Marcel Van Herpen - Putin's Wars

[Colonialism’s] real motives, were they stated, would be altogether too uncouth, selfish or obscene. So where colonization has involved people—where it has not meant merely the appropriation and settlement of unused lands—the colonialists have almost always seen themselves as the purveyors of some transcendental moral, spiritual, political or social worth. The reality [however] has as regularly included a considerable component of pecuniary interest, real or anticipated, for important participants. [3] John Kenneth Galbraith, The Age of Uncertainty (London: BBC, 1977), 111.

The bad conscience about colonial practice that emerged in the nineteenth century necessitated the forging of a new legitimation theory in which the concept of moral duty had a central place. This was especially the case in protestant countries, such as Britain and the Netherlands. This new legitimation theory was dubbed the white man’s burden , [4] The expression “the white man’s burden” came from the 1899 poem by Rudyard Kipling in which he appealed to the United States to shoulder Britain’s imperial responsibilities: Take up the White Man’s Burden And reap his old reward: The blame of those ye better, The hate of those ye guard. (Quoted in Niall Ferguson, Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World (London: Allen Lane, 2003), 369.) because imperialist expansion was considered not so much an interest- and profit-driven exploitation of foreign countries and foreign peoples, but rather a civilizing mission. Of course this civilizing mission had already played a role when the Christian faith was used as a legitimation theory. But then the emphasis was still on the spiritual salvation of the indigenous populations by their conversion to Christianity. Now this legitimation theory was turned upside down: what was at stake was not their spiritual salvation in the afterlife, but their earthly salvation here and now. The colonial ruler—far from being an oppressor and exploiter—was a helper and a coach of native populations, bringing them the benefits of modern governance, modern transport systems, modern industry and trade, and, in addition, the whole rich Western culture that became available to local elites by giving them access to higher education. In 1897 H. F. Wyatt, the founder of the British Imperial Maritime League , wrote:

In Asia and in Africa great native populations have passed under our hands. To us—to us, and not to others, a certain definite duty has been assigned. To carry light and civilization into the dark places of the world; to touch the mind of Asia and of Africa with the ethical ideas of Europe; to give to thronging millions, who would otherwise never know peace or security, these first conditions of human advance…. [5] H. F. Wyatt, “The Ethics of Empire,” April 1897, in Nineteenth Century Opinion: An Anthology of Extracts from the First Fifty Volumes of The Nineteenth Century 1877–1901 , ed. Michael Goodwin (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1951), 267. To sustain worthily the burden of empire is the task manifestly appointed to Britain, and therefore to fulfil that task is her duty, as it should also be her delight. [6] Wyatt, “The Ethics of Empire,” 268.

The young Winston Churchill, twenty-two years old, delivered his first political speech in Bath in the same year (1897). He told his audience “that our determination is to uphold the Empire that we have inherited from our fathers as Englishmen,” adding: “we shall continue to pursue that course marked out for us by an all-wise hand and carry out our mission of bearing peace, civilization and good government to the uttermost ends of the earth.” [7] Quoted in Martin Gilbert, Churchill: A Life (London: Heinemann, 1991), 72. Was this merely a new hypocrisy replacing the old? One might be tempted to reply in the affirmative. However, this is not completely true. Galbraith, for instance, stressed the important role Britain played in building a Rechtsstaat in India. Introducing a functioning independent and impartial judiciary in this large country was, indeed, a matter of great historical progress.

“The new faith was law,” wrote Galbraith. “The British were in India to trade and make money. There was nothing wrong with that. But the redeeming purpose was to bring government according to law. It was an idea of genuine power.” [8] Galbraith, The Age of Uncertainty , 124. “Largely in consequence,” he continued, “India was one of the best-governed countries in the world. Persons and property were safe. Thought and speech were more secure than in recent times. There was effective action to arrest famine and improve communications. The courts functioned impartially and to the very great pleasure of the litigiously-minded Indians.” [9] Galbraith, The Age of Uncertainty , 127. And Galbraith concluded: “The British rulers were snobbish, race-conscious and often arrogant. But if colonialism could anywhere have been considered a success (the empty lands always apart), it was in India.” [10] Galbraith, The Age of Uncertainty , 127. Galbraith, who, in the beginning of the 1960s served as US ambassador to India, recounted that he often met with the Indian leader Nehru and that “Nehru made no secret of his British background and its influence on his political thought. He once said, ‘You realize, Galbraith, that I am the last Englishman to rule in India.’” (John Kenneth Galbraith, Name-Dropping: From F.D.R. On (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1999), 132.)

At the end of the nineteenth century the theory of the white man’s burden became widely accepted in the Netherlands also. Here it was called de ethische koers (the ethical course). This “ethical course” was intended to repair the historical ereschuld (honorable debt) to the indigenous populations. [11] In 1923, when this policy was at its apogee, the Dutch historian C. Te Lintum wrote: “The ethical course or enlightened despotism that had, since 1870 (at least officially), replaced the old egoistic exploitation policy, had also brought for the native more transport facilities and more education, especially on Java.” (C. Te Lintum, Nederland en de Indiën in de laatste kwart eeuw (Zutphen: W. J. Thieme & Cie., 1923), 254.) The author added—paternalistically, “They were a people living traditional lives, submissive and quiet, who held the Dutch rulers in high regard.” It is telling that even a Dutch socialist MP, Henri van Kol, who, in 1901, in an article in the press had severely attacked the imperialist policies of the Dutch government, was much more positive after a visit to the Dutch Indies (Indonesia) some years later. In a report he wrote of having felt “a feeling of pride” during his visit: “There is over there something great and noble being achieved.” [12] Cf. J. A. A. van Doorn, Indische lessen: Nederland en de koloniale ervaring (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 1995), 43. This Dutch self-satisfaction was still present in 1941, when—during the German occupation!—a book titled Daar wérd wat groots verricht (Over there something great has indeed been achieved) was published, in which one could read: “We brought peace and prosperity, under our government the population on Java has grown tenfold, Indonesia has become one of the first countries of the world in terms of production. We can point with pride to what we have achieved in Indonesia” (ibid.). In spite of these fine words the Dutch—unlike the British—were too obstinate to recognize the new post–World War II realities and, some years later, would fight two colonial wars—euphemistically called “police actions”—which would cost the lives of thousands of Dutch soldiers and tens of thousands of Indonesians. According to the Dutch sociologist Van Doorn, “this sense of mission, the feeling of being ‘responsible’ for Indonesia grew between the world wars to almost mythical proportions.” [13] Van Doorn, Indische lessen , 38. Van Doorn added: “That these high sentiments did not fit the existing colonial interests, was still the least objection one might make. More questionable was the sense of superiority hidden behind the ethical responsibility: the certainty that it was the Netherlands especially that had had the calling to ‘elevate’ the indigenous population and, after a while, the conviction, just as strongly held, that it had completed this task in an excellent way. The myth of the Netherlands as a gidsland (guiding country) would, in particular, block the ability to assess the emerging nationalism in a positive way, or even merely to notice it” (Van Doorn, Indische lessen , 38–39). The Dutch were even praised by outsiders: