Archiving the Third World

The entry for Dawn in a microfilm catalog, Serial and Government Publications Division, Library of Congress, Washington D.C.


“It is truly tragic,” Eqbal Ahmad wrote, “that our archives suffer from neglect and fragmentation, and historians are nearly extinct in Pakistan.”¹ Ahmad’s dire assessment was made in a June 1995 tribute to the efforts of the sometimes embattled historian Zawwar Husain Zaidi (1928-2009). Born in Budaun, Zaidi studied at Aligarh Muslim University and taught at Lahore’s Forman Christian College before completing his Ph.D. in 1964 at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, where he would teach for some three decades. His dissertation, “The Partition of Bengal and Its Annulment - a Survey of the Schemes of Territorial Redistribution of Bengal 1902-1911”
was based on the private papers of Crewe, Hardinge, and Mayo at Cambridge, the papers of Balfour, Midleton, Ampthill, Curzon, Cross, Elgin, Northbrook, Morley, and others at the British Museum, the Asquith Papers in the Bodleian, and other private papers in Edinburgh, Kent, and Birmingham.² He also made extensive use of the India Office’s library and consulted London’s Public Records Office.


Any student of the British Empire’s global history will find the rehearsal of names and locations above immediately if not intimately familiar. Colonial archives are well-mined and well-known, and their dominance in the historiography of the modern world impossible to deny. Anti-colonial archives remain lesser known, even chimeric for some. Concomitant with an increased attention to the history of the Third World in professional historiography, the presence and value of anti- or post-colonial archives are today the subject of provocative and thoughtful discussion. Largely missing from this new academic discourse in the West, however, are the contributions of those historians, archivists, and librarians in the Third World who thought seriously about how to collect and document their past throughout the second-half of the twentieth-century. Even the briefest glance at the journals of university libraries, historical societies, or other learned groups and institutions in Asia and Africa reveals sustained attention to the material challenges, cultural significance, and political meanings of Third World archives.


The text I’ve reproduced below is an address delivered by Zaidi at the General Conference on the Planning of Archival Development in the Third World convened under the auspices of the International Council on Archives (ICA) in Dakar in January 1975.³ Drawing on his key role in the preservation of the Muslim League’s records, Zaidi makes an eloquent case for the conservation and maintenance of Third World archives.⁴ In his remarks, he briefly mentions the role of his wife, Parveen Zaidi (1945–), who unlike him was professionally trained in the archival sciences, restoration in particular. “During the months that became years,” Eqbal Ahmad wrote in his aforementioned tribute, “Parveen Zaidi patiently bore the brunt of professor Zaidi’s highly articulated frustrations with Pakistan’s versatile foot draggers... she became Pakistan’s first and so far only internationally recognised restorer of manuscripts.” In a 1980 interview with UNESCO’s news bulletin Parveen articulated her own intellectual commitments: “Many third world countries… own valuable documents. They realise the time has come to do something about them, but they don’t have restoration departments. I’m anxious to help and I would like to undertake a project in this field.”⁵  


A final note: the annals of liberation movements will never be sufficiently accounted for by paper records alone, as the exigencies of the struggle itself made records undesirable. In the discussion following Zaidi’s paper, Mohamed Mahgoub Malik noted that the archives in Khartoum’s Central Record Office, where he was the deputy director, “reflect the role of the ex-rulers of Sudan only.” “Unfortunately,” he continued, “most of the political leaders of the independence movement have not kept their records owing to security reasons. The local press was also under censorship precautions.” Malik concluded that “the responsible archivist” must get special training to conduct oral history interviews, to account for that absence. A valuable lesson for historians and archivists today.


The Pakistan Archives 1:1 (1984), 100.

