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This comment discusses three topics. First, John French's biography of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva is located in the broader trajectory of the production of biographical narratives of activists under the auspices of the historiography of the labour movement. Second, French's daring gesture of comparing the trajectories of Lula and August Bebel, who lived in such different contexts, and the impact of this in terms of a more sophisticated understanding of labour history in Brazil is discussed. Finally, we look at some of the challenges faced by writers of biographies of working-class leaders, notably in relation to the intersectionality between class, race, and gender.
On October 16, 2020, the Los Angeles Review of Books published a powerful letter about the war on Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabagh) that was signed by scholars who are considered to be among those most actively engaged in postcolonial theory and political activism, including Tariq Ali, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Noam Chomsky, Amitav Ghosh, and Cornel West. This letter read:
Before the ravages brought in by World War I and the 20th century, Azeris and Armenians in the area lived in the kind of conflictual coexistence with which we are acquainted in the multiethnic parts of the world. We are asking now not only for an agreement to a ceasefire but an insistence on the preservation of that ceasefire and protection for the Armenian minority in its efforts toward self-determination. We hope, in the long run, with the participation of all international institutions of justice, that the democratic will of the ethnic Armenians of the area can be acknowledged.2
Yet scholars who specialize in the history of Turkey, the Ottoman Empire, and the Middle East were remarkably silent about this war that will have long-term effects on the small Republic of Armenia (population three million) and the relationships it will be able to maintain with its neighbors, in particular the Republic of Azerbaijan (population ten million) and the Republic of Turkey (population eighty-four million). The latter two countries’ militaries jointly attacked the unilaterally recognized, independent Armenian enclave of Artsakh (population 150,000) during a global pandemic, with help from paid Syrian mercenaries and Turkish military technology.
This concluding reflection on the forum, “The Everyday Materials of Colonial Legal History,” seeks to emphasize the contributing essays engagement with historical methodologies that take seriously objects, signs, and the theatrical.
The relative ignorance of Armenian narratives in the analysis of current affairs in the Middle East raised by several authors in this roundtable is symptomatic of a larger problem facing ethno-religious minorities in the region. Until the 1990s, Western exposure to Middle Eastern Christianity in both academic and popular contexts was minimal at best. Outside specific studies of notable groups, scholars largely ignored non-Muslim religious sects. At the level of popular discourse, political Islam had illuminated the majoritarian religious impulses of the region, contributing to common Orientalist stereotypes of Arab and Muslim political culture.1 The presence of several million indigenous Christians, the vast majority of whom represented ancient indigenous communities, was largely ignored among academics and journalists. The notable exception was Lebanon, where Christian participation in the drama of the civil conflict of the 1980s was often noted in the press and occasionally scrutinized in academia.
These essays grew out of a roundtable discussion at the 2021 MESA (Middle East Studies Association) Annual Meeting sponsored by the Society for Armenian Studies, entitled “Fault Lines and Fractures in the 2020 Artsakh/Nagorno Karabakh War,” which addressed the representation of the Fall 2020 war and the failure of scholars within Middle East studies to engage with it. This introduction offers a short background to the roundtable, and a brief conceptual and discursive framework for the essays that follow.
This essay explores the making of maritime boundaries in the Bay of Bengal in the northern Indian Ocean, emphasizing the role of visualizations in establishing states' jurisdictional claims to unstable coasts and ephemeral islands. These include colonial-era revenue surveys of the Sunderbans, sketches of land formation in the Godavari delta appended to case papers in litigations, nautical charts and inspection reports of the seabed in the Gulf of Mannar, maps drawn at the time of partitioning the subcontinent in South Asia and satellite imagery of the Bay's littoral. These visualizations are the everyday materials that delineate sea space in law, as judges, lawyers and states navigate fluidity and fixity, accuracy and equity in international law.
Lula and His Politics of Cunning explores the origin, roots, and evolution of Luis Inácio Lula da Silva's vision, discourse, and practice of leadership as a process of becoming. This commentary invites historians of labor movements and the left to think beyond their geographical and chronological specializations. It argues that there is much to gain from thinking globally if we wish to achieve meaningful causal insights applicable to the sweep of capitalist development.
Epistemic violence, that is, violence exerted against or through knowledge, is probably one of the key elements in any process of domination. It is not only through the construction of exploitative economic links or the control of the politico-military apparatuses that domination is accomplished, but also and, I would argue, most importantly through the construction of epistemic frameworks that legitimise and enshrine those practices of domination.1
We are in the early stages of a new “intergenerational turn” in political philosophy. This turn is largely motivated by the threat of global climate change, which makes vivid a serious governance gap surrounding concern for future generations. Unfortunately, there is a lack of fit between most proposed remedies and the nature of the underlying problem. Most notably, many seem to believe that only piecemeal, issue-specific, and predominantly national institutions are needed to fill the intergenerational governance gap. By contrast, I argue that we should adopt a genuinely global approach that treats intergenerational questions as foundational, and advocates for new permanent institutions with ongoing responsibilities to act on intergenerational threats. In this essay, I summarize my diagnosis of the underlying problem—that we face a basic standing threat that I call the “tyranny of the contemporary”—and sketch my proposal for a global constitutional convention aiming at institutions with standing authority and a broad remit. I then develop some of these ideas further through responses to fellow advocates for reform who nevertheless consider my proposals to go too far. In particular, I reject a counterproposal made by Anja Karnein, who argues that reforms should address only threats whose negative impacts would cross a high threshold. I argue that this would leave future generations vulnerable to what I call “squandering generations”. Among other things, these intergenerational squanderers violate appropriate relationships between past, present, and future generations. Yet, in my view, a central task of defensible intergenerational institutions is to protect the future against such abuse.