This book examines the impact that nostalgia has had on the Labour Party’s political development since 1951. In contrast to existing studies that have emphasised the role played by modernity, it argues that nostalgia has defined Labour’s identity and determined the party’s trajectory over time. It outlines how Labour, at both an elite and a grassroots level, has been and remains heavily influenced by a nostalgic commitment to an era of heroic male industrial working-class struggle. This commitment has hindered policy discussion, determined the form that the modernisation process has taken and shaped internal conflict and cohesion. More broadly, Labour’s emotional attachment to the past has made it difficult for the party to adjust to the socioeconomic changes that have taken place in Britain. In short, nostalgia has frequently left the party out of touch with the modern world. In this way, this book offers an assessment of Labour’s failures to adapt to the changing nature and demands of post-war Britain.
Identity is often regarded as something that is possessed by individuals, states, and other agents. In this edited collection, identity is explored across a range of approaches and under-explored case studies with a view to making visible its fractured, contingent, and dynamic features. The book brings together themes of belonging and exclusion, identity formation and fragmentation. It also examines how identity functions in discourse, and the effects it produces, both materially and in ideational terms. Taking in case studies from Asia-Pacific, Europe, the Middle East and Latin America, the various chapters interrogate identity through formal governing mechanisms, popular culture and place. These studies demonstrate the complex and fluid nature of identity and identity practices, as well as implications for theorising identity.
Hebridean shore pictures.
Golfers on a coastal links course … Tartan trousers or tartan fabrics on a golf bag are a common additional referent.
A ‘fishing’ picture, either a solitary angler … or the brightly painted prows of fishing boats.
The profile of Edinburgh’s Castle and Old Town … Unwanted detail, such as the roofs of Waverley railwaystation is normally filtered out by choice of lens, camera angle or careful foreground screening. ( 1995 : 5–6)
Many of us will smile on reading this as such stereotypes are quite familiar to us. Nevertheless, they
with the judicial authorities.
Childhood and youth, 1936–61
The world of Berlusconi’s early childhood was one of hardship – but also of aspiration. He was born on Tuesday 29 September 1936 in via Volturno, in a district
of Milan known as l’Isola or ‘the Island’, a name which may have come from the
neighbourhood’s relative isolation thanks to the construction of a railway that cut
off former points of access from other areas nearby. Situated about two and half
kilometres to the north of the city centre, l’Isola was a district whose blocks of
General Workers’ Union Hall on O’Connell Street, which was also the IRA Brigade HQ. The Fianna collected ‘all dispatches from [IRA] GHQ which arrived in Limerick at the railwaystation’. ‘The messages, which usually were carried by the train staff, were handed over to a contact in the Railway office and then collected by our members and brought to IRA Brigade HQ’, explained Thomas Dargan. ‘Messages for HQ were delivered at the station and then forwarded to Dublin by the same procedure.’ The Fianna in the city of Limerick were responsible for delivering ‘GHQ dispatches
on the fringes of Fiat’s Mirafiori
and Lingotto factories. Many simply alternated sleeping in beds according to
the factory shifts, lived in overcrowded attics across the city centre, or even
slept on benches in railwaystations.
As a result, the municipality was forced to solve the problem of overcrowding by providing decent housing for the workers and their families in close
proximity to the factories. From the 1960s on, workers were moved to monofunctional blocks of flats built on peripheral wasteland before even asphalted
roads were completed or facilities and
triumphal arch, the royal party proceeded to the Linen Hall, where the queen paused to inspect a display of local produce, before driving past one of the town’s two new railwaystations to the Botanic Gardens and Queen’s College, then doubling back to view the jewel in Belfast’s industrial crown, the giant linen-spinning mill of Mulholland Brothers off York Street ( Figure 4 ). Exhilarated by the success of the visit, the Council gave its recently completed new route from the Queen’s Bridge the name Victoria Street. Two newly created squares were named Queen’s Square and
rapping on the door asking if we would like to go
to the South we came’.96 By 1972, a system was in place whereby
people arriving at Royal Victoria (St) RailwayStation in Belfast, and declaring
themselves to be refugees, are issued with free rail travel vouchers to Dublin by the
Railway authorities, the cost being recouped later from the Irish Red Cross Society.
The official view was that ‘all and sundry can take advantage of this and many
who have no good reason to leave their homes inevitably do’. Privately, civil
servants considered that in 1972 ‘the exodus
,000 and 120,000 faithful attended an open-air mass, celebrated on a high altar surrounded by a glass canopy twenty feet high, in the grounds of Beechmount, a mansion off the Falls Road recently purchased by the Catholic church. Faced with the possibility of Protestant protest, the government took firm action. Armed police were deployed on buses carrying people to this and other events, as well as at railwaystations and at points along the track where carriages might come under attack. In the event, a hostile demonstration accompanied by bands and carrying union jacks
) was killed while planting
a bomb at a power station near Ballyshannon. Over the next two years,
loyalists would attack symbolic and infrastructural targets in the South. Wolfe
Tone’s grave at Bodenstown was bombed in 1969, as was the tomb of
Daniel O’Connell at Glasnevin in January 1971.3 The O’Connell monument
in Dublin’s main street was blasted in December 1969 and the Wolfe Tone
statue in Stephen’s Green bombed in February 1971.4 The UVF also bombed
a TV relay station at Raphoe in February 1970 and an electricity sub-station
in Tallaght in March that year. They