“Eskimo” Immigrants and Colonial Soldiers: Icelandic Immigrants and the North-West Resistance, 1885

2021 ◽  
Vol 102 (s1) ◽  
pp. s309-s338
Author(s):  
Laurie K. Bertram

How did marginalized and racialized ethnic immigrants transform themselves into active, armed colonial agents in nineteenth-century Western Canada? Approximately twenty Icelanders enlisted to fight Louis Riel’s forces during the North-West Resistance in 1885, just ten years following the arrival of Icelandic immigrants in present-day Manitoba. Forty more reportedly enlisted in an Icelandic-Canadian battalion to enforce the government’s victory in the fall. This public, armed stance of a group of Icelanders against Indigenous forces in 1885 is somewhat unexpected, since most Icelanders were relatively recent arrivals in the West and, in Winnipeg, members of the largely unskilled urban working class. Moreover, they were widely rumoured among Winnipeggers to be from a “blubber-eating race” and of “Eskimo” extraction; community accounts testify to the discrimination numerous early Icelanders faced in the city. These factors initially make Icelanders unexpected colonialists, particularly since nineteenth-century ethnic immigration and colonial suppression so often appear as separate processes in Canadian historiography. Indeed, this scholarship is characterized by an enduring belief that Western Canadian colonialism was a distinctly Anglo sin. Ethnic immigrants often appear in scholarly and popular histories as sharing a history of marginalization with Indigenous people that prevented migrants from taking part in colonial displacement. Proceeding from the neglected history of Icelandic enlistment in 1885 and new developments in Icelandic historiography, this article argues that rather than negating ethnic participation in Indigenous suppression, ethnic marginality and the class tensions it created could actually fuel participation in colonial campaigns, which promised immigrants upward mobility, access to state support, and land.

Literator ◽  
2017 ◽  
Vol 38 (1) ◽  
Author(s):  
Laurence Wright

This article investigates the origins and early history of the device known as the ‘Greathead Shield’, an important innovation in Victorian engineering crucial to constructing the London Underground. The aim is to explore the basis on which, many years later, a South African engineer, James Henry Greathead, was accorded prominent public acknowledgment, in the form of a statue, for ‘inventing’ the Shield. From a cultural studies perspective, how is the meaning of ‘invention’ to be understood, given that several other brilliant engineers were involved? The question is adjudicated using the notion of cultural ‘extelligence’, seen in relation to several contemporary and historical accounts, including Greathead’s own record of his achievements in the proceedings of the Institution of Civil Engineers and presented in The City and South London Railway (1896), edited by James Forrest. The paper was first delivered at the conference on ‘Novelty and Innovation in the Nineteenth Century’ held at the North-West University in May 2016.


Author(s):  
David Faflik

Urban Formalism radically reimagines what it meant to “read” a brave new urban world during the transformative middle decades of the nineteenth century. At a time when contemporaries in the twin capitals of modernity in the West, New York and Paris, were learning to make sense of unfamiliar surroundings, city peoples increasingly looked to the experiential patterns, or forms, from their everyday lives in an attempt to translate urban experience into something they could more easily comprehend. Urban Formalism interrogates both the risks and rewards of an interpretive practice that depended on the mutual relation between urbanism and formalism, at a moment when the subjective experience of the city had reached unprecedented levels of complexity. What did it mean to read a city sidewalk as if it were a literary form, like a poem? On what basis might the material form of a burning block of buildings be received as a pleasurable spectacle? How closely aligned were the ideology and choreography of the political form of a revolutionary street protest? And what were the implications of conceiving of the city’s exciting dynamism in the static visual form of a photographic composition? These are the questions that Urban Formalism asks and begins to answer, with the aim of proposing a revisionist semantics of the city. This book not only provides an original cultural history of forms. It posits a new form of urban history, comprised of the representative rituals of interpretation that have helped give meaningful shape to metropolitan life.


1893 ◽  
Vol 10 (9) ◽  
pp. 396-401
Author(s):  
Henry Hicks

In a recent article on the Pre-Cambrian Rocks of the British Isles in the Journal of Geology, vol. i., No. 1, Sir Archibald Geikie makes the following statement: “There cannot, I think, be now any doubt that small tracts of gneiss, quite comparable in lithological character to portions of the Lewisian rocks of the North-West of Scotland, rise to the surface in a few places in England and Wales. In the heart of Anglesey, for example, a tract of such rocks presents some striking external or scenic resemblance to the characteristic types of ground where the oldest gneiss forms the surface in Scotland and the West of Ireland.” To those who have followed the controversy which has been going on for nearly thirty years between the chiefs of the British Geological Survey and some geologists who have been working amongst the rocks in Wales, the importance of the above admission will be readily apparent; but as it is possible that some may be unable to realize what such an admission means in showing geological progress in unravelling the history of the older rocks in Wales during the past thirty years, a brief summary of the results obtained may possibly be considered useful.


Author(s):  
Peter Davenport

The frustrated cry of the young Barry Cunliffe has an odd echo in these days of preservation in situ. Sitting in the Roman Baths on his first visit as a schoolboy in 1955, he was astonished at how much was unknown about the Baths, despite their international reputation: large areas ‘surrounded by big question marks . . . all around . . . the word ‘‘unexcavated’’ ’ (Cunliffe 1984: xiii; figure 1). His later understanding of the realities and constraints of excavation only sharpened his desire to know more. Now, fifty years on and more, due in large part to that drive to know, his curiosity, we can claim to have made as much progress in our understanding of the baths and the city around them as had occurred in all the years before his visit, a history of archaeological enquiry stretching back over 400 years. In 1955 the baths were much as they had been discovered in the 1880s and 1890s. They were not well understood. The town, or city, or whatever surrounded it, were almost completely unknown, or at best, misunderstood. It was still possible in that year to argue that the temple of Sulis Minerva was on the north of the King’s Bath, not, as records of earlier discoveries made clear, on the west (Richmond and Toynbee 1955). Yet as the young Cunliffe sat and mused, the archaeological world was beginning to take note and a modern excavation campaign was beginning; indeed had begun: Professor Ian Richmond, in a short eight years to become a colleague, had started ‘his patient and elegant exploration of the East Baths’ the summer before (Cunliffe 1969: v). Richmond initiated a small number of very limited investigations into the East Baths, elucidating a tangle of remains that, while clearly the result of a succession of alterations and archaeological phases, had never been adequately analysed. Richmond’s main aim was to understand the developmental history of the baths, and this approach, combined with a thoughtful and thorough study of the rest of the remains, led to a still broadly accepted phasing and functional analysis (Cunliffe 1969).


1959 ◽  
Vol 53 ◽  
pp. 35-137 ◽  
Author(s):  
R. V. Nicholls

Traces of fortifications around the area apparently once occupied by the city of Old Smyrna were observed by Louis Fauvel, and our first detailed description of them is that of Prokesch von Osten, who accompanied him there on a second visit in 1825. As we shall see later, it seems likely, though proof is no longer possible, that most of the circuit wall around the tell, as well as that on the low spur to the west of it on which the modern village now stands, as described by Prokesch, may have belonged to the defences of the classical city. Nothing today survives of these above ground, owing to extensive stone-plundering in the interval; and it is to be feared that the fate of much of this rather exposed classical enceinte has been to provide masonry either for the houses of the modern village or for the terrace walls which today encircle the tell.The plundering of this outermost circuit probably left the earlier ones inside it rather more exposed to view. I have not been able to verify which of the city walls it was that was photographed by Keil in 1911, but when Franz and Helene Miltner excavated here in 1930 a part of the late-seventh-century B.C. circuit was visible on the east side of the city. Here they cleared about 80 metres of its face, for the most part to no great depth, then picked up its line again with a small probe some 20 metres farther north. Two further small trenches seem to have located more of this late-seventh-century wall-line south-south-west of their long cut, in addition to traces of yet other circuits. Besides this they report sinking two shafts into the mound dominating the north-west corner of the tell and making two small probes in occupation levels within the city itself.


Antiquity ◽  
1982 ◽  
Vol 56 (216) ◽  
pp. 8-14 ◽  
Author(s):  
F. R. Allchin

The city of Taxila, more properly Takṣaśilā, was one of the most important in ancient India. It is frequently mentioned as one of the two great cities of Gandhara (approximately the North West Frontier Province of Pakistan), along with its neighbour Puṣkalāvatī (modem Charsada north of Peshawar) some 80 miles (130 km) to the west. It was first identified in modern times by Major General Sir Alexander Cunningham in 1863, after he had visited the extensive series of mounds lying near the village of Shah Dheri, east of Hasan Abdul, in the Punjab province of Pakistan (Cunningham, 1871). His identification was soon confirmed by the discovery there of early inscriptions referring to Taxila by name.


