PRC-UTE
18th September 2006, 05:12
From the CPGB Weekly Worker (http://www.cpgb.org.uk/worker/640/wales.htm)
Fact and fictions
Each year on September 16 Welsh nationalists celebrate ‘Owain Glyndwr
day’. Bob Davies looks at the myths surrounding the ‘the last genuine
Prince of Wales’
In recent years the campaign to make September 16 a national holiday in
Wales has been stepped up. That this may well yet be realised is rather
telling for us communists. It is not often that an individual is rewarded
with such an accolade, at least in the UK. As such, and given the
political fuss that invariably ensues to one degree or another at this
time of year, the man (and his reputation) deserves analysis and comment.
For many people in Wales, the mere mention of Owain Glyndwr evokes images
of a heroic figure associated with an intransigent and courageous battle
against an oppressive and callous enemy. Often recognised and referred to
as “the last genuine Prince of Wales”, Glyndwr’s history is simplistically
portrayed. Between the years 1400 and 1409, he is deemed to have led a
popular, ‘national’ battle on behalf of the ‘Welsh’ against the ‘English’
(neither existed in terms of mass consciousness in the early 15th century)
in a quest to establish a ‘free and independent Wales’. It is thus easy to
see why this mythical image strikes a chord with many of Wales’s
latter-day patriots: they assert Glyndwr’s claimed political mission was
one any 21st century democrat should aspire to.
It would be wrong, of course, for communists to simply dismiss as
irrelevant the widespread acceptance of the Glyndwr myth in a period when
questions of democracy and self-determination, nationalism and
independence are clearly on the agenda in Wales. As the man has now been
moulded into a popular modern-day hero, whose history, it is asserted,
carries some sort of hope for salvation for the people of Wales today, we
have a duty to look at that history and try to separate myth from reality.
As with much official history, Owain Glyndwr’s is recounted in a way that
suits this or that political project. Many of the numerous websites
dedicated to the man typify a general uncritical and unquestioning
acceptance of the role he is deemed to have played. To many, his status as
an icon is absolute. According to one website, “… there seems to be little
doubt that charismatic Owain fulfilled many of the mystical medieval
prophecies about the rising up of the Red Dragon”.1 Another states that
Owain Glyndwr was one Welsh prince who was “never betrayed by his own
people … not even in the darkest days when many of them could have saved
their skin by doing so. There is no parallel in the history of the
Welsh.”2 And a poem by Graham Hughes on the Owain Glyndwr website adds to
the myth. It speaks of him as a “second Arthur”, who “gives warmth to thaw
our frozen hearts”.3
Such fanciful comments may be useful to those who wish to maintain Glyndwr
as a national saviour of the Welsh, but their irrationality and gushingly
sentimental tone hardly help us understand what role and significance
Glyndwr had. Communists will be the first to admit that it is hard to
establish the exact details and an accurate, objective, historical
analysis of any individual from the 15th century. Glyndwr is no exception.
Given that most information about him is now written with such authority
and fervour, you would be mistaken for thinking that documentation is
plentiful. Far from it. RR Davies writes that information about him is
“desperately little” and “very scanty”.4
In fact, when one of Wales’s most prestigious institutions, its National
Library in Aberystwyth, fails to highlight any significant writing on
Glyndwr until the 19th century, this begs the question: if his legacy was
so important, why the lack of contemporary documentation? According to
Wikipedia, “It was not until the late 19th century that Owain’s reputation
was to be revived. The ‘Young Wales’ movement recreated him as the father
of Welsh nationalism.”5
We can establish a number of facts about Owain Glyndwr from the writings
and the painstaking research of several prominent historians (within, as
well as outside, Wales). They provide a useful place to start when trying
to place Glyndwr’s legacy into some sort of rational perspective. During
the period in question, between the late 14th and early 15th centuries,
the entity that today is called Wales was ruled by three separate powers.
The king of England (who controlled much of the land, administered through
the shires), the powerful Anglo-Norman marcher lords (who often positioned
themselves as close allies of the crown) and the Uchelwyr, the ‘Welsh’
feudalists, who traced their descendance from earlier petty princes and
who now controlled the more mountainous regions of the country. Glyndwr
was a member of this class, specifically the earlier dynasties of Powys
and Deheubarth.
