A Daughter of Eve

………..or Victorian soft porn?

This sculpture belongs to the National Trust (NT). It is normally displayed at Cragside, a stately home in Northumberland owned by the Trust. This year, however, it is on loan to the Ashmolean in Oxford 21 September 2023 – 18 February 2024. In the coming year it will be on show at the Royal Academy in London 3 February 2024 – 28 April 2024. (Where it will actually be between 3 and 18 February I haven’t the slightest idea.)

When I saw it earlier this year at Cragside, the statue was accompanied by a note which explained that the work represented “an enslaved woman standing on the West African shoreline, waiting to be transported to North America”. The note indicated that the work was a protest against slave ownership there.

It went on to say that “the depiction of her as partially nude and chained objectifies her body in a way that feels deeply uncomfortable today.”

That is, the NT suspects that there is a problem associated with the image but they can’t quite say what it might be.

The NT always has difficulty with problems associated with sex and slavery. As we have already seen in various posts, they avoid mentioning the 4,000 Chinese slaves that had to die in South American concentration camps in order to create the fortune of William Gibb, the man who built Tyntesfield, another stately home owned by the Trust. Instead of telling the truth, the directors of the NT prefer to tell the cosy little fairy tale of the nice, clever little Christian man who made himself rich from the bird poo that South American seabirds kindly left freely available on the ground. Indeed, the friendly birds made him so rich that he was able to build his beloved Tyntesfield, the luxurious mansion and gardens just outside the City of Bristol. See, for example, these posts.

https://wordpress.com/post/ingleses.blog/617

https://wordpress.com/post/ingleses.blog/181

Likewise, the directors of the NT haven’t much to say about the sexualized image of the naked girl. Whatever the NT might claim, the statue is not of a woman but of an adolescent. It seems that Mr Bell decided to depict an adolescent girl although the directors of the NT have failed to detect what is right in front of their eyes.

Just so they do know, this is the idealised and eroticised image of an adolescent African slave with her hands in irons. Only the pressure of her hands and the added weight of the irons prevents a modest scrap of cloth from falling to the floor and revealing her vagina. She is docile, humble and placid. She has an immaculate and radiant complexion and her young breasts and her curvaceous and provocative hips are perfection itself.

It is relevant here to point out that this image appears in an era in which there circulated various myths about the sexuality of black people. It was generally believed that black women were very libidinous and insatiable. They couldn’t resist the temptation of sleeping with any man. They were given to being sex slaves. As a consequence, they were very seductive and promiscuous. In the popular imagination it would have generally been assumed that this meek and mild girl would be very grateful to any man who did her the favour of releasing her from the handcuffs; or that he might prefer it if she kept the handcuffs on until she had had adequate opportunity to express her gratitude.

All this leads us to suspect that perhaps the statue might not be as innocent as the sculptor maintains. At least, it can safely be said that the statue has many of the ingredients of soft Victorian child porn. Perhaps John Bell, when he created this work, had one eye on the market for child erotica.

However, an image of a naked teenage girl was only the tip of the iceberg with regard to the sexual exploitation of children in Victorian England. The image appears in an era in which child prostitution had become an epidemic. The market was saturated with girls of a very tender age who competed for custom on the streets of London.

In 1848 almost 2,700 London girls between 11 and 16 were hospitalised because of venereal diseases contracted through prostitution. In 1875, the age of consent, which had remained at 12 since 1285, was raised to 13, in part as a result of the concern about the scale of child prostitution.

Such was the poverty of Victorian England that thousands and thousands of prostitutes of 13 years old or less walked the streets of the capital just in order to feed their younger brothers and sisters.

So, let’s not deceive ourselves. Having sex with a girl of 12 or 13 was totally legal. And the novelty of a black girl of a similar age such as A daughter of Eve, even in the form of a mass-produced miniature that sat on the mantelpiece of so many middle-class homes, could not have been better designed to sell itself to many of the men who frequented these wretched underage girls.

The image appears in an era in which Romanticism has no hesitation in combining eroticism with an admixture of suffering and premature death. Contemporaneous literature is replete with pallid female protagonists who are confined to bed, dying of incurable maladies; prostrate youngsters who patiently await their inevitable fate; pathetic figures on their deathbeds, who from time to time, let out a tragic sigh and turn their tired, hopeless and anaemic faces towards the fading light that filters weakly through the net curtains. Deserving of a special mention are the invalid women who are depicted suffering from tuberculosis, a consumptive illness which produces a wasting appearance which highlights the facial bone structure of the victim, giving her an emaciated aspect that attracts men who appreciate this particular combination of weakness and vulnerability. The Romanticism of the time had an insidious and sinister side.

The genre, with examples, is well summed up in the post by Christine Newland, The Prettiest Way to Die. https://lithub.com/the-prettiest-way-to-die/

Looking sexy while you die was not a fashion statement celebrated only in the English tradition of 19th century literature. It was found throughout the Western World around that time. Romanticism came late to Spain but it hosts some good examples. The work of Ramón María del Valle-Inclán is very impressive, especially his Autumn Sonata, published in 1902. He was convinced that there was nothing prettier than the death of a woman afflicted with consumption.

His was a morbid carnal appetite that bordered upon sexual exploitation. But Valle-Inclán was far from alone. Indeed, there has always been a percentage of men who have a sexual preference for any woman or girl who is weak, easily intimidated or at their mercy, be it for whatever reason ― debility, addiction, youth, poverty, psychological damage, illness, disability and, why not, slavery personified by a black adolescent girl in chains.

To sum up. This sexually provocative statue of a black, enchained, adolescent slave appears in an age in which the habitually defenceless, the disadvantaged women and children, were forced into prostitution to survive. The statue appears under the guise of a protest against slavery in America. However, the statue never constituted any part of any solution to anything. It was always part of the problem of the oppression of the people who made up the base of the Victorian economic pyramid. In the depths of our conscience we recognise it as an example of the exotic pornography which is calculated to sexually excite the variety of Victorian men who were attracted to child prostitution.

That is what makes us feel uncomfortable.

The studied naivete of the National Trust in the face of one of the most hateful aspects of the England of the 19th century is shameless. They seem to want to obfuscate instead of clarifying the past. They celebrate centuries of stately homes constructed by the monied classes but what they really don’t want to do is to face up seriously to the disagreeable corollaries of the time, slave labour and child prostitution included.

What is the Leyenda Negra ?

The leyenda negra or the Black Legend is a term invented by Spanish intellectuals in the early 20th century to give a name to what they saw as the continuous anti-Spanish propaganda which, since the conquest of the Americas, had slowly but surely been causing an unwarranted deterioration in the country’s image, and this, in turn, had infected national self-esteem, created doubts that undermined trust in the State and corroded public morale.

Julián Juderías (1877-1918) via Wikimedia Commons

Although the notion of a leyenda negra already existed in the works of several well-known Spanish writers around the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, the idea was formally formulated in 1913 by Julián Juderías, an official in Spain’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in his prize-winning essay on Spain’s image abroad which was published in the journal, La Ilustración Europea y Americana.

In other words, the original concept of the black legend dates back to a period in Spanish history when Spain had just lost the last vestiges of its great American empire.

Throughout the 19th century Spain was losing its colonial possessions. From Mexico to Chile, the former Spanish colonies rebelled and took their independence. The final blow came in what became known as the Disaster of 1898, when Spain was humiliated in war by the US armed forces, to whom the empire was forced to surrender all remnants of its foreign possessions. Thus it was that the US took control of Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines and Guam. After 500 years, one of the first modern European empires had come to an end. Spain sank into depression and succumbed to a long period of low national esteem. Not only had an empire been lost, but also its reputation had suffered a severe blow..

This is the moment when the idea of the Black Legend was born. It arose as a mechanism to blame all the ills afflicting the country on the malevolent meddling of foreign powers. So it was that an excuse for the loss of Spanish greatness was formulated. Thus, the sense of being defeated was somewhat mitigated. It was more comfortable to consider that a colony had been fooled by an English conspiracy or American propaganda than to think that the people of the colonies really wanted independence from Spain.

In this way, the development of a national inferiority complex was prevented and, over time, the legend came to form a protective psychological shield that deflected further offence to national pride.

From the beginning, the expression has been very well received by historians and the politicians and ideologues of Spanish nationalism and populism; it has always served them as an instrument to combat the introverted tendency of national self-criticism.

The reason the concept went viral overnight is that it became a political tool. ‘The wolf is at the door’ is a simple trick that is as old as the hills, but it is still very effective. If you are a politician or military man and you want the population of a country to stop arguing with each other, to show solidarity and make common cause, one of the tried and tested techniques you can take advantage of is to identify an external enemy, one that would serve to refocus public attention outside the country, blaming rival nations for the particular failure of the moment.

In this case, the creation of the black legend offered the opportunity to lay the blame for the disintegration of the empire on Spain’s European rivals who had painted a false image of a backward, superstitious and violent nation at the head of a destructive empire. It was a conspiracy of hispanophobes, protestants, communists, jews, freemasons and all the liars of Perfidious Albion: all the scum of the earth.

It was they who, over the centuries, had been fomenting discontent throughout the empire, and they who had been stoking the Creole political anger that eventually led to the various uprisings against Spanish sovereignty and culminated in the Disaster of 1898.

This 16th century drawing by the Belgian Theodor de Bry was inspired by the «*Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias*» published in 1552, a famous denunciation of the cruelty of the conquest written by Bartolomé de Las Casas, a Spanish Dominican friar who accompanied the conquistadors. Such illustrations characterise the *leyenda negra*.

