Abstract
This article identifies three loci of the British colonial state’s anxiety about communication of news and views in India during the Second World War: its own officials (and their families); the press (both English language and vernacular); and the Indian public. It explores war-time dilemmas of the state with regard to censorship of both news and rumour, and it discusses the central paradox of censorship in colonial India during war-time.
Introduction
An account of colonial censorship of publications in India is necessarily a study of anxiety.
1
In 1921, only seven out of every hundred Indians could read. Yet, censorship of news and views was a major concern for the colonial state. Even as colonial authorities termed this low level of literacy a ‘very serious obstacle’ to attaining ‘full self-sufficing nationhood on modern democratic lines’
2
, they also recognized that it was precisely this low level of literacy that accorded the educated disproportionate influence, and gave rumour peculiar force. As the Simon Commission report of 1930 commented:
In a country where the number of literates is very small, the formation of opinion depends far more on the spoken than on the written word. Rumour counts for more than reading; but the most exaggerated rumour finds its way into a certain class of Indian newspaper, and the influence of the man who can read is necessarily very great. […] The danger [to organized authority] is all the greater because India is a place where hearsay, however improbable, seems to gain widespread credence and to be capable of rousing fierce passion.
3
In other words, public opinion mattered because it had very real consequences for the state. It therefore had to be gauged (via censorship as surveillance), influenced (via propaganda) and prevented from taking a dangerous turn (via censorship as proscription). While the colonial state was resigned to the fact that there were some Indians whom they could not hope to influence at all, official discourse displayed maximum concern for those people who could easily be swayed by press articles criticizing the government and even advocating violence against its personnel.
This concern was magnified during the Second World War, when the colonial state most needed the support of the public. The concern with public opinion – and in war-time, morale – was also linked with the desire of the colonial government to pose as the ‘sole spokesman’, as it were, of the Indian people. In other words, if the government could gauge public opinion correctly and act accordingly, then there was no need for parties such as the Indian National Congress to voice nationalist demands. During the course of the war, the colonial state in India varied both methods and degree of censorship, but was consistent about the central aim of surveillance: to prevent useful information from reaching the enemy, and to obtain useful information for itself. 4 Concern with public opinion in India on the conduct of the war remained a constant hum in the background. For instance, by late 1941, with the Government of India (GOI) in need of support from the Indian press in the wake of Allied military reversals, the Information and Broadcasting Member in India, Sir Akbar Hydari, termed editors ‘leaders of public opinion’, and appealed to them to assist in the war effort by providing balanced coverage of the war and finding points of agreement rather than disagreement between communities. 5
This article locates itself within the traditional model of censorship studies, with a focus on direct forms of institutionalized and regulatory censorship. 6 It identifies three loci of the colonial state’s anxiety about communication of news and views: its own officials (and their families); the press (both English language and vernacular); and the Indian public. It explores war-time dilemmas of the state with regard to censorship of both accurate news and inaccurate rumour, and it discusses the central paradox informing censorship in colonial India.
Given that for people living through a war – and for historians writing about it decades later – the spotlight is on the armed forces, much of existing literature on the impact of the Second World War on India has focused on the propaganda strategies employed by the GOI to keep the Indian armed forces loyal. 7 This article focuses attention on a different constituency: the Indian public; the press; and British colonial bureaucrats. In doing so, it is inspired by – and extends the concerns of – pioneering historians such as Johannes Voigt 8 and Indivar Kamtekar 9 , and new research by Yasmin Khan 10 and Srinath Raghavan, 11 all of whom have explored the implications of the Second World War for the larger Indian public, and the changes wrought by it in the Indian (and South Asian) state and society in the following decades.
The how, what, and who by of war-time censorship in India
The legal basis of war-time censorship was provided by two sources, some pre-dating the war (the Criminal Procedure Code, the Indian Penal Code, the Sea Customs Act, and the Press Act of 1931), while others (the Defence of India Act and Rules) were issued as war-time measures. 12 The chief objectives of censorship of news reports – which the GOI preferred to call ‘Control of Publicity’ – were three in number: one, to ‘prevent public opinion from being stirred to enthusiasm for the [anti-colonial] movement or to indignation against the Government; two, ‘to guard against the propagation of noxious rumours and mis-representations both in India and abroad’; and three, to deny publicity to individuals that would lead them to win ‘a martyr’s crown.’ 13 Newspapers were asked to suppress ‘plainly dangerous’ news, to avoid sensationalism, and to not publicize ‘the innumerable rumours, most of them of a sensational or alarming character, which are bound to be current throughout the course of the war.’ 14
The GOI was also very clear on the point that censorship of press messages was more important than that of private messages, because the former was ‘intended for publication and, if published, may reach a very large number of people. It may create general alarm and despondency and it may find its way, through wireless transmitters or by other channels, to the enemy.’ 15 The potential audience size and range of dissemination of a piece of news or rumour was the foremost factor determining the state’s decision to ignore or publicize it.
