Ghadar has been written about from two main perspectives: firstly (and primarily), building it into the story of Indian nationalism; secondly, fitting it into the history of revolutionary movements of the early twentieth century. It is the challenge of how to write a more nuanced transnational history of Ghadar that incorporates and transcends these artificial boundaries that I am up against. Maia Ramnath’s Haj to Utopia has attempted to achieve this recently; she astutely remarked: “so we might speak of a party, referring to a distinct organization of particular people at a certain place and time; and a moment, referring to an idea, a sensibility and a set of ideological commitments that took wing – or rather, took ship – exuberantly outrunning their originators’ control.” (Ramnath, 5). But, the real challenge is how to expose the transnational importance of the international Ghadarite network in a 5,000 word piece.
One of the most interesting aspects of the archival literature that I have managed to dig up is the extent to which the British state was concerned with both the spread of ‘Ghadar’ literature, and how wide the net for catching Indian revolutionaries was spread. The intelligence branch of the Indian Office actually compiled a regularly updated list known as The Ghadr Directory, containing the names of persons who were seen to be taking part in the Ghadar movement in America, Europe, Africa, Afghanistan, and India. As a 298-page document, The Ghadr Directory of 1934 has the potential to be a powerful tool for some sort of social network analysis. Unfortunately, however, the information listed after each name seems to be quite arbitrarily chosen. While sometimes noting location, or perhaps profession, there is no standard template, and so the accuracy of the list itself has to be called into question.
Another aspect of Ghadar that the British state kept a close eye on was their widespread propaganda mission. From the order involving Sir Edward Grey – British foreign secretary at the time (1915) – to prohibit the importation into British India of “a paper called Ghadr”, to the distribution of the Ghadr in wartime Persia, and an extensive list of “seditious” literature linked to the Ghadar party, there is extensive evidence of far-reaching attempts to propagandise. Their far-reaching actions are evident in an intelligence report on the punishment of Ghadar party revolutionaries captured at Baghdad.
Furthermore, there is one particular file that demonstrates the importance of intimidation and violence for the Ghadarites. In an account of the tour of the Maharaja of Kapurthala in America shows, the Ghadar party tried desperately to achieve his support and sympathy, but when it became apparent that this would not be forthcoming, threats began to come his way from renowned Ghadarites.
All of the above are potential ‘entry-points’ into my overall thesis about the connectedness of the group, which, although being ostensibly ideologically disparate, was able to pose such a threat to the British Empire. One of the key questions is choosing where exactly to enter, and one of my biggest problems is locating enough specific first-hand Ghadar accounts and literature to construct the story from their side, not just from that of the colonial power. Accounts that are available are invariably written and compiled many years after the events I intend to examine here, and are thus tainted by an inherent bias and discrimination. But this is perhaps what makes the project so interesting, as it tests some of the most important faculties of the historian. Any feedback on how to approach this issue would be highly appreciated.
References:
Ramnath, Maia, Haj to Utopia (London, 2011).