Latest news with #historical
Al Jazeera
5 days ago
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
How did Albert Luthuli, anti-apartheid hero, really die in 1967?
At half past eight on the morning of Friday, July 21, 1967, following a quick breakfast with his wife, Chief Albert Luthuli set out from his home in Groutville, about 70km (45 miles) from Durban in the KwaZulu-Natal Province of South Africa, on his normal daily routine. The 69-year-old leader of the African National Congress (ANC) would 'walk three kilometres to open the family's general store in Nonhlevu, proceed to his three plots of sugarcane fields, and return to close the shop before going back home', his daughter-in-law, Wilhelmina May Luthuli, now 77, told a new inquest into his death at Pietermaritzburg High Court in May this year. The current justice minister has reopened the inquests into several suspicious apartheid-era deaths. Luthuli reached the store by 9:30am and set off again to check on his sugar cane fields about half an hour later. This much is not in dispute. The only witness Train driver Stephanus Lategan told a 1967 inquest into Luthuli's death that at 10:36am, as his 760-tonne train approached the Umvoti River Bridge, he noticed a pedestrian walking across the bridge and sounded his whistle. 'The Bantu [the official and derogatory term for Black people at the time] did not appear to take any notice whatsoever … He had walked about … 15 or 16 paces when my engine commenced to overtake him … He made no attempt to step towards the side or turn his body sideways.' While the bridge was not designed for pedestrian traffic, Luthuli and the rest of his family often crossed it. His son, Edgar Sibusiso Luthuli, explained that when using the bridge, his father was 'very, very careful. When a train was coming, he would stand, not even walk, and hold onto the railings tightly. The space was big enough for the train to pass you on the bridge'. But, according to Lategan, Luthuli did no such thing that morning. The train driver told the inquest that while the front of the train narrowly missed Luthuli, 'the corner of the cab struck him on the right shoulder and this caused him to be spun around and I saw him lose his balance and fall between the right-hand side of the bridge and the moving train.' Lategan was the only witness to the collision. According to his testimony, when he realised he had hit Luthuli, he stopped the train as fast as he could. Luthuli was still breathing but unconscious and bleeding from the mouth when Lategan said he reached him. He asked the station foreman and station master to call an ambulance, which took Luthuli to the nearest 'Bantu' hospital. Fifty-eight years later – nearly another lifetime for Luthuli – a new inquest opened earlier this year. Experts testifying cast serious doubt on Lategan's version of events. Police crime scene analyst Brenden Burgess was part of a team that used evidence from the first inquest to reconstruct the crash scene. 'The possibility of an accident scenario occurring as described by Mr Lategan is highly unlikely,' testified Burgess. 'Taking into account the stopping distance required to stop the locomotive where it came to rest at the scene … the brakes to the train would have to have been applied at least 170 metres before the entrance to the northern side of the bridge … The probability of the point of impact being on the southern side of the bridge is highly unlikely.' In fact, experts say, it is likely that Luthuli was not walking along the bridge at all. Steam train expert Lesley Charles Labuschagne went further. By his estimation, 'Luthuli was assaulted and his body taken to a railway track so it would look like he was hit by a train,' according to a Business Day article about his testimony, published in May. Citing 'gaps relating to description of trauma, in terms of size as well as characterisation of injuries', forensic pathologist Dr Sibusiso Ntsele told the 2025 inquest that Luthuli's post-mortem report was 'substandard to say the least'. Ntsele concluded his testimony: 'I don't have enough to say he was hit by a train … What I have suggests that he is likely to have been assaulted.' The inquest has been adjourned until October, when Judge Qondeni Radebe will rule on Luthuli's cause of death. 'Quietly, as a teacher' There is no formal record of his birth, but it is known that Albert John Mvumbi Luthuli was born sometime in 1898 in Bulawayo, Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), where his father worked as an interpreter for missionaries from the Congregational Church in America. This instilled in Luthuli a deep and lifelong faith and, according to the writer Nadine Gordimer, a way of speaking 'with a distinct American intonation'. When Mvumbi (his preferred name, meaning 'continuous rain') was about 10 years old, his family moved back to South Africa and he was sent to live with his uncle, the chief of Groutville, so that he could attend school. By 1914, Luthuli was 16 and had progressed as far as he could at the small school in Groutville. He spent a year at the Ohlange Institute, the first high school in South Africa founded and run by a Black person, John Dube, the first president of the ANC. That was followed by several years at Edendale, a Methodist mission school where, for the first time, Luthuli was taught by white teachers. In his