Kingdom of Aksum & the 570-580 AD War with the Sasanian Empire of Persia

Late Antiquity would witness a conflict between one African Kingdom and Persia that would give the Persians both headaches and competition for control of economic trade and profit in the Arabian Peninsula. Here, Husain Roussel looks at the battle between Persia and the Kingdom of Aksum.

Folio from a Tarikhnama (Book of history) by Balami. Source: Public domain, Abu Ali Bal'ami , available here.

Introduction

The Kingdom of Aksum described by contemporary Persians of the time as one of the world’s four great empires, along with the Persians, Romans, and China. The Kingdom of Aksum also known as Axum or Aksumite Empire was a regional power located in what is now the Tigray Region and present town of Aksum in the country of Ethiopia that existed in the area from the early 1st century AD until around 960 AD. The Aksumites were the first Kingdom in Sub-Saharan Africa to mint their own coinage in the year 270 AD under Aksumite King Endybis with their coins found as far away as India through maritime trade networks. The Aksumite Kingdom emerged as a regional power after it defeated their competitor the Kingdom of Kush in present day Sudan (Nubia) for sole supremacy and trade for profitable resources like gold deposits in the region around the year 350 AD. Aksum had become one of the Christian Kingdoms to emerge early in Sub-Saharan Africa before the rise of both Islamic expansion and influence in Egypt beginning with the Rashidun Caliphate where Islam had become the new religion for the majority of the population. The first Nubian King recorded to have accepted the Christian faith around the 5th Century was King Silko, King of Nobatia. The Aksumites became Christians sometime around the middle of the 4th Century AD under the Aksumite King Ezana after his conversion to Christianity. However, other lands outside of Nubia and Ethiopia not under direct control by Islam or Christian Kingdoms would witness followers of the Christian faith enduring harsh and sometimes severe treatment by leaders of other faiths namely, those residing in the client states of the Sasanian Empire of Persia. The Sasanian Persians were at this time involved in fierce rivalry and continuous wars with the Byzantine Empire (Eastern Roman Empire) and the Orthodox Christian faith for regional supremacy.

Rise of the Sub-Saharan Christian Kingdoms

The Kingdom of Kush had fallen to the Aksumites, however other Nubian groups formerly under control of the Kushite Kingdom and remnants of the Meroitic Kushite population began mixing with a host of new Nubian settlers forming into 3 new separate Christian Kingdoms called The Kingdom of Nobatia (400 AD - 7th Century AD), The Kingdom of Alodia (6th Century AD - 1500 AD), and the Kingdom of Makuria (5th Century - Late 15thCentury). All of these Christian Nubian Kingdoms along with the Kingdom of Aksum began to ally themselves with the Byzantine Empire to maintain a trade presence in Nubian and Ethiopian areas of influence. The Kingdoms were indeed separate and at times would go to war with each other, although their sole mission in Sub-Saharan Africa was the prevention of Islamic or Pagan inspired threats from taking over their Kingdoms. The alliance with Byzantium and other Christian Kingdoms would see a massive growth of new profits, trade networks, military alliances with the Byzantine Empire during warfare, and far reaching diplomatic relations outside of Africa. The culture exchange would also see Byzantine and Hellenistic inspired styles mixed with local styles in clothing, the introduction of Christian monasteries and new designs for architecture, building of numerous Christian churches, and Byzantine missionaries spreading the teachings of Orthodox Christianity to each Kingdom. The 3 Nubian Christian Kingdoms and Aksum would be a buffer between the influence of Islam and the spread of Orthodox Christianity on behalf of the Byzantine Empire in the Sub-Saharan region. Despite this wealth of knowledge, trade, and alliances, the Kingdom of Aksum as the most powerful at the time of the African proxy states under Byzantine influence wanted to spread their wings to more distant shores. The Aksumites were not satisfied with just controlling territory in Ethiopia and Nubian lands deciding they were powerful and bold enough to expand their trade routes and secure profits from the Saudi Arabian Peninsula. The Aksumites decided they would use the protection and liberation of persecuted Christians in Saudi Arabia to justify their invasion of new territory.

Mistreatment and Massacre of Christians in Najran

A significant population of Christian settlers and bishops lived in the South Arabian town of Najran. The community had been spreading in the region since pre Islamic times and became more numerous in the area around the 5th Century AD. They aligned themselves with the Byzantine Empire who supported them in their religious beliefs and spreading the teachings of Jesus Christ. For a time, the community lived in peace with protection from the Byzantine Emperors. Najran is possibly where early Christians were able to establish the first foundation for Christianity to set foot in the Saudi Arabian Peninsula. Judaism had also found a safe haven for sanctuary in the pre Islamic Arabian Peninsula. The Jewish Kingdom of Himyar located in the southwestern mountainous range of the Arabian Peninsula was in what is now the country of Yemen. Around the early 520s AD the Jewish King Yusuf As'ar Yath'ar (Dhū Nuwās) of the Himyarites led a campaign of persecution against the Christian community of Najran and the Christian community in his Kingdom. He ruthlessly made war on any followers of beliefs outside of the Jewish faith. The persecution involved a campaign of genocide which led to a massacre of Christians that shocked most of the Christian world that had heard about the event during this time. Procopius notes Hellesthaeaus, the king of the Aethiopians, who was a Christian and a most devoted adherent of this faith, discovered that a number of the Homeritae on the opposite mainland were oppressing the Christians there outrageously; many of these rascals were Jews. (Dewing, 2023, Book 1, Ch. 20, p. 68). The most likely reasons for the Himyarite King Dhu Nuwas to attack the Christians was to consolidate his own political power, cripple the expanding influence of the Christian faith, and more importantly to retaliate against the Byzantine Empire for their persecution of Jews. A mistake that the Kingdom of Himyar would soon regret and a spark for future war between the Sasanian Persians and Aksumites for who would finally control the region.

Aksumite Invasion and Capture of Himyar

Like a scene from the Godfather film, the Byzantine Emperor Justin I also called Justin the Thracian and founder of the famous Justinian dynasty immediately gave his blessings and permission for the Aksumites to wage a war of retribution against the Kingdom of Himyar for the unforgivable slaughter of the Christian community in Najran. This was according to the Byzantine Scholar and Historian Procopius of Caesarea (500 AD - 565 AD), a request made by the Byzantine Emperor to King Kaleb (also named Hellestheaios) of the Kingdom of Aksum to send his Aksumite Christian armies from Ethiopia to invade Himyar which resulted in an overwhelming victory for the Aksumite army in 525 AD. The Aksumites had a powerful navy and were capable of using them not only for securement of trade routes in the Red Sea and beyond but also for massive troop transports for warfare operations against their rivals. This would lead to the Kingdom of Aksum gaining total control over present day Yemen and the South Arabian Peninsula. King Kaleb gathered a large army in response to the persections of Christians, according to Procopius, he therefore collected a fleet of ships and an army and came against them, and he conquered them in battle and slew both the king and many of the Homeritae. (Dewing, 2023, Book 1, Ch. 20, p. 68). The Himyarite King Dhū Nuwās is said in legend to have committed suicide whether than accept the defeat of his army by the Aksumites. King Kaleb then placed a viceroy named Sumyafa' Ashwa al-Yazani, also named Esimiphaios to govern Himyar for the Aksumite Empire outside of Africa and receive tribute from the Aksumites who moved to the area. This would be shortlived since the viceroy was eventually overthrown by the Aksumites who refused paying tribute to King Kaleb. The viceroy was murdered by the Aksumite General Abraha who was one of the commanders sent by King Kaleb to crush Himyar and Yemeni resistance during the invasion of Himyar.  He would then declare himself King Abraha of the newly formed Himyarite-Aksumite Kingdom of Yemen. King Kaleb sent around 2 separate expeditions to retake Himyar from the usurper Abraha, however both attempts failed with their commanders killed and surviving troops defecting to Abraha. Abraha was left as sole and undisputed ruler of Himyar and South Arabia with accounts of 100,000 soldiers under his authority throughout the region.

The Abyssinian King Abraha of Himyar

King Abraha ruled the Himyarite-Aksumite Kingdom with an iron fist from about 535 AD until his death sometime before 570 AD. He sent numerous expeditions allegedly with war elephants to pre Islamic Mecca with the goal of destroying pagan idols and the Kaaba Holy Shrine to build a large Orthodox Chrisitan Church on the site. He failed for unknown reasons that were attributed by later Islamic tradition to be the divine act of Allah. He instead built with the help of Byzantine guidance the Grand Cathedral of Al-Qalis Church in Sana'a, Yemen to rival the Kaaba in Mecca and continue the spread and importance of Christianity among his people. In addition to building other Christian churches in Himyar, Najran, and other locations within his sphere of control Abraha’s military campaigns continue to grow in conquests. His control of territory during his reign extended to large parts of the Arabian Peninsula, lower parts of modern day Iraq, and possibly the area of Palestine. He would not be able to have total control of these areas due to constant skirmishes and small wars with the Sasanian Persian Empire and the Lakhmid Kingdom a client state of the Sasanian Persians who fought hard to retake these conquests from Abraha. King Abraha eventually died, and had two sons that would be the successors to his Aksumite ruled Himyarite Kingdom. The first son to rule was named King Yaksum ibn Abraha, but he would die early in his reign. The second son King Masruq ibn Abraha would wage numerous wars against the Sasanian Persian Empire to retain control of his Kingdom in Yemen.

Himyar Elites Plead with Persia to Remove Aksumite Rule

The Persian Rulers of the Sasanian Empire had finally deicded around 570 AD they had enough of Aksumite dominance, aggression, and expansion in their backyard. The client states of the Sasanian Empire were pleading and begging for assistance from the Persians to lead a large scale military invasion to crush the Aksumites and drive them back to the shores of Africa. Saif ibn Dhi Yazan al-Himyari whose mother was married to King Abraha by force wanted to take the throne of Himyar for himself and seek revenge. He initially made a request to the Byzantine Emperor for support and to be recognized as the rightful King of Himyar, His request for help was denied and his next option was to seek help from the Sasanian Empire King of Kings the ruler Khosrow I, and this time help would come. The agreement came with the promise that the Kingdom of Himyar would become fully annexed to the Sasanian Empire as a vassal state once the Aksumites were driven out of the region. True to his word, Khosrow I sent the Sasanian Persian General Wahrez and his son Nawzadh with a army of around 16,000 soldiers transported by a fleet of ships that sailed around the Arabian Peninsula from the Persian Gulf port of Oballa just east of the modern day city of Basra in southern Iraq. The Persians wrecked 2 ships out of the 8 used to transport their military during the invasion but managed to capture the Bahrain islands, the portside town of Sohar in Oman, and the province of Dhofar also in Oman. However, during the invasion against stiff resistance from the Aksumite army General Wahrez’s son Nawzadh was killed during the initial fighting. General Wahrez then swore a blood vegeance against the Aksumite King for the death of his son. The next stop for the Sasanian Perisan army once they secured territory in Oman and defeated further resistance was a march to the region of Hadhramaut which covers a large portion of Yemen.

The Battle of Hadhramaut 1st Persian War

King Masruq ibn Abraha of the Himyarite- Aksumite Kingdom arrived in 570 AD to meet the Persian army with a military force of 6,000 to 10,000 men against the 16,000 commanded by the Persian General Wahrez. The Aksumites fault bravely and ferociously, but were no match for the advanced military techology that the Persians brought with them to the battlefield that the defenders were not accustomed to fighting against. For example, one deadly weapon used by the Sasanian Persian Cavalry called the Panjagan was a type of projectile weapon that could fire around five arrows at once against Aksumite enemy targets. The Persians won the battle in a decisive victory, and King Masruq ibn Abraha is said to have been personally executed by General Wahrez for the early death of his son during the beginning of the conflict. This was not the end of the conflict and the Persians then advanced toward Sanaa the Yemeni Capital and the main powerbase for the Aksumites in Yemen. General Wahrez led the seige against the city and once again the defenders were no match for the Persian offensive. The city fell and Saif ibn Dhi Yazan as promised was placed as the King of Himyar and the vassal governor for Persia in the region once controlled by the Aksumites. The Aksumites that remained now had to swear allegiance to the new ruler of the Himyarites. General Wahrez then returned to Persian with his army and a large amount of plunder from the invasion.

The Aksumite Rebellion 2nd  Persian War 

Saif ibn Dhi Yazan ruled as a vassal King of Himyar for the Persians for about 4 years before he was murdered during a rebellion by his Aksumite subjects. The Aksumites regained control of the Kingdom of Himyar sometime around 575 AD and briefly mangae to hold it until around 578 AD. King of Kings Khosrow I infuriated by the insurrection and death of his vassal king in Himyar sends another invasion force to Yemen with the goal of complete destruction of Aksumite resistance and total annexation of the southern Arabian Peninsula for the Sasanian Persian Empire. He once again sends his victorius commander the Sasanian Persian General Wahrez in 575 AD this time with a force of between 4,000 – 8,000 soldiers to defeat the small Aksumite resistance force which by this time had no sizable army left from the previous war. Khosrow I feared if he did not react soon the Aksumites would be able to maintain a foothold once again in Yemen and receive support and possibly a formidable military force sent from the Kingdom of Aksum in Africa. His army quickly crushed the Aksumite resistance upon their arrival and removed any further threats of future Aksumite domination in the region. The Persians decided to end Himyarite self rule by the successors of Saif ibn Yazan after his death. Khosrow I then appointed General Wahrez to be the Governor of the Yemeni terrritory after full annexation to the Sasanian Empire charged with providing security, stability, and to prevent further pro Byzantine or Aksumite  influence in the region during their conflict with the Byzantine Empire during the Byzantine-Sasanian War that was fought between 572 AD - 591 AD.

