In the early years of the 17th century, Europe was in flames. The Thirty Years War ravaged the Holy Roman Empire from within and throughout. At stake was the future of Christianity and the legacy of the Roman Empire. From a distance, it seemed to be a war to determine whether Protestants or Catholics would dominate Europe. In reality, it was a small regional conflict which began in 1618 with the Defenestration of Prague. The war grew from a small conflict centered in Bohemia to envelop nearly all of Europe in a grand war steeped in power-politics. French military involvement was limited to funding the enemies of the Holy Roman Emperor during the early and middle phases of the war. Instead, France turned to its nominal ally Sweden to fight Its enemies for them.

Sweden was still a developing power – it had only been 100 years since a Danish king ruled Sweden under the Kalmar Union. Sweden’s people and resources, (specifically Its grain harvests) had been exploited by Denmark for over a century. During the hundred years following Its independence, things did not improve greatly. Sweden suffered at the hands of the Hanseatic League, which controlled the lucrative herring trade, as well as locking Sweden out of trade relations with most of the other Baltic nations. Moreover, the Swedish army suffered defeat after defeat, especially at sea. Rebellions plagued the country, and the barons took what they wanted. A series of tax reforms, a permanent break from Denmark, and the hereditary ownership of the Swedish crown by the Vasa family was the first step towards power for them.

Finland had been a Swedish territory since around 1250 CE. Throughout the middle ages, Finland had remained a very sparsely populated and rural land. Natural resources aren’t in abundance – the exception being fish. Sami fishermen, (Sami being the native population of Finland throughout the middle ages) made up the bulk of the coastal provinces. Villages were organized through ecclesiastical authorities, and in many ways it was simply a Swedish colony.

In 1628, Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden invaded the Baltic coast of Germany with his Finnish Hakkapeliitta cavalrymen and began a campaign to bring the Holy Roman Emperor to his knees.

The Hakkapeliitta were an exceptionally trained army of light cavalrymen. Their name is derived from the Finnish war-cry “Hakkaa päälle, pohjan poika“, which can be literally translated to ‘Hack through them, sons of the north!’ They were a form of cuirassier, or lightly armored cavalry equipped with sabers and firearms.

As they charged their enemies at full speed, they would fire a pistol shot at the enemy to disrupt their formation, and then slash through them with cold steel. Hakkapeliitta typically rode very small horses of the Finnhorse breed. They often performed flanking maneuvers and would bait the enemy into firing their first shot at an elusive and fast-moving target. At a time in history when reloading mechanisms for firearms were still quite slow and cumbersome, this was an invaluable tactic. The enemies of Sweden, who were primarily Catholic, came to have their own understanding of the Hakkapeliitta’s effectiveness.

They were witches.

Yes, throughout Germany and the Baltic coastline, the Hakkapeliitta came to have a reputation as practitioners of witchcraft. The Finnish horsemen were said to be invincible, and that gunfire would simply pass through them and leave them unharmed. Western Europe had relatively little knowledge of Finland and the native Sami people, and their understanding was that Finland was the frontier of Christianity, and the home of dark spirits. Finland had fairly recently been the target of the Baltic Crusades. In a time of relative ignorance, the Christian Finnish troops of the Hakkapeliitta were understood as Pagans and practitioners of black magic – it was the only explanation the western armies would accept for how the noble Christian knights of the west could be defeated.

Obviously they weren’t witches, but they were effective.

The Hakkapeliitta were instrumental in the Swedish victories at Breitenfeld (1631) and Lützen (1632), which effectively left Sweden the masters of northern Germany and with the potential to create a new Protestant Holy Roman Empire. The death of Gustavus Adolphus changed all of that, but for a brief moment – the fate of Europe hung in the balance of a small band of ‘witches’ on horseback.

Stories such as these are fundamental to the identities of their respective cultures, but are otherwise unknown to outsiders. I’ve found that the most engaging historical narratives for non-historians are those ‘oddball’ stories about groups often neglected in larger historical narratives. That being said, it’s a shame that researching topics like these is so difficult, and really only a possibility for native audiences. For example, when I was researching this project, I came upon a Finnish website run by their government, with a great deal of historical context for this period and the subject itself. However, I don’t speak Finnish, and neither do 99/100 people on earth. Hopefully, if subjects like these generate more interest, local groups will feel incentivized to translate their sources and appeal to broader audiences.

The Top-Down Approach in History

As described in my last post, the top-down approach is generally an easier method to construct a cohesive narrative – a story without voids in knowledge that would cast doubt on the accountability and thoroughness of the author. There is undoubtedly an unacknowledged fear of ignorance in authorship and the practice of history. I would argue that a healthy fear of perceived poor scholarship or having ‘loose ends’ is one of the largest factors that influences what projects are undertaken and in what format their creator chooses to utilize.

While many examples of work I would consider top-down are up for debate in the literary academic community, the fact that most history anthologies before recent years, (let’s suppose 1990 for the sake or argument) utilize the top-down methodology to construct narratives around authors’ arguments.

One of the most popular formats for producing historical materials in narrative format was the classical historical anthology series. A great example of this would be the Great Ages of Man book series, by TIME-LIFE. Each part of the anthology encompasses a wide breadth of knowledge about a particular region at a particular time. The series includes such titles as, Age of Faith, Age of Kings, and Age of Progress, which are all suggestive of ideas rather than localities. Also included are books like Ancient America and Early Japan, which do clearly suggest the locale and the timeframe. There are twenty-one books in the series, and only four take place outside of Europe. The ways in which the authors construct narratives in the non-European focused books inevitably lead into European contact and domination. This would suggest that the authors constructed the narratives with a specific endpoint in mind – the trend of European colonization and dominion is the culmination of world history. History has traditionally been the story of wealthy white men in power – this is established and a subject we’ve beaten over the head constantly in our discussions in class and elsewhere. As such it is not surprising that this series, created in the 1960’s utilized the same approach. But why?

Fear.

Again, it is fear of incorporating new narratives and challenging established authorities in history. It’s fear that years of research studying localities, traditions of indigenous people and interviewing a wide cross-section of people that prevents many from creating a truly original narrative. While many history anthologies do begin in such a way, if we’re to judge by the TIME-LIFE series, leading these new and interesting narratives of foreign people and cultures into the comfortable territory of European involvement and records is a way to preserve the establishment.

The Bottom-Up Approach In History

Finally, let’s talk about the bottom-up approach, Its incredible benefits, and also the deep challenges with this elaborate methodology. To begin, let’s think about the questions we ask as historians. Let’s assume the topic at hand is the lack of Tejano monuments in San Antonio, and the argument being made is that there are deep-seated feelings of resentment towards that community by those in power, and a fear of acknowledging the non-European histories of San Antonio. Obviously, yeah… this is a pretty aggressive argument to make, but is not one without foundation.

What should we ask? Where should we begin?

The Top-Down Historian: Well, I would begin by thinking about the socio-economic status and political efficacy of Tejanos in the state of Texas, in whose hands these decisions often end up. If Tejanos’ interests were equally important to those of whites in Texas, their history would be memorialized equally as well.

The Bottom-Up Historian: Whoa there, I didn’t know this would turn into an argument about politics and socio-economics. I thought the question was about the lack of Tejano monuments in San Antonio. We should restrict the questions to the community of San Antonio at first. Who are the Tejano leaders in San Antonio? What is the proportion of Tejano politicians to Anglo-American politicians? We should quantify Tejano monuments against European-style architectural monuments and determine the extent of the disparity. How vocal are Tejanos about the ways in which their history is being ignored? How do Anglos react? What community projects are there in San Antonio to memorialize Tejano historical buildings and artifacts?

From this brief conversation alone, it should be apparent that the bottom-up methodology is far more difficult to approach, but far more rewarding. Bottom-up has the potential to provide you with a greater number of relevant questions to ask, all the while allowing you to keep the subject in focus.