Decolonising medieval history modules – Without going global

Introduction

In History departments in the United Kingdom where decolonising activities are underway, the teaching staff at the forefront of attempts to decolonise the curriculum tend to be historians of the modern world, particularly those who work on the ‘Global South’, European imperial expansion, the transatlantic slave trade, and histories of race and racism. These are the academics who actively engage in decolonising debates as part of their research and who have been leading by example in decolonising their modules (see, for example, Behm et al., 2020; Finn and Gupta, 2020: 28–40). But they are not the only ones to re-evaluate their teaching along decolonising principles. Scholars of medieval Europe have also been engaging with decolonising ideas and reconsidering the ways in which we might teach our subject areas (see, for example, Dagenais and Greer, 2000b; Davis and Altschul, 2009; Heng, 2018; Kabir and Williams, 2005; Kim, 2019; Whitaker, 2015; Young, 2020). Indeed, particular attention has been paid to the various problematic theoretical paradigms that underpin the teaching of the medieval topics in higher education, both in peer-reviewed publications (Albin et al., 2019; Coles et al., 2019; Heng, 2023; Krummel and Pugh, 2017) and in non–peer-reviewed blog posts (Black, 2019; Kim, 2017; Rajabzadeh, 2017; Young, 2017). There can be no doubt that the main concerns of the decolonising movement, that is, the privileging of Western, white, male experiences, and perspectives, have also shaped medieval history, both in the historical sources that were produced and preserved and in the scholarship that has interpreted them. However, the fact that decolonising approaches are rooted in discussions relating to the modern and contemporary worlds poses challenges when attempting to integrate decolonising debates into modules relating to medieval Europe. This is because the contexts within which many medievalists work lack the racial diversity and geographic extent of later, more globalised, societies. Even so, pursuing active attempts to decolonise our medieval modules is both possible and necessary.

As noted by John Dagenais and Margaret Greer, two scholars prominent in the academic movement to decolonise Medieval Studies, the ‘colonization of the past is an indispensable companion of empire’ (Dagenais and Greer, 2000a: 436). This means that our understanding of the medieval world has been shaped by later discourses of empire and racial hierarchies and reflects attempts by particular groups of society – frequently, elite, white males – to dominate cultural memory and to limit access to the more inclusive and varied past of lived reality. The effect of this, as highlighted by Dorothy Kim, is that both the Middle Ages and, indeed, the field of Medieval Studies have been viewed as spaces in which white supremacy is upheld (Kim, 2016). At a time of heightened divisive and racialised political rhetoric on both sides of the Atlantic, the onus is now upon medieval scholars actively to disassociate our work and teaching practices from white nationalist narratives (see Chatelain, 2017). Building upon the more theoretically focused work of scholars such as Geraldine Heng and Adam Miyashiro (Heng, 2018, 2021; Miyashiro, 2019), this article explores two case studies which serve to illustrate the practicalities, outcomes, and benefits of implementing a decolonising teaching philosophy in the classroom. They show how decolonised approaches to modules that focus on medieval Europe enrich the curriculum by offering students new perspectives not just on medieval material, but on the arguments of – and assumptions behind – modern scholarship.

Decolonising medieval teaching

The decolonising movement responds, primarily, to issues of systemic racism and inequalities in modern and contemporary society which are seen to be the consequences of Western European colonial expansion beginning in the late fifteenth century and continuing into the twentieth. Decolonising critiques of History, as a discipline, have highlighted the Eurocentric nature of traditional historical approaches, and the ways in which they encode assumptions of racial hierarchies and superiority. Engagement with the decolonising movement offers medieval scholars opportunities to reframe their approaches in line with scholarship in other parts of the discipline and to ask important new questions of medieval material. But it also poses significant challenges, not least in raising existential questions about the validity of ‘Middle Ages’ and ‘medieval’ as designators of periodisation based on Eurocentric trajectories of change, and, indeed, ‘Europe’, as the concept of a unified geographical region with a shared ‘Western’ culture (Davis and Puett, 2015; Gopal, 2021; Heng, 2021; McClure, 2015). Currently, the convenience of these terms as designators of scholarship on the geographical area of Europe between c. 400 and c. 1500 has outweighed any suggestions to reframe or to rename this area of studies. Likewise, there is also no suggestion that studying Europe or particular areas of Europe in this period is, in itself, problematic: the issues relate to the framing of this research in a global context and an unspoken assumption of Western ‘exceptionalism’. Medievalists are, as has been noted above, increasingly acknowledging the ways in which colonial discourses have shaped the remit, perspectives, and perceived value of our research. And, like our early modern and modern peers, we are keen to engage with the issues raised by the decolonising movement and to incorporate decolonising approaches into our methodological toolbox. However, some of the core assumptions of this movement and its literature reflect contexts of power and knowledge that are more racially diverse and self-consciously global than societies in Europe before c. 1450 (see, for example, Andrews, 2019; Smith, 2021; Trouillot, 1995) – and makes integrating this into our field a slightly more complex process. Careful consideration needs to be given to what decolonising means for the teaching of medieval material in practice, before these principles can be embedded in our modules.

