Abstract: As European Americans invaded the Ohio Valley and lower Great Lakes region from the 1750s to the 1810s, many Indians feared the very worst. Reports from traders, surveyors, missionaries, non-Indian captives, and government officials show that Indians believed that colonizers intended to “extirpate” or “exterminate” them, words equivalent to the modern-day term genocide. In making this allegation, Indians cited numerous instances of nonnatives’ use of biological warfare and violence against them. Most Indians who adopted this perspective were affiliated with international nativist confederations that directly contested Anglo-American expansion. Indeed, allegations of genocidal intent were an important source of mobilization for these anticolonial movements. But even some native leaders who opposed resistance and advocated diplomacy did so because they thought accommodation was the only way to avoid the genocidal destruction of their communities. Recovering an indigenous consciousness of genocide deepens our understanding of Indians’ thinking about race by highlighting its defensive character, in contrast to the more aggressive and hierarchical racial thinking of Anglo Americans at the time. It also offers new approaches to the stale and often unproductive debate about genocide in American history.



Excerpt: It’s been nearly a quarter of a century since Richard White announced that, after the end of the War of 1812 in 1815, throughout the pays d’en haut, the “middle ground” of the upper Great Lakes and Mississippi basins, the Americans “arrived and dictated.” White’s book largely concerns itself with the century and a half leading up to this, so it is not the fault of The Middle Ground that, in these last twenty-five years, historians of the Old Northwest have complicated, problematized, and elongated this transition without intrinsically breaking from its basic narrative of American arrival and the middle ground’s erasure. That is, they show that it was a complicated transition, taking as long as a century, and that the before-and-after binary White suggests was in fact characterized by entanglement and overlapping prior to the final marginality and vanishing of the Creoles.

The two books under review here contribute to this post-Middle Ground narrative in very important and very different ways. While both address Wisconsin’s transition from Catholic Francophone fur-trading region to Protestant Anglophone agricultural-commercial state, Lucy Eldersveld Murphy’s Great Lakes Creoles takes a microhistorical approach while Bethel Saler’s The Settlers’ Empire is macrohistorical in its method, framing the transition to statehood in the global terms of settler colonialism. While each displays some of the flaws intrinsic to its method and scope, each represents a valuable contribution to the ongoing post-Turnerian reinvention and revivification of regional midwestern history catalyzed by White.

For a text addressing the precision of muthiethnic and multigenerational family histories in Prairie du Chien, the imprecision of Murphy’s title represents microhistory’s tendency to overreach when it comes to transposing the archive of a single community over an entire region: Prairie du Chien is on the upper Mississippi—nowhere near the Great Lakes—and its middle ground era fur trade network ran through New Orleans, not Toronto or Montreal. This misdirection, however, is soon a forgotten distraction as Murphy begins to unfold what represents over a decade of painstaking work among the records of this French village.

Murphy begins within the middle ground narrative: “Enormous change came to the old fur trade communities of the Midwest, as the War of 1812 clamped U.S. sovereignty onto the borders of Wisconsin and Michigan.” However, her concern is “What this meant for the residents … [who] became minorities in their own communities” (6). In regard to racial history, she wonders “why the mixed ancestry peoples south of the Canadian border did not develop an identity as Métis?” (7). While it is a historiographical commonplace to say that the dominant American racial formulaic is binary—the one drop rule, for example—it is another to see it taking place in real time as court records, marriage and divorce documents, wills and testaments, and property deeds gradually yet unilaterally write the francophone Métis, French, Ho-Chunk, and other mixed race populations out of the community founded along the improvised and somewhat libertarian ethos of the pays d’en haut.

While Murphy does at times identify some of the paradoxes of French colonialism, for the most part, pre-1815 Prairie du Chien represents a model of multiracial and multiethnic cohabitation. However, by dividing the light-skinned Creoles with French names from their more identifiable Indigenous neighbors and relatives, Murphy’s Americans divided to conquer: “After the conquest, the United States intended to give individual land titles to Euro-Americans, and they did. … Newly and uncertainly dominant, the young United States needed these creoles, people on the margins between Indian and white worlds, to help them achieve the critical mass of population that would allow them to dominate and control the other peoples of the Midwest” (63). By tracking the experiences of certain Creole families through a series of generational transitions, Murphy demonstrates how later, their utility in removing the Indians having passed, they too were gradually marginalized as Americans, becoming more confident in the methods of dominance and colonization.




Description: This book examines the formation of colonial social identities inside the institutions for the insane in Australia and New Zealand. It looks at insanity in the context of migration to the colonies by focusing on two urban, public hospitals for the insane in the colonies of Victoria, Australia, and Auckland, New Zealand, between 1873 and 1910. During this period, there was a significant amount of migration from Britain and other parts of the world to both destinations, as part of a widespread Anglo-settler ‘explosion’. This was also the period in which social institutional networks were developed across the Australasian colonies. These social institutions included health, medical, and welfare institutions, all of which were modelled on British imperial institutional spaces and with imperial sensibilities. This volume engages with two important scholarly projects: the examination of gendered and ‘raced’ bodies in the imperial world of the nineteenth century on the one hand, and on the other, a consideration of the imperial discourses of insanity and the formation of colonial institutional knowledge and practice. Of particular interest to students and historians of colonialism, imperialism and medicine at undergraduate and postgraduate level, the book examines the creation of an institutional language of gender and race in two nineteenth-century colonial institutional sites. It will also appeal to the many historians of insanity and its institutions, given that these sites were part of an imperial network of solutions to the problem of ‘madness’ which followed Europeans to new places of settlement.