To send content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about sending content to .
To send content items to your Kindle, first ensure email@example.com
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about sending to your Kindle.
Note you can select to send to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be sent to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
From Tanganyika’s independence in 1961 to the collapse of the Portuguese empire in 1974, Dar es Salaam was an epicentre of revolution in Africa. The representatives of anticolonial liberation movements set up offices in the city, attracting the interest of the Cold War powers, who sought to expand their influence in the Third World. Meanwhile, the Tanzanian government sought to translate independence into meaningful decolonisation through an ambitious project to build a socialist state. This chapter explains how the lens of the city reveals the connections between the dynamics of the Cold War, decolonisation, and socialist state-making in Tanzania. It locates this approach among new approaches to the history of the Cold War, decolonisation, and global cities. Scattered across continents, the postcolonial archive offers the potential for exploring the revolutionary dynamics which intersected in Dar es Salaam.
This article examines the transnational activism of the Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil (Revolutionary Student Directorate, DRE), a group of exiled Cuban anti-Castro students. In the wake of the Bay of Pigs invasion, with CIA funding, the DRE attempted to challenge student support for the Cuban Revolution in Latin America and elsewhere in the global South. This article uses the DRE's trajectory to rethink the 1960s as a period of anti-communist, as well as leftist, youth ascendancy. It challenges the idea that Cuba garnered universal youth support, stressing instead that the Cuban Revolution helped turn student politics into a key battleground of the Cold War.
In discussions about ‘race’, empire, imperialism – and the decolonisation of the curriculum in European universities – the discipline of Romani Studies has, until recently, been relatively quiet. This article seeks to address this silence and offers commentary on the institutional silences, via both disciplinary historical and contemporary country-specific analysis. A case study is investigated to tease out the ontological and epistemological transitions from early 19th Century Gypsylorism to 21st Century Critical Romani Studies: the teaching and learning of Romani Studies at the Central European University (CEU) in Budapest. We argue that the legacy of Gypsylorism, as much as the political climate in which the teaching and learning of contemporary Romani Studies occurs, are important aspects to consider. In moving forwards, we suggest that the models and pedagogies adopted at CEU since 2015 offer a useful and critical template for other universities and departments to consider adopting in progressing Romani knowledge production.
While recent research shows a gradual increase of young Māori in Higher Education it remains the case that inequality amongst the Indigenous population remains entrenched and institutionalised. This article explains how national governments in Aotearoa New Zealand have failed to address the colonial disparities and inequalities in the Higher Education system. In this process we will show, through the lens of historical privilege and institutional racism, how these processes continue to shape and frame both opportunities and experiences for Māori youth. The article will also highlight what strategies are needed if a more inclusive Higher Education system is to be developed that addresses the disparities that young Māori encounter.
Tracing Dar es Salaam's rise and fall as an epicentre of Third World revolution, George Roberts explores the connections between the global Cold War, African liberation struggles, and Tanzania's efforts to build a socialist state. Instead of understanding decolonisation through a national lens, he locates the intersection of these dynamics in a globally-connected city in East Africa. Revolutionary State-Making in Dar es Salaam introduces a vibrant cast of politicians, guerrilla leaders, diplomats, journalists, and intellectuals whose trajectories collided in the city. In its cosmopolitan and rumour-filled hotel bars, embassy receptions, and newspaper offices, they grappled with challenges of remaking a world after empire. Yet Dar es Salaam's role on the frontline of the African revolution and its provocative stance towards global geopolitics came at considerable cost. Roberts explains how Tanzania's strident anti-imperialism ultimately drove an authoritarian turn in its socialist project and tighter control over the city's public sphere.
The marginal case of the decolonisation of Comoros has gained little attention from historians of Africa. By tracing the evolution of the Mouvement de libération nationale des Comores (MOLINACO) around East Africa's Indian Ocean basin, this article explores the possibilities and constraints of anticolonial organisation among a diaspora population whose own existence was threatened by the more exclusive political order that emerged from the process of decolonisation. In Tanganyika, Zanzibar, Kenya, and Madagascar, MOLINACO's activities were shaped and limited by contested issues of racial identity, island genealogy, partisan alignment, and international priorities among both the Comorian diaspora and their ‘host’ governments. Through a transterritorial approach, this article examines the difficulties for minority communities in navigating the transition from empire to nation-state, while also illustrating the challenges MOLINACO faced in its ultimately unsuccessful attempt to impose that same normative model onto the archipelago.
