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This article works to recover the life story of Qudsiyya Khurshid, a once well-known Mandate Palestinian intellectual and educator, who wrote essays for publication and for broadcasting on the Palestine Broadcasting Service, while working as a principal at girls’ schools in al-Bireh and Jerusalem. One of a number of educated women active in the Mandate public sphere, she disappeared from public consciousness after the Nakba. But in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, where she had moved with her husband, a naturalized U.S. citizen, she became a prominent figure in civic work and as a community speaker on Palestinian and Middle Eastern life and culture. Recovering her full life story makes it possible to better appreciate the opportunities available for Palestinian women during the Mandate period and to similarly appreciate the efforts and impact of early Palestine activism among displaced Palestinians in the United States.
Since 2015, the south-eastern region of Nigeria has experienced sporadic outbursts of aggression spearheaded by Biafran separatist agitators. However, the latter part of the 2010s has witnessed a marked increase in the fervent endeavours of Indigenous Peoples of Biafra (IPOB) activists within the same area as they passionately pursue their aspirations for self-determination. Central to their approach is enforcing a compulsory weekly ‘sit-at-home’ policy, effectively establishing a quasi-sovereign enclave within the region. The prevalence of social media has provided a prominent platform for propagating secessionist sentiments. IPOB also advocates vigilante justice against individuals who dare to flout the mandated Monday sit-at-home order. An alarming manifestation of this stance can be gleaned from a tweet containing a chilling threat: ‘[I]f you come out, we will kill you, hang your head, and upload it.’ In response to these developments, the Nigerian state has assumed a resolute stance, taking action to proscribe IPOB and declaring any social gatherings of south-eastern youths a ‘state of exception’. As this article examines IPOB’s sit-at-home directive and the escalating focus on fear and retribution against transgressors in the south-eastern region, it adopts a comprehensive methodology that integrates oral interviews, focus group discussions, analysis of newspaper editorials, books and journal articles, and the tracking of relevant online hashtags for the purpose of data generation and analysis. Adopting securitization theory, this article offers an interpretative lens to comprehend the intricate issues at stake.
Close reading of documents produced by the early courts in New South Wales show two young men, formerly barristers at the Northern Assizes, innovating in their court rooms. Such innovation derived from their merchant background rather than the traditions of mercy or paternalism of the Assizes. In such innovations colonial agents were empowered and could shape the workings of the courts themselves. Minutes of the court show the impact of new kinds of elites generated by wealth built on slavery on the courts in the colonies and the subsequent flowering of subcultures.
This article argues that commemoration practices performed in the aftermath of the First World War, on occasion of the British Armistice Day, and during the two minutes’ silence in particular, served as incubators for a change in feeling rules for the British population. It will show how British society engaged with, challenged, and finally shifted what the “emotional regime” of the period – commonly referred to as the “stiff upper lip” – commanded them to feel. A very short lapse of time – two minutes – turned into a moment where a fundamental change in an important subset of feeling rules specifying this emotional regime became manifest: those applied to male weeping. The two minutes encapsulated a challenge to the harsh contempt for expressive mourning through the shedding of tears, a verdict that was inherited from the nineteenth century but increasingly seemed inappropriate, not the least in the wake of the emotional turmoil that Britons had faced during the “Great” War.
This article explores the Irish-American press’s engagement with the Franco-Prussian War, the unification of Germany and the Paris Commune. The leading papers — the Irish-American, the Irish Citizen, The Pilot and the Irish World — commented extensively on the Franco-Prussian War and its aftermath, and made use of widespread Irish-American sympathy for France in an attempt to influence the evolution of Irish-American ethnic immigrant identity after the American Civil War. The article assesses Irish-American editors’ opinions on the French and Prussian causes, and explores the parallels drawn with the Irish national cause. It then considers the Irish-American press's coverage of the American Republican party's pro-German stance after September 1870, which the editors assessed against the context of Reconstruction after 1865 and the attempts by Radical Republicans to achieve multi-racial citizenship in the United States. Finally, it explores Irish-American commentaries on the Paris Commune and the divisions between the editors that this international phenomenon fostered. It contributes to the study of the Irish-American experience of Reconstruction and the history of American engagement with international conflict after 1865.