One of the major central themes of the leyenda negra is that Spain’s enemies have been trying for centuries to tarnish the country’s image through negative propaganda that invents, exaggerates and lies about the events that took place in the acquisition of the American colonies. Especially exaggerated are the mortal sins committed by the conquistadors: the atrocities they carried out in order to enrich themselves, the looting and plundering of gold and silver and the crimes they committed against humanity.

Fernando Cervantes, the respected Mexican historian, in his recently published book Conquistadores eloquently details the origins of the legend and argues in favour of it. He asserts that the world of the Conquistadors «was not the cruel, backward, obscurantist and fanatical myth that the legend claims, but the world of the crusades of the late Middle Ages that witnessed the eradication of the last vestiges of Muslim rule in continental Europe».

(Let us overlook the internal contradiction implicit in the sentence in which Cervantes denies that the expulsion of the Muslims was not «cruel, backward, obscurantist and fanatical». Moreover, we will not conclude by extrapolation that «the eradication of the last vestiges of Muslim rule in continental Europe» was any heroic, noble and civilising feat).

There are a number of reasons traditionally adduced to justify or condone the actions of the conquistadors, some of which are echoed by Cervantes.

1 Since the inauguration of the concept of the black legend every enthusiastic supporter of the Spanish empire feels obliged to preface his account of events during the conquest with the observation that we should not judge the behaviour of the conquistadors by today’s standards. They say that the morality of our modern society is new and more sophisticated. They hold that people then did not think the same way as we do today. They were Christians but Christianity was a different thing – no less dedicated to the Lord, but more muscular and visceral. This is also what I was taught at uni, including by Fernando Cervantes himself.

In other words, we have to accept the violence of past centuries, dismiss it as inevitable and say to ourselves, «That was in the past” or «Just close your eyes and ignore it”.

I have never accepted this rationalisation. The conquerors knew what they were doing. They simply chose their own interests over the welfare of the indigenous people.

The crews of the ships that sailed to the Indies were not chosen for their eagerness to preach the gospel. Most of the volunteers who signed up for the adventure of discovering new continents were people who risked everything because they had nothing to lose. Many were poor people, criminals and scoundrels. Many were fleeing from justice. When they signed up for the adventure of discovering the Americas they had been promised gold and the crews of the ships went for it. Of course, the officers in charge of the expeditions were more professional. They had been chosen by the Crown’s agents and represented the king’s interests. So they were in a difficult position; they had to mediate between the conflicting desires of the men on board (to get rich as quickly as possible) and the dictates of the monarch (to find gold and bring it back to the royal coffers as soon as possible, and at the same time to convert the natives to Christianity and make them subjects of the throne).

2 No conquest took place because the tribes did not possess a country to conquer.

3 The so-called conquerors only formed alliances with tribes already disaffected from the other ruling tribes.

4 It was the imported European diseases that decimated the indigenous people. The alleged Spanish violence had little to do with it.

5 Chiefs, commanders and leaders like Cortés did the indigenous people a favour with their annihilation of the Aztecs, an extremely cruel empire with its frequent ritual sacrifices of men, women and children.

It should be added that Cervantes does not defend the cause of the black legend with great conviction. After repeating the obligatory tropes intended to pardon the conquistadors, Cervantes goes on to write the most complete account of the conquistadors’ aggression that I have ever read: the lethal destructuring of the Taino family order, the annihilation of the Aztec army, the razing of the entire city of Tenochtitlan; the many massacres they inflicted all over the continent; the cruelty they handed out to any indigenous tribe that did not wish to accept Christianity, inflicting upon them, torture, slavery and the needless execution of their leaders.

It is a well-written and very detailed chronicle based upon hitherto unexplored primary sources. Indeed, Cervantes has collated many ancient documents. As he says, «From diaries, letters, chronicles, biographies, instructions, histories, epics, encomiums and treatises written by the conquerors, their defenders and detractors, I have tried to weave a story that often reveals surprising and unknown threads.”

There is also another reason commonly used to downplay the seriousness of the behaviour of the conquistadors:

6 There were excesses but the English would have done worse.

For me, this last observation is the most valid of all. The British Empire reigned for a long time over many populous regions of the world and committed countless crimes against humanity. However, to a large extent, we have now come to terms with our violent past and we do not deny the veracity of the crimes our forefathers perpetrated in the name of king and country.

Indeed, several members of the current British royal family accept their country’s responsibility for the empire’s many crimes. For example, next week the king will visit Kenya, the former British colony that gained its independence in 1963 after a decade-long liberation war led by the armed Mau Mau movement. Ten years ago, on the occasion of Kenya’s 50th anniversary of independence, the British government made a historic statement of regret for the «torture and other forms of ill-treatment» perpetrated by the colonial administration during the emergency period and paid compensation of £19.9 million to some 5,200 people.

(Although, it should be noted that, in total, an estimated 90,000 people were executed, tortured or mutilated during the war).

In addition, Prince William said in March 2022, during a speech to the Jamaican Prime Minister and other dignitaries, that «Slavery was abhorrent and should never have happened. I agree wholeheartedly with my father……..who said in Barbados last year that the appalling atrocity of slavery forever stains our history».

So, I ask myself, why can’t so many Spanish historians also accept their nation’s own past crimes, even if they believe that they were committed on a smaller scale? Why do they insist, ad nauseam, that the conquistadors behaved well towards the native peoples during the conquest and that the country’s bad image is only the result of an international conspiracy to tarnish its reputation?

What is remarkable is that all the other European empires of the last 500 years never acquired such notoriety as the Spanish, although they may have have deserved it even more. Significantly, these empires never complained about their own leyenda negra. One is tempted to suspect that the invention of the term became a self-fulfilling prophecy and that Spain’s reputation would have been less tarnished if the authors of the expression had not themselves drawn further attention to the events which occurred during the acquisition of the South American colonies.

However, after more than a century of reification of the black legend, it is too late to cancel or to withdraw the expression. Besides, even the most thoughtful of historians such as Fernando Cervantes still believe in it. Indeed, if you look on YouTube it has some very vociferous defenders. You can watch them now as they rant resentfully against allegations of genocide, fulminate against critics of the Spanish empire and beg you to believe the equanimity with which the conquistadors treated the indigenous peoples with whom they chanced to meet.

As for owning up about the misdeeds of the past, perhaps Spanish regal pride is so strong that no one in the royal family wishes to acknowledge that the «plot» to discredit Spain was nothing more than the reification of a concept adopted by intellectuals in an attempt to preserve the country’s dignity in the face of the defeats of the 19th century.

¿Qué función cumple la leyenda negra?

La leyenda negra es un término inventado por intelectuales españoles a comienzos del siglo 20 para dar nombre a lo que ellos consideraban la continua propaganda antiespañola que, desde la conquista de las Américas, de forma lenta pero segura, había ido ocasionando un injustificado deterioro en la imagen del país, y esto, que en su turno había contagiado la autoestima nacional, había creado dudas que minaban la convicción en el Estado y corroído la moral del público.

Aunque la noción de una leyenda negra ya existía en las obras de varios conocidos escritores españoles alrededor de los finales del siglo 19 y los principios del siglo 20, la idea fue formulada formalmente en 1913 por Julián Juderías, un funcionario del ministerio de AAEE de España, en su ensayo ganador del premio convocado por la revista, La Ilustración Europea y Americana sobre la imagen de España en el extranjero.

Es decir, el concepto original de la leyenda negra se remonta a un periodo en la historia de España en el que el país acababa de perder los últimos vestigios de su gran imperio americano.

Durante todo el siglo 19 España fue perdiendo sus posesiones coloniales. Desde México a Chile las antiguas colonias españolas se fueron sublevando e independizando. El golpe final llegó en lo que se dio a conocer como el Desastre del 1898 en el que España se vio humillado en guerra a manos del ejército estadounidense, a quien el imperio se vio obligado a entregar todos los restos de sus posesiones extranjeras. Así fue que EEUU se hizo con el control de Cuba, Puerto Rico, Filipinas y Guam. Después de 500 años, uno de los primeros imperios europeos modernos había tocado a su fin. España se hundió en una depresión y sucumbió a un largo periodo de baja estima nacional. No solo se había perdido un imperio sino también había perdido su reputación.

Este es el momento en que nació la idea de la leyenda negra. La idea surgió como un mecanismo para echarle la culpa de todos los males que afligieran el país a la intromisión malévola de potencias extranjeras. Así se formuló una excusa para la pérdida de la grandeza española. Así, se mitigó algo el sentido de estar derrotado. Fue más cómodo considerar que las colonias se habían dejado engañar por una conspiración inglesa o la propaganda estadounidense que pensar que la gente de las colonias realmente quisiera su independencia de España.

De este modo se evitó el desarrollo de un complejo de inferioridad nacional y, a lo largo del tiempo, la leyenda llegó a ser un duro caparazón psicológico protector que contrarrestó los sentimientos nacionales ofendidos.

Desde el principio, la expresión ha tenido muy buena acogida entre los historiadores, los políticos e ideólogos del nacionalismo y los charlatanes del populismo español; siempre les ha servido de instrumento para combatir la tendencia introvertida de la autocrítica nacional.

