The colonial papers: FCO transparency is a carefully cultivated myth
Professor
of history Caroline Elkins, who has worked on historic Kenya files
released by the British government, analyses its record of scrubbing and
concealing embarrassing information
Hanslope Park, Buckinghamshire, where the British colonial papers have been held. Photograph: Martin Argles for the Guardian
For decades, the British government has crafted and affirmed its
own fictions of colonial benevolence. Its officials – both at home and
in far-flung colonies – intensely managed a system of document culling,
destruction, and removal in the waning days of imperial rule. Anything
that might "embarrass" HMG was largely scrubbed, or sequestered, from
the record. A colonial archive eventually made its way to Kew. Devoid of
countless incriminating documents, it offers a particular reality about
Britain's past, a past that was carefully tended long before the sun
set on Britain's empire.
Today there is hope for some degree of transparency. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) has just released more than 1,200 records from 12 former colonial territories. These documents are but a portion of the some 10,000 files that Britain removed from 37 of its colonies on the eve of decolonisation and recently "discovered" in Hanslope Park, the government communications centre. The foreign secretary, William Hague, has declared that the government will speedily process and make all of the files accessible to the public.
Some members of the media have heralded this as a watershed moment.
For certain we will learn much from these new documents. However, to celebrate their release as a historic moment is to miss the underside of the story. Recent events, placed in their historical context, suggest the FCO is hardly forthcoming. A full and candid release of the documents "found" at Hanslope Park would require a complete turnaround in government practice.
These documents came to light in the context of an ongoing legal case. In the high court in London, five elderly claimants are suing the British government. The FCO is the state's defendant. These Mau Mau veterans seek to prove, among other things, that state violence in the detention camps of late colonial Kenya was systematic, calculated and approved at the highest levels of government. This case is the first of its kind. If successful, it could open the door to multiple other claims from colonised populations. Indeed, murmurings of similar claims are already coming from Malayan and Cypriot veterans.
In the Mau Mau case, two years of countless document requests were met with FCO stonewalling. It was only through legal means that the FCO finally yielded in early 2011. The result was more than 1,500 files – all removed from Kenya at the time of decolonisation, and some of which the FCO has incrementally released to the Mau Mau claimants and their experts. A few months later, the FCO confessed that it had likewise found more than 8,800 files removed from another 36 former territories on the eve of colonial retreat. This despite the fact that the Kenya government had asked for – and been denied – the return of its files on three occasions. 13Thirteen boxes of "top secret" Kenya files are still missing.
As expert witness, I have had privileged access to the Kenya files. Together with a research team at Harvard, I have spent the last nine months reviewing the contents. This process has been anything but straightforward. Despite the legal context, the FCO has culled files, requiring multiple requests for full disclosure, and still files have not been forthcoming.
At least two of our findings have particular importance for today's "migrated archive" release. First, there is extensive evidence chronicling the process of document destruction and removal in Kenya. It began as early as 1958, five years before decolonisation. It was scarcely haphazard. The Colonial Office orchestrated a highly bureaucratised effort that required massive administrative manpower on the ground. Well-established procedures, such as the designation of "watch" and "legacy" files, and the creation of strongrooms for files to be destroyed or removed, were put into place. In total, officials in Kenya estimated that some 3½ tons of documents were marked for destruction. Incineration times were calculated in case "emergency destruction" was needed. Thousands more documents were to be transferred to Britain.
At the time, Britain was in the middle of parallel, massive cover-ups. While the government was besieged publicly with allegations of brutalities in the detention camps and the cover-up of systematised violence – and denying all allegations – it was culling and purging the record. The process – practised in other colonies as well – deliberately sought to remove incriminating evidence. So, too, did it seek to shape the future colonial archive and the realities it would produce.
Second, the files released in the Mau Mau case tell us a great deal more about previously documented events and individuals in Kenya. This is not historically insignificant. However, in the context of a legal case, the FCO has released files that further substantiate facts already in evidence. It is remarkable, given the untold numbers of files destroyed and removed, that these constitute the bulk of the documents handed over to the claimants and their experts.
The current release excludes territories such as Palestine and Rhodesia. The Cyprus files exclude the period of the emergency. The Malaya files cover very little of the contested emergency years. The Kenya documents are a meagre subset of the files released (though culled) in the context of the Mau Mau case. For all 12 colonies covered in today's release, there appears to be a great deal pertaining to finance, tourism, administration and the like.
The overall release process itself has been startling, and reminiscent of the FCO's behaviour in the Mau Mau case. The FCO initially asserted that the Hanslope Park records contained no "migrated archives" from British Guiana, a colony where there had been intense British and American military and security intervention from 1953 to 1964. This was and is frankly impossible, given that there were well-established procedures for handling archives at decolonisation by the 1960s.
Warning bells should be going off. The British government went to extraordinary lengths to fashion its colonial archive. The first release of the "migrated archives" is, at first glance, lacking in substantive files, particularly for former colonies like Cyprus and Malaya where future lawsuits potentially loom. Even in the context of a current legal case, the FCO continues to deny the existence of documents, slowly releases some, and culls others. Outside of the legal arena, there are fewer avenues to exert pressure on the FCO.
