The starting point for this book is 1872, where, in the middle of the first of four Liberal administrations under Prime Minister William Gladstone, Victorian poetry can be said to enter its ‘late’ phase. It is a peculiar time, because it is in these final decades of the age, partly mediated through the loss of Dickens in 1870, John Stuart Mill in 1873, and, subsequently, the deaths of Browning in 1889, Tennyson in 1892, and Ruskin, Wilde, and Nietzsche in 1900 that the idea of what it is to be ‘Victorian’ begins to take shape. Interpretations of the period are complicated further by the ‘apocalyptic paradigm’ of the fin-de-siècle: suggesting patterns of disclosure, of revelation. Yet as the century turned, many of these patterns remain, in the Kermodian sense, ‘disconfirmed’. In 1900 alone Freud published The Interpretation of Dreams, Thomas Mann Buddenbrooks, Henry James abandoned the novel he would never finish in order to start work on The Ambassadors, and Conrad's Lord Jim appeared. Husserl published his Logic, and Russell, Critical Exposition of the Philosophy of Leibniz. The same year, the decadent poet Richard Le Gallienne repudiated Catholicism in a pamphlet entitled ‘The Beautiful Life of Rome’—a gesture less radical than ritualistic, as many late-Victorian moments are—symbolising decades of nineteenth-century religious crisis still unresolved. 1900 may be the terminus for this anthology, but it figures an ending less finished than burnished.

ILA BANDYOPADHYAY

An 86-year-old who came to Brindaban straight from Brandipara in Jessore district in 1947. ‘I came to live in Brandipara after my marriage. My in-laws were well placed and influential. My husband was an MBBS doctor. I had three sons – the oldest was in Class X, the next in Class V and the youngest in Class IV. They went to the market and did not return, not one. No trace of them could be found. After that our house was attacked and our dispensary was burnt down at that point my husband decided, “We are going to leave today.” ’

In the dead of the night we left and entered Bongaon. There he said, ‘We have had enough of samsar, let us go to Brindaban straight. We shall die there. Since then we have been living in Brindaban. My husband who died ten years ago used to pray at Paglababa's ashram and I used to chant Hari's name in a dharmasala.

This chapter examines the politics of categorization that defines people who move, as well as the migration containment policies that set and maintain the boundaries of these categories. The paper explains why ‘the problem’ is not migration per se, but rather the way the powerful seek to control and contain the movement of people. […] Indeed, it is one of the most pressing justice issues of our time, and requires the consolidated and coordinated attention of all of us concerned with issues of human rights and social justice. It cannot be ignored.

THE POLITICS OF INDIFFERENCE

In July 2001, a photograph by Javier Bauluz caused controversy in Spain, and around the world. It was even published in the New York Times. The photograph, entitled The Indifference of the West, was of two beachgoers in Tarifa, Spain, sitting under an umbrella, while to their right there lay a dead body. The photograph generated much debate about camera angles, and whether the beachgoers actually were indifferent. […] Who was this dead person? The answers to these questions lie in geography, in economy, in sociology, in the politics of movement and the boundaries of belonging, in migration and citizenship policies. And the answers, as well as the questions themselves, implicate us all.

The term ‘psychopolitics’ has a sinister edge to it now, but it was not always so. The term has undergone significant shifts of meaning. In studies of fascism in the 1930s to the New Left rebellions of the 1960s, it referred to the attempt to connect subjectivity – our personal experience of who we are in the world – with political change. Progressive use of the term ranged from psychoanalytic accounts of the way relations to authority become embedded in individuals – ‘internalised’ – such that people feel isolated and unable to change, to feminist insistence that politics is to be found inside our intimate relationships as well as in the struggle against economic exploitation.

With the fading of revolt in the 1970s and the later apparent victory of capitalism in the 1990s, more was learnt about the involvement of the security forces in psychological propaganda during the Cold War and against the Left. Now psychopolitics came to refer to the fear of brainwashing and the destruction of individual autonomy, but the horrible twist to these revelations was that psychological theories as to why the world was a miserable and destructive place became even more powerful. The increasing influence of psychological discourse – stories about what the mind is like and how it is possible to master it – has meant that psychopolitics is something that people are in awe of, even afraid of.

Internal displacement in north-east India is a relatively new phenomenon. Until the 1970s, the north-east received huge inflows of refugees and economic migrants from neighbouring Bangladesh (erstwhile East Pakistan) and Nepal, and to a lesser extent from Burma. As a result, the demographic character of some states in the region underwent a sea change. Tripura became a Bengali majority state, leaving its indigenous tribes feeling marginalized. In Assam, Bengali Hindus and Muslims probably outnumber the ethnic Assamese now, though some doubt has been expressed about that contention. The first wave of the refugee influx, following the partition, displaced the indigenous populations from their ancestral lands. And when the indigenous groups – and militias raised by their younger people began vent their resentment through armed action against the settlers, the north-east began to wake up to large-scale internal displacement.

