MO3351 Doing and Practicing Transnational and Global History

The English Factory at Hirado, Japan. A Microhistory of English Merchants in the early 17^th century.

We often talk about the practicality of transnational history; why do we study it? What can we truly learn? It seems that transnational ideas are being challenged across the world, from Brexit to Trump and his protectionist trade policies, the interconnectedness of the world seems to be unravelling at its seams. Politicians too often use nationalistic histories and interpretations to create political rhetoric which attempts to warp our understanding of the past. Transnational history offers us the chance to re-correct this misinterpretation.

In the case of Wenceslaus Hollar’s painting “Royal Exchange”, which depicts London’s Royal Exchange in 1644, it can be seen that merchants, English and foreign, were already co-operating together discussing business and international news.

Importantly, it highlights how English Imperial aspirations, particularly in Asia concerning the East India company, were built on ideas of transnational co-operation and not English isolationism. Alison Games, in her book Web of Empires, describes this best, stating that the English merchants were forced to become diplomats and ambassadors as they were numerically and diplomatically weak across the world in the 17th century, as demonstrated by travel literature of time such as The Merchant Avizo.[1]

The English merchants were often the first of their nation to establish new markets, like those at Hirado, Japan in 1613. Previously, traditional grand narratives have ignored Hirado as a supposedly insignificant factory which struggled to achieve economic viability, closing down after ten years of operation in 1623. This, however, reflects a modern misconception of trade as an inanimate force, rather it seems that trade and commerce in the 17^th century was based on “personal commercial connection”.[2] This project, therefore, aims to examine Hirado from a transnational perspective, focusing on the lives of the actors associated with the factory and how they are comparable to other English merchants across Asia at the time. In effect, this study will be a microhistory demonstrating the similarity of English transnational actors across Asia.

The study of this factory will be anchored around four research questions:

1. How does the career of these English merchants support the idea of them being transnational actors?
2. What is the relationship between state and trade (internationalism) and, does one override the other?
3. To what extent was there cultural assimilation between the English and the Japanese?
4. How do these questions compare to the situation of English merchants across Asia?

The first question presents a potential pitfall of the project as it runs the risk of becoming overtly narrative. However, it also acts as the perfect building block for the following questions, allowing for them to be interwoven in to the lives of these transnational actors.

One possible hypothesis is that English merchants as seen at Hirado struggled to balance the demands of an internationalist outlook, desired for trade, with the needs of the nation, a conflict of interests which would have defined their actions as transnational actors.

This hypothesis is aided by the limited timescale under investigation as the factory at Hirado was only operational for ten years. Research can, therefore, be easily focused allowing for a more thorough analysis of each of the aforementioned research questions. Furthermore, it avoids the often problematic view in transnational history of interpreting events as part of a wider teleological progression. Instead, emphasis falls on human agency, important if the actions of these transnational actors are to be fully explored.

It can be seen that a transnational lens brings with it problems. It’s lack of clarity in definition creates ambiguity, which is worth investigating. A tentative conclusion could explore the difficulties of comparison in transnational history. For example, the extent to which these transnational actors were part of a larger English network in Asia. Although a shared experience of being numerically, diplomatically weak is suggestive of this, an argument can be made for the English factories being disjointed nucleated units.

This is made possible by the large quantities of surviving source material available including large quantities of letters, diaries and East India Company reports. These materials help provide a personal insight into the inner machinations of the English factory at Hirado. A comprehensive picture of Hirado can, therefore, be achieved making it an ideal microhistory.  

[1] Alison Games, The Web of Empire (Oxford, 2008), p. 87.

[2] Ibid, p. 83.

In 1788, French botaniste du roi Hyppolyte Nectoux received seven new plants from British crown botanist Dr. Thomas Clarke for his botanical station at Saint Domingue, and in 1789 he received twenty more. This remarkable example of cross-cultural knowledge exchange in the Antilles was later described by the editor of Saint Domingue’s Affiches Américaines: ‘The plants that the Administration recently received from Jamaica were accompanied by very friendly letters, wherein the Governor of that colony and the Director of the botanical garden promise to share everything valuable they receive’.^[1]Botanists in the Caribbean could be diplomats as much as they were scientists. 

Instances of inter-imperial scientific exchange in the Antilles stand relatively understudied, and this project aims to redress that. By 1777, France and Britain had successfully constructed their respective paradigms of botanical knowledge cultivation in the Caribbean. From metropolitan institutions like the Jardin du Roi and Royal Academy, scientists were dispatched to colonies like Guadeloupe, Saint Domingue, Jamaica and Saint Vincent. In some instances, French botanists worked just seventy miles from their English counterparts. 

Yet scholarsof British and French eighteenth-century horticulture have been more inclined to reconstruct instances of botanical knowledge trading in Europe than they have in the Antilles.^[2]In general, they have been hesitant to challenge the closed-circuit paradigm of colonial knowledge production drawn up by Regourd and McClellan,^[3]and have not responded to Jarvis’ appeal for historians to see intercolonial spaces as favorable to the cross-cultural exchange of scientific knowledge.^[4]While scholarship has undermined the assumption that imperial rivalry stifled intellectual exchange between botanists in Britain and France, it is yet to undermine that same assumption for botanists stationed at Jamaica and Saint Domingue. Borders remain impermeable to the circulation and exchange of botanical knowledge in the Antilles while they have been exposed as permeable to that same circulation and exchange in Europe, and this is paradoxical.  

The aimsof this project are threefold. First, and most importantly, it aims to shed more light on instances of collaboration between French and British botanists in the Antilles. Second, it aims to challenge the assumption that colonial borders in the Antilles were less favorable to the circulation and exchange of scientific knowledge than those that separated the French and British metropoles in Europe. Third, it aims to show that by applying the transnational ‘lens’ to the inter-imperial production of botanical knowledge in the Antilles, historians can think in new and exciting ways about the organization of imperial space. 

The project will be driven forward by four leading research questions. Why did some French and British botanists choose to collaborate with each other in the Antilles? Who were those botanists? What types of scientific knowledge did they exchange, and how did they exchange it?

One hypothesisis that these botanists were inclined to collaborate: that the enlightenment spirit of epistemic universalism was a transnational force powerful enough to transcend imperial rivalries. Another hypothesis is that these botanists were remaking those same scientific networks that had been made across imperial metropoles. This is more realistic. The frequency at which botanists formed networks and moved between intellectual centres like Edinburgh, London and Montpellier would provide for this.      

The timescale from which this project draws inspiration is wide, and that is deliberate. Parts of the project will seek to address why scientists chose to exchange scientific knowledge when and where they did, and when and where they did not. To this end, the project will view the Antilles as an ‘inter-imperial microregion’.^[5] This paradigm is relatively new. It was conceived by global historians who wished to study inter-imperial spaces, and who recognized the high potential for cross-cultural exchanges within them. The project’s first research goalwill be to identify instances of scientific exchange between French and British scientists in the West Indies. In turn, it will seek to reconstruct those exchanges by identifying the individuals involved in them; their backgrounds, and their aspirations. The project then takes inspiration from the recent uptake in global microhistory: it seeks to reconcile the smaller process of inter-imperial scientific exchange with the larger process of empire-building. Its agenda is simultaneously recentralizing and deconstructive.   

The project will draw on digitalized primary source materialfrom the Bibliothèque nationale de France and British Library. Periodicals, autobiographies and letters of inter-imperial scientific correspondence from the colonial Antilles will be supplemented by letters of intra-imperial communication between institutions like the Jardin du Roi in Paris and the French botanical station at Guadeloupe for example. The project will take further inspiration from a wealth of recent scholarship on eighteenth-century European science. 

^[1]James E. McClellan III, Colonialism & Science: Saint Domingue in the Old Regime (Chicago, 2010), p. 160. 

^[2]For examples see: Ann Thomson, Simon Burrows, Edmond Dziembowski and Sophie Audidière (eds), Cultural transfers: France and Britain in the long eighteenth century(Oxford, 2010).

^[3]For the clearest description of this system see: James E. McClellan III and François Regourd, ‘“The Colonial Machine”: French Science and Colonization in the Ancien Régime’, Osiris 15 (2000), pp. 31 – 50.

^[4]See: Michael J. Jarvis, In the Eye of All Trade: Bermuda, Bermudians, and the Maritime Atlantic World, 1680 – 1783 (Chapel Hill, 2010), p. 464. 

^[5]Jeppe Mulich, ‘“Microregionalism and intercolonial relations”: The Case of the Danish West Indies, 1730 – 1830’, Journal of Global History 8(2013), pp. 72 – 94. 

Research Question:  To what extent do supranational organisations impact individual identity in the case of the European Union (EU)?

1. Thesis

While EU citizens identify themselves as Europeans, they foremost identify with their national roots. However, all Europeans share an identifying economic, social and political congruency that helps create a sense of comradery that transcends borders.

1. Historical Relevance  

Dating back to Bohemia in the 20^th century, the concept of the European identity has continually tormented historians. With the rise of supranational[1] organisations such as the EU, the question of European identity becomes increasingly more urgent. Historical events such as the Brexit vote of 2016, and possibility of Turkey joining the EU, have kept the question of European identity relevant, and an ongoing debate. For this reason, this project proves a key tool in evaluating theprogression of the EU from its creation to the present, and the tremendous impact it continues to have on individual lives.

1. Methodology

In order to add an historical time frame to the question of European identity, this project will give a brief summary of the EU, beginning with the Maastricht Treaty in 1992. With this background explained, this project will then critically assess the concept of individual European identity. This will be accomplished by examining the case studies of two nations: Spain and Hungary.  

Before delving into this analysis, the concept of ‘identity’ needs to be investigated. Historiography for years has been met with the challenge of producing an efficient way to measure identity. While this project does not claim to settle the methodological debate of how to measure identity, it does attempt to add to the conversation. In terms of this project, identity will be analysed through the change in political, economic, and social policies and assessing how these changes affected Europeans. This will be done by explaining how national policies were enforced prior to the EU and compare how policies were enforced after the creation of the EU. For example, when joining the EU, many countries forfeited their national sovereignty in terms of conforming to the laws of the newly created European Economic Community (EEC). This EEC created congruent economic, political, and legal policies, historically altering the future of Europe.

This project will then flesh out the concept of the “European identity” using two case studies: Spain and Hungary. The case study of Spain was chosen to represent the Mediterranean member states within the EU, holding a polar-opposite history to that of Eastern European members such as Hungary. Being part of Eastern Europe, Hungary has unique communist ties that set it apart historically from many EU member states, deeming it an interesting case study. First, Spain will be examined, explaining the shift in Spanish policies before the creation of the EU in 1992 and after the creation of the EU. Next, the same exercise will be done with Hungary. It should be noted that by choosing such distinct member states, this project will ground its conclusion on the extreme contrast between Spanish and Hungarian history. This is done to show the tremendous difference in policy changes within Spain and Hungary pre-EU and EU. By arguing from extremes, this project has the ability to clearly show how these policy changes altered the day-to-day lives of Spanish and Hungarian citizens. The divergences between the effect of EU policies within Spain and Hungary give rise to the conclusion that while member states are bound by shared policies, citizens chiefly consider themselves Spanish or Hungarian before European.

1. Practical Considerations

Though measuring identity by critically assessing policy changes, is a supported and recommended practice by academics such as Antje Wiener and Thomas Dietz, there remains resistance to this method of analysis. It can be argued that policy changes merely generalise the impact on individual lives, and could overly marginalise the effects of certain policies. For example, most EU member states benefited from the creation of the Euro, creating a more stable economy for EU citizens. However, this statement is a generalisation, as some citizens may have felt constrained by this new currency rather than liberated. Therefore, this project acknowledges that some individuals’ opinions may be overlooked in the critical analysis.

Additionally, due to the constraints in word limit, this project will only look at two case studies. While this will provide in-depth examples, it will concurrently only use two member states to prop up its argument. Though this gives the reader a unique micro-history of two EU member states, it is notably an incomplete account of the full European identity.

Primary Sources:

• Maastricht Treaty
• Single European Act
• Treaty of Amsterdam
• Treaty of Nice
• Treaty of Rome

Secondary Sources:

Habermas, Jurgen, The Crisis of the European Union, (Cambridge, 2012).

Krastev, Ivan, After Europe, (Philadelphia, 2017).

Laurenson, Finn, Historical Dictionary European Union, (Plymouth, 2016).  

Lindseth, Peter, Oxford Handbook of International Organisations, (Oxford, 2008).

Schweiger, Christian, and Visvizi, Anna, Central and Eastern Europe in the EU: challenges        and perspectives under crisis conditions, (Oxford, 2005).

Wiener, Antje and Dietz, Thomas, European Integration Theory, (Oxford, 2004).

Williams, Alan, The European Community, (Oxford, 1991). 

