of Rights of 1791. Its guarantee has also been whittled down, but not abolished. There were restrictions on ownership of firearms by black people in the south before and even after the Civil War, and restrictions in the north in the early 20th century, from fears of the immigrants pouring in from southern and eastern Europe. But Americans believed, as the Second Amendment stated, that it was the right of the people to be armed.

In the 1970s there was a vigorous debate over whether the Second Amendment protected an individual right to be armed or merely a collective right for members of a state militia to have firearms. The Supreme Court finally took up the issue in two landmark cases, District of Columbia v Heller in 2008 and McDonald v City of Chicago in 2010. Both Washington DC and Chicago had banned residents from having a handgun in their homes. The Supreme Court ruled that the amendment protected the right of individuals to keep and bear those arms in common use for self-defence and other lawful purposes, a right “fundamental to our scheme of ordered liberty and system of justice.” This understanding binds all the cities and states of the nation.

Nevertheless, there were, and remain, thousands of state and federal gun regulations. Before anyone can purchase a gun, they must pass an FBI instant background check. There are numerous laws and yet there is violence.

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While the federal government and some states have attempted to limit gun ownership, most states have regarded armed citizens as a help by protecting themselves and keeping the peace. Beginning in 1994 with three states, as additional state legislatures took up the issue of permitting all law-abiding citizens who owned guns to carry them, there were fears that more guns in public hands would result in more shootings. That did not happen. There are now 44 states that must permit law-abiding residents who have a gun and complete certain basic requirements to carry it concealed for their defence.

You can drive from Florida diagonally across the United States to Washington State without crossing any of the few states that demand you can only carry a gun if the police agree you have a special need that day. Living in a dangerous area won’t do. A case now before the Supreme Court deals with whether that test of a good reason to carry a gun is constitutional.

Violence and lawlessness

Why is the right to be armed such an emotional one for Americans? No police force can protect everyone, or even any one, all of the time. Furthermore, the past three years have seen a perfect storm of violence and lawlessness. First the Covid-19 pandemic resulted in the release of many convicted offenders so they would not catch the disease. Then protests against police over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May 2020 morphed into rioting in cities across the country. Few rioters were apprehended. In 2021, some 73 police officers were intentionally killed – the highest number since the 9/11 terrorist attack of 2001. There were demands to defund the police. As a result, the numbers of police have declined, with many retiring and fewer recruits joining.

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Not surprisingly, violent crime rates in major cities soared. From 2019 to 2020, rates were up 29.4 per cent nationwide, the largest annual increase since the FBI began tracking in the 1960s. There were 44 per cent more murders in some 22 cities in 2020 than in 2019.

Gun purchases often increased in the past when new firearms restrictions were threatened. The ban on so-called “assault weapons” – a vague label applied to a wide range of common guns – and “red-flag laws” preventing someone highlighted as dangerous from owning a weapon, passed in many states and cities in 2019. This drove the highest volume of would-be purchasers in the background check’s 20-year history. The record number of gun applications was surpassed within the first five months of 2020 and again in the first six months of 2021, as Americans concluded they had to protect themselves and their families. In 2021, an estimated 18.5 million guns were sold – some 5 million to first-time gun buyers.

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Do more guns produce more crimes, or do guns in the hands of lawful citizens reduce crime? Numbers of gun owners have increased after the high point of homicides in 1991, but the US murder rate dropped over the decades by more than half. In 1991, for example, there were 9.8 murders per 100,000 population. In 2009, there were five murders per 100,000. That has been the trend until the past three years. In the estimated over one million instances of self-defence annually, a gun merely needs to be brandished to deter an attacker.

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The great 18th-century British jurist William Blackstone, in his classic work, Commentaries on the Laws of England, a best-seller on both sides of the Atlantic, put the issue succinctly: “The right of English subjects to have arms was for ‘self-preservation and defence when the sanctions of society and laws are found insufficient to restrain the violence of oppression’”. Blackstone added that Common law:
Considers that the future process of law is by no means an adequate remedy for injuries accompanied with force; since it is impossible to say, to what wanton lengths of rapine or cruelty outrages of this sort might be carried, unless it were permitted a man immediately to oppose one violence with another. Self-defence, therefore, as it is justly called the primary law of nature, so it is not, neither can it be in fact, taken away by the law of society.

Americans still hold to that understanding.

Professor Emerita Joyce Lee Malcolm is a historian and constitutional scholar who specialises in constitutional history, with a particular focus on the development of individual rights in Great Britain and America. She has written many books and articles on gun control, the Second Amendment, and individual rights. Professor Malcolm has been published in The Wall Street Journal, The Financial Times, USA Today, The Boston Globe and other newspapers

The war in Ukraine has turned very dark in ways few of us expected. Credible reports are pouring in of abuse of civilians, including torture, rape, looting, and executions (which Russia denies). Unlike many recent hostilities, the Russian invasion of Ukraine has been accompanied by Vladimir Putin’s official declaration of war, phrased in the language of a “special military operation”, but warlike in every aspect.

