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Generative AI systems threaten to usurp the market for human press and media productions. To enable journalists to act as ‘watchdogs’, highlight societal problems, and prompt necessary changes, remuneration rules should offer support for quality journalistic work by humans. In the EU, the rights reservation option following from Article 4(3) of the 2019 Directive on Copyright in the Digital Single Market – now flanked by the provisions of the AI Act – could support a remuneration system focusing on the use of human journalistic content for AI training. While AI training income would benefit media companies that own large repertoires of journalistic work, individual journalists might not receive an appropriate revenue share. This chapter suggests introducing a general output-based payment obligation on all providers and users of generative AI systems involved in media productions: both companies offering generative AI systems and companies using these systems in the media sector. Mandatory collective rights management could ensure payment directly to individual journalists, as in the repartitioning schemes of collecting societies. The remuneration could also finance funds that improve journalists’ working and living conditions. When distributing AI remuneration, social and cultural institutions could prioritise public interest journalism as a countermeasure to AI-generated misinformation and disinformation.
On November 1 [1984], when we toured the Lajpat Nagar area we found the police conspicuous by their absence while Sikh shops were being set on fire and lootedâ¦. The only sign of police presence was a police jeep, which obstructed a peace procession brought out by a few concerned citizens.
—Excerpt from the report Who Are the Guilty? published jointly by the PUDR and the PUCL (PUDR and PUCL 1984, emphasis mine)
In early 1997, a group of 15 citizens in Andhra Pradesh came together to form the Committee of Concerned Citizens in order to attempt to reflect the voice of a large democratic section of society that had been denied any role in the ongoing conflict between the state and the ‘Revolutionary’ parties.
—Excerpt from the booklet Know PUCL (PUCL 1988, emphasis mine)
The two excerpts cited above are just two examples among many instances where civil liberties activists have identified and positioned themselves as concerned citizens. For more than four decades, a segment of middleclass activists in India has adopted this self-identification, which is an important aspect of the ongoing normative contestation surrounding the notion of good citizenship. Despite its significance, the history, specificity and practice of this self-identification remain underexplored. This chapter examines concerned citizenship as an urban, middle-class, civil-societybased form of allyship, which has facilitated a distinct mode of collective action within the Indian socio-political landscape.
The Brazilian judicial system, notable for its extensive scope and intricate structure, grapples with significant operational challenges, including a vast backlog of cases and prolonged resolution times. Addressing these issues calls for innovative approaches, with the integration of artificial intelligence (AI) emerging as a viable solution. This chapter investigates the integration of AI within the Brazilian judiciary, providing an analysis of its implementation, challenges, and outcomes. The chapter begins by outlining the complexities of the Brazilian judiciary and the initial steps towards AI integration, with initiatives that have paved the way for various AI applications, from predictive analytics to natural language processing, aimed at improving decision-making and case management. Key case studies are examined to highlight AI’s practical benefits and limitations in the judiciary. Notable projects demonstrate improvements in efficiency and accuracy. However, they also underscore the ongoing challenges related to interoperability, data privacy, and ethical considerations. In conclusion, the chapter reflects on the future of AI in the Brazilian judiciary, emphasising the need for strategic planning, robust governance, and continuous evaluation to ensure that AI integration not only enhances efficiency but also upholds justice and fairness.
Ressentiment has been invoked to explain a range of political phenomena, including authoritarian populism, identity-based antagonisms on both the left and right, incel ideology, the manosphere and fanatical movements. But what, exactly, is ressentiment? Is it an emotion, an evaluative stance or something else entirely? I argue that ressentiment is an emotional mechanism that transforms painful feelings of powerlessness, shame and inferiority into hostile, retaliatory emotions directed at others. I analyse the structure of this process, showing how ressentiment alters one’s evaluative outlook, sustains particular kinds of narratives, reshapes identity and fosters lasting forms of political antagonism. Ressentiment is seductive because it promises relief from self-directed pain by offering targets for blame; and it is sticky because its narratives create belonging and bolster self-worth. Understanding ressentiment in these terms reveals how seemingly intractable political hostilities can arise not from reasoned disagreement, but from deeper affective wounds.
The archaeology of Byzantium is the archaeology of an empire whose chronological bounds, broadly speaking, spanned the fourth through fifteenth century CE. The authors whose works are collected in this handbook examine methods and practice of Byzantine archaeology as well as the materials typically encountered in artifacts produced within the imperial boundaries. Byzantine archaeology is still a relatively young discipline, and, while vast in its scope and ambition, work in the field tends to be challenging to access. This volume aims to remedy this situation by providing current views of the nature of Byzantine archaeology, exploring crucial studies which elucidate salient features of the empire’s people, as well offering glimpses of how things may develop in the near future.
The chapter begins with the story of football in post-communist Hungary, where populist Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, whose idol was Ferenc Puskás, both traded on and rejected the country’s proud footballing past under communism. The lens is then widened to examine – via Red Star Belgrade’s victory in the 1991 European Cup final and the parallel bloody collapse of Yugoslavia – football’s role at the end of the Cold War, during a decade, the 1990s, in which both global politics and global football were radically transformed by the uncontested ascendancy of capitalism. The conclusion also looks at the afterlives of some of the key figures from the ten chapters and reflects on the book’s key themes. It finishes by bringing the story of football, politics and war into the twenty-first century, via the ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine.