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This Epilogue documents the colonial coal regime’s struggle for survival during the twilight of French colonialism in Indochina. It also examines the closure and decolonization of large-scale coal mining enterprises and discusses the legacy of coal mining in postcolonial Vietnam.
Irregular war, like war, remains an enduring feature of security studies both as they relate to internal state security and sovereignty as well as to international relations. Irregular war may not always appear to hold political purposes; many today seem driven by religious ideology, but the institution of theocratic governance has a politics of its own. Thus, like regular war, irregular war is subordinate to a political purpose. Whether they occur on the periphery of regular wars or perform roles to keep state competition from escalating into conflict, irregular wars are often intricately tied to their regular counterparts. While two broad theories of counterinsurgency both claim to have prescriptions for winning an irregular fight, one – the good governance approach – is plagued by problems of implementation at the governmental level, and the other – coercion – entails unreasonable brutality against both insurgent and population, often unbefitting a liberal counterinsurgent force.
The chapter explores the declaration of contraception as a human right within the United Nations, focusing on key events such as the International Conference on Human Rights in Tehran in 1968. The involvement of transnationally operating NGOs such as the International Planned Parenthood Federation and the Population Council is highlighted. The narrative showcases the shift toward population control as a human right, despite opposition from such entities as the Catholic Church. The chapter delves into the resolutions and debates at the Tehran conference, emphasizing differing perspectives on population control as a human rights issue. It particularly highlights contributions from the opposing blocs in the Cold War and the Communist critique against what Soviet states understood as the fusion of human rights and Neo-Malthusianism. The chapter concludes by discussing a significant transition toward justifying population control programs in terms of human rights rather than just economic necessity, arguing that the fusion of human rights with population control in the 1960s marks a significant turning point in the global discourse on demographic policies and individual rights.
To my mind, every Indigenous archaeology practiced across the length and breadth of the world is uniquely situated within its own socio-cultural and political milieu. In this respect, no processes within its practice are identical in nature. Proceeding a step further from Felix Acuto’s experience of Latin American Indigenous archaeology, this discussion piece examines the nature of the Indigenous community’s involvement in archaeological research within a South Asian context, locating the frame within Northeast India, particularly Nagaland. This takes a rather more interesting turn when the engagement constitutes an archaeology ‘with, for and by Indigenous peoples’ themselves who belong to a certain Indigenous community, who are either inside or outside of the participant community. Engaging local people in archaeological excavations has long been commonplace in Indian archaeology. In most of excavations by John Marshall and Mortimer Wheeler of Harappan urban sites, one cannot fail but notice the ubiquitous frame of black-and-white photographs – local workers clad in white dhoti and turbans, seen in various working postures and gaits inside the trenches, aiding in daily routine digs with brushes and brooms, circular trays filled with soil and occasional scatterings of pickaxes and spades. With shifting powers from the British Raj and Indian archaeologists now taking charge of the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) after Wheeler’s departure, it is still disheartening to notice that such imageries continue to persist in numerous field reports even within a post-colonial experience (for a critical appraisal, see Avikunthak 2021). What the images evoke is the sort of community engagement that the country has experienced for more than 150 years of Indian archaeology in practice. One may never know clearly for sure what the nature and extent of the local people’s participation in such large-scale digs was during colonial times, but this entices us to ask the few obvious questions – is such research made explicit within a participatory praxis, or can it be equally engaging and collaborative with equitable research aims? Or did such initiatives dismantle power structures and relations between local workers and the archaeologists leading the excavations? Until recently, community consultation and engagement have rarely been a part of the archaeological research agenda in India, with a few exceptions addressed by Rizvi (2006; 2020), Selvakumar (2006), Jamir (2014) and Menon and Varma (2019). Unfortunately, even today, archaeology in South Asia continues to demonstrate a lack of collaborative archaeological practice and instead continues to replicate colonial models of interaction with local communities (Rizvi 2008, 127). I, however, view the role of Indigenous community engagement in archaeological research as a starting point for decolonizing archaeological practice in Northeast India, particularly in Nagaland (Jamir 2024). Therefore, to underscore a contrast, I wish to draw a few case examples from the region of Northeast India.
