Introduction: If you’ve ever written, painted, composed, recorded, or produced pretty much anything in any medium, you know that sometimes you feel the magic happening and sometimes… well, sometimes you keep sawing the lady in half no matter how much she screams and begs you to stop.
Metaphorically, that is.
I’ve been trying to write a brief bio of Cecil Rhodes off and on for most of 2022. Some of the delays have come as a result of normal, boring stuff – trying to keep up with school, wrapping up some unrelated writing projects, letting myself enjoy stupid fun stuff far more often than I have in recent decades, etc. Some of it comes from my own ignorance. I’ve had to digest way more than I expected about related African and European history just to make sense of the parts directly related to Rhodes. And some of it, if I’m being honest, has been my inability to narrow down his story to a narrative detailed enough to be useful but edited enough to serve its primary purpose – boiling down complex historical ideas to digestible lengths people might actually read and enjoy.
So, I’ve resorted to doing what I sometimes do in these situations. I’m writing it all and posting it here as I go, knowing that it’s too bulky, too unfocused, and too unpolished. Only when I’m finished with all eleventeen installments will I go back and begin chopping away at the results in hopes of making them manageable and perhaps even (Lord willing) engaging. Pretty or not, it’s the only way I can push through some topics and eventually hone them into the pithy brilliance that is “Have To” History. (Right now, at this stage, it’s more like “Hurling” History.)
Turn away if you must. Offer constructive commentary if you dare. Either way, I simply must get through this. Thank you in advance for your understanding and support.
And now, here’s the long, unedited version of stuff you might not even want to know about Cecil Rhodes, but probably should – Part One.
Introduction
Cecil Rhodes was… complicated. It in no way excuses the wrongs for which he was responsible for us to recognize and appreciate the laudable elements of his story. If anything, it reminds us that in the right circumstances, most of us are quite capable of being both swell and abhorrent – sometimes within a very short time frame. While history is certainly replete with similar examples, Rhodes represents as well as anyone the futility of attempting to categorize our forebears into “good guys” and “bad guys.”
As Marvel comics and the Bible figured out long ago, our heroes often have some unpleasant features. Thomas Jefferson was a slave owner and carried on a sexual relationship for years with his slave Sally Hemings. Martin Luther King, Jr., plagiarized his way through grad school and was having extra-marital affairs right up until his assassination. Franklin D. Roosevelt approved the internment of Japanese Americans and turned away Jews at the border during the Holocaust while carrying on his own sexual liaisons. And Sherlock Holmes was a cocaine addict, although he managed to keep his pants on – just in case we needed irrefutable proof he was fictional.
On the other hand, the nastiest villains may retain smatterings of graciousness, talent, or good intentions. Genghis Khan slaughtered tens of thousands of people and built an empire on terror, but he also instituted religious freedom, eliminated torture, and set up a pretty effective mail delivery system. Joseph Stalin modernized Russian agriculture and improved health care and education for the small percentage of citizens who survived his reign. Even Tucker Carlson has, um… I mean…
Stalin and Khan had some good points, is what I’m saying.
Whether in history or pop culture, flawed heroes tend to be far more inspirational and complicated villains far more illuminating. Few of us can aspire to be the next Jesus or Superman. Perhaps, however, we can strive to emphasize the better angels of our nature à la William B. Travis or Severus Snape.
Then again, by most modern standards, Cecil Rhodes was more Magneto than Batman – a complex villain rather than a flawed hero. He is at the very least a problematic figure, no matter how much grace we choose to employ. Whatever his stated intentions or proclaimed ideologies, Cecil was in many ways a very naughty man who used and abused those he deemed lesser than himself – which was most people. The fact that this was not so unusual in his era makes it no less odious.
Still, there’s that “complex and thus interesting” part to consider. Thankfully, we don’t necessarily need to weigh his eternal soul or fully unpack his complex motivations to deal with the symbol he became in western culture and world history. In many ways, that’s more important than the “real” person underneath.