autobiography, Luthuli refuted the accusation that mission schools produced 'black Englishmen'. Instead, he argued, 'two cultures met, and both Africans and Europeans were affected by the meeting. Both profited and both survived enriched.' After graduating from Edendale with a teaching qualification, he accepted a post as principal (and sole employee) of a tiny Blacks-only intermediate school in the outpost of Blaauwbosch, where – under the mentorship of a local pastor – his Christian faith deepened. Luthuli's performance at Blaauwbosch earned him a scholarship to Adams College, one of the most important centres for Black education in South Africa, just south of Durban. Luthuli arrived at Adams with no political aspirations: 'I took it for granted that I would spend my days quietly, as a teacher,' he wrote in his autobiography, Let My People Go. But the influence of ZK Matthews (the principal of the high school at Adams, who would go on to become an influential ANC leader and academic) and some of the other teachers gradually opened his eyes to a political world of resistance. Luthuli stayed at Adams College for 15 years. Only in 1935 did he succumb to pressure from the people of Groutville, who wanted him to return home to take up the chieftainship (his uncle had been 'fired' by the white government). Becoming a chief – a salaried position, which meant he could be fired by the apartheid regime if he stepped too far out of line – meant taking a significant pay cut, but Luthuli saw it as a calling. Administering the needs of the 5,000 Zulu people of the Umvoti Mission Reserve, which had been founded by American missionary Reverend Aldin Grout from the Congressional Church in 1844, opened his eyes to the reality of life in South Africa: 'Now I saw, almost as though for the first time, the naked poverty of my people, the daily hurt to human beings.' As the chief explained in his autobiography: 'In Groutville, as all over the country, a major part of the problem is land – thirteen percent of the land for seventy percent of the people, and almost always inferior land…When I became chief I was confronted as never before by the destitution of the housewife, the smashing of families because of economic pressures, and the inability of the old way of life to meet the contemporary onslaught.' Called to activism Luthuli entered formal politics relatively late in life compared with others, only joining the ANC at the age of 46 in 1944, four years before apartheid officially began. Nelson Mandela, 20 years his junior, joined in the same year. Both men arrived at a time when the party was in dire need of new blood. The older generation of Black leaders was seen as too polite and accepting of the status quo to fight the increasingly draconian white minority government, with its rapidly restrictive legislation governing the lives of Black people. But while Mandela and a few of his contemporaries shook up the national conversation with a more brash and confrontational style, Luthuli brought a more moderate brand of leadership to the Natal branch of the ANC. He was elected to the provincial executive less than a year after joining the party, and as president of the Natal branch in 1951. Luthuli shot to national prominence as the chief volunteer of the 1952 Defiance Campaign, which saw thousands of people all around the country offering themselves up for arrest for contravening apartheid laws by doing things like sitting on whites-only benches and travelling on whites-only buses. 'He was duly stripped of his position as chief by the apartheid government, before being elected ANC president on the back of the youth vote that December,' explains Professor Thula Simpson of the University of Pretoria, one of the leading historians of the ANC. 'Luthuli was seen as a bridge between old and young. But he and Moses Kotane [secretary general of the communist SACP for 39 years] became the old guard when Mandela and co started agitating for violence.' Luthuli's stance against violence Mandela first publicly called for violent resistance in June 1953, telling a crowd in Sophiatown that, as he wrote in his autobiography, 'violence was the only weapon that would destroy apartheid and we must be prepared, in the near future, to use that weapon.' This did not align with Luthuli's approach. In his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, Mandela wrote of being 'severely reprimanded' by Luthuli and the ANC's National Executive, 'for advocating such a radical departure from accepted policy [never, ever condoning violence]… Such speeches could provoke the enemy to crush the organisation entirely while the enemy was strong and we were as yet still weak. I accepted the censure, and thereafter faithfully defended the policy of nonviolence in public. But in my heart, I knew that nonviolence was not the answer.' Luthuli was actually in court, giving evidence about the ANC's commitment to non-violent struggle, on March 21, 1960, when white police officers opened fire on a crowd of peaceful Black protesters at Sharpeville, killing at least 91 people. After Sharpeville, the calls for violent protest within the ANC grew louder and – despite Luthuli's opposition – in June 1961, Mandela was given permission to set up Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK), the party's military wing. MK's founding document is 'the strangest declaration of war in the history of insurgency', says Simpson, with its focus on sabotaging government infrastructure but avoiding loss of life at all costs. 1961 was also the year Luthuli became the first African to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. 'The citation from the committee noted that he had consistently stood for non-violence,' says Simpson. 'But the irony is that he was aware that his movement had committed to forming a sabotage squad, even if he personally had acquiesced to the decision without enthusiasm.' The apartheid government initially prevented Luthuli from travelling to Oslo to receive the award, but eventually relented with a condition: He could not make overt mention of South African politics during his speech. He followed this restriction (he didn't say the word 'apartheid' once) but made a clear statement by wearing traditional Zulu attire. By sheer coincidence, Luthuli's route back from Oslo saw him arrive in Durban on 15 December: The exact evening that MK began its operations. Despite their differences, says Simpson, 'Mandela liked and respected Luthuli and felt the need to consult with him. Mandela wanted the older man's consent, authorisation and approval…' This close relationship would lead to Mandela's arrest and imprisonment for 27 years. In 1961, after the banning of the ANC, Mandela went undercover. Dubbed the Black Pimpernel, he was the most wanted man in the country. In August 1962, posing as the chauffeur of white playwright and activist Cecil Williams, Mandela drove to Groutville to brief Luthuli about a military training trip he'd taken to other African countries. One of the people Mandela met on that trip was a police informant, and on their way back to Johannesburg, Mandela and Williams were ambushed by police. 'I knew in that instant that my life on the run was over,' Mandela later recalled. Rewriting history Many anti-apartheid leaders died in suspicious circumstances over the 46 years that the apartheid regime survived. Perhaps the most famous of these was Steve Biko, who died following police torture in 1977. The official inquest into Biko's death absolved the police, finding that he could not have died 'by any act or omission involving an offence by any person'. Despite a local and international outcry, the truth would only come out at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in 1999, after apartheid had ended. Presided over by Desmond Tutu (himself a Nobel peace laureate), the TRC held more than 2,500 hearings between 1996 and 2002. Controversially, the TRC had the power to grant full amnesty for politically motivated crimes, provided the perpetrators made honest and complete confessions. Four security policemen admitted to the killing of Biko at TRC hearings. But the commanding officer, Gideon Nieuwoudt, was denied amnesty on the grounds that he did not prove that his crime was politically motivated. Nieuwoudt was sentenced to 20 years in prison for his role in the murder of the 'Motherwell four' – four Black policemen who had been leaking information to the ANC and were killed in a car bomb planted by the authorities. Nieuwoudt died in prison in 2005. Since the TRC concluded, there have been other inquests into mysterious deaths, most notably the 2017 inquest into Ahmed Timol's 1971 death. According to police reports at the time, Timol had jumped from the 10th floor of the Johannesburg Central Police Station after being overcome with shame at disclosing sensitive information about his colleagues during interrogation. A 1972 inquest ruled that he died by suicide. 'To accept anything other than that the deceased jumped out of the window and fell to the ground can only be seen as ludicrous,' ruled Magistrate JL de Villiers. 'Although he was questioned for long hours, he was treated in a civilised and humane manner.' Timol's death shone a light on the many (73 in total) mysterious deaths of activists in police custody during apartheid. These were the inspiration for Chris van Wyk's satirical poem 'In Detention': He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself while washing He slipped from the ninth floor He hung from the ninth floor He slipped on the ninth floor while washing He fell from a piece of soap while slipping He hung from the ninth floor He washed from the ninth floor while slipping He hung from a piece of soap while washing. The TRC found that there was a 'strong possibility that at least some of those detainees who allegedly committed suicide by jumping out of the window were either accidentally dropped or thrown'. This was not enough for the Timol family, however, and, in 2017, they succeeded in having the 1972 inquest reopened. On October 12, 2017, Judge Billy Mothle set a historic precedent by overturning the first inquest's findings. Mothle ruled that 'Timol's death was brought about by an act of having been pushed from the tenth floor or the roof' of the building, and that there was a prima facie case of murder against the two policemen who interrogated Timol on the day he was pushed to his death. The policemen in question had already died, but a third – Joao Rodrigues – was charged as an accessory to the murder. Rodrigues died before his case went to trial. Seeking a motive The Luthuli family hope to receive similar vindication when the inquest into his death reaches its conclusion in October this year. But, looking at the case objectively, Simpson is hard-pressed to find a motive for the murder. While Luthuli was the ANC's official leader at the time of his death in 1967, a combination of ill-health, government banning orders and his opposition to violence had rendered him something of a figurehead without much political clout by the mid-1960s. 'There's no clear motive for his murder,' says Simpson. 'He'd ceased to be a threat to the regime. If anything, his funeral was an opportunity for protest.' Of course, Simpson adds, 'If there was a conspiracy, the 1967 inquest would never have found it. Even if Luthuli's death was accidental, there's loads of reason to doubt the apartheid government's version.' In 2025, Justice Minister Ronald Lamola has been on something of a mission to expose apartheid-era cover-ups. On the same day that the Luthuli inquest was reopened, he announced plans to reopen the inquests into the deaths of Mlungisi Griffiths Mxenge in 1981 (a civil rights lawyer who was stabbed 45 times by a police 'death squad') and Booi Mantyi, who was shot dead for allegedly throwing stones at police in 1985. Last month, the inquest into the 1985 murder of the 'Cradock Four' was reopened. While most of the perpetrators of apartheid-era crimes are now dead (or very old), Lamola is pressing ahead. 'With these inquests, we open very real wounds which are more difficult to open 30 years into our democracy,' he said. 'But nonetheless, the interest of justice can never be bound by time…the truth must prevail.' Uncovering the truth is especially important for Luthuli's family. 'It's a very exciting moment for us,' said Sandile Luthuli, the chief's grandson and CEO of the Social Housing Regulatory Authority. Now in his early 50s, Sandile doesn't have memories of his grandfather, but talks about Luthuli being deeply religious: 'He conducted church services on his own.' He also highlights the role that Luthuli's wife, Nokukhanya, played in 'keeping the home fires burning'. While Sandile does admit to 'some anxiety' about the outcome of the inquest, he is confident it will finally set the record straight. 'This is the moment that we have been waiting for as a family … to really peel the layers of … his untimely assassination at the hands of the apartheid government.' The inquest has also reminded the nation of South Africa and the world at large of Luthuli's incredible legacy. As Martin Luther King Jr wrote in a letter to Luthuli in 1959: 'You have stood amid persecution, abuse, and oppression with a dignity and calmness of spirit seldom paralleled in human history. One day all of Africa will be proud of your achievements.'
CBC
5 days ago
- General
- CBC
Residents shocked after fire destroys historic church in Saint-Ours, Que.
Only the four stone walls of the 19th-century building were left standing after lightning sparked the fire. The paintings and Casavant organ were also destroyed.
Yahoo
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
After creepily mastering vampires with his hit Nosferatu remake, director Robert Eggers will reportedly bring back its stars Aaron Taylor Johnson and Lily-Rose Depp for his new werewolf movie
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. Director Robert Eggers is bringing back Aaron Taylor-Johnson, one of the stars of his hit Nosferatu remake, for his new werewolf movie, Werwulf, and Lily-Rose Depp may also be coming along for the ride, according to Variety. Eggers is also bringing back Sjón, his co-writer from The Northman, which again makes sense given the historical origins of the werewolf myth, which takes some cultural inspiration from the concept of the berserker, viking warriors who entered animalistic states of frenzy in battle. The Northman was praised by Viking historians for its accuracy and attention to detail (with some caveats about the larger-than-life action sequences), qualities Eggers also brought to the design and dialogue of his first film The Witch, its follow up The Lighthouse, and of course, Nosferatu. It seems that will also be a priority for Werwulf. Stories of humans that become savage animals through magical means are common throughout many cultures the world over, but the specific concept of the werewolf evolved from the Anglo-Saxon myth of the 'werwulf,' translated from Old English as 'man-wolf,' a term which of course lends itself to the title of Eggers' film. I'm personally extremely excited to see Eggers offer up a historical werewolf movie that taps into the same spirit of The Witch, a personal favorite of mine, and Nosferatu, to create a horror movie soaked in atmospheric terror. A dash of The Norseman's famed historical accuracy also feels like the perfect touch for a werewolf movie which Eggers has said is the "darkest" thing he's ever written. Eggers has just about the best track record of any director going right now in terms of cranking out movies that hit just right, and I have all faith Werwulf will also hit the mark. Following in the tradition of Nosferatu, Werwulf is currently scheduled for release on Christmas Day 2026. Stay up to date on all our horror movie news, and keep your eyes peeled for more info about Robert Eggers' in-development sequel to Jim Henson's The Labyrinth. Solve the daily Crossword
Yahoo
29-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Battle is on to save hidden school masterpiece