Z.H. Zaidi: Records of Freedom Movement with Special Reference to Pakistan 


Senegal and H.E. President Leopold Sedar Senghor deserve our gratitude for having taken the initiative and lead in organizing the First Conference on the Planning of Archival Development in the Third World on which those of us gathered here will be deliberating in the course of the next few days. Let us hope that our discussions will bear fruits and we shall be able to pool our resources, techniques, knowledge and experience for the laudable object we have set before us. Many countries have already established archives on modern and scientific lines but the creation of a meaningful archival institution has yet to be accomplished in others. Historical reasons, public indifference, apathy of scholars and government servants, lack of technical know-how and lack of adequate financial resources have contributed to the absence of organized archives in some countries. The long felt need of archival development in the Third World, let us hope, will now be fulfilled through the good offices of the International Council on Archives which should pay increasing attention in assisting the countries of the Third World in order to build and develop effective and meaningful archival structures and services. Let us not forget that some of these countries though at present lacking in archives had a history when others did not have geography. Let us therefore make a resolve that we shall not allow these treasures of past history to remain half-forgotten, half-neglected and in certain cases insect-ridden and moth-eaten. 


Preservation and proper maintenance of management of records is the essential duty of a government for records are the “basic administrative tools by means of which a government’s work is accomplished”. Abul Fazl, a scholar and administrator in the sixteenth century in India aptly remarked: “Keeping records is an excellent thing for a government; it is even necessary for any rank of society.” Records are equally valuable to the historian whether engaged in writing political, cultural or religious history or the development of economic, legal or juridical institutions for records are vehicles of evidence. The evidence they convey, to quote Roger Ellis, may be “trivial, or revolutionary, scandalous, treasonable, pious, comic or merely dull” but it is this evidence which has to be preserved for posterity.


On 14 August 1947 a new state — Pakistan — came into being. The Muslims of the sub-continent had won independence against almost impossible odds. To Quaid-i-Azam Mohamed Ali Jinnah must go, in a very large measure, credit for this achievement. For within a matter of ten years (1937–1947) he was able to organzie the disparate and disorganized Muslims of the subcontinent under the banner of the All-India Muslim League—the party which spearheaded the Pakistan movement. But the story of this phenomenal rise of the League and the achievement of Pakistan has not yet been properly written. This has been mainly due to the non-availability of the records dealing with the Independence movement.


The aftermath of the transfer of power posed gigantic problems for those who inherited power. Unfortunately archival services did not receive the property they deserved. Those who played an important part in the Independence movements during the colonial period were too pre-occupied with the problems which Independence posed. Because of the disturbances, dislocation of administrative services and large scale migrations especially in the case of the Indian sub-continent, no attention was paid to locate, collect and preserve records of the Independence movement immediately. In the meantime, the records were allowed in certain cases to deteriorate. Instead of finding an abode, they remained scattered often attacked by deteriorative agents which a tropical climate is fashioned to breed and multiply. Frequent changes of governments added to the problems. For instance, the records of the All-Indian Muslim League (covering the period from its inception in 1906 to 1947) which had been sifted from Delhi to Karachi after partition continued to be housed at the premises of the League in Karachi. But with the promulgation of the Martial Law in 1958, political parties throughout Pakistan were banned and their records sealed. 


For long, archives and records in Pakistan had suffered for want of funds, lack of preservation facilities and above all interference on the part of the custodians of repositories of these national treasures. They had been condemned to a life of stagnation; their development had been retarded and they hardly functioned as public utility organizations. The unfavourable storage conditions, the unscientific and outmoded methods for preservation, the continued negligence of the custodians of record offices had reduced them to mere godowns, ill ventilated, ill kept and constantly under attack by deteriorative agents. They showed varying degrees of damage caused by termites, and funghi, etc. Some of the private papers were in a potable condition. The original owners who built private collections had either died or had lost interest in their maintenance. Others did not have the means nor the techniques to preserve the materials with the result that in certain cases rare books, manuscripts and records had either been dumped in cellars or remained locked in the original chambers. 


Deeply grieved at the state of affairs, I contacted historians, archivists and government officials about the urgent need of saving and preserving the old historical records. For a number of years nothing happened and it was not until October 1966 that the records of the League which had been dumped in 123 gunny bags and 46 boxes and which in addition contained over 96,000 columns of about 300 different publications and pamphlets were shifted to the University of Karachi, thanks to the efforts of Dr. I.H. Qureshi, then the Vice-Chancellor of the University. 


