How different was Chartism from other movements?

Chartism, not surprisingly for a popular movement, has been dealt with largely in thematic terms and it is probably wise to begin with a brief outline of the historiography. Chartism until very recently has tended to be treated as a socio-economic movement of the working classes in response to the threat of industrialization and as a watershed in the development of working-class consciousness. Ever since the collapse of the movement this has dominated the study of Chartism. Even sympathetic accounts such as Mrs Gaskell’s novel Mary Barton have depicted Chartism in socio-economic terms and as a protest of hunger and distress. Eduard Dolléans in claiming in 1913 that Chartism was a working-class protest to the effects of the Industrial Revolution set the trend for modern historians of the movement. An analysis of the support base for Chartism has suggested that most local Chartists tended to belong to pre-industrial trades such as handloom-weaving and framework-knitting, faced with the threat of mechanization, while factory operatives served as the shocktroops of the movement. The reason for socio-economic dominance is perplexing. Perhaps it is due to the proliferation of local studies following the work of Asa Briggs as local studies in stressing the regional heterogeneity of the movement tend to focus on socio-economic differences. Equally, the attention given to the moral/physical force debate within Chartism tends to underpin this approach as it is often given a sociological correlation even though recent research suggests seemingly placid areas like London were in fact at times militant and South Lancashire and the North-East in particular were hardly involved in the movement’s dénouement. In fact, the continuation of the debate over moral and physical force within the movement is quite bewildering, and more importantly anachronistic. Robert Lowery, for example, often characterized for his moderation, was introduced on stage for the elections for the 1839 Convention as an advocate of physical force. The reasons for its prevalence are unsure. Perhaps it is because of its affinity with the debate between Bolsheviks and Mensheviks, fresh in the mind of twentieth-century historians. Regardless, this, like the socio-economic interpretation of Chartism is fairly out-dated and has actually fallen out of favour recently among historians. Indeed, the differences between the two notwithstanding, Miles Taylor has shown in a synthesis of the work of Stedman Jones and Thompson, a common shared commitment to take the political aims of the movement seriously. Even those, like Thompson, who see Chartism as pivotal in development of working-class consciousness, perhaps building on the work of her husband, argue for a political interpretation of class formation (Margot Finn’s study for example of mid-Victorian radicalism emphasizes the importance of intellectual currents and the interpenetration of class with national sentiments). In comparison to other movements, I will argue that Chartism, far from being a breakthrough in working-class development, held many affinities with the ideology of previous radical movements and indeed with middle-class liberalism as well, which precipitated its decline. Insofar as it differed from other contemporary radical movements, this was only in the sense that it focused radical attention on political reform as the panacea of all the current evil and misery, in place of one-issue movements. Indeed, the ability of the Chartists to convince workers to unite around political reform is not dealt with sufficiently in the socio-economic interpretation.

An analysis of the ideology of the Chartists will reveal the similarities of Chartism with previous radical movements and the difficulty of seeing it in terms of class-consciousness. Here, Gareth Stedman Jones’ seminal essay and the linguistic turn in general come into play. Recent work emphasizing the importance of class within the Chartist movement, though has tended to take the political aims of the Chartists more seriously, is still based on an important pre-supposition of the relationship between social being and social consciousness. Such an assumption is arbitrary and in order for this to be proved, an analysis of the ideology of the Chartists, specifically what they said, needs to be undertaken and the work of Stedman Jones in doing so, has downplayed the class element of Chartism. Here, according to Stedman Jones, the language of the Chartists suggests an ideology based on the dichotomy between the represented and the unrepresented, or quite often the workers and the idle, instead of between various competing classes. Not only does this work have important implications for those who view Chartism as a class-based movement, but it also suggests its affinity with earlier radical movement. This can be seen in particular in the continuity of radical lexicography from the late seventeenth century, with such words as “independent” and “patriot” and the demonological connotations of “stockjobbing” and “fundholding” still in use within the Chartist movement. Above all, the implications of this work suggest the difficulty in seeing Chartism as a working-class movement. The language of the Chartists, as foremost the vocabulary of political