That is the Zulu leader Mehlokazulu recalling the Battle of Isandlwana, a disaster for the British during the early stages of the Anglo-Zulu War (1879). The British had split their forces, the larger part setting out to pursue the Zulu army to the south. When some 20,000 Zulu warriors attacked unexpectedly from the north, using their favorite tactic of encirclement, British superiority in weaponry and discipline was ultimately overwhelmed.
Facing certain death, these “last stand” soldiers fought with a grimly impressive tenacity. They exemplify heroism-in-defeat, an attitude to impending disaster in which many Britons continue to take a peculiar pride. The plucky loser, trying one’s best with a stiff upper lip: Part of being British is to relish setbacks, the more dramatic the better.
As George Orwell wrote: “There is no popular [English] poem about Trafalgar or Waterloo. . . . The most stirring battle-poem in English is about a brigade of cavalry which charged in the wrong direction.”
Heroic failure is a fascinating subject and can be studied from the time of Napoleon (Sir John Moore fighting for survival at Corunna), Victorian imperialism (the Light Brigade at Balaclava), the Great War, and World War II (Dunkirk). And at first sight, Heroic Failure and the British promises to be a scholarly and engrossing read. There is little doubt that Stephanie Barczewski has done her homework. She knows who’s who, including lesser-known politicians, officials, and military staff at home in Britain, who could decide to halt rescue operations; in what political or military context things happened; and what the consequences of disasters might have been. The author has an accessible yet polished style, and at times, her book can be almost unbearably moving.
And yet, Heroic Failure is infuriating. In brief, Barczewski contends that the British cynically used the concept of heroism-in-defeat to mask the “moral ambiguities” of their empire. It was better, the argument goes, to talk about one’s weaknesses than to admit that there was brutal colonial expansion, suppression, and wholesale extermination going on. The tragic heroism of valiant explorers, missionaries, and soldiers meant that the British public could sleep at night.
Put another way, Heroic Failure is a contemporary political attempt to rewrite the past. It should not be too much to ask an opponent of British imperialism to explain the foundations of her disagreement. Instead, we’re told that polar explorers Sir John Franklin and Robert Scott, for example, are to be discredited as serious explorers because they saw their attempts as means to further their prospects for promotion. And what is wrong with seeking promotion? Moreover, to view catastrophic explorations in such myopic terms is to miss the beauty and terror these men must have experienced, not to mention the discoveries they made. To understate it, Barczewski lacks empathy, glibly condemning her subjects for cynicism, at worst, and a misguided faith in stiff upper lips, at best. She never allows for the possibility that her subjects might have believed in what they were doing.
A more subtle critique is that Heroic Failure does not really understand the British. Not quite saying what you mean; not always meaning what you say; not liking someone but being unfailingly polite while showing genuine affection for others by constant mockery: Britons can be highly skilled at hiding in plain sight. To Barczewski, the British celebration of defeat is perplexing: Why make such a big deal out of failures and “futile” heroism? This leads her to think that there’s a game going on, and the idea that heroic failure masked imperial bloodlust must have seemed inspired when she first thought of it.
Yet another way to look at heroic failure is that the British can derive a perverse pleasure out of cavalry charging the wrong way up a valley; highly trained, athletic explorers failing in the snow; an immaculate and eccentric General Gordon surrounded by thousands of foreign enemies yet not having the apparent sense to plead for his life or make a run for it.
Barczewski has written a reductionist view of the British Empire, in which centuries’ worth of global trade, slow and then fast colonialism, the export of British traditions and institutions, and millions of personal interactions are viewed as sinister, unwelcome intrusions into idyllic territories by an unfettered Great Britain. This is neither a persuasive nor thoughtful way of looking at the past, whatever your personal politics. So this is a compelling and sometimes deeply moving work that readers might well enjoy throwing across the room, before picking it up to continue after their distaste has receded.
Andre van Loon is a writer in London.