Conclusion

The Persians had allowed the Aksumites to rule Yemen and the Arabian Peninsula for so long because they did not have the resources to divert a military force to attack the Aksumites while they were in constant warfare with the Byzantine Empire. The numerous wars with the Byzantine Empire for control of the Caucases, Mesopotamian regions, and access to the Silk Road were their primary concern and Yemen was not only secondary but too far away for another war while fighting the Byzantines at the same time. The Aksumites did trade with the Persians and the Persians received benefits from the trade, but they also took land away from the Persian client states. This entailed both an interdependence in mutual economic trade between the 2 powers and complex warfare for territorial control. The Persians of the Sasanian Empire under the King of Kings Khosrow I still had to show they were a powerful force to be reckoned with if they wanted to retain the loyalty of their client states and not appear that the Great Sasanian Persian Empire was both weak and unreliable to assist their subjects in times of need. The Kingdom of Aksum lost their grip and control of the Arabian Peninsula after 50 years of dominance once they were dealt a severe blow by the Persians. They would go on to rule in Africa, but their Kingdom would eventually collapse due to losing vital sea trade routes, environmental disasters, wars with other people like the nomadic Beja, internal political conflicts, and most importantly the later rise of Islamic conquests in surrounding areas crippling further economic ventures. The Sasanian Empire would suffer a similar lost and end to their Persian Empire with overwhelming military defeats and eventual conquest by Islamic forces of the Rashidun Caliphate. There would be no real winners between Aksum and the Sasanians once Islam took hold in the Middle East and North Africa. The only true winner would be the Byzantine Empire who managed to survive longer but with no more powerful client states like the kingdom of Aksum to fight their proxy wars. The Byzantines themselves would eventually end as a sovereign state in the year 1453 with a crushing defeat by Muslim forces of the Ottoman Empire.

Enjoyed the piece?

Join thousands of history readers getting occasional updates on new blog posts, books, and video releases — plus a free history book to get you started.

Join History Is Now here

References

Procopius. (2023). The Persian wars (H. B. Dewing, Trans.). East India Publishing Company.

Image 1: Roussel, Husain. “Gold Coin of the Aksumite Kingdom King Ebana, 440 AD - 470 AD”, (2026) Photograph. Writer’s Private Collection.

Image 2: Roussel, Husain. Silver Dirhem of the Sasanian Empire King Peroz I, 459 AD – 484 AD”. (2026) Photograph. Writer’s Private Collection.

Illustration: Depiction of the Persian army General Wahrez killing the Aksumite King Masruq ibn Abraha with an arrow.  Early 14th Century Folio from a Tarikhnama (Book of History) by Balami. (Public Domain Illustration).

The Day That Philadelphia Helped To Save Washington D.C.

If you thought like most of us that the Battle of Gettysburg was the end of the significant fighting in the American Civil War — you’d be gravely mistaken. If you thought that the only sitting US President who took enemy fire in a Battle was George Washington or Teddy Roosevelt, unfortunately that it not correct either.

Michael Thomas Leibrandt explains.

Sergeant William J. Wray. Source: Public domain, Another Group of Heroes, available here.

During the summer of 1864 with both Richmond and Petersburg under siege, both Grant Union Army and Robert E. Lee’s Army if Northern Virginia were skirmishing around Maryland. One of Lee’s commanders who has been present at Gettysburg (General Jubal Early) began to move north directly threatening Washington DC. 

He engaged Union forces in a two-day battle at Monocacy Creek — where Federal Forces under Major General Lew Wallace were defeated and ultimately retreated back towards Baltimore — leaving the route to the American Capital open.

Among the approximately seventy earthen forts helping to depend Washington DC in 1864 were Fort Derussy, Fort Reno, and Fort Stephens. But the Pennsylvania 6th Corps who also contributed to a Union victory at Gettysburg would reinforce the capital. The Confederate Army would begin their attack at Fort Stephens — less than five miles from the White House.

President Abraham Lincoln was used to being in dangerous situations. In 1861 — he was moved to Washington for the inauguration in secret by train. Just a year earlier, he was the target amid a shot that rang out while he was riding on a regular trip to the soldier’s home. As the Confederate Army approached Washington — Lincoln and his family were evacuated from their cottage retreat. One day later —  both he and Mary Todd Lincoln rode to Fort Stephens to observe the fighting.

Climbing onto the parapets — President Lincoln and his stove-top hat came in range of Confederate Sharpshooters. A surgeon behind him was struck in the shoulder. According to legend — a young Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. who would later become an Associate Supreme Court Judge under the Roosevelt Administration — screamed toward President Lincoln to take cover. Moments later — Secretary of War Edwin Stanton quickly ushered Lincoln away to safety.

The next day — Early withdrew after Fort Stephens was reinforced by more Federal forces. Union forces subsequentlycleared the peach orchard in front of Fort Stephens of Confederate sharpshooters and artillery. Among the defenders from Philadelphia were the 98th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry which was also at Gettysburg. Philadelphian Sergeant William J. Wray of K Company even earned the Medal of Honor for his role in rallying troops.

Several notable quotes came from the engagement including a Federal soldier who was heard to have said, “Jubal Early should have attacked earlier in the morning, but Early was late.” General Early also made the famous remark, “We didn’t take Washington, but we scared Abe Lincoln like Hell.”

Enjoyed the piece?

Join thousands of history readers getting occasional updates on new blog posts, books, and video releases — plus a free history book to get you started.

Join History Is Now here

Michael Thomas Leibrandt lives and works in the Philadelphia Suburbs.

Before Sunrise: Inside a Roman Bakery

Like today, a Roman bakery started very early and provided essential delicious food to the populace. Here, William McGrath describes how a Roman bakery operated in the early hours of the morning

Still life with eggs, birds and bronze dishes. Source: Public domain, Naples National Archaeological Museum, available here.

Before sunrise, the bakery is already awake.

The streets outside still lie in darkness, their stone surfaces cool beneath the night air, but warm light spills through the open doorway of the pistrinum, stretching across the street in uneven bands of gold. Before the first customer appears, before the markets begin to stir, the smell arrives first.

Fresh bread.

Warm flour.

Wood smoke.

Even those passing by know where it comes from.

Inside, the heat is immediate.

At the heart of the bakery stands the furnus, the great domed oven upon which everything depends. Built from brick and stone, its rounded walls have absorbed years of heat, smoke, and ash until they have become almost black around the mouth. The opening appears surprisingly small compared with the chamber hidden behind it, just large enough for long wooden paddles to slide loaves deep inside.

The fire itself is already dying.

It has done its work.

Hours earlier, bundles of seasoned wood were fed into the oven until the stone glowed with stored heat. Now the embers are raked away, leaving the floor clean enough for bread to bake directly upon the hot stone. The warmth radiates from the oven in slow waves, reaching every corner of the room.

The bakery never truly cools.

Every surface seems touched by warmth. Flour rests in a fine white dust across benches, shelves, and the shoulders of those who work here. It hangs faintly in the air, catching the light as workers pass through it.

The sounds are constant.

Wooden paddles scrape against stone. Dough lands heavily upon worn workbenches with a soft, rhythmic thud. Sacks of grain are lowered onto the floor. Someone coughs as another cloud of flour rises into the air. Quiet conversation blends with laughter before disappearing beneath the crackle of the oven and the steady knock of wooden bowls against the tables.

Outside, the deep grinding of millstones turns without pause.

Many bakeries ground their own flour using large volcanic stone mills, often powered by donkeys walking patiently in endless circles. Wheat disappears beneath the heavy stones before emerging as fresh flour, ready to become the day's bread.

Nothing inside the bakery remains still for long.

A broad-shouldered baker leans his full weight into a mound of dough, folding it again and again until it becomes smooth beneath his hands. Nearby, another worker rolls smaller portions across the bench with quick, practiced movements, scarcely looking as years of experience guide each motion. A younger apprentice hurries between them carrying baskets almost too large for him, drawing amused smiles from the older bakers as flour clings to his hair and eyelashes.

No one speaks of rushing.

Yet everyone moves quickly.

Each person understands their place within the rhythm of the bakery.

Roman bakeries employed a mixture of skilled bakers, apprentices, slaves, and freedmen. Every loaf depended upon their combined labor, each task passing seamlessly to the next. While one worker kneads, another shapes. While one loads the oven, another prepares the next batch. Long before sunrise, an entire day's work is already unfolding.

The dough itself changes beneath their hands.

At first it feels rough, uneven, reluctant to hold together. Gradually it softens, becoming elastic beneath steady pressure until it stretches without tearing. The smell changes too. Dry grain gives way to the gentle scent of rising bread, subtle at first before slowly filling the room.

Not every loaf is the same.

Some are large, round wheels intended to feed entire households. Others are smaller, carried home beneath an arm while still warm. Many are carefully scored before baking into eight equal sections, creating the familiar wheel-shaped loaves discovered preserved beneath the ash of Pompeii. The cuts make them easier to divide, whether shared among a family or sold in individual portions.

The color tells its own story.

The finest loaves emerge pale golden, made from carefully sifted wheat flour affordable only to wealthier households. Others bake darker, using barley or coarser grains more commonly found on ordinary Roman tables. Both nourish, though not every Roman eats equally.

Bread is only part of the day's work.

Honey cakes sweetened with thick golden honey cool upon wooden boards. Small buns flavored with poppy seeds or scented with anise wait beside fruit-filled pastries containing chopped dates or dried figs. Their sweetness is gentle rather than rich, but enough to tempt those passing the doorway as the first warmth of morning reaches the street.

The smell grows stronger.

Warm crust.

Roasted grain.

Honey.

Olive oil.

Smoke from the oven drifts beyond the doorway and settles into the cool morning air. Before anyone sees the bakery itself, they know exactly where it is.

Customers begin to arrive.

Some carry baskets from home. Others simply wait their turn, exchanging greetings with neighbors while watching fresh loaves disappear from the oven. Children stand on their toes trying to glimpse the shelves beyond the counter. One man cannot resist tearing away a corner of a loaf before he has even left the doorway, quickly passing it from one hand to the other as the heat catches his fingers.

No one seems surprised.

This happens every morning.

For Romans, bread was more than food. It formed the foundation of daily life, eaten by rich and poor alike. Entire neighborhoods depended upon bakeries like this one, where skilled workers transformed grain into the food that sustained the city. The smell drifting through the streets each morning was as familiar to ancient Rome as church bells or morning traffic are today.

Outside, daylight finally begins to spread across the rooftops.

The city awakens.

Merchants unlock their shops. Market stalls fill the streets. Voices rise from every direction as Rome begins another day.

Inside the bakery, little has changed.

The oven still glows with stored heat. Flour still hangs in the air. Fresh loaves continue to emerge one after another, their crusts crackling softly as they cool upon wooden shelves.

Long before the city is fully awake, Rome already knows where breakfast is waiting.

It simply follows the smell.

Did you enjoy the piece? Join us on X here to receive regular updates: @HistoryIsNowMag

Now read about what happened in Ancient Rome after dark here.

King John: Losing an Empire - War, Defeat and a Growing Rebellion – Part 2

The reign of King John entered its most dangerous phase not simply because he was unpopular, but because military failure began to undermine the very foundations of his authority. When John became king in 1199, he inherited one of the most extensive collections of territories ever assembled by an English monarch. The Angevin Empire stretched across large parts of modern-day France, from Normandy and Anjou to Aquitaine, while England itself provided the wealth and political base from which these possessions could be governed. Yet within little more than a decade, much of this vast inheritance had disappeared. The loss of these territories would have consequences far beyond the battlefield. It would damage John's reputation as a ruler, drain the English treasury, increase the financial demands placed upon his subjects and, ultimately, convince many of his most powerful nobles that the king himself had become a threat to the stability of the realm.

Terry Beiley explains.

You can read part 1 on the cruel King who made his own enemies here.

The coronation of Philip II of France. Source: Public domain, Bibliothèque nationale de France, available here.

John's difficulties began almost immediately after his accession. His claim to the French territories inherited from his brother Richard I was challenged by his nephew, Arthur of Brittany. Arthur was supported by Philip II of France, who saw an opportunity to weaken the Angevin territories that had long represented a formidable obstacle to Capetian expansion. John initially appeared capable of containing the threat, but his position deteriorated rapidly. His military response was undermined by political divisions within his French territories, and several important nobles began transferring their allegiance to Philip.

The decisive crisis came in 1203–1204 with the loss of Normandy. John had been unable to prevent Philip II from systematically attacking the duchy, while a combination of military pressure, defections and political miscalculation weakened the English position. The fall of Château Gaillard, the great fortress constructed by Richard I to guard Normandy, was particularly significant. When Château Gaillard fell in March 1204, the strategic position of Normandy became increasingly untenable. Rouen itself surrendered soon afterwards. By the end of 1204, Normandy, Anjou, Maine and Touraine had effectively been lost to the French crown.

The loss was catastrophic for John's prestige. Normandy had been under English royal control for generations and was not merely another possession across the Channel. It had been central to the political and economic power of the Norman and Angevin kings. Its loss meant that John had failed to defend one of the most important parts of his inheritance. Worse still, much of the defeat had occurred without the kind of spectacular final battle that could easily be blamed upon bad luck. Philip had gradually dismantled John's position through military pressure, diplomacy and the exploitation of John's political weaknesses.

The collapse of Normandy marked the beginning of the end of what historians commonly call the Angevin Empire. The term itself is somewhat misleading, because these territories were not a unified empire in the modern sense. They were a collection of duchies, counties and lordships held by the same ruling dynasty, each with its own traditions, laws and political relationships. Nevertheless, the territories together gave the English monarchy enormous prestige and resources. Their loss dramatically altered the balance of power between England and France.