The international response has included a call from leading jurists, policymakers, and intellectuals to create a special tribunal to hold top figures in the Putin regime accountable for their crimes of aggression. However, even before the atrocities uncovered in Bucha and elsewhere, Karim Khan, chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court (ICC), had opened a wide-ranging war crimes investigation. This was in response to a referral by 39 countries, including the United Kingdom. This will be the first time that such a judicial process has opened while the conflict concerned is still in progress.

The ICC, an international body permanently established in The Hague, Netherlands, was established in 1998 and began sittings in 2002. It replaced the ad hoc courts which tried the Second World War aggressors at Nuremberg and Tokyo, and more recent trials against the perpetrators of abuse in Rwanda and Bosnia. In recent years, a total of 46 people have been indicted by the ICC, including individuals from Uganda, Sudan, Kenya, Libya, Ivory Coast, and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

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How is genocide proven in court?

Among the most difficult of charges to prove is ‘genocide’, which has two meanings. One, used by President Zelensky of Ukraine and multiple public figures, is a colloquial description of what is happening in Ukraine today. Politicians and writers have been stumbling over themselves to describe the many violent events in civilian areas of Ukraine as genocide.

However, there is also a precise legal definition, which requires proof of the kind that takes years to assemble and test in a court. Dr Iva Vukusic of Utrecht University, an expert on the warring militias of the former Yugoslavia, has observed: “The key thing that sets genocide apart from other international crimes is an intent to destroy, in whole or in part, one of four sectors of a population, whether national, ethnic, racial or religious groups.”

The testimony of the victims is not sufficient. A paper trail, voice recordings or similar, are needed to prove that there is a premeditated intention to exterminate a particular group within the wider population. It is “one of the international crimes that has the highest intent threshold,” according to Yasmine Ahmed, UK director of the charity Human Rights Watch (HRW). That is why it is so hard to prove.

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The architect of the term, codified as an international crime by the General Assembly of the United Nations in 1948, was Raphael Lemkin (1900–59). He devised the word from genos (Greek: γένος génos, ‘family, clan, tribe, race, stock, kin’) and -cide (Latin: -cīdium, ‘killing’). A polyglot who spoke nine languages, Lemkin was born in what is now modern Belarus and studied at Lviv (then called Lwów) and Heidelberg universities, specialising in international law and foreign languages respectively. Significantly, a posthumous paper of his – Soviet genocide in Ukraine, published posthumously in 2014 – was banned by the Russian Federation as an “extremist publication” the following year.

Another student of the international law faculty at Lwów (then called Lemberg, as part of Austria-Hungary), was Hersch Lauterpacht (1897–1960). It was he who inserted the indictment of “crimes against humanity” – murderous acts by a state against individuals, often its own citizens – into the 1945–46 Nuremberg trials. He helped draft many of the speeches of Sir Hartley Shawcross, the chief British prosecutor. These relate to events both in war and peacetime that, as part of a widespread systematic policy by a state, cause large-scale human suffering or death to a civilian population. Unlike war crimes, which can be committed by individuals, crimes against humanity are generally committed by a national organisation, like an army or a police force.

How are war crimes defined?

A third category of indictments that might be applied to Russian activities in Ukraine are ‘war crimes’. These are activities committed specifically against the series of international treaties and declarations that govern the way war is fought. They were adopted at international peace conferences in 1899, 1907, and 1954, held at the Hague, and became known as the Hague Conventions. They relate solely to acts committed by individuals in war and cover a range of atrocities, including killing civilians or prisoners of war, unnecessarily destroying civilian property, and sexual violence. The 1954 convention relates to the protection of cultural property in armed conflict.

War crimes are perhaps the easiest to define, as they run counter to the Hague Conventions just described. Such crimes also contravene the four Conventions and three additional Protocols which complement them, ratified at Geneva at different times, known collectively as the Law of Armed Conflict.

The first Geneva Convention was initiated in 1864 by what is now the International Committee for the Red Cross and Red Crescent (ICRC) and today they provide minimum standards of humane treatment and protection to war’s victims. They cover civilians, prisoners of war (POWs), and soldiers who are wounded or otherwise incapable of fighting. Although being charged with either of the above categories, international lawyers observe a sense that the headline-grabbing charge of genocide is ‘the crime of crimes’, though not set in any law as such.

Thus, when President Zelensky accuses Russia of committing a genocide in his country, he might technically be referring to war crimes, and even crimes against humanity, which nevertheless fall short of legal genocide. This is why, when British prime minister Boris Johnson recently stated that the events in Bucha “do not look far short of genocide,” a Downing Street spokesperson then clarified that “the determination of genocide should rightly be made by a competent court, rather than by the UK government”.

And although initially cautious, US President Joe Biden on 12 April accused Russian forces of committing acts of genocide in Ukraine. He told journalists: “Yes, I called it genocide because it’s become clearer and clearer that Putin is just trying to wipe out the idea of even being Ukrainian.”

When it comes to bringing individuals to trial, with all the difficulties that might ensue in finding and removing someone from the Russian Federation, it is worth remembering that individuals can be tried in absentia. This means they are physically absent during the proceedings. International jurists generally recognise such a situation if the accused is aware of the trial, is in hiding abroad, or if an attorney is assigned to represent them.

Martin Bormann, a Nazi official and Hitler’s private secretary, was tried in absentia and convicted of war crimes and crimes against humanity at the Nuremberg trial of 1946. Changes of government and political will were also responsible for bringing the former Serbian president, Slobodan Milošević (who died during his trial); Bosnian Serb Army chief, General Ratko Mladić; and leader of the Bosnian Serbs, Radovan Karadžić, before the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY). When their crimes were committed, there seemed little likelihood of them ever being brought to justice. Eventually, of 161 indicted individuals from that war, 91 were sentenced.

Another option is internal investigations by the Ukrainian national judiciary, who at the time of writing have opened cases on 4,820 incidents of alleged war crimes by Russian forces in the country. By tradition, states have no authority to prosecute sitting heads of state, whereas the ICC can. This is why, even if the possibility seems remote at present, there is no reason to think that the Russian politicians and military figures behind the awful events unfolding on a daily basis will not, one day, be brought to justice.

Peter Caddick-Adams is a writer and broadcaster who specialises in military history, defence and security issues. He lectures at universities, military academies and staff colleges around the world and spent 35 years as an officer in the UK Regular and Reserve Forces. His next book, 1945: Victory in the West, is due to be published by Penguin in May 2022

The world has been agog at the number of Russian generals killed in Ukraine over the last few weeks. This appears to be the tip of the iceberg, for “at least 15 senior Russian commanders have been killed in the field,” according to Markiyan Lubkivsky, a spokesperson for the Ukraine Ministry of Defence. The total was later amended to 16, including five named colonels and four lieutenant colonels.

By 27 March 2022, Ukrainian officials said the total number of Russian generals lost in battle was confirmed at seven. Russia has not confirmed this, and the tally has not been independently verified. But the seven Russian generals believed to have been killed include three army commanders: Andrey Kolesnikov, of the 29th Combined Arms Army, killed on 11 March; Andrey Mordvichev, leading the 8th Army, who died in a Ukrainian raid on his command post at Kherson airfield; and Yakov Rezantsev, general of Russia’s 49th Combined Arms Army, killed in another airfield strike, apparently on 25 March.

In addition, four other generals are reported killed, according to western sources. On 26 February, Magomed Tushaev, a Chechen major general in Russia’s National Guard (Rosgvardia), died when a column of 56 tanks was attacked near Hostomel (although it should be noted that some Chechen sources dispute his death). Around 1 March, Andrey Sukhovetsky, deputy commander of Russia’s 41st Combined Arms Army, was shot by a sniper. The first week in March saw the death of Vitaly Gerasimov, chief of staff of the 41st Combined Arms Army, outside Kharkiv; while on 15 March, Oleg Mityaev, of the 150th Motor Rifle Division, died as his men stormed the Ukrainian coastal city of Mariupol. There is evidence that some of these generals were targeted by Ukrainian Special Forces, using sophisticated eavesdropping devices.

We do not know how many Russian generals are leading troops in Ukraine, but best estimates are that up to 10 Russian armies, each led by a general, supported by a deputy commander and chief of staff, both of whom are also generals, are involved, giving a total of perhaps 30 officers of general rank. At least 12 divisions, led by major generals, have been identified. This suggests a minimum of 42 generals, possibly closer to 50, are directing combat formations in Ukraine. Below them, numerous brigades and now around 100 Battalion Tactical Groups (BTGs), commanded by colonels and lieutenant colonels respectively, have been involved. Based on these figures, up to 17 per cent of 42 Russian generals may have been killed.

Are these significant losses in themselves, or are senior officer casualties routine in intense combat of the kind we see in Ukraine?

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Generals killed in WW2

The western experience of losing generals during the Second World War was low, for the size of armies involved. America lost four lieutenant generals and nine major-generals during the war, but nine of these were due to accidents, mostly aeroplane crashes. The British and Commonwealth forces lost a similar number – 16 lieutenant and major generals, of whom eight were killed in accidents, again mostly aircraft crashes. In addition, 20 American brigadier-generals and 24 British and Commonwealth brigadiers also died on active service, a striking proportion in accidents.

These casualties were sustained while commanding far larger numbers of troops, and spread out over several years of war. Fatal aircraft crashes, which also claimed the lives of Admiral Sir Bertram Ramsay, who oversaw D-Day; Battle of Britain commander Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory; and the brother of George VI, Air Commodore HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent, reflect the fact that aircraft were far more primitive and senior figures had to fly frequently over huge distances to command the vast forces at their disposal.

In summary, based on what we know, Russian general casualties in Ukraine today are significantly higher – whether seen as a proportion of all Russian generals or as a percentage of the 200,000-strong army they command – than the Allied commitment in 1939–45.

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In 1998, author Aleksander Maslov listed 235 Soviet generals killed in combat in his Fallen Soviet Generals, with more than 200 more dying in other ways. They commanded a force that rose from 4.8 million in 1941 to mobilising 29.5 million men and women into the armed services during the course of the war.

