This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/oct/12/scars-divide-nation

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
The scars that divide nations: do the English have one too? The scars that divide nations: do the English have one too?
(35 minutes later)
Did you register the death at 93 this week of Eric Lomax whose harrowing experiences as a Japanese prisoner of war on the Burma railway evolved into a quite remarkable story of reconciliation which he told in his late-life (1996) memoir, The Railway Man?Did you register the death at 93 this week of Eric Lomax whose harrowing experiences as a Japanese prisoner of war on the Burma railway evolved into a quite remarkable story of reconciliation which he told in his late-life (1996) memoir, The Railway Man?
If you didn't, you probably will because the story has been turned into a soon-to-be-released film starring no less a figure than Colin Firth. By a further coincidence I read the book this summer at the suggestion of my older brother who was staying on holiday with us. I did so after finishing a very different book with a more disturbing message to which I will return.If you didn't, you probably will because the story has been turned into a soon-to-be-released film starring no less a figure than Colin Firth. By a further coincidence I read the book this summer at the suggestion of my older brother who was staying on holiday with us. I did so after finishing a very different book with a more disturbing message to which I will return.
The Burmese story is striking, not least by virtue of Lomax's powerfully plain and understated style. But even more remarkable – there are, after all, plenty of grim PoW stories – is the footnote achieved after so many years of pain. Lomax's second wife, Patti, persuades him to address his inner demons and distresses by tracking down the man who embodied his suffering, the mild Japanese interpreter who witnessed his interrogation and torture after the discovery of the PoWs illegal camp radio. The Burmese story is striking, not least by virtue of Lomax's powerfully plain and understated style. But even more remarkable – there are, after all, plenty of grim PoW stories – is the footnote achieved after so many years of pain. Lomax's second wife, Patti, persuades him to address his inner demons and distresses by tracking down the man who embodied his suffering, the mild Japanese interpreter who witnessed his interrogation and torture after the discovery of the PoWs' illegal camp radio.
He discovers that Takashi Nagase had been even more affected by his war-time experience than Lomax himself and devoted his entire life to reconciliation, atonement and memoralising those who died on the crazy military project to build a railway north through the jungle towards India. After suspicious beginnings, Lomax finds it in himself to forgive a man he had long dreamed of killing. He discovers that Takashi Nagase had been even more affected by his wartime experience than Lomax himself and devoted his entire life to reconciliation, atonement and memorialising those who died on the crazy military project to build a railway north through the jungle towards India. After suspicious beginnings, Lomax finds it in himself to forgive a man he had long dreamed of killing.
Among Nagase's efforts had been to secure a memorial to the Burmese and other slave labourers (not just the PoWs romantically immortalised in The Bridge over the River Kwai) who were worked to death on the railway. Unlike his own people, Nagase also noted, the British imperialists – no softies during their 80-year rule in Burma - had decided long before the war it could not be justified in terms of likely loss of life. Individual lives mattered more than Japan's hierarchical and collective traditions had hitherto acknowledged. Among Nagase's efforts had been to secure a memorial to the Burmese and other slave labourers (not just the PoWs romantically immortalised in The Bridge over the River Kwai) who were worked to death on the railway. Unlike his own people, Nagase also noted, the British imperialists – no softies during their 80-year rule in Burma – had decided long before the war it could not be justified in terms of likely loss of life. Individual lives mattered more than Japan's hierarchical and collective traditions had hitherto acknowledged.
So The Railway Man is a striking and unusual book. But I had only just put down what amounts to a political thriller of the same period, Patrick Marnham's The Death of Jean Moulin: Biography of a Ghost. Set in occupied France during the second world war, it examines the fate of the French Resistance's great symbolic hero – buried in the Pantheon in 1964, though there was actually nothing to bury. So The Railway Man is a striking and unusual book. But I had only just put down what amounts to a political thriller of the same period, Patrick Marnham's The Death of Jean Moulin: Biography of a Ghost. Set in occupied France during the second world war, it examines the fate of the French resistance's great symbolic hero – buried in the Pantheon in 1964, though there was actually nothing to bury.
Moulin had been betrayed to the Gestapo at a Resistance rendezvous in a French GP's surgery in the Caluire suburb of Lyon on 21 June 1943, arrested by the notorious Klaus Barbie in person, and never seen alive again. Tortured to death? Or did he throw himself over a balcony to prevent himself revealing the names of his comrades to the Germans? Was he betrayed? If so by whom? Was he really a double agent of some kind? The speculation has never really ceased, trials have been held, little has been resolved. Moulin had been betrayed to the Gestapo at a resistance rendezvous in a French GP's surgery in the Caluire suburb of Lyon on 21 June 1943, arrested by the notorious Klaus Barbie in person, and never seen alive again. Tortured to death? Or did he throw himself over a balcony to prevent himself revealing the names of his comrades to the Germans? Was he betrayed? If so by whom? Was he really a double agent of some kind? The speculation has never really ceased, trials have been held, little has been resolved.
