MO3351 Doing and Practicing Transnational and Global History

The current challenge I’m facing in writing my project is deciding upon a structure that keeps the transnational element at the centre. The essential purpose of my project is to uncover the transnational connections between Belfast and Glasgow through the example of the connections between the two Celtic football clubs in each city – not to merely present an interesting history of the two clubs. The problem, therefore, is making sure my argument is structured such – and my sources used as such – that the transnational dimension remains central throughout, in a coherent structure, rather than being relegated to the peripheries.

The sources that I have encountered so far can generally be divided into several categories. Firstly, there are general secondary histories of Belfast and Glasgow Celtic that often provide quite detailed accounts of the clubs’ histories that are often placed in a wider social and political context. Secondly, there are more specific primary sources that include the first hand accounts of fans of both clubs at the time, and contemporary newspaper reports – many of which are archived by the Belfast Celtic Society. Thirdly, there is the wider body of transnational Irish history, which as far as my own rudimentary research suggests, is beginning to flourish. The ‘Transnational Ireland international network’ is a group of academics from a variety of universities worldwide that share an interest in Irish transnational history. While none of the articles listed on their website’s bibliography directly discuss the sort of Scots-Irish links in the particular period and context of my project, they do often touch on similar issues regarding migration and cultural transfer across the Irish Sea – providing vital context and background for my own study amongst the wider body of Irish transnational historiography.

The questioned I’m posed, then, is how do I marry all of these sources into a coherent structure that keeps the transnational question at the fore? In my project proposal I set out the intention to arrange my argument around three areas – sectarianism, cultural identity and individual actors. However, as Harriet suggested in a previous blog post, it may be beneficial to narrow down the scope of my argument. Indeed, upon reflection, the third category of individual actors may be superfluous – analysis of individual actors will likely be common to the previous two sections. Moreover, with the areas of ‘sectarianism’ and ‘cultural identity’ isolated, we may begin to see them two as sides of the same coin. Another potential way of structuring my project then would be to study on the one hand, the ‘positive’ shared identity and on the other the ‘negative’ shared identity manifested through sectarianism. This may allow me to focus on a narrow spectrum of events, mainly the riots between Rangers and Celtic in Glasgow that were mirrored in Belfast with Celtic and Linfield. This would allow me to initially focus on primary sources, before stepping back to consider wider conclusions. The ultimate aim would be to highlight the shared Scots-Irish sphere of influence, through these ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ cultural ties. However, I’m still not entirely convinced of the most effective structure to use.

Moving forward, I need to identify the primary sources that apply to these areas, and identify how they can contribute to the argument. Similarly, I need to research how the existing Irish and Scottish transnational historiography deals with these areas.

http://www.belfastceltic.org/

http://transnationalireland.com/bibliography/

Click to access RIISS_diaspora_bibliography.pdf

Where my project stands at the moment is one that still lacks focus and a specific argument at such. As the nature of my project has evolved from focusing on the first Documenta exhibition in 1955 to covering three (1955, 1968, and 1972 I think I’m going to move forward with) and looking at a long-term analysis instead, the breadth of historiography has widened. This is to be expected as I further interrogate German identity and politics through its varied periods, spanning the Adenauer period to Brandt era. What some of my research into the Documentas has revealed so far is that the onset of Ostpolitik (political efforts to ease West German-East German tensions from the late 1960s) did not mean the introduction of Eastern artists into documenta as of 1972. This raises questions surrounding Western German intentions to fulfill its Ostpolitik policy and whether its commitment to implement greater economic and cultural exchange was honest.

One such trend that has been apparent across all three exhibitions is the continually rising number of American artists featured, and is a possible avenue I might explore further as an understanding of German identity reformation. In the 1972 exhibition American artists made up over fifty percent of the participants, a noticeable change from the 1955 exhibition, which was dominated by Germans and featured only three American artists. Is this merely a trend reflecting the popularity of pop art, conceptual art, and others, or is there a feeling that Germany wants to move farther West, integrate more away from its Eastern counterpart? Does the cultural exchange between American and German artists demonstrate a transferral of German values? How do I determine exactly what these values are?

