Critical Memories of Crafted

Journal of Communication Inquiry http://jci.sagepub.
com/
Critical Memories of Crafted Virtues : The Cadbury Chocolate Scandals, Mediated Reputations, and Modern Globalized Slavery
Marouf Hasian, Jr Journal of Communication Inquiry 2008 32: 249 originally published online 31 March 2008 DOI: 10.1177/0196859908316331 The online version of this article can be found at: http://jci.sagepub.com/content/32/3/249
Published by:
http://www.sagepublications.com
On behalf of:
Cultural and Critical Studies Division of the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication
Additional services and information for Journal of Communication Inquiry can be found at: Email Alerts: http://jci.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts Subscriptions: http://jci.sagepub.com/subscriptions Reprints: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav Permissions: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav Citations: http://jci.sagepub.com/content/32/3/249.refs.html
>> Version of Record - Jun 6, 2008 OnlineFirst Version of Record - Mar 31, 2008 What is This?
Downloaded from jci.sagepub.com at National School of Political on May 7, 2012
Critical Memories of Crafted Virtues

The Cadbury Chocolate Scandals, Mediated Reputations, and Modern Globalized Slavery
Marouf Hasian Jr.
University of Utah, Salt Lake City
Journal of Communication Inquiry Volume 32 Number 3 July 2008 249-270 2008 Sage Publications 10.1177/0196859908316331 http://jci.sagepub.com hosted at http://online.sagepub.com
This article provides a critical legal analysis of the rhetoric surrounding the modern slavery problems associated with the Cadbury Brothers firm during the early 20th century. The Cadbury firm sued The Standard newspaper for libel, alleging that the firms directors reputations had been damaged. The author argues that critical analysis of this libel trial shows how the crafting of Victorian or Edwardian virtues often involved the defense of imperial reputations, and in this case British liberals and conservatives debated each other as they critiqued Portuguese colonial practices. The author concludes that the work of Henry Nevinson and other investigators continues to influence modern interrogations of contemporary cocoa business practices. Keywords: William Cadbury; civic virtue; legal rhetoric; libel; modern slavery; Henry Nevinson When I hear the word Freedom . . . I see . . . men and women . . . driven . . . toward the misty islands . . . where they will toil until they die, in order that our chocolate creams may be cheap. . . . Henry W. Nevinson, as cited in Davidson, 1963, p. x In Angola and S. Thom . . . [there is] a brutal system of capture and supply of slave labor by a licensed agent . . . [and] fairly humane treatment on some of the best estates. William Cadbury, 1910, p. xi
During the fall of 1908, William Cadbury, one of the British owners of the familyrun Cadbury Brothers, Limited, should have been ecstatic. His chocolate businesses were flourishing, and he was credited with having introduced innovative labor practices in Bourneville, a model company town (Dellheim, 1987). For centuries his ancestors had been involved in countless antislavery ventures, and he himself had
249
250 Journal of Communication Inquiry
contributed to the funding of aborigines-protection societies. Yet Cadbury sensed that he had a small problem with the press that might potentially turn into a much bigger conundrummore than a few journalists were suggesting that his family was profiting from coercive labor systems in Portuguese colonial Africa. As early as 1884 Reverend William Bentley warned readers of the London Times that if they supported some Anglo-Portuguese treaties then slavery would be revived everywhere under specious forms (p. 3), and now 24 years later one of the most respected Quaker families in the British empire was thought to be indirectly employing one third of the slaves on some Portuguese cocoa islands (Nevinson, 1907, p. 495). It did not help matters that British parliamentarians were asking officials pointed questions about the control of the recruitment of labourers for the cocoa plantations (Recruitment, 1908, p. 937). William Cadbury would later say under oath that he worried that condemning the British cocoa makers meant condemning the British Government (Mr. Cadbury Cross-Examined, 1909, p. 4), but his detractors were convinced that these types of arguments could not hide the fact that the Cadburys were profiting from the misfortunes of others. Some journalists and other polemicists were circulating revelatory tales that described in lurid detail how thousands of Africans died agonizing deaths under a virtual system of slavery, and these observers claimed that the Cadburys knew or should have known about these affairs. Photographs of manacled children on recruitment ships were taken surreptitiously by essayists who wrote about absentee Lisbon landlords, contractual trickery in Angola, and the use of inhumane compounds. When incredulous British firms paid for their own inquiries, one of these investigators explained how slavery was the only word in the England language that could accurately describe how thousands were taken away to work on unhealthy islands under a servical [sic] system (Brutt, 1904, as cited in Cadbury, 1910, pp. 130-131). Anxious Europeans who worried about cocoa slavery used their inventive powers of geographic imagination as they wrote or read about these trials and tribulations, and they focused their attention on two tiny islands off of the West African coast, So Tom and Prncipe. By 1900, some 56% of all of the raw cocoa used by the Cadbury chocolate firm came from these Portuguese islands (Nwaka, 1980, p. 782). Every year approximately 4,000 men, women, and children were transported from the West coast of Africa to these islands, and none ever came back (Nevinson, 1907, p. 492). When a growing number of Cadburys conservative and radical critics began recirculating stories of his alleged hypocrisy, he and several members of his family decided to sue one of the British newspapers (The Standard) that they felt needed to be held accountable for this pernicious spread of libelous material. Cadburywho believed in the importance of social efficiency and paternal benevolencewanted to defend his firms reputation, and he wanted to air out his grievances in an open British courtroom.
Hasian / Critical Memories 251
For communication scholars, this historical debate about Cadburys role in what was then called modern slavery provides a fascinating case study that illustrates some of the complexities that attend so many reformist movements, especially when critics who are demanding social change run up against alliances of patriotic nationalists and commercial interests. Cadburys case (Cadbury Bros., Ltd. v. The Standard Newspaper, Ltd., 1909), was supposed to focus on the technical laws of libel and the reparation of damaged reputations, but it became just a small part of much larger symbolic debates about the efficacy and desirability of contrasting colonial ideologies. As a general rule, the conservatives who controlled the British government before the 1906 election favored expansionist imperial policies, while the liberals promoted more indirect forms of reluctant colonial rule. Most Englanders did not debate the question of whether the world needed their empirethey were simply quibbling about the nature, scope, and limits of their interventionist practices. These imperial debates created a vast reservoir of what Carlson (1991) calls public moral arguments, those issues of character that may be just as important as the formalistic logics or pieces of evidence that are persuasive elements of legal cases. These moral arguments are often polysemic in nature and can be used by a host of different commentators and legal actors, and in this particular libel case many of the participants have left us discursive clues that evidence how they felt about various imperial goals and policies. For communication scholars who are interested in the ideological dimensions of legal controversies, newspaper coverage of the Cadbury v. Standard trial can be fruitfully analyzed through close textual analysis, which gets at both the rhetoricity of language and the meaning of justice that circulate in contested situations (Gale, 1994, p. 3). By paying close attention to both the manifest and latent meanings that swirl around controversial libel trials, critics get a sense of the recursive nature of legal characterizations and public ideologies, as various imperial audiences sought to openly resolve some of the contradictions that appeared to be an inherent part of the cocoa collection process. For communication scholars who are interested in the study of critical legal rhetorics (Hasian, 1994; Lewis, 2002; Lucaites, 1990; McDorman, 1997; Zackodnik, 2001), comparative discursive approaches that look at both the formalistic rules of law and their informal public shadows help us understand the intimate relationship that exists between law and rhetoric, or jurisprudence and public ideologies. Through the use of close textual analyses, these critical scholars can keep track of both the synchronic nature of these debates as various social actors present their views on character and imperialism, and they can assess the diachronic influence of these same arguments as they echo through the ages. In this particular case, the cocoa debates have left us with some rich colonial and imperial archives that are filled with information about how fin-de-sicle audiences dealt with the social, economic, and political contradictions of empire. A discursive analysis of these cocoa debates provides researchers with a wealth of heuristic materials that help us understand how the strategic use of humanitarian politics can be
tied to commercial interests and the principles of those who professed to be performing antislavery protests (Grant, 2005, p. 113). Cadburys legal challenges created a situation where certain moral characterizations migrated back and forth between the porous boundaries of the courtroom and the broader rhetorical culture. Along the way, journalists, lawyers, judges, and laypersons invited a host of Anglo-American and European audiences to think about the nexus that existed between the limits of libel laws, the origins of imperial profits, and the sinfulness of some of their sweetest pleasures. Through the uses of critical legal approaches to the law, scholars can interpret, unpack, and explain how these various legal and public commentaries interanimate each other (Hasian, 1994) and potentially impact social and political decision making. A close analysis of key texts that were used in this salient controversy shows us that in many ways, the Cadburys real nemesis in these cocoa affairs was one Henry Nevinson, a journalist whose arguments were recirculated by some members of the British press. For almost a century Nevinson would be a forgotten figure, but during the first decade of the 20th century he was considered to be an iconoclastic gadfly who wrote feverishly about the horrors of modern slavery (Nevinson, 1906/1963). Some of his contemporaries have left us portraits of a swashbuckling radical, an intrepid journalist who braved the dangers of the tropics so that he could bring back empirical proof of Portuguese atrocities. During 1904 and 1905 he traveled to Angola and some of the cocoa islands, and he was one of the travelers who put together a lot of the journalistic ammunition that would be picked up by some of the writers who worked for Londons Standard. Given the fact that both William Cadbury and Henry Nevinson shared a hatred of slavery that passed as legalized coercive labor, it would make sense that they would try to at least publicly acknowledge the relative contributions of the two powerful groups that they represented in British society, the philanthropists who paid for costly overseas investigations and the journalists who wrote about these revelations. Moreover, both of these critics of empire had also visited the islands of So Tom and Prncipe, and they saw some of the same shackles, the treatment of the workers, and the reports of deaths of the natives. Yet Cadbury and Nevinson worked from very different rhetorical vantage points, and they disagreed about the specifics of imperial policy formation. While Cadbury trusted the Portuguese overseers and accepted incremental imperial progress, Nevinson was more confrontational and wanted revolutionary colonial change. For several years the purveyors of these competing colonial ideologies could share the intellectual conceit that various publics or British parties were on their side, but the filing of the Cadbury Ltd. v. Standard Ltd. libel case (1909) threatened this uneasy truce. Various conservative, liberal, and radical rhetors now publicly disagreed about the complicit nature of Portuguese ownership, the magnitude of the modern slavery problem, and the timeliness of certain boycotts. In many ways the jurisprudential debates about Cadburys supposed hypocrisy can be thought of as
metonymic fragments that refracted and reflected some of the ideological concerns that were drifting in Anglo-American and European imperial mainstreams during this first decade of the 20th century. While nihilists or cynics might push the envelope and claim that neither Cadbury nor Nevinson really believed in their own rhetorics of empire, I would argue that a close textual analysis of their words and deedswhat some have called a comparative study of their discourse and their quotidian practices (West, 2006)tells us other tales. Many of their audiences read some of their work and shared many of their anxieties, and eventually these cocoa debates did help bring about some substantive social change. For example, the Cadbury and antislavery archives contain letters from readers who wanted to tell these writers about their own personal participation in the boycotting of chocolate goodsespecially after 1909and they wanted to thank various investigators for their efforts. Moreover, we have a plethora of letters to the editor that supply us with ample proof of the rhetoricity of their arguments. A critical review of the competing legal and public ideologies that swirled around the Cadbury v. Standard case shows us that the arguments and issues that surfaced during the early 20th century are still percolating today, as we hear echoes of the past in our own centurys debates about child labor, global exploitation, and international chocolate industrialization (Razdan, 2006; Robbins, 2002). The decoding of the Cadbury and Standard texts and contexts is thus more than a matter of academic debate because some of these commentaries on Portuguese or British imperialism helped construct some of the generic templates that frame the ways that we think about the nature and scope of postcolonial humanitarian intervention. As I argue below, courtroom disputation about British libel law and individual reputation was inextricably tied to political conversations about imperial virtues, and these in turn have impacted the ways that we comment on globalization and modern cocoa industries. Trevor Parry-Giles (2006) has argued that the study of legal characterology provides us with rhetorical evidence of how various communities think about leadership, power, and politics (p. 7), and in this essay I will extend Condits (1987) arguments about the public crafting of civic virtue. I argue that the Birmingham court became the scene of a struggle over both individual and colonial reputations, as the lawyers for the Cadburys and the Standard newspapers blurred the line between the personal and the public. Many of the legal arguments that circled in these courtrooms were based on pragmatic arguments about preferred colonial policies and reasonable decision making, which meant that commentaries about libel law could be used as vehicles for imperial critiques. With this in mind I have organized this essay into four major sections. The first portion of the essay explains why the Standards owners and editors decided to engage in some risky behavior and publish some potentially libelous material. The second part of the article illustrates how the Cadburys and their supporters talked about individual and imperial reputations as they prepared for their courtroom battles. The third segment takes us into the courtroom itself, where we gain a sense of
how various rhetors and audiences felt about cocoa and modern slavery. Finally, in the concluding sections, I comment on the heuristic value of these types of characterological analyses of legal controversies.
Unseen Hands, Henry W. Nevinson, The Standard, and British Critiques of Portuguese Slave Policies
