Britain, Germany and Colonial Violence in South-West Africa, 1884-1919

Britain, Germany and
Colonial Violence in
South-West Africa, 1884–1919
The Herero and Nama Genocide
Mads Bomholt Nielsen

Cambridge Imperial and Post-Colonial Studies
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Britain, Germany and

Colonial Violence in
South-West Africa,
1884–1919
The Herero and Nama Genocide
Ministry of Higher Education and Science
Copenhagen, Denmark
ISSN 2635-1633 ISSN 2635-1641 (electronic)

Cambridge Imperial and Post-Colonial Studies
ISBN 978-3-030-94560-2 ISBN 978-3-030-94561-9 (eBook)
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Map of German South West Africa
Picture 1 Map of South West Africa with tribal lands and German Presence,
1890, National Archives of Namibia, Blue Book Draft, ADM 255
Acknowledgements
This book is the culmination of a long journey. When I moved to London

in 2012 to do an MA at King’s College London, I was able to expand on
my interest in British and German colonial history with the support of
Richard Drayton and Francisco Bethencourt—who would both eventually
supervise my PhD dissertation. I owe them both my gratitude for seeing
potential in me and for expertly helping to turn my rather incoherent ideas
into something sensible. My PhD dissertation was eventually examined by
Chris Clark and Saul Dubow who also gave me wonderful advice on where
to improve (and perhaps most importantly, revise) the dissertation. After
my PhD, I moved back to the University of Copenhagen as a Postdoc,
where I was lucky enough to be mentored by Stuart Ward. I wish to thank
Stuart for always taking the time to give me advice and pushing me when
I needed it.
Being funded by the Carlsberg Foundation for another project, which
overlaps with the preparation of this book, I was able to visit archives
around the world and conduct research—of which much has gone into
this book. Of all the funding bodies that are providing vital financial sup-
port for early career scholars, the Carlsberg Foundation has proven to be
an incredibly generous and understanding support. I owe them my grati-
tude. Several people have also helped in the preparation of the book. The
team at Palgrave: Lucy Kidwell and Raghupathy Kalyanaraman have both
shown great patience and understanding in what it is, writing a book dur-
ing a pandemic and working from home. The anonymous reviewers also
deserve credit for their in-depth and constructive feedback, which helped
shape the book and clarify its purpose and scope.
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
On a personal level, this book could not have been completed without
the support of friends and family. My parents who always supported and
believed in me were crucial in helping me through my years as a PhD stu-
dent in London. Among my close friends, Ali Adjorlu, Christian Weber
and Henry James Evans have proven to be the most loyal and understand-
ing friends. I must especially commend their ability to take work com-
pletely off my mind and for lending an attentive ear for whenever I vented
my frustrations. Parts of the book were written in the company of my
friend and colleague, Thomas Storgaard, during our ‘writing sessions’
which provided the most productive, focused and stringently organized
work environment one could imagine. I must also express my gratitude to
my friend, Daniel Steinbach. Daniel provided feedback and comments on
early drafts and gave me advice on how to improve the book in terms of
content, style and, above all, structure. Discussing the writing process
(and the affairs of the world) with Daniel while strolling through parks or
sitting at a café have lifted the quality of the book immensely and made the
writing itself more enjoyable.
Finally, there are two people I must thank above everyone else: my son
August and my wife Anna. The patience and unyielding support they have
given in the process of completing this book cannot be understated. I am
grateful for every minute of wonderful distraction they both have given
me. Had they not, writing this book would have been immensely more
difficult. This book is therefore dedicated to them both—not so much for
its ominous topic, but for the effort that has been put into writing it.
Contents
1 Introduction 1
2 Colonial Violence in Southern Africa at the Turn of the

Twentieth Century 15
3 Imperial Cooperation and Anglo-German Diplomacy 43
4 Concerns and Non-Cooperation 71
5 Case 609: African Refugees in British Territory 93
6 Knowledge and Reactions121
7 Atrocity Narratives and the End of German Colonialism,

1918–19153
8 Conclusion193
Cited Works203
Index225
ix
Abbreviations
A.B.I.R Anglo-Belgian-India Rubber

APS Aborigines’ Protection Society
BAB Bundesarchiv (Lichterfelde, Germany)
CAB Cabinet Papers
CMP Cape Mounted Police
CO Colonial Office
FO Foreign Office
GSWA German South West Africa
NAN National Archives of Namibia (Windhoek)
PMC Permanent Mandates Commission
NASA National Archives of South Africa (Pretoria)
SCC Special Criminals Court
SWA South West Africa
TNA The National Archives (Kew, United Kingdom)
WNLA Witwatersrand Native Labour Agency
WO War Office
xi
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
Speaking in the House of Lords on 3 July 1919—less than a week after

Germany signed the Treaty of Versailles—Lord Curzon, Leader of the
House of Lords, proclaimed the treaty to be ‘the end of a tragic chapter in
the history of the world’. Germany’s defeat was not only the downfall of a
nation, but of the ‘Prussian character, which is incompatible with good
government and the ordered progress of the world’. One of the stains of
this Prussian character on the world was the German colonial empire,
which had ‘a record of force and fraud and ruthless disregard for the inter-
est of the native people’. Indeed, ‘German rule’, Curzon asserted, ‘was
characterised by almost undeviating harshness, and in some cases revolting
cruelty. Under this system, vast areas of territory were depopulated. Some
tribes, like the wretched Herero’s in South-West Africa, were literally
exterminated.’ The ‘absolutely overwhelming’ evidence of German bru-
tality and violence, he declared, meant that the ‘13-14,000,000 dark-
skinned men’ in the German colonies, ‘could not be abandoned’.1
Colonial violence was at the crux of the British and dominion campaign
to end German colonialism during the Paris peace conference after World
War I. Equipped with reports and evidence of German colonial misrule
and ‘wishes of natives’ to be under British rule, the British and dominion
governments successfully portrayed the confiscation of Germany’s colo-
nies as an act of humanitarian interventionism.2 The most influential and
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
M. Bomholt Nielsen, Britain, Germany and Colonial Violence in
South-West Africa, 1884–1919, Cambridge Imperial and Post-
Colonial Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_1
2 M. BOMHOLT NIELSEN
renowned piece of evidence presented on German colonial violence was

the 1918 Foreign Office Blue Book, entitled Report on the Natives of
South-West Africa and their Treatment by Germany. Compiled after the
South African invasion of German South West Africa (GSWA) in 1915,
the report—conventionally referred to as ‘the Blue Book’—provided a
detailed account of German atrocities against the Herero and Nama, espe-
cially during the rebellions of 1903–8.3 German counter-insurgency dur-
ing these rebellions notably involved the use of concentration camps and
orders for the outright extermination of Africans. Approximately eighty
per cent of the Herero population and fifty per cent of the Nama popula-
tion perished in what is generally agreed to be the first genocide of the
twentieth century. This violence, the Blue Book concluded, should ‘con-
vince the most confirmed sceptic of the unsuitability of the Germans to
control natives, and show him what can be expected if the unfortunate
natives are ever again handed back to their former regime’.4
The Blue Book indicated that Britain was unaware of the violence in
GSWA before the 1915 invasion.5 Indeed, if Britain had been aware of the
violence at the time it occurred, any association, involvement or failure to
protest would significantly undermine attempts to confiscate German col-
onies on the grounds of violence and misrule. Yet, before 1914, Britain
and South African authorities were not just aware of the violence in GSWA,
but had cooperated with the Germans on a number of occasions. Moreover,
the extensive colonial borders and the trans-nationality of colonial regions,
where Africans, traders and information, for example, crossed the borders
relatively freely, meant that knowledge of the atrocities was widespread.
Above all, the placing of British military attachés with German forces in
GSWA from February 1905 meant that the British government was in
possession of detailed reports on the violence while it actually occurred.6
The fact that no official protest against German colonial violence and mis-
rule was launched until 1918 is indicative of the intricate links between
colonial violence on the one hand and politics and diplomacy on the other.
Indeed, the different international, imperial and diplomatic contexts of
1903–8 and 1918–19 respectively, were determining factors in how colo-
nial violence was presented to suit specific aims and interests. Thus, the
post-war denunciation of German colonialism intentionally obscured the
underlying and deeper level of interaction that existed during the Herero
and Nama rebellions.
This book concerns what can ostensibly be called ‘the British factor’ in
German colonial violence in GSWA. Through the eyes of British and Cape
1 INTRODUCTION 3
statesmen, officials and colonial officers, it examines British and South

African (Cape Colony until 1910 and hereafter the Union of South Africa)
perspectives on, and involvement in, German colonial violence in GSWA
until the end of German colonialism in 1919. The book thus revolves
around two basic questions: How did a neighbouring colonial power react
to and perceive colonial violence and atrocities such as those committed
by Germany against the Herero and Nama? Further, what factors deter-
mined the different reactions, views and policies taken by the neighbour-
ing colonial power? In considering colonial violence in a trans-imperial
light, which accounts for both metropolitan and colonial contexts (whereas
trans-colonialism concerns the latter), this book attempts to show that
histories of colonial violence cannot be contained within nationally demar-
cated colonial borders. Instead, it occurred in a context in which other
colonial powers were involved either directly or indirectly. This occurred
on several levels that transcended the immediate space where colonial vio-
lence was perpetrated as the atrocities in GSWA were, for instance, per-
ceived and responded to by Britain in the context of European, imperial
and colonial considerations.
The intention of this book is to connect the developing scholarship on
colonial violence to broader historical themes of political, diplomatic and
imperial histories. A recurring problem with the scholarship on colonial
violence is arguably that it remains compartmentalised in nationally
deduced colonial empires. This book thus sets out to challenge this com-
partmentalisation of the colonial world, telling the story of German colo-
nial violence through the eyes of its colonial neighbour. Surprisingly few
studies of colonial violence move beyond the confines of German, French
or even British colonial histories. Instead, comparisons are widespread—in
particular, colonial violence is deemed ‘softer’ in British colonial history
than that perpetrated as part of Belgian or indeed German colonialism,
serving, as Kim Wagner has noted, to perpetuate narratives of British
exceptionalism as a particularly benign colonial power. However, brutal
and racialised colonial violence was as much a feature of British imperial-
ism as it was of German colonialism.7 Such casual comparisons or juxtapo-
sitions, though, are intended for inward elucidation: to either distinguish
a specific colonial type or make histories of colonial violence normative in
a nationally compartmentalised colonial historiography. Indeed, like impe-
rial history as a whole, it is characteristic of colonial violence as a sub-
theme that the links between empires have not been as thoroughly examined
as those within empires.8
Despite criticism of the pervasive notion of Britain as a more benign

and ‘soft’ colonial power than others, the image still prevails in the ‘empire
debate’ and historically, with British statesmen and the public generally
conceiving of Britain as the most enlightened colonial power.9 This self-
identification derives from the humanitarianism that emerged out of the
abolitionist movement in the late eighteenth century. Humanitarian dis-
course remained a central ideology of empire in Britain, sustaining both its
moral and legal basis.10 After the abolition of the slave trade in 1807 and
slavery in 1833, humanitarianism remained a key ideology and it was con-
stantly re-invented by influential lobby groups such as the Aborigines’
Protection Society or the Congo Reform Association which publicly pro-
tested against colonial mistreatment and violence.11 For the British gov-
ernment, humanitarian discourses were widespread within Whitehall and
anti-slavery remained a ‘blessed word’ in the Colonial Office because of its
central position as a view of British government officials, politicians and
the general public and because, by the mid-nineteenth century, it had,
according to Andrew Porter, become a ‘vital component of Britain’s
national and imperial identity’.12 Within this humanitarian discourse was
an inherent revisionist agenda towards the institution of empire, in which
moral standards, often reduced to notions of development, civilisation and
anti-slavery, were embedded as justifications for colonial rule. In other
words, seemingly benign views became a driving force for imperial
expansion.
Such moral expectancy, however, did not align with the oppressive
nature of colonial rule. At the crux of the moral underpinnings of imperi-
alism was a contradiction between the humanitarian expectancy of empire
and its violent reality.13 Furthermore, pervasive humanitarian notions also
put colonial rule ‘on trial’ and facilitated criticism of mistreatment and
violence.14 As Alice Conklin has shown in the context of French West
Africa, the civilising ideals colonial states were expected to uphold, did not
align with the widespread practices of coercion and forced labour in the
colonies. To overcome this clear contradiction, each situation could be
amended and explained. Thus, while coercion was seemingly morally inex-
cusable, forced labour was claimed to ‘improve’ colonial subjects, prevent-
ing natural racial ‘degeneration’.15 Humanitarianism was therefore not
necessarily the opposite of biological racial determinism. Rather, racial
attitudes were embedded in the discourse of ‘civilising’ and ‘protection’.
Crucially, humanitarianism remained a key context in which colonial vio-
lence was construed and reacted to. It was a widespread moral norm
1 INTRODUCTION 5
associated with the purpose and justification of empire; meaning, that

when Germany so overtly violated the humanitarian expectancy in colo-
nial rule, this discourse formed a central backdrop in which reports, state-
ments and information on violence were read.
While the image of more benign British colonisers remains, German
colonialism has long been correctly associated with excessive violence and
brutality, not only in GSWA but also in other colonies such as German
East Africa, where the character and cruelty of Carl Peters—‘the German
Rhodes’—and his Deutsch Ostafrikanische Gesellschaft (German East Africa
Company) epitomised colonial oppression and violence.16 Peters and his
followers have been described as cultivating ‘a cult of violence’ in which
Africans were degraded—treated like animals and used as forced labourers,
with blatant racial ideology directing the establishment of German colo-
nial rule.17 Furthermore, German military forces also brutally suppressed
two major colonial wars—the Wahehe rebellion (1891–8) and Maji Maji
rebellion (1905–7). In the latter, the main German aim was to punish the
rebels and prevent future rebellions, leading to excessive use of violence
and corporal punishment.18 The suppression of the Herero and Nama
rebellions in GSWA, however, is arguably the most noteworthy example of
German colonial violence. The German government acknowledged it as a
genocide on 28 May 2021 after years of pressure from scholars and activ-
ists and negotiations with the Namibian government. GSWA, therefore,
remains the most prominent example because of the widespread belief that
the genocide against the Herero and Nama constituted a precursor or
‘testing ground’ for the Holocaust. The use of concentration camps, med-
ical experiments on prisoners and the overt racism characterising this
genocide presents a clear imagery of parallels and comparisons to the
Holocaust and has led to a rekindled ‘colonial Sonderweg’, with the roots
of Nazism supposedly found in Namibia.19 Such view is of course deriving
Hannah Arendt’s and Aimé Césaire’s respective stipulation that colonial
methods of oppression ‘boomeranged’ and instigated total war and totali-
tarianism in Europe.20 This has had significant consequences on the histo-
riographical context in which German colonial violence in GSWA is
currently understood. The towering shadow of the Holocaust functions as
an end-point, whereby history is perceived retrospectively and contained
within German national history.21 Not only is such a perspective reductive,
it also points to German historical exceptionalism in terms of violence and
genocide, applying both to German national and colonial history.22 This
stands in contrast to the intensive entanglements and connections of
colonial spheres—drawing connections with the Holocaust, whether

intentionally or unintentionally, mainly serves to obscure the colonial con-
text. Consequently, as Reinhart Kössler noted, if GSWA remains transfixed
in a trajectory leading up to the Holocaust, ‘the overall question of colo-
nialism is easily lost sight of’.23
It is tempting to approach German colonial violence in GSWA from a
British perspective for a number of reasons: there is a strong empirical
basis for such an approach as extensive numbers of sources relating to
German colonial violence can be found in British and South African
archives. Geographically, the colonial borders between GSWA and the
Cape and Bechuanaland Protectorate were zones of interaction between
the colonial powers and African groups. The constant puncturing of the
colonial borders meant that violence and rebellion in one colony affected
stability and everyday lives in the other. While colonial violence in GSWA
occurred in a local regional trans-colonial context, it also appeared on
broader, international and trans-imperial levels. Diplomatically, GSWA
was a central part of the colonial rivalry between Britain and Germany,
which was more intense in Southern Africa than anywhere else except
Europe. Furthermore, as has already been alluded to, German colonial
violence was central to British diplomatic interests in 1918. On an imperial
level, the stance towards Germany’s suppression of the Herero and Nama
rebellions was constantly negotiated by the British and Cape governments,
with consideration given to their respective interests and viewpoints.
Where the British government was driven by diplomatic considerations,
the Cape was concerned about its security. Politically, Britain’s insistence
on its moral superiority, as reiterated in the Blue Book in 1918, may well
have been significant in shaping the notion of Britain as a ‘soft colonial
power’, as lamented by Wagner and others. Indeed, at the time, colonial
violence had a notable metropolitan aspect in relation to how public and
international opinion reacted, as was apparent during the Congo crisis of
1903–8, when public demands for intervention against King Leopold II’s
atrocious Red Rubber regime in the Congo were imperative for the trans-
fer of administration to the Belgian state in 1908. Colonial violence and
the reactions of the British government to it were therefore profoundly
political.
The notion of German colonialism as exceptionally cruel and violent
was in part the result of Britain’s denunciation after World War I. Andreas
Eckl meticulously set out the correlation between the arguments of the
Blue Book and Horst Drechsler’s influential Let Us Die Fighting (1966).24
1 INTRODUCTION 7
In other words, the origin of German colonialism as exceptionally brutal

was most likely the Blue Book of 1918, which, despite its relatively accu-
rate description of German colonial violence, represented propaganda
with outright imperial and diplomatic intentions.25 At the crux of the
notion of German colonial exceptionalism, therefore, lies a profound
British factor, which changed according to shifting contexts in Europe and
Africa and at different times—even when the violence in question
had ended.
Trans-colonialism in Anglo-German Southern Africa

Understanding the colonial world in context of nationally defined empires
resonates with the foundations of history as a modern discipline, intended
to delineate the nation states of nineteenth-century Europe. L.H Gann
and Peter Duignan described their series on ‘the rulers of Africa’ as ‘paral-
lel studies’ and had each volume neatly divided into, among others,
‘British’, ‘German’ and ‘Belgian’ colonial histories thus perpetuating
national borders in the colonial world.26 Such demarcation has obscured
transnational and trans-imperial patterns in history and led to compart-
mentalisation first between nations and then empires.27 In Southern Africa,
the local trans-colonial entanglements across the Cape and GSWA borders
have been difficult to examine because of the pervasive national historiog-
raphies of South Africa and Namibia.28 In the case of the British imperial
system, John Darwin has shown that this cannot be seen as a historical
polity in itself because of its fragmentation by local sub-imperial agents
acting in accordance with their own, locally based, interests and because of
the external influences that profoundly shaped British imperial power
overseas.29 The notion of trans-colonialism therefore reiterates an under-
standing of the colonial world as one linked across borders and spheres
and in which Europe was not some external or indeed exceptional history
promoting a dichotomy of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’.30
Recently, new scholarship has emerged dedicated to examining the
interactions and entanglements of colonial histories.31 This complicates
prevailing understandings of European colonial empires in Africa and else-
where as disconnected extensions of the nation-state—an idea often form-
ing the unintended perspective in several volumes, particularly those with
comparative approaches.32 Instead of seeing German colonial violence in
GSWA as part of German national history, where there is often a tendency
to consider it as a precursor to the Holocaust, this book emphasises the
trans-colonial and international context. At the same time, however, it

remains important not to inflate colonial connections and inter-imperial
histories. Indeed, while it is necessary to challenge rigid and nationally
defined compartmentalisations, we should not completely abandon the
notion of separate spheres of influence in the colonial world. Although
notions of cooperation and shared experiences are useful to determine the
interactions between colonial powers, these risk obscuring elements of
estrangement, rivalry and provocation.
With the advent of global history, it has been established that imperial
power and decision-making were not the prerogative of the imperial gov-
ernment in London, but a cumulative response spanning imperial and
trans-imperial networks.33 Global history’s focus on connections, as Simon
Potter and Jonathan Saha have asserted, ‘can assist us in overcoming the
long-standing but often misleading tendency to examine the British
Empire as a singular, hermetically-sealed world system’.34 The same is true
of the German colonial empire, in which the colonial Sonderweg has func-
tioned as a form of compartmentalisation because it rests on the premise
of the Holocaust as a profoundly German national history.35 Although
there is a tendency within global history to emphasise subalterns and his-
tory from below, this should not remove the necessity to understand polit-
ical history—mainly belonging to the imperial and colonial elites—from
such perspectives. Indeed, European international history—particularly
relating to Anglo-German relations—has been shaped and informed by
colonial affairs in the context of trans-imperial interactions. While the
global turn in the history of the British Empire has been successful in
breaking a London-centred view and acknowledging external influences,
much less attention has been paid to the connections between colonial
empires than those within.36
In the colonial world, Anglo-German entanglements were profound.
Even before Germany formally acquired colonial possessions, the British
Empire hosted German emigrants and groups espousing visions of a
German colonial community.37 Settlers, missionaries and indigenous
groups, while formally affiliated with a specified colony controlled by a
European nation, roamed relatively freely across the colonial landscape
with little regard for colonial borders. Thus, colonial borders were not
rigid demarcations of colonial or national sovereignty but should be con-
sidered sites of interactions and also sites of fragility where colonial rule
was at its weakest and contested by cross-border movements, in which
1 INTRODUCTION 9
colonial powers in turn attempted to exert control by means of violence.38

As we shall see, the colonial borderlands were key to interactions between
German, Cape and British actors but also for Africans in resisting German
colonial rule because many escaped to British or Cape territory either as
refugees or to prevent their pursuit by German troops.
Several historians have characterised Anglo-German colonial relations
and interactions in Southern Africa as defined by a ‘racial solidarity.’
Cooperation between the colonial powers in holding down Africans
amounted to what Drechsler called a ‘sharing of the white man’s bur-
den’.39 More recently, and arguably more persuasively, Ulrike Lindner
claimed that, in Africa, Britain and Germany were involved in a ‘shared
colonial project’. Although this project also amounted to ‘the white man’s
burden [being] equally shared among the colonial powers’, Lindner cor-
rectly reiterates the centrality of estrangement and rivalry in inter-imperial
relations and indicates that these are not opposed to cooperation. Indeed,
as she correctly observes, a complicated Spannungsfeld (‘zone of tension’)
existed between cooperation and rivalry, meaning that the terms were not
mutually exclusive but rather co-existed.40 British and German colonialism
in Southern Africa was therefore intrinsically linked and common ground
existed in wishing to ensure the maintenance of colonial rule over Africans.
It is the intention that this book will complement (rather than disprove)
the work done by Lindner and others on the shared histories of British and
German colonialism. This book adds to understandings of the notion of
imperial cooperation, focusing on the complexities and difficulties placed
on a neighbouring colonial power in the context of a colonial ‘small war’.
In focusing on a Cape and British perspective, it becomes clear that impe-
rial cooperation, deriving from sharing of the white man’s burden, is
essentially an oversimplification of the deeply ambiguous and multi-faceted
history of colonial and imperial entanglements in Europe and
Southern Africa.
Indeed, there are few indications in British and South African-based
sources of any detailed or sympathetic policy towards the German sup-
pression of the Herero and Nama rebellions deriving from racist convic-
tions. That is not to say that there were no underlying racial prejudices
informing British or South African actors—merely that racial solidarity
alone did not necessarily mean intensive cooperation. Instead, the notion
of sharing the white man’s burden arguably derives from German sources
as the Germans in GSWA continuously sought to win British and Cape
support in the borderlands and hand over refugees. The British and Cape
authorities were essentially forced into a difficult situation requiring care-
ful management in accordance with their own interests. These rarely
amounted to notions of racial solidarity and were by their nature sporadic
and haphazard as there was never any established policy or directive on
how to react to German colonial violence in GSWA. The only consistency
in their involvement was a desire to ‘walk on eggshells’ and not to provoke
Boers, Germans or Africans. Perhaps most importantly, in addition to
imperial cooperation, non-cooperation—the active decision not to sup-
port the Germans—definitively shaped British involvement in German
colonial violence in GSWA.
Understanding the interactions and entanglements between the colo-
nial powers in the colonies themselves rather than from a metropolitan
perspective in London or Berlin is useful to fully comprehend the com-
plexities inherent in such relations. Indeed, although the period before
1914 was characterised by increasing Anglo-German antagonism, rela-
tions in the colonial ‘periphery’ were different, as Britain and Germany
collaborated on a number of cases. Britain’s involvement in GSWA and
collaboration with the German Schutztruppe (protection force) may there-
fore be indicative of a shared colonial project that occurred separately to
the deteriorating diplomatic relations in Europe. However, this is too
absolute and inconsistent with the ambiguous way in which British actors
in London and South Africa acted during the rebellion and genocide in
GSWA. Tilman Dedering, for instance, has shown how different interests
and agendas of metropolitan and colonial actors shaped Britain’s involve-
ment in GSWA, forced upon them by African cross-border mobility in
particular.41 As such, while notions of racial solidarity were indeed influen-
tial in motivating cooperation between colonial powers, they tend to flat-
ten the imperial, diplomatic and political contexts and reduce colonial rule
to a predominantly if not exclusively racial endeavour. Any involvement or
expression of views on the part of Britain and the Cape did not therefore
emanate from a racially motivated shared project but from British and
Cape interests and security. This led to an ambiguous and multi-faceted
British involvement in German colonial violence, whereby cooperation
co-existed with non-cooperation and stringent handling of information in
accordance with shifting diplomatic contexts.
1 INTRODUCTION 11
Notes
1. Hansard Millbank, cc155–164, ‘The Treaty of Peace’, Earl Curzon of
Kedleston, House of Lords, 3 July 1919.
2. For humanitarian intervention see Klose, Fabian (ed.), The Emergence of
Humanitarian Intervention: Ideas and Practices from the Nineteenth
Century to the Present (Cambridge, 2016).
3. Herero—or OvaHerero—refers to a broader ethnic and cultural Bantu-
speaking group splintered into different political and tribal affiliations. At
the turn of the twentieth century, they primarily resided around Windhoek
and were mainly pastoralists. The Nama mainly resides in the southern
parts of Namibia and in the Northern Cape and speak Khoekhoe. Like the
Herero, they were also divided into different tribal groups and affiliations
according to politics, location and culture among other factors.
4. Administrators Office, Windhuk, Report on the Natives of South-West
Africa and Their Treatment by Germany (London, 1918), p. 11.
5. Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, p. 5.
6. See Chap. 6.
7. K. A. Wagner, ‘Savage Warfare: Violence and the Rule of Colonial
Difference in Early British Counterinsurgency’, History Workshop Journal,
vol. 85 (2018), p. 231.
8. S. Potter and J. Saha, ‘Global History, Imperial History and Connected
Histories of Empire’, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, vol. 16,
1 (2015).
9. See for instance N. Ferguson, Empire. How Britain Made the Modern
World (London, 2004), pp. 295–96.
10. A. Lester and F. Dussart, Colonization and the Origins of Humanitarian
Governance – Protecting Aborigines across the Nineteenth-Century British
Empire (Cambridge, 2014), pp. 3–5. See also M. Mann, ‘“Torchbearer
Upon the Path of Progress”: Britain’s Ideology of Moral and Material
Progress in India. An Introductory Essay’ in H. Fischer-Tiné and M. Mann
(eds.), Colonialism as Civilizing Mission: Cultural Ideology in British India
(London, 2004), pp. 2–4.
11. A. Porter, ‘Trusteeship, Anti-Slavery and Humanitarianism’ in Porter
(ed.), The Oxford History of the British Empire: The Nineteenth Century
(Oxford, 1999), pp. 216–17. See also Lester and Dussart, Colonization
and the Origins of Humanitarian Governance, p. 2. For a detailed account
of the APS and its influence upon British colonial policy as a whole, see
J. Heartfield, The Aborigines’ Protection Society, Humanitarian Imperialism
in Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, Canada, South Africa, and the Congo,
1836–1909 (London, 2011).
12. Porter, ‘Trusteeship, Anti-Slavery and Humanitarianism’, p. 198. See also

S. Miers, Slavery in the Twentieth Century – The Evolution of a Global
Problem (Walnut Creek CA, 2003) and E. Cleall, ‘“In Defiance of the
Highest Principle of Justice, Principles of Righteousness”: The Indenturing
of the Bechuana Rebels and the Ideals of Empire, 1897–1900’, The Journal
of Imperial and Commonwealth History, vol. 40, 4 (2012), p. 605.
13. Michael Barnett, Empire of Humanity: A History of Humanitarian
Intervention (Ithaca NY, 2011), pp. 11–12.
14. M. Wiener, An Empire on Trial: Race, Murder, and Justice under British
Rule, 1870–1935 (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 4–5. For the Congo crisis in
connection to GSWA, see Chap. 5.
15. A. Conklin, ‘Colonialism and Human Rights, A Contradiction in Terms?
The Case of France and West Africa, 1895–1914’, American Historical
Review, vol. 103 (1998), pp. 437–8. See also A. Conklin, A Mission to
Civilize: The Republican Idea of Empire in France and West Africa,
1895–1930 (Stanford, 1997) for a French case in which a consensus on the
civilising mission legitimised imperialism.
16. C. Kpao Saré, ‘Abuses of German Colonial History: The Character of Carl
Peters as Weapon for völkisch and National Socialist Discourses:
Anglophobia, Anti-Semitism and Aryanism’ in M. Perraudin and
J. Zimmerer (eds.) German Colonialism and National Identity (New
York, 2010).
17. A. Perras, Carl Peters and German Imperialism, 1856–1918: A Political
Biography (Oxford, 2004), p. 118.
18. For colonial violence in German East Africa, see especially S. Kuss, German
Colonial Wars and the Context of Military Violence (Cambridge MA,
2017), Chapter 3, here p. 72.
19. See among others B. Madley, ‘From Africa to Auschwitz: How German
South West Africa Incubated Ideas and Methods Adopted and Developed
by the Nazis in Eastern Europe’, European History Quarterly, vol. 35, 3
(2005); J. Zimmerer, Von Windhuk nach Auschwitz? Beitrage zum
Verhältnis von Kolonialismus und Holocaust (Münster, 2011) and J. Sarkin,
Germany’s Genocide of the Herero. Kaiser Wilhelm II, His General, His
Settlers, His Soldiers (Cape Town, 2010).
20. H. Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York, 1951) and
A. Césaire, Discourse on Colonialism, [org. 1955] Translated by Joan
Pinkham, (London, 1972). See also D. Stone, ‘Defending the Plural:
Hannah Arendt and Genocide Studies’, New Formations, vol. 71, 1 (2011).
21. M. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective Memory: British Perceptions of the
Herero-Nama Genocide, 1904–1908 and 1918’, Journal of Southern
African Studies, vol. 43, 2 (2017).
1 INTRODUCTION 13
22. U. Lindner, ‘German Colonialism and the British neighbour in Africa
before 1914’ in V. Langbehn and M. Salama (eds.), German Colonialism-
Race, the Holocaust and Postwar Germany (New York, 2011), p. 255. See
also B. Kundrus, ‘From the Herero to the Holocaust? Some Remarks on
the Current Debate’, Africa Spectrum, vol. 40, 2 (2005).
23. R. Kössler, ‘Genocide in Namibia, the Holocaust and the Issue of
Colonialism’, Journal of Southern African Studies, vol. 38, 2 (2012),
p. 237. See also Kuss, German Colonial Wars pp. 2–4 and M. Fitzpatrick,
‘The Pre-History of the Holocaust? The Sonderweg and Historikerstreit
Debates and the Abject Colonial Past’, Central European History, vol. 41,
3 (2008).
24. A. Eckl, ‘The Herero Genocide of 1904: Source-critical and Methodological
Considerations’, Journal of Namibian Studies, vol. 3 (2014), pp. 38–41.
25. See Chap. 7.
26. L.G. Gann and P. Duignan, The Rulers of German Africa, 1884–1914
(Stanford, 1977) p. ix-x. See also The Rulers of British Africa, 1884–1914
and The Rulers of Belgian Africa, 1884–1914 (both Stanford, 1979).
27. See here R. Drayton, The Masks of Empire: The World History underneath
Modern Empires and Nations, c. 1500 to the Present (London 2017).
28. M. Legassick, Hidden Histories of Gordonia: Land Dispossession and
Resistance in the Northern Cape, 1800–1990 (Johannesburg, 2016), p. 160.
29. See J. Darwin, The Empire Project – The Rise and Fall of the British World-
System, 1830–1970 (Cambridge, 2009).
30. Several major publications have stressed the global and transnational nature
and context of colonial empires. See for instance, Darwin, Empire Project
and C.A. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, 1780–1914 (New York,
2004). Also V. Barth and R. Cvetkovski, ‘Encounters of Empire:
Methodological Approaches’ in V. Barth and R. Cvetkovski (eds.), Imperial
Co-operation and Transfer, 1870–1930 (London, 2015), pp. 21–3.
Specifically for the notion of trans-imperialism see, for instance,
J. Cromwell, ‘More than Slaves and Sugar: Recent Historiography of the
Trans-imperial Caribbean and its Sinew Populations’ History Compass, vol.
12, 10 (2014), p. 778.
31. See among others, S. Conrad, Globalisation and the Nation in Imperial
Germany (Cambridge, 2010); U. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen:
Deutschland und Grossbritanien als Imperiallmächte in Afrika 1880–1914
(Frankfurt-am-Main, 2011); J. Leonhard and U. von Hirschhausen,
Comparing Empires: Encounters and Transfers in the Nineteenth and Early
Twentieth Century (Göttingen, 2011) and B. Naranch and G. Eley (eds.),
German Colonialism in a Global Age (Durham NC, 2014).
32. See the otherwise excellent Prosser Gifford & Wm. Roger Louis Britain
and Germany in Africa. Imperial Rivalry and Colonial Rule (New Haven
CT, 1967).
33. See notably J. Darwin, ‘Imperialism and the Victorians: The Dynamics of
Territorial Expansion’ The English Historical Review, 112 (1997) and
C.A. Bayly, Imperial Meridian: The British Empire and the World,
1780–1830 (London, 1989).
34. Potter and Saha, ‘Global History, Imperial History and Connected
Histories’.
35. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective memory’, pp. 317–9. See also P. Grosse,
‘What Does National Socialism have to do with Colonialism? A Conceptual
Framework’, in E. Ames, M. Klotz and L. Wildenthal (eds.), Germany’s
Colonial Pasts (Lincoln NE, 2005), p. 118. Of course, there also exist
transnational and even global histories of the Holocaust. See for instance
J. Burzlaff, ‘Towards a transnational history of the Holocaust: Social rela-
tions in Eastern Europe’, Revue d’Histoire de la Shoah, vol. 212, 2 (2020).
36. Potter and Saha, ‘Global History, Imperial History and Connected
Histories’. Also F. Cooper and A. Laura Stoler, ‘Between Metropole and
Colony: Rethinking a research agenda’, in Frederick Cooper and Ann
Laura Stoler (eds.) Tensions of Empire: Colonial cultures in a bourgeois
world, (Berkeley, 1997).
37. See S. Zantop, Colonial Fantasies. Conquest, Family, and Nation in
Precolonial Germany, 1770–1870 (Durham NC, 1997).
38. T. Dedering, ‘War and mobility in the Borderlands of South Western Africa
in the Early Twentieth Century’, The International Journal of African
Historical Studies, vol. 39, 2 (2006), p. 276. More generally on colonial
borderlands as sites of weakness, see for instance, J. Adelman and S. Aron,
‘From Borderlands to Borders. Empires, Nation-States and the Peoples in
Between in North American History’, The American Historical Review,
vol. 104, 3 (1999).
39. H. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting. The Struggle of the Herero and Nama
against German Imperialism, 1884–1915 (London, 1980), p. 204. Also
M. Fröhlich, Von Konfrontation zur Koexistenz. Die deutsch-englischen
Kolonialbeziehungen in Africa zwischen 1884 und 1914 (Bochum,
1990), p. 266.
40. U. Lindner, ‘Colonialism as a European Project in Africa before 1914?
British and German concepts of Colonial Rule in Sub-Saharan Africa’,
Comparativ, vol. 19, 1 (2009), p. 106.
41. See Dedering, ‘War and mobility in the Borderlands’.
CHAPTER 2
Colonial Violence in Southern Africa

at the Turn of the Twentieth Century
As Frederick Cooper noted in 1994, violence was ‘the most obvious fea-
ture of colonial rule’ but was, at the time, inadequately studied.1 Since
then, colonial violence has become a significant field within colonial his-
tory. Especially in settler colonial studies, colonial violence has become
fundamental in how settler colonialism, and the gradual dispossession of
indigenous lands, caused conflicts, widespread racism and, at times, geno-
cide.2 The centrality of ‘everyday violence’ where settlers and colonial offi-
cers committed excessive violence—floggings, beatings and rape—on
colonised groups in Africa and elsewhere has provided a deeper under-
standing of the malignant nature of colonialism.3 It is crucial, as Philip
Dwyer and Amanda Nettelbeck have observed, to recognise colonial vio-
lence as a contingent that was ‘diffuse, multi-layered and enormously vari-
able’.4 The term colonial violence therefore remains an inclusive term that
encompasses a number of complexities: for instance, while violence was
sometimes committed by a colonial state, violence inflicted on local popu-
lations by white settlers could directly undermine the colonial state’s
authority. As Matthias Häussler has demonstrated, the everyday violence
committed by German settlers on the Herero and Nama in GSWA was
characterised by ‘boundless aggressiveness’, making it more difficult for
the colonial administration to secure stability.5 Thus, colonial violence in
itself cannot be reduced to a dichotomy between coloniser and colonised,

Switzerland AG 2022
South-West Africa, 1884–1919, Cambridge Imperial and
Post-Colonial Studies,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_2
because, within the former, there were opposing groups, motives and out-
looks. Furthermore, in the pursuit of colonial hegemony—or rather domi-
nance—there were in most cases also a central element of local indigenous
collaboration with the imperial states.6 Finally, the consequences of colo-
nial violence can be traced to a multitude of destinations beyond the per-
petrators and victims involved, affecting not merely on colonial
administration and stability, but, as we shall see, across the colonial border.
This chapter serves a basic but important purpose. By first examining
ostensibly mutual perceptions of British and German colonial rule before
World War I, it provides a basic context. At the time, several stereotypes
informed officials, the media and the public alike, prejudicing opinion of
what German colonialism entailed. Such stereotypes should not be disre-
garded because they functioned as demarcations that positioned British
colonial rule as a contrast. Second, this chapter explains the fundamental
progression and development of colonial violence in GSWA. After an ini-
tial account of the Herero and Nama rebellions, a discussion follows of the
methods and practices of colonial violence used by the Germans in a trans-
colonial context. Indeed, methods such as concentration camps circulated
among the colonial powers and the Germans in particular drew inspiration
from British colonial experiences, including in the South African War
(1899–1902). This chapter should therefore be considered as the founda-
tion for the remainder of the book in that it explains the type, scale and
context of colonial violence in GSWA.
A central facet of colonial violence is the pervasive element of racism.
Franz Fanon observed that dehumanisation of the colonised was a key
premise of colonialism, giving the coloniser ‘the right to kill’.7 Not only in
the context of settler colonialism were racial attitudes crucial determi-
nants: military violence was also profoundly shaped by racial stereotypes.
For instance, strategies and weaponry reflected racial predispositions, per-
haps best exemplified in the use of the expanding Dum-Dum bullet,
which, because of its severity, was believed to make an impression on oth-
erwise inferior races that could not feel or process pain in the same way as
Europeans. More importantly, in military strategies, C.E. Callwell’s man-
ual Small Wars: Their Principles and Practice (1896) reiterated the impor-
tance of seeking a large-scale battle with ‘savage peoples’ who only
understood the language of violence.8 Callwell’s manual quickly became a
standard guide to colonial ‘small wars’ both within and outside Britain and
it was translated into French and read and used in Germany. An underly-
ing premise of the manual and colonial military violence was that conflicts
2 COLONIAL VIOLENCE IN SOUTHERN AFRICA AT THE TURN… 17
in the colonial world were inherently different from those in Europe.

Opponents were ‘savage’, ‘disorganised’ and would not refrain from using
‘dishonourable’ tactics.9 The very logic of colonial counter-insurgency was
therefore profoundly shaped by a racial logic, where indigenous groups
were reduced to stereotypes such as ‘fanatics’ or ‘barbarians’.10
Colonial violence, however, did not emerge solely from racial predispo-
sitions; it was also caused by a number of additional factors. Crucially,
colonial powers were constantly searching for authority and hegemony
and only rarely achieved it. As shown by Antoinette Burton, for example,
a key part of colonial history involves consistent ‘troubles’—insurgencies
and rebellions against colonial rule.11 The inherent weakness of colonial
states, emanating from a plurality of factors including geography, lack of
manpower and inadequate ‘tools of empire’, pushed violence and terror as
a modus operandi in order to maintain authority and stability.12 For
instance, the colonial state’s efforts to police GSWA were severely encum-
bered by the sheer size of the colony. GSWA was as large as 835,100
square kilometres—one and a half times the size of Germany, meaning
that enforcing state authority was difficult to say the least.13 Violence was
therefore inflicted upon Africans in order to create the impression of
European control, especially as the colonial administrators had relatively
few other effective means of enforcement available.14 But as observed by
Jeffrey Herbst, despite the use of force and coercion, the colonial power
were frequently unable to enforce colonial dominance ‘always and every-
where’.15 The weakness of colonial states was not unknown to colonisers
as fear also positioned violence at the centre of colonialism. Dominik
Schaller, for instance, has shown that German soldiers in GSWA and East
Africa were constantly afraid of ambushes and alarmed by rumours of
mutilations and slaughters, furthering the formation of a psyche where
they more readily committed atrocities and acts of violence.16 In addition
to racism, a simple dynamic such as fear alongside the inherent structural
weakness of the colonial state in its attempts to achieve hegemony were
therefore underlying causes and driving forces in the formation and escala-
tion of colonial violence. The rebellions and genocide in GSWA between
1903 and 1908 fit many of the identified causes and dynamics of colonial
violence. The gradual encroachment of settler colonialism, pervasive rac-
ism and inherent state weakness in terms of finance, manpower and
authority impeded by geography were some of the most important fac-
tors. As we shall see below, such weakness and fear was shared by colonial
neighbours, as rebellions and fragility in one colony could severely impact

the stability and hegemony of a colonial state in another.
Several immediate causes can be identified for the Herero and later
Nama rebellion. The dispossession of Herero lands, particularly after the
1896–7 Rinderpest (cattle plague) epizootic was a key reason for the
rebellion as the Herero were left in an increasingly desperate situation.
After selling off land and cattle, many sought employment with German
settlers in positions where they were subjected to everyday violence.17
Paired with the overtly racist legal system, the consequences of settler
colonialism can perhaps be described as the fundamental reason for the
rebellion. However, it was also a calculated strike on the part of the Herero
as the rebellion came when Governor Theodor Leutwein was away with
the German forces in the southern parts of GSWA to suppress the
Bondelswarts Nama rebellion that had broken out on 25 October 1903.18
The outbreak of the Herero rebellion forced Leutwein to conclude a hap-
hazard and unstable peace with the Bondelswarts, and many resistance
leaders, such as Jakob Marengo, refused the terms and continued the
rebellion. For the German settlers, the rebellion quickly assumed the char-
acteristics of a race war and many Africans who did not participate in the
rebellion were lynched, hanged or beaten to death. Indicatively, early on it
was deemed necessary that Germany should not only overcome the
Herero, but crush them altogether.19
The Brutal Germans? Mutual Perceptions

and Inspiration
From its very beginning, German colonialism was to a large degree

inspired by the British example. It was a general view in Germany that
Britain’s colonial possessions across the globe represented the source of its
status as a great world power.20 As Erik Grimmer-Solem recently observed,
German ‘world-policy’ (Weltpolitik) was exclusively not the result of a
Prussian-militarist nationalism, as is the conventional view, but had trans-
national origins.21 It was therefore only natural for Germany, as a new-
comer to the colonial stage, to look to Britain as an experienced colonial
power, in order to draw inspiration but also to develop a specific German
colonial style.22 However, the opposite was rarely the case: Britain’s osten-
sible self-identification as a morally superior and experienced colonial
power meant that German colonialism was viewed through a rather
condescending lens that rarely avoided pervasive stereotypes. Indeed, the

common characteristics of German colonialism generally included its
emphasis on bureaucracy and Prussian militarism.
The notion of the brutal Germans is closely linked to the idea of
German colonialism as exceptionally brutal and a distinct German milita-
rist culture determining the actions and brutality of German colonial
forces.23 Nonetheless, Susanne Kuss has asserted that this notion of
German exceptionalism does not take account of the fact that German
colonial forces mainly comprised volunteers, sailors and African recruits
with widely different backgrounds and agendas. Instead of an overarching
culture of Teutonic efficiency and brutality, which the Nazis later adopted,
German colonial military operations were improvised, haphazard and
determined by local conditions.24 Nevertheless, in the age of imperialism,
such stereotypes were not unimportant, representing widespread views
that informed both public and official audiences of a prejudiced definition
of what German colonialism entailed. Crucially, stereotypes also served a
function: by presenting other colonial powers as stereotypical, they reiter-
ated alleged British superiority and highlighted the flaws of the other.
The 1904 special issue (Picture 2.1) of the German satirical magazine
Simplicissimuss encapsulates these stereotypes. At the top, German colo-
nialism was depicted as militarist, orderly and scientific in the marching
giraffes and the capture of the crocodile indicating the taming of the ‘wild’
colonial world. British colonialism, however, was satirised as preaching the
gospel through a civilising mission while pouring alcohol into their colo-
nised subjects in order to squeeze wealth from them.25 Although
Simplicissimuss was a left-wing paper that generally lamented colonialism,
its views on British colonialism in particular were shared by colonial societ-
ies in Germany, where, on one occasion, British colonialism in Southern
Africa was described as characterised by ‘the slavery of taxation and tariffs’
while Germany was merely ‘emphasising order’ in GSWA.26 Indeed,
German observers often deemed British colonialism too soft and lenient,
especially in relation to its ‘native policy’.
From a British perspective, the notion of ‘the brutal German’ was
intrinsic to the Blue Book in 1918 and echoed a widespread notion of
perceptions of Germany and German colonialism.27 In this sense, views of
German colonialism during and after World War I formed part of the
denunciation of the ‘Huns’ and were linked to lamentations over, for
instance, the ‘rape’ of Belgium.28 Before the war, however, British
perceptions of German colonial rule were ostensibly divided into two
Picture 2.1 ‘Colonial Powers’ by Thomas T. Heine, Simplicissimuss, 1904, vol.

6, p. 55
phases: first, through the 1890s, British observers often considered

German colonialism violent, even before the 1904 Herero–Nama rebel-
lions and the publication of the Blue Book in 1918. For instance, explorer
Joseph Thomson wrote a damning assessment of German colonialism in
the Contemporary Review in 1899 concerning Carl Peters in German East
Africa:: ‘The introduction of civilization to the semi-barbarous peoples
who inhabit those parts […] is joyously being celebrated by the thunder
of artillery, the demolition of towns and human bloodshed.’29
In the second phase, in the last few years before the outbreak of war in
1914, German colonial rule was generally seen more positively. Despite
increasingly hostile attitudes between Britain and Germany on a diplo-
matic level, attempts to find common ground for a détente in the colonial
world led to commendations of German colonialism, especially its ‘state-
building capabilities’.30 For instance, in 1912, Berlin-based British jour-
nalist, Louis Hamilton complimented German colonialism for managing
to establish ‘order and peace, improving the conditions of the native and,
in short, setting them on their feet, and giving them a change to continue
along the path of prosperity that is being prepared for them’.31 Although
some continued to highlight the excessive violence associated with German
colonialism, this came to be seen as a sad but expected step in Germany’s
process of becoming a colonial power. In part, this more positive view of
the methods of German colonial rule derived from the positioning of King
Leopold II of Belgium as the archetype of colonial cruelty. To many
humanitarian groups in Britain such as the Aborigines’ Protection Society,
Germany was an ‘enlightened’ colonial power on a par with Britain and
France, and should extend their colonial responsibilities to avoid less
enlightened powers, such as Portugal, governing indigenous peoples.32
In the colonies too, different perspectives of inspiration and differentia-
tion were profound and served to clarify settler identities and demarcate
colonial territory in British and German spheres. This demarcation, how-
ever, was complicated by the presence of a majority African population,
creating overarching notions of settler identities that spanned above
national belonging in the form of British, German and Afrikaner (Boer)
identity.33 This is suggestive of a ‘sharing of the white man’s burden’ in
Southern Africa, where white settlers, regardless of their nationality and
the presence of colonial borders, ostensibly cooperated to subjugate
Africans. While such characterisations of Britain’s involvement in and reac-
tions to the Herero and Nama rebellion are oversimplified, there was nev-
ertheless a profound racial element across the colonial borders in
Anglo-German Southern Africa. For instance, while German colonialism

emulated British colonialism more than the other way around, there are
indications that, to an extent, the nascent stages of apartheid drew inspira-
tion from the German native policy in GSWA.34 Indeed, in 1956, South
African senator Heinrich Vedder proudly proclaimed in parliament that
apartheid was in fact invented by the Germans in GSWA and that South
West Africa was the only place in the world where it had ‘been exercised in
an increasing degree for fifty years’.35 Given that, from 1918, Britain was
busy discrediting German colonialism for its state racism and brutal mis-
treatment of indigenous peoples, the positive views and South African
inspiration drawn from GSWA in the creation of apartheid appear strik-
ingly hypocritical.
The inspiration behind colonial policies, however, was a dominant fea-
ture in Anglo-German relations in Southern Africa before World War
I. Although the Cape Colony and later the Union of South Africa saw
little reason to emulate German methods before the formation of apart-
heid, German colonial methods in GSWA were profoundly shaped by
inspiration from its British neighbour. This was linked to the changing
purpose of GSWA as a colony: despite a minor diamond rush in 1908, the
protracted mineral wealth of GSWA remained undiscovered. The eco-
nomic focus therefore shifted towards farming and cattle herding, which
was in turn linked to the new policy of establishing a German settler col-
ony comparable to the British equivalents in Australasia, Canada and
South Africa, potentially diverting the exodus of German emigrants
departing for America to settle in a German colony instead and further
expand German hegemony.36
In order to further assert the German presence in GSWA in preparation
for the arrival of more settlers, Curt von François occupied the plains of
Windhoek in 1890, establishing the new headquarters of the Schutztruppe,
which would in time, become the capital. A year later, von François was
rewarded with the governorship. He immediately fused civil and military
administration and oversaw a rapid expansion of German authority to the
colonial hinterlands.37 In making use of the war between the Herero and
Nama, von François had the Herero accept a ‘protection treaty’, formalis-
ing the German presence in the area.38 When hostilities between the
Herero and Nama ended in November 1892, von François feared that he
would be met with an organised attempt by either the Herero or the Nama
to expel the Germans from Windhoek. In an attempt to make Nama chief
Hendrik Witbooi submit to a protection treaty, which would finally accept
German colonial authority, von François raided the Nama settlement of

Hornkranz in 1893, killing eighty women and children.39 The ensuing
conflict was received poorly in both Germany and GSWA, where the prin-
cipal business, the South West Africa Company, protested because the raid
severely impeded their business, prompting the replacement of von
François with Theodor Leutwein in 1893.
Leutwein embodied the new aim of turning GSWA into a viable settler
colony, introducing what scholars have since labelled ‘the Leutwein sys-
tem’. He was fixated on the creation of an effective German colonial state
and rapidly expanded the administration to ensure rule of law and to make
economic exploitation of the territory more efficient, attracting more set-
tlers.40 At the same time, Leutwein looked to subjugate the local popula-
tion via treaties by propping up local power holders as collaborators.41 In
his memoirs, published in 1911, Leutwein reiterated the inspiration he
had drawn from the British colonial experience in his state-building proj-
ect. British ‘native policy’, he wrote, was defined by ‘convincing the
natives’ to collaborate with the colonial power and allow them to rule
‘with a nominal presence’.42 Indicatively, the Leutwein system on the one
hand looked to secure the peace and stability of GSWA through treaties
and agreements with the local population and, on the other, sought to
expand the land available for German settlement.
This was a clear contradiction as the growing demand for land for farm-
ing and grazing of cattle by German settlers was at the cost of African
lands. When the Rinderpest epizootic struck East and Southern Africa in
the 1890s, it worsened the already fragile peace in GSWA.43 The Rinderpest
forced Herero herders to sell off their lands and work for German settlers,
who managed the epizootic better. This further strained relations between
Germans and Africans, and, with many Herero working for German set-
tlers, abuses increasingly became a part of everyday life in GSWA. This
pattern of settler colonialism was not unique to GSWA. The intensifying
encroachment, by means of, for example, expanding railway systems and
the dispossession of locals and their lands, was a shared feature of settler
colonialism as a whole. Indeed, similar developments were evident in
other settler colonies such as British Southern Rhodesia in 1896 and Natal
in 1906, where the gradual encroachment of white settlers caused
rebellions.44
While Leutwein’s state-building project was largely inspired by the
British, it also posed a challenge relating to how the colony itself should
be administered. Germany had no experience of settler colonialism
elsewhere and so Leutwein and the German government in Berlin looked

to the Cape Colony.45 As Jakob Zollmann has noted, German colonial law
would be ‘unthinkable’ without ‘examples and influence’ from other colo-
nial states. As Britain, with its long history of settler colonialism, adminis-
tration and law, had already dealt with several legal-technical problems,
there was no reason for Germany to completely re-invent its colonial laws
and legislation.46 The key issue at stake was that, in settler colonies in gen-
eral, settlers tended to see it as their entitlement to dispossess the local
population of their land, but also to have significant influence on the local
administration. In 1899, Leutwein sought to assuage such views by divid-
ing GSWA into districts with elective councils consisting of German set-
tlers.47 Later, in 1903, director of the Kolonial Abteilung (colonial
department) in the Auswärtiges Amt (Foreign Office), Oskar Stuebel,
noted that the German Colonial Society ‘presented specific proposals to
the Reichskansler, which advocates for the introduction of an advisory
board such as the legislative councils in the English colonies but with cer-
tain limitations’.48 In other words, the German Colonial Society put for-
ward a model loosely based on the British self-governing colonies. It was
crucial that the German colonies remained loyal to the Kaiser, but here
too the British settler colonies, many of which obtained Dominion status
in the first decade of the twentieth century, was a case-in-point: despite
their increased autonomy, they remained loyal to the British crown, as
proven in their support in the South African War.49 In late 1904, the
German Colonial Society demanded that a Government Council
(Gouvernmentsrat) be created with members drawn from German settlers
who had lived in GSWA for several years and had ‘proper relations’ with
the local population.50 This was intended to expand on Leutwein’s district
elective council and give more influence and power to settlers, and would
expectedly lead to increased immigration to GSWA.
At the crux of German colonialism, therefore, lay the contrast and
inspiration of Germany’s British neighbour in South Africa. The stereo-
type of the ‘brutal German’ is complicated by the fact that Leutwein and
others looked to British modes of colonial rule as inspiration for methods
to be implemented in GSWA. Indeed, there was arguably a subtle and
inadvertent British factor in the outbreak of the rebellions: the Germans,
especially Leutwein, in looking to British modes of settler colonialism,
emulated processes that inevitably led to rebellions via the gradual subju-
gation and dispossession of indigenous lands.
The Herero and Nama Rebellions, 1903–8