In Exeter, this process began in 2020 when, largely in response to the global protests of the Black Lives Matter movement, staff in History began a department-wide project to embed decolonising principles in the curriculum and to demonstrate, clearly, our support for and engagement with these approaches (University of Exeter, Department of Archaeology and History, 2023). ¹ As part of this project, members of medieval teaching staff convened to discuss our understanding of decolonisation and to troubleshoot how we might apply this concept to our modules. ² Much of the summary that follows is based on this discussion.

As concluded by Exeter’s medievalist working group, it seems that the decolonising process can be separated into two main components. The first is decolonising as an intellectual concept that concerns the destabilisation of knowledge and the recognition that there can be multiple perspectives on the past. In practice, this means recognising the impact of colonial assumptions of hierarchy and superiority that shape scholarship on the medieval world and moving away from teaching ‘history’ as a single dominant narrative with an emphasis on ‘truth’ to teaching ‘histories’ that more fully recognise issues with the scholarship and the constructed, problematic nature of our primary sources. This builds on what is, largely, current practice within the discipline. It includes an emphasis on critical distance with the medieval period as past and other; and challenging modern conceptions and teleologies relating to the medieval world. Alongside this, we need to make renewed efforts to foreground historical constructs, such as the ‘Middle Ages’, which are based on a particular, dominant, perspective on the past that takes the history of Western Europe as the global norm – they are part of the master narratives of imperialism highlighted by the decolonising movement. One way in which to counter these constructs is to offer a more global perspective by expanding the geographical coverage of medieval modules beyond Europe and into Asia and Africa, that is, offering a ‘global Middle Ages’, or to highlight interactions between Europeans and non-Europeans. In most cases, this requires academics either to teach outside their main areas of expertise and to familiarise themselves with primary source materials and historiographies relating to other cultures and societies, or to co-teach with colleagues who have expertise in these other areas. As a result, this approach seems to be more appropriate for introductory survey courses than specialist medieval modules taught later in the degree, many of which are in-depth studies of particular countries or regions within Europe.

The second component is decolonising as an inclusive concept that requires the representation of a range of voices and experiences, particularly those marginalised by structures of power. The diversifying of module content has been powerfully advocated by UK students in the ‘Why is My Curriculum White?’ movement (‘Why is my Curriculum White?’ collective, UCL, 2015) and the ‘Liberate the Curriculum’ campaign (National Union of Students, 2017). In practice, this means making conscious efforts to diversify core teaching content, by reconsidering the way we approach topics or the questions we can ask, and to diversify the materials cited, by offering students a wider variety of authors and perspectives – with the latter often being a response to the former (Behm et al., 2020: 178). This approach to decolonising can be applied to any medieval module.

However, although diversifying module content and reading sounds relatively straightforward, in practice, this is a complicated and, potentially, contentious area. The tokenistic addition of materials and authors should be avoided. If more inclusive material is not integral to the module themes or questions, this act becomes, in Christienna Fryar’s words, ‘performative rather than substantive’ (Behm et al., 2020: 178) – and may have little impact on student learning. Consideration also needs to be given to how we identify and distinguish under-represented and/or marginalised groups (Schucan Bird, 2023) and, indeed, what we mean by inclusivity and how we might measure it. Academic spaces remain zones of privilege, and the framework for inclusion/exclusion is defined by much broader systemic issues (Porteus, 2003). With regard to reading lists, should we aim simply for a more diverse range of authors? Or should we try to reach particular proportions of representation, for example, an even split in terms of gender? And, if so, how do we balance historical and ongoing inequalities in the discipline with this? We also need to acknowledge that pursuits of inclusivity means identifying particular characteristics of authors in ways that may, sometimes, seem intrusive. Although it is often possible to guess the probable heritage and/or gender of scholars based on names alone, this is not always the case. We need to be conscious of colonial legacies in relation to surnames as well as the tendency to assume that names without clear gender are male. Indeed, female scholars might choose to publish using gender-neutral initials rather than their first names in order to follow traditional, masculine academic convention and to draw on this authority, albeit at the risk of being misgendered (Criado-Perez, 2020: 96–97; Scala, 2005: 140 n.2). Basic research, for example, visiting academic staff webpages, may allow us to confirm assumptions based on names and to identify other characteristics. But there may be aspects of identity, ranging from race and ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religious denomination, or disabilities, which are not part of scholars’ public personae – and are, therefore, inappropriate to cite in assessments of diversity. This means that, to an extent, the process of diversifying reading lists is dependent upon the publicly identifiable characteristics of scholars. Having said this, it is easier now than previously to curate reading lists that appear more inclusive. Older scholarship is dominated by white males (see, for example, Rambaram-Olm, 2020); current scholarship is, almost certainly, more diverse in terms of both gender and race – although this can vary depending on the subfield. This means that it is possible to diversify reading lists, even slightly, simply by engaging with new scholarship. Another, broader, approach is to promote different schools of thought or historical perspectives, rather than focusing on the personal identities of scholars: for example, engaging with scholarship from non-Anglophone areas that has been translated (cf. Moosavi, 2020) or engaging with the work of postcolonial and decolonial scholars, approaches that offer similar challenges to Eurocentric narratives of history but have emerged from different fields and geographical areas of interest (Bhambra, 2014).