La razón por la cual el concepto se volvió viral de la noche a la mañana es que se convirtió en una herramienta política. «El lobo está en la puerta» es un truco sencillo y tan viejo como las montañas, pero sigue siendo muy eficaz. Si eres un político o militar y quieres que la población de un país deje de discutir entre sí, se solidarice y haga causa común, una de las técnicas usadas y probadas de las que puedes aprovechar es la de identificar a un enemigo exterior, un enemigo que sirviera para volver a centrar la atención pública fuera del país, identificando a las naciones rivales de España a las que se pueda echar la culpa del fracaso del momento.

En este caso, la creación de la leyenda negra ofrecía la oportunidad de echar la culpa de la desintegración del imperio a los hispanófobos: los críticos, los protestantes, los comunistas, los judíos, los masones y los mentirosos de la Pérfida Albión, es decir toda la escoria del mundo. Fueron ellos que, a lo largo de los siglos, habían estado fomentando el descontento por todo el imperio, y ellos que habían estado atizando el cabreo político criollo que finalmente condujo a los varios levantamientos en contra de la soberanía española y que culminaron en el Desastre del 1898.

Este dibujo del siglo 16 del belga Theodor de Bry está inspirado en la obra «*Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias*» publicado en 1552, una famosa denuncia de la crueldad de la conquista escrita por Bartolomé de Las Casas, un fraile dominico español que acompañó a los conquistadores. Tales ilustraciones forman parte de la leyenda negra.

Uno de los mayores temas centrales de la leyenda negra es que los enemigos de España llevan siglos intentando ensuciar la imagen del país por medio de una propaganda negativa que inventa, exagera y miente sobre los sucesos acaecidos en la adquisición de las colonias americanas. Especialmente exagerados son los pecados mortales cometidos por los conquistadores: las atrocidades que llevaron a cabo a fines de enriquecerse: el saqueo, pillaje y masacres que llevaron a cabo.

Fernando Cervantes, el respetado historiador mejicano, en su recién publicado libro Conquistadores detalla con elocuencia los orígenes de la leyenda y se muestra partidario de la misma. Asevera que el mundo de los conquistadores «no era el mito cruel, atrasado, oscurantista y fanático que dice la leyenda, sino el mundo de las cruzadas de la Baja Edad Media que fue testigo de la erradicación de los últimos vestigios del dominio musulmán en la Europa continental».

(Pasamos por alto la contradicción interna implícita en la frase en la que Cervantes niega que la expulsión de los musulmanes no «fue cruel, atrasada, oscurantista y fanatica». Ademas, no vamos a concluir por extrapolación que «la erradicación de los últimos vestigios del dominio musulmán en la Europa continental» fue una hazaña heroica, noble y civilizadora.)

Hay una serie de razones que se aducen tradicionalmente para justificar o perdonar las acciones de los conquistadores, unas de las cuales están repetidas por Cervantes:

1 Desde la inauguración del concepto de la leyenda negra, cada entusiasta del imperio español se siente en la obligación a prologar su recuento de los hechos ocurridos durante la conquista con la observación que no debemos juzgar el comportamiento de los conquistadores según las normas actuales. Dicen que la moralidad de nuestra sociedad moderna es nueva y más sofisticada. Sostienen que en aquel entonces no pensaban igual que nosotros. Eran cristianos pero el cristianismo de los siglos 15 y 16 era cosa distinta – no menos dedicados al Señor, pero más muscular y visceral. Esto también es lo que me enseñaron en la uni, incluso el propio Fernando Cervantes.

Dicho de otra forma, tenemos que aceptar la violencia de los siglos pasados: «Eso era antes». «Hay que cerrar los ojos y hacer como si nada».

Yo nunca he aceptado esta racionalización. Los conquistadores bien sabían lo que hacían. Ellos simplemente eligieron sus propios intereses sobre el bienestar de los indígenas.

Las tripulaciones de los barcos que zarparon hacia las Indias no estaban elegidas por su afán de predicar el evangelio. La mayoría de los voluntarios que se alistaron a la aventura de descubrir nuevos continentes era gente que se arriesgaba todo porque no tenían nada que perder. Muchos eran gente pobre, criminal y canalla. Muchos huían de la justicia. Cuando se alistaron a la aventura de descubrir las Indias se les habían prometido oro y las tripulaciones de los barcos se fueron a por ello. Claro que los oficiales a cargo de las expediciones eran más profesionales. Ellos habían sido escogidos por los agentes de la Corona y representaban los intereses del rey. Así que se encontraban en una posición difícil; tenían que mediar entre los deseos conflictivos de los hombres a bordo (hacerse ricos lo más rápido posible) y los dictados del monarca (buscar oro y traerlo a las arcas reales en cuanto antes, y, a la vez convertir a los indígenas al cristianismo y hacerles súbditos del trono).

2 No tuvo lugar ninguna conquista porque las tribus no poseían un país por conquistar.

3 Los llamados conquistadores solo formaron alianzas con tribus ya desafectas de las otras reinantes.

4 Fueron las enfermedades europeas importadas que diezmaron a la gente indígena. La supuesta violencia española tuvo poco que ver.

5 Jefes, comandantes y líderes como Cortes hicieron un favor a la gente indígena con su aniquilación de los aztecas, un imperio sumamente cruel con sus frecuentes sacrificios rituales de hombres, mujeres y niños.

Hay que añadir que Cervantes no defiende la causa de la leyenda negra con gran convicción. Después de repetir los tropos obligatorios que pretenden perdonar a los conquistadores, Cervantes pasa a escribir la más completa versión de la agresión de los conquistadores que he leído en mi vida: desde la desestructuración letal del orden familiar de los Taínos, la aniquilación del ejercito azteca, el arrasamiento de toda la ciudad de Tenochtitlan, y los otros muchos masacres que infligieron por todo el continente, a los horrores que infligieron sobre cualquier tribu indígena que no quisiera aceptar el cristianismo: la crueldad, tortura y esclavitud y la ejecución innecesaria de sus lideres etc.

Es una crónica bien escrita, muy detallada y basada en fuentes primarias hasta ahora inexploradas. Cervantes ha cotejado muchos documentos muy antiguos. Dice el autor, «A partir de diarios, cartas, crónicas, biografías, instrucciones, historias, epopeyas, encomios y tratados elaborados por los conquistadores, sus defensores y sus detractores, he intentado tejer una historia que a menudo muestra hilos sorprendentes y desconocidos».

Hay también otra razón que se usa para justificar el mal comportamiento de los conquistadores:

6 Hubo excesos pero los ingleses lo hubiesen hecho peor.

Para mi, esta última observación es la más válida de todas. El imperio británico reinó por un largo tiempo sobre muchas regiones muy pobladas del mundo y cometió un sinfín de crímenes de lesa humanidad. Pero, hoy en día y en gran medida, nosotros asumimos nuestro pasado violento y no nos negamos la veracidad de los crímenes que nuestros antepasados perpetraron en nombre del monarca y el imperio.

Incluso, varios miembros de la familia real británica actual aceptan la responsabilidad del imperio por los muchos crímenes cometidos. Por ejemplo, dentro de unas semanas el rey visitará Kenia, la antigua colonia británica que ganó su independencia en 1963, después de una década de guerra de liberación liderada por el movimiento armado, Mau Mau. Hace 10 años, en ocasión del 50 aniversario de la independencia de Kenia, el gobierno británico hizo una histórica declaración de arrepentimiento por las «torturas y otras formas de malos tratos» perpetradas por la administración colonial durante el periodo de emergencia y pagó indemnizaciones por valor de 19,9 millones de libras a unas 5.200 personas.

(Aunque, se debe señalar que se estima que durante la guerra 90.000 personas fueron ejecutadas, torturadas o mutiladas.)

Por añadidura, el príncipe Guillermo dijo en marzo de 2022, durante un discurso ante el primer ministro de Jamaica y otros dignatarios, que «La esclavitud fue aborrecible y nunca debería haber ocurrido. Estoy totalmente de acuerdo con mi padre ………… que dijo en Barbados el año pasado que la espantosa atrocidad de la esclavitud mancha para siempre nuestra historia».

Entonces, me pregunto, ¿por qué no pueden los españoles también aceptar sus crímenes aunque sean de menor escala? ¿Por qué insisten, erre que erre, que se portaron bien hacia los indígenas durante la conquista y la mala imagen del país es solamente el resultado de una conspiración internacional para manchar su reputación?

Lo notable es que todos los otros imperios europeos contemporáneos con el español nunca adquirieron tanta notoriedad aunque se la merecieran. Pero, esos imperios nunca tuvieron su propia leyenda negra. Uno se ve tentado a sospechar que la invención del término llegó a generar una profecía autorrealizada y la reputación de España hubiera resultado menos manchada si los autores de la expresión no hubieran llamado la atención a los hechos ocurridos durante la adquisición de las colonias suramericanas.

Puede ser que, después de más de un siglo de cosificación de la leyenda negra ya sea demasiado tarde para retirar el término. Incluso los más reflexivos de los historiadores como Fernando Cervantes todavía creen en ella. Sin embargo, los más vociferantes resentidos se aglomeran en el Youtube desde donde despotrican contra las alegaciones de genocidio, fulminan a los críticos del imperio español y señalan la ecuanimidad con la que los conquistadores trataron a los indígenas.

Tal vez el orgullo de España es tal que nadie quiere reconocer que el «complot» no fuera nada más que la reificación de un concepto adoptado por intelectuales en un intento de preservar la dignidad del país ante las derrotas del siglo 19.