The missionaries, consuls, journalists, and other critics of Portuguese labor practices who traveled to Africa came from many walks of life, but they often shared an antipathy toward slavery. These abolitionists did not always promote egalitarian ideas about the inherent equality of different races or classes, but they still could demand that the less fortunate denizens on this earth deserved to be treated as human beings. An editorialist for the London Times, for example, understood some of the challenges that confronted the Cadburys, but this writer pointedly noted that it seemed a pity that a few of the comforts of Bourneville were not from time to time imparted to the workers in San Thom and Princpe (Mssrs. Cadburys, 1909, p. 9). Bourneville at that time was known as a company town that looked after its workers, a place that provided a haven for abused or impoverished Birmingham women (Cadbury, Matheson, Shann, & Catt, 1908), so why were the Cadburys not willing to keep open eyes on the African journey of slave gangs or caravans that treated miserable women as if they were cattle (p. 9)? During the first decade of the 20th century, there were a whole range of possible actions that could be taken by these abolitioniststhey could sign Parliamentary petitions, send letters off to the Foreign Office, correspond with Portuguese friends, and even boycott the sale of slave goods. This last activity was viewed as a drastic step, given the fact that the opening up of free trade between different parts of the empire was considered to be conducive to consciousness raising and the spread of commerce. Yet there are always exceptional circumstances, and there were times when those who believed in muscular Christianity (Kuenz, 2001) contemplated more drastic courses of action in the wars that were waged against the scourge of slavery. By the end of the 19th century, a host of nations had signed treaties that banned the slave trade, and this meant that European naval vessels could board vessels that they believed were transporting slaves. On the African mainland, there were other Europeans who worked on the extirpation of Muslim slave trades. While moderates patiently worked at encouraging peaceful dialogue, others wanted military intervention, more settlements, or annexation. Fin-de-sicle legal debates about corporate reputations were thus inextricably intertwined with political wrangling about the best forms of imperialism or the social evils of cocoa slavery. Photographs of children on the way to the cocoa islands adorned some of the books, journal articles, and essays that were written about ending the last vestiges of African slavery. Who, after all, did not need to know about
the travails of the contract laborer who arrived at the coastal towns of Batumbella or Novo Redondo? These melancholy creatureswho were destined to live short and desolate livesswore before a Curador that they voluntarily assented to 5 years of servitude on the cocoa islands (Nevinson, 1907, p. 492). Given the horrific death rates of the Portuguese contract laborers (most accounts indicated between 10% and 22% of them died within a matter of a few years), how could rational human beings explain these colonial conditions? Sadly, many of the same Europeans who worried about the troubles of the natives also believed that the use of coercive labor was both necessary and efficacious. Regimented work supposedly provided a part of the antidote that would cure the poison of slavery. Given the stereotyping of the times, many imperialists were convinced that efficient imperialism required the use of vagrancy laws, local taxes, or other colonial accoutrements that would help control the uncivilized who were working their way up social Darwinian ladders (Brantlinger, 1985; Nwaka, 1980). Imperialists often argued that in order to be effective, reformist schemes needed to work with natureonly fools suffering from tropical heat or utopian dreamers believed in the totally equality of all humanity. Pragmatic imperialists thus worked within horizons of meanings that were filled with all sorts of creative ways of differentiating between the use and abuse of native labor. This meant that Anglo-Americans or Europeans who wanted to shield the Portuguese officials from blame could simply argue that the radical humanitarians were either exaggerating the magnitude of the cocoa problems or focusing on the wrong causative factors. If imperial ethnologists, royal geographers, or knowledgeable diplomats wanted to study the natural causes of slavery, they could highlight the role that population density, heat, climate, physiology, or racial aptitude might play in these situations. If a Victorian or Edwardian wanted more culturally oriented explanations for the widespread existence of involuntary servitude, books about everything from cannibalism to the influence of Muslim culture could supply needed information about the difficulties that attended abolitionism. A close analysis of one of the texts (Wyllie, 1909) produced by an influential participant in these cocoa debates illustrates how some were convinced that the British press was zealously taking up the cause of the black man [sic] and forgetting to do justice to the white. Nevinson and other ignorant observers were said to be lumping together the Angolan interior and island colonies and unfairly maligning the planters of St. Thom, who were as kindly a body of men as can well be found. Why, given these facts, were these sentimentalists not going after the savages, black, brown, or white, who were responsible for the atrocities committed by savages? Within this particular colonial narrative, blaming the planters made about as much sense as making an Oxford-street tradesman [sic] answerable for the personal misdeeds of some customer of anarchist leanings, say in Barcelona or Madrid (Wyllie, 1909, p. 16). These types of rhetorics were therefore filled with plenty of denials, equivocations, or trivializations, where the African deaths could be configured as the natural result of sleeping sickness, tropical disease, or the inability to acclimate.
Within some of the more moderate imperial scenarios, the modern slave trade continued to exist because of the corrupt acts of Europeans or Africans who disobeyed Portuguese laws or the tenets of the new imperialism. The Cadburys could be credited with overseas labor reformation if they convinced enlightened plantations owners or members of the Foreign Office that abusive practices needed to end. Those radical publicists who did not understand the practical wisdom of these incremental reformist plans could be configured as interlopers who hurt the truly effective abolitionist causes. Conservative and liberal defenders of British imperial rule were convinced that the cocoa problems did not stem from imperialism per se, but from the unregulated management of colonial schemes. If observant stewards protected the natives in the same way that the Cadburys managed the White Bourneville workers, then everyone could enjoy their sweets without having a guilty conscience. In some of the more ingenious imperial tales that were told about the benefits of European colonial practices, those who signed voluntary labor contracts were said to be flocking to the cocoa islands so that they could flee the poverty and degeneration of their primitive precolonial pasts. These workers could be characterized as African elites who were trying to mimetically follow their European betters. Those who defended the Portuguese planters circulated books and articles that were filled with pictures of White missionary buildings, clean schools, and happy servants (Montero, 1910/1969). When George Cadbury purchased the Daily News in 1901, the chocolate makers were walking into this prefigured world, and these crusaders joined the lists when they complained about Congolese or South African labor practices (Our Modern Knights-Errant, 1909, p. 491). By 1903, readers could see how these Quakers were supporting the British Liberal Party as they chastised those who needed to do something about the Great Diamond Robbery in Africa or the Tottering Tyranny of King Leopolds Inferno (Nwaka, 1980, p. 782). This relativizing effort tried to underscore the loss of African lives while mining in South Africa, and the synchronic allusion to King Leopold of Belgium referred to the deaths that occurred during rubber collection in what was then called the Congo Free State. The Cadburys would later complain about the slanderous accusations that were hurled their way, but they themselves participated in debates about the desirability of expansionism, free trade, or the British use of Chinese coolie labor (Satre, 2005, p. 127). The Cadburys, however, were worrying about their personal reputations. By 1908, it appears that these Quaker chocolate manufacturers had agreed among themselves that they could no longer sit idly by as they read the contemptuous claims of those who would impugn their motives. Other newspapersincluding the Manchester Guardian and The Evening Standardhad previously backed down and provided retractions and apologies when threatened with possible lawsuits (Satre, 2005, p. 125), but the staff of The Standard may have believed that they had advanced some truthful or justifiable claims. The Standards owner, C. Arthur
Pearson, and editor, Howell A. Gwynne, decided that they were going to hold the line, and they stood by the claims that they presented in their controversial editorial. Pearson was a well-known conservative proprietor of several newspapers, while Gwynne was a former correspondent for Reuters who had covered the Boer War for Reuters. It is no coincidence that Gwynne was also a friend of die-hard imperialists such as Cecil Rhodes and Alfred Milner. Both Pearson and Gwynne had their own imperial creeds, and they realized that the Cadburys Daily News was filled with similar lurid tales of South African mining abuses, so this must have violated their sense of fair play. Conservative defenders of the British Empire fumed at the idea that selfrighteous crusaders were now using libel lawswhich were technically supposed to take into account both private and public interests (Vick & MacPherson, 1996)in political ways that appeared to be closing off public debate about liberal politics and economic practices. Scholars today have no shortage of evidence that documents how the Cadburys and other chocolate manufacturers did indeed spend small fortunes on hundreds of local, national, and international antislavery campaignsfrom Fox Bournes Aborigines Associations to E. D. Morels Congo Reform Associationbut this did not automatically mean that they could control the spin that was placed on those activities. Ironically, the more that William Cadbury could show he cared about the natives, the more that this documented the existence of facts that helped build the defendants legal case. After all, could the chocolate makers critics not claim that all of this spending on other campaigns simply masked the fact that these British philanthropists profited from other ventures, in the same way that the Northern Lords of the Loom helped fund the efforts of the America Southerners who were the Lords of the Lash (Holden-Smith, 1993)? A close textual analysis of the Standard editorial of September 26, 1908, helps us understand just why the Cadburys might have felt troubled when they read this particular critique. Their lawyers claimed that damages should be awarded because this chocolate firms officials have been and will be injured in their credit and reputation (Writ, 1908), but in many ways this editorial seemed to be a text that brought to the surface some of the latent contradictions that were glossed over in their defenses of their cocoa activities. This Standard shard was saturated with innuendo, and there is no shortage of invective as the unnamed author makes fun of those virtuous people of England (We Learn, 1908, para. 3) who were profiting from the misery of others. This short essay begins with a disarming congratulatory remark that thanks William Cadbury for his proposed 1908 trip to Africa that he would include a tour of Angola and So Tom. The tone changes abruptly as readers get to see some sardonic commentary on the way that Mr. Cadburys reputation stands as high as his renown for the sale of cocoa (We Learn, 1908). Veiled allusions to class and ethnic differences are used as framing devices as the editorial focuses on the studied
English model factories of Bourneville and the high quality of their manufactured goods. The essay gets more caustic as audiences then learn that
There are lecture-rooms and gymnasia, and no public-houses; the young ladies in the firms employ visit the swimming bath weekly, and they have prayers every morning before beginning their honourable task of supplying the British public with wholesome food. But in this latter useful process they are not the only agents. The white hands of the Bourneville chocolate makers are helped by other unseen hands some thousands of miles away, black and brown hands, toiling in plantations, or hauling loads through swamp and forest. In the plentitude of his solicitude for his fellow-creatures Mr. Cadbury might have been expected to take some interest in the owners of those same grimed African hands. (We Learn, 1908, para. 1)
Now this author of this Standard editorial goes on to admit that William Cadbury has been concerned about the well-being of some members of other races, but this alert conscience seemed to be concerned only about the Chinese laborers, who are configured by this Standard contributor as voluntary laborers protected by the precautions of the British and the Chinese governments. The Cadburys are thus characterized as liberal imperialists who have picked the wrong quarrel. Within this imaginary community, William Cadbury could be treated as some nave and bumbling busybody, a wealthy factory owner who stood behind the misguided Liberal Party. Entire paragraphs are used to document the extensive abuse of cocoa island contract labour, and Mr. Cadbury is addressed as the party who needs to think about the purchase of boys and girls, the manacled and shackled slaves who were taken to the West African coast, and the compounds that were used to sort out these groups as they prepared to embark on their island voyage (We Learn, 1908). The addressee is then told that none of these workers were repatriated and that many died within a matter of years. Geographic distance is then discursively traversed as readers are told in no uncertain terms about who directly profits from this modern slavery:
And the worst of this slavery and slave-driving and slave-dealing is brought about by the necessity of providing a sufficient number of hands to grow and pick cocoa on the islands of Princpe and So Tom, the islands which feed the mills and presses of Bournville! Such is the terrible indictment, made, as we have said, by a writer of high character and reputation on the evidence of his own eyesight. (We Learn, 1908, para. 2)
This editorialist for The Standard was thus implying that liberals like Cadbury were really bystanders who read these revelatory accounts and received them with some strange tranquility. In many ways, this type of reasoning created discursive gestures that framed William Cadburys own belated investigations as superfluous and self-interested. If The Standard had simply provided an editorial that commented on the cocoa trade in general, or the universal horrors of the Portuguese slave trade, they could
have potentially avoided a lawsuit, but this particular editorial named names and identified specific practices that were allegedly hypocritical. William Cadbury was ridiculed for his masquerading as some philanthropist and friend of humanity. The editors of The Standard did indeed put together a witty and interesting critique of William Cadburys activities. Yet in the process they consciously or unconsciously stitched together an attack that was also filled with all of the elements that were needed to construct a prima facie libel case under British law at the time publication, a readily identifiable plaintiff, and allegations that could damage the reputation of both a named individual and the company that he worked for (Townshend, 1877). English law complicated matters for defendants because during this period of time ones reputation and character were so important that the burden of proof was placed on defendants to show that they had not damaged the plaintiffs good name (Vick & MacPherson, 1996). The Cadburys legal staff could puncture the defenses justifications by showing that their clients were acting reasonably when they followed the advice of those who told them it would be best not to make a scandal of the past, but to wait for promised reforms (Messrs. Cadburys Libel Action, 1909, p. 4). Rufus Isaacs could therefore argue that the defendants were forgetting that under British law reasonable Englanders could disagree about the politics and the methods that were used to rectify the cocoa labor situation. As far as these plaintiffs lawyers were concerned, even if the defendants could prove that the chocolate firms had not joined the early boycott movements, this did not mean that the Cadburys were necessarily acting in bad faith or in hypocritical ways. Yet there are times when winning a libel case may provide pyrrhic victories, and participants in these types of judicial affairs may not always get what they ask for.
The Cadburys, British Libel Law, and the Liberal Responses to the Cocoa Slavery Question