This week Salford council launched a public consultation on what buildings and heritage assets should be recognised for their historical importance. One beautiful, but hidden gem, some say, should be top of the list. But it is in a building which wrecking crews are due to start demolishing on Monday. (June 30th). It is a mural by Hungarian artist, George Mayer-Marton, who emigrated to England to save his work from the Nazis. The fresco, from 1954, The Five Joyful Mysteries of the Virgin's Rosary, filled a whole wall at the St Ambrose Barlow RC School in Swinton. The school has been shut for 14 years and is to be bulldozed so the site can be used for affordable housing. READ MORE: MP apologises for 'simple honest mistake' after photoshopped picture posted online READ MORE: 'People could die' - Miscarrying women could have to travel two hours in plans to move emergency unit The building, in Shaftesbury Road, is now owned by Salford City Council as the school relocated to a brand new site in Wardley. There is, however, hope of finding an eleventh hour solution to save the mural. The artist's great nephew, Nick Braithwaite has applied for it to be listed. But in the 1990s the work was inexplicably plastered over, and it has been forgotten, out of sight. It would take a huge amount of money to remove the coverings and retrieve and preserve the mural. A Salford City Council spokesperson said: 'The former St Ambrose Barlow RC High school in Swinton has been closed for 14 years and we have external funding for it to be demolished so it can be used as a new site for housing. Very recently it has come to light that there was a historical fresco within the school which has been concealed for many years, although its current condition beneath the paint is unknown. 'The council has been in discussions with interested members of the community about how we may protect the wall during demolition to understand if the mural can be retrieved in the future.' The mural was covered prior to the council taking over responsibility of the site. Ben Davis, current head of St Ambrose Barlow RC High School, said: "This has only come about because we are celebrating our 70th anniversary as a school this year. In doing that we have gone through loads of old documents and came across old photographs, of which there are hardly any of the interior of the old building. "We came across a photograph of the foyer of the school, which showed the mural. I said to people 'what is that' it is huge. I started asking what had happened to it. I gradually pieced together that it looked like it had been covered up in the mid 1990s. "I thought maybe, if it has been covered up, it can be rescued. But it is not that simple. I contacted the council who have been very good about this. To be fair to them there is no reason why this would come up in due diligence of the building - because it has been out of sight for the best part of 30 years and is not in anyone's memory. "The council has put the building up for demolition, but when I got in touch with them, they said they would look into it. It can't be a priority for our school because it is not our building. "I did contact Save Britain's Heritage, who also contacted the council, and were in discussion with them. SAVE got back to me and said the mural was unfortunately covered in layers of emulsion and plaster and thought the mural was likely unrecoverable. "I thought the trail had gone dead then. But a former pupil and a former member of staff got involved and I believe between them , SAVE, and the council things are ongoing. "They did get an expert to look at it and they said it would take a year and it would be incredibly complex because it is so big, and the wall it is on supports so much of the building. But I don't think the game is up yet. There is a glimmer of hope. "I wish there had been a way to save it years ago. The bottom line is it should never have been covered up. In a time when people are portraying refugees negatively the artist who created this was a refugee who came to our country, and gave us this mural, which is to be celebrated. I would love nothing more than to have it displayed in our school. We are creating a display to mark the 70th anniversary of our school and George Mayer-Marton will be a part of it." Nick Braithwaite who made the listing application on Thursday said he believed demolition was scheduled to start on Tuesday next week. He said: 'It is a great shame that, for the third time, custodians of these extraordinary murals have failed to appreciate their value. I felt I had to apply for listing as the only way to save this unique fresco by my great-uncle George Mayer-Marton." Councillor John Warmisham, who sits as an Independent Socialist on Salford Council, and is a practising Catholic, said: "'I find it appalling that this mural could be lost. The council and the diocese should be working together to save this important piece of art. We're losing too many great pieces of historical art like this. Surely the developers can come to some sort of agreement to save this for the Catholic community in Salford diocese." Four years ago the Manchester Evening News reported on how another of Mayer-Marton's murals in The Holy Rosary Church in Oldham of The Crucifixion was under threat. Like other central European artists fleeing persecution from the Nazis in the 1930s, he found that one institution which provided