Diversifying primary sources also poses challenges. The question of how we identify characteristics, this time in relation to historical actors, remains. Again, we are, largely, dependent on their public personae. In some circumstances, scholars may feel able to identify other characteristics, particularly sexual orientation and gender; however, this is further complicated by differences in concepts and terminology now and in the past. Even so, there is little doubt that the vast majority of medieval primary sources were created by literate, white males – and this makes diversifying content based on author alone very difficult. Obviously, efforts should be made to include texts and artefacts produced by or at the request of individuals and communities beyond this dominant demographic. However, where this material is not available, the next best approach is to diversify those portrayed in primary sources by choosing to focus on groups beyond elite, white males – or, at least, to highlight absences in the archive. This will help to raise the visibility of marginalised groups and, through critical source analysis and ‘reading against the grain’, create space to explore their possible experiences and perspectives.

Since this discussion, the medievalists at Exeter have acted on these principles to differing degrees. For some, minor adjustments to existing modules in terms of tweaks to reading lists and source materials have been considered adequate, particularly when these modules already include more diverse content or scholarship. For others, responding to the call to decolonise has involved more significant changes to module content and design. In some cases, such as the first-year introductory survey module, ‘Understanding the Medieval and Early Modern World’, we have extended geographical range to present global histories. In others, we have chosen to embed decolonising principles through diversifying module content and reading – and this article will focus on case studies using this approach. The first case study, by Helen Birkett, concerns a final-year Special Subject module, ‘The Celtic Frontier’, which explores colonialism in the context of Britain and Ireland between 1066 and 1215. Here, particular attention is given to diversifying module content within a largely racially homogenous context, including the integration of key pieces of decolonising literature, and demonstrating how this can be incorporated into assessments. The second case study, by Stuart Pracy, draws upon a final-year Special Subject, ‘Death to the Traitors’, about rebellion and resistance in medieval Europe, and a comparative history module, ‘Revolutions’, which explores the concept of ‘revolution’, largely in relation to the modern world. By putting the insights of two different cohorts, specialising in different time periods, into dialogue via the educator as facilitator, the teleological and colonising assumptions which underpin much of the scholarship on resistive action were identified and examined.

Case study 1: The Celtic Frontier

The final-year Special Subject, ‘The Celtic Frontier: Post-Conquest England and its Celtic Neighbours’, examines the expansion of Anglo-Norman power and influence across Wales, Scotland, and Ireland from the Norman Conquest in 1066 to Magna Carta in 1215. Like all Special Subjects in History at Exeter, this is a double-weighted module worth 60 credits and represents 50% of the marks in a student’s final year. It is a long-standing module in the department, runs every few years, and has been led by Helen Birkett since 2012/13. Because it focuses on processes of colonisation and cultural change, it is, thematically, an obvious candidate for decolonising approaches – albeit in the almost entirely racially homogenous context of twelfth-century Britain and Ireland. The module was revised in line with decolonising principles for the academic year 2020/21. The changes made built on existing elements within the module, particularly the emphasis on the experiences and perspectives of those subject to Anglo-Norman power, and bolstered its theoretical underpinning by engaging directly with decolonising debates relating to the modern world. This involved reorientating various seminars to address slightly different questions about colonisation, and introducing a new assessment that required students to evaluate modern colonial concepts in a medieval context.

From its inception, ‘The Celtic Frontier’ has challenged traditional Anglo-centric narratives of twelfth-century Britain by concentrating on interactions between Anglo-Norman England and Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, rather than simply focusing on the changes that occurred within England. This emphasis on ‘Celtic’ perspectives meant that the secondary reading already gave prominence to scholars working primarily on Welsh, Irish, and Scottish contexts, and who, unlike most historians of Anglo-Norman England, also read Celtic languages, such as Dauvit Broun, Rees Davies, Seàn Duffy, Marie Therese Flanagan, and Huw Pryce (for example, Broun, 2022; Davies, 1990, 2000; Duffy et al., 1995; Flanagan, 2010; Pryce, 2001) – which enables them to represent these perspectives more fully. Likewise, for topics where primary sources from Wales, Scotland, or Ireland are scarce, efforts had previously been made to use sources that portrayed groups and individuals from these areas. Many of the primary sources available were written for Anglo-Norman audiences and stigmatise Celtic cultural or religious practices. As a result, in the previous iteration of the module, students had already been supported in reading ‘against the grain’ by drawing on medieval postcolonial scholarship, particularly the work of Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, who has explored processes of ‘Othering’ in twelfth-century Britain (Cohen, 2000, 2006).