exclusion, could never be seen as the vocabulary of a particular class and if it became more and more working-class this was in a sense de facto as a result of the aligning of the middle-class with the aristocracy in the oppression of the people; a point which both Dorothy Thompson and Stedman Jones can agree upon. The language and ideology of the Chartists – above all the dichotomization of the represented and the unrepresented – can be seen in the Chartist stance towards the middle-class. The points to make here are twofold: firstly, the Chartists were not completely hostile to the middle classes and often sought rapprochement with them, which fits in with the ideology of Chartism discussed so far. Secondly, Chartist criticisms of the middle classes were usually due to their political views, not their economic role. In fact, a desire to win middle-class support was a constant aim of the Chartists even after the withdrawal of the Birmingham Chartists from the Convention. This is perhaps why Chartists favoured exclusive dealing over Trade Union activity. Equally, the reason for the withdrawal of support for the Complete Suffrage Union was not based on a questioning of the desirability of a cross-class alliance but a belief that delegates who supported the principles of universal suffrage would naturally rally round the six points of the Charter. In fact, such an alliance was almost axiomatic within the movement. The Poor Man’s Guardian spoke out in July 1835 in favour of such and an analysis of its language, almost nonchalant, reveals how commonplace the idea must have been within the movement. Hostility, which did arise, was because the middle-class had been seen in 1832 to have joined the aristocracy within the system of oppression. Because of the ideology pervasive within Chartism of workers and drones, employers, unlike the aristocracy who were seen as quasi-parasitic upon society, were not criticised for their economic role, but merely for their ties with the aristocracy in the political order. Symptomatic of this is the proliferation of such terms as “millocrat,” “cotton lords,” and “steam aristocracy.” Robert Fyson’s study of the outbreak of violence in the Potteries during the 1842 strikes shows that those who were singled out for attack by workers were those of obnoxious political views. The petty-tyrannical middle-class employer, the kind who was unsympathetic to the demands of the workers and espoused the worst effects of laissez-faire political economy, may have been held in low regard by the Chartists, but the middle-class and employers as a whole did not receive criticism merely for their economic function and separation from the working-class. All this suggests the pervasiveness within Chartism of a classless ideology, an ideology of political exclusion and its similarity with earlier movements, dating as far back to those who felt excluded by the settlements of 1688 and 1714.

Touching upon the relationship between the middle and working classes within the Chartist movement naturally leads to the discussion of the similarities between Chartism and middle-class liberalism. In explaining the decline of Chartism, the labour aristocracy theory remained, at least until Royden Harrison’s “Before the Socialists,” largely unchallenged. Here, it was assumed, based on the decline in protest movements during the mid-Victorian period that this period witnessed the embourgeoisment of the working-classes as the skilled workers’, the artisans and industrial pacemakers, acceptance of such ideas as respectability and individualism, tied them to the middle-class value system and prevented the development of a working-class movement in the post-Chartist era. Such a notion, based on a paucity of evidence, has quite rightly come in for a lot of criticism (if only because it assumes the natural leadership of a labour aristocracy). Though the notion that there was a surrender to middle-class ideology has been questioned, an emphasis on liberalization generally during this period has remained. This has important implications for the study of Chartism. Particularly, it suggests the affinity of Chartism with a middle-class set of values, which has been a common theme of recent historiographical developments. Particular emphasis has been placed on the notions of moral intellectual improvement of the individual within the Chartist movement. Winstanley’s analysis of local politics in Oldham shows a continuation from the pre-Chartist era to the grassroots Liberalism of the 1850s, and importantly within Chartism itself, of the importance of education as a means to self improvement. Moreover, in an interesting article on the formation of Lovett’s National Association in October 1841, Stack shows the emphasis on the need to educate workers for the exercise of the franchise. This, as Stack has shown by an analysis of the reading materials of Lovett and the Association and the pervasiveness of body imagery within Lovett’s speeches, was based, idiosyncratically, on a Combean scientific analysis of the tripartite division of the brain. Its significance, as far as the similarities between Chartism and middle-class liberalism were twofold: firstly, as noted by Stack, it emphasised the ability of education to elevate the moral and intellectual faculties over the animal and