On 12 January 1904, the Herero, under the leadership of Chief Samuel
Maherero, rebelled against the Germans. More than 100 German settlers
were killed as the Herero quickly swept across the central parts of the pro-
tectorate. The District Officer in Okahandja, Gustav Duft, notified the
Auswärtiges Amt in Berlin of ‘a great slaughter of Germans’ by the Herero,
indicating that ‘great force and weapons’ would be necessary to suppress
the rebellion.51 Duft’s request did not fall on deaf ears: news of the rebel-
lion caused great resentment in Germany and it was followed by wide-
spread demands for harsh retribution against the Herero.52 The Herero
rebellion, as Drechsler has noted, marked ‘the beginning of Germany’s
bloodiest and most protracted colonial war’.53 Overt orders of extermina-
tion, concentration camps and slave-like labour conditions were some of
the characteristics that followed. According to the Blue Book, 92,258
Africans perished between 1903 and 1908 because of the German sup-
pression, but such exact estimation remains unsubstantiated although his-
torians agree the death toll to be somewhere between 60,000 and 100,000
victims.54 After the rebellion, the survivors were forced into reserves to live
out a meagre existence in areas that were unprofitable and difficult to cul-
tivate. Forced labour, horrendous work conditions and identity controls
were all part of a new regime in GSWA, where African power to resist was
thwarted and racial segregation and exploitation became a reality.55
The conflict in GSWA can ostensibly be divided into three stages: first,
the Herero offensive where settlers sought refuge in settlements and the
Germans were mostly on the defensive. The second stage saw the arrival
of reinforcements and the German offensive, while the third stage wit-
nessed the escalation of the conflict to a full-blown genocide concurrently
with the Nama rebellion in October 1904. In March 1904, Leutwein
returned to Hereroland from the south after his haphazard peace with the
Bondelswarts. However, he failed to break the Herero forces and, on sev-
eral occasions, had to retreat to avoid being defeated.56 Nevertheless, the
Herero gradually retreated northwards towards the Waterberg plateau.
Although Leutwein demanded ‘nothing short of unconditional surren-
der’, he remained in favour of securing a quick peace deal to prevent an
escalation of the conflict. On 30 May 1904, he issued a proclamation
intended to deplete the Herero numbers and end the rebellion, promising
mercy if they surrendered. Of course, ‘no mercy can be given to those who
murdered white people. But you others who have no such guilt, be wise
and do not place your fate with those guilty. Leave them and save your
lives!’ Military officers, settlers and the public in Germany resented this
attempt, but, for Leutwein, they were ‘blind to the actual conditions’ and
he lamented the ‘fanatics who want to see the Herero destroyed alto-
gether’.57 For Leutwein, annihilating the Herero as a people was detri-
mental to the development of GSWA and instead ‘it would be quite
sufficient if they are politically dead.’58
Leutwein’s failure to end the rebellion quickly and his attempts to
secure a peace deal led to his dismissal in June 1904. Kaiser Wilhelm II
handpicked his replacement, General Lothar von Trotha, despite objec-
tions from Chancellor Bülow and the Kolonial Abteilung (Colonial
department) of the Foreign Office.59 This represented a new course in
suppressing the Herero. As John Cleverly, resident magistrate in the
British enclave of Walvis Bay (sometimes Walfisch Bay), correctly antici-
pated, this move resulted ‘in a general rising of all natives in the coun-
try’.60 Trotha immediately transferred administrative power to himself, in
effect making GSWA a colonial military dictatorship.61 Trotha had experi-
ence from the brutal suppression of the Wahehe rebellion in German East
Africa in 1894 and in 1900 and was Brigade Commander of the East Asian
Expedition Corps during the Boxer Rebellion in China.62 As an ardent
follower of Callwell’s instructions, Trotha sought to force the Herero into
a large-scale battle to give them one decisive blow with a ruthless attack,
because, as he noted, ‘in war against non-humans one cannot conduct war
humanely.’63
The decisive battle came on 11 August near the Waterberg plateau. The
majority of the Herero people, including armed rebels and civilians, had
gathered there. The German forces comprised approximately 2000 ill-
trained troops, many on horseback, and as many as thirty-six artillery
pieces and fourteen machine guns. They surrounded the Herero on all
sides, leaving the south-eastern flank, towards the Omaheke desert,
exposed.64 The ‘battle’ was more of a massacre as the German machine
guns and artillery killed thousands of Herero, including women and chil-
dren. Most of the Herero, though, managed to break through on the
south-eastern flank to the Omaheke, making use of dried-up riverbeds as
cover. The Omaheke, the western extension of the great Kalahari Desert
remains one of the most inhospitable places on Earth and, in 1904, was
virtually terra incognita for Europeans. When the Herero fled into the
desert, Trotha was handed the opportunity to seek the complete destruc-
tion of the Herero people and thus radicalise the conflict from total war to
genocide. After the battle, Trotha sent mobile units out to pursue the
survivors. This was costly and dangerous because of the inhospitable ter-
rain. The pursuit after the survivors inherently changed the nature of the
conflict, as it no longer aimed for the pacification of the Herero capability
to rebel, but instead aimed for their physical destruction, in whole or
in part.65
The Omaheke itself was a key component of this new strategy: instead
of pursuing the Herero, Trotha gave orders to patrol the desert’s borders,
poison waterholes and cut off escape routes. In effect, the Omaheke
became a natural prison for the Herero survivors. To make his intentions
of extermination clear, Trotha issued the infamous Vernichtungsbefehl
(extermination order) on 2 October 1904. ‘The Herero people,’ it stated,
‘must now leave the country.’ Every Herero ‘within the German frontiers
with or without arms will be shot.’66 Women and children were to be
driven back to the desert by shooting over their heads.67 Thus, instead of
the bullet, they would face likely death by starvation, thirst and exhaustion
in the Omaheke. On the same day as the extermination order was issued,
Trotha pre-emptively defended his position, arguing that the ‘nation (the
Herero) as such should be annihilated.’ Moreover, peace was futile,
because ‘the Negro’ only respects ‘brute force’. ‘Mildness on my side,’ he
asserted, ‘would only be interpreted as weakness. They have to perish in
the Sandveld or try to cross the Bechuanaland border.’68 Trotha’s extermi-
nation order is generally considered the key moment of genocidal intent
in GSWA. However, there remains some disagreement on when the geno-
cidal phase of the conflict began. According to Zimmerer, for instance, the
genocide began with the battle of Waterberg, with the south-eastern flank
left intentionally exposed so that ‘the Omaheke would finish the extermi-
nation’.69 Isabel Hull, however, suggests that genocidal intent only devel-
oped after Waterberg with the Vernichtungsbefehl as a way to actively
pursue and kill the remaining Herero.70 Strategically, however, leaving the
flank towards the Omaheke exposed resonated with contemporary mili-
tary strategies, because it was likely that the German officers believed the
Herero would be least likely to flee in this direction.71 The timing of geno-
cidal intent therefore remains disputed.
In GSWA, the order immediately changed the nature of military opera-
tions. Importantly, though, there was no consensus behind it. Several
German officers, such as Major Ludwig von Estoff (later promoted to
Colonel), who tried to convince Trotha to reconsider and enter negotia-
tions with the Herero, actually criticised it. For Estoff, Trotha’s
exterminatory policy was ‘as equally gruesome as senseless’. Instead, he

believed that ‘we could still have saved many of them and their rich herds,
if we had pardoned them. They had been punished enough. I suggested
this to General von Trotha but he wanted their total extermination.’72
Others, such as Lieutenant von Beesten, were less critical and took the
order to heart. After making contact with a group of Herero survivors,
Beesten lured Herero captain Yoel Kavezeri and his followers to an aban-
doned farmhouse, promising not to hurt them. When they arrived,
Beesten had already issued instructions to his troops to be ready for battle
and flank the Herero so that they would be trapped. Caught within the
fences of the farmhouse, up to fifty Herero were mowed down with
machine guns. Beesten, in his report, commended the Kaltblütigkeit
(cold-bloodedness) of his troops in executing his orders.73
In Germany, news of the extermination order was received negatively
and was heftily criticised by the Social Democrats. August Bebel, while
admitting to the barbarism of Africans, proclaimed that the suppression of
the Herero rebellion was ‘not just barbaric, but bestial’.74 According to
another Social Democrat, Georg Ledebour, the extermination order ‘con-
tradicted our entire conception of humanity in war, even in those con-
ducted against natives’.75 In the government, Chief of the General Staff,
Count von Schlieffen had been informed of the Vernichtungsbefehl already
two days after it was issued, but alongside Chancellor von Bülow, he
quickly distanced himself from the order and appealed to the Kaiser, who,
following intensifying pressure, rescinded the order in December 1904.76
Instead of shooting the Herero on sight, German troops were now to take
prisoners. Many did surrender to the Germans voluntarily, especially after
appeals from missionaries working as intermediaries.77 However, captivity
was not much of an improvement in terms of violence: those who surren-
dered were chained, branded with the letters ‘GH’ (Gefangene Herero)
and sent to concentration camps. Rescinding the extermination order thus
had two immediate outcomes. First, it paved the way for concentration
camps to be the main feature of the German suppression of the Herero
rebellion. Second, it allowed Trotha to focus his attention to the south,
where the Nama had rebelled a day after the proclamation of the extermi-
nation order.78
Nama troops had aided the Germans against the Herero and saw
slaughter at Waterberg. In this sense, the Nama War, or Hottentottenkrieg,
as contemporaries termed it, was a pre-emptive strike, while the extermi-
nation order was the last straw.79 Trotha, upon hearing the news, was
angered and had the Nama troops who fought for him put in detention.
Eventually they were deported to Togo where most would perish from
tropical diseases and malnourishment.80 The Nama posed a completely
different challenge to the Germans than the Herero. They had been famil-
iar with German strategies since the Bondelswarts rebellion in 1903 and
Waterberg had proven the urgency to avoid a large-scale battle. The Nama
therefore employed guerrilla warfare and made full use of their knowledge
of the rugged terrain to the south, extending the conflict to 1908.81
Concentration Camps: Transfer

of Colonial Methods
In the context of colonial violence, the most significant entanglement

between British and German colonial spheres in Southern Africa involved
the circulation of concentration camps as a practice.82 Indeed, the camps
used by the Germans against the Herero and Nama were directly inspired
by the British example from the South African War which had only ended
two years previously. During the South African War, German observers
condemned the practice but also noted its usage against guerrilla warfare.
For instance, Friedrich von Lindequist, later Governor of GSWA but at
the time Consul General in Cape Town, was an ardent critic of the use of
concentration camps in South Africa, but, in GSWA, he continued with
and even intensified the usage of such camps against the Herero and Nama.
The term ‘concentration camp’ today sparks connotations of the Nazi
regime and the Holocaust, a key perspective for historians advocating a
colonial Sonderweg.83 However, the concentration camp as a colonial
method at the turn of the nineteenth century was a common practice on
the part of colonial powers that differed fundamentally from those created
during World War II. Instead, they were intended to ‘clear’ the country-
side of civilians that sustained guerrilla resistance.84 While the first concen-
tration camps were established during the South African War, the idea of
‘re-concentrating’ civilian population was invented in 1896 by Spanish
general Valeriano Weyler Y Nicolau to curb guerrilla resistance against
Spanish rule in Cuba. In order to cut off the guerrilla’s supply and support
from the civil population, he ‘re-concentrated’ most of the rural popula-
tion into towns. Similar to South Africa, it was a move to counter the
Cuban guerrillas and it is estimated that up to 170,000 civilian Cubans
died as result of this policy, earning Weyler the nickname ‘the butcher’.
Despite American criticism of Weyler’s policy, the American military used

the same practice in the Philippines in 1901, with the same purpose of
separating guerrillas from the civilian population with similar catastrophic
consequences for civilians. The British use of concentration camps during
the South African War, which perhaps remains the most notable example
of concentration camps in the colonial world, was thus not a practice that
emerged in a vacuum. The concentration policies in Cuba, the Philippines,
South Africa and, as we shall see, GSWA, all shared similarities and were
linked in the minds of contemporaries.85 Formal links wherein colonial
powers shared practices and methods of colonial rule therefore existed.
According to Lindner, this amounted to what she terms a ‘shared colonial
archive’, where the experiences of other colonial powers were drawn upon
and amended to the local context.86
The camps used by the British during the South African War were
notorious for their abysmal conditions and the high mortality rate of Boer
prisoners. In a bid to counter the bittereinders’ (literally ‘bitter-enders’)
successful guerrilla campaign, Commander of the British forces Horatio
Kitchener decided to conduct a scorched earth strategy and sent civilians
into concentration camps in order to starve out the guerrillas.87 To this
day, differing views of these concentration camps and of whether this
amounted to genocide remain. Undoubtedly, though, the horrible condi-
tions, in part caused by maladministration and outbreaks of measles, rep-
resented one of the main reasons for so many deaths. According to Peter
Warwick, as many as 26,000 civilian Boers, most of them children, died in
these concentration camps.88 Concentration camps were established for
Africans too but these actually saw a lower mortality rate than those for
the Boers because diseases were less widespread.89 The camps were at the
crux of criticism levied against Britain during the South African War, both
internationally and domestically.90 In Britain, the strong presence of
humanitarian groups and actors, most notably ‘that bloody woman’,
Emily Hobhouse, sustained active criticism of the war and Britain’s con-
duct, placing immense pressure on the British government and on the
conduct of the war.91 By 1904, Britain therefore had a record and experi-
ence in the usage of concentration camps, but had also witnessed their
tragic consequences and the criticism this generated.
When the Germans used the same practice a few years later across the
colonial border, it was not a case of direct copying. As part of the transfer
of such practices, several amendments were made according to local con-
ditions and the intentions of the perpetrators. A crucial and important
difference between the camps in South Africa and those in GSWA was
their intention: while the camps used by the British should not be vindi-
cated, they were not intended to exterminate, enslave or significantly
reduce the Boer population. The intention of the German camps in
GSWA, however, was exactly that, as the reduction of the Herero and
Nama populations opened up land for German settlers.92 While there was
a prevailing desire to punish the Boers, this never became the sole purpose
or the function of the camps in South Africa. Indicatively, the prisoners in
the camps were considered ‘refugees’ in ‘protective custody’.93 Conversely,
the camps in GSWA were intended to procure forced labour for dangerous
building projects and to satisfy widespread demand to punish savage
races.94 The concentration camps in GSWA, however, were not exclusively
exterminatory in function but also served two ostensibly strategic pur-
poses: first, as was the case with previous usages of concentration camps, a
main aim was to prevent the continuation of guerrilla resistance. In having
prisoners located in camps far from their homelands, there was little chance
of them re-joining the rebels should they escape. Furthermore, guerrillas
were cut off from civilian support in terms of supplies or information and
the camps could be used to lure resistance fighters to give up in the hope
of release for their friends and family. Second, the camps were intended to
mitigate inherent labour shortages in GSWA. Indeed, while the camps
were, for the Germans, an excellent method of punishing the Africans, the
concentration of a large indigenous population in camps also facilitated an
easy procurement of (forced) labour. Use of such labour could also further
strengthen Germany’s position, ensuring that ‘the fear and sub-ordinance
of Germany would spread.’95 Thus, the camps became intrinsically linked
to several major construction projects in GSWA such as railroads and wave
breakers. With these gruesome, yet pragmatic functions, the concentra-
tion camps policy was actually a Berlin induced policy intended to move
away from Trotha’s genocidal policy as proclaimed in the Vernichtungsbefehl.
However, it is reasonable to add another, third, purpose to these
camps—in particular, the Shark Island camp near Lüderitz. The reduction,
if not extermination, of Africans was not a bi-product of the concentration
camps nor an unintended consequence but a partially intended outcome.
In reducing the local population, the Germans aimed to dole out a severe
punishment and prevent future rebellions. Attempts were made to improve
prisoners’ conditions a few times, but these were negligible and cannot
overshadow the brutalities that occurred.96 In the end, the main difference
between the British concentration camps during the South African War
and those of the Germans in GSWA centred upon genocidal intentions

and practices in the latter. Indeed, prisoners in GSWA were subjected to
intentionally perpetrated atrocities that did not occur in South Africa. The
death rate in GSWA also reflected this—it was more than twice as high as
the camps in South Africa.97
The concentration camps in GSWA therefore had contradictory aims—
securing a labour force for projects that would be key to the colony’s
development on one hand and, on the other, exterminating or reducing
the numbers of the Herero and Nama, who would in essence make up that
same labour force. The result was a paradoxical and malicious policy of
extermination and exploitation. At the most notorious concentration
camp at Shark Island, the prisoners were subjected to constant beatings
and rape, and were kept behind barbed wire and guarded with machine
guns.98 The German administration estimated that 7682 of approximately
17,000 prisoners died the concentration camps between October 1904
and March 1907. These figures, however, remain highly dubious and
there are no indications how they could reach such an exact number.99
Labour shortage was an intrinsic problem in GSWA from the outset,
preventing the construction of otherwise important projects that would
further colonial hegemony, such as railways and harbours. The prisoners in
the concentration camps therefore posed a welcome opportunity for the
Germans to overcome this problem by using them as forced labourers.
The prisoners at Shark Island, for instance, were used to construct the
railway to Kubub and for the expansion of the harbour so that the town
could better facilitate trade, thus breaking the dependence on Walvis Bay
as the only deep-water harbour on the coastline.100 The plans were fin-
ished and the Germans were ready to commence construction of the har-
bour just as a large number of Nama prisoners arrived at Shark Island in
October 1906. Thus, the movement of prisoners in accordance with
labour needs was methodically organised.101 Construction of the harbour
included dangerous work such as blowing up boulders for a wave breaker,
which claimed many casualties. In overseeing this work, lack of concern
for Africans’ welfare was highly evident. The technician overseeing the
construction, Richard Müller, certainly did express concern, but not in
relation to the mistreatment and sufferings of the prisoners—rather about
the problems of maintaining a steady labour force because many prisoners
died so quickly when undertaking the dangerous work. Müller complained
that he had been promised ‘1600 Nama prisoners at his disposal’, but
ended up with only ‘30 to 40’, causing delays to the construction of the
wave breaker. ‘The reason for decline is to be found in the fact that seven
to eight Nama die daily. If measures are not taken to acquire (new) labour-
ers, I fear the work will not be completed.’102 The problem for Müller
therefore was that there was a malicious unbalance between exploitation
and forced labour on the one side and the murdering of prisoners on the
other. When the latter escalated, it would severely encumber the former
and thus delay construction projects that had become dependent on the
steady supply of forced labour from the concentration camps. This brutal
disregard for human life, reducing the prisoners to labourers with little or
no humanity, remains indicative of the savage nature of the genocide
in GSWA.
The link between forced labour and European colonialism in Africa
remains an inherent paradox, given the widespread notions of anti-slavery
associated with the imperial project. Indeed, anti-slavery and humanitari-
anism permeated metropolitan cultures of imperialism in Europe and were
written into treaties on colonialism, such as the 1885 Berlin Treaty, where
the signatory powers promised to suppress slavery and the slave trade in
Africa and ‘bringing home’ to the Africans, ‘the blessings of civilisation’.103
Yet, as Alice Conklin has shown in the case of French West Africa, the
colonial state often found it increasingly necessary to impose some kind of
coercion to ensure ‘sufficient manpower for building essential civilising
projects’ such as railroads.104 For instance, in Southern Rhodesia after the
1896 Matabele (Ndebele) and Shona rebellions, British officials were in
doubt whether the British South African Company’s compulsory labour
scheme should be discontinued. For High Commissioner to South Africa,
Alfred Milner, it was imperative that Africans were drawn upon as a
resource for labour under the guise of ‘public works’, not merely for the
sake of the physical development of the colony but also because it was
imperative to prevent them ‘becoming idle, and consequently restless and
dangerous’. The problem, he recognised, was that such a scheme could
easily lead to ‘mistaken accusations of slavery’.105
The supposed ‘educational’ effect of forced labour was also evident in
GSWA. For instance, the settlers in the district of Grootfontein expressed
in a petition to the Kolonial Abteilung their desire for harsh punishment
in the shape of forced labour because ‘only if the native feels that he works
will he be a useful member of the human race’. Furthermore, the ‘habit of
work will finally let him realise the benefits of this compulsion (forced
labour).’ Through forced labour, therefore, the Africans would be civilised.
It was a mean justified by its end. But more importantly, forced labour
would not merely be beneficial for Africans, they believed, it would also
give authority to the German colonial government as forced labour would
teach the Africans the habit of subjecting to a colonial state.106 Summarily,
through forced labour, renowned German colonial scholar Paul Rohrbach
proclaimed that the Africans could ‘earn a right to existence’.107
Despite its seemingly clear violation of established principles associated
with colonialism, the civilising mission and the Berlin Treaty of 1885,
forced labour was widespread in GSWA and was justified as a civilising
measure. Of course, the use of forced labour was not a feature unique to
German colonialism in GSWA. However, the application of concentration
camps as a method to procure a pool from which to draw forced labour
was a feature specific to the camps in GSWA together with the excessive
‘everyday’ violence committed against the Herero and Nama.108
Circulation of colonial practices through a shared archive was always
amended in accordance with local needs and conditions and depending
where the practice was to be used. In this sense, the camps in GSWA were
distinct from any previous concentration camps because of their genocidal
aims and the logic of enslavement.
* * *
Colonial violence in GSWA was shaped and informed by an inadvertent

British factor. In terms of the suppression of the Herero and Nama rebel-
lions, the total war strategy applied by Trotha was not particularly unique.
Indeed as observed by, among others, Gesine Krüger, total war, where the
civilian population was targeted was in fact the norm for colonial powers
in Africa.109 Furthermore, a frequent, if not natural, consequence of settler
colonialism in general was dispossession of indigenous lands alongside
oppression, racism and violence. As the idea of GSWA as a settler colony
was inspired by the British examples of South Africa, Canada and Australia
in particular, the violence that developed from settler colonialism also
emerged in GSWA. However, it is important in this context to reiterate
that this does not imply British complicity—these elements were adopted
by the Germans and not transmitted by the British. Indeed, they were
always adapted to local conditions and to serve aims established by the
Germans.
This adoption of modes of colonialism was perhaps most visible in the
idea of concentration camps as a transferable practice. It is clear that the
concentration camps policy in GSWA took on proportions and functions
that were not the case in Cuba, the Philippines or South Africa. The dif-
ference between the camps in GSWA and South Africa did not merely
centre upon the prisoners themselves, but also on the intentions and pur-
poses of the camps. In South Africa, the main aim was to curb the guerril-
las, whereas the Herero and Nama were ‘rebellious prisoners’. As
Kreienbaum has noted, as there were less of a guerrilla war in GSWA, the
only transferable aspect was ‘the vague idea of interning a population per-
ceived as hostile, which consisted mainly of women and children, in an
enclosed place a camp.’ While a ‘process of deadly learning took place’,
several other local factors were therefore at play rather than the ‘encoun-
ters of empires’.110 Crucially, while the camps in GSWA were inspired by
the British example, they were inherently different: the British camps in
South Africa had a military function, as civilians became part of the con-
flict as it escalated to total war. In GSWA, however, the prisoners posed
little or no military threat, were kept far from conflict zones, and the
camps continued to operate long after the fighting ended and peace was
declared. Indicatively, while the Herero resistance was virtually crushed by
1905, Herero prisoners were kept in the camps until 1908.
Notes
1. F. Cooper, ‘Conflict and Connection: Rethinking Colonial African
History’, The American Historical Review, vol. 99, 5 (1994),
p. 1530, ff. 49.
2. For a broader examination of ‘Settler colonial violence’, see among others
P. Wolfe ‘Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native’, Journal
of Genocide Research, vol. 8, 4 (2006), C. Elkins and S. Pedersen (eds.),
Settler Colonialism in the Twentieth Century: Projects, Practices, Legacies
(New York, 2005) and L. Veracini, Settler Colonialism: A Theoretical
Overview (London, 2010). For racism, see especially F. Bethencourt,
Racisms: From the Crusades to the Twentieth Century (Princeton, 2014).
3. See, for instance J. Saha, ‘Histories of Everyday violence in British India’,
History Compass, vol. 9, 11 (2011). For an excellent study of everyday
violence in GSWA, see M. Muschalek, Violence as Usual. Policing and the
Colonial State in German South West Africa (Ithaca NY, 2019).
4. P. Dwyer and A. Nettelbeck, (eds.), Violence, Colonialism and Empire in
the Modern World (London, 2018), p. 2.
5. M. Häussler, ‘Collaboration or Sabotage? The Settlers in German
Southwest Africa between Colonial State and Indigenous Polities’ in
T. Bührer, F. Eichmann, S. Förster and B. Stuchtey (eds.), Cooperation

and Empire: Local Realities of Global Processes (New York, 2017), p. 180.
6. For a recent volume exploring how local elites and indigenous peoples
collaborated with the colonial state, see Bührer Eichmann, Förster and
Stuchtey (eds.), Cooperation and Empire.
7. F. Fanon, Wretched of the Earth [Org. 1961] (London, 2001). Here,
K. van Walraven and J. Abbink, ‘Rethinking Resistance in African History:
An Introduction’ in J. Abbink, M. de Bruijn, K. van Walraven (eds.),
Rethinking Resistance: Revolt and Violence in African History (Leiden,
2003), p. 25.
8. Wagner ‘Savage Warfare’, pp. 220–23.
9. U. Lindner, ‘“An Inclination towards a policy of extermination”? German
and British Discourse on colonial wards during High Imperialism’ in
F. Rash and G. Horan (eds.), The Discourse of British and German
Colonialism. Convergence and Competition (London, 2020), pp. 165–6.
10. See M. Condos, ‘Licence to Kill: The Murderous Outrages Act and the
rule of law in colonial India, 1867–1925’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 50,
2, (2016).
11. A. Burton, The Trouble with Empire: Challenges to Modern British
Imperialism (Oxford, 2015).
12. For ‘the tools of empire’ see D. Headrick, The Tools of Empire: Technology
and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford, 1981).
13. J. Zollmann, ‘Communicating Colonial Order: The Policy of German
South-West Africa (c. 1894–1915)’, Crime, History & Societies, vol. 15, 1
(2011), p. 37. For a more detailed analysis of the GSWA police, see
J. Zollmann, Koloniale Herrschaft und Ihre Grenzen – Die Kolonialpolizei
in Deutsch-Südwestafrika, 1894–1915 (Göttingen, 2010). For an over-
view of the shortcomings of German colonial rule see for instance,
A. Eckert, ‘Vom Segen der (Staats)Gewalt? Staat, Verwaltung und kolo-
niale Herrschaftspraxis in Afrika’, in A. Lüdtke, M. Wildt (eds.)
Staatsgewalt: Ausnahmezustand und Sicherheitsregimes. Historische
Perspektiven (Göttingen, 2008).
14. A. Roes, ‘Towards a History of Mass Violence in L’Ètat Indépendant du
Congo’, 1885–1908’, South African Historical Journal, vol. 62, 4
(2010), p. 640. Also J. McCulloch, ‘Empire and Violence, 1900–1939’
in P. Levine (ed.) Gender and Empire (Oxford, 2007), p. 236.
15. J. Herbst, States and Power in Africa: Comparative Lessons in Authority
and Control (Princeton, 2000), pp. 58–9.
16. D. Schaller, ‘From Conquest to Genocide: Colonial Rule in German
Southwest Africa and German East Africa’ in D. Moses (ed.), Empire,
Colony, Genocide: Conquest, Occupation and Subaltern Resistance in
World History (New York, 2008), p. 311. For the element of fear, see also
K. A. Wagner, Amritsar 1919: An Empire of Fear and the Making of a

Massacre (New Haven CT, 2019).
17. S. Conrad, German Colonialism: A Short History (Cambridge, 2012),
pp. 40–41.
18. D. Olusoga and C. Erichsen, The Kaiser’s Holocaust: Germany’s Forgotten
Genocide and the Colonial Roots of Nazism (London, 2010), p. 122.
19. Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, pp. 129–130.
20. J. Zimmerer, Deutsche Herrschaft über Afrikaner. Staatslicher
Machtanspruch und Wirklichkeit im kolonialen Namibia (Münster,
2004), p. 15.
21. See E. Grimmer-Solem, Learning Empire: Globalization and the German
Quest for World Status, 1875–1919 (Cambridge, 2019).
22. U. Lindner, ‘Encounters Over the Border: The Shaping of Colonial
Identities in Neighbouring British and German Colonies in Southern
Africa’ in U. Lindner, M. Möhring, M. Stein and S. Stroh (eds.), Hybrid
Cultures- Nervous States: Britain and Germany in a (Post)Colonial World
(Amsterdam, 2010), pp. 4–7.
23. See especially I. Hull, Absolute Destruction: Military Culture and the
Practices of War in Imperial Germany (Ithaca NY, 2006).
24. Kuss, German Colonial Wars, pp. 6–7.
25. J. Garsha, ‘Picturing German Colonialism: “Simplicissimus” 1904 Special
Issue’, Central European Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities, vol.
1, 350 (2014), pp. 200–201.
26. Bundersarchiv, Lichterfelde (BAB): R 1001/2084: Badisches Ministerium
des Grossherzoglichen Hautes und der auswärtiges Angelegenheiten to
Auswärtiges Amt, Kolonial Abt. 31 January 1905.
27. See Chap. 7.
28. For the excesses in Belgium, see page 99.
29. Cited in K. Mackenzie, ‘Some British Reactions to German Colonial
Methods, 1885–1907’, The Historical Journal, vol. 17, 1 (1974), p. 167.
30. J. Rüger, ‘Revisiting the Anglo-German Antagonism’, Journal of Modern
History, vol. 83, 3 (2011), pp. 587–8.
31. Cited in Lindner, ‘Colonialism as a European Project’, p. 104.
32. Wm. Roger Louis, ‘Great Britain and German Expansion in Africa,
1884–1919’ in Gifford and Roger Louis (eds.), Britain and Germany in
Africa, p. 36.
33. Lindner, ‘Encounters over the Border’, pp. 9–10.
34. P. Kaapama, ‘The Continuities of colonial land dispossession in Namibia
under German and South African rule’ in Rash and Horan (eds.), The
Discourse of British and German Colonialism, pp. 158–59.
35. Cited in W. Hillebrecht, ‘“Certain Uncertainties” or Venturing

Progressively into Colonial Apologetics?’, Journal of Namibian Studies,
vol. 1 (2014), pp. 78–9.
36. Conrad, German Colonialism, p. 156.
37. A. Palmer, ‘Colonial Genocides: Aborigines’ in Queensland, 1840–1897,
and Herero in South West Africa, 1884–1906’, (D. Phil Thesis, London
School of Economics and Political Science, 1993), p. 229 and R. Voeltz,
German Colonialism and the South West Africa Company, 1884–1914
(Athens OH, 1988), p. 2.
38. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, pp. 50–55.
40. H. Bley, Namibia under German Rule (London, 1971), p. 7.
41. Conrad, German Colonialism, pp. 38–9.
42. T. Leutwin, Elf Jahre Gueverneuer in Deutsch-Südwestafrika (Berlin,
1908), pp. 543–44.
43. D. Gilfoyle, ‘Veterinary Research and the African Rinderpest Epizootic:
The Cape Colony 1896–1898’, Journal of Southern African Studies, vol.
29, 1 (2003), p. 136. Also Pule Phoofolo, ‘Epidemics and Revolutions:
The Rinderpest Epidemics in Late nineteenth-Century Southern Africa’,
Past & Present, vol. 138, 1 (1993), p. 126.
44. J. Zimmerer, ‘War, Concentration Camps and Genocide in South-West
Africa’ in Zimmerer and J. Zeller (eds.), Genocide in German South-West
Africa: The Colonial War of 1904–1908 and its Aftermath (London,
2008), p. 44. Also, Lindner, ‘An Inclination towards a policy of extermi-
nation?’, p. 165.
45. J. Wellington, German Southwest Africa and its Human Issues (Oxford,
1967), p. 235.
46. J. Zollmann, German Colonial Law and Comparative Law, 1884–1919,
in T. Duve (ed.) Entanglements in Legal History: Conceptual Approaches
(Frankfurt-am-Main, 2014), p. 259.
47. Palmer, ‘Colonial Genocides’, p. 229.
48. It was not until 1907 a separate Colonial Office (the Reichskolonialamt)
was established.
49. BAB, R 1001/2173: Direktor der Kolonial Abt., Oscar Stuebel,
Denkschrift, 27 October 1903, pp. 7–8.
50. BAB, R 1001/2173: Deutsche Kolonial Gesellschaft to Auswärtiges
Amt, Kolonial Abt., 27 December 1904.
51. BAB, R 1001/2112: Bezirksamtsmann Duft to Auswärtiges Amt,
enclosed in Tagesbericht des Bezirksamtsmann Duft über die Vorgänge
beim Aufstande der Hereros im Distrikt Okahandja., 17 January 1904.
52. I. Goldblatt, History of South-West Africa from the Beginning of the
Nineteenth Century (Cape Town, 1971), p. 131.
53. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, p. 144.

54. There are numerous estimates of how many Herero and Nama (and San)
people died in the genocide. See for instance, Schaller, ‘From Conquest
to Genocide’, p. 296 or J. Sarkin, Colonial Genocide and Reparation
Claims in the 21st Century: The Socio-legal context of claims under inter-
national law by the Herero against Germany for Genocide in Namibia,
1904–1908 (Wesport CT, 2008), pp. 141–2. The 1985 UN Whitaker
Report noted that the Hereroo were reduced from 80,000 to 15,000.
See Whitaker Report, UN Economic and Social Council Commission on
Human Rights Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination and
Protection of Minorities. Thirty-eighth session, It. 4, 2 July 1985.
55. Conrad, German Colonialism, p. 42.
56. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, p. 149 and I. Hull, ‘The Military Campaign
in Germany Southwest Africa, 1904–1907’, German Historical Institute
Bulleting, vol. 37 (2005), pp. 39–40.
57. BAB, R 1001/2115: Leutwein to Auswärtiges Amt, Kolonial Abt., 3
June 1904.
58. Cited in J.B. Gewald, Herero Heroes. A Socio-Political History of the Herero
of Namibia, 1890–1923 (Athens OH, 1999), p. 169.
59. For the organisation of the Kolonial Abt. See A. Eckert and M. Pesek,
‘Bürokratische Ordnung und Koloniale Praxis. Herrschaft und
Verwaltung in Preussen und Afrika’ in S. Conrad and J. Osterhammel
(eds.), Das Kaiserreich transnational – Deutschland in der Welt 1871–1914
(Göttingen, 2006), p. 93.
60. The National Archives, Kew (TNA), Foreign Office (FO) 64/1645:
Report on State of in the neighbourhood of Walfisch Bay, 4 June 1904 by
John Cleverly, 4 June 1904, 1–2.
61. Bley, Namibia Under German Rule, p. 159.
62. Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, p. 138.
63. Hull, Absolute Destruction, p. 33. For Trotha’s use of Callwell, see,
Lindner, ‘An Inclination towards a policy of extermination?’.
64. J. Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros (London, 1981), pp. 113–21.
65. H. Lundtofte, ‘“Ich glaube, dass die Nation als solche vernichtet werden
muss…” – Radikaliseringen af den tyske nedkæmplen af hereroopstanden
1904’, Den Jyske Historiker, 90 (2000)’, pp. 88–90.
66. Cited in Gewald, Herero Heroes, pp. 172–3.
67. Bley, Namibia under German Rule, p. 164.
68. Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, p. 128. Also J.B. Gewald, ‘Colonization,
Genocide and Resurgence: The Herero of Namibia, 1890–1933’ in
J.B. Gewald and M. Bollig (eds.), People, Cattle and Land. Transformations
of a pastoral society in southwestern Africa (Cologne, 2000).
69. Zimmerer, ‘War, Concentration Camps and Genocide’, p. 49.
70. Hull, Absolute Destruction, p. 37.

71. Lundtofte, ‘“Ich glaube, dass die Nation”’, pp. 84–6. See also G. Krüger,
Kriegsbewältigung und Geschichtsbewusstsein: Realität, Deutung und
Verarbeitung des deutschen Kolonialkriegs in Namibia (Göttingen, 1999).
72. Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, p. 174.
73. BAB, R 1001/2117: Bericht von Oberleutnant von Beesten, [undated]
November 1904.
74. H. Walser Smith, ‘The Talk of Genocide, the Rhetoric of Miscegenation:
Notes on Debates in the German Reichstag concerning Southwest Africa,
1904–1914’ in S. Friedrichsmeyer, S. Lennox and S. Zantop (eds.), The
Imperialist Imagination: German Colonialism and its Legacy (Ann Arbor
MI, 1988), p. 111.
75. Kuss, German Colonial Wars, p. 238.
76. Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, p. 130.
77. For the agency and role of missionaries, see N. Oermann, Mission, Church
and State Relations in German South West Africa under German Rule
(1884–1915) (Stuttgart, 1999). For Oermann, the missionaries role can-
not be reduced to mere collaborators of the colonial state. See especially
pp. 20–21.
78. Drechsler, Let Us Die Fighting, p. 165.
79. Zimmerer, ‘War, Concentration Camps and Genocide’, p. 51.
80. C. Erichsen, “The Angel of Death Has Descended Violently Among Them”
Concentration Camps and Prisoners-of-War in Namibia, 1904–1908
(Leiden, 2005), p. 108.
81. Zimmerer, ‘War, Concentration Camps and Genocide’ pp. 51–2.
82. J. Kreienbaum, ‘Deadly Learning? Concentration Camps and Zones in
Colonial Wars around 1900’ in Barth and Cvetkovski (eds.), Imperial
Co-operation and Transfer, p. 219.
83. A. Forth and J. Kreienbaum, ‘A Shared malady. Concentration Camps in
the British, Spanish, American and German Empires’, Journal of Modern
European History, vol. 14, 2 (2016), p. 265. See also T. Kühne,
‘Colonialism and the Holocaust: Continuities, causations and complexi-
ties’, Journal of Genocide Research, vol. 15, 3 (2013).
84. I. R. Smith and A. Stucki, ‘The Colonial Development of Concentration
Camps (1868–1902)’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth
History, vol. 39, 3 (2011), p. 418.
85. J. Kreienbaum, A Sad Fiasco: Colonial Concentration Camps in Southern
Africa 1900–1908 (New York, 2019), pp. 15–16.
86. Lindner, ‘Colonialism as a European Project’, pp. 104–6.
87. J. Hyslop, ‘The Invention of the Concentration Camp: Cuba, Southern
Africa and the Philippines, 1896–1907’, South African Historical Journal,
vol. 63, 2 (2011), p. 259. For a recent study of concentration camps in

the British Empire, see A. Forth, Barbed-Wire Imperialism: Britain’s
Empire of Camps, 1876–1903 (Oakland CA, 2019).
88. The lack of sanitation and the atrocious conditions of the camps are dis-
cussed in most literature on the South African War. Measles in particular
caused a high mortality rate among children. See B. Fetter and S. Kessler,
‘Scars from a Childhood Disease: Measles in the Concentration Camps
during the Boer War’ Social Science History, vol. 20, 4 (1996).
89. P. Warwick, Black People and the South African War, 1899–1902
(Cambridge, 1983), p. 145. See also S. V. Kessler, ‘The Black concentra-
tion camps of the Anglo-Boer War, 1899–1902: shifting the paradigm
from sole martyrdom to mutual suffering’, Historia, vol. 44, 1 (1999).
90. See, for instance, B. Porter, Critics of Empire: British Radicals and the
Imperial Challenge (London, 1968).
91. J. de Reuck, ‘Social Suffering and the Politics of Pain: Observations on
the Concentration Camps in the Anglo-Boer War, 1899–1902’, English
in Africa, vol. 26, 2 (1999), p. 78 and H. L. Wesseling, Divide and Rule.
The Partition of Africa, 1880–1914 (Westport CT, 1995), p. 326. See
also, Emily Hobhouse, The Brunt of the War and Where it Fell
(London, 1902).
93. L. Weiss, ‘Exceptional Space: Concentration Camps and Labour
Compounds in Late Nineteenth-Century South Africa’ in A. Myers and
G. Moshenka, Archaeologies of Internment (New York, 2011), p. 25.
94. Bley, Namibia under German Rule, pp. 180–81.
95. BAB, R 1001/2114: Deutschen Kolonialzeitung to Auswärtiges Amt,
Kolonial Abt, 5 May 1904.
96. J. Kreienbaum, ‘Guerrilla wars and colonial concentration camps. The
exceptional case of German South West Africa, (1904–1908)’, Journal of
Namibian Studies, 11 (2012), p. 94.
97. Hyslop, ‘The Invention of the Concentration Camp’, pp. 261–2.
98. Erichsen, Angel of Death, p. 64.
99. J. Kreienbaum, ‘“Vernichtungslager” in Deutsch-Südwestafrika? Zur
Funktion der Konzentrationlager im Herero- und Namakrieg
(1904–1908)’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft, 58, 12 (2010),
p. 1016. Also, J. Zeller, ‘“Ombekera I koza – The Cold is Killing Me”: A
History of the Concentration Camp in Swakopmund (1904–1908)’ in
Zimmerer and Zeller (eds.), Genocide in German South-West Africa, p. 76.
100. TNA, FO 367/11: Report from Trench to Secretary to the War Office,
London, 15 March 1906.
101. Erichsen, Angel of Death, p. 114.
102. Quoted in Erichsen, Angel of Death, pp. 117–18.

103. TNA, FO 881/5181: General Act of the West African Conference, 26
February 1885, Article 6.
104. Conklin, ‘Colonialism and Human Rights’, p. 438.
105. TNA, Colonial Office (CO) 879/52: Milner to Chamberlain, 28
July 1897.
106. BAB, R 1001/2221: Petition der Ansiedler des Distrikts Grootfontein,
20 September 1904.
107. P. Rohrbach, Der Deutsche Gedanke in der Welt (Leipzig, 1912), p. 134.
108. See especially M. Häussler, The Herero Genocide. War, Emotion and
Extreme Violence in Colonial Namibia (New York, 2021).
109. G. Krüger, Kriegsbewältigung und Geschichtsbewusstsein, p. 62.
110. J. Kreienbaum, ‘Deadly Learning?’, pp. 229–230.
CHAPTER 3
Imperial Cooperation and Anglo-German

Diplomacy
In a report dated 21 September 1907, Cape governor Walter Hely-

Hutchinson informed Secretary of State for the Colonies, Lord Elgin, that
the Cape Mounted Police (CMP) under Major Elliot had killed the Nama
rebel leader Jakob Marengo at the Eensaamheid pan north of Upington in
the Cape, reporting that there was ‘no further fear of trouble’.1 Marengo
had waged a successful cross-border guerrilla war against the Germans
before being detained in Tokai Prison in the Cape Colony. Upon his
release in March 1907, Marengo crossed back into GSWA to continue his
fight against the German Schutztruppe. Marengo’s resistance was so suc-
cessful that the Germans gave him the nickname ‘Der schwarze Napoleon’
(the Black Napoleon), and British newspapers even referred to him as ‘a
South African Rob Roy’.2 British and Cape officials had long feared that
the rebellion in GSWA would, in one way or another, spread into Cape or
Bechuanaland territory. Cross-border resistance such as that conducted by
Marengo and his group therefore served to complicate the colonial rela-
tions between Britain and Germany, dragging the former into the conflict.
The involvement of Britain and the Cape in the rebellion remains
ambiguous. On the one hand, this involvement was shaped by concerns
that the rebellion would spread into the fragile British territories that were
still recovering from the South African War. Consequently, a general reluc-
tance was apparent, particularly from the Cape authorities, to aid the

Switzerland AG 2022
German suppression and therefore they sought to maintain a strict, albeit

‘friendly’, neutrality. On the other hand, the killing of white settlers by
Herero rebels was deemed to be inexcusable and only confirmed the
alleged barbarism of Africans. British cooperation was therefore contradic-
tory and unclear from the beginning. Marengo’s death at the hands of the
CMP in 1907, was therefore the culmination of a haphazard, improvised
cooperation between the two colonial powers and indicates the underlying
interests and dynamics of colonial cooperation in the face of indigenous
resistance. From a British perspective, getting rid of Marengo was crucial
to the stability of the colony and it was deemed that failure to kill him
‘would be disastrous and would increase Marengo’s prestige tenfold’,
causing the rebellion to spread across the border as a result of Britain so
openly choosing a side.3 With this in mind, cooperation between colonial
powers was not straightforward or determined by racial predispositions
alone, rather emanating from a complicated set of interests and
perspectives.
This chapter explores the nature of Anglo-German cooperation in
counter-insurgency efforts as viewed, predominantly, from a metropolitan
perspective. The British imperial government in London were caught
between the interests and wishes of the Cape on the one hand and the
developing diplomatic relations with Germany on the other. For them, the
broader tendencies of Anglo-German antagonism leading up to World
War I were inseparable from its policy towards the rebellions in
GSWA. Thus, the shifting relations towards Germany was a key context in
how the British imperial government acted and cooperated with the
Germans in GSWA, especially when there was a diplomatic agenda or gain
to be won. Crucially, any actions of cooperation were never straightfor-
ward and emanated from British and Cape interests rather than being a
friendly service to their fellow colonial power. Furthermore, this reveals
that cooperation in the colonies was part of a broader international con-
text, where diplomatic motives and interests informed such acts of
cooperation.
The subject of cooperation between colonial powers has re-emerged in
recent scholarship on colonialism but has been a feature long noted by
historians. In the 1960s, several historians including William Roger Louis
and Paul Kennedy found that despite the intensifying antagonism between
Britain and Germany, their colonial rivalry was alleviated as a result of
cooperation in the colonial sphere, especially in the 1880s.4 This took
place at diplomatic level, where agreements could be reached, especially
3 IMPERIAL COOPERATION AND ANGLO-GERMAN DIPLOMACY 45
on the anticipated collapse of the Portuguese colonial empire, and also in

the colonies themselves, where cooperation against African resistance was
important. As has already been discussed, Drechsler described the nature
of British and German colonial cooperation in Southern Africa as based on
‘racial solidarity’. African resistance against a colonial power, he argued,
posed a threat to the colonial order across the colonial borders and spheres
of influence. Others have suggested that Britain and Germany in Africa
were involved in a ‘shared colonial project’ in Africa, in which the ‘white
man’s burden’ was equally shared among the colonial powers.5 However,
cooperation was never straightforward and emanated, as we shall see, from
political and security interests rather than a shared racial solidarity. Indeed,
a crucial context in these underlying political interests were the broader
history of Anglo-German relations at a time where antagonism was steadily
becoming the main characteristic of the diplomatic relations between the
two great powers.
A Troublesome Neighbour: British Views of German

Colonialism in Southern Africa
The history of Anglo-German relations before World War I is convention-
ally seen through the lens of rising antagonism.6 The prevailing notion has
been that British foreign policy was one of reaction to German provoca-
tions and it is only recently historians such as Christopher Clark and
Andreas Rose have promoted British agency in the development of antag-
onism between Britain and Germany.7 At the crux of British foreign policy
towards Germany was the maintenance of stability throughout the British
Empire. Indeed, as noted by Rose, the empire was a crucial determinant
in British foreign policy before 1914 and cannot be separated from
European affairs.8 The global dimension of Britain’s foreign policy, there-
fore, was intrinsically formed by its imperial obligations and interests.
When recounting Anglo-German antagonism—or rivalry to use a broader
term—there are mainly three key aspects: the naval rivalry, the balance of
power in Europe and the colonial rivalry, which was the longest standing,
but least important for decision-makers in London and Berlin, especially
since disputes here were easier to solve.9
However, colonial rivalry between Britain and Germany should not be
disregarded, particularly not considering the British factor in the Herero
and Nama genocide. Although the colonial rivalry is deemed less
important than the naval race and the European balance of power, such
hierarchy is inadvertently Eurocentric. Although British officials in
London were more concerned about European affairs and Germany’s
naval programme, it was the colonial rivalry that was the most important
for colonial authorities and some imperial statesmen. What is more, it was
perhaps in Southern Africa, more than anywhere else, that the colonial
rivalry was most intense. The 1896 Kruger Telegram, where Kaiser
Wilhelm II officially congratulated Transvaal President Paul Kruger, for
defeating Dr Leander Starr Jameson and his raiders, caused a significant
upset in both Britain and the Cape. Later, when the Boers, during the
South African War were found fighting with German Mauser rifles,
obtained asylum in GSWA and received substantial sympathy and support
from the German press, the German presence in Southern Africa was
definitively deemed as problematic.
The Anglo-German colonial rivalry can ostensibly be divided into two
phases: In the first phase from 1884 to the mid-1890s, the British govern-
ment in London welcomed Germany to the colonial world, especially
since a German presence could potentially help in curbing French colonial
expansion. The Berlin Conference of 1884–5 facilitated a carve-out of the
African continent among the European powers and recognised Germany’s
status as a colonial power. Germany was welcomed to the colonial stage by
Britain, as Prime Minister William Gladstone told the House of Commons
a few months before the signing of the Berlin Treaty: ‘If Germany becomes
a colonising power, all I can say is “God speed her.” She becomes our ally
and partner in the execution of a great purpose of Providence for the ben-
efit of mankind.’10 Furthermore, with its small navy and favouring of free
trade, Germany did not pose any immediate threat to British imperial
security nor trading interests.11
When Bremen merchant Adolf Lüderitz via his proxy Heinrich
Vogelsang purchased Angra Pequeña from Bethuana Nama chief, Joseph
Fredericks in May 1883, the German government were anxious not to
provoke Britain. Although protection and consular services were promised
to Lüderitz in August that year, Georg Herbert Münster, the German
ambassador in London timidly inquired in September, whether Britain
had any claims to the area and if so on what grounds. Britain’s reply was
unclear and perhaps even arrogant: they had no claims to the area except
Walvis Bay and the islands off Angra Pequeña. Nevertheless, they would
consider any other colonial power in the area an infringement of Britain’s
legitimate rights. When Bismarck demanded an elaboration and received
no reply from the British government, he proclaimed Angra Pequeña and

what later became Lüderitzbucht to be under German protection on 24
April 1884. Bismarck’s move to grant Lüderitz’ venture protection was
shocking news to the Foreign Office. Until then, Bismarck had always
shown an aversion to colonial possessions and a sudden claim to the
unpromising territories in South West Africa was both surprising and wor-
risome. The belief in the Foreign Office was that it was imperative to keep
Germany on their side in other more pressing concerns such as the ques-
tion of Egypt and therefore Bismarck’s ‘blackmail’ in demanding colonial
territories would have to be accepted.12 Finally, on 7 August 1884, the
German flag was hoisted in Lüderitzbucht, proclaiming GSWA to be a
German protectorate, which would later be acknowledge at the Berlin
conference.
For Lüderitz, however, the idea of claiming a colony for Germany to
help his fatherland finding that famous ‘spot in the sun’ was only part of
his ambition. Being the son of a tobacco merchant in Bremen, Lüderitz
had inherited his father’s company in 1878. By 1881, he purchased trad-
ing posts in West Africa and developed profound interests in the possibili-
ties of trade on the African coast. He was attracted to South West Africa
partly because he would not be subjected to British tariffs and administra-
tion as in West Africa, but also because of the guano rich coast and off-
shore islands. Furthermore, like many hopefuls of the day, Lüderitz was
lured by the prospect of unearthing immense mineral deposits in the most
inhospitable parts of the world.13 The coast of South West Africa certainly
fitted the bill: wedged between a 50 to 70 kilometres desert from the coast
to the West and the immense Kalahari Desert to the West, it was as
Drechsler noted, ‘one of the most inaccessible regions of Africa.’14
The Cape government had wanted to annex the area as far north as
Walvis Bay. But with the British government refusing to take administra-
tive responsibility, the expenses would fall on the Cape government and
few in Cape Town were prepared to accept that.15 From a British perspec-
tive, South West Africa was uninteresting and had little promise, but the
enclave of Walvis Bay was kept, as it was the only deep-water harbour on
the coast and thus had significant strategic value. Despite being labelled
‘the most unpromising and unprofitable of our colonial possessions’
Walvis Bay was maintained for its strategic value alone, as it curbed German
trading and naval capabilities in Southern Africa.16 But from a Cape per-
spective, the entry of Germany into Southern Africa caused resentment
from the very beginning, as there was a prevailing understanding that
South West Africa was a zone of natural expansion of British South Africa.
The Cape government had sent expeditions led by William Palgrave to
South West Africa already in the 1870s to establish contact with local
African groups to obtain support for Cape sovereignty.17 For the Cape
government, therefore, South West Africa was considered part of their
domain in all but formality and when it became German in 1884, they felt
deceived by the British government.18 As notes by the corresponded of the
Standard, ‘The general opinion here is that there is not room for two flags
in South Africa.’19 The disparity between the British government in
London and the sub-imperial interests of it self-governing colonies in the
1880s was not limited to Southern Africa as the Australian colonies and
New Zealand too resented the establishment of German colonies in the
Pacific. This colonial grievance was perhaps best epitomised by the excla-
mation in the New Zealand parliament in 1883: ‘Bless the Queen and
curse the Colonial Office.’20 In the end, while the British government in
London did not place much significance on South West Africa, the Cape
government considered it imperative to maintain British paramountcy in
the region. Consequently, the Cape authorities most often saw the German
colonial neighbour in light of rivalry, while the British government saw
little trouble in cooperation and friendly relations to a colonial neighbour.21
The second phase of the Anglo-German colonial rivalry commenced
during the 1890s and was the gradual ending of the cordial relationship
and the positioning of Germany as a perceived rival and threat to British
imperial interests. Britain would gradually distance itself from the cordial
line of the 1880s and instead began to consider Germany a threat and a
rival, later epitomised by the notion of ‘the German menace’. This resulted
from several clashes, especially in Southern Africa, where the German
presence complicated Britain’s policy towards the Afrikaner republics
before the South African War.22 The discovery of gold in Witwatersrand in
1886 had begun to shift the economic and political centre of Southern
Africa from the Cape to Johannesburg and caused a drastic rise in the
Uitlander population.23 The British government, therefore, began to fear
that this would eventually lead to a South Africa, where British influence
would be gradually dissipate. The appointment of Joseph Chamberlain as
Secretary of State for the Colonies in 1895 was in many ways a watershed
in British-Afrikaner relations and in the changing perceptions of German
colonialism.24 Chamberlain favoured the prospect of an alliance with
Germany and even sought to reach an understanding as late as 1901.25 But
his belligerent policy towards the Afrikaner republics could not be aligned
with a friendly attitude towards Germany, especially since Chamberlain

also favoured a strengthening of the self-governing colonies in imperial
decision making, since these remained hostile to the German colonial
presence in the vicinity.
Germany’s relations with the Afrikaner republics, and especially
Transvaal, had developed rapidly through the 1880s and 1890s. By 1896,
the German government boasted publicly of its significant interests in the
Transvaal with fifteen thousand German immigrants and financial invest-
ments mounting to five hundred million Marks.26 The completion of the
Pretoria-Delagoa Railway that was partly funded by Dutch and German
investors the year before furthered German interests in Transvaal.27
Indicatively, in 1893, Britain supplied ca. 80 per cent of all imports to
Transvaal and Germany a mere 14 per cent. However, by 1897, British
exports to Transvaal had dropped to 64 per cent and Germany’s rising to
a sizeable 32 per cent.28 More importantly, the Delagoa Bay railway, which
ran through Portuguese Mozambique, broke Britain’s encirclement of the
Afrikaner republics and provided Transvaal a direct line of access to the
sea. Not only trade went through here, but also weapons and equipment,
such as Mauser rifles from Germany, were sent to Transvaal and would
later be used to great effect against the British during the South
African War.29
The increasing German trade and financial interests in Transvaal, was
mirrored by a growing political interest. The Jameson Raid in December
1895, where Leander Starr Jameson of the British South Africa Company
had failed to stage a coup d’état with the help of British Uitlanders in
Johannesburg, severely damaged Anglo-German relations. The raid itself
was quickly denounced by the British government, which created an
inquiry to identify the culprit and exonerate its own suspected involve-
ment. The role of the British government and especially Chamberlain in
planning the raid remains undecided to this day, but it was Cecil Rhodes,
then Cape Premier and head of the British South Africa Company, who
was deemed responsible.30 The raid created an international scandal as an
illegal act against a small sovereign state.31 In Germany, the raid was con-
demned and the German ambassador to Britain, Count Hatzfeldt, was
instructed to ask the British government if it approved of the raid, and ‘if
you have the impression that the infraction of International Law is
approved (by the British government), you will ask for your passport.’32
But when the German Kaiser on 3 January 1896, sent the infamous
Kruger telegram where he publicly congratulated Paul Kruger for
rebuffing the raiders, it caused an uproar in Britain. Germans in Britain

were assaulted and German-owned shops had their windows broken as the
public became caught in a maelstrom of Germanophobic jingoism. In the
British government too, the telegram was considered an insult and an
interference into what was decisively a British sphere of influence.33 The
Kruger telegram was thus a central turning point in Anglo-German rela-
tions in Southern Africa that placed Germany as a third political player in
the hitherto bilateral relations between Britain and the Afrikaner repub-
lics. In May 1898, Lord Selborne, then the Under-Secretary of State for
the Colonies, complained to his sister Sophia Palmer about the German
interference and lamented the British accepting attitude towards German
colonialism in the 1880s as ‘a grave mistake.’ The presence of German
colonies around the world, but especially in Southern Africa had added
‘very seriously to our imperial political difficulties. For instance, the
German footing in South Africa is the real cause for our troubles with the
Transvaal. And what has been the result to the natives? Instead of the just
imperial rule of England, there is the brutal (a just word) rule of French
and German officials.’34
It was clear that some agreement with Germany had to be made in
order to realise Britain’s ambitions in Southern Africa of absorbing the
Afrikaner republics. The matter had become increasingly urgent as popu-
lar opinion in Britain was beginning to support a belligerent policy towards
Transvaal, especially since the Uitlanders of whom most were British, were
still denied franchise among other things.35 At the same time, the closure
of the Delagoa Bay railway was paramount to British strategic interests and
for Milner they were a way to force the Transvaal government to peace-
fully submit to British demands.36 The 1898 secret agreement between
Britain and Germany over the Portuguese colonies in Southern Africa,
which were expected to be relinquished any time, was an attempt to
remove the German factor from Britain’s Afrikaner policy. In return for
Portuguese Angola and large parts of what is now Mozambique as well as
a British withdrawal from Samoa, Delagoa Bay would be obtained by
Britain, and Germany would withdraw from Southern Africa and abandon
its relations with Transvaal. This enabled Britain to negotiate directly with
Portugal to prevent any trade in arms and ammunition to Transvaal via
Delagoa Bay.37 With war looming, Germany chose to honour the secret
agreement with Britain and Transvaal received several warnings about not
to expect any support from Germany in case of war.38 Even though the
Boers were voiced as ‘the Teutonic blood brothers’ of the Germans, the
German government refused open cooperation, but rather aided the