The revisions to the module in 2020/21 built on this foundation but pushed the emphasis on colonialism and Celtic perspectives even further. This was done through changes to the overall framing of the module and by shifting the themes and content of individual seminars. A change at the outset was the reminder to students that, in the period covered by the module, the relationships between England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland were in flux. The people of Scotland, Wales, and Ireland were, largely, self-governing: English domination and a United Kingdom were, by no means, inevitable outcomes at this point. This was intended to create a greater critical distance between then and now and to reduce the use of hindsight in student analyses of interactions between the different countries being studied. Another, more significant, change was to introduce critical analysis of the term ‘Celtic’, which had previously been used as a term of convenience. The general use of Celtic to describe the peoples and cultures of Scotland, Wales, and Ireland began in the eighteenth century as a term applied to historic populations, and which was then applied to modern populations from the mid-nineteenth century, partly in response to increasing Anglicisation in Wales and Ireland (De Barra, 2018: 13–28). The term ‘Celtic’ and the concept of ‘Celticism’ elide the differences between these distinct groups of people and cultures, which parallel aspects of ‘orientalism’, and make it a much more problematic term than it initially seems (Leerssen, 1996). Students were also encouraged to use Welsh, Irish, and Gaelic names and terms rather than their Anglicised versions in class discussion and in assessments – or, at the very least, to justify any decision to use Anglicised forms in their assessments. To promote and support this, guidance in Welsh and Irish terms and pronunciation was provided via specially commissioned video tutorials with Dr Nia Wyn Jones (a medievalist and native Welsh speaker at Bangor University) and Prof. Clare Downham (an expert in medieval Ireland at the University of Liverpool).

The enhanced focus of the module on processes of colonisation meant that it was also possible to pursue more direct comparisons between colonialism in Anglo-Norman Britain and Ireland with colonialism in the modern world. Again, this built on elements already present in the previous iteration of the module, for example, the inclusion in the introductory seminars of Edward Said’s comments on postcolonial Ireland, which brought together one of the key thinkers in postcolonial studies – and a scholar well-known to Exeter History undergraduates – with discussion of colonial legacies in a country studied in this module (Said, 2003). ³ In the revised version of the module, an even wider range of modern scholarship on empire and decolonising themes was incorporated into the seminar reading, alongside medieval source material and secondary reading. It was relatively easy to integrate general discussion pieces relating to colonisation and colonial encounters into seminars, often in the form of extracts to keep the seminar reading within appropriate limits. For example, discussions of key terms and concepts, such as ‘imperialism’, ‘colonialism’, ‘postcolonialism’, and ‘settler colonialism’ from general works on modern empire and colonialism offered succinct explorations of terminology with reference to a range of modern examples, and provided useful foundations for seminars which considered the meanings and applications of these concepts in both medieval and modern contexts (Loomba, 2015: 19–28; Moses, 2010: 21–25; Ostler and Shoemaker, Nancy, 2019). But modern works were also used directly alongside medieval secondary literature and primary sources in seminars which focused on medieval topics and case studies. For example, in a seminar on ‘Weapons and Fighting’ in twelfth-century Britain and Ireland, an extract from the opening essay in Violence, Colonialism and Empire in the Modern World offered fruitful points of comparison alongside a chapter on changes in military technology in the central Middle Ages from Robert Bartlett’s The Making of Europe and observations on Welsh and Irish weaponry and tactics by the twelfth-century author Gerald of Wales (Bartlett, 1994: 60–84; Dwyer and Nettelbeck, 2017: 4–10; Giraldus Cambrensis, 1978: 244–253; Giraldus Cambrensis [Gerald of Wales], 1978: 266–274).

