This notebook contains some of the ideas, ambitions, hopes, anxieties, interrogations, and fears that randomly or expectingly came to punctuate the writing of the previous chapters.

While the country’s public hospitals were still virtually all segregated, a unique experiment in medical integration took place at Fort Huachuca, involving both patients and doctors. The black hospital’s reputation for medical excellence attracted white patients – first officers, then their wives (despite the taboo of interracial intimacy), then civilians from the surrounding areas who knew they could not find such quality of care elsewhere. Prejudices about white patients’ reluctance to see black doctors were thus invalidated. Furthermore, given the inadequate qualifications of white doctors and the departure of many of them for the front, the white hospital had to call on black doctors. Care was therefore provided on an interracial basis. This experiment was tolerated by the Surgeon General’s Office, but turned out to be difficult to sustain.

This chapter offers an overview of Nazi anti-Roma policies, yet focuses on the reactions of the victims. The voice of the Roma victims remains muted. The collection of witness testimonies began late and is hardly representative. The extended Roma families who fell victim to genocide did not have a recognizable leadership that could speak on their behalf. Romani history is a history of prejudice by definition, since most available sources on their life and death come from the agencies or courts that consistently regarded them as a problem.

This chapter explores the coherence, evolution, and national specificity of antisemitism. It introduces and contrasts the different categories of antisemitism scholars have deployed to provide an explanation for violence (political, racial, eliminatory, redemptive, and so on.)It explores questions of contrast and continuity, and particularly the role of the First World War and its aftermath, and the relevance for understanding Nazi violence against Jews of the unprecedented lethality of the anti-Jewish pogroms in the Russian Civil War.

This chapter explores the evolution of racial ideas before and after the First World War, comparing German-speaking central Europe with the rest of Europe, the USA, or Japan. It analyzes nuances and tensions in German racial discourse between conceptions of Volk and Rasse, both of which might connote “race” in the broader English sense of the term; between Germandom, which privileged the idea of a pure Nordic race native to northern Europe, and Aryanism, which emphasized the racial superiority of multiple “Aryan” nations and peoples; and competing notions of eugenics, including concepts such as “Systemrasse” and “Vitalrasse,” with the former highlighting the differential quality of nations and races and the latter focused on improving the quality of a given population. Finally, it highlights the porous boundaries between conceptions derived from science and eugenics and those emerging from humanist, religio-mythological, and esoteric conceptions of blood and soil. Nazism drew equally on “scientific” eugenic and more “humanist” traditions, which were not unique to Germany but together created the syncretic apotheosis of race-thinking that undergirded the Holocaust.

Examines an apparent tension between clothing’s role as a social artifact and its rationality. Examines how we might think about disagreement when it comes to the fittingness or appropriateness of clothing. Considers how the social role of clothing plays a part in our judgments of individuals belonging to certain groups, and how this might contribute to epistemic injustice.

Despite the influence of key figures like Henry Sigerist and the Rockefeller Foundation, social medicine achieved a formal presence at only a handful of medical schools in the US, partly reflecting the political context in which “social medicine” was often heard as “socialized medicine.” Work that might otherwise have been called social medicine had to pass under other names. Does “social medicine” in the US only include those who self-identified with social medicine or does it include people who worked in the spirit of social medicine? Beginning with the recognized work of Sigerist and the Rockefeller, we then examine several Black social theorists whose work can now be recognized as social medicine. The Cold War context challenged would-be proponents of social medicine but different threads endured. The first, clinically oriented, focused on community health. The second, based in academic departments, applied the interpretive social sciences to explore the interspace between the clinical and the social. These threads converged in the 1990s and 2000s in new forms of social medicine considered as healthcare committed to social justice and health equity.

The 1986 Anti-Drug Abuse Act (ADAA) established the infamous 100:1 disparity in mandatory minimums for possession of powder versus crack cocaine. Because crack is more often used by black and minority Americans, this law mandated racial disparity in sentencing that contributed to the mass incarceration of black and minority Americans. This chapter analyzes the ADAA, President Reagan’s speeches on the War on Drugs, and contemporary public discourse to demonstrate that laws are rhetorical not only in their textual construction but also in their material function. Judith Butler’s concepts frames of war and precarious life illuminate how the ADAA functions rhetorically to reestablish sociocultural norms of racial division and inequity. In this view, the ADAA is not a failed attempt to counter drug use, but a successful strategy for maintaining a racist status quo. Butler’s theories can help us understand the role of law in shaping sociocultural norms, and therefore to recognize the potential of law to reinscribe and reform those norms.

Tribes continue to endure constraints on their sovereignty because relatively few people understand what a tribe is. For example, most people believe tribes are a racial minority with special privileges, when in reality, tribes are separate, sovereign governments. This stems from a lack of knowledge about tribal history. Schools do not teach Indian history; hence, people do not learn about the history of tribal governance and treaties. Learning about Indian history can enrich the school curriculum and help people understand why tribes exist. Additionally, great tribal leaders, such as Chief Standing Bear, can inspire students to fight for justice. At the very least, law students should be taught federal Indian law. Tribes are part of the United States constitutional order. They influenced its structure and were vital to its ratification. Plus, ignorance of Indian law’s history enables outmoded, colonial ideology to continue as the basis of contemporary federal Indian law. Knowledge of Indian law’s outmoded concepts will raise questions about the ethics of relying on nineteenth-century stereotypes to limit tribal sovereignty in the twenty-first century.

Ostensibly, all British former servicemen received a new wardrobe. In reality, this was reserved for British- and Irish-born veterans and denied to those from Britain’s colonies. This chapter foregrounds a ‘mutiny’ by West Indian RAF personnel in May 1946. British officials, alarmed by a ‘colour problem’ they ascribed to Black men’s excessive sensitivity to racist slurs, worked to repatriate veterans of colour, regardless of their wishes and British status. Repatriated West Indian veterans received just a promissory note. This cash entitlement varied from island to island. Enraged by racialized injustices, West Indian airmen demanded redress, staging a protest as the SS Bergensfjord transported them from Glasgow to Trinidad and Jamaica. This chapter places their demonstration within two larger frames: a wave of transnational veteran militancy in late 1945 and 1946, in which grievances over clothing were interwoven with larger imperial injustices; and a proliferation of ‘double crossings’ after the war, trans-oceanic passages in both directions, as people were removed or elected to move. Many West Indian veterans soon returned to Britain on the Windrush and other vessels.

Genocide is sometimes called the ’crime of crimes’. The word was coined by Raphael Lemkin in 1944, then declared an international crime by the United Nations General Assembly. In 1948, the Genocide Convention was adopted. As the first human rights treaty of modern times, it constituted a significant intrusion into what had previously been a matter exclusively of domestic concern. This explains the narrow definition of the crime of genocide. It requires proof of an intent to destroy a national, ethnic, racial or religious group. Only a half century after its adoption did the Genocide Convention take on real significance with inter-State cases being filed at the International Court of Justice and many prosecutions at the International Criminal Tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda. The Convention requires that States Parties punish genocide but they are also required to prevent it, even when it takes place outside their own territory. More than 150 States have ratified the Genocide Convention. Genocide is also prohibited under customary international law. It is generally agreed that the duty to punish genocide is a peremptory norm of international law (jus cogens).