Chapter 3 focuses on liberty and servitude, and the way in which these conditions – defined in Roman law in terms of the status of individual persons – are predicated of collective bodies described as civitates and populi in Roman political philosophy. Machiavelli’s relationship to this particular conception of liberty has been at the centre of much recent literature on classical, early modern, and contemporary republicanism, but his theory of freedom requires closer scrutiny, not least because of its relationship to a line of thinking about popular self-government which had been used by humanists to articulate a theory of popular sovereignty from the late fourteenth to the early sixteenth century in Renaissance Florence. This chapter shows how the key concepts of this thesis come from Cicero’s philosophy, which conveys to the humanists an influential account of how to constitute the entity which he calls the populus as the ultimate bearer of public authority. Cicero’s view of ‘the people’ as the master of its own affairs informs his definition of the res publica as res populi – literally, a ‘thing of the people’ – and this chapter shows how it informs the very basis of the classical republican tradition which Machiavelli inherits and reworks.

The individual experiences of the post-war European plebiscites varied; however, in all cases the commissions organising them faced challenges in ensuring fair votes with limited resources and entrenched local administrations, something exacerbated by the American rejection of the peace settlement and consequent termination of involvement in its plebiscites. The traumatic plebiscite in Upper Silesia left the deepest impression, and during the Lausanne Conference of 1922–1923, the plebiscite was rejected by the British statesmen leading the negotiations with the new Turkish republic, with compulsory population transfer advocated instead. For her part, Sarah Wambaugh observed what she saw as a better way to conduct international relations when she briefly worked in the secretariat of the League of Nations. Following this Wambaugh would visit all of the plebiscite zones soon after they were held and conclude that future plebiscites needed to be conducted along more rigorous scientific lines.

Chapter 2 opens the study of free speech in a globally networked digital environment by clarifying the meaning of the term ‘constitution’. Under the heading of transnational constitutionalism, intense discussions have taken place in recent years about constitutional thinking that seeks to break free from statehood and formalism. The question of the constitutional subject is of great importance here. In the twenty-first century, nation-states are still the primary constitutional actors, as they have been since the revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The contemporary era has also witnessed the emergence of transnational corporations, which have developed into powerful players within a globalised economy. As telecom service providers, equipment manufacturers, or platform operators, they have a particularly significant influence on the conditions governing freedom of expression. According to Gunther Teubner, transnational corporations should be conceived of as constitutional subjects. But what does this mean on the theoretical and practical levels? How can factual developments on the Internet be related to processes of producing constitutional norms? How should the relationship between state-centred and societal constitutional legitimacy be conceptualised? These questions are addressed within the framework of transnational legal theory.

The Coda foregrounds the literary implications of the book’s argument by reflecting on the idea of the Indian Ocean as a comparative literary space. Through an example from Yvonne Owuor’s The Dragonfly Sea (2019), it illustrates a comparative practice wherein the historical, the geopolitical, and the literary come together. The mutual imbrication of the geopolitical and the literary in contemporary Afro-Asian fiction generates the Indian Ocean as a space of comparison where historical relationalities become legible within the exigencies of the present.

The choice to confront racial injustice was available to the whole charitable humanitarian sector. In 1969, the World Council of Churches launched the Programme to Combat Racism. This attempted to mobilise the Churches against all forms of racism and was accompanied by a Special Fund to support those who ‘combat racism, rather than welfare organisations that alleviate the effects of racism.’ As an offshoot of the Council, Christian Aid was well placed to take up the cause. However, it and the other agencies did not do so during the 1970s, preferring to divert their radical energies towards liberation theology and the conscientisation movement emanating from Latin America rather than the Black Consciousness Movement in Southern Africa. Fearful of the regulations of the Charity Commissioners and the effects on fundraising among their more conservative supporters, the charities remained largely silent on race until the 1980s. Instead, they embraced the ‘basic needs’ agenda of the non-aligned movement and the New International Economic Order. It took the agencies beyond charity, but it also brought it closer to the agendas of the official development industry such as the World Bank.

This chapter considers the afterlives of slavery in the Indian Ocean through Mauritian writer Shenaz Patel’s Le silence des Chagos (2005), about the expulsion of the inhabitants of the Chagos archipelago from their islands in the wake of late twentieth-century Indian Ocean militarization. Images and narratives circulating in the global media often portray the suffering of Chagossians as a human rights violation, abstracting the event from the particular legacies of slavery, colonialism, and anti-Blackness that continue to weigh on the displaced community. By contrast, Le silence des Chagos tells the story of their expulsion by adapting Chagossians’ testimonies into a novelistic form. Patel’s testimonial fiction constructs a repository of images that enables a sensory and subjective experience of the past. As a composite of these images, the exilic consciousness uncovers Chagossians’ most recent experiences of exile as an extension of the racialized violence in the past. The novel remaps the Indian Ocean enabling a position to critique geopolitical networks of power in the region and identify convergences with Black diasporic accounts of Atlantic crossings.

