This chapter introduces the study, setting, argument, and plan of progression of Bankrolling Empire. In particular, I introduce the Jhaveri family of Ahmedabad and identify how the Mughal state provided new opportunities and challenges for the family by the early seventeenth century. The reader is left with the idea that traditional explanations of Mughal collapse such as bigotry of emperors, superior fighting power of rival warlords, and communal distrust between Muslim rulers and Hindu subjects are not adequate. Instead, I suggest financial crises were the chief cause that tipped Mughal administration beyond recovery. Such transformations in state and locality in Mughal Gujarat are highlighted by focusing on four generations of a remarkable business family, the Jhaveris of Ahmedabad, and their relations with political elites. The Jhaveris were deeply involved in political intrigue, courtly life, and the finances of Mughal officials and their rivals across two centuries.

In a world of pre-given substances (or static relations) change needs to be explained. In a processual world, though, change, not stasis, is the norm. Persistence therefore demands explanation. Living and social systems are far-from-thermodynamic-equilibrium systems that, by taking in and creatively utilizing matter or energy, temporarily stave off the inexorable physical progression of entropy (movement towards greater disorder; decay). Social continuities no less than social transformations are socially produced. (A state, for example, can be kept in the far-from-thermodynamic-equilibrium state of statehood only through extensive and complex processes of (re)production.) And both continuities and transformations arise from similar processes that operate continuously. The chapter illustrates what I call continuous (trans)formation with the case of the development of modern militaries and introduces both John Padgett and Walter Powell’s framing of transposition and re-functionality and William Sewell’s framing of eventful history.

One of the most powerful ways to counter the isolation that often accompanies social media use – whether that use is professional or personal – is to foster community. That community can take various forms. For researchers and online investigators, it may mean working collaboratively or celebrating the cultures of those you are researching. For everyday users of social media, community may mean reaching out to others to talk about what you’re observing or to share your thoughts and feelings online. However, not all attempts to develop a sense of community are equally beneficial: According to recent research, for example, venting can have positive or negative effects, depending on how the user engages. In this chapter, the authors discuss what is known about effective ways to combat the isolation that can be endemic to online engagement, and how to proactively foster community in online and offline spaces to minimize the risk of psychological harm and maximize psychosocial well-being.

While people have similar biological responses when viewing graphic online imagery, our unique identities mediate that affect. This chapter explains how reactions to disturbing images can vary significantly from person to person, and how important it is to understand what makes each of us – and each other – more or less vulnerable to potential psychological harm when engaging online. The chapter explores how we can better protect our kids and communities by becoming more aware of the potential impact of social media content on ourselves and on other people, and the steps we can take to lessen the risk of harm.

In this chapter, we offer a number of recommendations for those who are in a position to do something technically, structurally, and legally or otherwise to minimize the risk of psychological harm that comes with the public’s use of social media and other online sites, especially their engagement with graphic or other upsetting digital material. We outline the policy implications of what we’ve learned from more than three years of desk research and original interviews that we have conducted with dozens of people, ranging from technologists to psychologists to content moderators to human rights investigators and beyond. We first spotlight the competing interests that underscore social media companies and governments’ policy deliberations with regard to content moderation. Next, we lay out our suggestions for companies, governments, and individuals with regard to how to improve the experiences of both content moderators and everyday social media users. We close with suggestions for creating a more “pro-social” online environment, one that not only better mitigates the risks of psychological harm but potentially encourages greater connection, resulting in wellness and even flourishing.

In the concluding chapter of Graphic, the authors recount the story of a pivotal trip they took to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, where they absorbed the stories and insights of a diverse cohort of women who had gathered to discuss the concept of resilience. Through a World Cafe–style event, where the women discussed their perspectives on both trauma and healing, the authors gathered several insights that can be used to help foster positive experiences in peoples’ engagement with social media and other online spaces. This final part of the book underscores key themes from earlier chapters, including the power of humor, community, and connection to minimize psychological harm when engaging with graphic material online and, ultimately, to maximize well-being.

This chapter outlines the history of graphic visual content and its ability to advance social and human rights. The authors trace a path from 1863 and the United States’ civil war, when photos of beaten slaves were used to advance abolitionist causes, to contemporary images of atrocity in Ukraine, now being used to rally condemnation against Russian aggression. The chapter also discusses the social significance of other seminal, historical imagery, including videos of the beating of George Floyd and Rodney King, photos and videos of John F. Kennedy’s killing, photos from the Holocaust and the Vietnam War, images that documented the beating and killing of Emmet Till, and iconic photographs from 9/11 and the War on Terror. A discussion of the qualitative and quantitative similarities and differences between historic images and digital images shared online today follows the description of these photos and their role in advancing social change.

While graphic online content may be upsetting, people who regularly work with such content – like journalists, content moderators at social media companies, and human rights investigators – have developed various strategies for minimizing the risk of psychosocial harm when engaging with such material. Many of these strategies can be adapted by the general public to limit the risk of harm and maximize the potential for positive outcomes from their online engagement. Such strategies include tactics aimed at increasing our control over when and how users view graphic online material, varying how users engage with upsetting media, treating such content like “toxic waste” and limiting exposure of the user, their loved ones, and their households, and striking the balance between looking at and engaging with such content, and knowing when it may be better to look away.