British in preventing Boer commandos from using GSWA as a base of
operations. In Germany, the refusal to aid the Afrikaner republics was per-
haps best exemplified by the refusal of the Kaiser to welcome Kruger upon
his visit in 1900.39
Despite honouring the secret agreement and abstaining from providing
actual support to the Boers, Germany’s bid to become a political factor
in Southern Africa had a lasting effect on British perceptions of German
colonialism. Through the 1890s episodes like the Kruger Telegram
and the 1898 blackmail with concessions on Portuguese colonies, had
proven the unreliability of Germany in the colonial world.40 As noted by
Permanent Under-Secretary Sir Thomas Sanderson, ‘to preserve German
favour we are to pay and give way everywhere.’41 Indeed, the outbreak
of the South African War in 1899 significantly worsened British views of
German colonialism. According to Kennedy, the war was the point of no
return in Anglo-German relations prior to 1914, as consolidation was
now rendered impossible.42 Although the German government observed a
carefully calculated neutrality, many Germans donated money to fund the
Boer campaign or volunteered to fight for them.43 But it was particularly
the German press which angered both the British government and public.
Established newspapers such as the liberal Frankfurter Zeitung, its conser-
vative rival, Kreuzzeitung and the socialist paper Vorwärts were all to vary-
ing degrees condemning of the war and of the conduct of the British army
in a sentiment of ‘Boer euphoria’ and ‘Anglophobia’.44 Especially the con-
centration camp policy and the treatment of Boer civilians were subjected
to heavy criticism, most evidently from Der Internationalen Burenliga
(the International Boer league) and its mouthpiece Der Burenfreund (the
Boerfriend).45 In April 1905, a month before his commencement as High
Commissioner to South Africa, Selborne observed that the ‘real source’
of resentment in Britain towards Germany, was ‘the libels of the German
press on the British army during the Boer War.’46
Of course, public criticism of the South African War was not limited to
Germany but was widespread across continental Europe as well as in
Britain itself. The Netherlands, France and Russia in particular, publicly
sympathised with the Boers and Kruger was received as a hero by more
than 100,000 people in Marseille at the start of his European tour in
1900. But from the perspective of the British Foreign Office, unlike most
other European countries, the condemnations in the press in Germany
could not be separated from the views of the government. In fact, the
British government was convinced that the German government had con-
trol over large parts of the German press and that it was deliberately
orchestrating a campaign to weaken Britain’s international standing.47
This derived from the suspicion that Germany and Russia in particular, not
only wanted the war to continue for as long as possible as it drained British
finances and overstretched its military capacity, but also because Germany
was organising a continental alliance against Britain. Although such alli-
ance failed, among other reasons because Alsace-Lorraine remained in
German hands, it had a lasting effect in Britain.48 Therefore, the criticism
levied against Britain from international presses, was intrinsically linked to
imperial and foreign policy considerations, as the South Africa was the
most publicised conflict outside Europe between 1865 and 1915.49
When the Herero rebellion broke out in 1904, therefore, Germany had
firmly been placed as a rival in British imperial and foreign policy percep-
tions. What is more, during the war and genocide in GSWA, British views
of Germany were deteriorating rapidly and by 1905, antagonism became
a determinant in British foreign policy.50 Although Germany had not been
alone in its criticism of British conduct during the South African War,
Britain’s ententes with France (1904) and Russia (1907) firmly positioned
Germany as the remaining rival to British imperial interests. When
Germany failed in its challenge of the Anglo-French entente during the
First Moroccan Crisis in 1905, it only served to further distance Britain.
What has since been termed ‘the invention of Germany’ as a rival, was a
structural shift in British foreign policy intended to strengthen relations
with France and Russia for whom Germany was the main threat.51 This led
to the adoption of an increasingly Germanophobic view in the British
government as perhaps best epitomised by Eyre Crowe’s 1907 memoran-
dum on the German menace, where the policy of British government dur-
ing the 1880s, in a similar vain to Selborne, had been fallacious and led to
Germany’s diplomacy of blackmail.
In Southern Africa, events such as the 1906 Ferreira Raid where John
Ferreira, a veteran of the South African War attempted to stage a rebellion
from GSWA, where he had fought with the Germans against the Herero,
significantly worsened relations. The increasing antagonism between
Britain and Germany, however, was not monolithic, especially not in the
colonial world. Although Germany’s role in Southern Africa had been
crucial to the rise of antagonism, the colonial rivalry remained second to
the naval race, which was far more imperative to British interests. But
where it was difficult to reach agreements over naval disarmament, the
colonial world was used to alleviate by reaching agreements. For instance,

during Lord Haldane’s visit to Berlin in February 1912, which was mainly
intended to solve the naval race and discuss a potential British neutrality in
case of a European war, the colonies proved the most fertile ground for
agreements. Haldane noted in his conversation German Chancellor,
Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg that ‘I wished we could work in the
world together a great deal more. He said “in Africa for instance”. I said
“In Africa particularly”’.52
Despite a growing tendency of cooperation in the colonies in the last
few years before 1914, British and Cape views on the German presence in
GSWA by 1904 were exceedingly hostile. But crucially, the emergence of
Anglo-German antagonism in both Europe and Southern Africa provides
a crucial pretext to ascertain the British response to the Herero and Nama
war and genocide. Indeed, it could be surmised that Germany would be at
the end of widespread criticism and public lamentations and that Britain
might even support the Herero and Nama in secret. While this was indeed
the view of several German officers in GSWA, Britain neither publicly con-
demned German practices nor supported the Africans. The complex inter-
play between cooperation and rivalry meant that Britain opted to both at
once and that each episode of cooperation or non-cooperation with the
Germans was subjected to both colonial and diplomatic considerations.
Thus, actions of cooperation in the colonial world were intrinsically linked
to the broader stage of European and imperial diplomacy. This was per-
haps nowhere more evident than in the Marengo affair.
The Marengo Affair

Jacob Marengo (sometimes Morenga or Moranga) remains a highly cele-
brated figure in Namibia and he is seen as a forerunner of the leaders of
the liberation movements of the 1970s and 1980s. Marengo is also one of
the ‘seven heroes’ commemorated at the Heroes Acre, a few miles outside
Windhoek, and, at the North Korean-sponsored national museum,
Marengo is portrayed as a national hero alongside figures such as Samuel
Maherero, Hendrik Witbooi and Hosea Kutako. Before the rebellion,
Marengo is known to have lived in the Cape Colony and worked at the
Okiep copper mines and he was familiar with the borderlands between
GSWA and the Cape. Although the details of his background are some-
what unclear, he was taught at missionary school and it is even likely that
he lived in Germany for eighteen months with one of his missionary
patrons.53 However, it was when the Bondelswarts Nama (a sub-group of

the wider aegis of the Nama) rose in rebellion in 1903 in the southern
parts of GSWA to avenge the murder of their chief, Jan Abraham Christian,
Marengo emerged as a central figure for Nama resistance. In January
1904, the Germans reached a peace settlement with the Bondelswarts,
enabling them to relocate forces to suppress the Herero rebellion that had
just broken out. Marengo, however, refused to accept any such settlement
and continued his actions. The German administration consequently
labelled him as an outlaw.54
In October 1904, Hendrik Witbooi, the main chief of the Nama,
rebelled against the Germans after the brutal slaughter of the Herero at
Waterberg, where a group of Nama volunteers, who had been sent to sup-
port the Germans, witnessed the massacre. Witbooi was afraid that a simi-
lar treatment could soon befall the Nama, especially after open statements
from German colonial newspapers and settlers demanded that the
onslaught be extended against all Africans in GSWA. The Nama rebellion,
should, in this sense, be understood as a pre-emptive strike and it was the
Nama who managed to drag the war out to proportions the Germans had
never imagined. Just after Witbooi’s rebellion, the German military com-
mand proclaimed to the Nama that, if the rebellion continued, the same
fate suffered by the Herero would soon come to the Nama. Trotha
exclaimed, ‘I ask you where are the people of the Herero today? Where are
their chiefs? Some of them have died of hunger and thirst, some by German
troops. This will be the fate of the Hottentots.’55 The renewed hostilities
gave Marengo the opportunity to fight once again with a larger group and
for a greater purpose. Having fought the Germans since 1903, he had
already acquired a notable reputation as a skilled guerrilla fighter among
Africans and Europeans on both sides of the border.
The Nama posed a completely different challenge to the Germans from
that of the Herero.56 They were familiar with German strategies and, hav-
ing witnessed the onslaught at Waterberg, Witbooi and his men knew that
it was imperative to avoid being pitched down to a large-scale battle. The
Nama therefore employed guerrilla warfare and made full use of their
knowledge of the rugged terrain to the south. Indeed, as noted by Walter
Nuhn, the Nama war was the German army’s first experience of guerrilla
warfare.57 The Nama war progressed in three main phases: first, the Nama
emulated the Herero and attacked German farms and outposts.
Approximately forty settlers were killed and the Nama acted similarly to
the Herero and spared women and children, only killing German men
who did not ‘bear the Witbooi mark’—a sign of Nama friendship.
Missionaries were also spared, as well as non-German settlers. In one case,
Nama warriors escorted German women and children to safety in a
German settlement, risking their own lives in the process.58 The decision
to only target German male settlers was intended to assuage condemna-
tions of Nama warfare as ‘savage’ and had the effect of not categorically
distancing Britain from their cause. The second phase was characterised by
guerrilla war, which continued even after German troops took the Witbooi
Nama homeland of Rietmond, seized valuable supplies, cattle and equip-
ment. In response, the Germans split their forces into smaller groups,
intended be more mobile, enabling them to pursue the guerrillas.
However, their heavy equipment, lack of knowledge of the area and expo-
sure to ambushes resulted in failure to suppress the rebels completely. The
third and final phase of the war came after Witbooi was shot in the leg
when raiding a German food transport on 29 October 1905—he eventu-
ally died from his wounds. His death meant that no central figure remained
to lead the rebellion, which was instead continued by separate groups
operating independently under the leadership of other figures such as
Johannes Christian, Simon Kooper and Jakob Marengo.59
After Witbooi’s death, Trotha was removed from his position because
of his continued failure to end the war. Indeed, in Berlin, his strategy
against the Herero was deemed a failure and, when he was unable to end
the war against the Nama, they lost patience with him.60 Trotha’s replace-
ment was Friedrich von Lindequist, previously the German consul in Cape
Town. Before Lindequist assumed his new role as governor, the Nama had
been promised a seemingly lenient peace deal stipulating that, if they sur-
rendered and laid down their weapons, only some would be punished.
Following the death of Witbooi, many accepted the terms. However,
when Lindequist assumed his new role, one of his first acts was to with-
draw any concessions given to the Nama. Those who had surrendered
therefore found themselves joining the Herero survivors in the concentra-
tion camps.61
Marengo was one of the most successful Nama guerrilla captains and
was perhaps the most important figure of resistance after Witbooi’s death.
His guerrilla attacks upon German troops were remarkably successful,
and, as he continuously crossed the border into British territory, the
Germans were unable to capture him. In GSWA, Marengo operated from
the Karrasberge in the south, where the rugged terrain suited his guerrilla
tactics and allowed him easy access across the border.62 When Marengo
crossed into British territory to evade German troops and received help
from indigenous peoples across the border, D.H von Jacobs at the German
consulate in Cape Town asked the British to intervene and prevent
Marengo from getting support by arresting his allies.63 The Cape govern-
ment responded that it was ‘prepared to do everything possible’ to pre-
vent Marengo’s allies from assisting him from British territory and that it
would ‘issue instructions to prevent cooperation between the natives of
this Colony and the rebellious tribes in German South West Africa’.
Furthermore, the Cape government promised that ‘any armed natives
from German South West Africa, if found in this colony, are to be taken
into custody and disarmed.’64 From March 1906, Marengo fled into Cape
territory and, when the growing number of German troops across the
border defeated him during a cross-border excursion in May 1906, he
gave himself up to the Cape authorities and was detained in Tokai Prison,
far from the border.65 His surrender to the CMP effectively ended the
Nama rebellion before its complete dissolution when the Bondelswarts
captain, Johannes Christian, signed a peace treaty with the Germans in
December 1906. GSWA was, however, far from peaceful, as the concen-
tration camp policy continued for another year and Simon Kooper and
others continued to sporadically attack German outposts along the
border.66
Marengo’s surrender to the CMP did not end German anxieties. Nor
did it give them the impression that the war in the area was over. The
Germans lamented the alleged lack of support from the CMP in dealing
with Marengo’s cross-border activities on several occasions. The British
military attaché in GSWA, Colonel Frederick Trench, reported that
German officers complained that the lack of British support made it
impossible for them to end the conflict because ‘the hostile Hottentots are
strongly supported by the members of their clan beyond the frontier and
obtain from thence ammunition, clothing and supplies. They are able by
reinforcements from the Cape Colony to always make good their losses.’67
The Cape government, however, began to alter its policy of strict neutral-
ity as Marengo’s cross-border movements increasingly meant that they
were unwillingly dragged into taking a stance on the rebellion. For the
British and Cape governments, Marengo’s surrender in May 1906 was
therefore an opportunity to ease tensions with Germany and African
groups in the borderlands. Marengo was therefore quickly transferred to
Tokai prison near Cape Town.68
From a German perspective, though, Marengo’s surrender and detain-

ment in Tokai was no guarantee of peace. On 9 May 1906, the German
consul general in Cape Town, H.P. von Humboldt, pleaded to the Cape
government that the refugees and others who had crossed into British ter-
ritory were merely ‘a big band of robbers and murderers’ who did not
deserve their protection. Handing them over to the Germans would be ‘in
the greatest interest of the whole white race in the Southern parts of
Africa’. If the refugees were extradited, the Germans promised, they would
also be treated fairly according to ‘the proclamations issued by General
von Trotha and Herr von Lindequist’, which ‘guaranteed these natives the
fairest treatment and that only those who have committed crime shall be
punished.’69 Needless to say, Humboldt’s promises of fair treatment were
void considering the ongoing concentration camp policy in GSWA at the
time. But his requests were consistently denied by the Cape government
and in February 1907, British Law officers determined that Marengo and
other refugees from GSWA were ‘political refugees’ that could not be
extradited.70
In March 1907, the German administration declared the rebellion in
GSWA to be over. This immediately caused Humboldt concerns over what
was to be done with Marengo, who was still detained in Tokai. Pleading
his extradition to the Germans, Humboldt again argued that Marengo
was not a political refugee but a criminal and a murderer.71 His actions,
Humboldt claimed, were similar to ‘those perpetrated by Ferreira and his
men’ and as such, the Cape ought to hand him over.72 Hutchinson replied
on behalf of the Cape government that they were ‘constitutionally bound
to refuse’ and so Marengo remained in Tokai until he was released in
June.73 His release from Tokai caused great alarm for the Germans,
prompting Humboldt to beg for the Cape authorities to arrest him. Again,
he was refused by Hutchinson on grounds that the Cape government was
‘unable to issue a warrant for the arrest of Marengo, as I am advised that
the evidence in support of the claim for extradition shows that the crimes
complained of were of a political nature.’74
Of course, the Germans were concerned that Marengo would return to
GSWA and re-instigate a rebellion in the southern parts of the protector-
ate.75 Indeed, Humboldt urged that Marengo ‘be kept under special
Police supervision’. Since ‘Marengo is now a free man,’ the Cape govern-
ment replied, it would be unable to ‘place him under supervision’. Only ‘if
the German government has information at any future time indicating
that Marengo and his followers are threatening a renewed disturbance of
peace in the German protectorate’ would the Cape government ‘take such
steps as may be found necessary’.76 The only instructions given in relation
to Marengo’s movements were to the Resident Magistrate at Upington,
who was asked to ‘keep a quiet watch on Marengo’s movements’.77 This
lacklustre reply, which amounted to a rejection on the part of the Cape
government to cooperation with the Germans was met with great disap-
pointment in GSWA and in Germany itself. Even worse, the Cape govern-
ment made it clear that, even if they wanted to help the Germans, they had
no power ‘to prevent Marengo, by force, from returning to GSWA’.78
In London, however, the escalated standoff between the Cape and
Germany over Marengo was seen with anxiety. In the Colonial Office,
Elgin informed Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Edward Grey that he
shared his ‘apprehension that the refusal of a warrant for extradition with-
out reference to a court may give rise to a protest on the part of the
German Government.’79 For the British government, therefore, the legal
reason for denying the extradition of Marengo was insufficient, especially
since it caused diplomatic problems and damaged Anglo-German rela-
tions. Consequently, it was in particular Grey and the Foreign Office who
were upset over the Cape’s refusal. In a lengthy telegram on to Elgin on 2
August, he lamented that the Cape’s decision to refuse extradition was
‘open to serious objections and is to be strongly deprecated.’ The lack of
legal backing, that is, not having the issue considered by the Court, was
‘undesirable on constitutional grounds’ and would ‘expose the colonial
government to adverse foreign criticism and to misconceptions being
placed upon its actions, such a general course seems also to be inexpedient
as a matter of policy, even though it may be legally justifiable’. Referring
to the Extradition Treaty of 1872 between Britain and Germany,
Marengo’s actions were deemed political offences but also determined
that it was the Secretary of State who had the final say. For Grey, it was
therefore crucial that the Cape government was stripped of its authority
on the issue because their handling of Marengo had already ‘proved a
source of considerable embarrassment to the imperial government and
may on some future occasion involve them in difficulties greater than
those which have attended the Marengo case.’80
Only five days later, the German ambassador to Britain, Count von
Metternich, complained to Grey the day after the Cape government’s
rejection that ‘the Imperial Government would feel much obliged if His
Majesty’s government could see their way to take the immediate and nec-
essary steps to remove the threatening danger.’81 Grey, who, at the time,
had displayed much sympathy for the humanitarian cause against King
Leopold II’s brutal regime in the Congo Free State, wasted no time in
requesting to Elgin that in light of this new request to the British govern-
ment that the matter ‘be dealt with at once’. Specifically, he wanted the
Cape government to remove Marengo from the borderlands and ‘if they
do not extradite him, they ought to see that he does not stir up trouble’.82
Elgin replied promptly that Hutchinson had reported that ‘immediate
action’ would be taken and that it was ‘obligatory for the Cape Colony to
render assistance’.83 This finally enabled Grey to inform Metternich that
‘the Cape government consider it their duty to render assistance’ to
Germany and that instructions had been given to bring in Marengo, send
him away from the vicinity of the border and not let him out of their
sight.84
But this was not enough for the Germans. After complaining first to the
Cape government without any success, and then to the British govern-
ment with limited success, the Germans tried to sway Britain’s stance
towards Marengo through another channel. While on holiday at Marienbad
Spa in Bohemia, Kaiser Wilhelm II informed his uncle, King Edward VII,
that he was worried that the conflict in GSWA would resume if Marengo
successfully crossed the border. According to the British embassy in
Austria–Hungary, which informed the Foreign Office of this discussion,
the Kaiser pleaded that ‘it is very desirable this dangerous rebellion should
finally be quelled. Will your government compel Cape government to
assist us?’85 British policy towards Marengo immediately changed and
Grey responded: ‘Please inform His Majesty that in consequence of
rumours respecting Marengo’s movements, orders for his arrest has been
issued.’ Furthermore, Marengo was no longer to be granted asylum in
British territory and would therefore be arrested or driven back into
German territory.86
When the King became involved, the previous British stance that they
were unable to prevent Marengo from going back clearly changed to a
direct policy of kill or capture. In this sense, Edward VII inadvertently
gave Marengo his de facto death sentence. From the perspective of
Whitehall, once King and Kaiser were involved, little incentive existed not
to appease Germany over a matter as trivial as Marengo’s life. A change in
policy towards Marengo therefore took place in August 1907, when he
crossed into GSWA. While this change can be seen in the context of local
matters, the policy and eventual killing of Marengo should also be seen in
a broader context. On 31 August 1907, Britain signed the Anglo-Russian
treaty, conventionally considered to represent a step towards World War I,

completing the encirclement of Germany by British, French and Russian
ententes. In this fragile diplomatic climate, British actors may well have
seen cooperation against Marengo as a convenient and cheap way to
appease and reconcile with Germany while negotiations with Russia were
ongoing.87 Notably, Elgin let Hutchinson let Hutchinson know that: ‘It
would create a bad impression if anything which takes place on British ter-
ritory is responsible for a renewed outbreak.’88
Nevertheless, while statesmen in Europe were discussing how best to
act, Marengo had already crossed into GSWA. Grey therefore immediately
had to apologise to Berlin, promising his full future cooperation.89 After
crossing the border, Marengo was met with a German force that defeated
him at Ukumas on 8 September 1907.90 The Germans kept the British
well informed about the operation and Marengo eventually fled back into
British territory, where he was met by a squadron of the CMP led by
Major Elliot and accompanied by a German officer, Captain von Hagen.
In a report on the operation, Elliot recalled how he planned to proceed: ‘I
shall request Marengo to accompany me to Upington, failing which, pro-
vided position is not too strong, shall open fire.’91 Had Marengo and his
group surrendered, they would surely be handed back to the Germans,
leaving them with no choice but to refuse Elliot’s requests. However,
Elliot may also have been tempted by the prize of 20,000 Marks, which
the Kaiser had put on Marengo’s head.92 This is plausible, given the feroc-
ity of Elliot’s attack on Marengo and his few remaining followers. In
Elliot’s final report, he revealed that, after driving Marengo and his group
to a disadvantageous position, ‘volley firing was commenced at varying
ranges with satisfactory results.’ In the evening, Elliot, accompanied by
von Hagen, ‘went over the ground and found evidence of the severity of
the fire by the marks on the trees and bushes’. As well as Marengo, five
other men and three women were killed and a further two men were
wounded. Elliot noted that the dead bodies were ‘riddled with bullets,
demonstrating clearly that nothing could possibly have lived in the fire,
which for about ten minutes was a continuous volley firing by sixty men’.93
In the published report, which appeared in the London Gazette on 5
November 1907, this sentence was intentionally omitted. Already, then,
the British government supposedly found it necessary already to dilute
their violent cooperation with the Germans. However, given that ‘approx-
imately 5,000 rounds of ammunition were expended’, John Masson is
right that Elliot may well have coined the term ‘overkill’ in his description
of the skirmish.94
The effect of Marengo’s death was, for Elliot, crucial to the stability of
colonial rule in the region. Although he did not inflict a ‘severe defeat’ on
the German forces, he ‘held them at bay on many occasions.’ Worse still,
Marengo’s ‘contemptuous reference to them (Germans), and indifference
to white men generally resulted in his being held in some degree of awe by
many native tribes, both in British and German territory’. Furthermore,
many Boers, Elliot believed, were jubilant about the action against
Marengo, so his death was also received positively by the white population
in the British territory as well as in German territory.95 Indeed, alongside
Simon Kooper, both the British and the Germans considered Marengo the
main threat to colonial rule, especially in the borderlands, while many
were concerned about the prospect of a pan-African rising in Southern
Africa aimed against European colonialism as a whole. Supporting the
Germans could, in this sense, prove counter-productive, potentially giving
the impression that Britain and the Cape were on their side and thus alien-
ating the Nama residing in British territory.96
If Elliot’s actions against Marengo were out of proportion to the actual
threat he posed, this was nothing compared to the subsequent excessively
inflated celebrations between British, South African and German officials.
In November 1907, Elliot and the detachment that killed Marengo were
given a ‘commemoration medal in bronze’ at the request of the Kaiser.97
Later in the same month, Elliot was awarded the Distinguished Service
Order by the Cape Prime Minister, Leander Starr Jameson, ‘in recognition
of services rendered in your operations against Marengo’.98 Within a few
days, Elliot was therefore decorated by both the British and German
Empire. In Southern Africa, the governor of GSWA, Bruno von
Schuckmann, announced his joy about the ‘pleasing cooperation’, which
had led to ‘a happy ending. Much sacrifice of life and property has been
obviated.’ In return, Schuckmann promised his ‘help with all the forces at
my disposal’ in any future similar situations, should Britain and the Cape
need it. Indeed, ‘it is only by cutting off their retreat that uncertain ele-
ments which hinder the peaceful and progressive development of the bor-
der districts can be cleared out of the way.’99 Hutchinson, so far alarmed
at the German presence and the prospect of the rebellion spreading across
the border, also expressed his pleasure about the successful cooperation
against Marengo and requested that Schuckmann conveyed his acknowl-
edgement of this to Captain von Hagen, who had assisted Elliot.100
Marengo’s death was also celebrated by statesmen and newspapers in

Europe. Britain’s ambassador in Berlin, Frank Lascelles, reported on the
‘great satisfaction’ felt towards Britain in Germany after the news of
Marengo’s death ‘at the hands of English troops’. In the German press,
the Allgemeine Zeitung expressed the ‘gratitude of Germany’ to Britain,
for ‘ridding the country of this troublesome rebel’. The Berliner Tageblatt
also, ‘observe[d] that the improved state of affairs in GSWA and the suc-
cessful pursuit of Morenga’ was the result of ‘the improvement in the
relations between Germany and England’.101 Indeed, as Lascelles sum-
marised, the reaction in Germany to the death of Marengo was that Britain
had effectively ‘won Germany’s war’ as the rebellion ‘may now be consid-
ered completely quelled and the press have already proclaimed that now at
any rate there is no possible reason to delay sending home the troops’.102
These celebrations of the successful Anglo-German cooperation against
Marengo were vastly exaggerated, but derived from a colonial and diplo-
matic interest in improving relations with Germany after the 1907 alliance
with Russia. Indeed, the decorations for Elliot and suggestion of lasting
friendly relations between Britain and Germany do not align with the
actual threat posed by Marengo. While in many ways Marengo was a per-
ceived threat to Anglo-German colonial stability in the borderlands, the
actual threat that he and his tired, poorly equipped and wounded group
posed was insignificant. This adds another dimension to the Marengo
affair, as the story of successful Anglo-German cooperation to prevent the
perceived spread of the rebellion to the borderlands proved that the two
powers, despite their disagreements over their European and naval poli-
cies, could work together. The inflated celebrations over the death of
Marengo in Southern Africa and Europe therefore had a specific function
and signalled a spirit of détente to both public and official audiences.
While negotiations and relations in other areas worsened or became more
hostile, at least they could on occasions work together in maintaining
colonial rule in Africa,
* * *
At the height of Anglo-German antagonism before World War I, there

were in the colonial world cases of intensive cooperation against African
resistance. The German presence in GSWA had from the beginning proved
a hindrance to Cape sub-imperial ambitions and would later remain a
thorn in the side to British aspirations of regional dominance, especially
when the German presence proved troublesome during the South African
War. Meanwhile, in Europe, there was a gradual development where
Germany was actively ‘invented’ as a rival to Britain as new key figures rose
to prominence within the Foreign Office. This occurred at the same time
as the Herero and Nama rebellions and thus provides a key context to how
the British government responded to German requests for support. One
would assume that since Germany was increasingly seen as rival, Britain
would refuse any approach for support against African rebels. But the
colonial world provided an excellent opportunity to seek a détente unlike
the other rivalries (naval and European balance of power) where compro-
mise was difficult to reach.
It is often contended that the Marengo affair, particularly as seen from
Berlin and London, was a case where intensive cooperation between the
British and German governments succeeded.103 More importantly, though,
the Marengo affair serves as a microcosm of intersections of colonial rivalry
and cooperation, revealing that Anglo-German cooperation in Southern
Africa was far from straightforward but was underpinned by broader for-
eign policy interests, colonial stakes and general anxieties. Indeed, coop-
eration in this area was deemed to be in the interests of both Britain and
the Cape, as it could appease Germany and see the conflict in GSWA move
closer to peace, promoting further stability in the region for the colonial
powers. Yet it also showcases that cooperation was not the only feature of
this, as it co-existed alongside antagonistic tendencies and actions best
understood from the perspective of increasing rivalry. Marengo posed
problems for the colonial authorities seeking further stability and for the
diplomatic situation in Europe. There was no dichotomy between rivalry
in Europe and cooperation in Africa as both perspectives occurred in con-
junction and influenced each other. In fact, the rivalry between Britain and
Germany in Europe with the Anglo-Russian treaty of 1907 further inten-
sified a desire by the British government to appease the Germans else-
where. Rivalry and antagonism, therefore, were key to the motives of the
Cape and British governments in cooperating with the Germans and indi-
cates that cooperation was mainly given when it became too costly not to
offer it.
Yet, on several occasions, such as the extradition of rebels, including
Marengo, the Germans had been denied. It was only when the diplomatic
stakes were too high the Cape were compelled to cooperate. In other
words, a cooperative spirit existed in the latter stages of the rebellion, but
only a half-hearted one, as part of which British actors cooperated not to
safeguard a shared colonial project or maintain ‘racial solidarity’ but

because of tangible imperial and diplomatic gains. For the Cape govern-
ment, cooperation could land them in trouble as they feared a backlash or
the spread of the rebellion across the border—concerns officials in London
did not share. Conclusively, just as there is an aspect of cooperation, there
is a key aspect of non-cooperation, which was embedded in the complex
relations between not only Britain and Germany, but also the British impe-
rial government in London and the Cape government in Cape Town. At
different times and in different contexts, it was mainly the former that
were willing to cooperate and the latter was not.104
Notes
1. TNA, FO 367/63: CO to FO, 21 September 1907, enclosed in Walter
Hely-Hutchinson to Lord Elgin, 24 September 1907.
2. See for instance Dundee Evening Telegraph, 15 August 1907.
3. TNA, FO 367/63: Report by AHG Harvey in Major Elliot to The
Commissioner Commanding Cape Mounted Police, 28 August 1907,
enclosed in Elgin to Grey, 23 September 1907.
4. Wm. Roger Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, 1914–1919 (Oxford, 1967),
Chapter 1 titled ‘Cooperation or Rivalry?’ Also P. Kennedy, The Rise of
Anglo-German Antagonism, 1860–1914 (London, 1980), p. 205.
5. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, p. 204; Fröhlich, Von Konfrontation zur
Koexistenz, p. 266 and Lindner, ‘Colonialism as a European
Project’, p. 106.
6. See especially Kennedy, The Rise of Anglo-German Antagonism.
7. It is beyond the scope here to fully disclose the many arguments and
debates about the causes and blame of the war. For the Fischer thesis: see
F. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War (New York, 1967). For
the more recent debate, see C. Clark, The Sleepwalkers. How Europe Went
to War in 1914 (London, 2012) and J. Leonhard, Pandora’s Box: A
History of the First World War (Cambridge MA, 2018). For Britain’s
increasingly antagonistic view and ‘invention of Germany’, see for
instance K. Wilson, The Policy of the Entente: Essays on the Determinants of
British Foreign Policy, 1904–1914 (Cambridge, 2009) and A. Rose,
Between Empire and Continent. British Foreign Policy before the First
World War (New York, 2017).
8. Rose, Between Empire and Continent, pp. 3–5.
9. Kennedy, Rise of Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 410.
10. Hansard Millbank, vol. 295 cc979, ‘Class V. – Foreign and Colonial
Services’, William Gladstone, House of Commons, 12 March 1885.
11. Wm. Roger Louis, ‘Great Britain and German Expansion in Africa,
1884–1919’ in Gifford and Louis (eds.), Britain and Germany in
Africa, p. 3.
12. Louis, ‘Great Britain and German Expansion’, pp. 8–9.
15. Wesseling, Divide and Rule, pp. 283–4.
16. BAB, R 1001/2079: Emile S. Rolland. Royal Magistrate, Bluebook
1887, p. 103.
17. For the Palgrave Commissions see E.P Stals, The Commissions of W.C
Palgrave – Special Commissioner to South West Africa, 1876–1885 (Cape
Town, 1991).
18. Senate House Library, London: DT 706 GOV: Government of South
Africa, p. 29.
19. Cited in Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, p. 18.
20. Cited in P. Overlack, ‘Bless the Queen and Curse the Colonial Office:
Australasia Reactions to German Consolidation in the Pacific, 1871–99’
The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 33, 2 (1988), p. 141.
21. R. F. Dreyer, The Mind of Official Imperialism. British and Cape
Government Perception of German Rule in Namibia from the Heligoland-
Zanzibar Treaty to the Kruger Telegram, 1890–1896 (Essen, 1987), p. 228.
22. For Anglo-German relations in Southern Africa see for instance
M. Seligmann, Rivalry in Southern Africa 1893–99: The Transformation
of German Colonial Policy (London, 1998) and H. Rosenbach, Das
Deutsche Reich, Großbritannien und der Transvaal (1896–1902)
(Göttingen, 1993). For a broader overview, see J. Rüger, ‘Revisiting the
Anglo-German Antagonism’.
23. J. Butler, ‘The German Factor in Anglo-Transvaal Relations’ in Gifford
and Louis (eds.), Britain and Germany in Africa, p. 189.
24. For Chamberlain, see T. Crosby, Chamberlain: A Most Radical Imperialist
(London, 2011).
25. A. Cohen, ‘Joseph Chamberlain, Lord Lansdowne and British Foreign
Policy 1901–1903: From Collaboration to Confrontation’, Australian
Journal of Politics and History, vol. 43, 2 (1997), p. 122.
26. J. Butler, ‘The German Factor’, pp. 190.
27. See J. J. Van-Helten, ‘German Capital, the Netherlands Railway Company
and the Political Economy of the Transvaal 1886–1900’, The Journal of
African History, vol. 19, 3 (1978).
28. J. Belich, Replenishing the Earth. The Settler Revolution and the Rise of the
Anglo-World, 1783–1939 (Oxford, 2009), p. 381.
29. J. Butler, ‘The German Factor’, p. 211.
30. Crosby, Chamberlain, pp. 140–42.
31. For the Jameson raid, see for instance, Wesseling, Divide and Rule,
pp. 304–7. For a critical appraisal of the events and the question of
Chamberlain’s involvement, see Deryck Schreuder and Jeffrey Butler
(eds.), Sir Graham Bower’s Secret History of the Jameson Raid and the
South African Crisis, 1895–1902 (Cape Town, 2002).
32. Baron von Marschall to Count Hatzfeldt, 31 December 1895 in E.T.S
Dugdale (ed.), German Diplomatic Documents, 1871–1914, vol. II
(London, 1929), p. 377.
33. Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, p. 26.
34. Lord Selborne to Sophie Palmer, 17 May 1898, in D. George Boyce
(ed.), The Crisis of British Power. The Imperial and Naval Papers of the
Second Earl of Selborne, 1895–1910 (London, 1990), pp. 61–2.
35. See for instance, A. Porter, Origins of the South African War. Joseph
Chamberlain and the Diplomacy of Imperialism, 1895–99 (Manchester,
1980), pp. 224–25.
36. Alfred Milner to Joseph Chamberlain, 6 July 1898, in C. Headlam,
Milner Papers, South Africa, vol. I, (London, 1931), p. 267. For the
importance of Delagoa Bay in causing the South African War, see
P. Henshaw, ‘The Key to South Africa in the 1890s: Delagoa Bay and the
Origins of the South African War’, Journal of Southern African Studies,
vol. 24, 3 (1988).
37. Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, pp. 27–8.
38. J. Butler, ‘The German Factor’, pp. 204–5.
39. T. Dedering, ‘The Ferreira Raid of 1906: Boers, Britons and German sin
Southern Africa in the Aftermath of the South African War’, Journal of
Southern African Studies, vol. 26, 1 (2000), p 45.
40. T. Otte, The Foreign Office Mind. The Making of British Foreign Policy,
1865–1914, (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 218–19.
41. Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, p. 28.
42. Kennedy, Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 251.
43. P. Longson, ‘The Rise of the German Menace. Imperial Anxiety and
British Popular Culture, 1896–1903’ (D. Phil Thesis, University of
Birmingham, 2014), pp. 80–1. For German volunteers in the South
African War, see for instance C. Nordbruch, Die Europäischen Freiwilligen
in Burenkrieg, 1899–1902 (Pretoria, 1999) and E. Wessels, They Fought
on Foreign Soil (Bloemfontain, 2001).
44. See S. Bender, Der Burenkrieg und die Deutschprachtige Presse:
Wahrnehmung und Deutung zwischen Bureneuphorie und Anglophobie,
1899–1902 (Paderborn, 2009).
45. See U. Kröll, Die Internationale Buren-Agitation 1899–1902. Haltung
der Öffentlichkeit und Agitation zugunsten der Buren in Deutschland,
Frankreich und den Niederlanden während des Burenkrieges

(Münster, 1973).
46. Steven Wai-Meng Siak, ‘Germanophilism in Britain: Non-Governmental
Elites and the Limits to Anglo-German Antagonism, 1905–1914’
(D. Phil Thesis, London School of Economics and Political Science,
1997), p. 27.
47. F. van Holthoon, ‘Public Opinion in Europe During the Boer War, How
to Study Public Opinion?’, Opinion Publique et Politique Extérieure en
Europe, 1870–1915 (Conference Proceedings, École Française de Rome,
1981) p. 399.
48. Otte, The Foreign Office Mind, p. 234. See also D. Lowry, ‘“The World’s
No Bigger than a Kraal”: The South African War and International
Opinion in the First Age of ‘Globalization”, in D. Omissi and
A. Thompson, (eds), The Impact of the South African War
(Basingstoke, 2002).
49. A. Thompson and D. Omissi, ‘Introduction’ in Thompson and Omissi
(eds.), The Impact of the South African War, p. 14.
50. Clark, Sleepwalkers, p. 141.
51. Chapter 6 in Wilson’s Policy of the Entente is called ‘The Invention of
Germany’. Also, Clark, Sleepwalkers, p. 159.
52. TNA, FO 244/804: Memorandum by Lord Haldane enclosed in Edward
Goschen to Edward Grey, 10 February 1912.
53. A.H. Bühler, Der Namaaufstand gegen die deutsche Kolonialherrschaft in
Namibia von 1904–1913, (Frankfurt-am-Main, 2003), pp. 214–5.
54. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, 179.
55. Zimmerer, ’War, Concentration Camps and Genocide’, pp. 51–2.
56. For a more general overview of the Nama war, see especially W. Nuhn,
Feind überall. Der Groβe Nama-Aufstand (Hottentottenaufstand)
1904–1908 in Deutsch-Südwestafrika (Namibia) – Der erste
Partisanenkrieg in der Geschichte der deutschen Armee (Bonn, 2000) and
Bühler, Der Namaaufstand.
57. The Nama war as the first guerrilla war is the subtitle of Nuhn’s, Feind
überall.
61. Nuhn, Feind überall, pp. 192–4.
62. For a more detailed discussion of Marengo’s actions, see P. Curson,
Border Conflicts in a German African Colony – Jakob Morengo and the
Untold Tragedy of Edward Presgrave (Bury St. Edmunds, 2012).
63. TNA, FO 64/1645: D.H von Jacobs to Prime Minister Cape Town, 12
September 1904.
64. TNA, FO 64/1645: T.W. Smartt, Minute no. 1/511, Ministers to

Administrators, 19 September 1904.
65. Bühler, Der Namaaufstand, p. 277.
66. J. Masson, ‘A Fragment of Colonial History: The Killing of Jakob
Marengo’, Journal of Southern African Studies, vol. 21, 2 (1995), p. 250.
67. TNA, FO 367/11: Report by Trench, enclosed in Count JFC de Salis,
British Embassy Berlin to Colonial Office, 29 November 1906.
68. BAB, R 1001/2084: Kommandant Wilhelm Bertram, SMS Sperber to
Seine Majestät der Kaiser, 26 June 1906.
69. TNA, FO 367/27: Humboldt, Consul-General, Cape to Jameson, 9
May 1906, enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 18 June 1906.
70. TNA, FO 367/63: Law Officers to CO, 26 February 1907.
71. TNA, FO 367/63: Hutchinson to Elgin, 25 May 1907.
72. TNA, FO 367/63: Humboldt to Jameson, 2 May 1907, enclosed in
Hutchinson to Elgin, 25 May 1907.
74. TNA, FO 367/63: Hutchinson to Elgin, 4 June 1907.
75. Dedering, ‘War and mobility in the Borderlands’, p. 291.
76. National Archives of Namibia (NAN), AACRLS 232: Draft Minute, 14
June 1907 enclosed in Colonial Secretary, Cape Town to Acting Secretary
to the Native Affairs Department, 26 June 1907.
77. NAN, AACRLS 232: Colonial Secretary’s Office, Cape Town to Acting
Secretary to the Native Affairs Dept., 26 June 1907.
78. TNA, FO 367/63: Governor to Secretary of State, 6 July 1907.
79. TNA, FO 367/63: CO to FO, 4 July 1907.
80. TNA, FO 367/63: FO to CO, Draft telegram, 2 August 1907.
81. TNA, FO 367/63: Count von Metternich to Sir. E. Grey, 7 August 1907.
82. TNA. FO 367/63: Grey to Elgin, [undated, received 9 August 1907].
83. TNA, FO 367/63: Hutchinson to Elgin, 8 August 1907, enclosed in CO
to FO, 10 August 1907.
84. TNA, FO 367/63: Grey to Metternich, 9 August 1907.
85. TNA. FO 367/63: British Ambassador in Vienna, Goschen to Grey, 16
August 1907.
86. TNA. FO 367/63: Grey to Goschen, 17 August 1907.
87. This is explained further in M. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Colonial Resistance
and Anglo-German Relations: The Marengo Affair’ in N. Domingues,
R. Roque and M. Jeronimo (eds.), Resistance and Colonialism
Reconsidered: Insurgent Peoples (London, 2019).
88. TNA, FO 367/63: Elgin to Hutchinson, 14 August 1907, enclosed in
Colonial Office to Foreign Office, 17 August 1907.
89. TNA, FO 367/63: Grey to Herr von Stumm, 16 August 1907.
90. TNA, FO 367/63: Hutchinson to Elgin, 10 September 1907.
91. TNA, FO 367/63: Major Elliot to Commissioner Commanding Cape

Mounted Police, 19 July 1907, enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 23
September 1907.
92. Nuhn, Feind überall, p. 248.
93. NAN, AACRLS 232: Report by Major Elliot, 24 September 1907.
94. NAN, AACRLS, 232: Report by Major Elliot, 24 September 1907. See
also Masson, ‘A Fragment of Colonial History’, p. 255.
95. NAN, AACRLS 232: Report by Major Elliot, 24 September 1907.
96. National Archives of South Africa, Pretoria (NASA), GG 764, S13/1300:
Intelligence Report by Captain H.S.P Simon, 6 March 1909.
97. NAN, AACRLS, 232, 7 November 1907, Secretary of Colonial Office to
Governor, Cape.
98. NAN, AACRLS, 232, 12 November 1907, Cape PM to Elliot.
99. NAN, AACRLS, 232, Schuckmann to Cape Governor, 28 September 1907.
100. TNA, FO 367/63: Hutchinson to Governor of GSWA, 2 October 1907.
101. NAN, AACRLS, 232: Frank Lascelles to Grey, 25 September 1907 and
TNA, FO 367/63: Lascelles to Grey, 25 September 1907.
102. TNA, FO 367/63: Lascelles to Grey, 25 September 1907.
103. Fröhlich, Von Konfrontation zur Koexistenz, pp. 262–63.
104. Dreyer, The Mind of Official Imperialism, p. 228.
CHAPTER 4
Concerns and Non-Cooperation
In 1904, German Foreign Minister Baron von Richthofen enquired if it

was possible to send supplies through British territory free of duty and, in
return, offer duty-free trade for the British through GSWA. Initially, this
offer was rejected, but a counter-offer, whereby the Germans would con-
nect Walvis Bay to the railway system under construction in GSWA, was
initially accepted, but was not built until 1915 by the South Africans.1
Walvis Bay was key to Anglo-German relations associated with the Herero
and Nama rebellions: it was the main harbour on the coast and a railway
line, while beneficial for the Germans, would also be welcomed by the
British. Agreeing on a railway system through Walvis Bay, however, quickly
developed into discussion of the question of German military access,
which would enable German troops and supplies to disembark more
quickly and easily. At Britain’s Berlin embassy, Lascelles believed that
granting this access would prove to be counter-productive. He argued
that ‘any action of the kind on our part might have a dangerous effect
upon the tribes in British territory. Their attitude towards us might be
considerably modified if they had reason to suppose that we were in any
way cooperating with the German government against the Herero.’2
This chapter examines how elements of non-cooperation and concerns
shaped British and Cape involvement. Colonial wars always had the poten-
tial to spread across the arbitrary colonial borders drawn up by Europeans.

Switzerland AG 2022
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_4
Any support given to Germany was therefore thoroughly considered and

balanced in view of Britain’s own interests and the Cape’s security con-
cerns. As a consequence, there were several instances of refusals from
Britain and the Cape authorities to aid the Germans. No clear policy or
directive on how to engage with the conflict in GSWA was ever in place,
and so decisions were often made spontaneously and always with British
and Cape interests over any German concerns. Indeed, while trade to
GSWA had become important for the economic recovery after the South
African War, it was followed by widespread concerns that it could provoke
Africans in British territory. What is more, the very presence of a large
German force with thousands of Boer volunteers in a neighbouring col-
ony, led to invasion scares and anxieties over a possible Boer rebellion
emanating from GSWA.
Despite fears that the rebellion would spread as a result of British sup-
port to the Germans, Britain adopted a ‘friendly neutrality’ towards
Germany during the conflict.3 From the outset, German officers were
aware of the necessity to obtain support or at least a friendly understand-
ing from the Cape and Britain. In 1905, von Trotha stated that it was
crucial to maintain a ‘greater solidarity’ between Britain and Germany in
Southern Africa because ‘all white men should hold together against the
natives’.4 Such statements point to sharing the white man’s burden and
racial solidarity as key characteristics of Anglo-German cooperation in the
face of African resistance. However, this was the view primarily from a
German perspective. From the perspective of the British and Cape govern-
ments, rendering assistance and collaborating with the Germans posed
problems, as already alluded to in relation to the Marengo affair. Indeed,
British and Cape officials were conscious that they were observed by the
Germans and Africans alike and thus acted to provoke neither. Certainly,
British and South African actors believed in racial solidarity: a German
colony was preferred over a territory largely ruled by Africans, which could
foster future rebellions and conflicts with other colonial powers. Britain’s
friendly neutrality, though, also emanated from factors other than mere
racial attitudes.
4 CONCERNS AND NON-COOPERATION 73
‘Exciting the Natives’: Britain’s Ambiguous

Border Policies
The level of British involvement was not only apparent in the form of out-
right assistance in pursuing rebel leaders such as Marengo. On a basic
level, the Cape saw increased exports to GSWA as the conflict progressed.
The significant investments made by the German government in suppress-
ing the rebellion were to the Cape’s benefit as these funds soon found
their way into Cape hands through trade, contracts and supply materials,
particularly for railroads.5 The economic depression in British South Africa
following the South African War meant that the war in GSWA provided a
lucrative opportunity to boost the economy. Indeed, Upington near the
Cape-GSWA border experienced a minor economic boom due to the
increased trade activity that arose from the German campaign against the
Herero and later Nama.6 For the Germans, the dependency on Cape
imports was necessary but not desired. According to geographer and
Director of the Otavi Mining and Railway Company, Dr Georg Hartmann,
GSWA’s dependency on the Cape, with its ‘protectionist aspirations’,
meant that if a German settler colony was to be created it had to be ‘eman-
cipated from Great Britain.’7 The dependency on the Cape, he argued,
undermined the development of GSWA and caused Germany to ‘annually
lose hundreds of thousands of Mark.’8 Especially the trade in wool and
foodstuffs were dominated by Cape traders and companies such as Covey
& Co, which had made lucrative agreements to trade between the Cape,
Walvis Bay and into GSWA.9 The Herero and Nama rebellions signifi-
cantly intensified Cape exports to GSWA: at the height of the rebellion in
1906, the Cape exported a net worth of £328,933, which decreased the
next year to £66,503 as the conflict gradually ended. In terms of food-
stuffs, particularly maize and oats, GSWA was second only to Britain in
terms of exports.10
Nevertheless, cross-border trade in the context of a colonial war
remained complex and difficult. Despite plain economic benefits and
increased exports, cross-border trade was often rejected by the Cape gov-
ernment. For instance, at the end of 1904, British officers discovered that
German troops had stored ammunition in Port Nolloth in Cape territory
to avoid raids by Nama rebels operating in the borderlands. Upon learning
this news, the Cape government closed the border and consequently
immobilised the German war effort in southern GSWA, which was depen-
dent on imports of grain from the Cape Colony. Such incidents were not
extraordinary—the Cape government closed the border at least ten times

between 1904 and 1907.11 Maintenance of a strict neutrality, at least offi-
cially, was therefore paramount for the Cape government.
The border was later re-opened, but only for civilian goods. Mules and
horses were some of the most important exports and, as the conflict dete-
riorated into guerrilla warfare, whereby German troops pursued rebels
over vast distances in the borderlands. The trade was so extensive that the
Cape market became almost exhausted of horses and mules by the end of
1905. Although permission was only granted to export civilian goods,
most of these ended up in the hands of the German troops as supplies. For
instance, Hutchinson reported his suspicions to Secretary of State for the
Colonies, Alfred Lyttelton that ‘although there is no conclusive proof, we
have always felt sure that much of the supplies allowed to pass for the civil
population have been used by the troops.’ Hutchinson reported that Cape
ministers wished to stop the trade, but feared the implications of this on
diplomatic relations with Germany. Indeed, he encouraged Cape ministers
not to stop the trade ‘as I wish to avoid any step tending to embarrass the
relations between the German government and His Majesty’s govern-
ment’. If, however, the imperial government in London should agree with
Cape ministers in introducing stricter measures, Hutchinson noted, ‘you
have only to express the wish confidentially.’12 For Hutchinson, colonial
disputes of such a minor scale therefore ought not to disturb Britain’s
foreign relations with Germany although they transgressed international
law and British colonial sovereignty. The trade of supplies, however, con-
tinued because of the economic interests involved. Indeed, the German
consulate orchestrated a covert trade in arms and ammunition shipped
from Cape Town to the GSWA border and stored in warehouses, to a
degree that the local Cape authorities must have been aware of and per-
mitted. As Hutchinson noted, although the export of arms and ammuni-
tions was officially prohibited, Cape officials ‘shut their eyes to the real
destination of supplies’ because ‘the large expenditure by the German
government is of great benefit to the Cape.’ 13
The export of supplies from the Cape to GSWA was balanced between
economic interests and maintaining positive relations with Germany, as
well as concerns about provoking Africans. Hutchinson noted that the
British imperial government wished to ‘give the Germans every facility
which can be given without exciting natives on the British side, but the
latter consideration must be paramount’.14 The fear arose that these sup-
plies would give the impression that the British were actively aiding the
Germans, potentially upsetting Africans in the borderlands. In January

1906, a confidential military report circulated among Cape and British
authorities and worsened such concerns. It was reported that African
chiefs ‘complain bitterly of the way in which the British government is
assisting the Germans. This seems a short-sighted policy as it seems to
show that we have forgotten the assistance these natives were to us as bor-
der scouts, etc. in the late war (the South African War)’.15 While economic
incentives and diplomatic interests in not provoking Germany were impor-
tant factors in determining the border policy towards GSWA, the defini-
tive factor was therefore the reaction among Africans, pointing to the
fragility of British South Africa after the South African War, especially in
the colonial borderlands where colonial rule was weakest.
The British and Cape authorities were therefore unwilling to give com-
pletely open assistance to Germany, despite being sympathetic. When the
Germans continued to press for further collaboration—for example, when
pursuing escapees over the border—this was refused, as Cape authorities
believed that they had been sufficiently helpful ‘in spite of the fact that the
rebels fighting against the German troops belong to the same tribes and
are members of the families of the Cape Colonial Hottentots and
Damaras’.16 In contrast to German East Africa during the Maji-Maji rebel-
lion, where Britain openly aided Germany with logistical and technical
support in suppressing rebels by, for instance, allowing German troops to
use the Uganda Railroad for transport, support in GSWA was indirect,
inconvenient and risky.17 This left the British government and the Cape
authorities in an uncomfortable position. Although they wished to aid the
Germans for economic gain, racial sympathies or merely to see an end to
the conflict, granting open support, as in East Africa, risked the rebellion
spreading uncontrollably. This view existed at a time where ideas of pan-
Africans risings against white rule in Southern Africa were prevalent. For
instance, when Hendrik Bekeer, leader of the Hopefield gang, in September
1906 attacked and killed a family of Boer settlers in the Cape, it suggested
to the British and Cape authorities the potential of a spill-over from
GSWA. Bekeer, also known in GSWA as Shepherd Stuurmann, was
believed to have been a central actor in inciting the Nama rebellions and
had upon his apprehension and subsequent hanging in March 1907, pro-
claimed his desire to cause a ‘war against the whites’. Although such spe-
cific incidents were rare, they nonetheless suggested that any action of
support to the Germans was reacted to by Africans in the borderlands.18
At the same time, however, not granting support to the Germans would
be detrimental to Britain’s relations with Germany. In the end, the British
and Cape governments were therefore forced into a delicate situation per-
haps best summed up by Hutchinson:
Putting it shortly, Ministers have been anxious to avoid: (i) irritating the
natives in German South West Africa; (ii) alienating our own natives on this
side of the border; (iii) unduly hampering the German authorities; (iv)
unnecessary expense in guarding the frontier whilst the German Consul
General has been doing all he can to use the Cape Colony as a base of opera-
tions against the natives—the very thing which Ministers consider ought not
to be allowed. The result has been a considerable amount of friction between
the German Consul General and Ministers.19
Britain therefore sought not to antagonise the Nama, the Herero or the
Germans. While they were partially sympathetic to the German cause, they
could not take open policies and actions. This was evident when, in the
summer of 1905, Jameson, as Prime Minister of the Cape, stated that,
because of Germany’s ‘native policy’ in GSWA, the Cape government
could not openly declare their sympathies but the Germans could ‘count
on their moral support and as far as possible their practical assistance’.20
Of course, the Marengo affair showed that Britain was willing to coop-
erate when circumstances made it appealing or necessary; and, while the
official policy was not to intervene, covert support could occasionally be
given. Perhaps most challenging in preserving perceived positive relations
with African groups in light of the war in GSWA, though, were the incur-
sions of German troops into British and Cape territory. Not only did this
violate international law and British sovereignty, it also gave the impres-
sion that Britain actively supported the Germans in allowing the incur-
sions to take place. For instance, in March 1906, a group of German
troops ‘pursued and fired upon five native men, two women and four
children, escaped prisoners of war’ eight miles into the Walvis Bay terri-
tory. These actions angered colonial officers such as John Cleverly, the
resident magistrate at Walvis Bay, who, as we shall see, remained particu-
larly critical of Germany’s counter-insurgency efforts.21 According to
Lindner, however, British officials only ‘half-heartedly’ protested over
these incursions across the border, mainly because they were sympathetic
to the German cause.22 These incursions violated British and Cape sover-
eignty and also generated fears that Britain and the Cape Colony would be
considered in open collaboration with the Germans. According to the act-

ing resident commissioner in Mafeking, F.W. Panzera, such incursions
overtly provoked powerful African tribes, such as the Batawana, who had
‘the greatest hatred for the Germans’. If any of the German troops crossed
the border, ‘it would probably mean that the natives here would retaliate
at once and that would be a much more serious thing for the Germans
than the little affair they have on in their own territory.’23 German incur-
sions into British territory were therefore detrimental to the ambiguous
policy towards the conflict in GSWA, as part of which Britain and the Cape
tried to prevent any spill-overs but such incursions could stir up African
dissent.
Despite concerns and complaints over the German incursions, there
were also instances where Cape and British officials chose to turn a blind
eye, as exemplified in the case of Simon Kooper. Indeed, it is perhaps
indicative of this ambiguity that, despite complaints of German incursions
over the Cape and Bechuanaland border, the final battle of the conflict in
GSWA took place in March 1908 at Seatsub, several miles within the
Bechuanaland Protectorate. Since the death of Witbooi in 1905, Kooper
had been a key figure of Nama resistance and operated similarly to
Marengo, using the colonial borders to his advantage and waging a highly
effective guerrilla war.24 Through the whole of 1906, Kooper operated
from Bechuanaland, where German troops could not pursue him because
of the border and their lack of knowledge of the area. Kooper rejected
several attempts by the Germans to enter peace negotiations and officially
refuted the Kaiser’s peace announcement on 31 March 1907.25
Not until after the death of Marengo in late 1907 did the Germans
have free hands to focus on Kooper to the east. While Marengo operated
in the GSWA–Cape border area, Kooper used the border between GSWA
and the Bechuanaland territory situated in the middle of the vast Kalahari.
This was desolate and uncharted territory and under the administration of
the British government in London, rather than the Cape government.
Schuckmann therefore informed High Commissioner for Southern Africa,
Lord Selborne of the intentions of German officers to initiate cross-border
expeditions with the intention of killing or capturing Kooper. With the
Cape government, which had been more reluctant to cooperate in the case
of Marengo, out of the picture, Schuckmann hoped for a higher level of
support from Britain. For Selborne, though, the situations relating to
Marengo and Kooper were not identical because the former had ‘forfeited
the protection accorded to him’ by crossing into GSWA despite the
warnings of the Cape authorities. Instead, Selborne asked, ‘Has Simon