An equally staggering total of 136 German generals were killed in action or died of wounds during the Second World War. A further 30 died in accidents; 64 took their own lives; and 20 were executed by the Nazis. Both these totals more closely reflect the current Russian model of anxiety to please senior commanders by moving as close to the front as possible – and, in the fatal cases, too close.

It was also a German tradition of senior commanders being generally closer to the front, perhaps reflecting poorer communications, but with battlefield knowledge of when to commit reserves. Overall, a striking number of German officers were awarded medals for bravery, rather than command. However, given the size of the German armed forces, which included 315 infantry divisions, each commanded by a general, where a total of 13.6 million volunteers and conscripts passed through its ranks, today’s Russian losses of its leaders are far, far higher by any metric.

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How many generals were killed in WW1?

The conflict where we know most about general officer casualties is the First World War of 1914–18. According to the pioneering work in 1995 of Frank Davies and Graham Maddocks in Bloody Red Tabs, some 232 British and Commonwealth generals, including brigadier generals, became casualties, of whom 78 were killed or died as a result of active service. However, as the duo helpfully identified a total of 1,257 senior commanders who served in the same period [a research project at the University of Birmingham supported their conclusions], this equates to a casualty rate of 18.5 per cent over 51 months of fighting. This is remarkably close to my estimate of Russian general casualties in Ukraine today.

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This staggering statistic means that British generals in the First World War were almost as likely to be killed or wounded as private soldiers. As we do not know how many Russian commanders are involved in Ukraine today, it is impossible to know the same figure, but with a force of 200,000, it cannot be far different.

None will compare with the misfortune of US General John Sedgewick in the American Civil War, at the battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse in May 1864. Admonishing a Union soldier for hugging the ground under fire, the general touched him gently with his foot, and said, “Why, my man, I am ashamed of you, dodging that way… They couldn’t hit an elephant at this distance.” Whereupon Sedgewick was immediately felled by a fatal shot.

Peter Caddick-Adams is a writer and broadcaster who specialises in military history, defence and security issues. He lectures at universities, military academies and staff colleges around the world and spent 35 years as an officer in the UK Regular and Reserve Forces. His next book, 1945: Victory in the West, is due to be published by Penguin in May 2022

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Ukraine’s president Volodymyr Zelensky has said his government is prepared to consider adopting a neutral status as part of a peace deal with Russia. But what would neutrality mean for Ukraine, and which other countries in history have adopted a neutral status? Peter Caddick-Adams investigates…

The world looks on in horror as the war between Ukraine and Russia continues. Each day takes fresh lives, often of the innocent, unable to defend themselves as their homes are ground to dust. Russia is resorting to destroying infrastructure – schools, hospitals, maternity centres, factories, shopping centres, power stations, television masts – as a way of putting pressure on Kyiv to capitulate. The refugees themselves, their humanitarian aid corridors and online information, have all been ‘weaponised’ to become instruments of terror by the Kremlin. This explains the relentless attrition of all these sectors and people. Moscow’s message is clear: ‘Do as we say, or we’ll make the suffering even worse’. Russian Federation aggression is also directed at the wider world, demanding that it refrain from intervention, and applies further pressure on President Zelensky to cave in.

Zelensky, the actor-turned-president who is playing the role of his life, is a clever man. He has courted and won the hearts of much of the planet but has also put out peace ‘feelers’. One card he has placed on the table is to end Ukraine’s attempts to join Nato (the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation) and promise not to seek membership in the future. Instead, he has focused on the greater prize for Kyiv of membership of the 27-nation European Union, which would confer some security benefits but mostly economic ones.

Ukraine and the EU

On 28 February 2022, Zelensky formally filed for membership of the EU, and on 11 March, after five hours of heated debate, the EU Council voted overwhelmingly to approve the country’s “euro-integration”. It will take years for the future Ukraine, however it looks, to restructure its banks, trade, taxes, and economy, free from corruption and influence of oligarchs, to meet EU needs, for full membership to be approved. However, the process of binding Ukraine closer to the European community, and away from the clutches of Russia, has begun.

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By being a future member of the EU but not of Nato, Ukraine would join countries such as Cyprus, Austria, Finland, Ireland, Malta, and Sweden. The island of Cyprus is divided between the Greek-supported Republic of Cyprus and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, supported by Turkey. That Cyprus remains two separate entities, each belonging to a different Nato ally (Greece and Turkey), complicates its future admission to the North Atlantic alliance. Meanwhile, Austria, Finland, Ireland, Malta, and Sweden regard themselves as neutral in different ways. As Ukraine’s future trajectory, excepting interference from Russia, seems similar, it is worth examining what neutrality would mean for President Zelensky’s country, and whether it is workable.

What does neutrality mean?

Neutrality means a country does not ally itself militarily with others.

Austria’s neutrality was agreed by the four post-Second World War occupying powers (the Soviet Union, United States, Britain, and France) when they left the country in 1955, as well as by Austria itself. The state is prevented from entry into military alliances or allowing foreign military bases on Austrian territory. Austria maintains national conscription, but as a result of this five-way treaty it spends little on defence and fields only a tiny army. The non-alliance demands came from the Soviet Union, who modelled the Austrian example on neighbouring Switzerland, perhaps the best-known example of a neutral country.