More importantly, though, medieval Wales was the site of a struggle
between the “free” and the “unfree” - “… between those who exercised power
and lordship … and those who were … dependent on them and whose prime
concern was the struggle for subsistence and survival”.6 Class struggle
was the order of the day, as social tension between the “free” and the
“unfree”, as well as within the nobility itself, was constant. Gwyn
Williams highlights the fact that revolt was common at the time, as
“thousands of lesser people were pitched into dependence and
frustration”.7
The nobility was obsessed with increasing their fiefdoms. More Lordships
and land, for example, meant more power over people and more resources. It
was typical for any ruling individual or group to form alliances and
change allegiance or even straddle more than one allegiance, depending on
what would be seen as primary in promoting wealth and power. As well as
physical confrontation, political manoeuvring within the upper rankings of
society was often characterised by conspiracy, bribery and corruption, as
one fought another to maintain or increase personal fortunes and
consequently their armed following.
Glyndwr’s life was shaped by such struggles. Even if he was one of the
more “respectable” and “charismatic” nobles, Glyndwr exhibited all the
fawning, grasping, back-stabbing, bloodthirsty and disloyal
characteristics of a petty aristocrat. It is documented in 1385, for
example, that he fought alongside the English crown in campaigns in
Scotland, yet switched allegiance and united with these same ‘enemies’
against the English crown some 15 years later. John Davies notes: “Until
his 40s, his career, marked as it was by a readiness to cooperate with and
to serve the English authorities, was typical of the careers of the
members of that class”.8
It was within this decaying and constantly warring medieval society that
the Glyndwr myth was born. When a land dispute between him and a
neighbouring English lord was dismissed by the English parliament at a
time of splits within the ruling English elite, Glyndwr took advantage of
the unrest which affected all social classes. His prestige, political
skill and popularity amongst his class placed him at the helm of a revolt.
This rebellion is today officially acknowledged as the “last true Welsh
revolt”, even though there was nothing ‘national’ about it. While
nationalists of all shades claim varying degrees of loyalty to Glyndwr’s
legacy, for our part we recognise the need to question all of the
assertions it involves - not to do so would reinforce the mythology (and
disarm us in current battles). For example, in a swipe against the house
of Windsor, many nationalists claim that Glyndwr’s family heritage, his
‘Welshness’, legitimises his title as “the last genuine Prince of Wales”.
Subsequent claimants to the title are of ‘non-native’ stock. Leaving aside
the fact that Glyndwr ruled over only a part of the country and he had
earlier been in alliance with the crown in England, there is a dangerous
assumption here that nationality is somehow a legitimate basis for
top-down rule. Communists and genuine democrats are republicans and we
wish to see the end of the monarchy lock, stock and barrel - irrespective
of the nationality of individual royals.
Furthermore, many nationalists fail to point out, or are simply unaware,
that Glyndwr’s investiture was hardly the result of a democratic movement
and a decision of the populace, as we are often led to believe. But
history shows he was either proclaimed Prince of Wales by fellow nobles,9
or he simply took the title for himself.10
We are frequently told about Glyndwr being responsible for the first and
last genuine parliaments in Wales. Given the associated spin on this
issue, particularly with current controversy surrounding extra powers for
the Welsh assembly, you’d be forgiven for picturing mass representation.
That would be just plain bloody stupid, though.
It would appear that Glyndwr did indeed initiate parliaments - two of
them. RR Davies speaks of one being convoked in Machynlleth in 1404 and
the other in Harlech in 1405.11 The same author reports that details on
Machynlleth are sketchy, but he points out that the Harlech parliament was
made up of “influential persons … throughout Wales under Owain’s
control”.12
Underlying all these arguments is a common theme that is characteristic of
most official history and one that needs highlighting. Many nationalists
would have us believe that Wales and the Welsh have existed since the dawn
of time. Yet, shocking as it may be to some, that is not the case. From
Roman times until the industrial revolution, the Welsh as a nationality
did not exist in any serious, coherent form. Indeed, what has
characterised ‘Wales’ since the birth of official history was not rule by
‘the English’, but rule via kingdoms - and constantly changing ones at
that. Where these kingdoms changed rulers on a frequent basis, where
borders and territories shifted, the idea that either the petty monarchs
or the popular classes identified themselves as a common nationality is
absurd - concepts surrounding national identity (and patriotism,
citizenship and nations) only developed with the spread of capitalism.