By August 1940, the GOI had decided how not to suppress news of a revolutionary movement in India: they would not carry out a total blackout of news. For one, the GOI did not want to antagonize the press and fight a new war on another front; for another, it was felt in official circles that suppression of news would lead to the spread of ‘alarmist rumours’, these then ‘providing an obvious “gift” to German broadcasting authorities’. 16 The official discourse on war-time censorship was characterized by a major contradiction, never easily resolved: suppression of news could lead to alarmist rumours; allowing all news to be freely published could lead to panic and loss of morale among the civilian population. This contradiction informed the Press Instructions for War, a twenty-four-page document prepared for the guidance of staff engaged in censorship work. This document stated clearly that information of value to the enemy was not only that relating to the movement of troops and warships, but also included ‘information relating to such matters as food and other supplies, political relations with neutral and other States and internal political conditions’. At the same time, it also stressed that ‘as much and as accurate news’ as possible was to be published so as to keep the public informed about the course of the war and also to ‘combat baseless and demoralizing conjectures’. 17
What else was censorable? The list of don’ts for the press was long. According to subject-wise ‘Press Notices’ attached to the Press Instructions for War, the press was forbidden to disclose without official authorization, directly or indirectly, the absence from India of senior military and civil officials. The Viceroy’s movements in India could be given full publicity, but no prospective announcement was to be published unless first checked with the Principal Information Officer. 18 Without official sanction, the press was forbidden to publish news of the outbreak of an epidemic among the forces at home or abroad. They were also forbidden to publish anything that suggested that any naval, military or air action was the result of information received about the enemy’s projects or intention. 19 Without prior permission from the Chief Censor, no articles other than by authorized correspondents regarding operations at the front could be published: no summary of casualties by units or dates, no statements describing ‘either the fire of the enemy or its result’, no description of the effects of gas on His Majesty’s forces, or of the results of the use of any novel weapon of war, ‘or of their moral effect on our men’. As the censoring of soldiers’ letters at the front authorized their delivery but not their publication, officers’ and soldiers’ letters were not to be published either. No articles by a military expert or critic, and no photographs of any incident related to the war were to be published without prior sanction from the Press Adviser (PA). There was another forbidden item: advertisements inviting officers and men in the field to communicate with strangers. This was because during the First World War the GOI had discovered that enemy agents (‘especially women’) began corresponding with troops and collected all sorts of information. 20 The press could also not publish details about the escape of British or Allied prisoners, as this was ‘certain to lead to greater vigilance by the enemy’. The press was also asked not to publish accounts of prisoners commenting adversely on their captivity, as this would cause the enemy to treat prisoners still with them even worse. 21 Accounts of air raids were not to be published unless an official report had been issued, or permission obtained to publish an unofficial account from the PA. Unless official figures had been released, no mention was to be made of the number of casualties, or photographs of the injured or the dead. 22 Without the approval of the Chief Censor or the PA no information (articles, letters or statistics) was to be published about the stocks of grain and flour, or their shipment to and from India. 23 Finally, circulation of this long list of banned subjects was itself banned: it was a confidential document, and was not to pass into the hands of persons who were not intended to know what it contained. 24
The boundaries demarcating potentially censorable material were subjected to strains, resistance, and amendment, and not only from journalists. In March 1942, Francis Mudie, the Chief Secretary of the United Provinces, suggested to the GOI that newspapers be allowed to publish news of the arrival in India of British and Allied troops (prohibited under the Press Instructions for War). Why? Because this news was likely to ‘hearten people and sustain their morale.’ 25 The General Staff Branch (GSB) agreed with the suggestion. While exact information regarding number of troops and aircrafts, etc. could not be divulged, ‘A certain amount of information will, however, be permitted to “leak out”’. 26 Censorship in war-time was a delicate balancing act, and the state had to be sufficiently flexible to accommodate changing circumstances, and juggle competing priorities.
The Censorship organization was under the control of the military Commander-in-Chief, and the Chief Censor (also a military official) was enjoined to cooperate with civilian departments of the GOI, and to advise the Home Department (HD) on press control during the war. Additionally, the HD appointed a Chief Press Censor, later renamed Chief Press Censor and Adviser, but referred to only as Chief Press Adviser (CPA) in all official correspondence, in keeping with the GOI’s – revealing – preference for the term ‘advice’ over ‘censorship’. 27
Who served as press censors in India during the war? Not only civil servants and military officials, but also journalists. Whether these people were formally designated ‘censors’ or ‘advisers’, they performed a similar function, that of deciding what could and could not be published. By co-opting journalists (‘Poacher Turned Gamekeeper’, as The Times referred to one in his obituary) to police other journalists, the GOI hoped to soften criticism against censorship. 28 Journalists monitoring the press were the perfect alibi for state censorship masquerading as self-regulation. Although neither official at the apex of the Press Advisory organization was Indian, Indians were appointed Provincial Press Advisers. 29 For instance, of a total of thirty-one PAs in India in 1940–1941, fifteen, or just about half, were Indian. At the provincial level, senior civil servants doubled as censors. 30 At the local level, District Magistrates or Deputy Magistrates tendered ‘press advice’ when required. 31
The next section examines official concern with public morale and – perhaps more revealingly – with official discretion.
