This article traces a speculative and critical engagement with histories of health care disparity and medical exploitation shared across fictions by Ralph Ellison and Toni Morrison, and the artwork of Ellen Gallagher. It argues that insistent returns to racialized experimentation and scientific modes of looking form a significant interrogation of a wider set of US promises and attritions. Specifically, it asks how postwar African American culture takes up scopic questions to address dominant accounts of progress and the modern, both via reference to visual orders and technologies, and via formal choices regarding iteration, perspective and scale.

Around the world, Indigenous people are preparing for futures of climate uncertainty and resource shortages. Indigenous communities are looking to the past and seeking guidance from their traditions – diverse systems of knowledge that change over time – so that they and future generations might nurture connections to the “deep time” of geological and human histories. In this essay we examine how the Wangan and Jagalingou Family Council in Australia and the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians in the United States have taken long-term views on ecological sustainability and sovereignty. We focus on these two Indigenous communities on opposite sides of the Pacific Ocean because they are among the highest-profile battles over ancient groundwater in the past decade. Set against a backdrop of global settler state interference and exploitative economic practices, both cases reveal how the concept of kinscapes – or a shared sense of relatedness to interconnected ecosystems, histories, and places (or nodes) of belonging – can sharpen our understanding of environmental stewardship and its importance to Indigenous sovereignty. Whereas mining corporations and settler governments continue to make decisions with short- to medium-term objectives in mind, Wangan and Jagalingou and Agua Caliente leaders have used legal battles over groundwater to underscore their spiritual and physical connectedness with local environments. Like Indigenous communities around the world, the Wangan and Jagalingou Family Council and the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians are making ontological choices by asserting their sovereignty through environmental stewardship.

Recent research on the far right has remained surprisingly silent on the question of capitalism. This article takes another approach. It suggests that we must understand the far right emerging out of the economic: out of the dynamics of capitalism itself. It does so through an intellectual portrait of the financial journalist Peter Brimelow, one of the most influential proponents of far-right nativist politics and a self-described “godfather of the Alt Right.” It follows his passage from financial journalist to anti-immigrant firebrand through his encounters with neoliberal luminaries Peter Bauer, Julian Simon, and Milton Friedman. Rather than for an ethnostate, I argue Brimelow is best seen as making the case for an “ethno-economy,” with immigration determined by a racialized hierarchy of human capital.

From the early 1960s to the early 1990s, a range of concerns about “brainwashing” in youth reeducation programs obfuscated professional and political discourse, influencing key outcomes that shaped the development of the troubled-teen industry in the United States. The most significant historical developments related to this controversy involved three different youth programs. In response to accusations of “brainwashing,” program executives created elaborate counterarguments and public-relations campaigns. Instead of working to address inherent risks associated with therapeutic reeducation, the brainwashing label obscured the potential for harm and enabled an unethical teen program industry.

This article examines the constructions of Black “degeneracy” through which white Americans rationalized Jim Crow terror. Ruminations on African Americans’ supposed downward trajectory, I argue, drew relational meaning from a range of colonial discourses. Claims that African Americans were deteriorating outside the bonds of enslavement were articulated within wider transnational imperialist discourses circulating in this period that imagined that the world's savage peoples were destined to recede in the march of civilization. Here, I examine white Americans’ narratives of African American degeneration through two other imagined hemispheric encounters between white civilization and savagery. In the article's first half, I consider images of Haiti employed in cultural and political texts to signify the durability of innate Black savagery and the apocalyptic potential of Black freedom. In the second half, I consider discourses of Black degeneration in freedom alongside the genocidal construction of the “vanishing Indian.” I focus on two memorial projects: the 1931 monument to the Faithful Slave erected in Harpers Ferry and the never-completed National American Indian Memorial, for which ground was broken in 1913 at Fort Wadsworth.

Between 1895 and 1916, a Conference on International Arbitration met annually at Lake Mohonk, New York, seeking to implement arbitration as a substitute for war. This article considers the aims, effects, and limitations of these conferences, including the problematic assumptions underpinning their apparent progressivism. The belief that an enlightened public opinion would play a decisive role in advancing arbitration will be interrogated, as will the conviction that the Mohonk group provided a mouthpiece for an emergent “international mind.” The article shows how these conferences evoked a “global” public opinion that was simultaneously (and paradoxically) expansive, exclusionary, forcible, and manipulable. It reveals too how American conceptions of internationalism took shape, anticipating aspects of Wilsonianism.

This paper analyzes the 2003 Iraq War's origins through the lens of orientalism and within the history of liberal empire. It argues that Edward Said correctly contended that an orientalist emphasis on essential difference helped justify the war. However, Said overlooked how liberal assertions of universal values also served as a basis for empire in this case and how many opponents of the war also drew on orientalist ideas. Simultaneously, opponents of the Iraq War often used orientalist binaries and stereotypes in their arguments for restraint. It concludes that in using cultural lenses in policy analysis, scholars should pay close attention to shifting contexts and appreciate the multidirectional potentialities of cultural factors for policy.

