George Washington and Anglo-American memory diplomacy,
Sam Edwards describes the period 1890–1925 as the first age of transatlantic
memory diplomacy, a period in which the potential of commemoration as a
mechanism through which to strengthen Anglo-American ties was first
explored. Focusing on British efforts to re-Anglicize George Washington, he
analyzes the placement of a new statue of the first US president outside
London’s National Gallery as well as the rededication and memorialization of
Sulgrave Manor, Washington’s ancestral family estate in Northamptonshire. Of
particular interest to Edwards is the agency of both government elites and
private associations, particularly the US National Society of Colonial
Dames, and he perspicaciously dissects the intersections of gender roles,
racial constructs, social class, strategic objectives, and patriotic
identities that determined the goals and methods of commemoration in this
Historians have studied the evolution of working-class leisure activities in Britain and debated whether or not they were enduring and resistant to change, pluralistic rather than homogenous, and the extent to which they were subject to continuing attempts at social control. These issues also relate to modern greyhound racing and raise several interlinked questions about the origins and rapid growth of the sport, the social class of its bettors, its cultural development, attempts made to subject it to social control, and the reasons for its decline from late 1940s. The main argument of this chapter is that modern greyhound racing it was essentially a niche working-class activity which was often presented as not being a rational recreation, even criminal, by the forces of anti-gambling, and ultimately fell victim to such discrimination. It did not impoverish the working classes and was, indeed, ‘a bit of a flutter’.
Given the significant similarities and differences between the welfare states of Northern Europe and their reactions to the perceived 'refugee crisis' of 2015, the book focuses primarily on the three main cases of Denmark, Sweden and Germany. Placed in a wider Northern European context – and illustrated by those chapters that also discuss refugee experiences in Norway and the UK – the Danish, Swedish and German cases are the largest case studies of this edited volume. Thus, the book contributes to debates on the governance of non-citizens and the meaning of displacement, mobility and seeking asylum by providing interdisciplinary analyses of a largely overlooked region of the world, with two specific aims. First, we scrutinize the construction of the 2015 crisis as a response to the large influx of refugees, paying particular attention to the disciplinary discourses and bureaucratic structures that are associated with it. Second, we investigate refugees’ encounters with these bureaucratic structures and consider how these encounters shape hopes for building a new life after displacement. This allows us to show that the mobility of specific segments of the world’s population continues to be seen as a threat and a risk that has to be governed and controlled. Focusing on the Northern European context, our volume interrogates emerging policies and discourses as well as the lived experiences of bureaucratization from the perspective of individuals who find themselves the very objects of bureaucracies.
Delving into a hitherto unexplored aspect of Irish art history, Painting Dublin,
1886–1949 examines the depiction of Dublin by artists from the late-nineteenth
to the mid-twentieth century. Artists’ representations of the city have long
been markers of civic pride and identity, yet in Ireland, such artworks have
been overlooked in favour of the rural and pastoral, falling outside of the
dominant disciplinary narratives of nationalism or modernism. Framed by the
shift from city of empire to capital of an independent republic, this book
chiefly examines artworks by of Walter Frederick Osborne (1857–1903), Rose Mary
Barton (1856–1929), Jack Butler Yeats (1871–1957), Harry Aaron Kernoff
(1900–74), Estella Frances Solomons (1882–1968), and Flora Hippisley Mitchell
(1890–1973), encompassing a variety of urban views and artistic themes. While
Dublin is renowned for its representation in literature, this book will
demonstrate how the city was also the subject of a range of visual depictions,
including those in painting and print. Focusing on the images created by these
artists as they navigated the city’s streets, this book offers a vivid
visualisation of Dublin and its inhabitants, challenging a reengagement with
Ireland’s art history through the prism of the city and urban life.
Dickens’s increasing preoccupation with kinds and degrees of illiteracy allows him to foreground the relationship between language seen and language heard. His professional Readings, starting in 1858, were taken almost exclusively from his earlier, more readily audible work, while typographic case and other specifically visual aspects of language, are increasingly important in the later novels both as topics and as features of the text which may find the transition from handwriting to print and from print into speech difficult. In Bleak House, Jo the crossing sweeper wants his message to the world written ‘large’ because he deduces from ‘the great letters on the whitewashed wall’ – represented for us as ‘GEORGE’S SHOOTING GALLERY, ETC’ – that the size of letters carries meaning and helps meaning carry Betty Higdon, who says she is ‘not much of a hand at reading writing-hand, though I can read my Bible and most print’ tells the illiterate Mrs Boffin that young Sloppy ‘is a beautiful reader of a newspaper. He do the Police in different voices’. Dickens’s novels increasingly define themselves as designed primarily for readers rather than listeners, while social class is increasingly defined in terms of degrees literacy.
