The use of the pesthouse in early modern England has received limited attention by scholars, in particular, how it was used in London. The study of the pesthouse tells us about the nature of parochial government in the capital, the early development of public health policies and the relationship between national and civic authorities and the suburban parishes, where plague was a long-term problem and intersected forcefully with poverty. This article explores how suburban parishes used the pesthouse in their repertoire of response to plague between c. 1600 and 1650, which is situated in the context of experiments with the pesthouse in England's provincial towns and cities. The article considers the development of the City of London's pesthouse in St Giles Cripplegate, its limited use by suburban parishes under the City's jurisdiction, and the establishment of a local pesthouse by some suburban parishes beyond the jurisdiction of the City.

This article examines the incident of a “revolt” in the Ockenden Tibetan refugee school in the early 1960s. By analyzing this previously unknown incident of “revolt” in the Tibetan refugee school within the broader historical context of early years in exile, this article aims to underline the contested and contingent process of nation-building in exile. I argue that the Ockenden incident, as forgotten fragments of the Tibetan past, provides us a rare glimpse into the early history of contestation over the production of national history and discourse on Tibet, where exiled Bonpos, a non-Buddhist minority, attempted to renegotiate their marginality by producing alternative history and discourse on Tibet. By focusing on the history of the Ockenden incident as a forgotten fragment from the exile Tibetan past, this article aims to decenter the teleology of Tibetan nationalism by bringing to light one of the unrealized alternative future agendas different groups of exiled Tibetans had in those early moments of discursive formation.

The recent surge in materialist thought, namely New Materialism, has significant implications for political theory. They challenge the fundamental dichotomy upheld in the modern West between human agency and inert nature by revealing the affective quality of nature and granting it the status of the agency. However, does the non-West face risks if it attempts to overcome the modern Western notion of inert nature? If so, is there any way to avoid these risks? To pursue these questions, I take up the writings of political thinker Maruyama Masao (丸山眞男) and literary critic Kobayashi Hideo (小林秀雄) on the political implications of materiality. Maruyama ascribes Kobayashi's alleged collaboration with Japan's World War II policy to his passive acceptance of the felt reality. Regarding such passive acceptance as endemic to Japanese thought, Maruyama traces it back to the notion of an early-modern Kokugaku thinker Motoori Norinaga, “the way to things.” Against Maruyama's criticism, I argue (1) that Kobayashi's interpretation of Motoori's “way to things” resonates with the current New Materialism, and (2) that Kobayashi's materialism does not necessarily lead to passive acceptance of the external world, but rather can be pursued in a more productive way.

The third pillar of the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights (UNGPs) is often considered the ‘forgotten pillar’,1 especially when compared with the first pillar, where some of the ‘governance gaps’ the State must address in order to comply with its duty to protect under international human rights law are developed with some level of detail. The same happens in relation to the second pillar, which proposes a practical approach for the proactive involvement of companies in the identification and management of the risks their activities and business relationships may produce on human rights.2 However, the third pillar is not necessarily ‘forgotten’, as it is based on one of the core rights of the international human rights regime. In this regard, not only are the various elements and procedures for access to justice developed within each country’s domestic law and within the international legal system, but they have also been subject to detailed studies by the international and regional human rights community.3 However, it is the least proactive pillar of the UN framework on business and human rights, and the one that faces the greatest challenges in terms of making a specific, substantive contribution in light of the vast existence of civil, criminal, administrative and constitutional proceedings in domestic jurisdictions.

The aim of this article is to offer a new conceptual framework for the study of various spaces in Istanbul during the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. I contend that rather than the sharp distinction manifested with the public–private dichotomy, we need to focus on gradations of privacy. I offer qāpū and bāb as two new concepts borrowed from the period's own repertoire for representing the macro and micro ends of the spatial gradation. Theoretically, I draw on George Simmel's definition of doors as the interfaces of spatial formation.

This article has two goals: descriptive and theoretical. On the descriptive side, the article presents a grammar of gliding and epenthesis of Upper Sorbian. The descriptive goal is worthy because Upper Sorbian has a highly complex but regular and productive system of gliding and epenthesis. Upper Sorbian stands out from a typological point of view because it has ten [sic] different strategies to satisfy Onset.

On the theoretical side, the question is whether Optimality Theory that has been designed to solve conspiracies can deal with the complexities of Upper Sorbian. The answer is that it cannot unless it is modified to admit derivational levels. A point of interest is that level 1 in Upper Sorbian must be defined as the root level, not as the expected stem level that includes roots and affixes. Further, it is demonstrated that Itô and Mester’s Crisp Edge constraint makes wrong predictions for Upper Sorbian, so a new constraint, Multi, is postulated. Also, the analysis bears on the issue of positional markedness versus positional faithfulness and the question of whether Duke of York derivations should be admitted in phonology.

Most modern-day environmental issues are caused by the complex aggregation and interaction of numerous actions contributing to large-scale problems, from biodiversity loss to climate change. Environmental impact assessments (EIAs) consider how projects contribute to these cumulative environmental problems. This article firstly evaluates the theoretical importance of cumulative effects concepts for EIA. It reveals their potential to spotlight values embedded in decision making and to illuminate, as a lighthouse would, types of harm from broad-ranging, typically unregulated, activities. A large-scale global survey of national EIA laws and multilateral environmental agreements then shows that cumulative effects concepts are legally relevant for most national EIA frameworks. This prevalence suggests that better implementation of cumulative effects provisions may help EIA law to deliver more significant benefits than previously appreciated. Evaluating a sample of EIA provisions shows that cumulative effects concepts can contribute to different stages of an EIA, but that using these concepts across all EIA stages would maximize their potential to achieve the theoretical benefits identified. From theoretical and practical legal perspectives, cumulative effects concepts have significant latent potential – perhaps transformational potential – to address cumulative environmental change through EIA regimes at national and international levels. However, without better implementation, the latent potential of these laws to address cumulative environmental problems is likely to remain unrealized. By shedding light on the extent of national and international legal frameworks that adopt cumulative effects concepts, and their differences, this article highlights the significant learning potential between legal regimes to aid improved implementation.