Kooper forfeited the protection of the government of the Bechuanaland
protectorate? I have certainly no information to lead me to suppose that
he has done so.’ He therefore stated that, ‘if Simon Kooper has not for-
feited the right of asylum he cannot be deprived of it.’26 Already, in
December 1907, the Colonial Office was aware of Kooper’s affairs in
Bechuanaland, had charted his movements and compared these to German
military movements and stations on the border, although this information
was not shared with the Germans. The British stance on Kooper was
therefore far more reluctant than had been the case with Marengo, par-
ticularly because he was considered a possible threat to the stability of
British territory, if they were so openly cooperating with the Germans.27
After an ambush on a German patrol near Kubub on 8 March 1908,
German officers became so obsessed with getting rid of Kooper that cross-
ing the Bechuanaland border was the least of their worries.28 Under the
leadership of Captain Friedrich von Erckert, a large expeditionary force
consisting of more than 400 troops assembled at Geinab by the Nossob
River near the GSWA–Bechuanaland border. This part of the Kalahari was
still uncharted territory and uncertainties were apparent over the exact
location of the border, but there was little doubt, as Erckert himself noted,
that the expedition moved ‘deep into Bechuanaland’. Several of the
accompanying German officers resented the expedition because of the lack
of knowledge about the territory and concerns over their water supply. In
fact, the accompanying medical officer, Dr Julius Oehlemann, later remi-
nisced that some officers even wanted him to declare Erckert insane so
that they could return to GSWA, but he refused.29 The German force
finally located Kooper’s group near Seatsub on 16 March. The ensuing
battle was a heavy loss for Kooper: fifty-eight of his followers were killed,
including his brother, Isaak. The Germans also caught Kooper’s wife, but
were left frustrated because Kooper himself was not there as he had left the
day before. The German side also suffered heavy losses. Erckert was killed
within the first few minutes of the battle alongside twelve other German
soldiers and officers.30 The new commander, Captain Grüner, wanted to
continue the pursuit of Kooper but were unable due to lack of water.31
The German expedition crossed the border without any official permis-
sion from Britain.32 However, such disregard for the sovereignty of colo-
nial borders was not uncommon. Indeed, as H.S.P. Simon noted in an
intelligence report from 1909, German officers openly bragged about
crossing in pursuit of Africans. In one instance, Simon noted that a German
officer, Major Barecke, who was commander-in-charge in the south-

western districts of GSWA, ‘told me that he personally rode sixty kilome-
tres into our territory “in order to show the native that he was no longer
safe when across the border”’.33 Selborne’s insistence on Kooper’s rights
to asylum therefore appears to have been empty, particularly as he later
accepted a formal apology from Colonel Estoff without any comment or
protest. Instead, as Lindner noted, Selborne, like many others in the Cape
and British governments, was arguably relieved that the affair was over.34
Indeed, Hutchinson congratulated Schuckmann on the ‘successful result
of the attack on Cooper’s werft, which I hope will have permanent
results’.35
In reality, however, British officials were afraid of the potential ramifica-
tions of outright support on local stability in Bechuanaland. Indeed,
Kooper represented just as much a threat to them as to the Germans. In a
bid to put the issue to rest, the British therefore offered to mediate
between Kooper and the Germans. F.A. Campbell at the Foreign Office
instructed Lascelles at the Berlin embassy that, when discussing the viola-
tion of the border with the German government, he should also ‘bring to
notice the offer of the Cape authorities to negotiate on behalf of the
German government some arrangement with Kooper’. In this arrange-
ment, Kooper was to be given ‘safe domicile in British territory’ and to
‘receive from them an annual subsidy, in money or other kind, as the price
of his good behaviour’.36 The Germans wanted Kooper to be extradited,
but the British and Cape governments, referring again to his status as a
political refugee and their concerns about the impression this would give
to Africans, refused this.37 Indeed, Selborne informed head of the
Reichskolonialamt, Bernhard Dernburg, that the British would not coop-
erate simply because Kooper had crossed a border that was ‘a mere line on
the map’. It would therefore be ‘asking me a great deal to go to the
expense of an expedition to capture Simon Kooper because he happened
to cross this imaginary line’.38 Eventually, the Germans accepted that the
office of the High Commissioner would negotiate an arrangement on
behalf of the German government ‘by which he (Kooper) should be paid
an annual subsidy by the German government on the condition that he
should remove himself from the neighbourhood of the German fron-
tier’.39 Soon after Kooper accepted the terms, he went to reside in Lokwabe
in Bechuanaland, where British officers frequently monitored his affairs
until his death in 1913.40
Unlike the Marengo affair, no active cooperation took place between

Britain and Germany over Kooper. Striking, though, was the level of dis-
interest over the fact that Germany had so openly violated the sovereignty
of the Bechuanaland Protectorate. It was only after the battle at Seatsub
that Kooper became central to British colonial policy because further
incursions could threaten stability, giving the impression that Britain was
actively supporting Germany if the scene of the conflict extended firmly
into British territory. As Simon noted, in accepting the German incursion
in pursuit of Kooper, Britain risked being viewed as participants in
Germany’s exterminatory native policy. This, he feared, ‘may in the end
prove to be the canker which will eat away our authority amongst our own
native subjects, and at some future time bring us face to face with a native
war on a hitherto unprecedented scale’.41 British and German officials
were therefore obsessed with Kooper as the personification of a potential
cross-border conflict between Africans and Europeans. This perception
was reinforced by Kooper’s outspoken disregard for colonial borders and
systems of rule.42 In the end, Kooper became as much a (perceived) threat
to colonial hegemony for Britain as to Germany in Southern Africa.
Britain’s vague and ambiguous stance of indecision was received poorly
from a German perspective. Despite frequent statements of support and
sympathy, many German officers speculated that Britain was secretly sup-
porting the Herero and Nama, resulting in further losses and expenses for
the German state. In addition, the Germans meticulously monitored
British and Cape newspapers for publications on the conflict and the
German embassy in London even complained about what they saw as a
smear campaign against them.43 German suspicions that Britain was
covertly aiding the Herero, especially Nama rebels, had existed from the
onset of the hostilities, when the Captain of the German ship, SMS
Habicht, Hans Gudewill reported that ‘the natives were incited, organised
and supplied by Englishmen.’44 During the Nama rebellion in the south-
ern parts of GSWA, Britain’s insistence on strict neutrality to avoid a spill-
over of the conflict was perceived as de facto support for the Africans on
the part of German officers.45 Although the Cape and British authorities
were not formally accused of aiding the rebels, such suspicions permeated
the German government and it may only have been strengthened by the
Cape’s reluctance to send supplies and provide assistance.46 The British
military attaché in GSWA, Colonel Frederick Trench, noted in one of his
reports that the sentiment among German officers and the German press
was hostile towards Britain because its ‘unneighbourly conduct’, which
they were certain of, had worsened the conflict greatly.47 With this in
mind, the effect of the Marengo affair is again relevant. Celebrated as a
great moment of collaboration, it also served to prove to the Germans that
Britain was a trustworthy ally in the colonial world. It came not as a cul-
mination of a longstanding pattern of Anglo-German colonial coopera-
tion, but rather as an exception to chaotic and indecisive British and Cape
support and in response to an emergent diplomatic imbalance.
Britain’s friendly neutrality was therefore not straightforward but posed
fears and concerns among British and Cape actors. Although support was
given to the Germans in the efforts to suppress the rebellion, this was
done reluctantly and with a keen eye on how it was received by African
communities. The Germans therefore often requested British support in
the form of supplies and trade, for instance, but this was given only occa-
sionally and covertly. Any support impacted several layers of the colonial
and imperial administration and had to be considered in relation to the
real effect it could have. Of course, Britain did support the Germans on a
number of occasions and frequently voiced sympathies. At the same time,
though, a crucial aspect of non-cooperation was evident and at least as
important to Britain’s involvement as cooperation.
‘The Most Disquieting Feature’: Invasion Scares

and Bittereinders in GSWA
Just as the Germans suspected the British of somehow aiding the rebels,
so the British had widespread concerns about the actual intentions of the
Germans. First and foremost, British officials were aware of, and alarmed
by, the disproportionate number of—approximately 15,000—troops
against a few hundred Nama in the south. The total number of soldiers
sent to suppress the rebellion in GSWA between 1904 and 1908 exceeded
the number of settlers.48 This led to apparently irrational fears of a German
invasion of the fragile British South Africa. However, such fear derived
from the long history of Anglo-German rivalry in the region. Indeed,
German support for Boers before and during the South African War was
still fresh in the memories of the Colonial and Foreign Offices, as well as
the Cape government. It was feared that, if Britain and Germany became
embroiled in a European war, the large German force could cause serious
harm to British South Africa. These concerns increased further when a
substantial number of Boers, many of whom were veterans of the recent

war, crossed the border and volunteered to join the Schutztruppe.49
In 1905, Selborne voiced his concerns over the growing number of
German forces in the region. Not only did he fear that the 15,000 German
soldiers would soon increase to 30,000, he also reported that, among
these, the Germans had ‘recruited between three and four thousand Boers,
and are recruiting still’. This, Selborne warned, would put Germany ‘in a
position to squeeze us’.50 Lyttelton replied calmly that the large German
force was not intended to threaten British South Africa, but rather resulted
from ‘a policy of crushing the rebels.’ Indeed, the large German force was
not the main cause for concern because, as Hutchinson suggested, the
most ‘disquieting feature in the matter’ was the recruitment of Boers in
German service.51 Alarm over the large German force and the possibility
of a Boer rebellion emerging from the rebellion in GSWA therefore over-
shadowed any concern over the brutal warfare waged against the Africans.52
Anxieties about a German invasion, particularly if Britain and Germany
should find themselves embroiled in a war in Europe, became a topic of
intense internal discussion between British officials in London and South
Africa and diplomats in Berlin. Unlike the alarmed Selborne, the British
military attaché to the embassy in Berlin, Colonel Gleichen, saw little
threat from the German forces in GSWA. First, Germany’s naval presence
in the region was inconsiderable and the harbours at Lüderitz and
Swakopmund were ‘miserable’ and ‘offered no facilities of disembarka-
tion’ making it impossible for Germany to send sufficient reinforcements.
53
On the alleged force of 15,000 troops in GSWA, Gleichen believed this
to be ‘barely sufficient to secure total victory in GSWA itself. They have
too much trouble with the guerrilla war—no need to worry’.54 According
to Gleichen, therefore, the prospect of a direct German invasion of the
Cape was deemed improbable because of the continuous failure of the
Schutztruppe to secure victory. Indeed, Gleichen gleefully noted that,
because of the German press’ scathing remarks on British conduct in colo-
nial wars, especially the South African War, it was ‘difficult to avoid feeling
a certain amount of Schadenfreude on learning the misfortunes of the
superior people’. Gleichen also observed that the rebellion would drag out
because the feeling between the Germans and Africans was ‘so bitter that
further atrocities, perhaps on both sides, seem probable’.55
Gleichen’s reports, however, were not considered reliable enough to
assuage fears of invasion and so, in April 1905, Colonel Frederick Trench
was appointed as military attaché to the German forces in GSWA as a
steady and reliable source of intelligence.56 Trench was an ideal candidate

for this position: as a veteran of the South African War, he was familiar
with the political fragility of the Cape after 1902 and the geographical
challenges to warfare in the region. Furthermore, he already had experi-
ence of reporting on such matters from GSWA: in May 1901, he was sent
to Port Nolloth, Lüderitz, and Walvis Bay to ‘make enquiries about rebel
Dutch in German territory’.57 Trench was sceptical of any German schemes
to support the Boers. While the German officers ‘sympathise with Boers in
general’, he wrote, any smuggling of arms or movement of forces was
‘very doubtful’.58 Prior to Trench’s verdict, German officials warned
Cleverly in February 1900 that Boer commandos in German territory
were threatening to raid Walvis Bay.59 Britain was assured, much in the
same way as Germany was assured a few years later, that the German
authorities would ‘do everything in their power to prevent an incursion
from German into English territory’.60 Although preparations had been
made and two machine guns had been moved to Walvis Bay, German
authorities in nearby Swakopmund refused to sell weapons and ammuni-
tion to the Boers, thus making any raid impossible.61 Like British actors
during the Herero and Nama rebellion, German authorities may have had
sympathies with the Boers but decided not to aid them because of the
potentially significant ramifications of such support. At the same time, this
indicates a continuation of cross-border resistance in the region and a
starting point for British anxieties over the whereabouts and movements
of Boer commandos who had used GSWA before—many settled there
after the conclusion of peace in 1902.
Although fears of a German invasion of British South Africa before
1914 may appear exaggerated, these did not surface in a vacuum. Germany
played a significant role in the intensifying antagonism between Britain
and the two Afrikaner republics before the South African War broke out in
1899 and, during the war itself, actively supported the Boers and often
denounced Britain.62 Germany’s colonial ambitions in Southern Africa
and elsewhere are often reduced to a product of British paranoia or the
outcome of Bismarck’s sudden interest in the colonies, which arguably
served as bargaining pieces in the greater European chessboard of interna-
tional relations. However, as has been discussed previously, Germany’s
colonial ambitions in Southern Africa were extensive and should not be
obscured as a mere sideshow to German ambitions in Europe and else-
where.63 Indeed, while Trench disregarded the existence of outright
German support to Boer diehards in 1901, he was convinced of the
German menace to British imperial interests across the globe—a view he

often expressed in his telegrams and reports to the Foreign Office when he
took over Gleichen’s position as military attaché to the Berlin embassy in
1905. Indeed, the conflict in GSWA, he noted, was used by the Germans
as a smokescreen to prepare for war: maintenance of a large German force
even after the suppression of the main resistance and the completion of
railways and harbours all pointed to the German intention to strengthen
their position in Southern Africa. Furthermore, the Schutztruppe, in sup-
pressing the rebellion and undergoing organisational changes with profes-
sional officers and personnel constituted ‘the first step towards the
formation of a colonial army’.64
The arming of Boer volunteers as part of the efforts to suppress the
Herero and Nama so soon after the South African War must have been
alarming to the British, suggesting a mobilisation of Boer irregulars with
the intention of returning across the border. Furthermore, there had been
a considerable number of Boer settlers residing in GSWA, which posed a
potential threat to Britain. In terms of its colonial ambitions in GSWA,
however, the Boer settlers were also a cause for concerns in Berlin. When
GSWA was earmarked as a settler colony and depicted as a German Heimat
similar to Bavaria or Saxony, it was not only the presence of Africans that
was problematic but also the large proportion of non-German settlers.65
To be sure, the Africans, while undermining the racial identity of such
Heimat, were in fact a valuable resource as their labour was instrumental
in developing the colony. The problem with the Boers, however, as argued
by Dr Hartmann, was that the settler population should be ‘of the same
flesh and blood as the Motherland’ if GSWA was to remain a loyal domin-
ion of Germany.66 In 1902, a total 4635 white settlers lived in
GSWA. According to Tilman Dedering, of this marginal presence, 1455
were Boers and 452 British citizens. In June that same year, with the close
of the South African War, another 400 Boer emigrants arrived in GSWA,
bringing the non-German settlers to be more than half the white popula-
tion. Robbie Aitken has estimated a significantly lower proportion of non-
German settlers in GSWA, but even here, the Boer settlers comprised at
least a quarter of the entire settler population.67 Initially, Boer settlers had
been welcomed by the Germans as it added to the small number of white
settlers in GSWA, but since they continuously refused to integrate into
German settler society and maintained their lifestyle from before the South
African War, they were increasingly seen as problematic.68 Nevertheless,
when the Herero rebellion broke out, the German authorities were quick
to recruit Boers both from within GSWA and from British territory. While
many were officially recruited by the Germans as transport riders and
scouts, British officials feared that many of these were bittereinders: vet-
eran Boers who fought ‘to the bitter end’ in the South African War. Some
of the Boer volunteers in GSWA were well known to the British. For
instance, Stephane Kock, brother to the famous general Johannes Kock
who had led the Boer forces in the invasion of Natal and was eventually
defeated and captured by the British at Elandslaagte in 1899 was known
to have joined the Schutztruppe and was head of ‘transport organisation’.
As Hutchinson noted, ‘it is not likely that a man like Kock would interest
himself in the matter if it were a mere question of transport.’69
In a secret military report, it was asserted that Boer leaders were ‘rely-
ing on certain German promises of assistance in case of rebellion’.
However, because the war with the Herero and Nama was dragging out
to ‘proportions which the Germans never dreamt’, German authorities
found it necessary to seek a ‘temporary friendship’ with Britain if they
were to emerge from the war as victors.70 Upon interviewing Stephane
Kock, British officials found ever more reason to trust their fears. Kock
explicitly stated that the purpose of recruiting Boers in German service
was ‘to take men to GSWA nominally to assist German transports, but
really to be armed and ready to proceed to the Transvaal when the general
rising took place’. This rising, he claimed, was to take place in the summer
of 1905, but was postponed because the war in GSWA had not ended,
leaving many Boer volunteers restless and dissatisfied.71 It is possible that
Kock used this opportunity to cause a scare for the British, but it nonethe-
less suggests that the German campaign in GSWA was part of a broader
strategy of undermining Britain’s position in Southern Africa.
The appointment of Lindequist was as governor of GSWA in November
1905 caused further concern. A Foreign Office memorandum by an
unknown author noted that Lindequist ‘is said to be mixed up in the
movement of hiring Boers for German service’ and ‘in the confidence of
the South African Rebel Committee. This is consistent with our knowl-
edge that during the Boer War, Lindequist’s behaviour was not altogether
what is expected from a neutral’. The memorandum further put forward
two possibilities that could arise from the conflict in GSWA, much akin to
Selborne’s initial fears: first, ‘a Boer rising with encouragement and help
from Germany, openly hostile to us’ and, second, ‘a Boer raid organised in
German South-West Africa, ostensibly without the knowledge of the
German authorities, but possibly winked at and even secretly encouraged

and abetted by them’.72
It would be easy to write off British fears of a general Boer rising as
another case of paranoia. On 6 November 1906, however, John Ferreira,
a Boer volunteer for the Schutztruppe, crossed into the northern parts of
the Cape Colony from GSWA with a force of about fifty men, with a view
to starting a region-wide rebellion against British rule. Before absconding
from the Schutztruppe, they stole arms, ammunition, horses and khaki
uniforms from a lager. Upon reaching British territory, they attempted to
recruit farmers to their side by force or using false rumours that a war
between Britain and Germany had broken out and a general rising in the
Cape was already underway. Cape Prime Minister Jameson sought to
make sure that this rather small incursion did not develop into a full-blown
rebellion, encouraging Jan Hofmeyr of the Afrikaner Bond to publish a
notice in their official newspaper, Ons Land, that the Ferreira raid must be
‘immediately stopped’. A sizeable police force was sent north and, on 14
November 1906, a mere eight days after the incursion, the forces met in a
rather chaotic skirmish in which Ferreira and his men eventually surren-
dered. Although the raid was short-lived, unsuccessful and, as such, unim-
portant, Winston Churchill, then under-secretary in the Colonial Office,
still had to present the events to the Houses of Parliament and describe
the actions of the government, including communications to the German
administration in GSWA to take precautions and uphold the ‘freelooters’
should they return.73 The German authorities, at least officially, cooper-
ated and disarmed their Boer volunteers in GSWA. Meanwhile in British
South Africa, similarities were soon drawn to the Jameson Raid in 1895
and Afrikaner nationalists demanded that Ferreira and his men be treated
in the same way as Kruger had treated Jameson, sparing his life. When a
death sentence was initially passed, Hutchinson was therefore quick to
have the sentence commuted so that Ferreira and his men did not become
martyrs. A small incursion on the part of a group of Boer volunteers thus
came close to lighting the fuse for further Anglo-Boer hostilities. No defi-
nite evidence exists of Germany’s direct involvement in the raid. As
Dedering noted, however, an ‘atmosphere’ emerged in which Boer volun-
teers believed that they had the ‘silent approval’ of the Germans to under-
mine British rule in Southern Africa and could attempt to instigate a
rebellion.74
Nevertheless, the British and Cape governments were assured of their
suspicions that Germany was working to undermine them. As late as 1907,
Selborne complained to Elgin that Germany continued to seek and sub-

vert British sovereignty and foster a new Boer rising:
It is obviously the opinion of the German Emperor that all possibility of a

Boer rising has not ceased to exist, and in case of any friction between the
United Kingdom and the German Empire he wishes to have at his hand an
instrument for promoting a Boer rebellion. This he would endeavour to do
by the actual support of his troops and by supplying the rebels with arms
and ammunition from the great depots he will maintain in his own territory.75
The prolonged conflict in GSWA was therefore considered to be no more

than a smokescreen in order to cover imports of weapons and ammunition
for a coming war with Britain in which the supply lines between GSWA
and Germany would be severed by British naval dominance.76 At the same
time, the war with the Herero and Nama also assured British actors that
Germany was not ready for a regional war. If the Germans really had
intended to foster a new South African War, the continued resistance of
the Nama in particular in the southern parts of GSWA postponed any pos-
sibilities of this happening and only frustrated the Boer volunteers in real-
ising their intentions. GSWA thus continued to be a source of insecurity
for Britain and the Cape. Although the British South African colonies
were on their way towards the formation of the Union of South Africa in
1910, fears of German pressure or support for a new Boer rebellion were
always present and should not be deemed irrational. Indeed, Manie
Maritz, leader of the large rebellion in 1914, not only obtained support
from the Germans in GSWA, but was also responsible for transporting
supplies and recruiting Boers for the Schutztruppe during the Herero–
Nama rebellion.77
* * *
Britain and the Cape’s involvement in the war in GSWA indicates a degree
of cooperation with Germany that complicates the otherwise prevailing
notion of rivalry and deviation between the two colonial powers. Crucially,
however, cooperation was not the only feature that characterised this
involvement, for, at the crux of every decision made by the British and
Cape government were their own respective interests and security con-
cerns. In addition, just as significant as of cooperation between Britain and
Germany in Southern Africa was the aspect of non-cooperation. The
closure of the border for trade and the flat-out rejection to hand over key
rebel leaders like Marengo and Kooper, indicates a lack of support.
Emanating from fears of what cooperation could have for British colonial
rule merged with the increasing suspicions towards Germany’s intentions
in the region, where the rebellion was conceived as a mere smokescreen
for preparing GSWA for war or as a staging area for a Boer incursion into
the Cape Colony.
The actual nature of Britain’s involvement was thus ambiguous and at
times contradictory. Cooperation was complicated by the consistent re-
appearance of direct non-cooperation where British and Cape actors
refused to support the Germans. However, cross-border movements by
Africans and later Boer raiders forced the British and Cape governments to
act to prevent potential spill-over effects in Southern Africa in the shape of
either a new war with the Boer population or an African rebellion. These
tangible and intrinsic notions of determent cannot be replaced by notions
of racial solidarity or interests in maintaining good relations in Europe.
The thorn in the side that was GSWA continued to prove problematic to
both British and Cape actors, and permeating their decision-making dur-
ing the Herero–Nama rebellions. Crucially, however, there was never any
outright policy or directive for cooperation or non-cooperation. Instead,
decision-making took place on an ad hoc basis and was never deliberately
formulated to the extent of a shared project
Notes
1. TNA, FO 64/1645: Lascelles to Baron von Richthofen, 20 June 1904.
2. TNA, FO 64/1645: Lascelles to Foreign Office, 11 July 1904.
3. Lindner, ‘Encounters over the Border’, p. 15.
4. TNA, FO 64/1646: J.B. Whitehead to Lansdowne, 14 July 1905.
5. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, pp. 247–48.
6. Curson, Border Conflicts in a German African Colony, p. 114.
7. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, p. 31. Also BAB, R 1001/2084: Dr
Georg Hartmann, Die Zukunft Deutsch-Südwestafrika, Beitrag zur
Besiedlungs- und Eingeborenenfrage, 1904, p. 31.
8. BAB, R 1001/2084: Badisches Ministerium des Grossherzoglichen
Hautes und der auswärtiges Angelegenheiten to Auswärtiges Amt, Kolonial
Abt. 31 January 1905.
9. BAB, R 1001/1945: Imperial German General Konsulat für Britisch Süd
Afrika to Reichskanzler Bülow, 5 December 1906. Also, BAB, R
1001/2112: Covey & Co to the Consul General for Germany, Cape

Town, 9 February 1904.
10. London School of Economics Library: South African Customs Statistical
Bureau, Cape Town, Second Annual Statement of the Trade and Shipping of
the Colonies and Territories forming the South African Customs Union, 1907.
11. Dedering, ‘War and Mobility’, p. 282.
12. TNA, FO 64/1647: Hutchinson to Alfred Lyttelton, 9 November 1905.
13. Dedering, ‘War and Mobility’, pp. 280–83.
14. TNA, FO 64/1647: Draft Telegram, [undated] by [unknown] reply to a
secret telegram on 9 November 1905 to Governor, Cape Town.
15. TNA, FO 367/8: Confidential report, by [unknown], 17 January 1906.
18. See T. Dedering, ‘The Prophet’s “War against Whites”: Shepherd
Stuurman in Namibia and South Africa, 1904–1907’, Journal of African
History, vol. 40, 1 (1999).
19. Cited in Dedering, ‘The Ferreira Raid’, p. 47.
20. TNA, FO 63/1646: J.B. Whitehead to Lansdowne, 25 August 1905.
21. TNA, FO 367/11: John Cleverly to Law Department, Cape Town, 27
March 1906.
22. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, 276, ff. 333.
23. TNA, FO 64/1645: F. Panzera to the High Commissioner to Southern
Africa, 8 June 1904.
24. Zimmerer, Deutsche Herrschaft über Afrikaner, p. 41
25. Bühler, Der Namaaufstand, pp. 318–19.
26. Cited in Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen. 275.
27. W. D. Haacke, ‘The Kalahari Expedition, March 1908: The Forgotten
Story of the Final Battle of the Nama War’, Botswana Notes and Records,
vol. 24 (1992), pp. 3–4.
28. Haacke, ‘The Kalahari Expedition’, pp. 3–4.
30. Haacke, ‘The Kalahari Expedition’, p. 10.
31. Haacke, ‘The Kalahari Expedition’, pp. 10–11.
32. Haacke, ‘The Kalahari Expedition’, p. 15.
33. NASA, GG 764, S13/1300: Intelligence Report by Captain H.S.P Simon,
6 March 1909.
34. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, p. 276.
35. TNA, FO 367/111: Governor Cape Town to Governor Winhuk, 19
March 1908.
36. TNA, FO 367/111, F.A. Campbell to Lascelles, 12 May 1908.
37. TNA, FO 367/111, W. Langley to Metternich 7 August 1908.
39. TNA, FO 367/111: W. Langley to Lascelles, 23 October 1908.

40. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective Memory’, pp. 327–28.
41. NASA, GG 764, S13/1300: Intelligence Report by Captain H.S.P Simon,
6 March 1909.
43. BAB, R 1001/2112: Kaiserliche Deutsche Botschaft, London to Bülow, 1
March 1904.
44. BAB. R 1001/2114: Kommandant Gudewill, SMS Habicht to Seine
Majesät der Kaiser, 26 February 1904.
46. BAB, R 1001/2113: Kaiserliche Deutsche Botschaft, London to Bülow,
18 March 1904. See also BAB: R 1001/2084: Friedrich von Lindequist to
Auswärtiges Amt, Kolonial Abt., 3 August 1906.
47. TNA, FO 367/8: Report by FJA Trench, 19 January 1906.
49. TNA, FO 64/1646: Report, 25 March 1905, enclosed in Hutchinson to
Lyttelton, 11 April 1905.
50. TNA, FO 64/1646: Selborne to Lyttelton, 24 May 1905.
51. TNA, FO 64/1646: Lyttelton to Selborne, 6 May 1905.
52. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective Memory’, p. 324.
53. TNA, FO 64/1645: Report by Colonel Gleichen, enclosed in Lascelles to
Lansdowne, 9 April 1904, pp. 1–2.
54. TNA, FO 64/1646: Chancellor Whitehead to Lascelles, 13 June 1905.
55. TNA, 64/1645: Report by Gleichen, enclosed in Lascelles to Lansdowne,
9 April 1904.
56. See Chap. 6 for the Trench reports.
57. TNA, FO 2/904: Hutchinson to Milner, 1 May 1901.
58. TNA, FO 2/904: Trench to Intelligence Dept. Cape Town, 13 May 1901.
59. TNA, FO 2/904: Milner to Chamberlain, 7 February 1900.
60. TNA, FO 2/904: Lascelles to CO, 10 February 1900.
61. TNA, FO 2/904: Cleverly to the Cape Government, 1 March 1900.
62. See for instance, M. Kröger, ‘Imperial Germany and the Boer War’ in
K. Wilson (ed.), The International Impact of the Boer War (London, 2001).
63. Seligmann, Rivalry in Southern Africa, pp. 63–5.
64. M. Seligmann, Spies in Uniform. British Military and Naval Intelligence on
the Eve of the First World War (Oxford, 2006), pp. 163–64.
65. See D. Steinbach, ‘Carved out of Nature. Identity and Environment in
German Colonial Africa’ in C. Folke Ax, N. Brimnes, N. Thode Jensen and
K. Oslund (eds.), Cultivating the Colonies. Colonial States and the
Environmental Legacies (Athens OH, 2011).
66. BAB, R 1001/2084: Dr Georg Hartmann, Die Zukunft Deutsch-

Südwestafrika, Beitrag zur Besiedlungs- und Eingeborenenfrage, 1904,
pp. 6–7.
67. R. Aitken, ‘Looking for “Die Besten Boeren”: The Normalisation of
Afrikaner Settlement in German South West Africa, 1884–1914’, Journal
of Southern African Studies, vol. 33, 2 (2007), p. 349.
68. Dedering, ‘The Ferreira Raid’, p. 51.
69. TNA, CO 879/86: Hutchinson to Lyttelton, 14 June 1905.
70. TNA, FO 64/1646: Secret Report, Military Intelligence Department,
enclosed in Hutchinson to Lyttelton, 21 June 1905.
71. TNA, FO 64/1646: Secret Report, Military Intelligence Department,
enclosed in Hutchinson to Lyttelton, 5 July 1905. Also discussed in
Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective Memory’, p. 325.
72. TNA, FO 64/1647: Memorandum, ‘Danger of trouble in South Africa
from the German protectorate side’, 18 December 1905.
73. Hansard Millbank, vol.164 cc1054, ‘The Boer Raid’, Winston S. Churchill,
House of Commons, 12 November 1906.
74. Dedering, ‘The Ferreira Raid’, pp. 53–7.
75. TNA, FO 367/136: Selborne to Elgin, 25 February 1907 and Dedering,
‘War and Mobility’, 278, ff. 51.
76. Dedering, ‘The Ferreira Raid’, 50.
77. BAB, R1001/2115: Lindequist to Auswärtiges Amt, Kolonial Abt., 13
July 1904.
CHAPTER 5
Case 609: African Refugees in British

Territory
One of the most natural outcomes of genocidal warfare such as that waged
by the Germans against the Herero and later Nama in GSWA is the exodus
of refugees. The number of refugees from GSWA into the Cape and
Bechuanaland rapidly increased as the war progressed, particularly after
the battle of Waterberg on 11 August 1904. Trotha’s intentional exposure
of the south-eastern flank into the Omaheke forced the survivors of the
battle, including women and children, to escape the only way possible—
into the desert. With Trotha’s orders to first pursue the survivors and then
prevent their return into central GSWA with the extermination order, the
only remaining option was to attempt the long and dangerous journey to
the border through the Omaheke. In September 1904, several chiefs con-
gregated on the dry watercourse of the Eiseb River east of Waterberg,
where they dug large water pits. Before they could rest, however, German
forces found them and once again forced them to flee eastwards. Cut off
from water and cattle, most of the Herero died trying to reach the
Bechuanaland Protectorate, if not of thirst, then starvation or exhaustion.1
Nevertheless, many refugees did make the dangerous escape across the
Omaheke. In the south, many also crossed into the Cape when the Nama
rebellion broke out.
The exact number of Herero and Nama refugees in British and Cape
territory is uncertain but, in November 1905, one assessment estimated

Switzerland AG 2022
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_5
that almost 13,000 Herero and Nama refugees were interned in camps in
the Cape alone.2 In Bechuanaland, where it was almost exclusively Herero
refugees that arrived, many settled with the Tawana, thus avoiding the
refugee camps. In 1907, the Pall Mall Gazette estimated that more than
10,000 Herero refugees were residing in Bechuanaland.3 Assessments
made later indicate that, while uncertainty remains as to the exact number
of Herero in Bechuanaland, they are likely to have numbered almost
9000.4 These estimates are uncertain because the British and Cape author-
ities could not keep detailed statistics and because many refugees either
integrated into local communities or left the refugee camps to find work
in the mines at Witwatersrand—the ‘Rand’.
This chapter examines the refugee issue from a British and Cape per-
spective. The arrival of refugees in the Cape Colony and Bechuanaland
Protectorate had significant reverberations and led to a number of issues
for the Cape and British authorities. First, what was to be done with the
refugees? How would any action – or inaction—reflect on relations with
Africans in British territory and with the Germans? The refugee issue,
from the perspective of the British and Cape governments, was therefore
connected to many of the concerns, interests and anxieties informing their
stance on cross-border cooperation and policy. The refugee issue was also
characterised by further deviation between the Cape and British govern-
ments on how to act. Consequently, the issue was not only part of a local
context, but also influenced British foreign policy. The Foreign Office
marked the refugee issue pertaining to GSWA ‘Case 609’. This contains a
substantial number of sources, particularly relating to the seemingly irrel-
evant issue of compensation, suggesting that, although the compensation
demanded by the Cape was, as we shall see, nominal, it once more posi-
tioned the British government in an awkward position, wedged between
the Cape and Germany. The welfare and concerns of the refugees them-
selves were therefore relegated to the background in the face of the
broader political and economic issues that arose from the refugee situation.
Ostensibly, Herero and Nama refugees tended to have three general
destinations when they arrived in British territory: the first involved their
integration into African communities. This was particularly the case with
the Herero in Bechuanaland, where several Herero-speaking groups were
already residing and living with the Tawana. The second destination was
the refugee camps created by the British and Cape authorities. Refugees
crossing into British or Cape territory were quickly sent to such camps to
avoid them roaming the territories. The desire to control African mobility
5 CASE 609: AFRICAN REFUGEES IN BRITISH TERRITORY 95
was in this sense imperative for the colonial officers of the borderlands,
who were already finding it difficult to maintain control of the border. The
final destination was the mining industry and the dreaded labour com-
pounds of Witwatersrand. A migrant labour network had been in existence
long before the rebellions but, for the British and Cape authorities, recruit-
ment of refugees as labourers was an attractive prospect to assuage the
labour shortage in South Africa while minimising expenses on the refugees.
A refugee policy had already been formulated by the Cape and British
governments during the Bondelswarts rising in 1903. As a preliminary
measure, ‘fugitives from German territory’ were ‘not to be prevented
from entering the Cape Colony and are not to be summarily surrendered
to the German authorities’. Furthermore, it was critical that refugees were
taken into ‘effective custody’, disarmed and that ‘no force should be
employed beyond what is necessary’. Emphasising this point: ‘no fugitive
shall be fired upon except in self-defence within the (Cape) Colony’. It
was also imperative that refugees were made aware that they would ‘not be
sent back to German territory against their will unless they have commit-
ted an offence for which their extradition can be demanded’. Even in these
cases, however, nobody would not be handed over without due process. It
was established that ‘being within the jurisdiction of the Cape government
they (the refugees) must abide by the laws of the Colony’. In return, ‘as
long as they remain within the Cape Colony with their families’, they
would ‘receive the protection of the government’.5
The same policy was ostensibly in place in the Bechuanaland Protectorate
and was extended to the Herero rebellion that broke out the following
year. In June 1904, however, resident magistrate in Mafeking, F.W. Panzera
noted that it had become necessary to ‘communicate with the German
consul General (to Cape Town) to make known to the authorities in
German South West Africa the manner in which the Protectorate
Administration will deal with the refugees’. Indeed, for Panzera, it was
imperative to ‘take every possible means to prevent a misunderstanding,
which might at any moment lead to breach of friendly relations and to
serious international trouble’. For Panzera, the refugee issue was, compli-
cated and would prove problematic as it interfered with Britain’s relations
with African communities. ‘The Batawana,’ he asserted, ‘have the greatest
hatred of the Germans’ and, if the Germans crossed the border in pursuit
of rebels, the Batawana might retaliate and ‘that would be a much more
serious thing for the Germans than the little affair they have on in their
own territory’.6 The fear of a spill-over in one way or another therefore
consistently informed Britain’s stance towards the refugees, just as it had

with the Germans.
In November 1904, J.B. Whitehead at the British embassy in Berlin
informed Lord Lansdowne, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, that
German newspapers and magazines reiterated a ‘hope’ that ‘the British
authorities will take a neighbourly line’ by disarming and handing the
refugees over to the Germans.7 As Britain refused to hand refugees over
and exercised lax border control, the lack of support regarding the refu-
gees became a point of criticism in Germany. Britain’s refugee policy was
deemed in the Nationalzeitung as nothing short of outright support for
the Herero and Nama rebels and part of a broader strategy of undermin-
ing German colonial rule. Indeed, ‘the British authorities,’ it asserted,
‘have made the whole campaign difficult’ for the Germans by ‘treating the
Herero and Hottentot rebels as belligerents, a course which is in itself in
defiance of the feeling of race solidarity, which should unite all the civilised
nationalities in South Africa’.8 The idea of sharing the white man’s burden
was in this sense perhaps more the wish of the Germans than British
practice.
Of course, Herero and later Nama refugees were not exactly welcomed
into British or Cape territory. If possible, the British authorities attempted
to prevent large-scale border crossings and the settlement of larger groups.
High Commissioner Milner stated that it was the view of the British gov-
ernment that, ‘while the tribes should not be encouraged to change their
allegiance, the British authorities could not be expected to prevent them
from taking refuge in British territory or to expel them when they had
done so’. Nevertheless, it would be necessary to ‘prevent any of those who
had been engaged in the rebellion from returning to German territory
without the express permission of the German authorities’. Upon entering
British territory, it was therefore necessary to ‘disarm any armed rebel and
afford an opportunity for identifying any stolen cattle’.9 The British and
Cape policy towards refugees therefore followed that of their broader bor-
der policy, which was intended, as Ralph Williams, the resident commis-
sioner in Bechuanaland, asserted, to preserve ‘the strict neutrality of our
border’.10 This was further encumbered by the impracticability of the
policy to inspect and confiscate arms and cattle from refugees: not only
was the border simply too large and expensive to guard, there was no
room or feed for confiscated cattle.11 When Herero refugees crossed with
cattle suspected to have been stolen, they were therefore often allowed to
keep them because it was generally impossible to confiscate and keep them.12
The refugee issue therefore again placed Britain and the Cape in a deli-
cate situation, involving mediation between different interests and
demands from Africans, the Cape authorities and the Germans. Moreover,
any steps taken not only had to be considered in relation to these interests
and demands, but also in light of the difficulty in effectively implanting
them. The refugee issue was therefore an undesired consequence of
German colonial violence that was forced upon Britain and the Cape, forc-
ing them to take active steps that threatened their proclaimed policy of
strict neutrality.
Integrating into African Communities

The arrival of refugees in British and Cape territory was an alarming pros-
pect as the refugees could impede local stability in various ways. Aware
that refugees might access local resources or water holes, or build up rela-
tions with specific tribes, British and Cape officials feared that their arrival
would somehow provoke Africans in British territory. In 1904, the
Aborigines’ Protection Society had already warned the British govern-
ment against the problems caused by the entry of refugees into
Bechuanaland.13 For Panzera, the arrival of refugees had to be controlled,
necessitating a strengthened local police force, ‘if only to prevent the stock
(of cattle) straying across the reserve boundaries, and interferences with
our natives’ waters, which would at once cause serious unrest and trouble
amongst our own tribes’.14 Similarly, Mervyn Williams, resident magistrate
at Tsau, asserted that the influx of refugees would ‘produce the greatest
disturbance and uneasiness’ among other African groups who had already
seen their territory ‘brought within narrow limits by the successive con-
cessions to Germany’. In addition, loyal Africans in British territory would
be ‘threatened with incalculable injury’ with the arrival of ‘worthless sav-
ages from beyond their border’. As the Nama in particular, he claimed,
had ‘never practiced the cultivation of soul’ they would ‘in order to sup-
port life, destroy their game and otherwise interfere greatly with the
peaceful avocations of the inhabitants’.15 According to Williams, inviting
in the refugees—or as he called them, criminals—therefore had potential
to cause a rebellion in British territory much like that in GSWA.16
The mobility of Africans in the border districts between GSWA, the
Cape and Bechuanaland was a consistent problem for the colonial powers
in their efforts to maintain stability. As already shown with the Marengo
affair, colonial borderlands were constantly penetrated by local actors
disregarding or using the border to their advantage, thus subverting colo-

nial stability. In the case of refugees, the mobility of Herero and Nama
refugees was a problem because these did not belong to a coherent politi-
cal body or group. As Paul Landau has shown, such incoherent African
groups posed ‘an undisclosed peril’ for colonial administrations.17 For
instance, in 1906, when a large group of Herero crossed the Bechuanaland
border and expressed a wish to remain and settle in the Batawana reserve,
the British administration was unsure of how to react because they did not
know who to negotiate with. ‘The British government’ would, it was later
decided, ‘recognise no chieftainship’ of any Herero or other group arriv-
ing in similar circumstances. Instead, they ‘simply regarded them as head-
men for convenience of administration’. Headmen did not incur the same
power or acknowledgement and could therefore avoid being brought into
hereditary or territorial disputes. In the case of the recently arrived group
of Herero, it was decided that they could remain if they ‘submitted to the
tribal control exercised by the Chief recognised by the government and
that they obeyed the orders of the British Government and its officers’.18
This indicates that the British were concerned that the influx of refugees
might stir local African groups in Bechuanaland and also that they found
it difficult to manage such groups of refugees because of their incoherence
and existing tribal affiliations.
It also shows, however, that the British relied on local African chiefs
and elites to be at the forefront of decision-making pertaining to refugees.
In other words, African groups had a profound impact on British refugee
policy, especially in Bechuanaland. As the Herero refugees were not a
coherent, homogenous group, it was necessary for the British administra-
tion to include local chiefs because the influx could undermine and com-
plicate local stability in the borderlands as well as the internal balance of
power within African societies. This move was, however, not unprece-
dented. Many Herero resided in Bechuanaland even before the colonial
border was agreed and a rival group of Herero—the Banderu—had already
fled into Bechuanaland in 1896 after a series of conflicts between Samuel
Maherero and Banderu chiefs. The Banderu refugees resided in Ngamiland
and some were relocated to the Ghanzi district, where they worked for
Boer farmers. The Tawana Kgosi (chief) Sekgoma Letsholathebe adopted
the Banderu Herero refugees as subjects, providing him with a reliable
and important source of support in the internal power relations of the
Tawana.19 When the rebellion broke out in 1904, Herero refugees who
had been affiliated with Maherero began to arrive in Ngamiland, especially
after Waterberg, when two to three thousand Herero refugees arrived,

with numbers increasing as the rebellions continued.20
The arrival of Herero refugees after 1904 put Sekgoma in a difficult
situation because of his patronage to the Banderu, who remained hostile
to Maherero. While in refuge in Ngamiland, however, Maherero quickly
lost his influence and power over the Herero refugees who had followed
him there. Initially, he lived as a guest of Sekgoma and then as a refugee,
living off hand-outs from local British authorities. With his influence and
power waning, Sekgoma opted in April 1905 to underline his patronage
of the Banderu refugees and denunciated Maherero.21 The situation was,
however, short lived, as Sekgoma was toppled in a coup by his nephew
Mathiba in 1906, rendering the political position of the Banderu refugees
fragile as they shifted from ‘subjects’ to ‘aliens’ in Tawana society.22 The
influx of Herero refugees in two stages in 1896 and again from 1904
therefore directly interfered in local Tawana politics and led to a situation
that the colonial authorities may only have found troublesome, as it could
have led to a civil war where they would have had to intervene to
some degree.
Nevertheless, many Herero refugees found work for the Tawana as
herders, steadily building up their independence and obtaining their own
stocks of cattle. To this day, there remains a significant Herero contingent
in what is now Botswana, with a distinct language and culture.23 The inte-
gration of the Herero into Tawana society was pleasing to British colonial
officers. Indeed, their employment as pastoralists throughout Ngamiland
meant for the British administration that the refugees would soon be
‘looked upon as forming part of this (Tawana) tribe’.24 This also indicates,
however, the willingness of African communities to help and protect refu-
gees from potentially being sent back to GSWA or being absorbed by the
migrant labour network in the same way as many other refugees. Indeed,
as Renee Pennington and Henry Harpending have noted, the Tawana
‘may have saved many Herero from the Germans’. As such, the arrival of
refugees in Bechuanaland was not exclusively subject to British policies,
but also to the views and interests of local African elites.25
For the British colonial administration, it was therefore imperative to
receive Sekgoma’s consent to have the refugees settle in the area. The
African factor in Britain’s refugee policy thus cannot be disregarded. They
were fundamentally concerned about the impact on the local social, politi-
cal and economic milieu of refugees. At the same time, they were also
aware that the British authorities themselves were being scrutinised in
relation to how they were dealing with the refugee situation. For instance,
while it was problematic to have thousands of refugees integrate and settle
in British territory, it would be outright dangerous to send them back to
GSWA, as it would ‘have a bad effect with the natives generally’. Indeed,
such a move ‘would cause us to be identified with the German methods of
native rule’.26 Although this view was generally recognised and agreed to,
Selborne nevertheless felt compelled to ask that ‘they understand, I pre-
sume, that they will have to pay hut-tax?’27
The Refugee Camps

Far from everyone had the opportunity to seek refuge among African
communities in British territory. Although both the Herero and Nama
had relations across the border, neither were uniform groups. They were
primarily linked by shared language and customs. While the integration of
refugees into African societies was most profound in Bechuanaland, many
had little choice but to accept internment in refugee camps or recruitment
in the mining industry. The refugee camps, however, mainly housed
women and children as the men were either fighting in GSWA or had been
recruited for the mining industry. For the Cape authorities, the conditions
in the camps were relatively unimportant when compared to the potential
to use refugees as labourers and found it an unimportant issue because the
unresolved expenditure on these camps, which they were reluctant to pay.
Indicatively, the Cape’s refugee policy determined that assistance was only
granted to ‘the aged, infirm and children’. All ‘able-bodied adults’ were to
be put to work, ‘whenever practicable thus lessening the expenditure as far
as possible’.28
Although very few sources are available on the camps and their condi-
tions, one particular affair that was brought before Elgin in the Colonial
Office stands out. In late July 1906, Hutchinson forwarded a military
intelligence report to Elgin concerning the establishment of a new refugee
camp in the North Western Cape at Matjieskloof outside Springbok. It
was a convenient location, further from the border than other refugee
camps and in close proximity to the French Roman Catholic mission sta-
tion, which would provide useful assistance in taking care of the refugees.
In April 1906, the British and Cape governments had agreed to meet
German requests to move the camps further from the border, although
the compensation issue remained unresolved.29 The new location at
Matjieskloof, however, was not a random choice. It was situated just a few
miles south of the Okiep copper mines, which were at the time some of
the most important copper deposits in Southern Africa.30
The intelligence report asserted, however, that the reason for this relo-
cation was that the Cape government had completely neglected the refu-
gees in the area. The 590 refugees, of whom only twenty were men, who
had hitherto been interned near Steinkopf and Port Nolloth close to the
border, were ‘in a wretched condition’. Even worse, it was reported that
‘a very large proportion are dying from starvation, insufficient clothing
and scurvy’. As many as twenty-two refugees died in the last week of July
alone, and these were ‘mostly young women and children’. The reason for
the poor conditions and numbers of deaths was, according to the intelli-
gence report, that the Cape government, ‘beyond providing a small ration
of bread, fat and sugar, has done absolutely nothing for these people’.
Local missions, however, provided ‘nourishment and clothes’, and the
Cape Copper Company, which owned the Okiep copper mines, ‘has built
a shed for use as a hospital, and provided empty sacks for making shelters’.
The report also described that the officer in charge of medical affairs,
Doctor J. Cowan, on several occasions ‘represented the matter very
strongly to the Magistrate, but can get nothing done. He says people are
dying simply from want of sufficient nourishment and clothes’. It was
therefore imperative that ‘blankets and proper food’ were provided to
refugees if they were to prevent ‘this enormous death rate’ from con-
tinuing. 31
In addition to this neglect, the handling of refugees crossing the border
was, according to the same report, problematic. The disarmament and
confiscation of cattle upon crossing the border ‘caused considerable feel-
ing among the Hottentots and Basters of the district’.32 Indeed, it sig-
nalled to the Africans in British territory that Britain was, after all, siding
with the Germans. The intelligence report did not therefore only express
humanitarian concerns over the neglect of refugees, but also in relation to
the potential practical consequences of the refugee policy on colonial sta-
bility. Given such alarming evaluations, Hutchinson immediately
demanded further inquiries into the matter and had Colonel Charles
Crewe investigate the condition of the refugees, the mortality rate and
whether the ‘bad feeling caused amongst the natives in British territory’
was accurate.33 Crewe responded to Hutchinson no more than a day later
that he had ‘some information regarding the condition of the refugees,
and it is not altogether satisfactory’ and he would therefore make further
inquiries to corroborate the findings in the report.34 This resulted in three
detailed replies from the resident magistrate of Namaqualand,

W.T. Magennis, the medical officer J. Cowan, who was also cited in the
report, and Mr W. Rorick, a Dutch reformed minister who had visited and
worked in the refugee camps of the North Western Cape.
In the first reply, Magennis refuted any criticism or suggestions of mal-
treatment of the refugees. While he could confirm that the refugees had
been moved from Steinkopf to Matjieskloof, this relocation was intended
to make sure the refugees came ‘under proper care’. Instead, Magennis
was ‘surprised to see that it has been stated that a large number are dying
from starvation. This statement is untrue: none have died from want of
food since their arrival at Matjieskloof or prior thereto’. One of the main
reasons why many refugees were in a bad condition, according to
Magennis, was because only a few were skilled labourers, meaning that
they could only work for low wages.35 Despite rejecting notions of mal-
treatment or neglect, Magennis admitted that ‘a good number died, but
there is no surprise in this’ as they died from scurvy. A group of Nama that
had its cattle confiscated, he noted, was now employed in the Okiep Mines
‘as free men and have their families living with them’.36
In the second reply, Cowan downplayed the situation, claiming that he
had been misunderstood or misquoted: ‘I said that I represented the mat-
ter (mortality rate) strongly to the Government’ that ‘if the diet scale now
recommended or one like it was not passed then the death rate would be
terrible. I did not say I could get nothing done by you.’ Most importantly,
though, Cowan claimed that the refugees had ‘not died of insufficient
food so much as of improper food’ again suggesting scurvy to be the main
cause for the many deaths.37 Unfortunately, it remains impossible to know
whether Magennis persuaded Cowan to change his stance or if the state-
ments in the intelligence report were indeed untrue.
The last reply from Mr W. Rorick was even more disproving. He stated
that he had visited the Matjieskloof camp in order to ‘secure for myself
and several of my congregation some of the children as servants’. For
Rorick, who had himself worked in refugee camps since the 1890s, the
Nama refugees in the North Western Cape were not malnourished but
‘overfed’. Instead of an inquiry, ‘our Magistrate deserves to be checked in
his extravagance! There are, Sir, the minimum being taken, 200 able-
bodied young people and children idling precious time and educated into
a lazy mode of life.’ It was crucial, Rorick continued, that the refugees
were kept employed, preferably in the mines, so that they would not fall
idle and restless, especially as the Nama were, he claimed, ‘the lowest’ race
in Southern Africa. 38
The sources available on the refugee camps remain unsubstantial and
do not give a clear picture of what they were like. Indeed, given the dispar-
ity between the initial intelligence report and the later replies in Crewe’s
investigation which refute its findings, it is difficult to place trust in either
when these remain uncorroborated. Dedering, however, suggests that the
conditions were terrible, especially when drawing on a German source
that claims that 200 of 600 refugees in the North Western Cape had died
of scurvy by October 1906.39 Of course, these are unreliable figures and
the exact mortality rate in the refugee camps remains unknown, as the
extent to which the Germans knew about the conditions is open to
question.
It can therefore be concluded from the juxtaposition of the intelligence
report and its replies that, for the British and Cape governments, the issue
was insignificant. Only after a notice of humanitarian criticism were inqui-
ries made. However, as the information received by Elgin and the Colonial
Office was conflicting, they did not have sufficient information to take any
real steps to improve the conditions or determine a policy. As such, the
conditions in the refugee camps were, to a large degree, the business of
colonial officers on the spot, with occasional interference from the Cape
and British governments. Paired with the reluctance of the Cape govern-
ment to incur any extra expenditure on refugees and a complete neglect of
their wellbeing, however, it is most likely that conditions in the camps
were abysmal. The suffering of the Herero and Nama refugees thus
resulted from what can be called inadvertent and ‘casual’ way of colonial
violence. No policy, punishment or actions of violence were implemented
by the British or Cape authorities, but, instead, a complete disregard for
the refugees’ opportunities or their ability to sustain a living.
Of course, it must be stressed that the refugee camps were incompara-
ble to the camps in GSWA: there was no intention of extermination or any
usage of the internees as slaves. Instead, these refugee camps should be
seen as a commonplace and perhaps even natural practice similar to that
adopted by many countries and territories, when a conflict emerges in
neighbouring areas. As Dedering has demonstrated, a significant differ-
ence between the camps in GSWA and the refugee camps was that security
in the latter was lax. There was no barbed wire and there were few guards,
and the refugees interned there were generally free to move around.
Instead, these camps were ‘more like rallying posts where refugees were
supposed to eke out a living and stay away from the war’.40 This was unlike
the camps in GSWA, where barbed wire, natural boundaries and guard
posts forced the Herero and Nama to remain in desperate conditions
against their will. Moreover, the fact that the bridge to Shark Island was
guarded by a machine gun shows that the Germans saw it as imperative
that prisoners remained where they were.41 Crucially, therefore, there was
no aim of abuse, forced labour or mistreatment of refugees on the part of
the Cape or British governments. The poor conditions in the camps per-
haps derived from a general neglect and reluctance to pay further expenses,
just as the conditions could incentivise refugees to seek employment.
Refugees and the Politics of Migrant Labour

As well as the refugee camps, another destination for many Herero and
Nama refugees was the labour network revolving around the Witwatersrand
(the Rand) mining industry. Indeed, instead of going to concentration
camps in GSWA or refugee camps across the border, many Herero and
Nama found their way to labour compounds. Unlike the refugee camps,
which were for the British and Cape governments an unwanted but a nec-
essary measure, the possibility of turning refugees into labourers was an
attractive prospect, emanating from the neighbouring conflict. Indeed,
Panzera was convinced that the Herero and Nama refugees should be
welcomed as new sources of labour.42 Furthermore, the link between
labour and refugees was not altogether new for Cape officials. During the
South African War, ‘native’ refugee—or concentration—camps were used
as pools from which (forced) labour could be drawn. Refugee camps and
the recruitment of Herero and Nama refugees as labourers therefore argu-
ably represented a logical continuation of that same practice.43
In these labour compounds, Africans were essentially reduced to ‘their
naked physical existence’—by means of, for example, regular strip searches.
Indeed, as Dedering has noted, as in GSWA there was a dehumanising
aspect involving a ‘lethal combination’ of ‘confinement, hard labour and
physical exhaustion’. There was also a high mortality rate in the South
African labour compounds and conditions continued to be terrible despite
drastic improvements at the turn of the twentieth century.44 Labour com-
pounds occasionally came under public scrutiny and were subject to
humanitarian criticism but were, on the whole, accepted practice in colo-
nial South Africa. Only on rare occasions, then, did such criticism become
publicly debated.45 Although the labour compounds were inherently
different to those in GSWA, the conditions were nevertheless so harsh as

to blur the difference between free and coerced labour.46 Many Herero
and Nama refugees were therefore presented with an impossible choice
between a different set of camps as their final destination.
From the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century,
labour migration by Herero and Nama took place from southern and cen-
tral South West Africa to the Cape. They mainly found work on farms and
households and, increasingly, in the mining industry.47 Labour migration
routes and networks were therefore already established when the
Bondelswarts rebellion broke out in 1903 and the first refugees from the
rebellions in GSWA arrived in British territory. The refugees arriving in
British territory—the Cape or Bechuanaland—were thus quickly absorbed
by migrant labour networks centred on the mines in Witwatersrand.48
When the Herero rebellion broke out in 1904, the Cape economy was
slowly recovering but the mines at Witwatersrand and elsewhere had only
been re-opened in 1902 and they were desperate for labour.
In 1907, the Anglo-French Exploration Company—a Rand mining
enterprise—undertook what the Morning Post called ‘an interesting exper-
iment’. With support and help from the Cape government, the Anglo-
French Exploration Company would ‘provide land and location in the
Transvaal to a small tribe of Herero refugees’.49 Not only did this mean
that the Cape government did not have to bear the costs of those refugees,
but they also provided a source of labour. In the House of Commons, MP
Wilfred Ashley, obviously concerned that this move would effectively sub-
ject the Herero to coerced labour, asked Winston Churchill, then Under-
Secretary of State for the Colonies, if there had been ‘any special condition
as to labour in mines attached to their tenure?’.50 Although Churchill
claimed that no such condition was made, he also refused to make further
inquiries without stating any reason for this. This indicates that, while the
refugees were subject to the desires of the Rand economy, concerns
remained about the possibility of this being a veiled form of coerced labour
intended to make refugees labourers whether they wanted to be or not.
Yet, as the Pall Mall Gazette commented a few days later, having the
Herero refugees ‘set to work’ in the mines was only a good thing. Indeed
‘it is comforting, no doubt, to the Radicals that this little driblet of labour
has not British tyranny at its source’, it commented, but German tyranny.51
Thus, even if the Herero refugees had no choice but to enter the Rand
mines as part of this ‘experiment’, the fault lay not with the British but
with the Germans.
Similarly, in Namaqualand, near the Cape–GSWA border, where thou-

sands of Nama refugees arrived after 1904, local mining companies had
been suffering from generic labour shortages. Indeed, the Okiep copper
mines consistently complained to local authorities about labour shortages
in the region. The refugees here, including those at Matjieskloof, thus
represented a welcome new source of labour, especially as they had few
other opportunities. Before the arrival of refugees, several attempts were
made to increase the workforce, for instance by introducing harsher legis-
lation that made it easier to sentence Africans to hard labour in a scheme
that was in reality ‘a hidden form of forced labour’.52 Forced labour
schemes such as those involving convict labourers in Namaqualand, how-
ever, were on the whole unproductive. The reason for this was quickly
identified as the laziness of Africans, leading to the introduction of violent
methods including confinement of up to five days and corporal punish-
ment up to twenty-five lashes—this was intended to boost productivity.
According to Kai Herzog, a strategy to malnourish and inflict violence was
put in place to enforce discipline on the one hand, and to exploit convicts
for labour, on the other.53 While convict labourers were different from
refugees, their treatment is indicative of the treatment of labourers, which
reflected the pervasiveness of everyday violence in the Cape. At the same
time, the desperate situation in which Cape recruiters found themselves in
procuring labour for the mining industry might only have incentivised any
desire to recruit those arriving with the influx of refugees.
Indeed, the outbreak of the Herero rebellion only made matters worse
for the Cape in terms of labour recruitment. Since its establishment in
1902, the Witwatersrand Native Labour Association (WNLA) had gained
permission to recruit labour in GSWA, which effectively ended with the
outbreak of rebellion. It had paid 20 Mark and a deposit of 200 Mark for
every Herero recruited. WNLA recruiters worked in cooperation with
German colonial officers, who referred to one of the most prolific recruit-
ers, Alex Hewitt, as ‘my friend the slave trader’. When the rebellion broke
out and a significant number of Herero was taken prisoner near
Swakopmund, they were immediately offered to Hewitt who had them
shipped to Cape Town and from there to the Rand as labourers.54 The
choice between staying incarcerated in GSWA and boarding the ship to
Cape Town was arguably anything but voluntary.
At the same time, the rebellion caused a major labour shortage in
GSWA itself. With the Herero fleeing and the Nama soon in rebellion, the
forced labourers in the concentration camps did assuage this shortage to
an extent, but not enough. With the continued flight of the Herero and
Nama into British territory, the Germans were forced to hire labourers
from the Cape.55 Thousands of Kaplevies, as the Germans called them,
migrated from the Cape to GSWA. As many as 10,000 Cape workers
migrated to GSWA and worked on harbours and railroad construction, as
well as transports for the German troops.56 Effectively, the recruitment of
Kaplevies to GSWA generated ongoing competition between Germany
and the Cape over African labourers.
The brutal treatment of the Herero and Nama did not, however, dis-
suade Cape workers from migrating to GSWA. Of course, once they had
arrived in GSWA, they were met with a more radical and racist colonial
state than they had been used to in the Cape, although segregationist poli-
cies were intensifying here too.57 Nevertheless, GSWA was an attractive
prospect for many African migrant labourers, allowing them to avoid the
Witwatersrand mining industry. Indeed, working underground, living in
terrible conditions and being subjected to everyday violence was an unap-
pealing prospect. What is more, the Germans offered substantially higher
wages than could be found anywhere in the Cape (£5 a month compared
to £3 in the Rand). However, when they arrived in GSWA, many soon
regretted their decision because of the climate and lack of fresh water,
which made working conditions especially harsh. Worst of all, they experi-
enced mistreatment at the hands of the Germans, who were prone to
whipping and beating the Cape workers. The Kaplevies were kept separate
from the Herero and Nama and were recruited as specialised workers for
important projects. Instead of slave labour, they were therefore a consid-
ered valuable resource, especially as they did not perish in the concentra-
tion camps at the same rate as the Herero and Nama prisoners. Furthermore,
the Kaplevies mainly worked for private enterprises, most notably the
Koppel (later Bachstein-Koppel) railway company, rather than the
Schutztruppe or German settlers, as was the case for the enslaved Herero
and Nama.58 This did not mean that they were free from the German
whip, but their treatment, while harsh, did not parallel that of the Herero
and Nama.
For the Cape authorities, migrant workers in GSWA were initially rela-
tively unproblematic, although there were concerns about the loss of
labourers needed in the Cape. These concerns rapidly increased, especially
after 1910, when the expulsion of Chinese indentured labourers from
Witwatersrand caused a significant labour shortage. As a consequence, the
labour competition with GSWA went from disadvantageous to outright
detrimental. At the same time, Cape authorities were increasingly receiv-

ing reports of German mistreatment of Cape workers in GSWA: inade-
quate food, poor living conditions, freely using dynamite that exploded
close to workers and constant threats of shooting represented some exam-
ples of German mistreatment.59 The most notable example of German
mistreatment was the Wilhelmstal ‘affair’ or ‘riot’. In 1911, eighty Cape
workers rioted over unpaid wages and general mistreatment before
German troops intervened without orders, killing twelve and wounding
ten. Complaints were immediately launched by the Cape government and
the Foreign Office.60 Indeed, the riot was the subject of intensive atten-
tion for both the Cape and British governments. Several reports on
German treatment of Cape workers were composed and included analysis
of German ‘native policies’.61 In Europe, the British Embassy in Berlin
protested to the German Foreign Office against ‘Cape natives’ being
‘placed on the same level as the Herero, notwithstanding the fact that
disciplinary regulations possibly suitable to the latter are by no means suit-
able to free labourers from a neighbouring and friendly country’.62 The
Wilhelmstal riot, however, did not discourage Cape workers from migrat-
ing to GSWA, but it was used by the Cape government to restrict German
recruitment licences in order to push more labour towards the Rand.
Thus, by 1911, labour migration from the Cape to GSWA had effectively
ended.63
The desperate shortage of available labour in the Cape and the rising
competition with Germany over African workers is a key context in con-
sidering perceptions of Herero and Nama refugees arriving in British ter-
ritory. Indeed, the refugees were subject to the same attempts to procure
a larger workforce for the Rand mines. Indicatively, when thousands of
Herero refugees arrived in Bechuanaland after the battle of Waterberg, the
WNLA applied to have their ban on recruitment in the area lifted. Faced
with an influx of refugees and concerned about what was to be done with
them, the local administration immediately complied. Furthermore, the
WNLA allied themselves with key Herero figures such as Willy and
Friedrich Maherero. In return for support in political and economic mat-
ters, they helped the WNLA recruit Herero refugees. Samuel Maherero
himself later agreed to help Hewitt recruit among the refugees.64
Many Herero were already working in the Rand before 1904 and many
decided to return to GSWA to join the fight upon hearing that the rebel-
lion had broken out, while others joined the Herero refugees in
Bechuanaland, particularly if they had relatives there. Many more came to
the Rand after being recruited when they crossed into either Cape or
Bechuanaland territory. In the Rand, the Herero were kept together and,
like the other groups working there, were subjected to everyday violence.
The Herero, though, had one of the highest mortality rates of all groups
defined by their origin. In addition to suffering from widespread pneumo-
nia, many Herero disliked the porridge meals served as staple food on the
mines, sometimes resulting in malnutrition. Although they would work
for twelve hours a day, six days a week, changing from day to night shifts
each week, few complained about these conditions—which were common
in the Rand.65 Indeed, on several occasions, when their two-year contracts
were about to expire, many chose to remain in the Rand because of the
money, but also because they had nowhere else to go. Some could go to
Bechuanaland, where they could stay with relatives who had settled in
Ngamiland. For many, though, the Rand was the only alternative to refu-
gee camps or—worse—being sent back to GSWA.
For the Cape and British governments, however, the refugees were
therefore not exclusively a burden placed upon them by the rebellion in
GSWA. Although there are no statistics detailing how many refugees
ended up working in the Rand or elsewhere, they nonetheless integrated
into already existing patterns of labour migration in the region. Moreover,
working in the Rand averted the possibility that the presence of refugees—
or their treatment by the Cape authorities—could in one way or another
provoke African groups in British territory. In other words, if they could
be recruited as labourers it was an all-gain situation for the Cape.
Compensation
While the refugee issue was predominantly a local affair, in which colonial
officers, acting as men-on-the-spot, the Cape government and, of course,
the Africans themselves were the main actors, the issue did also transcend
the locality to a broader diplomatic level. Refugees were mentioned little
in British newspapers, particularly in relation to Herero labourers entering
the mines of the Rand. Moreover, humanitarian groups such as the
Aborigines’ Protection Society did not give any attention to the issue and
so, in Britain, humanitarian concerns were not a determinant factor for the
government pertaining to the refugee issue. Rather, the main factor and
issue for consideration was that of compensation for the maintenance of
the refugee camps and increased security on the border, as the Cape gov-
ernment, via the British Foreign Office, demanded of Germany. In
addition to shedding light on the purely diplomatic ramifications of the

refugee issue, the matter of compensation is also suggestive of a lack of
humanitarian concern. Indeed, if we understand the refugee camps and
the neglect of the refugees there as a kind of inadvertent or ‘casual’ colo-
nial violence, the compensation issue also indicates the extent of this
neglect—on the one hand expenditure on refugees was relatively insignifi-
cant and, on the other, the compensation issue is perhaps the most com-
prehensive problem addressed in the sources. While refugees lived in
terrible conditions in the camps, thousands of documents pertain to claim
compensation from Germany and only a handful express concerns about
the wellbeing of the refugees in question. Clearly, the priorities of the
Cape and Britain were not humanitarian but financial and, as we shall see,
diplomatic. Yet, these were not separated aspects. Indeed, humanitarian
convictions reinforced the reluctance of the Foreign Office in taking up
the cause on behalf of the Cape government. As noted by Eric Barrington,
the senior official and Assistant Under-Secretary for Africa at the Foreign
Office, on reading the intelligence report on the refugee camp at
Matjieskloof, ‘how can we claim the cost of keeping the refugees from
Germany if they are neglected in this way?’ 66
Although expenditure on refugees in the period from late 1904 to
December 1905 amounted to no more than £980, the Cape government
was nonetheless keen on reducing costs, if not for financial reasons then
out of principle. The continued unsettled issue of compensation, however,
was arguably one of the main causes of the continued neglect of refugees
in the Cape, also revealing the different outlooks and interests within the
British imperial system on a neighbouring conflict as the British govern-
ment in London had very little interest in the matter, while the Cape
government considered it important. After requesting the Foreign Office
to demand compensation from Germany over the refugees, the German
government flat out rejected any compensation: The German consul to
Cape Town, D.H. von Jacobs, stated in February 1905 that it was possible
to provide assistance to ‘European refugees from pure humanity’ because
they had been forced out of their homes. However, ‘the fugitive Hottentots
and Damaras (Herero)’, he asserted, had ‘committed murders and atro-
cious crimes against the white population’ and ‘escaped into the Cape
Colony for the purpose of escaping from well-deserved punishment’. This
meant that any ‘distressed condition in which they may be at present’ was
‘only a consequence of their own criminal offences. The Imperial German
government is therefore not able to extend the principles of humanity to
these natives’.67 The maintenance of refugee camps and other associated

expenses such as increased border policing therefore remained with the
Cape government.
For the Cape authorities, paying subsistence for the refugees without
receiving compensation from the Germans was unjust but, to the imperial
government in London, the matter appeared trivial—indeed, for Grey,
making representations to the German government over Cape demands
for compensation was ‘undesirable’ and out of proportion.68 Germany’s
refusal to offer compensation meant that the seemingly trivial issue of who
should pay for the maintenance of the refugees became conflated with the
general disdain in the Cape towards the German presence in GSWA, as
previously discussed. The issue of lack of compensation was therefore con-
tinuously raised by the Cape government as leverage whenever the
Germans requested support or attempted to make deals. In March 1906,
for instance, von Jacobs asked if some refugees could be extradited and
sent via Port Nolloth to Swakopmund, possibly because of the labour
shortages there. This could not be done, however, ‘unless they (refugees)
were willing to back to German territory’. Furthermore, as it was likely
that they would refuse to go, the Cape government asked whether the
German authorities ‘would provide for their sustenance in British terri-
tory’. In this case, the Germans refused because they feared it would ‘be
used as a precedent to refuse any claims of similar nature, which might be
made against us’ should the Cape also become engaged in ‘a native war’.69
In another incident, when the Cape government refused to pass supplies
to the Germans through the border crossing near Violsdrift, the decision
was justified by the costs of maintaining a border post there and because
the ‘cost of maintenance of refugees still remains unsettled’.70 Germany’s
refusal to pay compensation for the refugees was therefore a continued
grievance to the Cape government in its involvement in the conflict.
Over Christmas 1906, intensive negotiations took place between
Britain, Germany and the Cape over the issue. On 18 December, after
several representations on behalf of the Cape government, the Foreign
and Colonial Offices received the German conditions detailed by
Lindequist, for covering the costs of the refugees in the Cape. First, the
Cape must prevent rebels from using the borderlands as a base for their
operations. Second, once the rebellion was formally over, the Cape needed
to prevent rebels in British territory ‘from becoming a source of danger’
and extradite any ‘criminals, regardless of their connection with the rebel-
lion’. Third, the Cape would lift all restrictions on the passage of supplies
and free all imports from GSWA of duty. Finally, the important ferry cross-
ing at Rahman’s drift was to remain in operation until the end of the rebel-
lion, ‘without prejudice to British rights’.71 Furthermore, the Germans
were to be consulted on the location of the refugee camps in order to
ensure that they were far away from the borderlands.72 This was a hefty
price for what was an insignificant expense.
By 23 December, Hutchinson transmitted the Cape government’s
reply to the German conditions: on surveillance and patrolling of the bor-
derlands, it was asserted that the Cape was already doing all it could, but
would be happy to increase surveillance and patrolling if paid for by
Germany. On the second issue, while they were already attempting to
prevent cross-border operations, the Cape government could only agree
to any extradition of Africans ‘as far as the law will allow’. As for the two
remaining conditions—duty free trade, including munitions and the open-
ing of Rahman’s drift—the Cape government refused these outright, even
suggesting that the German government delegate ‘necessary authority to
sanction expenditure’ to the consul general in Cape Town, so that neither
Britain nor Germany had to be involved in solving the issue.73 For the
Cape government, the German conditions were completely unrealistic.
On Christmas Eve, Hutchinson informed Elgin that the Cape was now
threatening with ‘releasing these people (Herero and Nama refugees)
together with closing of drifts when supplies in the country are inade-
quate’ in order to ‘force the German Government to accede to our just
demands’. The Cape government demanded that if negotiations did not
develop satisfactorily, the plan was to make this move by New Year’s Eve.74
In the Colonial Office, Elgin was shocked by such a hard-line stance
over what was still considered an insignificant matter in London, and
replied that he ‘strongly deprecated at present juncture release of interned
natives’.75 When Elgin sent the German conditions to Hutchinson a few
days previously, he asserted the importance of avoiding ‘any strong action
taken by the Cape government, which would increase difficulties in the
German colony’ because this ‘would be made use of in the German elec-
tions, and would have a most undesirable effect’.76 The German elections
in January 1907, often referred to as the ‘Hottentot Election’ because of
the influence of the situation in GSWA, significantly impacted British and
Cape involvement in the conflict, particularly the refugee question.77 Not
only did it delay and complicate negotiations, it also forced the British
government to consider the diplomatic consequences of each step taken in
relation to the refugee issue. Hutchinson, in evaluating the German
conditions, informed Elgin that he believed that Lindequist had ulterior

designs and expected the conditions to be refused so that a majority in the
Reichstag after the election would be ‘favourable to schemes of colonial
expansion and expenditure, which might or might not be unfavourable to
British interests. It is not the first time that such a game has been played
with reference to, for instance, naval expenditure’.78 Crucially, however,
for the imperial government in London, the possible impact of a hard-line
stance on the trivial issue of refugees from GSWA on Anglo-German rela-
tions in light of the forthcoming election remained a central factor.
The Cape government’s outright refusal therefore placed the British
government in a difficult situation. On 28 December, Barrington wrote to
Lindequist and underlined that both the British and Cape governments
were ‘equally animated by an earnest desire to meet the German govern-
ment as far as possible with a view to the conclusion of an early and ami-
cable settlement’. The German demands, it was asserted, were ‘too
far-reaching and of a permanent character while the German compensa-
tion would be temporary’. With such disparate interests, the Foreign
Office warned, ‘our negotiations with the Cape are bound to take some
little time’.79 On the same day, Elgin promised the Cape government that
he would do his best to ‘avoid delay’ but urged them to abandon their
ultimatum of closing the borders and releasing refugees.80 Although the
Cape government was not happy about the situation and the fact that the
British government did not consult legal advisors, it nonetheless withdrew
its ultimatum.81 For the British government, it was crucial to win time so
that they did not have to interfere and risk provoking Germany. In the
end, the issue was delayed for an entire month and only resumed in
February 1907—after the German elections. For the Cape government,
the delay in negotiations was problematic because the closer the Germans
came to ending the conflict, the lower the chances of recouping their
expenditure on refugees. Indeed, closing the border for supplies and trade
would have little effect and so the longer the negotiations continued, ‘the
fainter chances of settlement of their claims become’.82
By the end of February, British law officers established that, on one
hand, Germany was under no obligation to pay for the maintenance of
refugees. On the other, though, the Cape was not obligated to ‘intern’
them or to return them to GSWA because the rules of neutrality did not
apply to non-belligerents.83 Neither the German nor Cape governments
were in effect obligated to pay the expenses. However, instead of resolving
the issue, this decision only complicated it: for the Cape, it meant that
their demands for compensation were likely never to be met. Indeed,

while they were not obligated to pay for the refugees’ subsistence, they
would be faced with humanitarian and social consequences if they simply
stopped. For Germany, however, the decision by British law officers was
also derided as they maintained that the refugees were indeed belligerents
and, as such, should be extradited. In particular, when the conflict ended—
which it formally did in March 1907—the Germans proclaimed the rebel-
lion to be over.84 In the end, the compensation issue was never truly
resolved and continued to flare up until 1908 and was continuously
defined by a reluctance of the British government to pursue an issue they
found unimportant.85
* * *
The refugees had three major destinations when crossing into British or
Cape territory. Some Herero in Bechuanaland were lucky enough to settle
and integrate into local communities. However, most made the dubious
choice of going to refugee camps, where they led miserable existences, or
to the Rand, where they worked in terrible conditions and stayed in labour
compounds. From an African perspective, most therefore had to make a
choice about which kind of camp they preferred: a refugee camp, labour
camp or German concentration camp. Understandably, no one preferred
the latter; and, although the refugees might have escaped German ven-
geance in GSWA by crossing into British territory, they still found them-
selves in a desperate situation.
For the Cape and British governments, the refugee issue represented
the immediate impact of a colonial conflict on a neighbouring colony.
African mobility in the shape of refugees as well as migrant labour compli-
cated relations between imperial powers and challenged British and Cape
stability in the borderlands. If not directly, then in the minds of colonial
officers, concerns remained about the ramifications of certain policies or
actions pertaining to refugees, such as the confiscation of cattle or condi-
tions in refugee camps. Most importantly, though, the refugee issue forced
the Cape and British governments to take active steps: something they had
intentionally sought to avoid in the duality of cooperation and non-
cooperation, as explained in the two previous chapters. In this case, they
attempted to, but could not walk on eggshells. Furthermore, the refugee
issue is indicative of how the British and Cape authorities treated the same
peoples upon whom, in 1918, they would place much importance,

demanding the confiscation of Germany’s colonies over mistreatment.
Nevertheless, from a British perspective, the refugee issue remained
unimportant. Indeed, negligence of the issue and the annoyance aimed at
the Cape for stirring up trouble with Germany over such nominal com-
pensation is indicative of this. In this sense, a continuation of the South
African War occurred, when the plight of Africans was of little interest or
concern in London or the rest of Europe—rather, treatment of the Boers
in concentration camps received all the attention and criticism.86 The
seemingly trivial issue of ‘settling the bill’, revealed the inherent deviation
between the British and the Cape: despite the negligence of the British
government in London, to the Cape authorities—including the govern-
ment and local officers—the refugee issue was hugely important. On one
hand, it was challenging as Germans and Africans alike might interpret
their policies and actions wrongly, prompting protests or possibly inciting
rebellions. At the same time, though, the influx of refugees posed a wel-
come opportunity to recruit labourers for the mines in the Rand. These
different and somewhat contradictory approaches by the Cape authorities
did not hold them back from making calculated demands for compensa-
tion for expenses from Germany. Of course, maintaining neutrality was
paramount, but the continued costs and consequences of a rebellion in a
neighbouring colony were far more apparent and problematic for the
Cape than for the British government, which was mainly concerned with
the impression of the continued demands and negotiations on relations
with Germany. Notably, when the British assisted the Germans by killing
Marengo, Elgin suggested that this was the right time to make renewed
representations to the German government regarding repayment of
expenditure on refugees.87
Notes
1. For a detailed discussion of the Herero’s mobility after Waterberg, see
Gewald, Herero Heroes, pp. 175–81.
2. TNA, FO 367/27: Note by Lascelles, 2 November 1905.
3. Pall Mall Gazette, 20 August 1907.
4. R. Pennington and H. Harpending ‘How Many Refugees were there?
History and Population change among the Herero and Mbanderu of
Botswana’, Botswana Notes and Records, vol. 23 (1991), pp. 209–214.
5. TNA, FO 64/1645, Hutchinson to Lyttelton, 18 November 1903. Also

War Office (WO) 106/265: Attorney General’s Office, T. Lynedoch
Graham, Cape Town, 18 November 1903 on Native Refugees from
German Territory enclosed in Hutchinson to Lyttelton, 5 December 1903.
6. TNA, FO 64/1645: Panzera to High Commissioner, Johannesburg, 8
June 1904.
7. TNA, FO 64/1645: J.B. Whitehead to Lansdowne, 18 November 1904.
8. Cited in TNA, FO 64/1645: Whitehead to Lansdowne, 30 June 1905.
9. TNA, FO 64/1645: Milner to Lyttelton, [undated] August 1904.
10. TNA, FO 367/27: Ralph Williams to Milner, 6 February 1906.
11. TNA, FO 64/1645, Panzera to Milner, 8 November 1904.
12. TNA, FO 64/1645, Milner to Panzera, 10 November 1904.
13. British Library, P.P.1019: The Aborigines’ Protection Society, ‘The
Aborigines’ Friend’ (December 1904), p. 229.
14. TNA, FO 64/1645: Panzera to Milner, 7 October 1904, enclosed in
Milner to Lyttelton, 17 October 1904.
15. TNA, FO 64/1645: Mervyn Williams to Panzera, 30 September 1904,
enclosed in Panzera to Milner, 3 November 1904.
16. TNA, FO 64/1645: Panzera to Milner, 3 November 1904, 6–7.
17. P. Landau, Popular Politics in the History of South Africa, 1400–1948,
(Cambridge, 2010), pp. 212–13.
18. TNA, FO 367/27: Williams to Selborne, 24 June 1906, enclosed in
Selborne to Elgin, 13 August 1906.
19. J.B. Gewald, ‘“I was Afraid of Samuel, Therefore I Came to Sekgoma”:
Herero Refugees and Patronage Politics in Ngamiland, Bechuanaland
Protectorate, 1890–1914’, The Journal of African History, vol. 43, 2
(2002), p. 219.
20. Pennington and Harpending, ‘How Many Refugees were there?’,
pp. 209–10.
21. Gewald, ‘“I was Afraid of Samuel, Therefore I Came to Sekgoma”’,
pp. 225–26.
22. Gewald, ‘“I was Afraid of Samuel, Therefore I Came to Sekgoma”’, p. 229.
23. F. R. Vivelo, ‘The Entry of the Herero into Botswana’, Botswana Notes
and Records, vol. 8 (1976), pp. 39–40. For cultural history of the Herero
refugees and the ancestors in Botswana, see also K. Alnaes, ‘Living with the
past: the songs of the Herero in Botswana’, in Africa, vol. 59, 3 (1989).
24. Cited in Gewald, ‘“I was Afraid of Samuel, Therefore I Came to
Sekgoma”’, p. 223.
25. Pennington and Harpending, ‘How Many Refugees were there?’, p. 217.
26. TNA, FO 367/27: Williams to Selborne, 24 June 1906, enclosed in
Selborne to Elgin, 13 August 1906.
27. TNA, FO 367/27: Selborne to Ralph Williams, 13 August 1906, enclosed

in Selborne to Elgin, 13 August 1906.
28. TNA, FO 367/27: Minute by Smartt, 6 December 1905.
29. TNA, FO 367/27, Fred Graham, Under Secretary of State for the Colonies
to Foreign Office, 20 April 1906.
30. B. Cairncross, ‘History of the Okiep Copper district, Namaqualand,
Northern Cape Province, South Africa’, Mineralogical Record, vol. 35, 4
(2004), pp. 302–306.
31. TNA, FO 367/27: Report, Military Intelligence Department, enclosed in
Hutchinson to Elgin, 30 July 1906.
32. TNA, FO 367/27: Report, Military Intelligence Department, enclosed in
Hutchinson to Elgin, 30 July 1906.
33. TNA, FO 367/27: Major Cameron to Colonel Crewe, 26 July 1906,
enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 30 July 1906.
34. TNA, FO 367/27: Crewe to Cameron, 27 July 1906, enclosed Hutchinson
to Elgin, 30 July 1906.
35. TNA, FO 367/27: Report by W.T. Magennis, Resident Magistrate,
Namaqualand, 4 August 1906, enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 20
August 1906.
36. TNA, FO 367/27: Report by W.T. Magennis, Resident Magistrate,
Namaqualand, 4 August 1906, enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 20
August 1906.
37. TNA, FO 367/27: Report by J. Cowan, Medical Officer, 4 August 1906,
enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 20 August 1906.
38. TNA, FO 367/27: Report by W.S.E Rorick, Dutch Reformed Minister, 8
August 1906, enclosed in Hutchinson to Elgin, 20 August 1906.
39. Dedering, ‘War and Mobility’, p. 287. Also, Curson, Border Conflicts in a
German African Colony, pp. 135–37.
41. Kreienbaum, ‘“Vernichtungslager” in Deutsch-Südwestafrika’, p. 1018.
Milner to Lyttelton, 17 October 1904, p. 2.
43. For forced labour and the African concentration camps during the South
African War, see G.C. Bunneyworth, ‘Land, Labour, War and Displacement:
A history of four Black Concentration Camps in the South African War
(1899–1902)’, Historia, vol. 64, 2 (2019).
44. T. Dedering, ‘Compounds, Camps, Colonialism’, Journal of Namibian
Studies, vol. 12 (2012), pp. 36–9.
45. See Warwick, Black People and the South African War, pp. 169–74. In
addition to describing the conditions of mining labourers, Warwick shows
these worsened after 1902, despite British lamentations about Afrikaner
‘native policy’ prior to the South African War.
46. Dedering, ‘Compounds’, pp. 40–1.

47. See D. Henrichsen, ‘“Damara” Labour Recruitment to the Cape Colony
and Marginalisation and Hegemony in Late 19th Century Central
Namibia’, Journal of Namibian Studies, vol. 3 (2008) and J. Silvester,
‘Assembling and Resembling: Herero History in Vaalgras, Southern
Namibia’, in M. Bollig and J.B. Gewald (eds.), People, Cattle and Land:
Transformations of a Pastoral Society in Southwestern Africa
(Cologne, 2009).
Milner to Lyttelton, 17 October 1904. See also Dedering, ‘Compounds’,
p. 29 and Gewald, Herero Heroes, pp. 179–81.
49. Morning Post, 27 June 1907.
50. Hansard 1 July 1907, cc352, ‘Herero Refugees’, Mr Ashley, House of
Commons, 1 July 1907.
51. Pall Mall Gazette, 5 July 1907.
52. F. Bernault, ‘The Politics of Enclosure in Colonial and Post-Colonial
Africa’, in F. Bernault (ed.), A History of Prison and Confinement in Africa,
(Portsmouth, Heinemann, 2003).
53. K. Herzog, ‘Violence and Work: Convict Labour and Settler Colonialism
in the Cape–Namibia Border Region (c.1855–1903)’, Journal of Southern
African Studies, vol. 47, 1 (2021), pp. 30–1.
54. J.B. Gewald, ‘The Road of a Man called Love and the Sack of Sero: The
Herero-German War and the Export of Herero Labour to the South
African Rand’, Journal of African Studies, vol. 40, 1 (1999), p. 25–6.
55. Gewald, ‘The Road of a Man called Love’, p. 29.
56. Wm. Beinart, ‘Cape Workers in German South-West Africa, 1904–1912.
Patterns of Migrancy and the Closing of Options on the Southern African
Labour Market’, The Societies of Southern Africa in the 19th and 20th
Centuries, seminar papers, vol. 11, 27 (1981), pp. 48–9. See also Wm.
Beinart, ‘“Jamani”: Cape Workers in German South-West Africa,
1904–1912’ in Wm. Beinart and Colin Bundy (eds.), Hidden Struggles in
Rural South Africa: Politics and Popular Movements in the Transkei and
Eastern Cape, 1890–1930 (Berkeley, 1987).
57. U. Lindner, ‘Transnational Movement between Colonial Empires: Migrant
Workers from the British Cape Colony in the German Diamond Town of
Lüderitzbucht’, European Review of History, vol. 16, 5 (2009), pp. 682–84.
58. Beinart, ‘Cape Workers in German South-West Africa’, pp. 51–5.
60. Lindner, ‘Transnational Movement between Colonial Empires’, p. 685.
61. See NASA, PM 1/1/194 and especially the GG 276/4 series.
62. Cited Zimmerer, Deutsche Herrschaft über Afrikaner, p. 239.
64. Gewald, ‘The Road of a Man called Love’, pp. 31–2.

65. G. Dobler, ‘Staying for Gold or Joining the Rebellion? South West African
Migrant Workers on the Rand During War and Genocide, 1904–1905’ in
V. Arlt, S. Bishop and P. Schmid (eds.), Explorations in African History:
Reading Patrick Harries (Basel, 2015), pp. 36–7.
66. Cited in Curson, Border Conflicts in a German African Colony, p. 137.
67. TNA, FO 64/1646: D.H von Jacobs, German Acting consul-general to
British South Africa, to Major-General, E. Smith-Brook, Officer
Administering Government, 24 December 1904, enclosure in Hutchinson
to Lyttelton, 25 February 1905.
68. TNA, FO 367/27: FO to CO, Draft, [undated] February 1906.
69. TNA, FO 367/27 Elgin to Hutchinson, 21 March 1906.
70. TNA, FO 367/27: Hutchinson to Elgin, 4 October 1906.
71. TNA, FO 881/9167, Lindequist to Foreign Office, 18 December 1906.
72. TNA, FO 367/27: Elgin to Hutchinson, 20 December 1906.
73. TNA, FO 881/9167, Hutchinson to Elgin, 23 December 1906.
74. TNA, FO 367/27: Hutchinson to Elgin, 24 December 1906.
77. U. van der Heyden, ‘The Hottentot election of 1907’ in Zimmerer and
Zeller (eds.), Genocide in German South-West Africa, p. 113.
79. TNA, FO 881/9167: Eric Barrington to Lindequist, 28 December 1906.
82. TNA, FO 881/9167: Hutchinson to Elgin, 4 February 1907.
83. TNA, FO 367/63: Law Officers to CO, 26 February 1907.
84. TNA, FO 881/9167: Hutchinson to Elgin, 7 January 1907.
85. TNA, FO 367/63: Minute by Ministers, 4 February 1907 and Elgin to
Grey, 8 March 1907.
86. E. van Heyningen, The Concentration Camps of the Anglo-Boer War: A
Social History, (Auckland Park, 2013), pp. 150–78.
87. TNA, FO 367/63: Colonial Office to Foreign Office, 19 October 1907.
CHAPTER 6
Knowledge and Reactions
In 1909, Liverpool businessman and member of the Congo Reform

Association (CRA), John Holt, wrote to his old friend, Edmund Dene
Morel, secretary of the CRA, asking if it was ‘true that the Germans butch-
ered the Herero’s—men, women and children? I have never heard of this
before?’1 When approaching the violence in GSWA from a British perspec-
tive, a crucial historical context is the Congo crisis, which unfolded at
exactly the same time (c. 1903–8). King Leopold’s ‘red rubber’ regime in
the Congo Free State remains, to this day, the principal historical example
of colonial violence. The severed limbs, burning villages and mass murder
of Africans if they did not meet the rubber quotas have become synony-
mous with the brutal consequences of exploitative imperialism.2 Although
the area was formally under the control of the Belgian king, the history of
violence in the Congo Free State has been extensively studied in connec-
tion to British imperial history. Indeed, it was in Britain where the CRA,
which is often referred to as the first modern human rights movement,
successfully mobilised public support for intervention against the red rub-
ber regime, pushing the British into an unwanted and difficult foreign
policy.3 International pressure and diplomatic missions led by Britain were
instrumental in the Belgian government’s annexation of the Congo in
1908, remaining a case-in-point in relation to the influence of public opin-
ion on colonial and foreign policy affairs.4 With this is mind, it is curious,

Switzerland AG 2022
as Adam Hochschild notes, that the genocide in GSWA, ‘was greeted with
silence, even though the Congo Reform campaign was then flying high’.5
A central reason for the British intervention and broader public support
for the cause was the publication of reliable evidence of the atrocities in
the Congo Free State. Although several accounts and reports about vio-
lence in the Congo emerged through the 1890s, it was not until British
consul Roger Casement was sent to the Congo to investigate in the sum-
mer of 1903 that the crisis truly unfolded.6 The ensuing Casement report,
unlike previous condemnatory reports of violence and mistreatment by
missionaries and traders, could not be disregarded because of the public
attention it attracted and because it was commissioned by the Foreign
Office. The Casement report was therefore evidence of violent rule in the
Congo Free State and its violation of the Berlin Treaty.7 The Congo crisis
thus reveals a transnational and international context of colonial violence
and shows how foreign governments reacted to mistreatment and atroci-
ties. It also suggests the potentially calamitous effect of information and
reports on violence in non-British colonies, as the Casement reports forced
the British government into a strategically undesirable position in re-
opening the Congo question.
With this in mind, it is reasonable to consider the British government’s
reactions and level of knowledge in the genocide in GSWA against the
backdrop of the simultaneous Congo crisis. Not only were the atrocities in
the Congo and GSWA committed at the same time, the Congo crisis
informed the way in which the British government responded to reports
of violence and atrocities in GSWA. From 1905, deployment of military
attachés to report on the activities of German forces provided a steady
flow of reliable information. The first attaché in particular, Colonel
Frederick John Arthur Trench, compiled comprehensive reports that
included damning passages on the treatment of the Herero and Nama,
which have been cited frequently by historians. Nonetheless, it remains
evident that, while the Congo crisis became a broad public and interna-
tional scandal, the genocide in GSWA remained obscure and ‘forgotten’
and was thus met with a wall of silence by the British government until
1918, with the publication of the Blue Book.8
This chapter explores the British government’s level of awareness of the
atrocities in GSWA and discusses how intelligence reports on the genocide
were managed according to British domestic, diplomatic and imperial
interests. The chapter is built around three sections—the first will elabo-
rate on the Congo crisis as a central metropolitan backdrop that revealed
6 KNOWLEDGE AND REACTIONS 123
the far-reaching implications of official inquiries into colonial atrocities in

non-British territories. The second part explores intelligence reports and
sources of information possessed by the British government relating to
violence in GSWA. However, the reception and handling of such reports
in a metropolitan context in London, where the Congo crisis was unfold-
ing, remains unexplored and forms the final part of this chapter. As will
become apparent, the cross-over between a lack of public attention to the
genocide in GSWA and British foreign interest in subduing any awareness
of this to safeguard Anglo-German relations proved decisive factors. Most
importantly, though, the Congo crisis taught the British government a
valuable lesson: reports on violence had to be carefully managed.
Indicatively, E.A.W. Clarke, Head of the African Department in the
Foreign Office, in a memorandum in 1906, noted that reports on atroci-
ties had to be managed carefully, especially if they concerned French or
German colonies, because these were ‘boys too big to interfere with’.9
Information about the atrocities also came from other sources. For
instance, the many refugees crossing into British territory often gave eye-
witness accounts of the atrocities. Furthermore, the significant level of
cooperation between British and German colonial officers also suggests a
deep level of knowledge. However, British and Cape involvement was
mainly restricted to the borderlands, far from where most atrocities played
out in full view. The main features of the genocide—the concentration
camps, for instance—were located a long way from the border and, while
they were reported on by refugees, settlers and traders, these were not
deemed reliable sources. Reports by military attachés were therefore cru-
cial pieces of evidence relating to the atrocities. Trench’s reports provided
a detached official assessment of the purely military aspects of the GSWA,
but also included long passages on concentration camps and German
atrocities, as discussed below.
As correctly noted by Matthias Häussler, the reports by Trench and his
later replacement, Major T.H. Wade, are important historical documents
relating to the genocide in GSWA because they provide an outside per-
spective.10 Of course, this outside perspective was not free of prejudices
and subjective influences as the reports were informed by pervading racist
views and read in the context of the Congo crisis and deteriorating diplo-
matic relations between Britain and Germany. The importance and poten-
tially far-reaching effect of official and reliable inquiries into colonial
violence, as is apparent with the Casement report, did not necessarily align
with British foreign policy interests and thus had to be managed. In this
sense, it is perhaps instructive to remember that Trench was sent to GSWA

less than two years after Casement investigated atrocities in the Congo.
Nonetheless, Yet, it is the difference between the impact of Trench and
Casement reports that is at the crux of this chapter as it was only the latter
that caused a scandal and forced British diplomatic action.
Violence in the Congo: The 1903 Casement Report

Violence in the Congo Free State is a well-known chapter in colonial his-
tory. It is therefore unnecessary to provide more than a brief account of
the brutality and violence that took place.11 As a result of the 1885 Berlin
Treaty, the Congo effectively became King Leopold’s personal property,
where he introduced a system of violence and exploitation: all ‘vacant’
lands were taken as property of the state and Africans were forced to meet
strict and unreachable rubber quotas. The violence in the Congo Free
State emanated first from a structural weakness of the colonial administra-
tion, where the only way to maintain authority in such an immensely large
and heavily populated territory was through draconian measures. In addi-
tion, concession companies and the administration were all desperate to
meet their financial dividends and, the more rubber they could procure,
the more they could alleviate their dire financial situation. In this sense,
the violence had a specific purpose and was used as a ‘deterrent and as a
means of enforcement and repression’ intended to conceal the weakness of
the state.12 The result was a culture of violence, where the Congo state and
concession companies’ agents lopped off limbs and ruled through terror.
Sentries living in the villages where rubber was gathered lived in luxury
and ‘flogged, imprisoned, or shot villagers who fell behind’. This was
intended to maintain quotas and to prevent any rebellions. For this rea-
son, large forces were kept in reserve.13
In Britain, knowledge about the atrocities was already widespread in
the 1890s in both government and public circles. Traders, especially mis-
sionaries such as those of the Balolo mission, frequently reported on the
brutality of the Congo Free State administration in British newspapers.14
Humanitarian groups such as the Aborigines’ Protection Society also pub-
licly condemned the brutality and maintained steady criticism of Leopold’s
regime.15 Pressure occasionally increased with specific incidents such as
the Stokes affair in 1895, which saw Charles Stokes, an Irish trader and
missionary, hanged without trial for allegedly selling arms to local
Africans.16 This intensified public and government awareness of the terror
regime in the Congo, but the government and the Foreign Office remained
silent for two reasons: first, while many reports on the atrocities had
emerged, there was no official or reliable information to act upon. If
Leopold and the Congo administration were to be held responsible, indis-
putable proof of their actions was needed, strong enough to justify such
measures; otherwise, severe diplomatic consequences could result for
Britain. Second, a re-opening of the Congo question was not in British
diplomatic interests at the time. Britain had no claims to the Congo and,
with the morally indefensible nature of the Portuguese claims because of
the general perception in Britain of Portugal as an old-fashioned and cruel
coloniser, there was a risk that the Congo could become either French or
German. Despite British reluctance to take any form of diplomatic action,
orders were given to collate information on the atrocities in the Congo for
potential future use. As Foreign Secretary Lord Lansdowne noted, ‘nei-
ther this country nor any other is likely to take active steps in the matter
unless more or less forced by public opinion.’17
Before the Congo scandal, public opinion on imperial issues, ranging
from the death of General Gordon in Khartoum in 1884 to the Fashoda
crisis in 1898, constituted a politicisation of imperialism and ‘imperial cul-
tures’, in tune with intensifying nationalism in a metropolitan perspec-
tive.18 Public opinion was, in such cases, a central mover for British
politicians and statesmen in how they formulated policies and foreign
policy strategies.19 The general election in 1900, for instance, was named
the Khaki Election because the South African War was the main issue
debated.20 The same fusion of domestic politics, empire and foreign affairs
developed in the spring of 1903, when British public attention on the
Congo atrocities rapidly grew. Central figures such as Charles Dilke and
E.D. Morel, who later published the bestselling Red Rubber (1906) on
the Leopold regime, vocally condemned the violence in the headquarters
of British humanitarianism and anti-slavery, Exeter Hall, in newspapers
and in the House of Commons, steadily making the Congo brutalities a
central political and public issue.21
Despite mounting public pressure, the Foreign Office was reluctant to
act, partly because of continued fears about the inability to prove any of the
widely reported atrocities. Fundamentally, before 1903, there was a gen-
eral reluctance in the British government to take any active steps over the
Congo atrocities because members of the government were convinced
that they could do little more than protest the brutalities and did not
believe that they had any right to question the legitimacy of the Congo
Free State. In this sense, access to reliable intelligence was an imperative

factor before any actions or protests could be launched, regardless of pub-
lic opinion. In June 1903, Roger Casement, the British Consul in Boma,
was therefore given instructions to travel into the interior of the Congo
Free State to investigate the alleged atrocities in a bid to appease the
increasing public pressure and to provide reliable information.22
Casement’s investigations lasted just over two and a half months. He
spent most of June in and around Stanley Pool before departing for the
Upper Congo on 2 July. However, it was not until the second half of his
journey, between August and his return to Brazzaville on 15 September,
while he was travelling in the area under the control of the Anglo-Belgian-
India Rubber (A.B.I.R) Concession Company, that he discovered the cul-
ture of violence that dominated the Congo. In a telegram to Lansdowne
on 5 September, Casement wrote that the economic situation of the
Congo had led to brutal methods of forcing Africans to work. ‘The pun-
ishments inflicted for non-compliance’, he wrote, ‘are quite illegal and are
often shocking violations of every humane and decent instinct of civilized
society.’ Compared to his last visit to the Upper Congo in 1887, he noted,
the area had been de-populated. People had fled to French territory and
‘many had been killed by the Government in the process of imposing this
law of forced labour’. He noted that the casualties of this regime ‘must
have been absolutely appalling’. Crucially, if the regime was to continue,
Casement warned that ‘the entire population will be extinct within thirty
years.’23 Despite concession companies like the A.B.I.R not having formal
administrative powers, Casement revealed that they acted as they pleased
in their respective territories. When Casement travelled in the A.B.I.R ter-
ritories, he noted to Lansdowne, ‘I must confess with pain and astonish-
ment that instead of a trading or commercial establishment, I felt I was
visiting a penal settlement.’24
One particular affair is indicative of the overt brutality that Casement
encountered in the Congo. In his final letter to Lansdowne before depart-
ing the Upper Congo, he wrote that, while he was staying at the Bonguide
Mission on 6 September, local villagers brought him a young boy with his
right hand lopped off. ‘The company’, he wrote, ‘had no concession but
employs in a hearty free-trade way, numbers of armed ruffians with guns
to compel the native population to bring rubber.’ In Casement’s own
words, he had ‘ceased to be a consul and had become a Criminal
Investigation Department’. Casement had exposed the brutalities and,
furthermore, shown that this did not merely involve the criminal acts of
trading companies. Indeed, when asking the villagers why they had not
appealed to their local commissar, he asserted that, ‘I heard from them,
“why, it is the Commissaire who does these things. It is he who lets loose
the sentries on us for rubber; and burns down our town if we fail”’.25 This
particular case appears to have moved Casement, as it was an uncensored
and true insight into the reality of what happened in the Congo Free
State. Until then, he had been accompanied by Free State or concession
company officials who attempted to keep the violence concealed.
Casement’s meeting with the villagers, though, provoked him: ‘I felt I
must take some action. I took one of the mutilated boys—one out of
three—and went down to the chief Government post of the Equator dis-
trict, where I requested the immediate arrest of the murderer and mutila-
tor. My action has produced absolute consternation.’ Casement was
anxious for his safety in the Congo, as he feared that the authorities would
attempt to prevent him exposing the brutality. ‘The truth is’, he noted, ‘I
have broken into the thieves’ kitchen, and they will not willingly let the
information go out of the place intact.’26
As a result of Casement’s anxiety about potential retaliation by the
Congo state authorities, the Foreign Office decided to recall him to
London to compose his report. After his return in December 1903,
Casement spent only two weeks writing it up. Meanwhile, however,
Leopold II had already sent agents to influence the Foreign Office and
have the report censored or rejected. Nonetheless, as Wm. Roger Louis
notes, even if the Foreign Office wanted to, they would never have been
allowed to muzzle Casement because of the intensive public attention on
the topic. Nevertheless, two issues were considered by the Foreign Office
pertaining to the publication of the report and how such atrocity narra-
tives should be managed. First, it was contended by the Undersecretary of
State for Foreign Affairs, Earl Percy, that the report should not be pub-
lished but made available to an international commission, which should
investigate it further. After all, the Congo Free State existed as a result of
an international agreement. Not only would such an action signal disbelief
in Casement’s findings, it would also see the atrocities drown in bureau-
cracy. Lansdowne therefore already deemed the potential backlash of such
a move politically impossible already in January 1904. Second, there was
the issue of how to publish the report. It had to be made available to
assuage mounting public and political pressure, but there were concerns
that the report, which included names of locations and witnesses, could
lead to retaliation by the Congo authorities, especially as Casement’s
investigation was conducted in a very limited geographical area.27 Reports

like this on violence in non-British territories indicate the difficulties for
the Foreign Office in handling such information. They had to balance
public attention, international agreements and their own humanitarian
convictions as part of a primary framework. In addition, the diplomatic
and political ramifications in making such a report public had to be con-
sidered. This was true for the Casement reports in the same way as for the
reports received from GSWA.
When the report was finally published in mid-February 1904 with
names and locations censored, Casement was left infuriated. He protested
against any editing of his report and wanted the full content to be made
public, but this was rejected, which saw him turn to Morel, whom he met
upon his return to London. The meeting between Casement and Morel
was, according to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was also a prominent
member of the CRA, ‘the most dramatic scene in modern history’.28
Casement’s disappointment in the Foreign Office fuelled his intention to
establish an independent organisation to demand reform in the Congo,
but his continued employment at the Foreign Office prevented this. In
1904, Morel therefore became secretary of the newly established CRA, in
which Casement remained a key figure, albeit in the background.29
Many consider the CRA the first modern international human rights
movement.30 However, the very notion of human rights was, in the first
decade of the twentieth century, completely different from contemporary
definitions, which, according to Samuel Moyn, did not truly emerge
before the 1970s.31 Indeed, human rights at the turn of the twentieth
century were closely associated with membership of a nation state. Anti-
colonial movements such as the CRA were therefore more concerned with
‘native rights’ rather than ‘human rights’.32 Furthermore, while members
of the CRA were certainly anti-colonialists, they did not seek to end colo-
nial rule in the Congo or elsewhere, but rather to correct it and see it
governed in accordance with humanitarian principles. While central fig-
ures such as Morel did demand retribution for the ill-treatment of Africans,
racial perceptions of the victims remained prevalent. For instance, Morel
believed in racial essentialism, whereby Africans were fundamentally dif-
ferent from Europeans and therefore had to be protected and preserved in
their natural state.33 The Congo reform campaign in Britain was thus
linked to prevailing notions of empire and race, which had shaped British
imperial cultures and identity. Specifically, the CRA represented a move-
ment directly built on the legacies of humanitarian groups such as the
Anti-Slavery Society and was therefore particularly efficient in mobilising

public support towards a singular issue: the Congo atrocities, which, to
Morel and many others, remained reminiscent of the slave trade.34
The connection between anti-slavery, humanitarianism and empire in
Britain was fertile ground for colonial scandals to develop, which in turn
compelled the British imperial government to take diplomatic actions
against clear violations against the civilising ideals of empire. This was
certainly not the result of public pressure alone—in British imperial gov-
ernment, officials generally shared the views of the CRA, eventually adopt-
ing its agenda as its own.35 The Casement report was, in this sense, a
crucial document of significant historical value. Although the violence it
described was not unique in the history of colonialism in Africa, it was a
contemporary, official and thus reliable report on atrocities that were in
clear violation of the 1885 Berlin Treaty. It did not represent sporadic and
supposedly untrustworthy statements by missionaries or African eye-
witnesses—rather, it was a commissioned investigation on behalf of the
British imperial government.36 Indeed, the report confirmed such state-
ments retrospectively, and reinforced the authenticity of any new incom-
ing reports and photographs from the Congo, which were aligned with
the results of an official investigation.37
Mounting international pressure saw Leopold set up an inquiry com-
mission in August 1904. The British Foreign Office complained about the
composition and scope of the inquiry, which was intended to follow in
Casement’s footsteps and visit the same places, correctly believing that it
sought to acquit Leopold and the Congo state.38 Leopold wanted the
commission to be part of his counter-propaganda campaign against the
CRA, but the commission’s report, while praising the civilising efforts of
King Leopold and the Congo state, also cautiously confirmed the abuses.
This paved the way for the Belgian government, in the face of intensified
British and international pressure, to annex the Congo Free State in 1908.39
In conclusion, the Congo crisis had far-reaching domestic and interna-
tional implications for the British government. Although it was ostensibly
against their diplomatic and imperial interests in re-opening the Congo
question, public and international pressure compelled them to pursue a
foreign policy detrimental to their diplomatic and imperial interests. At
the crux of this was the Casement report, a governmental inquiry into the
violent actions of a fellow colonial power, which was perceived as almost
indisputable evidence on which the government was forced to act. This
was, in all aspects, an uncomfortable situation for the British government,
which had to balance imperial, domestic and diplomatic interests through-

out the crisis. In this context, the Congo crisis becomes an important
backdrop to ascertaining Britain’s views and awareness of violence in
GSWA. The Congo crisis showed the British government the far-reaching
implications of official reports and intelligence on colonial affairs, espe-
cially atrocities. If these were made publicly available or picked up by
humanitarian lobby groups, it could escalate into a scandal, which would
land the government and the Foreign Office in particular in a difficult situ-
ation. As we shall see, however, the metropolitan context of the Congo
crisis was not merely a contemporary affair that also concerned colonial
violence. It was a determinant in how Britain would henceforth balance its
involvement and management of information on the violence in GSWA.
‘Dante might have written a notice for the gate’:

Intelligence Reports in GSWA
In 1903, the Colonial and War Offices had already begun collecting infor-
mation and extending their information networks in GSWA during the
Bondelswarts rising. In Berlin too, the British Embassy’s military attaché
supplied the Foreign Office—which would in turn share it with the
Colonial and War Offices—with frequent reports on the conflict in GSWA
based on parliamentary debates, speeches and newspaper articles. The
Cape authorities also had informants in GSWA and relied on, among oth-
ers, African agents to report on the sentiment among African groups in
the borderlands, as they were keen to ensure that rebellion would not
spread.40 Information about the conflict was therefore widespread within
key departments and offices of the British and Cape governments, but
remained limited, superficial and uncorroborated. In the end, the most
significant official British sources of information on the conflict in GSWA
came from four key actors: the resident magistrate in Walvis Bay, the two
military attachés, Trench and Wade, and, finally, Captain H.S.P. Simon
from the Cape Mounted Police (CMP), who expressed particularly con-
demnatory views in his 1909 intelligence report.
Before 1905, the resident magistrate in Walvis Bay, John James Cleverly,
provided the most accurate and comprehensive information on the atroci-
ties and Germany’s suppression of the rebellion. Cleverly had just assumed
the position of magistrate for the second time in August 1903—his first
term lasted an impressive twelve years, from 1889 to 1901. Before
becoming magistrate in Walvis Bay, Cleverly worked as a customs officer

in Port Elizabeth and between 1901 and 1903 he returned to the Cape as
shipping registrar in East London before returning to Walvis Bay. His last
term as magistrate was short lived, however, as he was replaced in August
1905, shortly before his death the following year.41 When the rebellion
broke out in 1904, it took Cleverly just eight days to predict the course of
the conflict and its eventual outcome—the rebellion, he remarked, was ‘a
last and desperate struggle against German supremacy’. Even worse, ‘the
(Herero) leaders are fully aware that the end is inevitable and that retribu-
tion will be of the most drastic nature. From the opinion expressed by the
Germans themselves, little short of the extermination of the tribes will
result.’42 Cleverly was also at the crux of a network in which African elites
would inform him of their views and about German abuses. Indeed,
Cleverly maintained a constant and frequent flow of correspondence with
several Herero and Nama leaders, most notably Hendrik Witbooi. As the
only accessible representative of another European power—which had for-
mally accepted German colonial rule in GSWA—African elites saw Cleverly
as a natural outlet for their grievances. For instance, just before the
Hornkranz massacre in April 1893, Witbooi complained to Cleverly about
German maladministration and voiced his disbelief that GSWA was not
ruled by Britain.43 Despite pleas for support, Cleverly reiterated that
Britain had ‘promised Germany not to interfere in certain parts of SWA’
and, on the reported mistreatment, the British government ‘has no knowl-
edge of and is in no way responsible for anything that may have been done
in those countries over which German protection is exercised’.44
Such a policy of non-intervention remained at the crux of British policy
towards GSWA through the Herero and Nama rebellions in 1904, but, as
discussed previously, this time the mobility of Africans and measures taken
by Germany caused concern, forcing Britain to make unwanted decisions.
Only a week after the massacre at Hornkranz, Witbooi sent a letter to
Cleverly detailing how the Schutztruppe had ‘sacked the settlement, killing
indiscriminately small children, women and men’. He asked Cleverly to let
both London and Berlin know of these atrocities and requested weapons
and ammunition to fight against the Germans.45 Cleverly could not sup-
port Witbooi with weapons, but he relayed information of the massacre to
London and noted that ‘I cannot understand how there could have been
a killing of women and children. European nations do not make war in
that way.’46
Cleverly’s information on German colonial policies and practices was

extensive but was not regarded as completely reliable as it often derived
from non-official informants and Africans. More importantly, however,
Cleverly himself was not considered very highly either in the Cape or
British governments. Deemed ‘foolish and loquacious’ with a tendency for
‘repeating and magnifying gossip’ by the head of the Eastern and South
African department and later assistant undersecretary of state in the
Colonial Office, Edward Fairfield, Cleverly was considered gullible, too
trusting of Africans and was ‘prejudiced against the German colonial gov-
ernment’.47 With the large German force in GSWA to suppress the rebel-
lion and the anxieties this caused in Britain and the Cape, Cleverly and
other informants’ reports were considered insufficient and too unreliable
to effectively gauge the potential German, Boer or African threat to British
South Africa that could emanate from the conflict. In April 1905, Trench
was therefore sent to the German military command in GSWA to act as
military attaché, supplying the British War, Foreign and Colonial Offices
with a steady source of reliable information.
Rising tension between the major European powers in the two decades
before 1914 paved the way for the invention of the military attaché as a
new key diplomatic position. Throughout the 1890s, it became increas-
ingly obvious that it was necessary to have a military expert affiliated with
the major embassies abroad in order to provide better information on
foreign military developments. The military attaché was therefore a hybrid
role—as Wesley Wark notes, ‘part soldier and part diplomat, even part spy
and often unwelcomed by their hosts’.48 The position was not an entirely
new invention, as British military attachés had previously been deployed
during conflicts such as the Franco-Prussian War (1870–1871), in which
Britain was not involved but had a significant interest in maintaining dip-
lomatic relations to secure the balance of power in Europe.49 The war in
GSWA proved to be an important moment in British intelligence in rela-
tion to German military capacities. For instance, Wade hired Alexander
Scotland, intelligence officer and commander of the ‘London Cage’ pris-
oner of war facility during World War II, as a spy while he was attached to
the German Schutztruppe. Furthermore, intelligence and construction of
spy networks in GSWA were the first real test of British military intelli-
gence on German military forces in action before World War I. From the
perspective of intelligence history, this seemingly insignificant colonial
‘small war’, was therefore a pivotal historical episode.50
Colonel Frederick John Arthur Trench was, in many ways, a significant

figure in Anglo-German relations before World War I. After his assign-
ment in GSWA, he was appointed as military attaché to the British embassy
in Berlin to replace Colonel Gleichen, with whom the Kaiser had fallen
out. Trench was an obvious choice because of his work in GSWA and his
versatile background: before joining the Royal Military Academy, Trench
was educated at the University of Geneva. He spoke French and German
and was an approved army interpreter in both languages. In addition to
possessing these linguistic skills, he also had an impressive military career,
which included service in the Anglo-Zulu War (1879) and the South
African War. He also received a Distinguished Service Order in 1902 and
published a book in 1871, entitled Manoeuvre Orders, which was pub-
lished in no less than eleven editions. Perhaps most importantly, Trench
impressed the Kaiser when they met in Gibraltar in 1903, paving the way
for his future career in diplomacy.51 Indeed, it was important for the
Foreign Office that the German government consented to having a mili-
tary attaché with the forces in GSWA and Trench’s popularity with the
German Kaiser therefore proved useful.52 Nevertheless, despite a formal
invitation from Trotha, Trench was received with some scepticism upon
his arrival in GSWA. After all, they saw little reason why a foreign colonial
power that had been so reluctant to support their campaign should moni-
tor their actions.
Trench’s instructions were expressly intended to determine whether
Germany was preparing an invasion of the Cape or arming former Boer
bittereinders.53 The widespread anxieties in both the Cape government
and the British Foreign Office in relation to the maintenance of a large
force and the expansion of the railway system continued to be pressing at
a time when Anglo-German antagonism was on the rise. Trench, a con-
vinced Germanophobe, did not assuage such concerns, but reported on
the plausibility of German intentions and the ill will of the German officers
towards Britain.54 Crucially, though, Trench’s assignment was purely
intended to ascertain the possibility of a security threat from GSWA and
not to report on the treatment of Africans by the German colonial admin-
istration. Since the re-organisation of the Intelligence Division in 1904,
the intelligence services had been firmly placed at the centre of British
military operations and policies. Intelligence was therefore a key compo-
nent of British imperial defence, characterised by an intensifying pattern of
‘collection, compilation and dissemination’.55
In turn, this led to an increased formalisation of intelligence reports, as

part of which a standard format, language and purpose developed to pro-
vide ‘an unambiguous, conclusive fact-sheet’.56 Already in 1904, intelli-
gence reports were so professionalised and formalised that in one occasion
an equation was formulated to measure the number of camels needed to
supply a certain number of (enemy) troops in a given territory in South
East and Central Asia.57 In other words, a standard had been established
in terms of format and, most importantly, content, for military intelligence
reports that did not include elaboration on how indigenous peoples were
treated. For instance, in the War Office had two military reports prepared
for German East Africa and GSWA in 1905 and 1906 respectively, intended
for the sole purpose to provide full and detailed information on the capa-
bility to wage war in each. In these reports, any reference to German
brutality was omitted or extremely brief. The battle of Waterberg, for
instance, was concisely mentioned with a short comment that ‘the mea-
sures for the repression adopted by this officer (von Trotha) were harsh’.58
Given the expected content and format of intelligence reports, Trench’s
reports are in many ways ambiguous. Although they are primarily formal
in tone and incorporate issues purely intended for military use, they also
include long and damning passages on the brutal treatment of Africans.
There was a clear military element in these considerations, as both Trench
and Wade saw the violence as beneficial to Britain because it ensured the
loyalty of Africans in the case of war with Germany and also prolonged the
conflict, which made any possible incursions from GSWA into British ter-
ritory unlikely.59 Yet Trench’s passages on the concentration camps had no
apparent military purpose. Trench was conscientious and diligent, and it is
striking that such information was even included in reports that otherwise
contain detailed descriptions of unexciting topics such as digging of wells,
setting up of fences and the occasional arrival of ships. However, that is the
key perspective: the inclusion of such passages on the treatment of Africans
by a military attaché as meticulous as Trench in his reports is indicative of
the severity of the violence, which made an impression upon him. More
importantly, Trench, considered a reliable and efficient attaché, provided
the British Foreign Office with detailed and trustworthy information on
the genocidal horrors in GSWA.
Trench’s reports were circulated widely in the British imperial govern-
ment and it went to the War Office, the permanent undersecretary at the
Foreign Office, the Colonial Office and the Commander-in-General in the
Cape Colony. The information about the genocide was therefore not set
aside in one single governmental office, but was shared throughout the
various branches of the imperial government in Britain and Southern
Africa. Trench found the German officers unwilling to cooperate, noting
that it was ‘exceedingly difficult’ to obtain written information as docu-
ments and telegrams were immediately stamped as confidential and sent
straight to the administrative office in Windhoek.60 However, the German
military command could not prevent Trench from noting how the conflict
progressed and, while Trench may not have been in possession of German
documents giving detail on military affairs, he therefore compensated by
reporting everything he saw and his daily experiences. Indeed, his reports
were often accompanied by small sketches, hand-written maps and self-
made statistics. While Trench’s basis of information in terms of assessing
the military intentions of the Germans is questionable, the same cannot be
said of his assessment of the mistreatment of Africans. The German mili-
tary command was aware of his reasons for being there and appeared
unconcerned that he was observing and reporting on the concentration
camps and on orders such as the Vernichtungsbefehl, which were aimed at
Africans and thus posed no immediate threat or interest to Britain.
The first reports were composed during the spring of 1905 and they
mainly concerned basic information about GSWA such as details on the
administrative structure, infrastructure and in-depth information about
German military operations.61 Not until July 1905 did Trench acquire an
interest in the treatment of Africans, when he reported on the concentra-
tion camp on Shark Island near Lüderitz: ‘on Haifisch Island is a camp of
some 200 Herero prisoners’ who were ‘employed on the works’. Trench
seemingly had little information on the exact purposes of the camps or
their conditions, but he noted that ‘they are said to suffer much from the
cold and a good many have died from pneumonia etc. Their shelters were
very poor and nothing is provided, I understand, save blankets and food.’62
Trench did not mention whether he visited the camp himself or if he
obtained information about the conditions elsewhere, but the phrase ‘they
are said’ indicates that, during his stay in Lüderitz, German settlers and
perhaps officers shared information with him about the camp. In October
1905, however, Trench paraphrased the German Staff Officer at Shark
Island, writing that ‘[he] tells me that of the 7000 Herero, Hottentots
etc., 500 die every month on average. “The sea air and the food they get
do not agree with them!”’.63 Trench’s first two mentions of the concentra-
tion camps were therefore alarming in themselves, indicating the use of
forced labour, neglect and mistreatment, but so far only from second-
hand sources.
Trench did not gain access to the camps himself until November 1905,
when he provided a detailed account, in his own words, on the conditions
and mistreatment there. Indeed, from this moment, a drastic shift took
place in how Trench reported on the genocide. While his first two men-
tions of the camps were alarming because of information about German
practices and the suffering of the Africans, the subsequent reports were
outright condemnatory of the practices. Reporting again on the Shark
Island camp, Trench provided a horrifying and vivid account:
They look very feeble, and the camp out among a lot of rocks is very
wretched and filthy. There seems to be absolutely no attempt at sanitation
and, though it is cold enough for officers to wear their cloaks on their way
to a mess evening, the prisoners seem to have no clothing save a blanket or
so, and no shelter save what they can rig up for themselves with sacks etc.
The island is much exposed to the cold S.S.W wind—which always seems to
blow here—and dysentery and pneumonia seem prevalent as before. Dante
might have written a notice for the gate.64
In the same report, Trench also included information obtained about the
deportation of many Nama to Togo, where ‘I understand that 90% of the
Witbooi soldiers who fought for the Germans against the Herero are
already dead.’65
Trench’s vivid condemnation of the Shark Island camp is in stark con-
trast to his description of the general mistreatment of Africans at the hands
of the Germans elsewhere in GSWA. One month later, in late December
1905, Trench accompanied the military command further north to
Swakopmund.66 Here, he noticed differences in how the German admin-
istration treated the prisoners to those on Shark Island. ‘Both men and
women are strong and healthy’, he reported, ‘and very different from the
wretched people at Lüderitzbucht.’ They were given work and ‘are said to
get a lot of food’. Although they did not receive a salary, ‘the Governor
contemplates giving the best workers a couple of shillings a month in
future.’67 Compared to the detailed condemnation in his description of
Shark Island, his criticisms of the concentration camps at Swakopmund
and later Windhoek were far more subtle. For instance, he noted that,
although the prisoners were in good condition, they were kept as forced
labourers in a state reminiscent to slavery. As for the Herero women,
Trench noted that ‘the handsome are very well dressed while the plain
ones go in sack-cloths and rags. Verbum Sap.’68 The reference to the hand-
some Herero women suggests that they were used as sexual slaves by the
Germans and were victims of consistent beating and rapes, which is cor-
roborated in Casper Erichsen’s examination of the conditions of the con-
centration camps.69
A trajectory thus emerges in how Trench’s reports describe the treat-
ment of the Africans. Initially, this received little attention, partly because
Trench’s task was to monitor and report purely on military matters, and
partly because his access to information was probably restricted to second-
hand sources. Upon his visit to Lüderitz and the Shark Island camp, how-
ever, clear and unmistakable denunciation of German practices was
apparent. References to Dante’s inferno surely reveal what Trench thought
of German mistreatment and the terrible fate of the Herero and Nama at
the Shark Island camp. Nonetheless, reporting on the Swakopmund and
Windhoek camps a month later, his criticism was stifled and more subtle.
Veiled criticism of how handsome Herero women were used by the
Germans could indicate that his reports were monitored by the Germans
or that Trench was conscious about not provoking German officers.
Although no evidence of any censure is available, this is feasible given his
final report before being replaced by Wade, when Trench found himself
able to write more freely. On the issue of a German threat from GSWA, he
wrote that ‘I cannot escape the impression that the suppression of the
native revolt is going hand in hand with preparations for the subsequent
use of protectorate troops across the Orange River.’ Furthermore, he pro-
vided a full condemnation of German colonial practices as ‘characterised
by so little generosity that it seems doubtful whether they will reconcile
with the Hereros and the Hottentots’.70
Unlike Trench, Wade commented less on the mistreatment of Africans.
Indeed, Wade appears to have been impressed by the complaints of
German officers who considered British neutrality to be too friendly to the
Africans. Trench continuously refuted such suspicions, but they continued
nonetheless. For Wade, it would be ‘profitable for us to reconsider our
attitude towards the German authorities. At present their feeling is that we
are giving them grudgingly and unwillingly, facilities to which they con-
sider, as white men fighting natives they have a right.’ The issue of ‘racial
solidarity’ was, according to Wade, often raised by German officers. With
the war coming to an end, it was perhaps time to comply. Wade even
found that the war had been ‘an unmixed benefit’ to GSWA: ‘Two warlike
races have been exterminated, wells have been sunk, new waterholes dis-
covered, the country mapped and covered with telegraph lines, and an
enormous amount of capital has been laid out.’ Consequently, he sur-
mised, GSWA would soon be able to compete with the Cape in purely
economic terms.71
Wade’s more positive view of German colonialism meant that his
reports contained very little information on the conditions and treatment
of the Herero and Nama, although the concentration camp policy contin-
ued for almost two years after his appointment. Indicatively, when prison-
ers of the Windhoek camp were relocated, Wade simply noted that ‘all the
Hottentot prisoners at Windhuk have been removed to Haifisch Island at
Lüderitzbuch’.72 However, Wade had, like Trench before him, a general
suspicion of German military intentions in GSWA and elsewhere. Despite
Wade omitting information on the treatment of Africans from his reports,
British officials consistently received witness statements from traders, set-
tlers and Africans. Combined with the Trench reports, such statements
were considered far more reliable. Moreover, officers in the CMP contin-
ued to report on individual cases of German brutalities. For instance, in
September 1906, Sergeant Brabant-Smith reported on the killing of a
Nama boy by German troops, complaining that ‘I consider the treatment
of the Hottentots by the Germans most inhuman’.73 Unlike before, such
reports came to have traction within the British imperial government.
Pre-1914 British condemning intelligence on German violence in
GSWA reached its zenith in 1909, when Captain H.S.P. Simon completed
a detailed and condemnatory report. On its first page, it laid out the geno-
cidal policy of the Germans:
The great aim of German policy in German South West Africa, as regards
the native, is to reduce him to a state of serfdom, and, where he resists,
destroy him altogether. The native to the German is a baboon and nothing
more. The war against the Hereros conducted by General Trotha, was one
of extermination; hundreds – men, women and children – were driven into
desert country, where death from thirst was their end; those left over are
now in great locations near Windhuk, where they eke out a miserable exis-
tence, labour is forced upon them and is unwillingly performed. With the
Hottentots – their treatment is still more barbarous, as the Germans are fully
determined to root out that race, lock stock and barrel.74
For Simon, German treatment of Africans was unmistakably cruel.

Furthermore, his information echoed what Trench had reported earlier
but was more precise in its details. For instance, Simon noted that the
Shark Island camp was ‘divided by high barbed wire, and as many
Hottentot prisoners as could be got were shut in here. These literally died
of starvation and exposure and a daily wagon was sent across and returned
laden with corpses’.75 For Simon, it was also problematic that Britain had
on several occasions collaborated with and assisted Germany in their inhu-
mane conduct. Incidents such as ‘the shooting of Morenga, permission
given to German troops to operate in British territory (vide Captain von
Erckert’s expedition into the British Kalahari after Simon Kooper in
1908)’ gave the impression of British complicity. Not only did this have
potential to anger Africans in British territory, but, for Simon, the mere
association with such practices morally undermined British colonial policy.
German ‘native policy’, he wrote, ‘is vile in the extreme and is absolutely
at the other end of the pole to what our policy and ideas are and to what
British tradition has taught us.’76
The simple fact that Simon, just like Trench, found it fitting to write in
such an emotional and condemnatory tone in military intelligence reports
is in itself remarkable. Furthermore, the contents of the reports by Trench
and Simon are generally confirmed when considered alongside the histo-
riography of the genocide, showing that the British imperial government
was in possession of detailed and reliable accounts of the terror regime in
GSWA from 1905 at the latest. Although Simon’s report was written after
the rebellion, Trench’s reports provided timely and reliable accounts of
excessive violence and mistreatment against a civilian population. British
and Cape authorities were in possession of accounts of German brutality
from the beginning, meaning that the reports by Trench and Simon did
not necessarily contain new information, but confirmed accounts received
from traders, refugees and agents.77 The perceived reliability of the reports
by Trench and later Simon cannot be understated: an experienced officer
on the spot providing detailed and accurate information could not be dis-
carded as untrustworthy. As James Hevia noted, intelligence reports could
be used ‘as authoritative evidence because they were imagined as ideologi-
cally neutral, a collection of empirically observable facts.’78 While such
reports could be shaped by personal prejudices and interests they were, at
the time, considered highly reliable sources of information.
It can therefore be concluded that not only did the British imperial
government know about the genocide when it occurred, they knew about
it in detail. The reports by Trench, Wade and Simon all reveal a deep level
of knowledge and information about what unfolded in GSWA. Their
reports were not intended as comments on German treatment of Africans,
but were rather written to ascertain the nature of potential threats in the
conflict to British imperial interests. However, the brutality of German
mistreatment captivated Trench and Simon and saw them report the
atrocities committed. While the Blue Book in 1918 suggested that Britain
had been unaware of the genocide until the South African invasion in
1915, these reports show that Britain was not just aware and at times even
complicit, but was also in possession of reports with the capacity to dis-
credit German colonial rule in GSWA.
‘Boys Too Big to Interfere With’: Causes

of Non-Intervention
The reports by Trench and Simon in particular were kept internal to the
British imperial government and were not published or made available to
the general public despite their wide circulation within the government.
Given that Germany was rapidly becoming Britain’s main rival, it is curi-
ous that reliable reports like these were not used to avenge German
denunciations of Britain’s colonial conduct during the South African War
in particular. Indeed, the similarities between GSWA and the Congo were
apparent to the British government and perhaps best illustrated by Edward
Grey’s comment in red pen on the front page of Simon’s report that the
violence in GSWA was ‘as bad as the Congo’.79 If that was the case, why
did the government and humanitarian groups not intervene as they had
done with Leopold’s regime? The answer lies in a combination of a lack of
public attention and diplomatic interest in averting a similar situation to
that of the Congo.
While frequent comments were made on the conflict in Germany, par-
ticularly in connection to the 1907 ‘Hottentot election’, on the interna-
tional stage, few comments or condemnations emerged before 1918.80
For the British public, the genocide in GSWA never became a colonial
scandal that dominated the political and public agenda, as had been the
case with the Congo. According to Frank Bösch, colonial scandals are
defined by three key features: ‘First, they violated norms; second these
violations were made public; and third they resulted a widespread public
outrage.’81 Indeed, whereas the brutalities of the Congo had become
public and resulted in outrage, the genocide in GSWA received strikingly

little attention in British newspapers. Through 1904, only a handful of
articles, nominally in The London Times and the Manchester Guardian,
reported on the conflict in a rather uncritical fashion. For instance, The
London Times reported in January 1904 that the main reason for the rising
was that the Herero were ‘spoiled by the kindness of the administration’.82
Similarly, the Manchester Guardian only relayed public statements on the
conflict by German officers. For instance, on the subject of the battle of
Waterberg, it was merely observed that a battle had taken place and that
many Herero were captured or dead.83 When the Nama later decided to
rebel against the Germans, this was condemned as an illegitimate rebellion
to ‘shake off German colonial rule’.84 Although The Times, in a compari-
son between Leutwein and Trotha, vocally favoured the former and
lamented Trotha’s annihilationist policy, criticism was virtually non-
existent.85 Notably, the war in GSWA was deemed an unimportant colo-
nial war between a fellow colonial power and ‘warlike natives’.86
South African newspapers certainly reported on the rebellion more fre-
quently because GWSA was, after all, a neighbouring colony. Fears of a
pan-African rising were voiced on several occasions, but concerns over
trade and cross-border connections were seen as the main consequences of
the conflict. In South Africa, however, the newspapers took a more critical
view of the conflict than their British counterparts did. According to the
Cape Argus, in 1904, the Germans were already facing a long conflict
because the Herero did not have ‘the same pluck or fighting tactics as the
Zulu or Matabele’. They would not come out and face them in great force
and so ‘there will be no opportunity of mowing them down with machine
guns and rifles.’ Furthermore, as British and Boer settlers in GSWA had
been spared by the Herero, there was doubt about the scale of the rebel-
lion, particularly in relation to whether the allegations of rebels molesting
settlers were true. Indeed, the Cape Argus suggested that, as only German
men were killed, their deaths were a natural consequence of the brutality
with which they had treated the Herero.87 The Cape News also lamented
the methods of the Germans and instead reiterated that ‘if the country
were British, tomorrow every native would lay down his arms’.88 The criti-
cal press in the Cape continued to be a nuisance for German officers, but
circulation of the violence remained local and was only commented on
within the German Kolonial Abteilung.
Knowledge about the genocide in GSWA outside government circles in
Britain therefore existed but was not significant. Humanitarian groups
such as the CRA and the Aborigines’ Protection Society (APS) were also
aware of German brutalities but did not possess any detailed accounts of
these and focused more on publicly condemning the Congo Free State
and Portuguese maladministration. In 1901, however, several instances of
criticism of Germany’s colonialism emerged in the journal of the APS, The
Aborigines’ Friend, lamenting its undemocratic system, barbarous meth-
ods and continuation of a system similar to slavery in Africa. Such lamenta-
tions, however, were exceptions and clearly written in the context of
increasingly hostile views towards Germany in Britain.89 Indeed, as late as
1911, both movements favoured Germany taking over parts of the Congo
as it was deemed a more civilised colonial power than Belgium.90 This sug-
gests that the reports of Trench, Wade and Simon were not made publicly
available, nor was information about the scale of brutality in GSWA leaked.
Levels of awareness of the genocide amongst the British public and
humanitarian movements were unclear at best. An important aspect of this
was the fact that central government figures were themselves active mem-
bers of humanitarian groups and convinced advocates of the humanitarian
mission in the governance of colonial empire. Indeed, Grey was a key
member of the CRA.91 These humanitarian movements thus included
high-ranking officials from across the British imperial government, who
had read or were in possession of the reports by Trench and Simon and
were fully aware of the true nature of German colonial rule in GSWA. As
noted by Louis, the cases of the Congo and GSWA were, from the posi-
tion of British government officials, similar and subject to ‘the same com-
bination of self-interest and humanitarianism’.92 Arguably, Grey and others
were alarmed by German mistreatment, but they also had to consider dip-
lomatic and imperial interests.
Even if the Trench reports or other government information about the
genocide in GSWA had entered public circulation, it remains doubtful that
it would have caused a colonial scandal to equal the Congo crisis. One key
reason is that Trench was no Casement. Trench was clearly moved by what
he witnessed, but never sought to leak his reports to the public or
demanded their publication. Without reducing the Congo crisis to a tri-
umphalist account of a few heroic individuals not to be found in the case
of GSWA, it is a simple fact that Trench, as a military officer, was likely to
have been dissuaded by the prospect of acting on his own accord and
crossing his superiors. Indeed, unlike the Casement report, the reports
from GSWA had a military function and included information on how
Britain should progress in invading GSWA in case of war. It was evident
that it was not in the government’s interests to have such information

made publicly accessible. Another reason may involve contextual differ-
ences—GSWA was a settler colony and the Congo Free State was not.
First, this meant that the rebellion of the Herero and Nama was aimed
against white settlers and a harsh response resonated with contemporary
racial attitudes. Second, the violence in the Congo was, for many at the
time, caused not by Leopold but by Congo authorities and their arming
of Africans. Indeed, in a debate in the House of Commons in May 1907,
the Irish nationalist and member of the Irish Parliamentary Party, Joseph
Nolan, gave a long speech in defence of King Leopold II’s regime in the
Congo, highlighting its effective suppression of the slave trade that had
existed there before colonial rule. Especially problematic for Nolan,
though, was that the charges against Leopold and the Congo government
were undisputed and out of context. In contrast, he asked the House,
‘What happened in German Africa? King Leopold had never sent an army
to the Congo! Germany sent out an army to make war on the Hereros,
and the slaughter went on for years; but there was no protest against it.’
In a cold reply, Liberal MP George White simply stated that Nolan might
have forgotten that, unlike the Germans, Leopold had ‘armed savages and
cannibals.’93 A key feature was thus the difference in the colonial violence
itself, where the context of settler colonialism and a rebellion aimed against
the colonial power was dissimilar from the systematic regime of violence in
the Congo Free State, where Africans were actively organised to collabo-
rate in the violent suppression of other Africans.
Nevertheless, while public attention and the nature of violence in
GSWA and the Congo respectively were deemed dissimilar, it is also curi-
ous that the British government did not actively share reports on the
atrocities in GSWA, considering the worsening relations with Germany at
the time. Indeed, the period from 1903 to 1908 encompassed the Congo
crisis, the genocide in GSWA and the invention of Germany as a rival and
enemy to Britain. During the South African War, Germany, above all oth-
ers condemned Britain’s conduct and use of concentration camps.94 The
broadly held views of a German menace in the Foreign Office were often
replicated in British newspapers. On a daily basis, they could enquire at the
Foreign Office about foreign affairs on press meetings in the afternoon.
This suggests close links between the Foreign Office and the press, making
the process of raising public awareness of the genocide in GSWA relatively
easy. It also indicates that foreign affairs, especially notions of a German
menace, was a popular issue for the public. Widespread Germanophobia
was therefore not merely a government perception, but, increasingly, a

public view. For instance, the ‘Daily Telegraph Affair’ in October 1908,
when the Kaiser was interviewed about his intentions to improve Anglo-
German relations, resulted in widespread resentment towards Germany
and drastically intensified British antagonism towards Germany.95 Although
the Kaiser had stated his intentions to improve relations with Britain, his
erratic persona had shone through. Perhaps the most damning of his
remarks was aimed at Britain and the pervasive suspicion towards German
intentions: ‘You English are mad, mad as March hares’.96
With such increasingly hostile views towards Germany, it remains curi-
ous that no efforts were made by the Foreign Office to manufacture a
scandal aimed at Germany’s colonial conduct considering the amount of
reliable information they possessed. This is even more curious given that
one of the key figures in conveying the idea of a German menace was
Trench who was appointed military attaché to the Berlin embassy after his
attachment to the German forces in GSWA. In Berlin, Trench was a cen-
tral figure in identifying Germany as a threat to Britain both in terms of
military and naval affairs, as the British government put more faith in his
assessments than those of the naval attaché, Philip Dumas. For Trench,
there was little doubt of Germany’s ill intentions towards Britain.97 The
context of Anglo-German antagonism and the central position of Trench
as an attaché at the British embassy in Berlin meant his reports could be
read with some authority. The channels available to spread information
about it were thus clear and efficient, ostensibly making sense as a method
to retaliate against German condemnations of British practices during the
South African War, especially when official reports on colonial violence
had been proven to be a powerful political and diplomatic force, as wit-
nessed by the Casement report and the ensuing Congo crisis. A welcome
opportunity therefore appeared to exist for the British government to dis-
seminate news of the atrocities in GSWA and bring to Germany an inter-
national scandal that would undermine its position as a colonial power. In
other words, Trench’s reports in particular could be weaponised as inten-
tionally circulated reports to mobilize the same international and public
criticism as had been stirred with the Casement report.
The genocide in GSWA was, however, met with a wall of silence by the
British government, with virtually no mentions made of it in the public
sphere and no official protests launched. Indeed, rather than actively cir-
culating the reports to undermine a great rival, the British government
actively suppressed and censored the reports on GSWA. The Congo crisis
revealed the potential problems colonial scandals over atrocities could

cause. Immense public pressure on the British government to intervene
against the atrocities in the Congo Free State did not align with British
foreign policy or imperial interests. In particular, the British Foreign Office
was afraid of three factors in intervening against the Congo atrocities: first,
they feared that a public denunciation of the Congo Free State on grounds
of colonial violence would lead to the exposure of Britain’s own colonial
record. As Lansdowne noted on the Congo atrocities in 1905, ‘Ghastly,
but I am afraid the Belgians will get hold of the stories as to the way the
natives have apparently been treated by men of our race in Australia.’98
Second, there was a risk of alienating the Belgian government. From
1904, Belgium was a cornerstone in Britain’s European defence policy and
remained one of its most important allies on the continent. As Kevin Grant
has noted, Britain therefore ‘had more to lose in Europe than it had to
gain in Africa’. The critique of the Congo Free State was therefore increas-
ingly linked to King Leopold himself rather than to Belgium as a nation to
preserve Anglo-Belgian relations.99 The focus on King Leopold’s persona
as a central factor in explaining the terror in the Congo has been carried
into the historiography, with historians captivated by ‘King Leopold’s
Imperialism’.100 Finally, there was the simple ‘colonial issue’. Britain did
not have any claims to the Congo. Indeed, Leopold’s takeover in 1885
was useful to Britain as its other preferred candidate, Portugal, was gener-
ally regarded as an incapable and inhumane coloniser. With the Congo
crisis, Portugal therefore hardly represented an option and what was con-
sidered the most profitable colony on the entire African continent risked
falling into the hands of either France or Germany if Leopold’s sover-
eignty were questioned.
The Congo crisis therefore reveals the underlying strategic and political
context of information about colonial violence in the metropole. It was
part of a complicated web of interests that all had to be taken into consid-
eration. Indeed, for the recipient of intelligence reports, the most impor-
tant aspect, in addition to the truthfulness and reliability of the content, is
their utility: the prospect of using information ‘in guiding potentially ben-
eficial action’. Intelligence reports are therefore read and considered in the
context of other relevant information to assess the implications of the
reports themselves and the potential actions that can be taken from
them.101 More importantly, the Congo crisis was not merely a central con-
temporary context for how the British government perceived the geno-
cide in GSWA, but was a determinant in how it reacted. Although the
treatment and violence suffered by the Herero and Nama were alarming
to many colonial officers in Southern Africa and officials in London, they
chose not to take any active steps or launch official protests. Indeed, the
Congo crisis showed the necessity for the government to actively handle
potentially calamitous information relating to violence in order to avoid
another situation where they had to balance public opinion, foreign policy
and imperial interests. As the government was first to receive reliable
reports, they were, moreover, in a position to screen and censor these.102
On receipt of the reports by Trench, Wade and Simon in London, the
British imperial government therefore arguably followed a direction that
was formulated in a minute from 1906 by E.A.W. Clarke, Head of the
African Department in the Foreign Office. In an exchange about an
inquiry into the mistreatment of an African boy in the Congo, Clarke
made a specific note that, when it came to cases of mistreatment and atroc-
ities, it was imperative that ‘if similar cases’ were found in French or
German colonies, ‘we should not say anything’. France and Germany, he
contended, were ‘reasonably civilized’, but, more importantly, they were
‘boys too big to interfere with’. In a schoolyard analogy, Clarke explained
that ‘it may be quite possible and one’s duty to prevent a big boy bullying
a small but it is quite another matter to stop a strong man beating a
little’.103
* * *
Intelligence on colonial wars and violence was wedged between a desire

from the state to gain reliable information and fears of public scrutiny, as
violence in the colonies was increasingly unacceptable to public opinion.104
According to Gil Merom, the greater public expression of opposition was
to violence and brutality in colonies, the less feasible it became for colonial
states to employ unlimited force.105 First, however, any public attention of
this nature was selective and episodic. Second, the colonial state would
actively manage the circulation of such reports whether within or outside
their sphere of control, because their contents were politically and diplo-
matically undesirable. Conclusively, colonial governments either encour-
aged or suppressed the circulation of evidence of scandals, particularly
cases of slavery, depending on their political needs.106 Although this
appeared to represent a welcome opportunity to deal their rival a blow,
Britain censored and kept quiet about information relating to the geno-
cide in GSWA.
This is suggestive of a more complex relationship between Britain and

Germany in both European and colonial contexts, which cannot be
described as wholly antagonistic or cooperative. Crucially, though, as long
as there was no public pressure to act, German colonial violence had very
little political and diplomatic capital. The Congo crisis was therefore a
determinant in the way the British imperial government handled informa-
tion on colonial violence, setting a precedent for and showing the poten-
tial impact of colonial scandal on European diplomacy. Fundamentally,
Germany was not Belgium, but far too big a foreign power to condemn
and scrutinise in the same way as had been done with Leopold II. More
importantly, from a pragmatic perspective, while the Congo was consid-
ered a valuable colonial asset, GSWA was considered unimportant.
Challenging German colonial legitimacy over the lives of Africans in a
worthless colony such as GSWA would not merely land Britain in a diplo-
matic crisis with Germany, but the potential gains would be negligible. Of
course, when war broke out in 1914, there was little reason not to publi-
cise and discredit German colonialism, meaning that the scandal that per-
haps should have erupted against German colonial malpractice in 1904–8
instead broke out in 1918, when it was most convenient for British impe-
rial and foreign policy interests.
Notes
1. Louis, Germany’s Lost colonies, p. 34.
2. See for instance Wesseling, Divide and Rule, p. 130.
3. See for instance A. Hochschild, ‘Belgian Congo’, in D. Forsythe (ed.)
Encyclopedia of Human Rights, (Oxford, 2009) and S. Sliwinski, ‘The
Childhood of Human Rights: The Kodak on the Congo’ in Journal of
Visual Culture, vol. 5, 3 (2006). For a more critical review of the Congo
Reform Association as a human rights movement see N. Alexander,
‘E.D. Morel (1873–1924), the Congo Reform Association, and the
History of Human Rights’, Britain and the World, vol. 9, 2 (2016).
4. Wm. Roger Louis, ‘Roger Casement and the Congo’, The Journal of
African History, vol. 5, 1 (1964), p. 119.
5. A. Hochschild, King Leopold’s Ghosts. A Story of Greed, Terror and
Heroism in Colonial Africa (New York, 1999), p. 282.
6. For Roger Casement and humanitarianism, see A. Porter, ‘Sir Roger
Casement and the International Humanitarian Movement’, The Journal
of Imperial and Commonwealth History, vol. 29, 2 (2001).
7. Wm. Roger Louis, ‘The triumph of the Congo Reform Movement,

1905–8’ in J. Butler (ed.) Boston University Papers on Africa, Vol. II
(Boston, 1966), pp. 270–71.
8. See Chap. 7.
9. TNA, FO 367/5: Minute by E.A.W Clarke, FO Head of African
Department, 21 December 1906. Also cited in Louis, ‘Great Britain and
German Expansion’, p. 38.
10. Häussler, The Herero Genocide, p. 20.
11. For a discussion on the violence in the Congo Free State see for instance,
Roes, ‘Towards a History of Mass Violence’; J. L. Vellut, ‘Réflexions sur
la Question de la Violence dans l’Histoire de l’Etat Indépendant du
Congo’ in P. M. Mantuba-Ngoma (ed.) La Nouvelle Histoire du Congo:
Mélanges Eurafricains Offerts à Frans Bontinck (Paris, 2004) and
D. Schaller, ‘Genocide and Mass Violence in the “Heart of Darkness”:
Africa in The Colonial Period’ in D. Bloxham and D. Moses (eds.), The
Oxford Handbook of Genocide Studies (Oxford, 2010).
12. Roes, ‘Towards a History of Mass Violence’, p. 640.
13. R. Harms, ‘The End of Red Rubber: A Reassessment’ in The Journal of
African History, vol. 16, 1 (1975), pp. 75–6.
14. B. Bevernage, ‘The Making of the Congo Question: Truth Telling,
Denial, and ‘Colonial Science’ in King Leopold’s Commission of Inquiry
on the Rubber Atrocities in the Congo Free State (1904–1905)’ in
Rethinking History, vol. 22, 2 (2018), pp. 208–9.
15. D. Pavlakis, British Humanitarianism and the Congo Reform Movement,
1896–1913 (Farnham, 2015), p. 25.
16. See Wm. Roger Louis, ‘The Stokes Affair and the Origins of the Anti-
Congo Campaign, 1895–1896’, Revue Belge Philologie et d’Historie, vol.
43 (1965).
17. Louis, ‘Roger Casement and the Congo’, pp. 100–101.
18. See for instance, L. Colley, Britons: Forging a Nation 1797–1837 (New
Haven, 1994), J. M. Mackenzie, ‘Empire and Metropolitan Cultures’ in
A. Porter (ed.), The Oxford History of the British Empire: The Nineteenth
Century (Oxford, 1999) and C. Hall, Civilizing Subjects: Metropole and
colony in the English imagination (Cambridge, 2002).
19. The role of public opinion as a key factor in British imperialism has been
exhaustively researched. For a classic account, see R. Robinson and
J. Gallagher with A. Denny, Africa and the Victorians: The Official Mind
of Imperialism (London, 1961). For a more recent analysis focused on
the links between public opinion and humanitarian intervention, see
J. Western, ‘Public Opinion and Humanitarian Intervention’ in F. Klose
(ed.), The Emergence of Humanitarian Intervention.
20. P. Readman, ‘The Conservative Party, Patriotism, and British Politics:
The Case of the General Election of 1900’, Journal of British Studies, 40,
1 (2001), p. 109.
21. G. Kearns and D. Nally, ‘An Accumulated Wrong: Roger Casement and
the Anticolonial Moments Within Imperial Governance’, Journal of
Historical Geography, vol. 64 (2019), pp. 3–4.
22. Louis, ‘Roger Casement and the Congo’, p. 102.
23. TNA, FO 629/11: Casement to Lansdowne, 5 September 1903.
24. TNA, FO 629/11: Casement to Lansdowne, 6 September 1903.
25. TNA, FO 629/11: Casement to Lansdowne, 15–16 September 1903.
26. TNA, FO 629/11: Casement to Lansdowne, 15–16 September 1903.
27. Louis, ‘Roger Casement and the Congo’, pp. 109–10.
28. Louis, ‘Roger Casement and the Congo’, p. 114.
29. Kearns and Nally, ‘An Accumulated Wrong’, p. 5.
30. Alexander, ‘E.D. Morel, the Congo Reform Association, p. 214.
31. See S. Moyn, The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History (Cambridge
MA, 2010).
32. Alexander, ‘E.D. Morel, the Congo Reform Association’, p. 218.
33. Alexander, ‘E.D. Morel, the Congo Reform Association’, pp. 220–22.
34. Porter, ‘Trusteeship, Anti-Slavery and Humanitarianism’, pp. 218–19
and K. Grant, A Civilised Savagery: Britain and the New Slaveries in
Africa, 1884–1926, (London, 2005), p. 41.
35. Pavlakis, British Humanitarianism, p. 4.
36. For a recent study of the prejudices and value of African testimonies, see
R. Burroughs, African Testimony in the Movement for Congo Reform: The
Burden of Proof (London, 2018).
37. See K. Grant, ‘Christian Critics of Empire: Missionaries, Lantern Lectures,
and the Congo Reform Campaign in Britain’, Journal of Imperial and
Commonwealth History, vol. 29, 2 (2001).
38. Bevernage, ‘The Making of the Congo Question’, p. 210.
39. G. Vanthemsche, Belgium and the Congo, 1885–1980 (Cambridge, 2012),
pp. 26–7.
41. See K. Dierks, ‘Biographies of Namibian Personalities’, 2005, https://
www.klausdierks.com/
42. TNA, FO 64/1645: Report on State of Affairs in the German Protectorate
by John Cleverly, 20 January 1904, pp. 1–2.
43. Cleverly to J. Rose Innes, Under-Secretary of Native Affairs, Cape Town,
13 March 1893, in A. Heywood and E. Maasdorp (eds.), The Hendrik
Witbooi Papers (Windhoek, 1990), p. 161.
44. Innes to Witbooi, 16 January 1893, Appendix 1 in Heywood and
Maasdorp (eds.), Hendrik Witbooi Papers, p. 161.
45. Hendrik Witbooi to John Cleverly, 20 April 1893 in Heywood and

Maasdorp (eds.), The Hendrik Witbooi Papers (Windhoek, 1990),
pp. 117–18.
46. Cleverly to Witbooi, 25 April 1893, in Heywood and Maasdorp (eds.),
Hendrik Witbooi Papers, p. 119.
47. Dreyer, The mind of official imperialism, p. 23, ff. 70.
48. W. K. Wark, ‘Three Military Attaches at Berlin in the 1930s: Soldier-
Statesmen and the Limits of Ambiguity’, International History Review, 9,
4 (1987), p. 586.
49. M. Seligmann, ‘A View From Berlin: Colonel Frederick Trench and the
Development of British Perceptions of German Aggressive Intent,
1906–1910’, The Journal of Strategic Studies 23, 2 (2000), p. 118. For a
general overview of the function of military attachés, see A. Vagts, The
Military Attaché, (Princeton, 1967).
50. H. Fry, The London Cage: The Secret History of Britain’s World War II
Interrogation Centre (New Haven, 2017), pp. 24–5.
51. Seligman, ‘A View from Berlin’, p. 117.
52. Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, pp. 241–2.
54. See especially his final report: TNA, FO 367/11, Trench to War Office,
15 March 1906.
55. J. Hevia, The Imperial Security State. British Colonial Knowledge and
Empire-Building in Asia (Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 63–4.
56. Hevia, Imperial Security State, p. 152.
57. Hevia, Imperial Security State, p. 168, ff. 23.
61. TNA, WO 106/268, Col. Trench to Secretary of the War Office, 26
June 1905.
62. TNA, WO, 106/268, Trench to Secretary of the War Office, 12
July 1905.
63. TNA, FO 64/1647: Report by Colonel FJA Trench to Chief Staff
Officer, Cape Town, 3 October 1905, pp. 2–3.
64. TNA, FO 367/8: Report from Trench to War Office, 24 November
1905, 8–9. Also cited in Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, p. 243.
65. TNA, FO 367/8: Report from Trench to War Office, 24 November, p. 9.
66. For an analysis of the Swakopmund camp see for instance, Zeller
‘“Ombekera I koza – The Cold is Killing me”.
67. TNA, FO 367/8: Report from Trench to Chief Staff Officer, Cape
Colony District, 26 December 1905.
68. TNA, FO 367/8: Report from Trench to Chief Staff Officer, Cape
Colony District, 26 December 1905, Original underline.
69. Erichsen, Angel of Death, pp. 59–60.
70. TNA, FO 367/11: Trench to War Office, 15 March 1906.
71. TNA, FO 367/8: Wade to the War Office, 25 August 1906.
72. TNA, FO 367/8: Wade to the War Office, 10 September 1906.
73. Cited in Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, p. 249.
74. NASA, GG 764 S13/1300: Intelligence Report by Captain H.S.P Simon,
6 March 1909, p. 1. Simon’s report is also available in the National
Archives in Kew: TNA, FO 367/136: Report by Captain H.S.P Simon 6
March 1909, Enclosed in Hutchinson to the Secretary of State for the
Colonies, The Earl of Crewe.
6 March 1909, p. 1.
6 March 1909, pp. 3–4.
77. See for instance TNA, FO 65/1647: Report from Major Berrange
Upington to Commander of Cape Mounted Police, 20 October 1905.
78. Hevia, Imperial Security State, p. 193.
79. TNA, FO 367/136: Intelligence Report by Captain H.S.P. Simon, 6
March 1909, enclosed in Hutchinson to the Secretary of State for the
Colonies, The Earl of Crewe. Also quoted in Louis, ‘Great Britain and
German Expansion’, p. 34.
80. See van der Heyden, ‘The hottentot election of 1907’.
81. F. Bösch, ‘“Are we a cruel nation?” Colonial Practices, Perceptions and
Scandals’ in D. Geppert and R. Gerwarth (eds.), Wilhelmine Germany
and Edwardian Britain: Essays on Cultural Affinity (Oxford,
2008), p. 116.
82. The London Times, 19 January 1904.
83. The Manchester Guardian, 18 August 1904.
84. The Manchester Guardian, 15 October 1904.
86. The London Times, 29 January 1904.
87. BAB, R 1001/2112: Excerpt of The Cape Argus, 28 January 1904.
88. Cited in Lindner, Koloniale Begegnungen, p. 238.
89. ‘German Policy in Central Africa’, Anti-Slavery Reporter and Aborigines’
Friend, vol. 17, 1 (1897), pp. 33–2 and ‘Slavery in German Colonies’,
Anti-Slavery Reporter and Aborigines’ Friend, vol. 21, 2 (1901), pp. 71–2
cited in P. Longson, ‘The Rise of the German Menace’, p. 81.
90. Louis, ‘Great Britain and German Expansion’ p. 36.
91. J. Osborne, ‘Wilfred G. Thesiger, Sir Edward Grey, and the British cam-
paign to reform the Congo, 1905–9’, The Journal of Imperial and
Commonwealth History, vol. 27, 1 (1999), p. 59. See also Pavlakis, British
Humanitarianism, pp. 201–205.
93. Hansard Millbank, cc1005–6, ‘The Whitsuntide Recess’, Joseph Nolan
and George White, House of Commons, 15 May 1907.
94. See Chap. 3.
95. See T. G. Otte, ‘“An altogether unfortunate affair”: Great Britain and the
Daily Telegraph Affair’, Diplomacy and Statecraft, vol. 5, 2 (1994).
96. The London Daily Telegraph, October 28, 1908. For a discussion on the
Daily Telegraph affair and the role of British newspapers in Anglo-
German relations see for instance Rose, Between Empire and Continent,
L. Reinermann, ‘Fleet Street and the Kaiser: British Public Opinion and
Wilhelm II’, German History, vol. 26, 4 (2008) and N. N. Orgill,
‘“Different Points of View?”: The Daily Telegraph Affair as a Transnational
Media Event’, The Historian, vol. 78, 2 (2016).
97. Rose, Between Empire and Continent, pp. 330.
98. Louis, ‘The Triumph of the Congo Reform Movement’, p. 282.
99. Grant, Civilised Savagery, p. 66.
100. V. Viaene, ‘King Leopold’s Imperialism and the Origins of the Belgian
Colonial Party, 1860–1905’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 80, 4
(2008), pp. 741–42.
101. N. Rescher, Espionage, Statecraft and the Theory of Reporting: A
Philosophical Essay on Intelligence Management (Pittsburgh PA, 2017),
pp. 142–43.
102. Western, ‘Public Opinion and Humanitarian Intervention’, pp. 167–68.
103. TNA, FO 367/5: Minute by FO Head of African Department, E.A.W
Clarke, 21 December 1906. Also cited in Louis, ‘Great Britain and
German Expansion’, p. 38. Original underline.
104. M. Thomas, Empires of Intelligence. Security Services and Colonial
Disorder after 1914 (2007), p. 7.
105. G. Merom, How Democracies Lose Small Wars: State, Society, and the
Failures of France in Algeria, Israel in Lebanon, and the United States in
Vietnam (Cambridge, 2003).
106. A. Forclaz, Humanitarian Imperialism: the politics of Anti-Slavery
Activism, 1880–1940 (Oxford, 2015), p. 7.
CHAPTER 7
Atrocity Narratives and the End of German

Colonialism, 1918–19
The outbreak of World War I in 1914 completely changed the stances of

Britain and the Union of South Africa towards GSWA and German colo-
nial violence. While, prior to 1914, Germany represented ‘a boy too big
to interfere with’, the advent of war meant that Britain was already inter-
fering with Germany and information about German atrocities therefore
no longer had to be censored and managed but could rather serve a practi-
cal diplomatic purpose in discrediting German colonialism. At the end of
the war, the German colonial empire was dismantled and confiscated
under the aegis of the new mandates system, partly because Germany had
proven to be so brutal that its colonies could not be returned. Under
Article 119 of the Treaty of Versailles, the entire German colonial empire
was transferred to, among others, Britain and the Union of South Africa.
GSWA became South West Africa and remained part of the Union of
South Africa until Namibia’s independence in 1990.
The German colonies were quickly conquered in the first years of the
war. In August 1914, Lewis Harcourt, Secretary of State for the Colonies
when war broke out, informed John Henry de Villiers, Acting Governor-
General of the Union of South Africa, that the Union was expected to
‘seize such part of German South West Africa’ they desired. In particular,
the ‘wireless stations there’ should be targeted as an ‘urgent imperial ser-
vice’. Importantly, however, it was noted that ‘any territory now occupied

Switzerland AG 2022
South-West Africa, 1884 –1919, Cambridge Imperial and
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_7
must be at the disposal of the Imperial Government for purposes of the

ultimate settlement at the conclusion of the war.’1 For the British govern-
ment in 1914, therefore, the German colonies were first and foremost
pawns for negotiating the final peace settlement at a time when expecta-
tions of a short war were widespread.
As the war progressed, however, the attitude towards the future of the
German colonies changed as the British dominions gained increasing
influence on British imperial policy and strategy. This was in part a result
of their vital contribution to the war effort and because, in many cases, the
dominions had seized the German colonies. The establishment of the
Imperial War Cabinet in the spring of 1917 also allowed dominion prime
ministers to express their views on the matter directly to the British gov-
ernment. In the Pacific, Australia and New Zealand scrambled with Japan
to take as many German island colonies as possible before Britain negoti-
ated an agreement to divide them on each side of the equator.2 In Southern
Africa, Union troops invaded GSWA in 1915 after suppressing an uprising
by Boer officers in 1914 and repelling a German advance at Kakamas in
the Northern Cape in February 1915. For the dominions, after conquer-
ing and taking the German colonies themselves, it made little sense to
return them after the war. Furthermore, given that the German colonies
had limited economic value, incentives for demanding the annexation of
these colonies derived mainly from security concerns and the sub-imperial
aspirations of the Union and Australia in particular.3 Taking GSWA was,
for the Union, the last piece of the puzzle in uniting a white southern
Africa as many already expected, although mistakenly, the gradual absorp-
tion of Southern Rhodesia.
The British government was sympathetic to these views. However, the
emergence of Wilsonianism, with the principle of self-determination,
before the peace negotiations meant that outright annexation became
increasingly unlikely. Furthermore, the notion that the war had, in the
end, been fought for little more than imperialistic expansionism, had
potential to cause outrage. As a Foreign Office official noted in May 1917,
‘unless justification can be proved up to the hilt, it will be difficult to con-
vince many people that we have not at any rate continued the war for
purposes of aggrandizement.’4 Perhaps heeding this warning, Harcourt’s
replacement as Secretary of State for the Colonies from 1915, Walter
Long, wrote to the dominion governments on 4 January 1918—almost
simultaneously with Wilson’s fourteen points and well before the war had
been won—requesting them to prepare evidence for German colonial
7 ATROCITY NARRATIVES AND THE END OF GERMAN COLONIALISM, 1918–19 155
misrule: ‘It is the firm conviction of His Majesty’s Government [that] it is

necessary to retain possession of German colonies.’ The problem, how-
ever, was that ‘it has not been possible to secure general acceptance of this
view owing to divergence of opinion among [our] Allies.’ Of course, the
new Soviet regime in Russia was against this and espoused their own ver-
sion of self-determination. Most importantly, the Americans, alongside
humanitarian groups and the general public, were also invested in ideas of
self-determination and a new world order.5 Long therefore requested that
the dominion governments ‘furnish’ him with ‘a statement suitable for
publication containing evidence of anxiety of natives to live under
British rule’.6
In South Africa, this request was received well. Upon reading Long’s
request, the Governor-General of South Africa, Lord Buxton reported
that Union premier, Louis Botha commented that ‘he thought he would
be able to make a good case’ regarding GSWA.7 They had good reason to
be confident: already in September 1915, former Cape prime minister,
John X. Merriman, wrote to his close friend, Minister of Defence, Jan
Christian Smuts, that ‘we must have the case of the Natives presented with
the utmost care and fullness – ab ovo – with all written evidence you can
get hold of. This is our strong point, our sheet anchor in any diplomatic
storm. Above all let it be accurate.’8 Two years later, in September 1917,
Merriman’s suggestion became practice, as Thomas Watts, Union Minister
for Public Works, instructed the administrator of occupied GSWA,
E.H.L. Gorges, to write a ‘full historical account showing the treatment
received by the native races in the protectorate’.9 Gorges then had Major
Thomas Leslie O’Reilly, resident magistrate at Omaruru, who had already
been busy collecting statements on German misrule, gather the evidence
for this account. O’Reilly’s response was telling: ‘I am as keen as mustard
on it.’ There was ‘quite enough’ he wrote, ‘to make one’s hair stiffen and
it would give old Theo Schreiner and his Exeter Hall conferees epilepsy
and hysterics to hear of it’.10;11
When the issue was raised at imperial level in Long’s telegram to the
dominions in January 1918, Gorges’ report was rushed through and sent
to Botha on 21 January, before Buxton forwarded it to the British govern-
ment on 9 February with the comment that it was ‘a most complete and
valuable document’ that deserved ‘special attention’.12 The report in ques-
tion was the most renowned, and arguably most significant, document on
German colonial violence in GSWA. Entitled, Report on the Natives of
South-West Africa and their Treatment by Germany and commonly referred
to as the Blue Book, the report described in detail the violence and atroci-
ties committed by Germany against the Herero and Nama in particular.
Colonial violence was therefore used diplomatically to discredit German
colonialism and depict a South African takeover not as an act of aggrandis-
ement but as humanitarian interventionism.
This chapter discusses the ways in which colonial violence in GSWA was
key to the confiscation of Germany’s colonial empire after World War I. It
focuses on the Blue Book as a crucial historical document that promoted
German colonial violence as uniquely brutal to the extent where the con-
fiscation of German colonies amounted to an alleged humanitarian inter-
vention. A central premise in the Blue Book was that Britain and the
Union, upon invading GSWA in 1915, were shocked to uncover the true
nature of German rule although, as the preceding chapters have shown,
they had been aware of and involved in German colonial violence when it
actually occurred. In this sense, the Blue Book represented the mobilisa-
tion of colonial violence as propaganda for diplomatic purposes and a way
in which Britain and the Union intentionally sought to foment colonial
scandal, in a similar way to the Congo crisis, directed at Germany. This
chapter, by tracing the process, context and impact of the Blue Book, will
show how such atrocity narratives were created and how colonial violence
was used as a diplomatic tool. In addition to considering the content of
the Blue Book, it also examines information intentionally omitted or
adjusted to suit diplomatic interests. For instance, while Gorges was busy
compiling the report, he sent several complaints about the South African
constabulary in SWA, which continued many of the same practices of the
Germans, thus undermining the moral authority of the Blue Book’s depic-
tion of German colonialism as uniquely brutal. The context in which it
was written, and the selection of what was not included in the final report
therefore reveals the underlying purposes and usages of German colonial
violence at the Paris peace conference in 1919.
Despite its propagandist purposes, the Blue Book nevertheless main-
tains a significant degree of authority as a historical source. For instance,
Jan-Bart Gewald and Jeremy Silvester re-published the Blue Book in
2004, at the centenary of the Herero rebellion. Gewald and Silvester pro-
vided a short but illuminating introduction and, for them, the Blue Book
remains a critical historical source because, while it may have served pro-
pagandist purposes, it contains unique oral statements on German colo-
nial violence and thus presents the only African perspectives on that
history.13 Other historians have voiced similar views. Casper Erichsen and
David Olusoga, for instance, argue that it ‘stands almost entirely alone as
a reliable and comprehensive exploration of the disinheritance and destruc-
tion of indigenous peoples’ in the history of colonialism in Africa.14
According to Drechsler, the Blue Book gives a ‘fairly authentic picture’
that provided ‘the first uncoloured account of German colonial domina-
tion in South West Africa and its consequences’.15
There has also been profound criticism of the Blue Book. The German
reply to the Blue Book, the White Book, published in 1919, directly
refuted its claims, stating that it was ‘compiled with all the care and cun-
ning of an attorney’s brief and suffused with all the spirit of unctuous
rectitude, expedient moral indignation’. It was ‘not unlikely that this
patchwork piece of evidence has succeeded in impressing the inexperi-
enced and insufficiently informed’.16 This view was emulated in Germany
where the notion of the Koloniale Schuldlüge (colonial guilt lie) continued
to flourish in the interwar period, but was also asserted by, for instance,
Mary Evelyn Townsend in her pioneering study of German colonial his-
tory, who disregarded it as nothing but ‘well-constructed propaganda’.17
Wm. Roger Louis, in Germany’s Lost Colonies (1967), also disregarded the
Blue Book as a source with ‘little historical value other than as an example
of war time propaganda and as one of the causes of Germany’s reputation
as a brutal and cruel colonial power’.18 Perhaps the most profound rejec-
tion of the Blue Book as a historical source on German colonial violence
came from Brigitte Lau, who considered it nothing but ‘a piece of war
propaganda with no creditability whatsoever’.19
As a historical document, the 1918 Blue Book was not unique. Indeed,
a ‘Blue Book’ is a published government report and, during World War I,
many similar atrocity narratives were published as part of the notoriously
efficient British propaganda campaign against Germany. The establish-
ment of the Propaganda Bureau in 1914, followed by the Department of
Information in 1916, supplied a steady flow of convincing propaganda on
several occasions.20 The excesses of the German troops, especially in
Belgium, represented a central subject in British propaganda and had a
profound impact.21 The publication of the Bryce report, entitled Report of
the Committee on Alleged German Outrages in January 1915, corrobo-
rated the general view of German ‘Huns’ as barbaric and cruel. Later that
year, Lord Bryce, together with Arnold Toynbee, compiled and published
the famous Blue Book report on the Armenian genocide, entitled The
Treatment of Armenians in the Ottoman Empire (1915), again placing
atrocities at the heart of British propaganda.22 These atrocity narratives
also paved the way for attention to the German colonies, culminating in
the 1918 Blue Book. Already in 1916, though, the British government
had published two reports: German Atrocities and Breaches of Rules of War
in Africa and Papers Relating to Certain Trials in South West Africa. The
former concerned Germany’s brutal and inhumane campaign during
World War I in East Africa while the latter reproduced records and corre-
spondence on trials against German settlers who had unlawfully murdered
or flogged Africans.23 Fundamental to Britain’s wartime propaganda cam-
paign, therefore, was German violence and brutality. The Blue Book was
thus a logical extension of reports on German violence in Europe and
Africa from 1915 and 1916.
Although these atrocity narratives concerned real events that had hap-
pened, these were intentionally adjusted them to fit a specific propagandist
purpose and narrative. With this in mind, there is little doubt that an
inherent bias pervades the Blue Book, meaning, that it cannot stand alone
and must be treated with caution. Silvester and Gewald are aware of the
diplomatic agenda behind the Blue Book and its propagandistic purposes,
yet still believe that ‘this does not mean nor suggest that the evidence
presented in the Blue Book should be judged to be false.’ An important
reason for this was that it was not written and edited in London. Indeed,
Silvester and Gewald contend that the sources in the Blue Book were, on
the whole, true and unedited.24 This chapter will show that, while some
small edits took place between the first draft presented in January 1918
and the published version in August of the same year, relatively few
changes were made. Furthermore, as the report was rushed through at a
time when the German spring offensive was happening, it is unlikely that
anyone in the Foreign Office would have the time or interest in editing
such a document. Nevertheless, as correctly stressed by Andreas Eckl, who
considers the Blue Book ‘overvalued’, it must be treated with caution
because of its propagandist nature. In terms of basic source criticism, Eckl
argues, Silvester and Gewald fail to consider the fact that we do not know
the context in which the oral statements were made or if they were specifi-
cally selected and edited because the original transcripts are lost except for
the few excerpts found and presented below.25 The second part of this
chapter deals with the preparation or rather process of the Blue Book and
contains some of O’Reilly’s inquiries and transcripts as well as the trans-
lated German documents used in the Blue Book.26
In summation, the Blue Book remains a heavily contested historical
document. On the one hand, it was propaganda with the specific goal of
discrediting German colonialism and with a view to providing necessary

justification for the confiscation of GSWA. On the other hand, many his-
torians consider it a valuable and authentic source, especially because of
the many oral statements from Africans on colonial violence. The Blue
Book has therefore mainly been used to determine the nature and extent
of German colonial violence. The key focus of this chapter is therefore not
so much to examine how the Blue Book described German colonial vio-
lence and whether or not it was accurate. Rather, it focuses on the subjec-
tivity and underlying interests in presenting German colonial violence and,
perhaps more importantly, its misrepresentations of ‘British factor’.
Indeed, when juxtaposing depictions of British awareness and involve-
ment in the Herero and Nama rebellions in the Blue Book with the con-
temporary views and actions from the period from 1904 to 1908 as
discussed above, it becomes clear that German colonial violence in 1918
was selectively (mis)remembered. In other words, it is important to con-
sider both what the Blue Book says in juxtaposition with contemporary
sources as well as what it intentionally omits.27 Considering, as we have
seen in the previous chapter, that Britain was already in possession of sev-
eral scathing reports on German colonial violence before 1914, it is strik-
ing that none of these were cited in the Blue Book. As we shall see, this
was primarily intended to strengthen the Blue Book’s diplomatic effective-
ness as the supposed discovery of German brutality in 1915 necessitated
immediate international action.
Contents of the 1918 Blue Book