Until the industrial revolution claims to territory remained the concern
of those with power - the nobility or gentry. The engagement of the ‘mass’
as a whole and their identification with the politics of these ruling
groups were limited, to say the least. Obedience was the order of the day
- not any ideological commitment to a non-existent ‘nation’.
Capitalist expansion resulted in territorial consolidation and increased
international trading. South Wales was transformed into one of the world’s
most important coal-producing areas and a major sector of Britain’s
imperial economy. The revolutions of France and America influenced
political thought in Wales, as elsewhere, and added to the abundance of
social, political and cultural contradictions.
There was a deliberate promotion of an identity specific to Wales, and a
swathe of literature which romantically portrayed the ancient Welsh
struggle for freedom (in various accounts realised through a later
reconciliation with the English and then a common Britishness). From the
prophecies of Merlin to the cult of Arthur, from the Brut to Iolo Goch,
official society proclaimed a Wales that had existed since the year dot
and a history which could now be incorporated as a component of the
imperial British identity.
At the same time, the new, prosperous Welsh capitalist class believed in
greater rights for themselves and therefore the desirability of Welsh
institutions which could help them achieve a bigger share of the profits
from the spoils of the British empire. However, it was the
backward-looking part of the middle classes - those rejecting working
class socialism - who were the most concerned with the promotion of
Welshness. Young Wales was formed in 1886 and it demanded home rule and a
cultural revival. Hence Glyndwr was invented as a great leader of the
Welsh.
Of course, for much of the 20th century Welsh nationalism exerted little
influence - not least as a result of the strength of the working class.
During the early period of the last century, for example, mass militant
action was accompanied by a high level of political radicalisation in a
world dominated by the Russian Revolution and class politics generally.
Nationalism and its associated ideology enjoyed little credibility - it is
telling how irrelevant and, indeed, hostile Plaid Cymru was, for example,
to the aspirations of most workers in Wales when that party was formed in
1925. However, with the sustained post-war economic boom grinding to an
end in the early 1970s, job losses and closures became the order of the
day.
Nationalism blamed not capitalism, but the centralised British state. The
call for Welsh independence began to attract a significant protest vote,
taking advantage of disillusion with the failing politics of the Labour
Party. Glyndwr became a political icon.
Communists and revolutionary democrats need to separate fact from fantasy
in order to win hegemony for the programme of the working class.
Fact and fictions
Each year on September 16 Welsh nationalists celebrate ‘Owain Glyndwr
day’. Bob Davies looks at the myths surrounding the ‘the last genuine
Prince of Wales’
In recent years the campaign to make September 16 a national holiday in
Wales has been stepped up. That this may well yet be realised is rather
telling for us communists. It is not often that an individual is rewarded
with such an accolade, at least in the UK. As such, and given the
political fuss that invariably ensues to one degree or another at this
time of year, the man (and his reputation) deserves analysis and comment.
For many people in Wales, the mere mention of Owain Glyndwr evokes images
of a heroic figure associated with an intransigent and courageous battle
against an oppressive and callous enemy. Often recognised and referred to
as “the last genuine Prince of Wales”, Glyndwr’s history is simplistically
portrayed. Between the years 1400 and 1409, he is deemed to have led a
popular, ‘national’ battle on behalf of the ‘Welsh’ against the ‘English’
(neither existed in terms of mass consciousness in the early 15th century)
in a quest to establish a ‘free and independent Wales’. It is thus easy to
see why this mythical image strikes a chord with many of Wales’s
latter-day patriots: they assert Glyndwr’s claimed political mission was
one any 21st century democrat should aspire to.
It would be wrong, of course, for communists to simply dismiss as
irrelevant the widespread acceptance of the Glyndwr myth in a period when
questions of democracy and self-determination, nationalism and
independence are clearly on the agenda in Wales. As the man has now been
moulded into a popular modern-day hero, whose history, it is asserted,
carries some sort of hope for salvation for the people of Wales today, we
have a duty to look at that history and try to separate myth from reality.