1960 ◽  
Vol 80 ◽  
pp. 127-159 ◽  
Author(s):  
Hugh Plommer

The literature on the Acropolis seems to me as untidy as the site itself. Every discovery that could, on the present evidence, be made about its history, every truth that could be pertinently stated has already appeared, I should imagine, in one or other of the books or articles devoted to it since the Greek excavations of the eighties. I am merely attempting the humble but, I think, necessary task of sifting out what seem to me the more interesting discoveries, the more significant conclusions. Before we form any more theories, we must try to discover what under present circumstances we can reasonably know.In this paper I shall have space only to consider the history of the main buildings, one or perhaps two large temples and perhaps a large propylon, up to the Persian destruction of the archaic Acropolis in 480 and 479. The minor buildings of poros, with triglyphs barely 1 foot or 15 inches wide, and walls or columns consequently less than 15 feet high, will interest me only incidentally. I have found no clear evidence for the sites of any of these, not even Wiegand's ‘Building B’, considered by J. A. Bundgaard (pp. 55 ff.) to be the precursor of the north-west wing in the Periclean Propylaea. Moreover I can isolate the problem of the large buildings more conveniently and with a clearer conscience, because it has already been isolated by C. J. Herington in his stimulating book,Athena Parthenos and Athena Polias(Manchester, 1955). His thesis is an interesting one, that from far back in the archaic period two important temples stood on the Acropolis. The more southerly, dedicated to Athena the Warrior Maiden (Parthenos), occupied a site somewhere within the limits of the present Parthenon. The more northerly and the more important in state ritual was dedicated to Athena as the City Goddess, and occupied the site between the present Parthenon and Erechtheum, generally known as the ‘Doerpfeld Foundation’. Every visitor to Athens will know this series of old broken walls just south of the Caryatid Porch. Wiegand's is still, I think, the most workmanlike plan of it (Wiegand, figs. 72 and 117—my Fig. 1). Herington's thesis, then, enables me to arrange my questions as follows. How many successive temples occupied the Doerpfeld Foundation, what did they look like and how were they related to one another? And again, was there any important temple on the site of the present Parthenon before the decade 490–480, generally considered the date when a marble Parthenon was first attempted ? Because of its possible scale, I shall also have to consider the date and form of the archaic Propylon. If it were a large building, it could be the source of various large fragments hitherto assigned to temples; and Heberdey, the latest American books, and now Bundgaard all make it rather large, between 15 and 20 metres square. (For the actual dimensions they give, see below, pp. 146 ff.)


Archaeologia ◽  
1874 ◽  
Vol 44 (2) ◽  
pp. 242-258
Author(s):  
Richard Henry Major