The Blue Book includes vivid statements on violence, suffering and death.
It contains thirteen photographs of, for instance, Herero hanged in trees,
prisoners in neck-chains and the exposed backs of flogged women. The
visual evidence presented in the Blue Book, as Christina Twomey has
noted, paralleled the successful work of the Congo Reform Association
before the war, which made extensive use of photographs to gain popular
and political support in their successful campaign against Leopold II’s red
rubber regime in the Congo.28 Indicatively, the main line of argument in
the Blue Book can be characterised as humanitarian in its concerns about
German colonialism and the potential consequences of a return of the
conquered colonies to Germany for the indigenous population.
The Blue Book is structured in two major parts: the first part is entitled
‘Natives and German Administration’ and covers most of the report with
the aim of demonstrating Germany’s inability to govern indigenous peo-

ples. This part mainly consists of translated German documents and eye-
witness accounts, referred to as ‘affidavits’ and ‘sworn oaths’. These oral
testimonies were drawn from Africans and white settlers interviewed in
1917 and provided various damning assessments of their experiences of
German colonial rule. The second part, entitled ‘Natives and the Criminal
Law’, is significantly shorter and describes Germany’s creation of a legal
system in which Africans were subjected to terror and exploitation and had
no legal rights. Although it also contained eye-witness accounts, the sec-
ond part mainly derived from records of court cases, many already pub-
lished in a 1916 report. Although the first part contained the most vivid
and damning passages relating to German atrocities, the second part was
equally as condemnatory, stating that German colonialism had reduced
the Africans to ‘a class of pauperized labourers’.29
German treatment of Africans was therefore the main concern of the
report. It did not examine the security threats posed by GSWA to the
Union or the alleged failure of Germany to develop the colony. It focused
solely on colonial violence for the purpose of delegitimising German colo-
nial rule. The conclusions on Germany’s treatment of Africans were as
sanguine as they were unsurprising:
For the native there was, in effect, no law, and that such protection as the
law eventually provided was granted not out of motives of humanity, but
because it was recognised that the native was a useful asset, and that, with-
out his labour, cattle ranching, and diamond and copper mining, were
impossible.30
The brutal rule of Germany, the Blue Book asserted, only made a response
from the indigenous population a natural outcome. On the outbreak of
the Herero rebellion in 1904, the Blue Book asked, ‘can anyone allege
that these poor mild-mannered creatures, who had borne the German
yoke for over fourteen years had no justification for the steps they took?’31
What followed was a detailed description of the brutal repression of the
Herero and Nama rebellions. The Blue Book’s condemnation of Trotha’s
Vernichtungsbefehl particularly stands out: ‘This order was made against a
defeated people, ready to come in and surrender.’ Trotha therefore
‘decided not to allow the Herero to surrender’ and instead ‘butcher this
disorganized, leaderless and harmless tribe’ to ‘ensure that there would be
no trouble from the Herero in the future’.32 This condemnation of the
extermination order, true as it was, was in fact the first international, let
alone British, condemnation of the order, although it had been publicly
debated in Germany and reported on by, among others, Trench in 1905.
The purpose of such vivid descriptions of German atrocities was to
underline the humanitarian consequences of a restoration of Germany’s
colonial empire for the indigenous population. A return of Germany’s
colonies would not have any humanitarian purpose. Not only had several
German settlers threatened Africans with ‘trashing and hangings as soon
German rule is restored’, Gorges also insisted that a return to Germany
would result in a new massacre of eye-witnesses, who would become
‘marked men’ whose ‘removal would only be a matter of time’.33
Furthermore, Chapter XV, ‘How the Hereros were Exterminated’ con-
tained no less than eleven eye-witness accounts from different Herero
clans and groups, corroborating the claim that German colonial policy was
marked by extermination and enslavement as its two fundamental princi-
ples. The Blue Book noted that ‘this gruesome story by eye-witnesses
could be continued until the report would require several thick volumes.’
It was not only in terms of the extent of such sources that underlined
German colonial malice, it was also the ‘overwhelming’ evidence of how
the Germans had violated women and young girls. However, these
accounts were deemed ‘so full of filthy and atrocious details as to render
publication undesirable’.34
The Blue Book also referred to Germany’s obligations as a colonial
power in light of international law. The Berlin Treaty of 1885 and Brussels
Treaty of 1890 in particular were openly violated by Germany. Article 6 of
the former stated that the signatory powers ‘bind themselves to watch
over the preservation of the native tribes, and to care for the improvement
of the conditions of the moral and material well-being.’35 In truth, most,
if not all, colonial powers were violating this treaty and the article did not
include any notable consequences in such cases. It is clear, however, that
in addition to the humanitarian arguments aimed at the Wilsonian senti-
ments, there was also a legal element, which indicated that Germany’s
colonies should be confiscated.36 In addition to violating international law,
Germany’s promises to ‘protect native races’ as agreed in the Berlin Treaty
and again in the 1890 Brussels Conventions, also misled Britain. Germany’s
‘declared and avowed native policy’ meant that Britain ‘had no hesitation
in welcoming that Power into the arena of world colonisation as a co-
partner in the great work of civilising and upliftment the heathen races of
the earth’.37 The alleged deceit and lies of Germany in agreeing to these
provisions while violating them furthered the notion that these colonies
could never be returned, even if Germany agreed to follow new interna-
tional laws and regulations intended to safeguard indigenous peoples.
To indicate the extent of the German atrocities, the Blue Book also
gave a clear estimation of its direct consequences as measured in human
life: the African population had been decimated by exactly 92.258 people,
which, in the Blue Book, was ascribed to German colonial rule. This rather
exact number was projected by comparing an 1877 census to those from
1904 and 1911.38 Although the unreliability of these figures is plain, par-
ticularly given the unreliability of the censuses used to reach that number,
the figures do, however, compare to historians’ general estimations of how
many Africans were killed in the genocide. 39 At the crux of this estima-
tion, however, is the inherent subjectivity of the Blue Book as a piece of
propaganda: the information intentionally omitted complicates the reli-
ability of the Blue Book and underlines its true purpose. For instance, in
relation to its estimation of the numbers of Africans killed during German
rule, the Rinderpest epizootic is completely ignored—a point also reiter-
ated in the German response to the Blue Book in 1919.40
Similarly, although the Blue Book curiously contains comparatively lit-
tle condemnation of the concentration camps, historians have confirmed
its descriptions of these. One of the main points of criticism was that pris-
oners who mainly surrendered because they were starving and exhausted
were used as forced labourers in terrible conditions. ‘Their physical condi-
tion’, it was argued, ‘did not warrant expectations of too much manual
labour for some considerable period. But work they had to, well or unwell,
willing or unwilling!’ In the Blue Book it was estimated that up to sixty per
cent died as a result of hard labour in the camps, where the ‘cold and raw
climate of the two coastal parts (Shark Island and Swakopmund) contrib-
uted greatly to this huge death toll’. However, it was the Germans ‘who
placed these naked remnants of starving humanity on the barren islets of
Luderitzbucht and on the moisture-oozing shores of Swakopmund’ who
‘must take the fullest blame and submit to the condemnation of all per-
sons with even an elementary feeling of humanity towards the native
races’.41
It is striking, however, that with these descriptions and lamentations of
the concentration camps, no mention or quotation of the Trench reports
appears. Similarly, Simon’s damning report on the exterminatory agenda
of the Germans was also overlooked in the Blue Book, which instead
emphasised local African statements rather than British intelligence
reports. The reports of Trench and later Wade were circulated widely
within both the Cape and British governments. The omission of these key
sources, however, posits a fundamental question: how could Germany’s
colonies be confiscated over atrocities that Britain and the Cape had been
fully aware of when they were committed?
The Blue Book, in discrediting German colonialism as violent and
unjust, established an image of Britain as a benevolent and morally supe-
rior colonial power.42 The notion of British moral authority was impera-
tive, supporting claims for a takeover of Germany’s colonies. The Blue
Book thus intentionally underlined that Britain and the Cape knew little
or nothing of what occurred before 1915, possibly intentionally omitting
reports from Trench and others to support this claim. Furthermore, in the
Blue Book, the 1915 invasion was described as more of an act of humani-
tarian intervention rather than an act of expansionism, asserting, for
instance, that, as part of the invasion, ‘the natives’ were ‘freed from the
oppression under which they suffered for twenty-five years before our
advent into this country’.43 While the atrocities committed by the Germans
were inexcusable, Gorges also noted in the preface that the German peo-
ple as a whole were not at fault. Rather, German settlers in British colonies
had been ‘a success’. This was, he argued, because, in the British Empire,
unlike the German, there was ‘a clear-cut line and well-defined under-
standing between the European element and the aborigines’. In addition,
although it was supposedly very difficult to keep the report concise with-
out extending to several thick volumes, several paragraphs were allocated
to German compliments of British colonialism, as exemplified in a number
of quotations from Leutwein on the inspiration he drew from the British
empire, which, to him, ‘succeeds in domination over 350 million natives’.44
This moral authority would, however, be severely undermined if it was
proven that Britain and the Cape had been aware of or even participated
in German counter-insurgency during the Herero and Nama rebellions.
Indeed, a key premise for the Blue Book was the supposed surprise of the
South Africans in uncovering the true nature of German colonialism with
the 1915 invasion. The applicability and authority of the Blue Book there-
fore hinged on the idea of British and Cape unawareness. The preface
clarified that ‘it was a matter of constant remark amongst the British ele-
ment now here how little was known outside this territory of the dreadful
occurrences that were taking place herein’ because Germany ‘always kept
the country a closed preserve’. Indeed, Gorges asserted that ‘it is reason-
able to surmise’ that ‘had the facts been known as we have now, a protest
would have been addressed to Germany by the Powers who subscribed to

the Resolutions of 1885 (the Berlin Treaty) and 1890 (the Brussels
Treaty)’.45 Clearly, Gorges and everyone who read and wilfully intended
to use the Blue Book for diplomatic purposes were unaware of the reports
of Trench and Simon, or intentionally ignored their existence as they were
detrimental to British and South African diplomatic interests.
In addition to the curious omission of key contemporary sources, the
selective memory displayed in the Blue Book is perhaps best displayed in
its portrayal of a familiar case: the Marengo affair. Major Elliott admitted
to brutality in killing Marengo and his followers, which may have coined
the term ‘overkill’ as the bodies were reported to have been riddled with
approximately 5000 bullets. Elliot received medals and awards from both
Britain and Germany in the aftermath and this successful act of Anglo-
German cooperation in Southern Africa was celebrated and used as a
détente, as part of which Britain ‘won Germany’s war’.46 The tone in the
Blue Book, however, was anything but celebratory. Although it was only
briefly discussed, Marengo was described as a ‘heroic’ and ‘chivalrous’
figure. By 1918, he had seemingly come a long way from his characterisa-
tion as a ‘South African Rob Roy’. Marengo’s death and the entire
Marengo affair was described as a lamentable and tragic affair, but, most
importantly, as a unique case of British and Cape involvement. Instead of
a celebrated occasion, it was regarded as a pity that ‘even one British bullet
should have aided in that horrible outpouring of human blood’.47
Only two years before the publication of the Blue Book, Albert Calvert,
the British historian and traveller also smeared German colonial rule in
SWA. As for the Marengo affair, however, Calvert insisted that Britain only
assisted Germany in killing an outlaw. Rather than regarding the affair as
lamentable, Calvert noted with glee that Elliot’s actions and subsequent
awards ‘fanned the jealousy of the Germans’.48 Evidently, the Marengo
affair only proved British superiority as a colonial power. Indeed, the main
problem with German colonialism, according to Calvert, was not so much
its violent methods but its failure to implement colonial rule efficiently.49
Given the inherent selective memory evident in the Blue Book when jux-
taposing it with contemporary sources on British and Cape involvement,
the Blue Book should not be judged on its contents relating to German
colonial violence alone. Indeed, the intentional mis-portrayal of British
and Cape involvement and awareness of German atrocities, with key
sources and information omitted, indicates that the Blue Book presents a
deeply biased and skewered illustration of what happened, resulting from
its diplomatic and imperial agenda in justifying the confiscation of

Germany’s colonies as an act of humanitarian interventionism permeating
the contents and conclusions of the Blue Book.
Writing the Blue Book

As mentioned, the idea of collecting evidence on German atrocities had
existed since 1915 but it was not acted upon before September 1917.
Ostensibly, the Blue Book was the result of a collaboration between
Gorges, O’Reilly and, to an extent, A.J. Waters, the Crown Prosecutor in
SWA from October 1915. Gorges assumed a broader supervisory role,
which included overseeing progress and communicating with the Union
government. O’Reilly was mainly responsible for collecting evidence from
Africans, conducting interviews and writing what would become the first
and most substantial part of the Blue Book. Waters, with his legal back-
ground, assisted in the selection of legal documents that had been trans-
lated from German to form the second part of the Blue Book. Gorges and
O’Reilly were, however, undoubtedly the main authors and their relation-
ship was key to completion of the Blue Book. Relatively little is known of
either. Gorges, whom G.V. Fiddes in the Foreign Office knew Gorges as
‘a quiet but sterling good fellow’ with seemingly strong connections in
both South African and British circles, although many in South Africa
disliked him for his humanitarian views.50 Since 1916, O’Reilly was a
member of the Special Criminal Court – the highest court in SWA under
martial law—and participated in overseeing fifty-seven cases against
German settlers for mistreatment of Africans. According to Silvester and
Gewald, it is likely that he had a close relationship with local Herero lead-
ers such as Daniel Kariko, who also gave several accounts published in the
Blue Book.51
As mentioned, O’Reilly’s transcripts from his interviews have been lost.
However, a few transcripts and sources relating to O’Reilly’s investigation
were stored, perhaps by mistake or chance, in the Namibian national
archives.52 Nevertheless, the few documents available show a clear image
of how O’Reilly proceeded with gathering evidence for the Blue Book.
Instead of conducting the interviews himself, he telegraphed a number of
magistrates throughout SWA to have them send local chiefs or headmen
to his offices in Keetmanshoop in southern SWA or conduct interviews
with them under instruction. For instance, O’Reilly requested that specific
military squadrons ‘dispatch a mounted constable to order the Herero
headman Gideon to report at this office on Monday morning with a few

of the old men of his kraal who are able to give information in regard to
the history of native affairs of this territory’.53
Perhaps more instructive is O’Reilly’s correspondence with the military
magistrate at Gibeon, Joseph Henry Mayne. On 30 October 1917, Major
J.F. Herbst requested Mayne on behalf of O’Reilly to ‘send Hendrik
Witbooi Junior and Isaac Witbooi, sons of the late Chief Hendrik Witbooi,
and if possible one of the oldest surviving Witboois in your district, by rail
to Keetmanshoop to be there on the 10th proximo’. They were to be
given the train fare and rations and told to report to O’Reilly upon their
arrival.54 After talking to the group of Witbooi Nama, O’Reilly wrote to
Mayne to thank him for his assistance. ‘They inform me’, he continued,
‘that there are also two or three Witboois who would give details regard-
ing their deportation to the Cameroons and to Luderitzbucht.’ Mayne
was therefore requested to obtain ‘statements from survivors as to (a) the
actual number deported, (b) the number which survived and returned, (c)
their treatment on Shark Island and (d) any evidence of atrocities on Shark
Island’. Clearly in a hurry, O’Reilly wrote, ‘Ps. I would like to have these
statements as soon as possible – if not sooner.’55 On 4 December 1917,
Mayne replied with the statements requested, stating that he was ‘enclos-
ing five affidavits from Hottentots touching on their treatment etc. at
Shark Island and the Cameroons. Isaac Janse and Elias, both Hottentots
residing in Windhuk, can, I am told, supply information regarding Shark
Island treatment’.56 Unfortunately, the transcripts of these affidavits either
have been lost or remain undiscovered. However, it is likely that they were
published in the Blue Book and they were the statements of Fritz Isaac
and Franz Lambert and related to the Shark Island concentration camp
and an eye-witness account of how many were deported to Cameroon and
how few returned.57 Clearly, O’Reilly alone was not responsible for col-
lecting the evidence in Part I of the Blue Book as several local magistrates
in SWA were requested to conduct many interviews themselves and send
them to him at his office in Keetmanshoop.
As part of the process of collecting evidence, O’Reilly and possibly
Gorges were selective about which statements and sources were to be used
in the Blue Book. Indeed, it is clear that any evidence collected that did
not adhere to the Blue Book’s overall purpose of discrediting German
colonial rule by depicting it as inherently cruel and in contrast to South
African and British colonialism, was omitted. For instance, a statement by
Christian Johannes Goliath, Chief of the Hei-Khaua Nama at Berseba,
gave a different impression to the statements presented in the Blue Book.

First, Goliath reiterated that he and his people were grateful to the
Germans for bringing them ‘the word of God’. Yet, ‘Under the German
flag we had hoped for a fair judgement of the differences between white
people and coloured.’ The legal system, though, was inherently unfair,
because ‘we have not yet seen that a white man is punished with death’ for
murdering an African. Contrarily, ‘a coloured person is punished with
death if he takes a white man’s life.’ This statement was, to O’Reilly, per-
haps rather banal and would not evoke much revulsion for the reader of
German practices, as it was arguably the norm in European colonialism
that the murder of a white settler or other would be punishable by death
and not vice versa. This was not, however, the main reason for the omis-
sion of this statement: for Goliath, the unfair legal system was ‘one of the
biggest reasons why many good deeds of the Germans were overlooked’
and, eventually, the legal system allowed ‘bitterness’ to prevail, causing the
1904 rebellions.58 Looking forward, Goliath had clear wishes for the
future and stated his views of who should control the territory after
the war:
The wish of the coloured man is to be treated impartially as a man according

to law and justice. To be punished only when it is just and not to have his
stature reduced. As one native complained, “I would rather be a German
dog than a German servant.” When one gets the impression that an animal
is more respected, treated better, spared and protected more, then disap-
pointment and discouragement arises. “Better to die than to be under an
animal.” Since we have kept ourselves impartial in this great war of white
people, so we also want to be impartial in deciding the future government
of South West [Afrika]. We want to be submissive to any government,
whether English, Union or German, which in the future takes over South
West, with the request and prayer that we are to be treated as human beings
according to law and justice.59
The lack of any desire to get rid of German colonialism, paired with subtle
praise and relativism, that it did not matter whether it was ‘English, Union
or German’, would be directly detrimental to the Blue Book, suggesting
that not all Africans were categorically against the idea of restoring German
colonial rule. Indeed, this statement questioned the idea of German atroc-
ities being so vicious as to demand the confiscation of its colonies. This
statement is therefore not found anywhere in the Blue Book. Indeed,
Christian Johannes Goliath is mentioned three times in the Blue Book:
first in connection with his resentment of being called ‘Hottentot’.60 His

second mention was in relation to a description of the marriage rituals and
culture of the Hei-Khaua Nama.61 Finally, he is mentioned, in rather
heroic fashion, for an episode in which he confronted a German officer a
few days before the Nama rebellion in 1904 and asked if it was true that
the Germans were planning to depose him and other Nama chiefs.62 While
the original sources and transcripts from O’Reilly, and the Herero and
Nama magistrates he interviewed may have been lost or have not yet been
uncovered, what is shown here is a number of accounts that were inten-
tionally omitted because they did not support the aim of the Blue Book.
This selective bias in only including documents and statements conform-
ing to the purpose of the Blue Book is suggestive of the propagandist
nature of this source and highlights the necessity of treating it carefully.
While Silvester and Gewald may be right in that it represents an important
African perspective on German colonial violence, it must be reiterated that
this is an African perspective that was only allowed to be voiced as long as
it supported British and Union interests.
The process of selecting specific evidence to support the Blue Book’s
purpose did not relate to eye-witness accounts alone. The same was also
evident with the translated German documents forming most of Part II of
the Blue Book, which lamented, among other things, the German legal
code, especially the frequent use of corporal punishment. The translated
sources are available in the Namibian archives and it is clear which sources
were used where in the Blue Book. Little variation is apparent between
what the sources state and what is published in the Blue Book. For
instance, Governor Theodor Seitz’s circular to all District Officers in
GSWA on 31 May 1912, in which he expressed concerns about the wide-
spread use of corporal punishment and fears that this could lead to a new
rebellion, is heavily referred to in Chapter XXII of the Blue Book and
presented in full in the appendix.63 It is important to reiterate, therefore,
that while the Blue Book was indeed propaganda and did intentionally
select which sources to present, the sources presented are generally
truthful.
Instead, the main issue in Part II of the Blue Book is similar to that of
the eye-witness accounts of Part I: the omission of sources not supporting
its overall purpose. The translated documents included a number of
German complaints and direct orders to take measures against corporal
punishment and general mistreatment. For instance, the Kolonial
Abteilung had already written to Leutwein on 12 January 1900 that
corporal punishment had ‘been adjudged in an exceedingly large number

of cases’. This was problematic because in Berlin they ‘feared that the
Reichstag and public opinion would draw very unfavourable conclusions
in respect of the successes of German modes of civilisation’.64 Later the
same year, district officer at Keetmanshoop, Gustav Duft, wrote to
Leutwein of his resentment of corporal punishment. ‘Even the establish-
ment of the maxim that corporate punishment may only be inflicted in
exceptional cases,’ he wrote, ‘will not assist in the progress of the natives
in German and Christian civilisations but rather retard these ends.’65 These
two examples, however, confirm that corporal punishment was widespread
in GSWA and also indicates that there was no consensus on the usages of
such practices and that it was indeed heavily criticised within the German
colonial system. Arguably, this was why neither of these two otherwise
decisive examples of the widespread use of corporal punishment was
included in the Blue Book: they did not present a categorical image of
German atrocities or related concerns.
In addition to the subjective selection of evidence, another underlying
issue that needs to be taken into consideration when reading the Blue
Book is the brief amount of time Gorges, O’Reilly and Waters had to fin-
ish it. Although O’Reilly had already collected some evidence when
Gorges requested him to sample the accounts in September 1917, the fact
that Gorges sent the first draft of the Blue Book to Botha on 21 January
1918 means that it was prepared and composed in approximately three to
four months. After Long sent the telegram to the dominion governments
on 4 January, requesting evidence and reports to be used at the forthcom-
ing peace negotiations, Botha requested that Gorges rapidly complete the
report. As well as sending a copy of the draft report, Gorges informed
Botha of the stressful conditions in which the Blue Book had been pre-
pared. ‘Owing to injunctions’ Botha gave in his previous telegram,
requesting Gorges to ‘push on with the utmost speed’ in preparing the
report, ‘the time at our disposal for setting the form the report should take
and for the actual writing of the greater portion of it has been done in only
ten days.’ Gorges therefore pleaded with Botha to ‘overlook any short-
comings that a close examination of the work may reveal’.66
Although it was a collaborative effort, the completion in ten days of the
Blue Book’s 212 pages (457 pages in the draft version) was a Herculean
feat.67 Casement, it may be remembered, wrote his sixty-nine-page report
on the Congo atrocities in two weeks and, unlike Gorges, did not have
additional administrative duties. On 14 February, Botha sent Buxton a
summary of the report and laid out the Union position on GSWA. ‘The
administrator of South West Africa’, having ‘for some time been collecting
evidence as to the treatment of natives of that territory by the Germans’,
had completed a momentous task. Gorges ‘embodied the result of these
enquiries in a report of over 400 typed pages, with illustrations, copies of
which accompany this minute’. The report, despite being ‘written under
great pressure to meet the urgent request made in the Secretary of State’s
telegram of 4 January’, was, for Botha, ‘extremely interesting’. It con-
tained ‘conclusive evidence’ that the Germans were ‘totally unfitted for
the responsibility of governing the native races of that territory’ and that
the Africans in GSWA would ‘regard the return of the country to the
Germans as the greatest disaster in their tribal history’. On the evidence
upon which the report was based, Botha commented that the sworn oaths
were corroborated by indisputable German sources. On the statements by
eye-witnesses, he noted that ‘it is impossible to read these statements with-
out forming the conviction that they are as sincere as they are emphatic.’68
The day after receiving Botha’s summary and comments, Buxton sent
them with the report to Long in London. On 15 May, Long wrote to
Buxton, stating that ‘I should like to publish as a Parliamentary Paper
Gorges’ report’.69 The prospect of the report being published as a parlia-
mentary paper—or Blue Book—set Buxton to work. A week after Long’s
telegram, Buxton sent a copy of the report to Nicolaas Jacobus de Wet,
lawyer in the King’s Council and member of the Union parliament, for his
advice. ‘It seems to me’, Buxton began, ‘that it might be very well pub-
lished as it stands. On further consideration I agree with the view you
expressed in regard to the introduction, and I would propose to send a
telegram to that effect to the Secretary of State.’70 As for the Union gov-
ernment, Botha informed Buxton and Long that they were under no obli-
gation to publish the report as a Blue Book. However, they found Long’s
suggestion that Gorges’ telegram to Botha on 21 January should be used
as a covering letter inadvisable ‘for various reasons’.71 Just before its final
publication in late August 1918, Long informed Buxton that Chapter
XXVI on ‘the wishes of Natives as to their future and the future govern-
ment of the country’ had been omitted and that ‘few small excisions in the
text’ had been made.72
Although Chapter XXVI was later published in December 1918, the
rushing through of the report and its subsequent publication process as a
Blue Book undoubtedly incorporated at least some level of editing.
However, when comparing the draft version to the published one, edits
were mainly grammatical, adjusting typos and flow.73 The report as a

whole therefore stands almost exactly as it was written by Gorges in those
ten hasty days. Silvester and Gewald are therefore correct in assuming that
it did not undergo rigorous amendment or rewriting at the Foreign
Office’s Information Department in London prior to publication. 74
Nevertheless, one minor yet important omission stands out. The amend-
ments in the introduction, to which Buxton and de Wet refer, remain
unknown. It is likely, though, that they referred to the last few sentences
of the draft, which were removed from the published version:
Owing to instructions recently received from the Union Government the

examination of the material collected and the writing of the Report have had
to be very much hurried and there are doubtless shortcomings in the pre-
sentation of the matter which at greater leisure would have been corrected.75
In addition to writing the letter to Botha, Gorges also presented a dis-

claimer in the first draft of the Blue Book, indicating that he himself was
critical of two key aspects of the report: the ‘examination of the material
collected’ and the ‘writing’. Given the author’s concern, it stands out as a
crucial and source critical problem for the Blue Book that any indication
that the report was hurried was intentionally removed and omitted. Any
suggestions that the report was rushed through would give the impression
of unreliability, thus undermining its overall purpose of providing a
detailed analysis of German colonial misrule. We do not know the motives
and decisions behind each amendment to the original draft, but, by juxta-
posing the draft with the published version, we can make some inferences
about the changes made and conclude that at least some level of editing
and thus propagandising took place in the preparation of the Blue Book.
Anything complicating its purpose or argument, including statements by
Africans that did not categorically refute the possible return of German
rule or any indication that the report was a rushed one, were intentionally
omitted.
‘A Fool’s Paradise’: SWA Under South

African Occupation
The invasion of GSWA in 1915 was one of the major African theatres dur-
ing World War I. The invasion itself was delayed by the so-called Maritz
rebellion, in which Gerhardus ‘Manie’ Maritz, with the support of the
Germans in GSWA, tried to instigate a Boer rebellion with a view to

severely weakening the imperial war effort now that British forces were
occupied in Europe.76 Ironically, the Maritz rebellion was suppressed
under Botha and Smuts, both of whom were prominent Boer leaders dur-
ing the South African War. By 1914, they had risen to prominent positions
in the Union of South Africa, entering World War I with Britain.77 British
plans to invade GSWA were in place long before the outbreak of war. In
1910, a War Office report made detailed observations and instructions.
The report noted that, while the white settlers would ‘be averse to incor-
poration into the South African Union’, the indigenous population would
be more easily swayed, especially as their numbers had decreased and ‘the
Herero tribe has almost been exterminated’.78 Germany’s brutal treatment
of the Herero and Nama was therefore a favourable issue from a purely
military perspective.
After initial setbacks with the Maritz rebellion and the Battle of
Sandfontein in 1914, Union troops, with their superior numbers and
quality of equipment, forced the Germans to surrender on 9 July 1915
following attacks along the southern border and with troops landing in
Walvis Bay and Swakopmund pushing inland towards Windhoek. The
campaign had a relatively low casualty rate—529 Union troops and 1.188
German troops were killed.79 For the Union, this did, as Buxton pro-
claimed in September 1915, finally ‘remove the German menace from our
borders’. Only a month after the German surrender, the South African
administration had prepared full translations and reports on the German
law code, criminal cases and treaties.80 As well as later forming a substan-
tial part of the sources used in the Blue Book, these also indicated that the
South Africans were there to stay. Although the campaign was already over
by 1915, martial law was proclaimed, remaining in effect until 1920, when
GSWA became a C-class mandate of the Union.
As already discussed, the Blue Book intentionally overlooked and
denied any British involvement or awareness of the atrocities committed
by the Germans before 1915. Furthermore, the process through which
the report was compiled suggests a top-down pressure on Gorges to finish
the report quickly while masking any indications that it was not the result
of a steady and meticulous effort. Another key factor in assessing the Blue
Book as a historical document of German colonial violence, however, is
the context in which Gorges, O’Reilly and others prepared the report.
Indeed, the South African invasion of 1915, while presented as a form of
humanitarian intervention, was not the end of colonial violence in SWA.
As Reinhart Kössler has noted, Gorges stated in 1915 his intention to

follow a more rigorous ‘native policy’ in SWA compared to those in place
in the Union and particularly in Transvaal. The year after, Gorges wrote in
his annual report that ‘the two main principles of the German Law – that
every native must carry means of identification and be employed unless he
has visible means of support – remains in force.’81 It is correct that the
South African occupation of SWA was not the humanitarian intervention
suggested in the Blue Book and, indeed, many practices continued after
the mandate. While South African rule was oppressive, however, it did not
represent a complete continuation of German practices. In fact, in 1915,
Botha informed Smuts that he needed Gorges ‘badly’ because of the
importance of ‘sympathetic control of the natives’.82 Furthermore, a cen-
tral context for South African rule under martial law was the restriction of
any regulations or amendments of existing laws under the Hague
Conventions. Consequently, despite the South African takeover, they did
not have the legal right to completely change German colonial laws.83
Gorges was therefore also forced to continue the German law code.
Ostensibly, the South Africans, while occupying SWA, continued the
policy they had applied during the Herero and Nama rebellions of trying
to provoke neither Germans nor Africans.84 Despite the restrictions on
amending existing law, however, the South Africans did change a number
of laws concerning ‘native policy’. Although these laws continued to exist,
identification demands were relaxed and Africans were again permitted to
own cattle. Perhaps most importantly, the South African administration
was keen to take corporal punishment out of the hands of individual set-
tlers and introduce strict government regulations on when and how it
could be used. The ‘Masters and Servants’ laws of 1916 and 1920 prohib-
ited the rights of farmers to flog Africans.85 Corporal punishment did not
end with the South African invasion but it was regulated in a way the
South Africans deemed more ‘humane’. Crucially, the Blue Book, in
pointing to German methods of corporal punishment as a particular point-
in-case of mistreatment and brutality, did not therefore aim to criticise
corporal punishment or colonialism as a whole—only certain types.86
In addition to changing some of the laws that had permitted a system
of everyday violence to exist in GSWA, the South Africans set down the
Special Criminal Court (the SCC), which dealt with the worst cases of
violence and murder during the years of martial law. With German law still
in effect, they could pass the death sentence, which happened on nineteen
occasions. In accordance with their policy of trying to antagonise neither
Germans nor Africans, however, the South Africans were cautious in pass-
ing such sentences and, when they were passed, they were almost exclu-
sively commuted to life in prison. The SCC prosecuted both Africans and
Germans and, while the former were generally treated more harshly, this
was not exclusive. On several occasions, Africans who had assaulted
German settlers pleaded that they had done so either in self-defence or
pre-emptively. With knowledge of German settler’s brutality, the SCC
often considered such context vital in passing sentence.87 The South
African regime, during the years of martial law, therefore represented an
improvement in terms of governance and ‘native policy’ because of its
active attempts to uphold the law, especially in cases where settlers had
violated it, unlike the Germans before.
This certainly did not mean, however, that colonial violence ended in
1915. Indeed, while O’Reilly was gathering evidence of German mistreat-
ment by interviewing Africans, he, Gorges and Waters became involved in
a dispute with the Union constabulary in SWA—in particular, a South
African officer, Lieutenant Colonel Fouche—on the treatment of Africans.
On 22 November 1917, Waters wrote to Gorges of numerous ‘cases of
flogging of natives by South African forces at their own initiative and not
a ruling from the courts – at times on request by German settlers’. Despite
such gross violations of order, the courts did not intervene.88 The next
day, Gorges wrote a confidential but inspired telegram to Botha, com-
plaining about the conduct of South African forces. ‘I must tell you
frankly’, he began, ‘that I regard Lt. Col. Fouche and some of his officers
as unfit for police work.’ While they were ‘splendid soldiers in the field’,
he stated that they did not possess the character or education for police
work or dealing with Africans. ‘Fouche is a hasty tempered man,’ he wrote.
‘He has extreme ideas on the subject of the treatment of the natives. He
has made no secret in conversations with me of the view that occasional
corporal punishment is what all natives require.’ Such violent conduct was
detrimental to South African policies and aims in SWA. Indeed, Gorges
reiterated that ‘Major T.L. O’Reilly, who has been selected by me to work
up the material required for a Blue Book on the treatment of natives by
their German masters, has been travelling around amongst the natives col-
lecting information.’ In the course of his travels and interviews with
Africans, Gorges noted, O’Reilly reported that he had ‘heard expressions
from the natives’ that although there was ‘pleasure in the method of the
new government’ they were dissatisfied with ‘the treatment meted out by
the constabulary who were “just the same as the German police”’.
Furthermore, he asserted, the corporal punishment and violent actions of

the South African forces in SWA directly provoked the Herero, ‘who
regard themselves as a martyred race’, meaning that ‘harshness or injustice
will make them stubborn and so build up difficulties for us’.89
Gorges was therefore not only motivated by purely humanitarian senti-
ment, but also the possible security risks of such actions, given their poten-
tial to spur the Herero to rebel. On 27 November, he continued an
apparent obsession with correcting the conduct of the South African con-
stabulary, writing to the officer commanding the Union forces in GSWA,
Colonel De Jager, about Fouche and his officers. Gorges wanted De Jager
to take ‘the strongest action’ and noted that he felt that ‘we are living in
something very like a Fool’s Paradise so far as the attitude of the Natives
towards us may be affected.’ For Gorges, if any ‘unlawful acts, such as
those now coming to light, continue, I do foresee the possibility of trou-
ble’ for which the constabulary would be blamed. Of course, ‘by our laws
we are forcing every able-bodied native to work for some master or other’
because ‘the country must progress and the farmer must have labour.’
This meant that, ‘we exercise a certain amount of pressure to the native to
take service and at the same time we promise him fair wages and proper
treatment and tell him that the pre-war methods are things of the past and
that he need have no fears.’90 Although Gorges was writing to complain
about the violent actions of the South African forces, he also confirmed
that the South Africans also introduced what amounted to forced labour,
albeit not on the same scale or with the same violent methods as the
Germans. Crucially, though, a significant aspect for Gorges in maintaining
a level of ‘fair treatment’ of the Africans was a guarantee of the security of
SWA, particularly as he and many others were correctly convinced that
German colonial violence led to the 1904 rebellions.
There was another reason, however, why Gorges was so vociferous in
his attempts to correct Fouche and other officers who had flogged or mis-
treated Africans without direct orders from the court:
There is a further aspect of the matter to which I desire to draw attention.

At the present moment certain officers of the Administration are, under my
directions, busily engaged in collecting from the German records and other
sources material concerning the treatment of Protectorate Natives by the
Germans before the War for publication in a Blue Book, in order to show
the world the state of affairs that existed here prior to our occupation of the
country. And now to my amazement and dismay, I find our own people
dropping into the same reprehensible ways, and responsible officers like Lt.
Col. Fouche and Captain Matthee treating cases that come to light as if they
were of no consequence whatsoever… Ex-German officials surely take note
for future use… when peace comes they can do us infinite harm by publish-
ing stories, which though they will be much exaggerated will nevertheless
have a substratum of truth in them, of how, under our beneficent rule,
natives have been ill-treated.91
Gorges feared for the credibility of the report he was compiling with
Waters and O’Reilly. If South African forces continued with such conduct,
any argument for transferring SWA to the Union on the grounds of more
humane and morally superior treatment of Africans would disintegrate
and hand the Germans a convincing counter-measure. In his continued
crusade against Fouche and corporal punishment from South African
forces, Gorges summoned a meeting with the magistrates, two command-
ing officers and the staff officer from the constabulary and addressed them
all on 28 November 1917. Supported by De Jager and Major Herbst,
Gorges opened by reiterating that ‘no official in this country has any
excuse for ignorance regarding the policy of the government in connec-
tion with the administrative of native affairs.’ The magistrates were there-
fore asked to ‘exercise much closer control’ over the military personnel
acting as police in their districts in order to avoid further transgressions.
For Gorges, it was crucial that everyone was made to understand the
undesirability of continuing German practices from before the war:
‘Numberless cases of brutality by German farmers have come to our
knowledge. The Union government has heard of these brutalities and are
using them as one of the arguments why the country should not be given
back to Germany after the war [so] we must not do anything during our
present tenure to prejudice our position.’92
Although Gorges admitted that the constabulary came from a military
background and thus had very little experience in police work, he stressed
the importance of following the regulations and legislative order. ‘First’,
he noted, ‘the control of the natives is a matter for the Magistrates.’ Any
action on the part of the constabulary, particularly in the form of corporal
punishment, would inevitably reflect on the magistrate in question—
which is, incidentally, why O’Reilly was so provoked by Fouche’s unlawful
acts of corporal punishment given that these were committed in his dis-
trict, at Omaruru. Furthermore, Gorges asserted that the magistrates were
to bring to him ‘all cases of ill-treatment of natives’, suggesting a
centralisation of how violence were responded to and dealt with in light of

the concurrent compilation of the Blue Book. De Jager, speaking after
Gorges, asserted first that it was necessary to improve cooperation between
the magistrates, enabling the constabulary to carry out their duties more
efficiently. However, he also clarified that, while ‘the prestige of the
European must be upheld’ any officer concealing cases of ill-treatment was
‘not worthy of the position he holds’ and would face ‘drastic measures
taken by me’.93 Although these statements were intended as reprimands to
prevent further cases of mistreatment, they also confirm the prevalence of
colonial violence in SWA under South African rule.
Unfortunately, the reprimand did not prevent further cases of mistreat-
ment by South African forces. On 6 March 1918, O’Reilly wrote to
Gorges that he found the police ‘slack and incompetent’. Worse still, they
‘favoured the German settlers over the natives. At times, they even sup-
press evidence and witnesses’ of floggings or other incidents of illegal vio-
lence. When their officers were not there, they acted freely and were ‘too
harsh towards the natives’. This resulted in ‘the laws of the Administration’
not being ‘enforced as they should, but in some cases, they have been
deliberately set aside or contravened by the very men whose duty it is to
uphold and enforce them’.94 Only one month later, Gorges received a let-
ter from the magistrate at Grootfontein, Frank Brownlee, which included
a long list of transgressions on the part of the police. He described ‘a long
story of incompetence, slackness and laches’. Brownlee listed no less than
ten specific instances of police transgressions and mistreatment, including
assaulting Africans, stealing alcohol and one case of rape of a Herero
woman. For Brownlee, association with the police was not just amoral and
personally discrediting, but made his job impossible: ‘Your personal
instructions to me in taking up my duties were to “keep the flag flying”. It
is most difficult under existing circumstances to uphold British prestige.’
He stayed in his position for Gorges’ sake but underlined that ‘I’ll be
damned if I’ll stay on here indefinitely with things as they are at present.’95
In April 1918, the dispute between magistrates and the police wors-
ened when O’Reilly discovered that Fouche was attempting to undermine
him among the settlers and Africans in his district, claiming that he had
stolen game and was ‘untrustworthy’.96 The situation was so bad that
Gorges wrote to Smuts about the continued mistrust between the magis-
trates and the constabulary and continued violations of regulation and
mistreatment of Africans on the part of the police. Although De Jager
promised Gorges in November 1917 to discipline troops responsible for
assaulting Africans, several reports still emerged of violence and floggings.

Furthermore, in a specific case in which a trooper, G. Meiring, was inves-
tigated for assault, nothing happened despite several requests from Gorges
and Waters as Crown Prosecutor. In February 1918, the same trooper was
reported to have committed a similar assault with no reaction from De
Jager. ‘I must say that I fear De Jager, while giving me full official support,
is by no means in entire sympathy with my attitude towards this question,’
Gorges wrote. In the end, ‘an impossible situation’ was created. With the
Africans forced to work for the Germans, there were many cases where
‘the German farmers in their treatment of their servants have been abetted
by the police in a manner not very greatly different from the vogue under
the German regime.’ When the local magistrate received word of such
incidents, it was ‘his duty to investigate’. However, as Gorges noted, this
‘immediately’ saw the constabulary ‘hush the matter up’. The unholy alli-
ance between the police and the German settlers allowed for a continua-
tion of colonial violence, with the magistrates having very little power or
opportunity to intervene.97
Two months later, the Union government sent two officers from the
Defence Headquarters in Pretoria and Sir Jacobus Graaf, a minister with-
out portfolio, to Swakopmund to discuss the magistrate–constabulary dis-
pute. Gorges did not attend, but Waters, Brownlee and O’Reilly were
present alongside another district magistrate, Major Bult. Waters stated
that the magistrates had been unable to prosecute military personnel in
the constabulary because they were consistently prevented in doing so by
senior officers. The dispute, Waters declared, ‘arose directly from the ille-
gal floggings of natives by members of the military constabulary and the
apparent disinclination of senior officials to bring such men to justice’.
While there were no issues with the First Constabulary in southern parts
of SWA, the Second Constabulary, under Fouche and De Jager, was
steeped in problems: over forty known cases of illegal floggings emerged
and, on several occasions, Fouche directly contravened the law by, for
instance, commuting fines or covering up incidents. For O’Reilly, the
problem was the ‘incompetence’ and ‘weakness’ of senior officials, namely
Fouche and De Jager, who did not punish illegal actions and helped to
create a culture in the constabulary of ‘baulking’ at the magistrates’ work
and investigations at every step. The magistrates therefore demanded that
further inquiries be made into ‘the attitude’ of De Jager and Fouche, to
which Graaf agreed.98 This internal inquiry, however, did not take any
action against Fouche or De Jager and O’Reilly therefore resigned, most
likely in protest, on 26 November, before his untimely death in mid-1919,

when he may have become a late victim of the Spanish influenza.99
South African forces’ continued use of corporal punishment indicates
the centrality of colonial violence in the history of SWA on the part of
Germans and South Africans. However, with the compilation of the Blue
Book at exactly the same time as the dispute between magistrates and
constabulary over illegal floggings and colonial violence, a certain degree
of hypocrisy is apparent: unsurprisingly, South African rule was not the
humanitarian intervention promised in the Blue Book. Its composers
knew as much as they were the key actors in a dispute that could both
discredit their work and land them in serious trouble with the governance
of SWA. Even after the publication of the Blue Book, Gorges continued to
be concerned and was distraught about the situation. In April 1919, he
wrote what can only be read as a capitulating telegram to Daniël F. Malan,
Acting Prime Minister of the Union in Botha’s absence. The abuses ‘which
I reported to Botha a year and more ago’, he wrote, were still taking place.
‘In all cases where such abuses were reported’, he continued, ‘to Botha or
vising Ministers no action was taken.’ As for De Jager, he continued to
permit gross conduct and officially demanded that ‘a policeman who pun-
ished a native by chaining him up with German chains for a day’ was ‘jus-
tifiable and that the reasons against their (German chains) are sentimental’.
Given that the Blue Book, over several pages, presents the severity of
German chains and sjamboks, it is clear that Gorges no longer had much
belief in the credibility of his own report: ‘Great use was made in Paris of
the Blue Book,’ he noted, which dealt with ‘ill-treatment of the Herero
and other tribes by the Germans.’ In addition, the fact that it was now
‘one of the primary duties of the League of Nations’, which had conferred
SWA as a Union mandate, to give ‘the custody and tutelage of these peo-
ple (Herero and Nama)’ to ‘a state (the Union) which has shown it can
exercise in a conscience in this matter’. From the actions of the constabu-
lary, it was clear to Gorges that ‘chains and the liberal use of sjambok by
the police’ made it impossible to ‘secure that clean sheet’ necessary for the
Union to take control of SWA.100
Gorges’ telegram, however, came too late to make any impression, as
the colonial question in Paris had already been settled by that time. On the
whole, the complaints from Gorges, O’Reilly and Waters over the miscon-
duct of South African troops therefore appear to have fallen on deaf ears.
Indeed, just over a year later, after SWA was conferred to the Union as a
mandate in December 1920, Gorges was replaced by Smuts’ close friend,
Gysbert ‘Gys’ Hofmeyr. It is likely that Gorges, whom Botha, in February

1918, called ‘a very poor Administrator’, was replaced because of his con-
tinued complaints about the constabulary.101 Unlike Gorges, Hofmeyr was
a firm believer in white supremacy and felt that SWA was to be an outlet
for poor white farmers in South Africa. To him, German methods were
not always cruel. Although the German laws were not directly continued,
Hofmeyr oversaw the handover of significant portions of land to South
African settlers and introduced a system all but forcing Africans to work
for white farmers, who still desperately needed their labour. Gorges,
O’Reilly and Waters thus served their purpose and, after 1920, it was no
longer necessary to continue the alienation and public discrediting of
German methods.102 This culminated in 1926 when the Blue Book was
ordered to be destroyed to enable reconciliation with the German settlers,
who were aggrieved over the discrediting of German colonial rule.103
German Colonialism at the Bar in Paris 1919

With the war turning in the Allies’ favour and the armistice on 11
November 1918, the publication of the Blue Book in August 1918 was
timely and directly appealed to President Wilson’s fourteen points.104 It
also made a significant impression on several key figures in the British
imperial government. For instance, Lord Robert Cecil, who, together
with Smuts, later played a crucial role in devising the mandates system,
found it ‘the most scathing exposure of German rule over black races there
could possibly be, and full use should be made of it’.105 In South Africa,
Buxton, upon visiting SWA in the autumn of 1919, noted that the Blue
Book shed light on ‘one of the most perplexing problems that will have to
be faced’ for the Union in governing in SWA. A termination of the prac-
tices of the German regime, characterised ‘by abuse of power, culpable
homicide, perpetual and brutal floggings, forced labour… the Natives felt
that under the Germans justice and redress was entirely denied them’.106
Such views were commonplace at the time of Buxton’s visit. Indeed,
before the publication of the Blue Book in August 1918, publications had
already emerged describing German colonialism as particularly cruel,
including Hugh Clifford’s (the Governor of the Gold Coast), German
Colonies, A Plea for the Native Races (1918). Clifford claimed that
Germany had ‘proved herself a singularly bad and restless neighbour’ and,
as such, the British dominions in the Pacific and South Africa would face a
vital yet difficult battle in preventing the restoration of Germany’s
colonies, against ‘established principles of justice’.107 Similarly, humanitar-

ian groups in Britain, such as the Anti-Slavery Society and the Aborigines’
Protection Society, were monitoring the situation and were in contact
with the Foreign Office to ensure that ‘the welfare of the natives was safe-
guarded’ in any negotiations over the future of Germany’s colonies.108
Already in 1915, the APS voiced its concerns over the potential conse-
quences for the indigenous peoples should Germany’s colonies be
returned.109 The Blue Book manifested and corroborated these existing
views to the extent that it became impossible and morally indefensible to
advocate for Germany to retain its colonies—at least in Britain.110
This was largely because the Blue Book generated much attention in
British and South African newspapers, even at local newspaper level. The
Northern Whig, for instance, reported that the Blue Book revealed that
‘many crimes stain the record of the dealings of other European countries
with the African aborigines’, promoting the Congo and Portuguese colo-
nies as examples. Yet, it was argued, ‘no Great Power conscious of a civiliz-
ing mission has behaved towards the natives as the Germans in South West
Africa.’111 Similarly, the Linlithgowshire Gazette claimed that German colo-
nial secretary, Dr Solf, reiterated that Germany had ‘proved’ its ‘ability to
participate in the uplifting work of civilisation’. In countering this claim,
the Blue Book was ‘of most timely interest’, showing that, while ‘the
Boers claimed the right to “wallop their own niggers”’ the Germans
‘claimed the right to lash them to death’.112 Of the larger newspapers in
Britain, The Times commented that the Blue Book had shown the ‘mad
brutality’ of Germany and thus its ‘ineptitude for colonial tasks’.113 The
Morning Post commented that the Blue Book had proven that the ‘inhu-
man outrages Germany committed in Europe were insignificant compared
to the savage abominations which were German rule in Africa’.114 Similarly
the Daily Chronicle reiterated that ‘whatever future other German colo-
nies be, it is impossible South West Africa can be restored to Germany’
because ‘crimes definitely forbid Germany’s re-entry into Africa’. This
view was shared in the Daily Graphic and the Daily Telegraph—here it was
noted in the latter that, if Germany’s colonies were restored, ‘it would
make the Allies partners in her unspeakable crimes’.115
In addition to the public attention received by the Blue Book, the idea
of the brutal German colonialist was also reproduced in Foreign Office
handbooks intended for the delegates of the Paris peace conference as a
guide on the different issues to be negotiated. In The Treatment of Natives
in German Colonies (1920), the argument was reproduced from the Blue
Book that nothing was known of German atrocities prior to the war.
German colonialism, it was stated, was characterised by ‘numerous ris-
ings’, where the ‘expropriation of tribal lands, maladministration of jus-
tice, excessive flogging and recruiting of natives by means of forced levies’
were common. Indeed, German colonialism, it was asserted in the hand-
book, was so cruel that had the same violence and type of colonialism been
perpetrated ‘by a less powerful nation’, it would have ‘roused a storm of
indignation throughout the civilized world’.116 The idea of humanitarian
interventionism therefore underpinned British and dominion demands for
confiscating Germany’s colonies and indicates that the findings of the Blue
Book were taken into the negotiations in Paris, if not directly then at least
through the guidelines and instructions given to the British Empire
delegation.
With the participation of the dominions in the peace conference, the
issue of Germany’s colonies was central to the agenda of the British Empire
delegation. At the Paris peace conference, dominion representation was a
heavily debated issue: on the one hand, the support rendered by the
dominions proved vital for Britain’s war effort and Australia lost more
men that America during the war. At the same time, they were not fully
independent nations and the French Premier, Georges Clemenceau, there-
fore believed that it was only a move to boost Britain’s influence at the
conference, while President Wilson also remained sceptical. In the end,
the dominions were represented as part of the British Empire delegation—
a compromise as part of which they would be invited to specific negotia-
tions, primarily relating to the question of Germany’s colonies.117 Already,
in 1917, Lord Curzon noted the necessity of allowing the dominions to
maintain the conquered German colonies: ‘there can be no doubt that the
whole of the dominions would regard it as an act of inexpiable desertion
if we were to surrender their claims.’ Therefore, ‘if we were to press the
Dominions to acquiesce in concession, it would expose us to the charge of
breach of faith that could never be forgiven’.118 Later, Buxton echoed
Curzon’s view and noted that, if the German colonies were returned, ‘the
Dominions, instead of benefitting, had suffered from their membership in
the Empire’.119 For Britain, therefore, the return of Germany’s colonies
would have a significant impact on its inter-imperial relations and British
Prime Minister, David Lloyd George, unswervingly adopted the view of
the dominions as his agenda at the conference, even with its potential to
encumber relations with America and Wilson.120
On 24 January 1919, the first meeting took place where the dominions
were represented in discussion of Germany’s colonies at the Paris peace
conference. Already, before the meeting, the Imperial War Cabinet, with
the British and dominion delegates all present, unanimously agreed that
Germany’s colonies were not to be restored.121 At the conference, Smuts
presented the South African case in demanding the annexation of
SWA. First, he claimed that SWA and the Union were ‘geographically
one’. Only Britain’s failure to secure SWA in the 1880s allowed Germany
to take the territory in the first place. Since then, Germany had been a
problematic neighbour, as the Maritz rebellion proved. Crucially, though,
a key reason why SWA was to be annexed was, according to Smuts, that
‘the Germans have not colonized it’ and had ‘done little else than exter-
minating the natives’.122
It soon became clear that the meeting was not a discussion of whether
Germany’s colonies were to be restored but rather a discussion of the
terms under which they were to be confiscated and governed in the future.
Although the dominions, particularly the Union and Australia, demanded
annexation of the German colonies of SWA and New Guinea, the solution
was the mandates system, of which Smuts himself was a key inventor. On
29 January 1919, a resolution as to the future of the German colonies and
Ottoman provinces was proclaimed. ‘Having regard to the record of the
German administration in the colonies,’ it began, ‘and to the menace
which the possession by Germany of submarine bases in many parts of the
world’, undermining the security of the dominions, ‘the Allied and
Associated powers are agreed that in no circumstances should any of the
German colonies be restored to Germany’. The mandates would be
divided into three categories—A, B and C—with the latter reserved for
SWA and New Guinea, which were to be governed as ‘integral parts’ of
the mandatory power.123 In reality, however, C-class mandates were de
facto colonies, which, as explained to the Australian Prime Minister,
William ‘Billy’ Hughes, amounted to a ‘999 years lease’.124
Where Article 119 effectuated the confiscation of Germany’s colonies,
Article 22 of the Versailles Settlement created the mandates system, which
decreed that those areas where the inhabitants were not considered able to
govern themselves would be kept ‘in sacred trust’ by ‘advanced nations’ in
order to be given independence when ready.125 The Versailles Treaty of
Peace submitted to and signed by the Union government clearly stated
the responsibilities conferred to the Union with regard to its new mandate
in SWA. In Part IV, Germany was to ‘renounce all her rights and privileges
whatever in or over territory in which being there or to her allies’.126

Furthermore, ‘the native inhabitants of the former German overseas pos-
sessions shall be entitled to the diplomatic protection of the Governments
exercising authority over those territories.’127
Despite taking control of SWA as a C-class mandate, the Union could
not get rid of at least some degree of oversight from the newly established
Permanent Mandates Commission (PMC) under the League of Nations.
Indeed, when Bondelswarts rebelled against the Union in 1922 over a
dispute originating in dog tax, they were brutally suppressed by means of
‘air policing’—a new term for bombing civilians.128 Smuts, by then Union
Prime Minister, considered it a purely domestic affair and was shocked by
the international criticism that came from the League of Nations and the
PMC.129 Thus, despite the establishment of an international system to
prevent atrocities in the mandates and the South African takeover of SWA
on the grounds of German brutality, colonial violence in the south-west
corner of Africa did not end with the termination of German colonial rule.
* * *
During World War I, it became clear to the British Foreign and Colonial
Offices that justification was needed in order to take over Germany’s colo-
nies captured during the war. For the Union, GSWA formed the last piece
of the puzzle to create a South African Monroe doctrine for Southern
Africa.130 In January 2018, the Colonial Office requested reports on
German colonial misrule and indigenous wishes for a change of adminis-
tration, the Blue Book therefore came at a perfect time. While several
historians consider it a vital source because of the African voices that
emerge on the genocide in GSWA, it remains a problematic source. Not
only are questions raised about the circumstances in which the statements
and evidence were gathered, but, most importantly, as shown here, the
Blue Book is flawed by its misrepresentation of British involvement in
German colonial violence.
It suggests that Britain and the Cape knew nothing of the horrors of
German colonial rule before the 1915 invasion and even laments the death
of Marengo as an exception, although it was widely celebrated at the time.
Furthermore, the omission of paragraphs indicating the pressure under
which Gorges finished the report underlines its diplomatic purposes.
Perhaps most problematically, however, was the issue to which the authors
of the Blue Book—Gorges, O’Reilly and Waters—themselves pointed:

that South African forces acted in similar ways to the Germans, particularly
when it came to corporal punishment, which was used as a central argu-
ment in the Blue Book to illustrate the wickedness of German colonial
rule. The Blue Book therefore reveals that colonial violence also impacted
a larger imperial and diplomatic stage and was a factor in the negotiations
at the Paris peace conference. Indeed, the image of Germany as a cruel
colonial power was manifested in those years, reinforced by the already
prevailing notion of German Huns emanating from the violence in occu-
pied Belgium. However, while colonial violence was placed in the realms
of propaganda and diplomacy, it also meant that the suffering of Africans,
while receiving the humanitarian sympathies of both the authors and read-
ers, was nonetheless used for diplomatic and imperialistic purposes. In
many ways, the Blue Book sought to be the Casement report on GSWA
and manufacture a colonial scandal aimed at Germany for the purposes of
confiscating its colonial possessions on the grounds of humanitarian
interventionism.
Notes
1. NASA, PM 1/1/151: Harcourt to de Villiers, 6 August 1914.
3. M. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Delegitimating Empire: German and British
Representations of Colonial Violence, 1918–19’, The International
History Review, vol. 42, 4 (2020), p. 835.
4. G. Smith, ‘The British Government and the Disposition of the German
Colonies in Africa, 1914–1918’ in Gifford and Louis (eds.), Britain and
Germany in Africa, p. 290.
5. See E. Manela, The Wilsonian Moment. Self-Determination and the
International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (Oxford, 2007).
6. TNA, CO 537/117: Long to Governors of Australia, New Zealand and
South Africa, January 1918, quoted in Memorandum for War Cabinet 15
October 1918.
7. TNA, CO 885/26: Buxton to Long, 10 January 1918.
8. Merriman to Smuts, 6 September 1915, cited in W.K Hancock and J. van
der Poel (eds.) Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. III (Cambridge,
1966), pp. 311–12.
9. Sir T. Watts to Smuts, 5 September 1917, cited in Hancock and van der
Poel (eds.) Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. III, p. 545.
10. Theo Schreiner was a South African politician critical of the treatment of
the Herero. Exeter Hall refers to the home of the British Anti-Slavery
Society.
11. J. Silvester and J.B. Gewald, Words Cannot be Found. German Colonial
Rule in Namibia: An Annotated Reprint of the 1918 Blue Book (Leiden,
2003), p. xvii.
12. TNA, CO 885/26: Buxton to Long 9 February 1918.
13. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, p. xiii.
15. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting pp. 9–10. Here Eckl, ‘The Herero
Genocide of 1904’, p. 40.
16. BL, 08157.f. 8: Reichskolonialamt, The Treatment of Native and Other
Populations in the Colonial Possessions of Germany and England: an
Answer to the English Blue Book of August 1918 (Berlin, 1919), p. 4.
17. M. E. Townsend, The Rise and Fall of the German Colonial Empire, (New
York, 1930). Cited in C. Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and Inter-Imperial
Rivalry: Britain, Germany and the Treatment of ‘Native Races’,
1904–1939’ in T. Crook, R. Gill and B. Taithe (eds.), Evil, Barbarism
and Empire: Britain and Abroad, c. 1830–2000 (London, 2010), p. 206.
18. Louis, Germany’s Lost colonies, p. ix.
19. B. Lau, ‘Uncertain Certainties. The Herero-German War of 1904’,
Mbigaus, vol. 2 (1989), p. 4. Lau also famously contested whether the
violence against the Herero and Nama could be termed as a genocide.
For this view, see also G. Spraul, ‘Der “Völkermord” and den Herero:
Untersuchungen zu einer neuen Kontinuitätsthese’, Geschichte in
Wissenschaft und Unterricht, vol. 12 (1988).
20. N. Ribiero, A. Schmidt, S. Nicholas, O. Kruglikova and K. Du Pont,
‘World War I and the Emergence of Modern Propaganda’, in K. Arnold,
P. Preston and S. Kinnebrock, The Handbook of European Communication
History (Hoboken NJ, 2019), pp. 101–2.
21. For the excesses of the German troops in Belgium, see for instance
J. Horne and A. Kramer, German Atrocities, 1914: A history of denial
(New Haven, 2001) and A. Kramer, Dynamics of Destruction: Culture
and Mass Killing in the First World War (Oxford, 2007).
22. See M. Tusan, The British Empire and the Armenian Genocide:
Humanitarianism and Imperial Politics from Gladstone to Churchill
(London, 2017) and D. Rodogno, Against Massacre. Humanitarian
Interventions in the Ottoman Empire, 1815–1914 (Princeton NJ, 2012).
23. Foreign Office, German Atrocities and Breaches of Rules of War in Africa
(1916) and Foreign Office, Papers Relating to Certain Trials in South
West Africa (1916). Also discussed in Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and
Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, p. 208.
24. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, pp. xxii–xxiii.