As with much official history, Owain Glyndwr’s is recounted in a way that
suits this or that political project. Many of the numerous websites
dedicated to the man typify a general uncritical and unquestioning
acceptance of the role he is deemed to have played. To many, his status as
an icon is absolute. According to one website, “… there seems to be little
doubt that charismatic Owain fulfilled many of the mystical medieval
prophecies about the rising up of the Red Dragon”.1 Another states that
Owain Glyndwr was one Welsh prince who was “never betrayed by his own
people … not even in the darkest days when many of them could have saved
their skin by doing so. There is no parallel in the history of the
Welsh.”2 And a poem by Graham Hughes on the Owain Glyndwr website adds to
the myth. It speaks of him as a “second Arthur”, who “gives warmth to thaw
our frozen hearts”.3
Such fanciful comments may be useful to those who wish to maintain Glyndwr
as a national saviour of the Welsh, but their irrationality and gushingly
sentimental tone hardly help us understand what role and significance
Glyndwr had. Communists will be the first to admit that it is hard to
establish the exact details and an accurate, objective, historical
analysis of any individual from the 15th century. Glyndwr is no exception.
Given that most information about him is now written with such authority
and fervour, you would be mistaken for thinking that documentation is
plentiful. Far from it. RR Davies writes that information about him is
“desperately little” and “very scanty”.4
In fact, when one of Wales’s most prestigious institutions, its National
Library in Aberystwyth, fails to highlight any significant writing on
Glyndwr until the 19th century, this begs the question: if his legacy was
so important, why the lack of contemporary documentation? According to
Wikipedia, “It was not until the late 19th century that Owain’s reputation
was to be revived. The ‘Young Wales’ movement recreated him as the father
of Welsh nationalism.”5
We can establish a number of facts about Owain Glyndwr from the writings
and the painstaking research of several prominent historians (within, as
well as outside, Wales). They provide a useful place to start when trying
to place Glyndwr’s legacy into some sort of rational perspective. During
the period in question, between the late 14th and early 15th centuries,
the entity that today is called Wales was ruled by three separate powers.
The king of England (who controlled much of the land, administered through
the shires), the powerful Anglo-Norman marcher lords (who often positioned
themselves as close allies of the crown) and the Uchelwyr, the ‘Welsh’
feudalists, who traced their descendance from earlier petty princes and
who now controlled the more mountainous regions of the country. Glyndwr
was a member of this class, specifically the earlier dynasties of Powys
and Deheubarth.
More importantly, though, medieval Wales was the site of a struggle
between the “free” and the “unfree” - “… between those who exercised power
and lordship … and those who were … dependent on them and whose prime
concern was the struggle for subsistence and survival”.6 Class struggle
was the order of the day, as social tension between the “free” and the
“unfree”, as well as within the nobility itself, was constant. Gwyn
Williams highlights the fact that revolt was common at the time, as
“thousands of lesser people were pitched into dependence and
frustration”.7
The nobility was obsessed with increasing their fiefdoms. More Lordships
and land, for example, meant more power over people and more resources. It
was typical for any ruling individual or group to form alliances and
change allegiance or even straddle more than one allegiance, depending on
what would be seen as primary in promoting wealth and power. As well as
physical confrontation, political manoeuvring within the upper rankings of
society was often characterised by conspiracy, bribery and corruption, as
one fought another to maintain or increase personal fortunes and
consequently their armed following.
Glyndwr’s life was shaped by such struggles. Even if he was one of the
more “respectable” and “charismatic” nobles, Glyndwr exhibited all the
fawning, grasping, back-stabbing, bloodthirsty and disloyal
characteristics of a petty aristocrat. It is documented in 1385, for
example, that he fought alongside the English crown in campaigns in
Scotland, yet switched allegiance and united with these same ‘enemies’
against the English crown some 15 years later. John Davies notes: “Until
his 40s, his career, marked as it was by a readiness to cooperate with and
to serve the English authorities, was typical of the careers of the
members of that class”.8
It was within this decaying and constantly warring medieval society that
the Glyndwr myth was born. When a land dispute between him and a
neighbouring English lord was dismissed by the English parliament at a
time of splits within the ruling English elite, Glyndwr took advantage of
the unrest which affected all social classes. His prestige, political
skill and popularity amongst his class placed him at the helm of a revolt.
This rebellion is today officially acknowledged as the “last true Welsh
revolt”, even though there was nothing ‘national’ about it. While
nationalists of all shades claim varying degrees of loyalty to Glyndwr’s
legacy, for our part we recognise the need to question all of the
assertions it involves - not to do so would reinforce the mythology (and
disarm us in current battles). For example, in a swipe against the house
of Windsor, many nationalists claim that Glyndwr’s family heritage, his
‘Welshness’, legitimises his title as “the last genuine Prince of Wales”.
