Art and research are connected in three distinct ways in the years surrounding the turn of the twenty-first century. Artists are compared to researchers in terms of the methodology they use and the themes they investigate, and artworks visually resemble research activities or research results. During this period there is also a significant increase in studio-based PhD programmes, which means that artists literally become academic researchers, incorporating their practices within the broader university system. The chapter consider the overt and implied assumptions involved in comparing the artist to a researcher. Artists’ use of text and their interest in marginal and mystical figures are analysed through specific works by Tacita Dean, Simon Starling and Joachim Koester. They are shown to mobilise a notion of historical research in part driven by chance, serendipity and a kind of mystical connection to historical figures or events, while also continuously pointing out that they are themselves unreliable narrators or that the facts they deal with are uncertain. The chapter ends with a discussion of artworks that use the index and footnote as forms of academic research and referentiality.

After the First World War, the rights of colonial subjects remained limited and the declarations of the victorious empires towards further self-government remained largely unfulfilled. However, the question of political and social rights remained and was a constant threat to the legitimacy of imperial government and the stability of the new international order. The chapter analyses the new wave of humanitarian internationalism emanating from the peace settlement in 1919–20 in the light of pressure groups for imperial reform of labour and welfare systems. It argues that the First World War reshuffled international labour regimes so fundamentally that one key aim of humanitarian activism since 1917 was to find international mechanisms for the protection of labourers. The problems of forced labour and slavery in the British Empire, which had led to massive draft riots in Egypt in 1918, provide a particularly salient example. They placed the relationship between social rights, imperial trust, and legitimacy of governance at the heart of discourses on humanitarianism and progressive imperial reform until the establishment of the Temporary Slavery Committee in 1923–24. Focusing on the British Empire and its entangled relations with the League of Nations, the International Labour Office, and prominent international organisations, the chapter argues that international humanitarianism can serve both as a prism to evaluate the changing nature of imperial governance and as a test case for humanitarian rhetoric towards constructing a new world order out of the First World War.

June Jordan’s simultaneously poignant lament and re-assertion of asserting a (gendered) self into existence in Poem about my Rights is a reminder of affect’s ideological and political capacity. This function of affect to both interrupt and disrupt hegemonies of inequalities calls attention to its constructive deployment in #MeToo within the South African context. And yet, how particular affective attachments and identifications are governed from within – in ways that not only reproduce heteronormative hegemonies, but in effect, let power off the hook – cannot be ignored. The chapter is concerned with these con(de)structive roles in the deployment of certain affect-positions that are selectively attached to particular bodies within the South African context. For example, how homophobic fury as well as embodied (gendered) pain becomes functional in sustaining passionate attachments and divisions in the fight against gender-based violence. Negation of trans, lesbian and gay experiences of gender violence from within some spaces of the #MeToo movement within this context thus deploys affective technologies of governance that do the work of erasure through indictment. The chapter makes these arguments of the con(de)structive capacity of affective activism with the use of case examples from South Africa. These modes of affective technologies must be grappled with if we are to fully engage the broader governmental logics of gendered violence in society.

Bailey’s prominence in anthropology reflects the unique capacity he had to seamlessly integrate good ethnography with coherent theory. He accomplished this by having a clear and flexible theory of social interaction, a toolkit of methods for synthesizing his findings, and an ability to transform his mind’s eye understandings of social interactions into text. This is no mean feat. To situate Bailey’s contributions, we describe and appraise the growth of the Manchester School of Anthropology under Max Gluckman and the development of the extended case study method. We then interrogate the two anthropological lives of Bailey ‒ one in India and England, the other in the USA, where his growing interest in adapting cognitive anthropology to his own work on leadership styles blossomed. We explore how, through Bailey’s lens, people behave as moral actors adhering to cultural practices signifying normative values, while at the same time being motivated by instrumental and desired personal ends. This is the basic paradigm for everyday life in Bailey’s Bisipara; and it appears to be the basic paradigm for everyday life most anywhere in the world. The introduction concludes with an overview of the 16 chapters that make up this volume. The chapters were written by anthropologists who have been strongly influenced by Bailey (many are either former students or colleagues). The diversity of the chapters, in content and approach, attest to Bailey’s enduring legacy as anthropology moves forward.

In South Africa, over 2,500 women aged 14 years and older are killed each year. Fewer than 20 per cent of these femicides are ever reported on in the press. The rape and murder of 17-year-old Anene Booysen, in February 2013, was one of the most-reported femicide stories that year, appearing in nearly 700 local news reports. Anene’s murder, although brutal, was not unique in its violence. Why, then, did the incident draw so much, and such intense, media attention? The answer to this lies in news coverage of two other femicides: the gang rape and murder of Indian student Jyoti Singh in Delhi, in December 2012; and the shooting of South African model Reeva Steenkamp by her celebrity sportsman boyfriend, in February 2013. While the Delhi rape-homicide amplified coverage of Anene’s death because of similarities in the attacks, the murder of Reeva Steenkamp intensified media coverage of Anene Booysen because of the differences between the victims. A study of the intersecting media coverage of these three cases reveals that certain global occurrences can play a significant role in boosting the visibility of local events, magnifying or multiplying the perceived importance of incidents that might otherwise have gone relatively unnoticed.