During World War II, Germany and the United States fought it out on the battlefields, but once the Allies were victorious, American attention quickly turned to the playing fields. Despite recent enmity, in the spirit of amity GIs quickly started recreational games with German youngsters. This seemingly natural development was at odds with both American expectations of the Germans and vice versa. Reeducation of Germany, and especially its Nazi-indoctrinated youth, was viewed as essential to peace, and the army, through sports, became perhaps unlikely early reeducators. This article outlines sports’ inherent Americanness, this impromptu playing, and its relationship to the formal army program of youth activities.

Thomas D. Rice's Otello Burlesque represents the first full performance to link Shakespearean burlesque with blackface minstrelsy on the early American stages. This disturbing milestone has its origins in a pressing need, on Rice's part, to expand the range of his signature persona, the “original Jim Crow.” Rice developed his script during an extended hiatus, following a successful tour of England. Although it generally is regarded as a loose adaptation of Maurice Dowling's 1834 Othello Travestie, I argue that Rice took care to blend Dowling with Shakespeare. This combination recasts Jim Crow as a grotesque persona, which disrupts Shakespearean burlesque as much as it does blackface minstrelsy. Accordingly, the play dwells on Othello's anguish, but displaces that anguish in an atmosphere of chaos. In turning to performance history, I argue that the play was regarded as a momentary sensation, whose novelty wore off almost as quickly as it appeared. Subsequent revivals suggest that producers went to some trouble to maintain interest among audiences. In its treatment of racial difference as “fun,” Otello Burlesque draws attention to a culture of distraction, where the term is understood as civil conflict and as the momentary diversions that draw public attention away from it.

Within southern US newspapers, the Indian Uprising of 1857 was reported and read across a global colour line, which posited the superiority of whiteness against the “darker races,” thereby developing a framework through which white Southerners could amplify their own internal fears about the possibility of slave rebellion. News printed in southern newspapers about the events in India can be seen through a lens of the South's racial hierarchy and can also be analysed as part of a wider global system of nineteenth-century white supremacy. Despite Anglophobia and fear of abolitionists, southern enslavers could also find it within themselves to support the British when it came to the maintenance of a global hierarchy of whiteness. The news from India could be read as a form of contextual substitution, in which southern slaveholders could see perceived racial parallels between themselves and the British in India, and between the “darker races” of the world, whether that was the enslaved African American or the Indian Sepoy.

In 1969, a group of activists in the Netherlands formed the Solidariteitscomité met de Black Panthers, or Black Panther Solidarity Committee, intended to support the Black Panther Party through a platform of public education, fund-raising, and political protest. Their efforts were part of a broader campaign for European solidarity launched by the African Americans themselves earlier that year. This article is the first to explore how Dutch activists understood their transatlantic partnership with the Black Panthers, arguing that their solidarity served not only to support the party but also to challenge American imperialism and Dutch colonialism in new ways.

From the beginning of King Leopold II's endeavours to secure the Congo Free State (CFS) as his personal domain, through to the legitimization of his rule at the Berlin Conference in 1884–85, the United States has played an important role in the tragic history of the CFS. This article seeks to explore the complex relationship between humanitarianism and race in the story of the American connection with the CFS and subsequent Congo reform movement. It will unpack the role of key individuals involved and their relationship with American humanitarians in the reform movement, arguing that while pursuing reform in the CFS, American humanitarians established close relationships and collaborated with notable racists who shared their beliefs on race and colonialism. By examining these alliances, it becomes evident that their efforts for reform were entangled with individuals who contradicted the supposed humanitarian goals. This article will also examine the reception of this activism in the African American press, showing that the response to the reform campaign was ambivalent at best, with questions raised as to why key African American activists involved in the movement focussed their efforts abroad in the era of Jim Crow in the US.

This article argues that because a center–periphery model has dominated our understanding of postwar suburban growth we have failed to fully understand the rural dimensions of that growth. That misunderstanding resulted from the urban orientation of sociologists who studied the suburbs. As a consequence, we have also not appreciated the extent to which rural political outlooks shaped the postwar backlash against New Deal liberalism in the suburbs.

Historians have treated the counterculture largely as a white phenomenon and drawn sharp boundaries between its escapism and the political engagement of the Black freedom struggle. A look at the counterculture's origins and growth in the late 1950s and the 1960s reveals that the counterculture intersected with Black culture in many ways. White beats, hipsters, and hippies generally admired the civil rights movement's support for equality and nonviolence, but sometimes scoffed at its effort to gain integration into American society. Hippies considered themselves outsiders from society and imagined that they shared affinity with Black Americans. Blacks’ responses to the counterculture ranged from contempt to curiosity to embrace. Some Blacks despised the hippies’ lifestyle and political apathy, but others considered the counterculture an important challenge to “the System.” American culture, style, literature, and music were all affected by the counterculture's experimentalism. The counterculture changed white culture, Black culture, and American culture. Drawing boundaries between cultural forms proves less instructive than focussing on the connections between them.

BrANCH's Harriet Tubman essay prize seeks to reward the best undergraduate essay or research project by Black, Asian, or other minority ethnic students based in the UK. The prize is generously cosponsored by the Royal Historical Society.