‘Rebuking the babblers’: Boosting civilian morale and official discretion
The Indian press
On 22 September 1940, Pratap, an Urdu newspaper published in Lahore published a picture of the British King’s two daughters on a boat on the Thames, incorrectly captioning it ‘British Princesses have been kept safe in Canada’. The GOI first verified the news from the India Office 32 ; when it was established to be false, the initial reaction in the HD was to ask PAs to warn the press not to publish such ‘obviously sensational rumours’. 33 When the HD established that the news had been published in only one paper (and not many as had been suggested earlier), had not attracted much attention, and that a contradiction had been published by the same paper, they decided to ignore the matter. 34 The CPA, Desmond Young, established that the mistake had been made by a sub-editor who wrote ‘Canada’ instead of ‘London’, and confessed that he knew of no way to prevent sub-editors from making mistakes. He expressed confidence that such rumours in cables would almost certainly be stopped. 35 However, given that the contradiction was published almost two weeks after the original picture had appeared, the damage had already long been done. Readers of Pratap had absorbed the impression that even the British King was in a state of panic.
When it came to monitoring, and directing the tone of newspapers in a war-time context, the GOI had to pay attention not only to what Indian owned newspapers (in English or in the vernaculars) were saying, but arguably more so to British owned ones. ‘Respectable’ publications, of which the Statesman perhaps headed the list, had to be monitored all the more carefully precisely because they were perceived to be pro-British, and therefore their assessment of success and failure in the war was taken much more seriously by the public. In April 1942, A.V. Askwith, the Chief Commissioner of Delhi, wrote to Richard Tottenham, Additional Secretary in the HD, complaining about articles in the Statesman, to which his attention had been drawn by both British and Indian people. As an example of the kind of articles he wanted stopped, Askwith cited the following line from a leading article: ‘It is folly, so colossal as to be even too sublime, to suggest that a foreign Government running a war on cumbrous British methods without the active sympathy of the people can check the infiltrating ants [the Japanese].’
36
Askwith commented:
The trend of the articles in question is that unless the present Government of India is replaced by a “national” Government there is no hope of stopping a Japanese invasion of India. The effect on European readers, who for the most part have no faith in “national” Governments, is depressing in the extreme, but the effect on Indian opinion is even more important. To the average Indian, what is written in the
Askwith suggested that if the GOI felt hesitant in demanding security from the Statesman, ‘surely an attempt should be made to get at Mr. Arthur Moore [the editor], through friends or otherwise, and make him understand the enormous harm which he is doing.’ 38
Askwith’s fear that the general tone of the Statesman would encourage Indian politicians to challenge colonial authority further was not unfounded. Even before this particular piece was published, Mohan Lal Saksena, a Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA), addressed a meeting in Delhi in March 1942 commenting on the weakness of an Empire that could retain neither Singapore nor Malaya. He referred explicitly to the Statesman by name, suggesting that even a paper that always opposed Indian claims had asked the British government to change their policy towards India or risk losing it. Saksena went on to express a complete lack of confidence in the ability of the British to protect India thus: ‘…we kept a chaukidar [guard] and paid him but all payments have been made in vain.’ 39 The reaction of the GOI to this speech gives some indication of the relative weakness of the colonial state at this time. The HD concluded that although speeches made by some MLAs had been ‘bad’, ‘considering the time at which and the circumstances under which they were made’, the speakers would not be prosecuted. 40
This is not to say that the GOI did not attempt to censor a vast range of rumours. They occasionally did, and they usually failed. In 1941, an MLA told Sir Reginald Maxwell, the Home Member, that newspaper vendors in Delhi were resorting to a clever way of selling more copies of their papers: they were ‘shouting alarming cries, e.g. that England has been invaded.’ The Home Member thought this was a serious issue, and asked the Delhi police ‘to make a very strong drive against this most prejudicial practice’, and to press for ‘exemplary punishments on the offenders’. 41 In response, Askwith, the Chief Commissioner of Delhi acknowledged that this practice had been reported since May 1940, and that although instructions had been issued to the police they had found this impossible to control. Askwith also claimed that he had established (by seeking non-official opinion) that the effect of these cries was ‘negligible’ as ‘The Delhi public is educated to discount what is said in news vendors’ cries or any other form of advertisements.’ 42
Askwith’s dismissal of the ill effect of these cries was somewhat premature. In November 1941, an Indian, pro-British employee of the Bhopal State Forces (who had also been writing, with the Government’s permission, articles on the successful prosecution of the war) wrote to F.W. Puckle, the Information and Broadcasting Secretary of the GOI, informing him that newspaper sellers in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk and near Jama Masjid:
…shout very objectionable, undesirable, mischievous and anti-Government slogans and news items for selling their one or two pice (unit of currency; one sixty-fourth of a Rupee) vernacular papers. The tone of shouting is generally alarming and anti-Government. The truth can be well verified by travelling in a tram-car in the evenings […] in these war days such things should not pass un-noticed. The effect on the masses is generally bad.