This article examines the construction of statistics on labor emigration to France and the attempt of the Algerian state to integrate this emigration into development planning after independence. It draws on extensive primary sources in France, Algeria, and Switzerland, including colonial records, the ministries and offices of independent Algeria, international organizations and academic studies. To trace colonial legacies, it first considers the colonial expertise of the 1950s before turning to the Algerian emigration planning projects in the 1960s. Extending the work of James Scott and Timothy Mitchell, it argues that Algerian planners both recognized the biases embedded in colonial representations of migration, and sought to develop a form of statistical modernity that was critical and reflexive. They engaged in careful assessments of available data while simultaneously valuing it as a tool for action. In particular, critiques and reflections within the Algerian Ministry of Labor on the 1969 emigration planning model point to the need for a nuanced understanding of statistical modernity. Rather than perpetuating a colonial gaze on society, the introduction of this model primarily sought to address the limited informational capacities of the independent state. Demographic statistics thus became the main instrument for regulating emigration, but they were valued out of pragmatism rather than ideology. Given the limitations of other socio-economic indicators, such as unemployment rate, population statistics were among the few reliable sources available to allocate exit permits fairly across the regions of origin of prospective emigrants.
In the wake of the 2015 attacks claimed by the Islamic State on the satiric magazine Charlie Hebdo, the Bataclan theater, cafés in Paris, and the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, survivors were granted reparation based on an already existing legal framework. This article traces the history of compensation for terrorism in France back to a previous campaign of bombings carried out by Lebanese Hezbollah on iconic Parisian sites in 1985–1986 and, beyond the conjuncture of the late 1980s, to the Algerian War of Independence (1954–1962). While genealogies of human rights have so far focused on the aftermath of World War II and the history of the Holocaust, the paper uncovers the wars of decolonization as a key historical conjuncture for the emergence of contemporary humanitarianism and for the structuring of its fundamentally ambivalent discourse. A review of the successive arguments over how to draft, amend, and rewrite the reparation statutes in the late 1950s reveals how compensation was weaponized as an integral part of the “war on terror.” The paper then brings the analysis into the 1980s and the creation of a compensation fund as part of the 1986 Prevention of Terrorism Act. Reparations for terrorism emerge not only as a form of humanitarian intervention but also as a tool of counterinsurgency warfare in its own right. On a historiographical level, I draw on David Scott’s concept of “problem-space” to analyze the late 1950s and 1980s as imbricated conjunctures bearing an exceptional testimony to the history of the present.
The minority claims made by the various minority movements that emerged in the 1950s coalesced in separate state movements. Separate states claims were made by minority communities in all three major regions and these claims were championed by their political elites who strategically occupied seats in the regional houses of assembly, starting in 1953. Niger Delta elites formed provisional alliance, supressing local disputes and differences, in order to keep their claim for a separate Mid-West state alive in the constitutional reform process. Their efforts succeeded in halting the final constitutional conference, which was to be held in London in 1957. The push for separate states was strong enough to threaten the decolonization process altogether, and the British government decided to establish a Minorities Commission to address and resolve these claims prior to formal independence.
This study discusses the intersection between Black/African Digital Humanities, and computational methods, including natural language processing (NLP) and generative artificial intelligence (AI). We have structured the narrative around four critical themes: biases in colonial archives; postcolonial digitization; linguistic and representational inequalities in Lusophone digital content; and technical limitations of AI models when applied to the archival records from Portuguese-colonized African territories (1640–1822). Through three case studies relating to the Africana Collection at the Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, the Dembos Collection, and Sebestyén’s Caculo Cangola Collection, we demonstrate the infrastructural biases inherent in contemporary computational tools. This begins with the systematic underrepresentation of African archives in global digitization efforts and ends with biased AI models that have not been trained on African historical corpora.
Leonard Peltier was convicted in 1977 for the killing of two FBI agents on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Despite allegations of governmental misconduct and questionable legal rulings, the conviction was affirmed on appeal by several federal courts. After nearly fifty years in prison, Peltier was granted clemency by President Biden in 2025 and allowed to finish his sentence under home confinement. This chapter recounts Peltier’s background, his involvement with the American Indian Movement, and the events surrounding the incident at Pine Ridge. His memoir, Prison Writings: My Life Is My Sun Dance, was published in 1999. The chapter examines the book’s experimental, transgressive form and its subversion of standard memoir style and structure. Prison Writings utilizes a nonlinear structure, multiple voices, surreal elements, and political and legal analyses, as well as the inclusion of poetry and photographs. Peltier also incorporates Native history and social issues as well as a critique of carceral standards in the federal prison system.
Chapter 4 widens the view on those interested in controlling Kenya’s colonial-era documents at the time leading up to and directly following political independence to include British and US-American academics and the formation of area studies. It historicizes the formation of archival collections in Nairobi, Oxford, Syracuse, and London as the result of entangled interests held by Oxford and Syracuse Universities, the British colonial government in Kenya, the Department of Technical Co-operation, and the Colonial Office, namely, its Intelligence and Security Department. By claiming colonial-era documentation as archival rather than as a political record with current relevance for incoming African ministers, these institutions scrambled to collate and control colonial-era documents for different purposes but all through the exclusion of African partners.
