Argentina has once more restructured its debt. In May 2020, Argentina became unable to pay bondholders the interest on their bonds— this due in part to unsustainable growth of its debt-to-GDP ratio over the past few years, along with the acute economic downturn during the COVID-19 pandemic. The restructured bonds are now worth only 55 cents on the dollar, compared to their original value, which is still higher than they are trading on the open market.

Argentina's economic woes are only Act Two of a much longer saga that began almost 20 years ago. And though Argentina has been through the ringer when it comes to sovereign debt, the country is not alone in its sovereign debt difficulties. Many experts believe this is just the tip of the iceberg—that, in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, we will experience a large-scale sovereign debt crisis on par with the Latin American debt crisis of the 1980s.

This looming sovereign debt crisis is happening at a time when trade and investment liberalization is at its zenith. As repeatedly emphasized, despite the United States’ apparent skepticism toward trade agreements and Britain's withdrawal from the European Union, the overall trend of the global economy is toward greater, broader and deeper integration. The push toward lower barriers for trade in goods has been accompanied by a parallel trend toward fewer barriers to cross-border trade in services and foreign investment. Moreover, to facilitate all this trade, treaties increasing demand capital flow liberalization as well.

Trade and investment liberalization has the potential to provide greater access to capital at a time when countries are in need of external financing for development projects and policies. However, recent research on trade liberalization and government revenue shows that increased trade liberalization is correlated with decreases in government revenue. This applies both to the lost revenue from lower tariffs, as well as a failure to replace that income with other taxation income. At the same time, other policy constraints imposed by the WTO, FTAs and BITs all restrict the ability of country parties to recoup those losses of tariff revenue through other forms of taxation.

“Becoming Beckett” is a designation neither of disparagement nor of belatedness. It suggests, further, neither a creative decline nor a character deficiency. It is rather an expression of one of the creative multitudes that comprised Tennessee Williams, who was several. Its emphasis is on “becoming,” to suggest, after Gilles Deleuze, an immanence, a continuous creative exploration and development, a process that Williams expected directors and actors to continue. Beckett is used here as an image of theatrical experiment and as a recognizable instance of such becoming. A revolutionary theatrical gesture like Beckett's Waiting for Godot, for instance, ought not freeze its author's talents, nor condemn an artist to a career of devising sequels, although sequels can themselves break new ground, as Beckett demonstrated with his follow- up theatrical enterprise, Endgame. Beckett considered this sequel to be, on one level, the story of Vladimir and Estragon at a later stage of their existence. Terence Killeen changes the terms of Beckett's equation, observing in the Irish Times during the 2020 pandemic lockdown that “Endgame is what would now be called a ‘spin- off,’ “ and, further, “Hamm is a more reduced Pozzo: by the second act of Godot, Pozzo is already blind and barely able to walk; here in Endgame he is confined irrevocably to a chair.” One can quibble with Killeen's easy allegory and offer, instead, the position that Endgame broke sharply with Godot, as it turned theater back on itself. Beckett's theater followed his narrative art toward its famed self- reflexivity, but one might say as well that both readings (or viewings) pertain. Like Beckett’s, much of Williams's later work is theater as theater, theater as subject of theater.

The United States renegotiated its accord with Mexico and Canada, redubbed the United States–Mexico–Canada Agreement (USMCA) in December 2019. Dissatisfied with the trade adjustment resulting from competition in tradeable sectors worldwide, the United States Trade Representative demanded new protections for regional automotive and other industrial manufacturers, including stricter rules of origin and labor protection rules. The ultimate goal was to rebuild the United States’ manufacturing sector and protect its vulnerable people from the repeated ravages of trade liberalization. The agreement offers similar protections to small and medium enterprises, as well as the agricultural industry. The message is clear: the United States is interested in protecting its manufacturing sector, and is taking steps to make it so that treaties play a role in protecting and supporting those sectors.

Interest in these kinds of economic-restructuring policies is rising all over the world and is not new. As evidenced by the rhetoric surrounding US trade relations, and the demand in the United Kingdom to exit from the European Union, even developed countries are seeking ways to restructure their economies and meet the needs of those sectors that have lost out to global competition under neoliberalism. Although industrial policies, as they are commonly called, are usually associated with countries in earlier stages of development, overt attempts by highly industrialized nations offer yet more evidence that most countries are only interested in free trade inasmuch as it serves the interests of their voting constituents.

