We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings.
To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure [email protected]
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This essay introduces the Special Theme on regulation and domestic service in colonial societies. It provides a brief overview of the key themes of domestic service and regulation in the history of colonial states, and reflects upon the ways in which the colonial past is deployed in contemporary calls for the regulation of domestic work by the state, to secure the rights and protections of present-day workers as modern, free subjects. We note that, while much more work needs to done on this subject, current scholarship suggests that the status of the domestic worker and the extent of regulation in colonial contexts was historically unclear and often ambivalent. The three articles that constitute the Special Theme are then discussed in turn, to highlight the important insights, both empirical and theoretical, they offer to our deeper understanding of this complex history.
Massive, rapid capital accumulation is usually associated with capitalist development, but historically, socialist states were among the most aggressive accumulators. Accumulation in Maoist China was faster than even in Stalin's Soviet Union, despite the fact that China was a much poorer country with fewer natural resources. China's accumulation rate, defined as the ratio of gross capital formation to gross national income, reached twenty-five to thirty per cent in 1957–1962, peaking at forty-four per cent in 1958. This level proved to be unsustainable, but after a slowdown in the early 1960s, the rate rose back to thirty-six percent.1 As is well known, the cost of China's rapid industrialization was borne mostly by its rural population.2 My aim in this chapter is to show that it was disproportionally borne by rural women, who contributed to socialist accumulation in direct and indirect ways: directly, as collective farmers, growers of the grain, cotton, soy, tea, sugarcane, etc. that fueled industrialization; and indirectly, by biologically, socially, and materially reproducing the country's labor force and by submitting to a regime of extreme austerity that allowed the government to extract scarce resources and direct them to the cities and the export trade. My argument proceeds in three steps. I will begin with an overview of socialist primitive accumulation under Mao, its preconditions and mechanisms, and the ways it replicated earlier Soviet policies or diverged from them. Next, I will discuss the various ways in which rural women's work underpinned capital accumulation and laid the foundation for China's rapid industrialization in the years since Mao's death. Finally, I will look in some detail at rural women's work at home, to show how their self-exploitation, overwork, and underconsumption in the domestic realm created the conditions for accumulation. My focus is on cotton work – both cotton cultivation and domestic cloth production – but I will also look at other ways in which domestic work supported accumulation.
Chinese practices of matchmaking have been controversial for over a century. Their continued transformations reveal a complex nexus of sentimental and material dimensions in the marriage-decision process at the heart of the negotiations between families and in their selections of proper candidates. This interplay between personal sentiments, concrete considerations, and the desire for success makes marriage controversial, as “love” is claimed and proclaimed at the same time. Moral debates around materialism, which have reverberated through the public sphere over the last decade, show how “love” acts as a tool of social reproduction while it also expresses sincere aspirations for an emotionally satisfying life. In comparative perspective, the complex of romantic love examined here reveals a recent, original synthesis of the tradition of parental arrangement and the political question of the place of love in modernity. The paper elucidates one of the contradictions within Chinese society today: the family remains central, but wider trends of individualization continue to unfold. A multifaceted understanding of love clarifies how it can bind families together while it also discourages others from pursuing romance.
The upheavals of World War II prepared a new labour regime in twentieth-century India, in employers’ chambers, government offices, and in the newly established Labour Department, but as crucially, at the workplace and on the shop floor. This article studies the case of Calcutta port, an important military port in Southeast Asia after the fall of Singapore and Rangoon, where the complex historical processes resulting from the war generated an unprecedented impetus for the transformation of the labour regime. It examines the powerful impact and dynamics of the war at two levels: at the level of long-run changes in the work organization, and, through a microhistory approach, at the level of workers’ everyday wartime experiences. Under wartime exigencies, the employers introduced ad hoc, piecemeal, but significant reforms – food rations, bonuses, higher wages, housing provisions, and regularization of employment – that were more extensive than originally conceived of and proved to be irreversible, and, ultimately, cracked open a labour regime based on casual labour. The focus on workers’ experiences shows us how the measures designed for stabilization and efficiency proved to be profoundly unsettling in the context of dramatic events that pervaded the workplace. In the shadows of the war, workers and employers experienced a balance of forces in flux. Labour relations were marked by anticipations, hostility, tensions, and, increasingly, sharpness of conflict. The article argues that, by the end of the 1940s, the employers and the state had overcome an industrial relations crisis through nothing less than a restructuring of port labour relations, creating a highly regulated “formal sector” with significant welfare provisions.
The demand to decolonise the curriculum has moved from a protest movement at the margins to the centre of many institutions, as reflected by its inclusion in policies and strategies, and numerous initiatives in libraries and archives that have responded to the call, and are critically examining their own historic legacies and practices to support institutional and societal change.
