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Ideology is a powerful tool for parties in armed conflicts, as it provides a source of motivation for combatants to stay in group under difficult circumstances and to perform actions that put them at risk or defy their personal ethical codes. But once in peacetime, besides the effects of past negative intergroup experiences, radical beliefs may become an obstacle to reconciliation and prolong the confrontation in the minds of ex-combatants. An examination of 484 recently decommissioned soldiers and insurgents in Colombia shows how the persistent ideological differences among former enemies help us explain postconflict intergroup bias beyond the effects of wartime victimization. We conclude that addressing the ideological radicalization that prolongs confrontation after armed conflict ceases is fundamental to creating proper conditions for reconciliation, and it offers a viable policy alternative to the much-needed healing from wartime-related trauma.
The Ming dynasty’s survival depended on locating and employing men with the ability to direct military forces, and contemporary observers were deeply concerned with the nexus of command, troop morale, and dynastic fighting capacity. This essay focuses on the years following the Tumu Crisis of 1449, a time when dynastic authorities were particularly alive to issues of military ability, and it draws on the perspectives of two men, the Minister of War, Yu Qian 于謙 (1398–1457), and another more junior official, Ye Sheng 葉盛 (1420–72). The essay offers a snapshot of how military ability was defined, cultivated, assessed, and rewarded. Further, it suggests that, read carefully, the writings of Ye Sheng and Yu Qian not only offer insight into the views of elite civil officials but also shed light, however faint and wavering, on military labor and working conditions for those who fought and commanded for a living.
The Yoruba Are on a Rock focuses on the Africans who arrived in Grenada decades after the abolition of the British slave trade and how they radically shaped the religious and cultural landscape of the island. Rooted in extensive archival and ethnographic research, Shantel A. George carefully traces and unpacks the complex movements of people and ideas between various points in western Africa and the Eastern Caribbean to argue that Orisa worship in Grenada is not, as has been generally supposed, a residue of recaptive Yoruba peoples, but emerged from dynamic and multi-layered exchanges within and beyond Grenada. Further, the book shows how recaptives pursued freedom by drawing on shared African histories and experiences in the homeland and in Grenada, and recovers intriguing individual biographies of the recaptives, their descendants, and religious custodians. By historicising this island's little-known and fascinating tradition, the book advances our knowledge of African diaspora cultures and histories.
This chapter identifies two recurring themes that, beginning with Teodoro Ramos Blanco and Alberto Peña in the 1920s–1930s, has continued to define the conceptual basis of many Afro-Cuban artists up to the present. One is their efforts to conceptualize and celebrate their African cultural heritage. The other direction focuses on Afrodescendants’ social conditions and engages with political struggles against structural racism. Challenging the established historical arc accepted by the scholarship, the chapter identifies the 1940s as the most radical moment of Afrodescendant rupture in Cuban arts. It involved the revolutionary visual language of Uver Solis, Roberto Diago Querol, and Wifredo Lam, as well as the reformist executions of unknown artists such as Nicasio Aguirre, grounded on ideas of racial inclusion and black honorability. It also questions the assumed divide between pre- and post-1959, noting how revolutionary institutions continued to function under the common sense of the superiority of Western-centric art. It points to how the defining feature of the supposedly “new” revolutionary art, socially engaged figurative expression, was long established in Republican Cuba. The serious explorations of African-based cultures pioneered in the 1940s also continued in the 1960s–1970s with Grupo Antillano.
The conventional literature suggests that the Chinese party-state has further strengthened social control and reinforced stability maintenance through expanded grassroots delegation. However, drawing on fieldwork interviews, government reports and media coverage, this article demonstrates that initiatives aimed at delegating power may actually weaken the government’s substantive responsiveness, thereby hindering the everyday management of disputes. The inherent tension of decentralization within a centralized political system leads to an uneven distribution of incentives and resources among agents at various levels. While more logistical powers (such as surveillance and mundane daily services) are allocated to grassroots governments, most decision-making and coercive powers (law enforcement and court rulings) remain in the hands of district-level functional departments. Grassroots officials are increasingly required to take broad responsibility for resolving citizen complaints, yet they face significant obstacles in mobilizing the relevant functional departments to address these issues. The reduced efficiency of problem-solving at the grassroots level not only increases the burden on grassroots bureaucrats to appease aggrieved citizens but also diminishes the effectiveness of initial efforts to contain routine grievances and prevent their escalation. This poses greater challenges for higher-level governments in balancing control and inclusivity, as well as in maintaining the legitimacy of state-sanctioned participatory institutions and the regime.
This chapter discusses some of the mechanisms that the ideologues of the Cuban planter class, grouped at the Sociedad Económica de Amigos del País in the early nineteenth century, used to transform art into a white domain. These ideologues characterized the works of popular Afrodescendant artists as crude and unsophisticated, and institutionalized art education through the Academia de San Alejandro (1818). The Academia excluded applicants of African descent (as well as women) and trained future artists in European styles, sensibilities, and techniques. As a result, we know of only one artist with identified works in nineteenth-century Cuba, Vicente Escobar (1762–1834), who was socially identified as pardo. Escobar came from a privileged sector of Havana’s population of African descent. Members of his family occupied prominent positions in the Pardo Battalions of the Militias and were successful craftsmen who accumulated some wealth, including slaves. It was probably thanks to these family connections that Escobar learned his trade as painter. This may also explain how he managed to acquire formal training at the Academy of San Fernando in Madrid, which he attended in 1784.
The early development of Artificial Intelligence (AI) in the latter half of the twentieth century was marked by limited, hand-crafted systems and fluctuating perceptions of the field’s potential. Early research explored a range of paradigms – including symbolic, neural and probabilistic approaches – constrained by severe hardware and data limitations. Key technological advances, such as the invention of microchips, GPUs and later TPUs, significantly enhanced computational capacity, enabling more complex AI experimentation. Concurrently, the proliferation of digital data through the internet addressed longstanding bottlenecks in data availability. The most transformative shift, however, came from architectural innovations in neural networks, culminating in the deep learning revolution. This unfolded in two phases: the emergence of Recurrent and Convolutional Neural Networks, followed by the development of transformer-based models, which underpin today’s Large Language Models (LLMs).
This chapter traces the transformation of Christian Democratic attitudes toward the Chilean military regime. Whereas the two Christian Democratic parties in the FRG defended the military coup in 1973, by 1975 the CDU had turned against the Pinochet because of three interrelated reasons. First, CDU politicians feared that left-wing solidarity activists were using Chile to monopolize the topic of human rights in the FRG. Second, the international movement against the Pinochet regime and the latter’s international isolation forced the CDU to take a more critical stance. Finally, the Pinochet regime repressed Chile’s Christian Democratic Party (PDC), a close collaborator of the CDU and the Konrad Adenauer Foundation since the 1960s. The CSU, however, welcomed the Pinochet regime’s neoliberal restructuring of the Chilean economy and rejected the Keynesian PDC. Despite these differences, there was also convergence. The CDU consistently criticized the asylum program for refugees from Chile, largely accepted Pinochet’s neoliberal experiment, ignored abuses elsewhere in Latin America, and moved towards normalizing relations with the Pinochet regime by the late 1970s.