You may not have heard of Jean Moulin, but if you have ever driven or gone sight-seeing in any half-sized town or city in France you will have walked through a Rue Jean Moulin, a square or avenue named after him. In the reconstruction of France's morale after the liberation in 1944 he became the necessary hero behind whose name all sides in the destructive and divisive history of the occupation could, more or less, stand.You may not have heard of Jean Moulin, but if you have ever driven or gone sight-seeing in any half-sized town or city in France you will have walked through a Rue Jean Moulin, a square or avenue named after him. In the reconstruction of France's morale after the liberation in 1944 he became the necessary hero behind whose name all sides in the destructive and divisive history of the occupation could, more or less, stand.
And that was what has stayed with me and provided a mid-summer contrast with the soothing moral of Eric Lomax's reconciliation with Takashi Nagase. The story of Jean Moulin was – like that of Alfred Dreyfuss and others since the revolution of 1789 – a reminder of the profound divisions that linger, deep and bloody, in French society. Do we have comparable fissures, I have been asking myself? And that was what has stayed with me and provided a mid-summer contrast with the soothing moral of Eric Lomax's reconciliation with Takashi Nagase. The story of Jean Moulin was – like that of Alfred Dreyfus and others since the revolution of 1789 – a reminder of the profound divisions that linger, deep and bloody, in French society. Do we have comparable fissures, I have been asking myself?
What I had not previously understood was that Moulin was not just any old French patriot, brave enough to resist. When the German army swept through Chartres in June 1940 he was the departmental prefect, a highflyer with a great future, at 25 the youngest prefet in France. Yet here he was engaged in a first instinctive act of resistance, beaten up for refusing to sign a statement justifying German massacres of black French colonial troops in his area. Their real crime hadn't been rape, as the Germans claimed, but putting up strong military resistance. What I had not previously understood was that Moulin was not just any old French patriot, brave enough to resist. When the German army swept through Chartres in June 1940 he was the departmental prefect, a high flyer with a great future, at 25 the youngest prefet in France. Yet here he was engaged in a first instinctive act of resistance, beaten up for refusing to sign a statement justifying German massacres of black French colonial troops in his area. Their real crime hadn't been rape, as the Germans claimed, but putting up strong military resistance.
So Moulin was a man of the left, the son of a fierce republican from Beziers in the south west, "pistone" upwards through the system by partisan patronage to reinforce his hard work and talent. It's easy to imagine him a future grandee of the civil service or cabinet had he survived the war. But the point of Marnham's book is to suggest that, in the poisonous world of the Third Republic where republicans hated the church, the priesthood, the monarchists – and vice versa – Moulin's crucial task had been to reconcile rival Resistance forces and mould them into an effective ally of the coming Anglo-American invasion. So Moulin was a man of the left, the son of a fierce republican from Beziers in the south-west, "pistone" upwards through the system by partisan patronage to reinforce his hard work and talent. It's easy to imagine him a future grandee of the civil service or cabinet had he survived the war. But the point of Marnham's book is to suggest that, in the poisonous world of the Third Republic where republicans hated the church, the priesthood, the monarchists – and vice versa – Moulin's crucial task had been to reconcile rival resistance forces and mould them into an effective ally of the coming Anglo-American invasion.
In doing so, Marnham suggests, Moulin came to terms with the renegade rightwing general, Charles de Gaulle, self-appointed saviour of France in London. In their few meetings these two clever men talked deeply and alone. Moulin, de Gaulle would later say, was straight as a die. But hard times require devious tactics. Moulin had been juggling left-right forces in the resistance, promoting communist fellow-travellers ("submarines" in the jargon) so he could keep an eye on them. In doing so, Marnham suggests, Moulin came to terms with the renegade rightwing general Charles de Gaulle, self-appointed saviour of France in London. In their few meetings these two clever men talked deeply and alone. Moulin, De Gaulle would later say, was straight as a die. But hard times require devious tactics. Moulin had been juggling left-right forces in the resistance, promoting communist fellow-travellers ("submarines" in the jargon) so he could keep an eye on them.