The state's concerted campaign against Nusas put Jenny Curtis's generation of student activists into a precarious position and forced them to re-evaluate their politics. Surrounded by banned people, Jenny found her room to manoeuvre seriously curtailed. The space for resisting apartheid – legally, openly – was narrowing, and fast. After her brother Neville's dramatic escape to Australia (sneaking aboard a boat, using a friend's passport) others soon followed in his path. Three more of the Claremont communards (Chris Wood, Paula Ensor and Philippe le Roux) were living in exile by 1976. For many young white leftists, there was a sense, as Barbara Hogan remembers it, that
there wasn't a place for white South Africans, so the only moral thing you could do was to leave the country. For many of the young white men it was either that or conscription. What about those of us who chose to stay? Did we have a place or a legitimate place?
Responding to this rapidly deteriorating political climate, Jenny Curtis and her comrades were largely on their own. They had become ‘post-student people’. That is to say, having developed their politics inside Nusas, they now found themselves older than and also intellectually and emotionally beyond the confines of campus politics. The interaction with the Black Consciousness Movement and the repressive tactics of the state had forced these young white people to reject liberalism, and to radicalise in various ways. At the same time, the even heavier repression of the 1960s meant that Curtis's generation was more or less entirely cut off from previous generations of struggle. As Glenn Moss described it, ‘there was very little contact with the past because those who had been involved in the past were either in jail, or banned, or house arrested, or dead, or in exile’. For Barbara Hogan, this separation from older activists meant that ‘we weren't given the givens’. In other words, the process of radicalisation that this group of young people experienced happened largely without the possibility of being mentored, or sculpted, into accepting the so-called ‘correct line’. Cut adrift from the major African nationalist organisations and the Communist Party, this group, says Hogan, ‘developed our own homespun brand of what it means to be a Marxist in South Africa.
Barbara Hogan estimated that ‘a hundred or more’ people were detained during her time.
This was significant: it was African, it was Indian, it was coloured and it was whites; quite a lot of whites. It was firstly an indication that there was a big nonracial something happening, but secondly that whites were beginning to identify with the ANC … certainly they also thought that they really had captured the entire leadership of this post-1976 mass movement that was Congress aligned. They were very cocksure of themselves. They were stupid. In the early phase of my interrogation, they were bragging to me that there would be van loads of us standing trial, the biggest treason trial, much bigger than the ‘56 treason trial. And they were cock-ahoop. They really thought they’d cracked it. When they weren't able to establish the evidence that would stand up (even in a prejudiced apartheid court) of the linkages between the ANC and these activists, the organisational linkages, suddenly their case looked a whole lot weaker.
Contrary to what the security police might have imagined at the time, the political climate among young opponents of apartheid in the late 1970s was fluid, contested and experimental. Devan Pillay, a young man raised in East London, classified racially as Indian, and studying at Rhodes University, found himself right in the middle of all of these different political trajectories. Along with his friend Lindy Harris and a white lecturer at Rhodes named Guy Berger, Pillay was part of a reading group, which had been organised with the explicit goal of understanding the ANC and Marxism more deeply. At the same time, Pillay had some contact with people who were active in the ANC underground, including Mandla Gxanyana, and a distant relative of his, whom the ANC sent to recruit Pillay. In other words, according to Pillay, ‘I was sort of ready to be recruited into a political project … But I wasn't yet recruited.’
In the mountainous areas of south-western Uganda, peasant miners are characterized as people who ‘work for the stomach’ and pursue an unsustainable activity: extracting alluvial gold with artisanal technology. After days of hard work in the mines, they allegedly squander their money on alcohol and sex. A common way of disapproving of these miners’ behaviour is to compare them to lake fishers (ababariya). By focusing on the ababariya narrative as an entry point into the lifeways of miners, and the relationship between mining and fishing and agriculture, we explore how peasant miners think about a sustainable life. Our argument is that the ababariya can be instrumental in the reproduction and legitimization of existing social and economic inequalities. We therefore examine the contexts that frame the ababariya narrative and the inequalities that it legitimizes. This leads us to reflect on whether this narrative on ‘excessive behaviours’ reveals something about an alternative way of thinking about economy and social relationships based on abundance rather than scarcity.