As I continue with my research, the greatest challenge seems to be forming an actual hypothesis and constructing an argument. At times there seems to be a wealth of information, and sifting through the historiography seems to be crucial at this point. In terms of primary sources there isn’t much beyond the works themselves, although at this point I feel like the art will be pushed aside in favour of transnationally looking at the scales at play here (exhibition, Kassel, Germany, Europe, and beyond). Within these scales is one question I keep coming back to as suggested by Dr. Struck, and that is why Kassel? I hope to keep this in mind as I continue a long-term examination of the scope of artists involved as connected to German identity.

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).

The process of developing my project around the theme of Prohibition bootlegging on the Michigan-Ontario border has proved a challenging one. The wealth of primary and secondary sources which I have found has made it increasingly difficult to find a satisfactory focus for my research. At this point my primary concern is identifying an argument or question in order to construct a line of inquiry along which to direct my research over the coming weeks.

Having been inspired by our readings and discussions, I am keen to incorporate the microhistorical approach into my analysis. A potentially fruitful way of doing this would be to focus on a cross-border comparison between communities on the two sides of the Detroit River. The experiences of these border communities during Prohibition offer a fascinating lens on wider the wider political and social processes of the era. Starting at this local level should also allow me to keep bootlegging and bootleggers at the centre of my analysis.

However, the need to construct an argument remains. Ideally I will be able to identify some aspect of the relationship between the border communities which was initiated or altered by bootlegging or Prohibition more broadly, and use this as my line of argument. This could focus on ties between the communities, or instead on their parallel developments, which would perhaps highlight some surprising similarities or differences. My research thus far has hinted at a number of ways in which Prohibition was influential at the community level. These include the small-scale production of alcohol, the local involvement in smuggling activities, the influence of criminal gangs, and the public opinions towards bootleggers and law enforcers. The last of these has particularly caught my interest, as studies by Moore and others highlight the ways in which public opinion served to both reflect and influence the respective successes of bootlegging and enforcement. Tracking the shifts in public opinion is an interesting option, but it remains to be seen if this is valid and achievable at the local level.

My research on this topic so far has been extremely interesting, and I look forward to the challenge of constructing a narrower argument over the coming weeks. This process will hopefully include a trip to the National Library of Scotland to access some of the most detailed studies on prohibition in Michigan and Ontario. Any responses to the thoughts laid out in this blog would be most welcome, as would any questions or alternative suggestions.

Engelmann, Larry, Intemperance: the lost war against liquor (New York & London, 1979)

Mason, Philip, P., Rum Running and the Roaring Twenties (Detroit, 1995)

Moore, S. T. Bootlegging and Borders: The Paradox of Prohibition on a Canada-U.S. Borderland (Lincoln & London, 2014)

When examining history in the context of nation-states interacting with nation-states, it is often easy, and sometimes inevitable, that we lose sight of the role of individuals. Even if individuals are considered, it is difficult to imagine them as individual actors, and easy to picture them as either a resource, or something that history simply happens to.

In transnational history, examining interactions across national, territorial or, as is the case in Ulrike Lindner’s article on the German diamond town of Luderitzbucht, colonial boundaries often requires that historians study interactions and migrations at the individual level. By doing so, it reminds us of the agency that the individual actor has throughout history. Lindner writes that the “term ‘transnational history’ is used pragmatically in order to focus on connections and constellations that transcend borders and people who cross borders.” Lindner describes Luderitzbucht as a ‘transnational space,’ highlighting the transnational nature of the interactions between the German colonial administration, the Southwest African workers, the British consulate and the workers from the Cape. Specific attention is also given to the fact that the African migrant workers in South and Southwest Africa had much more individual agency than is often ascribed to them, and that this comes to light by examining their migrations and working conditions. The backing given to the workers from the Cape colony in Luderitzbucht by the British consulate, and the influence this gave them over their working conditions is only understandable when examining the transnational context that the events took place in. Examining transnational networks also highlights individual agency. In David S. Cox and Harold J. Cook’s article on scientific networks, the importance of individual visits between scientific communities is made abundantly clear. The dependence on oral contact and visible demonstrations between networks meant that individual links were what made up much wider networks.