On the 14th of March last I had the honour of laying before this Society some new facts which had fallen under my notice in connection with the early discoveries of the great continental Island of Australia. One of these new facts was the very promising circumstance that there had been found in the Royal Burgundian Library in Brussels, by M. Ruelens, one of the Conservators of the Library, who had obligingly communicated to me the fact, the original autograph report to King Philip III. of a discovery of Australia in 1601 by a Portuguese named Manoel Godinho de Eredia, which discovery I had been the first to make known to the world in a paper read before this Society on the 7th of March, 1861. The report was accompanied by maps and views and portraits, and as at the time of my announcing its discovery to you I had received through M. Ruelens an obliging promise from the Chevalier d'Antas, the Portuguese Minister in Brussels, that an extract should be sent me of that portion with which I was immediately concerned, I begged that the printing of my paper should be postponed until I should possess the opportunity of incorporating into it the translation of the said extract. My reason for appearing before you without waiting till I had examined the Report with my own eyes was, that, while I had no reason to entertain the shadow of a doubt as to the corroborative nature of its contents, I had a still more important announcement to make to you respecting a yet earlier discovery of Australia in the first half of the sixteenth century. Since then I have received the promised extract, and I am sorry to have to report to you that a more unsatisfactory document has never fallen under my notice. But, in order that you may rightly estimate both it and the case to which it refers, it will be necessary that I repeat to you the leading facts and circumstances of the whole story. Up to 1861, the earliest visit to the coasts of Australia known in history in connection with the name of any ship or captain, was that made by the Dutch yacht the “Duyphen,” or “Dove,” about the month of March, 1606. This vessel had been despatched from Bantam on the 18th of November, 1605, to explore the islands of New Guinea. Her course from New Guinea was southward along the islands on the west side of Torres Strait to that part of Terra Australis a little to the west and south of Cape York, but all these lands were thought to be connected and to form the west coast of New Guinea. The Commander of the “Duyphen,” of whose name we are ignorant, was of course unconscious of the importance of his discovery. Indeed, of the discoveries made subsequently by the Dutch on the coasts of Australia, our ancestors of a hundred years ago, and even the Dutch themselves, knew but little. That which was known was preserved in the “Relations de divers Voyages curieux,” of Melchisedeck Thevenot (Paris, 1663-72, fol.); in the “Noord en Oost Tartarye,” of Nicolas Witsen (Amst. 1692-1705, fol.); in Valentyn's “Oud en Nieuw Oost Indien” (Amst. 1724-26, fol.); and in the “Inleidning tot de algemeen Geographie” of Nicolas Struyk (Amst. 1740, 4to.). We have, however, since gained a variety of information, through a document which fell into the possession of Sir Joseph Banks, and was published by Alexander Dalrymple (at that time hydrographer to the Admiralty and the East India Company) in his collection concerning Papua. This curious and interesting document is a copy of the instructions to Commodore Abel Jansz Tasman for his second voyage of discovery. That distinguished commander had already, in 1642, discovered not only the island now named after him, Tasmania, but New Zealand also; and, passing round the east side of Australia, but without seeing it, sailed on his return voyage along the northern shores of New Guinea. In January, 1644, he was despatched on his second voyage, and his instructions, signed by the Governor-General Antonio Van Diemen and the members of the Council, are prefaced by a recital, in chronological order, of the previous discoveries of the Dutch. Prom this recital, combined with a passage from Saris, given in Purchas, vol. i. p. 385, we derive the above information respecting the voyage of the Duyphen, the date of which constituted it the first authenticated discovery of Australia with which a vessel's name could be connected. In 1861, however, I ventured to dispute this priority, and I think I cannot do justice to you and to myself better than by reciting the grounds on which I did so in the very words with which I then addressed you. They are as follows: “Within the last few days I have discovered a MS. Mappemonde in the British Museum, in which on the north-west corner of a country, which I shall presently show beyond all question to be Australia, occurs the following legend: Nuca antara foi descuberta o anno 1601 por mano (sic) el godinho de Evedia (sic) por mandado de (sic) Vico Rey Aives (sic) de Saldaha,” (sic) which I scarcely need translate, Nuca Antara was discovered in the year 1601, by Manoel Godinho de Eredia, by command of the Viceroy Ayres de Saldanha.


2021 ◽  
pp. 18-37
Author(s):  
Christoph Auffarth

In a history of religion and Europe classical Antiquity is both an example of difference, that is, the polytheistic systems of Greek and Roman religions, and the beginnings of the monotheistic religions, which became the mainstream in medieval and modern Europe. Drawing on the rituals, symbols, and patterns of polytheism as the legacy of the palace cultures in the Ancient Near East and Greece (until 1200 bc), the city-states (poleis) adapted these to non-autocratic societies (polis-religion). In the empires of Hellenism and the Roman Empire itself, religions were not part of a power structure (e.g. a ruler-cult). Rather their urban character allowed a plural neighbourhood, in which the monotheistic religions were well integrated. In late Antiquity a long transformation formed the Middle Ages, when with the rise of Islam the Mediterranean became divided into three parts: the Islamic south, Greek Orthodoxy in the east, and Latin-speaking ‘Europe’ in the north-west.


2018 ◽  
Vol 36 (2) ◽  
pp. 199-234 ◽  
Author(s):  
Catherine L. Evans

In 1885, in the midst of the North-West Resistance in which Indigenous people took up arms against the colonial Canadian state, three Cree men executed an elderly Cree woman. At their trial for murder, the defendants were found guilty. They avoided execution because colonial authorities became convinced that they believed that their victim was a wendigo, a cannibal spirit. Killing a wendigo was justified under Cree law and so, argued one judge, the defendants lacked the mens rea necessary to sustain a murder conviction. The history of this case shows the limits of colonial legal jurisdiction and sovereignty. Scarce resources, hostile territory and Indigenous resistance hampered the colonial state's efforts to consolidate its legal control over the Canadian frontier. This essay notes the importance of these forces, but also argues that common law jurisprudence itself could impair the ability of the state to hold Indigenous defendants criminally responsible. Colonial officials regularly invoked the idea that Indigenous people adhered to different legal and normative orders in order to illustrate their supposed inferiority. However, this official recognition of the legal pluralism of the North-West could undermine a defendant's responsibility and cut against efforts to assert the exclusive jurisdiction of Canadian criminal law.


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