refuge - and work - was the then resurgent Catholic Church He did extensive work for the church in the north west during the 1950s as new churches were being built. These included two remarkable mosaics in Manchester and Oldham. They are the only ecclesiastical murals by Mayer-Marton that survive in situ. One, above the high altars inside St Clare's RC Church on Victoria Avenue, Blackley, depicts St Clare of Assisi raising the Blessed Sacrament. But there are fears The Crucifixion in Oldham could be lost as the church has now been closed since 2017. But it currently remains in situ as potential uses for the building are explored. In a tragic twist of fate during a night raid by the Luftwaffe on September 11 1940, an incendiary bomb struck George's home in London destroying his studio and its contents. Yet from that despair he not only survived, but rose again to produce what one critic described as "some of the most elegant incisive graphics in existence'. They include a 1955 mosaic, in Oldham, described by Tristan Hunt, Director of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London as a work of "dazzling beauty". With its message of hope, renewal, and triumph over darkness, it dominates the interior of the abandoned Holy Rosary in Fitton Hill, Oldham. Another of George's works, The Pentecost mosaic in Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral was moved there just in time before its original host church, in Netherton, was demolished. Salford City Council is inviting residents to nominate the buildings, landmarks, and landscapes they believe should be recognised for their local historic or architectural importance. The council is carrying out a full review of Salford's List of Local Heritage Assets, also known as the Local List, and is asking the public to help identify potential sites to include. The last full review of Salford's Local List was completed in 2013.
CBC
29-06-2025
- General
- CBC
Scotsman is one of at least 100 people who still hold the title of Baronet of Nova Scotia
The days of baronets and baronetesses would seem a thing of the distant past, far removed from Nova Scotia. But one man in Edinburgh, Scotland, holds the title of the 11th Baronet of Nova Scotia, and he's not alone. Sir Crispin Agnew, 81, is one of at least 100 people who still hold the title, originally created as a money-making scheme to help fund the colonization of New Scotland. Agnew is about to participate in an upcoming conference in Stirling, Scotland, that will mark the 400th anniversary of the first-ever Baronet of Nova Scotia in 1625. "It's important from a family history point of view.… It's nice to have it, but in the modern day and age, it's really not of any particular benefit or anything other than a historical point of interest," Agnew told CBC's Information Morning Nova Scotia. As a means to get more Scots to settle in New Scotland at the time, the King offered for purchase the hereditary title Baronet of Nova Scotia, with the proceeds from those sales used to cover immigration costs for settlers. The payment of 3,000 Scottish merks, which would be the equivalent today of almost $66,000 Cdn, entitled the buyer the use of the title Sir before their given name and 6,500 hectares of land to settle in New Scotland, the land between New England and Newfoundland. While it was intended to encourage colonization, Agnew said many were deterred because the title and land offering also came accompanied by a wealth tax. "There was a lot of skulduggery that went on to encourage people to take up the titles," said Agnew. He said King Charles I went to great and morally questionable lengths to force people to accept the title, including threatening to investigate murders and involve in the investigation people who refused to accept the title. The end result was that only about 110 titles had been sold by the end of the reign of King Charles I. Agnew's family, he said, received a letter that threatened to take away their most valuable source of income, a hereditary sheriffdom, if they didn't buy a title. Since then, it has been passed down through generations. "I inherited it from my father, he inherited it from his uncle," said Agnew. Although there is little to no modern significance to being a baronet, he quipped being called Sir Crispin has a nice ring to it. "After all, we did pay 166 pounds 13 and fourpence, so we might as well benefit from it." Agnew owns a badge signifying that he is a Baronet of Nova Scotia. But he also acknowledges the title was used as a means to enforce widespread colonization of Indigenous people, including the Mi'kmaq in Nova Scotia. That's something that will be discussed at the Nova Scotia and Scotland Conference in Stirling on June 30. Agnew said speakers from Indigenous communities will discuss the long-term impact of the granting of a charter for New Scotland to Sir William Alexander. "It's something I think we modern baronets are really quite conscious of, even though we were … the original cause of it, although we were basically there to fund colonization. It was a way of raising money by the King without having to go to Parliament," said Agnew. And while he holds the title of 11th Baronet of Nova Scotia, Agnew has yet to set foot in the province. "I haven't and nor has any close member of my family, as far as I'm aware. It's perhaps on my bucket list," said Agnew.