Examining individual interactions across borders, therefore, brings attention to the agency and mobility that individual actors, and networks of individuals have in history, and how these are often divorced from their national identities.

The concept of networks in transnational history is potentially a very powerful one; they can elucidate exactly why certain phenomena developed, and why in specific spaces, both socially and geographically. Human connections have often connected geographically independent regions or individuals in the globe, and it can be easy to carelessly label these ‘global’ networks. However, we must be vigilant to be specific in discussion of networks, circulations, and the transmission of knowledge in order to create a nuanced image that can truly enhance the analysis of historical phenomena.

James Secord’s concept of “knowledge in transit” is particularly useful in this sense when reflecting on the potentials of networks and their use in a transnational project, since it questions how time is used: “we need to stop using time unreflectively” (Secord, 663). Through thinking about networks, and constructing an alternative conduit through which to guide historical analysis, transnational historians should be aware that “what” is being said “can be answered only through a simultaneous understanding of “how,” “where,” “when,” and “for whom”.” (Secord, 663-4). Indeed, in their examination of networks during the scientific revolution, Lux and Cook identify “social prestige” as establishing the credibility of matters of fact. (Lux & Cook, 179). It was not necessarily the content (the “what”), but rather how well that person was connected that mattered, since this was what determined credibility. If personal meetings, correspondence, and frequent travel were the best way to build networks through the creation of “multiple weak ties”, and networks are seen as a way of connecting history, then agency is brought back into the picture.

Grand meta-narratives of globalisation have too often written human agency out of history. However, the reaction against this has already begun to put individual agency back into the picture, especially in the experimentation using different scales to show how the local was the global. In this sense, the reflection on networks, and more specifically, human agency, is part of a new way of approaching our recent past. Ulrike Lindner’s study on the transnational movements between colonial empires in South Africa highlights that however much the Germans tried to demarcate a national style of colonial rule, they were still at the mercy of business interests, and international considerations. A population shortage in the German South West African colony meant that migrant workers were encouraged from the British Cape Colony. As such, a British consulate was established in the mining town of Lüderitzbucht. The consul here was sympathetic to the grievances of the African workers, and represented a third institution between the workers and the German administration. This opened up a space for the workers to manoeuvre ‘between the colonies’, an opportunity that could be used to strengthen their claims and to fight for their rights.

It is the exposure of these types of networks that can help us to uncover forces that have hitherto been disregarded in historical analysis. Networks of ‘soft power’ that are very important in international relations are key, but the challenge is how to measure or locate these in the diffuse setting of a transnational network.

Readings:

Lindner, Ulrike. “Transnational Movements between Colonial Empires: Migrant Workers from the British Cape Colony in the German Diamond Town of Lüderitzbucht.” European Review of History: Revue Europeenne D’histoire 16, no. 5 (2009): 679–95.

David S. Lux and Harold J. Cook, ‘Closed Circles or Open Networks? Communicating at a distance during the scientific revolution’, History of Science 36 (1998): 179-211.

James Secord, ‘Knowledge in Transit’, Isis 95 (2004): 654-672

Rodogno, Davide, Bernhard Struck, and Jakob Vogel, eds. Shaping the Transnational Sphere: Experts, Networks and Issues from the 1840s to the 1930s. New York: Berghahn Books, 2014. (Introduction)

Researching Ghadar has involved using a range of different source bases. In addition to published memoirs and collections of official documents – available through inter-library loan – I have consulted contemporary newspapers online through the library subscription to the ProQuest database. This was a useful backdrop, providing a number of insightful angles, adding to the image of Ghadar as a transnational movement. However, these sources have to be approached carefully, since they are collections edited by their authors, who have themselves chosen exactly what to include or omit.