In the nineteenth- and early-twentieth centuries, mixed claims commissions were established as a way of resolving claims for injuries caused to foreign nationals by rebels when political instability, especially in the form of revolution and civil war, threatened foreign imperial and commercial ambitions and interrupted periods of capitalist expansion in decolonised Mexico and Venezuela. Enforcing state responsibility for such claims was often the justification for intervention in Latin America during the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-centuries. While not all of the mixed claims commissions were imposed by the threat or use of force, invasion, occupation and bombardment existed alongside arbitration as part of a spectrum of more or less coercive measures to protect foreign commerce and capital during this time. The system of mixed claims commissions – as a political intervention in decolonised Latin America – served to insulate global economic liberalisation against revolution and civil war in the decolonised world, by taking the question of who assumed the risk of harm by rebels out of the scope of national authority.
The idea that states have to exercise due diligence in protecting investments against non-state armed actors and Article 10 of the Articles on the Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts have common origins in the emergence and contestation of the rules of state responsibility for injuries to foreign nationals (or ‘aliens’) by rebels during the nineteenth- and early-twentieth centuries. Tracing these common origins, the story starts with a series of arbitrations involving Latin American states that were set up between 1839 and 1927. It then follows the scholarly debates about state responsibility for rebels that proliferated particularly from the turn of the twentieth century onwards, finishing with the League of Nations Codification Conference at The Hague in 1930 where states failed to agree a convention on responsibility. This first chapter sets out the book’s main argument and situates it theoretically and methodologically.
With the failure to codify, state responsibility for rebels went quiet. After the 1930s, there were no more of the great suites of mixed claims commissions. Scholarship on the topic dried up. Nevertheless, we can follow the trajectory of state responsibility for injuries to aliens by rebels as it split in two. On one hand, we have the International Law Commission (ILC)’s half-century odyssey to codify state responsibility, and on the other, the emergence of international investment law. The story of state responsibility for rebels and its legacy for both the modern law of state responsibility and international investment law have a number of implications for international law scholars and practitioners today: for specific legal issues in the law of state responsibility and international investment law, for our understanding of the development of these fields and for the state of the law today when it comes to responsibility for the acts of armed groups across various fields including international human rights and humanitarian law. Finally, it allows us to put together these fragments of state responsibility for rebels and tells us something about the whole, exposing how today international law prioritises the protection of foreign investment against rebels, and non-state armed actors more generally, in the decolonised world.
Chapter 4 explores social and political organisation in the late colonial Copperbelt in the run-up to political independence in the early 1960s. It explains why social unrest was diagnosed in contrasting ways by states, companies and researchers in the Congo and Northern Rhodesia. While Belgium encouraged social stabilisation of urban family life, while denying meaningful ‘modern’ political reform, British policy-makers encouraged ‘responsible’ unionisation. The consequences of these different policies are explored with an examination of the African Mineworkers’ Union in Northern Rhodesia and the Indigenous Enterprise Councils in Haut-Katanga. The chapter also analyses ‘elite’ African political mobilisation and expression in both regions and how the frustration of their aspirations led them to engage in diverse forms of anti-colonial activism. It argues that, while the materialist politics of the Northern Rhodesian Copperbelt placed it at the centre of a cosmopolitan Zambian nationalism, Haut-Katanga’s strategic minerals and ethnicised politics led to a chaotic decolonisation marked by its secession from newly independent Congo and to the military conflict and ethnic violence of the Congo crisis.
This chapter challenges the representations of international law that dominate the turn to history. The vision of international law as metaphysically grounded and of lawyers as scholastics or moralising judges is resonant because it shores up a familiar fantasy. Yet that vision bears little relation to the ways in which contemporary international lawyers use the past in the practice of making legal arguments. This chapter explores the indeterminacy and capaciousness of the past materials out of which international legal arguments are assembled and the varied roles lawyers are trained to adopt in making such arguments. It shows that international lawyers are already immersed in a centuries-long debate over the grounds of law’s authority, into which historicising techniques and anti-metaphysical approaches have long been incorporated. Many influential forms of international legal thought, including legal realism, positivism, critical legal studies, and game theory, have been informed by an anti-metaphysical orientation. Far from being a revolutionary insight, the claim that historicising a text can settle its meaning is just one of many claims that are already part of the broader argumentative world of international lawyers, and no more likely than any other to resolve interpretative controversies or offer the truth of legal history.