Since decolonisation, the colonial archive has been closely tied to the politics and practices of British governance. It has also produced realities as much as it has documented them. Until the FCO offers a full and unredacted release of all files found at Hanslope Park, a healthy dose of scepticism is crucial. If not – much like the benign decolonisation myth of yesteryear – we run the risk of overly applauding today's document release and reinforcing the FCO's myth of new-found transparency.
• Caroline Elkins is professor of history at Harvard University and Pulitzer-prizewinning author of Britain's Gulag: The Brutal End of Empire in Kenya
Today there is hope for some degree of transparency. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) has just released more than 1,200 records from 12 former colonial territories. These documents are but a portion of the some 10,000 files that Britain removed from 37 of its colonies on the eve of decolonisation and recently "discovered" in Hanslope Park, the government communications centre. The foreign secretary, William Hague, has declared that the government will speedily process and make all of the files accessible to the public.
Some members of the media have heralded this as a watershed moment.
For certain we will learn much from these new documents. However, to celebrate their release as a historic moment is to miss the underside of the story. Recent events, placed in their historical context, suggest the FCO is hardly forthcoming. A full and candid release of the documents "found" at Hanslope Park would require a complete turnaround in government practice.
These documents came to light in the context of an ongoing legal case. In the high court in London, five elderly claimants are suing the British government. The FCO is the state's defendant. These Mau Mau veterans seek to prove, among other things, that state violence in the detention camps of late colonial Kenya was systematic, calculated and approved at the highest levels of government. This case is the first of its kind. If successful, it could open the door to multiple other claims from colonised populations. Indeed, murmurings of similar claims are already coming from Malayan and Cypriot veterans.
In the Mau Mau case, two years of countless document requests were met with FCO stonewalling. It was only through legal means that the FCO finally yielded in early 2011. The result was more than 1,500 files – all removed from Kenya at the time of decolonisation, and some of which the FCO has incrementally released to the Mau Mau claimants and their experts. A few months later, the FCO confessed that it had likewise found more than 8,800 files removed from another 36 former territories on the eve of colonial retreat. This despite the fact that the Kenya government had asked for – and been denied – the return of its files on three occasions. 13Thirteen boxes of "top secret" Kenya files are still missing.
As expert witness, I have had privileged access to the Kenya files. Together with a research team at Harvard, I have spent the last nine months reviewing the contents. This process has been anything but straightforward. Despite the legal context, the FCO has culled files, requiring multiple requests for full disclosure, and still files have not been forthcoming.
At least two of our findings have particular importance for today's "migrated archive" release. First, there is extensive evidence chronicling the process of document destruction and removal in Kenya. It began as early as 1958, five years before decolonisation. It was scarcely haphazard. The Colonial Office orchestrated a highly bureaucratised effort that required massive administrative manpower on the ground. Well-established procedures, such as the designation of "watch" and "legacy" files, and the creation of strongrooms for files to be destroyed or removed, were put into place. In total, officials in Kenya estimated that some 3½ tons of documents were marked for destruction. Incineration times were calculated in case "emergency destruction" was needed. Thousands more documents were to be transferred to Britain.
At the time, Britain was in the middle of parallel, massive cover-ups. While the government was besieged publicly with allegations of brutalities in the detention camps and the cover-up of systematised violence – and denying all allegations – it was culling and purging the record. The process – practised in other colonies as well – deliberately sought to remove incriminating evidence. So, too, did it seek to shape the future colonial archive and the realities it would produce.
Second, the files released in the Mau Mau case tell us a great deal more about previously documented events and individuals in Kenya. This is not historically insignificant. However, in the context of a legal case, the FCO has released files that further substantiate facts already in evidence. It is remarkable, given the untold numbers of files destroyed and removed, that these constitute the bulk of the documents handed over to the claimants and their experts.
The current release excludes territories such as Palestine and Rhodesia. The Cyprus files exclude the period of the emergency. The Malaya files cover very little of the contested emergency years. The Kenya documents are a meagre subset of the files released (though culled) in the context of the Mau Mau case. For all 12 colonies covered in today's release, there appears to be a great deal pertaining to finance, tourism, administration and the like.
The overall release process itself has been startling, and reminiscent of the FCO's behaviour in the Mau Mau case. The FCO initially asserted that the Hanslope Park records contained no "migrated archives" from British Guiana, a colony where there had been intense British and American military and security intervention from 1953 to 1964. This was and is frankly impossible, given that there were well-established procedures for handling archives at decolonisation by the 1960s.
Warning bells should be going off. The British government went to extraordinary lengths to fashion its colonial archive. The first release of the "migrated archives" is, at first glance, lacking in substantive files, particularly for former colonies like Cyprus and Malaya where future lawsuits potentially loom. Even in the context of a current legal case, the FCO continues to deny the existence of documents, slowly releases some, and culls others. Outside of the legal arena, there are fewer avenues to exert pressure on the FCO.
Since decolonisation, the colonial archive has been closely tied to the politics and practices of British governance. It has also produced realities as much as it has documented them. Until the FCO offers a full and unredacted release of all files found at Hanslope Park, a healthy dose of scepticism is crucial. If not – much like the benign decolonisation myth of yesteryear – we run the risk of overly applauding today's document release and reinforcing the FCO's myth of new-found transparency.
• Caroline Elkins is professor of history at Harvard University and Pulitzer-prizewinning author of Britain's Gulag: The Brutal End of Empire in Kenya
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