Chapter 7 frames Kenyan attempts of archival retrieval as a matter of decolonization at the international, bilateral, and national levels. Importantly, it also draws attention to how the concealment of the “migrated archives” affected political activity not only within Kenya but also in England, as a country undergoing its own re-nationalization process at the end of empire. The process of recovering records from the UK provided the Kenyan Government a framework in which to invoke a sovereign and unified Kenyan polity as the rightful home for the “migrated archives,” while dissent over Kenyatta’s centralized authority grew within the country. Meanwhile, British engagement with the “migrated archives” throughout the 1970s and 1980s resulted in the consolidation of postcolonial archival secrecy with other European partners as evident in the voting blocs formed in the 1983 Vienna Convention on the Succession of States in Respect of State Property, Archives and Debts.
Ethnic majorities and minorities are produced over time by the same processes that define national borders and create national institutions. Minority Identities in Nigeria traces how western Niger Delta communities became political minorities first, through colonial administrative policies in the 1930s; and second, by embracing their minority status to make claims for resources and representation from the British government in the 1940s and 50s. This minority consciousness has deepened in the post-independence era, especially under the pressures of the crude oil economy. Blending discussion of local and regional politics in the Niger Delta with the wider literature on developmental colonialism, decolonization, and nationalism, Oghenetoja Okoh offers a detailed historical analysis of these communities. This study moves beyond a singular focus on the experience of crude oil extraction, exploring a longer history of state manipulation and exploitation in which minorities are construed as governable citizens.
This chapter engages with the philosophy of liberation of the Algerian philosopher and anticolonial thinker Malek Bennabi (1905–1973). It argues that Bennabi’s decolonization theory aims at transforming the structural conditions of the colonized that made colonization even possible. The chapter lays out some of the significant aspects of Bennabi’s theory, focusing on how Bennabi conceived the problem of colonialism/colonizability and what answers he attempted to offer to overcome it. The chapter also examines Bennabi’s theory of society and its elementary aspects before explicating Bennabi’s politics of liberation that aims at transforming (and perfecting) both the means of transformation and the humans as its agents. Bennabi’s philosophy of liberation is not predicated on changing the political system or institutions but on the transformation of their sociopsychological infrastructures in which the behaviors of the individuals can be molded, making their social actions engender a different kind of politics.
This chapter focuses on the emancipatory sociology developed by the Algerian scholar Abdelmalek Sayad (1933–1998). Sayad’s pathbreaking theory on immigration is progressively acknowledged today. However, we know less about the anticolonial roots of his innovative approach. From the Algerian liberation war against the French Empire to neoliberalism, Sayad’s social thought led to an anticolonial theory of domination and resistance. The chapter shows how Sayad dealt with political concerns scientifically and how his anticolonial engagements challenged conventional ways of doing science. It traces four components of his anticolonial thought: the understanding of the logics of empire; the paths toward decolonization; the epistemic grounds for a social revolution within postcolonial regimes; and the mechanisms that reconfigure the colonized condition into the immigrant experience. Discussing these aspects of Sayad’s social thought against the imperial episteme in the academic and political fields, this chapter proposes to restore the grounds of an anticolonial sociology.
The negotiated South African revolution of the 1990s inaugurated a marked shift toward strong constitutionalism: the post-apartheid Constitution comprised an extensive Bill of Rights, including substantial socioeconomic rights and constitutional duties for far-reaching redistributive measures, and established an independent judiciary under the auspices of a new constitutional (rather than, as before, parliamentary) supremacy. This way, South Africa quickly turned into a paradigmatic case of “juristocracy” (Hirschl 2004) and became imbued with an iconic indexicality for the enormous hopes for transformative justice that came to be vested in the law during the post-cold war era. Based on this progressive Constitution, the government immediately embarked upon a massive land reform in order to address persisting racial inequalities regarding access to and control of the land. Aiming at “putting land rights in the right hands under the rule of law,” as the former minister for Agriculture and Land Affairs put it in 2007 in contradistinction to ongoing extralegal land occupations in neighboring Zimbabwe, South African land reform exemplified a profound belief in “transformative constitutionalism” that was advocated as the solution to many of South Africa’s pressing political concerns. However, growing criticisms of the limited impact and slow pace of South African juristocracy in general and of law-based land reform in particular have substantially altered public discourse over the past decade, revealing a more complex and ambiguous dialectics of reckoning to be at play. Transformative constitutionalism is increasingly also portrayed as being part of the problem – or at least as suffering from “a dis/empowerment paradox” (Mnisi Weeks 2022) – that needs to be overcome in order to finally transform South Africa, which remains one of the most unequal societies in the world, in substantive and meaningful ways. This contested development is paradigmatically exemplified in the recent constitutional amendment process, designed to allow for “expropriation without compensation” in order to fast-track South African land reform, as its advocates claim. This chapter charts the contested terrain of this complex dialectic of juristocratic reckoning in order to evaluate the potentials and pitfalls of a continued project of transformative constitutionalism that increasingly has to operate in an era in which South Africa’s moment of iconic indexicality seems to be passing.