25. Eckl, ‘The Herero Genocide of 1904’, pp. 37–8. For a critical review of
the republication of the Blue Book by Silvester and Gewald, see also
R. Kössler, ‘Sjambok or Cane? Reading the Blue Book’, Journal of
Southern African Studies, vol. 30, 3 (2004).
26. For O’Reilly’s documents: NAN, LKE 31/1/15 and NAN, LMG
3/1/17. For the translated German sources: NAN, A41 and A312.
27. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective Memory’, p. 323.
28. Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, p. 207, ff. 27.
For the use of photographs and visual cultures of the Congo Reform
Association, see for instance, J. Peffer, ‘Snap of the Whip/Crossroads of
Shame: Flogging, Photography and the Representation of Atrocity in the
Congo Reform Campaign’, Visual Anthropology Review, vol. 24,
1, (2008).
29. Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, pp. 203–4.
30. Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, pp. 4–5.
33. Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, pp. 7 and 11.
35. TNA, FO 881/5181: General Act of the West African Conference, 26
February 1885, Article 6.
36. J. Schildknecht, Bismarck, Sudwestafrika und die Kongokonferenz – Die
völkerrechtlichen Gundlagen der effektiven Okkupation und ihre
Nebenpflichten am Beispiel des Erwerbs der ersten deutschen Kolonie
(Hamburg, 1999), pp. 288 and 308.
38. Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, p. 35. Also in TNA: FO
373/6: German South-West Africa, Foreign Office Handbook,
March 1919.
39. Hillebrecht, ‘“Certain Uncertainties”’, pp. 82–3.
40. BL, 08157.f. 8: Reichskolonialamt, The Treatment of Native and Other
Populations, p. 43.
42. Kössler, ‘Sjambok or Cane?’, p. 708.
44. Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, pp. 9–10
46. See Chap. 3.
48. A. Calvert, South West Africa during the German occupation 1894–1914
(London, 1916), p. 32.
49. Calvert, South West Africa, p. 8. Also, Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Selective
Memory’, pp. 321–22.
50. G.V. Fiddes to Smuts, 9 June 1919, cited in Hancock and van der Poel
(eds.) Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. III, p. 376.
51. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, p. xviii.
52. NAN, LMG 3/1/17 and LKE 3/1/15.
53. NAN, LKE 3/1/15, File 97/17/8: ‘Native affairs under German
Regime. Investigations conducted by Major O’Reilly’, O’Reilly to the
O/C B Squadron, 8 November 1917.
54. NAN, LMG 3/1/17, File 60/17/12: ‘Investigations Conducted by
Major O’Reilly, 1917’, Herbst to Military Magistrate Gibeon, 30
October 1917.
55. NAN, LMG 3/1/17, File 60/17/12: O’Reilly to Military Magistrate
Gibeon 19 November 1917.
56. NAN, LMG 3/1/17, File 60/17/12: McGiness to O’Reilly, 4
December 1917.
58. NAN, LKE 3/1/15, File 97/17/8: Statement of the Captain and
Councillors of the Hei-Khaba Hottentots of Berseba.
59. NAN, LKE 3/1/15, File 97/17/8: Statement of the Captain and
Councillors of the Hei-Khaba Hottentots of Berseba.
63. See Administrators Office, Report on the Natives, Chapter XXII and
NAN, A312, Item 2: ‘Preparation of the Imperial Blue Book’, Seitz to
Magistrates, 31 May 1912.
64. NAN, A41: Reichskolonialamt to Leutwein, 12 January 1900.
65. NAN, A41: Duft to Leutwein, 31 July 1900.
66. TNA, CO 885/26: Gorges to Botha, 21 January 1918, enclosed in
Buxton to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 9 February 1918.
67. It should be noted that each page in the published version contains more
words hence the lower number of pages
68. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Botha to Buxton, 14 February 1919—sent
the day after to Long.
69. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Long to Buxton, 15 May 1918.
70. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Long to de Wet, 22 May 1918.
71. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Botha to Buxton, Minute, 29 May.
72. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Long to Buxton, 19 August 1918.
73. NAN, ADM 255, ‘Report on the Natives of South West Africa and their
treatment by Germany’, January 1918 (Draft) and Administrators Office,
Report on the Natives.
74. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, pp. xxii–xxiii.

75. NAN, ADM 255: ‘Report on the Natives of South West Africa and their
treatment by Germany’, January 1918 (Draft), p. 19.
76. For the 1914 ‘Maritz’ rebellion, see T.R.H Davenport, ‘The South
African Rebellion, 1914’, The English Historical Review, vol. 78, 306
(1963), K. Fedorowich, ‘Sleeping with the Lion?: The loyal Afrikaner and
the South African Rebellion of 1914–1915’, South African Historical
Journal, vol. 49, 1, (2003) and S. Swart, ‘The “Five Shilling Rebellion”:
Rural White Male Anxiety and the 1914 Boer Rebellion’, South African
Historical Journal, vol. 56, 1, (2006). Also NASA, GG 599/9/59 series.
77. I. van der Waag, ‘The Battle of Sandfontein, 26 September 1914: South
African military reform and the German South-West Africa Campaign,
1914–1915’, First World War Studies, vol. 4, 2 (2013).
78. TNA, WO 106/47: War Office Secret Report, CX7249, 10 April
1910, p. 32.
79. H. Strachan, The First World War in Africa, (New York, 2004), pp. 81–92.
80. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, pp. xv–xvi.
82. Botha to Smuts, 25 May 1915, cited in Hancock and van der Poel (eds.)
Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. III, p. 283.
83. N. Kalbing, ‘A Matter of Life and Death: Criminal Law and the Death
Penalty in South West Africa (SWA) under South African Rule,
1915–1939’, South African History Journal, vol. 66, 2 (2014), p. 253.
84. J. Silvester, M. Wallace and P. Hayes, ‘“The Trees Never Meet”. Mobility
and Containment: An Overview, 1915–1946 in P. Hayes, J. Silvester,
M. Wallace and W. Hartmann (eds.), Namibia under South African Rule:
Mobility and Containment, 1915–46 (Athens OH, 1988), pp 22–3.
85. Kalbing, ‘A Matter of Life and Death’, p. 254.
87. Kalbing, ‘A Matter of Life and Death’, pp. 254–55.
88. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Crown Prosecutor to Gorges, 22
November 1917.
89. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Gorges to Botha, 23 November 1917.
90. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Gorges to De Jager, 27 November 1917.
91. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Gorges to De Jager, 27 November 1917.
92. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Conference of Magistrates and Police
Officers, Windhuk, 28 November 1918, enclosed in Gorges to Smuts, 7
December 1917, p. 11.
93. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Conference of Magistrates and Police
Officers, Windhuk, 28 November 1917, enclosed in Gorges to Smuts, 7
December 1917, pp. 13–14.
94. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: O’Reilly to Gorges, 6 March 1918.
95. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Frank Brownlee to Gorges, 6 April 1918.
96. NAN, ADM 157, File W49, Report by O’Reilly, 12 April 1918.
97. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Gorges to Secretary of defence, 20
April 1918.
98. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Minutes from Meeting at Swakopmund, 14
June 1918.
99. Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, p. xix.
100. NAN, ADM 157, File W41: Gorges to Acting Prime Minister, 8 April
1919. Also partially cited in S. Pedersen, The Guardians: The League of
Nations and the Crisis of Empire (Oxford, 2015), p. 115.
101. Botha to Smuts, 26 February 1918, cited in Hancock and van der Poel
(eds.) Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. III, p. 611.
102. Pedersen, The Guardians, pp. 116–17.
103. J.B. Gewald, ‘Imperial Germany and the Herero of Southern Africa:
Genocide and the Quest for Recompense’ in A. Jones (ed.), Genocide,
War Crimes and the West: History and Complicity (London, 2004), p. 65.
104. Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, p. 211.
105. Cited in Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, p. 212.
106. Bodleian Library, Ms. Eng c. 8291: Report on the visit of Viscount
Buxton to South West Territory, Sept-Oct 1919.
107. Sir Hugh Clifford, German Colonies: A Plea for the Native Races (London,
1918), pp. 5–6.
108. Bodleian Library, Mss. Brit Emp. S22 G439: International Organisation
for Control 1918.
109. NASA, GG 643: Travers Buxton, Secretary of the APS, to Secretary of
State for the Colonies, Bonar Law, 6 July 1915 in Bonar Law to Buxton,
28 July 1915.
110. Louis, Germany’s Lost Colonies, 86–87.
111. Northern Whig, 12 September 1918.
112. Linlithgowshire Gazette, 27 September 1918.
113. The Times 12 September 1918, cited in Twomey, ‘Atrocity Narratives and
Inter-Imperial Rivalry’, p. 213.
114. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Reuters, London to Reuters Cape Town, 12
September 1918.
115. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/3: Reuters, London to Reuters Cape Town, 12
September 1918.
116. British Foreign Office Handbook, Treatment of Natives in German
Colonies, (1920), p. 45.
117. For the Dominion representation at the Paris peace conference, see for
instance, M. Macmillan, ‘Isosceles Triangle: Britain, the Dominions and
the United States at the Paris Peace Conference of 1919’ in J. Hollowell
(ed.), Twentieth Century Anglo-American Relations (London, 2001).
118. TNA, (Cabinet Papers) CAB 24/4/33, Memorandum by Curzon,

‘Turkish and German Territories Captured in the War’, 5 December
1917, p. 5.
119. NASA, GG 728, 9/269/1: Buxton to Long, 27 March 1918.
120. Smith, ‘The British Government and the Disposition of the German
Colonies’, p. 287 and P. Sales, ‘A little German colony here or there! The
US-Australian Clash at the Pare Peace Conference of 1919’, Australasian
Journal of American Studies, vol. 8, 1 (1989), p. 24.
121. TNA, FO 608/153: Balfour to Curzon, 24 January 1919.
122. TNA, FO 608/153: Statement by Jan Smuts, 24 January 1919.
123. TNA FO 608/153, Resolution in Reference to Mandatories, 29
January 1919.
124. Pedersen, The Guardians, p. 29. See also G. Curry, ‘Woodrow Wilson,
Jan Smuts, and the Versailles Settlement’, The American Historical
Review, pp. 66, 4 (1961), p. 981.
125. Pedersen, The Guardians, pp. 1–2.
126. TNA, CO 633/124: Union of South Africa. Treaty of Peace, Part IV:
Germany’s Rights and Interests outside Germany, Article 118.
127. TNA, CO 633/124: Union of South Africa. Treaty of Peace, Part IV:
Germany’s Rights and Interests outside Germany, Article 127.
128. For the 1922 Bondelswarts rebellion in relation to the PMC, see
T. Dedering ‘Petitioning Geneva: Transnational Aspects of Protest and
Resistance in South West Africa / Namibia after the First World War’,
Journal of Southern African Studies, vol. 35, 4 (2009) and S. Pedersen,
The Guardians, pp. 114–27.
129. T. Dedering, ‘Petitioning Geneva’, pp. 791–2.
130. CAB 24/4/33, Memorandum by Curzon, ‘Turkish and German
Territories Captured in the War’, 5 December 1917, p. 12.
CHAPTER 8
Conclusion
A year after the publication of the Blue Book, the German Reichskolonialamt
responded with a colourful book of their own: the White Book, entitled in
English, The Treatment of Native and Other Populations in the Colonial
Possessions of Germany and England: An Answer to the English Blue Book of
August 1918 (1919).1 While the White Book set out detailed criticism of
the Blue Book’s contents and compilation, its main argument was that
colonial violence, such as that perpetrated against the Herero and Nama,
was not unique and thus, did not warrant the confiscation of Germany’s
colonies. Instead, colonial violence was claimed to be a norm for all colo-
nial powers, particularly Britain. Most of the White Book does not there-
fore present a defence of the German colonial record, but rather sets out
an attack on the British, proclaiming, ‘whatever may have been the faults
of the first German attempt at colonisation, these faults may only be found
aggravated and multiplied in English colonial history.’2
As for the specific case of the Herero and Nama, this was presented in
the White Book as nothing more than a normal response by indigenous
groups to settler colonialism. In comparing the Herero rebellion to the
Second Matabele (Ndebele) War in Southern Rhodesia in 1896, the White
Book concluded that ‘the resistance of the natives clashed with the pene-
tration of the white man. The results were identical (to GSWA): secret
preparations by the natives, a sudden attack upon the settlers, a great

Switzerland AG 2022
South-West Africa, 1884 –1919, Cambridge Imperial and
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9_8
massacre and then—punishment.’3 Although the colonisation of Southern

Rhodesia by Cecil Rhodes’ British South Africa Company remains a noto-
rious case of colonial subjugation and violence—as epitomised by the first
use of the maxim gun in the 1893 Matabele War—it was incomparable to
what happened later in GSWA in terms of scale and violent intent.
However, the White Book’s insistence that colonial small wars and vio-
lence were a natural outcome of settler colonialism ironically echoes the
general view expressed by historians today.4 German scholar Moritz Julius
Bonn perhaps best summarised this position, commenting on the confis-
cation of Germany’s colonies on grounds of humanitarian interventionism
and asserting that ‘if errors in native policy should be the basis of exclusion
from future colonial activities, there is hardly a nation who should be enti-
tled to keep its colonies.’5
Upon reading the White Book, British observers were alarmed, not so
much because of its potential impact, but as a result of its accuracy. One
comment was that ‘no reply both truthful and effective’ could be made to
the accusations it made against British colonialism. For instance, it was
noted that the White Book was correct that in Australia ‘the settlers have
normally regarded the aborigines as beasts without rights and there have
been incidents even since 1914.’ Another comment noted that the White
Book provided a startling account of ‘the crimson trail of Britain across
the world’.6 When the White Book was found to be in circulation in
Scandinavia in May 1919, W. O’Neill in the News Department of the
Foreign Office requested a review by the Colonial Office to be released in
the press of ‘six neutral countries’. ‘I very much hope you will be able to
help us’, he wrote, ‘[because otherwise] we shall shortly have a loud out-
cry in the neutral countries about poor misused Germany.’7 In his reply on
27 May, O’Neill highlighted that he doubted the White Book would have
any impact on the restoration of Germany’s colonies because the colonial
question at the Paris peace conference had already been settled., but none-
theless had a brief review made that gave an overview of its contents.8
These responses to the White Book, together with the fact that the Blue
Book was recalled and destroyed by the Union government in 1926 in a
bid to appease the German settlers in SWA, suggest the applicability of
colonial violence as an atrocity narrative and indicate the narrow frame-
work within which it was perceived by other colonial powers. 9 The con-
cerns of the victims of such violence were secondary to diplomatic, political
and imperial interests, with relations to Germany, the image of British
colonialism and colonial rule the main determinants. In other words,
8 CONCLUSION 195
reactions, perceptions and interventions against colonial violence were

profoundly political rather than humanitarian. As Nicholas Dirks observed
in the case of British imperial history in India, scandals over misrule or
brutality played an important role in the function, perception and legiti-
mation of empire. Commissions, inquiries and interventions in scandals,
whether anti-Slavery, the Congo crisis or German colonialism in 1918, did
not have the eradication of violent and illegitimate practices as their main
aim but rather sought to cleanse and correct colonial rule of excesses in
order to legitimise it.10 Similarly, while contemporary concerns about and
condemnations of German colonial violence before World War I were
genuine, they were received, read and responded to in a context in which
their potential ramifications outside the confines of the government were
decisive. In 1937, changing British views on German colonial violence
came full circle when a group of Commonwealth scholars met in Oxford
to discuss whether Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany could perhaps be
appeased by handing back some of their former colonies. In the discus-
sions, the Blue Book was refuted as propaganda that had sustained ‘the
colonial guilt lie’ in Germany, thus causing a reasonable grievance.
Eventually, the Plymouth Commission found that restoring Germany’s
colonies ‘would do very little to hinder the potentialities of discord in
Europe’.11 The mere fact, that this was considered a possibility indicates a
general disregard for the lives and wellbeing of the same people who had
been so crucial to making the case for the confiscation of Germany’s colo-
nies in 1919.
This shows that the ‘British factor’ in the history of German colonial
violence did not end in 1919, but continued through the interwar years.
First, as Frank Bösch has stated, the Blue Book was crucial in constructing
the image of ‘the brutal German’ in the colonial world and therefore
‘impacted Germany’s reputation well after 1918’.12 In the League of
Nations and the PMC, German colonialism remained a standard against
which to measure good governance in mandates and colonies around the
world. For instance, the Union’s bombing of the Bondelswarts Nama in
1922 was condemned in the PMC and by Germany as it violated the terms
of the mandate.13 In 1926, when Germany became a member of the
League of Nations and the PMC, Belgian delegate to the PMC, Pierre
Orts, who thought it was immoral to have the Germans represented given
their colonial record, was the first to protest. Initially, many voices in
Germany, most notably that of Heinrich Schnee, saw entry to the League
as a way to advocate irredentism.14 German delegate to the PMC, Ludwig
Kastl, also consistently protested against any reference to Germany’s colo-

nial record. At the same time, however, the Germany became, according
to Susan Pedersen, ‘the most vigilant guardian of the mandates system’.15
Thus, for Kastl and his colleagues, confiscation of Germany’s colonies on
grounds of violence set an implicit precedent, where similar events could
delegitimise colonial and mandatory rule. Colonial violence could there-
fore disqualify a colonial or mandatory power from governance, prompt-
ing confiscation of its colonies or mandates. This was not a legally binding
precedent but primarily a moral one, as the humanitarian and moral expec-
tations of mandatory (and colonial) rule in the interwar years had become
burdensome to the ruling power.16
With this in mind, the history of German colonial violence in GSWA
remains inherently trans-colonial on a regional, local scale and trans-
imperial on a broader macro scale. It expanded across spatial and temporal
contexts, impacting both European diplomacy and British imperial rule
and continuing to be an international issue after the end of German colo-
nialism. It remains a recurring issue to this day. In May 2021, with an
official recognition of the genocide and the promise of financial aid to
Namibia over the genocide of the Herero and Nama, the German govern-
ment did not only have itself in mind. The recognition, issued by German
Foreign Minister Heiko Maas, explicitly states that ‘legal claims for com-
pensation cannot be derived from it [the recognition of genocide]’.17 It is
likely that this wording was intended to prevent a precedent enabling for-
mer colonies to legally sue their former colonial masters for reparations,
applying not only to former German colonies but to all former colonies.
This contradicts the fact that a central case made in connection to the
demands for such compensation and a recognition from Germany rested
on the assumption that the genocide in Namibia was a precursor to the
Holocaust and the result of the exceptionally brutal character of German
colonialism.18 However, colonial violence cannot and should not be con-
fined to spaces that are mere extensions of European nation states to the
colonial world. Although the British and Cape authorities cannot be said
to have been fully complicit in the atrocities committed against the Herero
and Nama, German colonial violence occurred in a context in which the
British factor cannot be overlooked or ignored.
It only remains to be considered, therefore, what can be gained from
approaching German colonial violence in GSWA from an outside perspec-
tive, if this was mainly reflective of propagandist purposes and diplomatic
or political designs. As we have seen, colonial violence in neighbouring
8 CONCLUSION 197
colonies posed a number of difficult issues for Britain and the Cape.
Essentially, the Herero and Nama rebellions and their brutal repression
landed British and Cape authorities in an unwanted situation in which
they had to consider domestic, international, colonial and imperial factors
in each of their decisions and responses. German colonial violence there-
fore interacted with British and Cape politics and had to be considered in
light of British relations to Germany and, perhaps most importantly, colo-
nial security, with the Cape government alarmed about any spill-over
effect. The idea of the rebellion spreading paired with pervasive fears of a
German invasion of Boer support remained perhaps the most powerful
factors in British and especially Cape decision-making and involvement.
Indeed, it was imperative to ensure that Africans in British territory did
not consider the Cape or Britain as complicit in Germany’s violent sup-
pression, potentially undermining colonial stability. In this sense, as has
been shown by Antoinette Burton, the constant ‘troubles’ and challenges
that shaped British perception of empire and colonial rule was not only
present within the borders of the British empire itself but could also ema-
nate from neighbouring colonies. The doubt and anxieties that emerged
from such troubles and challenges, as Burton shows, meant they were
always afraid of what could potentially happen thus highlighting the cen-
tral place of insecurity in the self-perception of empire.19 In practice in the
case of the Herero and Nama rebellions, this translated into an ambiguous
and chaotic policy of ‘walking on eggshells’ that was intended to stay out
of any trouble by provoking no one. However, this was of course severely
undermined by several incidents such as the Marengo affair and the refu-
gee issue.
With these different and sometimes contradictory aspects in mind, the
British factor in German colonial violence was multi-faceted and ambigu-
ous, incorporating elements of cooperation and non-cooperation and a
careful handling of information on the treatment of Africans in accordance
with imperial and diplomatic interests. However, this involvement was
also split across different outlooks. Wedged between maintaining positive
relations with Germany and the sub-imperial interests of the Cape, the
British government had to balance these and their own interests in any
action or inaction. In the end, the British government showed an inclina-
tion to support Germany over a colonial small war thousands of miles
away, with potential to benefit diplomatic relations with Germany. For the
Cape government, though, the conflict in GSWA was a problem that
could land them in trouble or undermine their security. In Southern
Africa, cooperation between colonial powers emanated from the fact that
colonial rule in Southern Africa was marked by structural weakness and
constant pursuit of hegemony.20 In the colonial borderlands in particular,
African actors such as Marengo could effectively challenge and subvert
colonial rule by puncturing and utilising the ostensible borders agreed
between Britain and Germany.21 In other words, while there was a strong
element of cooperation from a London perspective, the element of non-
cooperation was determinant to any actions or responses from Cape Town.
German colonial violence in GSWA therefore directly impacted relations
within the British imperial system and had to be considered in the context
of the transition towards the creation of the Union of South Africa in 1910.
For the imperial government in London, the maintenance of relations
with Germany meant that the Cape was pressured into agreeing to further
cooperation with the Germans when it could have implications in Europe.
For instance, the Marengo affair revealed the intricate links between colo-
nial affairs and European diplomacy before World War I. While the Cape
was reluctant to act, the potential diplomatic gain from supporting
Germany was, in this instance, attractive to the Foreign Office. Indicatively,
Marengo’s death at the hands of the CMP in 1907 was celebrated so
much that its significance was inflated. Similarly, while Britain was in pos-
session of damaging reports on German colonial violence from Trench
and Simon in particular, these were actively suppressed before 1914 in
order to prevent anything like the Congo crisis, when public opinion
forced the imperial government into unwanted actions over colonial vio-
lence. This reveals the intersection between colonial violence and foreign
relations. Britain’s desire to appease, or at least not provoke, Germany at
a time when colonial violence was already publicly debated, demonstrates
the careful management of information and censoring of reports that
could be detrimental to foreign policy interests. Colonial violence in a
German colony in a distant corner of Africa was therefore intentionally
managed and responded to in Britain from a political and diplomatic
outlook.
It is therefore difficult to characterise the exact nature of the British
factor, especially imperial cooperation. There has long been a conventional
view that Britain and Germany were involved in an increasingly hostile
rivalry before World War I, but managed to cooperate and find common
ground in the colonies. Indeed, as mentioned, Britain’s involvement in
the suppression of the Herero and Nama rebellions led to arguments
about a ‘sharing of the white man’s burden’ and that they engaged in a
8 CONCLUSION 199
‘shared colonial project’. While such conclusions are correct in pointing to

an underlying trans-colonial element in German colonial violence, they
also obscure the underlying hostilities and distrust between British and
Cape actors and in particular, the pervasive self-interest that was the deci-
sive trait in any response to, involvement in or perception of German colo-
nial violence. For the Cape government in particular, non-cooperation
was at least as significant a determinant as cooperation. For instance, while
reluctant support emerged in monitoring the border and removing refu-
gees from the borderlands, they openly refused the Germans on a number
of occasions, limiting cross-border trade. Even on issues as nominal as that
of demanding compensation for refugees, the Cape government demon-
strated a deep distrust and antagonism towards the Germans.
Furthermore, British and Cape decisions were always reactive and hap-
hazard: there was rarely a clear policy on how to relate to the neighbour-
ing conflict nor how to interact with the Germans. The British factor was
therefore sporadic and is perhaps best understood in the way James Fichter
described British and French colonial interactions—‘frenemies’. While the
British and Cape government cooperated, they did so as an ‘act of com-
petitive collaboration’ intended to ‘simultaneously support and under-
mine each other’.22 In this sense, racist preoccupations of maintaining
white European rule, whether British or German, while being an underly-
ing cause for cooperation, did not represent the main driving force in the
interactions between colonial powers. Far more important were security
concerns and political consequences in whichever response a neighbour-
ing colonial power would take. Where an element of racial prejudice is
evident in British and Cape responses is in the neglect of African refugees
from GSWA and the fact that the sufferings of the Herero and Nama were
secondary to these more practical and political stakes. In other words,
reactions to, involvement with and perceptions of German colonial vio-
lence, even in cases of outright support, did not predominately occur in
the context of racism but mainly emanated from calculated, practical
(self-)interests. The underlying racial prejudices of British and South
African actors, however, meant that the sufferings of the Herero and
Nama were overlooked and considered unimportant unless it interfered
with other more practical interests or, as we have seen, a campaign to dis-
credit German colonialism.
The changing perceptions and multi-faceted involvement of Britain and
the Cape suggest that German colonial violence did not occur only within
a trans-colonial framework but also question the degree to which German
colonial violence was exceptional. The later admission in Britain that the
White Book was essentially correct in its assertion that colonial violence
was a norm for European colonies across the globe, and the fact that
Britain had committed many similar atrocities and inspired several German
practices, suggest that the idea of German exceptionalism is mistaken.
Nevertheless, many contemporary observers such as Trench and Simon
did find German practices, at least in GSWA, exceptionally brutal, if not
altogether abnormal. Furthermore, the insistence of Gorges, O’Reilly and
Waters in preventing further abuses while the Blue Book was being com-
piled, is suggestive of a set of loud and influential voices within the British
imperial system, which genuinely found German colonial rule violent and
amoral. It would therefore be erroneous to consider German colonialism
uniquely brutal as the Blue Book suggested. At the same time, though, it
would also be mistaken to see the treatment of the Herero and Nama as
commonplace. Instead, when approaching German colonial violence from
a British and Cape perspective, German colonial violence was considered
brutal but only exceptionally cruel when ulterior motivations deemed it
necessary.
Notes
1. In German titled Die Behandlung der einheimischen Bevölkerung in den
kolonialien Besitzsungen Deutschlands und Englands. Eine Erwiderung auf
das englische Blaubuch vom August 1918 (Berlin, 1919).
2. Deutsche Reichskolonialamt, Treatment of Native and Other
Populations, p. 89.
3. Deutsche Reichskolonialamt, Treatment of Native and Other
Populations, p. 50.
4. See also Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Delegitimating Empire’, p. 839.
5. S. Ward, ‘The European Provenance of Decolonization’, Past & Present,
vol. 230, 1 (2016), pp. 233–34.
6. TNA, CO 323/807: Correspondence pertaining to Germany’s White (or
Grey) Book, 11 April 1919.
7. TNA, CO 323/807: W.C. O’Neill to W. C. Bottomley, 3 May 1919.
8. TNA, CO 323/807: Bottomley to O’Neill, 27 May 1919.
9. Gewald, ‘Imperial Germany and the Herero of Southern Africa’, p. 65.
10. N. Dirks, The Scandal of Empire. India and the Creation of Imperial Britain
(Cambridge MA, 2006), pp. 32–4.
11. Bodleian Library, Oxford University British Commonwealth Group,
Report on the Problem of the Ex-German Colonies (Oxford, 1937), pp. 8–11.
8 CONCLUSION 201
12. Bösch, ‘“Are we a cruel nation?”’, pp. 139–40.

13. Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Delegitimating Empire’, pp. 842–43.
14. See especially H. Schnee Die Kolonial Schuldlüge (Berlin, 1924) and its
English version, German Colonisation Past and Future: the Truth About the
German Colonies (New York, 1926). For a recent examination of German
irredentism, see S. Wempe, Revenants of the German Empire (Oxford, 2019).
15. Pedersen, The Guardians, p. 198.
16. See also Bomholt Nielsen, ‘Delegitimating Empire’, pp. 842–45. See also
F. Klose, Human Rights in the Shadow of Colonial Violence: The Wars of
Independence in Kenya and Algeria (Philadelphia, 2013) where British and
French post-war colonial violence is proven to have undermined their
moral authority and thus their human rights efforts elsewhere.
17. ‘Foreign Minister Maas statement regarding the conclusion of negotia-
tions with Namibia’: https://www.auswaertiges-amt.de/en/newsroom/
news/-/2463598 (last visited 16 August 2021).
18. R. Kössler, Namibia and Germany: Negotiating the Past (Windhoek,
2015), pp. 239–40. Also, G. Krüger, ‘Vergessene Kriege: Warum gingen
deutsche Kolonialkriege nicht in das Historische Gedächtnis der Deutschen
ein?’ in D. Langewiesche and N. Buschmann (eds.), Zur Rolle des Krieges
in Gründungsmythen, (Frankfurt-am-Main, 2003), p. 135. See also
R. Kössler and H. Melber, Völkermord – und was dann? Die Politik deutsch-
namibischer Verganenheitsbearbeitung (Frankfurt-am-Main, 2017) and
H. Melber ‘How to come to terms with the past: Re-visiting the German
colonial genocide in Namibia’, Afrika Spectrum, vol. 40, 1 (2005).
19. Burton, Trouble with Empire, esp. pp. 16–8.
20. S. Dubow, ‘The New Age of Imperialism: British and South African
Perspectives’ in Mary N. Harris and Csaba Lévai (eds.), Europe and its
Empires (Pisa, 2008), p. 11.
21. Dedering, ‘War and Mobility’, pp. 275–76.
22. J. R. Fichter, ‘Britain and France, Connected Empires’ in J. Fichter (ed.),
British and French Colonialism in Africa, Asia and the Middle East
(London, 2019), p. 1.
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Index
A Atrocities
Aborigines’ Protection Society, 97, atrocity narratives, 153,
109, 124, 141–142, 181 157–158, 194
African chiefs and elites Blue Book on, 2, 155–170, 172
anti-German feelings, 75 British knowledge of, 2–3,
in refugee policy, 98–100 143–146, 182, 196
Afrikaner Cleverly’s reports on, 130
identity, 21 colonial violence,
nationalism, 86 normalisation in, 200
republics, 48–51, 83 in Congo Free State, 122–130
Afrikaner Bond, 86 German soldiers, psyché of, 17
Air policing, 184 PMC, prevention of
Anglo-French Exploration atrocities, 184
Company, 105 Trench’s reports on, 140
Anglo-German rivalry, growth
of, 62–64
Anglo-Russian treaty, 1907, 62 B
Angra Pequeña, 46 Balolo mission, 124
Anti-slavery, in imperial project, 33 Banderu Herero, 98–99
Anti-Slavery Society, 129, 181 Barrington, Eric, 110, 113
Armenian genocide, 157 Batawana, 95, 98
Ashley, Wilfred, 105 Bebel, August, 28

Switzerland AG 2022
Colonial Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-94561-9
226 INDEX
Bechuanaland Protectorate closures of (by Cape government),

cross-border incursions, 77–80 74, 88, 113
migrant labour networks in, cross-border incursions (of German
105, 108–109 troops), 76–80
refugees in, 93–99, 114 cross-border trade, 71–75, 141, 199
Beesten, Lieutenant von, 27–28 guerilla warfare across, 43–45
Bekeer, Hendrik, 75 Marengo’s activities across,
Belgium, 142, 145, 147, 157, 185 53–62, 198
Berlin, Treaty of (1885), 33, 34, 46, porosity of, 2, 6, 97, 198
124, 129, 161–162, 164 refugee movements across, 93–102,
Bethmann-Hollweg, Theobald von, 53 114, 199
Bismarck, Otto von, 46–47, 83 security of, 109–112
Bittereinders, 30, 85 Botha, Louis, 155–156, 169–170,
Blue Book 172–174, 179–180
contents of, 159–165 Botswana, 99
destruction of, 180, 194 Boxer Rebellion, 26
as historical source, 156–159, 184 Brabant-Smith, Sergeant, 138
publication of, 122 British colonialism
use of, diplomatic and compulsory labour in, 33
imperial, 180–185 German admiration for, 22, 163
writing of, 165–171 moral superiority in, 18–19, 194
Boers violence in, 166, 194
Boer rebellions, fear of, 10, 72, Brownlee, Frank, 177
81–87, 132–133, 197 Brussels, Treaty of (1890), 161, 164
in concentration camps (South Brutal Germans, stereotype of, 18–21,
African war), 30–31, 115 24, 181, 195
corporal punishment, use of, 181 Bryce, James, 1st Viscount, 157
German policy towards, 82–83 Bülow, Bernhard von, 26, 28
Herero refugees on Boer farms, 98 Bult, Major, 178
identity, 21 Buxton, Sydney, 1st Earl of, 155–156,
Marengo affair, reaction to, 61 169–172, 180–182
settlers in GSWA, 84–85, 141
uprising, 1914, 154, 172
volunteers in GSWA, 72, C
81–82, 84–87 Callwell, C.E., 16, 26
Bondelswarts Nama Calvert, Albert, 164–165
1903 rebellion, 18, 25, Campbell, F.A., 79
54, 95, 130 Cape Copper Company, 101
1922 rebellion, 184 Cape government
Bonn, Moritz Julius, 194 border closures, 73–74
Borders compensation demands (refugee
British policy, ambiguity in, 88 camps), 109–114
INDEX 227
Marengo affair, 56–59, 64 Concentration camps

refugee camps, 100–101, 103–104 Blue Book, coverage in, 162
refugee policy, 94, 114 British (South African
Cape Mounted Police (CMP), 55–56, war), 51, 115
60, 130, 138, 198 in GSWA, 30–34, 114
Case 609, Foreign Office archives, 94 invention of, 29–30
Casement, Roger, 122, 125–130, as transferable practice, 34–35
142–144, 169 Trench’s reports on, 134–138
Cecil, Robert, 1st Viscount Congo Free State, 6, 59,
Cecil, 180 121–130, 141–147
Chamberlain, Joseph, 48–49 Congo Reform Association (CRA),
Chinese indentured labourers, 121–122, 128–129,
expulsion of, 107 141–142, 159
Christian, Jan Abraham, 54 Corporal punishment, 106, 168–169,
Churchill, Winston, 86, 105 173–179, 185
Clarke, E.A.W., 123, 146 Covey & Co., 73
Clemenceau, Georges, 182 Cowan, Doctor J., 101–102
Cleverly, John James, 26, 83, 130–132 Crewe, Colonel Charles, 101–103
Clifford, Hugh, 180–181 Crowe, Eyre, 52
Colonial violence Cuba, 29
Blue Book on, 155–161, 164, 168, Curzon, George, 1st Marquess
172, 184–185 Curzon, 1, 182
British factor in, 1–3, 6–7,
34, 195–200
casualness of, 103, 110 D
in colonial history, 15 Dante’s inferno, 136–137
concentration camps as De Jager, Colonel, 175–179
practice, 29 Delagoa Bay railway, 49–51
Congo Free State, 121–124, de Villiers, John Henry, 153
130, 142–147 Diamond rush, 1908, 22
in European politics and diplomacy, Dilke, Charles, 125
144–147, 195 District elective councils, 23–24
historiography, 3–6 Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, 128–130
racism in, 16–18 Duft, Gustav, 169
refugees from, 97, 103 Dumas, Philip, 144
settler violence in, 15–16 Dum-Dum bullets, 16
in SWA under South African rule,
174–179, 184
trans-colonial nature of, 196 E
White Book on, 193–195 Economic depression (post South
Compensation, for refugee camps, African war), 73
demands for, 109–114 Eensaamheid pan, 43
228 INDEX
Elgin, Victor Bruce, 9th Earl of Fouche, Lieutenant Colonel, 174–179

Boer rising, fears of, 87 François, Curt von, 22–23
compensation question (refugee Fredericks, Joseph, 46
camps), 112–113, 115
Marengo affair, 58–60
refugee camps, knowledge of, G
100, 103 Genocide in GSWA
Elliot, Major, 60–62, 164–165 Blue Book as historical
Ententes, Anglo-French & Russian, 52 source, 184
Erckert, Captain Friedrich von, 78 British response to, 10,
Estoff, Colonel Ludwig von, 27, 79 122–124, 139–146
Extermination order, 27–28, 93, 160 colonial violence, role in, 15–18
in concentration camps, 33
death toll, 162
F as deliberate policy, 25–27
Fairfield, Edward, 132 as first of the twentieth century, 2
Fanon, Franz, 16 German recognition of, 196
Fashoda crisis, 125 Holocaust, precursor to, 5–6
Ferreira, John, 57, 86 Trench’s reports on, 139
Ferreira Raid, 52, 86 German colonialism
Fiddes, G.V., 165 Blue Book on, 159–165, 167
Floggings, 15, 124, 158, British perceptions of, 16
159, 173–182 dismantling of, 153–159, 196
Forced labour, 4–5, 25, 30–34, as exceptionally brutal, 3–7,
103–107, 126, 135–137, 162, 196, 200
175, 180 forced labour in, 34
Foreign Office (British) imperial cooperation,
Blue Book, creation and use of, 2, complexities of, 9
154, 158, 165, 171, 181 at Paris peace conference, 180–182
boys too big to interfere with, 146 post-war denunciation of, 1–2, 147,
compensation issue, 109, 110 182, 195, 199
Congo crisis, 122–130, 145 German Colonial Society, 23–24
Germany as rival, 47, 84, 143–144 German East Africa, 21, 75
GSWA, as threat to Cape, 85, 133 Gideon (Herero headman), 166
GSWA, creation of, 26 Gladstone, William, 46
Kooper affair, 79 Gleichen, Colonel, 82–84, 133
Marengo affair, 58, 59, 198 Goliath, Christian Johannes, 166–168
refugee issue, 94 Gordon, General Charles, 125
Trench reports, circulation of, Gorges, E.H.L.
130, 134 Blue Book, writing of,
White Book, response to, 194 155–156, 165–171
Wilhelmstal affair, 108 eye-witnesses, protection of, 161
INDEX 229
on South African colonial violence under South African rule, 173–175,

in SWA, 172–180, 184–185 177, 179
Trench and Simon reports, Hewitt, Alex, 106, 108
unawareness of, 163–164 Hitler, Adolf, 195
Government Council Hofmeyr, Gysbert ‘Gys,’ 179–180
(Gouvernmentsrat), 24 Hofmeyr, Jan, 86
Graaf, Sir Jacobus, 178 Holocaust, 5–6, 8, 196
Grey, Edward, 58–61, 111, 140, 142 Holt, John, 121
Gudewill, Hans, 80 Hornkranz massacre, 23, 130–131
Hottentot Election (Germany),
112, 140
H Hughes, William ‘Billy,’ 183
Hagen, Captain von, 61 Humanitarianism
Haldane, Richard, 1st Viscount in British imperial self-identity,
Haldane, 53 3–5, 33, 128
Hamilton, Louis, 21 on concentration camps (South
Harcourt, Lewis, 153–155 African war), 30
Hartmann, Dr Georg, 73, 84 in confiscation of German colonies,
Hatzfeldt, Count, 49 1, 154–156, 159–165,
Heimat, GSWA as, 84–85 180–182, 193–196
Hely-Hutchinson, Walter on Congo Free State, 59,
border policies, 74–75 124–130, 140
compensation question (refugee on extinction order, 28
camps), 112–113 genocide in GSWA,
Marengo affair, 57–60 responses to, 142
refugee camps, knowledge Germany as enlightened colonial
of, 100–102 power, 21
Herbst, Major J.F., 166, 176 on labour compounds, 104
Herero on refugees, 101–103,
Blue Book, eye-witness accounts, 109–111, 114
155–161, 165–168 South African rule of GSWA as
British knowledge of atrocities, 131, humanitarian intervention,
135–138, 163, 198 172–175, 179
British public opinion on, 140–143 Human rights, 128–129
British silence on, 122, 146, 199 Humboldt, H.P. von, 57
death toll, 2, 25, 172
genocide, 5
German recognition of, 2021, 196 I
in migrant labour system, 104–109 Internationalen Burenliga (the
rebellion, causes of, 18, 193 international Boer
rebellion, course of, 25–29 league), Der, 51
refugees from, 93–100 Isaac, Fritz, 166
230 INDEX
J Lindequist, Friedrich von, 29, 55,

Jacobs, D.H. von, 56, 110–111 85–86, 111, 113
Jameson, Dr Leander Starr Lloyd George, David, 182
as Cape Prime Minister, 86 Long, Walter, 154–156, 169–170
Jameson raid, 46, 49, 86 Lüderitz, Adolf, 46–47
Janse, Isaac, 166 Lyttelton, Alfred, 74, 82
K M
Kakamas, battle of, 154 Maas, Heiko, 196
Kaplevies, 106–107 Magennis, W.T., 101–102
Kariko, Daniel, 165 Maherero, Samuel, 25, 53, 98–99
Karrasberge, 55 Maji-Maji rebellion (German East
Kastl, Ludwig, 195–196 Africa), 5, 75
Kavezeri, Yoel, 28 Malan, Daniël F., 179
Khaki Election, 125 Mandates system, 183–184
Kitchener, Horatio, 30 Marengo, Jakob
Kock, Stephane, 84–85 Anglo-German co-operation,
Kolonial Abteilung (Colonial question of, 63–64
department), 26 death of, 43, 60–62, 77, 115,
Kooper, Isaak, 78 164–165, 197–198
Kooper, Simon, 54–56, 77–80, 88 German extradition attempts,
Koppel railway company, 107 57–58, 88
Kruger, Paul, 50–52, 86 as guerilla leader, 18, 54–56
Kruger Telegram, 49–51 imperial diplomacy over, 59–60
Kubub, railway and harbour, 32 as national hero, 53
Kutako, Hosea, 53 surrender to CMP, 55–56
Marienbad Spa, 59
Maritz, Gerhardus ‘Manie,’ 87,
L 171–172, 183
Labour compounds, 104–105, 114 Masters and Servants laws, 173
Lambert, Franz, 166 Matabele (Ndebele), 2nd War, 33, 193
Lansdowne, Henry Petty Fitzmaurice, Matjieskloof refugee camp,
5th Earl of, 96, 125–128, 145 100–103, 106
Lascelles, Frank, 62, 71, 79 Matthee, Captain, 176
League of Nations, 184 Mayne, Joseph Henry, 166
Ledebour, Georg, 28 Meiring, Trooper G., 178
Leopold II, King of Belgium, 6, 21, Merriman, John X, 155
59, 121, 124–125, 127, 129, Migrant labour, 95, 99, 107, 114
142–145, 159 Military attaché, role of, 132
Leutwein, Theodor, 18, 25–26, 141, Military intelligence reports, 134
163, 168 Milner, Sir Alfred, 50, 96
INDEX 231
Mineral wealth, in GSWA, 22 Permanent Mandates Commission

Mining industry, 95 (PMC), 184, 195–196
Morel, Edmund Dene, 125, 128–129 Peters, Carl, 5, 21
Moroccan crises, 52 Philippines, 30, 35
Plymouth Commission, 195
Port Nolloth, 73
N Portugal, 45, 125, 142, 145, 181
Namaqualand, 106 Portuguese colonies, Anglo-German
Nama rebellion, 28–29, 80–81 secret agreement, 50–51
Native rights, 128 Protection treaties, 22
Naval race, Anglo-German, 52–53 Public opinion, British
Nazi Germany, 195 on British moral
New Guinea, 183 superiority, 4–6, 19
Newspapers on Congo crisis, 121–130, 198
British, 43, 80, 109, 124, 125, 141, on German colonialism, 16, 180,
143, 181 181, 198
Cape, 80 on GSWA, lack of
German, 51, 54, 62, 96 awareness, 140–147
South African, 141, 181 on Kruger telegram, 50
New Zealand, 48 on labour compounds, 104
Ngamiland, 98–99 on self-determination, 155
Nolan, Joseph, 142–143 on South African war, 51
Public opinion, German
on German colonialism, 169
O on Herero rebellion, 26, 161
Oehlemann, Dr Julius, 78 on South African war, 51–52
Okiep copper mines, 53, 101,
102, 106
Omaheke desert, 26–27, 93 R
O’Neill, W., 194 Racism
O’Reilly, Major Thomas Leslie, 155, in colonial violence, 16–18
165–169, 174–180 cross-border, 9, 21, 199
Oxford, Commonwealth scholars in GSWA, 5, 34, 107
meeting, 1937, 195 in Trench reports, 123
Rape, 15, 137, 161, 177
Red rubber regime, 6, 121, 159
P Refugees
Palgrave, William, 48 British policy on, 93–97
Palmer, Sophia, 50 compensation issue, 109–114
Panzera, F.W., 95–97, 104 as criminals, British perception, 97
Paris peace conference, 1, 156, integration into African
179–183, 193–194 communities, 94, 97–100, 114
232 INDEX
Refugees (cont.) Simon, Captain H.S.P., 80,

as migrant labour, 95, 138–140, 162–164
104–109, 114 Simplicissimuss, 19
refugee camps, 94, 100–104, 114 Sjamboks, 179
Rhodes, Cecil, 49, 194 Small Wars: Their Principles and
Richthofen, Baron von, 71 Practice (Callwell), 16
Rinderpest, 18, 23, 162 Smuts, Jan Christian, 155, 172, 173,
Rorick, W., 101–103 179–180, 183–184
Solf, Dr, 181
South African War, 51–52, 63, 73, 81
S Southern Rhodesia, 193
Sanderson, Sir Thomas, 51 South West Africa, under South
Sandfontein, battle of, 172 African rule, 153, 171–180
Schlieffen, Count von, 28 Spannungsfeld (‘zone of tension’), 9
Schnee, Heinrich, 195 Special Criminal Court
Schreiner, Theo, 155 (SCC), 173–174
Schuckmann, Bruno von, 61, 77–79 State weakness, in colonial
Scotland, Alexander, 132 violence, 17–18
Seatsub, 77, 78, 80 Stokes, Charles, 124
Seitz, Theodor, 168 Swakopmund camp, 136–137, 162
Sekgoma Letsholathebe, 98–99
Selborne, William Palmer, 2nd Earl of
Boer rising, fears of, 85, 87 T
on German colonialism, 50 Tawana, Herero refugees with,
on German press, 51 94, 98–99
on Kooper affair, 77–79 Thomson, Joseph, 21
refugee policy, 100 Tokai Prison, 43, 55–57
Settler colonialism Toynbee, Arnold, 157
forced labour in, 33 Trade, cross-border, 71–75, 141, 199
in GSWA, 23–24, 34, 73, Trans-colonialism in Anglo-German
84–85, 143 Southern Africa, 6–10, 16,
Herero and Nama rebellions, cause 196, 199
of, 15–18 Transvaal, 49–51
land, demand for, 23, 24 Trench, Colonel Frederick
racism in, 16, 17 atrocities in GSWA, reports on,
settler identity in, 21 122–124, 132–140
in SWA, 171–180 background, 133
violence in, 15, 34 Blue Book, lack of mention
Sexual slavery, 137 in, 162–164
Shark Island camp, 31–33, 104, on concentration camps, 135–137
135–137, 139, 162, 166 on extermination order, 161
INDEX 233
on German military in W
GSWA, 56, 133 Wade, Major T.H., 123, 132,
Kaiser, relationship with, 133 134, 137–138
as military attaché in Wahehe rebellion (German East
GSWA, 82–83 Africa), 5, 26
as military attaché to Walvis Bay, 47–48, 130–131
Berlin, 83, 144 Waterberg, battle of, 25–27, 54, 93,
reports, circulation of in British 134, 141
government, 134, 141–143 Waters, A.J., 165, 169, 177–179
Trotha, General Lothar von, 26–29, Watts, Thomas, 155
54–55, 72, 93, 133, 134, Weyler Y Nicolau, Valeriano, 29–30
141, 160 White, George, 143
Tsau, 97 White Book, 157, 193–194, 200
Whitehead, J.B., 96
White man’s burden, 21, 45, 72, 96
U Wilhelm II, Kaiser of Germany, 26,
Uitlanders, 48–50 46, 49, 51, 59, 133, 143–144
Ukumas, 60 Wilhelmstal riot, 107–108
Union constabulary in SWA, Williams, Mervyn, 97
156, 174–180 Williams, Ralph, 96
Union of South Africa, 87 Wilson, Woodrow, 154–155, 180, 182
Windhoek camp, 137–138
Witbooi, Hendrik, 22, 53–56,
V 77, 130–131
Vedder, Heinrich, 22 Witbooi, Hendrik Junior, 166
Vernichtungsbefehl (extermination Witbooi, Isaac, 166
order), 27–28, 93, 160 Witwatersrand, 48, 94, 95, 108–109
Versailles, Treaty of, 153, 183–184 Witwatersrand Native Labour
Vogelsang, Heinrich, 46 Association (WNLA), 106, 108

Britain, Germany and Colonial Violence in South-West Africa, 1884-1919

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Britain, Germany and

Mads Bomholt Nielsen

More information about this series at

Britain, Germany and

ISSN 2635-1633 ISSN 2635-1641 (electronic)

This book is the culmination of a long journey. When I moved to London

2 Colonial Violence in Southern Africa at the Turn of the

3 Imperial Cooperation and Anglo-German Diplomacy 43

4 Concerns and Non-Cooperation 71

5 Case 609: African Refugees in British Territory 93

6 Knowledge and Reactions121

7 Atrocity Narratives and the End of German Colonialism,

A.B.I.R Anglo-Belgian-India Rubber

Speaking in the House of Lords on 3 July 1919—less than a week after

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

renowned piece of evidence presented on German colonial violence was

statesmen, officials and colonial officers, it examines British and South

Despite criticism of the pervasive notion of Britain as a more benign

associated with the purpose and justification of empire; meaning, that

colonial spheres—drawing connections with the Holocaust, whether

In other words, the origin of German colonialism as exceptionally brutal

Trans-colonialism in Anglo-German Southern Africa

trans-colonial and international context. At the same time, however, it

colonial powers in turn attempted to exert control by means of violence.38

12. Porter, ‘Trusteeship, Anti-Slavery and Humanitarianism’, p. 198. See also

Colonial Violence in Southern Africa

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 15

in the colonial world were inherently different from those in Europe.

neighbours, as rebellions and fragility in one colony could severely impact

The Brutal Germans? Mutual Perceptions

From its very beginning, German colonialism was to a large degree

condescending lens that rarely avoided pervasive stereotypes. Indeed, the

Picture 2.1 ‘Colonial Powers’ by Thomas T. Heine, Simplicissimuss, 1904, vol.

phases: first, through the 1890s, British observers often considered

Anglo-German Southern Africa. For instance, while German colonialism

German colonial authority, von François raided the Nama settlement of

elsewhere and so Leutwein and the German government in Berlin looked

The Herero and Nama Rebellions, 1903–8

exterminatory policy was ‘as equally gruesome as senseless’. Instead, he

Concentration Camps: Transfer

In the context of colonial violence, the most significant entanglement

Despite American criticism of Weyler’s policy, the American military used

and those of the Germans in GSWA centred upon genocidal intentions

Colonial violence in GSWA was shaped and informed by an inadvertent

T. Bührer, F. Eichmann, S. Förster and B. Stuchtey (eds.), Cooperation

K. A. Wagner, Amritsar 1919: An Empire of Fear and the Making of a

35. Cited in W. Hillebrecht, ‘“Certain Uncertainties” or Venturing

53. Drechsler, Let us Die Fighting, p. 144.

70. Hull, Absolute Destruction, p. 37.

vol. 63, 2 (2011), p. 259. For a recent study of concentration camps in

102. Quoted in Erichsen, Angel of Death, pp. 117–18.

Imperial Cooperation and Anglo-German

In a report dated 21 September 1907, Cape governor Walter Hely-­

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 43

German suppression and therefore they sought to maintain a strict, albeit

on the anticipated collapse of the Portuguese colonial empire, and also in

A Troublesome Neighbour: British Views of German

no reply from the British government, he proclaimed Angra Pequeña and

with a friendly attitude towards Germany, especially since Chamberlain

rebuffing the raiders, it caused an uproar in Britain. Germans in Britain

German government refused open cooperation, but rather aided the

colonial world was used to alleviate by reaching agreements. For instance,

The Marengo Affair

2 Colonial Violence in Southern Africa at the Turn of the

3 Imperial Cooperation and Anglo-German Diplomacy 43

4 Concerns and Non-Cooperation 71

5 Case 609: African Refugees in British Territory 93

6 Knowledge and Reactions121

7 Atrocity Narratives and the End of German Colonialism,

In a report dated 21 September 1907, Cape governor Walter Hely-

officer, Major Barecke, who was commander-in-charge in the south-

66. BAB, R 1001/2084: Dr Georg Hartmann, Die Zukunft Deutsch-