The Son’ll Come Out, Tomorrow…
Cecil Rhodes was born in 1853 in Hertfordshire, just north of London. He was by all accounts a rather “sickly” child – a generic term covering anything from asthma to allergies to lactose intolerance (but stopping short of something major enough to secure accurate diagnosis, like scarlet fever). His father was a clergyman in the Church of England, making the family what we’d today think of as “middle class.” His older brothers attended what were known as “public schools,” the nineteenth century British equivalent of upscale private schooling. Cecil, however, was sent to the local “grammar school,” an early version of what Americans today would think of as a decent, local public high school – humble, but still set above any “charity schools” in the area.
When he was sixteen years old, Cecil fell victim to “consumption” – most likely tuberculosis or something similar. This was a fairly severe condition in the nineteenth century and not everyone recovered. As we’ve recently been reminded, serious ailments which prove difficult to control tend to spark socio-political reactions on top of the personal suffering they cause. When people feel frightened or uncertain, they tend to embrace explanations which offer them some sort of control or detachment from danger and suffering, reality be damned. Folks in nineteenth century England were no exception.
Like so many nasty things, tuberculosis was (and is) caused by bacteria attacking various organs inside the human body, most particularly the lungs. All that coughing and gagging and spitting up blood helped spread the ailment to fellow humans, making it highly contagious – particularly in crowded households, cities, or anywhere else people live and work together. Biologically, the disease itself was an equal opportunity infector. Rich folks were just as susceptible as the poor, other factors being equal.
But of course, other factors weren’t equal – and therein crept that socio-political dynamic history teaches us to expect. One of the primary benefits of wealth was having a little elbow room, thus reducing the chances of infection to begin with. Your surroundings tended to be cleaner and you were more likely to spend time outdoors, further restricting the spread of yucky things. Illness, on the other hand, correlated with poverty in the sense that poor folks were more likely to live in crowded, unsanitary conditions. Poverty, in turn, often correlated with the sorts of lifestyles upper classes derided as immoral and in constant violation of proper social norms.
It’s not always easy to distinguish between difficult circumstances and poor personal choices, then or now.
It was thus natural – if unfortunate – that many people perceived a strong correlation between poverty (and the careless, often “immoral” life choices which accompanied it) and tuberculosis. In other words, the disease took on an ethical component. As is so often the case throughout history, sufferers were thought to be at least partially responsible for their own conditions. Since those living “better” lives, with better educations, better morals, and better resources, were less likely to contract tuberculosis, then maybe those who did fall ill (or die) were kinda asking for it. Add in a little “just world fallacy” and you have a pretty stubborn, if mistaken, paradigm.
In any case, “consumption” meant Rhodes was unable to attend the same sorts of schools as his brothers. When he was 16, he was sent to South Africa in hopes the climate would be better for his health. It was much warmer there, and Cecil could spend more time outside. He began working on a small cotton plantation with one of his older brothers and his health did, in fact, began to improve. It also just so happened that something else was going on in Africa at this time – something shinier and more appealing than picking or refining cotton.
Africa had diamonds. Lots of them. Now it simply needed someone with a little vision to make the most of the sparkly beasts.
All That Glitters Is Sold
Only a few years before Rhodes arrived in South Africa, diamonds had been discovered on the De Beers farm in nearby Kimberley. This sparked a diamond rush much like the gold and silver rushes of early American history. It didn’t take long before Cecil was splitting his time and energy between cotton and diamond mining. Each time he uncovered some sparkle, he used the profits to purchase the rights to more and more land and expand his mining operations. He partnered with a fellow Brit named Charles Rudd and they began building quite a fortune for themselves.
In 1873, Rhodes left Rudd in charge and began using his newfound wealth to pay for the sort of elite education he felt he’d been denied. For nearly a decade, he split his time between his studies in England and the diamond mines of Africa. The “Kimberly Hole,” as their primary operation became known, was one of the largest holes of any sort ever dug, and the wealth just kept pouring out of its depths. In 1880, Rhodes and Rudd formed De Beers Mining Company. Over the next decade they absorbed each of their major competitors, one at a time. De Beers soon became (and remains) one of the biggest names in diamonds worldwide – arguably THE biggest.