When it became clear that he himself would not align himself with the communists on crucial dispositions, they betrayed him to the Germans at Calcuire, something well within a Stalinist party's armoury at the time. That is Marnham's thesis, shared by others re-examining the evidence in the 1990s. Specifically, they identified a famous French resistant and post-war public figure called Raymond Aubrac who died only this year at 97. Here is his Guardian obituary. When it became clear that he himself would not align himself with the communists on crucial dispositions, they betrayed him to the Germans at Caluire, something well within a Stalinist party's armoury at the time. That is Marnham's thesis, shared by others re-examining the evidence in the 1990s. Specifically, they identified a famous French resistant and postwar public figure called Raymond Aubrac, who died only this year at 97. Here is his Guardian obituary.
When the Gestapo's "butcher of Lyon" Barbie was traced to South America and extradited to France in 1983 he fingered Aubrac as the fellow-traveller, arrested along with six others in Caluire, but later released in a dramatic rescue (later made into a movie) led by his wife, Lucie. It's a complex web and I should stress that most historians - and French friends of mine - emphatically deny the charge from Marnham and others against Aubrac. Yet in old age the couple felt moved to demand a panel hearing of historians which cleared them but damaged their reputations. When the Gestapo's "butcher of Lyon" Barbie was traced to South America and extradited to France in 1983 he fingered Aubrac as the fellow-traveller, arrested along with six others in Caluire, but later released in a dramatic rescue (later made into a movie) led by his wife, Lucie. It's a complex web and I should stress that most historians – and French friends of mine – emphatically deny the charge from Marnham and others against Aubrac. Yet in old age the couple felt moved to demand a panel hearing of historians which cleared them but damaged their reputations.
The striking thing is that such charge and counter-charge could ricochet for so long, but it is less surprising in the context of old hatreds of the French political class – evident, for instance, in the anti-semitism of the Dreyfuss affair and the rightwing phrase of the 1930s - "better Hitler than Blum", the Jewish head of the Popular Front leftwing government in Paris. The Vichy regime was a dramatic manifestation of these deep divisions and so is the rapid vehemence of attacks on the hapless Hollande presidency today. The striking thing is that such charge and counter-charge could ricochet for so long, but it is less surprising in the context of old hatreds of the French political class – evident, for instance, in the antisemitism of the Dreyfus affair and the rightwing phrase of the 1930s: "better Hitler than Blum", the Jewish head of the Popular Front leftwing government in Paris. The Vichy regime was a dramatic manifestation of these deep divisions and so is the rapid vehemence of attacks on the hapless Hollande presidency today.
It prompts me to ask the question: does Britain have comparable incurable divisions as the legacy of history? I have been asking friends who generally say no, but you may have thoughts too. Clearly the Anglo-Saxon vs Norman split was deep for centuries after 1066. The Catholic/Protestant schism was powerful in the 16th and 17th centuries. After the civil war of 1642-49, the execution of Charles I and the Whig/Protestant revolution of 1688-9, Catholics and pro-Stuart Jacobites were excluded. It prompts me to ask the question: does Britain have comparable incurable divisions as the legacy of history? I have been asking friends who generally say no, but you may have thoughts too. Clearly the Anglo-Saxon v Norman split was deep for centuries after 1066. The Catholic/Protestant schism was powerful in the 16th and 17th centuries. After the civil war of 1642-49, the execution of Charles I and the Whig/Protestant revolution of 1688-9, Catholics and pro-Stuart Jacobites were excluded.
So were non-conformist sects which became so important to commercial and cultural life. But gradually those old hatreds faded and excluded groups were included. Secularism has further diluted tensions in our own time, though Islam is the focus of a new one. The Scots, Welsh and Irish have had, and still have issues with the English. But these are essentially national, not intra-national, and thus more understandable. We have not slaughtered each other in large number for 300 years or so – as the French have regularly done, most recently in the "cleansing" which followed the Liberation of 1944. So were nonconformist sects which became so important to commercial and cultural life. But gradually those old hatreds faded and excluded groups were included. Secularism has further diluted tensions in our own time, though Islam is the focus of a new one. The Scots, Welsh and Irish have had, and still have, issues with the English. But these are essentially national, not intra-national, and thus more understandable. We have not slaughtered each other in large number for 300 years or so – as the French have regularly done, most recently in the "cleansing" which followed the Liberation of 1944.
Is industrialisation, the creation and brutalisation of the world's first industrial working class, our unhealed scar, I wonder, the legacy that makes class division a still-potent issue that damages the Cameroon Tories and makes them largely unelectable in northern England and Scotland? I'm not convinced that the comparison works, but walking around any former industrial town or city on hard times serves to remind that the scars are real – and remain.Is industrialisation, the creation and brutalisation of the world's first industrial working class, our unhealed scar, I wonder, the legacy that makes class division a still-potent issue that damages the Cameroon Tories and makes them largely unelectable in northern England and Scotland? I'm not convinced that the comparison works, but walking around any former industrial town or city on hard times serves to remind that the scars are real – and remain.