Tuesday 9th April 2019

(5 years ago)

Westminster Hall
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Chris Law Portrait Chris Law (Dundee West) (SNP)
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It is a pleasure to serve under your chairmanship, Mr Hanson. I thank the hon. Member for Harrow East (Bob Blackman) for introducing this poignant debate, nearly 100 years to the day since the tragic events of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre.

In 1919, during one of the first debates in the House of Commons discussing the massacre, Colonel Josiah Wedgwood commented:

“This damns us for all time.”—[Official Report, 22 December 1919; Vol. 123, c. 1232.]

He was correct. With 379 people officially recorded as dead—although, as we have heard today, local sources say that more than 1,000 people were killed—the British Army in India committed an indefensible atrocity in Amritsar. It had a profound effect on the Indian independence movement, and has had a lasting impact on the psyche of the people of the Punjab, and across India, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Yet despite the enormity of this deplorable incident, too few of us in the UK are aware of what happened at the Jallianwala Bagh 100 years ago. Not enough of us are willing to engage with our unedifying past and the legacy of the British empire. Astonishingly, no British Government have issued a formal apology for what unfolded. When David Cameron visited the memorial in 2013, why did he stop short of apologising? It is imperative that we take this opportunity to reflect today on the devastating nature of the massacre and acknowledge unequivocally that this was one of the many shameful episodes in British history and a symptom of the colonial mindset that had been developed. Crucially, the Minister must set out the Government’s plans to issue a formal apology for what happened in Amritsar. No ifs, no buts, no whataboutery or rhetorical gymnastics—Britain must say sorry.

I have been to Jallianwala Bagh several times. It is an enclosed garden with high walls, accessible only through five narrow passages. I first visited in the early 1990s and last in 2012. Every time I have been there, I have been struck by what a tranquil, peaceful place it is—a place to remove oneself from the hustle and bustle of the streets of Amritsar, or to relax following a visit to the Golden Temple.

Let us picture the scene: it is 13 April 1919. It is a hot day, with temperatures in the mid-30s. The city is busy with pilgrims visiting to celebrate the Vaisakhi festival and farmers, traders and merchants attending an annual horse and cattle fair. Thousands of Sikhs, Hindus and Muslims have gathered in the garden. What happened next is almost unspeakable. With a relatively small group of soldiers, Colonel Dyer arrived at the Bagh late in the afternoon. The entrance to the garden was blocked by some of his men. He had also brought armoured cars with machine guns. The only reason those guns were not used was that they could not get through the passageways.

On Colonel Dyer’s orders, 1,650 rounds were fired over a 10-minute period. The soldiers only stopped because the ammunition had run out. There was no warning, the crowd was not told to disperse and shots were not fired in the air but directly at the crowds. When the bullets ran out and the shooting stopped, Dyer and his soldiers left the scene. No aid was given to the wounded.

Dyer is reported to have said:

“I think it quite possible that I could have dispersed the crowd without firing, but they would have come back again and laughed, and I would have made, what I consider, a fool of myself…I fired and continued to fire until the crowd dispersed…It was no longer a question of merely dispersing the crowd, but one of producing a sufficient moral effect…not only on those who were present, but more especially throughout the Punjab.”

That should send a shiver down all of our spines.

This was not an accident. This was not a reaction to imminent danger. This was not an officer making a poor judgment in the midst of chaos. This was cold and calculated. This was purposeful slaughter. This was meant to send a message to the Indian population to remain obedient to the colonial master or face the consequences.

When reading Shashi Tharoor’s book, “Inglorious Empire: What the British Did to India”, which was published last year, the following words particularly struck me:

“The Jallianwala Bagh massacre was no act of insane frenzy but a conscious, deliberate imposition of colonial will.”

Even Winston Churchill, a man hardly renowned for his concern for the welfare of those under colonial rule, as Indian people later experienced when millions died during the Bengal famine, condemned the massacre as “a monstrous event”.

If we were able to acknowledge back then the wrong that had been committed, there is no reason why Britain should not take this opportunity on the 100th anniversary of the massacre to finally apologise. Many continue to show support for Dyer. One of them was Rudyard Kipling, who believed that Dyer

“did his duty as he saw it”

and hailed him as

“the man who saved India.”

That is illustrative of many people’s views of the empire and its subjects at the time. They considered others lesser beings than themselves. Whatever one had to do to keep the population in check was what was necessary. In their eyes, Britain was always on the right side of history.

By refusing to apologise and engage in debate that is critical of the British empire or historical figures who played their part in it, and by embellishing the past or looking at it through rose-tinted glasses, we perpetuate that colonial mindset. While the Jallianwala Bagh massacre was shocking, the brutality exhibited that day was sadly not unique in India or, indeed, across the empire. That brutality continued.

In 1920, during the debate on Government policy on Ireland, one MP commented:

“We may have an Amritsar there.”—[Official Report, 9 August 1920; Vol. 133, c. 138.]

Kenyans tortured by British colonial forces during the Mau Mau uprising in the 1950s will now receive pay-outs totalling £20 million. In Iraq, our American allies tortured and abused prisoners in Abu Ghraib prison, while today we are complicit in the sale of arms to others who commit atrocities in Yemen.

We cannot pick and choose our history. The Jallianwala Bagh massacre was an atrocity that must be recognised and apologised for. Concluding his speech in 1919, Colonel Wedgewood said:

“By this incident you have divided for all time races, races that might otherwise have loved one another...It has destroyed our reputation throughout the world. You know what will happen. All the blackguards in America when they lynch, will say, ‘Oh, you did the same in India.’ When butcheries take place in Russia, whether it be by White or Red Guard, they will say ‘We never did anything like what you did in India;’ and when we tell the Turks, ‘You massacred the Armenians,’ they will say, ‘Yes, we wish we had the chance of getting 5,000 of them together, and then of shooting straight—[Official Report, 22 December 1919; Vol. 123, c. 1232.].’”

Again, he was correct that the past comes with a price. The Jallianwala Bagh is now a memorial garden, and its walls are scarred by the bullets fired by Dyer’s men.

Minister, let me put this on record, as someone who carries a British passport when I travel. On each and every visit I have had to India over many years, I carry a personal sense of shame in the knowledge that the places I visit, such as Amritsar, have a history that Britain has yet to come to terms with and apologise for. I offer my sincerest apologies here today as a beginning, and I urge the Government, on this anniversary, to set in motion from this debate a formal apology on behalf of all British citizens, who live with the legacy of what happened in India 100 years ago, and to consider all our other colonial legacies that we choose to forget.

The UK cannot lecture others until it faces up to, accepts and remedies the baggage of its colonial past and acknowledges the role it has played in conflict throughout the world. If the UK is to be serious as a major global player now and in the future, our foreign policy must reflect a moral and ethical standing that takes action on atrocities both past and present, whomever they may have been committed by. On this atrocity we must formally apologise.