Trade and industrial policy together are broadly defined as those measures that countries put in place to adjust the balance of trade (imports and exports) and/or the industrial structure of their economies. They vary widely, including measures that fund and support public education, subsidies supporting specific types of economic activity and taxes discouraging other types. They also include investment incentives offered in specific sectors, tariffs and export taxes, and even varying levels of protection for intellectual property rights. Ideally, the countries put in place these measures to increase welfare among their constituents. In most cases, countries are seeking the elusive idea of development.

Development is the long-run process of transforming an economy from concentrated assets based on primary products to a diverse set of assets based on knowledge.

In this chapter we shift our focus from the contributions that children make within the private realm of family and the public/private online sphere, to their participation within the more explicitly public realm of school and broader community. Children across the globe get involved in their schools, communities and societies, where they contribute and aim to make a difference through direct actions, participation in decision-making, awareness raising and challenging common assumptions about their capacities. In this chapter, we discuss three examples of children's diverse contributions and analyse the many levels upon which power may operate within them. Our first example is the involvement of children in school councils, which have a long tradition in many countries and have gained further prominence after the ratification of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC). Our second example is the more recent mobilisation of children and young people through the climate strikes (Fridays for the Future), which gained momentum across the world in 2019. Finally, our third example is the activism by working children's movements in Latin America, Asia and Africa to improve the conditions of working children and destigmatise child labour. Through these three examples, we discuss different dimensions of power and analyse the extent to which the actions of children can or should be seen as manifestations of kid power. We trace some of the discourses and paradigms around childhood and children's involvement, which are common in commentary and responses to children's involvement in all three contexts. Finally, we challenge the zerosum conception of power commonly used to describe children's involvement and activism, by considering various power differentials between children and adults and between children themselves and the many potential combinations through which the interests of children and adults may coincide.

Case 1: Children's Involvement in School Councils

School councils are representative structures, where student councillors meet regularly to discuss areas of interest to the children at their school. The councils are often highlighted as a way to increase children and young people's engagement and active citizenship, and they are closely related to the broader focus on children's rights to participation, learning for democracy and ‘pupil voice’ (Maitles and Deuchar, 2006; Whitty and Wisby, 2007).

A large part of this book has been written during the Covid-19 pandemic, and as such it would be remiss of us not to briefly reflect on the implications it may have for intergenerational relations and the concept of kid power as discussed in the book. The virus is fuzzy in terms of its direct effects on the health of children and adults, but there is some evidence to suggest that younger children are less likely to be seriously affected than adults (UKRI, 2020). While generation is thus to some extent a variable in an analysis of the health effects, the political and social effects are more universal. Across many countries, the onset of the pandemic in the first few months of 2020 resulted in a sudden and absolute rise of overt state action with the imposition of national and regional lockdowns. While the levels and forms of enforcement of these restrictions varied across different countries, power was nevertheless crude, top-down and one-dimensional with the state justifying the restrictions on people's physical movements in terms of restricting the spread of the virus. Moreover, the lockdown placed similar physical restrictions on children and adults. Where adults and children were in a position to move around, there were (and still are) major social implications with social distancing a familiar reference point now for both adults and children when negotiating common and routine interactions outside of households. Interactions among children are now more likely to be discouraged as parents and, in some instances, teachers extend their safeguarding responsibilities to protecting children from the virus. State power is also clearly apparent in the way that physical restrictions are lifted or reimposed, and more routine social interactions with others outside of the household allowed or limited.

While it is still, at the time of writing, an open question how the pandemic will affect the themes we have discussed in the book more long-term, we may already now speculate on some of the implications, at least in the short term. For example, in Chapter 3 we argued that child-centredness in school settings illustrates a more Foucauldian notion of power, where social interactions rival more traditional curriculums and teacher-centred pedagogy in regulating children's schooling and development.

Louis Maurice Halbwachs was born in Reims on March 11, 1877. He entered the famous French “great school,” the Ecole Normale Superieure (ENS), reserved for the best pupils, in 1898. He left the ENS in 1901, after having gained the “aggregation,” the French highest degree for teachers. While teaching philosophy in high schools, he became in 1905 a member of the Année Sociologique (journal founded by Émile Durkheim) team, probably under the influence of his friend François Simiand. As members of the Socialist Party, they both belonged to the Groupe d’Études socialistes, a study circle attended by other Durkheimians like Durkheim's nephew, Marcel Mauss. In the division of labor established among the Durkheimians for the journal's publishing, he specialized in reviewing works of economic sociology, statistics, and later demography. During the Great War, he worked at the War Ministry under the leadership of his friend Albert Thomas, a well-known socialist political leader. Afterward, he was appointed as lecturer at the University of Caen in 1918, and then became a full professor at Strasbourg from 1919 to 1935. Entering the Sorbonne at this date, he first replaced Celestin Bougle, another famous Durkheimian, and was appointed full professor in 1937. In 1944 he obtained a chair of “Collective Psychology” at the College de France, the most prestigious French college. Halbwachs was arrested by the German Gestapo in July 1944, probably because his son belonged to the French Resistance, and also because he had previously been protesting at the German Komandantur, after his in-laws have been murdered by the French Milice. He was finally deported to Buchenwald, where he died on March 16, 1945.