therefore fitted within the liberal culture of self-improvement. Secondly and curiously only implicit in Stack’s work, it suggested the innate as well as the educable and therefore underpinned the existing class and gender order of society. What better demonstrates the similarities between Chartist and middle-class liberal ideology? Similarities notwithstanding, there were also many differences between the two mindsets. Tholfsen, who suggests that the origins of middle-class liberalism and working-class radicalism, Chartism in particular, can be found in the shared experiences of the Enlightenment and the evangelical revival, also notes the dissimilarities between the two, as liberalism became more conservative after 1789 and tended to depict liberty mainly in terms of economic liberalism and a system of representative government with a narrow franchise. Nevertheless, the points of affinity remain clear: a love of liberty, both economic and political, a commitment to the moral and intellectual improvement of the individual, and a shared reverence for the principles of soberness and cleanliness. Deep down, the Chartists “seem to have accepted the Peelite vision of a society in which individual effort, thrift and moral desert should bring its reward. They differed from self-satisfied middle-class moralists only in their insistence that the desired state of society had not yet been achieved.”[1]

If we accept that Chartism did not differ much from liberalism and the only difference was an archetypal radical critique of the corruption of the state and its exclusiveness, then all that needed to be done to quash the Chartist movement and bind the movement up within a broader liberalism, was prove otherwise. It is interesting here that Hilton mentions Peel as it is his economic reforms in particular which Stedman Jones credits with the grinding down of the radical critique of the state and in precipitating Chartist decline. While partial credit is given to Russell, particularly his proposed educational reforms, which emphasised the classless, disinterested aspects of government, above all credit is given to Peel’s economic reforms. The affects of which were twofold: firstly, it removed the material sources of discontent (here, the reduction of taxes on consumption and the introduction of an income tax in 1842 are most important) and secondly, it showed the state’s disinterest in various sectional matters (the most obvious examples here are the 1844 Bank Charter Act, the Joint Stock Company’s Act and above all the repeal of the Corn Laws). The latter was probably more important than the former for obvious reasons. Criticisms of Stedman Jones’ Peelite obsession have been many. Hilton, for example places more emphasis on the success of the Anti-Corn Law League in quelling Chartism by espousing a doctrine of free trade, favourable to all, compared to the sectional aims of O’Connor’s Land Plan. Mandler stresses the importance of the Whig-Liberal reform schemes after 1846 and suggests that any social reforms carried out under Peel’s government, such as the 1842 Mines Act, were carried in opposition to the government, often on the back of public opinion. A far more stinging criticism, building on the work of Dorothy Thompson, has been the complaint that in focusing on the conciliatory nature of the state, Stedman Jones has tended to downplay the draconian measures implemented by government to crush the Chartist movement. Partly, perhaps because Stedman Jones (quite incorrectly, albeit in my opinion) tends to view the collapse of the Chartist movement fairly early, ignores the use of state repression to counter the mass meeting on 10th April 1848 at Kennington Common.[2] Special constables were sworn in to deal with the movement and a number of strategically timed arrests were made to prevent the meeting getting out of hand. Nevertheless, the long arm of the state would never have been successful in removing the radical critique of a repressive government and would in fact most probably have augmented it. For this reason, conciliation was far more important. Paradigmatic is the decision to allow the 1839 Convention to go ahead as planned. It was a main premise of radical thought that the state would resort to violence in opposing an anti-parliament and when it allowed the Convention to go ahead, the ball was firmly back in the Chartist court, much to their chagrin. Strife, schism over the debate between moral and physical force and the disaster at Monmouth were all examples of Chartist disarray when faced with this uncomfortable position. The radical notion of an oppressive state did not seem to make sense, which hastened the decline of Chartism, replacing it bathetically with single-issue movements such as the Land Plan and the Ten Hours Movement. The decline of the radical critique of the state therefore meant a rapprochement between Chartism and liberalism, hitherto (almost) diametrically opposed, though fairly similar in many of their suppositions. If anything however, as both Finn and Tholfsen in their analyses of post-Chartist radical politics have shown, this meant an acceptance in many cases of radical working-class opinions or at least an introduction of measures which were viewed by them as acceptable, rather than the embourgeoisment of the working-class.