43
A British colonial official and an Indian loyalist thus held completely different views on the harm done or not done by the same rumour. Part of the problem in quelling rumours was that they were not entirely untrue. Officials were aware that every rumour did have a link – however tenuous – to the truth. As even the Delhi Chief Commissioner acknowledged:
The practical difficulty is that the sensational cries nearly always have a fair foundation of truth. “
The focus on civilian morale often led officials on the ground to make decisions concerning censorship (of news of military reversals, for instance) that proved to be counter-productive in the long run. Dinker Rao Mankekar, a journalist who served as Reuters’ correspondent in Colombo and the Burma front during the war, recalled that when almost all of Kohima in Eastern India was captured by the Japanese except for a tiny hill holding a British garrison, journalists were forbidden from reporting that the town had been lost. Consequently, when the British army began reclaiming the town, Mankekar had great difficulty when he had to ‘explain to readers why British troops were attacking a British-held town!’. In his opinion, this censorship was self-defeating: Japanese radio (Radio Tokyo) could easily be listened to in India and it broadcast exaggerated reports of Japanese military successes in Indian territory. In Mankekar’s view, colonial officials were inflexible about allowing publication of any information that they considered could dampen morale. The problem then occurred because this covered ‘almost everything in those tense days of external war cum internal-nationalist struggle.’ 45 By censoring news, the colonial state also failed to counter Japanese propaganda.
Civil and military officials
If morale was the primary concern when it came to the Indian public, lack of discretion was the fear when the state considered its own personnel. In June 1940, the General Staff Branch of the Military directed the attention of the HD to the public spread of ‘alarmist stories and defeatist views’ by GOI officials in places such as the Cecil Hotel in the then summer capital of British India, Simla. They urged the HD to ensure that officials did not cause alarm, and instead used their influence to boost morale. 46 The HD obliged, reminding officers that ‘anyone who spreads alarm or encourages a defeatist attitude is directly helping the enemy.’ 47 The need to remind officials to be discreet was not peculiar to India alone: in July 1940 Churchill reminded officials in Great Britain about the importance of checking ‘loose ill-digested opinion’, and punishing those who exercised a ‘disturbing or depressing influence.’ 48 In India there was concern expressed in the highest echelons of officialdom that officials’ wives and families could undermine the secrecy required to win the war. For instance, in June 1940 the Commander-in-Chief himself issued a circular to military officers noting the ‘careless and dangerous talk on subjects connected with the war, and even in regard to highly confidential and secret matters […] by ladies in Simla.’ He asked officers to warn the women in their families against this, failing which ‘drastic disciplinary action’ would be taken against husbands. 49 In July, a similar warning was issued by the HD, informing officers that they would be responsible for irresponsible talk by their families. 50
As the war dragged on and Britain suffered losses, defeatist talk emerged victorious over official reminders about exercising discretion. Drafting a reminder in March 1942 to officials regarding the need for discretion, F.H. Puckle suggested in jest that the reminder end with the statement: ‘Keep a stiff jaw if you can; if you can’t, at least keep a shut one.’
51
Let alone controlling or influencing what Indians felt about the war, British colonial officials despaired of controlling defeatist talk even in their own circle! As one official put it:
The amount of this kind of talk that is going on is very considerable. I hear of it, – though I have not heard much directly, – from all sides. I very much doubt whether circulars will really make much difference […] I feel that there are only two people whose words are really likely to inspire confidence. One is the Prime Minister and the other is General Wavell. […] I understand that there is a great deal of this defeatist talk going on in Delhi, particularly among women, but by no means only among them. There is a type of young energetic and clever Staff Officer who does not know what is going on top, whose criticism of mistakes often borders on defeatism.
The same official suggested that the Commander-in-Chief address all officers of the GHQ that ‘he personally felt confident and cheerful and saw good grounds for such feeling’. He guessed that ‘nine-tenths of the defeatist talk among women is repeated from their husbands, who possibly have discretion enough to keep their mouths shut in public but not in private.’ 52
That the GOI had to issue repeated reminders to its own officials is in itself proof of its failure to quell the spread of rumours even among official circles. In March 1942, the HD reminded all departments of the GOI as well as all provincial governments and Chief Commissioners of the need for discretion, quoting Churchill’s 1940 message.
53
The GHQ, on its part, issued a directive to all its branches Churchill’s message, and asking officers and their wives (including ones evacuated from Malaya and Burma) to desist from spreading rumour and defeatist talk.
