Living within hiloni habitus feels a certain way. But this is not just about clothing or food, time and place, or social networks. Habitus also involves metaphysics: how we behave in the world is grounded at a basic level in shared positions about the nature of reality and the nature of knowledge. Being reasonable is not just political but also epistemological. This chapter explores this dimension of hiloni habitus through an unusual case study – how young hilonim ‘manage luck’ when confronted by rocket attacks. This is a generationally distinct security threat facing millennials since the Gaza blockade and construction of Separation Walls.
Chapter 3 commences the task of staging encounters with biosocial power in the form of social practices. The chapter begins by reviewing Norbert Elias’s The Civilising Process, as well as more recent Eliasian perspectives on a ‘de-civilising’ process, using this literature as an interpretative lens in commencing a genealogy of playgrounds. Examined as a biosocial technology, the playground is shown to originate as a pedagogical practice that (to borrow from governmentality theory) attempted to act upon the actions of children through a blend of carefully calibrated techniques, bounded space and purpose-built equipment, the strategic objective of which was to prefigure the future. The empirical focus of the chapter is early nineteenth century Britain and Progressive Era America.
The Postscript addresses the comparative academic debates on religion and ethno-national conflict, particularly the gap around lived secularity. What do violent political conflicts look and feel like phenomenologically to people who, in their given context, distance themselves from religious traditions and yet are fully embedded within them?
Chapter 9 poses the following question: might a natality-enhancing biopolitics somehow exist; a life-affirming biopolitics that doesn’t use children as raw material to prefigure contingent and contestable visions of the future? Using Hannah Arendt’s thoughts on ‘natality’, and bringing this into conversation with Deleuze and Guattari’s idea of ‘becoming-child’, and also Miguel Vatter’s work on ‘positive’ biopolitics, this concluding chapter reflects on what it might look like to refigure childhood as a way of reconfiguring biosocial power.
Refiguring childhood stages a series of encounters with biosocial power, which is a specific zone of intensity within the more encompassing arena of biopower and biopolitics. Assembled at the intersection of thought and practice, biosocial power attempts to bring envisioned futures into the present, taking hold of life in the form of childhood, thereby bridging being and becoming while also shaping the power relations that encapsulate the social and cultural world(s) of adults and children. Taking up a critical perspective which is attentive to the contingency of childhoods – the ways in which particular childhoods are constituted and configured – the method used in the book is a transversal genealogy that moves between past and present while also crossing a series of discourses and practices framed by children’s rights (the right to play), citizenship, health, disadvantage and entrepreneurship education. The overarching analysis converges on contemporary neoliberal enterprise culture, which is approached as a conjuncture that helps to explain, and also to trouble, the growing emphasis on the agency and rights of children. It is against the backdrop of this problematic that the book makes its case for refiguring childhood. Focusing on the how, where and when of biosocial power, Refiguring childhood will appeal to researchers and students interested in examining the relationship between power and childhood through the lens of social and political theory, sociology, cultural studies, history and geography.
How do secular Jewish-Israeli millennials feel about the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, having come of age in the shadow of the failed Oslo peace process, when political leaders have used ethno-religious rhetoric as a dividing force? This is the first book to analyse blowback to Palestinian and Jewish-Israeli religious nationalism among this group in their own words. It is based on fieldwork, interviews and surveys conducted after the 2014 Gaza War. Offering a close reading of the lived experience and generational memory of participants, it offers a new explanation for why attitudes to Occupation have grown increasingly conservative over the past two decades. It examines the intimate emotional ecology of Occupation, offering a new argument about neo-Romantic conceptions of citizenship among this group. Beyond the case study, it also offers a new theoretical framework and research methods for researchers and students studying emotion, religion, nationalism, secularism and political violence around the world.
Chapter 4 extends the analysis of playgrounds in chapter 3, using contemporary public playgrounds and commercial play-centres as a vantage point on the framing of play as a right which is codified by Article 31 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. Anchoring the genealogical approach in chapter 3 to a specific context (a National Play Policy in the Republic of Ireland), this chapter takes up a critical perspective on the broader policy landscape, which in Ireland as elsewhere has been shaped by an ongoing process of neoliberalisation. It is this context that is shown to tension the relation between the right to play and the freedom to pay (to play).
Chapter 1 addresses terminological debates. What does hiloni mean? How do scholars use the term? How do people identifying as hiloni use the term? Does the Western term secular apply in Israel? How does this book use the term hiloni to denote not a religious group but a religio-class? How does social class and Jewish diasporic descent come into play? Engaging both specialist and non-specialist audiences, it analyses and refines academic debate on Jewish secularism in Israel, provides statistical data, including new data collected for this study, and introduces the voices of participants.
This chapter critically interrogates the extent to which in the 1970s remodelled formations of power and influence were forged and contested though a generational shift as embodied by a series of aristocratic figures from the royal and Franco families. Primary texts under consideration include articles from ¡Hola! magazine, Spain’s major contribution to global journalism, and the novels of Corín Tellado, the best selling Spanish author of all time. This chapter demonstrates how and why the feminisation of mass culture is inextricably linked to its exclusion from canonical accounts of the Transition, as well as making the case that successful political figures have been more alive to the possibilities of the popular than most intellectuals in Spain.
A rare point of consensus in an increasingly divided socio-political landscape is that, for better or worse, the institutions and individuals that form contemporary Spain are the products of the Transition. Traditional political parties and commentators speak of the longest period of stability, development and democracy in the country’s tumultuous and frequently tragic history; by contrast, detractors question to what extent the ‘regime of ’78’ prevented Spain from realising its democratic potential, with much of the infrastructure and institutions of sociological Francoism left in tact. Frequently lost in debates surround the merits (or lack thereof) of the Transition is the need to distinguish between critiques of how it was handled at the time and the fetishistic veneration of the Constitution. Drawing together arguments developed in different chapters of this book, the conclusion suggests it is possible, and in fact desirable, to be critical of the latter whilst offering an ambivalent or even positive assessment of the former. A critical analysis is offered of the role of Podemos in a new political landscape that is more divided but, more positively, is also taking steps to deal with democratic deficits in relation to, for example, women’s rights.