[1] ‘Supranational’, in terms of this project, will be defined as an organisation whose jurisdiction overrides national governments.

Art can be an excellent medium for learning about other cultures. I find film to be the most engaging of all common art forms. It feeds on our most perceptive senses – sight and sound — but also taps in to our capacity for empathy. A truly great film will transplant the audience to its setting and connect them to its characters. Today, films from all over the world are easily accessible through streaming services and many of them allow us insight into foreign societies. While one cannot physically interact with the setting or characters, a film in itself can be a humanised vestige of the socio-political ordeals happening within foreign societies.

The Cannes Film Festival, over the past few decades, has turned itself into a transnational event where films from Asian – and now African – nations are given the same attention as films from Western nations with more established film industries. The festivals highest accolade, called the Palme d’Or, was first awarded to an Asian country in 1954, when Japan’s Teinosuke Kinugasa beat out films from France, The USSR, Brazil, Greece, India and the U.K. with his “Gate of Hell.” Kinugasa’s film also won an Oscar for ‘Best Foreign Language Film.’ At a time when the world was still fresh with the wounds from Second World War II, the Cannes Festival used film to bridge the gaps between former enemies who had suffered horribly at the hands of one other. With this in mind, one must imagine that platforms for Japanese culture to express itself on a global stage would have been exceptionally limited and likely met with reservations if not outright negativity. The Cannes festival has maintained its transnationalism and each year, the festival continues to collect nominations from the far corners of the globe. Recently, the festival has been making a point of being globally inclusive. The main competition included films from Iran, Kazakhstan, China, Japan, Turkey, Lebanon and Egypt. Film is an industry that been historically dominated by a limited number of countries, namely the U.S., U.K. and France. While the most profitable movies are still almost invariably Hollywood productions, the Cannes Festival gives platforms to films and directors who would otherwise be overlooked by moviegoers. The films selected by the juries are most often small budget films with intensely humanist plotlines rather than widely released blockbusters.  The 2015 Palme D’or winner Dheepan traces the excruciating ordeal of a former Sri Lankan Tamil Tiger as he finds political asylum in the crime-ridden suburbs of Paris. These kinds of storylines illustrate both the international and human focus of the festival. Art is an exceptional vehicle for transnationalism and the Cannes Film Festival epitomises the power of film to transcend cultural, political and national barriers.

My other module I’m taking this semester covers modern Iran form 1800 to the present day. Last week we covered the Great Game, which refers to the imperial competition in Central Asia between the juggernaut empires of Russia and Britain. Specifically this largely concerns imperial interest in Iran and Afghanistan as Russia pushed to claim a warm sea port whilst Britain sought to protect their interests in India. Whilst this would suggest a topic and period dominated by high politics, the cultural exchange and transnationalism are startling eclectic and broad. Classically, much imperial history is written in a binary fashion, focusing on the conflict between dominion and resistance. However it becomes very apparent that there were far more complex issues in the imperial struggle at play, with the great game a clear example of this.
On a high diplomatic level, too few historians allocate Iran a foreign policy, merely seeing the Kingdom as a subject of great power politics. However in reality this is far form the case, as the Shah fully understood his precarious position, and the necessity of using his state’s geo-strategic location to his political advantage. Iran was of vital importance to the British policy as buffer state, and the Shah used entreaties to the French during the Napoleonic conflict as a foil to extract concessions and guarantees from the British. In fact he ensured that British policy became so invested in Iran that the London sponsored the stationing of a regular detachment in Tehran, the opening of a cannon foundry and the establishment of an Imperial Bank. At Curzon’s insistence Iran was perpetually at the forefront of discussion in Whitehall. This was an enormous success for the Shah, despite several historians portrayal of it as classic imperial intrusion and domination.
Not only did the Great Game involve a large amount of top level diplomatic entanglement, but it also saw an enormous degree of cultural exchange. Iranian diplomats, such as Abdol Hassan Kahn travelled throughout Europe to Russia, France and Britain. When, accompanied by much anticipation, he arrived in London, Hassan Kahn was welcomed into the upper echelons of society. He became close friends with Sir Gore Ouseley, hobnobbed with the aristocracy and became a freemason. Iranian guests were impressed with the Thames tunnel, the Forth rail bridge and British concepts of democracy. Even Iranian minority leaders such as Afghani were invited to speak at academic gatherings. This was not a one way cultural exchange however, the British maintained a permanent diplomatic presence in Tehran. Perhaps, most notably led by John Malcolm, who was key in promoting cultural exchange between Britain and Russia, authoring one of the first complete histories of Iran after spending much of his life in subcontinental Asia. On occasion Malcom had even led the Shahs armies and remained a proponent for engagement with Afghanistan and Iran until his death.
This all serves to demonstrate both the complex issues surrounding the transnational studies of empire and how multidimensional both the transfer of culture and political relations were. On a more personal level however, it is very exciting to see and get an opportunity to witness and practice transnational history beyond the boundaries of this module.

It seems that in the last two years, transnational ideas have been challenged across the world. From Brexit to Trump and his trade protectionist policies the interconnectedness of the world seems to be unravelling at its seams. Repeatedly politicians hark back to by gone days of old, reminiscing about factually incorrect historical pasts. It is why I find Wenceslaus Hollar’s painting “Royal Exchange. 1644” so striking.

The painting depicts English and foreign merchants animated in conversation, discussing business and news, working in cooperation for financial advantage. Cooperation is a keyword word here, for Englishmen relied greatly on the aid of others during the early 17th century. Traditional conceptions of Englishmen overseas, especially merchants are synonymous with exploitation of the local populace, the cause of the opium wars is a fine example. Yet, during early English explorations of the economic networks developing across the world, especially in Asia we find this to be not the case. The English were numerically and diplomatically weak across the world in the 17th century.

The English factory at Hirado in Japan offers an excellent example of this, demonstrating how Englishmen were not only merchants but ambassadors and diplomats. Transnational actors operating on an international stage. Robert Cocks, the factor at Hirado was known to stay up all night if he suspected Japanese guests were to be visiting. In many ways Hirado offers us an excellent case study of English merchant activity in Asia, highlighting the importance of integration in local cultures.

It also offers interesting character studies such as that of the life of William Adams (which spanned across the turn of the 17th century). An Englishmen whose career saw him serve in the English navy, the Company of Barbary Merchants, as well as a Dutch expedition to the Far East in 1598. A transnational career which did not stop there, for in 1600, Adams, embroiled in religious rivalry, was imprisoned in Japan for five years before eventually rising to become an adviser to the shogun, Ieyasu. In search of opportunity Adams, traversed much of the known world, serving under three different states.