Narrative Expansions: Interpreting Decolonisation in Academic Libraries explores the ways in which academic libraries are working to address the historic legacies of colonialism, in the context of decolonising the curriculum and the university. It acknowledges and explores the tensions and complexities around the use of the term decolonisation, how it relates to other social justice aims and approaches, including critical librarianship, and what makes this work specific to decolonisation.
The book is international in scope, and considers the contextual nature of decolonisation, with discussion of the impacts of settler colonialism, and post-colonial contexts with authors from Canada, the United States and Kenya, as well as universities in the UK.
Split into two sections, the book first addresses experiential contexts, discussing the environment in which the academic library is enmeshed: legacy knowledge systems, the neo-liberal university, the pervasive Whiteness of the higher education sector, the global publishing industry - how these structures are constitutive of coloniality and how they can be challenged. It then brings together theory and practice featuring case studies interpreting what it means to 'decolonise' in information literacy, collection management, inclusive spaces, LIS education, research methods and knowledge production through the lens of critical pedagogy, critical information literacy and Critical Race Theory (CRT). The book also addresses the impact and implications of the Whiteness of university library staffing.
Bringing together the theory and practice of an area of critical concern to the academy, this book is an important reference for academic librarians, educators and researchers in LIS, education and sociology.
The aim of this article is to broaden our knowledge of the metrological system of the Morisco period in the kingdom of Granada and, more specifically, in the rural area of the Alpujarra. The sources used in the analysis are two inventories of ecclesiastical goods from Islamic origin, drawn up in 1527 and 1530, four decades after the culmination of the Christian conquest of al-Andalus. The article explores the agrarian units of measurement used by the Morisco community of the Alpujarra in their daily lives (measures of surface area and length, weight or mass, volume or capacity, and of water used for irrigation). As far as possible, equivalences are presented for the units discussed. Attempts are made to establish whether these measures were inherited from the Andalusi period or whether, on the contrary, they were the result of the implementation of Castilian legislation on the matter. The data gathered have revealed the existence of a hybrid measurement system, which shows that the ordinances to modify the system of weights and measures of the Muslims and to seek a correspondence with the Castilian system had little effect in the Alpujarra, where, in many cases, the Islamic system of measurement continued in use. This circumstance indicates that the changes and transformations in the daily life of this rural community after the Christian conquest were not as imminent as might have been expected.
This book places identity at the centre of a project to better understand medieval society. By exploring the multiplicity of personal identities, the ways in which these were expressed within particular social structures (such as feudalism), and their evolution into formal expressions of collective identity (municipalities, guilds, nations, and so on), we can shed new light on the Middle Ages. A specific legacy of such developments was that by the end of the Middle Ages, a sense of national identity, supported by the late medieval socio-economic structure, backed in law and by theological, philosophical, and political thought, defined society. What is more, social structures coalesced across diverse elements, including language, group solidarities, and a set of assumed values.
When Janet Abu-Lughod sketched the contours of a medieval 'world system' in 1989, she located most communication networks in the southern hemisphere. In recent decades, however, new trends in research and new forms of evidence have complicated, enriched, and expanded this picture, geographically and chronologically. We now know that vast portions of the world were interconnected throughout the Middle Ages and, moreover, that the entire circumpolar North was a contact zone in its own right. In this volume, scholars from a range of disciplines explore the boreal globe from the late Iron Age to the seventeenth century, offering fresh perspectives that cross the frontiers of national historiographies and presenting new research on migration, trade, mapping, cultural exchange, and the interactions of humans with their environment.
This article investigates exemplarity from the point of view of the subject, the person who leads an exemplary life. Asking how this differs from the case of someone who intends more simply to lead a morally good life, it argues that the former requires sharp prioritizing among the range of possible human virtues. While both kinds of actor should be understood in relational terms, namely relations to the self, direct interlocutors, and wider society, a subject becomes an exemplar by objectifying and conveying to others the chosen specific form of virtue. Taking the case of Ataman Semenov, a White general in the Russian Civil War, the article then examines the pitfalls of having to take a culturally particular exemplary position. Some of these relate to the problems that occur in general when moral exemplarity is demonstrated, the subject being unable to control misreading of the exemplary act, the hesitations of followers, or the leeway with which they attempt to emulate or imitate the act. Other problems concern the historical positioning of the exemplary subject, particularly in a time of war. By making overt certain specific virtues, and by the same token backgrounding or suppressing others, he or she has to “stand out” amid general confusion and uncertainty and therefore is certain to arouse animosity, as much as loyalty.