During the first parts of this 1909 libel trial, Isaacs went on the offensive and argued that this should be a libel trial that reviewed the question of whether the Cadburys were fit objects for odium and contempt (Writ, 1908). Under British laws that covered libel and slander (see Townshend, 1877), if individuals were injured they could ask courts for damages, and this meant that if a reasonable person would think worse of the Cadburys they had a potential cause of action. Wragge & Company, the solicitors who worked with Isaacs, made sure that Foreign Secretary Edward Grey would be able to present the court with a deposition that explained the Liberal governments position on these affairs. Travers Buxton of the Anti-Slavery Society was asked to document the Cadburys involvement in abolitionist affairs. After the filing of the plaintiffs statement, both the Cadbury Brothers firm and The Standard spend an immense amount of money collecting information about
prior knowledge of cocoa slavery, and each side tried to gain some insight into the motives of their adversaries. The Cadburys tried to amass evidence that definitively proved that they had consistently fought modern slavery on the African continent, while The Standards lawyers tried to chronicle a competing narrative filled with tales of half-hearted reformist efforts. Sadly, as Satre (2005) astutely observes, all of this energy was now being directed away from the prudential task of materially improving the conditions of the serviais and toward the legal debates about commercial virtue (p. 129). Close textual analysis of dozens of newspaper articles discloses that during December of 1909 the presses were filled with commentaries on slave cocoa. By then Isaacs and his legal staff had advanced three major contentionsthey claimed that the defendants knew or should have known about the Cadburys unswerving dedication to ending slave practices, that the defendants failed to take into account the fact that chocolate firms were following the suggestions of the British Foreign Office, and that The Standard had unfairly characterized William Cadburys overseas investigations. For example, it was argued that during the 1880s some members of the Cadbury families had willingly supported Englands Anti-Slavery Society (Messrs. Cadburys Libel Action, 1909). The Wragge firm apparently decided that they did not need to call that many witnesses to prove that their clients were dedicated philanthropists. The second cluster of arguments, which focused attention on the correspondence that came from the British Foreign Office, posed a number of challenges for the plaintiffs because Sir Edward Greys deposition was filled with equivocations. His courtroom testimony seemed to underscore the point that the British government was not going to get involved in a case that might threaten Anglo-Portuguese relations. When Edward Carson, the lead defense attorney, asked him questions about governmental negotiations with the Portuguese, Grey backtracked and told the Birmingham courtroom that this was not really a Foreign Office matter because the Portuguese government had suspended recruiting in their colonies altogether (Libel Action by Messrs. Cadbury, 1909, p. 4). The plaintiffs barristers must have been stunned when they heard Grey testify under oath that he could not recall having advised the Cadburys to continue purchasing cocoa from So Tom and Prncpe. Some members of the Foreign Office did comply with the courts request for some needed documents, but they redacted many parts of these statements in the name of national security (Satre, 2005, pp. 152-153). William Cadbury tried to present the court with some of his own written memos that summarized his conversations that he allegedly had with Grey in October of 1906, but Rufus Isaacs could not find any written document that showed that the Foreign Office had given any direct guidance on the purchase of cocoa beans or the maintenance of cordial relations with Portuguese planters. These Foreign Office positions complicated matters for the prosecutors who were focusing on the Cadburys virtuous reputations, but Isaacs and his staff still had one
major argument that could be advancedthe Cadburys were acting like typical liberal reformers when they paid out of their pockets for new investigations of the cocoa islands. MacIntyre (1981) has explained how Victorian notions of virtue needed to be publicly performed as evidence of good character, and at the same time that these barristers highlighted William Cadburys philanthropy, they also linked these positions to the views of the reasonable imperialists who believed in the tenets of modern reformation. Searle (1983) notes how both the Cadburys and Rufus Isaacs were considered to be leaders of the New Liberalism of this period, and this symbolic alignment helped underscore the importance of incremental colonial change. Isaacs and his staff crafted courtroom narratives that were filled with liberal imperial pictures of a caring philanthropist who understood the real meaning of colonial duties and civilizing missions. By 1909 Cadbury had visited the cocoa islands, and he was portrayed as a thorough and objective researcher who avoided journalistic excesses. In many ways he was configured as a typical moderate who was concerned about the Portuguese recruits, and this blurring of personal and political characterizations created the impression that Greys forgetfulness was of no consequence. A major issue, of course, involved the question of whether audiences would accept these glowing accounts of the Cadburys and the governments liberal policies. The British owners of these chocolate factories may have sincerely believed that they were not hypocrites and that they had much to gain from the airing of their grievances in one of Englands courtrooms, but these plaintiffs could not control the rhetorical trajectory of some of these imperial claims. The politicized nature of the crafting of virtue (Condit, 1987) creates situations where motivated audiences may or may not accept some of the negotiated compromises that come out of these legal debates about slavery, the speed of reform, or honorable action. Too many competitive imperialists wanted the prestige and power that was linked with the most virtuous of colonial characterizations (MacIntyre, 1981).
British Chocolate Trials and Tribulations: Ideological Drift and the Rhetoric Surrounding Cadbury Bros., Ltd. v. The Standard Newspaper, Ltd.
Rufus Isaacs was an excellent barrister and a dedicated promoter of many liberal causes, but The Standard newspaper had hired an equally powerful defender Edward Carson. Carson listened attentively to William Cadburys chronology of his firms involvement in various humanitarian ventures, and then he started what some have regarded as one of the most devastating cross-examinations in the annals of British libel law. During one of these December judicial proceedings, Carson asked Cadbury if he was still waiting for a postcard from Sir Edward Grey that would
indicate that the Foreign Office wanted the chocolate firm to do anything (The Libel Action, 1909, p. 4). Majoriebanks (1932) would later recall how Carson used material from Cadburys own reports to incrementally gain an admission of mere slavery and passing from cruelty to atrocity, and from atrocity to licensed murder on a large scale, until the plaintiff seemed to stand there as defendant in all but name, and shared responsibility for the sorrows of the world (p. 395). For example, Carson read to the court a portion of a letter that Cadbury sent the Planters Committee in London that indicated that the British public might refuse at any time to take cocoa made from the pods that came from slave labor. This implied that William Cadbury knew beforehand that boycotts were effective business tools, and that this Quaker was taking contradictory positions on the question of economic leverage. How, after all, could William Cadbury continue to defend his firms belated interventionist practices when he himself had recognized the potential power that came from strong boycotts? Carson was in no hurry, and his cross-examination of William Cadbury took several days. This barrister carefully rephrased questions that repetitively highlighted the misery of those who toiled on the cocoa islands. This seasoned veteran knew how to ask similar questions in different ways, and he managed to weather the usual storm of objections that came from the lips of Rufus Isaacs. During a key part of these legal proceedings, William Cadbury and Carson had this following exchange of cross-examination questions and answers:
Carson: Knowing that it [slavery] was atrocious, you took the main portion of your supply of cocoa for the profit of your business from the islands conducted under this system? W. Cadbury: Yes, for a period of some years. Carson: You did not look upon that as anything immoral? W. Cadbury: Not under the circumstances. (Libel Action by Messrs. Cadbury, 1909, p. 4)
The next day Carson continued his barrage and got this fateful answer to one of his queries:
Carson: Have you formed any estimate of the number of slaves who lost their lives in preparing your cocoa during those eight years? W. Cadbury: No, no. (The Libel Action, 1909, p. 4)
Carsons legal presentation was as graphic as the discursive and photographic material that appeared in Nevinsons books and essays, and the Birmingham schoolchildren and law students who attended this particular trial heard Cadbury acknowledge that the children born on Tom and Prncpe were considered to be slaves, that workers were whipped for trying to escape from the planters, and that the Cadbury firm had paid more than a million pounds for the cocoa that came from these islands.
Forty years later, Simon would aver that Carsons cross-examination of William Cadbury was one of the most devastating things that he had ever heard (Hyde, 1953/1974, p. 250). The defense barristers perhaps shocked some of their colleagues when they decided that they were not going to call any of their own witnesses to the stand, but after listening to all of these weeklong arguments the jury needed only 55 minutes to reach their verdict. These fact finders eventually decided that the Cadburys should technically win this libel case, but they could barely hide their contempt when they also announced the amount of damages that needed to be paid by The Standard one farthing, or about one quarter of a penny. Although neither party was totally satisfied with the decision, the size of the damage award clearly indicated that many members of the jury seemed to have accepted at least some of the claims of the defendants. Given the polysemic and polyvalent nature of the legal texts that are used in judicial trials, we should not be surprised to find that there were lurkers outside of the confines of this Birmingham courtroom who did not completely identify with the liberal arguments of Rufus Isaacs or the more conservative positions of Sir Edward Carson. As these legal arguments ideologically drifted (Balkin, 1993) into the public mainstream, various audiences could present their own reconfigurations of these tales of imperial virtue. Throughout 1909, a bevy of other writers put together their own fragments that explained how the Portuguese planters on So Tom and Prncipe were improving the lives of the contractual laborers! After all, it seemed as though the Cadburys and their detractors were assuming that the Portuguese were slavers, when more sympathetic audiences could treat their workers as voluntary laborers. Another European nations honor was a stake, and the British needed to remember that they were not the only benevolent imperialists. A. de Almada Negreiros, a Portuguese civil servant working on So Tom, wrote an essay for the Anti-Slavery Society in March of 1909 that suggested that British humanitarians did not understand that the plantation owners were providing the Africans with exemplary treatment. He thought that if Portugals critics really wanted to help the plight of their less fortunate wards, then they needed to lavish attention on the mistreatment of Indian workers in South Africa or the Africans who left Mozambique so that they could work on British projects. Ironically, Negreiros claimed that William Cadburys efforts had dishonored the Portuguese (Satre, 2005, p. 138). These Portuguese writers or their supporters must have sensed that they were playing the part of the villains in these other British tales of Victorian or Edwardian virtue, and they supplied their own counternarratives that heaped praise on the sacrifices of the early colonizers of these islands. The British lawyers and public boycotters kept writing about the misfortunes of the poor natives, but what about the trials and tribulations of those Whites who traveled to perilous tropic regions? These victimage tales had their own villainsthe Blacks who sold their brothers and sisters into slavery or the native
traders who lived pagan lives untouched by the healing balms of Portuguese Catholicism. Francisco Montero (1910/1969), a plantation owner and secretary of the Planters Association, produced three volumes that were filled with pictures and commentaries that explained to readers the steps that were being taken by planters and Portuguese officials as they worked on tropical medicine, housing, religious instruction, and other forms of colonial beneficence. Interestingly enough, perhaps the most eloquent defender of Portuguese colonialism was a Scotsman who once attended the Royal Military College at Sandhurst Lieutenant Colonel John Alfred Wyllie. This former British soldier had helped several of the So Tom planters with their translations of manuscripts, and he sent several letters to the London Times that detailed just why Nevinson and the other liberals were spreading falsehoods about Portuguese labor policies. Wyllie personally believed that the Union victory over the South in the American Civil War was one of the greatest tragedies in the history of Western civilization, and unlike many of the participants in the Cadbury v. Standard trial he simply did not understand why other Whites were in such a hurry to join the boycotting movements. He argued that all of this talk of island labor problems hurt Anglo-Portuguese relations, and he was convinced that these accusations also deflected attention away from British colonial problems. Why, after all, were these liberal or conservative crusaders not interested in boycotting the rice that came from Burma? If Cadbury or Nevinson were really that concerned about the welfare of the serviias, then why they were they ignoring the racial superiority of the planters, the beneficence of the Portuguese rulers, and the civilizing power of European control of Angola? Did these idealists not understand that the Africans who lived in their native lands were suffering from alcoholism and other diseases? The islands, argued Wyllie (1909), were a veritable paradise for the blacks (p. 16). These brazen textual defenses of Portuguese labor practices seemed to provide the type of public commentaries that corroborated the legal evidence that was prominently displayed by Carson in his cross-examination of William Cadbury. Were these Portuguese apologists providing the British with any firm evidence that they understood the importance of fair wages, repatriation, or the regulation of labor recruitment? If we think about these debates in ideological terms, a critic could argue that this libel case raised the stature of the arguments that were presented by Nevinson and other journalists, and it created a situation where many Anglo-American publics could reject the extremist rhetorics of writers like Wyllie. Moreover, the Cadburys admonitions about the need to maintain cordial relations with the planters seemed to fall on deaf ears as they lost their persuasiveness. At the turn of the century, British audiences may have given the Portuguese the benefit of the doubt, but lack of substantive action spoke volumes about efficacious reform. For example, in January 1909 the Chronicle of the London Missionary Society averred that the moral suasion of the Cadbury, Fry, and Rowntree firms had led to no improvement in the lot of the natives, and these writers called for a boycott of island cocoa (Satre, 2005, p. 125). Nevinson (who was frustrated by the fact that he was not allowed to testify
in this libel case on a topic where he was widely regarded as an acknowledged expert) later told readers that this was not a question of good or bad treatment, but rather the sale of human beings. Critics could conceivably argue that we still have not learned Nevinsons lessons.
Conclusion: Public Boycotts, Diplomatic Negotiations, African Repatriation, and the Celebrated End of Modern Slavery