In the end the factory at Hirado was closed in 1623 after struggling with solvency for most of its operational career, contradicting transnational tendencies to view economic integration as a gradual process. This is because Japan proceed to close itself off from much of the west for the next couple of hundred years. However, this in my opinion makes it a more interesting transnational case study for historians cannot be swayed by narratives of progression which have often plagued histories associated with the interconnectedness of the world.

Last night I attended one of the student run fashion shows, Ubuntu. The show was suppose to be set in Mansa Musa’s Court prior to western colonisation. The vision was to recover the narrative of a strong, powerful, and flourishing African prior to the confines of slavery and western imperialism. The show was thought provoking, inspiring, and surprisingly a great example of transnational history.

To elaborate, the Ubuntu contained elements of dance, spoken word, and fashion. All the designers featured in the show were from either the Caribbean or of African descent.  The word itself, ‘Ubuntu’ means togetherness. So fittingly, the show was designed to bring together everyone in the audience as well as the show committee, despite colour, gender, or nationality. From the African dances, to some of the poems featured in the show, many different cultures and traditions mixed on stage connecting some audience members to their heritage while concurrently introducing others to a unfamiliar culture.

Looking at elements of Ubuntu piece by piece, I cannot help but to see all the transnational links within the show. For example, the models in the show additionally represented a range of African countries. I found it completely inspiring that this one fashion show in the middle of a Scottish seaside town could host so many different colours and nationalities on its stage. Looking around the crowd last night, it was one of the only events in St Andrews I can say was truly diverse. It was pretty amazing to see so many different people congregating together to celebrate African culture. Recollecting on this, I find it amazing that there are actually two level of transnationalism going on. (1) the obvious culminating of many different African nations being celebrated on a stage in St Andrews,  and (2) the different nationalities from American, French, Russian, Venezuelan and so many more coming together to celebrate this African culture that they are not even a part of. To have so much pride for a culture that is not even nationally yours is pretty astounding. I think it showed a deeper understanding that the students of St Andrews are just so happy to celebrate diversity and recover the lost narrative of Africa.

In a way, this is proof that the world is changing. People want to celebrate different nations. It is desired to be diverse and different. Students want to see more ethnically diverse faces up on stage than the usual sea of white. This little micro-history case study of an African fashion show in St Andrews is proof of the desire to be transnational. While some people in the crowd grew up listening to the African music pumping through Club 601, most of us did not. However, hearing these traditional African songs and watching these dances take place, it showed people want to be informed. I found myself incredibly proud of the performances I was watching, despite the fact I have no ethnic connection to Africa. I think people were moved that a minority culture such as African heritage in St Andrews could organise an entire show, and sell out a room. People were proud Ubuntu was finally getting its deserved facetime to show St Andrews what African culture was really about. Sixty years ago, it would be unheard of to have students pay money to go and watch traditional African dances. But, now in 2019, Ubuntu was a sold out show, with people wanting to take part in this new culture and inform themselves. This desire to understand African culture is not just a win for history, it is a win for transnationalism as a discipline. People want to understand global connections and want to become more knowledgeable world citizens.

This week I’ve decided to write about cooking. 

Before I left for the holiday period last semester I was given Michel Roux’s new cookbook, the french revolution. Its packed with traditional French recipes that appear under subheadings like ‘Légumes, Légumineuses et céréales’, ‘Repas de Famille’ and ‘Festins Gourmands’: ‘very achievable’ classics that ‘don’t need lots of fancy equipment… nearly all the ingredients are easy to come by’. 

My flatmate and I cook for each other every other night. It’s an efficient system that lets you get your work done one night, and relax the next. Tonight was my turn, and I’d decided earlier on in the day that I’d have a crack at Roux’s Moules à la Bière(1kg mussels from Tailend, 340 ml of beer from Luvians, 2 shallots, 2 garlic cloves, 2 TSP of black pepper (already had it) and 4 TBS of crème fraiche from Tesco’s). £ 8.75 might sound like a lot, but when you consider I’m only cooking every other night, that comes in at (roughly) 4 pounds a day for supper. 

Presentation and flavor matter a lot at no.15, and I absolutely nailed this one in an hour and fifteen minutes (roughly the time I usually cook for).

That might sound like a lot of time (time that might otherwise have been spent on essay or tutorial reading for example), but I think there’s a lot to be said for having spent it on cooking. 

First off, I think getting into a habit of cooking new recipes really helps me to relax. Reading for most of the day can feel quite frustrating, but trying to cook something new for the first time at the end of a long day is quite liberating. It’s definitely a creative activity that can break the harsh realities of the work-rest 24-hour day. 

What’s better is that I find cooking helps when I’m lost for work related words or ideas: when I’m stuck with a methodological problem or struggling to structure an argument for an upcoming essay for example. I think there’s something about the creativity involved in making a meal that helps to me to think about academic problems in ways I might not have while sitting at desk. That’s why I bring a pad of paper to the kitchen counter when I cook. If something new comes to me from the heavens, I jot it down, and I end up with a small collection of notes for when I come back to tackle the problem later. I hadn’t thought about what I’d blog about today until I started chopping the shallots. By the time I’d added the crème fraiche to the beer, I’d drawn up a rough plan.   

I also appreciate the reward in having cooked something nice, in sitting down at the table with my flatmate to eat, and in taking the time to chill out. I think a lot of students miss out on this when they head back to St Andrews after a holiday.  

I reckon the whole process (from pan to plate, table to chat and chat to dishwasher) takes about 2.5 hours. It might be procrastination, but that procrastination sure can be productive. 

On 18^th October 1954 Antigone Costanda, Miss Egypt, became the first non-European to be crowned Miss World. The following year, during the 1955 Miss World beauty pageant, Costanda did not attend the event and crown her successor as per the usual tradition due to political hostilities between Egypt and Britain over the Suez Canal. On 15^th October during the 1956 Miss World pageant this photo is taken of Miss Israel (Rina Weiss – left), holding hands with Miss Egypt (Normal Dugo – right). Some two weeks later on the 29^th October, Israel invaded the Egyptian Sinai.

Carole Crawford, Miss Jamaica, became Miss World in 1963, just months after Jamaican independence in 1962. Remembered as one of the shortest entrants (only 5’3”) and a face that was ‘uncharacteristically Jamaican’, being only part black, Carole became the first “coloured” Miss World. She went on to become a nationally recognised icon – with her face pictured on a special issue of more than 3 million stamps.