In order to get a more complete view of this transnational revolutionary movement, I recently undertook some research at the British Library in London. I consulted archival material held in the Asian and African Studies section of the library, where British Foreign Office, Indian Office, and SIS correspondences on Ghadar are held. There is also an extensive collection of “Hostile Oriental Propaganda Pamphlets” available to peruse here- essentially a collection of ‘Indian’ themed anti-British literature. A surprising amount of this was connected to Ghadar: either produced by them, reprinted at their presses, or distributed via a proxy connected to active Ghadarites. This will certainly add to the depth of my analysis, being able to anchor Ghadar in some of its own literature, but also in evaluating the extent to which the British government perceived the movement as a threat. What I found would support the assertion that Ghadar was considered a distinct threat by the imperial authorities. To provide an example, Sir Edward Grey, the foreign secretary at the time (1915), was consulted on the ‘dangerous’ amount of Ghadar literature – all of which was considered as seditious – that was being smuggled into India. This went to the very top.

Using the British Library

For the purpose of anyone else who might find it useful to utilise the resources of the British Library (it is also an excellent repository of books, with upward of 56 million items), I would like to sketch out a brief guide on getting set-up there.

I would recommend pre-registering for a reader’s ticket online before you head to the library, as this will save you time when you get there: http://www.bl.uk/reshelp/inrrooms/stp/register/stpregister.html. Follow the instructions, and make a note of your pre-registration reader number- you will need this to complete the registration when you get to the library.

I would also recommend ordering items to your account before you get there, so that you will have something to work with straight away. In order to do this, you need to upgrade your account to a ‘British Library Online Account’: http://explore.bl.uk/primo_library/libweb/action/search.do?dscnt=1&dstmp=1426532317978&vid=BLVU1&fromLogin=true If you follow this link, the login button should be in the top-right corner. The option to ‘upgrade’ should then be the top link that you find here.  Enter your reader ID, and pass expiry date that you should have been sent in an email when you completed the pre-registration confirmation; you will then receive one of those confirmation emails that will ask you to follow the link of in order to complete the process.

You can now use the library search database to order your books. On the main catalogue, enter your search, then click the ‘I want this button’, followed by ‘Deliver item to: The British Library’s Reading Rooms’. Login, and then choose whether you want the item straight away, or ‘add to basket’, where you can choose to have the item reserved for a particular day. If you want to consult the archival and manuscript material held at the library, first of all click on the ‘Archives and Manuscript’ Catalogue from the toolbar on the British Library homepage. Once you have found what you’re looking for, you need to login, and click ‘request other items’ in the taskbar. Using the reference number from your search, you can submit a request for the relevant section and either ‘request for today’, or add to basket as with the items in the main catalogue.

When you arrive at the library, just head to the registration room on the first floor to complete the registration process and pick up your readers card. From here, you can head over to the relevant reading room (I was in the African and Asian one on the third floor). If you have ordered any material,  you can pick it up from the ‘issue and return desk’ area of the reading room.

I hope that this has been helpful. I can definitely recommend a visit if you have the time; there are some great collections here, and the reading rooms retain the grandness of a traditional library despite being contained within a fairly new building.

It is clear from the literature on the topic that the level of detail in an article or book is an important consideration in the writing of transnational history. The two examples of transnational history that we read this week, Tonio Andrade’s A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys, and a Warlord and Heather Streets-Salter’s The Local Was Global: The Singapore Mutiny of 1915 were somewhat similar in many ways – they both concerned specific and short-term events on islands in Asia, and interactions between individuals of several different cultures. The difference in scale between these articles, however is vastly different. While Andrade’s article is very detailed, he seems to be attempting to prove a point: that the writing of history does not need to concern itself with the great ‘so what’ question – why does this matter in the grand scale of things? While Streets-Salter’s article concerns itself with events that are on a similar size to those that occurred on Formosa in Andrade’s article, Streets-Salter instead chooses to zoom far out from the events taking place in Singapore and examines the range of reactions that occurred on a global level, and situates the mutiny against the backdrop of the global zeitgeist in 1915.

