Solidarity is generally emphasized as a social good, particularly by international lawyers keen to stress its integrative function for the international community. This chapter will explore the possibility that solidarity might, on the contrary, occasionally be unwelcome, understood as both objectively and subjectively undesirable. Solidarity constructs certain social bonds through “imaginaries of solidarity” (who one imagines oneself to be in solidarity with) in ways that may be problematic. The chapter will examine different sites of international solidarity, including the inter-state and the transnational. It will distinguish between solidarity that is unwelcome on account of its effects (when solidarity actually makes things worse), on account of who it is offered by (the “intuitu personae” of solidarity), and on account of the burden of gratitude it creates (as part of an economy of gift and counter-gift). Overall, the chapter will refocus attention away from obligations to provide solidarity in favor of a more nuanced appreciation that not all solidarity is equally opportune. It also hopes to be a contribution to understanding what might be welcome solidarity based on a renewed understanding of its non-welcome variant.

Transparency is increasingly promoted as a necessary step to achieve various social and environmental sustainability goals. And yet, the pervasive idea that more transparency leads to more sustainability relies on an assumption that the market can and will transform information about corporate activities into a positive sustainability outcome. Reflecting on Traidcraft Exchange’s “Who picked my tea?” campaign and some of the responses to it, this chapter uncovers some of the assumptions that motivate transparency initiatives and shows how these assumptions serve the interests of powerful actors such as corporations and their investors. In doing so, they reinforce an understanding of sustainability that rewards companies for doing little more than disclosing information they themselves have decided is appropriate to share.

The chapter asks how fertility was managed at home in early modern England. Conception and pregnancy were a source of fascination and gossip for elite and middling families, and were seen as having a direct relationship to the godliness of the family line. The stakes, therefore, were high and there was considerable pressure placed on newly married couples to announce that they were expecting shortly after marriage. Medical texts and records of medical practice reveal that men and women often altered their behaviours to ensure they were fertile and able to conceive. Despite this, previous histories have emphasised that early modern people thought only women could be infertile. Challenging this narrative, the chapter finds that although both men and women sought treatments to increase their fertility, male efforts were minimised in paperwork because it was perceived as especially embarrassing and emasculating to not conceive easily.

Organic certification programs aim to promote transparent economic, environmental, and social trade relationships as part of their social mission. Yet, these programs often produce forms of knowledge and accountability that, while more transparent for some groups, are less transparent for others. With a focus on the vanilla supply chain in Madagascar, I ethnographically examine interactions between smallholder vanilla farmers and organic certifying agents. I note how the organic certification process privileges certain practices as transparent, and thus desirable. These include written, quantifiable, and formalized representations of vanilla fields. This focus ignores or undermines local forms of transparency, which often rely on spoken, indirect, and informal market mechanisms. The forms of transparency favored by certification projects have economic consequences, as they open spaces for additional external actors – including certification agencies themselves – to capture profit and value from the vanilla market.

This chapter examines Northern Ireland’s literary culture from the 1930s to the 1960s, highlighting how writers identifying as ‘Irish’ engaged with British institutions like the Left Book Club (LBC) and the Workers’ Educational Association (WEA). This reflects the complex identities characterising Protestant identity before and after the Second World War. During this period, the Belfast and broader Ulster context of the ‘Progressive bookmen’ represented a vibrant yet overlooked literary environment, challenging the narrow perceptions of a bigoted provincial atmosphere.Louis MacNeice (1907–63) was the most prominent of the writers discussed, alongside other influential figures like John Boyd (1912–2002), W. R. ‘Bertie’ Rodgers (1909–69), and John Hewitt (1907–87). All were steeped in leftist thought and opposed the Ulster Unionist establishment. The passing of the Flags and Emblems Act of 1954, codifying British symbols, and the rising tide of Irish nationalism posed significant challenges.Despite this, these Protestant writers advanced their values in union halls, WEA classes, pubs, and media outlets. The chapter explores their connections to local publications, the Labour movement, the Spanish Civil War, nationalism, and the BBC. Ultimately, while the Northern Irish conflict overshadowed the Progressive Bookmen, this chapter highlights their rich literary heritage and complex identities.

Who is the audience for social criticism? What goals does it seek to achieve? How do we evaluate performances within this genre? These seemingly simple questions uncover complexities beyond the scope of a single essay, yet they frame the issues addressed here, particularly through the concept of ‘performance’. Social critics often adopt a self-consciously dissident voice, presenting themselves as lonely ‘outsiders’ to emphasise their stance. However, this identity is never straightforward; criticism inherently presupposes a community of potential allies, and every act of dissent simultaneously asserts an alternative authority. One might argue that within every ‘outsider’ lies an ‘insider’ trying to emerge, but this perspective risks solidifying rather than challenging existing categories.This phenomenon is particularly prominent in twentieth-century political writing, where there is a heightened focus on the systemic social and economic forces that reinforce conformity. However, conventional scholarly approaches often overlook the diverse literary expressions of this dynamic, favouring an analysis centred on propositional content. This view assumes that political writing comprises closely argued propositions aimed at securing agreement, dismissing non-propositional elements as decoration or distraction. This chapter’s aim is not to validate or dismiss the dissident voice but to explore the literary strategies that navigate its implicit logic.

Ireland showcases the full spectrum of policy triage outcomes, driven by varied institutional setups and organizational cultures. Independent regulators at the central level—the Environmental Protection Agency and the Pensions Authority — manage their tasks with minimal triage. Their status as independent agencies limits blame-shifting, while formal accountability frameworks and political clout help secure resources. Moreover, both agencies foster strong organizational cultures that emphasize collaboration and flexibility, enhancing their ability to absorb additional workloads without undermining core functions. By contrast, the Department of Social Protection exhibits moderate triage frequencies, mostly occurring during sudden workload spikes or seasonal surges. Although the organization’s integrated policy formulation and implementation model shields it from excessive blame-shifting, centralized budgetary controls can hinder its resource mobilization efforts. The National Parks and Wildlife Service, however, grapples with severe, routine triage, largely due to chronic underfunding, weak structural ties to its parent department, and a fragmented internal culture in combination with an increasing implementation load. Finally, Irish City and County Councils also face frequent triage, contending with uncapped policy accumulation yet limited authority to negotiate additional support.

This chapter explores the poetry of G. D. H. Cole (1889–1959) as a medium for expressing political ideas, highlighting his dual identity as a socialist intellectual and poet. While Cole is best remembered for promoting guild socialism and contributing to economic history and the Fabian Society, he also published poetry, which he saw as part of his political life. His early and middle-age works, including New Beginnings (1914) and The Crooked World (1933), reflect a serious literary approach, aspiring to integrate historical verse forms within socialist thought. Cole’s poetic output also embraced satire, with The Bolo Book (1921) parodying hymns and popular songs to critique political figures and issues humorously. This blend of literary and satirical genres allowed him to engage readers in socialist discourse through varied tones and forms. By examining both the poetry itself and its cultural reception, this chapter illuminates how Cole’s verse contributed to and reflected British socialist culture in the early twentieth century, offering insight into how poetry served as a vehicle for political engagement in his era.