A brilliant linguist, Grigorii O. Vinokur (1896–1947) stands out from the famous 1920s constellation of Russian/Soviet linguistic and literary scholars as a theoretician of applied linguistics and the proponent of language culture (kul'tura), a specifically utilitarian language science, which laid the foundation for Soviet scholarship in the social and cultural history of language, and theory of language usage, including but not confined to stylistics.Whilst in a broader sense Vinokur used the term ‘language culture’ to refer to verbal practices of a society, more specifically it also presents one of the many models of sociological linguistics, developed and employed by Soviet theorists and language practitioners in the immensely language-conscious period of the 1920s and early 1930s. Also referred to as ‘linguistic technology’, Vinokur's language culture in its second, narrower, meaning offers perhaps one of the most consistent attempts at a methodological delineation of the newly emerging branches of social and human sciences in Soviet scholarship. Against the advance of the so called vulgar sociologism in literary criticism and linguistics, Vinokur sought to delimit the boundaries of linguistics, poetics and sociology with the help of a scientifically sound method which, for him, had been outlined in Ferdinand de Saussure's Cours de linguistique générale [Course in General Linguistics] (1916). What is, however, less obvious, but certainly no less important, is that Vinokur undertook the unique task of reviving philology as a distinct field of knowledge and a methodological system in his outwardly Saussurean – and what is expected by extension to be a rigidly linguistic – approach.

The importance of trade to countries is two-fold: one, it provides a country with income; and two, it directly provides a country's citizens with income as well. In a sense, facilitating access to markets is the best form of direct investment a country can undertake towards its socio-economic development.

Throughout this work, we have emphasised that trade is instrumental to a people's socio-economic development. We started first with a review of trade and development at the WTO. The emphasis was on understanding the exact nature of the Organisation in order to provide a preliminary foundation for future consideration of what the WTO can and cannot do for its developing country Members. When we examined the classifications by international organisations on development status, it was clear that the international community through these various organisations understands that the principal element of ‘developing country’ status is the level of poverty and the limited capacity for individual growth and opportunity. These are elements which motivated the world trading system even from the time of the GATT, to lay out provisions in the international trade rules to address the challenges of developing country participation in organised global trade.

Developing country integration however has faced and still continues to face teething problems. Apart from the general barriers experienced across the global market which a uniform rules-based system was expected to resolve, developing countries’ circumstances have not been improved in the face of challenges like the inequalities in trading power, internal constraints, an everexpanding body of rules, and the single undertaking requirement which demands commitment to every single WTO rule irrespective of the capacity to execute the obligations therein. In addition, we also argued that the application of the comparative advantage theory to the modern market is more of a constraint than a true reading of the political economy of the times. Current action under the Doha Development Agenda in spite of the renewed activity at the WTO Secretariat which carries out administrative functions even in the provision of technical assistance is not moving as swiftly as it should especially with the protraction of the Doha Round.

My appreciation of the impact of trade liberalisation and the organisation of the global trading system under the World Trade Organisation was limited to a vague acknowledgement of the fact that things seemed to have changed dramatically in my country, Nigeria, in the early 1990s. Apart from the strained living conditions imposed by continuous military rule, there were no real connections made between the declining rates of product manufacture and food availability and the country's attempts to abide by the single undertaking requirements of the WTO. Knowledge of trade liberalisation, of the impact of the WTO Agreements on the domestic economic system was at best academic. Developing countries' criticism of the rules-based system was mainly directed to the perceived highhandedness of the more developed countries and not to what it should have been – on the capability of the system to sufficiently address the development needs and concerns of its Members. It was not until the Seattle protests that widespread criticism of the WTO began in the public and in the mass media.

Sitting amongst a group of well-read practicing barristers one day, the issue of the Seattle protests came up. As I listened intently, I tried to understand the reasons for the protests. But it was difficult. The difficulty was caused by the fact that even those who had a better understanding of the global market finally admitted that the work and relevance of the WTO was not easy to explain. There were too many issues to consider.

When they embark on a journey, travelers begin a rite of passage, detaching themselves from their home and homeland, initiating a series of adventures and challenges, which, no matter how minimal, prepare them for their unfamiliar status as strangers in a new and different place. The longer and more difficult the trip, the greater their sense of leaving behind the certain and familiar for the strange and foreign. By the time of arrival the journey has already cost time and money, as well as the inevitable wear and tear on body, mind and spirit. Today's tourists must brave the traffic to the airport, negotiate crowds and endure delayed flights and endless security checks at the airport. Once on board the airplane, they must survive cramped seats and bad food. This is tame stuff, however, compared to travel a few centuries ago. Prior to the age of steam, anything beyond a trip to the next village required careful preparation, a good bit of time and much endurance.

Until the 1820s those British tourists intent on visiting Ireland had to first travel by coach or horseback to a western port and then board a sailing ship for a sea journey of uncertain duration and minimal comfort. For much of the eighteenth century, many Ireland-bound travelers went first to Chester, a six-to-seven day horseback ride from London. There they remained until they could take sail from Parkgate, a harbor twelve miles outside of the city.

My appreciation of the impact of trade liberalisation and the organisation of the global trading system under the World Trade Organisation was limited to a vague acknowledgement of the fact that things seemed to have changed dramatically in my country, Nigeria, in the early 1990s. Apart from the strained living conditions imposed by continuous military rule, there were no real connections made between the declining rates of product manufacture and food availability and the country's attempts to abide by the single undertaking requirements of the WTO. Knowledge of trade liberalisation, of the impact of the WTO Agreements on the domestic economic system was at best academic. Developing countries’ criticism of the rules-based system was mainly directed to the perceived highhandedness of the more developed countries and not to what it should have been – on the capability of the system to sufficiently address the development needs and concerns of its Members. It was not until the Seattle protests that widespread criticism of the WTO began in the public and in the mass media.

Sitting amongst a group of well-read practicing barristers one day, the issue of the Seattle protests came up. As I listened intently, I tried to understand the reasons for the protests. But it was difficult. The difficulty was caused by the fact that even those who had a better understanding of the global market finally admitted that the work and relevance of the WTO was not easy to explain. There were too many issues to consider. What was most glaring, however, was that the Organisation's less-developed countries were not faring any better in the global trading system in spite of the promises of Membership of the rules-based system.

What promises? What benefits? What exactly was the WTO all about and why do developing countries seem to fare worse under a system that claims it exists for the good of every Member? What was the basis of organised global trade in the first place? Were there practical and honest attempts to address the constraints of market integration on developing countries? These and many other questions were examined, but even at the end of the informal discussion, we dispersed unconvinced of our own arguments for and against the WTO.

Marking Tourists Sites

As tourism develops, it reconfigures the host country into a succession of specific sites that shape the visitors' itinerary. In Britain, as Esther Moir points out, newly awakened curiosity sent early tourists off to explore as much of their country as was accessible. However once the great estates became organized for visitors, as ruins, mountains and lakes were “discovered” and noted in guidebooks, tourism came to define itself as a progress from one designated site to another. The same was true of Ireland.

What constitutes a tourist attraction? Dean MacCannell maintains that “no naturalistic definition of a tourist sight is possible.” Instead, it is the result of “an empirical relationship between a tourist, a sight, and a marker….” A marker “points” to a place. It can be any piece of information about a site, including travel accounts, guidebooks, the guides themselves, souvenirs and pictures. John Hutchinson suggests that engravings of scenes in Wicklow, which began to appear as early as 1730s, contributed to the popularity of certain tourist sites in that county. Literary associations also can act as markers. For instance, the ruins of Kilcolman Castle in County Cork, no more picturesque than those of many other abandoned Irish tower houses, could boast as its marker its connection to Edmund Spencer, author of The Faerie Queen.

Marking also facilitates the organization of a site or sight for visitors, not only physically in terms of accessibility, but conceptually as well.

Attitudes toward language carry import beyond what they tell us about dominant trends in a particular country's national linguistics. Whether they appear in the public press or more narrow trade journals, in philosophical discussions or classroom lesson plans, discourses on language quite often reflect concerns that go well beyond the realm of linguistics, however broadly defined. The study of “language ideologies” or “linguistic ideologies” attempts to capture this metalinguistic dimension by taking as a starting premise that implicit in our attitudes about language are basic assumptions about power and authority – about who has the ability to shape the language and ultimately ideas and realities of a society and whether or not that is even possible in the first place. Linguistic ideologies further illuminate the manner in which individuals, societies, and nations understand and talk about language: their attitudes toward appropriate forms it should take, about its function in society, and about its relationship to the speaking and writing public. Looking at language ideologies allows for the examination of “the ways in which beliefs about languages and habitual engagement in particular linguistic practices create or buttress the legitimacy of specific political arrangements” (Gal and Woolard 1995, pp. 130–132).

If on some level we recognize this ability of language to serve as a symbolic forum for broader discussions, for example, of statehood, citizenship, and the role of the individual citizen speakers and writers in articulating the central ideas of the state, then an examination of certain keywords of Soviet-era linguistics should provide insight into attitudes not only about language, but also about its role in shaping citizens, society, and the state.