I would argue that while Andrade is clearly trying to prove a point, his article suffers for it. Andrade’s style is clearly a marked departure from most historical scholarship – the article is written with a strong focus on narrative style, it ends with a somewhat speculative “what-if?” question, and it does not really concern itself with the wider global context beyond the interesting, but ultimately insignificant story it tells. I think that these departures are refreshing. I very much enjoyed reading the article, and I think that its unique style makes it an engaging and intriguing read, but by not focussing on the wider repercussions and context, Andrade’s article loses a lot of the punch he created by making it so different from the majority of historical literature. Even despite this, Andrade attempts to emphasise a central thrust of his argument – that during war, friendships across cultural lines become harder to maintain. However, this argument is somewhat obvious, and it comes across as something of a substitution for situating it in a wider historical context. The light speculation towards the end of the article also reaches into dubious territory, but Andrade quickly pulls himself back by emphasising on what did happen rather than what could have.

In short, Streets-Salter’s article is more adept with handling the scope of a small-scale event by situating it within a large-scale context. By doing so, she opens the event up to much more historical analysis than Andrade can afford with his approach. This is, to me, a real shame, as Andrade’s article is unique and something of a joy to read. Under greater scrutiny, however, by choosing not to acknowledge the wider context of these events, Andrade’s article becomes an interesting story, but much less useful as a piece of academic historical writing.

Critics of transnational history seem to attribute the term as a buzzword, a fad occurring within the historical discipline. Despite the opinions of its proponents and opponents, both would agree that transnational history is by no means new. Its rise to prominence can be attributed to three reasons, one of which I found personally meaningful. Students and historians themselves are becoming transnational subjects in their own right. Whether it is through traveling, studying higher education abroad, or learning multiple languages, our generation of historians has the opportunity to directly shape and influence the discipline. I know that my fellow classmates and I have experienced the multicultural and diverse connections made possible by an increasingly globalized world. This aspect of transnational history feels particularly important because I personally feel a part of this ongoing historical process. It also emphasizes the importance of what this course is achieving by attracting students shaped by transnational lifestyles, and the resulting desire to apply those experiences to our appreciation of history.

This week’s readings offered a variety of approaches and methodologies that have inspired my thoughts and development of the long-term project. It’s provided potential explanations as to why transnational history is important and how to cope with questions of space and scale, especially regarding the nation state. “Transnational history does not deny the impact of the nation and the nation state in modern history.” Transnational history’s ability to “play with scales” and narrow in on a particular person or region challenges perceptions of space and refutes the idea that history takes place within a limited, predefined space. The nation cannot be excluded from transnational history, but essentially it takes a back seat and is removed as the primary scale. These ideas contributed to transnational history are useful with regards to my project based on the ideas of Max Weber, and implemented by Andrade’s “A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys, and Warlord: Toward a Global Microhistory”. The individual as study offers two models for the historian: one in which the individual is an agent in a chain of events, and the individual as representative of a larger group’s characteristics. These two models are some of the methodological approaches I hope to utilize in my long-term project. By engaging with microhistory, finding those links between the macro and micro, I could potentially study one figure from dOCUMENTA 55, such as the founder Arnold Bode, who is directly connected to the choosing of Kassel as the exhibition’s location, or a specific artist to demonstrate the individual’s role within the larger scope of resituating German identity. It is some food for thought, but the topic of microhistory is one I find interesting and beneficial to my engagement with transnational history.

Our discussion this morning centred heavily on pinpointing the value of microhistory, with close reference to the article “A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys; and a Warlord” by Tonio Andrade, and Heather Streets-Salter’s “The Local was Global: The Singapore Mutiny of 1915.”

“We should also use our unique position as custodians of the world’s past to be mediums, to bring alive, just for a few pages, some of the people who inhabited those structures and lived through those processes, using what Braudel called the most important tool of the historian: imagination.”

This quote from Andrade highlights where part of the value of microhistory can be found. Microhistory allows the historian to use his or her imagination, and when the imagination is engaged, history writing immediately becomes more accessible to the reader. The articles by Andrade and Streets-Salter offer fine examples of this, as both succeeded in capturing my attention instantly, through the use of a focused account of a fascinating historical vignette. Andrade’s approach of weaving his narrative throughout his article was particularly refreshing, and ensured that my interest was piqued from the first page and sustained to the last. Nevertheless, we as a class agreed that Andrade’s article, while extremely readable, was not a perfect manifestation of the usefulness of microhistory.