Selecting and deploying some of the classic works of postcolonial theory widely recognised in modern scholarship, such as texts by Frantz Fanon, Ashis Nandy, and Homi Bhabha, proved more challenging. At first glance, including texts by Fanon, Nandy, and Bhabha may seem overly ambitious or out of place on a module about twelfth-century Britain and Ireland. These texts often take racial inequalities as their starting point; however, in the twelfth century, ethnicity and religion were more dominant social and cultural markers than race. The juxtaposition of these texts with medieval material and the translation of ideas and arguments between contexts needs to done sensitively, in ways that acknowledge and respect the differences in context, and do not devalue modern experiences and analyses of racism. However, with careful framing and guidance, the comparative perspectives offered by these texts can be used to unlock latent colonialising discourses in medieval sources in very effective ways. In this module, the most appropriate place to include these texts was towards the end of the course in seminars on the themes of cultural stereotyping and colonial identities. In two seminars paired under the theme ‘The Colonial Gaze’, the first focused on discourses of inferiority which were then explored through medieval primary sources in the second. In the first seminar, students were given the option of reading either Fanon’s chapter on ‘Racism and Culture’ or an extract from Nandy’s chapter on ‘The Psychology of Colonialism’, alongside Robert Bartlett’s chapter on twelfth-century ethnographic writing in Britain, ‘The Face of the Barbarian’. To help them engage with and use this material, students were instructed to identify five key ideas from Fanon’s or Nandy’s text and consider how they might apply to Britain and Ireland in the long twelfth century (Bartlett, 2006: 131–142; Fanon, 1967: 29–44; Nandy, 1988: 1–18). From Fanon, students were expected to pick up on the discussion of ‘cultural racism’, the representation of subjugated cultures as unchanging or exotic, the ‘assimilation’ of subjugated peoples to the culture and cultural values of colonisers, and the inherent racism of the colonial enterprise. From Nandy, students might note the idea of colonialism as a ‘psychological state’, the dynamics of ‘identification with the aggressor’ and the creation of a fragile consensus between the colonised and colonisers, the masculine discourses of colonialism, the infantilising and primitivising of subjugated cultures, and the need by colonisers to conceive of colonisation as a civilising mission. All of these offer useful ways of understanding the colonial enterprises of the Anglo-Normans and the responses of those subject to their influence, and demonstrate the broader strategies of colonialism at play. Bhabha’s essay ‘Of Mimicry and Man’ was deployed in a seminar on mixed identities, which took the experiences of Gerald of Wales, as a man of Norman, English, and Welsh heritage, as a case study (Bhabha, 1994: 121–131). Gerald was a senior Churchman and member of the Anglo-Norman court; he had studied and taught at the schools of Paris and aspired to high ecclesiastical office. He was born in Wales and although he spoke Welsh, his mother tongue was French, his occupational language was Latin, and he also spoke English. However, as he tells us, his Welsh ancestry and origin was repeatedly held against him, both in everyday interactions and in his career: he cites it as the main reason his promotion to the see of Mynyw/St Davids was blocked by Henry II (Gerald of Wales, 2018: 2–5; Giraldus Cambrensis, 2005: 58–63). Students were provided with a discussion of Gerald’s identity by Robert Bartlett, as well as one relating to the identity of Walter Map, another courtier from a mixed Anglo-Norman and Welsh background, by Joshua Byron Smith (Bartlett, 2006: 16–30; Smith, 2017: 11–17). And, alongside this, they were instructed to read Bhabha’s essay as an insightful and authoritative exploration of ‘the difference between being English and being Anglicized’ (Bhabha, 1994: 128) – again, indicating the broader discourses and assumptions of colonialism at play.

The revised framing of the module and the embedding of key postcolonial literature within the course was completed by the remodelling of the final seminar as a debate over the extent to which modern concepts of empire, colonialism, and postcolonialism are applicable to twelfth-century Britain and Ireland. The texts set as prompts for this debate were an article by Francis J. West which critiques the loose application of ideas of ‘imperialism’ and ‘colonialism’ to Anglo-Norman expansion, and Geraldine Heng’s discussion of colonial discourses of race in this context (Heng, 2018: 36–42; West, 1999). Leaving this very relevant reading until last meant that the students were more fully informed in relation to both context and theoretical approach and, therefore, much better equipped to respond to it. Finally, to underline the significance and importance of comparing colonialist practices and discourses across time – and to reward students for their efforts in engaging with this material – an assessment explicitly addressing this was added to the module. Students were required to submit a 1,500-word essay which discussed Scotland, Wales, and/or Ireland between c. 1066 and c. 1215 in relation to a concept deployed primarily in modern postcolonial scholarship, with some equivalents to provide greater scope for discussion in medieval contexts, for example, ‘frontiers’, ‘settler colonialism’, ‘Orientalism/Othering’, ‘hybridity’, ‘Race/Ethnicity’, and ‘Celticness’. This essay was worth 15% of the mark for the module, making it substantial enough to be taken seriously, but also reflecting the intellectual challenge it posed – this required high-level thinking.

The revisions made to ‘The Celtic Frontier’ in 2020/21 responded to both components of decolonising. Integrating texts from modern scholarship on empire, colonialism, and postcolonialism helped to diversify course materials, both in terms of authorship and the groups represented in them, disrupting the Whiteness associated with both medieval Britain and Ireland, and its historiography. In particular, using the works of Said, Fanon, Nandy, and Bhabha to frame approaches to medieval material not only demonstrated the relevance of contributions made by scholars of colour to this subject but also effectively conveyed their authority as pre-eminent scholars in colonial and postcolonial studies – which responds directly to some of the criticisms levelled by the ‘Why is My Curriculum White?’ movement. The revisions also spoke to the intellectual component of decolonising, in which the destabilisation of knowledge is emphasised. In this new version of the module, students were required to engage directly with modern scholarship and to analyse the processes of colonisation in twelfth-century Britain in light of this work. The inclusion of key pieces of modern postcolonial literature and the use of an assessment to force deeper engagement with modern debates and concepts gave this module greater intellectual heft. It enabled students to engage with postcolonial debates at a high level and encouraged them to make important connections across time and space. This resulted in students not only offering more original insights into medieval material, but being able to critique and challenge some of the assumptions made in modern scholarship – as was intended. The significance of this dialogue between medieval and modern, and its relationship to decolonising, will be explored further in the next case study.