Brexit. A warning to Spain

Photo by Nelo Hotsuma via Wikimedia Commons

There is nobody in the Western world who doesn’t realise the mess that the English have made with Brexit: our economy has gone down the pan in order to satisfy the xenophobia of the English extreme right.

Brexit was an abuse of democracy BUT bit wasn’t totally in vain if it it serves as a warning to other countries who boast of their pluralism, tolerance and liberty.

If some time, for example in Spain, Catalunya or Scotland, you find yourselves tempted to a referendum and you want to avoid falling into the trap into which we have fallen, I beg you, with all my heart, that you insist upon an indisputable majority because it is a disgrace that a plebiscite on the sovereignty of a state should be binding when it is won by only 37.4% of the voters registered in the country.

On the 23rd of June 2016 the British electorate was 46,501,241. On that day 17,410,742 of us voted to leave the EU. That is to say, only some 37.4% of the electorate voted in favour of Brexit (less than 4 out of 10 people registered to vote). However, this small percentage of the electorate obtained a simple majority and, according to the rules of the game, this was enough for the Brexiteers to get their own way; to have the right to change the economic and political direction of the entire nation and to initiate the process of withdrawal from one of the world’s most important and prosperous economic blocks.

If we allow such a small percentage of the British electorate to enjoy such power over the rest of us, we are making a mockery of democracy. It is a reductio ad absurdum of our democracy and an abuse of the political tolerance of which we are so proud in the United Kingdom.

I know, I know. I’m just a bad loser who wants to change the rules of the game because my side lost the vote. Instead, I should accept the result because it represents the will of the people. The Brexiteers won with a simple majority and that’s it, full stop. If many people didn’t vote, that’s their problem. They can whistle.

Well, I’m not convinced. It might be that this result and this level of participation would be acceptable in the context of an ordinary, common-or-garden election in which people only have to choose between Conservative and Labour, the blues and the reds. For much of the last hundred years we have practised swapping between the two parties. We usually throw out the governing party every ten years when it has become so corrupt that we no longer have any faith in it. That’s to say, we don’t vote to change the system, we just punish the party in power. Many of the elections are of little importance: we prefer this party because it promises us lower taxes or that party because it says it will increase pensions etc. etc.

This is why I believe that we should demand a firmer commitment of the electorate when we ask it to make such an important decision whether or not to change our systems of government and economy. In a plebiscite on a matter of such importance as our continued membership of the EU we should ask the electorate to produce a strong agreement or a firm rejection. If a question is of such an importance that it needs a plebiscite to resolve it, it is reasonable that we should insist that the vote produces a result which is capable of resisting the wobbles and uncertainties endemic in public opinion. I suggest that at least 50% of the whole electorate must demonstrate that it is convinced of the merits of a change in the system of government before the government takes the result seriously.

The lesson for Spain, another nation that is under siege from demands for a referendum on Catalunya, is obvious. We know full well that at the moment referendums on independence for the regions of Spain are forbidden by the Spanish Constitution. But nothing stays the same for ever and if, in the future, you, the Spanish people, were to amend the Constitution to allow referendums, I beg you to impose realistic limits; that you insist on an emphatic majority; that you raise the bar sufficiently high; that you use sensible parameters. When the people vote for something, take care that there is no room for doubt about the result.

Please learn from the great mistake that we have made.

El Brexit: una advertencia a España

Foto: Nelo Hotsuma via Wikimedia Commons

No hay nadie en el mundo occidental que no se de cuenta del lío en que los ingleses nos hemos metido con el Brexit: nuestra economía se ha ido a la mierda para satisfacer a la xenofobia de la extrema derecha inglesa.

El Brexit fue un abuso de la democracia PERO no fue del todo en vano si sirve de advertencia a otros países que se presumen de su pluralismo, tolerancia y libertad.

Si alguna vez, por ejemplo en España, en Catalunya o en Escocia, os veis tentados por un referendo y queréis evitar caer en la misma trampa en que hemos caído nosotros, os ruego, de todo corazón, que insistáis en una mayoría rotunda porque es una vergüenza que un plebiscito sobre la soberanía del estado pueda ser vinculante cuando se gana con solamente un 37,4% de los votantes registrados en el país.

En el día 23 de junio de 2016 el electorado británico, es decir el total de los votantes registrados en el país, se cifró en 46.501.241 personas. Aquél día 17.410.742 de ellas votaron para abandonar la Unión Europea. Es decir, solo un 37,4% del electorado votó a favor del Brexit (menos de 4 de cada diez personas con derecho al voto). Sin embargo este porcentaje tan reducido del electorado obtuvo una simple mayoría y según las reglas del juego esto fue suficiente para que los brexiteros se salieran con la suya; para que tuvieran el derecho de cambiar el rumbo económico y político de la nación entera e iniciar el proceso de salir de uno de los bloques económicos más importantes y más prósperos del mundo.

Si permitimos que este porcentaje tan reducido del electorado británico tenga este poder sobre el resto de nosotros es nada menos que hacer el ridículo, es una reducción de nuestra democracia al absurdo y un abuso de la tolerancia política de la que tenemos tanto orgullo en el Reino Unido.

Ya sé, ya sé. Soy un resentido que quiere cambiar las reglas del juego porque perdimos el voto. En lugar de ser quejica, yo debería aceptar el resultado porque representa la voluntad del pueblo. Los brexiteros han ganado una simple mayoría, y punto. Y si mucha gente no se dio la molestia de no votar, pues allá ellos. Que se rasquen.

Pues, no estoy convencido. Puede que este resultado y este nivel de participación tan patético sean aceptables en el contexto de unas vulgares elecciones generales, normales y corrientes en las cuáles la gente solo tiene que elegir entre los conservadores y los laboristas, los azules y los rojos. A lo largo de los últimos cien años hemos practicado una alternancia de poder entre los dos partidos. Solemos echar al partido gobernador a la calle cada diez años cuando se ha vuelto tan corrupto que el público ya no confía en ellos. Es decir, en tales comicios no votamos en un intento de cambiar el sistema de gobierno, solo acudimos a las urnas para darle un escarmiento al partido en el poder. Muchas veces estas elecciones son de escasa importancia: preferimos este partido porque nos promete impuestos más bajos o aquél partido porque dice que va a aumentar las pensiones etc etc.

Por eso es por lo que yo creo que deberíamos exigir un compromiso más firme al electorado cuando le encomendamos una decisión de tan alta importancia como la de variar nuestros sistemas de gobierno y economía. En un plebiscito sobre un tema tan trascendente como él de nuestra pertenencia continuada a la UE deberíamos pedir al electorado una afirmación fuerte o un rechazo rotundo. Si un tema es de tal grado de importancia que se necesite un plebiscito para resolverlo, es razonable que insistimos en que la votación produzca una mayoría capaz de resistir los pequeños titubeos e incertidumbres endémicos en la opinión pública. Yo sugiero que, por lo menos, un 50% del electorado entero debe de mostrarse convencido de los méritos de un cambio en el sistema de gobierno antes de que el resultado se tome en serio.

La lección para un país como España, otra nación que se ve asediada por demandas de un referendo sobre la independencia de Catalunya, es obvia. Sabemos de sobra que actualmente los referendos sobre la independencia de las Autonomías son ilegales. Pero, nada permanece igual por siempre y si, en un futuro, fuerais a modificar la Constitución para permitir que los referendos sean permitidos, os ruego que pongáis límites realistas; que insistáis en una mayoría rotunda; que elevéis el listón lo suficientemente alto: que utilicéis parámetros sensatos. Cuando la gente vota por algo, tened cuidado de que no haya lugar a dudas en cuanto al resultado.

Por favor, aprended del gran error que hemos cometido.

Straits. Beyond the Myth of Magellan

by Felipe Fernández-Armesto

The Monumento Hernando De Magallanes was erected on Plaza de Armas Muñoz Gamero, Punta Arenas, Chile, in 1920 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the discovery of the Estrecho de Magallanes. Photo by David Stanley via Wikimedia Commons

Until the publication of this book, Magellan’s reputation has remained largely uncriticised. What Felipe Fernández-Armesto has done to amuse himself during lockdown has been to carry out an exhaustive reading of all the sources on Magellan’s famous «circumnavigation» of the globe. As a result, the author has concluded that the time is ripe to confront the undeserved apotheosis of this paranoid murderer.

This is a magnificent book that completely dismantles the whole scaffolding of lies that, over five centuries, has been erected around the figure of Ferdinand Magellan in order to fabricate and maintain an image of a good, scientific and courageous man who circumnavigated the world without falling into the trap, as many did, of making enemies of the indigenous peoples they encountered during the time of the «discoveries». In the post-imperial world in which many of us like to believe we live, all other Christian crusaders have already been unmasked and their cruelty exposed for all to see.

Many of the statues of these men (for they were always men) have been torn down and the stories of their achievements have been rewritten to correct the old image of them as benefactors of the human race. A small local example recently took place in my own city of Bristol: an angry mob pulled down the statue of the 17th century slaver, Edward Colston, and threw it into the dock.

