In many ways, I think of the past as a setting, a prologue. The past sets the stage for the beginning of our story. But that doesn’t necessarily set the stage for its end. And so when we think about the immediacy of the colonial experience in current circumstances, we need to focus on both the ideas and practices and legal systems that formerly colonized populations inherited. Although it has been 50 years, in some cases more than 75 years, many of those customs and legal systems still persist.

For me, much of my work focuses on states of exception and emergency rules and the ways in which authoritarianism is actually integral to the colonial legacy. We see this play out again and again. We certainly see it here in India, we’re seeing it in Palestine right now, and we can even see it in the United States today.

Do you think historians today are being asked to do things differently than in earlier decades? Perhaps to intervene more directly in the public discussion?

This is an amazing question! The short answer is yes. Historians, by nature, are not what I like to call presenters. They will tell you long, wonderful, important stories about the past, but they are always hesitant to talk about the present.

If historians don’t come forward, people who obviously have no knowledge of history are going to do it – they will talk about it in the media, on television, on social media. Therefore, I think it is the responsibility of historians to help explain in simple terms and understandable language how the past does and does not affect our thinking about the present.

To be honest, I sometimes wonder why historians who know so much do not want to pay attention to any of the current issues. I myself have a different approach to it – not necessarily better or worse – but it comes from a sense of responsibility to help smart people in the public understand how we got to where we are today.

You’ve talked before about the difficulty of working with incomplete or intentionally destroyed records. How does a historian ethically reconstruct a past that power has sought to erase?

Another really important question. The morals of reconstructing the past are many. When I work through archives trying to piece together the pieces of history, I always think about honoring the lived experiences of those who survived the violence I worked with, or even more so those with whom I studied.

In that sense, the work cannot be apologetic towards the state, but it cannot always be a condemnation of the state either because there are so many nuances to it. Colonial actors are complex people grappling with questions of complicity, guilt, and responsibility. There is complexity on both sides of the divide.

Therefore, a historian has the responsibility to present completeness – a complete picture of individuals and how the period shaped them, how they felt and how they lived.

Oral testimony plays an important role in your work. How do you weigh memory, trauma, and subjectivity against the official record that claims authority?

The belief that written records were more reliable than oral sources developed in the nineteenth century. And so, the British government was banking on and promoting that perception when it prepared the archives to present a particular story embedded in its records.

So, if you want to challenge that narrative, you have to turn to alternative sources – missionary archives, diaries, journals, and especially oral testimony, especially for populations who were illiterate or who were denied the means to record their own histories.

when my first book Britain’s Gulag: The brutal end of empire in Kenya (2005) when it came out, many critics questioned the oral testimony, saying that people misremembered things or made things up to serve the story. That concern is not entirely wrong. But here, historians can use additional tools.

I turned to scholars like Daniel Schachter, a cognitive psychologist who specializes in trauma and memory. And what I learned was that most people can’t remember what they ate for breakfast last week. But individuals who have experienced trauma often remember the events with extraordinary clarity. They may forget the exact dates, but the events themselves remain vivid. In my experience collecting oral testimony from both victims and perpetrators of violence – the amount of detail that people retain about traumatic events is remarkable.

When your books later contributed to legal accountability and reparations, did that change your view about the power and responsibility of historical writing?

This didn’t change my thinking so much as it confirmed why historians should be exceptionally careful. I (Britain’s Gulag) against powerful institutions, and strong efforts were made to discredit my work – to say it was fabricated, even unbelievable.

Ultimately, the work went under legal scrutiny, where the evidence must stand objectively. It’s as if my revisionist history has been put on trial. The only thing I was sure of was that my research was meticulous – I had spent 10 years on it.

That experience confirmed the importance of rigorous historical research. You can’t cut corners. This is an extremely time-consuming process, but it is our art as historians.

one of the central arguments in legacy of violence Is that violence not a deviation from empire but a governing tool? Why is that idea so difficult to accept, especially in Britain?

Britain maintained a strong belief in imperial exceptionalism – the idea that Britain somehow inherited the empire. And to preserve that narrative, these incidents of violence had to be explained away as isolated incidents caused by bad actors.

My argument asks: How many “bad apples” must exist before a systemic pattern can be identified? When you examine the legal structures that enabled violence, it becomes clear that these were systemic features, not exceptions.

What was described as a “state of exception” was actually a system evolving over time.

You write for both academic and general audiences. How do you achieve accessibility without oversimplifying a complex history?

I generally begin within a narrow academic framework – producing work that is rigorously researched, thoroughly documented, and heavily footnoted.

Once the academic lessons are completed, I focus on storytelling. I really love the art of writing – how a story begins, ends and unfolds through characters. With Legacy of Violence, I insisted on nearly a hundred pages of footnotes. So, readers can get an amazing story, as well as see the depth of documentation behind it.

You can do both at exactly the same time.

In recent years, historians have often found themselves at the center of the culture wars. How should historians respond when their work is attacked politically rather than scholarly?

You can never control how people receive your work. My responsibility as both a writer and scholar is to stick to the facts and tell a story based on evidence.

If someone wants to dismiss this as political or label me a “leftist historian”, that’s their choice. My work is objective and strictly documented. I have been called many things during my career, but those criticisms have not deterred me.

Much of your research involves torture, cruelty and suffering. How do you protect yourself emotionally after working with such material for years?

There is a toll in this. Over time, I’ve learned to pace myself and step away when needed, even though work never completely leaves you.

Plus, it gives me a perspective on life – what really matters and what doesn’t. I am deeply aware of the privilege of working in well-funded institutions. I don’t take it lightly.

One way to deal with the trauma inherent in your research is to ensure that these histories are widely known. There are opportunities like speaking at the Jaipur Literature Festival, connecting with thoughtful audiences, giving meaning to work, and honoring the sacrifices and lived experiences of people of the past.

As a professor, how do you encourage students to sit with discomfort rather than remain silent or become defensive?

What worries me is that today’s students don’t like inconvenience. And the material they read with me is very uncomfortable.

I try to encourage them by telling them that you have to be uncomfortable to really learn and grow as an intellectual and a human being. You have to follow this journey that I am taking you on and that way we can honor the sacrifices of the people of the past.

Rutvik Bhandari is a freelance writer. He lives in Pune. You can find him talking about books on Instagram and YouTube (@themindlessmess).