John did not simply accept the loss. He spent much of the remainder of his reign attempting to recover the territories taken by Philip. This created a dilemma. To regain his continental possessions, John needed money. To obtain money, he had to place greater financial demands upon England. Yet the more money he extracted, the greater the resentment among the very people whose support he needed.

The king's strategy was ambitious. John attempted to build alliances against Philip and encouraged his nephew Otto IV, Holy Roman Emperor, to challenge French power. Other rulers and nobles were drawn into a broad coalition that sought to contain Philip II. In 1214, John launched a major campaign in France while his allies attacked from the north. If successful, the operation could have reversed years of French expansion and restored much of John's lost position. Instead, the campaign ended in disaster.

The crucial confrontation took place at the Battle of Bouvines in July 1214. John had already suffered a setback at La Roche-aux-Moines, where his advance into Anjou collapsed after resistance from local forces and the approach of enemy troops. Meanwhile, the allied army led by Otto IV met Philip II at Bouvines. The French king achieved a decisive victory. The defeat destroyed the coalition's immediate hopes of reversing French expansion and left John in an increasingly desperate position.

For John, Bouvines was far more than a military defeat. It represented the failure of years of diplomacy, taxation and military preparation. The enormous sums raised for the campaign had produced no corresponding victory. England had paid heavily for a war that had failed to restore the lost territories. The political consequences were therefore particularly severe.

John's attempts to finance his wars had already placed considerable pressure upon the English nobility. Medieval kings did not possess a modern taxation system capable of providing a predictable national income. The crown depended upon a mixture of traditional revenues, feudal payments, customs duties, fines, land income and extraordinary demands imposed when circumstances required additional money.

One of the most important mechanisms available to John was scutage, a payment traditionally made by knights or their lords in place of military service. In principle, scutage allowed the king to hire soldiers rather than requiring every knight owing military service to serve personally. It could therefore be a practical method of financing warfare. Under John, however, its repeated use and increasing financial burden contributed to the growing perception that the king was exploiting his feudal rights to extract as much money as possible from his subjects.

Scutage was not the only source of resentment. John imposed a range of extraordinary financial demands, fines and levies, and his administration became increasingly aggressive in collecting royal revenues. The issue was not simply that taxation existed; medieval kings had always demanded money. The problem was the scale and frequency of John's demands, particularly when the money appeared to be financing unsuccessful military campaigns.

For the barons, this produced a deeply troubling situation. They were expected to provide money to a king who had already lost enormous territories and then demanded still more resources to recover them. The argument could easily be turned against John: if his wars had repeatedly failed, why should the barons continue paying for them?

There was also a fundamental political issue beneath the financial dispute. Feudal government depended upon relationships of obligation and loyalty. A king expected service and money from his nobles, while nobles expected the king to protect their interests, respect established customs and administer justice. When either side believed the other was failing in its obligations, the relationship could begin to fracture.

John's reputation made the problem considerably worse. His military failures reinforced existing suspicions about his judgement, while his methods of government created fear and hostility among many of his subjects. His dealings with powerful nobles were frequently confrontational, and his use of financial penalties could leave wealthy men vulnerable to the king's demands. A monarch who was already distrusted could not easily impose extraordinary taxation without provoking resistance.

The Church also became increasingly hostile towards John. The dispute over the appointment of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, had already brought John into conflict with Pope Innocent III. When John refused to accept the papal choice, England was placed under an interdict in 1208, suspending many public religious services. John himself was eventually excommunicated in 1209.

The dispute eventually became another source of political isolation. Although John ultimately submitted to the papacy and made substantial concessions, the episode damaged his relationship with important Church leaders. His willingness to confront the Church demonstrated the extraordinary extent to which he was prepared to resist opposition, but it also meant that he had alienated an institution possessing enormous political and social influence.

By the time John returned from his failed campaign in France in 1214, his position had become increasingly precarious. He had lost Normandy and most of the Angevin territories that had once formed the foundation of his family's continental power. His attempt to recover them had ended in failure. His treasury had been depleted by years of warfare, while the financial burden placed upon the English nobility had become increasingly difficult to justify.

The barons' dissatisfaction therefore cannot be explained simply as opposition to taxation. Their grievances were connected to a much larger question: could John still be trusted to govern effectively? A king could demand extraordinary sacrifices from his nobles if those sacrifices produced security, victory and prosperity. John was increasingly asking them to pay for failure.

This distinction was crucial. Had John won a spectacular victory over Philip II, many of his financial demands might have been remembered as the necessary price of restoring the kingdom's continental possessions. Instead, the defeat at Bouvines left the barons with little to show for the enormous resources they had provided. The king had not restored his lost empire. He had merely spent more money attempting to recover it.

John was therefore becoming politically isolated. His relationship with the barons was deteriorating, his relationship with the Church had been severely damaged, and his reputation as a military leader had suffered repeated blows. Even his eventual reconciliation with the papacy could not repair the deeper problem: too many powerful men had begun to question whether John's rule served the interests of the kingdom.

The loss of Normandy had begun as a military and territorial disaster. By 1214, however, it had developed into a constitutional and political crisis. John's inability to defend the inheritance of his dynasty had damaged his prestige; his determination to recover it had exhausted resources; and his methods of raising money had turned financial necessity into political resentment.

For an increasing number of barons, the issue was no longer simply whether John was an unpleasant or unpopular king. They were beginning to believe that his judgement, policies and methods of government were actively endangering the kingdom itself. If John could not win his wars, protect the realm, respect established political relationships or restrain his demands for money, then the traditional bonds between king and subjects were in danger of collapsing.

The stage was therefore set for open confrontation. The next crisis would not be fought primarily on the battlefields of France, but in the political heart of England, where John's opponents would attempt to force the king to accept limits upon his authority.

And it was there, in 1215, that the struggle would produce one of the most famous documents in English history: Magna Carta.

The story of John's failures in France was not simply one of lost castles, defeated armies and disappearing territories. It was the story of how military failure transformed the relationship between a medieval king and the people upon whom his authority depended.

When John inherited the throne in 1199, he inherited the vast territorial legacy of Henry II and Richard I. Within a few years, however, Normandy, Anjou, Maine and Touraine had been lost to Philip II. The fall of Château Gaillard and Rouen became powerful symbols of a king unable to defend his inheritance, fundamentally weakening his prestige.

John's response was to attempt to recover what he had lost. But war required enormous financial resources, creating the central contradiction of his reign: he needed the support of his kingdom to finance his wars, yet the taxes, scutage, fines and feudal payments used to raise that money increasingly destroyed that support.

The defeat at Bouvines in 1214 brought this contradiction into sharp focus. Despite years of taxation, preparation and alliance-building, John failed to recover his territories. His subjects were being asked to make greater sacrifices without receiving the military success that might have justified them.

The growing opposition was therefore not simply personal dislike of John. It was a crisis of trust. Medieval kingship depended upon reciprocal obligations: the king expected loyalty, military service and financial support, while his subjects expected protection, justice and respect for established customs. John was increasingly failing to uphold his side of that bargain.

Military defeat, financial demands, disputes with the nobility and conflict with the Church combined to produce a dangerous accumulation of grievances. By 1214, these problems had become interconnected: military failure required more money; more money created resentment; resentment weakened loyalty; and weakened loyalty made effective government increasingly difficult.

The question was no longer simply whether John was unpopular, but whether he could be trusted to govern within the accepted customs of the realm.

This was the crisis that led towards Magna Carta. It did not emerge suddenly because the barons disliked John, nor was it originally a declaration of democracy or modern human rights. It was a medieval attempt to resolve a political crisis by reaffirming established rights and limiting the king's ability to act beyond accepted custom.

By the end of 1214, John had lost much of his continental inheritance, failed to recover it, spent heavily attempting to do so and alienated many of the men whose cooperation was essential to his rule. The battlefield had effectively moved from France to England. The next confrontation would be fought not with siege engines and cavalry, but through political pressure, negotiation and eventually rebellion.

In 1215, John's opponents would force him to confront the consequences of years of military failure, financial demands and political miscalculation. The road to Magna Carta had begun with the loss of an empire. It would culminate in one of the first great confrontations over the limits of the English Crown.

Now, read Terry’s series on King Kenry VIII and his wives here.

Just Why can Writing History be so Frustrating?

Historians worthy of their craft must portray the past and present honestly, as accurately as possible, and ideally be unbiased. They should verify the truth of each subject to eliminate inaccuracies and establish the correct facts, or, at worst, as close to them as possible if no further research material is available. Unfortunately, this is not always the case, as there can be too many inconsistencies in the references they use.

Ken Wright explains.

Field Marshall Rommel in Paris in 1940. Source: Bundesarchiv, Bild 146-1970-076-43 / CC-BY-SA 3.0, German Federal Archives, available here.

When attempting to write his history of the Roman people in the late first century BC, the Roman historian Livy [59bc-AD17] found it difficult to determine which (if any) accounts could be trusted. He concluded that none were reliable. In his research, he was troubled by how families had created traditions of heroic deeds and high office held by their ancestors—an early form of today's ‘fake news’.

Over the centuries, nothing has changed.

In the acknowledgment chapter of his excellent book ‘Last Battle’ Decapo Press, 2013, author and historian Stephen Harding wrote, ‘Writing history is always challenging and in that the passage of time often obscures certain events, versus revealing them. Eyewitnesses pass away, memories fade, and records, if they were kept at all, are destroyed as being no longer relevant or disappear into bureaucratic oblivion. That being said, the historian must diligently search out whatever documents remain. Like a detective evaluates evidence through knowledge of the subject and the application of both logic and common sense, the historian assesses the available information and then weaves all the various strands into an account that is accurate and as complete as possible.’ 

Readers interested in history should be aware that books, documentaries, magazines, and official records can, and quite often do, contain flaws. The who, what, when, and how are the main offenders, making it difficult for the reader to understand what the valid and proper account of an event or events is.

Using an extract from a distinguished American Research Professor at UCLA, Lynn Hunt's excellent book ‘History, Why it Matters’ discusses a universal problem facing historians. ‘Despite its occasional reliance on scientific techniques, history is not a science. It is a literary art that uses scientific techniques where relevant, but whose fundamental aim is to tell a true story. The truthful part rests on documentation, and in this regard, the historian is like a detective, lawyer, or investigative journalist sifting through information, analysing and comparing sources, written or not, using every possible forensic procedure to get at the truth, that is, the facts of the case. The story part requires something else: a literary reconstruction that relies on a series of interpretations. The interpretations make the facts relevant. The world is filled with mountains of historical facts, but we only care about a tiny number of them at any given moment. We care about those facts that enable us to tell the story we want to tell. Telling the story draws our attention to the facts but also frequently stirs up disputes. Historians can tell very different stories about the same event by emphasising different facts. This cacophony casts doubt on the truth of any one interpretation. If there is so much disagreement about interpretations, how can history make any claim on the truth about the past? Is it just your story vs. mine?’

EVENT ONE

Here, two military historical events are used as examples of the inconsistencies found in books, documentaries, magazines, and official records, which can often contain flaws. Errors in dates, locations, and who did what are the main issues, making it difficult for readers to determine the true and accurate account of events. These are just a few of the many historical incidents that show the challenges faced by historians and writers when working with material that might be incorrect but is still presented as fact.

Version One. July 17, 1944.

In this account, one author places Field Marshal Rommel in the area around Caen, France, visiting the 227th and 276th Infantry Divisions, the II SS Panzer Corps, and the I SS Panzer Corps headquarters to confer with various commanders, including SS-Oberst-Gruppenführer Sepp Dietrich and SS-Oberführer Kurt [Panzer] Meyer.

After the meeting, Rommel left Dietrich’s HQ in his staff car at 4:00 pm. Sergeant Daniel, the driver, took back roads until Livarot, about twenty-five miles from Caen. Rommel’s car then turned onto a paved road that joined the main highway a couple of miles outside Vimoutiers. At that point, Rommel and Daniel decided to attempt a quick dash on the highway.

Allied air supremacy had made any movement along the Falaise–Caen road extremely risky, if not impossible. When Rommel’s vehicle entered the main highway on routine patrol, a South African pilot with the Royal Air Force, Squadron Leader J.J. le Roux, and his wingman spotted an enemy vehicle and quickly attacked.

The official German report records what happened. ‘Suddenly, the air observer, Obergefreiter [Lance-Corporal] Holke, reported two aircraft closing in right above the road. Sgt Daniel drove at top speed, trying to reach a track and take cover there. Just as he reached it, the enemy aircraft, going flat out, opened fire. Field Marshal Rommel at that moment glanced backwards’ 2.  

Hit in the left shoulder and arm, Daniel lost control of the vehicle, which ricocheted off a tree stump and ended up embedded against the embankment on the far side of the road. Shrapnel hit Rommel in the temple and cheekbone as he sat in the jump seat on the side away from the cannon fire and was thrown twenty yards from the car, suffering a triple fracture to the skull. 3. ‘A second aircraft flew back over the crash site, firing at the wounded where they lay.’ 4. Only two of the four men emerged unscathed. Field Marshal Rommel was taken to a Luftwaffe hospital near Paris and eventually returned home to recuperate.

Observations

The author only mentions Rommel and Daniel leaving Dietrich’s HQ. However, the official German account reports an air observer [Holke] observing two aircraft approaching. Only Rommel was taken to the hospital, so what happened to his driver? Who was the other person with the air observer, and where did both of them originate? The author and many other sources have credited Squadron Leader Johannes Jacobus le Roux, RAF 602 Squadron, with the attack on Rommel’s staff car. There are, however, other contenders for this event, as will be discussed further.