An anonymous portrait of Hernando de Magallanes del siglo XVI o XVII (The Mariner’s Museum Collection, Newport News, VA) Public domain. Via Wikimedia Commons:

Magellan was a paranoid, stubborn and brutal Portuguese adventurer who parted bad-temperedly from King Manuel of Portugal when the latter flatly rejected the idea of funding the search for a strait through which one could pass through South America, cross the Pacific Ocean and reach the Moluccas, the so-called «Spice Islands», from the west. Frustrated and morose, Magellan renounced his allegiance to the Portuguese crown and offered his services to the Casa de Contratación in Seville. After much consideration, he was offered a fleet of five caravels and a generous budget. However, neither King Charles of Spain nor Bishop Fonseca of Burgos, the main bureaucrat of the Casa, trusted this impetuous, selfish and disobedient man and had serious doubts about his intentions. To keep an eye on the renegade Portuguese, the two insisted that their own confidants should accompany him. They also installed a system of checks and balances on board that limited Magellan’s power. Power would be shared amongst several officers who would exercise undisputed control over key responsibilities. For example, Juan de Cartagena was given full responsibility for governing the expedition’s finances, giving him absolute control over what Magellan could buy and bring on board. They included their own pilots in the crew and insisted that two loyal Spaniards, Luis de Mendoza and Gaspar Quesada, should captain two of the other five ships. Thus, by taking authority away from Magellan, a difficult and aggressive man, the preconditions for conflict on the high seas were created.

From the moment he set sail, Magellan did all he could to foment a mutiny that would justify the degree of repression that a few months later would rid him of these officers who had been sent to meddle in affairs that he considered to be his alone. Before he stumbled upon the strait that would eventually lead him to the Pacific Ocean, that is, still on the coast of Patagonia, Magellan had already precipitated the insurrection and the subsequent settling of scores had already taken place. In a single incident he disposed of all untrusted crew members, stabbing, hanging and abandoning them where they had no chance of survival. Most of his victims were Spanish officers, the trusted men of the King and Bishop Fonseca. Luis de Mendoza and Gaspar Quesada were killed and Juan de Cartagena and a priest, Pedro Sanchez de Reina, found themselves abandoned to their fate on the inhospitable coast of Patagonia.

He not only ruthlessly executed members of the crew of his own ships but also killed any natives who annoyed him. Upon reaching the Mariana Islands, the inhabitants made off with some of Magellan’s supplies as well as the skiff the ship was towing. Magellan responded like any good conquistador: he sent a death squad to the robbers’ island to murder dozens of natives with crossbows and burn their village of some fifty huts.

From there he set sail for the Philippines without delay, contrary to his promise to the king to go directly to the Spice Islands. It seems that it had always been his intention to get rich quick from the gold of the Philippines and to appropriate one of the islands for his own exclusive domain. When he arrived in the archipelago he began to behave as he had done in the Marianas. He treated the native people with contempt and belligerence, burning whole villages to intimidate them.

However, Magellan made the lethal mistake of agreeing a mutual defence pact with one of the lesser kings of the island of Cebu and died in a poorly planned and very unequal battle.

In other words, he did not even have the honour of being the first person to circumnavigate the world, although many continue to credit him with this feat. Magellan fell short because of his stubbornness, his violence and his eagerness to profit from the gold of the Philippines.

There is an interview with Felipe Fernández-Armesto about this book on the YouTube channel, Travels Through Time which you find through the following link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLAnoPF_WHg&t=3s

Magallanes, más allá del mito.

Por Felipe Fernández-Armesto

Estatua de Magallanes en Punta Arenas. Foto: David Stanley via Wikimedia Commons

Hasta la publicación de este libro, la reputación de Magallanes ha permanecido en gran medida exenta de críticas. Lo que ha hecho Fernandez-Armesto para divertirse durante la cuarentena ha sido llevar a cabo una lectura exhaustiva de todas las fuentes sobre la famosa «circunnavegación» del globo de Magallanes. Como consecuencia el autor ha concluido que ya ha llegado el momento de enfrentarse a la apoteosis inmerecida de este asesino paranoico.

Este es un magnífico libro que desmantela por completo todo el andamiaje de mentiras que, a lo largo cinco siglos, se ha ido elevando alrededor de la figura de Fernando Magallanes para fabricar y mantener la imagen de un hombre bueno, científico y valiente que circunnavegó el mundo sin caer en la trampa, como lo hicieron muchos, de enemistarse con las gentes indígenas con las que se encontraron durante la época de los «descubrimientos». Hoy en día muchos creemos que los hombres que posaban como cruzados de cristianismo ya han sido desenmascarados y su crueldad expuesta para que todo el mundo la vea. Finalmente, Fernández-Armesto lo ha hecho también con Magallanes.

Muchas de las estatuas de estos hombres (porque fueron siempre hombres) han sido derribadas y las historias de sus logros han sido reescritas para corregir la antigua imagen de ellos como benefactores de la raza humana. Un pequeño ejemplo local que tuvo lugar recientemente en mi propia ciudad de Bristol: una muchedumbre enfurecida tiró abajo la estatua del esclavista del siglo XVII, Edward Colston, y la tiró en la dársena.

Un retrato anónimo de Hernando de Magallanes del siglo XVI o XVII (The Mariner’s Museum Collection, Newport News, VA) Dominio publico. Via Wikimedia Commons:

Magallanes fue un aventurero portugués paranoico, terco y brutal que se quedó cabreado con el Rey Manuel de Portugal cuando éste rechazó de plano la idea de financiar la búsqueda de un estrecho por el que se pudiera pasar por Suramérica, cruzar el océano Pacífico y llegar a las Molucas, las llamadas «islas de las especias», desde el occidente. Frustrado y malhumorado, Magallanes renunció a su fidelidad a la corona portuguesa y ofreció sus servicios a la Casa de Contratación en Sevilla. Después de mucha consideración se le ofreció una flota de cinco carabelas y un presupuesto generoso. Sin embargo, ni el rey Carlos ni el obispo Fonseca de Burgos, el principal burócrata de la Casa, no fiaban nada de este hombre impetuoso, egoísta y desobediente y albergaban serias dudas sobre sus intenciones. Para vigilar al renegado portugués, ambos insistieron en que sus propios confidentes le acompañaran. También instalaron a bordo un sistema de controles y contrapesos que limitaba el poder de Magallanes. Fue por eso por lo que se dividieron las competencias de abordo entre varios oficiales que ejercerían un control indiscutible sobre sus propias responsabilidades fundamentales. Por ejemplo, se le dio a Juan de Cartagena toda la responsabilidad de gobernar las finanzas de la expedición, otorgándole un dominio absoluto sobre lo que Magallanes pudiera comprar y traer a bordo. Incluyeron en la tripulación a sus propios pilotos e insistieron que los fieles españoles, Luis de Mendoza y Gaspar Quesada, capitanearan dos de los otros cinco barcos. Así, quitando autoridad de Magallanes, un hombre difícil y agresivo, se crearon las condiciones previas para un conflicto en alta mar.

Desde el momento de hacerse a la mar, Magallanes hizo todo lo posible para fomentar un motín que le justificara el grado de represión que unos meses después le libraría de los oficiales que se entrometieron en sus asuntos. Antes de tropezar con el estrecho que finalmente le condujera al Océano Pacifico, es decir todavía en la costa de Patagonia, Magallanes ya se había precipitado la insurrección y ya se había llevado a cabo el subsiguiente ajuste de cuentas. En un solo incidente se deshizo de todos los miembros de la tripulación en los que no se confiaba, apuñalando, ahorcando y abandonándolos donde no tenían la menor posibilidad de sobrevivir. La mayoría de sus víctimas eran oficiales españoles, los hombres de confianza del rey y del obispo Fonseca. Luis de Mendoza y Gaspar Quesada fueron asesinados y Juan de Cartagena y un cura, Pedro Sánchez de Reina se encontraron abandonados a su suerte en la costa inhóspita de Patagonia.

No solo ejecutó despiadadamente a miembros de la tripulación de sus carabelas sino también mató a cualquier nativo que le molestara. Al llegar a la islas Marianas los habitantes le robaron algunos suministros así como el esquife que el navío remolcaba. Magallanes respondió como todo buen conquistador: envió a un escuadrón de la muerte a la isla de los ladrones para asesinar con ballestas a docenas de indígenas y quemar su aldea de cincuenta casitas.

Desde allí puso rumbo sin dilación a las Filipinas, en contra de la promesa que hizo al rey de ir directamente a las islas de las Especias. Parece que siempre había sido su intención principal la de hacerse rico con el oro de las Filipinas y apropiarse de una de las islas para su propio dominio exclusivo. Al llegar al archipiélago comenzó a comportarse igual que se había hecho en las Marianas. Trató a la gente autóctona con desprecio y beligerancia, quemando pueblos enteros para intimidarlos.

Sin embargo, Magallanes cometió el error letal de acordar un pacto de defensa mutua con uno de los reyes menos fuertes de la isla de Cebú y murió en una batalla mal planeada y muy desigual.

Es decir, ni siquiera tuvo el honor de ser la primera persona en circunnavegar el mundo, aunque muchos continúan atribuyéndolo esta hazaña. Magallanes se quedó corto por su testarudez, su violencia y por sus ansias de lucrarse con el oro de las Filipinas.

(Entrevista en inglés con Felipe Fernandez-Armesto sobre este libro en el canal de YouTube, Travels Through Time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLAnoPF_WHg&t=3s)

Child abuse. Ian McEwan and Fernando Aramburu. Two perspectives

Lessons is the recent novel by Ian McEwan. It’s the fictional biography of Roland Baines, a man who was born, like McEwan, in the years directly following the Second World War. As a background to Roland’s life, the narrative evokes many of the events of the Cold War, especially the division and subsequent reunification of the two Germanies, something Roland witnessed first-hand. In this sense the book is also an informal history that stretches from the end of the war to the present day.