Restoration and classification of these records posed great problems. Most of the field had been broken up as a result of bad handling in the past, the papers of bound registers had been scattered and the original make-up of the records had been completely disturbed. Moisture, lack of ventilation insects, dust and acidic gases all contributed to their share individually and collectively in reducing them to almost a wasteful hoarding. The paper has become brittle and, therefore, extremely difficult to handle. Dampness and water damaged not only the documents but spread the insatiable ink leaving stains; mildew corroded the contents; insects and beetle pierced through some of the bound volumes and split them in such a way that what was once a foolscap sheet was no an irregular polygon with jagged edges, parts of which would tear if handled any more, Many of the documents had creased; other had missing portions. Thus these half-forgotten and wholly neglected records presented many problems in the way of restoration, classification and preservation. Since modern techniques for restoration were then not available in Pakistan, two members of the staff were sent to London for six months’ training in the India Office Library, India Office Records. Professor C.H. Phillips, Director of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London proved a pillar of strength and secured for us equipment and materials throughout the eBritish Council. In order to train more people in Pakistan, a training camp was started at the University where Mr. John King, a senior craftsman from the India Office Library and my wife Mrs Parveen Zaidi trained about 15 trainees for a period of four months in restoration work. 


Restoration work because of the nature of documents proceed slowly as, sometimes, a badly damaged document took a whole day or more to repair. But traditional repair — laborious and painstaking but rewarding exercise was the only suitable technique; lamination, because of the fact that it is still in an experimental stage could not be adopted for documents of such primary importance as the League Collection. 


Classification of the records was not easy either. Since almost all the documents had been scattered, one had to wait for months in order to fund the missing links. If, for instance, there were fifty documents in one file relating to a specific issue and only a few were obtained from one gunny bag or box, the classifier had to search for the remaining in other bags or boxes. All this required great patience because each sheet of paper had to be identified. Approximately four years were spent in making a preliminary classification. It is heartening to note that by now, more than 30,000 documents have been resorted and bound in 255 volumes — a great achievement on the part of the team of dedicated workers engaged in organizing and restoring these records. The bound volumes are available for use by scholars.


Acquisition of the League Records was only the beginning for ten other private collections that were soon added to the holdings — the most important being the Jinnah Papers. The Jinnah Papers were subsequently shifted to the Ministry of Education, Islamabad where they are being restored and catalogued. Accession lists and descriptive catalogues of these papers have already been printed. 


Acquisition of private collections is not an easy task. It involves personal visits, social contract, considerable drive and initiative. The archivist has to be well informed about the life and career of those whose papers he wants to acquire. He [sic] has got to win their confidence and convince them of his credentials. Only then he can make a headway. He should be prepared to climb the attics or go into cellars in search for records. Initially he may have to work at the premises of the owners of the collections, ridding the papers of dust and even insects, sorting them out and creating some system where none existed. It may even be necessary to repair some papers before actual acquisition in order to convince the owner that his papers will be well looked after. Often the collection contains papers of personal and intimate nature. In such cases, the wishes of the owner have to be respected. The golden rule is never to betray the confidence nor part with information which you have been forbidden to reveal. Archival work needs dedication and total commitment; the only reward of an archivist is the satisfaction that he or she has been able to create something out of nothing. 


Many countries throughout the Third World have won their Independence recently. But in most cases, the history of the struggle for independence and the emergence of the new nations based on primary source materials has yet to be compiled. Some countries have succeeded in retrieving and organizing records of Independence movements; in others this important and urgent work has yet to be accomplished. Unless and until evidence — oral as well as documentary — is collected and made available to scholars and historians, the story of the various movements and of the politics, political developments and processes culminating in the establishment of new nation-states will remain unrevealed. It is the bounden duty of governments, scholars, archivists and public men [sic] to pay immediate attention to the collection and preservation of their historic treasures. 


President Senghor has rightly summed up the importance of archives in one sentence: “This is a basic requirement for our development”. I shall elaborate this by saying: We can change the course of rivers, we can reduce mountains to dust, we can construct dams and barrages, we can build new factories and install new industries. But we cannot write our history if the old records — the raw material of history — are destroyed. For records constitute the memory of our society, the evidence of our experiences, the story of our failures and achievements , the testimony of the growth of our social, economic, political and cultural institutions. In them is hidden the story of the fall and rise of a nation and our degree of “development” is to be judged by the care and attention we give to their preservation and the extent to which we utilize them in reconstructing our past. A nation, wrote a historian, that forgets its past is doomed to live in a state of infancy. 