For a quarter of a century now, and more particularly over the last decade, Maurice Halbwachs has inspired a growing literature embodied by many sociologists and historians of social sciences, published for the most part in scientific journals, focusing on the sociological thought that Halbwachs developed in his writings. Then come many studies that emerge from the history of ideas and epistemology: these are entirely devoted to a particular facet of Halbwachs's work, either to place it in its scientific context or to discuss it on the basis of fundamental cognitive issues.

This book has mainly been written and/or researched by Level-3 students studying on the module ‘State Crime and the Immorality of the Powerful’ at the University of Leeds, a number of whom have undertaken all the research and writing themselves. Other contributors have embarked upon meticulous research and allowed the editors to either co-author their findings or name them as the main researcher. On the other side of the coin, both the editors of this book have taught on this module and, naturally, facilitated many of their own understandings of the issues at hand.

Book Outline

Accordingly, the book will deal with 14 different case studies of State crime and/or the immorality of the powerful. It will act as a supplementary study to the book State Crime and Immorality: The Corrupting Influence of the Powerful (Monaghan and Prideaux 2016). Case studies will range from disasters caused through neglect, State-sponsored/instigated crime, corporate crime, organisational crime and State terrorism (which relates to a State or a terrorist group condoned by the State terrorising and harming its own or another State). On the other hand, medico crimes in this book primarily address pharmaceutical fraud. In addition, the selling of illegal drugs, and how widespread such activities are, is also viewed from a UK perspective.

Nevertheless, this collection is set out in thematic order and contains two studies per chapter. As a consequence, the first chapter examines the tragedy of a mining village at Aberfan South Wales and, in the second half, the disastrous fire in the multistorey flats (apartments) of Grenfell Tower, London. Indeed, both studies duly expose the danger of official authorities subjugating health and safety concerns while regarding communities as dispensable to either increased profit margins or the minimisation of loss before and after these catastrophic events. Chapter Two is also concerned about the devastating potential of profit and neoliberalism. The chapter focuses on the pharmaceutical industry and the fraud and corruption of big US firms, whereas the second part of the chapter looks at the ill-health issues arising out of the Flint water crisis in the United States.

Like his treatment of religion, Dylan's treatment of race in Time Out of Mind involves crossing boundaries, transgressing categories and seeking an alternate route between absolute extremes. On this level of the dream, Dylan again employs transfiguration and metempsychosis, giving voice to a dreamer who shifts personae and identifies at various points with influential figures from the past, in this case drawn from African American history. Dylan has become increasingly outspoken in the twenty-first century about his commitments and debts as an American artist. “Every one of the records I’ve made has emanated from the entire panorama of what America is to me,” he told Mikal Gilmore in 2001. For Dylan, being an American artist comes with an obligation to grapple with race, expose systemic racism and confront the shameful legacy of slavery. He is often labeled, against his will, as “the voice of his generation” for his songs from the sixties, but Dylan situates himself as a byproduct of the 1860s as much as the 1960s. In Chronicles Dylan writes about visiting the library in his early New York days and studying newspapers from the Civil War era: “It all makes you feel creepy. The age that I was living in didn't resemble this age, but yet it did in some mysterious and traditional way. Not just a little bit, but a lot.” Early on he incorporated the animating tensions and moral tests of Civil War America as “the all-encompassing template behind everything that I would write.” That template is forged from the chains of slavery.

Dylan articulates these views most pointedly in his 2012 interview with Mikal Gilmore. Following up on Dylan's frequent allusions to the Civil War era, Gilmore asks, “Do you see any parallels between the 1860s and presentday America?” Dylan replies that “the United States burned and destroyed itself for the sake of slavery. The USA wouldn't give it up. It had to be grinded out. The whole system had to be ripped out with force. A lot of killing. What, like, 500,000 people? A lot of destruction to end slavery. And that's what it really was all about.”