Chapter 6 discusses how environmental stewardship established itself as a fundamental norm of international society. The first section reviews the creation of secondary institutions, or environmental regimes, and how dynamics of international environmental rule-setting reinforced but also reinterpreted the underlying environmental norm. The second part focuses on indicators of changing state behaviour and identity, particularly with regard to how environmentalism affected diplomatic practices and multilateralism as a mode of international cooperation. The third part completes the story by examining the spatial dimension of environmental stewardship’s social consolidation, with a focus on how environmental ideas and practices spread worldwide and how the Global South came to not only adopt but also redefine global environmental responsibilities.
Chapter three deals with the role of international law in the ideology of the postcolonial ‘national’ state. With its ambition of achieving a homogeneous and unified sovereign entity, the postcolonial state essentially relies on international law principles for the continuity of colonial boundaries (uti possidetis), territorial integrity, sovereign equality, and non-interference in internal affairs. Contrary to the conventional wisdom that the uti possidetis principle helps in the maintenance of peace and order, I argue that uti possidetis is a key problem. Far from being a corrective mechanism halting potential ‘disorder’ emanating from decolonisation, the continuation of arbitrarily drawn colonial boundaries undermines the legitimate right to self-determination of numerous ethnic minorities in postcolonial states and often results in violent ethnic conflicts. The argument for uti possidetis in international law is also normatively inconsistent as it depends upon the capacity of the postcolonial state to efface ethno-nationalism while simultaneously allowing the state to produce its own sustaining nationalist ideology in majoritarian terms. The minority problem is thus embedded in the very ideological making of the postcolonial ‘national’ state in international law. My arguments in this chapter are substantiated with in-depth case studies on the Rohingya and the CHT hill people.
This article investigates the works of Dussel, Maldonado-Torres, and Mbembe as representatives of a tendency in the field of decolonial thought to assume the templates of warfare and the camp as the archetypal registers of violence in the contemporary world. Identifying this focus as the remnant of a Eurocentric vocabulary (the paradigm of war), the article proposes a shift from the language of warfare predominant in the field to a language of welfare. The article turns to the gated community (GC), instead of the camp, and the imperatives of (re)creation, instead of the logics of elimination, as new templates with which to make sense of modern/colonial violence. Moving beyond militaristic imagery, the analysis shows a form of violence that emerges as a response to the endless search for a life of convenience inside the walls of the GC. To this end, the article advances the concept of the dialect of disarrangement, the enforced but uneasy encounter between two subjectivities that inhabit the GC: the patrons (the homeowners who consume the easy life) and servants (the racialised service staff). In the GC, violence emerges in attempts to respond to this (in)convenient encounter via misrepresentations of both patrons and servants as out of their place.
In this chapter, terrorism is interpreted as a contested concept: as a discursive frame and a political attribution with the power to transform conflicting political, ideological or religious positions into repertoires of action and governmental practices. Terrorist events will be highlighted inasmuch as they were reported on in the Netherlands, or when threats posed by international terrorist organisations or foreign groups were mediatised within the Dutch context. We will also trace when indigenous Dutch radical groups and individuals triggered national debates – and estimate whether this was followed by national policy decisions and actions or not. As will transpire, the Netherlands were more often than not on the receiving end of international terrorism and global terrorist trends. Yet, there were some instances of terrorist groups and attacks originating in and from the Netherlands, inspired by injustice frames generated on the basis of misgivings about Dutch politics. By and large, the history of terrorism in the Netherlands did follow the trajectories of David Rapoport’s ‘four waves’ of terrorism, albeit with some national characteristics, and always situated within the specific confines of the Dutch national context. In the following, we will trace the introduction, trajectories and translations of terrorism as a concept, discourse and influence on concrete security practices into Dutch politics, society and law – and we will ask ourselves how the double-edged nature of terrorism played out in these interactions.