Version Two

Another author wrote that in a large open Horch, Rommel’s car, his party departed Dietrich’s HQ. Rommel sat in the front as was his habit. At the wheel was his regular driver, Daniel. In the back were staff members Captain Lang, Major Neuhaus, and Holke, who was there specifically as an aircraft lookout. On N179, just outside Livarot, the lookout shouted an alarm. Two Canadian Spitfires from 412 Squadron came diving down in a curving attack from behind and to the left. At about three hundred yards, Charlie Fox, in the lead aircraft, squeezed off a brief burst from his 20mm cannon.

Daniel was seriously wounded, losing control of the speeding car. It hurtled on for several hundred yards before crashing into the ditch. Captain Lang escaped unhurt, Major Neuhaus received minor injuries, and Daniel died of his injuries shortly afterwards—no mention of  Holke. Field Marshal Rommel was thrown against the windshield post, sustaining serious head injuries. 5.

Observations

In this account, five people are in the staff car, and Charlie Fox, a Canadian pilot, was credited with the attack. A ditch suddenly appears, and Rommel is alleged to have sustained a serious head injury from contact with the windshield post [pillar], compared with the injuries described in version one. And what is, or where is, N179? One could assume it was the major road or highway that Rommel’s car had just entered.

Version Three

From the German perspective, Second Lieutenant Heins was in a Panzer Grenadier Unit of the 21st Panzer Division, travelling in a German Kubelwagon [German version of the Willys Jeep] from Livarot to St. Pierre-sur-Dille. Two Mercedes cars overtook him, and he noticed that a General was sitting in the first one. He followed at about 550 yards distance. Their average speed was about 80-100 kilometres per hour. The General, he found out later, was Field Marshal Rommel, and he was sitting to the right of the driver. Another two high-ranking officers were sitting in the back [of the first car] whilst Rommel’s adjutants were following in the second car.

About a mile outside Livarot, they came to a bend in the road, an open target for any prowling enemy aircraft. Heins, in the Kubelwagon, noticed six [Typhoons] were in the air. Heins saw one of the Typhoons diving onto the road from the right. He took evasive action and managed to get onto a sidetrack whilst the other two cars continued on their way. The first car was machine-gunned, but no rockets were fired. Rommel’s driver was hit and lost control of the car, which was swaying from one side of the road to the other. At this juncture, Rommel jumped out of the car, which was still travelling at high speed, fell on his face, and slid about ten yards along the road. His driver, who was severely wounded, managed to stop the car about 200 yards further on.

When Rommel’s Adjutants and Heins arrived on the scene, they found Rommel had bad injuries to the right side of his face and a possible skull fracture. Rommel was taken straight back to Livaro, staying one day, then was transferred to the Luftwaffe hospital at Bernay. Rommel was sent home after three weeks to recuperate. 6.

Observations

Heins noted Rommel’s two cars as Mercedes. The previous author stated they were Horch. Heins describes seeing six Typhoons, but both earlier authors suggest only two Spitfires were involved. Heins mentioned no rockets being fired. Since Typhoons carried rockets, this might mean the attacking aircraft had expended all their rockets, or perhaps they weren’t Typhoons at all. Another possibility is that he saw Typhoons earlier and assumed they were the same aircraft attacking later. Even Rommel eventually said they were Spitfires. All three accounts give very different versions of Sergeant Daniel’s fate and whether he lost control of his car. Did it crash, or didn’t it?

There is no consistency among these three versions regarding how Rommel sustained his injuries, and Heins noted that Rommel’s two cars were Mercedes. The previous author stated they were Horch. Heins describes seeing six Typhoons, but both earlier authors suggest only two Spitfires were involved. Heins mentioned no rockets being fired. Since Typhoons carried rockets, this might mean the attacking aircraft had used all their rockets, or perhaps they weren’t Typhoons at all. Another possibility is that he saw Typhoons earlier and assumed they were the same aircraft attacking later. Even Rommel eventually said they were Spitfires. All three accounts give very different versions of Sergeant Daniel’s fate and whether he lost control of his car. Did it crash, or didn’t it? What exactly they were. The first author wrote that Rommel was taken to the Luftwaffe hospital near Paris, but Heins placed the hospital at Bernay, which is nowhere near Paris. The shortest distance in modern times is eighty-one miles [130 km]. The air observer, Holke, is not mentioned. Was he killed, wounded, or having a quiet cigarette? If he was injured, did he go to the hospital with Rommel.?

The final question is who should get the credit for taking the famed Desert Fox out of action. The debate still rages today. Not to be left out, of course, the Americans claimed that it was one of their fighters, a P-47 Thunderbolt, that deserved the credit. Since both Le Roux and Fox were flying Spitfires, and as Rommel himself stated, it was a Spitfire, Typhoons and the American P-47 are dismissed.

17 July 1944. Field Marshal Erwin Rommel was always a risk-taker. His bold manoeuvres, ferocity in attack, and tenacity in pursuit were the qualities that earned him the nickname 'Desert Fox’ during his battles against the Allied forces in the Western Desert. He was both feared and respected as a highly professional soldier — polite, decent, and untainted by the crimes of the Nazi regime. Although he was not a member of the Nazi Party, he was nevertheless devoted to Hitler, who had shown him respect and affection. As the tide of war turned against Germany and its Axis allies, Rommel, by 1944 or even earlier, had realised — as many others in the German armed forces also did — that Germany’s only hope of survival lay in making peace or facing destruction. Rommel’s views on the future of the war damaged his once-excellent relationship with Hitler, and he was branded a defeatist and consequently ignored.

While Rommel was recovering from his wounds at the Luftwaffe hospital, ‘Operation Valkyrie’, an assassination attempt on Hitler, was carried out by Colonel Count Claus von Stauffenberg on 20 July 1944 at ‘Wolfsschanze’ [Wolf’s Lair] in East Prussia. A bomb was detonated inside the building where Hitler was holding a meeting. Hitler survived, and his vengeance was severe. Those who were implicated or even suspected of being involved were rounded up and executed. Rommel had become involved in the plot but had only taken a passive stance, prepared to assume whatever role the new government might ask of him rather than actively attempting to kill Hitler.

Rommel had been transferred to his home in Herrlingen, which is midway between Munich and Stuttgart, to convalesce when on 14 October around midday, Generals Burgdoff and Maisel arrived. Their driver remained outside in the car while the two visitors spent the next forty-five minutes in private conversation with Rommel.

Rommel was informed he faced two options due to his involvement in the plot to remove Hitler: a poison that acted in three seconds, a state funeral with no repercussions for his family, or going on trial for high treason. This would have been a sham trial, and the verdict a foregone conclusion.

For the sake of his family, Rommel chose the first option and, leaving his home and family for the last time, went with the two Generals some distance away from the house in their car. The news spread all over Germany. Rommel had died of a heart attack and was given a state funeral as befitting one of Germany’s most popular military leaders and folk heroes.

Of the two pilots believed to have attacked Rommel’s car on that significant day, 17 July 1944, Sqn Leader le Roux died in an aircraft crash on 19 September 1944, and Charlie Fox died in a car accident on 18 October 2008.

EVENT TWO

The second example of historical inconsistencies begins in early August 1944. Allied intelligence reported that the German army threatened to break through the Allied lines near the small French village of Mortain, using four or five Panzer units. The German code for this operation was Unternehmen [Operation] Lüttich. Opposing them were only two United States divisions. At a high-level Allied conference, it was decided that rocket-firing Typhoon squadrons would be deployed to help counter the German attack.

7 August

Around midday, once a heavy mist had lifted, the RAF Typhoons attacked and inflicted significant damage on the German forces. Three pilots were lost, all from the 245 Squadron. One aircraft crash-landed in what was then a ‘no man’s land’ between the opposing forces.

Lieutenant Belton Cooper served in the United States Army’s 3rd Armoured Division Maintenance Battalion, which played a role in the battle described in his excellent book ‘Death Traps’ about American Sherman tanks struggling against the superior firepower and heavy armour of German tanks. As tank casualties increased, an air strike was called for. The American Ninth Air Force was already stretched thin, so the Royal Air Force was brought in to help.

Lt Cooper describes a group of low-flying RAF Hawker Typhoons coming in at low altitude, firing rockets at German armour and infantry on the hilltop. This, combined with heavy artillery, infantry, and tank fire, eventually brought the German counterattack to a slow, grinding halt.

As soon as it was safe to do so, Lt Cooper’s Maintenance Battalion started moving their recovery vehicles into the area for the maintenance crews to salvage and repair whatever tanks they could. It was during this operation that a crashed wreck of a British Typhoon shot down by German ground fire was found upside down, with the tail section embedded in the ground.

Lt Cooper; ‘One of the maintenance mechanics notified a sergeant that there was a body inside the aircraft upside down and still secured by his seatbelt. There was a strong odour of gasoline leaking from the plane's fuel tanks as the graves registration people removed the young British Flight Lieutenant’s body and placed it on a stretcher. But suddenly, they realised that the Flight Lieutenant was still alive. He had been hanging upside down for several hours; it was a miracle that he had survived. A fuel line in the engine department had broken, and fuel was leaking inside the cockpit and running down his seat, down his back, into his hair and onto the ground. He was soaked from head to foot and was beginning to develop red burn marks on his neck and hands from the high-octane fuel. Medics brought blankets, rolled him on his stomach, and stripped off his gasoline-soaked clothing.’

‘His entire back, buttocks, and the back of his legs were burned red raw from the gasoline. As he slowly regained consciousness, he was obviously in severe pain. As soon as the medics had moved him a safe distance from the plane, he asked for a cigarette. 7.

Observations

Lt Cooper fails to mention the date when his recovery crew started their battlefield clearance, nor does he specify who the pilot was or what events led to the pilot's predicament. Usually, this is a simple account of a battlefield event. The more curious reader might want to know that the pilot was Flight Lieutenant Robert [Bob] Gordon Fallas Lee of the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, from Selbourne, Orchard Road, Shalford, Surrey, England. His aircraft, MN459/M-R, belonged to 245 Squadron, part of the 2nd Tactical Air Force, and he had been flying in combat for two years.

It is here that six writers offer conflicting accounts that challenge Lt Cooper’s version. They are as follows:

Version One

Wounded by flak, Flight Lieutenant Lee lost consciousness and control of his Typhoon while attempting a forced landing. The aircraft crashed inverted into the ground, trapping him inside the cockpit. The wreck lay in ‘no man’s land', and as Lee drifted in and out of consciousness, the Germans used the aircraft for target practice. He was struck in the hand and leg by rifle bullets. At one stage, a fire broke out, but fortunately, it was quickly extinguished. After five days, a US Army battlefield clearance team discovered the wreck and rescued an emaciated Lee from the wreckage cockpit.

Version Two

 Flight Lieutenant Bob Lee of 245 Sqn was hit by flak and lost consciousness. When he regained awareness, he found his Typhoon had crashed into the ground upside down in ‘no-man's land.' Lee managed to release his harness but was trapped inside his aircraft, where he would spend the next few days. During that time, the Germans used the wreck for target practice, hitting him in the hand and leg; on one occasion, they started a fire that fortunately went out. A US unit clearing the battlefield rescued him.

Version Three

Bob Lee was shot down and performed a wheels-up landing in enemy territory. The aircraft slid along the ground and rolled onto its back, trapping him inside as he hung from his straps. He managed to turn upright but couldn’t escape because the sides of the fuselage had dug into the earth. Besides a broken leg from the crash, he was wounded twice more when the Germans fired shots into the plane. He survived for six days on his emergency rations. When the Germans left, a salvage unit from the army's recovery section checked the aircraft and heard some sounds and knocks on the fuselage. They lifted him out and found him in a serious condition. He was hospitalised and awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross [DFC] 9.  

Version Four

An extract from the fourth supplement to ‘The London Gazette’, dated 27 October 1944, lists the awards approved by the King. It states in part, ‘Flight Lieutenant Lee [124172] was, during a sortie near Falaise in August 1944, forced to attempt a landing on rough ground after being hit in the hand and having his aircraft disabled by anti-aircraft fire. As he touched down, the aircraft overturned close to the enemy lines. Flight Lieutenant Lee was trapped in the cockpit. As he tried to free himself, the enemy directed machine gun fire at him. From then on, he was repeatedly shot at, and on one occasion, he was hit in the leg, which was shattered. Flight Lieutenant Lee was found alive by our [British or US] advancing troops. For five days, he lay trapped, badly wounded, and harassed by enemy machine gun fire.

Version Five

An unknown reporter wrote that while lying in a hospital with a broken leg, a Typhoon pilot shared an amazing story.

‘I got my kite down on the ground all right, but it hit a bump and turned over, leaving me trapped in the cockpit. The petrol tanks were nearly full, and I expected to be roasted any minute as many bullets and shells flew around. There is not a lot of room in the cockpit of a Typhoon, and there I was upside down. I had to risk ripping my parachute off. It might have opened and filled the cockpit anyway. But I succeeded and was able to lever myself into a hunched-up position with my feet resting on the instrument panel.’

‘For four days, the battle raged around me, with the Germans periodically firing a few shells and bullets at my machine. But the armoured plating saved me. On the sixth day, I heard planes above me and switched on my wing lights, trying to attract their attention, but all I got were some bullets from the Germans. Finally, on the eighth day, some American ambulance men came along, and they got the surprise of their lives when they found me.

[The reporter wrote that Flt Lt Lee had lived on malted milk tablets] 10.

Observations

The only consistent facts so far that can be positively established from the previous five versions are that he was shot down, trapped in his aircraft cockpit with a damaged leg, and with an injured hand. He was rescued and later awarded the DFC.

The following has not been positively established.

How was his plane shot down? Was it caused by flak or ground fire? Was he trapped upside down, or did he manage to right himself? Did his hand get wounded in flight or on the ground? Was his leg broken during the crash landing or by German ground fire while he was already on the ground? Was it actually broken? How close was he to enemy lines, and were they firing machine guns or rifles at the wreck? Why would they use the wreck as target practice in the first place? If they did, how was he not killed? It would have been easy for the Germans to walk to the wreckage and check if the pilot was there. Was he covered in aviation fuel, as Lt Cooper wrote, and did any fires start and then stop? Did he land the plane, or, as one report suggests, did he pass out only to find the aircraft had seemingly landed itself and then turned upside down? Were the wheels up or down? How long had he been trapped—eight days, six days, five days, or just a few hours? Did he have emergency rations and eat them? Was the wreck near a knocked-out American tank? Why would he turn on his wing lights, assuming it was nighttime and they were working, when he knew the Germans were nearby? That would’ve been a completely irrational move. How did he handle the blood loss from his wounds, and how did he deal with the call of nature, especially if he was actually upside down? The latter, while not historically crucial, still raises an interesting question.

How does the historian sort out all these mixed and inconsistent reports to form a true picture? What is the reader to believe? In this particular case, America’s most popular Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist of the time, Ernest Taylor ‘Ernie’ Pyle, might provide some of the answers. But even here, one has to be cautious of journalistic licence and, in modern terms, his use of ‘feel good’ reporting. Pyle was well known for his columns in the American Scripps-Howard newspapers while working as a roving war correspondent from 1935 to 1945.

Pyle was inspecting the battlefield after the Battle of Mortain when he and an unknown officer [not Lt Cooper] noticed a man trapped in an aircraft wreck. His account is entirely different from Lt Cooper’s, yet both were at the scene.

Version Six

Pyle later wrote, ‘We ran to a British plane lying upside down and got down on our hands and knees to peek through the tiny hole in the side. A man lay on his back in the small space of the cockpit. His feet disappeared somewhere in the jumble of dials and pedals above him. His shirt was open, and his chest was bare to the waist. The pilot turned his eyes towards me when I peered in and said, ‘Oh, hello’ in a typical British manner of off-handed friendliness. Stupidly, I asked, ‘Are you all right?’ He answered, ‘Yes, quite. Now that your chaps are here.’ I asked him how long he had been trapped in the wrecked plane. He said he didn’t know for sure, as he got mixed up about the passage of time, but he did know the date of the month he was shot down. When he told me I cried out loud; ‘Good God!’ He had been lying there trapped for eight days.’11.

‘His left leg was broken and punctured by an ack-ack burst. His back was burned by raw gasoline that had spilled. The foot of his injured leg was pinned rigidly under the rudder bar. The space was so small he couldn’t squirm around to relieve his weight from his painful back. He couldn’t straighten out his legs, which were bent above him. He had not a bite to eat or a drop of water for eight days, and yet when we found him, his physical condition was good, and his mind was calm and rational. He was in agony, yet in his Oxford accent, he even apologised for taking up our time to get him out. The American soldiers of our rescue party cussed as they worked, and cussed with open admiration for this British flier’s greatness of heart, which kept him alive and sane through his lonely and gradually hope-diminishing ordeal. One of them said, ‘God, but these Limeys have got guts!’

‘It took us almost an hour to get him out. While we worked, he talked to us. Under the circumstances, we didn’t push him on details, but in a nutshell, he established that he was an RAF Flight Lieutenant piloting a night fighter. Over a certain area, the Germans had let him have it from the ground with machine gun fire. The first hit knocked out his motor. He was too low to jump so foolishly, he said, he turned on his landing lights to try a crash landing. The second hit got him in the leg, and a third bullet cut across his right-hand fingers, clipping everyone to the bone. He left his wheels up, and the plane's belly hit the ground going uphill, leaving a groove it had dug for about fifty yards. Then the plane flopped, tail over the nose, onto its back. He said that was all he remembered for a while. When he came to, they were shelling all around him. For eight days, he was in no man’s land, which passed back and forth between American and German forces.’

‘Lee was taken to a clearing station of the American 30th Division. His back responded very well to treatment. The gangrene [caused by aviation fuel?] was cut away, and when it was seen he would pull through; he was transferred to another field hospital and then three days later was evacuated by air to England.’ 12.   

In early October 1944, Ernie Pyle interrupted his trip back from America to visit the hospital where Flt Lt Lee was recovering. He then penned an article for the Mt. Adams Sun dated 13 October 1944, describing his visit. ‘During that time, I clarified some details I would like to have pursued during the time of Lee’s rescue but did not due to the situation and the pain he was obviously in.’

‘I thought and wrote he was wounded while he was still in the air. But he told me it didn’t happen until about three hours after the crash, when shelling and shooting surrounded him. He said that whatever kind of shell it was, it made a terrific racket when it came through the plane and struck him. The wound was caused by a 20-millimetre shell that had exploded in his leg. It had destroyed about an inch of both bones in the leg, and he has had to date three operations with more to come. It would be about a year before he would have recovered enough to go home.

He said the worst thing in those eight days was the thirst. For days, he visualised creeks full of water, and all the pubs where he had left a little beer in the bottom of the glasses.’ 13. Pyle’s account, whilst detailed, does provide some of the answers, but not all and writing that a 20-millimetre shell had exploded in Lee’s leg could be viewed as a piece of journalistic licence. If this did happen, there is every chance the pilot would have had his leg shattered and died from blood loss or trauma. Considering all his wounds, would it be logical to assume the pilot would have bled to death, especially given the supposed severity of the leg wound.

At this point, the reader has read enough and may wonder if it all matters now. Yes, it does! For the historian whose central ethical responsibility is to record for posterity the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and for the reader who relies on the historian to inform and shape his or her perception of history, past and present. Moreover, if incorrect facts are not corrected over time, they will only get worse. How can mankind move forward if all its past isn't accurate? Inconsistencies aren't confined to just one branch of history. They are evident throughout it. Perhaps it will always be this way.

It should be pointed out that there is no intention to deride or cast any dispersions on any of the authors of the quoted articles or their historical presentations. They can write about their research and present a valid account. Their accounts were simply used to make chosen comparisons to point out the problems that make writing history so damn frustrating for both the writer and the reader.

What do you think about history writing? Let us know below.

Did you enjoy the piece? Join us on X here to receive regular updates: @HistoryIsNowMag

Footnotes

1- Prados. John.  Normandy Crucible. New American Library, 2012. Pages 104-105.

2- Pimlott. John. [Ed] Rommel In His Own Words. Greenhill Books, London. 1994 Page   183.

3- Prados. Pages 104-105.

4- Pimlott. Page 183.

5- Russworm. Lance. 2003. Spitfire Emporium. www.spitcrazy.com/charleys account.htm

6- Darling Tim. www.amnesta.net/other/rommel.html [with kind permission]

7-Pages 72-73 ‘Death Traps’ Belton. Y. Cooper. Ballantine Books-New York. 2003. Recommended reading.

8- Typhoon Wings of 2nd TAF, 1942-45. Chris Thomas, Osprey Combat Aircraft No 86. UK.

9- Typhoon Warfare. Tom Hall. Self-published book. Australia, 2000.

10- Launceston Examiner [Launceston, Tasmania] Tuesday 22 August 1944, Page 1.

11-. Source-Wikipedia.

12- Extract from Ernest Pyle’s book ‘Brave Men’, University of Nebraska Press. 2001. Pages 311-312.

13- Extract from Mt. Adams Sun. Bingen, Washington. 13 October 1944. Page 2. 

Henry Ossawa Tanner: Painting Light, Faith, and Enduring Grace

Some painters command attention with spectacle. Henry Ossawa Tanner achieved something rarer: he cultivated stillness. His finest canvases seem to breathe, inviting viewers into rooms filled with lamplight, dusk, prayer, and reflection. Across a career that stretched from the late nineteenth century into the early decades of the twentieth, Tanner became one of America's most accomplished painters, celebrated not for grand gestures but for an extraordinary command of mood, subtle color, and emotional restraint.

Brian D'Ambrosio explains.

Henry Ossawa Tanner by Frederick Gutekunst. Source: Public domain, Archives of American Art, available here.

Born in Pittsburgh in 1859 and raised in Philadelphia, Tanner demonstrated an early fascination with drawing. As a young man, he enrolled at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, where he studied under the demanding painter and teacher Thomas Eakins. Eakins emphasized anatomical precision, careful observation, and technical discipline—lessons Tanner absorbed with exceptional success. Yet his own painterly voice gradually evolved beyond realism toward something more lyrical. He painted faithfully from observation, yet he was just as interested in the emotions that lingered after first impressions faded.

His early works reveal an artist drawn to modest moments rather than theatrical subjects. Instead of fashionable society portraits or sweeping historical scenes, Tanner found lasting significance in humble interiors and everyday experience. One of his most admired paintings, The Banjo Lesson (1893), depicts an elderly man teaching a child to play. Every gesture feels deliberate, inviting viewers into an intensely private exchange. Warm amber light settles across the figures, transforming a simple lesson into a meditation on knowledge, affection, and continuity. Perhaps that explains why the painting remains among the most beloved images in American art.

Equally compelling is The Thankful Poor (1894), in which an older man and a boy bow their heads before a modest meal. Nothing lavish appears on the table. Instead, Tanner allows light to become the principal storyteller. Sunlight filters gently through the room, catching worn hands, coarse cloth, and simple crockery. The restrained composition leaves room for viewers to discover gratitude and companionship on their own, never slipping into sentimentality.

Seeking broader opportunities, Tanner moved to Paris in 1891 and enrolled at the Académie Julian. France proved both a creative refuge and the place where his reputation flourished. He exhibited regularly at the prestigious Paris Salon, receiving an honorable mention at the 1896 Salon for Daniel in the Lions' Den, a third-class medal in 1897 for The Resurrection of Lazarus, and later a silver medal at the 1900 Exposition Universelle. Critics admired both his technical sophistication and his distinctive handling of radiant color, while collectors increasingly sought his paintings.

Paris also deepened Tanner's fascination with biblical subjects. Rather than dramatizing sacred narratives, he sought emotional authenticity rooted in place. Repeated journeys through Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and other parts of the Middle East informed these works with careful observation of architecture, clothing, terrain, and regional sunlight.

No painting better represents Tanner's mature vision than The Annunciation (1898). Instead of presenting an elaborately winged angel, he renders the heavenly messenger as a radiant shaft of light. Mary sits on a simple bed, quietly contemplative rather than visibly astonished. The textured plaster walls, humble furnishings, and muted palette create a convincing domestic setting without sacrificing its spiritual mystery. More than a century later, the painting still feels remarkably modern because Tanner trusted radiance itself to carry the emotional weight.

Other celebrated works reveal the same mastery. Nicodemus Visiting Jesus unfolds beneath cool evening blues that seem almost velvety, while Daniel in the Lions' Den replaces overt drama with solemn resolve. Throughout these paintings, moonlight, lamplight, and shadow become narrative devices every bit as expressive as gesture or facial expression. Indeed, few American painters mastered light with greater subtlety.

What distinguished Tanner technically was his exceptional command of color and light. Thin glazes layered one over another created depth that seems almost ethereal. Edges soften naturally into surrounding color, while carefully placed highlights guide the eye without calling attention to themselves. Close inspection reveals weathered stone, woven fabric, polished wood, and even the coolness of evening air. Perhaps no element of his craft was more refined than his ability to make radiance seem almost tangible.

Recognition followed steadily. Tanner was made a Chevalier of the French Legion of Honor in 1923, became an Associate of the National Academy of Design in 1927, and was elected a full Academician in 1929. His paintings entered major museum collections on both sides of the Atlantic, and his influence extended well beyond his own generation. Indeed, artists and historians continue to admire the consistency of his vision and the disciplined craftsmanship that defined every stage of his career.

Today, Tanner's paintings remain among the treasures of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the Musée d'Orsay, among other distinguished institutions. Many visitors linger before his paintings, discovering new subtleties each time their eyes adjust to his restrained compositions. Their subdued rhythms, luminous surfaces, and emotional depth reward patient looking.

Henry Ossawa Tanner died in Paris in 1937, leaving behind a body of work distinguished by technical excellence, thoughtful composition, and uncommon emotional depth. He demonstrated that lasting paintings need not overwhelm the viewer with spectacle. Instead, they reveal themselves gradually through craftsmanship, patient observation, and an extraordinary understanding of how light can transform a familiar scene into something timeless.

Brian D'Ambrosio is the author of Montana Eccentrics, New Mexico Eccentrics,  Italian-Americana: Explorers, Entertainers, and Eccentrics, and American Eccentrics: Mavericks, Misfits, and Visionaries. Available here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

References

Various obituaries, Newspapers.com

Smithsonian Archives of American Art, Henry Ossawa Tanner Papers, 1860s–1978 (bulk 1890–1937)

White House Historical Association

Encyclopaedia Britannica

The Avignon Papacy and the Fight for France: Part 3 - The Start of the Papacy

The Avignon Papacy (1309-1376) was the period during which seven successive popes resided at Avignon, in modern-day southern France, rather than at Rome. It followed a bitter conflict between the papacy and King Philip IV of France, and the death of Pope Boniface VIII in 1303 marked a decisive shift in the balance of power within the Church. Talia Bega explains — and looks at the start of a new era in France with the Avignon Papacy.

You can read part 1 on the Church in the 13th century here, and part 2 on the Rise of Philip IV and financial problems here.

Pope John XXII, artist unknown. Source: c domain, Archives iconographiques du palais du Roure à Avignon, available here.

