In this essay, a response to an article by Patrick Parkinson, Shannon Gilreath disputes Parkinson’s claim that religiously motivated discrimination against transgender people should be the subject of special exceptions to prevailing antidiscrimination law, especially where the transgender person does not seek to conform to the traditional male/female gender binary. Gilreath maps the ways in which Parkinson’s proposal is an argument for biological superiority, which has been the rationalization for systematic and systemic social inferiority throughout history, including most notably in the contexts of race, gender, and sexuality oppression. In concluding that Parkinson’s proposal is little more than a restatement of the faulty differences-based approach to equality through law, Gilreath ultimately concludes that its principles are wholly inconsistent with the legitimate purposes of antidiscrimination law.

The 1622 publication of Imprisonment of Mens Bodies for Debt marked the beginning of a decades-long tradition of anti-carceral activism in London's prisons. By recovering prison activists’ practices of publication and republication, the article reveals a vibrant world of textual production in prisons that enabled political interventions grounded in the material and structural conditions of incarceration. Anti-carceral activism relied on the varied uses of print and manuscript that formed part of the day-to-day experience of incarceration. These local practices were combined with new processes of national political communication, from parliamentary petitioning and news printing in the 1620s, to manuscript pamphleteering and the demand for legal texts in the 1630s, and the explosion of radical printing and political agitation in the 1640s. Operating at the intersection of quotidian textual practice and developing forms of political communication, prison activism became engaged in wider currents of national debate. Thus, the article demonstrates how a relatively marginal social constituency could utilize these modes and networks of political communication across multiple media and how, in turn, such groups could both develop connections to radical political networks and come to imagine their cause as part of a wider political moment.

In his article “Gender Identity Discrimination and Freedom of Religion,” Patrick Parkinson raises the important question of how the government should reconcile conflicts between the rights of religious people and the rights of transgender and gender-nonconforming people. By focusing on whether gender identity is best defined as a medical issue or a belief system, however, Parkinson does little to answer it. Whether gender identity is a medical issue may be relevant to determining the sincerity of an individual’s faith-based objection to complying with an antidiscrimination law. It has no bearing, however, on the strength of trans and gender-nonconforming individuals’ countervailing interest in being protected from discrimination. Defining gender identity as a belief system does no more to undermine this interest. This should be apparent to defenders of religious exemptions, who assert that belief systems offer a basis for extending, rather than contracting, legal protections. Characterizing an individual’s gender identity as either a medical issue or a belief system thus does not show why that individual’s interests should give way to the interests of religious objectors through an exemption. To reach this conclusion, one must instead turn to other values, such as those implicit—though inadequately defended—in Parkinson’s article.

Is there a legitimate basis for religious exemptions from laws that prohibit gender identity discrimination on the basis of people’s beliefs? The author argues that much depends upon how gender dysphoria is understood. If it is seen as a problem requiring medical diagnosis and treatment, then arguably there is no religious basis for discrimination, except in a few situations where being a biological male or female is theologically essential to a particular role. Transgender identification, understood as a medical issue, fits within a belief system that God created two sexes of human beings, male and female. Within that belief system one can make room for an understanding that there are those who experience disorders of sex development and those who have such a profound sense of being born in the wrong body that they undertake steps toward medical transition to align their bodies, as far as possible, with the opposite sex. However, recent reinterpretations of what it means to be transgender involve an assertion that it should not be seen as a medical issue, that affirmation of a person’s self-declared gender identity, with or without having hormonal treatment or surgery, is a matter of human rights and that the law should recognize that people may have a gender that, however described, is nonbinary. These views rely on certain beliefs and positions that have a very weak basis in science. They challenge religious beliefs, which accord with mainstream scientific understanding, that human beings are intrinsically a sexually dimorphic species. People of faith need the freedom to reject beliefs that are incompatible with their worldviews. That does not mean that ill-treatment of someone on the basis of their gender identity can ever be justified; but it does support a religious exemption from a legal obligation to accept someone else’s self-declared gender identity. It is one thing to ask me to respect your beliefs about yourself. It is another to ask me to act toward you as if I share your beliefs.

The spectacular collapse of the Liberal Party in Britain has often been regarded as the result of a crisis in Liberal values, supposedly provoked by the unprecedented militarization of British society during the Great War. However, this interpretation typically fails to recognize the extent to which the most important and visible legacies of that process of militarization were accommodated within the Liberal Party itself. Between 1918 and 1929, more than a hundred ex-servicemen were elected to Parliament as Liberal MPs, and scores more stood as Liberal candidates. This article examines how these men negotiated, presented, and performed their military identities within the framework of postwar electoral politics; analyzes how they operated in Parliament; and traces the longer-term trajectories of their political careers. It challenges the assumption that Liberals were temperamentally or ideologically incapable of engaging with the war's legacies, demonstrating the ability of Liberal candidates to exploit the iconography and rhetorical tropes of military service when appealing to an electorate that had been profoundly shaped by the experience of war and military mobilization. Liberals sought to contest Conservative Party attempts to monopolize the politics of patriotism after 1918 by constructing gendered electoral appeals that acknowledged the unstable meanings of the Great War and the ambiguous status of the men who had fought in it. However, the inability of Liberal politicians to unite around a shared understanding of what the war had meant ultimately prevented them from exploiting the memory of the conflict as effectively as their Conservative and Labour rivals.