But the local media and administration continued to describe even the internally displaced as ‘refugees’, in spite of the fact that they did not cross over to another country. The states in India's federal polity may not enjoy as much power as the states in the US – but because Indian states or regions are so rooted in tradition and enjoy such a distinct sense of identity that they often behave like nations would, with each other. […] The internalization of the displacement, in the sense that it happened within the boundaries of the Indian nation state, has, therefore, not always resulted in an easy solution to the problems of displacement.

Introduction and Context

In 1974, starting with the arrival of democracy in Portugal, more than 60 countries in Europe, Latin America, Asia, and Africa have made transitions from authoritarianism to some form of democracy. Democracy has now become the dominant form of government in the world. Its appeal and popularity is more widespread than ever before. Many political struggles are increasingly being fought in different parts of the world in the name of democracy. The democratic development in many of these newly democratic countries has often been sluggish, turbulent and marked by regular reversals. Though performance of many of these democracies continues to be disappointing, the cases of complete reversal from democracy to authoritarian rule are very few. In the last century, the per cent of global population living in democratic countries has increased from 12 per cent in 1900 to 63 per cent in 2000. A near consensus has now been achieved among decision-makers and academics alike on the virtues of democracy. Besides freedom and prosperity, successful democratization is argued to bring peace and security to unstable regions of the world.

This global trend relates mainly to developments within individual countries or within a number of countries, i.e., the internal or domestic developments. If ‘democracy’ is interpreted as a particular system of governance, this approach may be adequate.

In the 1990s Mexico was one of the world's most successful countries in attracting FDI. This chapter examines the extent of this process and its effects on the Mexican economy. I provide an overview of Mexican FDI since the early 1990s, identify the factors that led to FDI inflows, and describe the effects of FDI in terms of output, employment, trade and R&D expenditures, among other variables. Specifically, I analyze these effects using newly available data on the industry level. Finally, I make several policy proposals aimed at improving both the quantity and quality of FDI in the future.

The chapter is divided into four sections. The first briefly outlines theories of FDI and development, including an overview of the literature on the impacts of FDI in Mexico. The second section highlights the main trends in Mexican FDI since the 1990s from an aggregate perspective, as well as some major sectoral tendencies. The third section analyzes the effects of FDI in Mexico's manufacturing sector at the industry level, considering more than 25 variables. The final section outlines the main conclusions and presents various policy proposals.

Brief Conceptual Background

The debate on the determinants of FDI and its effects is still unsettled. The current process of globalization—the opening of national economies, the growing role played by multinational corporations and the increasing transfer of segments of the production chain outside these corporations' home countries-has promoted the growth of global FDI flows (UNCTAD 2006).

‘This is the deal.’ ‘The deal?’ ‘The deal is this.’ I'm being offered something special in a garage, but since they have my car already and it has clunks and clicks it didn't have before I took it in to be serviced last week, I'm trapped. Dialogue in garages between mechanic and customer looks like ‘ideal speech’ (images of transparent open direct and genuine communication that are described by the German social theorist Jurgen Habermas), but I feel like I'm in a David Mamet play (tales of layers of contricks; think of the films The Water Engine or The Spanish Prisoner, for example). Suddenly I'm lacking something serious, and the person who makes this clear to me is the only one who can put it right. The guy behind the counter is telling me that he wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he let me take the car on the road unsafe. He seems to believe it. He looks at me, reaches for his pen and draws another diagram of ‘tracking levers’ and ‘rear bushes’. Of course, he's not sure if this bit is causing the problem, and he can't guarantee that a new one will stop the noise. He reminds me that I don't want to take my car away from them with noises it didn't have before and that I really don't want to spend my hard-earned money on the car and have things end up worse.

With the collapse of Nazi Germany, Kathe Kollwitz and Bertolt Brecht's country was divided into two, East and West. Partition, then, was either the outcome of a full war or it could also be caused by the war-like disposition of two groups and their animal brutality proceeding hand in hand with pernicious politics –; for example, the partition of Bengal and Punjab. Partition, again, could foment an exodus of two kinds. One, single or collective efforts, frantic and despairing, to cross over barbed wires as depicted by Margarethe von Trota in her film Alexzanderplatzor; massive, multitudinous transfers of population associated with trauma and terror as recorded by Ritwik Ghatak, S M Sathyu, Govind Nihalni and Nemai Ghosh in their films. Taken together, war and partition in this century prompted massive migrations, which dehumanized millions. Adil Mansuri singled out the individual, broken and battered, as the microcosmic victim of the entire process in his poem When the injured Sun opened his Eyes:

Federico Fellini's (born 1920) fantasy world, which has become more dreamlike over the years, shows us the spectacle of life. Yet, paradoxically, the most surreal of Italian directors invites us to reflect on reality.

