February 2020.

     This is another crack at an editorial that never took off.  I was teaching Norman and Plantagenet England at the University of Richmond and the Plantagenet portion spoke to me in a way it hadn’t theretofore.  President Supersize Me was much on my mind because of his “acquittal” in the impeachment trial early in February 2020.  Henry III of England seemed a little “Trumpy” to me in ways big and small; moreover, the sense of limited executive authority as understood by Simon de Montfort and the rebelling barons, to say nothing of their courage and commitment to their cause, offered a counterpoint to the behavior of the national GOP, a contrast further sharpened by subsequent events.

     I put a thing together and sent it to a couple of outlets (The Washington Post, The Virginian-Pilot), who passed on it but were nice about it.

Here’s the unpublished editorial:

A Medieval Presidency?

     2020 seems to have completed President Trump’s seduction of the Republican Party.  The unwillingness of GOP senators and representatives to rebuke Trump in the impeachment process for disregarding rule of law, violation of constitutional principles, and flouting of political norms was telling.  Now congressional Republicans largely stand aside while the president removes inspectors general, interferes in judicial processes, smears his predecessor with baseless conspiracy theories, and employs the military against peaceful protestors.

     A cottage industry devoted to finding historical analogies for Trump’s misbehavior has emerged.  Does he belong with the twentieth century’s totalitarian despots or does his clownishness place him alongside tin-pot dictators of banana republics?  Or is he a throwback to the Ur-tyrant of the American mind, England’s George III?

     One of George’s medieval predecessors may be a more apposite historical precursor.  Henry III (r. 1216-72) was the successor to John of Magna Carta fame and father of Edward I, the Longshanks, the opponent of Braveheart’s William Wallace.  Henry had exaggerated personal qualities.  He loved sumptuous living and was enchanted by construction projects.  He built castles and palaces and rebuilt and enlarged Westminster Abbey, all the while fussing over furnishings.  He judged character poorly and surrounded himself with foreign favorites, to his English barons’ displeasure.  He took advice only from a small, intimate circle except when he dispensed even with this and made decisions unilaterally.  His autocratic tendencies were barely concealed.

     His arbitrariness and profligacy reached a crisis when he agreed to purchase the kingdom of Sicily for his younger son.  Unable to raise enough money, he asked his barons for an extraordinary tax.  This request engendered baronial resistance led by his brother-in-law Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester.  The barons compelled Henry to accede under oath – a grave commitment in the medieval mind – to the Provisions of Oxford (1258).  Henry was obliged to consult a council of barons on state matters and to “parlay” three times a year with a larger council in a “parliament.”  The immediate crisis passed, Henry voided his promise and left his opponents with little choice but to submit or fight.  The barons bested Henry at Lewes (1264).  Henry and his son Edward were captured, the latter made hostage to ensure the king’s good behavior.  Simon and the barons became England’s de facto rulers for fifteen months.

     Political poems reflecting the baronial viewpoint appeared, the most famous perhaps “The Song of Lewes.”  The “Song” underscores how a king must govern for the community’s benefit and honor the rule of law:  “We give first place to the community; we say also that the law rules over the king’s dignity; for we believe that the law is the light, without which. . .he who rules will wander from the right path. . .”  The poem’s broader community was the king’s natural counsellor:  “Therefore let the community of the kingdom advise; let it be known what the generality [of the people] thinks to whom their own laws are best known.”  Indeed, the leader’s submission to the law would not weaken but ennoble him:  “And this constraint [of a free law] is not one of slavery but is rather an enlarging of the kingly faculty. . .”  The “Song” emphasizes where the ruler’s focus should be:  “And let the king never set his private interest before that of the community. . .”  “He who does not know how to rule himself will be a bad ruler over others. . .”  The “Song” leaves a disquieting impression:  The barons, many of them little more than semi-literate armed thugs, surpassed the Solons of today’s GOP in understanding rule of law and separation and balance of powers.

     The story has a coda.  Edward broke his confinement, rallied his father’s supporters, and defeated the barons at Evesham (1265).  Simon died in battle and his corpse was hewn to pieces.  For the earl’s supporters, his remains became sanctified and the field where he perished hallowed ground.  Miracle-stories spread.  Henry could not abide this and in the Dictum of Kenilworth (1265) mandated that “[t]he injurious damnable acts of Simon and his accomplices. . .are nullified and have no force” and that “the vain and fatuous miracles told of him by others shall not at any time pass any lips.  And that the king shall agree strictly to forbid this under pain of corporal punishment.”  Simon’s rectitude, courage, and commitment to good governance were “fake news” to be suppressed.  Henry had learned no lesson, though at least the barons had tried to instruct him.  Would that the same could be said of today’s GOP.  The Republican Party seems capable only of narrowly transactional impulses.  Its abdication of its responsibility to the community leaves that community of voters to restrain Trump by every legal means and to ensure his departure from office.

[1] “The Song of Lewes,” in E. Amt (ed.), Medieval England 1000-1500:  A Reader (Peterborough, Ontario:  Broadview Press, 2001), pp. 253-61.

[2] “The Miracles of Simon de Montfort,” in E. Amt and K. Allen Smith (eds), Medieval England 500-1500:  A Reader, 2^nd ed. (Toronto:  University of Toronto Press, 2018), pp. 248-50.  “Dictum of Kenilworth 1265,” The National Archives (www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/magna-carta/dictum-of-kenilworth/ [accessed 16 February 2020]).