In 1886, gold was discovered on De Beers property as well. You know, because it was about time they caught a lucky break. Rhodes was one of the richest men in the world before he turned 35.
It’s worth noting that diamond mining was dirty, dangerous business. Workers were regularly injured or killed on site and severe illness was pretty much a given for any who lived long enough. Poor working conditions, crowded quarters, and the dangers of mining itself made pneumonia and tuberculosis common ailments, with scurvy and syphilis not far behind.
These were considered perfectly acceptable dangers, as long as you weren’t the one facing them. That’s what lesser men – especially those native to the area – were for.
Money Is Politics Is Power Is… Messy
By all accounts, money for money’s sake was never Rhodes’ primary goal. He was convinced beyond doubt that the British were a superior race with a superior culture, and that he owed it to the world to expand Great Britain’s influence over as much of the globe as possible. In his mind, this would not just be good for England – he’d be doing the rest of the world a massive favor as well.
He was thus quick to enter the fray of local politics in southern Africa. For nearly two decades he was rarely idle, throwing himself with equal enthusiasm into business pursuits, territorial conflicts, and political struggles. The details can get a bit tedious for anyone not committed to a detailed history of southern Africa in the late nineteenth century, so we’re going to simplify things a bit in hopes of better understanding and remembering the bigger picture. Rhodes’ primary legacy, after all, is a largely symbolic one; the images and emotions he left behind are arguably far more important than geographical or statistical accuracy.
NEXT: The Long, Unedited Version of Stuff You Might Not Even Want to Know about Cecil Rhodes, but Probably Should – Part Two
The development (or at least the substantial improvement) of dhows and other sailing vessels were making maritime travel and trade safer and easier, even over great distances. There are several things which make a dhow a dhow, but the two most likely to come up on your standard world history exam are how they were held together and what made them go. First, they were stitched together rather than simply glued or nailed. They were made of wood bound together with various types of cords and fibers. Second, and more noticeably, they had lateen sails. These triangular sails are still in use today, and when properly manipulated allowed boats to effectively sail against the wind – an obvious game-changer, nautically speaking, and a nice metaphor for technology in general.
Another old technology reappearing in new and improved form was the astrolabe, a device so modernized by Muslim astronomers and mathematicians as to be essentially a whole new toy. The astrolabe was a miraculous little device that allowed mere mortals to use the positions of the stars and calculations of various angles to determine the time, their current location, and accurately predict America’s Next Top Model, all from the deck of a sailing vessel in the middle of nowhere. Among other things, the astrolabe allowed Muslim sailors to determine the direction of Mecca from anywhere they happened to be, a major assist in adhering to their religious commitments. It was also, no doubt, a powerful psychological connection to home, allowing users to journey an infinite distance while in some way remaining connected to all they held dear. It wasn’t quite Google Hangouts, but it was leaps and bounds ahead of “maybe my next letter will arrive within the year.” 
It doesn’t much matter what goods you have to trade or how efficiently you’re able to transport them if you don’t have people to trade with. As with most things throughout history, the Swahili Coast did not develop in isolation. Traders from the Arabic world, parts of Europe, and beyond, interacted with the Swahili regularly and at times intimately. It was not unusual for traders to stay in local Swahili homes while waiting for the proper winds to take them on their way, often for weeks or even months. The cultural and other exchanges made possible by such extended time together exceeded even those facilitated by trade. It didn’t hurt when they’d occasionally marry or otherwise choose to mingle genetic codes.
Most history students vaguely remember Vasco de Gama. He was the Portuguese explorer who eventually managed to round the southern tip of Africa and sail up to India via the Indian Ocean. Only a few years after Columbus thought he’d reached it by going west (Columbus never accepted that he’d run into a completely different continent), de Gama actually connected Europe with Asia via water, allowing trade and periodic conquest on a scale never before possible.