Proceedings of the General Conference on the Planning of Archival Development in the Third World: (Dakar, 28-31 January 1975), (München: Verlag Dokumentation, 1976), 43-48. 




¹ Eqbal Ahmad, “Pakistan’s Endangered History,” Dawn (June 4, 1995), reproduced as a pdf here. For a recent, general account of Pakistan’s archival state of affairs, see: Syed Jalaluddin Haider, “Archives in Pakistan,” Journal of Archival Organization, 2:4 (2005), 29-52. 

² Syed Zawwar Husain Zaidi, “The Partition of Bengal and Its Annulment - a Survey of the Schemes of Territorial Redistribution of Bengal 1902-1911,” PhD diss., (SOAS University of London, 1964).

³ Dakar was the site of the ICA’s first regional training center, established in 1971. For an overview of the ICA’s projects in the Third World, see: W.I. Smith, “The ICA and Technical Assistance to Developing Countries,” The American Archivist 39:3 (1976), 343-351. A detailed, critical study of the ICA’s influence and impact on Third World archives remains to be done.

⁴ For a detailed account of the many challenges Zaidi faced over the decades of acquiring and preserving Jinnah’s papers beyond what he recounts below, see his forward to the first volume of the published papers, Zaidi, ed., Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah Papers. Prelude to Pakistan. 20 February–2 June 1947, 1st series, vol. I, part 1 (Islamabad: National Archives of Pakistan, 1993), vii-xxiv. 

⁵ Pierrette Posmowski, “Saving the Written Treasures of the East,” UNESCO Features 749/750 (1980), 28.

Proceedings of the General Conference on the Planning of Archival Development in the Third World: (Dakar, 28-31 January 1975), (München: Verlag Dokumentation, 1976), 48.

FROM THE MIMEOGRAPH TO THE PDF

The Mimeograph in action. Via the Civil Rights Movement Archive.

Sonia Sanchez taught a Black literature course in the English department. “At that time,” she said, “it was a revolutionary idea to insert into the English Department the study of African-American literature.” Many of the texts were out of print, so she often read aloud from her copy and reproduced excerpts, using mimeograph machines with messy ink. “My hands were always blue and purple,” Sanchez recalls “I thought they would never get clean again.” 


— Martha Biondi, The Black Revolution on Campus (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012), 47. 


C.L.R. James was the only person I knew in those days who had a copying machine in his apartment, and they were big in those days. That machine was crucial to his working methods then.


— Aldon Nielsen quoted in Jeremy Matthew Glick, The Black Radical Tragic: Performance, Aesthetics, and the Unfinished Haitian Revolution (New York: New York University Press, 2016), 216. 


At Birmingham, where we had no resources, the very first day we arrived, they taught us all how to use the mimeograph machine, because they said "everything you write, everyone else is going to want to read, so you have to type it on a stencil and mimeograph it off." So every morning you got there, and in your pigeonhole would be these one- or two- or three-page manifestos that people had written. I remember someone read The History of Sexuality in French when it was first published, and immediately wrote up a four-page single-spaced precis of the book for those who didn't read French.


— Michael Denning, “The Cultural Commons: An Interview with Michael Denning,” Reconstruction 8:1 (2008).

 


In a world where books have long lost all likeness to books, the real book can no longer be one. If the invention of the printing press inaugurated the bourgeois era, the time is at hand for its repeal by the mimeograph, the only fitting, the unobtrusive means of dissemination. 


— Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life, trans. E.F.N. Jephcott (London: Verso, 1978), 51.


Predicament and Routes, after a period of existence as "books," have enjoyed a second life in the form of photocopies and PDF files. Some of this "publication" has occurred within the rules of copyright, some not. Knowledge transmitted this way cannot, nor should it, be legally contained. In any event, it has become all too clear that the academic book, as a physical object, does not travel very well. Disassembled and modular, the text gets around.


— James Clifford, Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty-First Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 10.

NO DISCIPLINE

1.


