This paper introduces the term “Open Constitution” as a crucial element for fostering an “Open Society.” It explores the nature and adaptability of constitutions, emphasizing the balance between stability and the necessity for change. Specifically, it examines Iran’s 1906 and 1979 constitutions, highlighting their initial lack of clear amendment procedures and the subsequent modifications aimed at addressing this issue. The 1906 Constitution did not establish a clear amendment process, which was only partially rectified in 1949. Similarly, the 1979 Constitution remained silent on amendments until Article 177 was added during its 1989 revision, outlining a heavily controlled revision process. Both constitutions contain principles deemed unchangeable; however, historical precedents indicate that such provisions are not immune to alteration. The paper concludes that the rigidity of these constitutions, coupled with the absence of practical mechanisms for public or specialized input, poses a risk to political stability and may lead to revolutionary changes. It argues that these constitutions, due to their stringent emphasis on stability and resistance to public demands for change, are inherently self-destructive.

Dans les années 1710, sous la pression d’une guerre en cours, Charles XII, le roi absolu de Suède, met en oeuvre une série de mesures fiscales et monétaires qui remettent en question les privilèges traditionnels et impliquent de profondes transformations sociales. La fiscalité est rendue progressive et le crédit de plus en plus important afin de financer la guerre. Les liquidités sont radicalement augmentées, notamment au moyen de la mise en circulation d’une grande quantité de pièces de monnaie fiduciaire. La mort de Charles XII, en novembre 1718, entraîne une réaction hostile à ses politiques militaires. Les mesures fiscales et monétaires sont abolies, provoquant le renversement de l’absolutisme royal ainsi qu’une défaillance partielle de l’État. Cet article s’organise en deux parties. Dans la première, nous cherchons à vérifier l’hypothèse selon laquelle la politique militaire et les mesures monétaires du régime de Charles XII ont conduit à une redistribution des ressources dans la société suédoise, en particulier dans les années 1715-1718. Dans la seconde partie, nous analysons la façon dont les acteurs politiques suédois ont réagi à ces changements socio-économiques entre le décès de Charles XII et le défaut de paiement de 1719. Nos résultats montrent que la monnaie fiduciaire imprégna l’économie et atteint l’ensemble des groupes sociaux, allant même, dans certains endroits, jusqu’à en bouleverser les hiérarchies en vigueur. Les paysans, parmi d’autres groupes de rang inférieur, ont été particulièrement affectés par le défaut de paiement partiel, car ils ont été en grande partie privés de leurs actifs monétaires.

What is the difference between a philosophy and an ideology? Would simply observing some aspect of human experience count as ideology? No. But suppose we try to explain and interpret what we have seen. Now, we enter the neighborhood of what gets called ideology. What else does it take to sort out what should be called ideological? And why would a worldview sometimes turn into an echo chamber, a cocoon of confirmation bias that fosters false consciousness?

In 1768, Mohegan minister Samson Occom made a case for why he was a heathen. Shortly before Occom departed for London to raise funds for Moors Indian Charity School, ministers and fellow missionaries spread rumors doubting whether Occom had truly converted from “heathenism” to Christianity. Occom responded by drafting an autobiography defending his conversion. He cast his Mohegan upbringing as heathenism from which he escaped into his newfound Christian identity: “I was born a Heathen and Brought up in Heathenism, till I was between 16 & 17 years of age. . .[My parents] strictly maintained and followed in their heathenish ways, customs & religion, though there were some preaching among them.” However, these three mentions of heathenism in the opening were the only times the term appeared. Throughout the manuscript, he subtly transitioned to the term “Indian.” Occom then spent the rest of the manuscript highlighting his unfair treatment in the hands of his peers: he was underpaid compared to White missionaries and he was labeled an ineffective educator of Mohegan children. He closed the account attributing his failures to the fact that he was “a poor Indian.” The final line read, “I can't help that God has made me so; I did not make myself so.” It was hard for Occom disentangle his conversion from the possibility that he was always and already a heathen.

In a “mixed bag” 2023-2024 session, the U.S. Supreme Court issued a series of decisions both favorable and antithetical to public health and safety. Taking on tough constitutional issues implicating gun control, misinformation, and homelessness, the Court also avoided substantive reviews in favor of procedural dismissals in key cases involving reproductive rights and government censorship.

This article investigates memories of the Cold War era in Thailand, through online practices on Facebook pages administered by residents of a borderland province in the Northeast that was a key front line during the conflict. The possibilities for greater access to, and dissemination of, information afforded by digital media technologies have created a new environment for the production of shared knowledge about the past. However, on these pages, instead of converging plural memories, participatory online culture and the use of the language of memory have enabled the creation of distinct and separated memory spaces. This article calls attention in particular to what is silenced and absent in what people are sharing online. It argues that the deep-seated ethnic politics of the Cold War have an afterlife in Thai society—especially in the country's ‘margins’ where the conflict was most violent—that is reflected as much by what is not said as by what is said online.

Given the prevalence of hate ideology, a concerted, multipronged effort to combat it clearly seems in order. In this essay, I explore whether hate crime legislation is a permissible and advisable component of this effort. In particular, I consider whether it is morally permissible to impose enhanced punishments upon criminals who select their victims at least in part because of an animus toward members of the group to which the victim belongs. Would it be permissible to punish more severely a White supremacist who attacks a person only because she is Black, for instance, or an anti-Semitic thief who selects her victims at least in part because they are Jewish? After sketching a preliminary defense of this type of hate crime legislation, I note some potential concerns, including vexing questions about the likely effects of imposing such laws under the present, nonideal circumstances in the United States.

A literalist ecological approach to performance studies rematerializes theatre beyond a racist anthropocentricity of metaphorical representation and proposes a path to intersectional environmental justice. Escaped Alone (2016) by Caryl Churchill presents a horrifically accurate report of ecological harm. The Evening (2016) by Richard Maxwell and the New York City Players imagines an extinction of whiteness. Both productions propose new understandings of ecology through reconfiguring the theatrical conditions of representation.