Case study 2: ‘Death to the Traitors’ and ‘Revolutions’

When it comes to decolonising curricula, there is often an assumption that the relationship between the modern and the medieval is one-way. Efforts to decolonise modern history and the ways in which it is taught are taken to inform the scholarly praxis of medievalists and rarely, if ever, the other way around. This second case study explores the possibility that debates pertaining to the medieval past may help both us, as scholars and teachers, and our students to reflect on colonising paradigms relating to modernity which remain embedded in the western episteme. It draws upon two final-year modules: a medieval Special Subject, ‘“Death to the Traitors”: Rebellion and Resisting Tyranny in the Middle Ages’, covering European political conflict from c. 500 to c. 1500; and a comparative history module, ‘Revolutions’, which focuses on the modern period, c. 1600 to the present. Each of these modules reflects on resistance and people’s capacity to challenge authority, and a key part of both is the need to delineate the boundaries between different forms of resistance and, thus, consider the typologies established by historians.

‘Death to the Traitors’ was designed and convened by Stuart Pracy, and examines the spectrum of resistance from c. 500 to c. 1500 in the regions which constitute England and France today. At the core of the module is the persistent challenge (for students and scholars alike) of confronting a textual legacy dominated by elite voices. Whether the women of the English Rising (often termed the Peasants’ Revolt) of 1381, the Jewish victims of the Shepherds’ Crusade of 1320, or even the male, agricultural labourers involved in the Jacquerie of 1358, their voices have been silenced or distorted by the elite commentators who document their activities (for example, see Federico, 2001; Firnhaber-Baker, 2021: 1–22; Nirenberg, 1996: 43–68). The closest we can get to the experiences of these resistant agents is through letters of remission, court records, or the heavily scrutinised and controversial rebel letters of 1381 (Firnhaber-Baker, 2021: 23–53; Justice, 1994: 13–66). In an effort to better ‘see’ these exploited populations and position their experiences alongside more visible ‘elite’ rebellions, such as the rebellions of Henry the Young King (1173-1174 and 1183) or the First Barons’ War (1215-1217), it became necessary for students to engage deeply with key commentators on social inequality, including various Marxist scholars, such as the medievalists Rodney Hilton and Chris Wickham (Hilton, 1985; Wickham, 2021), and scholars of modern India associated with subaltern studies, such as Gyanendra Pandey and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (Pandey, 1995; Spivak, 2013). The long vantage point provided by the extended chronological remit of the module encouraged students to interrogate broad historiographical paradigms. In particular, the decision to end the period covered by the module in c. 1500, on the cusp of ‘early modernity’, invited students to contemplate issues of continuity and discontinuity, difference and similarity.

Alongside ‘Death to the Traitors’, Pracy co-taught on the module, ‘Revolutions’, which surveys political (rather than social or technological) revolutions, revolutionaries, and associated revolutionary phenomena. Examining revolutionary struggles across Eurasia and the Americas, the module offers a comparative approach to the global phenomenon of revolution, including (among others) discussion of the Anti-Colonial (c. 1945-1980s), Chinese (1911 and 1949), Cuban (1953-1959), French (1789), Haitian (1794-1804), Iranian (1979), and Russian (1905 and 1917) revolutions, as well as so-called ‘refolutions’ such as the Arab Spring (2010-14). Consciously shaped to be as inclusive and global as possible in its remit, this team-taught module focuses on the diverse voices of those who engaged in revolutionary activity across the last 200 years. Still, the module takes as its starting point ‘classic’ revolutions, such as those in France in 1789 and Russia in 1917 (and, to a lesser extent, the Glorious Revolution of 1688). This chronological remit, as discussed below, abides by the normative expectations of ‘revolution’ that govern most contemporary teaching of this topic. However, as Pracy was a tutor on both this module and ‘Death to the Traitors’, which, together, explored the theme of resistance across two millennia, he was able to bring a wider range of historical perspectives to bear on both modules, and to intertwine the learning of students on both. Over the course of the modules, they began to feed into one another – with the tutor acting as a conduit of sorts – and thus aided in the discernment and delivery of a fuller history of resistive action across the longue durée.

To scholars of modern history, revolution is commonly mapped as the apogee of the resistive trajectory and a product of modernity. Other forms of resistance, such as rebellion or revolt, are coded as being limited in ambition or, as in the case of riots, cast in racial terms. In ‘Death to the Traitors’, seminar discussions concerning resistive action in the Middle Ages threw into sharp relief the implicit hierarchy of resistive action and the Eurocentric, teleological assumptions of ‘development’ that still underpin this model. As intended, student debates highlighted that revolutionary aspirations must be judged according to the social context in which they are found. Being taught simultaneously, these insights fed into developments on the ‘Revolutions’ module, where, presented with medieval examples, students of modern history were challenged to reconsider a body of Eurocentric scholarship that maintains the Glorious and French Revolutions as the font from which all other revolutionary thought and zeal has since flowed. Observing and reflecting on these paradigms across both medieval and modern modules allows students, via the facilitation of an educator, to productively reframe entrenched historiographical assumptions and act as co-agents (rather than simply recipients) in decolonising curricula.

