This chapter is devoted to the life and thought of perhaps the most theologically radical of all the figures considered in this study, R. Aaron Shmuel Tamaret. Like many of his peers here, R. Tamaret studied in elite rabbinic institutions but, despite more prestigious offers, took up a congregational post in a quiet village in Poland. The chapter begins with an examination of his typology of religious phenomena, in which he identifies paganism with de-individuation, distinguishing it from pure faith as the opposing tendency. It then proceeds to present his views on ultra-orthodoxy and Zionism as pagan regressions from pure faith undertaken in response to the supposed tragedy of exile; the one reducing man to God’s arbitrary will, the other reducing man to nationality, territory, and the state. Then, tracing his account of Jewish history from the period of Egyptian slavery through the rise of diaspora Judaism, the chapter demonstrates Tamaret’s understanding of Judaism as realized in the diaspora experience. Namely as a civilization organized around a divinely inspired ethical system organically developed within the popular institution of the beys midrash. Finally, it shows that Jewish chosenness, the Jewish mission to humanity on his interpretation of it, entails spreading precisely this idea by living example. In other words, it is argued that Tamaret’s work is a shining example of theologically grounded anarcho-diasporism.
Deporting Black Britons provides an ethnographic account of deportation from the UK to Jamaica. It traces the painful stories of four men who were deported after receiving criminal convictions in the UK. For each of the men, all of whom had moved to the UK as children, deportation was lived as exile – from parents, partners, children and friends – and the book offers portraits of survival and hardship in both the UK and Jamaica. Based on over four years of research, Deporting Black Britons describes the human consequences of deportation, while situating deportation stories within the broader context of policy, ideology, law and violence. It examines the relationship between racism, criminalisation and immigration control in contemporary Britain, suggesting new ways of thinking about race, borders and citizenship in these anti-immigrant times. Ultimately, the book argues that these stories of exile and banishment should orient us in the struggle against violent immigration controls, in the UK and elsewhere.
Patricia Brazil, Catherine Cosgrave, and Katie Mannion
around children's immigration status that extend into adulthood and place ceilings on opportunities, including restricting access to third-level education. The chapter draws on research undertaken by the Immigrant Council of Ireland in 2016.
According to the 2016 Census there were 535,475 ‘non-Irish’ representing over two hundred different nationalities and a further 104,784 people who described themselves as dual nationality with Irish being part of that dual identity. Of those who described themselves as having dual nationality, 34,761 (33
At a time when monolingualist claims for the importance of ‘speaking English’ to the national order continue louder than ever, even as language diversity is increasingly part of contemporary British life, literature becomes a space to consider the terms of linguistic belonging. Bad English examines writers including Tom Leonard, James Kelman, Suhayl Saadi, Raman Mundair, Daljit Nagra, Xiaolu Guo, Leila Aboulela, Brian Chikwava, and Caroline Bergvall, who engage multilingually, experimentally, playfully, and ambivalently with English’s power. Considering their invented vernaculars and mixed idioms, their dramatised scenes of languaging – languages learned or lost, acts of translation, scenes of speaking, the exposure and racialised visibility of accent – it argues for a growing field of contemporary literature in Britain pre-eminently concerned with language’s power dynamics, its aesthetic potentialities, and its prosthetic strangeness. Drawing on insights from applied linguistics and translation studies as well as literary scholarship, Bad English explores contemporary arguments about language in Britain – in debates about citizenship or education, in the media or on Twitter, in Home Office policy and asylum legislation – as well as the ways they are taken up in literature. It uncovers both an antagonistic and a productive interplay between language politics and literary form, tracing writers’ articulation of linguistic alienation and ambivalence, as well as the productivity and making-new of radical language practices. Doing so, it refutes the view that language difference and language politics are somehow irrelevant to contemporary Britain and instead argues for their constitutive centrality to the work of novelists and poets whose inside/outside relationship to English in its institutionalised forms is the generative force of their writing.
This book recounts the little-known history of the mixed-race children born to
black American servicemen and white British women during the Second World War.
