Following the killing of George Floyd in 2020, the ‘history wars’ erupted into public view, starting with the toppling of Edward Colston in Bristol. A spate of school history textbooks published since then can tell us a lot about trends in English schools.
The most charitable view of the movement to ‘decolonise’ the History curriculum is that it seeks to broaden student knowledge, bringing to light neglected evidence, thus providing a more complete and truthful account of the past than in Western, Eurocentric history. ‘Decolonisation’ is even more important because of changing pupil demographics, in which ethnic minorities are increasingly numerous and constitute the majority in many urban schools. These children need to see their own ancestors and history represented to avoid a sense of alienation from society and to refute long-held racist prejudices.
So we are told. To examine this, I decided to explore some of this recent generation of textbooks.
This first review looks at ‘African Kingdoms: West Africa’, a school textbook aimed at 11-14 year olds (Key Stage 3), most likely Year 7 (aged 11-12), published in 2023. It discusses four West African societies: Mali, the Songhay, Benin and the Asante, considering their rise and fall before investigating other notable features.
The book was an interesting read. As a layman to African history, I certainly learnt something. But the book also shows how school history – and history in general – is subtly distorted in the name of ‘decolonisation’, ‘diversity’ and ‘inclusivity’.
Introductory Material
The authors aim to address the widespread ignorance of African history: a laudable aim. But beyond that, the writers hoped ‘to demonstrate that Africans have played an important role in world affairs for hundreds of years’ – a high bar to set, and one which explains the rosy view taken of the West African past.[1]
Present-day concerns also overshadow the book. We are told the text features ‘carefully selected sources and interpretations [that] reflect our commitment to the inclusive presentation of diverse histories’.[2] Moreover, it has been ‘reviewed by a range of experts to ensure the book appropriately reflects the perspectives of the communities featured.’[3] To a cynic like me, this suggests great care has been taken to present a certain view of West Africa which does not offend present-day descendants of the area. This is also bad precedent to set, and a good example of ‘asymmetrical multiculturalism’: I would hardly be consulted to ensure a history of Tudor England, reflected my white, Anglo-Irish community’s perspective.
The community perspective might be explained by a significant reliance on oral tradition as a source. Doubtless, oral traditions can be useful, but there are risks. The book discusses West African griots (‘praise-singers’) and how they might change details of their story to suit circumstances, yet goes on to conclude ‘the fact that a source is written down does not necessarily make it more accurate or reliable’.[4] Perhaps – but it is certainly harder to change. And I dare say the privileging of ‘the narrative’ over historical fact will be wearily familiar to readers of this website.
Mali
The first case study is of the wealthy and powerful state of medieval Mali, above all shown in Mansa Musa – perhaps the richest man in all of history – and his pilgrimage to Mecca in 1324, during which he distributed so much gold in Cairo that its price was devalued.
All of this makes for a good story. However, there was also evidence of some double standards. A bashful note to Mali’s territorial doubling tells us ‘it is important not to forget the negative impact this will have had on the people who were conquered though.’[5] It is hard to imagine Britain’s military exploits being described so neutrally, let alone used as a criterion for greatness.
There is a similar note about slavery, repeated several times in the book.[6] It is argued that African slavery was fundamentally different from the chattel slavery introduced by Europeans. Slaves in Africa were usually prisoners of war who could become free, as opposed to being enslaved for life with no rights and at the mercy of their owners, as in the New World. Even the word ‘slave’ is replaced by ‘enslaved person’ – in an apparent attempt to humanise those who experienced it.
This is an interesting argument and one that I shall research further. But the Atlantic and African slave trades were closely manacled together of course, with most transported slaves captured and sold by Africans themselves. There were also free blacks in the New World, including some who owned slaves of their own. And I doubt work down a West African gold mine would have been much better than the sugar plantation. In short, the attempt to downplay indigenous slavery and place responsibility squarely on Europeans is striking. Moreover, the anachronistic phrase ‘enslaved persons’ obscures one of the major achievements of the abolitionist movement: convincing their contemporaries that slaves were not property, but in fact ‘men and brothers’, made in the same image of God.
Moreover, I was struck by the potential opportunity costs of teaching this unit. Mansa Musa was contemporary to King Edward II and Edward III of England. In most schools I’ve taught at, the only mention of either has been the latter’s vain attempt to control wages in the aftermath of the Black Death. No Bannockburn; no deposition; no Hundred Years’ War. Mali is certainly worth studying – but at school, aged 11? With so many ignorant of the history of their own country, I am not convinced.
Songhay
Following Mansa Musa, the Mali Empire was consumed by infighting and was supplanted by the Songhay. Themes like conquest, the importance of the gold trade, the role of Islam, great kings (like Sonni Ali and Askia the Great) and descent into civil war, are common to both societies. This gave the book more coherence than many curricula I have taught, which can bounce between topics hundreds of years and continents apart.