54
Even before receiving this directive from the GOI, in February 1942 the Punjab government had already issued a long circular letter to all District Magistrates stating that:
Some elements of the populace are defeatist by nature, others by design, others by infection. The natural defeatist is comparatively rare, but his incurably faint head carries a contagion of wretchedness and anxiety which may spread over a wide area if not checked. The traitor who deliberately magnifies reverses or invents un-nerving rumour is only dangerous as long as he escapes detection. It is necessary to hearten, or if that is not possible, at least to silence the first type and to detect and remove the second, if the naturally sound elements are to be saved from infection. […] A supposedly responsible Government official by an incautious obiter dictum may do more harm than a professional agitator in a full dress oration.
55
The letter continued that although it was ‘unthinkable’ that the combined might of the Allied powers be defeated by the Axis, Japan’s ‘spectacular successes’ could have altered the sense of proportion of many people in India. Government officials were asked to impress upon civilian non-officials that cooperation in the war effort would entitle them to ‘preferential treatment which will not be accorded to the indifferent or definitely antagonistic.’ 56 The colonial state found that it had to first set its own house in order before commanding or demanding enthusiasm for the war effort from the Indian public.
Parallel to the GOI’s effort to control its own flock, the European Association’s representative in the Central Legislative Assembly issued a letter to its members commenting on the depressing effect on public morale in India of Japanese victories, and urging responsible people not to make ‘gloomy statements in the presence of servants or other imperfectly educated people’. The letter included several instances of defeatist talk by European women; one deferred purchases of silk articles by telling a peddler to ‘come back in six months’ time if the Japs [sic] are not here by then’, while another lamented that perhaps her next visit to the Purana Qila [the Old Fort in Delhi] would be as ‘prisoners of the Japanese.’ The letter quoted a third statement made in a train by a ‘high Indian official’ that Wavell had said that he could not defend India. The Association urged Europeans to ‘stop loose and depressing talk about the war in the presence of servants or others’, and to prevent the spread of rumours by, among other means, ‘rebuking the babblers’. 57
Conclusion
More than three years before the Second World War broke out, the Empire Press Union (during their annual conference at London in July 1936) passed a resolution explaining how exactly states ought – and ought not – to censor news during a crisis. The resolution stated:
That in times of grave emergency, or when racial or communal passions are aroused, a censorship of news may be necessary; but such censorship, if and when exercised, should be in accord with definite, reasonable and known rules, and that as little room as possible should be left for interpretation by individual officials.
58
The resolution also suggested that censorship be followed by publication of an official version of events, and should take into account the presence of the wireless and therefore ‘not ban the printed word when the air is filled with rumour, often from foreign and possibly unfriendly sources.’ It opined that the best form of censorship was one that was not imposed by the state on the press, but one which was the result of cooperation between them. As the Union’s resolution put it:
…the wisest and most useful form of censorship in any circumstances is free cooperation between officials and newspaper Press […] Whenever such co-operation has been invited the traditions of the Empire’s Press have guaranteed a security far more effective than any laws, ordinances or regulations, however drastic.
59
In light of the ‘ideal’ form of ‘enlightened’ censorship imagined by the Empire Press Union, this article has examined the practice of state censorship in India during a moment of crisis: the outbreak of the Second World War.
Conventional wisdom holds that with the coming of the War ‘the voice of dissent was stifled by pre-censorship and a system of press advisers…’. 60 This article questions and complicates this neat picture of successful censorship. The colonial state in India during the Second World War, when faced with an array of crises ranging from hostile political opposition to potential invasion, attempted with some success to implement part of the second suggestion contained in the Empire Press Union resolution of 1936 (regarding censorship with press cooperation), but failed to comply with the first, as the exercise of censorship was not carried out according to centrally issued directives, and individual official discretion could never be eliminated in the exercise of censorial power. Additionally, cooperation with the press was supplemented by a safety net of laws, ordinances and regulations, to which resort was taken when cooperation had reached its limits.
War brought home to the colonial state the very many areas where censorship was required (including on the speech of their own personnel, Indian and British owned papers, as well as the more expected fora of dissent), and showed it the limits of censorship as well. That the colonial state was concerned about morale of serving military personnel in war-time is not surprising, but the extent to which it monitored its own personnel in India is unexpected. The state in Britain too was concerned about morale, and in fact enforced financial penalties for dampening it. 61
Censorship of news reports as ‘control of publicity’; censors as ‘press adviser’: these were some of the euphemisms used for censorship in India. Complete censorship was not in the interest of the colonial state, as it would leave the field free for rumour in India, and for publication of exaggerated stories abroad, in the American press for example. Ironically, Germany played a major – albeit unintentional – role in preventing total black-out of news in India during the Second World War. The activities of German broadcasting authorities were, according to E. Conran Smith, the GOI Home Secretary:
…a fatal objection to any complete black-out. The widest and most exaggerated stories will be broadcast by the German propaganda people and in the absence of any news in the Indian press such stories will stand a good chance of acceptance. In other words, German propaganda will have an almost unoccupied field for their atrocity stories.