Chapter 6 argues while geographical distance is not central for driving humanitarianism, neither is the strange distant other. Rather, a vast amount of financial assistance flows along kinship networks. Remittances from migrant workers to their families are well documented. In contrast, overseas aid given through taxpayers or private donors, is not meant to be bound by kinship ties. This would run counter to the aspiration of impartiality that underpins institutionalised humanitarianism. In practice, everyday humanitarians do precisely this: crafting kin relations with the people they support. Indeed, such partial relations are central to their way of operating. This is because kinship, other that friendship, does not demand, or imply equality. For professional aid workers who feel alienated by aid bureaucracy, ‘adopting’ a young person allows them to be embedded locally in a way difficult to achieve otherwise. For everyday humanitarians, both Cambodians and foreigners, making others into kin creates social relations which entail responsibilities. They allow for inequality to be accommodated, while calling for the provision of assistance. This can take the form of sponsoring an adopted son or daughter through school; supporting a Cambodian family that they have become part of; or conceiving a group of children at an after-school club as one’s family. Such humanitarian kinship runs counter to the principle of impartiality. What motivates humanitarian support is the creation of partiality through kinship ties. Being partial provides a rationale for whom to support, solving the problem of resource allocation posed by the limited-ness of their efforts.

This chapter argues that the partition of British India in 1947 remains an ‘unfinished’ process. The debates and issues that led to the partition continue to create tensions between the communities. The chapter opens by examining the territorial disputes that emerged due to the partition of British India. While some of the territorial issues have been resolved, Jammu and Kashmir remain a bone of contention between India and Pakistan. The chapter also addresses the citizenship debates that surfaced in India following partition. Finally, the chapter analyses the political positions and social status of the minorities in India, Bangladesh and Pakistan.

This chapter outlines some of the key theories and disciplinary approaches in spatial scholarship. The first section of the chapter sketches out some of the most important disciplinary and theoretical influences in the development of spatially minded research: archaeology, art history, geography and cultural history. The second section of the chapter turns to exciting new directions in spatial histories. Here readers will learn more about attempts at rematerialisation urban space and the use of GIS (geographical information systems). As at all other points in the guide, case studies, endnotes and recommended reading will help readers to undertake further reading of their own.

In the middle of the eighteenth century, writers on international law began to propound where to seek the general law of neutrality. The result was the emergence of three rival schools of thought purporting to explain the law of neutrality. The three schools are the conflict-of-rights theory, code-of-conduct school, and community-interest school. Several important features of the school of thought should be carefully noted. One is its general stress on rights rather than duties, in practice, rather more on the rights of belligerents than of neutrals. Another fundamental feature of this approach is that neither the neutrals' nor the belligerents' rights are rooted in the law of war per se. Both are derived instead from general principles of international law. Two areas will serve to give a favour of coherent schools' divergent approaches: contraband and blockade.

The history of Great War humanitarianism is generally written as a success story. Unprecedented suffering evoked an equally unprecedented humanitarian response, which provided comfort to millions of war sufferers and shaped humanitarian practice for decades to come. Few people and endeavours seem to embody this success story like the American businessman Herbert Hoover and his Commission for Relief in Belgium, which helped victual eleven million civilians in Belgium and northern France from 1914 to 1919. And yet, next to these celebrated humanitarian triumphs stands a neglected history of humanitarian defeats. The Commission for Relief in Poland, or, more precisely, the fact that it never came into being, is among the most striking of these failures. This chapter traces American, including Hoover’s, efforts to establish a Commission for Relief in Poland from 1915 onward and explores why they ultimately failed to establish an effective aid programme on behalf of the German-occupied country. By comparing the successful negotiations for a ‘humanitarian corridor’ into German-occupied Belgium with the frustrated efforts to gain access to Poland, the chapter shows how great power interests demarcated humanitarian action in the era of the Great War while also emphasising the importance of global public opinion to modern humanitarianism. In all, the chapter challenges the way historians write the history of Great War humanitarianism and calls for more attention to humanitarian failures.

The conclusion first discusses the progress of China’s application for GATT membership in 1989. It then summarises the arguments of the book from global, imperial, and diplomatic perspectives. It assesses the role of Britain in China’s reforms and globalisation, and the extent to which Deng Xiaoping – and Thatcher – committed to the different facets of globalisation, including economics, democracy, and migration. It summarises how Hong Kong’s ‘long decolonisation’ since the 1960s and its subsequent emergence as a ‘global city’ impacted on the 1982–84 negotiations. The reasons why Thatcher was ‘for (re)turning’ regarding Hong Kong’s future lay in her conviction in free-market capitalism, which was guaranteed in the Sino-British Joint Declaration and then the Basic Law. Finally, the chapter evaluates the success and failure of Thatcher’s diplomacy of ‘educating’ China. While Thatcher’s aspirations for ‘Global Britain’ turned out to be unrealistic and her responses to the Tiananmen crisis were likened to ‘kowtowing’ to China by her critics, a diplomacy of engagement and negotiation did allow Britain to ‘punch above its weight’ over Hong Kong and global issues.