Did any of these legal and public debates about libel, the virtue of the Cadburys, the shortened lives of the serviais, or the efforts of the Portuguese government help alter imperial practices? Satre (2005) contends that after years of Western rhetoric, there was no appreciable change in the lot of slaves in Angola or on the islands before the boycotts of 1909 (p. 132). Yet I would argue that this ignores the fact that audiences around the world would never have learned about the need for this boycott, nor would they have supported the boycotts, if they had not heard the respective conservative, liberal, or radical arguments that circulated between 1900 and 1909. Satre, like Nevinson before him, may have underestimated the impact of all of this public and legal argumentation. They may have also undervalued the symbolic capital of the consciousness raising that came out of the Cadbury v. Standard libel trial. When the jury awarded the Cadburys a mere farthing, they were not only making a statement about the actual damaging of the reputation of four owners of a chocolate firmthey were also potentially representing the views of many conservative, liberal, or radical imperial audiences who now demanded drastic and substantive cocoa reforms. The older arguments about the necessity of coercive labor simply did not resonate in the same way that they had before these decadelong debates and revelations. Satre may be following the traditional scholarly decoupling of rhetoric and reality, but this misses the constitutive nature of abolitionist argumentation. Changes in discursive practices were reflected in the material alienation of slavers. All of these European defenses of the need for native labour would be around until the decolonization of the 1960s, but the open shackling of human beings, or the movement of human beings into containment pens, was something that raised the hackles of many imperialists. Granted, Satre is right when he claims that these rhetorics did not end many colonial problematics, but they did help ameliorate at least some of the suffering of the colonized. The British kept track of the Portuguese repatriation practices (see Harris, 1913), and they did try to quantify just how many Africans who worked on the islands lived to tell about their experiences. In this particular case a legal forum provided various transatlantic publics with an arena where audiences could hear contentious debates about individual and national reputations, and they could think about the moral or ethical costs of their own consumptive practices. I would argue that many of the Anglo-Americans or Europeans who heard about the fin-de-sicle perils of modern slavery (Nevinson, 1907) at least
recognized some of the difficulties that attended the use of certain colonial nomenclatures. Defenders of colonial practices could not always hide behind the euphemisms that they deployed. Critics of abusive cocoa policies were helping educate publics about the symbolic and material impact of seemingly nominal changes in semantic designations. They heard about the social, political, and economic conditions of both the planters and their workers, and Nevinson and Cadbury were just some of those who put together revelatory reports that showed how legal phrases could be used to justify governmental noninvolvement in the internal affairs of the Portuguese. After hearing all of this rhetoric, the virtue of the Cadburys was inextricably tied to the contradictions and the alleged beneficence of new imperial projects of many nations. Some of the questions that were raised in the Cadbury v. Standard trial still echo through the ages: How, after all, could virtuous and beneficent leaders of Victorian or Edwardian empires morally profit from a capitalist system that was supposed to reward both industriousness and moral rectitude? In the aftermath of the Cadbury v. Standard libel trial, some of the participants in this proceeding continued their consciousness-raising efforts and they tried to force the hand of the British Foreign Office. The officials who worked for that powerful office were equally adept at using the powers of deflection and strategic silence, and they avoided grappling with all of the dimensions of the Portuguese labor problems. William Cadbury, embarrassed and contrite following the Standard judgment, could have rested on his laurels and stopped his attacks on Angolan slave practices. He could have stopped harping on the lax nature of official enforcement of Portuguese laws. Yet this would not be the case, and it seems as though he used some of the material that came out of the libel trial in new diatribes that provided some harsher critiques of island practices. In 1912, for example, Cadbury coauthored an essay with E. D. Morel on the West African Slave Traffic, and these writers complained about the pace of reforms on both So Tom and the African mainland. They averred that notions of repatriation were still a hollow mockery, and they pushed for more radical reform (Cadbury & Morel, 1912, p. 851). After reviewing statistical information that came from British consuls, they concluded that over a 22-year period of time at least 67,000 Angolans had been shipped to the islands, and this did not include the minors under 12 or the infants who accompanied their parents. Cadbury and Morel were now making arguments that looked a lot like the claims that once circulated in the essays of Nevinson or The Standard as they wrote about how a very large portion of Angolan slaves were condemned to rapid death in order that private enterprise may profit from their labour (1912, p. 843). While these authors were still unwilling to believe that the Portuguese administrators grave maladministration could be linked to any purposive cruelty for crueltys sake, they did believe that their patriarchal practices and their lack of money created situations where other nations needed to think about active intervention in Portuguese affairs. This at least acknowledged the systematic nature of these labor problems.
Given the volatile nature of these controversies, we should not be surprised to find that over the years politicians, scholars, business leaders, and laypersons have provided different answers when they have been asked about the confluence of globalized profits and national morality. While many historical audiences have been bothered by allegations of hypocrisy and the conditions of the serviais, there was no shortage of observers who defended the Cadburys and their imperial decision making. For example, in 1924 Wilson admitted that it may have been ironic that one of the Cadburys [William] had exposed the evil of slavery grown cocoa and yet found that the firm had to defend itself by an action for libel. This author was convinced that apart from this incident, the Cadbury family seemed to provide exemplary illustrations of how Christians can succeed in commerce (Wilson, 1924, p. BR-10). Wilson elaborated by explaining that some members of the Cadbury family had spent years of their lives campaigning for liberal causes as they labored to end human exploitation and world wars (1924, p. BR-20). Several historians of Angolas political past wax eloquently about a William Cadbury who relentlessly attacked the systematic nature of human exploitation in Portuguese West Africa (Egerton, 1957, pp. 95-96; Henderson, 1979, pp. 115-116). Other critics have been less charitable, and they have provided us with less hagiographic portrayals of some of the owners of Englands major chocolate factories. These detractors have argued that the ambiguous policies of the Cadburys and their supporters created myriad problems for the reformers who wanted immediate amelioration of the cocoa slavery problem. For example, Clarence-Smith (1979) argues that the moderate liberal policies that were formed after listening to the arguments of both the British antislavery slavers and the Portuguese plantation owners generated its own momentum, where these negotiated compromises encouraged the perpetuation of the slave trade on the African continent and hurt the cause of those who demanded African compensation or repatriation (pp. 169-170). A year later, Nwaka (1980) surmised that the conflicting roles of these chocolate producers forced them into embarrassingly inconsistent arguments that ended up indirectly subsidizing a system of slavery (pp. 781-782). Grant (2005) later claimed that by 1906 the Cadburys had established themselves as public critics of imperialist exploitation and specifically of new slaveries of imperial regimes in Africa (p. 110), but that they were selective in their criticism. Their own cocoa revelations also showed that William Cadbury deftly exploited other humanitarian campaigns to distract attention from his companys own slavery scandal in West Africa (Grant, 2005, p. 111). Satre (2005) wrote eloquently about the philanthropic efforts of the Cadburys, but he questioned why it took some 8 years before William Cadbury and several other Anglo-American chocolate firms were willing to join in the boycotting of plantation goods. I argue in this essay that all of this focus on the individual social agency of Cadbury or some of the other British chocolate makers tells us only a part of some complex stories. If a critical legal analysis (Hasian, 1994; Lucaites, 1990; McDorman, 1997) of some