62
The tolerance of the press and public for state censorship increased during times of war. Although the press and public opinion was more likely to accept censorship on military rather than political grounds, as the war drew on it became impossible to separate the military from the political. This was especially true of India, where political ‘bad news’ (from the colonial state’s perspective) could either be used by Axis powers for propaganda, or divert and distract the state’s resources towards quelling internal disturbances. 63
Gerald Barrier suggests that although censorship measures used by the state in India during the Second World War were similar to those used during the First World War, censorship became even more elaborate due to the presence of the Japanese threat. He argues that the colonial state, with its new, urgent, priorities tried to reduce conflict with its political opponents in India. 64 This is borne out by the evidence, and the organized press (which was well aware of the role it could play in mobilizing support for or against the state) was able to negotiate terms of control with the state in a way that had never before been possible. The narrative of press–governments relations in the 1940s is, contrary to the conventional image, not one of state repression alone. The colonial state at this time rested, not very firmly, on the shifting sands of morale and public opinion.
If we accept that censorship is perverse acknowledgment of the power of print, then state censorship can be understood as a measure of the importance a state attaches to public opinion. This article has argued that non-democratic states can be as acutely conscious of criticism – and as vigilant about public opinion – as democratic ones, since they are less sure of their standing and legitimacy. A colonial state displaying great concern for public opinion: this is the paradox of the British colonial state in war-time India.
Footnotes
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The author was the recipient of a Junior Research Fellowship of the University Grants Commission, Government of India, while this research was conducted. She has benefitted from the comments of participants at the 8th Annual Decolonization Seminar (organized by the American Historical Association and the Library of Congress) in Washington, D.C., in 2013.
*
Note on Sources: This paper is based on primary sources available at the National Archives of India, New Delhi (Home Political files), and on published reports of the British Government of India available there, and at the Nehru Memorial Museum and Library in New Delhi. These sources are supplemented by Indian newspapers such as The Times of India and the Statesman, and records of the Office of Censorship, National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, USA.
1
Ranajit Guha makes a forceful case for the study of anxiety in the context of empire; he urges a questioning of the conventional image of empire ‘as a sort of a machine operated by a crew who know only how to decide but not to doubt, who know only action but no circumspection, and, in the event of a breakdown, only fear and no anxiety.’ Ranajit Guha, ‘Not at Home in Empire’, in Saurabh Dube, ed., Postcolonial Passages: Contemporary History Writing on India (New Delhi, 2004), p.42.
2
That is, according to the 1921 census there were approximately 18 million literates in a population of 247 million. Moral and Material Progress and Condition of India During the Year 1930–31 (London, 1932), p.625.
3
Report of the Indian Statutory Commission, Vol.1 – Survey part VII: Public Opinion in India, (London, 1930), pp.406–7. I have used figures from the 1921 census and not the 1931 one, as the Simon Commission would have had access to the 1921 figures while formulating their views.
4
This was true of the aim of war-time censorship in the United States as well. According to Byron Price, the Director of the Office of Censorship of the US government, its use was both defensive and offensive, as well as limited. As Price put it, ‘That which does not concern the war does not concern censorship.’ Statement made by Price to the United States Senate at a hearing titled ‘Investigation concerning the disclosure of information obtained through censorship’ held on 23 May 1944 at Washington DC, Box 10, Office of Censorship, Record Group 216, National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, USA.
5
‘Duty of Indian Newspapers in War Time: Sir A. Hydari’s Plea’, The Times of India, 19 December 1941.
6
According to the proponents of ‘new censorship’ (who derive inspiration from the theories of Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu) censorship is not merely regulatory but structural or constitutive in nature. For a survey and critique of the new models of censorship studies, see Beate Müller, ‘Censorship and Cultural Regulation: Mapping the Territory’, in Beate Müller, ed., Censorship & Cultural Regulation in the Modern Age (Amsterdam, 2004), pp.1–12 and Deana Heath, ‘Obscenity, Censorship, and Modernity’, in Simon Eliot and Jonathan Rose, eds, A Companion to the History of the Book (London, 2007), pp.510–12.
7
For an account of military morale, see Kaushik Roy, ‘Discipline and Morale of the African, British, and Indian Army units in Burma and India during World War II: July 1943 to August 1945’, Modern Asian Studies XLIV (2010), pp.1255–82.
8
Johannes Voigt, India in the Second World War (Michigan, 1988).
9
For an account of anxiety surrounding the feared Japanese invasion of India in 1942 see Indivar Kamtekar, ‘The Shiver of 1942’, Studies in History XVIII (2002), pp.81–102. Kamtekar has also demonstrated the very real impact of amorphous rumours: large scale withdrawals of deposits from banks and Post Office savings accounts, indicating a loss of faith in the colonial government during crucial points in the war years.
10
Yasmin Khan, The Raj at War: A People’s History of India’s Second World War (Gurgaon, 2015).