In 1966, the winner was Reita Faria from India, the first Asian woman to win the event. She impressed the judges in ‘Best in Eveningwear’ for wearing a sari and after her one-year tenure as Miss World went back to concentrating on her medical studies, becoming the first Miss World doctor. That same year Miss Spain, Paquita Torres Perez, withdrew from the competition because Miss Gibraltar, Grace Valverde, was in the pageant.

By 1970, 58 contestants competed for the Miss World title but it was Jennifer Hosten, Miss Grenada who won the crown. The event was marked by controversy in the days beforehand, during the contest itself and afterwards. Hosten was the first black woman to win Miss World and there were several accusations the contest had been rigged. The organisers had allowed two entries from South Africa, one black (who placed 2^nd) and one white. The evening itself was affected by protest by Women’s Liberation activists and the Angry Brigade anarchists.

These incidents demonstrate that the Miss World beauty pageant is not just a competition judging beauty. It is a site in which meanings are ascribed to individual and collective identities performed through women’s bodies, where political, cultural and racial issues are contested and mediated, and the nation is forced to confront itself.

The Miss World contest was created in 1951 as part of the ‘Festival of Britain’, which was initially pitched as a celebration of the centennial of the Great Exhibition of 1851. The winner selected was Kiki Håkansson from Sweden, despite 21 out of the 26 contestants being British, leading the contest to be dubbed ‘Miss World’ by the media. Gradually, as the popularity of the contest grew, countries sent in candidates from their own national competitions.

Thus, for a woman to reach the London stage and present herself in front a transnational audience and panel of judges, she must first be deemed suitable in demeanour, appearance, and style to embody the values and goals of her nation. This process is self-reflective and a place where a particular public can “tell stories to themselves about themselves”.[1] Each decision made by the individual and those surrounding her, whether it’s about skin colour, dress or even body language, reveal elements about the political, social and cultural context in which national identities are expressed and constructed. Consider: South Africa sending two racially contrasting candidates, Miss India choosing to wear a sari for the evening wear portion of the show or even Miss Egypt and Miss Israel holding hands in the midst of a conflict between their home countries. The Miss World beauty pageant insists on equating women’s bodies with discourses of the nation, formulating the equation woman=nation. The deployment of female bodies to such a degree heightens the performativity of national feminine identity and its negotiation on a global stage. On the other hand, these women also represent a ‘world community’ and those who win often end up conforming to the aesthetics of an unspoken western vision of glamour or style.[2] Furthermore, the contest itself is a profoundly political arena where issues regarding gender, race and international conflicts are negotiated.

This is why I have decided to choose the Miss World beauty pageants to be the focus of my final project. I will look at the first 19 years of its existence starting with Kiki in 1951 and ending with Jennifer in 1970, highlighting how the global and the national interests interact during moments of tension and also sympathy. In this way I hope to find out what it means to be a specifically feminine representative of the nation.

[1] Sarah Benet-Weiser, The Most Beautiful Girl in the World and National Identity (California, 1999), p. 2

[2] Raka Shome, Transnational Feminism and Communication Studies, The Communication Review 9.4 (2006), p. 264

When mentioning terms such as colonialism and English identity, I tend associate words such as oppression and superiority (at least a superiority complex). Within my project however, I will seek to challenge these preconceptions by focusing on the earlier stages of English colonial history. In particular, I want to focus in on the English factory at Hirado in Japan and compare it to English colonists in North America during the period between 1600 and 1623. With both these cases I seek to explore the malleability of English identity, reflective of power or lack there of, that Englishmen possessed.

I may just like the ring of “A Web of Lies”, but from background reading I think this is perfect description of English and their interactions with foreign peoples at the turn of the 17th century. This is because English identity became second to instincts of survival and the pursuit of economic gain. The Merchants Avizo, in short a self help book for English merchants operating in Spain and Portugal is a perfect example. The work instructs merchants to be “lowly, curteous, and serviceable unto every person”, emphasising the importance of humility and restraint in these catholic nations.

Yet, this approach was not universal, with these networks of Englishmen acting differently depending of the situation that they faced. This is why I have chosen to compare Japan and English North America as they juxtapose each, for although they shared economic motives at their core, the results were entirely different.

I understand that upon selecting English North America I open myself to criticism that the English merchants of Japan were not comparable to English “colonists” of North America. However, this is in many ways not the case. The early English “colonisers” did not envision the policy of settlement which came to define English North America. Instead, as highlighted by Alison Games one of their objectives was the establishment of trading posts which Games describes as being “characterized by the amicable and cooperative relations English traders employed around the world”.

In short I hope to contrast two networks of Englishmen seeking to exploit the wealth of new lands. Revealing how ideas on identity and conduct, associated with imperial hegemony are simply lies, misconceptions from the later colonial period.

And somehow, miraculously — after almost two years — not a drop of blood has been spilled.

At least, unless you count a minor incident on Pancake Day 2018, when the three representatives of our respective nations stepped up to the pan in a deadly culinary battle; a valiant attempt to prove that theirs alone was the true pancake, not a soggy-bottomed scone or a glorified crepe as the various opponent forces would have you believe.

Let’s just say we’ll be sticking to the Waffle Co for our batter-based consumables this time around.

But, minor skirmishes aside, the living arrangement works. We have the advantage, perhaps, of a common language, a similar level of education, and no irreconcilable differences in terms of political views, religious beliefs, or a lack thereof. Against this backdrop, our difference in nationality seems trivial, if not entirely immaterial. Certainly, it has have proven no barrier to either our cohabitation or our friendship.

As fellow members of the University, I am sure these experiences will seem very familiar. And I am sure you will agree when I suggest that the St Andrews network is a phenomenon which deserves attention all on its own.

A web of students, staff, and academics from across the globe coalesce here in a tiny bubble: our own small hive of international, interdisciplinary, and interpersonal connections, and surely as good an example for transnational activities as any. Add the seasonal influx of tourists, golfers, and holidaymakers into the mix, and a whole new dimension begins to emerge.

And it can, of course, prove deeply controversial.

Indeed, amongst my housemates, who I have listed as two Americans, two Scots, and myself (English, though I will somewhat vainly default to British in my paperwork in recognition of the peculiar transnationalism of my own family), it has become something of a grim running joke to refer to our small North Sea town as if it were a modern Anglo-American colony.

And for all of us, the intense transnationalism of our university is a self-conscious experience. The fact that neither of our Scots speak with quite the same accents as their grandparents, parents, or peers back home is itself enough to generate some small feeling of disconnect from their sense of locality.

Now in the presence of others, they are instead galvanised to find further common ground in nationality — often, shared dialect words or pronunciations, shared experiences in education, or even familiar food and drink.

Think less haggis, neeps, and tatties, and more Barr’s bubblegum ‘fizzy juice’ drink (“You can’t call it pop, nobody says pop!”), steak pie with a pastry top (“What do you mean it’s supposed to come with a pastry case? That’s not the point of a steak pie!”) or cauliflower pakora from your local Glaswegian Indian takeaway, which my housemate swears is like no other.

Because while, on a larger scale, certain markers of identity become more difficult to distinguish – the little details lost on a larger-scaled map, the tiny organelles of a cell that blur together under lower magnification – so too do new shapes and contours come into focus, even if they were previously unseen, unknown, or simply irrelevant.

One of the interesting things about St Andrews, however, is that what comes into view very clearly as an English or an American student is how surprisingly easy it is to fit in here.

Allow me to explain.

Before coming to St Andrews, I attended a series of statistically average comprehensive schools which, though I loved, were not the ones expected to produce the best university applicants in my area.

Nonetheless, my academic profile was promising, and though, ironically, I was afraid that my history grade or my upcoming exam retakes might hinder my chances at entry, my careers advisers, as well as representatives of the university that I spoke with at UCAS fayres were always open-minded to my potential as an applicant.

Similarly, though you might put it down to cultural differences, the overwhelming message received by both of my American housemates was simply to go for it.

Often, for the Scottish students I have known, quite the reverse has been true. From their own schools to the level of university representatives, the number of prospective students told plainly that they won’t get in— or told by friends and family that they certainly won’t fit in –is quite alarming. Even more so when you usually hear these stories directly from students who did get in, and who have proven themselves more than worthy to be a student here, in their classes and beyond.

We could easily argue about the other factors which might generate this pattern of stories: assumptions about education and attainment, about socioeconomic background, even— or more conspiratorially, as many certainly do —the controversial calculus of funding, quotas, and tuition fees.

Yet I cannot help but perceive a stubborn national element here, and I do wonder what it says about us and about our institution that this imbalance exists. That it is frequently the Scottish students who feel the outsider here— and, indeed, who often feel an outsider on their return home —while most English and American students are absorbed quite easily into the mix.

We might boast of a highly international intake, but how diverse is it, really? Do we really experience a strong current of internationalism at St Andrews? Do we hear four different languages waiting in the library lobby, as you might at Aberdeen? Do we hear the voices of people of colour in every hall of residence and every class cohort, as you would in London or Leeds?

Are we, I ask my fellow English or American students, routinely challenged in our assumptions by people of other nationalities, cultures, or backgrounds?

Or, by and large, is our esteemed St Andrews network dominated by a transplanted Anglo-American culture, flavoured with a dash of orientalist Scottish whimsy worthy of Sir Walter Scott’s pageant for Queen Victoria in 1842?

I wonder. I wonder.

“No! no!” cried Frodo. “The Council laid it upon me to bear it.”

“It is by our own folly that the Enemy will defeat us,” cried Boromir. “How it angers me! Fool! Obstinate fool! Running wilfully to death and ruining our cause. If any mortals have claim to the Ring, it is the men of Númenor, and not Halflings. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me!”

If we could categorize historical settings into different “types”, I would probably say my favorite type of setting is one in which ideologies and social movements meet violently with existing economic and social realities. Under this categorization would be most revolutions, military, social, or industrial, as well as historical moments such as the one I intend to center my project on.

The Second International was an organization tying together the different Marxist political parties of the world (though primarily Europe) together; the organization held Congresses in which a unified ideological platform across parties was debated and established. A crucial part of this platform was internationalism and antimilitarism; from the perspective of socialist theorists, it made no sense for workers to die in battle against their fellow proletarians for the benefit of industrialists and aristocrats. By the outbreak of the First World War, parties affiliated with the Second International were the largest or second largest parties in the majority of continental Europe, though in almost all cases they were excluded from government.

While outright preventing the war would have been immensely difficult given their lack of direct political power, the Second International’s constituent parties were bound by the 1912 Congress to not vote for declarations of war or funding bills for said wars. Despite this, the vast majority of elected officials in belligerent countries voted not just for the original declarations of wars, but for funding for the war for severals years after. Socialist parties formed wartime coalitions with centrist and right-wing parties, and promised to prevent strike action and undue criticism of the war effort. While counterfactuals aren’t terribly useful, it is hard not to note that given that massive strike action and mutinies were crucial in eventually forcing German capitulation in 1918, it is likely that socialist collaborationism meaningfully lengthened the war. The near universal betrayal of one of the Second International’s core principles proved too much for the fellowship, which shattered during the war into separate organizations composed of pro- and anti-war leftists. These political descendants then continued the quest to throw capitalism into Mount D-er, rather, the dustbin of history.

At the core of what I want to investigate in my project is the internal conflict faced by persons associated with the Second International in the leadup to the First World War. In part this will be the conflict faced by leftists between their belief in class solidarity and internationalism and their conscious or unconscious belief in the ideals of nationalism and patriotism, and in part the material conflict faced by politicians between ideological purism and the need to engage successfully in electoral politics. In terms of what I know will definitely be in the project, I intend to analyze the existing conflicts over antimilitarism before, during and after the 1912 Congress, as well as conduct some in depth research on particularly interesting figures that might help illustrate the larger work. In particular, Jean Jaurès, the committed anti-militarist leader of the largest French socialist party, who was assassinated days before the outbreak of the war by a revanchist Frenchman; also Georges Weill, SPD member of the German Reichstag for Metz, who scandalized Germany by signing up for the French Army shortly after the outbreak of the war. If possible I’d like to strike a balance between looking at prominent intellectuals and politicians like Rosa Luxemburg with the views and opinions of everyday people who supported Second International parties. These may be difficult to source in English translation but I think it’s worth the try, as the motivations of the two groups were likely different and shouldn’t be grouped together.

Given this “core” topic and timeframe, that being the failure of antimilitarism at the start of the First World War, I want to expand the project both chronologically and topically. The more historically obvious expansion would be to look at the end of the war and the impact of the Bolshevik revolution, particularly with regards to the reasons figures on both sides of the antimilitarist split had for either supporting or opposing the Bolsheviks and their methods and/or platform. From my limited knowledge, the earlier anti-war faction tended to support the Bolsheviks and the pro-war faction tended to oppose them; looking at the reasons why this was the case would be a logical extension of the core of the project.

