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This article critically examines the International Court of Justice’s (ICJ) ruling on the preliminary objections in Sudan v. United Arab Emirates, focusing on the implications of the UAE’s reservation to Article IX of the Genocide Convention. It evaluates the Court’s interpretation of the scope and effect of such reservations, contrasting it with precedents set in Bosnia v. Serbia and The Gambia v. Myanmar. Drawing on the ICJ’s jurisprudence, principles of state responsibility, and international criminal law, the article highlights significant tensions and ambiguities in the Court’s approach to admissibility, complicity, and provisional measures. The study incorporates insights from the International Criminal Court and UN Human Rights Council resolutions to contextualise the legal and factual matrix. Ultimately, it argues for a more coherent doctrinal framework to address the impact of reservations on treaty obligations and jurisdictional competence in genocide-related disputes.
This article reconsiders prevailing assumptions of bureaucratic continuity in postwar Japan by examining the case of the Ministry of Communications during the Allied Occupation. While existing scholarship emphasizes institutional inertia, this study shows how structural reform and inter-institutional negotiations involving both American authority and Japanese agency reshaped parts of Japan’s administrative system. The case calls for a more differentiated, organization-focused perspective on postwar reforms and demonstrates that these transformations had enduring effects beyond 1952.
Following the blooming of the Hundred Flowers came a metaphorical springtime. How was it formed? As metaphorical wordplay continued to shape public discourse, the sustained input of creative writers gradually transformed the discussion of flowers to a broader theme of spring. Poets such as Ai Qing wove ever more detailed depictions of bucolic scenes to both comment on the state of the Republic and to join in the word play that was now present across genres of writing. In the process, an ever-expanding circle of writers joined the metaphorical and allegorical debate, including Zhou Shoujuan, who saw the movement as a resurrection of the literary public sphere of the May Fourth era. We also observe the migration of metaphorical imagery from text to visual-culture, as floral scenes and those of spring became omnipresent in magazines and newspapers.
What could you do if you felt out of step with Maoism? What if the great blooming of early 1957 did not reflect your feelings about the People’s Republic? How could you express yourself with the language available to you and circulating throughout public discourse? This chapter traces the frequent but disparate and isolated practices of botanical metaphor inspired by the Hundred Flowers but deployed in critique, echoing practices that have remained potent since the Book of Odes. It begins with the story of Jiang Rende, who arranges grass on his desk and thinks of Lu Xun, and reveals a world of critical but disconnected deployments of the botanical imagery of the Hundred Flowers.
This chapter explores the interactions of high-level Chinese and North Korean leaders. It argues that the actions of Chinese and North Korean leaders – especially Mao Zedong and Kim Il Sung – were critical to building political order in the PRC and the DPRK. It shows how the utterances and actions of these leaders were particularly influential in shaping popular emotions and establishing the legitimacy of the PRC and DPRK.
Who had the power to innovate and shape public discourse in the high Mao era? Through the example of Fei Xiaotong and his essay “The Early Spring Weather of the Intellectuals,” this chapter explores what happens when critique, however mild, captures an audience, draws responses, and creates its own eddies of creative imitation. It shows the power of the classical literary canon eight years after the founding of the People’s Republic and that literary brio drawing on this canon could shape public discourse and challenge the dominant framing of a national slogan. It also shows how writers who supported the campaign turned to the same literary canon to attack Fei Xiaotong’s metaphor and restore the sense of springtime. It was not only the Party that was capable of “doing things with words.”
How do national campaigns and local literary practice interact? This chapter tells the story of Liu Shahe and Shi Tianhe, two Sichuanese writers who, following signals from Beijing and Moscow, found themselves on the wrong side of local political and literary elites. It explores how Liu and Shi fell out with the Sichuanese literary establishment, and how what became known as the “poetry case” came to the attention of Mao Zedong. It describes the differential power dynamics that existed among the individual, the local, and the central state in the early People’s Republic of China. Despite becoming known as “anti-Party,” “anti-socialist,” and “poisonous weeds,” the chapter reveals that Liu and Shi fell from grace for putting into practice signals from the Party center.