The book begins with a brief account of Roland’s childhood on a Libyan military base. The narrative then concentrates on the events of his adolescence and his years as a student at a British boarding school.

Although the law today criminalises what happened to Roland there, such an affair is not automatically what we think of when we refer to what is known as child sexual abuse. This term usually refers to the systematic and organised prostitution of underage children. Often, the criminal irony is that the victims are children who are already living for their own protection in some kind of church or council-run orphanage, home or reception centre. Many cases that occurred during the 1950s and 1960s have only recently come to light, decades later, because at the time they took place, many people turned a blind eye or considered the children who came from «broken homes» (a contemporary umbrella term for children without parents or with absent or simply hopeless parents) to be manipulative and liars. Moreover, few people believed that children living in council care needed protection from the adults employed in the residential homes. In other words, children had no voice and few people would take a child’s word against that of an adult.

And because these children were routinely disbelieved, it didn’t occur to anybody to provide a legal framework that could have protected them.

What was it that gave rise to this serious situation? I think it had something to do with the mood of society and the attitude of mind that prevailed in the wake of the Second World War.

At that moment in history, those who held the moral high ground were those who had beaten the Nazis. That is, all the adults. Their authority was absolute and unquestionable.

In the post-war world that I remember, all the adults, by dint of their sacrifices in the war, deserved all the respect we could give them. They had defeated the Devil (come to Earth in the form of Adolf Hitler) and rescued us children from an immensely cruel future under the rule of the Third Reich. Adults had risked their lives fighting the forces of evil, and so had been granted the right to pontificate on what was and was not acceptable in our childish behaviour. Whatever adult, however foolish they might be, however trivial might have been their role in the downfall of Adolf Hitler, still felt that they had the right to be our moral compass, the guiding light of children who hadn’t yet reached the age of reason. How often, when I had done something unacceptable, had I heard the reproachful refrain that began with the words, «I did not fight in the war, exposing myself to the danger of being killed, so that YOU could do THAT! It was a ubiquitous, omnipotent and unappealable reproach. It demanded immediate and total obedience. As for the children, the watchword of the time was, «children must be seen but not heard».

History textbooks usually say that the psychology of the British people who emerged victorious from the Second World War was positive and that a large majority wanted to elect a government that would guarantee them the building of a new, fairer, more prosperous, and more redistributive society. Many had behaved heroically and honourably during the war and they wanted a more equitable world in return for the suffering and sacrifices they had made during six years of struggle. That is why they voted for the socialist government that initiated in 1948 the new Welfare State that included a social service that provided care for unwanted or physically abused children. This is the official version but it doesn’t tell the entire story.

What was not taken too seriously was the need to better protect children from the more abhorrent sexual appetites of some adults. There was a widespread belief that, in the brave new world of the British post war, such protection would not be needed. After all, evil had been driven from the earth. Unfortunately, such complacency left the depraved to roam free, and they did so, either by working in the new children’s homes or by frequenting such places in the guise of respectable visitors, such as politicians, policemen, or people of religious ilk.

The taste of some people, mainly men, for the sexual exploitation of children was underestimated. Such was the atmosphere of naivety engendered in the normal population by the euphoria of victory and the moral smugness that accompanied the apparent re-establishment of the hegemony of good over evil, that their perverse sexual predilections went unnoticed. This human scum mingled with heroes, and thus acquired a respect they did not deserve.

I just want to underline that the social climate prevailing in the post-war period gave the right exclusively to adults and left children unprotected, easy prey to sexual exploitation.

Slowly but surely things began to change, but it still took more than half a century to produce the Sexual Offences Amendment Act 2000, a law that had, amongst its aims, the protection of children from their protectors. This Act introduced the new offence of «having sexual intercourse or engaging in any other sexual activity with a person under 18 if in a position of trust in relation to that person». (This law was replaced by the Sexual Offences Act 2003 which included the same provision).

In his novel Lessons, Ian McEwan addresses the issue of child sexual abuse from the perspective of the new law. But, it seems to me, he has chosen a bad example, that of the fictional Roland Baines.

The dream of most teenage boys is to have a girlfriend 10 years older, with a 5-star body who likes to have sex seven times a day. The only difference in Roland Baines’ case is that his teenage fantasy comes true. He is seduced by his very attractive, but very unhinged piano teacher. The problem is that he only realises that she is madly obsessed with him when it is too late. He gets to realise his dreams in bed (as well as learning to play piano duets like a consummate professional), but the big catch is that she imprisons him in her house, with the inevitable consequence that he is forced to neglect his academic studies and as a result fails all his final exams.

Like all good novelists, Ian McEwan is a good moral philosopher. And like all good moral philosophers, he urges us to resist simplistic explanations. Roland Barnes, in adulthood, is disappointed with the instability of his emotional life and has several candidates to blame. The search for the culprit is complicated: is it the young piano teacher who seduces him at the tender age of fourteen? Is it his ruthless mother who abandons the children of her first marriage to ingratiate herself with her new husband, Roland’s father? Is it his father, an alcohol-addicted army officer who is a poor model of masculinity? Is it the wife who abandons Roland and their two-year-old baby to pursue her own dream of becoming a famous writer? Is it something more difficult to identify: the disintegration of a social system in which traditional family values are being undermined by the advent of the new “permissive society”? Given the number of possible variables, Roland finds it almost impossible to unravel the reasons for his unsuccessful search for a stable psychological union.

One of the problems with the book is that it does not present a credible clinical picture. Although it suggests in later passages that the adolescent affair damaged Roland psychologically, the text provides no convincing evidence or rationale other than that, in his future relationships, he feels the need to have sex every day, something which naturally tends to annoy his girlfriends but does not serve to differentiate him from millions of other men, most of whom manage to successfully sublimate their pressing urges with regular masturbation. Otherwise, there is little or no evidence that the adult Roland continues to exhibit signs or symptoms of sexual abuse. Moreover, he has not developed negative character traits. He grows up to be a kind, sympathetic, understanding, cultured and loving man, a good father, and a poet. What is his problem?

You can even point out positive aspects of his illicit relationship with the teacher: with her he learns the joy and pleasure of sex. At the same time he learns negative lessons that are no less important: that you should always be careful what you wish for and that it is essential to find out as soon as possible what you really don’t want in life.

Moreover, it feels like a book overloaded with themes and as such, it tends to lose definition: is it a political history of the second half of the twentieth century to the present day, a history that concentrates on the Cold War and its lasting effects; is it a reflection on the Manichaeism of laws concerning sexual offences, or is it a more ambitious book: a reader for moral philosophy in the 21st century? Is it a social history of the evolution of the modern British family? Is the author adding his influence to the clamour against global warming? Or is the book by an author who fears he has forgotten to include many issues in his work and feels he should make a last-ditch effort to incorporate all the issues he has left to address before he dies and his voice is extinguished forever?

Compare it to Fernando Aramburu’s recent book, Los vencejos (The Swifts), in which a middle-aged man, a secondary school philosophy teacher, recounts his life through his diary entries.

Fernando Aramburu. Photo: Climent Sostres 2017

It’s a longer book than McEwan’s, some 700 pages, but it’s one of those tomes you never want to finish. It’s the life story of Toni, another man who is abandoned by his wife. She doesn’t leave him for her art, which is the case with Roland Baines, but for another woman. His marriage has been the latest in a series of failures. He believes that, although his life has been a disaster, this is not an accident that has happened specifically to him, either through circumstance or bad luck. He comes to the conclusion that life is a vale of tears and that failure is a constant, universal and inevitable part of the human condition. It is not worth living any longer. It only prolongs the misery. Existence is shit and he decides voluntarily to end it all. He seeks death for relief and not in expectation of resurrection. He is an atheist like Roland.

Nevertheless, he decides that he will continue with the ordeal that is his life for one more year, a period during which he will write in a notebook everything that happens to him every day. His diary leads him to remember episodes from his life that illuminate his past. He recalls them in a non-linear way, just like Roland Baines.

As we read the entries in his diary we realise how damaged Toni is as a result of the childhood abuse he suffered. He witnessed a lot of gender-based violence in his family of origin. Not only did his mother have to endure the macho brutality of her husband, but also Toni and his brother were victims of aggression that bordered on sexual abuse. His experiences at home marked him forever. He feels that his adult life has been a total failure. He does not seem to know how to form loving friendships, and sees the world as a rejecting place.

Although Toni is a philosophy teacher, he is not at all pretentious. Nor does he move in such intellectual circles or live in such progressive neighbourhoods as Roland. He leads a more sordid but no less intellectual life than Roland but, unlike him, he is not interested in summarising the history of Western civilisation, nor in making a compilation of the political events of contemporary Spain, although inevitably, national events have an impact on him and from time to time he comments upon them and entertains us with his observations.

Toni is sincere, like Roland, but more so. His confessions are brutal. He hides none of his vices. He writes with sarcasm and irony. He says things like a man who knows he only has twelve months to live, that he has an expiry date. He says things with no holds barred and with his own style of black humour.

McEwan tries to show that child abuse can be subtle but, in doing so, creates a weak example that misses the truth. On the other hand, Aramburu’s book is more concrete and more convincing and, above all, endearingly amusing.