Abd-al Hakimu Ibn Alkalimat, "Common Problems, Common Solutions: Toward a Pan-African Ideology," Journal of Black Poetry 1:14 (1970-71)


My first reaction is to have our tribal governments establish research protocols and to ban people like this from writing about our tribes. 

Delphine Red Shirt, “A Review of our ‘New History’: Part III,” Lakota Times (December 19, 2019). 

One of the members had explained to the natives (the report naturally refers them “sauvages”) that the high mortality rate was caused by the wines and liquors, which they did not know how to consume in moderation. “Why don’t you write to your great King,” one of the natives asked, “to prohibit the transporting of these beverages which are killing us?” “The French,” the Jesuit answered, need them to help them stand the sea voyages and the freezing temperatures of these places.” “Well then,” the other said, “arrange that they be the only ones to drink them.” At this point, a second native stood up: “No, it is not these beverages which kill us, it is your writings. As soon as you started to describe our country, our rivers, our lands, our forests, we all began to die, in a way that was not happening before you came.” 

Carlo Ginzburg, “The Europeans Discover (or Rediscover) the Shamans,” in Threads and Traces: True False Fictive (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012), 87.

In contrast to tortuous attempts throughout the Arab world to reconcile nascent academic social sciences with Western Orientalist anthropology, at least on the official level, Algerian authorities said no. Ethnology was banned outright at the twenty-fourth International Conference of Sociology in Algiers in March 1974. 

Susan Slyomovics, “‘The Ethnologist-Spy Was Hanged, at That Time We Were a Little Savage’: Anthropology in Algeria with Habib Tengour,” b2o: an online journal (December 10, 2018) 

2. 

The Asiatic Society of Bengal, center. William Wood, A Series of Twenty-Eight Panoramic Views of Calcutta (1833).



Anyone who still thinks of interdisciplinarity as the key to a new world should consider that it has been a working principle for World Bank teams on the ground in Africa since the Bank’s inception. The same goes for the concept of area studies – interdisciplinary scholarship focused on different regions of the world – which emerged in the US after 1945, with support from the Ford Foundation, and eventually spread across the Atlantic. 

Mahmood Mamdani, “The African University,” London Review of Books 40:14 (July 19, 2018) 

The institutionalization of the nominal divisions of the social sciences is extremely strong today, despite all the genuflection before the rosy glow of “interdisciplinarity.” Indeed, I would argue that interdisciplinarity is itself a lure, representing the greatest support possible to the current list of disciplines, by implying that each has some special knowledge that it might be useful to combine with some other special knowledges in order to solve some practical problem. 

Immanuel Wallerstein, “The Heritage of Sociology, the Promise of Social Science,” in The End of the World as We Know it: Social Science for the Twenty-First Century (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001), 246. Originally delivered at Fourteenth World Congress of Sociology, Montreal, July 26, 1998. 

I have always been slightly bemused by the constant celebration or dismissal of interdisciplinarity within queer studies, particularly when it comes to the diversified holdings of queer archives. To return to a point I made earlier about periodization and geopolitics, such questions of interdisciplinarity often seem beside the point within histories of colonialism and sexuality. If one were to take the case of colonial India, for example, interdisciplinarity emerges more as a ruse of the colonial state, rather than a disruptive reading practice. What we need, now more than ever, is a genealogy of interdisciplinarity as concept and practice within and without Euro-American archival forms. For me, queer archival forms demand reading practices that are meandering, ragged, and unfamiliar; no blueprints here for a studied interdisciplinarity! 

Anjali Arondekar, “Queering Archives: A Roundtable Discussion,” Radical History Review 122 (2015), 228-229.


Further reading: Joyce A. Lander, ed., The Death of White Sociology (New York: Vintage, 1973), especially Dennis Forsythe’s chapter, “Radical Sociology and Blacks,” 213-233; Vine Deloria, Jr., Custer Died for Your Sins: An Indian Manifesto (New York: Macmillan, 1969); Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978); Irene Gendzier, Managing Political Change: Social Scientists and the Third World (Boulder: Westview Press, 1985); Partha Chatterjee, ed., Texts of Power: Emerging Disciplines in Colonial Bengal (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995); Bernard S. Cohn, Colonialism and Its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Omnia El Shakry, The Great Social Laboratory: Subjects of Knowledge in Colonial and Postcolonial Egypt (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007); Mayssoun Sukarieh and Stuart Tannock, “On the Problem of Over-Researched Communities: The Case of the Shatila Palestinian Refugee Camp in Lebanon,” Sociology 47:3 (2013): 494-508; Durba Mitra, Indian Sex Life: Sexuality and the Colonial Origins of Modern Social Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2020).