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The Swiss were first considered neutral at the end of the bitter Thirty Years’ War in 1648, reconfirmed at the Congress of Vienna in 1815, when Switzerland’s neutrality was guaranteed by the major powers of the era – Austria, France, Great Britain, Prussia, and Russia. Swiss neutrality comes at a high price, with conscription, active training, constant procurement of up-to-date equipment and a budget of around 1 per cent of GDP, although the nation spent double that during the Cold War.

Sweden is the other European country with a long tradition of neutrality. This arose from a military policy of non-alignment in the first half of the 19th century, then formally proclaimed in 1834. Sweden had long been a strong military power in the Baltic, and, like Switzerland, has created the concept of ‘armed neutrality’ to protect its status. Since 1940, Sweden’s security has been dependent on the status of neighbouring Finland, and indirectly on the policy of the Soviet Union and latterly Russia, towards Finland.

Of all the wars fought in the past hundred years, that of Ukraine, still in play, seems closest to the 103-day contest between the Soviet Union and Finland. Known as the First Soviet-Finnish War, or the Winter War, it waged from November 1939 to March 1940. Vastly outnumbering their opponents, around one million Soviet troops launched an unprovoked land grab against Finland from several directions. With little happening in western Europe between France and Germany at that moment, newspapers then, as now, made great play of the plucky smaller army skilfully and effectively defending its homeland.

Logistical difficulties, poorly equipped Soviet conscripts, as well as Finnish bravery and their maximisation of the use of snipers, caused massive Red Army casualties. However, in February 1940, large-scale artillery bombardments breached the Mannerheim Line, Finland’s southern defensive barrier, and the Soviets broke through. Unable to gain British or French support, Helsinki made peace on 12 March 1940, losing a slice of territory.

• Read more: What is a Molotov cocktail?

Finland later, understandably, took the field alongside Nazi Germany against the Soviet Union, and later concluded an Armistice in 1944, which morphed into the Soviet-Finn Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance of 1948. This treaty forbids either side to join a military alliance against the other – Finland cannot not allow its territory to be used for an attack on Russia but is allowed to preserve its neutrality by aggressive defence. Unlike Switzerland, Finland’s neutrality is not protected by international guarantees, but, like Austria, is a case of enforced neutrality, again by Russia and its predecessors.

• Read more | Why did Britain and France not declare war on the Soviet Union when the Red Army marched on Poland in September 1939?

The Budapest Memorandum

The present Russia-Ukraine conflict finds its roots in the Budapest Memorandum signed in Hungary on 5 December 1994. In it, the Russian Federation, the United Kingdom, and the United States gave assurances not to threaten military force or economic coercion against Ukraine, Belarus, and Kazakhstan, in return for those states giving up their nuclear weapons in the chaotic aftermath of the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

The focus was not the protection of Ukraine, but the removal of nuclear warheads from the anarchy of the post-Soviet world, where it was feared they might fall into criminal hands. However, the ‘assurances’ were not the same as internationally recognised ‘guarantees’ – a difference of interpretation which led the western powers not to challenge Russian encroachments into Ukraine until too late.

Today, Ukrainian officials insist that security guarantees will need to be much more specific than the 1994 Budapest Memorandum. Ukraine will want to know the precise terms under which countries are prepared to come to its defence in the event of further Russian aggression, writes BBC News diplomatic correspondent Paul Adams.

• Read more | How have nuclear weapons shaped global politics? 10 key moments in the post-war atomic world

What would neutral status mean for Ukraine?

Any future neutrality of Ukraine would probably have to rely on an international agreement, such as that which created Swiss or Austrian neutrality, plus aggressive self-defence, as practiced by Sweden and Finland.

Outside of Nato, Sweden has just announced a rise in its defence spending from 1.3 per cent of GDP to 2 per cent “as soon as is practically possible”. After a men-only military draft was ended in 2010, mandatory military service was reintroduced from 1 January 2018, with the numbers in uniform set to rise again.

The same is true of Sweden’s neighbour, Finland, which has always leant heavily on national service, and where military expenditure has always been significant. Architects will show you the air raid shelters which are mandatory in public buildings of a certain size, which double as sports facilities. However, both Sweden and Finland are now re-evaluating their attitude towards joining Nato, with public opinion in both countries firmly in favour.

The February 2022 Russian aggression in Ukraine has triggered a European arms race of a kind not seen since 1914. However, as nations like the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium found to their cost in the 20th century, declaring neutrality and it being respected are two different matters. Nazi Germany stormed into all three in 1940. Thus, it will not be enough for Ukraine simply to announce neutrality.

• Read more | Why has Russia always refused to let Ukraine go?

Although Kyiv reintroduced selective conscription in 2014, the year Russia annexed Crimea and attacked the Donbas region, its future reach will have to be wider and its training and equipment thorough and meaningful, in the manner of the Swedes and the Finns. From Europe’s experience elsewhere, a minimum peacetime defence expenditure of 1.5 to 2 per cent of GDP will be required. However, President Zelensky will also be looking for international guarantees, with stronger teeth than those of the failed assurances given in Budapest in 1994.