This Element supports Gwich'in, Iñupiat, and all Alaska Natives' collective continuance and reparative justice from the perspective of a settler in the traditional territories of lower Tanana Dene Peoples. It stands with Alaska Natives' recovering and safe-keeping: kinships obstructed by settler-colonialism; ontologies and languages inseparable from land-relations and incommensurable with English-language perspectives; and epistemologies not beholden to any colonialist standard. These rights and responsibilities clash with Leopoldian conservation narratives still shaping mind-sets and institutions that eliminate Indigenous Peoples by telling bad history and by presuming entitlements to lands and norm-making authority. It models an interlocking method and methodology – surfacing white supremacist settler-colonialist assumptions and structures of Leopoldian conservation narratives – that may be adapted to critique other problematic legacies. It offers a pra xis of anti-colonialist, anti-racist, liberatory environmental-narrative critical-assessment centering Indigenous experts and values, including consent, diplomacy, and intergenerational respect needed for stable coalitions-making for climate and environmental justice.
Chapter 3 covers the period from 1962 to 1968, as it argues how in those years a subtle, but lasting shift took place in Dutch society and government with regards to the Convention.
First, the chapter sets out how the emergence of a new memory culture and the so-called ‘depillarization’ of society opened a window of opportunity emerged for a new kind of activism, which increasingly turned to the language of human rights. This new activism intersected with decolonization, and its impact on governmental policy. Moreover, as Suriname and the Antilles became part of the active protection of human rights, the Convention was turned from a document built to preserve conservative European ideals into a document based on the need to protect individual human rights claims.
Second, this chapter argues that the crucial catalyst in this development was the interstate complaint procedure of 1967 against Greece. Brought forth by the new kind of activism which had emerged in these years, the complaint not only forced the Dutch government to make a distinct choice as to what the Convention entailed, but also served as ‘boomerang’ to galvanize human rights activism as such.
In 1959 and 1960, Cameroonian women nationalists visited the People’s Republic of China. These members of the Union démocratique des femmes camerounaises (UDEFEC) practiced what I term a “diplomacy of intimacy,” which highlighted the effects of colonialism on their bodies, fertility, and intimate relationships to create a shared affective experience of anticolonial solidarity with their Chinese counterparts. Expanding the definition of “diplomat” to reflect how diplomacy functioned in the decolonizing world reveals that women played a much larger role than previously understood. These women diplomats remained largely invisible to the Western powers and to the postcolonial Cameroonian government, but Chinese sources provide a valuable vantage point on their diplomacy. By drawing on sources from Cameroon, China, France, and the UK, I demonstrate that during decolonization African nationalist women represented their parties on the world stage, exercising far more diplomatic power than appears in histories of decolonization focused on the West.
The article analyses archival materials from the drafting of the UN Marriage Convention (1962) between 1949 and 1962. This Convention is usually understood as a human- and women’s rights Convention. The article expands this understanding by showing that the Convention was produced through a collaboration between the UN Commission on the Status of Women, and the Trusteeship Council, Committee on Information from Non-Self-Governing Territories, and metropolitan administrators of former colonies, then having the status of dependent territories. The treaty-makers focused exclusively on marriages in the dependencies but were in great doubt about the form and amount of force in these marriages. They, accordingly, were unsure how to measure such force. Nevertheless, they proceeded with the drafting, as their visions of free marriage and emancipated women were bolstered by their commitment to the ongoing economic transformation accompanying decolonization of the territories. The article shows how human rights of marriage thus emerged from ideas about economic development convoluted with ideas about marriages and women; and articulates this history’s theoretical implications for the rights’ applicability today. It also expands our understanding of international women’s rights as regulatory models, and of the post-colonial political economy of international law.