Both modules began with an attempt to define relevant terminology and an exercise involving the production of a taxonomy of ‘rebellion’ and ‘revolution’, respectively. Regarding medieval rebellions on the ‘Death to the Traitors’ module, students engaged with the work of medievalists Guy Fourquin and Samuel Kline Cohn (Cohn, 2019; Fourquin, 1978). On the ‘Revolutions’ module, students considered the merits of the definitions provided by modernists Theda Skocpol and George Lawson (Lawson, 2019: 1–17; Skocpol, 2015: 3–44). On the whole, the scholarship initially presented to students on each module tended to draw a line between the rebellions and revolts of the Middle Ages and the revolutions of early modernity onwards (Kamrava, 2019; Lawson, 2017; Moore, 1967; Sizer, 2015; Tilly, 1993). There have been a few scholars who have worried away at this distinction, including Michel Mollat and Phillipe Wolff, Cohn, and, recently, Saïd Amir Arjomand (Arjomand, 2019; Cohn, 2012; Mollat and Wolff, 1973). Such attempts often fall afoul of the kind of long-standing critique epitomised in R. B. Dobson’s bruising review of Mollat and Wolff’s volume: ‘How far it is [sic] possible to write a genuine history of popular revolution for a period when there is no hope of proving the existence of a sustained tradition of revolutionary thought?’(Dobson, 1974).

Dogmatic understandings of the chronological and conceptual relationship between rebellion and revolution are slowly changing, but discussion of this matter remains brief at best, dominated by a powerful, teleological narrative of progression towards a more sophisticated modernity. Accordingly, scholarly acknowledgements of the nuanced boundaries of these processes remain rather cursory, as illustrated in this statement by Lawson: ‘Although revolutions have existed, at least in some form, throughout human history their greatest impact has been felt under global modernity’ (Lawson, 2019: 9). The image of a revolutionary who seeks to install a new utopic regime, compared to a rebel of more conservative aims, remains tied to early modernity and, tellingly, to the emergence of revolution’s modern meaning in sixteenth-century Europe (Como, 2015; Harris, 2015). Thus, it should be of little surprise that the significant body of work on revolutions across the globe remains focused on revolutionary activity after the sixteenth century (Beck, 2011; Foran, 2005; Goldstone, 2014; Kurzman, 2008; Ritter, 2014). In addition to the chronological segregation of revolutionary thought, all of this indirectly serves to centre the West in pedagogical endeavours, wherein it too-often becomes the birthplace of revolution, from which all revolutionary consciousness flows. Any change within the historiography remains, therefore, piecemeal and slow to take hold. There is an enduring risk of inadvertently recapitulating the same kind of narratives that led rebels in Chile to take a nom-de-guerre inspired by the idols of Alphonse Lamartine, a politician involved in the running of the Second Republic of France (Baker and Edelstein, 2015: 9), or, indeed, relegating non-European countries to the ‘waiting room of history’ (on the relationship between modernity and history writing, see Chakrabarty, 2009). Through scholarly inaction both in research and teaching, the Western episteme sits supreme at the centre of educators’ attempts to teach revolutionary histories, even when nominally global in their scope.

However, studying the history of resistance in the Middle Ages helped students to untangle this problem. The medieval is often used as a by-word in Western society for what are deemed uncivilised or unsavoury behaviours. Indeed, it is the ‘other’ against which modernity is often measured. Thus, in colonial rhetoric we see non-European countries depicted as fossilised in the amber of their Middle Ages (Altschul, 2020; Davis and Altschul, 2020; Goh, 2007). Yet, when students on ‘Death to the Traitors’ were tasked with the interrogation of the taxonomies of medieval rebellion and modern revolution, they found there to be relatively little difference, with the key determinant being whether rebels sought ‘narrow’ reforms or the installation of a ‘new’ regime. Given that many medieval European rebellions centre upon distinct demands and retaining existing power structures, it is both common and easy to reinforce a period-based distinction. While some students adhered to this division, there was some particularly lively disagreement. As a result, students were invited to revisit this definition throughout the module. Subsequent class discussions highlighted that if one approaches various case studies from the Middle Ages – such as the Provisions of Oxford (1258) which placed the king under the control of a council of 15 elected barons and, ultimately, precipitated the Second Barons’ War (1264-1267) – and takes into account the world view of medieval contemporaries, then the aims of some reformers are arguably as well if not better understood as being revolutionary in nature. Meanwhile, other cases still comfortably fit the mould of rebellions. However, the picture, as the students concluded, was not as linear as perhaps had been thought. This pedagogical exercise helped both the tutor and students on the module to think more reflexively about embedded historical paradigms and the role of periodisation in the upholding of revolution as a modern phenomenon. Accordingly, when the class returned to the matter of taxonomies in full towards the end of the module, they largely advocated for a more nuanced understanding and application of ideas of rebellion and revolution, seeing these as modes of resistance on a spectrum that should be deployed according to context rather than chronology.