But the focus of one unit was revealing: ‘The history of the Kingdom of Songhay challenges European ideas that all African people shared the same culture, and that this culture was ‘uncivilised’.’[7] Hugh Trevor-Roper’s comment to the effect that Africa had no history worth studying typified the condescending, racist European view.[8] Certainly, examples of this perspective are legion. The authors, however, argue that ‘European people referred to things that were familiar to them as developed or better, and things they knew little about as undeveloped or worse.’[9] That is, it was a question of custom rather than a rational value judgement. ‘The word ‘uncivilised’ is in quotation marks…to show that these ideas are incorrect.[10]’ There is no ‘better’ or ‘worse’, ‘civilisation’ or savagery – all values are relative.
Yet oddly enough, many of the interpretations pupils are invited to analyse (or, perhaps, to ‘deconstruct’) don’t actually show much in the way of racist condescension. The writings of Leo Africanus, for example, show humanity and appreciation for the natives of the Songhay, their wealth, their love of dance, and being ‘very pleasant by nature’.[11] A different account, by Antonio Malfante, is more mixed, but plausible and hardly damning in discussing how the people went about largely naked and lacked corn and barley.
One final account, by Alvise Cadamosto, does not even appear to discuss the Songhay, but reported on his travels further west among poorer tribes.[12] Yet pupils are asked to challenge his account of one part of West Africa based on the achievements of the Songhay in a different part. The way in which questions do not follow from the information presented is unfortunately a rather common fault in textbooks. The contrived attempt to show European beliefs about ‘uncivilised’ Africa and have pupils challenge them seems rather to show that Europeans had more nuanced views and recorded different societies in different places.
Lastly, there was an enjoyable text box comparing early-modern Timbuktu to Renaissance Florence. They were both thriving, wealthy cities, and centres of new ideas – but are they really comparable?!
Benin
Unsurprisingly, the punitive expedition of 1897 and the Benin Bronzes controversy dominates this chapter. There were, however, a few other interesting features. In the 16th century, we learn the Edo obas (kings) of Benin ‘chose not to sell enslaved people’, trading cloth instead.[13] This is a remarkable decision, unfortunately not elaborated on further to give pupils a more rounded and complex view of the slave trade. In any case, economic difficulties led to the restoration of slave-trading until Benin’s incorporation in the British Empire.
One section on Benin City (‘What was so mighty about Benin City?’, ‘How Benin City was far ahead of European cities at the time…’) lauds its 16,000 km of walls, its early form of street lighting using palm oil, its large size and lack of crime.[14] The religious and ceremonial aspects of the city are also described, including a description of an acrobatic dance performed suspended from trees. Here we find another coy note that ‘during this ritual, some people were killed as a sacrifice’.[15] There is no further elaboration. Far ahead of European cities indeed!
There is a good discussion of how the Benin Bronzes and other items emphasise the power and wealth of the obas, and the skill of local craftsmen. But the 1897 punitive expedition becomes a simple story of Britain wanting to control Benin, with the massacre of a delegation in 1897 used to justify invasion. Once in possession of the city, ‘British troops stole thousands of treasures’ – there is even a photo showing British soldiers sitting among looted items, smiling and smoking. [16]
But in the following years, the long arc of history slowly bent towards justice. When the ‘stolen objects’ were put on display in the British Museum, the Bronzes are described as discomforting visitors who could not believe that African ‘savages’ could create such objects. The subtext of much of the book occasionally surfaces explicitly: ‘The stolen Benin Bronzes showed that the ideas that had been used to justify the growth of the British Empire and the transatlantic trade in enslaved people were inaccurate.’[17]
The repatriation debate is a good one to engage pupils, and the authors include two interpretations to discuss. One, from historian and broadcaster David Olusoga, emphasises how the Bronzes allowed him to learn about the artistic achievements of his forefathers, and how he saw it fitting that Benin City should have the Bronzes in a museum near to the palace from which they had been taken, in accordance with the principle that African nations should possess their own treasures.[18]
The case for the defence, made by then Culture Secretary Oliver Dowden, accepts many of the arguments about ‘stolen items’, noting that great national collections were often developed ‘in questionable circumstances’, and that he promotes the ‘sharing’ of artefacts. He does say – rightly – that it is hard to judge 19th century events by today’s standards.[19] This line of argument is left undeveloped however, and, especially in the mind of an 11 year old, the argument of the side in favour of repatriating items like the Benin Bronzes is obviously stronger.