Of the three million American soldiers stationed in Britain from 1942 to 1945,
about 8 per cent (240,000) were African-American; the latter’s relationships
with British women resulted in the birth of an estimated 2,000 babies. The
African-American press named these children ‘brown babies’; the British called
them ‘half-castes’. Black GIs, in this segregated army, were forbidden to marry
their white girlfriends. Up to half of the mothers of these babies, faced with
the stigma of illegitimacy and a mixed-race child, gave their children up for
adoption. The outcome for these children tended to be long-term residency in
children’s homes, sometimes followed by fostering and occasionally adoption, but
adoption societies frequently would not take on ‘coloured’ children, who were
thought to be ‘too hard to place’. There has been minimal study of these
children and the difficulties they faced, such as racism in a (then) very white
Britain, lack of family or a clear identity. Accessibly written and illustrated
with numerous photographs, this book presents the stories of over forty of these
children. While some of the accounts of early childhood are heart-breaking,
there are also many uplifting narratives of finding American fathers and gaining
a sense of self and of heritage.
the campaigns of social actors like SOS Racisme and the UGT and
CCOO trade unions.5 Moreover, there were also calls during this
electoral campaign from the ERC (Catalonia’s pro-independence
party) to change the Spanish Constitution because in its opinion it
discriminates between the political rights of immigrants based on
their origin (it is against the fact that some immigrants can vote
after two years by obtaining Spanish nationality, while others have
to wait more than ten years) (El País, 2007c). There are also the
words of one member of IU that said that the
from a complex interplay of forces involving many actors. The ECJ’s role in
sports regulation illustrates these complexities.
Free movement in the European Union
Article 3(c) of the Treaty requires ‘the abolition, as between member states,
of obstacles to the free movement of goods, persons, services and capital’.
According to Article 12, for this to be achieved, ‘any discrimination on
grounds of nationality shall be prohibited’. Three further Articles elaborate
this goal in the specific fields of employment (Article 39), establishment
rights (Article 43
There is no soundtrack is a specific yet expansive study of sound tactics deployed in experimental media art today. It analyses how audio and visual elements interact and produce meaning, drawing from works by contemporary media artists ranging from Chantal Akerman, to Nam June Paik, to Tanya Tagaq. It then links these analyses to discussions on silence, voice, noise, listening, the soundscape, and other key ideas in sound studies. In making these connections, the book argues that experimental media art – avant-garde film, video art, performance, installation, and hybrid forms – produces radical and new audio-visual relationships that challenge and destabilize the visually-dominated fields of art history, contemporary art criticism, cinema and media studies, and cultural studies as well as the larger area of the human sciences. This book directly addresses what sound studies scholar Jonathan Sterne calls ‘visual hegemony’. It joins a growing body of interdisciplinary scholarship that is collectively sonifying the study of culture while defying the lack of diversity within the field by focusing on practitioners from transnational and diverse backgrounds. Therefore, the media artists discussed in this book are of interest to scholars and students who are exploring aurality in related disciplines including gender and feminist studies, queer studies, ethnic studies, postcolonial studies, urban studies, environmental analysis, and architecture. As such, There Is No Soundtrack makes meaningful connections between previously disconnected bodies of scholarship to build new, more complex and reverberating frameworks for the study of art, media, and sound.
In times of national security, scholars and activists who hail from the
communities under suspicion attempt to draw readers and listeners to the
complexity of the world we inhabit. For those who campaigned against the SUS law
in the 1980s, when young Black men were being routinely stopped in the streets,
the wave of counter-terrorism legislation and policy that exists today will be
very familiar. Similarly, recent discussions about the impact of drill music in
the culture of young Black men has drawn questions around the ways in which they
should be securitised, with senior police calling for the use of terrorism
legislation against them. In this environment, when those who study and have
lived alongside the communities who are at the scrutiny of the state raise
questions about the government, military and police policy, they are often shut
down as terrorist-sympathisers, or apologists for gang culture. In such
environments, there is an expectation on scholars and activists to condemn what
society at large fears. This volume is about how that expectation has emerged
alongside the normalisation of racism, and how these writers choose to subvert
the expectations raised on them, as part of their commitment to anti-racism.
clouds, and between us, kept our little universe in good order’. 17
Pipes's dissertation topic was Soviet nationality policy, interesting at the time because Russian nationalism had all but eclipsed Bolshevik rhetoric in the Soviet Union. ‘I wanted to find out why this had happened.’ The thesis was done in early 1950. It would become the basis of his first book, The Formation of the Soviet Union (1954). The transformation of the thesis into a book required more and prodigious research, which Pipes conducted at the Hoover Institution in 1950, and in London