It is often argued by health professionals working within the field of palliative care that palliative care and euthanasia/assisted suicide are incompatible. Across the literature, this claim is grounded on the three claims that (1) palliative care and euthanasia/assisted suicide have different aims, (2) euthanasia/assisted suicide is at odds with the doctor’s fundamental role as a healer, and (3) euthanasia/assisted suicide constitutes patient abandonment. Furthermore, even if palliative care and euthanasia/assisted suicide are compatible, it is often argued that the availability of palliative care renders euthanasia/assisted suicide redundant. This depends on two claims that (1) palliative care is always available and effective, and (2) palliative care is always preferable to euthanasia/assisted suicide. This article argues that all of these claims are false, ultimately aiming to establish that palliative care and euthanasia/assisted suicide are complementary rather than mutually exclusive.

In October 2020, the Government of Japan formulated a National Action Plan (NAP) on Business and Human Rights in response to the United Nations Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights (UNGPs) and ensuing greater international awareness of violations of human rights by corporations.1 In the NAP, the government of Japan stated that on the basis of the UNGPs, it expects companies to (i) formulate human rights policies, (ii) conduct due diligence with respect to human rights, and (iii) establish grievance mechanisms.2 In order to achieve these goals, businesses need to understand whether and how they are violating human rights and prepare appropriate solutions. Whistleblowers play a crucial role in this process.

This essay interprets a classification of Africa's Bantu languages which used statistical tools guided by assumptions about farming and its chronology to analyze fresh vocabulary evidence. It shows a peeling movement from Cameroon's grassfields, into southern Cameroon, then along a savanna corridor through West Central Africa's rainforests, into the Savannahs, then to Southern Africa, the Great Lakes, and Indian Ocean coast. The clear sequence of movement masks methodological and historical factors. Language death, multilingualism, and the limits of vocabulary evidence restrain the classification's authority. ‘Transformations’ from food collecting to food producing or from no metals to full engagement with metals were mutable, unfolded at different speeds, and involved interactions with firstcomers. In Central Africa, Bantu speakers were often the first farmers and metal-users in the region but elsewhere they were commonly neither. Their arrivals did not immediately displace firstcomers. Computational methods can accommodate many of these issues.

This article discusses what arguments best support universal health care (UHC), with a focus on Norman Daniels’ equality of opportunity account. This justification for UHC hinges on the assumption of a close relationship between health care and health. But in light of empirical research that suggests that health outcomes are shaped to a large extent by factors other than health care, such as income, education, housing, and working conditions, the question arises to what extent health care is really necessary to protect and promote health, and thereby opportunity. The author argues that, although this challenge to the equality of opportunity rationale is legitimate, it is not sufficiently specified to allow us to adequately assess the extent to which universal health succeeds in protecting equality of opportunity. The article concludes by outlining a more promising strategy for developing a viable rationale for UHC.

“What took place in the Caribbean,” writes Édouard Glissant, “which could be summed up in the word creolization, approximates the idea of Relation as nearly as possible.”1 For Glissant, the word creolization condenses the history of the Caribbean. This is a history characterized by trans-border connections, culture flows, and the transregional movement of people and capital.2 As the first region to be colonized by Europe in the sixteenth century and the last one to be—incompletely—decolonized in the twentieth, the Caribbean has been shaped by the worldwide demand and supply of colonial labor. It was the destination of nearly half of all the enslaved Africans trafficked into the New World between 1492 and the end of the nineteenth century; of significant numbers of indentured and contracted European laborers during much of the same period; as well as of indentured Indian, Chinese, and Indonesian workers after the formal abolition of slavery at the end of the nineteenth century.3 Subsequently, the first half of the twentieth century saw the emergence of a circuit of intra-regional migration of a labor force to the larger Caribbean islands where US-led corporations operated. After World War II, when labor from the non-independent territories of the Caribbean was recruited to rebuild the postwar economies of western Europe and the United States, the region turned into a source of transcontinental emigration.4 On account of this history, the Caribbean has been theorized in terms of transculturation, creolization, and hybridity; concepts such as “remittance societies,” “circular migration,” or “diaspora,” widely used in transnational studies, have also been coined in relation to the Caribbean.5 More than these other terms, however, the concept of creolization has come to condense both the sedimentation and ramifications of this history.

Professor Latham has written a thought-provoking commentary1 on my paper about advance directives.2 I am grateful for this opportunity to integrate the debate on the moral binding nature of these manifestations of will.

Situated within contemporary studies of Cormac McCarthy’s work, this article argues that existing discourse around Cormac McCarthy’s novel Blood Meridian suffers from a lack of critical engagement with the novel’s racial and colonial politics. Using racial capitalism as a framework, the article posits that McCarthy’s novel can be read not only as a story about American storytelling traditions, but how these traditions are themselves contingent on the reproduction and reification of white supremacy. This rereading of Blood Meridian additionally takes into account how the novel’s narrativization of white supremacy and settler colonialism manifests in both the novel’s form and content, arguing that the novel stages encounters with blackness and Indigeneity to mimic the mechanisms through which white supremacy was (violently) produced.