POLITICS
We can correct miscarriages of justice. We cannot correct miscarriages of history
BRUCE ANDERSON
The first world war was a second Fall of Man. At the time, it was thought to be the war that would end war. That was the most foolish illusion in human history since Eve and the apple. In reality, it was the war which begat wars, and many other evils; it would be naive to suppose that its fecundity has been exhausted.
This is the background to the proposal to pardon the 307 British servicemen executed during that war for cowardice, desertion and similar offences. There would appear to be a strong argument for doing so. We all know, surely, that the first world war was fought by a British Army of lions led by donkeys. To have psychological cases shot for cowardice was characteristic of the way that those dunderhead generals and blimp- ish officers treated their men. The war was unnecessary; it was also, therefore, unjust. It follows that to put men to death in the name of military justice was a mockery of justice. Moreover, many of those executed were volunteers. Some of them had had excellent service records, until they cracked under intolerable strain. In the second world war, by which time such matters were better understood, there were no execu- tions for cowardice.
It is impossible for the rest of us to imag- ine what 15 minutes in the front line of the trenches must have been like, let alone the weeks and months that some of those men had spent there, before they faced a firing squad. How can most of us possibly claim that we would have held fast when they fell back; how, then, can we continue to con- demn them for cowardice? We cannot restore dead men to life, but even if individ- uals do not benefit, a pardon would at least repair one fragment of the moral order which was shattered in those terrible years.
There seems to be a powerful argument, an irresistible appeal to our compassion. In reality, it is a sentimental argument; the only appeal is to our self-indulgence.
Unless Britain had been willing to become an island off a German-dominated continent, we had no choice but to stand firm with our allies in August 1914. Had we failed to do so, Germany would have won, and we could have found only one modus vivendi with the German Empire: subjuga- tion. The war that we would have avoided would have had to be fought later, in much less favourable circumstances, with no help from the former allies whom we would have betrayed. Even if the Austro-Hungari- an Empire could have survived a German victory, the Russian one would have disin- tegrated in defeat. We know what monsters 1914-18 brought forth; there is little reason to suppose that a German victory in the 1914-16 war would have had more benign consequences, and a much higher propor- tion of the monstrousness would have been committed on this side of the Channel.
The war had to be fought, and there are no grounds for arguing that it could have been fought differently. One of the many tragedies of 1914 was that defensive mili- tary capabilities were far superior to offen- sive ones. There was nothing any of the generals could have done about this; noth- ing that any general in history could have done about it. For an interlude between the decline of cavalry and the fuller develop- ment of air power and the tank, there was only one way to win a war on the Western Front: attrition, meaning trench warfare interspersed by hideously bloody offen- sives.
Youngsters undergoing basic training in the British Army often find themselves on a run, confronting a six-foot jump across a shallow ravine. If, as is natural, they hang back, it will be a split second before a sten- torian bellow reminds them what they are trying to become. 'There's only one thing to be afraid of 'ere, lads,' the sergeant will inform them, 'and I'm be'ind yer.' All armies have tried to ensure that private sol- diers are at least as afraid of their own NCOs as of the enemy. That task was never more vital than during the first world war.
In a good army, at least until a very late stage, a trained soldier's will to fight is sus- tained by his desire to stand well with his colleagues; fear of shame is a remarkably effective antidote to fear of dying. But a fine soldier does not suddenly turn into a psychological case. There is an intervening phase, which can be shortened if the soldier in question knows that he will receive sym- pathetic treatment, and extended if he realises that there is no hope of sympathy. Between 1914 and 1918, there was no alter- native: that phase had to be extended, even if this meant sending genuine psychological cases to the firing-squad.
It does not impugn the bravery of the men in the trenches to assume that their willing- ness to endure intolerable stress might have diminished if authority had been more toler- ant of their failure to do so. This is, indeed, more than an assumption; it can virtually be proved by reference to the British Army's experiences in 1944/45. In both Italy and Normandy, there was a widespread reluc- tance to be among the last British casualties of the second world war. Some formations had to be pulled out of the front line because they were unwilling to fight. At the time, the effects of this were mitigated, both by the use of fresh levies — including Amer- icans — and by overwhelming air superiori- ty. But if the battle had been more even and it had been necessary to optimise British resources, it is not clear whether that could have been achieved without resort to the fir- ing-squad.
The BEF knew that anyone trying to sol- dier no more because he could stand it no longer was heading straight for a court-mar- tial. Few did. But if the rear echelon had offered, not chains and cells, but coun- selling, how many more men would have given way? Kindness can destroy morale more effectively than harshness can. Three hundred and seven dead men was a tragedy for them and their families; it was also the equivalent of ten minutes' losses on the first day of the Somme. The British Army was the only army that began at the beginning and was still unbroken in November 1918. Given the overriding objective of keeping that army in being as a fighting force, 307 executions was a small price to pay.
We must also remember that to pardon the condemned would mean condemning those who sentenced them. There were, no doubt, examples of atrocious insensitivity, but is anyone claiming that none of the 307 was guilty as charged? There have even been suggestions of a sift through the records and a new adjudication on each individual case. That might be the only fair way to proceed; it would also, if taken seri- ously, take years, cost millions and still leave huge areas of doubt.
From Ludendorff to Joan Littlewood, the British military authorities of 1914-18 have been subjected to relentless slander. As a result, a false version of the first world war has now become entrenched in the popular consciousness; hence the proposed pardon. But we cannot assuage past suffer- ings by subjecting past actions to our facile moral judgements. In part, we may be able to correct miscarriages of justice. We can- not correct miscarriages of history.
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