Asante
The final case study is of the Asante kingdom of the Akan peoples in modern day Ghana. One theme of the chapter is the role of enslaved Asante miners in enriching Portuguese slave-masters in Brazil, and in Tacky’s War (and perhaps also the Haitian Revolution) in the Caribbean. This echoes contemporary arguments about the wealth of European empires being ‘built on slavery’ and the importance of the ‘enslaved themselves’ in the winning their freedom. Another major theme is the role of women. The Asante were, unusually, matrilineal, and the role of Asantehema (‘queen mother’) carried considerable power and influence. Naturally, this was a good opportunity to take a swipe at Victorian England, in which women did not have the right to vote – though we are told little about how other Asante customs, like polygamy, affected women, or anything about any kind of Asante democracy.[20]
The British once more do not come out well in the 19th century Anglo-Ashanti Wars. Disappointingly, some more colourful details are dropped, such as Sir Charles McCarthy’s skull being turned into a gold-rimmed drinking cup following the loss of first war. Perhaps that would give the wrong impression of the Asante. The British generally come across as the aggressors, despite several conflicts being triggered by Asante attacks on British allies like the Fante, or fortresses like Elmina.[21]
The most interesting treatment is reserved for the War of the Golden Stool, an object that not only symbolised the power of the Asantehene (king), but was believed to contain the soul of the Asante people. Capture of the stool would thus mean the total destruction of the people. Governor Sir Frederick Hodgson certainly blundered in demanding to sit on it, in a classic case of colonial arrogance. The heroine, queen mother Yaa Asantewaa – something of a Boudicca figure – rallied her compatriots to fight, but was ultimately defeated and exiled to the Seychelles.
Perfidious Albion cannot be allowed the final say however – some historians argue that it was actually the Asante who achieved their war aims in keeping the Golden Stool out of British hands. It was discovered by workmen in 1921, who then removed the gold and were sentenced to death for desecration before British officials commuted the sentence to exile. An entertaining tale, and one where the desire to portray the Asante in a good light is clear. The authors finish by discussing how the British did not want the life of a dangerous rebel celebrated – indeed, ‘British influence meant women in Asante were respected less in 1946 than they had been previously’.[22] Naturally, however, Yaa Asantewaa was reclaimed as a heroic symbol by Kwame Nkrumah in the Gold Coast’s struggle for independence. The authors seem to consider the textbook itself another step on the road to justice in which women’s importance is no longer ‘written out’ of history.
Assessment
Every teacher knows it’s not enough to teach something – you need to know students have understood and remembered it. There are a range of assessment tasks scattered through the book. These include the tried and tested: matching definitions, putting things in chronological order, multiple choice questions, and so on. What is remarkable is the basic level at which writing is assessed. Sometimes it is only a single sentence or adjective. One example task was to choose four words to describe the Songhay. One had been done for students: the word was ‘diverse’.[23] The most challenging things got was a paragraph.
It is grim to reflect that the authors were probably right to start with the basics – younger pupils do struggle massively with any extended writing or essay, including in well-off private and selective schools. It is not exaggerating to state that extended writing is the paramount academic problem in English schools. As a result, it is probably better to work on the fundamentals before getting pupils to write more extensively. But we are certainly in a downward cycle of ‘dumbing down’, and one that will take great effort to reverse.
In contrast, some tasks are quite tricky, such as making inferences from sources (especially artefacts), and wading into the debate about the Benin Bronzes with insufficient historical and philosophical context. And while there is a decent mix of activities, it is depressing that the outline of GCSE exam questions are already obvious. Already, a lot of time goes into practising exam technique rather than the knowledge and fluent communication that is the ultimate aim.
Conclusion
The textbook then is good illustration of both the aims and the problems of the movement to ‘decolonise’ school history. Broadening pupils’ historical knowledge and exposing them to the history of Mali, the Songhay, Benin and the Asante is of course worthwhile, and there is a lot of interesting material here. The authors clearly hope they are ‘setting the record straight’, making amends for past injustices and building a more ‘inclusive’ future.
However, the well-intentioned emphasis on Africans defying European prejudice and playing an important global role is overwrought. There are clear double standards, for example, around military conquest and slavery. An overreliance on oral history and consulting ‘communities’ are obvious risks to objective history, and pervasive value relativism obscures sound judgement. Key events like the 1897 invasion of Benin are simplified, and there is an obvious implicit call to restore ‘stolen objects’.
Moreover, the opportunity cost of trying to insert African Kingdoms into the English History curriculum is too great, at least at Key Stage 3. I know from experience how few children know anything much about the history of Britain – certainly not Edward II, or Edward III, or the Victorians (who tend to get viewed solely through the ‘lens of empire’).
The book is thus useful to read for some knowledge of West African history and to reveal the depressing state of school history, but I will not be decolonising my curriculum or buying a class set (£13.79 for 96 pages!) any time soon.
[1] K. Amery, T. Gogo, (ed. A. Wilkes), KS3 History: African Kingdoms: West Africa, (Oxford University Press, 2023), p4.
[2] ibid., back cover.
[3] ibid., back cover.
[4] K. Amery, T. Gogo, (ed. A. Wilkes), KS3 History: African Kingdoms: West Africa, p12.
[5] ibid., p23.
[6] ibid., p25, p57, p77
[7] ibid.,p30
[8] ibid., p10
[9] ibid., p10, p40
[10] ibid., p10, p40
[11] ibid., p41
[12] ibid.,p42-3
[13] ibid., p58
[14] ibid., p66, p52
[15] ibid., p70
[16] ibid., p59, p64
[17] ibid., p64
[18] ibid.,p65
[19] ibid., p65
[20] ibid., p86
[21] ibid., p80
[22] ibid., p90
[23] ibid., p39