A comparison with middle-class liberalism naturally leads on to a consideration of the similarities (or dissimilarities) between Chartism and other contemporary radical movements. Here, largely out of a desire to express the hegemony of radical principles over those of class, Stedman Jones has sought to demonstrate the affinities between Chartism and various movements. Such affinities did exist. Ricardian socialists saw the current system of unequal exchange as a manifestation of artificial law and power, contrasting the current situation unfavourably with Smith’s depiction of the aboriginal exchange between the hunters of beavers and deer in Book II of the Wealth of Nations. Hostility to employers on political, not economic grounds was shared by many trade unionists, as Stedman Jones’ analysis of the union papers “Crisis” and “the Pioneers” shows. Equally in terms of nomenclature, the National Union of the Working Classes, formed in 1831 was intended to juxtapose, as Chartists and radicals so often did, workers to the idle, not the working- to the middle-class. Stedman Jones is certainly correct that various contemporary movements were incapable of forming a class-based alternative to Chartism. Yet an obsession with the similarities in terms of ideology between Chartism and other radical movements, largely out of a desire to disprove the prevalence of class ideology at the time and thereby its prevalence within Chartism, can distort the significance of Chartism in comparison to other movements. The significance of Chartism, compared to other radical working-class movements was that it managed to unite the various different grievances under the banner of political reform. Though various inroads could be made, Chartism premised upon an oppressive state and little ameliorative reform to the conditions of working people could be made until the introduction of universal manhood suffrage. Various lessons in the history of protest movements had taught Chartists this. Most recently, the fate of the Glasgow cotton spinners was picked up upon to demonstrate how futile the campaigning for social reform under the current political system was. When Stedman Jones points to the similarities between Chartism and Trade Unionism, citing the shared personnel between the two movements as one example,[3] he seems to overlook the fundamental differences between the two. Trade Unionism effectively argued that proper trade organization could maintain decent wage levels and acceptable working conditions under the current political order. This was incompatible with the Chartist radical doctrine, which sought the political overhaul of the state. The success of Chartism and its mass appeal lay in its ability to convince workers for the need for political reform before any specific reform could be undertaken. This, as Edsall has shown, is the reason why Chartism eventually superseded the Anti-Poor Law Movement in the north between 1837 and 1838. If Chartism differed from other radical movements in its ability to unite various grievances under political reform, its similarities with radical movements as a whole as well as liberalism, can be seen by a comparison with Owenism. Owenism was a very different animal. It was a truly counter-cultural movement, unlike Chartism. It is true that there was a degree of overlap between Chartism and Owenism: a labour theory of value and a belief based on the Owenite analysis of Colquhoun’s tables that the productive classes only received one-fifth of what they produced were common platitudes of various Chartist leaders, particularly the enigmatic Bronterre O’Brien. It is also true, as Tholfsen has shown that Owenism borrowed various rituals from popular culture, particularly nonconformity. Yet, this should not obscure the fact that Owenism was fairly unlike any radical movements or even liberalism for that matter. It rejected any notion of historic or natural rights as part of an atavistic system of competition and advocated an ideological upheaval to bring about change (though interestingly, despite its differences with other movements, Owenism was probably even further from forming a class-based radical model as it blamed all classes equally for the current system of competition). Equally, its belief in the unlimited powers of education meant that it was, unlike Chartism, totally incompatible with the liberal middle-class mindset. For Owen gender and class categories were meaningless and there was no limit on the ability of each individual to rise. While middle-class liberalism appreciated the ameliorative power of education, it had its limits based on inherited physical differences. Owenism, with its emphasis on environmentalism, was therefore totally incompatible with a mindset which, based mostly on an evangelical thought, emphasised the innate as well as the educable or individualism over environmentalism. This is perhaps one reason why bloodletting was still so commonly practiced in favour of contagionist interpretations.

