This chapter consists of a critical overview of Bailey’s major books in the field of political anthropology, including his early ethnographic work in India, his contributions to anthropology at home, his theoretical volumes and the examination of the links between power and religion in his final book. Special attention is paid to the important changes in the author’s perspective as he became increasingly disillusioned with the suitability of positivism for a complex and disorderly world. The chapter concludes with an evaluation of criticisms levelled at Bailey’s approach to politics, especially his celebrated treatise on the agency model in Stratagems and Spoils.
The National Health Service (NHS) officially ‘opened’ across Britain in 1948. It replaced a patchy system of charity and local providers, and made healthcare free at the point of use. Over the subsequent decades, the NHS was vested with cultural meaning, and even love. By 1992, the former Chancellor of the Exchequer Nigel Lawson declared that the service was ‘the closest thing the English have to a religion’. Yet in 2016, a physician publishing in the British Medical Journal asked whether the service was, in fact, a ‘national religion or national football’, referring to the complex politics of healthcare. Placards, posters, and prescriptions radically illuminates the multiple meanings of the NHS, in public life and culture, over its seventy years of life. The book charts how this institution has been ignored, worshipped, challenged, and seen as under threat throughout its history. It analyses changing cultural representations and patterns of public behaviour that have emerged, and the politics and everyday life of health. By looking at the NHS through the lenses of labour, activism, consumerism, space, and representation, this collection showcases the depth and potential of cultural history. This approach can explain how and why the NHS has become the defining institution of contemporary Britain.
This chapter considers the religio-political situation of English-language Bible reference works c. 1550–1650. It focuses upon printed, single-volume publications whose scope included the entire Bible. These works were targeted to broad audiences and tailored to a wide range of interests that different readers might have had on varied occasions. Though there is recent scholarly interest in early modern information management and reading practices, there has been limited attention given to Bible reference works, especially those aimed at broad audiences. Because these publications sought to influence how broad audiences used their Bibles, they had the potential to affect the spread of post-Reformation religious belief. For this reason, they were of interest to church and state authorities, who in turn had a significant impact upon these works’ contents and production. This chapter demonstrates that the genre’s trajectory was towards increasing proliferation in number and style of publications, but that this was fostered or hedged – to varying degrees, and in varying ways – by the changing religio-political scene. By giving attention to this significant but often-overlooked genre, and to the circumstances surrounding its development and production, we gain a more complete understanding of practices surrounding print and the politics of religion in early modern England.
In this brief opening chapter, the author tells the story of how she came to be interested in Egyptian mummies. It was while working as a summer gallery attendant at the Musée du Louvre in Paris that she first learnt of the strange and often troubling stories behind how these ancient remains came to be held in European museums. She would go on to make these stories and the ethical questions around the possession and presentation of human remains the focus of her academic career. The chapter concludes with a description of the Mummy Stories project, which gathers people’s accounts of their interactions with Egyptian mummies from around the world.
This chapter examines the place of representation within a history of the NHS. It includes analysis of the arts as well as popular culture, drawing upon novels, plays, television, film, and art, and tracing development from the emergence of the service in 1948 up to its seventieth anniversary. This history has been remarkably neglected to date. The chapter argues that one reason for this is that a focus on the NHS in the arts and popular culture is less easy to locate than we might expect and that this is revealing of the way in which new languages of representation had to be created. It demonstrates that the early NHS therefore drew heavily on existing representational tropes. The NHS did emerge as a frequent backdrop to the romance and comedy of the era, but the significance of this lay less in the articulation of arguments about the special qualities of the NHS than in the way it fostered affection through familiarity. Representational exploration of the ‘NHS-ness’ of the NHS took much longer to emerge and often did so in part through the emergence of critique. The chapter shows how this coupling of affection and critique, established by the end of the 1960s, had a long-term legacy in popular culture’s representation of the service. Nevertheless, it concludes by suggesting that there are huge challenges for critical representation of such a complex system in an era in which a simplistic cultural symbolism has become more powerfully embedded than ever before.
As befitted someone who operated in the tradition of transcendent Jacobinism, the radical infidel Richard Carlile’s affective politics cut across the public-private divide as well as national boundaries in his quest for a politics for pure reason unsullied with feeling. He was conscious of the way in which political and religious authorities legitimated their hegemony by enslaving the mind as a way of enslaving the body, in which some radicals were complicit in their failure to attack organised religion. Carlile challenged this by practising and promoting an embodied affective politics which demystified popular understandings of the passions and prescribed an ascetic regimen that empowered the working classes. Unlike other radicals discussed in this book, he was resistant to the idea that bodies were porous and merged with their environments. As the first section shows, Carlile engaged in a debate about the location of feeling in the body. Far from being an esoteric preoccupation of his that spoke only to his interest in materialism and science, Carlile insisted that the seating of the passions had important political implications. The chapter then moves on to discuss Carlile’s Every Woman’s Book, a book widely known amongst historians of feminism and sex, but not historians of emotion. Carlile’s excursus on this one passion is revealing of his understanding of sex, gender, and the politics of feeling. This chapter develops the concept of ascetic radicalism to underscore the affective basis of Carlile’s problematic quest for ‘pure reason’, focusing on the period in which he was a prominent radical leader, c.1819–1832. Ironically, for someone who rejected the notion that bodies were defined by space, Carlile’s affective politics reached their apotheosis in the prison cell, but for reasons explored in the final section, it began to break down in the early 1830s.