Any proper investigation of Machiavelli’s conceptualization of the state has to commence where his own investigation begins: with his definition of what states are. Accordingly, this chapter elucidates the particular theory of definition which informs Machiavelli’s theory of lo stato. Machiavelli is continually preoccupied with what we ‘call’ things – or how we ‘nominate’ them, as he sometimes puts it. These are matters of definition in a technical sense, pursued according to a set of argumentative procedures derived from the pages of the ancient Roman rhetorical theorists Cicero and Quintilian. This chapter reconstructs their theory of definition, showing how they classify things in rhetorical argument, before turning to illustrate the theory in action in Roman antiquity by examining how the concept of the civitas – the crucially important political noun used in classical Latin to denote ‘the city’, ‘city-state’, or ‘citizenry’ – is handled in the writings of Cicero, Seneca, and Augustine. The second section of the chapter analyses the reception of this theory and its application to the idea of the civitas in medieval and Renaissance political culture in order to explain how and why Machiavelli comes to rely upon it.

Robin Hogarth (*1942) has been a research professor at the Department of Economics and Business at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra in Barcelona since early 2000. He came to Barcelona as a visiting professor from the Graduate School of Business at the University of Chicago (now the Booth School of Business), where he held various positions, most notably the director of the Center for Decision Research (1983–1993) and Wallace W. Booth Professor of Behavioral Science. From early on in his career, Hogarth has been concerned not only with economics but with crossing disciplinary boundaries to study human behavior, an approach that has characterized his research ever since. In 1972, he earned his PhD at Chicago under the supervision of the American psychologist Hillel J. Einhorn, placing his research focus on psychology and statistics. In his various positions at Chicago, he thereafter focused his research largely on studying processes and judgments behind human decision-making in microeconomics and business, laying the ground for a research program in what has been called Behavioral Decision Theory together with Einhorn, a program concerned with evaluating and developing ways for improving behavior but on the basis of empirically studying the mechanisms behind judgment and choice (e.g., Einhorn/Hogarth 1981).

The Left has long critiqued charity’s role in the alleviation of poverty. In the immediate post-war years, the Labour Party’s position was strongly influenced by Harold Wilson who was closely associated with War on Want, the ‘labour movement’s charity’. As Prime Minister, he brought into office an attitude that saw the real solution to the relief of poverty abroad to be state planning and the massive coordination of all local and national efforts through international government. The Ministry for Overseas Development, launched in 1965, looked to the UN agencies, to technical assistance programmes, to the creation of an International Development Agency. Yet within a few years, the ministers recognised that the humanitarian charities had a positive role to play. The Labour Party embraced charity as an ‘alternative’ provider of aid, initiating the Joint Funding Scheme in 1975 in which official funds were channelled through the charities. The Labour government embraced charity as a partner in development, helping to rethink state and voluntary sector relations more generally, and well before more ideologically driven pressures were placed on the social democratic welfare state.

The argument which I have been advancing throughout this book is that we should properly regard Machiavelli as a philosopher of the state. Although I hope that the investigation has already brought to light sufficient evidence to sustain this case, I should like to close it by returning to summarize very briefly two main reasons why the body of thinking about lo stato which he progressively articulates from Il Principe to the Discorsi qualifies him as such.

Describes the major research project on stagflation led by Meade from 1978 to 1987 and his concurrent activities, especially his involvement with the new Social Democratic Party.

Describes undergraduate education and student activities.

The First World War generated multiple state and non-state humanitarian replies, encompassing not only material and financial donations, but also different forms of voluntary work. In colonial India, one of these relief activities was the formation and working of the ambulance corps. Staffed with (Indian) volunteers, the corps assisted wounded and sick soldiers of the British Indian Army in Great Britain, Mesopotamia and India. Corps members worked closely with, or as part of, the military. Their duties not only included the transportation of war victims but also comprised other tasks, such as nursing them, dressing their wounds, providing medical care as doctors, and interpreting and cooking for them. The male volunteers came from all over India, and depending on the nature of the corps, their religious, caste, educational and class backgrounds varied substantially.

Sources suggest that at least four Indian volunteer ambulance initiatives existed: the Indian Field Ambulance Training Corps (IFATC), the Indian Branch of the St. John Ambulance Association (ISJAA), the Bengal Ambulance Corps (BAC) and the Benares Ambulance Transport Corps. In Chapter 1 we have already read about the work of the ISJAA. This chapter sets out to analyse the Indian Field Ambulance Training Corps. Established in Britain in autumn 1914, the unit was, as far as I know, the only relief initiative organised by colonial subjects back in the metropole during the war. This does not mean that it was the only humanitarian endeavour organised by non-Westerners.

Analysing fascism in India has been rather unnecessarily polarized, both by Marxist approaches overemphasizing economic causality and by non-Marxist approaches overemphasizing ideology, politics, organizational aspects, and social psychology.1 This difference is important in the historical condition and context in which an analysis of the current regime in India is being made. Whereas Antonio Gramsci defined fascism on an international scale as ‘an attempt to resolve problems of production and exchange with machine-guns and pistol shots’, in India, the rise of an authoritarian regime with fascist tendencies is certainly not a result of the nation being caught up in an international war. It could be more significant to examine the social reality that lends consent to the authoritarian model of politics and governance and how the forms in which it surfaces exhibit fascist tendencies (Gramsci 1984).2 The fascist regimes during the Second World War were different from the post-war ones, specifically with reference to the experience of developing nations like India. In this context, the distinction between fascist movements and fascist regimes is important, and there seems to have been a right-wing extremist movement pushing for the rise of a regime in India (Dimitrov 1984; Reich 1980; Koves and Mazumdar 2005). If Narendra Modi's regime cannot be characterized as a fascist regime, it certainly has been an authoritarian one with fascist tendencies, and what needs to be explained is how such a regime manages to manufacture popular consent.