This article aims to dissect the nature of exemplarity in Italian Fascism. The social and political structures that emerged in Fascist Italy were highly reliant on a sense of morality, largely because of the degree of violence inherent in those structures. Under Fascism, morality was founded on concrete examples rather than on abstract principles. Exemplars were idealized sources of moral strength, and figures with the capacity to inspire or persuade. In particular, the fallen soldier and those who died for the nation constituted a major category of Fascist exemplars. Thus, soldiers who fell in the First World War were awarded exemplary status in order to encourage behaviors favorable to the regime. With the goal to demonstrate the importance awarded to exemplars, this paper focuses on a group of ossuaries, or bone depositaries, that were built under Mussolini’s dictatorship, and within which the regime reburied the remains of soldiers who fell in the First World War. The main purpose of the ossuaries was to present the dead as role models that might boost support for a program of nationalism, militarism, and imperialism. Thus, while their creation drew on factors such as Romantic literature and Italy’s religious and political traditions, the ossuaries represent an ideal case study of how Fascist morality was aided by and expressed through the use of exemplars.
Mussolini is considered in this article as a figure around whom narratives have been developed for a century or more. Several biographies were published shortly after he came to power and many others have appeared in the decades since his death in 1945. This article explores the place of anecdotes in the construction of a legendary Mussolini in the 1920s and in the demystification that marked the period after World War Two. It is shown that early biographies were marked not only by hero worship but also by a commercially driven need to humanize and to amuse. After the war, humanization persisted as former Fascists and associates of Mussolini spread stories and anecdotes that made the dictator appear not as an evil tyrant but as a flawed and fallible human being. The agenda here was to make support for Fascism and its leader forgivable. A comparison of the anecdotes shows that both adulatory and demystificatory ones reserved a place for minor stories or petite histoire. The resulting image, which placed some emphasis on his sex life, proved influential. It presented a challenge to historians and found its way into the biographical films that were made for cinema and television between the 1970 and the 2000s. It is suggested that, via anecdotes, Mussolini occupied an ambiguous and continuous place in the moral universe of Italians, functioning variously as a political and a gender exemplar.
Based on long-term ethnographic research, this article contributes to the growing scholarship on far-right social movements by presenting an in-depth account of the Italian far-right scene. In presenting personal accounts of three activists and situating them within the milieus in which they are active, it sheds light on a variety of factors that push youth to engage in far-right militancy. Many researchers of far-right extremism have asserted the need to provide more in-depth knowledge on far-right militants, yet there remain important gaps that this article strives to address. First, it demonstrates the value of the ethnographic approach in the study of far right, which offers unique insights into the motivations for involvement and the relations between ideas, beliefs, and practices. Second, it shows the importance of situating present-day activism in a historical context, not only by looking for long-term patterns but also by paying attention to the ways studied actors engage with historical comparisons. Third, in engaging critically with some commonsensical approaches to far-right activists, the paper suggests that ethnographic studies of far-right activism can give us fresh perspectives on broader social phenomena beyond the far right per se.
The mid-twentieth-century English novelist, Henry Williamson, wrote nature stories but also romantic and historical fiction, including a fifteen-volume saga that contains a largely favorable characterization of Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists. This essay considers the challenge of such a fascist character through the prism of the literary imagination of Williamson readers, and more specifically through my longstanding ethnographic work with an English literary society constituted in the author’s name. I am centrally concerned with how literary society members deal with the positive depiction of the Mosley-based character through the stages of the reading process that they identify and describe. Do the immersive values commonly attached to their solitary reading culture, for instance, assist or further problematize that engagement? What role does their subsequent, shared practice of character evaluation play? As well as considering the treatment of characters as objects of sympathy, I explore the vital sympathies that for literary society members tie characters together with historical persons. Across the essay I dialogue with anthropological literature on exemplars, historical commentaries on the fascist cult of leadership, and finally with the philosophical claims that Nussbaum makes for the moral and political consequences of fiction reading.
ISSUES RELATED to individual or collective identity have been a favourite subject of analysis among historians for some time now. In this respect, and for the medieval period in particular, an analysis of the processes of construction of the elements involved in the creation of a political identity in a wide range of scenarios takes on particular importance. The aim here is to examine the process of construction of the identity of urban centres in Navarre, highlighting a series of features that run parallel to other similar processes in medieval Western Europe, although we will also refer to some characteristics specific to Navarre. Before beginning the analysis, however, it is perhaps useful to make some brief initial points, both regarding the historiographical context of Navarre in general and the concept of identity.