In the closing years of the eighteenth century, the British Critic reported: ‘Travellers continue to assert their privilege of telling their tales in their own way, “of hair-breadth escapes”, and the public seems very indulgently disposed to give them audience’. ‘Curiosity will always make travellers, and a still more extended curiosity, produces readers for their narratives’. Accounts of travels were so popular in 1798 that the editors suggested, humorously, that their own prefaces should be ‘allied to that species of composition’. They later explain: ‘We are, however, kinder to our readers than the generality of travel writers’ because ‘the hardships they encounter are generally detailed at full length; frequently, perhaps, not without exaggeration’. In 1799 the British Critic claimed that voyages and travels ‘always were, and must be, popular’ because ‘they administer to a curiosity which is liberal and almost universal’ and ‘give the satisfaction of knowledge, without exacting the labour of serious study’. Expressing succinctly the power of literary realism before critical conceptions of realism had developed, the editors wrote in 1799 that the literature of voyages and travels, of all forms of literature regularly surveyed, ‘approaches more nearly to the character of the novel, than any other book of information’.

The archetypal creature of the city is the movie gangster, whom Robert Warshow described over sixty years ago as a tragic hero. “Thrown into the crowd without background or advantages, with only … ambiguous skills,” Warshow wrote, “the gangster is required to make his own way, to make his life and impose it on others.” Frustrated by the facelessness of the individual in the big city, he sees crime as the rational way to establish his identity. Yet there is a tragic flaw in this ambition to rise above the crowd, for the successful racketeer increasingly becomes the target of both the police and his fellow criminals. The greater his success, the more precipitous his fall; in the end, “there is only one possibility – failure.” The final meaning of the city for the gangster, according to Warshow, thus can only be “anonymity and death.”

But Warshow understood that, like Greek tragedies, gangster films were not realistic works of art – they were mythological ones. And this means that, from an artistic point of view, the city, like the ancient Greek stage, is a metaphorical space and not a real one, even when gangster films are shot on location in actual cities like New York. So, for Warshow, the gangster inhabits the

The Coppolas, Francis Ford and his daughter, Sophia, both have the same artistic problem: neither is a thinker. The father has always been short on thought; indeed, he stumbles when he thinks, when he thinks he's thinking. The Godfather (1972, 1974, 1990) was strongest in its execution – also its executions – not in its adolescent implications of analogy between the Mafia and corporate capitalism (an analogy that ignores, among other things, the origins of the Mafia and its blood bonds of loyalty, which have nothing to do with capitalism). The Conversation (1974) faltered in its Orwellian ideological structure. And in Apocalypse Now (1979), the attempts to dramatize private moral agony and general moral abyss during the Vietnam War were disjointed, assumptive, weak, for all of Vittorio Storaro's aptly hallucinogenic color cinematography.

Even Coppola's scripts for others have suffered from woolly thinking: his screenplay for Jack Clayton's The Great Gatsby (1974), for example, turned Fitzgerald's supple suggestiveness into mindless blatancy; and his scenario for Franklin Schaffner's Patton (1970) presented the glaringly contradictory nature of this famous general as praiseworthy, even fathomless, complexity. That's the top of the heap. From there, we head down to Coppola's blotchy script for René Clément's Is Paris Burning? (1966), a rambling, pseudo-documentary recreation of the liberation of Paris from Nazi occupation.

In recent years, determined and rigorous historical scholarship has begun to undermine the aura of exceptionality that surrounded the image of Mikhail Bakhtin. Where this figure was once held to be the initiator of an improbably wide range of intellectual trends, it has now been clearly established that Bakhtin was particularly influenced by German language philosophers, whose work he adapted to the cause of the theory and history of the novel. Research has often revealed that rather than being a remarkable innovator, Bakhtin adopted ideas that were current at the time but have now receded from the view of scholars, suggesting a reassessment of various aspects of intellectual history is needed. With certain notable exceptions, however, the Soviet context has been less thoroughly examined, and this is nowhere clearer than in the lack of attention paid to Bakhtin's debt to early Soviet sociolinguistics. In Russia in particular, Bakhtin has frequently been seen as an ‘unofficial’ thinker who opposed, and developed his views on language, culture and literature in isolation from the contemporary, ‘official’ Soviet scholarship. Consequently, the nature of the interaction between the thinkers who comprised what is now generally referred to as the ‘Bakhtin Circle’ and contemporary Soviet linguistics and philosophy of language has generally been neglected and even treated as a non-issue. One reason for this may be that it is generally assumed the ideas follow on from those delineated in Valentin Voloshinov's 1929 book Marxism and the Philosophy of Language, which has often been ascribed to Bakhtin himself.