That being said, a more interesting expansion would be to construct the project as a comparative study of the Second International’s internal conflict with regards to antimilitarism with a very similar conflict, occurring around the same time, with regards to anti-colonialism. In my preliminary research for this project, I have found that while the Second International was formally opposed to colonialism, there was extensive internal debate over the nature of that anti-colonialism, and in some cases, the necessity of such a doctrine at all. This seems to represent a similar conflict, this time between socialist doctrines of racial egalitarianism and anti-imperialism and the notions of European racial or cultural superiority that were pervasive in Europe at the time, as well as ideals of nationalism and patriotism.

Also worth investigating would be the nature of the Second International as a de facto whites-only organization, as the only non-European member parties were located in the United States, Argentina, and Uruguay. The vast majority of participants, politicians and civilians alike, had limited to no interaction with colonized peoples. It occurs to me now that this aspect might be worth comparing to the physical and linguistic barriers faced by ordinary members of International-affiliated parties when considering their ability to directly meet with and relate to their ostensible brethren in other European countries. While it might be outside the temporal scope of this project, it’s worth considering that while no Second International party directly “betrayed” the anti-colonial ethos in the same way as took place with antimilitarism, this may simply be because no Second International party led a government of a colonial power prior to its dissolution. In the post-war period, formerly affiliated parties came to power in countries such as France and the Netherlands, and refused to begin the de-colonization process or to give colonial subjects equal political rights; this could be seen as a comparable betrayal to that of the July Days of 1914.

To conclude, and to tie my last post to this one, I am very tempted to take on the more ambitious comparative project with anti-colonialism. My only worry is that I will find myself unable to do both antimilitarism and anti-colonialism justice and end up not investigating either as deeply as they deserve; the Second International is well attested to in both primary and secondary sources so there is likely no “bottom” to how deeply a committed student could investigate certain aspects of it (ignoring the time limitations). That being said, I think if I plan the project out correctly, this could be some of the most interesting and, hopefully, best work I have done at St. Andrews.

Tonio Andrade’s “A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys; and a Warlord: Toward a Global Microhistory” was one of the most entertaining historical pieces I have ever read. I found its flowing narrative to be refreshing as it contained vivid imagery not often seen in academic articles. In his micro-historical approach, Andrade grounds his writing in a linear narrative and rarely digresses from the storyline, allowing himself more leeway for description and greater entertainment value. Within the story, we are able to get a sense of the character and agency of a number of individuals, including the Taiwanese farmer called Sait, the warlord Koxinga and two Dutch naval officers named Caux and Coyet. The decisions and struggles of these characters in addition to the interactions they have with each other, make the story readable as well as believable. Rather than focusing on broader questions of intersectionality and transnational networking, Andrade chooses to focus on individuals and their interactions during an instance of confluence between nations.

I found that this style and approach contrasted with Heather Streets-Salter’s “The Local Was Global: The Singapore Mutiny of 1915.” Streets-Salter uses both micro and macro levels of analysis in what is a far more technical approach to writing global/transnational history.  She begins by describing the events as they happened categorically, laying the groundwork for the rest of the essay when she looks at the causes, ramifications and vast global networks involved in the mutiny. The combination of micro and macro elements requires densely packed information as it includes a discussion of wider historical movements that may have contributed to the event. The article starts with a group of Indian sepoys being tried and executed for staging a mutiny in British-controlled Singapore and the network steadily expands to another, Indian nationalist military group called the Malay States Guides to a Japanese ship in Vancouver called the Komagata Maru and all the way to Kaiser Germany’s First World War propaganda machine. While the reach of the Singapore Mutiny’s transnational network is certainly astounding, I found myself lost in the complicated and at times tenuous connections between the Mutiny itself and its far-reaching global connections. This may be the result of my preference for concise, anecdotal writing, but I think there is something to be said of Andrade’s ability to create an informative story with an abundance of drama out of a little known 17th century struggle between a Chinese warlord and some Dutch sailors.

Andrade’s article showed that transnational history could take place through a series of personal interactions. As I solidify a topic for my project, I hope to follow his example and find a situation in which I can tell a story of transnational interaction taking place between individual people and cultures, not necessarily institutions or government apparatuses.

Can transnational history be written without the mention of the “nation”?

Reflecting on the Week 4 Readings, I was intrigued by the discussion regarding “nations.” As poignant stated in the ‘Introduction. Space and Scale in Transnational History’ article, the scale by which transnational history can be measured far outshines the limitations of “nation-states.” The argument was cogently made that history can be studied through the more fluid categories of identity, region, and even ethnic group (p.578). Similarly Ian Tyrell in Transnational Nation references looking at history in terms of the local scale, finding the balance between local and global history. While I agree with Tyrell and acknowledge the merits of looking at history through other perspectives than just the nation-state, I find it hard to abandon the notion of the nation entirely when writing any history. In other words, I agree with the statement that some accounts of transnational history benefit from being assessed through the documentation of religious groups or regional ties. However, I disagree with the notion that the nation-state can be entirely abandoned in accounts of transnational history.  Notably, some histories might cater more towards regional studies or specific state case studies (like that of the United States), but the overarching influence of the nation is hard to separate from any narrative.

With this in mind, I pose the question of “why do we need to seperate transnational history from the nation?” It can be coherently argued that looking at national histories can be a telling starting point for international movements. For example, in my proposed project focusing on EU identity, it is helpful and some would argue (like me) necessary to start from the building blocks of nation states and state actors. My fear is that if historians separate or feel they need to separate the idea of the nation entirely, important historical parallels will be lost. To illustrate, in A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys; and a Warlord: Toward a Global Microhistory, Sait a Chinese farmer is an actor in a larger movement, but described as a Chinese farmer. Sait helps the Dutch prepare for oncoming attacking from Koxinga’s army, and therefore acts against his nation. The reason this story is so significant within history is the movement of ideas and actions across nations. It would seem difficult to remove this concept of a nation and still defend the prominence and importance of the historical narrative of Sait.

Why is there so much hesitation towards a narrative based around the “nation”? To some, a possible reason could be the implications of the word “nation.”  “Nation” denotes a place with set boundaries, isolating a group of peoples rather than connecting them. However, a counter argument would be that by recognising the presence of nations within historical narratives it is easier to draw and see connections, politically, economically, and culturally when a fixed scale of “boundaries” are in place. For example, tracking the movement of Yiddish speakers in during World War II could be more easily done by accessing the number of speakers in each country, and using those statics to contribute to a more holistic picture. By looking at national boundaries, a larger image of global collaboration, globalisation, and transnational ties come into focus. For example, in order to make sense of terms such as “globalisation”, one must understand how commodities and ideas spread from one country to the next. These links defy borders but in order to understand how connections blur national boundaries, there needs to be talk of these national boundaries. To abandon the idea of the nation entirely would be doing a disservice to the discipline of transnational history.

I believe it is difficult to think of a situation that is benefited by completely discarding the nation. For example, even tracking the movement of technology or cybersecurity still gets wrapped up in specific national legislation and policies. The nation is always part of the conversation whether it is used as a scale of measure, or whether it is absent from the conversation (speaking in more global terms as a method of contrast)– it is nevertheless talked about. So in sum, while the nation must always be present in historical dialogue, it is not necessarily the strongest method for accessing a historical study.

Last weekend I took my mum to see the wonders of Dundee. The main reason we’d gone, other than the fact we’d managed to cover most of St Andrews in about a day, was to see the Victoria & Albert museum. I live in London and my mum is a jewellery designer, she makes and designs her jewellery using semi-precious stones, so of course my childhood Sundays were often spent perusing around London’s many art and design museums, in particular the V&A. Though I unfortunately did not inherit any of my mum’s arty genes (they all went to my sister), I have always been able to appreciate art and decorative objects as historical artefacts, allowing you to get a glimpse of what a certain time or place would have looked or felt like. What kind of person would have owned or wanted to own these objects? Why did they mean something to someone? Who had created them and why? We are inherently material beings, prone to creating, flaunting and hoarding aesthetically beautiful things and I think often as historians we neglect looking at objects and art as primary sources, leaving them to the art historians.

Despite having quite low expectations (I mean we’re just looking at boats right?), I found the exhibition incredibly inspiring as a way of practising Transnational History. Ocean liners are connectors; they forge connections between places by transporting people from A to B, often crossing national borders in the process. As the principal method of travel across oceans until the invention of planes, ocean liners served the world in many ways: transporting immigrants to new lives, servicing global empires and carrying cargo from place to place. Shipbuilding also became crucial to many industrial economies, while an expanding network of ports created cosmopolitan hubs where international products were exchanged and people of different cultures and backgrounds interacted.

The exhibition mainly focused on ocean liners when shipping companies began targeting wealthier first- and tourist-class passengers travelling for business and leisure in the early 20^th century. Until then, intercontinental travel was difficult, sometimes dangerous, and was mainly undertaken by those who had to: imperial servants, or those emigrating in search of a better life. As the demand for luxury travel was increasing, the transnational customer came to connote a particular class of individual – you think of Kate Winslet in a black beaded dress and white gloves, descending the ornate wooden staircase to enter the first-class dining room. These were transnational people because they could afford to be.

Ocean liners were increasingly seen as symbols of state and intensifying national rivalries gave them a new political resonance as embodying the wonders of the modern, industrial world. As companies competed for wealthier passengers, interior design became an important feature that bridged both commercial and national concerns.

What I found particularly interesting was the way the interior design of the ship reflected the specific route. ‘Exotic’ decoration and materials often characterised ships on colonial routes, which may have influenced the expectations these people had when they arrived to their destination. This idea made me reflect on Derek Gregory’s ‘Scripting Egypt’. In it he directs our attention to the ways travel writing is involved in the ‘staging’ and ‘scripting’ of particular places. He argues travel scripting (like travel guides), “produces a serialized space of constructed visibility that allows and sometimes even requires objects to be seen in specific ways by a specific audience”[1].

This panel was designed by William de Morgan for the saloon and displayed on the Sutlej, a P&O liner named after a river in the Punjab, India. Below, are further panel designs he sketched for other P&O liners.

The display below it read, “His designs were inspired by destinations in India and Asia, and by Iznik ceramics of the 16^th century Ottoman Empire which he encountered at the South Kensington Museum”. It’s almost ironic to consider William de Morgan never crossed a national border himself whilst making these designs, instead drawing on objects from other museums himself.

Whilst researching the SS Sutlej at home, I found out the ship also made 10 journeys between 1908 and 1916 transporting Indian indentured labourers to the West Indies whilst on its return journey from Calcutta.[2] These labourers emerged when European merchants and businessmen began recruiting Indians who were enlisting to go abroad in hope of a better life to work in plantations after the abolition of slavery. The influx of docile and manageable Indian workers diminished the competitive leverage and bargaining power of the freed slaves in the West Indies, reinforcing the so-called ‘plantocracy’ system there.[3]

Whilst researching the SS Sutlej at home, I found out the ship also made 10 journeys between 1908 and 1916 transporting Indian indentured labourers to the West Indies whilst on its return journey from Calcutta.[2] These labourers emerged when European merchants and businessmen began recruiting Indians who were enlisting to go abroad in hope of a better life to work in plantations after the abolition of slavery. The influx of docile and manageable Indian workers diminished the competitive leverage and bargaining power of the freed slaves in the West Indies, reinforcing the so-called ‘plantocracy’ system there.[3]

The paradox of coerced yet mobile indentured labourers compared to the unrestricted yet immobile English artist reminded me of Clare Anderson’s discussion of geographical immobility being bound up with social immobility. “The ‘modernity’ of colonial governance was constituted in part through representations of the ‘pre-modernity’ of Indians who belonged to static, unchanging and timeless religious or caste communities. The possibility of travel across social, cultural or geographic borders was thereby imaginatively erase”[4].

Overall, the exhibition provided me much to reflect on as an example of transnational history on display for the public. I very much enjoyed looking through these objects as historical artefacts once again, even if the description did not reveal the whole story.

[1] Gregory, Derek, ‘Scripting Egypt: Orientalism and the cultures of travel’ in James Duncan and Derek Gregory (ed.), Writes of Passage: Reading Travel Writing (London, 1998), p. 116

[2] http://guyanachronicle.com/2009/05/05/the-coolie-ships, http://www.theshipslist.com/ships/descriptions/ShipsSS.shtml

[3] Misir, Prem The Subaltern Indian Woman: Domination and Social Degradation (Berlin, 2017), p. 20.

[4] Anderson, Clare, Subaltern Lives: Biographies of Colonialism in the Indian Ocean World 1790-1920 (Cambridge, 2012), p. 19