After Philip requested power

When Philip turned to the Church for money to cover his costly campaigns in the late thirteenth century, he set crown and Church on a collision course. Desperate for funds, he wanted the Church to help pay for his wars in Gascony and Flanders, and as France poured its resources into fighting rather than the welfare of its people, the kingdom slid into crisis. Philip treated these wars as a gamble worth taking, but drawing the Church into them brought him no relief. The confrontation culminated in the seizure of Boniface VIII at Anagni in 1303; released by the townspeople but broken by the ordeal, the pope died about a month later.

Rarely had a secular ruler laid hands on the pope, and never so nakedly over money; yet the seizure of Boniface set in motion what became the Avignon Papacy, during which seven French popes governed the Church from Avignon for some seventy years. The first of them, Bertrand de Got, was elected in 1305 and took the name Po. Clepe ment proved highly amenable to Philip - most visibly in his suppression of the Knights Templar, which he formally abolished at the king's urging (Théry-Astruc, 2016, 36). To many this looked like a capitulation that left the Church dangerously exposed. Clement spent most of his pontificate in France and never went to Rome, and it was under him that the popes came to reside in France rather than at the Holy See.

Clement also had to manage the posthumous proceedings that Philip's lawyers pressed against the memory of Boniface VIII, placating the king by revoking the bulls with which Boniface had asserted papal supremacy over France (Théry-Astruc, 2016, 39). The affair dragged on for roughly two years, the late pope's guilt or innocence argued on both sides, before Clement contrived to have it dropped. The deeper reason the papacy shifted from Rome to France was the turbulence of the Roman Curia itself: with powerful families feuding for control of the city, a more secure base seemed the safer choice, and it suited a papacy bent on centralizing its authority. As the French crown grew stronger through its hold over a compliant pope, Clement sought stability above all and chose never to return to Rome, even when he might have done. Abroad he took up the cause of crusade, receiving overtures from the Mongol Ilkhanate - which proposed a Franco-Mongol alliance against the Mamluks of Egypt - and proclaiming a new crusade at the Council of Vienne in 1312 (Housley, 1980, 166).

The crusade was slow to take shape; after much preaching, and with the backing of several kings, it eventually got under way, one of the last such expeditions ever mounted. In Italy, meanwhile, Rome was convulsed by the feud between the Orsini and Colonna families, which proved impossible to settle. Clement governed the papal lands from afar, entrusting authority in the region to allies while he remained in France, but the situation deteriorated and the cardinals he left in charge were themselves split along factional lines. The vacuum allowed the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry VII, to press his own claims in and around Rome during his Italian expedition, and from a distance Clement watched the region torn by the older rivalry between France and Naples and by Henry's ambitions. He also moved against heresy, calling a crusade that crushed the Dulcinians, the followers of Fra Dolcino. The body of canon law he assembled, the Clementine Constitutions, was completed in his reign but promulgated only by his successor, John XXII, in 1317; it asserted a broad papal authority that later popes would dispute. Clement died in 1314, but his reign had set the papacy on a French course, drawing it away from Rome and toward the power of the West.

France after Philip IV

Philip IV died after a hunting accident in 1314, and the Church's power carried on much as Clement had shaped it. Clement's death brought to the throne John XXII - Jacques Duèze - who came not from Paris but from Cahors, in southern France. Trained above all as a jurist in canon and civil law, he had served for years as an adviser at courts across the region; as chancellor to Charles II of Naples, he is said to have used his influence to have the gladiatorial games at Naples suppressed. In 1310 he became bishop of Avignon and rose swiftly through the ranks of the Church. When Clement died in 1314 it took almost two years to settle on a successor, amid bitter divisions among the cardinals and the deepening quarrel with the Holy Roman Empire.

In 1316 Philip, Count of Poitiers - soon to be Philip V of France - forced the deadlocked cardinals into a conclave of twenty-three at Lyon and pressed them to elect a pope; their choice fell on Jacques Duèze. Like his predecessor, John remained in France and never returned to Rome. His was among the longest of the Avignon pontificates, running for eighteen years. He governed with a formidable will - quick-tempered, jealous of his authority, and ready to assert the Church's claims across the known world, even in letters to non-Christian rulers. He backed Edward II of England against the Scots, though this entangled him in the affairs of Ireland, whose princes petitioned the papacy - in the Remonstrance of 1317 - to be released from English overlordship in favor of a ruler more sympathetic to the Church (Richardson, 1941, 97).

John's greatest struggle was with the Holy Roman Empire. The disputed imperial election of 1314 had set Louis IV of Bavaria against Frederick the Fair of Austria, and John refused to recognize either as emperor, insisting that confirming an imperial election was the pope's prerogative. When Louis prevailed and ignored him, John excommunicated him in 1324; Louis retaliated by invading Italy and installing an antipope, and the feud outlasted John himself. The pattern echoed the old wars between empire and papacy - Frederick II a century earlier had likewise defied Rome and marched into Italy - and John pursued the emperor's Ghibelline allies with the same weapons, condemning the Visconti of Milan as heretics and proclaiming a crusade against them (Menache, 1986, 436). The rest of his reign was taken up with controversies over witchcraft, Franciscan poverty, and the beatific vision. A plan to move the papal seat to Bologna came to nothing when the city rebelled, and the papacy stayed in France. John died in 1334, keeping the Church at Avignon and clear of the warfare consuming Italy.

What then

A single act by the French king in 1303 changed the course of history: for the next seventy years the popes resided in France. Hungry for power, they reached for supreme control over Christendom. Under Clement V the papacy formally left Rome, in what the poet Petrarch would famously condemn as the start of the Church's 'Babylonian Captivity.' Clement remained in Philip's grip and followed his lead at every turn, and under John XXII the papacy again found itself entangled with both France and the Holy Roman Empire. These first two Avignon popes embodied the office at its most political - a mirror of where the papacy's power now lay. What had begun as an attempt to curb the corruption of the Church had transformed it entirely, and the popes who followed would confront the same question anew.

Now read about the War of the Breton Succession here.

Bibliography

Housley, N. J. “The Franco-Papal Crusade Negotiations of 1322-3.” Papers of the British School at Rome, vol. 48, 1980, pp. 166–85. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40310773. Accessed 5 Aug. 2026.

Menache, Sophia. “The Failure of John XXII’s Policy toward France and England: Reasons and Outcomes, 1316-1334.” Church History, vol. 55, no. 4, 1986, pp. 423–37. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/3166366. Accessed 5 Aug. 2026.

Mommsen, Theodor E. “The Date of Petrarch’s Canzone Italia Mia.” Speculum, vol. 14, no. 1, 1939, pp. 28–37. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2853837. Accessed 5 Aug. 2026.

Richardson, H. G. “Clement V and the See of Canterbury.” The English Historical Review, vol. 56, no. 221, 1941, pp. 97–103. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/553609. Accessed 5 Aug. 2026.

Théry-Astruc, Julien. “THE FLIGHT OF THE MASTER OF LOMBARDY (13 FEBRUARY 1308) AND CLEMENT V’S STRATEGY IN THE TEMPLAR AFFAIR: A SLAP IN THE POPE’S FACE.” Rivista Di Storia Della Chiesa in Italia, vol. 70, no. 1, 2016, pp. 35–44. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44807473. Accessed 5 Aug. 2026.

Africa in the Cold War: The Biggest Battlefield between the Soviets and the US?

Africa held an important place in the Cold War. Hardly had the nations there freed themselves from colonial bondage than they were suddenly made into a battlefield. It was here that the United States and Russia, who did not dare fight on a Europe that had already shed so much blood, fought for supremacy. The Soviet Union tried to appeal to Africans as fellow revolutionaries and paraded capitalism as the enemy. However, the new leaders understood that the Soviet Union would merely absorb Africa into a new colonial empire. Kennedy, though, appealed to the Africans’ newfound taste for democracy. These conflicts met head-on in the Congo Crisis, and the clashes, unlike in much of the rest of the world, were bloody.

Ayrton Avery explains.

US President Richard Nixon meets President Mobutu Sese Seku of Zaire in 1973 in the White House.

Tempting Ideologies

As soon as Ghana achieved independence in 1957, the people were turning to socialism. Guinea, which was also led to independence the following year, followed suit. The Soviet Union viewed these countries as a gold mine. They found similarities between Russian and African history, and thought the subsequent implementation of communism was only logical. However, Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana’s president, viewed things differently. He preferred a version of socialism that emphasized pan-Africanism, though he admired Russia’s ideology of Marxism-Leninism. This became the reason that the Russians had to fight for Africa, using diplomacy or otherwise.

Much later, during the Portuguese Colonial War (1961-1974) in Angola, Kennedy was tempted to take the stand against the colonizers, probably because he feared Soviet influence in that region. Like the Russians, he tried to appeal to the Africans ideologically. He preached anti-communist and democracy, at one point even meeting with the Angolan politician Holden Roberto. However, Africans viewed the United States as a colonial power and Europeans feared the Angolans would still turn communist despite U.S. support. In the end, the U.S. also had to fight for Africa.

Cold War Not-So-Cold

Naturally, clashes made up the Cold War. The Cuban Missile Crisis, the U-2 Incident and others were ways the two powers tried to gain supremacy without resorting directly to the gun. However, this conflict was more than just political, it was also economic. The United States needed money to fund their own wars, while the Soviet Union itself was in an economic downgrade. The two nations saw Africa, rich in resources, as a source of funds and diplomatic superiority.

However, even with this, there was no genuine need for any wars in Africa to turn bloody. But, new African countries took Kwame Nkrumah’s (the first president of Ghana’s) lead in viewing the Soviets as a colonial power. These countries accepted money from both sides, all the while refusing to become allied with either. This, of course, pleased neither the Russians nor the Americans. Eventually, Americans got Guinea and Ghana more or less under their foot. But the Congo, which was a confused bag of warring factions in 1960, and also boasted Iron, Zinc, Copper and Tantalum, was even more tempting.

A Fight for Tantalum

In the Congo, no one was in power. Shortly after gaining its independence, a series of rebellions broke out between ethnic groups and those who supported the colonizers. At first, the United States blamed the socialist leader Lumumba for the fighting and refused to send forces at all. But then, the Soviets intervened in August 1960, setting the stage for yet another clandestine battlefield of the Cold War.

The United States put down the Communist secessionists, but soon new ones appeared, inspired by the Chinese leader Mao Zedong. Belgium and the United States intervened directly this time, realizing the threat. Bloody fighting began, provoked by Russia, China, the U.S., and Belgium, but eventually they crushed the Maoists as well, by the spring of 1965.

Although an authoritarian dictator was put in, ever since, the West, not the Soviet Union, have controlled the Congo and all its exports. The defeat also undermined Soviet influence in Africa, and resulted in most governments handing over power (indirectly) to the West. This was possibly one of the greatest factors that led to the collapse of the Soviet Union. The Russians lost huge amounts of revenue as African nations slammed the Russians for not providing better support to the rebels. It also did not help that now the U.N. was giving money to the Congo’s corrupted and authoritarian leadership. Once again, the West had won on a major battlefield of the cold war.

Conclusion

Of course, the violence did not end. The Cold War was not yet over. Russia tried, and succeeded somewhat, to gain control in Angola. But the victory was not enough. The West had tightened its grip on the continent far too tight. After the 70s, though, instability in the continent soared. The First Congo War broke out. Then there was the Rwandan genocide. And the Second Congo War broke, leading into the 21st century. Much of the Diamonds and tantalum are now being sold to Russian mercenaries. The West never truly won in Africa, just like in Korea. It was all an illusion. Both powers have rendered the continent more or less useless for their goals.

What do you think of Soviet and America in Africa during the Cold War? Let us know below.

Now, get a copy of our 250-page book on the Cold War here. It is a fast-paced, fascinating book that we know you’ll enjoy!

References

Elizabeth, Schmidt. Foreign Intervention in Africa: From the Cold War to the War on Terror. Cambridge University Press, 2010.

Brzezinski, Zbigniew. Africa and the Communist World. Stanford University Press, 1963.

Nkrumah, Kwame. Challenge of the Congo. International Publishers, 1967.

William Reno. Warfare in Independent Africa. Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Elbaum, Max. Revolution in the Air: Sixties Radicals Turn to Lenin, Mao and Che. Verso Books, 2002.

King John: The Cruel King who Made his own Enemies – Part 1

Few English monarchs have earned a reputation as dark and enduring as King John (reign 1199-1216). More than eight centuries after his death, his name remains synonymous with tyranny, injustice and failure. Unlike many medieval kings whose reputations have softened with the passage of time, John continues to occupy a unique place in English history as the king who alienated almost everyone around him, his family, his nobles, the Church, and ultimately his own people. His reign would culminate in one of the most significant constitutional moments in history: the sealing of Magna Carta in 1215. Yet the famous charter was not born simply from political theory or a desire for liberty. It emerged because one man's methods of ruling pushed his kingdom to breaking point.

Terry Bailey explains.

King John of England with dogs. Source: Public domain, painter unknown, available here.

John was born on the 24th of December 1166, the youngest surviving son of King Henry II of England and the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine. He entered one of medieval Europe's most powerful dynasties, the Angevin Empire, which stretched from the Scottish borders to the Pyrenees and controlled vast territories in France. As the youngest son, however, John was never expected to inherit substantial lands. His elder brothers, Henry the Young King, Richard, Geoffrey and William, stood before him in the line of succession.

This uncertain position shaped much of John's early life. Henry II affectionately called him "Lackland" because he initially had no significant inheritance of his own. The nickname would remain with him throughout history, although later events would give it an ironic twist. While his brothers governed territories and led armies, John remained largely dependent upon his father, fostering a sense of insecurity that many historians believe influenced his later behavior. Growing up in a fiercely competitive royal household, where alliances shifted rapidly and family members frequently rebelled against one another, John learned that power depended as much upon suspicion and manipulation as it did upon loyalty.

Relations between John and his brothers were rarely harmonious. Richard, later immortalized as Richard the Lionheart, became one of the greatest military commanders of the medieval period and enjoyed enormous prestige across Europe. John lived perpetually in his brother's shadow. During Richard's reign, while the king fought during the Third Crusadeand later endured imprisonment in Germany, John attempted to increase his own influence and, at times, entered into political intrigues that appeared to undermine Richard's authority. Although popular legend often portrays John openly conspiring to seize the throne, the reality was more complex. Medieval politics encouraged opportunism, and John's actions reflected both ambition and the instability of the age. Nevertheless, these episodes damaged his reputation long before he became king.

When Richard I died in April 1199 from a wound sustained during a siege in France, John inherited the English crown. His succession, however, was far from universally accepted. Many believed that Arthur of Brittany, the teenage son of John's elder brother Geoffrey possessed a stronger hereditary claim. Although John secured the support of many English nobles and was crowned at Westminster, significant opposition remained across his French territories. From the beginning, his reign rested upon uncertain foundations.

John proved to be an intelligent and energetic administrator. Unlike Richard, who spent comparatively little time in England, John devoted considerable attention to government, finance and legal administration. He travelled extensively throughout his kingdom, supervised officials personally and kept detailed financial records. Modern historians generally agree that he possessed considerable administrative ability. Unfortunately, these talents were accompanied by serious flaws of temperament that ultimately overwhelmed his strengths.

Contemporary chroniclers consistently described John as suspicious, impulsive and deeply vindictive. He rarely forgave those who opposed him, often pursuing enemies with relentless determination long after they had ceased to pose any real threat. Whereas successful medieval kings relied heavily upon rewarding loyalty and maintaining personal relationships with powerful nobles, John frequently humiliated, intimidated or financially exploited those whose support he needed most. Trust became almost impossible within his court because few believed the king would honor promises once circumstances changed.

One event more than any other cemented John's reputation for cruelty. In 1202, during his conflict with the French king Philip II, Arthur of Brittany was captured by John's forces. The young prince disappeared while imprisoned in royal custody. Within months, rumors spread that John himself had murdered his seventeen-year-old nephew, possibly in a drunken rage before disposing of the body in the River Seine. No contemporary source provides definitive proof of exactly what happened. Some chroniclers claimed eyewitness knowledge, while others repeated stories circulating years later. Modern historians remain cautious because the evidence is inconclusive. Nevertheless, few doubt that John bore responsibility for Arthur's disappearance. Whether he personally committed the killing or merely ordered it, the political consequences were catastrophic. Across Europe, many nobles concluded that John had murdered a close relative to secure his throne, permanently staining his reputation.

Military failures compounded these personal controversies. In 1204, John lost Normandy, one of the crown's richest continental possessions to King Philip II of France. The loss represented a profound humiliation for the Angevin dynasty and forced many Anglo-Norman nobles to choose between lands held in England and those in France. John's determination to recover these territories became an obsession, and financing repeated military campaigns required enormous sums of money.

To raise the necessary funds, John pushed the medieval system of taxation to unprecedented levels. He imposed frequent scutage payments, allowing nobles to avoid military service by paying money instead, but demanded these payments far more often than previous kings. He exploited feudal customs to extract heavy inheritance fees, marriage payments and fines whenever opportunities arose. Justice itself increasingly appeared to be for sale. Wealthy individuals could purchase favorable legal outcomes or avoid punishment by paying substantial sums into the royal treasury. Although many of these practices had legal foundations within feudal law, John employed them with such relentless determination that even loyal supporters began to resent the financial burden.

His relationship with the English barons steadily deteriorated. Medieval kings depended upon cooperation with their leading nobles, who provided military service, governed local regions and advised the crown. John instead ruled through fear and financial pressure. Hostages were taken to guarantee obedience. Castles were confiscated. Lands were seized from those who fell from royal favor. Noble families found themselves subjected to crushing fines that could bankrupt entire estates. Rather than strengthening the monarchy, these measures encouraged increasingly organized resistance.

John's approach to justice also attracted widespread criticism. Royal courts expanded under his reign, but many believed legal decisions depended less upon fairness than upon the king's personal interests. Political opponents frequently found themselves prosecuted while allies escaped punishment. Property could be confiscated on questionable legal grounds, and imprisonment without meaningful recourse became an accepted instrument of royal power. Such practices undermined confidence in the very institutions that earlier Angevin kings had worked to develop.

Ordinary people fared little better. Although medieval peasants rarely played a direct role in national politics, they nevertheless experienced the consequences of John's government. Higher taxes filtered through society, while local officials often enforced royal demands with considerable severity. Forest laws, regulating access to woodland resources essential for many rural communities, were harshly applied. Merchants encountered tolls and financial demands, while villages bore the costs of supporting military campaigns. Life for the average English family was already uncertain through poor harvests, disease and local conflicts; John's relentless pursuit of revenue only deepened these hardships.

His troubles extended beyond secular politics. John's prolonged dispute with Pope Innocent III over the appointment of the Archbishop of Canterbury resulted in England being placed under an interdict in 1208, severely restricting religious services throughout the kingdom. When John refused to yield, he was excommunicated. Although he eventually submitted to papal authority and even accepted England as a papal fief, the conflict further damaged his prestige. To many contemporaries, a king condemned by the Church appeared to have lost not only political support but divine favor as well.

The overwhelmingly negative portrait of John owes much to medieval chroniclers, many of whom were monks writing within religious communities deeply affected by his policies. Writers such as Roger of Wendover and Matthew Paris described him as deceitful, greedy, immoral and cruel. Their accounts undoubtedly reflected genuine hostility, but they also carried institutional bias, particularly after John conflicted with the papacy. Modern historians therefore approach these sources carefully, recognizing both their immense value and their limitations. Even allowing for exaggeration, however, the remarkable consistency of criticism from numerous contemporary writers suggests that John's failures as a ruler were both real and widely recognized.

Yet history is rarely as simple as legend. John was not an incompetent fool. He was an able administrator, an intelligent strategist in some circumstances, and a hardworking king who understood the mechanics of government better than many of his predecessors. His tragedy lay in the fact that these strengths were undermined by profound defects of character. Suspicion replaced trust, vengeance displaced reconciliation, and financial exploitation substituted for genuine leadership. In attempting to tighten his grip upon power, he steadily weakened the foundations upon which royal authority depended.

By the second decade of the thirteenth century, England stood on the brink of open rebellion. Noble resentment had hardened into organized opposition. The monarchy's authority was increasingly questioned, while military failures and financial burdens intensified demands for reform. The stage was now set for a confrontation unlike any England had previously witnessed, a struggle that would force an unwilling king to acknowledge that even a monarch's power had limits. That confrontation would soon produce one of the most influential political documents in history: Magna Carta.

In conclusion, King John's reign serves as one of history's clearest reminders that the strength of a kingdom depends not merely upon the authority of its ruler, but upon the confidence and cooperation of those he governs. Although he inherited one of Europe's greatest realms and possessed undeniable administrative ability, his relentless pursuit of power, wealth and control steadily eroded the very foundations upon which that power rested. Through fear rather than trust, coercion rather than compromise, and punishment rather than reconciliation, John transformed political discontent into open hostility. By alienating his family, his barons, the Church and much of the wider population, he produced an alliance of opponents united by little more than a shared determination to curb the excesses of royal authority.

Yet history should resist the temptation to portray John as a one-dimensional villain. Many of the financial and legal mechanisms he employed had existed before his reign, and several would continue after his death. What distinguished John was not the invention of these methods, but the unprecedented scale, frequency and ruthlessness with which he employed them. His inability to inspire loyalty or command genuine respect meant that every military defeat, every financial demand and every perceived injustice compounded the growing belief that the king himself had become the greatest threat to the stability of his own kingdom.

The irony of John's reign is profound. In seeking to strengthen the English Crown, he instead exposed its vulnerabilities. In attempting to make royal authority absolute, he provoked demands that it be restrained by law. His failures would ultimately achieve what his successes never could: they compelled England's leading nobles to insist that even a king must govern within recognized limits. Although Magna Carta was initially conceived as a practical peace treaty between a desperate monarch and rebellious barons rather than a declaration of universal human rights, its enduring principles would echo through the centuries, influencing constitutional government far beyond medieval England.

John himself never accepted these limitations. Within weeks of sealing Magna Carta, he sought to overturn it, plunging the kingdom into civil war. The charter's immediate future appeared bleak, and few contemporaries could have imagined that this fragile agreement, born out of mistrust and conflict, would become one of the most celebrated constitutional documents in history.

The story therefore does not end with King John's failures; it begins with them. His reign illustrates how poor leadership, personal vindictiveness and unchecked authority can drive even the most powerful monarch towards political disaster. The rebellion he provoked would fundamentally alter the relationship between ruler and ruled, setting England upon a constitutional path whose consequences would eventually reach far beyond its shores.

As we continue to delve deeper into the kingdom, political opposition hardens into armed rebellion and the examination of years of mistrust erupted into the Barons' Revolt, the dramatic events leading to the meeting at Runnymede, and the extraordinary negotiations that produced Magna Carta, a document born not from idealism, but from crisis, necessity and the determination that no ruler, however powerful, should stand above the law.

Now, read part 2 on Losing an Empire - War, Defeat and a Growing Rebellion.

The Last Samurai: The Life and Battles of Saigo Takamori

Ever since watching the movie The Last Samurai starring Tom Cruise and Ken Watanabe, Jeb Smith has admired and been fascinated by feudal Japan and the samurai. The movie, based on various historical figures and events from 19th-century Japan, portrays the contrast between traditionalism and modernity.

Here Jeb looks at the samurai in the context of the book The Life and Battles of Saigo Takamori by Mark Ravina.

Posthumous portrait of Saigō Takamori by Tokonami Masayoshi. `Source: Public domain, Collection of Kagoshima City Museum of Art, available here.

The samurai contrast between traditionalism and modernity shows, on one hand, how you had the traditional warrior samurai, living agrarian, rural, lifestyles centered on close-knit, decentralized and self-governing, deeply religious farming communities. They were content to live as their ancestors had, guarding, protecting, and living out their traditions, and were resistant to money, progress, political power, and innovation. Instead, honor, faith, family, and freedom were what mattered most. On the other hand, you had certain Japanese who were influenced by Western capitalism and colonization. They sought to modernize Japan, leaving behind its traditions for the benefits of money and political power. We observe politicians and bureaucrats influencing the Japanese Emperor to adopt modernity and centralized power, and create a singular nation out of the various distinct regions that existed under feudal Japan. This involved engaging in trade agreements with the West and pursuing technological advancements, all aimed at generating wealth and gaining power and leading to centralized rule, a modern military and economy, and European lifestyles, including Western dress. The contrast is clearly seen in how they waged war, the traditional Samurai side using bows and swords, and modern imperial forces cannons and rifles.

In the movie, the character Lord Moritsugu Katsumoto is based on the life of Saigo Takamori, who led the “Satsuma Rebellion” against the modernizing Japanese government in 1877 in an attempt to defend traditional Japanese samurai values.

 

From Movie to Book – Saigo’s Heritage and Tradition

In his acclaimed work, The Last Samurai: The Life and Battles of Saigo Takamori, Mark Ravina, a scholar of Japanese history, provides an in-depth examination of Saigo’s life.

He was huge compared to most of his peers, nearly six feet tall with a muscular build. He was described as intimidating with a deadly stare, yet also sensitive, showing emotion and crying in public at plays. He was brave, willing, even desiring to die for a cause, yet gentle, soft, and sought peace. To the samurai, bravery was connected to morality. Courage means believing in something outside of oneself, such as conviction, principle, loyalty, and good character, which can be trusted. Selfish individuals who prioritize their own interests over others’ lives cannot be trusted.

Saigo possessed natural qualities that men admired, as they respected his dedication, loyalty, honor, and the way he handled adversity. He also treated others with respect and honor. He taught his students that we have to stop fearing death, which is inevitable, to truly “live in harmony with heaven.” He was very “black and white” principled and focused on the few things he thought were important.

Born in 1827, Saigo grew up poor in the Satsuma region, known for its agricultural, rural, and remote lifestyle, in the far southwest corner of Kyushu, the southernmost of the four main islands of Japan. Largely isolated, its people spoke a regional dialect incomprehensible to other sections of Japan. Saigo and the residents of the region were considered “backward,” old-fashioned, and traditional.

In Satsuma, the local samurai were descendants of various regional samurai rulers dating back centuries. Centuries before, the samurai were somewhat feudal vassals of the Shogun, who parceled out the lands and territories to the samurai to rule as military rulers who in turn passed them on to their descendants. As in feudal Europe, they essentially became local lords or monarchs and ruled their domains as autonomous areas. In the 1850s, “Japan” was not yet a centralized nation, but a variety of local realms with no professional army. Japan, as a singular nation, existed only in thought, not in practice: however, fealty (at least symbolically) was given to the capital.

Traditional loyalty dates back to medieval Japan, where vassals were remarkably loyal to their personal Lord, even sometimes committing suicide if their Lord passed, rather than serve another. Saigo was loyal to, and believed in, a divine order rather than individuals, even his Lord, whom he fiercely loved and served in every way he could. However, divine law was higher than man’s, and all, whether peasant, vassal or lord, shogun or emperor, were to be loyal above all to the gods, and to the high law from heaven that governed all people; in the Western context, “natural law.” Further, Ravina wrote, “Saigo’s opposition to a central bureaucracy was rooted in a Confucian understanding of power: governments should rule, he thought, through broad precepts and moral examples rather than extensive regulation.” He believed the cultivation of people who are moral, “loyalty, filial piety, humanity, and love,” would not need governmental laws and dictates; the focus should be on moral people rather than top-down coercion.

The local samurai were generally considered equal, with a few powerful overlords of large tracts of land, and the capital did not receive blind obedience, as we are accustomed to in our centralized democratic governments today. Instead, they maintained fealty out of choice, provided that the Shogun or central power was honest.

Multiple rural aristocratic castles dotted the landscape. One castle for each region was the general though not invariable rule. While the samurai ruled from the castles and centers of towns, most villagers outside the samurai’s control lived as autonomous peasants in small local villages. Traditional Japanese society, in which Saigo grew up, was an extremely hierarchical society where you could kill a lower-class individual who insulted you; in fact, you were required to do so by law. Samurai made a distinction between killing for honor and murder, the latter being outlawed and degrading.

Saigo hailed from a clan of fierce warriors dating back to the 11th century, who demonstrated legendary military prowess, especially during the 11th to 13th centuries, once helping fight off Mongol invasions, for which his ancestors won renown.  Regarding his more immediate lineage, Ravina wrote, “His father, Kichibei, was formally a full samurai (shi or jokashi), and the family should, in theory, have lived off of his stipend. But in practice the Saigo family lived more like goshi: self-sufficient rural warriors.”[1]

Learning the way of the sword was not the only thing samurai held as valuable. Honor, courage, honesty, and the avoidance of foul language were priorities instilled among the aristocratic samurai class. A focus on the past, on ancestors and tradition was central to the samurai culture and worldview. Saigo’s traditionalism was, of course, heavily influenced by his aristocratic samurai education, which shunned Western ideas, technological advancements, and modernism as a whole, condemning “novelties” and focusing on ancient texts. While many would later use gunpowder, initially the samurai despised muskets as dishonorable killing weapons, plus now even peasants could kill samurai who had trained their whole life by the way of the sword. Firearms degraded warfare and opened it to the lower classes. Saigo was raised as an aristocratic gentleman. He was well versed in philosophy, especially the ancient Chinese philosophers, and held a great interest in Japanese history.

Saigo upheld the traditional view of the Emperor who, in his mind, represented Japanese history, people, and traditional culture. The emperor was not a monarch but more like a medieval feudal king; his power was in religious symbolism, and he was to “reign rather than rule.” The samurai, the warrior class, were to be the true rulers at the local levels as feudal lords, not the Emperor, nor the Shogun, the supreme (in theory though not always practice) military ruler who also was involved in politics from the capital. Saigo argued it was unnatural to have multiple leaders, both a Shogun and an Emperor, preferring to downgrade the Shogun to a simple local Samurai lord. According to Saigo and others like him, the dynasty of emperors had existed since the dawn of time. The current Emperor, a lineal descendant of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu, holds divine authority over all, including his servants the samurai and the Shogun.

Saigo resisted outside Western influences because they exerted pressure on the Emperor, and came from mere men, who were not the true authority; thus, resisting them upheld the divine. He also sought to maintain the policy of isolationism, refusing foreign trade and contacts, to preserve Japan's religious purity, as Western powers sought to allow evangelists and missionaries into Japan. Whatever the potential financial blessings might be, the religious aspects were too vital to Saigo to sell out. This also played a role in why he did not fear the technologically advanced Western navies and armies; instead, he believed that tactics and morality would determine the outcome of a war, as he refused to trade with the West.

As a samurai, Saigo was non-materialistic, showing no interest in expensive clothing or new fashions. Ravina wrote,“Saigo’s preference for simple, traditional pleasures distinguished him from his colleagues in the Meiji government who used their new wealth and influence to entertain in Western style, hosting, for example, European-style costume balls. For Saigo, such lavish novelties were emblems of a revolution gone bad.” Thus, the main Western priority, and what drove the push for modernity, technological advancements, and centralized power —that is, money, trade and financial interests —was readily resisted by the aristocratic, non-materialistic, localized hierarchical moral and traditional samurai such as Saigo.

He was often disgusted with politics, seeking relief in rural farming, hunting, gardening, learning, fishing, and hiking, as politics made him “foul tempered.” But the tyranny of rulers and the suffering of the people along with the necessity of self-preservation drove him into politics just the same. He was a “tireless crusader against an oppressive government.” Also, his extreme loyalty to his lord kept him active in politics.

His first experience outside of his education quickly revealed to him the oppressive taxation of his region and its adverse effects on farmers and peasants. The taxes, he believed, kept the area poor and prevented development. Many left the area to avoid them, moving to other regions with less oppressive taxation policies. Similar to feudal Europe, the aristocratic and warrior classes were supported by peasants through taxation. However, the Satsuma region was samurai-heavy, lacking sufficient peasants as support. When living in hiding in the remote Amami Islands, he wrote, “It is painful to see the extent of tyranny here.” He felt for the islanders’ suffering under heavy local tax policies. Many inhabitants were enslaved on large sugar plantations in order to profit the local government, which instituted a monopoly on the product, even killing anyone who attempted to sell it unauthorized.

 

“Progress”

Western nations had long sought to influence Japanese politics and economics, and they pressured Japan to engage in trade and open itself up to modernity. Japan had a long history of isolation from these powers, partly to keep Christianityout and maintain its religious purity. However, a faction within Japan grew increasingly concerned about the technological advancements of Western nations. After the British defeated China in the First Opium War in the middle of the 19th century, they argued that Japan needed to modernize and advance its own capabilities to protect itself from foreign nations that might seek to dominate it (Saigo eventually, and reluctantly, in part in service of his lord, accepted this position and helped implement it.) However, it was the Americans that finally “opened up” Japan from its traditional isolationist stance. They did so through purposely intimidating them with their technologically elite navy. However, Saigo helped institute a modern centralized Japanese imperial government under the Emperor, seeing it as the lesser of two evils.

Perhaps due to his unawareness of what would occur in a centralized system that he had previously helped introduce, Saigo appears to have undergone a significant shift in his opinions about the imperial government after leaving the capital and returning to full-time country life, where he became happy, healthy, and a renowned local figure. At this time, he was described by an Austrian diplomat as “having the manners of a country gentleman.” National politics made him stressed, angry, and unhealthy; he found the minute details of administration and governance annoying and difficult to endure, periodically retreating to the woods to “forsake the world.” He endorsed and promoted self-sufficiency and, in support of the old feudal ways of Japan, Saigo warned of the:

“dangers of introducing market principles into landownership. In hard times, he observed, the poor would be forced to sell their lands to the rich, which would exacerbate their poverty… [he desired instead] to ensure that all farmers had adequate plots and then maintain the principle of common land. This was the only way to avoid the unseemly spectacle of people ‘fighting over land, blinded by the prospect of immediate gain’… [he was] unwilling to let commerce corrupt the Satsuma countryside, and… ready to subvert the will of the central government to protect the virtue of his domain.”

So, when the new centralized modern government instituted things like a nationwide property tax and invaded private property, he was outraged. Ravina wrote, “At the heart of the conflict were two different political agendas, the desire to build a powerful centralized state, and the desire to maintain Satsuma as a distinct polity.” The central power, as all do, quickly became intolerant of diversity and decentralization, snuffing out and eradicating its competitors. It began to enforce, through law, the removal of class distinctions, hierarchy, feudalism, and the power of local samurai, as well as any other form of social stratification. Over time, the central government abolished the local rulers, eradicated hereditary inheritance rights, replaced the daimyo and samurai domains, appointed politicians from the capital, and “implemented national standards in taxation, civil administration, law, and education.”

In opposition to the traditional feudal and regional samurai forces, the newly minted central Japanese government was constructing a modern national force, and utilizing national taxation, national conscription, and government power to foster and bring to bear the full might of industry, including railways, steamships, telegraphs, and, for the first time in Japanese history, land mines, rockets, and more. With big government and big money colluding with big business, comes big war.

Japan was modernizing, especially its military, which had become a national force rather than a regional feudal one. Now upheld by a national tax and conscription, and supplied and organized by modern communications, for the first time in history the common man replaced the aristocratic feudal samurai warrior. The samurai heritage and culture, along with their function and purpose, were being abolished and replaced, Mark Ravina wrote “The modern Japanese army had explicitly rejected feudal concerns and symbols. The new Japanese army was based on modern nationalism, not regional feudal lords. The 1872 edict that created the conscript army described the Samurai tradition as a terrible inequity. Conscription was described as a great egalitarian project... to ‘grant equal rights to all.’” The modern national movement was one towards equality, away from the hierarchy of the samurai.

When the new national Japanese forces forced a favorable economic treaty for themselves at the expense of Korea, through military force and threat, Saigo was outraged, saying that just war is based on “Heaven’s principles” and is fought only for a just cause, not for money. That this new national government would place money before honor was “beneath contempt”; money was nothing to fight a war over, even if it could be easily won. The New National Japan wished to create an Empire, but this particular samurai wanted nothing to do with it, viewing Western nations as less civilized because, even though technologically advanced, they colonized weaker nations for economic and political gain. “He thought war for economic advantage was reprehensible and barbaric.”

However, Saigo’s own region of Satsuma had been left largely unchanged, and local samurai still ruled in this remote, rural area untouched by Japan’s modernization. When the government cracked down on traditional resistance to national conformity, including outlawing swords, the samurai’s favored weapons, allowing only government officials to carry them, it was too much for the reactionary segments of Japan’s samurai culture; rebellions sprang up in various areas. It was attacking their identity, removing them as a people and bringing them all down to a common denominator, easily manipulated and controlled.

We observe a similar historical scenario around this time in America's lead-up to the Civil War, where the North pushes forward towards capitalism, centralized power, economic growth, and overall thrusting into modern society and ideas. At the same time, the South stood as defiantly as the samurai, set on maintaining traditions, local control, and close-knit religious communities. Famed Confederate General Robert E. Lee warned that if the Republicans' transformation of the decentralized Union into a singular centralized nation were to occur, “the consolidation of the states into one vast republic, sure to be aggressive abroad and despotic at home, will be the certain precursor of that ruin which has overwhelmed all those that have preceded it.” Proving the truth of this, the American capitalist, interventionist, militaristic, Republican-controlled “One nation” was not content with becoming authoritarian in the United States, or even wiping out the South. Instead, they then removed or exterminated the Native Americans in their quest for western expansion and then went abroad, for financial reasons and “democracy,” influencing countries as distant as Japan, desiring to recreate it in their own capitalist Western image.

 

Resisting Modernity – The Satsuma Rebellion

The Satsuma rebellion was the bloodiest combat Japan had seen in 300 years and was led by “The Last Samurai,” Saigo Takamori. It was a revolt against the modernizing and centralizing imperial government that had turned tyrannical and sought to eradicate samurai from Japan. During the rebellion (and after his death) Saigo became to the samurai, “an exemplar of traditional virtues and a symbol of opposition to the state.” Like the Confederacy during the American Civil War, they were fighting for the preservation of local decentralized control, tradition, and autonomous lords. The Tokio Times, in favor of a modernizing Japan, noted the similarities:

[T]he idea of national integrity has been stated and established. Widespread throughout the empire it is accepted and appreciated, as never before, that this is one country;—not a bundle of semi-sovereign and jealous powers, but a nation. In this respect the moral of the strife coincides strikingly with the lesson of the civil war in America. There, as here, one of the vital issues was the question of the relation of the state to the central authority, and the result in both cases has vindicated the claims of the latter to be the superior and final arbiter. That this, an “inevitable crisis,” here as in America, has been fairly met and satisfactorily adjusted is matter for congratulation.”[2]

The rebellions were “culturally and politically reactionary.” Some segments rejected any Western weapons, including guns, and used only the outlawed samurai swords in defiance. The rebels faced a much larger and better-equipped national force. They were outnumbered and outmatched, but bravely fought a war of resistance, eventually succumbing to an overwhelming force, mainly due to a lack of supplies. Yes, in some battles, even fighting with swords against muskets and cannons. While much of the force originally had muskets, they quickly ran out of ammunition, and as stated some rejected the use outright. But they were dedicated and willing to die to defend their heritage and lifestyles, Saigo saying, “We are determined to fight to our deaths, to fulfill our moral obligations to a noble cause.”

 

Death of the Last of the Samurai

Before their final battle, knowing it would be their last, the samurai sent those unwilling to die off to avoid such a fate, and then celebrated the night by reading poems about honor, courage, and death around a campfire. Takamori would die by seppuku, having a close friend cut off his head on the field of battle after a charge against a vastly superior force.

His death and that of his faithful followers meant the annihilation of feudal tradition in Japan and its form of government and society. It was claimed that “[T]he present victory is not simply a suppression of Saigo’s rebellion alone, but is a universal triumph over the old feudal idea of the supremacy of the shizoku everywhere.”

Saigo became the symbol of honor, old ways, samurai tradition, and resistance to modernity. Despite a formidable government propaganda campaign, he remained immensely popular, and was widely seen as the model samurai: loyal, courageous, fearless in the face of death, incorruptible, fair, and compassionate.

Despite the fact that the modern Japanese government was the cause of his rebellion and death, and despite their attempts to censor him and his legends, Saigo became the symbol of resisting the powerful and imperial government, a beloved “rebel.” His courage, honor, morality, and way of life made him a hero, even to his enemies, and a legendary and admired figure right up to the present day.

Now read about the person who opened the world of Japan to the West here.

Jeb Smith is an author, speaker, and historian who has written five books, published over 130 articles in several publications, and has been featured on various podcasts, television, and radio interviews. For speaking engagements, interviews, or questions, please get in touch with him at authorJebSmith.com.

[1] (Ravina 26)

[2] (Ravina 5). “Tokio” was the spelling used by the publication.