Central Province

• Arattana Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Petiyāgoḍa, Kandy District

• Bōdhimalkaḍa Purāna Vihāra Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Haňguranketa, Nuvaraeḷiya District

• Dӓmbava Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galēwela, Mātalē District

• Danturē Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Yaṭinuvara, Kandy District

• Doragamuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Uḍatalawinna, Kandy District

• Dūnkumbura Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Gerӓkmӓdilla Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Alawatugoḍa, Kandy District

• Gurubӓbila Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Gurubӓbila, Mātalē District

• Haňdabōva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Kaňdapiṭa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kandy District

• Kaloṭuwāva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Koṭakēdeṇiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Gelioya, Kandy District

• Kumbaloḷuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Gamhata, Kandy District

• Lēwӓlle Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kandy District

• Mӓdabӓdda Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galēwela, Mātalē District

• Mӓdavala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hārispattuva, Kandy District

• Mahavӓhӓra Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galēwela, Mātalē District

• Makuḷutӓnne Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Veheragama, Mātalē District

• Mӓṇikkaḍawara Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kandy District

• Mīgammana Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Wattēgama, Kandy District

• Minīmӓrūpiṭiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Eḷadӓtta, Kandy District

• Minīgamuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galagedara, Kandy District

• Muruddeṇiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Nārangolla Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Nārangolla, Mātalē District

• Niyamgamdora Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Tavalamtӓnna, Nuvaraeḷiya District

• Ōvala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Rattoṭa, Mātalē District

• Pamunuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Wālawela, Yaṭawatta, Mātalē District

• Pusulpiṭiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kotmalē, Nuvaraeḷiya District

• Sivurupiṭiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Sūriyagoḍa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Yaṭinuvara, Kandy District

• Talakiriyāva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Pallēpola, Mātalē District

• Uḍasgiriya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Yaṭawatta, Mātalē District

• Uḍatalawinna Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Wattēgama, Kandy District

• Unambuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Uḍa Palāta, Gampola, Kandy District

• Vӓhӓra Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Mādipola, Mātalē District

• Vaḷala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kuṇḍasālē, Kandy District

• Vӓligoḍapola Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Vӓliviṭa Ihaḷagama Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hataraliyӓdda, Kandy District

• Welangahawatta Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Rattoṭa, Mātalē District

North Central Province

• Aḷut Divulvӓva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Anurādhapura District

• Ambarӓḷi Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Hiňguruvӓva, Paḷāgala, Anurādhapura District

• Dāniyagala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Palāgala, Anurādhapura District

• Gōnamäriyāva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Käbitigollǟva, Anurādhapura District

• Habaraṇa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Palugasvӓva, Anurādhapura District

• Kaḍahata Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Rambӓva, Anurādhapura District

• Maḍavala Nāmalpura Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Palugasvӓva, Anurādhapura District

• Maha Divulväva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kӓkirāva, Anurādhapura District

• Mahakumbukgollǟva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Mӓdavachchiya, Anurādhapura District

• Manankaṭṭiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galenbiňdunuvӓva, Anurādhapura District

• Puhulegama Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Horovpotāna, Anurādhapura District

• Saňdagala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Toraṇaka, Kӓkirāva, Anurādhapura District

North Western (Vyamba) Province

• Aedanḍāwala Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Māspota, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Ahugoḍa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Polgahawela, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Alawva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Alawva-South, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Aluthēratgama Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Galgamuva, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Amuṇakolē Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Ambagasväva, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Arambēpola Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Polgahawela, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Baḍagamuva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kurunǟgala, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Baladora Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Halmilla Koṭuwa, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Balalḷa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Mahava, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Bayava Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Avulēgama, Wāriyapola, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Bibilādeṇiya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Biṅgiriya, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Bihalpola Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Kuliyāpiṭiya, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Biṅgiriya Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Biṅgiriya, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Bōgoḍa Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Wāriyapola, Kuruṇǟgala District

• Budumuttāva Ṭämpiṭavihāra, Nikawӓraṭiya, Kuruṇǟgala District

Aḷutdivulvӓva Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Anurādhapura District

The Aḷutdivulvӓva temple dates to the Anurādhapura period, possibly to the reign of Vasabha (65– 109 CE), during which time the nearby reservoir was built. The temple premises are on the dam of its namesake reservoir. The ṭämpiṭavihāra was erected in 1744 with the sponsorship of Välipota Kumārihāmi of the Morakǟva Baṇḍāra family of local chieftains. Its four timber beams sit on ten stone pillars, with one pillar added later to support the rear cross beam. There is no balustrade for the ambulatory. Two Buddha images and two figures of deities stand on the sides of the main seated Buddha image. The temple is located 42 km northeast of Käkirāva town in Anurādhapura District, about 8 km east of Galenbiňdunuväva junction, which is on the road connecting Käkirāva to Ganēwalpola-Dacchi-Halmmillǟva.