Abuso infantil: Ian McEwan y Fernando Aramburu, dos interpretaciones

Lecciones es la biografía ficticia de Roland Baines, un hombre que nació, como el autor Ian McEwan, en los años directamente después de la segunda guerra mundial. Como trasfondo a la vida de Roland, la narrativa evoca muchos de los sucesos de la guerra fría, especialmente la división y la subsiguiente reunificación de los dos países alemanes, algo de que Roland fue testigo directo. En este sentido el libro es también una historia informal que se extiende del final de la segunda guerra mundial hasta nuestros días.

El libro comienza con un breve recorrido de su niñez en una base militar libio. Luego la narrativa se concentra en los sucesos de la adolescencia de Roland y sus años como estudiante en un internado británico.

Aunque, hoy en día, la ley tipifica como delito lo que le pasó allí a Roland, un lío de esa indole no es automáticamente en lo que pensamos cuando nos referimos a lo que se califica de abuso sexual de niños. Este término se suele referir a la prostitución sistemática y organizada de niños menores de edad. Muchas veces, la ironía criminal es que las víctimas son niños que ya viven por su propia protección en algún tipo de orfanato, hogar o centro de acogida a cargo del ayuntamiento o la iglesia. Muchos casos ocurridos durante los años 50 y 60 solo han salido a la luz recientemente, décadas después de los hechos porque en aquella época en la que tuvieron lugar, numerosas personas hicieron la vista gorda o consideraban que los niños que salieron de «hogares rotos» (un término global contemporáneo por niños sin padres o con padres ausentes o simplemente sin remedio) eran unos manipuladores y mentirosos. Además, poca gente creía que los niños que vivían bajo la tutela del ayuntamiento o la iglesia necesitaran protección contra los adultos empleados en las residencias. Es decir, los niños no tenían voz y fueron pocas las personas que tomaran la palabra de un niño contra la de un adulto.

Y porque se les descreía habitualmente, a nadie se le ocurrió la idea de proporcionar a esos niños un marco jurídico que pudiera haberles protegido.

¿Qué fue lo que dio lugar a esta situación tan seria? Yo digo que tuvo algo que ver con el ambiente social y la mentalidad que imperaba aquí en la estela de la segunda guerra mundial.

En aquel momento de la historia, la superioridad moral la tenían los que habían vencido a los nazis. Es decir, todos los adultos. Su autoridad fue absoluta e incuestionable.

Que yo recuerde, en la posguerra británica, los adultos, a fuerza de sus sacrificios en la guerra, merecían todo el respeto que les pudiéramos ofrecer. Ellos habían vencido al Diablo (venido a la Tierra en forma de Adolf Hitler) y nos habían rescatado a los niños de un futuro inmensamente cruel bajo el dominio del Tercer Reich. Los adultos se habían arriesgado la vida luchando contra las fuerzas del mal, y así se les había garantizado el derecho de pontificar sobre lo que fuera y lo que no fuera aceptable en nuestro comportamiento pueril. Cualquier adulto, por muy tonto que fuera, por muy trivial que hubiera sido su papel en la caída de Adolf Hitler, seguía sintiéndose con derecho a ser nuestra brújula moral, la luz que guiaba a los niños que aún no habíamos alcanzado la edad de la razón. ¿Cuantas veces, cuando yo había hecho una cosa inaceptable, había yo oído la cantinela reprobatoria que comenzaba con las palabras «¡Yo no peleé en la guerra, exponiéndome al peligro de perderme la vida, para que TÚ pudieras hacer ESO!». Era un reproche ubicuo, omnipotente e inapelable. Exigía una obediencia inmediata y total. En cuanto a los niños la consigna de la época fue, «los niños deben ser vistos pero no escuchados».

Los libros de texto de la historia suelen decir que la psicología de los británicos que emergieron victoriosos de la segunda guerra mundial era positiva y la gente quería elegir un gobierno que les garantizara la construcción de una nueva sociedad más justa, más próspera, y más redistributiva. Mucha gente se había comportado heroica y honradamente durante la guerra y todos querían un mundo más equitativo a cambio de los sufrimientos y sacrificios que habían hecho a lo largo de los seis años de lucha. Por eso votaron por el gobierno socialista que inició en 1948 el nuevo estado de bienestar que incluía un servicio social que proporcionaba atención a los niños no deseados o maltratados físicamente.

Esta es la versión oficial pero no es la historia entera.

Lo que no se tomaba demasiado en serio era la necesidad de proteger mejor a los niños de los más aborrecibles apetitos sexuales de algunos adultos. Existía una creencia generalizada que, en el nuevo mundo feliz de los años de la posguerra esta protección no haría falta. Ya que, a fin de cuentas, el mal había sido expulsado de la Tierra. Tal complacencia dejó libre a los perversos para que camparan a sus anchas, y así lo hacían, o trabajando en los nuevos hogares de niños o frecuentando esos sitios como visitantes respetables como, por ejemplo, políticos, policías o personas de carácter religioso.

Se subestimaba el gusto que tenían algunas personas, principalmente hombres, por la explotación sexual de niños y niñas. Tal fue el ambiente de ingenuidad engendrada en la población normal por la euforia de la victoria y por la complacencia moral que acompañaba el aparente restablecimiento de la hegemonía del bien sobre el mal, que sus predilecciones sexuales perversas pasaban desapercibidas. Esta escoria humana se mezclaba con héroes, y así adquirían un respeto que no merecían.

Sólo quiero subrayar que el clima social que prevalecía en la posguerra daba la razón exclusivamente a los adultos y dejaron a los niños desprotegidos, presas fáciles a la explotación sexual.

Poco a poco las cosas comenzaron a cambiar pero, aun así, se tardó más de medio siglo en producirse la Ley de enmiendas sobre los delitos sexuales del año 2000, una ley que tenía, entre sus objetivos, él de proteger a los menores de sus protectores. Esta ley introdujo el nuevo delito de «mantener relaciones sexuales o participar en cualquier otra actividad sexual con una persona menor de 18 años si se está en una posición de confianza en relación con esa persona». (Esta ley fue sustituida por la Ley sobre los delitos sexuales de 2003 que incluyó la misma protección).

En su novela Lecciones, Ian McEwan aborda el tema del abuso sexual de los niños desde la perspectiva de la nueva ley. Pero, a mi me parece que el elige un mal ejemplo, él del ficticio Roland Baines.

El sueño de la mayoría de los quinceañeros es de tener una novia de 10 años mayor, con un cuerpazo de 5 estrellas a quien le gusta tener sexo siete veces al día. La única diferencia en el caso de Roland Baines es que su fantasía adolescente se hace realidad. Le seduce su muy atractiva, pero muy chiflada profesora de piano. El problema es que él solo se da cuenta de que ella está locamente obsesionada con él cuando ya es demasiado tarde. Resulta que el realiza sus sueños en la cama (y aprende a tocar dúos de piano como un consumado profesional), pero el gran inconveniente es que ella le encarcela en su casa, con la consecuencia inevitable que el se ve forzado a desatender sus estudios académicos y como resultado suspende todos sus exámenes finales.

Como todos los buenos novelistas, Ian McEwan es un buen filósofo moral. Y como todos los buenos filósofos morales, nos insta a resistir las explicaciones simplistas. Roland Barnes, en su edad adulta queda decepcionado con la inestabilidad de su vida emocional y tiene varios candidatos a quienes puede echar la culpa. La búsqueda del culpable es complicada: ¿es la joven profesora de piano que le seduce a la tierna edad de catorce años? ¿Es su madre despiadada que abandona a los hijos de su primer matrimonio para congraciarse con su nuevo marido, el padre de Roland? ¿Es su padre, un oficial del ejército, adicto al alcohol, que es un pobre modelo de masculinidad? ¿Es la esposa que abandona a Roland y a su bebé de dos años para perseguir su propio sueño, eso de convertirse en escritora famosa? ¿Es algo más difícil de identificar: la desintegración de un sistema social en el que los valores familiares tradicionales están siendo socavados por la llegada de la nueva «sociedad permisiva»? Dada la cantidad de variables posibles, a Roland le resulta casi imposible desentrañar las razones de su infructuosa búsqueda de una unión psicológica estable.

Uno de los problemas del libro es que no presenta ningún cuadro clínico creíble. Aunque en pasajes posteriores sugiere que la aventura adolescente le dañó psicológicamente, el texto no aporta ninguna prueba o fundamento convincente, salvo que, en sus futuras relaciones, Roland siente la necesidad de tener sexo todos los días. Naturalmente, esto es algo que tiende a molestar a sus novias, pero para mi, no sería una cosa que sirviera para diferenciarlo de millones de hombres normales, la mayoría de los cuales consiguen sublimar con éxito sus apremiantes impulsos diarios con la masturbación frecuente. Hay poca constancia de que el adulto Roland siga mostrando signos o síntomas de abuso sexual. Además, no ha desarrollado rasgos de carácter negativos. Crece y se convierte en un hombre amable, simpático, compasivo, culto y cariñoso, un buen padre y poeta. ¿Cuál es su problema?

Incluso se pueden señalar aspectos positivos de su relación ilícita con la profesora: con ella aprende el gozo y el placer del sexo. Al mismo tiempo, aprende lecciones negativas no menos importantes: que siempre hay que tener cuidado con lo que se desea y que es esencial descubrir cuanto antes lo que realmente NO se quiere en la vida.