Background
The urban world of Navarre has traditionally been examined from a perspective very closely related to its legal parameters: together with the case of the civitas episcopalis of Pamplona, we consider “urban” centres to be those that received a specific statute or charter (fuero); in this case a kind of franchise for Franks, but not others. This perspective means that we first need to provide a few explanations. First of all, we should point out that very different places with varying demographic and economic weight received this type of statute, so that in the heart of the Middle Ages, we can count twenty-seven “good towns” (buenas villas, bonnes villes) in Navarre to the south of the Pyrenees, but only three had more than five hundred “households” (fuegos). However, it is clear that the three boroughs of Pamplona (the civitas itself, San Saturnino, and San Nicolás) had around one thousand.
At the other extreme, fourteen of these entities had fewer than a hundred households, and a further two were just above this figure (one with 101 and the other with 107), while some show figures that are almost ridiculous (seven, twelve, eighteen). In other words, we are talking about very small urban centres (at least in legal terms), to which we need to add economic activities that—except, perhaps, for the half-dozen that are clearly important Good Towns in the urban structure—largely take place in the rural environment.
THE GIUDICATO OF Arborea was one of four independent judicates into which the island of Sardinia was divided in the Middle Ages. It occupied the central-west portion of the island, with Cagliari to the south and east, and the Mediterranean Sea to the west. Giudice (Judge) Barison II married into the Catalan nobility in 1157, and two centuries later Sardinia fell to the Crown of Aragon. Arborea outlasted her neighbours, surviving into the fifteenth century. Historical research into the relations between the kingdom of Sardinia and Corsica and the Giudicato of Arborea (from the second half of the thirteenth to the first two decades of the fifteenth century) has existed for more than a century. In this chapter, I focus on historical memory and foundation myths as identity-making discourses in this context and period of time.
Notwithstanding, and although recognizing that the Catalan “layer” is fundamental for understanding modern Sardinia's culture and identity, I have previously highlighted how publications, conferences, and seminars are less and less concerned with the history of Catalan–Aragonese Sardinia. That said, in recent decades scholars have continued to wonder about the meaning and different aspects of the deep Catalan imprint on Sardinia, not only for the Middle Ages, but also for the modern period. After all, the island continued to revolve around that political and cultural orbit, even though it was then part of the larger Crown of Spain.
This chapter applies social science methodo logies to the analysis of Sardo-Catalan relations. This is particularly important for the period between 1297—the founding date of the Regnum Sardiniae et Corsica —and 1420, when the Sardinian Giudicato definitively fell to the kings of Aragon. These political changes affected issues of identity then and later.
Such methodologies are also needed due to the paucity of medieval sources—public and/or private—produced in the island, which cannot counterbalance the wealth of documents elsewhere, mainly in Iberia. The Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó alone holds a wide range of records, parchments, diplomas, and charters concerning thirteenth- to fifteenth-century Sardinia, not to mention other archives in Barcelona and in other territories formerly under the Crown of Aragon. In addition, we have many sources from the Italian peninsula.
ONE'S NAME is no doubt the most important means of identification a person has. And as any sign of cultural and social identity, it is open to different perception and interpretation. What is natural and self-evident for a person belonging to one culture may be totally incomprehensible to someone looking at it from the “outside.” This is true even of closely related cultures. For example, many Christians not belonging to the Hispanic world are taken aback when meeting someone called Jesus. Perhaps the same way that Spaniards react to the name Christo, very popular in Bulgaria. In both cases we are dealing with rather recent onomastic developments characteristic of the Modern period. There are reasons to believe that medieval Spaniards and Bulgarians would have dismissed the very possibility of such Christian names.
But what is a Christian name? Strange as it may seem this is a complicated question, and different Christian communities in different times give very different answers. When asked about it today most people would probably say it is the name of a saint or of a revered character of the Bible, while some might disagree and insist that any name belonging to and meaningful in the Christian culture (such as Angel, Noel, Toussaint, Trinidad, or, let's say, Chantal and Montserrat) is in fact a Christian name; still others would claim that practically any name could be Christian. Simplifying this problem to some extent, these three approaches are characteristic, respectively, of Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant (especially Anglo-Saxon Protestant) traditions. Oddly enough this question has not been studied sufficiently, either by specialists in historical onomastics, or by historians of religion, mainly—as one can guess—because research into baptismal names is usually conducted in the frame of cultural traditions of a particular Christian community, without due attention to the ways and ideas of other Christians. With all my admiration and gratitude for the wonderful books and articles cited here, I should say plainly that most authors do not recognize the problem itself, let alone study it.
Baptismal Names and Liturgy
In the long run, the difference in the perception of the Christian name is explained by different liturgical customs common to the three traditions mentioned above. Limiting my study to the Middle Ages, I discuss only the Orthodox and the Catholic customs.