The proliferating Sino-US peer competition is increasingly impacting Latin American states and triggering uncertainty. As China’s expanding influence in the region challenges longstanding US supremacy in the western hemisphere and reshapes the strategic calculus for regional states, hedging behaviour becomes increasingly opportune. This most notably includes Brazil, the largest state in Latin America both politically and economically, whose hedging behaviour oscillated between governments, a characteristic normally associated with states facing higher systemic pressures. As such, how does the Sino-US peer competition impact Brazil’s hedging strategy? And why do coping behaviours differ on various indices between different administrations, from Lula to Bolsonaro? Findings suggest that depending on whether the incumbent government was left- or right-wing, Brazil’s hedge was recalibrated as either pro- or anti-US regional supremacy.
The commission of inquiry that was convened by the IUEF in order to investigate Williamson's espionage was comprised of an international group of representatives from different governments. In addition to John Wilson, who had been the information officer at the IUEF office in London, the commissioners were:
Mr. Sundie Kazunga, Special Assistant to the President, Zambia; Mr. Bertil Zachrisson, former Minister of Education and at present M.P., Sweden; and Mr. David MacDonald, former secretary of State and Minister of Communications and M.P., Canada.
The commission met on three separate occasions, between April and June of 1980, in Geneva, London, Lusaka and Gaborone. In addition to reading through whatever files were still held by the IUEF (as Williamson had absconded with a large pile of key documents) the commission also heard testimony from more than 20 different people, including staff of the IUEF, recipients of IUEF funding and representatives from the ANC (Mac Maharaj, Thabo Mbeki and Thomas Nkobi), as well as representatives from Zanu. Arthur McGiven, the BOSS officer who initially exposed Williamson, also gave testimony.
The principal function of the commission of inquiry was to assess ‘the extent of damage done to the organization, to the recipients of IUEF assistance, and to IUEF relations with other organizations’ as a result of Williamson's infiltration. The commission was concerned not only with the specifics of what Williamson had done (or intended to do), it also sought to probe more deeply into the structural problems within the IUEF, which (a) allowed the organisation to be infiltrated in the first place and (b) allowed a significant portion of well-meaning funds to be diverted and misused by the South African security services. The commission was influenced strongly by the stated concerns of the donors who provided funding for the IUEF. Crucially, since a great deal of the funding for the IUEF came from European governments, there was a concern that widespread distrust of the IUEF as a result of Williamson's infiltration would have a negative impact on all attempts to fund the anti-apartheid movement. ‘This was a clear and present danger judging by the various reports appearing in the donor countries.’
The interwar period saw fitful attempts by British, American, French, and Russian interests to secure oil concessions for Iran’s northern provinces, in a region traditionally perceived as a Russian sphere of interest. Drawing on corporate as well as familiar state archives, this article argues that the contest over concessions in this region served political more than narrowly economic agendas. Although this contest was convoluted, repetitive, and ultimately inconclusive, it sheds light on the emergence of a world oil cartel, as well as the relations between oil-producing and oil-consuming countries before World War II. This article challenges familiar state-centered narratives of oil diplomacy and critiques the tendency to view the history of Iranian oil as one of all-out plunder by Britain and the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. It outlines the political as well as intellectual obstacles—obstacles not only to achieving a more equitable allocation of Pahlavi Iran’s oil wealth prior to Mossadegh’s 1951 nationalization, but to conceptualizing what such an equitable allocation might have looked like.
This study is the first to explore the creation of the Tribunaux repressifs indigènes (Native repressive tribunals, TRIs), a novel jurisdiction of exception promulgated at the turn of the twentieth century in colonial Algeria. The TRIs were the product of several intersecting historical processes that took shape over the last quarter of the nineteenth century: first, this period witnessed intense settler security panics marked by genuine anxiety that Algeria might succumb to uncontrollable banditry and mass uprisings. During this same period, colonial “sciences” couched in burgeoning race theory intersected with juridical knowledge-production to form a new legal discourse on assimilation. The TRIs were advanced using this new grammar of race-bound legal relativism, reimagined as consistent with republican universalism. This ascendant juridical epistème dovetailed with debates over the both indeterminate and overdetermined nature of sovereignty in Algeria, whose land was juridically and administratively “Frenchified,” yet whose Muslim (by definition non-citizen) colonial subjects remained excluded from access to civil rights or protections. A doctrine of racialized exception was invented and codified in the unfolding of an impassioned juristic and public debate. The TRIs were legitimized—and endured—thanks to a doctrinal rationale applied retroactively: that for Muslim colonized subjects, exception was the rule.