11
This is further discussed in Srinath Raghavan, India’s War: The Making of Modern South Asia, 1939–1945 (New Delhi, 2016). Raghavan focuses on the role played by Indian refugees fleeing Burma in 1942 in disseminating rumours about the collapse of the government, and classifies rumours into several kinds, including those about the inability of the government to meet the Japanese threat, the danger of imminent bombing of specific towns, and about the shifting of government offices. See India’s War, pp.258–63.
12
For a discussion of war-time laws pertaining to the press, see Aurobindo Mazumdar, Indian Press and Freedom Struggle, 1937–42 (New Delhi, 1993), pp.159–70 and N.G. Barrier, Banned: Controversial Literature and Political Control in British India 1907–1947 (Columbia, 1974).
13
Memorandum on Press Control including (1) control of Publicity, and (2) control of Press messages, sent to all provincial governments by R. Tottenham, Additional Secretary GOI, with letter No. 3/13/40-Poll. (I), 2 August 1940, Home Political (I), f.3/13 and unprinted K.W., 1940, National Archives of India (hereafter NAI) New Delhi.
14
Press Instructions for War, pp.1–3. Home Political, f.122, 1941, NAI.
15
Note by R. Tottenham, 15 September 1941, Home Political, f.88/14 (I), 1941, NAI.
16
See footnote 13.
17
Press Instructions for War, p.1.
18
Press Instructions for War, part II, Press Notice No. II: The Viceroy, the Indian Legislature, the Government, etc. p.5.
19
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. III: Naval, Military and Air Force matters generally, p.6.
20
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. V: Military Matters, pp.9–11.
21
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. VII: Prisoners of War, p.13.
22
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. IX: Air Raids, pp.15–16.
23
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. XIV: Supplies, p.22.
24
Press Instructions for War, Press Notice No. I: Censorship and Control generally, p.4.
25
D.O. No. 7/42-P.A., 28 March 1942, from F. Mudie to R. Tottenham. Home Political (I), f.33/11, 1942, NAI.
26
Note by Brig. W.J. Cawthorn, Director Military Intelligence, GSB, 7 April 1942. Tottenham. Home Political (I), f.33/11, 1942, NAI.
27
F.D. Bartley was the original Chief Press Censor, and after Desmond Young succeeded him, the Chief Press Censor came to be known as the Chief Press Adviser (although the formal designation was Chief Press Censor and Adviser).
28
Bernard Kirchner’s obituary in The Times, 20 January 1982. In 1940, the CPA’s office consisted of two officers, both erstwhile journalists: Desmond Young, the CPA, had served as editor and managing director of The Pioneer for over seven years, while E.V. Britter, the Assistant PA had worked for six years as assistant editor and news editor with the Pioneer, and for five years as assistant editor of The Times of India. Young was succeeded in 1941 by Bernard Kirchner as CPA, who had previously served as managing editor of the Delhi edition of the Statesman.
29
Home Political (I), f.8/3, 1940, NAI. For additional information about Indian staff, see Appendix VI of this file.
30
See Appendix I of Home Political (I), f.33/32, 1941, NAI.
31
In Britain during the war, press censors were mostly ‘retired officers, barristers, solicitors, publishers, journalists, teachers, art critics, and advertising agents.’ Donald Thomas, Freedom’s Frontier: Censorship in Modern Britain (London, 2008), p.131. See also Robert Mackay, Half the Battle: Civilian Morale in Britain During the Second World War (Manchester, 2003).
32
Telegrams exchanged between GOI and India Office, 26–27 September 1940. Home Political (I), f.33/16, 1940, NAI.
33
Note by R. Tottenham, 2 October 1940, Home Political (I), f.33/16, 1940, NAI.
34
Note by SRN, 5 November 1940, Home Political (I), f.33/16, 1940, NAI.
35
Note by D. Young, 6 November 1940, Home Political (I), f.33/16, 1940, NAI.
36
The Statesman, 12 April 1942, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
37
Confidential D.O. No. 912/C., 14 April 1942, from A.V. Askwith to R. Tottenham. Newspaper names underlined in the original, emphasis added, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
38
Confidential D.O. No. 912/C., 14 April 1942, from A.V. Askwith to R. Tottenham. Newspaper names underlined in the original, emphasis added, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
39
Translation of a shorthand report of a speech delivered by Mohan Lal Saksena, MLA, at a meeting in Nai Basti, Delhi city on 31 March 1942. The audience size was estimated to be 200–250. Enclosure with D.O. No. F. 37/42-S.B.,17 April 1942, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
40
Note by R. Tottenham, 15 April 1942, and Draft Reply No. 73/42-Poll (I), 25 April 1942, from R. Tottenham to A.V. Askwith, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
41
Note by Home Member, 21 February 1941. Home Political (I), f.144, 1941, NAI.
42
D.O. No. F.10 (30)/41-General, 1 March 1941, from A.V. Askwith to R. Tottenham, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942. Underlined in original.
43
Letter from S.L. Vasudeva to F.W. Puckle, 20 November 1941. Vasudeva’s pro-Government articles appeared in the Frontier Mail, Peshawar. The letter was acknowledged, and no further action was taken. Letter No. D. 6431/41, 24 November 1941, from F.W. Puckle to S.L. Vasudeva, clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942.
44
D.O. No. F.10 (30)/41-General, 1 March 1941, from A.V. Askwith to R. Tottenham. clipping in Home Political (I), f.73, 1942. Underlined in original.
45
D.R. Mankekar, Leaves from a War Reporter’s Dairy (New Delhi, 1977), pp.99–100 and pp.53–6.
46
Note by GSB official (signature illegible), 1 June 1940. Home Political (I), f.117, 1940, NAI.
47
HD memo No.117/40-Political (W), 8 June 1940. Home Political (I), f.117, 1940, NAI.
48
Churchill also read this message in the British Parliament on 4 July 1940. Reported in Reuters’ Government and Press Telegram No. 31, 5 July 1940. Home Political (I), f.117, 1940, NAI.
49
General Staff Branch circular, 25 June 1940, signed by Major General G. Molesworth on behalf of General Sir R.A. Cassels, the Commander-in-Chief. Home Political (I), f.117, 1940, NAI.
50
HD memo No. 117/40-Political (W), 9 July 1940. Home Political (I), f.117, 1940, NAI.
51
Note by F.W. Puckle, 3 March 1942. Home Political (I), f.66/42, 1942.
52
Note by P. Mason, 18 March 1942. Home Political (I), f.66/42, 1942.
53
HD memo No. 66/42-Political (I) dated 11 March 1942. Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll. (I), 15 March 1942, to all provincial governments and Chief Commissioners. Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll.
54
Directive No. 8472/1/A.G.8(a), GHQ, Adjutant General’s Branch, 21 March 1942. Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll.
55
Circular letter No. 2140-70-W.D.S.B., 20 February 1942 from F.C. Bourne, Chief Secretary Punjab, to all District Magistrates. See also letter from F.C. Bourne to R. Tottenham, 25 March 1942. Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll. Emphasis added.
56
Circular letter No. 2140-70-W.D.S.B., 20 February 1942 from F.C. Bourne, Chief Secretary Punjab, to all District Magistrates. See also letter from F.C. Bourne to R. Tottenham, 25 March 1942., Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll.
57
Draft of letter (undated) sent by Representative of the European Association in the Central Legislative Assembly. An official suggested that a modified form of the letter be issued to all GOI and provincial government officials, and to the chairmen of all big industrial and commercial associations, but nothing came of this suggestion. Notes by official (unsigned), 4 May 1942, and by F.W. Puckle, 7 May 1942. Draft confidential D.O. No. 66/42-Poll.
58
Resolution passed on 9 July 1936. The Empire Press Union (EPU) forwarded a copy of the resolution to the Secretary of State for India, who sent it on to the GOI. GOI Home Political f.161, 1936.
59
In her study of the EPU, Chandrika Kaul describes how it was an outcome of the Imperial Press Conferences (the first of which was held in London in 1909) and was formed to encourage sharing of information within the empire. It had an Indian branch as well, centred at the Statesman Office in Calcutta. Kaul has shown how the EPU was initially dominated by Anglo-Indian (i.e. British owned) newspapers and intended to promote the imperial cause, but by the 1940s Indian nationalist papers were active in it too. In 1943, K. Srinivasan, the editor of the Hindu was the Chairman of the Indian branch of the EPU. Kaul suggests that the EPU passed this particular resolution specifically with reference to India. Chandrika Kaul, ‘India, the Imperial Press Conferences and the Empire Press Union: The Diplomacy of News in the Politics of Empire, 1909–1946’ in Chandrika Kaul, ed., Media and the British Empire (Basingstoke, 2006), pp.137–8.
60
M.V. Desai, Communication Policies in India (Paris, 1977), p.23.
61
In Britain, under the Defence Regulations in force since 1940, the offence of ‘spreading alarm and despondency’ could result in imprisonment, and a fine. Donald Thomas cites numerous examples of prosecution and reprimand for this offence and for ‘careless talk’. Thomas, Freedom’s Frontier, pp.151–3.
62
Note by E. Conran Smith, 16 May 1940. Home Political, f.3/2, 1940, NAI.
63
For a brief account of German propaganda strategies in India, see Yasmin Khan, The Raj at War, pp.40–2. For a full-length account of British propaganda strategies in India, see Sanjoy Bhattacharya, Propaganda and Information in Eastern India 1939–45: A Necessary Weapon of War (Richmond, 2001). Johannes Voight discusses the susceptibility of the Indian public to radio broadcasts by Axis powers. Voight, India in the Second World War, pp.109–13 and pp.163–4.
64
Barrier, Banned, pp.144–5.