The world has entered a new era, and it is unlikely that Ukraine will be left out in the cold again.

Peter Caddick-Adams is a writer and broadcaster who specialises in military history, defence and security issues. He lectures at universities, military academies and staff colleges around the world and spent 35 years as an officer in the UK Regular and Reserve Forces. His next book, 1945: Victory in the West, is due to be published by Penguin in May 2022

• Read next| War crimes history: will Russia be brought to justice?

Spread over 25 acres on a hill overlooking the Dnieper River near the heart of Kyiv in Ukraine is the Museum of the Great Patriotic War. It tells the story of the Soviet Union’s struggle with Nazi Germany. Among the quiet halls, stuffed full of weapons, clothing, equipment, artwork, models, and propaganda, are tanks and guns. Lots of them. And anti-tank obstacles called ‘hedgehogs’. These are lengths of angle-iron, welded or bolted together, which the Germans also put on the Normandy beaches to halt the Allies in 1944.

In a bizarre exodus, these Ukrainian hedgehogs have been recalled to duty. Migrating out of their museum and onto the streets of Kyiv, complete with plaques, identifying them as museum exhibits, they have been recycled to do the job for which they were first designed in 1941. All through Ukraine, citizens are digging trenches and filling sandbags, in another mirror to the 1940s. Although the attackers are now the Russians, and some of the defenders’ anti-tank missiles attacking them will be German-made, there are many echoes of history in this bitter war that none thought would ever happen.

This is a conflict whose very parameters have been set by history. Vladimir Putin has attempted to justify his invasion with references to a “fascist coup” in Kyiv. It is a throwback phrase to the Great Patriotic War (as the Second World War is often called in Russia), but meaningless in the current context. The Russian leader has also alleged “genocide” being practiced on ethnic Russians and Russian-speaking citizens, but this is also untrue. The term is defined as the ‘systematic and widespread extermination or attempted extermination of a national, racial, religious, or ethnic group’. If anything, people in the the breakaway Luhansk and Donetsk provinces which comprise the Donbas region had been conducting their own intimidation of non-Russians. If the language of the Russia-Ukraine war harks back to the 1940s, then so do some of the weapons.

• Read next| War crimes history: will Russia be brought to justice?

Recent footage of the pro-Russian militias in the Donbas region reveals that their rifles and anti-tank weapons also date to the 1940s. Almost like historical re-enactors, they are marching into battle with PTRD 1941-era anti-tank rifles and 7.62mm Mosin muskets produced in their tens of millions for Joseph Stalin’s lions. Some of Ukraine’s mobilised citizen defenders have brought out trophy pistols of the Second World War taken by their grandparents, though none would have expected to fire them in anger against a Russian.

• Read more | Russia-Ukraine crisis: 9 milestone moments in history that explain today’s invasion

The Winter War

It was during the Winter War of 1939–40, when plucky little Finland stood up to the might of the Soviet Union, that the Finns prepared a nasty surprise for their attackers. They made millions of petrol bombs and named them after the Russian Foreign Minister, Mr Molotov. Today, it is Kharkiv and Kyiv that have borrowed the Finnish recipe book to greet a new generation of Russian invaders with petrol and fire. Molotov cocktails are being made and stored in their millions, ready for the invaders.

This war’s tactics are grounded in history as well. When the Russians invaded in February 2022, they brought little extra fuel, mistaken in the belief they would be welcomed with open arms. Instead, Ukraine’s population rose up to oppose their invaders, using what they knew from their schoolbooks of the Great Patriotic War. They practiced “scorched earth”, destroying some of Ukraine’s own infrastructure in an attempt to hinder Russian troops.

The history books also teach that any campaigns in the east during February will mean battling with ‘general winter’ – as some poorly-clothed and equipped Russian conscripts have discovered; a lesson that Napoleon or Hitler could have taught them. Every March the winter ice melts the rich Ukrainian loam, creating Rasputitsa, the region’s legendary deep, treacherous mud. This has kept Russian vehicular columns to the main roads and railway lines. Pictures of trucks and even tanks bogged down in Ukrainian mud have shown the inadvisability of leaving hardstanding. To make good their widely advertised losses of transport, the Russian Federation has been rounding up huge numbers of civilian trucks and sending them west on long trains. Strangely enough, this was exactly the Wehrmacht’s solution to its truck shortages in 1941–42, but created more logistical headaches than they were worth, with shortages of spare parts for more than 100 different vehicle types. It is difficult not to believe that today’s Russian Federation forces will suffer the same supply challenges.

If I am honest, like the rest of the world, I did not hold out much hope for Ukraine’s survival. However, into the third week of fighting, the incredible seems to have happened. David has hit back at Goliath and the giant has a sore head, partly because of Ukraine’s will to resist, best expressed by the Churchillian figure of Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky urging resistance. Since then, some of Zelensky’s team have widened the Churchillian rhetoric to a plea: “Give us the tools and we will finish the job,” referring to the continued flow of weapons with which the west is currently supplying Ukraine.