This chapter argues that club members deployed race in a variety of ways to achieve radically different outcomes. At one extreme, and in the minority, race was exclusionary and used to keep Indians from entering or joining British clubs. For these few clubs, race and class were the determining factors in admission. Yet, this policy was quickly undermined as many apparently racially exclusive clubs made exceptions to admit members of India’s aristocracy. At the other extreme, a small number of Indian-only clubs emerged that were off limits for Britons. In the middle were the majority of clubs that were mixed-race, either from their inception or because they were forced to become so over time. Significantly, clubs also brought Britons of differing social classes together. Unlike clubs in Britain, in order to ensure membership was high and thus the club could be self-supporting, many working and lower middle class military personnel and civilians were admitted to clubs. This meant there was a far greater degree of social mixing in colonial clubs than was common in metropolitan and other colonial contexts. This chapter demonstrates that far from being segregationist, many clubs led to a considerable degree of social engagement across racial and class lines.
The second chapter examines the projection of radical popular politicians as ‘people’s champions’, part of the characterisation of radical politics as an adversarial confrontation between the people and a corrupt state apparatus. Building on earlier studies of the ‘gentleman radical’, the chapter argues that ‘championing’ was a key part of the charismatic appeal of such men and women, drawing on contemporary fascination with a romanticised medievalism and the trope of the romantic Byronic hero. Champions were expected to stand up for the rights of the people against their oppressors, and were usually drawn from a higher social class than those whom they led. The chapter also explores the rhetoric of ‘martyrdom’ in political campaigns that were often subject to official repression and the imprisonment of leaders, and concludes with an investigation of the tactics of Anti-Corn Law League lecturers in 1839–40 in attempting to build popular enthusiasm for the cause in the agricultural districts by appealing to landless labourers over the heads of farmers and landlords, as revealed through the letter books of the Anti-Corn Law League.
When the Bulgarian, Austrian and German armies invaded in late 1915, most of the British women working in Serbia were immediately evacuated. A few, however, refused to leave their hospitals and their patients, even in the face of the enemy. These women, with the assistance of select members of their teams continued to nurse the wounded in the occupied country, as enemy aliens, as prisoners of war. This chapter explores life for British women in captivity, the hardships they endured, their relationships with their captors and their achievements in the face of extraordinary danger. Both social class and gender are very important to this discussion as both have a significant impact on the women's behavior. It explores definitions of nationality and patriotism and the extent of their 'Britishness' making particular use of their relationship to the legacy of Empire. The chapter explores the roles adopted by these women in captivity, their attitudes towards both their captors and their patients, arguing that their Imperial background, their 'Britishness', had a significant impact on their behavior patterns and consequences.
This chapter argues that although Los amantes pasajeros and Julieta are formally and generically different, they are still completely within the Almodóvar spectrum. The return to comedy closely followed by drama is a very Almodovarian response to the deep financial and institutional crisis that Spain has been immersed in for more than a decade. Both films fall within a Spanish tradition of ‘crisis cinema’ either by using satire and comedy to link characters’ experiences to communal ones in Los amantes or by using physical vulnerability allegorically to ponder vulnerability on a larger scale. Los amantes not only satirises different social classes and institutions, it also parodies a current Spanish trend in literature and television of re-creating Spain’s recent past, using a nostalgic gaze to look back to the Transition and movida years in order to critique the narrative of the perfect Transition based on censorship of the past and the inertia of contemporary Spaniards. Julieta, based on Alice Munro’s stories, is a fragmented narrative with elisions at its heart, showing how censoring the past wreaks havoc in the present for two generations.
This chapter outlines what is meant by a class-relational approach to labour, state and society in India. Analysis of exploitation is central to this approach, and is located at and beyond the level of the production process, and understood in terms of both broader and more specific relations between capital and labour. Analysis of exploitation in this book focuses on social relations in and around production sites, and the mediation of class relations by state institutions and civil society organisations. The chapter discusses the similarities and differences between Marxian and Weberian approaches to class. More specifically, the class-relational approach is contrasted to various semi-relational approaches, which have assumed a prominent role in the literature on poverty and development to the detriment, it is argued, of classes of labour. The chapter defines the terms ‘dominant class’ and ‘classes of labour’ – the latter being understood as expressing the multi-faceted nature of social classes (imbued as they are by other axes of domination such as caste and gender), and both the fragmentation of labourers and their common position as members of exploited classes.