Too often, people mindlessly scroll through their social media feeds and other online spaces to catch up on the activities of their friends and family or simply to pass the time. However, this behavior can leave them vulnerable to the more insidious aspects of online engagement, especially if they come across graphic online content – whether intentionally or without warning. In this chapter, the authors of Graphic discuss how bringing greater intentionality to one’s online engagement can serve as a protective force. They summarize the most recent research and insights from their interviews with diverse experts to illustrate tactics for deriving greater meaning from time spent online and ultimately how to use that engagement to not only protect oneself from psychological harm but also to potentially even flourish.

This chapter describes some of the issues to be considered when dealing with longitudinal data. Longitudinal data can be defined as data gathered on a set of units over multiple time periods. Longitudinal data can be collected either prospectively or retrospectively, and data can be either qualitative or quantitative. Different ways of deriving repeated observations generate the three main types of longitudinal design: repeated cross-sectional surveys, panel surveys, and retrospective surveys. The world of longitudinal research is thus very heterogeneous. This chapter provides both a summary of advantages and disadvantages of each longitudinal design and some guidelines for authors and researchers.

This chapter explores activism as an ethical practice and in doing so discusses the relationships between social life, political action, and ethical values. Anthropologists have approached the ethics of activism through ethnographies of activist movements’ moral critiques of the present, their utopian imaginaries for the future, and the creation of new political subjects and ways of being. This chapter draws on those anthropological discussions of social movements, putting work on union activism in Argentina in dialogue with ethnographies of feminist, queer, and alter-globalization activism, as well as voluntary social action. Drawing on the experience of unionism among public sector employees in Argentina, I show how activism builds from the understanding of an essential being or character that can be cultivated as a collective ethical subject to enable action in the world to change the world (praxis). This takes considerable work on the self and selves, not all of which is fully open to reflection. I argue that by interpreting practices of organization as ethical practices, we recognize the relational aspect of politics and the importance of affective processes of collective self-cultivation alongside rational and material imperatives to engage in political struggle.

Central to the history of family planning in Ireland is the interaction between religious observance and expressions of Irishness, and how that changed in response to domestic political and socio-economic developments, and international forces. An Irish identity imagined around rural living, Catholicism, large families, traditional gender roles, and sexual puritanism, combined with a belief that Ireland could withstand the changes that were underway in twentieth-century western society in relation to sexual behaviour – drove the sustained hostility to legalising contraception. The 1980s was the decade when it became evident that the tide had turned. The number of married women in the workforce rose significantly, and fertility fell sharply. By the early 1990s Irish fertility was still the highest in Europe, but only by a small margin, and it was lower than in the United States. And yet the decline of this imagined Irishness was not unopposed; indeed, many lamented its passing. it is significant that the moral legislation enacted in the first decades after independence survived until the closing decades of the twentieth century, which might suggest that Ireland was exceptional.

The concluding chapter contextualizes the study of ancient Doric architecture against the backdrop of European colonialism and modern globalization. The evolutionary explanation of the Doric temple can be seen as part of a broader tendency in the West of naturalizing and normalizing Greek/Western culture as world culture by tracing it back to universal principles. The critique of the evolutionary narrative makes it possible to appreciate the disruptive and innovative character of the Doric order as part of a historical shift in the wielding of religious and political power and in the relation between Greek communities and the landscapes they inhabited. Population growth, social change, and political innovation led to urbanization, colonization, and land reclamation on an unprecedented scale. These processes challenged the traditional religious system, which was based on an intrinsic relation between the divinities and the natural features of the landscape. The Doric temple can be seen as a response to this situation: by redefining the sacred space, “inhabited” by the gods, it also redefined what was outside the sacred precinct, the “profane” land that was subject to new forms of exploitation, land distribution, and colonization.

The conclusion summarises the main findings of the book. The erosion of medieval hierarchies and systems of mediation made competition for material resources and status rivalries more intense after 1500. Enmity is rooted in a sense of injustice and there was a growth in distrust between those who gained from and those who lost out to the burgeoning of state power. The law shaped enmity and mediated violence, but it did not repress them altogether. Enmity was a major threat to public order because its scale and intensity was related to the struggle for social and political capital. Most significant in generating the rise in elite violence was social change and the development of a caste code in which retaliation was seen as socially acceptable and politically necessary. The social elite were the most avid consumers of the law, and they used the courts alongside violence to uphold their honour and enforce their rights: rising rates of litigation in the sixteenth century were part of the same process of contention as rising rates of homicide. And just as violence declined in the eighteenth century, so did rates of litigation. The law promoted arbitration and reconciliation at every stage of the process. But the desire of the parties to fulfil their obligations and make use of the myriad institutions of mediation was dependent on social and political circumstance.