Ambaräli Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Anurādhapura District

While the origins of the temple could be traced to the third century BCE, the ṭämpiṭavihāra was constructed in 1838 under the guidance of Haňdungama Indrajōti Thērō. Painters from the Nīlagama Sittara lineage executed the murals. This is a two-storied ṭämpiṭavihāra, with an extremely narrow ambulatory and a split platform on either side of the central stairway, all located on the upper level. A more spacious ambulatory surrounding the elevated ätulgäba (cella) and a small vestibule under the platforms are constructed on the ground level. These lower level constructions could perhaps be a later addition to the original twostoried image-house. Another rare feature is that the roof ridge runs on the cross axis of the cella, rather than on the longitudinal axis. The ṭämpiṭavihāra is in the Ambaräli Raja Mahā Vihāra, just north of the Hiňguruväva reservoir, about 1 km west of and 23 km north on Kalāväva-Galēwela road from Galēwela town on Kuruṇǟgala-Dambulla road.

Habaraṇa Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Anurādhapura District

This ṭämpiṭavihāra was built in the eighteenth century by the local community to honour a Buddhist monk who had impressed King Kīrti Śrī Rājasiṅghe with his virtuous conduct. Elevated on 11 short stone pillars, the ṭämpiṭavihāra has a relatively narrow ambulatory with no handrail. Eight masonry stumps were erected at a later period along the periphery of the ambulatory for additional support.

Exploring the relationship between biology and sociology led the founders of sociology and their followers to focus on the criteria of sex and age. Maurice Halbwachs approached them both in his works of social morphology and of collective memory, constituting two variations of the objectivization of social times and social spaces. His approach combined the methods learned from his two masters. That of Henri Bergson when he was in philosophy class at the Lycée Henri IV in Paris, and that of sociology by Émile Durkheim, which constitutes a second later set of references. Henri Bergson's method consisted in rigorously analyzing the texts by focusing on their coherence, and not in going from one author to another, as did most of the philosophers of his time. Halbwachs will learn from this lesson. In Les Règles de la méthode sociologique, Durkheim explained Halbwachs the means of a construction and an assessment in the manner of Claude Bernard's experimental approach. His method is therefore hybrid, and the tensions in the transmission of philosophical styles over the course of the twentieth century have blurred what for Halbwachs was after all quite simple: his two masters had taught him to practice two types of exercises of philosophical rigor. The differences time will exacerbate between them were for the student many places where questions arose and where they required a tenacious investigation (Jaisson, 2008).

In his text Le Point de vue du nombre – called “comparative demography of the human species” by the historian Lucien Febvre, agent of volume VII of L’Encyclopédie Française – Halbwachs discusses to which extent age, admittedly organic, can also be social through representation systems and institutions. If we find there the material and organic basis that a Durkheimian could assign to social phenomena by implicitly adopting the Comtian classification of sciences, Halbwachs, however, undermines the presuppositions of positive philosophy.

Nowadays, the variables of sex and age are undoubtedly among the most studied by demographers, and their variations the most commented in the social sciences. The age and sex distributions are, in fact, one of the clearest indicators of the social structures of reproduction, which can be grasped at the global level of populations, but also at finer levels of scale, such as, for example, a professional group.

On the following pages, we present illustrations of 50 selected ṭämpiṭavihāras in Sri Lanka. These illustrations sufficiently elaborate on the architectural aspects we discussed in Part 1. In selecting these examples, we chose the most unknown and hitherto unstudied ṭämpiṭavihāras. The selection is a representative sample of ṭämpiṭavihāras in various regions of the country and illustrates subtle variations in their architectural designs in the typology of ṭämpiṭavihāras. They belong mostly to the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and have not undergone drastic alterations or inappropriate preservation and are probably the best examples to understand the original architecture of ṭämpiṭavihāras. These ṭämpiṭavihāras come from the districts of Anurādhapura, Gālle, Gampaha, Hambantoṭa, Kalutara, Kandy, Kǟgalle, Kuruṇǟgala, Mātara, Mātale, Monarāgala, and Ratnapura (Figure 43).

Teams of first-year students of the Department of Architecture in the University of Moraṭuwa, Sri Lanka, undertook the ardent task of preparing measured drawings of these ṭämpiṭavihāras. Their names and the years in which the drawings were done are mentioned in the brief introduction given for each ṭämpiṭavihāra. Collecting data on each ṭämpiṭavihāra – their histories, time periods when constructed or renovated, who were involved, and the like – became difficult as there were no proper historical documents available and as folklore and other oral historical sources were often contradictory. Consequently, the descriptions given for each ṭämpiṭavihāra are brief. The location maps given are not to scale and are simply to provide some navigational assistance.