Given that there was no overlap between the cohorts of students on both modules, it was both necessary and appropriate to set a similar task for the students on ‘Revolutions’. Pracy also used this as an opportunity to see how undergraduate modernists might respond to the interpretations of a class of medievalists. In the midst of an energetic debate, a key observation on the literature was raised: the assumption that all revolutions outside of Europe chronologically followed those first identified inside Europe. While it is perhaps easier to sustain the idea of so-called progression from rebellion to revolution inside Europe, it becomes rather harder to sustain that political revolutions were absent across the rest of the world until they were ‘invented’ in and emanated from Europe. This, in many ways, accords with the recent work of Arjomand, who has identified several case studies of revolutions across the globe and throughout recorded history. These include the Akkadian, Athenian, various Roman, Sasanian, ‘Abbasid, Papal, and Mongolian revolutions (Arjomand, 2019: esp. 1-42). This thought-provoking selection of revolutions was included among seminar readings. Yet, the chronological and geographic distance of many of these case studies meant that some students had difficulty apprehending the relevance of both these examples and Arjomand’s argument to modern revolutions. It was thus necessary to tackle and deconstruct these methodological problems on more familiar historical ground, especially given the exercise was intended to prompt wider reflections about the Western episteme more generally. Therefore, we considered Arjomand’s discussion of what he has labelled the Papal Revolution, which took place in eleventh-century Europe. The taxonomic-centred questions raised by seminar groups on ‘Death to the Traitors’ were presented to students on ‘Revolutions’ and produced reflection on the merits of chronologically derived differences. Moreover, such efforts demonstrated the need to go beyond Arjomand’s chosen case studies. Rather than just these exceptional cases, in-class discussions suggest a need to re-evaluate rebellions across human history and pay much more attention to historical and cultural context.

Whether one agrees with the position raised through this dialogue with and across different student cohorts is, to some extent, beside the point. The key is that the implementation of these exercises across two modules helped students on both modules to reflect, in different ways, on the implicit Eurocentric teleology of progress which is embedded in curricula across the Anglophone world (Cupples and Grosfoguel, 2018; Miles and Keynes, 2023). In line with the ideals espoused in Paulo Freire’s seminal ‘Pedagogy of the Oppressed’, students were able to operate as co-creators of knowledge, identifying the limitations of these taxonomies and reflecting on the legacy of underlying colonial assumptions (Freire, 2014). Their findings, facilitated by an educator, allowed participants in both modules to reflect on the language and parameters utilised, and to move towards a more inclusive and decolonised curriculum. In this case, the perspective of the European Middle Ages helped students to reflect on the troubling assumptions which underpinned modern, Eurocentric ideas of progress and revolution which had been exported across the globe. Rather than task the students with looking beyond Europe to challenge dominant taxonomies, providing examples of pre-modern revolutionary thought through sources more accessible and familiar to them gave them an opportunity to identify potential weaknesses in dominant scholarship. This then opened up a broader conversation about the Western, colonial paradigm which has defined curricula to this point. By demystifying revolution in this way, students were able to challenge the assumptions which continue to ‘other’ non-Western revolutionary acts and, thus, to complete the module with a sharper sense of the problems embedded in narratives of modern, Western exceptionalism.

Conclusions

This article demonstrates, primarily, how medieval modules that focus on countries or regions within Europe can be revised and reconceptualised to deliver a decolonised or, more accurately, decolonising educational experience – without expanding their geographical remit to offer a global perspective on the Middle Ages. Birkett’s case study on ‘The Celtic Frontier’ shows how literature from the broader fields of colonial and postcolonial studies can be integrated into a module on colonisation within twelfth-century Britain and Ireland, which both diversifies course materials and enhances intellectual engagement. Pracy’s case study shows how exploration of the historical concept of ‘revolution’ across the longue durée, and particularly in medieval contexts, can help to disrupt and decentre teleological, Eurocentric thinking on this topic. Although the two case studies cover quite different content, there are clear similarities between the practical approaches taken to decolonising these modules. Emphasis is placed on the conscious reassessment of concepts and terminology, and the diversification of course content and materials – with active engagement with scholarship from other periods highlighted as a key way of facilitating both. Both case studies also position students as collaborators in the decolonising process, by designing exercises and/or assessments that require them actively to reconsider taxonomies, apply theoretical insights, or make links between and compare different historical contexts. And, finally, both case studies show how effective temporal, in addition to global, comparison can be as an agent for decolonising the curriculum.

To some, both within Medieval Studies and without, decolonising the teaching of medieval history may seem incidental to the wider decolonising project. It is generally agreed that it is imperative to challenge the co-opting of the medieval past by white nationalists, particularly in the field of public and popular history. But, otherwise, there is a tendency to see the decolonising of medieval modules, which cover periods prior to the expansion of modern global empires, as auxiliary rather than integral, to view the efforts of medievalists as supportive allies rather than key collaborators. However, if we are to decolonise the History curriculum as a whole – from medieval to modern – then scholars from all fields must work together in this process. As this article has argued, it is not where or when we, as educators, focus upon that shapes our engagement with decolonising praxis but rather our determination and methodologies. Even what appears to be an unlikely area for implementing decolonising principles – the comparatively insular and racially homogenous world of medieval Europe – can prove to be fertile ground. Indeed, through critical dialogue with modern scholarship, medievalists have the potential not only to decolonise the teaching of the medieval past but also to help challenge the teleological assumptions of ‘modernity’. There is much to be gained from approaching decolonising through temporal as well as global perspectives.