The fundamental use of microhistory lies, I believe, in the relationship between the local and the global. The global turn in historical writing since the 1990s caused some to question whether microhistory had a future. Far from threatening the practice of microhistory, however, the global focus offers the chance for its true potential to be unlocked. There is no question that the micro level can serve not only as a descriptive tool, but also as an explanatory basis for broader, global themes. While Andrade offers little more than a hint of its value in this regard, Streets Salter provides a more comprehensive example. Her article on the Singapore Mutiny explicitly uses a local event to offer a perspective on “larger intercolonial and global connections.” Such an approach is undoubtedly the aspiration of all microhistorians, and it must remain so if microhistory is to retain its relevance.

Both of these articles offer inspiration as I consider how to develop my own project, and both challenge me to consider how best to utilise the tool of microhistory. As Harri and I discussed this morning, the idea of entering our analyses through the account of a specific event is an extremely appealing one. This leaves me with the difficult task of finding an event that is attention-grabbing, relevant, and representative of my project’s broader themes. Harri’s suggestions as to how I could go about this were welcome, and this is something I shall have to pursue over the coming weeks. If such an event were found, I would then seek to develop an essay that utilised Andrade’s device of repeatedly returning to the story in order to analyse a different actor, or portray in a different light. Ideally, this would allow me to retain both the appeal of a narrative history, and the value of the micro as an analytical lens through which to view the macro. Such aspirations are far from easily achieved, but microhistory certainly holds exciting possibilities for us all.

Since its heyday in the 1970s and 80s, cresting the waves of Ginzburg’s breakthrough tale of cheese and worms, micro history has remained both a popular and yet controversial methodology. However, in a field such as global history, micro history is indispensible, and in my opinion, an essential component of any worthwhile study. In a field defined by sweeping global trends engulfing billions, the individual experiences of singular actors, however seemingly detached from the grand theatres of global diplomacy, provide evidence, balance and counter point to the grander global arguments of the historian. Micro history anchors global history to reality; it provides the proof that global trends are indeed affecting global populations – or indeed the counter-argument to suggest that supposed global trends are not, after all, all-encompassing.

Last semester I was challenged with an 8,000 word honours project whose focus fell broadly upon the rise of the Scottish Nationalist Party following the Second World War. Typically, this phenomenon is largely recounted as a fairly positivist rise, explained in terms of national party politics and economics on a macro-level. Instead, I chose to focus my project on the election of a single MP in a by-election in the relatively small mining town of Motherwell. Through this more locally focused lens, one begins to see a tale where the most significant actors are local actors – GPs, ministers, eccentric members of the local CPGB branch or Orange Order, far removed from Churchill or Atlee in Whitehall. At the most local, individual range, many were more concerned with which church the candidate attended, rather than what side of the Commons he sat on. With this balance of perspective, we can begin to re-assess the previously ubiquitous macro explanations of high-level national politics – and, indeed of higher-level global politics.

It is in this vein that Andrade calls for balance in the field of global history, to underpin the macro with the micro to develop a fuller picture – in his case of cross-cultural relations in Dutch ruled Taiwan. Indeed, Streets-Salter heeds this call for balance in her global study of colonial reactions to mutiny in the early twentieth century, anchoring her argument in the micro study of Singapore in 1915 – indeed, the title ‘the local was global’ succinctly sums up her methodology.

It is important, however, that we tend away from too heavy a focus on the narrative of micro history. Micro histories have traditionally leant on a more substantial narrative component than other methodologies. We, as historians, must be vigilant that micro history is represented honestly and that false narrative is not inserted for its own sake. Micro history need not necessarily make a page-turning thriller if it holds a degree of wider significance to the study in question.

So what of the transnational perspective? Critics of transnational history have often branded the field as merely a trendy fad – comprised of fashionable, yet ultimately empty buzzwords. Yet micro history provides the very worth and essence of transnational history, the inherent proof that the subject is not just a flash-in-the-pan word-of-the-day. Individual examples at the very smallest of micro levels provide us with the substantiation that transnational influences and actors have fulfilled important and interesting roles in the past, making the study of transnational history on a larger macro scale worthwhile.