The expulsion of millions of people and the loss of Germany's eastern territories at the end of the Second World War have been a part of ongoing public discussions about Vergangenheitsbewältigung, or Germany's “mastering of the past.” These events have deeply shaped personal and family memories in East and West Germany, even if political discourse about them had been marginalized in the German Democratic Republic. In the Federal Republic, the issue of expellees has been especially fraught because it represents the intersection of two discourses of German victimhood: war victims and victims of communism—here specifically the postwar East European governments that organized postwar expropriation and “resettlements.” Memorials range from the eternal flame on Theodor-Heuss-Platz in Berlin to the small plaque affixed to the wall outside of Bayreuth's train station for the almost 40,000 expellees from the Sudeten region who arrived on thirty-three freight trains in 1946. The expulsions have made their way into popular culture as well, as can be seen in the works of artists who had had little or no direct experience in the “German East.” In the 1969 song “Erstes Morgenrot,” for example, Alexandra (born as Doris Treitz in 1942 in today's Lithuania) wistfully looks forward to the dawn that brings greetings from the land where “my cradle once stood.” Heinz Rudolf Kunze, born in 1956, emphasizes his uprootedness and a sense of not belonging in his 1985 song “Vertriebener.”

This essay will consider some key aspects of the imagery of the ventennio regarding the Italian overseas territories through the analysis of the covers of the illustrated magazine Libia, launched in 1937 in the context of the so-called ‘Fourth Shore’ of Italy, ruled between 1934 and 1940 by governor Italo Balbo. Firstly, this essay will address the existing bibliography on the relations between the press and Italian colonialism. Then, it will examine the figure of Balbo over two sections – one relating to his activities for the development of Libya, the other dedicated to his relationship with the arts – unpacking the close links between the work of the governor in the colony and the periodical. The final part of the article will focus on Libia, examining the themes and subjects chosen to illustrate its covers and the several artists who collaborated with the magazine as illustrators.

This study analyses the essential question of the role of visual and material culture in the construction of a mass racial ideology during the Fascist colonial empire. The hypothesis behind this essay is that representations of the facial features of colonised populations may be understood as agents that transform what are in fact inconsistent and vague notions of identity and race into concrete and effective ontologies, both in the scientific field and in the popular imaginary. The facial casts made by the anthropologist Lidio Cipriani and exhibited in the race pavilion of the very popular Mostra triennale delle Terre italiane d'Oltremare (1940) in Naples, the anthropological photographs and illustrations of the infamous journal La Difesa della razza (1938–43), and the advertising images representing African women's bodies, both gave consistency to the notion of race and incarnated its protean nature made up of narratives, metaphors, fantasies, and prejudices constructed and accumulated over time.

In ‘An Agenda for women's history in Ireland, 1500–1900’ (1992), Margaret MacCurtain, Mary O'Dowd and Maria Luddy noted that research on convents and women religious (nuns/sisters) in Ireland was beginning to open up in the 1980s. They also suggested areas that merited the attention of scholars, including the experience of vowed religious life by women, issues of class and power within Irish convents, and the role of nuns in Irish society. This article examines historiographical developments, with a view to seeing whether or not scholars rose to the challenges posed in 1992. Additionally, it considers areas that still demand attention.

In 1914, an epidemic of bubonic plague ravaged colonial Dakar. The panicked French colonial administration blamed the native population and evicted indigenous Africans from the city center before burning their homes. The Dakarois fought back through a general strike, political maneuvering, and, finally, by taking to the streets. Out of this year of disease, politics, racism, and resistance came the new, segregated neighborhood of Médina, which was created to house the displaced African population of Dakar. Over the twentieth century, as Dakar swelled into a metropolis around it, Médina was a unique space in the Senegalese capital—a hotbed of cultural creativity, a crossroads for waves of migrants, and a potent and enduring contrast with the nearby downtown, known as the Plateau. This article explores the ways in which the plague of 1914 reshaped Dakar and left a lasting impression on a century of Senegalese cultural production.

“They look upon fraud as a greater crime than theft, and therefore seldom fail to punish it with death,” Jonathan Swift famously wrote of the fictional island of Lilliput in Gulliver's Travels. Appearing as an epigraph of Edward Balleisen's Fraud: An American History from Barnum to Madoff, it invites comparison of Lilliput with the United States, not least because it is paired with a 2007 quotation from the former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan, who was rather more philosophical about fraud. As the world teetered on the edge of economic crisis, he wrote it off as a regrettable but inevitable part of “the way human nature functions,” suggesting that “what successful economies do is keep it to a minimum.” Looking backward, Balleisen finds greater ambivalence in the historical record, as a matter of both human psychology and American law. From the nation's founding, he observes, “the country's lionization of entrepreneurial freedom has given aid and comfort to the perpetrators of duplicitous schemes.” But this is not to say that they have been allowed to act with impunity. To the contrary, their creative deceptions have inspired a wide array of anti-fraud initiatives, operating “at the leading edge of regulatory innovation.” In chronicling these conflicting and conflicted pursuits of profit and justice over the course of two centuries of American history, Balleisen brilliantly elucidates an enduring dilemma of governance: how to promote ingenuity without undermining “‘the capital of confidence upon which all progress depends.’”