Además, se da la sensación de ser un libro sobrecargado de temas y así tiende a perder definición. ¿Es una historia política de la segunda mitad del siglo veinte hasta nuestros días, una historia que se concentra en la guerra fría y sus efectos duraderos? ¿Es una reflexión sobre el maniqueísmo de las leyes sobre los delitos sexuales, o es un libro más ambicioso: un libro de lectura de filosofía moral para el siglo 21? ¿Es una historia social de la evolución de la familia británica moderna? ¿Es que el autor está añadiendo su influencia al clamor en contra del calentamiento global? ¿O es que el libro es de un autor que teme que se le haya olvidado incluir en su obra muchos temas y cree que debería hacer un último esfuerzo para incorporar todas las cuestiones que le quedan por abordar antes de que se muera y su voz quede extinguida para siempre?

Compáralo con el reciente libro de Fernando Aramburu, Los vencejos, en el que un hombre de mediana edad, profesor de filosofía de instituto, relata su vida a través de las entradas de su diario.

Fernando Aramburu. Foto: Climent Sostres 2017

Es un libro más largo que él de McEwan, de unas 700 páginas, pero es uno de esos tomos que no quieres que se acaben nunca. Es la historia de la vida de Toni, otro hombre que se queda abandonado por su mujer. No le deja por su arte, que es el caso de la de Roland Baines, sino por otra mujer. Su matrimonio ha sido el último de una serie de fracasos. Toni cree que, aunque su vida ha sido un desastre, esto no es un accidente que le ha ocurrido específicamente a él, ni por circunstancias ni por mala suerte. La vida es un valle de lágrimas y la derrota es una característica incesante, universal e ineludible de la condición humana. Juzga que la existencia es una mierda y decide terminar voluntariamente con la suya. No vale la pena que siga viviendo, y así ir prolongando la miseria. Busca la muerte por alivio y no en espera de resurrección. Es ateo como Roland.

No obstante, decide que continuará con el calvario que es su vida por un año más, un período durante el cual escribirá en una libreta todo lo que le pase cada día. Su diario le lleva a recordar episodios de su vida que iluminan su pasado. Los rememora de manera no lineal, igual que lo hace Roland Baines.

Conforme vamos leyendo las entradas en su diario nos damos cuenta de lo dañado que es Toni como resultado del maltrato infantil que sufrió. Fue testigo de mucha violencia de género en su familia de origen. No solo tuvo que soportar su madre la violencia machista de su marido sino que también Toni y su hermano fueron victimas de agresiones a manos de su padre que lindaban con abuso sexual. Sus experiencias en casa los marcaron de por vida. En el caso de Toni, él siente que toda su vida emocional ha sido ingrata. No parece que sepa formar amistades cariñosas duraderas, y ve el mundo como un sitio que le rechaza.

Aunque Toni es profe de filosofía no es de nada pretencioso. Tampoco se mueve en círculos tan intelectuales o vive en barrios tan progres como los de Roland. Lleva una vida más sórdida pero no menos intelectual que la de Roland pero, a diferencia de él, no le interesa resumir la historia de la civilización occidental, ni hacer una recopilación de los eventos políticos de la España contemporánea, aunque inevitablemente los sucesos nacionales le impactan y de vez en cuando los comenta y nos entretiene con sus observaciones.

Como Roland, Toni es sincero, pero muy sincero. Sus confesiones son brutales. No esconde ninguno de sus vicios. Escribe con sarcasmo e ironía. Dice las cosas como un hombre que sabe que solo le cabe un año de vida, que él tiene fecha de caducidad. Dice las cosas sin tapujos y con su propio estilo de humor negro.

McEwan intenta demostrar que el maltrato infantil puede ser sutil pero, al hacerlo, crea un ejemplo débil que falta a la verdad. En cambio, el libro de Aramburu es más concreto y más convincente y, sobre todo, entrañablemente divertido.

If you’re visiting London, why not drop in on Dr Johnson

If you are planning a visit to London why not drop in at the house of the celebrated 18th century author and lexicographer, Samuel Johnson, the man who most famously said, “When a man is tired of London he is tired of life”.

Samuel Johnson by Joshua Reynolds 1775. Wikimedia Commons

Johnson was a tall and imposing figure with a strong and robust constitution. He had two outstanding mental characteristics. He suffered from Tourette’s Syndrome and had a phenomenal talent for summarising and defining: a man who hit the mark with his generalisations, coined phrases that are still in use in modern English and who invented epithets that have echoed down the centuries.

Johnson was born in 1709 in Lichfield in the English Midlands, he studied at Oxford University and lived the greater part of his life in London, where, at the age of 39 he was commissioned by a group of publishers to write a dictionary of the English language. Until this time the spelling of the language had been somewhat chaotic and idiosyncratic, everyone employing their preferred letters in the order that they felt fit. Sometimes the arbitrary orthography led readers to misinterpret what they were reading, so much so that sometimes they lost the sense of the words or misconstrued the intentions of the author.

Johnson insisted that he wouldn’t need more than 3 years to complete the dictionary. He would also do it on his own. When somebody mentioned to him that the Académie française had employed 40 academics for 40 years in order to compile their dictionnaire, Johnson replied in his typical sarcastic and biting fashion: «This is the proportion. Let me see; forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As three to sixteen hundred, so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman.»

At that time the English and French could not abide one another. Johnson was no exception to the rule. Ever since the Twelfth Century the two countries had been almost permanently at war. Even today there is still the odd historian or commentator who will refer to the French as «The Old Enemy». (It has to be said that Johnson did not reserve all his bile for the French: he roundly and categorically condemned any person whom he considered to be a foe.)

Johnson’s single-handed A Dictionary of the English Language was published in 1755, and until the first arrival of the Oxford English Dictionary in 1928, his work was the bible of British orthography.

Samuel Johnson and his equally famous biographer, James Boswell, met in 1763. Johnson was 32 years older than Boswell, a young Scottish aristocrat who was working as a lawyer in London. Despite their difference in age the two men forged a strong and lasting friendship. Boswell admired Johnson with an almost reverential attitude. Some commentators say that, for Boswell, Johnson was a father figure, an older man, kinder and more affectionate than his own father.

Johnson’s house in Gough Square, London. Photo by George Rex

When they met, Johnson was living in Gough Square in the City of London, in a house that had been built towards the end of the seventeenth century. The house is open to visitors and is very interesting, especially the top floor where Johnson worked on the dictionary. Here you can leaf through a facsimile edition. It’s worth a look inside the dictionary as Johnson could not resist including his opinions and humorous remarks amongst the entries. The oft quoted example is that of the definition of Oats: «A grain, which in England is generally given. to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.» You can borrow written guides in various languages to the exhibits in the house. Entry: Adults £8, concessions £7, children £4. https://www.drjohnsonshouse.org/

Nearby is Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, a pub in which Johnson used to eat and drink. The local is more or less as it was when it was rebuilt after the Great Fire of London (1666). A notice indicates where Johnson habitually used to sit. You don’t have to pay to go in but perhaps you ought to buy a pint or have a glass of something. The food’s quite good.

A few years after the Great Fire, the architect of the reconstruction of the City, Sir Christopher Wren, had a monument built to the devastation, a column erected at the point where the fire had begun near Pudding Lane. The view from the top, 60 metres above the ground, afforded intrepid citizens impressive views over the rebuilt city. The tower is a mile west of Johnson’s house. Today it is dwarfed by the skyscrapers which surround it although in its time it was a giant on the horizon: it has 311 steps. You’d be ill advised to try to do it without a rest on the way up.

The Monument to the Great Fire of London. Photo by Fastily

In the 18th century, when most people were quite unaccustomed to heights, the ascent could prove terrifying. One of the people in whom the climb did instil fear was James Boswell. In 1763, the year in which he met Johnson, Boswell decided he should pay a visit to the Monument. Half way up he had a panic attack but he screwed up his courage and carried on to the top as he did not wish to lose face. He described how he felt as he emerged at the top: «…it was horrid to be so monstrous a way up in the air, so far above London and all its spires». If you wish to do the climb you will have to pay: adults £5.80, children £2.90. You can’t buy or reserve tickets on line. You have to queue. But it’s worth it. https://www.themonument.info/

20 Fenchurch Street, the Walkie-Talkie. You can spot The Monument in the bottom left corner of his photo by Gab.pr

These days the Monument seems tiny in front of the skyscraper, 20 Fenchurch Street, the so-called Walkie-Talkie. Unlike the Monument you can visit this building for free. You only have to reserve on line. Not only do you get a marvellous view of the River Thames and the centre of London from the observation platform, but you can also visit the exotic sky-garden situated on the uppermost three floors of the building. Also up here are bars, restaurants and live music from time to time. https://skygarden.london/

If you fancy the idea of visiting the remaining churches that Wren rebuilt in the decades following the Great Fire, you can choose from the various guided walks offered online. For example, the City Guides website https://www.cityoflondonguides.com/tours offers one of these walks every Tuesday at 11am. It costs £12 and £10 concessions. All these churches would have been brand new buildings in Samuel Johnson’s time and would have been very familiar to him. Those that remain are real gems of seventeenth century London. This walk is highly recommended. City guides offer several other guided walks that explore the neighbourhood in which Johnson lived and worked.

Johnson died in 1784 and you can visit his grave in Westminster Abbey where he is entombed alongside all the other greats of English literature in Poets’ Corner. But, watch out, the admission prices are phenomenal: adults £25, concessions £22, children 6-17 £11, under 6s free. https://www.westminster-abbey.org/