The cultural reputation of the Russian and Ukrainian armies in 1941–45 rests on the defence of Leningrad, now St Petersburg, and two big city fights of Stalingrad and the capture of Berlin. In the latter cases, Soviet forces encircled the conurbations, stood back and relied on the ‘Red God of War’ – their artillery and rocket forces – to first demoralise the Germans, then pulverise their defensive positions. Only then did Soviet tanks and infantry enter the streets, systematically subduing the areas, block by block. It was time-consuming and extremely costly in casualties. The Germans fought back with hand-held anti-tank weapons and machine-guns. These are precisely the weapons and tactics that Ukraine hopes will prevail against the Patriotic War tactics we expect to be used by Russia in Kyiv and Kharkiv.

• Read more | Operation Barbarossa: why Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union was his greatest mistake

While the conflict continues, I shall return to explore the many historical parallels offered by this conflict. For now, we are left with two salutary military lessons from the past. It is often said that “amateurs talk tactics and professionals talk logistics”. Military commanders are constantly reminded that “No plan survives first contact with your enemy”. Both have already rung loud and clear from today’s war in Ukraine.

Peter Caddick-Adams is a writer and broadcaster who specialises in military history, defence and security issues. He lectures at universities, military academies and staff colleges around the world and spent 35 years as an officer in the UK Regular and Reserve Forces. His next book, 1945: Victory in the West, is due to be published by Penguin in May 2022

• Read next | “Declaring neutrality and it being respected are two different matters”: Peter Caddick-Adams on the history of neutrality and what it would mean for Ukraine

The recent Netflix movie The Harder They Fall – a black western, a rarity in the genre – tells a story featuring real-life characters including Rufus Buck and Cherokee Bill. Westerns almost universally depict cowboys and outlaws as white men, yet historians estimate that about 25 per cent were in fact African-Americans – including some of the most accomplished.

Set in an almost entirely black context and starring black actors such as Idris Elba and LaKeith Stanfield, the film doesn’t show the mixed ethnicity of the historical figures behind the main characters – many of whom had mixed African, European and Native American ancestry – nor the multi-“racial” society in which they lived.

• Read more | From slave to real Lone Ranger? The incredible life of black Wild West lawman Bass Reeves

As such, the film doesn’t engage with one of the main drivers behind the violent rampage it references: the imminent absorption of Indian Territory into the ever-expanding US.

In the summer of 1895, in the Indian Territory that would shortly become the state of Oklahoma, a group of five teenage boys engaged in a two-week bout of robbery, rape and murder. Their leader, Rufus Buck, was – like most of the gang – of mixed African and Creek Indian heritage. Their attacks appalled local white settlers, Native Americans and African-American freedmen alike.

On the podcast: Historian Tony Warner discusses some of the real historical figures depicted in the  Netflix western The Harder They Fall

Historians argue that the undoubtedly chilling and brutal violence wasn’t entirely random. By 1895, white people outnumbered Native Americans in Indian Territory, and the US government was rapidly absorbing that land for white settlement. Buck apparently harboured fantasies that his gang’s violence would incite a Native American uprising that would overrun the white settlers and eventually reclaim the whole territory. The author Leonce Gaiter, who has written extensively about Rufus Buck, says that “His dream was impossible, and he used the same violence to achieve it that he saw all around him.”

• Read more | How wild was the Wild West?

The real Cherokee Bill (given name Crawford Goldsby), another character in The Harder They Fall, was also of mixed ancestry. His father, from Alabama, was of mixed heritage, while his mother was a Cherokee Freedwoman (one of the African-Americans who had been enslaved by the Cherokee before and after the removal of those Native Americans to Indian Territory, and who were emancipated after the Civil War. Many, including Bill’s mother, were of mixed ancestry.)

After a troubled and unstable childhood that included spells in the notoriously abusive Indian Boarding Schools – which operated on the principle: “Kill the Indian to save the man” – Goldsby graduated to a life of robbery and violent crime. The number of people he killed is uncertain, but estimates range from 7 to 13.

Unlike in the movie, Rufus Buck and Cherokee Bill were never in the same gang, though they may have met at the Fort Smith Jail, just outside Indian Territory in Arkansas. They certainly met an almost identical fate: both were hanged for their crimes aged about 20.

• Read more | From the real Calamity Jane to ‘Madam Moustache’: pioneer women of the Wild West

Gaiter writes that situating these characters in an overwhelmingly black context “may serve the film’s purposes, but it strips Buck of his backstory. Ditto for removing him from Indian Territory. Most significantly, the movie omits Buck’s stated mission – the cleansing of whites from Indian Territory,” Gaiter adds. “He had lived his life there, and… was reportedly fascinated by
pulp pamphlet tales of black and Indian outlaws. The characters in these were ‘free’ to do as they pleased, and took no guff from anyone – critical to a youth attending a mission school that punished him for speaking his native Creek language. His very exposure to the white world drove Rufus Buck.”

Films are not documentaries, and their purpose is obviously not historical accuracy. And, though based only loosely on “truth”, the movie has undoubtedly introduced to a much wider audience a chapter of history that is little known and rarely spoken about.

