Researching and writing history with Jim Hagan.

Wells, Andrew

This essay has two related purposes: the first is to understand how Jim Hagan practised the historian's craft; the second, to provide a glimpse into the personality and passions that motivated this productive and gifted historian. These two purposes are closely related: the method that historians adopt is typically shaped by the questions they pose--and these questions are deemed significant by the author's personality, interests and ideology (something more than their conscious beliefs). Jim would have welcomed an article about his historical method, but resisted the idea of exploring his motivation; he was a rather private person, suspicious of the cult of intellectual personality and unsympathetic to the idea of psycho-historical explanation of either history or the historian.

Our Association

The sources for my observations are derived from a 25 year association, partnership, friendship and co-authorship. Our closeness waxed and waned; he had many other longer-standing friendships and worked with Rob Castle, Rob Hood and former postgraduates--especially Brad Bowden, and sometimes alone on many other projects. Despite our long association there were fewer discussions about historical theory and method than many might assume; Jim was frequently talkative but rarely self-reflective. With the exception of Rob Castle, I may have had more historiographical debates and undertaken more historical research with Jim than anyone alive. I had little direct influence on his approach to researching and writing history, but more on the topic or area of research.

Just to complete the picture: we jointly supervised about a dozen PhD theses, worked on curriculum changes for undergraduate teaching, and presented papers at numerous conferences and workshops in Australia, but also in the Netherlands, Indonesia, the Philippines, Canada and Vietnam. We collaborated in organising conferences and workshops, ran research centres and consumed a large quantity of beer together (some of it Jim's home brew). At the University of Wollongong, Jim chaired my first selection committee, was my head of Department, then Head of School, and finally faculty Dean. In more recent years, he was a Professorial Research Fellow in an Australian Research Council (ARC) Key Centre which I sometimes led, and then continued as a Professorial Fellow in the same faculty where I had become Dean. We applied for and held four or five ARC research grants together. In short we had a bit to do with each other.

Theoretical Influences

From the moment I met Jim--when I applied for a job at Wollongong--until his death, there was little obvious variation in his views about the purpose, theory and method of research. I must confess I had felt obliged to read Jim's History of the ACTU (the long, unexpurgated version) in preparation for my interview and, nearing page 100, I wearily closed the book, turned off the light and asked myself: did I need to go this far for a contract lectureship? Subsequently, I understood that its reading was essential in order to become a labour historian. During 1984, my first year at Wollongong, Jim gave a paper to the postgraduate seminar in the Wollongong history department and explained at some length how the political relationships (I think in the NSW south coast dairy regions) were the expression of underlying economic relationships. These relationships seemed to be as much about technology as about property relations. I was then going through a phase of high Althusserianism and rather boldly suggested his conception of the economy and class relationships was more Adam Smith than Karl Marx, and to sharpen the accusation, pressed home the charge of economic reductionism.

Although this encounter caused consternation, it rather crudely captured a part of the truth. What I had missed, however, is that--rather like for a great blues guitarist--an apparent simplicity of form could, in the hands of a true virtuoso, produce sophisticated variations in content. This odd juxtaposition of form and content was essential to Jim's distinctive and creative drive. It enabled him to be simultaneously conservative and radical, traditional and innovative. It followed that Jim was frequently withering in his dismissal of the sophisticated theoretician who wrote simplistic empiricism. It was the force of this criticism (and much of its truth) that caused much angst amongst his students, colleagues and collaborators. What was the source of this theoretical framework?

The Jim I came to know was in his mid-fifties and a highly accomplished teacher, historian, researcher, author and administrator. His school text books were widely used and influential. I recall a friend who still visibly shuddered as she recalled the beginning of her school history lesson with the instruction--'get out your Hagans'! More importantly, Jim was by then a nationally known and respected historian, strongly attached to the political and industrial labour movement, as well a major intellectual and administrative force at Wollongong University. He was not often visited by self-doubt or hesitation. The purpose and nature of good history was abundantly clear to him. Much of this clarity about the purpose and character of history was derived and reinforced by Jim's long association with Bob Gollan, his PhD supervisor, mentor and friend. As I observed in their company, Jim would defer to Bob and always sought (and generally received) Bob's approval about whatever project Jim was currently undertaking. Gollan,, and, to a lesser though significant degree, Eric Fry, reinforced Jim's notion of the important fields, issues, theories and methods of historical inquiry. And under-pinning their historiography were the Warwick University social historians, especially Royden Harrison and Tony Mason and beyond them the British Communist historians, particularly E.P. Thompson (who had taught at Warwick) and Eric Hobsbawm.

Over time it became obvious that very basic theoretical communist positions (more so than Marxist) remained with Jim. In so far as Jim was a lifelong Labor Party member, and perhaps never a Communist, this typification may seem odd. But I think of him as a small 'c' communist intellectual because he shared most of the assumptions of the United Front Left. He was an economic determinist, he gave technology a powerful role in historical change, he did think the state was where the bourgeoisie organised its executive committee, and he did think the class struggle was the motor of history. He also believed passionately that the unification of the working class through a party and unions had enabled Australian workers to resist the worst of capital's exploitation--to civilise capitalism. He shared other important characteristics with the communist intelligentsia. He had a strong hatred of nationalism, jingoism, warfare and towards the complicity of some historians who elevating these forces into the shape of national character. Moreover he disavowed racism and therefore embraced internationalism and multiculturalism when they were less popular than today. He was keenly aware of the consequences of Aboriginal dispossession and marginalisation. To some, these values might seem at odds with his self-presentation as a typical Australian of the Russel Ward variety. But I can attest to Jim's deep anti-racist passions. It was a matter of some regret that his embrace of a generous Enlightenment humanism, the well-spring of both liberalism and communism, were not extended by Jim to women or sexual minorities.

Finally in extending this discussion of theory into a wider worldview, the progressive historian's focus on the labour movement was self-evident. The labour movement was the principal force for human emancipation from poverty, ignorance, war, exploitation and cruelty. While these assumptions now seem rather dated, Jim's view of an alternative world, the 'light on the hill', never really wavered. Thus the theory, the history, the role of teacher and educator, the focus on labour, and the theory and method of communist history formed a remarkably strong set of self-reinforcing assumptions. So how did these assumptions influence the writing of history? To explore that subject we need to understand the nature of the progressive historian's questions.

The Big Jim Question (BJQ)

A consistent feature of Jim's approach to historical inquiry was the search for the overarching question that framed research projects and, in turn, suggested a range of subsidiary questions (which he was fond of saying, somewhat quaintly, were subtended to the principal question). Every PhD student (and every honours and masters student) was subjected to the same probing in classes and seminars: what is your big question? The Big Jim question (or BJQ as his postgraduates called it behind his back) had to pass several tests. It had to be historically significant, not simply subjectively trivial or too general to be worth researching. Jim was sometimes brutal in adjudicating what was worth asking--religion and ideology were not encouraged, largely theoretical works were suspect and anything that looked like sociology (even historical sociology) was basically anathema. Jim had strong views that worthwhile questions were more or less consistent with the perspective that underpinned his own work. Second, historically significant questions required hard, verifiable evidence, the raw material from which a cogent answer might be constructed. This type of history also eschewed all forms of speculation about the inner workings of the minds of historical actors (especially individuals) since historical causation could be explained only by social and collective processes not by individual consciousness (though Jim was cautious in advancing definitive historical causes). In policing, not always successfully, potential temptations for the unwary, Jim cut himself off from some exciting fields of research and more importantly the enthusiasms of some very talented students, especially highly motivated postgraduates.

In conversation, Jim sourced his emphasis on posing important historical questions to Sir Keith Hancock. Hancock had a similarly directive way of focussing PhD students on the nature of their dissertation. He was particularly fond of requiring them to define their problem in a single (non-Germanic) sentence. Jim had been given this treatment, while researching his PhD at the Australian National University, subsequently published as Printers and Politics. The Hancock technique began with a disarming and amiable inquiry about the progress of your research; it then progressed with precise questions about time, place, focus and scale with growing intensity; it evolved into a relaxing stroll around the campus to talk things through; and rapidly switched into an unnerving interrogation into your topic, culminating in the demand for single sentence question that the thesis was answering.

Jim, who possessed a rather literal understanding of historical method, became a life-long advocate of this approach. To be fair, Jim practised what he preached. No project was undertaken, no plan drafted, no writing commenced until the BJQ was formulated: no question; no thesis, he would repeat. This approach both focused research and identified the relevant sources (and their location) early in the planning process. Postgraduates willing to emulate, rather than resist, this method found writing a thesis pretty straightforward. There were those who didn't want to emulate the master--and I hope Chris Sheil forgives me for revealing that he was the leading specialist in arguing, avoiding and out-manoeuvring Jim on this matter: Chris had other ideas and to his credit managed to realise them. For Jim, however, the conservation of effort and its optimal direction were no minor matters. There was a somewhat utilitarian conception of rationality evident in Jim's approach to research and writing. In a sense, historical research was looking in apparently predictable places for the answers to some seemingly obvious questions.

The historian's obligation was to search through the relevant (documentary) sources to identify and generate the evidence that would provide a plausible answer to a significant question. It was also pretty much an axiom of this research that the printed, published and public word would take precedence in explanation over other sources. Perhaps as a result of his background, Jim evidenced a certain reverence for the printed sources and the skills of the printers who made them--his father's trade. Jim had a strong view about the status of documents and took a pretty dim view of the linguistic, anthropological and cultural orientations of postmodernist historical research. This helps explain why Jim became disengaged from debates and conversations amongst contemporary historians. This growing alienation from many professional colleagues somewhat reduced the impact of his writing.

Little that Jim undertook as a professional historian--teaching, supervising, presenting papers and publications--was untouched by the idea of the dialectic of master and apprentice. This notion of authority, its transmission and the necessarily subordinate position of the learner was firmly held by Jim. Because it was a process that assumed a tradition, typically a male lineage and an extended brotherhood, it proved a congenial relationship for some students. For others it was a confronting and confusing field of unspoken obligations. This was most obviously the case for women. At best, it provided a supportive environment--the arts and mystery of the history profession could be revealed, the legends of its leading practitioners revealed, connections with an international brotherhood of social historians exposed. And much of this mystique and the related rituals emerged in the bar over a beer.

So while the reverence for documents was clear, the oral tradition was the means by which these rituals and mysteries were shared and reproduced. The formalism of documents and text was complemented by the apparent informality of the bar. It was in the bar, or more specifically in Jim's case, at the Austinmer Bowling Club, that grand research plans were frequently hatched. As an example, almost all of the preliminary discussions for A History of Wollongong, (including its budget, chapter plans, contributors and progress reports) occurred in the Austinmer Bowling Club, or as Jim preferred to call it (amusing himself by invoking the strange name of a US tertiary institution), the 'Bowling Green University'. Such meetings generally required considerable preparation--drafts had to be read and digested--so discussions remained like tutorials till the alcohol began to take its predictable toll. For matters to progress smoothly, the pub-work required time and preparation, but it was recognised by Jim as reward for an honest day's toil. A day's 'darg' had been met (at least a thousand words, preferably two) before the time for reflection, recreation, comradeship was justified. So, consciously or otherwise, the characteristics of skilled manual labour was imposed by Jim as the routine of the labour historian--on himself and on those he chose to befriend and mentor. In this and many other ways, there was a unity in Jim's conception of history, work, community and the labour movement; it generated a continuity of purpose, a deep reservoir of research energy and, paradoxically, limited empathy for unrelated forms of human endeavour.

Visiting and Using Archives

While the art of appreciating and exploiting documents is not universal amongst historians, Jim assigned collections of documents to a special place in his consciousness and activities. It was no accident that we spent many weeks in archives in Canberra, Paris, Marseilles, Ho Chi Minh City, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Hanoi and Amsterdam. What were we looking for? How did we explore their contents? What did we find? How did we record our findings? Our visits to archives were rarely chance events. We began our research by an extensive search of the secondary sources. The traditional monograph with its detailed table of contents, index, footnotes and bibliography was our preferred starting point. Jim took to heart the proposition that all useful research should rest on the shoulders of those who had previously worked the topic and/or sources. We searched through much of the journal literature, but our capacity with electronic sources was limited (though we understood what might be gained from digital archives and published on this issue). So we read widely and with considerable skill--Jim was always better at detecting new empirical information, while I could usually provide a conceptual analysis of the book's inner workings. But as historians who were hungry to understand the archival foundation of any study, we spent almost as much time consulting the bibliography and (foot and end) notes as reading the actual text. Through this method we quickly identified the key secondary sources and, after a while, distinguished the source of original knowledge from those simply rearranged as the results of others' research.

Our research over the past decade took us into unfamiliar terrain--India, Malaya, Indochina--but, over time, we became quite adept in areas in which we were untrained. We found this research particularly interesting while we avoided being influenced by the current 'authorities' in many fields. Fortunately we were able to enlist the help of generous colleagues both in Australia and overseas to temper and guide our enthusiasms. We discovered, for example, that much of the critical colonial scholarship of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century remained impressive. We also felt that some of the postmodern stars (though not all) lacked substance. Much to our surprise, we also became closet admirers of the authors of colonial reports--officials of various standing, up to and including colonial governors.

We went into the archives to do two things: to check sources already used; and read ones either ignored, unread or misleadingly interpreted. We read, photocopied and digitally photographed an enormous range of material. In Vietnam we were required to employ researchers to undertake much of the work after we had searched the catalogues and identified useful material. And from the material we collected we were able to do some very interesting things. Every lunch break and evening while visiting archives, we discussed what we had found, ventured different hypotheses about what these findings might mean, tried to evaluate the books we had studied, and generated a continuous and fascinating commentary (often over weeks) about what the sources seemed to be saying. Jim's phenomenal memory rarely deserted him as we sat in bars, restaurants and cafes in dozens of exotic places talking about the fruits of our research. These conversations are amongst my most precious memories of working with Jim. It was fun, intellectually demanding and seriously hard work. We sometimes wrote up ideas as we progressed, and sometimes composed and wrote whole papers in the hotel and on the train as ideas gelled. The archives were the repositories of parts to the jig-saw puzzle, so many clues in our complicated work of detection. We sometimes worked for days with little reward, and on better days, jumped straight into an unexpected find. Jim had few inhibitions about introducing himself to others. So, we benefited from the help of countless archivists, discovered scholars of diverse nationality doing similar work who were willing to exchange materials and ideas, and we sought out other historians to give us advice on sources and interpretation.

Writing the History

Most of the work we did together was written up as papers for conferences and workshops, but sometimes we wrote simply to sort out materials and test ideas. For our last big project, much of the research was initially presented amongst experts in a wide variety of specialist conferences and workshops. We presented papers to a group of leading Vietnamese historians, to historians in the Asian studies conferences, Australian labour history conferences, in Indonesia, the Netherlands, Germany and elsewhere. Twice we produced collections of papers for discussion with invited colleagues in Wollongong and at the International Institute of Social History in Amsterdam. We have written in various styles and worked through a vast number of themes, ideas and issues. The writing was never easy and sometimes the collaboration was fraught. Jim wrote in a utilitarian style, always grammatically correct but rarely with concessions to the reader's potentially waning interest.

We squabbled over the balance between theoretical discussion, empirical detail and what we could reasonably conclude from the materials we had collected. Neither of us was fixated about footnotes, though when we used them they had to be accurate and checked. We understood by and large when we were arguing against conventional wisdom or oft-repeated inaccuracies: then footnotes were essential. Perhaps our most interesting discovery was that much contemporary scholarship designed to demonstrate that historical processes were aligned with contemporary 'common sense' was inconsistent with the evidence. And in our last paper written for publication, we are argued that Ernest Mandel's rather simplistic analysis of 'high imperialism', was closer to the truth (that is the archival evidence) than we had predicted. And even more surprising perhaps, the limitations I had once thought intrinsic to theory that Jim had expounded became less evident as we progressed. To be a materialist historian came to have a double meaning: we wrote about the activities, the practices and historical processes based upon the extant materials that we could read, interrogate and manipulate, and we built an argument on economic relations, as well as the political and ideological relations that sustained them. The archives nourished our thirst for the facts and a theoretical explanation that could relate them. The task of bringing all the papers, essays and drafts of our final research remains to be done, though about 100,000 words of printed material have been generated to date. To finish this work would be a fitting memorial to Jim's last major collaborative project, and would hold out a few surprises to its readers.

A Final Word

I hope I have captured something of Jim Hagan as historian in this essay, and to recognise that he was the last authentic representative of the Australian communist historical tradition. For all its frequently criticised (real and imaginary) inadequacies, it proved a fertile, versatile and creative framework in which to work. The essential values it sought to represent--connected to and designed as a contribution to the self-consciousness and emancipation of the organised working class--might be derided, but have not been superseded. The theory might have been initially inadequate, but it guided a large body of work that transformed the theory in the process. Its blind spots have been highlighted, recognised and generally acknowledged, though Jim maintained a few blind spots to the end. His enthusiasm for a politically relevant history, disciplined intellectual labour, strenuous work in the archives and rigorous testing of ideas still seems both unfashionable and deeply admirable. Much that Jim undertook presents enduring and remarkable qualities. It might be argued he simultaneously represents both the end of a very fruitful though ultimately unsuccessful alliance between history and working class emancipation, and a powerful and rich resource in building the next attempt.

Andrew Wells was Dean of the Faculty of Arts at the University of Wollongong for five years before joining the Australian Research Council in 2009 in the position of Executive Director, Humanities and Creative Arts.