Universal happiness was the goal of the socialist Robert Owen’s ‘new moral world’ or the ‘rational system of society’, and he promised to eradicate bad passions. If Owen’s story is well known, much less has been said about what, exactly, he meant by happiness. In Owenite formulation, happiness meant something quite specific and tended to be used relatively: in short, happiness denoted the absence of negative feelings, and was to be achieved in quite prescriptive ways. As this chapter will show, the feeling of happiness for Owenites was inseparable from its practice. Owen appears to adhere to a form of ascetic radicalism – a set of feeling rules which accented restraint and was premised on the assumption that people had the capacity to change how they felt. But on closer inspection, Owen’s views on whether feelings were beyond the control of an individual was ambiguous. He had an entirely reductive understanding of the passions which led him to turn on its head the prevailing view of elites that negative feelings were the result of bad, immoral character. Having sketched out the centrality of the passions in Owen’s critique of the old moral world, the chapter then moves on to consider how and why Owen believed changing the conditions in which people lived would lead to changes in how they felt. Central here was his belief that happiness would ensue when the passions had been recalibrated and harmonised rather than restrained per se, though Owen never satisfactorily resolved the tension between the need to restrain some passions and unshackle others. Focusing on the tensions and contradiction in Owen’s formulation of happiness – and feelings more generally – sheds new light on the reasons why Owenism failed.
Can F. G. Bailey’s toolbox aid our understanding of irrigation bureaucracies?
This chapter approaches bureaucracies as mechanistic systems struggling to perform functions that are suited to entrepreneurial styles of modern management. In resource-scarce communities facing droughts or poverty, the system functions in an environment of uncertainty or dynamism. As a result, such bureaucracies must wrestle with choice among normative, strategic, and pragmatic rules (Treason, Stratagems, and Spoils 2001) of their institutions in order to cope with influences coming from the top down, from the state, and from the bottom up, from community-based organizations. This choice among normative, pragmatic, and strategic rules by the bureaucracy is the ad hoc response to the asymmetrical flow of information resulting from the contingencies thrust upon them by the politicians and or the ordinary people. Case studies from the internationally implemented Participatory Irrigation Management Program in Sri Lanka, India and the Philippines and the Quantification Settlement Agreement in Imperial Valley, California, are used to illustrate how these choices result in different outcomes at variance to the original goals.
Mobilising a fragmented diaspora and the limits of diaspora diplomacy
Turkey’s selective diaspora policy displays a reversal of the official secularist bias of previous Turkish governments. Against the backdrop of Turkey’s democratic backsliding and authoritarian turn, the AKP has increasingly pitted the ‘loyal’ and the ‘dissenting’ segments of the diaspora against one another (for instance, Turks vs Kurds, the AKP vs Gülenists, Sunnis vs Alevis). The ongoing clashes the AKP government has had with the Alevi, secular, Kurdish and Gülenist diaspora groups draw a productive contrast with its robust relations with the conservative diaspora associations. The AKP’s extraterritorial surveillance and suppression aimed at dissident diasporans, particularly during and after the 2013 Gezi Park protests, the 2014 presidential elections, the 2016 failed coup and the 2017 constitutional referendum, have generated fear and resentment in the diasporic space and rendered the already heterogeneous diaspora even more disunited. Divisions within Turkey’s émigré community, and deepening tension between Ankara and the non-conformist diaspora groups, weaken Turkey’s diaspora diplomacy, generate unrest within European host states and negatively affect Turkey–EU relations. The chapter first considers Turkey’s growing authoritarian practices since 2011. It provides some historic and political background to the responses of various diaspora groups to the AKP and unravels the linkages between the democratic downturn – and the consequences thereof – for Turkey’s diaspora diplomacy. The chapter then outlines specific Alevi, secular, Kurdish and Gülenist organisations’ perceptions of and responses to Turkey’s authoritarian regime under the AKP and Erdoğan’s increasing sway over Turkey’s diasporas in Europe.
Doctors’ labour and medical certification at the birth of the National Health Service
In 1949 there were 390 types of medical certificate covering legislation in England and Scotland. With the additional lingering burden of providing medical reports for wartime rationing, it was no surprise that general practitioners regularly complained that sick notes were a burden. Some went so far as to call them ‘a waste of time’. And yet they would be crucial to the operation of the welfare state set out in the Beveridge Report. This chapter discusses how these complaints represented a tension between the state and the medical profession over doctors’ professional autonomy and prestige. Time was viewed not only as a resource necessary to perform their jobs. It also represented the relative power doctors had over their own practice and their relationships with their patients. The chapter uses documents from the National Archives and medical journals in the years immediately preceding and following the formation of the NHS. Analyses of these have typically focused on remuneration and Bevan’s attempts to ‘stuff their mouths with gold’. Sick notes and time allow historians to move beyond explanations of economic self-interest and show the importance of professional autonomy to doctors. Further, the chapter provides an understanding of the role expertise was envisioned to have in the wider post-war welfare state by citizens, politicians, civil servants, and the experts themselves.