The conclusion offers a broader look into the role of emotions in alliances and the similarities and differences between Sino-North Korean friendship and other Cold War alliances. It shows how the idea of Sino-North Korean friendship limited emotional freedom in China and North Korea.
From the summer of 1957 and throughout the Mao era, “poisonous weed” was a label to be avoided at all costs. Having fallen for the flowers in early 1957, Xu Chengmiao would find himself labeled a “poisonous weed” by the end of the year. As with the Hundred Flowers, the advent of this pernicious botanical label has its own history. This chapter explores how “poisonous weeds” entered the Chinese garden, the role of the Soviet Union in the Chinese Arcadian turn, and how lionized writers such as Guo Moruo gave an endogenous spin to writing that celebrated an idyllic rural life. This then deepened the creative engagement with the Hundred Flowers as it traveled back to the Soviets and into internal circulars. It also studies how the circulation of the Hundred Flowers helped Mao navigate the fallout from Khrushchev’s “secret speech,” and what happened after the chairman stepped into the garden with his own take on the flowers.
For a plant as renowned and beloved in China as the plum blossom (meihua 梅花), there is conspicuously little written in English about eating it. However, without understanding the historical affection for consuming plum blossoms, our comprehension of it as a cultural icon misses an important dimension. This article explores the intriguing discourse surrounding plum blossom consumption in three sections. The first section introduces the key concept of qing 清 (“purity”) and its relation to the “poet’s spleen” (shiren pi 詩人脾), which provides a theoretical framework for a relationship between eating it and writing poetry. The second section examines Song-dynasty poems on this eating practice, particularly those by Yang Wanli 楊萬里 (1127–1206) and the Rivers and Lakes poets (jianghu shiren 江湖詩人). Their poetry was closely tied to new developments in the notion of qi 氣 and “poetic spleen” (shipi 詩脾). The third section turns to culinary recipes, primarily from the Rivers and Lakes poet Lin Hong 林洪 (fl. 1224–1263), who promotes qing aesthetics in plum blossom dishes. I argue that the discovery of culinary value in a flower long regarded as more symbolic than edible marks a significant development in Song-dynasty (960–1279) literati culture, aesthetics, intellectual history, and medicine.
In this paper, I explore the millennium-long presence of the chickpea in premodern China by highlighting three key historical moments. The legume had its first rise to prominence as a cosmopolitan “Muslim Bean” in the Mongol Yuan (1271–1368) imperial diet. It then experienced a phase of obscurity, as the most renowned Chinese herbalist, Li Shizhen 李時珍 (1518–1593), conflated it with the pea. A disparate identity of the legume emerged around the same time, as the bean garnered attention from famine relief specialists, consequently transforming into a source of sustenance. The multiple lives of the chickpea were characterized with a common emphasis on its foreignness, drawing connections to various Eurasian cultures beyond China. The plant’s enduring presence, coupled with ongoing allusions to its alienness, makes it a perpetual foreigner in the broad expanse of the Chinese empire.
This article examines the tabular presentations in Sima Qian’s Shi ji and Gu Donggao’s Chunqiu dashi biao through the lens of a siege in 630 bce. Recognized as exemplary historical tables of the Spring and Autumn Period, the two tables process historical narratives at both micro and macro levels in an unprecedented manner, aiming to provide a larger picture of general historical trends. By emphasizing a visual and spatial representation of history in its tabular design, the Shi ji table invites the reader to examine the text nonlinearly and to construct a dialectical relationship between it and related narrative chapters. On the other hand, Gu’s text-oriented tables, usually misunderstood as a mere continuation of those in the Shi ji, require a linear reading and cannot directly produce a visual representation of the general patterns of the Spring and Autumn Period. However, to compensate for the lack of a visual overview, Gu composed “impromptu poems” (kouhao), which orally sketch general historical trends, to help beginners memorize the history of the Spring and Autumn Period. This article aims to demonstrate the use of tabulation at the crucial beginning point of Chinese historiography and its reinvention in the late imperial period.