What is this reality, which contains everything that happens? Where is it? In us? Outside of us? In our memory, which turns into myth? In the real events that seem like dreams or in dreams that materialize in an immense farce wherein existence is the tragicomic appearance? Like Pirandello before him, Fellini meditates on the ease with which we cross the borders that supposedly mark the difference between reality and appearance.

As in the 1987 film Intervista [The Interview], which he made for Italian television, Fellini identifies a film director with the demiurge of a Great Spectacle. “My films are not for understanding. They are for seeing,” Fellini reminds anyone who persists in undervaluing the aim of his aesthetic orientation.

I talked about this and other things with Fellini in his Rome studio sometime after his last film, La Voce della Luna [The Voice of the Moon] (1990). Courteous, cordial, gifted with a good sense of humor, Fellini, who is mistrustful of journalists–and who loves paradox and ambiguity–kindly tried not to talk about this mistrust. “Really, we should chat about other things,” he told me.

Interview

Art, whether in a gallery or recruited into advertising, provides another medium of representation through which we might be confronted, and confront ourselves, with the truth, even if we may never be able to put it into words. The shock of recognition, the uncanny sense that an image is familiar to us even if we cannot remember seeing it before, the experience of a sensation that we cannot even account for to ourselves, is something an artwork can produce. This art practice, so pervasive now in various sign systems designed to sell us something, sometimes sidesteps the ego, and something of the unconscious is made present; but then we need to ask ourselves, when we are in the presence of such images, whether we will put those impressions at a safe distance – assume that it is the unconscious of the artist that erupts in the work – or own up to what lies, and for a moment speaks the truth, within us as we view it.

So, what would it mean to turn around and think reflexively about ourselves so that we include the image we actually have of ourselves in the myriad of idealised images of ourselves in commodity culture, in a culture suffused with psychoanalysis? What would happen if we deliberately bought into the idealised images of self that surround us and agreed to ‘make love to our ego’? A first response to this could be that we would then be wallowing in the culture of narcissism, taking as our object this seat of illusions and feeding it.

I was in a small workgroup, the kind of group that in Lacanian jargon is known as a ‘cartel’, and our focus was upon what a group, what a ‘cartel’ was for Lacan. One of the texts we read was Lacan's only theoretical account of groups in which he describes the predicament of three prisoners, each of whom has to puzzle over whether the warden has placed a white or black disc on their backs. The prisoners have to reason out how they have been marked from what they see other two prisoners wearing, and how they see the other two respond to the disc they cannot see on their own back. Someone in our little group argued that there might be some connection between the concluding moment when each prisoner declares ‘I am white’ and the ‘othering’ of blacks that constitutes everyday racism in Western culture. No, surely not. That connection would be tendentious, but then again…

A woman at Manchester Piccadilly station was handing out life insurance advertisements; I dodged briskly around and behind her and through to the platforms, but not too quick to notice the movement of her arm, which had been thrusting leaflets at the passengers passing on the other side, waver for a moment as an orthodox Jewish man went by.

Introduction

This chapter examines the environmental impacts of FDI in the forestry sector in two of the region's major producing countries, Chile and Brazil. One of the characteristics of the world economy over the last two decades has been the strong growth in FDI flows. More and more companies, in an increasing number of economic sectors and countries, now invest beyond the borders of their home countries; meanwhile, the governments of receiving countries are competing more and more to attract foreign investment.

By 2005, about a third of the stock of global FDI has gone to developing countries. Latin America accounts for 10 percent of the global FDI stock. Three countries, Brazil, Argentina and Chile, attracted 82 percent of FDI flows into the region between 1990 and 2002.

The economic benefits of FDI include technological innovation, increases in competitiveness, improvements in efficiency and transfers of intangible resources such as new forms of organization, administration and marketing.

Expectations regarding the environmental impacts of FDI are rather mixed. On the one hand, some argue that FDI brings negative environmental impacts, especially in developing countries that have lower environmental standards and could constitute “pollution havens.” On the other hand, some claim that foreign firms help to improve environmental performance in developing countries by transferring both cleaner technology and management expertise in controlling environmental impacts.