The Epilogue examines how trends from the 1990s continued to develop in the following decade. These included the growing civil–military gap, even as the American public lauded the troops as heroes; tensions between notions of the soldier as a male warrior and more inclusive visions of soldiers might be; and the question of what roles soldiers might be asked to take on. First, it explores how soldiers began to talk about themselves as ‘Spartans’, referencing their separate status as a warrior caste. It also examines how popular culture and the military itself began to increasingly venerate Special Forces ‘operators’, using these images to sell products as diverse as video games, fitness regimes and coffee blends, but also to reinforce notions of American soldiers as quasi-supermen, capable of incredible feats. Finally, it examines a cultural phenomenon that cut against the grain of ‘Spartan’ and ‘operator’ images: the ‘Fobbit’ – a term that refers to the personnel deployed to Forward Operating Bases but who avoided combat by remaining at the base, a description that then broadened to describe all sorts of personnel who deployed overseas but didn’t face the prospect of combat.

Fundamentals of our National Polity (Kokutai no hongi), where these quotations are from, was published by Japan’s education ministry in March 1937, months before the nation plunged into war against China and, subsequently, the Second World War.1 A portable canon of imperial ideology, the Fundamentals attacked the alien ideas that had become too prominent in Japanese society, particularly “individualism, which is the root of modern Occidental ideologies.”2 Yet the booklet contained more than simple propaganda; by instructing the imperial subjects to reaffirm their loyalty to the emperor and the nation, it reflected the Japanese state’s attempt to enlist citizens in its revolt against the West. As such, the pamphlet provides a useful historic vantage point. It illuminates, retrospectively, what had gone wrong in Japan’s quest for modernity over the preceding eight decades, which ended in an all-out confrontation with the Allied powers.

This chapter discusses international criminal law (fighting political crimes) and transboundary police cooperation (fighting common crimes), though mechanisms such as the ICC, but also extradition and abduction

This introduction to the book Graphic provides a brief overview of today’s digital information and media landscape, underscoring the often graphic nature of online content. Introducing the subject matter through the lens of a journalist who worked on the New York Times’ analysis of George Floyd’s killing, the authors raise the psychosocial risks that can come with engaging with upsetting online content, including secondary or vicarious trauma. Laying out a brief history of the role of visual imagery in advancing social change, they also emphasize the importance of finding ways to stay informed about the major social issues depicted in such imagery. Finally, this chapter provides an overview of the topics addressed in Graphic, ranging from the history of graphic visual content and its impact on human and civil rights, to how images affect people biologically and psychologically, to the ways peoples’ individual identities intersect with their experiences in potentially protective and harmful ways, to how people can increase their agency over their engagement with social media in order to minimize harm, to the ways community can act as a protective force, to strategies for maximizing meaning and other positive experiences from online experiences.

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 from Graphic discusses humans’ biological and psychological responses to viewing the suffering of others, including through graphic videos and photographs found online. The authors discuss the sometimes-negative effects of such images on human rights workers and journalists – including the risk of secondary or vicarious trauma – referencing the most recent research as to what happens in the body when people view and process upsetting images.

In this foreword to Graphic, Sam Dubberley of Human Rights Watch discusses the history of graphic visual media in advancing human rights and social justice. He underscores the psychological challenges that come with viewing potentially upsetting information on the Internet today and underscores the need for all social media users to better understand how to view such content while protecting themselves and their communities from psychosocial harm.

Since 9/11, a striking number of Shakespeare productions have appropriated the distinctive colours of desert camouflage. The print – marked by faded tones and an overall impression of dry and earthy environs – has become almost the standard choice for productions of Macbeth, Othello, and Henry V. Yet there has been little, if any, discussion of desert camouflage as a costuming decision. Examining productions ranging across two decades – from Nicholas Hytner’s Henry V (2003) to Max Webster’s Henry V (2022) – this essay argues that the use of the print synopsizes the ways in which productions refract contemporary understandings of global conflict. Camouflage costuming ignites a nexus of Shakespearean meanings around the brutality of the protagonist, war-crimes, PTSD, veteran-ship, and spectacular violence. The newly cynical readings that result render irrelevant traditional debates about the pro- or anti-war stance of Shakespearean theatre. In representing – via desert camouflage – a new kind of warfare, theatre in the post-2001 era envisages conflict as self-defeat. Finally, then, these productions speak to incompleteness, irresolution, regret, and a never-ending cycle of global violence.

This chapter tells the story of the how the Ottoman Empire and the Allies negotiated the blurred line between war and peace that existed from the signing of Sèvres to the Lausanne peace conference.

The twenty-four accessible and thought-provoking essays in this volume present innovative new scholarship on Japan’s modern history, including its imperial past and transregional entanglements. Drawing on the latest Japanese and English-language scholarship, it highlights Japan’s distinctiveness as an extraordinarily fast-changing place. Indeed, Japan provides a ringside seat to all the big trends of modern history. Japan was the first non-Western society to become a modern nation and empire, to industrialize, to wage modern war on a vast scale, and to deliver a high standard of living to virtually all its citizens. Because the Japanese so determinedly acted to reshape global hierarchies, their modern history was incredibly destabilizing for the world. This intense dynamism has powered a variety of debates and conflicts, both at home and with people and places beyond Japan’s shores. Put simply, Japan has packed a lot of history into less than two centuries.

Under international criminal law (‘ICL’), individuals can be prosecuted and punished for conduct that is criminalised under customary international law and/or treaty. This differs from most branches of international law, which concern the rights and obligations of states. The rationale for holding individuals to account for such crimes was articulated in 1946 by the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg, which stated: ‘Crimes against international law are committed by [people], not by abstract entities, and only by punishing individuals who commit such crimes can the provisions of international law be enforced.’ This chapter introduces this branch of international law, citing examples involving Australia as well as many other states. The chapter gives an overview of some of ILC’s key principles and aims, andoutlines the historical development of ICL. It explains how ICL is currently being enforced, considers the core crimes in ICL and discusses individual criminal responsibility and defences.

No serious investigation of German generals on the Eastern Front can avoid an explicit engagement with the ubiquitous criminality that pervaded the occupation of the Soviet Union. Given that the letters of the generals were provided by family descendants who tended to venerate their famous relatives, it should not be surprising that the letters do not explicitly mention German war crimes or the Holocaust. Yet that in itself is a telling omission given the direct evidence from divisional, corps and panzer groups files pointing to widespread, even exceptional, killing programs within the units under Guderian, Hoepner, Reinhardt and Schmidt’s command. All four men were among the most active in carrying out the murderous Commissar Order as well as the violent suppression of perceived acts of resistance in their zone of control. Moreover, the post-war myth of an honourable and ‘clean’ German army finds no such supporting evidence in the correspondence – there is not one letter in a combined collection spanning well over 100 examples that expresses any outrage or even acknowledgment of the mass murder of Soviet Jews. Indeed, there is no criticism for any of the action undertaken by the German security force or army.