Subsequent claimants to the title are of ‘non-native’ stock. Leaving aside
the fact that Glyndwr ruled over only a part of the country and he had
earlier been in alliance with the crown in England, there is a dangerous
assumption here that nationality is somehow a legitimate basis for
top-down rule. Communists and genuine democrats are republicans and we
wish to see the end of the monarchy lock, stock and barrel - irrespective
of the nationality of individual royals.
Furthermore, many nationalists fail to point out, or are simply unaware,
that Glyndwr’s investiture was hardly the result of a democratic movement
and a decision of the populace, as we are often led to believe. But
history shows he was either proclaimed Prince of Wales by fellow nobles,9
or he simply took the title for himself.10
We are frequently told about Glyndwr being responsible for the first and
last genuine parliaments in Wales. Given the associated spin on this
issue, particularly with current controversy surrounding extra powers for
the Welsh assembly, you’d be forgiven for picturing mass representation.
That would be just plain bloody stupid, though.
It would appear that Glyndwr did indeed initiate parliaments - two of
them. RR Davies speaks of one being convoked in Machynlleth in 1404 and
the other in Harlech in 1405.11 The same author reports that details on
Machynlleth are sketchy, but he points out that the Harlech parliament was
made up of “influential persons … throughout Wales under Owain’s
control”.12
Underlying all these arguments is a common theme that is characteristic of
most official history and one that needs highlighting. Many nationalists
would have us believe that Wales and the Welsh have existed since the dawn
of time. Yet, shocking as it may be to some, that is not the case. From
Roman times until the industrial revolution, the Welsh as a nationality
did not exist in any serious, coherent form. Indeed, what has
characterised ‘Wales’ since the birth of official history was not rule by
‘the English’, but rule via kingdoms - and constantly changing ones at
that. Where these kingdoms changed rulers on a frequent basis, where
borders and territories shifted, the idea that either the petty monarchs
or the popular classes identified themselves as a common nationality is
absurd - concepts surrounding national identity (and patriotism,
citizenship and nations) only developed with the spread of capitalism.
Until the industrial revolution claims to territory remained the concern
of those with power - the nobility or gentry. The engagement of the ‘mass’
as a whole and their identification with the politics of these ruling
groups were limited, to say the least. Obedience was the order of the day
- not any ideological commitment to a non-existent ‘nation’.
Capitalist expansion resulted in territorial consolidation and increased
international trading. South Wales was transformed into one of the world’s
most important coal-producing areas and a major sector of Britain’s
imperial economy. The revolutions of France and America influenced
political thought in Wales, as elsewhere, and added to the abundance of
social, political and cultural contradictions.
There was a deliberate promotion of an identity specific to Wales, and a
swathe of literature which romantically portrayed the ancient Welsh
struggle for freedom (in various accounts realised through a later
reconciliation with the English and then a common Britishness). From the
prophecies of Merlin to the cult of Arthur, from the Brut to Iolo Goch,
official society proclaimed a Wales that had existed since the year dot
and a history which could now be incorporated as a component of the
imperial British identity.
At the same time, the new, prosperous Welsh capitalist class believed in
greater rights for themselves and therefore the desirability of Welsh
institutions which could help them achieve a bigger share of the profits
from the spoils of the British empire. However, it was the
backward-looking part of the middle classes - those rejecting working
class socialism - who were the most concerned with the promotion of
Welshness. Young Wales was formed in 1886 and it demanded home rule and a
cultural revival. Hence Glyndwr was invented as a great leader of the
Welsh.
Of course, for much of the 20th century Welsh nationalism exerted little
influence - not least as a result of the strength of the working class.
During the early period of the last century, for example, mass militant
action was accompanied by a high level of political radicalisation in a
world dominated by the Russian Revolution and class politics generally.
Nationalism and its associated ideology enjoyed little credibility - it is
telling how irrelevant and, indeed, hostile Plaid Cymru was, for example,
to the aspirations of most workers in Wales when that party was formed in
1925. However, with the sustained post-war economic boom grinding to an
end in the early 1970s, job losses and closures became the order of the
day.
Nationalism blamed not capitalism, but the centralised British state. The
call for Welsh independence began to attract a significant protest vote,
taking advantage of disillusion with the failing politics of the Labour
Party. Glyndwr became a political icon.
Communists and revolutionary democrats need to separate fact from fantasy
in order to win hegemony for the programme of the working class.