This article was first published in the February 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

Just before the first lockdown, I went to see the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum with a Greek friend. Though I had never been happy about them being in London, it was a visceral shock to see them through Greek eyes. The Parthenon Sculptures (let’s call them as they should be named) seemed diminished in the austere Duveen Gallery on a cold Bloomsbury afternoon, rather than in the light of Attica. The feeling was inescapable. They are in the wrong place.

Of course, the museums created in the colonial era are full of treasures from other countries looted by Europeans. Calls for the return of artefacts are growing everywhere as the world wakes up to what the European powers did during the age of imperialism. Indeed, some of the so-called Benin Bronzes seized during the punitive raid of 1897 have been handed back to Nigeria, with more to follow.

The case of the Parthenon Sculptures, though, is unique. They are bound up with Greek identity. As the Greek prime minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis has said, they are the pre-eminent symbol of the link between the Greek people and their past. Built in the age of Pericles, the Parthenon was the city shrine of Athens – the greatest ancient centre of Greek culture. Later a church, then a mosque, it remained largely intact until it was blown up in a siege in 1687. The sculptures were removed by Lord Elgin between 1801 and 1805, during the period when Greece was occupied by the Turks.

Listen: Bronwen Everill discusses the creation of the Benin Bronzes and current debates over their repatriation, on this episode of the HistoryExtra podcast:

Soon after, in 1821, the Greek War of Independence began – the first of the great modern liberation movements, fought with incredible courage and resolution on the part of the Greek people. The Parthenon symbolised what Greece meant not only to them but to the whole world. So for the small state that gained independence in 1832 – albeit without the north, without Crete and the Dodecanese, and without Constantinople, the “capital of memory”, which never came back – one of the first acts was to restore the Acropolis and its shattered temple of Athena.

During the Second World War it was suggested that the sculptures should be returned; nothing came of that. My feeling now is that we should make it happen. Let’s not see it as a concession made through gritted teeth, but as a magnanimous act by the British people that acknowledges our historic debt to Greece. It will make the UK feel good; it will make the world a better place. Dare I even suggest that the move could be a plus for the vaunted “Global Britain”?

More historical opinion from Michael Wood:

• On Afghanistan | “A new world is emerging, reviving older connections”
• On statues | “These ‘history wars’ over statues are really about something bigger: about different views of the past, and who controls it”

Boris Johnson has previously stated his opposition to the sculptures’ return. They belong to the world, he has argued, and London is as good a place as any for them to remain. By far the best place, though, is surely Athens, where all the sculptures could be united under one roof in the beautiful museum? The prime minister has also expressed concerns that moving the sculptures would enfeeble the British Museum’s collection. But would it? Most people do not go to the British Museum to see the sculptures, whereas they are uniquely important to Greeks. Indeed, in my view, its status as “Museum of the World” would be enhanced by such a gesture: it would emphasise that the sculptures are the legacy of all humanity, and that giving them back is the right thing to do. Times and attitudes have changed.

• Alex von Tunzelmann on statues: “Debates about statues are often posed in simplistic primary colours”

So I propose two points to ponder. First, we should see this as an international effort. Though most of the sculptures are in London and Athens, there are pieces in the Vatican, the Louvre, Vienna, Würzburg and Copenhagen. Let’s give them all back, so everyone contributes.

Second, consider the timescale. The 200th anniversary of the start of the Greek War of Independence has just been celebrated. The war ended in 1829, and the Treaty of Constantinople gave Greece her freedom in 1832. Now, 10 years may seem a long time to wait, but repatriation will take time. So let’s start talking now and build up to a great celebration of the Greek spirit on the 2032 anniversary. By that time, the sculptures could have been installed in sight of the Acropolis where they were created almost 2,500 years ago – back in the divine light of Attica.

This article first appeared in the January 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

Anglo-French rivalry can animate politicians and historians in equal measure – and while the former have been preoccupied with fishing disputes, the latter have been reflecting on the antecedents of this fractious relationship. Ian Dunt (@iandunt) remarked: “Quite apart from Brexit, fish etc, I find the whole Anglo-French rivalry so tiresome. [It] was really striking to me how connected [both nations] were in creating liberalism, and how those who did so – [Benjamin] Constant, [John Stuart] Mill – were so deeply invested in both countries.”

Dan Snow (@thehistoryguy) added his take on what he described as his “pet subject”, commenting: “Adam Smith discovered the physiocrats and laissez-faire in Paris; [18th-century scholar] Montesquieu [was] profoundly influenced by his time in Britain. The Duke of Bridgewater [was] inspired to build canals after a France visit. And Wellington learned to soldier as a student not at Eton, but in France.” Arthur Dent (@A4Dent) provided more recent examples, noting that Anglo-French “cooperation” created Concorde and the Channel Tunnel.

Elizabeth of Warwick (@oshay moishe1) tweeted: “Sadly it’s a rivalry that goes back to the Norman conquest. Just mention the Hundred Years’ War or Agincourt and the English start to salivate. War against France was the one way people would happily dig into their pockets to fund it.”