of the micro and macro dimensions of the Cadbury Bros. v. The Standard trial tells us anything, it is that these personal debates about individual reputations can be tethered to much larger ideological imperial structures. Robbins (2002) has recently argued that West Africas Ivory Coast now supplies almost half of the worlds supply of cocoa beans, and there are some 600,000 farms that have become an important part of that nations economy. Unfortunately, the BBC and other news outlets are now reporting that hundreds of thousands of children may be a part of a huge slave market that moves youngsters from Mali, Burkina Faso, Toga, and other places so that they can be shipped out to work on the Ivory Coast cocoa farms. Some human rights organizations are now suing Nestl, Cargill, and other companies for having violated some U.S. state codes that are supposed to protect the public from false claims that are allegedly made about the resolution of the problem of slave labor on cocoa farms (Orr, 2006). The past becomes prologue as some of these giant food conglomerates complain that they need more time or that that they are dealing with escalating civil wars. These purchasers of large supplies of cocoa also want to tell us about their support of dairy farmers in Latin America or their passing out of HIV medication in Africa. At least I can report that some of these giant conglomerates are trying to put together systems that certify that the cocoa beans that are used in some of these products are free of slave labor (Razdan, 2006). Perhaps Nevinson would be proud of the fact that his work is now being revived as it rhetorically drifts on the World Wide Web, informing new generations of the hazards of modern cocoa slavery.
References
Balkin, J. M. (1993). Ideological drift and the struggle over meaning. Connecticut Law Review, 25, 869-891. Bentley, W. H. (1884, April 14). The Congo Treaty. The [London] Times, p. 3. Brantlinger, P. (1985). Victorians and Africans: The genealogy of the myth of the Dark Continent. Critical Inquiry, 12, 166-203. Cadbury, E., Matheson, M. C., Shann, G., & Catt, C. C. (1908). Womens work and wages: A phase of life in an industrial city. London: T. F. Unwin. Cadbury, W. A. (1910). Labour in Portuguese West India. London: George Routledge. Cadbury, W. A., & Morel, E. D. (1912). The West African slave traffic. The Nineteenth Century, 836-851. Carlson, A. C. (1991). The role of character in public moral argument: Henry Ward Beecher and the Brooklyn scandal. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 77, 38-52. Clarence-Smith, G. (1979). The myth of uneconomic imperialism: The Portuguese in Angola, 1836-1926. Journal of Southern African Studies, 5, 165-180. Condit, C. M. (1987). Crafting virtue: The rhetorical construction of public morality. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 73, 79-97. Davidson, B. (1963). Introduction. In A modern slavery (pp. ix-xvii). New York: Background Books. Dellheim, C. (1987). The creation of a company culture: Cadburys, 1861-1931. American Historical Review, 92, 13-44. Egerton, F. C. (1957). Angola in perspective. London: Routledge. Gale, F. G. (1994). Political literacy: Rhetoric, ideology, and the possibility of justice. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Grant, K. (2005). A civilized savagery: Britain and the new slaveries in Africa, 1884-1926. New York: Routledge. Harris, J. (1913). Portuguese slavery: Britains dilemma. London: Methuen. Hasian, M., Jr. (1994). Critical legal rhetorics: The theory and practice of law in a postmodern world. Southern Communication Journal, 60, 44-56. Henderson, L. (1979). Angola: Five centuries of conflict. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Holden-Smith, B. (1993). Lords of lash, loom, and law. Justice Story, slavery, and Prigg v. Pennsylvania. Cornell Law Review, 78, 1086-1151. Hyde, H. M. (1974). Carson. New York: Octagon Books. (Original work published 1953) Kuenz, J. (2001). The cowboy businessman and the course of empire: Owen Wisters The Virginian. Cultural Critique, 48, 98-128. Lewis, W. (2002). In a field of pain and death: Law/rhetoric/history/culture. Rhetoric and Public Affairs, 5, 159-177. Libel action by Messrs. Cadbury. (1909, December 2). The [London] Times, p. 4. The libel action by Messrs. Cadbury. (1909, December 3). The [London] Times, p. 4. Lucaites, J. L. (1990). Between rhetoric and The Law: Power, legitimacy, and social change. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 76, 435-449. MacIntyre, A. (1981). After virtue: A study in moral theory. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Majoriebanks, E. (1932). Carson the advocate. New York: Macmillan. McDorman, T. F. (1997). Challenging constitutional authority: African American responses to Scott v. Sandford. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 83, 192-209. Montero, F. (1969). Manual labor in S. Thom and Prncipe. New York: Negro Universities Press. (Original work published 1910) Mr. Cadbury cross-examined. (1909, December 3). The [London] Times, p. 4. Messrs. Cadburys actions [Editorial]. (1909, December 7). The [London] Times, pp. 9-10. Messrs. Cadburys libel action: A farthing. (1909, December 7). The [London] Times, p. 4. Midland and Oxford Circuits. Libel action by Messrs. Cadbury. (1909, December 1). The [London] Times, p. 4. Nevinson, H. W. (1963). A modern slavery. New York: Background Books. (Original work published 1906) Nevinson, H. W. (1907). The Angola slave trade. Fortnightly Review, 82, 488-497. Nwaka, G. I. (1980). Cadburys and the dilemma of colonial trade in Africa, 1910-1910. Bulletin de lInstitut Fondamental dAfrique Noire, 42, 780-793. Orr, D. (2006). Slave chocolate? Forbes, 177(9), 96-101. Our modern knights-errant. (1909, March 27). The Spectator, pp. 491-492. Parry-Giles, T. (2006). The character of justice: Rhetoric, law, and politics in the Supreme Court confirmation process. Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Razdan, A. (2006). Hot cocoa. Utne, 133, 56-50. Recruitment of labour for cocoa plantations at San Thome and Principe. (1908, December 11). The Parliamentary Debates, 4th Series. London: Wyman. Robbins, J. (2002). The good, the bad and the savory. Earth Island Journal, 17(2), 30-31. Satre, L. J. (2005). Chocolate on trial: Slavery, politics, and the ethics of business. Athens: Ohio University Press. Searle, G. R. (1983). The Edwardian liberal party and business. English Historical Review, 98, 28-60. Townshend, J. (1877). A treatise on the wrongs called slander and libel. New York: Baker, Voorhis & Company. Vick, D. W., & MacPherson, L. (1996). Anglicizing defamation law in the European Union. Virginia Journal of International Law, 36, 933-998. We learn with profound interest [Editorial]. (1908, September 26). The Standard.
West, I. (2006, Summer). Debbie Maynes legal trans/scripts: Critical legal rhetorics and the possibilities for agency. Paper presented at the National Communication Association Doctoral Honors Conference, Purdue University. Writ and Plaintiffs Statement of Claim, Cadbury Bros., Ltd. v. The Standard Newspaper, Ltd., No. 3211. (1908, October 5). In the High Court of Justice, Kings Bench Division. Wyllie, J. A. (1909, September 28). Alleged slavery in St. Thom. The [London] Times, p. 16. Wilson, F. W. (1924, January 20). A rich man and his money. The New York Times, pp. BR-10, 20. Zackodnik, T. (2001). Fixing the color line: The mulatto, southern courts, and racial identity. American Quarterly, 53, 420-451.
Marouf Hasian Jr. is a professor in the Communication Department at the University of Utah. His areas of interest include postcolonial studies, law and rhetoric, critical memory studies, and genocide studies. He is currently working on several book projects that involve the study of visuality and remembrances of international atrocities.

Critical Memories of Crafted

Transféré par

Informations du document

Copyright

Formats disponibles

Partager ce document

Partager ou intégrer le document

Options de partage

Avez-vous trouvé ce document utile ?

Ce contenu est-il inapproprié ?

Droits d'auteur :

Formats disponibles

Critical Memories of Crafted

Transféré par

Droits d'auteur :

Formats disponibles

Journal of Communication Inquiry http://jci.sagepub.

Downloaded from jci.sagepub.com at National School of Political on May 7, 2012