Tag Archives: assassination

Crime In History- The Only Assassination Of A British Prime Minister

Political Assassinations: Behind the Killing of British PM Spencer Perceval

Artist’s impression of the assassination of British Prime Minister Spencer Perceval by bankrupt businessman John Bellingham on May 11, 1812. (Public Domain)

One of the greatest difficulties in maintaining a stable democracy is keeping one’s political leaders from being murdered.

In the more excitable Latin American and Caribbean nations, presidents and would-be reformers are killed with depressing regularity, the most recent being the Haitian president Jovenel Moïse cut down in his own home in 2021. Four Lebanese prime ministers died from 1982 to 2005, three of those the victim of car bombs.

In Asia, attacks on politicians are a fine old tradition. In India, Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated in 1948, Indira Gandhi was murdered by her bodyguards in 1984, and her son Rajiv was killed by a suicide bomber in 1989. The president of Bangladesh was killed by army officers in 1981, while Pakistan lost two prime ministers: Liaquat Ali Khan who was shot to death in 1951 and Benazir Bhutto who was killed in a massive explosion in 2007.

The English-speaking world has a mixed record when it comes to political assassinations.

Generally speaking, the Anglosphere is slower on the assassination trigger but even so, there are distinctions to be made. American politicians have a high mortality rate: presidents Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy; governors Huey Long, Charles Bent, William Goebel, and Frank Steunenburg; and a host of judges, congressmen, and state officials.

Only two politicians have bit the dust in Canada. Thomas D’Arcy McGee, one of the Fathers of Confederation, was gunned down in 1868, and Quebec cabinet minister Pierre Laporte was murdered during the October Crisis in 1970. Australia also records only two victims (both low-ranking members of legislatures), and New Zealand has no assassinated rulers on its watch. Clearly the difference is the presidential system—if you have a constitutional monarchy with an elected prime minister, you are pretty safe.

With one exception.

In 1812, the British Prime Minister was Spencer Perceval, a fierce proponent of the battle against Napoleonic France and an opponent of the slave trade. His harsh measures to finance the war had made him very unpopular in the country. On the evening of May 11, as he was entering the lobby of the House of Commons, a man stepped forward and fired a pistol at him, wounding him mortally. He was carried into the Speaker’s office where he soon died.

Perceval’s assassin was John Bellingham, an unsuccessful English businessman who had been imprisoned in Russia over a disputed debt and who for years had sought recompense from the authorities there. Back in England, when numerous British officials, members of the royal family, and politicians failed to answer his calls for support, he conceived a grudge against the prime minister. He bought two .50 caliber pistols and lay in wait for his victim. After the killing, he expressed no remorse, saying that he felt justified for his actions. Crowds in the street hailed the murderer as a friend of the people, but the government feared a conspiracy, called out troops to patrol the city, an ordered an immediate trial.

Bellingham’s only hope for acquittal lay in a plea of insanity—and indeed, his father had been declared mad—but his calm demeanour worked against him and he was allowed no time to summon witnesses who might have testified about a history of mental derangement. He made this statement to the jury:

“Recollect, Gentlemen, what was my situation. Recollect that my family was ruined and myself destroyed, merely because it was Mr. Perceval’s pleasure that justice should not be granted; …. I demand only my right, and not a favour; I demand what is the birthright and privilege of every Englishman.

“Gentlemen, when a minister sets himself above the laws, as Mr Perceval did, he does it as his own personal risk. If this were not so, the mere will of the minister would become the law, and what would then become of your liberties?

“I trust that this serious lesson will operate as a warning to all future ministers, and that they will henceforth do the thing that is right, for if the upper ranks of society are permitted to act wrong with impunity, the inferior ramifications will soon become wholly corrupted.

“Gentlemen, my life is in your hands, I rely confidently in your justice.”

Bellingham’s confidence was sadly misplaced. After a trial that had lasted a mere eight hours and after a scant 15-minute deliberation, the jury found him guilty. The death sentence was pronounced and he was hanged a few days later on May 18, leaving behind a wife and a baby. As was customary with the bodies of executed murderers, Bellingham’s corpse was sent to a hospital to be dissected by medical students.

Thankfully, Perceval is the only British prime minister ever to have been assassinated.

For the Silo, Gerry Bowler. Canadian historian and a senior fellow of the Frontier Centre for Public Policy.

Day Marks Another Anniversary Of JFK Assassination

The Grassy Knoll at Dealey Plaza.
The Grassy Knoll at Dealey Plaza.

2015’s historic JFK 50th assassination Special was a riveting and powerful demonstration of media technology. We co-hosted the CBS feature which “rebroadcast” their original assassination television coverage in real-time, fully and completely. Every detail was reproduced exactly as it was shown on that fateful day- even the interruption of a certain soap opera with the first “bulletin” announcement. Live internet coverage began at 1:38 EDT exactly 50 years to the minute of the initial CBS news broadcasts.

If you have any #JFK thoughts (perhaps you even remember that fateful day)- or if you watch the archived live stream please share your feelings by commenting below at the end of this post. We will respect all requests for anonymity.

In the meantime, you may want to view Newsmax TV documentary: “I killed JFK” claiming to showcase a newly revealed “confessed killer”. In 1978 a US Congressional Investigation into Kennedy’s death determined that there were likely more than one shooter/killer.

RIP JFK CBS coverage

JFK visits Ottawa 1961:

Silo Tweet JFK Ottawa 1961

 

 

@CBSNews live tweeting during this historical rebroadcast event- image:CBS Twitter
@CBSNews live tweeting during this historical rebroadcast event- image:CBS Twitter

 

Supplemental- The United States National Archives Report of the Select Committee on Assassinations of the U.S. House of Representatives
References: I. Findings in the Assassination of President John F. Kennedy

Window Fishing Or The Night We Caught Beatlemania

Window Fishing

A Silo Canuck Book Review

I’ve never particularly been a Beatle’s fan. I like some of their songs. I like a number of them very much, but if I was asked the now proverbial question, “The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?” I would probably say, Oh, I don’t know, maybe The Who? The body of work of Mark Knopfler. Massive Attack were massive for me.

But I was not a child of the sixties, “an age of assassins,” John B. Lee writes in his poignant and powerfully executed preface, when “[o]ur childhood martyred almost all the heroes that we’d had.” John F. Kennedy. Robert F. Kennedy. Martin Luther King (Malcolm X, not mentioned but later, yes). “The list is overlong,” Lee says. “It will not end.” I understand more fully than ever these life-shattering moments, for Americans and Canadians alike; for so many  Across the Universe . Into this near death of hope came The Beatles. The Beatles came to America, came on a Sunday night in January 1964 to The Ed Sullivan show and, and as Lee exclaims with no exclamation mark, “sang my life awake.”

It’s not a perfect looking book. Yet as I read, the grainy cover photo (by an unknown photographer) of four dapper mop-tops fishing out the window of their Seattle hotel—they literally weren’t allowed to leave—starts to resonate. It’s imperfection could be viewed as integral, evoking a time in music when moments of “perfect imperfection,” as Michael Shatte calls them in his essay, were more common in pop; “happy accidents” which would not be tolerated in this era of hyper-produced top-forty songs, when singers voices are routinely, digitally “auto-tuned” in the studio, and we get used to being disappointed when we hear them live. Then there’s lip-synching. I don’t need to go on. There is great music being made by great musicians right now. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. This is about a particular moment in pop-music history, in cultural history, and many of the moments that followed.

PaulMcCartneyBlur

The book is selected and edited by John B. Lee, a Canadian poet and writer who has published more than fifty books and received over 70 prestigious awards for his work. If you haven’t heard of him don’t feel too bad. He tells me openly there is little money in poetry, reminding me it’s not about that anyway. If it was it probably wouldn’t be poetry.

If you haven’t read him it might be time to start: his verse and prose catch the beauty of rural life, farm life, family life, hockey, human sexuality—life. Just Google him. He’s from home, you know. Right around here, right around me, the Poet Laureate of Brantford, Ontario and Norfolk County, home as well to Alexander Graham Bell and Wayne Gretzky, a poet of sport. Like McEnroe was one of the poets of my youth, making tennis beautiful, thrilling, creative; revolutionary. How I tried to emulate him…

Window Fishing Cover

Window Fishing is about a time of Revolution, evolutions in culture, and about growing up in the thick of it all. I wasn’t here yet, but as I read this book I learn. It is a literary volume. The cover photo and torn ticket stub on the back page are its only images. Or are they? Because black words on white paper are also images. And the book’s words, artistically rendered, conjure images as well as ideas. It is poetry, and prose poetry, and personal essays; fine writing by a collection of fine writers.

I learn that for most of the men, who were boys then, pubescent, the Beatles were all about music: musical discovery, even ecstasy. And style too. There was style.

For the women who write about the phenomenon of Beatlemania, there was music too. Absolutely. But there was something else. Something profound: the awakening of sexuality. Even a kind of love. Suddenly I understand all the screaming and crying, the fainting. For emerging, young (straight) women, the Beatles were more than musical. They were also beautiful. Sexy. As Susan Whelehan puts it in her essay: “John. He was mine and I was his…I was going to be his FOREVER. And I am.”

While many parents of the day may have dismissed The Fab Four at first as a silly “boy-band,” we might say now, shaking their longish (for the time), round hair-cuts—singing “Ooooo!” and “Yeah Yeah Yeah!”—fact is from the beginning The Beatles were always at the very least competent, and obviously compelling, musicians. Writes Honey Novick in her probing, poetic essay: “You could actually dance to their music.” And we know they became more and more sophisticated as they progressed through their careers, eventually making challenging, often satisfying real art-music, the way Radiohead did for me in my 20’s.

All this beautiful literature about The Beatles and the 1960’s has inspired me to listen, finally, seriously, to the music. Even if you thought, at the time, “Yeah Yeah Yeah” was just bubblegum for kids, consider the lyrics. One friend to another: “You think you lost your love/Well I saw her yesterday. She says it’s you she’s thinkin’ of/And she told me what to say: She says she loves you.” She loves you man. Yeah! (Yeah! Yeah!). What more is there to celebrate? Ecstatically.

If you were there, or if you want to learn, or if you care about music or culture or the 1960’s or just literature, embrace the “perfect imperfection” of this unique and potent book. Some of the poems made me close my eyes and shut the pages. To savour, digest. Bruce Meyer made me cry. I was 8 years old when Lennon was shot. Assassinated. It made no impact on me then. I wasn’t really there yet. The book put me there, as close as I can ever come.  For the Silo, Alan Gibson.