A proper analysis of Chartism shows that it was fairly orthodox when compared with other movements. Chartism was not very unique. It was based on an ideology of previous radicalism, a vocabulary of political exclusion, not of class. Also, it shared many points of affinity with middle-class liberalism, particularly a notion of self-improvement and even, when compared to Owenism, had a lot more in common with other contemporary radical movements. Symptomatic of Chartist orthodoxy is their fascination with agendas, motions and meetings and that it sought to appropriate a culture of recreation; both of which were hitherto the exclusive property of the upper and middle classes. Perhaps a better example of the orthodoxy of the movement is an analysis of the role of women within the movement, which is something I have hitherto completely ignored and can only apologise for. At first, Chartism seemed to bind together female and working-class aspirations for emancipation. Women, led by the Birmingham Women’s Political Movement, were galvanized into action and soon over one-hundred and fifty associations across the country sprouted up. Once however it was realized that their role within the movement was merely one of cheerleading from the sides as it became clear that Chartists accepted Victorian notions of gender differences, the number of women within the movement began to decrease rapidly. What exactly was unique about Chartism then and why did it attract such a vast base of support? This can be explained, in comparison to other radical movements, by the fact that it united various different grievances under the political aims of the Charter and convinced them that piecemeal reform was not the answer and that only true reform could be undertaken after the political upheaval of the state. “For all their differences, Chartists were held together by a shared perception that the state was their common enemy.”[4] Implicit in this argument that Chartism was a fairly orthodox movement is that the socio-economic, and the class interpretation in general, is wrong. This interpretation, which sees Chartism as a watershed in the development of working-class radicalism is almost the direct antithesis of one that interprets the movement as orthodox. Having begun with a discussion on the historiography of Chartism, it makes sense to end my essay on the topic. Above all, the problem of interpreting Chartism as a social response to the Industrial Revolution is that it assumes the permanence and irreversibility of industrialization, which, though may seem obvious to posterity, was not so to contemporaries. Indeed, Boyd Hilton has shown that opinions towards industrialization were characterized by a general ambivalence, oscillate from an acceptance of it as a natural progression to a criticism of its lop-sided nature and breakneck speed. The resumption of cash payments in 1819 was intended to counteract the latter issue. Chartists themselves were far more concerned with the Norman Yoke, the loss of suffrage rights in the medieval period and the creation of a bloated fiscal-military state at the end of the seventeenth century. What is more, this approach no longer seems to fit the new narrative of industrialization espoused by Crafts and Harley. Historians, who view Chartism in class terms, have therefore had to adjust and have tended to emphasise political developments in the formation of class consciousness. One new trend in attempting to resurrect this model has been a focus on not what the Chartists actually said but how they said it and the symbolism of the movement generally. Pickering for example focuses on the fact that in greeting his supporters after being released from gaol on 30th March 1841 at York Castle, O’Connor chose to war the working-class attire of fustian. Interesting and enlightening though this may be, if historians of Chartism are going to resurrect the class model, there needs to be a greater attention given to the intellectual origins of the movement, rather than presupposing the importance of class based on a twentieth century notion of the relationship between social being and social consciousness. A study of the intellectual considerations of the Chartists, similar to that undertaken by Stack, is perhaps what is lacking in Stedman Jones’ essay and should certainly form a key component of any future work on Chartism.
[1] B. Hilton, A Mad, Bad & Dangerous People?, p612
[2] The fact that over 150,000 attended and fever reached other towns as far as Bradford and Manchester should do more to damage than anything else Stedman Jones’ view of Chartism in the late 1840s as “anachronistic”
[3] This in itself is most probably incorrect. Michael Winstanley’s monograph of Oldham shows that the confusion of bitter industrial disputes with popular radicalism has distorted the study of Oldham politics. In fact, very few popular leaders involved themselves in industrial disputes. Though this is only a monograph, it has obvious implications for the nation as a whole.
[4] Ibid, B. Hilton, p619