WRITING REVOLUTIONS: HANNA BATATU & C.L.R. JAMES


"Human States" Dia al-Azzawi (1975) 


When I began working on The Old Social Classes in the late 1950s, I was irresistibly drawn to the literature on revolution. I do not know precisely why, but probably my Palestinian background explains it. The disruptions of the lives and world of many Palestinians made them, so to speak, natural rebels. In Iraq the time was one troubles and unusual ideological ferment. The spirit of revolution was in the air. Moreover, what happened in Iraq in 1958 and 1959, and later in 1963—awe-inspiring and terrible events whose course I watched closely and with intense interest—confirmed me in the view that it is in moments of great upheaval that societies are best studied. It seemed, indeed, that at no other moment did Iraq bare itself as much or disclose more of its secrets. 


Hanna Batatu, “The Old Social Classes Revisited,” in Robert A. Fernea and Wm. Roger Louis, eds., The Iraqi Revolution of 1958: The Old Social Classes Revisited (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 1991). PDF.


Toussaint was not only a black man, he was also a West Indian. A West Indian, Rene Maran, wrote his famous novel Batouala about the ways the French were treating black people in Africa; George Padmore wrote and worked for the world revolution with Africa at its centre; Aime Cesaire had in mind that African civilization would be the one to balance the degradation and the absolute dilapidation of Western civilization; Frantz Fanon worked in Algeria; Fidel Castro called the other day for "the Asian and African combination"; and I wrote my book with the African revolution in mind. It seems that those who come from a small island always think of a revolution in very wide terms. That is the only way they could come out of it. You can't begin to think of a little revolution in a small island. From Toussaint onward, they all had that in mind. 


C.L.R. James, “Lectures on The Black Jacobins,” Small Axe 8 (September 2000). PDF.

AMERICAN TEAR GAS IN HASHEMITE IRAQ


tear gas training
The National Police Journal 9:1 (January, 1922), 5.
This image illustrates an article on "Philadelphia's Department of Experts."

In the last week of December, 1949, the Iraqi police in Baghdad received their first shipment of tear gas from the United States. Purchased for twenty-one thousand dollars by the Iraqi Embassy in Washington D.C, it was the first time the Iraqi police had gotten their hands on the chemical weapon. The gas had been acquired on the advice of the British authorities. Although nominally independent since 1932, the tremendous British political and military presence in Iraq belied any notion that the Arab state was actually sovereign. Born out of rebellion, from the end of the Great War until the overthrow of the British-backed Hashemite monarchy in 1958, Iraq was no stranger to protests, strikes, riots, coups d'état, and all kinds of intifadat.

The arrival of the tear gas is recounted in a file from the India Office Records. The Portsmouth Treaty, which extended the British occupation of Iraq, sparked a mass insurrection in January 1948. Known as al-Wathba or "the Leap," the students, workers, communists, and nationalists involved in the revolt were met by state violence and mass arrests. Hundreds were killed and many more imprisoned. It was in the aftermath of these events that the British recommended to the Iraqi police they acquire some tear gas. The British Embassy in Baghdad advised the Iraqis on the “usefulness of tear gas” having observed that the Iraqi police had “shown themselves incapable of dealing with mob violence and this affects stability of Government.”

As Anna Feigenbaum has demonstrated in her recent account of tear gas’ global proliferation over the twentieth century, the gas—which is actually a powder and induces far more than tears—was regularly deployed, endorsed, and advertised by the United States and the British themselves as a civilizing and certainly a pacifying weapon.¹ Across its empire, Britain tear-gassed those who threatened its authority in the days of anti-colonial insurgency. And in the 1920s, local and federal police across the United States began to regularly deploy the gas against striking workers or “race riots.”  