This article offers a transnational account of the historical origins and development of the concept of ‘global psyche’ and transcultural psychiatry. It argues that the concept of universal, global psyche emerged in the aftermath of the Second World War and during decolonization, when West European psychiatry strove to leave behind its colonial legacies and lay the foundation for a more inclusive conversation between Western and non-Western mental health communities. In the second half of the twentieth century, leading ‘psy’ professionals across the globe set about identifying and defining the universal psychological mechanisms supposedly shared among all cultures (and ‘civilizations’). The article explores this far-reaching psychiatric, social and cultural search for a new definition of ‘common humanity’, relating it to the social and political history of decolonization, and to the post-war reconstruction and search for stable peace. It provides a transnational account of a series of interlinked developments and trends around the world in order to arrive at a global history of the decolonization of mental health science.
I discuss two episodes in India’s history that attracted significant attention worldwide. The first is the Great Revolt of 1857. I show possible links to contemporaneous events such as the European revolutions of 1848–9 and the Tai-ping rebellion in China to be largely speculative. Repercussions in the Islamic world are attested, but would need further research. The impact of the Revolt on the British Empire is well documented, although its consequences are uncertain, and was greatest at the level of representations as it inspired ‘sepoy ballads’ in Irish Fenian circles and a flurry of popular novels in different languages. The Partition of British India in 1947 attracted less attention worldwide at the time, but it became a staple of later analyses of partition by political scientists as a way of solving problems of territoriality and ethnicity. I explore the links of India’s Partition to the earlier Partition of Ireland and the contemporaneous Partition of Palestine through a survey of the literature, and end with an interrogation of the possible influence of India’s Partition on later episodes of decolonisation in the British Empire.
In the global pantheon of ‘towering judges’, Hugh Kennedy, the first chief justice of independent Ireland, is often overlooked. But Kennedy played a profound role in shaping the Irish constitutional order and was a central architect of the 1922 Constitution produced for the new Irish Free State, ensuring its maximal autonomy. He established a new court system to replace the highly politicised judiciary of the imperial era. He proved to be an intellectual powerhouse, delivering judgments suffused with historical and comparative legal knowledge, and working to craft a new and genuinely democratic jurisprudence. He was the Court’s backbone of principle, most notably asserting in 1934 (in a blistering dissent) the power to substantively review constitutional amendments. His defence of rights and the rule of law set the scene for the dramatic expansion of the Supreme Court’s power in the 1960s and 1970s, and lingers still. More profoundly, Kennedy set the scene for Ireland’s trajectory towards declaration of a fully independent republic in 1948. While leaving a somewhat contested legacy, he deserves global recognition.
This essay discusses the important contributions of three new works on Indian citizenship by Ornit Shani, Uditi Sen, and Oliver Godsmark. Their books discuss the territorial partition of the subcontinent into India and Pakistan in 1947, the framing and inauguration of the Indian Constitution in 1950, the preparation of voter rolls and the first democratic elections, and linguistic reorganisation of Indian states in 1956, alongside questions of refugee rehabilitation, counterinsurgency measures and rising ethnonationalisms. The emphasis is not only on the legal regimes of national citizenship, but also how it is unevenly mapped and experienced. This emphasis on territoriality is an invitation to ask questions about continuity and change in the transition from empires to nation-states, as well as invented pasts and imagined futures that transcend national borders set up after the end of colonial rule.
This article examines a formative episode in the history of both the United Nations Security Council and Indonesian decolonisation. In August of 1947, Council members authorised an ad hoc delegation from the Republic of Indonesia to participate in its discussions concerning the ongoing Dutch–Indonesian conflict. Focusing on the series of developments that led to the Indonesians taking their seats at the table, this article reveals how Security Council procedures and practices could be used to facilitate the decolonisation process. The Council's involvement in the Dutch–Indonesian conflict—and, in particular, the decision to allow the Indonesians to present their case in this international arena—demonstrates that Europeans’ claims of “domestic jurisdiction” over their colonial territories remained subject to negotiation, and that non-European actors could successfully contest these claims in Council chambers.