Though armed with the chemicals, the Iraqis had no idea how to use the new weaponry. An “expert” was needed. In the year before the gas was delivered, the Iraqis and the British worked to obtain some of the requisite expertise. On behalf of the police, the Iraqi Ministry of Foreign Affairs asked the British to help them “obtain the services of an expert in tear gases.” “The ideal man for the job,” reasoned the British in their correspondence among themselves, “would be an Englishman who has seen service in India or some other country in which tear gas is used in climatic conditions similar to those prevailing here. If such a man cannot be found, the next choice would be an Englishman who knew about tear gas in general; and failing that, the Iraqis would accept a Pakistani Moslem police officer with the necessary specialist knowledge.” Even in its waning days, the British Empire sought to exploit its corps of colonial administrators around the world.    

Neither a British nor a Pakistani expert could initially be recruited for the job. A seemingly eager U.S. Embassy in Baghdad, however, “suggested that if we [the British] cannot provide an expert we might consider asking for an American.”

“They think they could get one seconded free of charge from the 'riot squad' of the New York or Detroit police.”²

The British were not keen on this American intervention, for it broke with well established norms and networks: “We consider it important that the British and Indian tradition in the Iraqi Police should be preserved as long as possible.” But in the end, it was a British air force officer who had “recently attended a course at the Army Gas School in England” and an officer from the American Military Attache “who knows something about tear gas”  who were arranged to train the Iraqi police in matters of chemical warfare. 

The correspondence ends there, but Hanna Batatu offers a postscript in the form of a prison revolt. It is clear that by June of 1953, at least, the Iraqi police had figured out how to use the tear gas. That month, communists imprisoned in the Baghdad citadel were going to be taken out of the city to Ba‘qubah, for the Baghdadi prison “was found to offer too many opportunities for clandestine communication with the underground.” Fearing transfer to Nurqat al-Salman, a remote fortress in the middle of the Southern Desert,

the prisoners refused to move and, according to the chief of police of Baghdad province, shut themselves in the wards, turning into a weapon everything they could lay their hands on—bottles, water pipes, kitchen utensils, and bricks that they plucked up from the corridors. Detachments of mobile and local police rushed to the scene and took up positions on roof tops, in the prison yard, and the adjacent streets. They began by using tear gas in the hope of forcing the Communists out, but to no avail. Streams of water next directed at the wards from a fire fighting engine, but the Communists answered only with antigovernment cries that now rang sharply and persistently through the prison. Eventually, however, under the pressure of water and the battering of the police and the wardens, the gate gave way. A shower of bricks and bottled held the assailants in check, but only momentarily. Reinforced, they hurled forward, cutting their way with clubs or the buts of rifles. But, on the official version, the resistance that they met was so furious that they had in the end to open fire. Seven prisoners were killed, including Ismail Ahmad, a candidate member of the Center Committee in the time of Fahd [Yusuf Salman Yusuf, first secretary of the Iraqi Communist Party], and Hadi Abu-ur-Rida, a liaison official of the Communist party center in 1948. Eighty-one others were wounded, one of whom subsequently died in hospital. Seventy-four policemen and warders suffered injuries.³




All quotations of the British correspondence are from:  "Pol Ext 6453/49 Tear-gas expert for Iraqi police: suggested appointment of Pakistani officer," British Library: India Office Records and Private Papers, IOR/L/PS/12/1384, in Qatar Digital Library https://www.qdl.qa/archive/81055/vdc_100000000517.0x00034b

¹.  Anna Feigenbaum, Tear Gas: From the Battlefields of WW1 to the Streets of Today (London: Verso, 2017).

². In the years to come, the travel of American counterinsurgency methods, materials, and experts between the colonized world and the urban United States, would become a regular practice. See: Tracy Tullis, “A Vietnam at Home: Policing the Ghettos in the Counterinsurgency Era,” (PhD Diss., New York University, 1999); Mico Seigel, “Objects of Police History,” Journal of American History, 102:1 (June 2015), pp. 152–161; Stuart Schrader, “To Secure the Global Great Society: Participation in Pacification,” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 7:2 (Summer 2016), pp. 225-253.

            3. Hanna Batatu, The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq: A Study of Iraq's Old Landed and Commercial Classes and of Its Communists, Ba'thists, and Free Officers (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 691-692.